You told him to go. You try to remind yourself that you were the one who insisted and encouraged and demanded he chase his dreams, leave you for a chance at happiness, move across the country. Even though your heart was screaming at you, even though you wanted him to stay - even though you had half a mind to�chase�him down at the airport, singing a different tune, to beg him to stay - you told him to go. You repeat the words over and over in your head for the first few days: he'll be happier there. He'll be�happier�there. He'll be happier�there.You told him to go.�You�told him to go. You�told�him to go.

You don't have anyone to blame but yourself, you know that much. But you couldn't stand to watch him wallowing in his misery and rejection and self-pity. It was breaking his heart - and so, naturally, it was breaking yours, too - to spend his days working at the Lima Bean and lurking around McKinley and sitting in his house, listless, lethargic, defeated. It was breaking his heart and you couldn't take it anymore. You did the right thing, the thing good boyfriends everywhere would endorse. Don't they always say that if you love someone you set them free? That's what you did; with the promise of joining him in a year, of Skyping non-stop and visiting whenever you could and sending care packages and random texts, of continuing to love him and miss him and support him no matter the distance.

You did it because you promised you would. You did it because he's Kurt and you're Blaine. You did it because he couldn't have done it on his own; because it was your turn to be the strong one. You did it because he needed you to.

You remember all the things you promised him last Christmas: to kiss him and love him and support him and surprise him. So you keep your promise; you keep all of your promises. You surprise him in the courtyard with a song you two love -�a song you listened to all summer driving around with the windows rolled down, feeling carefree and young and so very alive - and you can see it in his eyes. You can see that you're doing the right things, that you're pushing him just as hard as he needs, that you're helping him to find his way again, just as he would do for you.

You put on a brave face, even though the prospect of saying goodbye - or, in your case, see you soon - to Kurt sounds like the worst thing in the world, because you know he needs you to be brave. You know he needs you to keep pushing and encouraging and supporting him. You know him. And he needs you. So, you rise to the occasion. You help him pack his things and convince his dad. You help make sure he surprises Rachel - because, really, can you imagine the look on her face?! - and that he packs all of his favorite movies and scarves and accessories. You start Skyping every night to practice, to get the glitches out of the system, to be ready for when seeing him on your computer screen is as good as it gets. You do other things, too. You touch and you kiss and you laugh. You make plans and�you make jokes and you make love. And you make more promises. You share with him your secret fears - that he'll forget you in the big city, that you'll be the boyfriend who's holding him back - and he tells you his - that he won't make friends, that he won't fit in, that you'll move on without him, that you'll forget to miss him, that things will change. So, you make even more promises. You squash his fears and he does the same to yours, both promising things you shouldn't, things you can't really guarantee, but things you mean all the same.

You try not to listen to the doubting voice in your head, instead remembering Kurt's broad grin and carefree, excited laugh, remembering his eager planning and excitement at the prospect of his new life.� He loves you, you remind yourself. New York won't change that. You contrast the new Kurt - jumping up and down, smiling brightly, excited for his new adventure - with the Kurt of last week, sad and downtrodden and hopeless. Every time he thinks of a something to pack and races across his room to grab it and throw it in his suitcase, every time his eyes light up at the thought of Central Park or Times Square or anything remotely New York related, every time he trips over his words as he eagerly details his plans to you, you remember. You're doing the right thing. This is what Kurt needs. So, you tell yourself again and again, this is what you need, too.

You can't bring yourself to go with him to the airport. You've done a good job - a�great�job, if you say so yourself - of hiding your tears and apprehension and second thoughts from him. He promised you that nothing would change and you promised him the same. So, it's time you be strong, again, and ignore the fear and dread creeping in. You don't want him to know how much you're hurting, how you're worried, how much you're rethinking all of it. Because, in your heart, you know that your worries are silly
and your pain will be fleeting and your second thoughts are foolish.
Kurt belongs in New York, not in Lima, you know that. But, you also know that Kurt belongs with you, so what does that mean? How do you possibly reconcile those two things? Does he really belong in New York if it means he'll be so far from you?

---

The first few weeks are easy. You look forward to every call and text and Skype session, to every word and story and syllable.� You soak in all the details his offers so willingly, wishing you were there with him.

You imagine how great next year will be. He will know his way around, have his favorite coffee shop and park bench and sandwich place. He'll know the subway system and the shortcuts and the secret language of city-goers. He will teach you and show you and share with you everything he loves about the city. Maybe you'll get an apartment together - �with or without Rachel �- and decorate it in warm tones, classy accents, comfy furniture. You'll be starting your life together. You'll be living your dreams together. You'll be together.�

It gets harder but you remember the promise of next year. You hold on to the hope and the dream of what's to come, what will be, what tomorrow and next week and next year will bring.

---

You try and you try and you try but still, you feel him slipping away. You feel yourself losing him, so you pull him in tighter. It doesn't work.

His life is flying forward and yours is standing still. He tells you all about Vogue and Isabelle and how wonderful it all is and you listen and you care and you ooh and aah. You respond when you're supposed to and stay quite when appropriate, letting him ramble on excitedly. You can't help but notice, though, that he doesn't seem to care or listen when you talk. He doesn't seem to let you ramble the way you let him. He doesn't seem to hear you, not the way he used to. He doesn't seem interested in anything you have to say. Is McKinley just too boring for him now? Is glee club too juvenile? Too�high school?

And, if it is, if your life is boring, where does that stop? Because, if everything that is important to you, everything that makes up your daily life is too boring, too unimportant, too passe, then what does that make you? Aren't you then, by your very definition, too boring for him, too?

It seems like the craziest idea you've ever had. Of course Kurt isn't bored by you or your life or your stories. Of course he still cares, still loves you, is still interested.�He's just distracted, you tell yourself.�He's just settling in, you say. It will all go back to normal, it will all get better, Kurt will return to you, Kurt will come back, Kurt will act like he used to and talk to you like he used to and listen to you like he used to. You tell yourself not to worry or be so paranoid. You tell yourself it will pass, as every squabble and issue and bump in the road before has passed, because it's Kurt and it's you and you're fate. It will pass. It will get better. You know it. You feel it. It has to be true.

So, then, why don't you believe it?

---

You think he's ignoring your calls. He used to always answer when you called, by the third ring at the latest, or else send you a quick text as soon as he got your voice mail, explaining why he couldn't talk. It wasn't obsessive or crazy or codependent, it was loyal. You were loyal to each other. You didn't miss his calls and he didn't miss yours. You certainly wouldn't ignore his calls and the idea of him ignoring yours? Ridiculous. Until, all of a sudden, it isn't so ridiculous after all. Because if it happened once or twice, it would be a fluke. But regularly? It is becoming a pattern, the worst kind of pattern, the kind of pattern that means you were getting left behind. You are getting forgotten.�

You can tell he doesn't need you the way you need him. As you cling tighter, he pulls away more and more. His new life is consuming him, filling him, completing him the way�you�used to. But the empty place he left in your life is still very much gaping and painful, always on your mind. New York and his new life is fresh and exciting and exotic, filled with interesting people and great opportunities and distractions aplenty. So,�basically, New York is everything Lima isn't. His life is everything yours is not.

Where he moves forward, you stand still. Where he finds happiness, you feel only loneliness, loss, abandonment. You need him but you don't know how to tell him you need him. You miss him but you can't quite put the feelings into words, can't quite do it justice.

He doesn't understand. He can't understand. He's forgetting you and yet you remember him; everything about him, every touch, every word, every look, every taste,�everything.

You can't escape the memories. You can't forget. In the darkest of your dark moments, you wish you could forget him; wish you could move on, too. Even though that sounds more like a nightmare than anything. Even though forgetting Kurt would be like forgetting your name or birthday, forgetting to breathe or forgetting to exist. It would be impossible. It would be unbearable.

So how can he possibly be forgetting you without so much as a second thought? If you meant to him what he means to you the forgetting and the moving on and the drifting wouldn't come so easily, wouldn't happen without notice. If you meant to him what he means to you, you wouldn't be feeling this way; he wouldn't let you feel this way.

---

You join every club you can. When that's not enough, you agree to run for president to have something to do, something to fill your thoughts and days, something besides missing Kurt to occupy your time. You try to tell Kurt about it, to explain to him why it matters, to ask for his advice, but it doesn't work. You feel him slipping farther from you, in his own world; a world without you.

Against all odds, you win. And the first thing you think is that Kurt would be proud of you - or at least, you hope he would be - so, you call him to find out; to hear the pride and excitement in his voice. And the call goes straight to voice mail. Again.

You lie to Sam and to yourself and to the world because the truth is unbearable. The truth is unfair and impossible and horrible. The truth is that the biggest, best, most exciting thing that's happened to you all year doesn't seem to matter to the one person who's supposed to be there for you, always. The truth is that your boyfriend's new life is becoming more important to him than you and your relationship and your love; the things he swore would always come first. The truth is that Kurt is finding his place, a new place, without you. The truth is that you feel completely and utterly alone. And isn't having a boyfriend - having a soul mate who's your best friend and confidante and lover and�everything�- supposed to mean you never have to feel alone?

You try to talk to Sam; to explain to him the horrible, sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. You're beginning to realize how screwed up everything has become.�You're starting to feel like McKinley is the worst place in the world for you to be.

You're starting to realize how your voice has become stifled when it once was sought out, how your talent has been under appreciated when it once was praised and lauded and cheered, how you are beginning to feel insignificant and ordinary and lonely when you once felt so important, so loved, so extraordinary. Did Dalton and the Warblers and being a star do that for you? Or was it Kurt?

You can't tell, you�can't really remember or distinguish all the particulars of the past few years.�But, when you look�back on your high school experience, you realize how much time you've spent running and hiding and changing and moving. Dalton was supposed to be your safe haven, your�refuge. And it was. Until something became more important. Until�Kurt�became more important.�Regardless of�your feelings now and your pain and loneliness, regardless of not knowing why things have changed so much, you start to blame Kurt. You start to wonder if you would be happier now if you had never left Dalton. You start to imagine how good it would feel to be a Warbler again - to be a lead singer, to be loved and adored, to have fans, to be a rock star - and you wonder why you ever transferred to begin with. And that makes you even more upset, makes your feelings toward Kurt even more complicated. Because when you ask yourself why you came to McKinley in the first place, the answer is automatic: to be with Kurt.

---�

The new kids in Glee are starting to mingle, starting to flirt and laugh and smile and date.�

You sit with Brittany and watch them. You wonder how you and Kurt ever lost that. You miss the days when it was all so fun and light and easy. You miss the flirting, you miss the chase, you miss�being�chased, you miss being kissed and courted and adored. You miss feeling loved, feeling needed and wanted and important.�

Brittany reminds you that you're young, just like those new kids. And you are. And you start to think that something's wrong. Something is wrong with you and Kurt if, after so little time together, you've already gotten boring and bored and lazy. If you're already forgetting to cherish each other, isn't that a bad sign? Isn't 17 a bit young to be half of an old married couple on the brink of divorce? Where is the spark, the fire, the heat? Where is the fun?� What happened to the way you used to make each other feel?�

---

He calls you and you tell him because you're out of ideas and he's still distracted and he still doesn't understand. �You need him to know, to understand: to understand how deeply you miss him, how utterly you need him, how you are stranded, lost at sea, listless, unsure, afraid.

You are more honest than you've been in weeks. You tell him things that make you blush, things you only half-admitted to yourself, things that take more effort than he could imagine to say out loud, over the phone, walking down the hallway. He hears the words and acts like he's listening but he's not, he doesn't hear, not really.

You tell him how you feel and it's more searching and needy and�vulnerable�than anything you've ever said. Especially to him. You tell him you love him and for the first time you remember, he doesn't say it back. He doesn't say it back because he doesn't hear you; he hangs up before you even finish the sentence. He is gone.

---

You start to wonder. You start to think and over analyze and doubt. You really start to doubt. You doubt everything and anything you thought you knew.

---

You had seen the friend request and thought nothing of it. But now, you see it again and go to ignore it but the profile picture catches your eye. A lighthouse. Your mind is flooded with Kurt and your plans for the future and the life you were going to share and how it's all turning to crap. So, you accept the request. You click your mouse and try to turn the feelings off, to forget Kurt and the feeling of his lips on yours and the sound of his promises in your ear. You tell yourself that you have to make new memories. A lighthouse makes you think of Kurt and spending eternity together? Maybe it's time to change that, to make a new memory to replace the old one. Maybe this Eli can help you do just that.�

When you get a message a few hours later, you reply eagerly, desperate for some contact, some conversation. You want the loneliness and the pain to go away. You're tired of feeling ignored and neglected. You're sick of being a second thought, of feeling less than needed and loved and perfect, the way Kurt used to make you feel.�It all escalates quickly and before you know it, he asks you to come over. And, before you can second guess it, you say yes.

---

It isn't how you thought it would be. Not at all. You push back the feeling of how wrong it is, how different, how unfamiliar. Maybe you're just out of practice. Maybe since you've only been with one person, it's supposed to feel weird at first. Maybe you just have to work through it and it'll get better. You try to get lost in him; to let his hands, rough and calloused, resting on your cheek and your hip, sooth your worrying; to let his lips, slightly parted, kiss your blues away; to let his tongue, warm at it swirls with yours, make you feel less lonely, make you feel loved, make you forget.

It's all wrong, but you don't let yourself stop. You kiss harder and you grind your hips against his. You are eager and you know what you want. You're going to do this. You have to do this. Kurt doesn't love you, not anymore. He's leaving you behind and so you have to do the same. He's not your fate. He's not your soul mate or your destiny. In a few years, you'll look back and remember him fondly: your first boyfriend and first love and first everything, really. First, but not last. First of many. You remember saying that to Kurt, promising him your future, and you push the memory from your mind. You tell yourself to forget, to make new memories, to be present with this boy, to forget, and forget and forget.

Your clothes are off and his are off and things move faster than you thought they would, faster than you want, faster than you can handle. You don't let yourself panic, don't let yourself regret, don't let yourself second guess. You are doing this. You are doing this. You are doing this.�

It doesn't work, though. You can't. You won't. But you must. So, you do the only thing you can think to do: you think of Kurt.

You kiss him but you think of Kurt. You touch him but it's Kurt's skin you're imagining. You lift your hips and you stroke and you move and you feel but it's not him and you're not there; it's Kurt and you're somewhere else, with Kurt, together.

This is it,�you tell yourself. This is what you need to get over him, to move on. One last time. One last time, with him or imagining him or whatever. You need to get him out of your system. You need to think of him to get through it and then be done. You barely keep yourself from whispering Kurt's name, from moaning it, from saying it as you kiss�him, from crying out, from screaming it. You bite your tongue to keep the words in, the words that will only confuse him, the words you don't quite understand.

You are starting over, you tell yourself. This is good and right and new and different and the beginning of a new chapter. It feels weird because it's new. It feels wrong because you're not used to it.�

With every kiss and caress and thrust you see Kurt, you touch Kurt, you feel Kurt. Kurt, Kurt, Kurt.

You are erasing him and replacing him and saying goodbye, for good.
�
Or so you think.