Dearest Kurt,

It's hard not being able to say these words to your face. I don't like having to write everything I want to say to you down on a piece of paper; in a way, it makes this hurt more, as it is yet another reminder that we will never be able to see each other again. Writing this makes our separation more real. I have to write this, though, Kurt. I still find myself turning to ask you what you want for dinner or taking out two cups for coffee, and I need a way to continue to share my life with you, to tell you all the stories that have me thinking of you. I need you in my life, Kurt, in any way possible.

I'm still keeping my promise; I still look at the stars every night and think of you. I hope you do, too. Mostly, I remember all the days we spent together: The lazy mornings, the carefree afternoons, the tender nights. There weren't enough days - I don't feel like there could ever be enough days; I would always be wanting just one more day with you.

I think about that a lot, one more day. I wonder if it would hurt more - hurt too much - if I could have one more day with you, or whether spending another twenty-four hours with you would be worth the extra pain. I think I would take the extra day; I'd do anything for more time with you. I would trade anything for the opportunity to spend another day with you. Even if we said nothing and spent that day sat on the couch, it would be worth it. Just to see you again would be worth it. I'd trade anything.

Speaking of trading, I'm hoping you have the pocket watch I left for you. I have your bowtie; I keep it sitting on my nightstand where I can see it before I fall asleep and when I wake up in the morning. It still smells like home, a little. I'm hoping that by leaving it on my nightstand and trying not to handle it the scent will stay longer. I know it can't stay forever, and it's already beginning to fade, but I want to prolong the inevitable. It seems we were united in our thoughts when we traded the bowtie and the watch: we both wanted to give the other a physical, solid reminder of ourselves. It seems a little silly, as, really, what is a more potent and tangible reminder than our memories? But it is nice to have something corporeal to hold onto when it all seems like a vivid dream.

I'm not all tears and wishful thinking, Kurt; there is some happiness in my life. It is wonderful being back with Wes - I missed him so. He has noticed how upset I've been - I had forgotten how much a caring worrywart he is - but I've gotten better at hiding the loss I feel for you and spending time with Wes is like it always used to be. In that aspect, it's like I never left.

But as lovely as it is being back with Wes again, he's not quite filling the gap in my life that, for a while, was filled with one Miss Rachel Berry. Yes, even though we didn't spend all that much time together and she threatened me once, I miss her. I had only just begun getting used to her ways and calling her a friend. She was torn from my life far too soon.

As for being back with my parents again, well, my feelings on this aren't so easy to put on paper. I was happy to see them again and it is most definitely comforting being back in my house and having dinner with my parents, but they somehow seem colder. It's as though the time I've spent in the future has opened my eyes up to how they really are. They seem far more dismissive and uncaring than they used to be. Things I used to think nothing of before are now bothering me. I'm noticing how I seem to be an afterthought in their lives and it hurts. I just need to get used to the way they are again, I suppose.

I could write on and on telling you how much I miss you and saying everything I've wanted to say to you since I left, but then this letter would never end. I will write to you more, though, at least once a week.

I hope you and Rachel are both well and that you managed to finish that jacket you were working so hard on.

All my love, always,

Blaine.

Lifting his pen from the paper, Blaine stared down at the letter he'd just written. It had been somewhat therapeutic to write, temporarily drawing his mind away from missing Kurt and focusing instead on communicating with him. It had been a short while of relief, and he was hoping writing these letters would be enough to keep him sane.

He scanned the letter quickly, checking for any obvious errors or anything he'd missed. Nodding his satisfaction, he set his pen aside and, after checking to make sure the ink had dried, folded up the letter. He took his time folding it up, wanting the edges to be straight and neat and for the ink not to smudge or the paper to crinkle. He'd used his finest writing paper for the letter, paper which came as part of a writing set he'd received as a gift from an aunt years ago. He was pleased to have found a use for it, even if he'd rather not need to write these letters.

With the letter now neatly folded, Blaine looked around his room, searching for a good hiding place for it. His father hadn't come into his room in years and his mother rarely did, so there was a good chance they would never find the letter no matter where he kept it, but he didn't want to take the risk, not with something like this.

His eyes landed on his collection of records where they were displayed on the lowest shelf of his bookcase. Without really thinking about what he was doing, he stood up and walked over to the bookcase, carrying Kurt's letter with him. He bent down and pulled out his copy of 'Three O'clock in the Morning', gazed down at the cover for a moment, and then slipped the letter carefully inside the sleeve.

The record was the song he and Kurt had danced to the night of their rooftop dinner date. It was maybe more pain-inducing to hide the letter inside the sleeve of this particular record, but it seemed the perfect place to keep it - another link to Kurt. It was also an ideal hiding place in the practical sense as well: his parents would never look inside this record sleeve. They weren't music fans.

After smoothing his hand over the cover of the record he placed it back on its spot on the shelf. He rocked back on his heels and gazed at it for a moment, looking at where it sat innocently towards the middle of a row of dozens of other records, before straightening up and turning away from it.

He abruptly felt lost. He had no idea what to do for the rest of the day. Wes was at work, his friends on the polo team were all getting together later, but one of them had recently got engaged and he didn't feel like listening to him gush about his fiancée and how excited he was to get married; he was too heartbroken for that.

With a sigh, Blaine wandered over to his bed and sank down on it, staring blankly at the wall ahead of him. In 2014 he had wished for more hours in the day, but here he was wishing the time away, willing hours to pass until it was time for him to go look at the stars or go to bed. He felt a kind of relief when another day ended - he'd made it through another one. He thought about returning to work, but he didn't think he could stand being back in the office. He didn't think he had the focus or energy for work. He had tried to play the piano a couple of times, but even simply sitting on the stool was enough to make tears well up in his eyes as he remembered an enthusiastic young girl who always wanted to play duets with him and a serious teenager who practiced his scales relentlessly until they were perfect. The one time he had managed to actually play he'd only made it through a few bars of the song before he broke down crying and had to stop. He'd had a job in music and he'd walked away from it. He'd turned his back on his dream. While it hadn't been his dream to be a music teacher, stuck as he was now with a career in law, he didn't care about that. As long as it involved music he would be happy.

He wasn't living anymore. He didn't know why he'd thought returning here would be for the best. He was sacrificing living his dreams and love for one close friend, an unsupportive family he didn't have much of a relationship with, and his own guilt at abandoning them and the time he belonged in. He wished he wasn't so adamant about doing things in what was considered the right way and was more willing to take a risk and follow his heart.

He broke out of his miserable thoughts when he heard his mother calling him from downstairs. On a reflex reaction, he reached into his pocket for his watch to check the time. He didn't remember where it was until his fingers encountered nothing. A dull throb of pain pulsed in his chest and he glanced over at the bowtie sitting on his nightstand. He knew it was a bit risky leaving it out on display where anyone could see it, but he didn't care; he needed to be able to see it.

"Kurt..." he whispered.

He wondered how Kurt was coping (would cope) after he left. He hoped Rachel would take care of him. He hoped she didn't hate him, convinced she had been right when she'd thought he was messing Kurt around and would leave him like Liam had done...

Swallowing thickly, Blaine tore his burning eyes away from the bowtie. He wasn't like Liam; he hadn't wanted to leave Kurt. Surely Rachel would know that?

His mother shouted on him again.

"I'll be down in a minute, mother!" he called back.

Getting to his feet he hurried through to the bathroom to wash his face, doing his best to rinse away all of his emotions. Once he was satisfied he looked like his normal self, he headed downstairs.

He found his mother artfully arranging a floral centrepiece, tweaking the positions of various blossoms and leaves.

"What do you think, dear?" she said, glancing up fleetingly from her work when Blaine approached her. "It's for the ball Mrs Sullivan is hosting next month. She's asked me to help with the decorations."

Blaine eyed it briefly. "It looks lovely, mother." He hesitated by the kitchen counter where she was working. Her supposed distractedness and small talk about the flowers meant only one thing: whatever she had called on him for was something important, and based on past experience, was most likely something he wouldn't like. He wished she would skip the chit-chat and just tell him. He wasn't in the mood for this.

His mother held two ribbon choices up next to each other and frowned at them critically. "I really need a worktable for me to do this sort of thing on. I shall have to tell your father to purchase one. It's ridiculous that I have to do my flower arranging in the kitchen!"

Blaine hummed noncommittally. His mind was circling through various possibilities of what his mother wanted to say to him, each worse than the last. He began to feel slightly nervous.

"You should go to this ball," she said, her brown eyes lifting to meet Blaine's. Blaine knew what that look meant; he had no choice but to attend this ball. He held in a disgruntled sigh. He knew what was coming next.

"You should take Anna with you," his mother continued, her gaze still holding Blaine's. "I know she'd love to go with you."

Blaine forced a smile. "Of course I will." He was already wondering if he could fake illness to get out of attending. He'd been to enough of these wretched balls in the past. He hated them. All his mother's friends commenting on how all the young ladies were desperate to dance with him and the girls themselves dropping heavy hints that he should take them out to lunch. All the while his father watched from across the room. He didn't know if he could suffer through another one, not know that he had Kurt and had gotten a taste of a different life.

His mother nodded approvingly. "Take her out for lunch tomorrow and invite her."

On the surface her voice was light and encouraging, but Blaine could hear the undertones stating that if he didn't do as she said he would have a lot to answer for. He fought with the urge to scream in frustration at both himself and this world he was living in.

"I'll go call her now," he said, only just managing to keep a glum unenthusiastic tone out of his voice.

"Make sure you take her somewhere nice, dear," his mother added, her attention refocused on her flowers now she was convinced her son was following her wishes, as he always did.

"I will."

It was with a heavy sense of forbidding that Blaine called Anna and invited her out to lunch the next day. It wasn't that he didn't like her - she was a perfectly nice girl, if a little too easily appeased by her parents - he just wasn't interested in her the way everyone wanted him to be. His and Anna's parents expected him to be interested, as well, for Anna was a beautiful young woman from a well-known family; the sort of family who regularly hosted balls and parties and whose name was spoken of with high esteem. She was beautiful and came from a wealthy, respected family; he was considered to be handsome, charming, and also from a wealthy, reputable family. Everyone seemed to think they were perfect for each other. Everyone but Blaine.

He'd spent a fair amount of time with Anna over the last four years - their parents persistently encouraged them to attend parties together or go out for lunch. He'd hoped that they would become discouraged when he never showed all that much interest in her and never spent time with her without someone telling him he should, but they only became more determined. Before, whenever he hadn't been in the mood, he'd been able to say no when his parents suggested he go out with her - they accepted his claims that he had something planned with Wes or one of his other friends. Nowadays his parents always had that almost threatening undercurrent to their voices when they tried to prod him into seeing Anna, like if he refused they would frogmarch him to her door themselves and supervise their time together to make sure he stayed and did what was expected of him. Even if he was heterosexual he wouldn't want to propose to someone he was being forced to spend time with.

Because marriage was what his and Anna's parents were wanting out of this.

It took a great deal of effort for him to get out of bed the next morning. He couldn't have expressed in words how much he did not want to go on this lunch date. If there was one person he hadn't missed in the slightest while he had been in the future, it was Anna, and everything she stood for.

He practiced his warm, charming smile as he walked down the street to the restaurant where he'd agreed to meet her. He fixed it on his face and did his best to make it look natural. It took a lot of effort. When he entered the small, trendy restaurant and saw Anna sitting primly at a table near the window, his mood plummeted further still, but his smile didn't. He was pleased about that.

"Good afternoon, Anna," he greeted politely when he reached the table where she sat.

Anna spun in her chair and beamed up at him, her brown eyes lighting up. "Blaine! Hi! It's been too long since I've seen you."

She stood up to press a kiss to his cheek which he accepted with a tightened jaw. He'd been able to bear this before - the kisses to the cheek, a hand placed on his own - but now it was so much harder. Kurt had been on his mind all morning and he knew it would only get worse the longer he spent with Anna.

Kurt.

He couldn't help but remember all the dates they'd been on together and all the meals they'd shared. Sitting down to lunch with Anna was a horrible replacement for those times.

He managed to make small talk with her as they ordered their food and waited for it to arrive. She did most of the talking, telling him about her friends and the ball she'd been helping to plan. He was able to sit and nod along to what she was saying, barely paying attention, but able to pass as interested with his neutral expression and well-timed smiles.

It was harder when they started eating. Blaine had expected it to be easier, since food distracted them from talking too much, but Anna kept hinting he should take her to the ball, making him want to ask her less. She also kept implying they had some sort of future together as more than friends.

He tried to keep smiling and acting normal, but it was becoming harder and harder. He wished more than anything he could tell her he wasn't interested and that he had a boyfriend, but he couldn't. Anna would be upset and probably repulsed if she learned he was in love with another man, and she would most definitely spread the news around as far and wide as she could. He could never trust her with any kind of secret; she was a terrible gossip.

When their plates were almost empty, Blaine realised he would have to invite her to this ball before their meal ended. Holding back a heavy sigh, he looked across the table at her.

"Anna, would you do the honour of accompanying me to Mrs Sullivan's ball?"

"I would love to!" Anna beamed. She looked so excited, Blaine felt a little guilty for how much he was dreading the occasion. "Oh, Blaine, I can't wait until you see my new dress!"

Blaine forced a smile and chewed his last bite of food, feeling sick. He thought of how he would have to dance with Anna at this ball, move around the floor with her in the way he'd done with Kurt in his apartment. He clutched at his stomach as a wave of nausea rolled through it.

Anna frowned. "Are you ok?"

Seeing an easy way out, Blaine shook his head. "Stomach ache. I think I'd better go home." He got to his feet. "I'm sorry." He tossed some money on the table and darted out of the restaurant, leaving a stunned Anna behind.

Rachel was determined. Adamant that Kurt shouldn't slip back into behaviour similar to how he'd been after Liam had left, she insisted he continue to go out with her and her friends. She kept forcing him to meet her for drinks after work and actively engaged him in the conversation while he was there, not allowing him to sit quietly and mourn. On weekends she suggested they go out for lunch or made excuses to go shopping and took Kurt with her for his opinion. Kurt was grateful that she was doing all of this; that she was trying to distract him and preventing him from becoming a depressed recluse. He didn't want to go back to only leaving his apartment for work.

The problem with this was that he wasn't getting the chance to properly recover from Blaine's departure. He was kept constantly busy and was exhausted into sleep when he returned home, so he wasn't able to sort it all out in his head or begin to move on. He was trapped in this permanent tired, obsessively busy, miserable state. He didn't think this was any healthier than shutting himself in his room.

As he was keeping it all pent up inside him, he would regularly feel overwhelmed. This usually happened at night when his defences were lowered and his mind wasn't occupied with anything else. Most nights he cried himself to sleep and he woke up every morning with his hand outstretched, reaching for Blaine. It was horrible, and in spite of everything Rachel was doing to help, he wasn't coping at all.

Whenever Rachel wasn't keeping him distracted he was pushing himself at work, never letting himself have a free moment to let his mind relax and fill with anything but his designs. When Rachel was at work in the evenings or on weekends and he found himself home alone, he worked from home, sketching out new designs, doing research or final alterations on his laptop. It wasn't healthy, but he had no choice if he wanted to avoid being curled up in a ball crying for weeks on end.

The only time he allowed himself to stop frantically keeping himself busy was at around 8pm every night. This was when, in keeping with his promise to Blaine, he sat by the window and looked up at the faintly glowing small number of stars he could see. He wished the stars were clearer and that there were more of them to see - he envied the sky Blaine would gaze at - but it was better than nothing.

He thought about Blaine as he looked up at the sky - but not about him leaving. He remembered their first meeting, how wide-eyed Blaine had been in his confusion, how dapper he'd been in his neat bowtie and fedora - and beautiful; he'd always been beautiful. He remembered picnic lunches in the park, the wonder in Blaine's eyes whenever Kurt showed him something new from the modern world, waking up to ruffled curls and sleepy eyes, and delicate tunes flowing from the piano as he finished up some sketches. He only thought about the happy memories and not Blaine's departure or anything that could have been if he had stayed. Regardless, he still found tears on his cheeks when he finally tore his gaze away from the sky and moved from the window.

Rachel had noticed he was going too far the other way. Every time when she was about to leave for the theatre she'd tell him to relax, watch a movie or some mindless reality TV, but he couldn't. Every movie had romantic scenes that reminded him of Blaine and reality TV just couldn't hold his attention these days.

So he worked. And when his eyes stung, his hands ached, and tiredness settled in, he worked some more. He worked until he was weighed down with exhaustion and he could barely keep his eyes open, then he would stagger through to his room and collapse onto his bed. If he was lucky, he fell asleep immediately, but most of the time his mind kept him awake long enough to torture him about Blaine. Crying eventually tired him out enough to fall asleep.

One such Saturday afternoon when Rachel was at work, Kurt was on his laptop working. He had done his best to pretend he was going to read some magazines and tidy his closet while she was gone, but he could tell she wasn't being fooled. She'd given him a sad, resigned look before leaving the apartment and on top of everything else Kurt now felt guilty. He was making Rachel worry again and he knew she was turning down offers to go out with friends or on dates with Finn so she could spend time with him. And he wasn't even recovering any, or allowing himself to. He was a terrible person.

Clicking off the file of design photos he'd been looking through, he opened up his email. What he liked about his email was that his inbox was constantly filling up with new messages, so he always had something to read and distract himself with. Right now he had a new message from a fellow designer, one from a company he ordered fabric from, and another from Rachel.

Surprised, he opened up the one from Rachel first. He didn't understand why she would be sending him an email considering she was at work and had only left home about an hour ago. His breath left him in a small huff when he read her message.

Kurt,

If you're reading this email tonight I want you to get off your computer (or phone) and stop checking your emails! You better not be working just now, but if you are, stop! Stop working and go watch some TV or go to bed; you've been looking tired lately.

Please go relax.

Love you,

Rachel

X

Guilt flickered inside Kurt again, squirming uncomfortably in his stomach as he clicked out of Rachel's email and opened the one from the fabric supplier. What Rachel was saying was all fair enough, and if over-working was his only issue then he would be much more willing to follow her advice, but if he went and tried to relax he would start thinking about Blaine and thinking about him was dangerous. If he thought about Blaine he would cry and question his eligibility for happiness. If his thoughts stayed in this state for too long he'd start thinking about what had happened to Blaine when he had returned to his own time and what his life was like in the years following. This wasn't a good train of thought to follow; it was something he wanted to avoid thinking about.

His eyes watered and stung as he squinted at the little photos of fabric designs attached to the email. He'd been staring at either a sketchpad or bright computer screen all day; he wouldn't be surprised if he needed glasses soon, the strain he was putting his eyes through couldn't be healthy.

He rubbed at his right eye and slid his laptop a little closer to his body. One of the patterned fabrics would look good as a skirt.

Eyes still on the photo of the fabric and with a design taking shape behind his eyelids, he reached for a pencil, scrabbling around on the coffee table until he found one. He grabbed his sketchpad and balanced it on the keyboard of his laptop, before blindly sketching out the image he was holding in his head. He only looked down when he was finished. After examining the roughly drawn skirt for a moment, he nodded appreciatively and then noted down the name and ID number of the fabric next to it. It had been a while since a fabric had given him some inspiration; he was already pleased with his evening's work and it wasn't even 8pm yet.

Feeling satisfied, he went back into his inbox, intending to read the email from his colleague. His eyes landed on Rachel's email again.

An idea began to form in his mind and this time it wasn't a design for work, but something much different. He didn't know how his mind had jumped to this from seeing Rachel's email - he put it down to tiredness and how much he missed Blaine - but it was one of the best ideas he'd had in weeks.

Sitting up straighter, he clicked on the button to compose a new email. He was going to write emails to Blaine as if he was going to send them to him. Since he couldn't actually send them, he would save them on his laptop. It was maybe a little crazy to do it, to write emails he'd never send to a man he'd never see again, but to his tired brain it seemed like a really good way to deal with his pain and let out the feelings he'd been repressing since Blaine had left.

Setting his sketchpad aside, he stretched his hands out over the keyboard and began to type.

Dear Blaine,

Some people would say this was unhealthy: writing messages to the person you deeply miss but whom you'll never see again. As you know, I don't care what people think, and as I don't plan on telling anyone about these emails it doesn't matter that I'm writing them. This is my own private way of coping with missing you and if it helps me in any way then nobody should care that I'm doing this.

Though I wouldn't want to cause you any extra pain, I can't lie and say I'm coping with you being gone. Every day is hard. Every day is a struggle. I'm staying busy with work and letting Rachel take me out with her and her friends, but it's not enough to mask the pain. No longer being able to see you every day hurts and knowing that I'll never be able to see you ever again makes it so much more painful.

Rachel is worrying about me - a lot. She's doing everything she can to help, but it's not doing much. It's a distraction, that's all. I appreciate what she's doing and I hate that she's being affected by this as well, but there's nothing she can do to get me through this. I've got to get through this by myself. Even though right now it doesn't look like there's a recovery from this, there has to be at some point; though the thought of moving on from you hurts more than the thought of never seeing you again. I want you in my heart forever, even if it is as a painful crack.

I really hope you made it back safely to your own time. I trust Kayleigh, I do, but I can't help but worry something went wrong and you got hurt or ended up in the wrong year. I know there probably is a way for me to check, but I can't look into your life. I said to myself months ago that I'd rather not know what happens in the rest of your life and my stance on that hasn't changed. It may be selfish of me in a way, but I couldn't bare it if your life wasn't a happy one. It would haunt me forever.

It must be great seeing your friends and family after being apart from them for so long. I know you had your difficulties with your parents, but I'm hoping now that you know what it's like to miss them, you are seeing them in a whole new light. You won't get the acceptance of who you are in your time like you had here, but I hope that one day you find the right time to come out to your parents and they accept and love you for who you are.

I'd better end this here. It's almost 8pm and time to go look at the stars like we promised. I have done every night since you left. You were right; it does help me feel connected to you. It's also peaceful and almost meditative. I look forward to this time every night.

I'll write again soon. I've decided to keep this up as another way to stay connected to you. Hopefully next time I'll have something more interesting to tell you than how much I miss you. Though I miss you a lot, Blaine; so much more than I thought I could miss a person.

Love,

Kurt

Xxx

Finished, Kurt saved the email to his drafts folder, and then shut down his laptop. He felt a little lighter, in slightly better spirits. People may think he was crazy, but writing that email had helped; he didn't really know how, but it had.

He stood up and stretched, his joints popping faintly. After a quick glance at the clock revealed it was just going on 8 o'clock, he headed over to the window and sat down beside it, fixing his gaze upon the night's sky and allowing his thoughts to shift to Blaine once again.

He was still sitting at the window when his phone rang some time later. He got to his feet stiffly, feeling a little annoyed at the interruption, like he'd just been woken from a good dream - which, he supposed he had, in a way. With the muscles in one of his legs cramping, he hobbled over to the coffee table where he'd left his phone. He scooped it up and peered down at the screen. Surprise jolted through him at the name displayed there: Kayleigh. The only reason he could think of why she'd be calling him was Blaine. The only thing keeping him calm was the knowledge that if something had gone wrong with Blaine's travel back home, she would have told him as soon as it had happened. But maybe she'd noticed some unusual, recent sign that showed not all had gone right when Blaine had travelled. Or maybe she just wanted to chat. Kurt hoped it wasn't the former.

"Hello?" he answered hesitantly.

"Hi, Kurt," Kayleigh replied, sounding as nervous as he did. There was a pause. "How- How are you?"

For a moment Kurt debated about lying; just saying that he was fine so he didn't have to discuss how he felt and how he wasn't coping with Blaine being gone. He was reluctant to admit the truth; he hadn't told anyone how he was really feeling since Blaine had left and Kayleigh wasn't exactly a close friend or anything. But maybe that was a good reason why he should tell the truth. It might relieve him of some of the burden.

"I'm not great," he said quietly. "It's been hard since Blaine left and I haven't been coping all that well." He gripped his phone tighter in his slightly trembling hand. "I would do anything to trade this for a normal break-up where we could still run into each other at coffee shops. I would take that awkwardness gladly. Just being able to see him again and knowing I could talk to him again if I wanted to would make me so much happier."

There was another pause.

"I'm really sorry it didn't work out - Blaine staying here." She spoke slowly, as if she were choosing her words carefully. "If it's any consolation, sending him back home went smoothly. I can't see how he wouldn't have gotten back to his own time safely."

Kurt felt no relief at this. He didn't know if that was because he'd already known it had gone well from Kayleigh's lack of contact, or if he was just simply too miserable to feel any positive emotion like relief.

"Thank you for helping him go home," he said. He shifted his weight to his other foot, wishing he could end the conversation, but not wanting to be rude by doing so.

"I- I just wanted to check-in on how you were doing," Kayleigh said apologetically. "I thought it might help if you knew it all went to plan."

"It did help," Kurt lied. "Thank you for letting me know."

Another pause.

"I'll let you go, then. Take care, Kurt."

Kurt said goodbye and hung up. He stared at his phone for a moment, before tossing it down on the couch and then collapsing next to it.

He'd been in a better mood for a while after writing the email and doing his nightly star gaze, but that phone call had made his mood plummet again, leaving him miserable and heavy-hearted once again. It wasn't Kayleigh's fault - he would never blame her for the loss of his recovered enthusiasm - it was the memories her voice brought back: the call he made to her after Blaine had told him he wanted to leave, Blaine's face as he'd walked out the apartment for the last time. It hurt.

Drawing his knees up close to his chest, he curled in on himself and stared glumly at the wall opposite him, his thumb absently smoothing over the cover of Blaine's pocket watch inside his pocket. He didn't notice the time passing and it seemed like only minutes later that Rachel was letting herself into the apartment, home from the theatre. She took one look at Kurt and shook her head.

"Ok, that's it, Kurt. I'm sorry, but I can't sit back and watch this anymore."

Lifting his head up off his knees, Kurt frowned at her. "What?"

"This isn't healthy, Kurt," she continued, crossing the room to stand in front of him. "I can't let you go on behaving like this."

Catching on to what Rachel was meaning, Kurt's frown smoothed out. He couldn't see how there was anything she could do to help.

Letting out a small huff of unhappiness, Rachel sat down next to him, her face creased with concern. "I know you were extremely close to him and I know you miss him a lot, but you can't be miserable forever," she said gently. "I know this must be hard, but it's been a few weeks now and you're not getting over him any. You can't go on like this."

Kurt breathed out shakily. "Rachel, I can't- I can't just hurry this along. I can't suddenly get over him and be all hunky-dory again. I can't just stop missing him and loving him."

Rachel froze. "You love him," she whispered.

Kurt rubbed at his forehead, a small bite of frustration snapping inside him. "Was it not obvious?"

She nodded sadly. "It was, but I've never heard you actually say it before."

"I never told Blaine either." Kurt bit down hard on his quivering lip as tears started to pool in his eyes.

Rachel lifted a hand and let it hover in mid-air for a moment before dropping it. Kurt was relieved she didn't touch him; a simple comforting hand on the shoulder would be enough to make him break down.

"I- I called your dad," Rachel said.

Kurt looked at her, not knowing how he felt about this news.

Rachel shifted nervously on the couch. "He's really worried. He booked a flight out straight away. He'll be here tomorrow."

Kurt closed his eyes. "Rachel..."

"You need him, Kurt," she said firmly. "I know you don't like to make him worry, but you need your dad right now, you know you do."

He heard her get up and move in the direction of the kitchen, her heels making a clacking sound against the floorboards.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

The sound of her footsteps stopped. "Anytime, Kurt."