Letter 6: December 31st

Hello I'm still here

All that's left of yesterday

(Evanescence – Hello)

It was Kurt's first ever New Year's Eve Vogue party. When he was an intern, he would only hear of the fancy banquets organized for the amusement of Vogue employees and some of the more sociable of the New York fashion world. And this time, this group included him. At the end of November, Kurt had found a crisp, elegant invitation on his desk, and he had squealed with excitement. That was one of the things he had been looking forward to since he landed that internship. Those classy parties filled with fabulously dressed people, proper champagne, canapés and talk about fashion.

But when they entered the gallery, where those New Year's banquets were annually held, it felt less dreamlike than he'd imagined. People were scattered all over the gigantic space, engaged in quiet conversation, sipping their drinks, their faces pleasantly blank. Kurt squeezed Blaine's hand just a little bit tighter.

The incredibly high white walls that seemed to lack a ceiling altogether – it was many feet above, and made of glass and metal – gave him the feeling that he'd just entered a palace of ice, despite the fact that the temperature in the room was surprisingly high. Black and white photographs of unidentifiable objects were hung randomly, surrounded by great spaces of empty walls.

Everything was as fancy as Kurt had imagined, maybe a little too fancy. There were people all around, people he knew from work, but somehow now they seemed like mannequins; smiling with their lips alone, pretty hangers for those overpriced designer clothes they were all wearing.

'Kurt!,' a high girly voice came from the right. When he looked around, he noticed Holly, who was like him, one of the stylists for the magazine, but had worked there for over a year longer. She was a rather short blonde with huge, astonishingly dark eyes, and had a judgemental personality, never failing to tell precisely what she thought. Now she was dragging behind her an already tipsy man more or less her age.

'Holly!,' Kurt exclaimed, relieved that at least there would be someone to talk to, no matter how mean they usually were. 'You look stunning.' He sent her a smile, trying to mask the tiny white lie he'd just sold her; in truth the tightly fitting dress made Holly look ten pounds fatter, and gave the impression that her ass had been transplanted from .

'Thank you.' She batted her eyelashes. 'You look good, too, even though that tie is last season. But you still kinda work it.'

Kurt clenched his teeth, forcing a smile.

'Who's your date?,' he asked with an additional coat of sugar on his voice.

'Oh, that's Brad. Never mind him.' She glanced at Blaine, who was standing idly by all the while. 'Who's that cutie, though?'

This time Kurt's smile wasn't forced at all.

'This is Blaine, my husband. Holly, Blaine. Blaine, Holly. You know Holly, I've mentioned her to you?'

Blaine nodded shortly, grinning courteously at Holly, who seemed slightly startled.

'Your husband?'

'Yes, Holly. Husband. I'm gay, this is New York, it's legal?'

'Right, sure. But,' she paused for a second, 'aren't you like, nineteen?'

Kurt raised his eyebrows, trying very hard to curb the mixture of amusement and resentment he felt. They had already heard that they were too young to get married, usually spiced with the comment that they didn't have to worry about getting pregnant while there was still time.

'Actually, Holly, I'm twenty-one. And we got married in the summer. Last summer.'

'Okay. Whatever. I'm moving along, if you don't mind. Girl's gotta mingle.'

They sent each other one last overly sweet smiles, and she scurried away, tagging her date along.

'You really like calling me your husband, don't you?,' said Blaine, the corners of his lips twitching up.

'You bet I do.' Kurt grabbed a couple of glasses of wine from a waiter, and passed one to Blaine. 'We're going to need the booze.'

They chuckled and clinked their glasses together.

'Alright, husband, let's go mingle.' And Kurt led Blaine deeper into the white cold room.

Kurt was standing alone by the cold buffet, sipping white wine from his glass, and watching everybody else exchanging more or less honest compliments and newest pieces of gossip. It was torture coming here. It hadn't been much of a pleasure when there was Blaine by his side, and now, without him to keep him company and joke about others in a rushed whisper, it was plain torment.

But he had decided to go, even though it had been four years since he left Vogue, and he hadn't attended the party last year (they stayed home, cherishing what they knew would be their last New Year's Eve together.)

The gallery felt as unfamiliar and cold as ever, or maybe even more so. Kurt wished there was a hand in his palm, or an arm around his waist, and a face next to his own. His thoughts started wandering through all those New Year's Eves they had spent together in those thirteen years they'd known each other. There were better ones and worse ones. Those spent back in Lima with the rest of the Glee club, and those spent in New York, just the two of them, their bodies intertwined, their eyes glued together, and those spent at the damn Vogue parties that they hurried to flee from right after the midnight toasts were drunk, just to spend the rest of the night in the warmth of one another's embrace.

'Kurt, oh my god, long time no see!' The shrill voice pulled him out of his reverie.

Holly – or at least someone who looked like Holly after a bad lipjob – was standing in front of him, with another of the long list of her thoroughly bored dates on her arm.

'Oh, hi, Holly. Nice to see you.' He attempted to smile, but the result was miserable.

'Where's that sexy hubby of yours, huh?' She took a gulp of cocktail from her glass.

Kurt's breath hitched, his lips trembled, so he pursed them, trying to fight back tears. He couldn't have a meltdown in front of all these people. Mustering as much of his strength as he could, he inhaled deeply.

'Blaine's gone.'

'Ugh, I told you you two were too young to get married! But, you know, divorce isn't the end of the world,' Holly kept prattling on, entirely oblivious to the flood of pain raising within Kurt. 'You could lose that ring already.'

Another steadying breath.

'No, Holly,' he said through clenched teeth. 'I mean that Blaine is dead.'

'Oh.'

By now Kurt was seething, rage and grief filling his entire body in equal measure. He left his unfinished wine on the buffet, and stormed out, leaving a speechless Holly in the middle of the room.

He didn't stop until he was a dozen blocks away. His hand instinctively touched the left side of his chest, where in an inside pocket of his jacket, Blaine's letter was hidden, folded neatly.

He'd already memorized its contents, but he pulled it out, just to look at the familiar handwriting for a semblance of Blaine's presence on this lonely, lonely night.

Darling, darling Kurt,

I know this is going to be different, SO different for you. It might sound cruel and unfeeling, but there is a part of me that wants for it to beworse without me. I know, that's terribly selfish. But I like to think that you love me as much as I love you, and I'm certain it would be hell to live without you.

But I don't want you to stop living just because I'm no longer there with you. And don't sit at home all the time. Work! Go out! I bet you got an invitation to that dreary Vogue party. Go, drink that insanely expensive champagne and raise a glass to a better new year. Be around people.

I wish I could go there with you and backbite all those stuck-up people.

Have fun anyway. And don't forget your life isn't over. It's just beginning.

I love you,

Blaine.