Blaine stood to shake the hand the dean had extended to him.

"It's nice to see you again, Blaine," the older man said with a kind smile.

"Thank you, sir. It's always a pleasure coming back to Dalton," Blaine answered with a smile of his own, though his didn't reach his eyes.

He hadn't smiled genuinely in months.

Mr. Ellington invited him into his office and offered him tea or coffee. Blaine declined any refreshments politely, as he took a seat on the opposite side of the mahogany desk. It was a large office, a gracious testament to the kind of school Dalton was: grand, elegant, and prestigious. Not everyone could be at ease at Dalton. Even if Blaine seldom felt like he fit anywhere else, something about this school had always been comforting. That something didn't have anything to do with the social and cultural background of the people who attended the school, but more with the aura of acceptance that permeated the campus.

"How's the new business doing?" Mr. Ellington asked in an interested, almost paternal tone. He was a sophisticated man, probably old enough to be Blaine's grandfather but he still enjoyed his position too much to retire.

"It didn't work out well, unfortunately," Blaine explained, trying to ignore the painful pang in his chest. He still wasn't over it. "And that's the reason why I'm here." He sat up straighter. "I was wondering if there's any possibility I can resume my position."

"Well, of course we hired someone else when the school year began," the dean said, apologetically. "I would love to take you back, Blaine, but the truth is the new librarian is doing a wonderful job, and I have no reason to replace her."

"I understand," Blaine answered, trying not to show his disappointment. "I was sure that would be the situation, but I had to come and ask anyway."

"I'll be more than happy to give you glowing references to assist you in your search for another position, and I'll call you if the position should become available again," Mr. Ellington seemed truly sorry he couldn't do anything for him. "You've been part of the Dalton family for so many years already, since you were just fifteen years old, so I'll do whatever's in my power to help you."

"Thank you," Blaine smiled at him. "I really appreciate that. I'll let you know if I need any letters of recommendation."

Mr. Ellington walked him out and they shook hands again before Blaine left the office and made his way down the long corridor. He had already known the answer, but he still wanted to let the dean know he was available, in case something came up.

Blaine actually didn't want to start working anywhere right away. He still had sufficient money left from his inheritance, so he wouldn't be in any financial troubles if he took some sabbatical time. Right now, it was a lot more important to him to be available to care for his mother.

Blaine had moved back into his parents' house a week ago. Heather's health had been going quickly downhill, and he didn't want her to be alone. She needed constant care now and even though she had suggested they could hire a nurse, he had put his foot down. He was her son, and he would be there for her for as long as she needed him.

As a consequence, he was constantly on call now. Blaine tried not to show how sad he was in front of his mother, but it became harder every day to hide it, because his anguish was slowly consuming him.

And the only person that he knew would make him feel better, was the one person he couldn't contact, because he refused to taint Kurt's well deserved happiness with the misery of his own life.

He just needed to be strong, and patient, and let Kurt enjoy his own life.

Even if he often felt like he couldn't breathe without him, Blaine had to stay away.

*

People were leaving the conference room once the meeting was over, chatting animatedly, most of them making plans for their lunch break. Kurt stayed behind to clean up, disposing of half consumed cups of coffee and crumpled balls of paper, since there was another meeting scheduled for later in the day.

Once done, he headed towards his small cubicle, balancing a note pad, a sketchbook and a huge, heavy binder all in one arm as he used his free hand to enter reminders on his phone: pick up his boss' dress from the dry-cleaner's later, make dinner reservations for another of his bosses, and buy fabrics that were needed for a photo shoot the next afternoon. He hoped he'd have enough time to consider some fabrics for Carly's wedding dress while he was there, too. He had emailed her several designs and she was very close to making her final choice. With the very little spare time he had, he needed to start working on it as soon as possible, or it wouldn't be ready for the wedding.

He was about to catch up on his emails (trying not to be disappointed by the lack of one particular person's message in his inbox) when his phone rang. After a quick glance at his father's picture displayed on the screen, he picked it up.

"Hey Dad!"

"Hi, kiddo. Is this a good time to talk?" Burt said on the other end.

"It's always a good time to talk to you, Dad," Kurt answered, happy to hear his voice. Being in New York was amazing, but he couldn't deny how much he missed his family. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine." Kurt could hear the sounds of the garage in the background. If he closed his eyes he could almost pretend he was there in his father's office. "How's work?"

"Ridiculously busy, but I love it," Kurt replied, holding the phone between his shoulder and ear and using his hands to type quickly. "Apparently we'll find out in a couple of weeks or so which of the interns they're keeping and promoting to a permanent position. I'm nervous, but I'm doing my best."

"I'm sure it'll be you," Burt said without hesitation. "No one in this world could want or deserve this more than you, Kurt."

"That's sweet of you to say, Dad, but I can't take anything for granted," Kurt sighed. He was really stressed just thinking about having to leave Vogue, but there was no way he was ever going back to Ohio now – he'd stay in New York even if he had to be a waiter forever – but having to start over, dealing with another failure... he certainly wasn't looking forward to that. "How's everyone else doing?"

"We're all okay," Burt said, but there was something in his voice that made Kurt doubtful. "Though I'm actually calling to ask you about how Blaine is doing."

Kurt's heart clenched in his chest, sending pain all over him. He swallowed, trying to remain calm. "What do you mean, how is Blaine? Has something happened?"

"Well, I drove by his book store this morning, and it's gone."

Kurt was sure he had heard wrong. He frowned in confusion. "What do you mean gone?"

"It's closed, and empty, as in, he closed down the business," Burt explained, and it was obvious from his tone that he was confused, too. "Wait, you didn't know about this? Didn't Blaine tell you he was going to close it down?"

"No," Kurt grabbed his phone in a tight grip. "I... we aren't really talking. He just... he sort of stopped talking to me weeks ago."

There was a pause on the other end. "Oh, I see."

"Dad?" Kurt hadn't expected his voice to sound so shaky. "Do you think something terrible happened to him?"

"I'm sure he's fine, kiddo," Burt tried to sound reassuring. "There are book stores closing all over the country, with all this digital downloading stuff taking over the market. It probably just didn't succeed, in such a small town."

"He must be absolutely heartbroken..." Kurt whispered, sadly.

"What happened between you two anyway? Are you guys okay?" Burt asked, concerned.

"I'm... I'll be fine," Kurt decided to be honest. "Maybe it's too hard dealing with the distance. We tried to keep our friendship going but... we're both busy." He closed his eyes for a moment. "I don't actually know exactly why he stopped talking to me. But I assume that's why."

"I'm sorry, Kurt. I liked Blaine. He was really good for you. You two were good for each other."

Kurt was not going to break down and cry at his work place. "Maybe we weren't as good for each other as we thought we were."

He knew it was a lie, but it was easier to deal with that, than dealing with the idea of Blaine not caring anymore, not returning his feelings. Kurt preferred to believe so, at least.

Either way, it still hurt.

*

That night, Kurt stared down at his phone for a few minutes, before finally making up his mind and pressing on the screen to make the call. He waited, holding his breath, as he listened to the tones, but Blaine never picked up. It went to voicemail, but Kurt didn't want to leave a message – the things he had to say were too personal and required answers that an automated voice would never be able to give him.

He sighed and put his phone down. Maybe Blaine would call back later.

*

Blaine watched the phone as it rang. Kurt's picture was staring back at him and it made his heart pound painfully in his chest. His fingers clenched as they ached to reach for the phone and take the call, but Blaine needed to be strong.

He knew why Kurt was calling, but in the mess his life had become, he couldn't find the strength or the time to deal with anything else. It hurt to let him go, to reject him like this, but Blaine was reaching his limit. He couldn't face Kurt; he just couldn't.

The phone screen went black again after a moment. He didn't return the call.

*

There was a warm cup of tea on the nightstand and a book open on his lap. Blaine was sitting back against the pillows, with his glasses pushed all the way up on his nose, his hazel eyes scanned the page, in something akin to contentment.

It was in moments like this when Blaine managed to forget, at least for a few minutes, how much everything sucked in his life. Maybe that was the reason why he had been practically devouring a new book after every night, because he needed a refuge, an escape.

He needed Kurt.

No. He shook his head to persuade himself. No. No matter how bad things were, he wouldn't let Kurt know what was going on. Perhaps someday, in the future, when he'd had time to heal, when the wounds weren't so fresh, when Kurt wouldn't feel obligated to be at Blaine's side to support him.

For now, books would have to be his entire support system.

He was just turning the page to start a new chapter when he heard it. It was so weak and low, he almost missed, but in the silence of the night, he heard his mother calling for him.

Blaine immediately rushed down the hallway to the master bedroom. "I'm coming, Mom!" He said.

The bedside lamp was on when he entered the room and Heather was slightly propped up against the headboard. She looked pale and distressed. Blaine was at her side in a second, reaching for her hand.

"What is it, Mom?" He asked, alarmed.

"Dear..." She said in a hoarse voice. "I don't want you to freak out right now... but I think it's time for me to move to the hospice, okay?"

Blaine inhaled sharply, but didn't let his fear show. "O-of course. Tell me, Mom. Are you in pain?"

"Yes, dear," she nodded heavily.

"Okay. I'll go call an ambulance and I'll be right back. Just a moment, Mom."

She closed her eyes as he left the room. Blaine swallowed every fear, every sob, every feeling threatening to break him, and forced himself to be what his mother needed him to be.

They only had each other. He had to be strong for her now.

*

It was well past midnight when Heather was finally settled into her room at the Lantern Light Cancer Hospice. Blaine stood close the entire time, holding her hand whenever he could, and wishing he could take away at least some of her pain.

While Heather was getting an IV to keep her hydrated and administer the stronger pain medication she needed now, her doctor pulled Blaine aside.

"We'll do our best to keep her as comfortable as possible, Mr. Anderson," she said with a sad smile. "But from now on... we wait."

Blaine took a deep breath and nodded, slowly. "How long?"

"We can't be sure. As long as her heart holds out," the doctor told him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "It could be hours, days, maybe a week or two."

Blaine removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay. Well... I want to stay with her until... until it happens."

"Of course," she said kindly. "I'll send a nurse in regularly to check on her. If there's anything we can do, let us know."

The doctor left and Blaine allowed himself a few seconds to breathe. A few tears made their way down his cheeks, but he immediately wiped them away. He didn't have time to cry.

He was grateful his mother had a private room in a place like this, and that he was able to stay with her. He sent a silent thank you to his father for the money that made this possible. If these were the last days he would have with his mother, he wanted them to be peaceful ones.

Heather's eyes were closed when he approached the bed, but when she heard him, she opened them and smiled at him tiredly. "Hi, darling."

"Hi, Mom," he did his best to smile. "You should get some sleep. It's late."

"You should go home and get some sleep," she said instead. "You can come back tomorrow."

"I'll be fine. Don't worry about me," he ran his fingers through her hair, so thin and lifeless.

It was obvious she wanted to protest, but the exhaustion and the medication defeated her. She was asleep before she even noticed her eyes were fluttering shut again.

Blaine stood, watching her quietly. In just a few days, she seemed to have aged decades. Blaine had never seen her as old – she was too elegant, too strong; too energetic for that word. It saddened him that she would leave the world this way. Someone like Heather Anderson shouldn't be consumed by pain and death like this.

Once he was sure she was deeply asleep, he moved to the armchair near the bed and sunk there heavily. He was tired too, and felt so helpless and defeated. He wished he had a shoulder to lean onto; someone who could hold him and rub his back soothingly while whispering that he would be okay.

On solitary, painful nights like this, he missed Kurt the most.

*

Heather slept quite peacefully for the rest of the night. Blaine managed to doze off several times, and even though one of the nurses brought a cot for him, he stayed close to the bed on the armchair, with a blanket wrapped around himself keeping a vigil.

By the time morning came, he was tired, and sore from sleeping upright for so long. Heather convinced him to go get a cup of coffee while the doctor did her morning check. Blaine reluctantly agreed, recognizing he was going to need a lot of caffeine in the next few days.

*

Blaine soon became well acquainted with most of the staff. All of the nurses liked him because he was always polite and eager to help in whatever way he could. He was also charming and attractive, so it didn't take long for the younger nurses (and sometimes even the older ones, too) to start noticing him.

He didn't notice them. He was too busy, holding Heather's hand, and worrying. It was so unsettling, not knowing when the worst was going to happen. Knowing each breath could be her last had him constantly on edge, and afraid to leave the room.

"I'm fine, my silly boy," Heather assured him sweetly, pressing her palm against his cheek lightly. Her lips curled in a pale ghost of a smile. "Nothing terrible will happen if you go home, get some rest and decent food. I'll still be here when you come back."

Blaine didn't want to tell her that maybe she wouldn't be there anymore. Even thinking about it was too hard. So he simply shook his head and tried to sound convincing when he told her he had taken a nap while she was asleep, or that he had bought a burger at the cafeteria earlier. She was too weak to argue with him.

When she was resting and sleep eluded him, Blaine read. Losing himself in the pages of familiar books gave him a sense of normalcy that he desperately needed right now. Hugging a hard cover book against his chest when he was feeling down was the nearest thing to having someone's hand to hold. Books were his only comfort, and Blaine knew that soon... they would be all he had left.

Books had always been his happy place, but now even they seemed somber.

*

"Sometimes I wonder... how your father would have coped if he was still here."

Blaine startled at the sound of his mother's voice. He had thought she was asleep, so he had been, once again, reading. But she was clearly wide awake, staring up at the ceiling with her hands flat on the bed.

"A lot of things would've been different if he was here," Blaine replied quietly.

"Yes, but not this," Heather said thoughtfully. "This would've happened either way. And, to be honest, I'm glad he left first. Mark wasn't good at dealing with illnesses, or sadness. It would've killed him to have to go through this."

"We don't have to talk about that now, Mom," Blaine muttered, scooting the chair he was sitting on closer to the bed. "We can talk about happy things."

"Oh my poor dear," she tilted her head to the side to look at him. "What happy things are there? I've always wished your life was full of nothing but happiness, but lately..."

"I'm okay," he reassured her, like he did every time his unhappiness was brought into the conversation. "It's been a rough few months, but I'll get over it."

"I'm just making everything worse. I have you here attached to me, keeping you a prisoner with an invisible chain..." she sighed bitterly. "You're so young, Blaine, still so young. You shouldn't be wasting your time sitting by my bedside."

"I'm here because I love you," he said firmly. "That's not wasting my time."

"Every second you're here it's another second where you don't smile," Heather insisted. "I haven't seen you smile properly in such a long time..."

"That's not true. I always smile when I'm with you," he protested.

The way Heather looked at him was that of a mother who can read her son's thoughts without a single word needing to be said. "Oh darling. I mean a real smile. You haven't smiled sincerely since Kurt left."

"Mom, please," his voice was pleading. "I don't want to talk about Kurt. Not now."

With another sigh, Heather gave in and nodded. "Fine. But I do want to talk about your happiness."

Blaine sat back in his chair, resignation creeping over him. The woman might be dying, but she could still be stubborn.

"I know you're sad right now. I know you don't believe life can be good again... but it can, Blaine. I know it will be." She extended her hand, reaching for his. Blaine slipped his hand into hers immediately. "It's okay to be sad because the people we love are leaving us, but don't let this moment of sadness define the rest of your life. Your life is a collection of moments, both good and bad, and you only get to see the full picture at the end, you only get to decide if it was a good or a bad life at the end."

Blaine wasn't sure what to say to that, so he didn't say anything. He simply watched her: the shape of her eyes, the faded color that had lost its sparkle in the past few weeks, her hair falling on the pillow, the light weight of her hand in his.

"I can see the full picture of my life now, and it's such a good picture, Blaine," she said, and her smile was the brightest that it had been in a while. "I had your father, and I had you, and I was very happy. I was happy because I got to love and be loved."

"I love you so much, Mom," Blaine whispered, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. It was as if the past few weeks - months - had finally dropped onto his shoulders, and he was now carrying a load way too heavy for a man as small as he was. He felt breathless, hopeless.

"I love you, too, Blaine."

They stayed silent for a moment, just gazing into each other's eyes. Blaine rested his forehead on the bed next to her side, and she started running her fingers through his unkempt curls, humming softly to herself.

"If I could go back in time, I'd do it all over again, just the same way I did it," she muttered and Blaine turned his head slightly so he could look at her. "I have no regrets, and that's more than a lot of people can say at the end of their lives, Blaine." She gave him a pointed look. "Don't be one of those people. You have plenty of time to do what you want to do. Your dreams are all still out there. Just go chase them, honey."

"I'm not sure I even know what my dreams are anymore," he murmured. He felt so lost and hurt.

"Of course you do, Blaine. You just got distracted and can't remember right now. But you do know," her eyes were so sure that he believed her. "You'll remember what they are as soon as you let yourself stop mourning for the things that went wrong."

He raised their joined hands as he straightened up, and brought them to his lips so he could kiss the back of hers. "You're talking too much and you should be resting."

"Resting is all I can do," she complained halfheartedly. "Talking to my beautiful son won't do me any harm." She paused, and then frowned, her fingers tightening around Blaine's for a moment. "B-but you know what? I could really use some cold water. Would you please bring me some, darling?"

"Yes, of course," he immediately stood up to refill her pitcher at the ice and water dispenser down the hall. "I'll be right back."

His mother's words were echoing in his head as he walked. She had always had a way with words, a way to make him see things he hadn't been able to see before. He had always believed no one understood him, not really, but whenever she talked to him, he realized he had been wrong. She'd always understood. She always knew just what to say to make him feel better, or at least to make him think, to help him find his way through his troubles.

He entered the room and went straight to the bedside table to refill her cup. "It's really cold, so drink it slowly..."

He turned to the bed. Heather's eyes were closed, and her face was so peaceful, like she was only sleeping.

But Blaine knew. Somehow, he just knew.

He set the cup back on the bedside table and fell onto the chair. His hand found his mother's again, intertwining their fingers like they had just a few minutes ago.

She had known it was time. She had sent him out of the room so he wouldn't have to see it.

She had known it was time, and she had given him her last goodbye.

Blaine finally let his tears spill down his cheeks.

*

There was so much paperwork to deal with, so many phone calls to make.

Blaine sat alone in a deserted room, his finger hovering over the green button below Kurt's picture and number on the screen.

There were a lot of people he had to call – family, neighbors, his mother's friends – but there was only one person he wanted by his side at a time like this.

And yet, he had promised himself he wouldn't do it.

He took a deep breath, gathered whatever scraps of strength he had left, and put his phone down.

*

For the second time in less than a year, Blaine Anderson stood in front of a new grave, and watched someone he loved disappear forever.

He could feel people patting his back, saying words of encouragement, of sympathetic grief, of support, but he couldn't understand what they were really saying. He could only stand there numbly and watch them bury his mother.

Less than a year. So much had changed in only a matter of months, and Blaine felt dizzy just thinking about it. He had lost, gained, and lost again, and now... now he was left with absolutely nothing. He had been confused, he had been hurt, he had loved, and he'd had his heart broken. He had lost his father, he had lost Kurt; he had lost his mother. And there he stood, alone. Everyone he cared about was gone - his parents were dead, and Kurt was in New York.

He remembered his father's funeral, when he had wrapped his mother in a comforting hug, letting her know he was right there beside her. He didn't need to glance around to know no one there would do the same for him. Everyone standing at the gravesite with him were strangers, even the ones who were part of his family. Aunts, uncles, third cousins... people who only showed up for weddings or funerals or sent a Christmas card.

Blaine had always been lonely - the lonely child who was happiest when he was in his room with his books for company. But now, for the very first time in his life, he knew what it truly meant to be alone.

And just like that, as if he had been struck by a burst of light, he realized: I have nothing left.

His book store was gone. His family was gone.

Every single root that had kept him tied in Ohio, everything he had ever held dear, everything that had made him sacrifice what he could've had with Kurt... it was all gone now.

Everything he had ever known and loved wasn't there anymore, and this bittersweet freedom felt like a gift he didn't deserve.

He thought of what his mother had told him: Your dreams are still out there. Just go chase them.

He knew what his dreams were. And he also knew where they were.

It all ended with a funeral.