Letter 2: November 9th

Give me a reason to believe that you're gone

I see your shadow so I know they're all wrong

(Evanescence – Even In Death)

Summer sun was seeping through the curtains into Kurt's bedroom. It was August, a couple of weeks before they were going back to McKinley, Kurt for his senior, and Blaine for his junior year.

They were lying cosily on the bed, facing each other, silent, not to spoil the magical romantic moment. The house was otherwise empty; Burt and Carole were at work, Finn was at Rachel's. This was the only type of moment they could snuggle without the threat of being caught horizontally on the bed by one of the parents.

They would exchange a kiss from time to time, but mostly they were just enjoying being silent together.

Until the moment when Kurt asked, 'Do you remember when we first met?'

'Sure. When you came to spy on the Warblers, on the main staircase at Dalton.' Blaine barked out a laugh. 'You really wouldn't make a career in the CIA.'

Kurt caught Blaine's hand in his own.

'Yeah, I know. But I meant, do you remember the date?'

Blaine fixed his gaze on the ceiling, trying hard to remember.

'It was November, because it was close to sectionals.'

'You don't remember the day?!' Kurt jumped up on the bed. 'How were you going to remember our anniversary?!'

A judging gaze was stuck to Blaine's face, unwavering. There was no way Kurt would let it go. Anniversaries were important.

'I kinda hoped- you would?' He grimaced, preparing himself for the blow he knew was coming.

And sure enough, a pillow struck his belly a few seconds later.

'I would, you bet I would!' Another thwack to the abdomen. 'But we should both remember things like that!'

He sat back down, panting slightly. He was visibly upset by his boyfriend's short memory.

'So will you tell me, when it was exactly, smartass? I promise not to forget.' Blaine made puppy dog eyes.

Kurt tried to resist the undeniable charm, and tragically failed.

'Fine,' he said, faking unwillingness. 'It was the ninth.'

'November ninth. Okay. Now I'll remember.'

'I'm still mad at you.'

Blaine looked at him from under his dark eyelashes; it was impossible for Kurt to stay angry at him for long. But he still refused to turn his eyes back to Blaine.

'Kurt?'

'Mhm?'

'You do know I love you?' He got up onto all fours, closing in on Kurt, who still insisted on examining his wall very, very thoroughly.

'Mhm.'

'Really? Let me show you.' And he grabbed Kurt by the wrists, tripping him over back to the sheets, and planted a kiss on his lips.

Kurt was soon appeased.

'I love you, too,' he mumbled.

***

For the first time in years, Kurt dreaded the ninth of November. The twelve previous years he couldn't wait for the day, knowing Blaine would be there, surprising him with something, whether it was a "happy anniversary" and a single red rose, one year after they met, a song written especially for him four years later, or a trip to Paris two years ago.

On the night of the eighth, Kurt went to bed, feeling the loneliness weighing heavy on his shoulders. He placed Blaine's letter on the nightstand, intending to read it first thing after waking up the next morning.

He laid down, flattening the sheets on both sides of his body. He still slept on his side of the bed, leaving Blaine's perfectly intact, no crease to be seen, as if it was waiting for its usual occupant to come home late. Kurt took one more glance at the other half of the bed, as it became a habit of his in the last three weeks. Three weeks filled with emptiness, and loneliness, and impatience to open the next letter.

Even though he could hardly resist tearing the envelope open, he listened to Blaine's instructions. In this way, the letters would at least last for a longer time, and he would have a reason to live another day, and then another, and then another…

Fighting back tears, Kurt closed his eyes. Just a few short hours of oblivious sleep, and he'd be able to read what his husband had written him… Just a little bit of rest from the void that was his life now.

Minutes seeped by, and Kurt's eyelids were squeezed more and more tightly with each one of them. He was trying so hard to get rid of all the thoughts that were rushing into his mind, and simply sleep.

Images of all the past anniversaries, of the thirteen years in which Blaine had been his life. The time when they decided to walk along Champs Elysees in the middle of the night, and watched the sunrise from under the Eiffel Tower. It had been exactly two years since then… And in the morning, they bought fresh croissants in a tiny bakery, and ate them in the still empty street.

Kurt opened his eyes. The pictures, the memories of times gone forever were a torment. What was he being punished for with torture like that?

He turned onto his side, groaning; this was unbearable. Sleep, peaceful, forgetful, easy sleep was everything he needed. Everything. He had to have at least a couple of hours of it, he had to. There was no way of surviving with the films his brain was playing him just to make him more miserable. He had to fall asleep.

But his normally comfortable bed was now a bed of nails. Any position proved to be causing him discomfort after five seconds at most. He fluffed his pillow every two minutes, and with each time, it seemed less and less soft.

At last, after tossing and turning for what must have been an eternity, Kurt glimpsed at the alarm clock on the stand.

Eleven fifty five.

Kurt jumped up. Eleven fifty five. That meant in five minutes it would no longer be November eighth. It would be the ninth, and he'd be able to open the envelope.

He kicked the sheets away, and switched the bedside lamp on. The light showed the cream stationary clearly, lying on the small table exactly the way Kurt had left it before. The neat lettering still said Kurt, Nov. 9th.

He made no movement to pick the envelope up. The only thing he was capable of was peering into the face of the electric clock, and watching the two dots between the two numbers fade and reappear, fade and reappear.

Eleven fifty nine. Fade and reappear. Fade and reappear…

The second all the numbers on the clock turned into zeros, Kurt's hand shot out and grabbed the letter. The envelope creased in his haste, soon to be ripped apart, before it revealed the folded piece of paper.

And something else fell out into Kurt's lap. He picked it up, recognizing something he'd long thought lost for good.

It was a string of photographs taken in a photo booth at a mall back in Lima, on their first anniversary. They were both smiling widely, with their arms around each other or kissing in front of the camera, Kurt still holding the rose Blaine had given him in his hand.

Kurt found himself smiling unconsciously over those silly cheap pictures of a past long since passed. He put the photos down on the nightstand carefully, and unfolded the letter.

Darling, darling Kurt,

I promised to never forget our anniversaries, and I'm going to keep that promise, for as long as I can. I know it's not going to be the same now, when I'm not there, but still…

Happy anniversary, honey! It's been a long time, so long I sometimes have to pinch myself. But on the other hand, I feel like I've known you forever, like there was never a time when I didn't know you existed. It's so hard to believe that I spent 16 years on this planet without ever setting my eyes on you! How did I manage without you?

Which is why I can't even begin to imagine what you have to be feeling now… And I wish I could change something, but there is so little I can do.

So try not to think of me as gone forever. Just forget I'm not there, just for this one day. If you want to think about me, think about the good times we shared, there were so many of them!

And I suppose you already found the photos. I know, we thought they got lost during the move into the house. But I found them! I was looking through some of my old compositions and found them, stuck in between sheet music. I have no idea how they got there.

So, please, this year, spend our anniversary reliving those moments. I can't give you any more like them, so just look at those pictures and remember how happy we were. Then and on the following eleven ninths of November.

I love you,

Blaine.