No... no, you can't... please... I love you... Carsey... please... CARSON!

"PLEASE!" Kurt screamed as he jolted awake, his eyes shooting open and his skin breaking out into a cold, clammy sweat. He hugged his knees to his chest, trying to catch his breath, and it took him a few seconds to take in the fact that he wasn't in his own bedroom. He was on the cold concrete floor of the kitchen, slumped against one of the legs of the table and shivering because he didn't have the benefit of his electric blanket around him at the moment.

"Kurt?" he heard Rachel calling out, her footsteps sounding from her bedroom across the apartment. "Kurt, are you ok?"

Kurt hugged his knees tighter and buried his face in them, trying to calm down even as he sobbed quietly. No, he wasn't ok. He hadn't been ok since the night Carson had effectively ripped his heart out over the phone by breaking up with him with little to no satisfactory explanation.

He had been so sure that his twin was joking when he said that he was breaking up with him, but apparently Carson had not been joking. He hadn't been joking at all. He just didn't want to be Kurt's boyfriend anymore, and Kurt couldn't even begin to describe how much that hurt. He had stayed up all night that night, his laptop open on his lap and already signed into Skype. He had stared at the screen for hour after hour, just waiting for Carson to sign on and look at him and tell him that everything was ok, that he hadn't meant it, that of course he still loved Kurt and he was going to come to New York, or he could stay in Chicago if he wanted. Kurt wouldn't care, just so long as their hearts still belonged to one another.

But Carson had never signed on that night. Or the next morning. Or the following evening. Or at all for the past couple of weeks. He didn't call. He didn't reply when Kurt couldn't resist sending him a text every morning and every evening as though nothing was wrong.

Good morning, Carsey. I love you. -K

Good night, Carsey. Sweet dreams, sweetheart. -K

Good morning, honey. Please don't forget to take your pills. -K

Sleep tight, Carsey. I love you. -K

No replies, ever, even though Kurt knew the messages were read. Carson was ignoring him, and it felt like a sharp stab in Kurt's heart every time. He couldn't figure out what he had done or said to make Carson treat him this way, but he wanted so badly to know so that he could apologize or take it back, or hug Carson tight and promise that he would never do it again, whatever it was. It consumed him, so much so that he could barely concentrate on anything else. Carson was all he thought about while assisting Isabelle at Vogue, and he was the reason why Kurt just floated through his classes at NYADA like a barely functioning zombie. He had waited so very long to get into that school, and now that he was finally there thanks to his performance of "Being Alive" at the school's Winter Showcase, he may as well not have been. Because it was as if he had a blinking, neon sign planted firmly in his brain that said "He never answered me when I asked if he loved me."

"Maybe he doesn't."

"Maybe he doesn't love me anymore."

"Maybe I'm just not a lovable person for very long in a relationship."

"Maybe I'm the problem."

"Maybe he finally remembered Blaine kissing me the night of the accident and... but he would have told me, right?"

"Maybe I'm just not the boyfriend he thought I would be."

It was these thoughts that caused him to barely pay any attention in his classes, or at work, and it was these thoughts that kept him awake for hours every night as he lay miserably in bed, holding Carsey Teddy and staring out the window of his bedroom. He felt so alone, and he had nobody to talk to about it. Nobody who would understand. He had taken to popping a sleeping pill before bed just to make it through the night without sobbing himself into a puddle.

Not that it always worked, he noted as he lifted his face from his knees and looked up at Rachel with wet eyes. She was looking down at him, dressed in her bath robe with her arms crossed over her chest, looking slightly irritated but mostly curious, and a little concerned.

"Are you ok?" she asked again, frowning.

Kurt sniffed and nodded, trying to make his voice sound bright and unconcerned. "Yeah, I just... I just had a night terror and started sleepwalking. I'm sorry I woke you."

Rachel pursed her lips. "You should really think about seeing a doctor for those, you know. I thought someone had broken in and was murdering you. And not to sound like a bad friend, but... you're starting to get bags under your eyes. I mean, I didn't want to say anything before, but..." She trailed off and shrugged. "I mean, just a suggestion."

Kurt nodded, biting back the urge to tell her to fuck herself because she had no idea what he was going through and would never understand. "Yeah, I should look into that," he replied, pulling himself up off the kitchen floor and shoving his hands into the pockets of the yoga pants he had fallen asleep in. "I... I'm sorry. Let's just both get back to bed, we have classes in the morning."

Rachel nodded. "Good night," she said, marching back to her room and pulling her privacy curtain closed. Kurt sighed and shuffled back to his own room, pulling his curtain closed and flopping down on his bed, He grabbed Carsey Teddy and slithered underneath the covers, curling himself up into a ball and holding the bear close to his chest, right against his slowing heartbeat. He closed his eyes and tried to telepathically send love out from his body and into the teddy bear, hoping that maybe Carson would feel it, wherever he was. That he could feel how much Kurt still loved him and just wanted to talk to him. Even if Carson didn't want to date him anymore, he still missed his big brother. He wondered for the millionth time why he didn't just go to Chicago and confront Carson, and then sighed as he remembered. He didn't want to do that because he didn't think he could handle the possibility of being told to his face that Carson didn't love him anymore.

"I'm sorry, Carsey," he whispered into the teddy bear's ear, hugging it tighter. "I'm sorry that I wasn't what you wanted."

Carson sat bolt upright in bed, his heart racing and his chest heaving as he struggled to breathe. He grabbed the nearest pillow and hugged it, burying his face into the fabric, where he could still smell the remnants of Kurt's cologne from the last time he'd had a scarf draped over it.

No more... not again, please... he thought miserably as he registered the sound of rain tapping at his window and realized that this was why he had woken up so violently. It was becoming a more and more frequent occurrence as his panic attacks got progressively worse, so waking up in the middle of one wasn't at all surprising. It was, however, still extremely distressing, especially because he was barely able to sleep in the first place. Ever since he had broken up with Kurt, his ability to sleep and stay asleep had dramatically decreased, so that he was more often than not just barely making it through his day of classes before trudging back home to lay curled up in bed until the next time he had to go out. He barely even ate anymore. Sometimes he just wished that he could die and get it over with.

That was, until he inevitably would hear the text ringtone on his phone go off and pick it up to see that his twin had not forgotten to send his daily and nightly "I love you" message. They were like a fresh wound on his soul every time, because Carson knew he couldn't answer them if he really wanted Kurt to get over him, and yet... they were comforting. They meant that Kurt still cared, even if Carson knew that he didn't really want to be boyfriends anymore. They meant that Kurt was still his worried baby brother, and it hurt Carson to have to ignore him and not at least let him know that he was ok. But you can't do that, Carson reminded himself daily. You can't talk to him. Not yet. Not until he's had time to accept the breakup and move on. That's what you want, right? That's the whole point of all of this. To make sure Kurt gets his freedom from you and your stupid problems. That won't happen if you talk to him now. You have to wait. Just wait, and then you can be brothers again and... and everything will be fine.

For how long he would have to wait and endure the painful torture of an anxious, Kurt-free existence, he had no idea.

He hugged his pillow tighter and rocked himself as he started crying, feeling his chest tighten more and more with every passing moment as the rain continued to beat down outside. He fucking hated rain. Every time he thought it wasn't possible for his panic attacks to get any worse, they seemed determined to prove him wrong. Surprise, fucker! they seemed to be saying every time. You can never be rid of us, and guess what? We're going to turn your suffering all the way up to eleven, because fuck you!

He lay there for what seemed like hours, wheezing and sobbing and listening to the rain as it pounded down relentlessly, wanting so badly to feel Kurt's comforting arms around him. To hear Kurt singing and whispering softly into his ear as he stroked his hair and held him close. To feel like he wasn't completely alone in this unfair fucking world full of rain and gloom. He wondered why the fuck he'd had the misfortune to be born under such an unlucky star. Why everything that could have gone wrong in his life apparently had. What had he done in a previous life to deserve this torture now?

I must have been a horrible, terrible person, he thought as he cried into his pillow. I must really deserve this, but fuck, it hurts. He wondered what his mother would say if she was able to see him now. She'd probably be disappointed that he'd turned out this way, he figured, but then, he'd always thought that he'd probably turn out to be the disappointment in the family. It was inevitable, really, because Kurt had obviously been blessed with all the talent and beauty and lovability. Carson was just kind of along for the ride. He should never have deluded himself into thinking that he could make anyone proud. Especially not Kurt. What had he been thinking, letting Kurt kiss him that night in New York? He should have gently told Kurt no. He shouldn't have taken advantage of Kurt in a weakened state. He never should have allowed their relationship to go so far, and maybe this wouldn't hurt so much now.

Hell, the lightning strike never would have happened. There was that.

He sighed and took a deep breath as the rain finally began to let up, inhaling Kurt's scent and letting out the breath slowly and shakily. This had been a particularly bad attack, and he was utterly exhausted. He turned over on his other side and curled up in a ball with his pillow, pretending it was Kurt and trying to fall back asleep, as hopeless as that was. He swore that he could feel Kurt hugging him, even though he knew it was only his overactive imagination.

Maybe I really SHOULD see a therapist, he thought with a tired sigh as he buried his nose in the pillow. I just know that I can't go on like this.

He heard a vibration coming from his nightstand, and he removed his face from the pillow, glancing over at his phone, which was lighting up with a text message. He didn't have to pick it up to know who it was from. He could see it from where he was laying, plain as day.

I know you're sleeping, Carsey, but I just wanted to say that I love you. -Kurtsie

I love you too, baby, Carson thought sadly, closing his eyes and willing himself to fall asleep. I love you, and I'm sorry. But it's for the best.

For the best, he reminded himself as he drifted off to sleep from debilitating exhaustion. For the best.

Swallowing his pride and asking his physical therapist for a referral to a psychiatrist was one of the more embarrassing things Carson had ever had to do, unless he counted needing Kurt to help him take a piss when he was in the hospital. This was a different kind of embarrassing, though. Carson had never been the kind of person who asked for help. He took at least a small amount of pride in being entirely self-sufficient, and usually the very thought of having to admit that he needed help of any kind would have bothered the fuck out of him, because to him it meant that he was showing weakness. And showing weakness was definitely not a part of his personal philosophy. Especially not around Kurt.

But the fucking lightning had happened to him. And Kurt wasn't around. Nobody in Chicago knew Carson as the strong, independent guy who could take care of himself. He might as well not bother with the charade anymore. Because he really did need help. He couldn't deny that fact any longer. It was either seek help or let his panic attacks kill him.

Which was how he found himself a week later sitting in the very neat, very bright office of Dr. Nicole McNeil, taking evaluation test after evaluation test and growing more and more unsure that he should ever have agreed to do this. He'd been so sure that all he would have to do is describe his anxiety problem and he'd be presented with a prescription and sent home immediately. Apparently, it didn't work like that.

First, Dr. McNeil had interviewed him relentlessly, asking him questions about his family, his childhood, his relationship with his parents, his mother's death and grandmother's illness, Carole and Finn, the lightning strike and all the various medical problems that had come with it, and how he felt about all of those things. He grew increasingly more irritated at each new question, wondering why the fuck he was wasting time talking about all of these things and how, with the exception of the lightning, they were supposed to help him with his anxiety.

"Tell me about your relationship with your brother," Dr. McNeil asked him after the exhausting battery of evaluation tests, causing Carson to look up sharply from where he'd had his gaze focused on a piece of lint hanging off the zipper of his hoodie. "Your twin...Kurt. You've not told me very much about him. Do you two get along well?"

Carson set his jaw, looking back down at his lint and swallowing hard. He'd been trying so very hard to side-step any questions about his relationship with Kurt this whole time, downplaying them as though they were unimportant. The last fucking thing he wanted was to have to talk about him here in a psychiatrist's office. He didn't know if it would be obvious to Dr. McNeil how he really felt about Kurt, and he needed to be very careful and guarded here.

"I... I guess we get along, yeah," he said, reaching for the lint on his coat and rolling it between his fingers nervously.

"Would you say that you guys are close?" the doctor pressed. Carson sighed.

"I guess so." You have no fucking idea, lady.

"Would you say that there was any sibling rivalry between the two of you when you were growing up?" she asked.

"What? No!" Carson exclaimed, horrified by the very idea. He caught himself and settled back in his chair, trying to sound cool. "I mean, of course not. Kurt's very sweet and kind, and very talented. I've... I've never been anything but proud of him."

"I see," Dr. McNeil replied, jotting a note down in her note pad and looking at Carson curiously. "But yet, you don't seem to like to talk much about-"

"Look, I'm only here because I have terrible fucking anxiety attacks that literally cripple my ability to live like a normal person, and maybe instead of asking me pointless questions, you should be, you know, trying to help me with my actual problem," Carson snapped. "They're so bad that every time I know it's going to rain, I don't even bother getting out of bed. Because I know that once it starts, I'm going to be a shaking mess in the nearest corner, embarrassing the fuck out of myself. If it rains while I'm already out? Forget it. I feel like my heart is going to actually explode out of my chest. And it would be really fucking awesome to not have to worry about this happening. That's where you come in. So, can you help me or not? Because if not, I'll just go and we'll call this a horrifically failed experiment and call it a day."

Dr. McNeil hadn't said much after that outburst, but she had dropped the subject of Kurt, and two hours later Carson was letting himself back into his apartment, clutching a small paper bag in his hand which contained the bottle of prescription anxiety medication he had picked up at the pharmacy on his way home.

Here's hoping this wasn't a colossal waste of my time, he thought as he bypassed the kitchen, not in the mood to eat. He changed into his pajamas and scurried between his sheets, grabbing at his Kurt pillow and hugging it close as he thought miserably about how he was expected to keep up with seeing Dr. McNeil once a week for the foreseeable future to monitor his progress with his anxiety treatment. He couldn't think of anything he would rather do less.

His heard his phone vibrating from its spot on the night table and he heaved a sigh as he picked it up, bringing it to his face and reading the message that was coming through.

Rachel brought home pizza for dinner. It was pepperoni.I thought of you. Good night, Carsey. I love you. -Kurtsie

Carson carefully placed the phone back on the table, wiping away the single tear that had fallen down his cheek as he was reading the text. He buried his face into the pillow and took a deep inhale.

To answer your question, doc, I don't talk much about Kurt because I love him so much that I'm afraid if I think too hard about how I can't be with him anymore, my heart will shatter into a million pieces and then there'll be no helping or saving me.

I love you too, Kurtsie. Good night.

As another two weeks went by with no contact from Carson, Kurt reluctantly tried to settle himself into a daily routine that involved as little dwelling on his misery and loneliness as possible. After all, it had been almost a month now since the breakup. Breakup. The very word made Kurt's stomach turn and left a bad taste in his mouth when he tried to say it out loud. It just didn't feel right. Dating Carson had felt right. It had felt like it was supposed to be. Being apart from him, with his twin ignoring him and refusing even to reply back to his text messages, felt wrong. It felt very, very wrong. But he still continued to send Carson texts every morning and every night, always hoping for even a small reply, even if it was just a smiley face, but he never got one. And it hurt so badly that if Kurt actually took the time to think about how much his entire life had fallen apart, he feared that the unbearable ache in the pit of his stomach would probably end up killing him.

So he threw himself once again into work and school, trying his best to focus on the tasks assigned to him and not on how alone and depressed he felt. Not only was he without his twin, he was without pretty much anybody at the moment. Rachel was always off somewhere with Brody, or otherwise not at home. She pretty much ignored him at school, and he had no other friends in New York to take his mind off of his problems.

So it was much easier said than done when it came to forgetting about his breakup, since almost everything reminded him of Carson. He supposed that it didn't really help matters that he had taken to wearing one of Carson's forgotten blue hoodies to his classes at NYADA, but he couldn't help it. It had become almost like a security blanket of sorts, every once in a while releasing a wave of Carson's familiar scent to fill Kurt's senses and provide him with just a little bit of the comfort he had been missing. It was also a curse, though, because every reminder of Carson was a reminder that Kurt was alone now.

Maybe you should join a club, he thought to himself one day as he wandered around the halls of NYADA, looking at all the posted ads for the various clubs the school offered. Maybe a club would help fill some of the empty hours he wasn't spending at work or school. The hours in which the ache of missing Carson usually hit him the hardest and made him want to curl up in bed and never come out. It wouldn't hurt you to try, you know. It would be better than sitting at home dwelling on how miserable you are and feeling sorry for yourself. Or sitting in front of your laptop for hours at a time, waiting for Carson to sign onto Skype. He never does, and all it does it make you want to throw up when another day goes by that you don't get to see him or talk to him.

He sighed and listlessly looked over the various club postings and notices, only barely taking in what they said. Let's see... the Elizabethan Society? The Grand Guignol Club? The Tennessee Williams Play Reading Group? He shook his head to himself in frustration and sighed. None of those were right. His gaze flicked up to a colorful poster above the Tennessee Williams one. "Adams Apples," it proclaimed in a graphic meant to look like an apple and an open mouth at the same time. "Monday, 8pm, Auditorium 2."

"What's Adam's Apples?" he mused to himself, looking curiously at the poster. There was a silhouette of someone holding a microphone on the poster, too. Maybe it was a glee club. A glee club would be exactly what I need, he thought, still staring at the poster with a spark of interest.

"NYADA show choir," a bright, British accented voice behind him said, and Kurt turned to see a guy walking up to him, placing himself by his side and smiling. "It's super fun. You're thinking about signing up, aren't you?"

"Oh, um... maybe..." Kurt replied, bewildered. It wasn't like he had decided already or anything. He was just keeping his options open. Then again, a glee club and the work involved in that would surely be a good distraction from how much he missed his twin. "And you are...?"

"Adam," the guy replied, the smile never leaving his face. "A senior, and founder and fearless leader of the Adam's Apples," he continued, indicating the poster. "The group you're very seriously considering joining."

You're awfully presumptuous, Kurt thought to himself. "I'm Kurt," he said, awkwardly offering his hand to Adam, who took it and eagerly began shaking it.

"Kurt Hummel," he said, surprising Kurt. "Your Winter Showcase performance was breathtaking. And you're wondering where you fit in, and how can college be so much like high school, and you want to join my group, but you're wondering if this is a step backwards, and no, I'm not a mind reader. I'm just astute like you. We need you. We want you."

Kurt blinked at him, trying to understand what the hell was happening here, exactly. He wondered what Adam would say if he knew that his assumptions about Kurt were entirely wrong, because the only reason he was even considering joining the club was to get over Carson. He doubted that "Actually, I'm considering joining your group because I'm still in love with my twin brother, with whom I had a perfect summer romance that just disintegrated and blew away like dandelion dust, and I need a distraction or I will literally die of a broken heart, but your energy is kind of making me uncomfortable, so...bye" would go over very well, so he just gave the guy an awkward smile.

"Well, I'm very impressed that you said all of that in one breath, but I don't think I'll be joining," he said, beginning to walk away.

"Hard seller," said Adam, following him, "I respect that. But I'm not willing to go down without a fight. Come hear us sing. No strings attached. No secret time share condo scheme. Just our voices and your ears."

Kurt sighed. "Fine," he agreed dejectedly, allowing Adam to lead him out of the building and into a separate building that housed an auditorium and a stage, on which stood about a dozen people whom Kurt assumed made up the Adam's Apples group. He sat and watched as Adam ran up to the stage and joined the group, which launched into an interesting acoustic performance of Baby Got Back. He smiled and nodded in all the right places, but all the song really did was depress him more as he remembered that his ass used to be Carson's favorite body part. Not to mention that he couldn't stop thinking about what Carson would have to say about the very existence of an acoustic version of Baby Got Back. He probably would have been speechless and then come up with some witty, biting comment. I miss you, Carsey.

"Thanks," he told Adam after the song had finished. "I'll um... I'll think about it. Ok?"

"Ok," Adam replied with a grin. "We'll eagerly await your decision."

Yeah, whatever, Kurt thought as he trudged out of the auditorium and made his way back to the apartment. He let himself in and discovered that he was alone. Again. Rachel was probably out with Brody, who was, no doubt, probably shirtless, so Kurt had the apartment to himself. He tiredly changed into pajamas and made himself some tea before settling down on the couch with his laptop, signing into Skype out of habit. He usually tried to sign in during the time that he and Carson usually had their chats before the breakup (there was that word again... breakup), just in case Carson had changed his mind and wanted to talk to him now. He never was online, but... Kurt supposed it couldn't hurt just to make sure.

He waited for four hours, keeping the Skype window open while he fooled around aimlessly on various online game websites, playing Solitaire and search-and-find games and checking every couple of minutes to see if Carson had signed on. He hadn't. Kurt eventually sighed heavily and closed his computer, taking his tea mug into the kitchen and rinsing it out before shuffling to his bedroom and climbing under the covers.

He wondered again what would happen if he just hopped a plane to Chicago. If he showed up at Carson's apartment door and knocked on it and demanded to be let in. If he refused to leave until Carson, his twin, the love of his life and the man whom he had been so sure he was going to spend the rest of his life with... until Carson acknowledged him and gave him a reason why he didn't want to be together anymore. This wasn't fair. Didn't Carson know that this was unusually cruel? To show him the greatest love he'd ever known and then just snatch it away with no warning and no explanation?

Why would he do that to me? he thought, letting tears spill out of his eyes and onto his pillow. Why? I realize that he doesn't... that he doesn't WANT me anymore, but... couldn't he have at least told me why? I just want to know why.

He imagined getting to Chicago and asking Carson why. He imagined standing there, waiting for a response, and he imagined Carson breaking down and saying that he was sorry, that he'd made a mistake, that of course he wanted Kurt and would Kurt please forgive him? Kurt smiled to himself through his tears. Of course he would. He would forgive Carson and they would find a way to make a long distance relationship work, if Carson really wanted to finish at Northwestern.

And then his smile disappeared as he imagined asking the same question, but with Carson telling him, in no uncertain terms, that he didn't love Kurt anymore and he didn't want to be with him, and "Kurtsie, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you're going to have to leave." Kurt bit his lip to try to stem the fresh flow of tears that erupted from his eyes at the thought, but it didn't do any good. He rolled over and cried, grabbing hold of Carsey Teddy and cuddling it close to his chest.

I can't go to him. I just... I can't risk him actually TELLING me that it's over to my face. I can't handle that.

But WHY, Carsey?

He sighed and reached for his phone, opening his messages and typing up the familiar words he knew so well by this point.

Good night, Carsey. Sleep tight. I love you. -Kurtsie

He shut his phone off and plugged it into the charger next to his bed before getting out and crossing quietly over to the trunk at the foot of the bed, even though nobody was home and he didn't really have a need to be quiet. He opened the trunk carefully and moved aside the pile of junk that was hiding the real reason for the trunk, which was the long pillow sporting an arm that he had ordered online one night a couple of weeks after Carson had broken up with him. It was called a Boyfriend Pillow, or so the website said, and had arrived wearing an ugly polyester shirt that Kurt had quickly replaced with one of Carson's T-shirts that he'd found stuffed in the corner of the closet. He didn't use the pillow all the time. Just on the nights when he was at his loneliest and really needed somebody to hold him. Tonight was one of those nights.

He dragged the pillow out of the trunk and carried it into bed with him, settling himself under the covers with it and positioning the arm over his shoulder as close as possible to the way Carson used to hold him. It definitely wasn't the same. Not by a long shot. But it was firm and it smelled like Carson, and it would have to do. He rested his head on the pillow, trying to ignore the feel of cotton and imagine that it was Carson's chest that he was laying on. That it was Carson's arm around him and Carson's hand that Kurt was running his fingers across at the moment. He could have sworn he heard someone whisper "I love you, Kurtsie" in his ear, but of course he hadn't.

It must have been the wind, he thought as he cried himself to sleep.

Carson wasn't sure how Kurt was coping with the breakup, but he himself was a goddamn mess. He had thought that therapy and taking medication for his anxiety attacks would have lessened some of the pain by now, but they really hadn't. On the contrary, his debilitating sadness actually seemed to be getting worse, if that was even possible. He barely had the energy to eat or even to get out of bed at all most days, and he had to actually force himself to go to class or to his therapy appointments.

He tried his best to disguise his state of mind from Dr. McNeil, because he just knew that she would try to put him on antidepressants, and to him that would be admitting defeat. I'm not fucking depressed, he thought bitterly to himself after every appointment, when Dr. McNeil would ask him a barrage of questions about his life and how he spent his time and whether he had a normal appetite."I'm fine," he would inevitably snap at her. "I'm fine, I just... I thought the pills you gave me were supposed to be helping my anxiety. They barely help at all. I still feel like I'm going to fucking die every time there's a drizzle."

And then she would ask him about Kurt. What they were like as kids, how they had gotten along in high school, whether they both had good relationships with their parents and what their friendships were like. The same questions, over and over and over again. Frankly, Carson was sick to death of trying to find ways to answer them without saying "Hey, I was a social freak whose only close friend was my twin brother, and oh, did I mention that I've been in love with him my whole life?" So he always answered the same way, with minimalistic, monotone, one or two word answers. "Yes." "No." "I guess."

"Carson, have you ever been in a relationship?" Dr. McNeil had asked him one day, catching Carson completely off guard as he choked on his own spit and fiddled determinedly with his hoodie zipper. How the fuck was he supposed to answer that? Somehow he didn't think Dr. McNeil would be all that impressed by "Yes, just one. I've been in love with Kurt my entire life, you see, and it turned out that he returned some of the same feelings, and this summer we kissed and we walked in the park and we made love so many times, and did you know that he has exactly sixteen freckles on his nose? His cute little upturned nose that crinkles just so when he laughs and it's the most adorable thing ever, right behind his dimples and the way his eyes light up when he sees a sale at the mall. Or when he sees lilacs. Or when he sees a set of swings and runs over to them like an excited little kid, and you can't help but give him a push and then lean around and kiss him because he's just so perfect, the moment is so perfect, that you literally can't control yourself."

No, he was definitely sure that she wouldn't think very much of him if he said that, so what he ended up saying was "I almost slept with someone at a party once."

She hadn't seemed overly impressed with that answer, either. But she had upped his dosage of anxiety meds and suggested that perhaps he should try putting himself out there and making a friend.

Yeah, right. Sure. I'll just get right on that, honey. I'm sure everyone is just falling all over themselves to be best friends with the weird freak. Yes, they all want to be seen with Lightning Boy. They're just beside themselves with joy at the idea.

The only good part of his day was in the morning and in the evening, when he could always count on a text message from Kurt. He wished with all he had in him that he could just reply. That, even better, he could pick up the phone and say "Kurt, I miss you so much and I'm sorry I broke up with you, and can we never be apart again?"

But he knew he couldn't. And quite frankly, he was finding it harder and harder to remind himself that it was for the best. The best for Kurt, maybe. But not for him. That was the hardest part. Knowing that he would never be truly happy anymore.

As long as Kurt is happy, he reminded himself stubbornly. As long as he's ok and he's free, that's all that matters.

Carson wondered where that left him, exactly.

Slowly but surely, even though he had been sure it would never happen, Kurt was beginning to pick up the shattered pieces of his heart and move on. It was certainly a process, but it was happening. It was little things, at first. Only signing onto Skype for half the hours he used to. Allowing himself to laugh at things he found funny on television or on the internet. Joining the Adam's Apples and being so exhausted after a practice that he was able to go right to sleep instead of taking a sleeping pill or laying awake for hours wondering why he'd apparently been cursed to never be allowed to have true love.

Eventually, he even caught himself actually concentrating at Vogue and in his classes, going hours at a time without thinking of Carson. He wasn't sure if that made it easier on him or worse, since without fail, the moment he realized that he hadn't thought about Carson for several hours, he would suddenly be bombarded with feelings and have to excuse himself to the nearest bathroom or quiet corner and shed a few tears.

It still hurt, though. Very much so. It just didn't hit him now until very late at night sometimes, when the apartment was silent and he was laying awake in bed, his boyfriend pillow around his shoulder and Carsey Teddy clutched tight to his chest. That was when the tears would come, and now that he wasn't crying so many on a daily basis, they seemed to be stored up in bulk for those moments when he did cry. He would sob himself to sleep on those nights, his face buried in the T-shirt attached to his boyfriend pillow and his heart hurting as though someone were squeezing it.

Rachel wasn't helping matters. She had apparently sensed, from the time of the breakup, that Kurt was vulnerable and not nearly as much in the mood to fight with her as usual, because she seemed to have all but turned him into her personal doormat, and in the middle of the effort he was putting into healing his heart, he hadn't really had the energy to resist. She just walked all over him. She invited Brody to move in without consulting Kurt. Kurt shrugged it off. I guess that's fair. Carson did live with us for a... for a long time. She ordered him around, and he took it. She refused to clean up after herself, and he shrugged and cleaned her messes for her. He wondered one morning what Carson would have to say about it if he were here and was able to hear her screeching singing (an entire hour before Kurt even had to be up, at that). Nothing flattering, that was for sure.

"Oh hey, you're awake!" she chirped as Kurt stalked out of his room, fully dressed. He'd had a rough night of crying and being unable to sleep much as it was, and he was in no mood to deal with her right now.

"A whole hour before my alarm clock," he muttered as he walked past her and into the kitchen.

"Hey, when you're in there, can you make me a little tea, please?" she asked brightly. "With some honey and lemon? You know it's good for my throat."

Kurt slammed the teapot down on the stove angrily. "Sure," he spat. "I'll just run down to the store and get you some," he said sarcastically. Seriously, it is NOT my fucking job to make sure she has tea. If she wants it she can get it herself.

"I'll take that as a no," Rachel said irritably, her hands coming up to rest on her hips as she glared at him. He glared right back at her.

"An incredibly rude no that deserves an explanation," she continued, stalking over to him with a pissed off expression on her face. "You're turning into your brother, you know that?"

Ok, that was it. Kurt couldn't take it anymore. He snapped and turned to face her, ready to let her have it.

"Ok, Rachel, truth time," he said, seriously having to hold himself back from punching her in the face. "You have been a nightmare ever since the Winter Showcase." Actually, you've been a fucking nightmare ever since I've known you and I have no idea why I still continue to tolerate you, but let's start with this.

"I knew it!" Rachel crowed triumphantly. "It was only a matter of time before you became jealous of all my success. And just when we were getting inseparable!"

Inseparable? Is she fucking KIDDING ME? You don't know the goddamn meaning of inseparable, honey. Carson and me. WE were inseparable. "We became close because you became tolerable," Kurt retorted. Just fucking BARELY, but still. "And now you have that weird naked boyfriend and that weird legion of sycophants. Now you're like a... a... an annoying, self righteous Lima Rachel on steroids!"

"Ok, let me give you a little bit of truth, Kurt, ok?" said Rachel, beginning to make her own tea. "The only reason that Carmen Thibadeaux even let you sing at the Winter Showcase was because she knew that you and I are friends."

"You might have won the showcase, but my performance was the one that everyone was talking about," Kurt replied, beginning to sort of enjoy himself. If nothing else, taking his frustrations out on Rachel was proving to be very therapeutic. "Because I. Blew. You. Away. And I could do it again. Midnight Madness. You and me. Head to head," he continued, referring to the NYADA equivalent of a fight club, which involved a sing-off instead of any actual fighting.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, babe," said Rachel haughtily.

"Oooh, why not?" Kurt whispered in a mock fearful whisper.

"Because I already beat you once," replied Rachel sweetly with a smile on her face. "Diva-Off. Sophomore year. Remember?"

"Only because I threw it," Kurt replied cooly. "That high F in "Defying Gravity?" I could hit that baby in my sleep. I tanked the note on purpose."

"Ok, why would you do that?" asked Rachel.

"Because I didn't want to win," said Kurt. "I wanted to save my dad the embarrassment of having a son sing a song that was written for a woman. And you know what, Carson was absolutely right. I never should have thrown it on purpose. I deserved that win, and you didn't."

Rachel gaped at him for a second in disbelief. "I don't believe you. Take that back."

"I can't. It's truth time," replied Kurt.

"That was my first big win!" Rachel screeched angrily. "That was the foundation that I built all my confidence on for the last two years!"

"Consider it cracked. Get ready for Diva-Off, Part Two. And this time, I'm not throwing anything," he said, leaning in close to her face to make sure she got the message. "Enjoy your tea."

Carsey, you would have been proud of me, he thought bittersweetly as he stalked past Rachel and went back to his room to collect his school bag, leaving her speechless in the kitchen. So, so proud.

If only you would talk to me.

I still miss you, honey.

In hindsight, Carson thought, he probably should have just stayed off of Facebook. He had been doing well with that, actually. He hadn't visited the site for almost the entire time that he and Kurt had been broken up, mostly because he was scared of what he would find if he did go on there. Kurt was still his Facebook friend, after all, and anything he posted was going to be right there in Carson's newsfeed waiting to taunt him with visions of Kurt's full life without him in it.

He couldn't help it, though. He just missed his twin so much. He didn't even have daily texts to look forward to anymore, because Kurt had stopped sending them every day. The first night it happened, Carson thought that maybe Kurt had just fallen asleep. Surely he would get a text in the morning, possibly one apologizing for the missed one, because it was Kurt. But then the next morning came, and there wasn't a text then, either. Or that evening. Or all day the next day. Carson went two days without receiving one, in fact. Kurt had sent one the next morning, but they never returned to their twice daily regularity again, and that hurt Carson more than he could possibly say. Well, what do you expect, asshole? You've been ignoring his texts for HOW long now? Did you really think that he was going to keep sending them to you every day when he wasn't getting any response? You're lucky you even got the ones you got. Shut the fuck up and be happy. This means he's gotten over you. Or is starting to. Congratulations. You got what you wanted.

He squashed the little voice inside of him that was trying to say Yes. I knew he wouldn't keep sending them forever, but... they were my last piece of him. I wasn't ready to lose that piece yet. I'm still not ready.

So he checked Facebook one morning. Just a for a few minutes, he told himself. He would just pop in and see what Kurt was up to. Make sure he was happy. Make sure that he, Carson, hadn't been suffering for no reason. And then he would turn the computer off, he told himself.

He logged on and went straight to Kurt's profile, perusing the postings there. He expected to see a lot from Blaine, had been mentally preparing himself for this, in fact, but to his surprise and relief, there weren't any. Not since the skating rink photo at Christmas. There were barely any postings from anyone, not even Kurt himself. Carson guessed that maybe his twin had simply been too busy with work and college to post very much. He scrolled back up the feed, his eyes catching on a video that Rachel had uploaded and tagged Kurt in called "Bring Him Home- Midnight Madness 2013." He clicked the play button and sat back, his breath catching in his throat as Kurt filled the screen and began to sing a song that Carson vaguely recognized to be from Les Miserables.

Oh god... he's so beautiful, Carson thought, choking back tears as he turned his speakers all the way up and watched his twin sing in front of a modest crowd that he could see included Rachel and Brody. It had been so long since he had looked at Kurt's face, much less heard his voice. He looked so solemn as he sang, the words echoing throughout the performance space he was in. So emotional, like he was about to cry.

No, Kurtsie... please don't cry, baby. It's ok. You're singing so beautifully.

Carson cried throughout the entire performance, rewinding it four times to see it again and again. He couldn't get enough. Kurt's voice was like a drug to him, and he had been so long without it. I miss him. I miss him so much.

He glanced down at the comments below the video, most of which were short and along the lines of "Congratulations, Hummel!" or "You go!" There was one particularly long comment from a guy called Adam Crawford, which added an entire paragraph about Kurt's wonderful voice and an observation about his "Bright baby blue eyes." Carson felt a lead weight in the pit of his stomach as he read the comment. He wondered if this Adam guy was special to Kurt. He felt the jealous urge to scream "NO! He's mine!" and yet at the same time he was so relieved that it wasn't Blaine. He didn't know what to do.

"He's supposed to be mine," he whispered quietly into the silent, empty room. "He's my Kurtsie. Nobody loves him like I do."

He wondered what would happen if he were to call Kurt right now. He wondered if Kurt would even want to speak to him, considering the way their last conversation had gone.

He wondered what was stopping him from finding out.

It took him forty-five minutes to work up the courage to even leave his laptop to go retrieve his phone, but he did it. He had just settled down and searched for Kurt in his contacts when he heard it begin to drizzle outside and felt the telltale pull in the middle of his chest.

Ignore it. Fucking ignore it. You're going to call Kurt for the first time in forever. Please don't panic, just... fuck, work with me, here. He took a deep breath and hovered his thumb above the button to place the call. Just one press, and he would hear Kurt's voice again. Over the phone. Directed at him. And it would feel so...

CRACK!

The thunder boomed outside, and Carson was so startled that he dropped his phone on the floor as he stumbled across the apartment, wheezing and clutching his chest while he looked for his bottle of anxiety pills. He located them and shakily shook one out into his hand. He swallowed it quickly, washing it down with a glass of water and waiting for his heartbeat to return to normal.

Thanks for the fucking reminder, Mother Nature, he thought. You bitch. I know, I know, I'm sorry. I should have remembered. This was the whole reason I broke up with Kurt in the first place. So that he doesn't have to deal with me like this. I know, I should be happy that he's moving on without me. I should be happy that some guy who isn't Binney is giving him compliments. I should be happy. This is what I wanted.

I should be happy.

Why can't I ever be happy?

What the fuck am I doing here? Carson wondered to himself as he walked through the halls of the animal shelter, following the young girl who was showing him around. I can barely take care of MYSELF.

He hadn't actually expected to take Dr. McNeil's advice that she had given him on his last appointment. Never in a million years, when she had suggested that perhaps a partial cure for his chronic loneliness could be to get a pet, would he have actually expected himself to listen to her. For one thing, he vehemently insisted that no, he was not lonely. He wasn't lonely at all, he told her fiercely. He was just a loner kind of guy. That was who he was.

"Well, Carson, this is just some advice, but I think that maybe the reason your anxiety doesn't leave you alone is because you have nothing to distract yourself from it," Dr. McNeil said gently. "Now, you do seem to have difficulty being around people, so perhaps a pet would be a practical solution for you. Maybe a dog, hmm? Even a cat. A cat would probably be better, actually, since you live in an apartment."

"Doc, I can barely keep myself alive, what the fuck am I supposed to do with a pet?" Carson asked.

But the more Carson considered it (and not that he would ever admit this to his doctor), the more it actually seemed like sort of a good idea. He really didn't have anything to distract himself from his never ending misery. Maybe a pet would be a good idea. Taking care of someone else could be just the thing he needed.

Which was why he was now following the young female animal shelter volunteer through a maze of hallways, on his way to the dogs. He'd thought a dog would be better than a cat, since in his opinion, cats were sort of assholes, and he was already asshole enough. He didn't need another in his life. He peeked his head through the various doors as he followed the girl, his attention caught by one room in particular, which was full of kittens.

"Hey... wait," he said to the girl, stopping in his tracks and not entirely sure why. He didn't even want a cat, much less a kitten, but... something inside him was telling him to stop and take a look. "Can... can I have a look at the kittens really quick?"

"Sure," the girl replied, leading him into the kitten room and waving her hand around. "We don't have very many at the moment, actually, but we have some tabbys over there, and then we have a couple of kittens in there," she continued, pointing to a box in the corner of the room. "They were orphaned and one of our volunteers found them in the street. Barely even two weeks old. We've been bottle feeding them and caring for them ever since they were brought in a couple of days ago, but we're pretty short-staffed right now and it's been a challenge..."

Carson tuned her out, walking toward the box and peering inside curiously. There were two ginger colored kittens in there, one sleeping and one walking around awkwardly on his shaky little legs. The walking one, who was slightly smaller than his sibling, looked briefly at Carson, letting out a "Meow" so soft that Carson could barely hear it. His eyes startled Carson. He didn't know that cats could have eyes so big and blue, especially a tiny little kitten like that.

"Can I... can I hold that one?" he asked the girl, pointing to the alert kitten hopefully. She nodded and carefully lifted the kitten out of the box, handing him to Carson with a smile. Carson had to hold himself back from gasping as the kitten was placed into his hand. Literally his hand, because he was so tiny that he could easily curl up in one of Carson's hands with room to spare.

"The vet thinks this one has some kind of genetic mutation," the girl informed him. "He won't grow much beyond kitten size, but he'll still be proportionate."

"Hey, little guy," Carson cooed at it, stroking the kitten's head with the pad of one finger. "You're kind of adorable, you know that?" He stared in awe at the kitten's eyes, which really were very blue indeed. "Your eyes remind me of my Kurtsie's eyes," he whispered to the kitten softly. "Actually, I would name you Kurtsie, I think. Kurtsie Kitty."

The kitten meowed at him and pawed at his thumb in response, and Carson smiled. "You'd like being called Kurtsie Kitty, wouldn't you, little guy?"

Carson forgot all about wanting a dog. He didn't want one anymore. He wanted this kitten in his hand, the one whose eyes reminded him so much of Kurt. The one who didn't have a mother and had a hard time getting around. The one who would never be a "normal" cat by any type of "normal" cat standard. Carson could relate to all of those things. He had to have that cat. He felt drawn to him, like he had been meant specifically to have him and take care of him.

"I'll take him," he said determinedly. It was a struggle, because the kitten was so young and was being hand raised by the shelter, but with enough cajoling, Carson was finally able to convince him that he was certainly up to the challenge of keeping the kitten alive and thriving. He'd do what he had to do, he decided, but that kitten was going to be his.

So, after a several hours long debriefing by shelter staff members on how to properly care for the tiny, fragile life, he found himself entering his apartment not nearly as empty handed as he had been when he left that morning. In his hands, he held a box that contained Kurtsie Kitty and the several layers of blankets that he had been accustomed to sleeping on at the shelter. In his messenger bag, he carried the supplies that the shelter had given to him along with his new kitten in order to properly care for him. Three kitten feeding bottles and nipples, a small supply of formula that he would have to replenish in a few days, a heating pad for underneath Kurtsie Kitty's box, and a box of latex gloves. He set Kurtsie Kitty's box down on his kitchen table and set about putting away all the supplies so that they would be within easy reach when he needed them. He carefully mixed some formula into a bottle as per the carefully written instructions from the shelter and took Kurtsie Kitty out of his box and warming him up for his first official feeding.

"Here, little guy. Time to eat," Carson said softly, settling Kurtsie Kitty on his stomach in his lap and gently prodding the bottle nipple into his little mouth. "Hungry little thing, aren't you?" he said with a smile as Kurtsie Kitty went to town, eating his fill before finally rejecting the nipple. "And messy," he added when he saw the mess of milk all over the kitten's face. He gently patted the kitten's tiny back until he burped, and then scooped him up carefully into his hands.

"You know, little guy, your eyes really do remind me of Kurt's," he said quietly, stroking Kurtsie Kitty's back with his finger. "And you're adorable, just like him."

The kitten meowed and blinked at him.

"Of course, you don't know who Kurt is, but... well... he looks kind of like me. But more beautiful, you see. And smarter. And more talented. Well... better than me in every way, I guess. I miss him so much. You'd be much better off with him. But I'm going to try to do my very best to make sure that you're healthy and happy, ok? I feel like kind of a sappy shit saying this, but I already love you like you were my own baby. Which is weird, because I've never really loved anything before, or anyone, besides Kurt. I've always loved him. Even if I know that he'll never love me back in the same way, I still love him. And will always. I just... I wish there was a way to tell him that, you know? To really make him understand that he'll always have a place in my heart, no matter what. Ah, but you don't care about that stuff. You're just a cat. And an adorable one, too."

He gently brought Kurtsie Kitty up to his cheek and stroked him against it. The kitten's fur was soft and tickled his skin, and Carson let out a strangled giggle.

"Such a softy. Literally," he cooed at the kitten. "But if you tell anyone I giggled, you'll pay."

He was so busy playing with Kurtsie Kitty that he was only slightly bothered when he realized that it had been another whole day and a half since he had received a text message from Kurt.