To: blaine.anderson@gmail.com

From: khummel@vogue.com

Subject: Look, I have a fancy email address!

I may or may not have wept tears of joy when I logged into my official Vogue email for the first time, but an email address with my name and the word Vogue in it, makes it all finally seem real.

Hello, by the way! My first day at Vogue officially ended five minutes ago, but I stayed to finish organizing some files and decided to email you before I go home. I'll bet you're still at the bookshop. It feels so strange to not be able to have coffee with you while we wait until it's closing time.

I know I didn't really tell you much about my plans while I was still in Ohio – I was trying to enjoy every second I had left there, by avoiding thinking about what was going to be happening here, but you'll be happy to know I'm staying with Rachel. I went to her apartment yesterday straight from the airport, and she was ecstatic to see me. She cooked my favorite dinner, drew me a bath before I went to bed, and then woke me up this morning with breakfast ready. I think she's trying to bribe me into staying with her, but she doesn't need to do all of that. Living with her the first time was a little crazy, but I can't think of anyone better to share my New York adventures with. She isn't upset at all about me missing her opening night, and already promised me tickets to see her next weekend.

I haven't been doing anything fashion related yet, but I can already say I love my job. I serve coffee, send emails, organize files... simple stuff, but I'm breathing fashion again and living a dream I thought was dead. I didn't think I'd ever be this happy again.

There are three other interns and I'm the oldest (they're just eighteen year old kids. They all sat together at lunch today and I felt like I was back in high school, but instead of being judged for my sexuality, I'm being judged for my advance age. Does this never end?!). I don't really care, though. They may be younger, but no one's as thirsty for success as Kurt Hummel. I'm done with failing, Blaine. I don't care how hard I have to work to make a success of this opportunity.

How was your day? I hope that by the time you read this, you're at your apartment, already wearing those soft pajama pants you like so much and eating something delicious for dinner. Is it Chinese? I crave Chinese. That place near your apartment makes the best Chinese food I've ever tried.

I'm starting to ramble, only because I don't want to end this email. I didn't think I'd miss you this much, but I already do. Are we allowed to say that? That we miss each other? Will it make it even harder to be so far apart? If you'd rather I didn't say that, I'll understand. But while I'm still allowed, I'll say it again: Gosh, I miss you. It's been barely a day since I left, but it seems like I'll have to try harder to learn how to do without having you around.

Maybe now would be a good moment to confess that I stole one of your old t-shirts and that you'll probably never get it back again. It was so soft, and it smelled so much like you... I slept in it last night, and I feel pathetic admitting it, but it was the only way I could fall asleep. I closed my eyes and I imagined you were here.

Thank you, for giving me my dreams again. I can't believe I'm here.

K.-

PS: I miss you.

*

To: khummel@vogue.com

From: blaine.anderson@gmail.com

Subject: RE: Look, I have a fancy email address!

Kurt,

Congratulations on your first successful day as Vogue's best intern ever. Those kids you're working with have no idea Kurt Hummel is a force to be reckoned with. They'll regret their lack of respect when they end up working for you (it'll happen. It's just a matter of time).

I really am happy that you're living with Rachel. I have to admit I was a little worried since you hadn't mentioned any living arrangements and I never saw you looking for apartments online. I figured you had something planned, but I didn't think it would be this. It comforts me to know you're not alone in that big, sometimes scary city. Send Rachel my gratitude for taking such good care of you.

My day was quite uneventful. I went to work, came back, put those pajamas on, grabbed a beer and ordered pizza (sorry to disappoint. I'll order Chinese tomorrow, if you want). The one thing out of the ordinary was how much I missed you (I miss you. I always do, present tense. I'm missing you right now, so much that I wish I could hug you through a computer screen). I thought about you all day. Courage is full of memories of you, and so is my apartment. Everything feels distant, quiet, boring, and empty without you. And it's only day one. Will it ever get easier?

And yes, of course we're allowed to say we miss each other. Maybe it'll make things harder, but it's nothing but the truth. I'm pretty sure I'll always miss you, no matter how well I adjust to you not being around. Although, maybe I won't be able to get used to that either...

I hope you got home from work safely.

Blaine.

PS: I'm glad you have something of mine to remember me by. I wish I had been equally as clever and grabbed something of yours as well. At least my bed still smells like you, until I have to wash the sheets.

PPS: I saw my mom yesterday after I took you to the airport. She told me that she's proud of you, and that she wishes you all the luck in the world.

PPPS: I miss you more.

*

To: blaine.anderson@gmail.com

From: khummel@vogue.com

Subject: Rachel says hi.

Attachments: knr.jpg – kurtcentralpark.jpg

She's actually waving at the screen over my shoulder, and I'm trying to explain to her that, no, emails don't actually work that way. I guess she's just excited... still excited, about having me back here again. She's been like an hyperactive puppy since I got here.

It's a beautiful Sunday morning in New York, and I'm having a cup of coffee. It's a Medium Drip. I'm guessing you know why I decided to change my coffee order today.

I'm sending you two pictures of our little adventure in Central Park yesterday. The first one is actually so you can meet Rachel, since I don't think I've ever sent you a picture of her before. She also insisted I had to send you the second one where I'm sitting on the edge of that fountain because I, and I quote, 'look endlessly cute in it'. Her words, Blaine, not mine. Either way, I thought you'd like to see them.

Last night I finally saw Rachel perform in Wicked. I may not have been there for her opening night, but it was still an amazing experience. I've known this girl since we were just kids, and seeing her shining on that stage made me spill a few tears. She was so good, I wish you could see her. Maybe you can come for a weekend soon, and we can go together? I can't help hoping that we'll find a way to see each other again very soon.

Did you do anything exciting this weekend? I can't wait to hear from you even though you just emailed me yesterday to tell me about those kids in the book store.

Rachel is yelling at me that it's time to get ready to leave – we're having lunch together before she has to go to the theatre. There's a whole bunch of restaurants she wants me to try. I think she's having a bit too much fun showing me around the city. I really don't mind, because I've missed her.

I miss you.

K.-

*

To: khummel@vogue.com

From: blaine.anderson@gmail.com

Subject: Carly says hi.

I ran into Carly at the Lima Bean before opening the book store today, on her way to do some wedding stuff and she told me you agreed to make her dress. I can't tell you how happy that makes me – I know it's a big step for you to commit to a project like that, and I'm sure she will look so, so incredibly beautiful in your design.

How are you? You didn't send me any emails yesterday (this is where I would insert a sad-face emoticon if I was fifteen years younger... well, maybe ten). Are they keeping you very busy at Vogue? Tell them your friend Blaine still needs to hear from you, and that I would appreciate it if they gave you time off to talk to me, too (and here's where I would insert a happy face, so I sound like a charming guy who simply wants to spend more time with his best friend, instead of a completely selfish jerk).

My mother called me today and begged me to ask you for that chicken with mushroom sauce recipe that I drool over. She said she'll make it for me if I can get you to share your culinary secrets, so please, help me out here. I miss your cooking so much, and even though I know it won't be the same if my mother cooks for me, it might be close. (She's amazing, but she's not you. You are the one I want right now, even more than your delicious chicken with mushrooms). Please and thank you.

(I think she's just trying to make me feel better. She knows how much I miss you. I haven't been brave enough to tell her food won't really change anything. I'll still miss you just as much, after dinner, as I do right now.)

You know what else I've discovered since you left? My coffee doesn't taste the same. I guess I was getting used to tasting it on your lips...

(Whoa, that was sappy.)

Blaine.

PS: I drove by your house today. At least, what used to be your house. There's a "sold" sign on it now. It feels sad to think that's where we shared so much, and now it's gone.

*

Emails flowed daily, the first few weeks. They always found time to send at least a few lines to each other, to ask about their days, to share silly incidents that had happened to them during the weekend.

They weren't hugs. They weren't kisses. They weren't the caresses that they both desperately yearned for, but those emails were enough. They kept them connected; they kept them in each other's lives.

It wasn't everything, but it was something.

*

To: blaine.anderson@gmail.com

From: khummel@vogue.com

Subject: News.

Hey you,

I'm sorry I'm going to have to keep this short, but I'll be late if I don't. I just really wanted to tell you that I got a new job. Well, an extra job, really. You know the internship at Vogue isn't a paid internship, and since Rachel insisted I stay here in her apartment with her, I wanted to contribute my half of the rent. I have the money from selling the house and my truck that my dad sent me, but it won't last forever.

So anyway, it's not a very exciting job. I'll be a waiter at a fancy restaurant (cross your fingers that I see someone famous. Anyone you want an autograph from, in case I meet them? Any writers I should keep watch for?). My work schedule will be mostly on weekends with an occasional night during the week, when I get out earlier from the office.

Better than working construction, I hope?

I'll talk to you later! May your Saturday night be a lot more exciting than mine!

K.-

*

To: khummel@vogue.com

From: blaine.anderson@gmail.com

Subject: RE: News.

Congratulations on the new job! It may not be exciting, but remember it's only temporary. As soon as the people at Vogue realize what a true gem you are when it comes to fashion, they're going to give you a (well-deserved) promotion.

Regarding famous people you may meet at work... uhm. I should probably send you pictures of my favorite authors (at least the ones who are alive. It would be a little awkward if Tolkien decides to walk into a restaurant after being dead for decades), but if you happen to see Colin Firth, I'd appreciate an autograph.

And talking about gorgeous actors, is there a movie you could recommend? I have no plans this weekend (my mom called me earlier today and cancelled our lunch date, so when I say I have NO plans, I have NO PLANS). I haven't watched any of the new ones that everyone seems to be talking about. Have you seen any good ones? Nothing too depressing, though, please.

Good luck on your first day on the new job! Let me know how it goes!

Blaine.

*

To: blaine.anderson@gmail.com

From: khummel@vogue.com

Subject: YES, I'M STILL ALIVE.

Ugh, I'M SO SORRY. I know it's been almost a week since you sent me that last email, but I've been crazy busy. I never knew having two jobs could actually be a cause of death, but I'm starting to believe it's possible.

I'm pretty sure Vogue is doing their own version of the Hunger Games, and they're truly enjoying watching us interns battle each other for a paid position at the company. They fired one of them this week – it was terrifying, actually. She fucked up an order and that ended up ruining a photo shoot. Our boss yelled at her so much I'm surprised she still was able to talk afterwards.

She fired her right there and then, and once the girl had run away from the building in tears, she turned to us and told us to fix her mistake if we didn't want to end the same way. Since then, we've pretty much been competing to see who can please the higher powers the best. I haven't screwed anything up (yet), but I'm so stressed. I feel like this could end in the blink of an eye and that scares me so much.

Working at the restaurant isn't that bad, but running around carrying trays, remembering all the orders, and constantly having to hurry to serve everyone... it isn't easy. I could really use one of your magic massages right now. I miss your hands so much...

I'm writing this with the last bit of strength I have – I'm so ready to pass out in my nice, warm bed. I have another crazy day tomorrow and I'll probably need fifteen cups of coffee to get through it. I'll let you know if I make it out alive.

I'm sorry I haven't been here for you as much, but I thought of you all the time. Tell me what you've been up to.

Goodnight,

K.-

*

To: khummel@vogue.com

From: blaine.anderson@gmail.com

Subject: RE: YES, I'M STILL ALIVE.

Oh, thank GOD. I was about to send a rescue team. The FBI. Your father. Anything.

I have to say, even though I really liked the Hunger Games books (are you even surprised?), I wouldn't want your life to turn into that. If I were there, I would volunteer to take your place. But since I know nothing of fashion, I would be killed as soon as I entered the arena. So I don't believe I can help you at all.

Anyway, I'm sorry you barely have time to breathe. I'm sure you're so much better than all those interns, though (I did tell you that several times already so start believing it), so I have absolutely no doubt you'll still be standing there once they are all gone. You can do this, Kurt Hummel.

I can't tell you how much I'd love to give you a massage. My hands are eagerly waiting for the chance. Have you at least met Colin Firth yet? Maybe he would help you with that massage (I'd be so jealous... of Colin Firth, of course, because he'd get to touch you and I can't).

Seriously, now... don't kill yourself with work, Kurt. I know you have a goal, I know you're motivated, I know you're scared this will all end before you can prevent it, but if you don't take care of yourself, you won't get very far. Sleep, eat, relax a little but every night. I know you put yourself under a lot of pressure, but if you allow yourself to do this step by step, you'll reach the stars.

So go into the office tomorrow and do whatever they ask you to do, be the best you can be, and then go home, have dinner and watch a movie with Rachel. Laugh, forget about whatever is in your mind, and enjoy. Go for a walk. You're in New York now, Kurt. You're free. You shouldn't work yourself into a heart attack before you truly live.

I hope we get to talk soon. I'll be worried about you now, you know? You'll have to check in with me as regularly as you can.

I miss you,

Blaine.

*

It was late on Saturday night, the book store had long ago closed its doors, and most of the lights were already out. A small lamp on a desk in the backroom bathed Blaine's hands and face in a pale, yellow glow, as he hunched over his laptop, updating his books to prepare his monthly statements.

When he entered the final number, the bottom line recalculated to show where he stood. There was a crease on his forehead, and his lips were set in a tight line. Those were the only signs that showed that Blaine Anderson was worried.

Blaine had always been good with numbers. Brilliant, actually. He had probably inherited that from his father, and it had helped him enormously while he was in school. There wasn't a single math test where he didn't get an A, and his math homework was done in record time every night. Numbers were safe and easy: no matter how many problems the teacher gave him, it comforted him to know they all had a solution.

Still, Blaine rechecked his computer entries against his calculations multiple times, hoping he'd find a mistake. But the truth was right there, in front of his eyes, clear as day: his sales weren't nearly high enough to keep his bookshop sustainable.

With a sigh, he leaned back against his chair. Ironically, Kurt had been right the whole time. Opening a book store in times like this wasn't a very good idea, especially in a small town where people preferred other kinds of entertainment. Blaine was losing money every day, his sales not enough to pay for carrying his inventory, much less make a profit. In a few more months, his inheritance would be gone and he would be left with nothing.

It broke his heart to see his dream crumbling, escaping through his fingers like a handful of sand without him being able to do a thing to stop it.

He knew what he had to do, but he was too weak to go ahead and pull the plug.

*

Blaine's fingers hovered over the keyboard as he bit his lip. He was composing an email to Kurt and he couldn't decide if he wanted to tell him about Courage being well on its way to bankruptcy or not.

A part of him felt ashamed; ashamed that he had been so gullible enough to really believe he could have a happily ever after. He lost that chance when Kurt got on the plane to New York, and thinking the book store would save him from his misery had been nothing but another mistake. Thinking any of his dreams could come true had been a mistake.

Blaine was so tired of making mistakes.

Another part of him was so terribly sad at the death of his lifelong dream that he just wanted Kurt to hold him, and comfort him with the warmth of his body. But that was just as impossible as keeping his beloved bookshop: Kurt was gone, and soon Courage would be gone, too.

He deleted the few lines he had written and put his computer aside. There wasn't anything worth emailing Kurt about.

*

To: blaine.anderson@gmail.com

From: khummel@vogue.com

Subject: Hello?

It's been a few days since I've heard from you and I'm getting worried. I know it's not unusual for me to disappear, but you've always replied to my emails within a couple of hours. Are you okay? Is the book store keeping you very busy?

I'm supposed to be at the restaurant in forty minutes, but I really hope I have an email from you when I get back.

K.-

*

Blaine stared at the screen, at Kurt's message, and gave a hopeless sigh. Yeah, he had been avoiding talking to Kurt, even though he still didn't know why. Maybe it was because everything seemed to hurt right now and because Kurt's absence was the major reason for his pain. Maybe it was because he felt like everything he wanted in life had been given ripped out of his hands as soon as he touched them.

Maybe it was because the distance between them was really difficult. Maybe it was because he knew he was still in love with a guy he would never have again.

Maybe it was because he was lost, and he had no one to help him find his way again.

*

To: khummel@vogue.com

From: blaine.anderson@gmail.com

Subject: RE: Hello?

Hey,

I'm okay, I swear. I'm just very busy with the bookshop, and I haven't had time to check my email as much as I used to.

I hope you had a nice day at work,

Blaine.

*

"Rachel?"

He could hear his roommate humming in the other room, a pleasant sound that ended when she heard her name being called. "Mm?"

Kurt bit his lip. "Could you come here?"

Rachel padded into his room, already in her pajamas, her long, dark hair braided and her face cleansed of makeup. "What is it?"

Kurt sighed and pushed his computer at her. "Read that, please."

Rachel's eyes scanned the words in the screen. He watched her frown in confusion, as she tried to scroll down the page to see if there was more.

There wasn't. He had already checked.

"What's up with Blaine?" She asked, pushing the computer back to him. "He usually sends you really long, detailed emails."

"I don't know..." Kurt leaned back against his pillows as he eyed the email again. It was so... cold, and dry, so unlike Blaine. "Do you think I did something wrong? Do you think he's upset because I haven't emailed him as often as I did the first few weeks?"

"He wouldn't get upset about that," she said thoughtfully. "He knows you're trying to make a life here. That takes time."

"I just..." Kurt picked on a loose thread on his comforter. "I feel like things are changing between us, and I don't want that. I know we can't be more than friends, not as long as we live in different places, but... I was hoping our friendship would last longer than this. I was hoping he wouldn't get bored so fast."

"Who says he's bored?" Rachel patted his knee as soothingly as she could. "Maybe he just had a bad day. Don't jump to conclusions yet. Give him some time, give him some space, and see what happens next."

"Yeah..." Kurt murmured, but he wasn't convinced.

"He's the one who sent you here, Kurt," Rachel leaned to kiss his forehead and then stood up from the edge of his bed. "He cares about you. Don't freak out just because of one little email. He's in Ohio, you're in New York. You don't know everything that is happening in his life, so just wait and see what happens next."

Kurt gave her a little smile. "You've gotten wiser with time, Ms. Berry."

She rolled her eyes and chuckled. "What can I say? I had to learn the hard way myself, these past few years."

Kurt turned his gaze back to the computer as Rachel walked out of the room. After hesitating for a moment, he typed a quick email for Blaine, suggesting maybe they could Skype some time soon. He asked Blaine to let him know when he had a free night so he could try to fit it into his own schedule.

If he saw Blaine's face, if he looked into his eyes as they talked, if he heard his voice, perhaps he could understand better where he was coming from.

*

Heather was already at the restaurant she had chosen for their weekly lunch date when Blaine arrived. He kissed her cheek before taking the seat opposite hers, and immediately apologized for keeping her waiting, even though they were both a little early.

"It's okay, darling," she smiled at him. "Isn't this a lovely place? My friend Sarah says we should try the salmon."

There was something off about Heather that day, a weird stilted air around her that didn't seem at all like the usually calm and charming woman that Blaine was used to seeing.

"That sounds good," he answered vaguely, as he studied her quietly. Her eyes were fixed on the menu, never once wandering to his. "Mom? Is everything alright?"

"What? Oh, yes, dear, everything is fine. I'm starving, that's all..." She said, with another smile, but this time it didn't look very sincere. "How was your week?"

"It was fine." Now it was Blaine who was avoiding her gaze. He hadn't told his mother about the book store's financial issues, although he didn't know why. She would find out, eventually, especially once he talked to the dean at Dalton to ask for his job back. "How was yours?"

Every conversation while they ate seemed strained and forced. Blaine was wondering if maybe his mother could tell something was bothering him, if maybe she was trying to find some way to bring it up. It would be typical of her: since he'd been a kid, Heather had been able to read him just as easily as he could read the books piled on his bedside table.

He finally decided to just go ahead and tell her, when she reached across the table and grabbed his hand, her eyes troubled. She focused on Blaine's fingers curling around her hand, as if they were fascinating.

"Mom?" Blaine frowned, becoming even more worried. He had never seen her like this, so hesitant, nervous.

"There's something I need to tell you," Heather muttered quietly. "But it's hard to say it."

Blaine squeezed her hand and smiled at her, trying to be supportive. "Mom, you know you can tell me anything..."

"I have cancer," she interrupted, and suddenly everything seemed to go cold and still around them.

He'd heard the words from her own lips, but Blaine knew what he had heard couldn't be correct. There was no way his mother... no. There must have been a mistake. He hadn't heard her clearly. There was too much noise in the restaurant. That was all.

"I'm... can you say that again?" He mumbled dumbly.

Heather looked at him with her face flooded in compassion. "I have cancer, Blaine."

"You... no. You can't have cancer," Blaine dropped her hand, as if rejecting any physical contact would change what she had just announced. "It's not funny. Don't ever make jokes about that."

"It's not a joke, sweetheart," she said sadly. "I wish it was, but it isn't."

Blaine felt like he was having trouble breathing. He gripped the edge of the table tightly, until his knuckles went white. "I'm sure there must be a mistake, Mom. Have you talked to a specialist?"

"Of course I have, darling," she nodded slowly. "It's pancreatic cancer. I went in for a checkup because I had an upset stomach that wouldn't go away; I hadn't been able to properly eat for a while, and I thought maybe it was an ulcer or something like that. But after running a few tests..."

"This can't be happening..." Blaine whispered to himself, before snapping out of it and clasping his mother's hand in his again. "Mom. Listen to me. We'll find the best doctors in Ohio, and we'll get you the best treatment available, and everything will be alright. You can do this. You can beat it..."

"No, Blaine, I can't," she said softly. She took a deep breath. "It had already spread everywhere by the time they caught it, Blaine. There's... there's nothing left to do."

"No..." He shook his head. This couldn't mean what he thought it meant... "No, Mom. They're wrong. We'll find another doctor. We'll see what they can do. I'm sure there's still time. When did you find out?"

"Almost two months ago, Blaine," she looked at him apologetically.

"Two months ago?" Blaine repeated, incredulously. "How come you didn't tell me then?"

"Because you were already upset about Kurt leaving, and I didn't want to put any more weight on your shoulders," she explained calmly. "But I can't hide it anymore. It's getting harder, Blaine. I'm in pain now, and I'm so tired all the time..."

Blaine could feel the tears building in his eyes. "I can't believe this is happening..."

"It's okay, darling," her fingers curled around his lovingly. "Everyone has to die at some point."

"But it's too soon," Blaine protested, like a child who couldn't understand why he couldn't stay up past his bedtime. "It's too soon. First Dad, and now you..."

"Maybe your Dad and I weren't meant to be apart for too long," she murmured, with tears running down her cheeks. Blaine had to swallow a sob. "I'm sorry, dear. I'm so sorry. I just want you to stop having so many reasons to be sad..."

"Are you sure there's nothing we can do?" He asked, almost pleadingly.

"Spend as much time together from now on as we can," Heather replied gently. "That's all we can do, and it's also all I want."

He brought her hand to his lips, kissed her knuckles and then leaned his forehead against it as he let his tears fall, unable to hold them back anymore. "Anything you want, Mom. Anything."

Blaine wasn't sure how his life had become this, this path full of obstacles that seemed to lead to more and more pain. He had lost Kurt, he was losing his bookshop, and he was soon going to lose his mother. He wondered to himself what the point of his life was anymore.

Life had never been fair to him, and it would never be. Of that, Blaine was absolutely sure.