Letter 3: November 28th

I will wander till the end of time

torn away from you

(Evanescence – My Heart Is Broken)

A chilly wind rustled in the last few brownish leaves remaining attached to the branches of the trees in Central Park. The leaves that littered the pavements here and there, were drenched with last night's rain. Now the scary looking clouds that lingered until morning, were scattering in haste, revealing a low-hanging late November sun.

The park was quite peaceful; some tourists riding in the horse-driven old-style carriages, some people with dogs on their leashes, some couples holding hands.

Among those couples were Kurt and Blaine, their fingers intertwined, their lips curled upwards in identical expressions. They were taking an unusually long lunch break, and decided to take a walk; they both loved Central Park, and it had been months since they had a moment to simply enjoy it.

They passed the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and then the Turtle Pond, hardly speaking at all, only relishing the warmth of the hand they had grasped in their own, and the streaks of sunlight that managed to shine through the dispersing clouds.

Kurt rummaged in his pocket for a moment and produced a paper bag of peanuts, making his husband raise his eyebrows.

'It's for the squirrels,' explained Kurt, as if he was stating something obvious.

'Right.'

Blaine couldn't resist, but smile and bite his lip to hide it.

'Hey! Don't laugh!'

'I'm not laughing,' chuckled Blaine, no longer able to stop himself.

'Ha, ha, that's really funny.'

Trying to keep a straight face, Blaine turned and stepped in Kurt's way, putting his free hand on the small of his husband's back.

'No, actually, it's not funny. It's adorable.'

Kurt looked up, his face lit up, and he stopped pouting.

'Well, someone once told me I was adorable, so…'

'I wonder who that was?,' Blaine said, leaning forward to kiss Kurt's lips.

They each grabbed a handful of peanuts, and whenever a squirrel showed up, they would approach it carefully, and the tiny animal would run to them, slightly wary, but quite fretless, and garb a nut from their open hands.

Once, Kurt extended his hand, reaching to stroke the little head of a beautiful maroon-coloured squirrel, and the creature darted away, leaving him disappointed.

'Honey, squirrels aren't dogs,' said Blaine gently.

'I know. But it was so cute, and fluffy.' He shrugged with a sigh.

Blaine wrapped an arm around Kurt's shoulders, leading him on.

'Come on, we'll find more squirrels to feed.'

***

The day was cold, the sky overcast with grey heavy clouds, threatening to release a flood at any second. Kurt pushed his hands deeper into his coat's pockets.

The chill drove most of the usual visitors away from Central Park; the wind, and the clouds, together with the quickly approaching darkness made the place slightly less inviting then normally. November afternoons weren't always the perfect time for walks.

But Kurt had been there since morning. He had left the house in Upper East Side before nine, and he'd come to Central Park, where he had been wandering ever since. He fed squirrels, recalling how he used to do it with Blaine, and feeling as if his heart was imploding within his chest. What was the use of coming here alone?, he started to wonder. Central Park wastheir place, not his. When Blaine was still there with him, those idle walks around the enormous park were a rare joy, that made his heart flutter. They always made him feel like he was seventeen again, in love for the first time. Really in love. Consumed by the love he felt towards this hazel-eyed stunning boy with a helmet of carefully gelled hair, and those sweet, silly bowties. Even though Blaine had long since stopped using so much gel, and toned down his wardrobe, by dropping some of the most fabulous of his bowties.

Even though Kurt himself hadn't been that seventeen-year-old for a long, long time.

And now the bowties, and the black curls were gone entirely, together with their owner, leaving Kurt alone in Central Park, his hair disheveled by the wind and lack of hairspray, his heart aching with every beat, half of the organ apparently gone. How could it still even function?

Kurt sat on an empty bench, somewhere between the Turtle Pond and the Lake, and slipped his hand to the inside pocket of his coat. The letter was still there, the paper crisp, the handwriting tangible.

He took it out, flattening the piece of paper on his knee.

Darling, darling Kurt,

I could bet you've been cooped up at home lately, am I right? And probably you don't feel like going out much, but do, please, do. I don't want you to isolate yourself.

You love Central Park as much as I do, or maybe even more. You certainly love squirrels more than I ever did.

So go out, take a walk, like we used to. You always loved those walks. The weather's probably awful now, but do it, no matter how cold it is. Bundle up and off you go. And get some nuts for the squirrels, and say hi from me. Maybe they still remember me? They definitely remember you, I don't think there ever was anybody else who gave them so much food!

Have a nice time in the park, and don't forget a scarf! Remember, how you got a cold once a few years ago, when we went out walking, and you didn't have a scarf? This time I wouldn't be able to get you tea to bed, so take that damn scarf!

I love you,

Blaine.

He'd already read the letter five times; the previous two letters he had memorized, each word, each comma, each curve of the handwriting. Now he was doing the same with this one, staring intently at the piece of stiff cream paper.

A soft rustle somewhere to his left distracted Kurt's thoughts. He glanced to the side, and saw a squirrel watching him closely, standing on its rear legs, the front paws lifted from the ground. Kurt reached into his pocket to retrieve the remainder of the nuts he had brought with him; the animal didn't even flinch.

When Kurt's extended hand stopped a few inches from the squirrel, it caught the nuts hastily with its paws, and returned to staring at him. Kurt frowned; they never stayed this long, they always took the food and ran for it. So very slowly, and very hesitantly, he lifted his still reaching hand to touch the top of the squirrel's head.

And instead of instantly flinching away and fleeing, the tiny furry animal squinted a little, like a cat would.

Kurt withdrew his hand, a small, unconscious smile arching his lips.

Now he could go home.