We Aren't Who We Were

Chapter 15

Blaine walked the familiar route to his loft, opting to take the stairs rather than the elevator. Each step felt heavy as he tiredly gripped the handrail to support himself.

Josh's words kept echoing in his ear…believe what you will, but he's gone Blaine…he's gone.

No, Blaine thought to himself, shaking his head a little too vigorously. He wasn't gone. Kurt wouldn't leave. He wouldn't…he couldn't. Not after everything they'd been through together—not after all the promises, and all the plans. Not after those kisses and those few rare nights they spent with their arms wrapped tightly around each other—

Blaine stopped, taking a shaky breath. No. He wouldn't.

Blaine blinked back tears as he sighed and slowly sat down on the steps, no longer having the energy or the will power for that final flight of stairs till his floor. There was a part of Blaine that believed Josh—believed that maybe he did run. Maybe he couldn't handle the pain, or the guilt, or whatever. But then there was another part—the bigger part—that remembered those bright blue eyes burning into his, those eyes that told him they were meant to be together, despite all of the obstacles they'd face to get there.

Blaine rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, letting out a low, dark chuckle. Where the hell was Kurt? He wondered to himself. He could feel the heat starting to rise to his chest—where the hell was he? Blaine was tired of this stupid game. He felt angry. He had a right to be angry didn't he? After all he was the one who has sacrificed everything for Kurt. He was the one who'd ended things with Danny, he was the one who promised to wait for Kurt to the same—no matter how long it took. Blaine's eyes fell to the floor, his hazel eyes blazing. It was he who was left here without any answers.

Blaine took a deep breath and lifted himself up off the stairwell, and drudged up those final few steps to his small loft.

Blaine pushed the door open, relishing in the image of earlier that morning. Everything was in a mess, just like he'd left it as he bolted out the door.

Blaine sighed heavily as he sunk into the couch, his eyes scanning across the room. Danny's letter was left abandoned on the table. Blaine narrowed his eyes as he stared at it, picking it back up. Blaine stared at the familiar handwriting once again.

Blaine,

I'm pretty sure you're surprised to be getting a letter from me, of all people. I hope you and Kurt are happy, everything considered, all I ever wanted was for you to be happy, and I was never really it, was I? You won't believe how many times I tried to be the bigger person and just sit down and write this, so after a lot of struggle, here it is.

What you did hurt, but as time has passed, so has the pain, and I'm getting over it. You actually helped me realize a lot about myself. You may not be aware, but I always listened when you said I was never living up to my full potential, or that I was wasting my life doing little things when I could be doing so much more. I never really listened, but in the back of my mind I think I always knew you were right. You may never know how much you've helped me, and for that I decided to help you as well.

You are your art Blaine. It is your passion, it is your soul, and it is who you are. That might be why seeing those paintings of him were so painful. I hope they turned out well, and are enjoyed by many. His is truly a face to admire, I'll give you that much.

I live in San Francisco now, and I'm adjusting well, dabbling in theater, music, things I've always loved. I showed one of my colleagues your paintings Blaine. I don't know if it was me crossing the line or whatever, but they loved it. If you're ever willing to come out here, my friend Michael Sampson would love to feature you in his art shows. It could be a step in the right direction for you.

You can ignore this letter if you want, I'd understand. I know New York is where your life is, and where Kurt is, but this opportunity seemed to big not to tell you, so I hope you at the least take it into consideration.

I left Michael's contact information here, you can contact him if you'd like, but for our sake, I think it'd be best if we just left it at that.

~I wish you the best,

Danny Miller

Blaine tossed the letter back onto the table, and turned to face out one of the big glass windows of the loft. The usual Brooklyn noise could be heard faintly as the usual hustle and bustle went on—but for some reason, everything just seemed to be so empty, so dark…so alone.

Blaine picked up the letter again. He'd probably read through it ten or more times. Everything about it brought about intense emotions coursing through his body. He felt guilty about hurting Danny, he felt pain as he read Danny's assumption that he and Kurt were together, and he felt lost when it came to the whole art thing.

Blaine swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut as he held the letter, his fingers trembling as they gripped the paper.

In one single day, Blaine felt like his entire world was coming crashing down. He felt confused, angry, betrayed, hurt…nothing was right anymore—if they ever were anyways. Maybe he was just an idiot who'd been too foolish to realize that this was real life and not just a stupid fairytale.

Blaine lay back against the couch, the letter fluttering down to the floor. He closed his eyes, and rubbed his face with his hands, letting out an audible groan.

When he closed his eyes, all he could see was his face. Those blue-green eyes sparkling, his porcelain skin glowing—and those pink lips smiling.

Blaine opened his eyes again, and for the first time since he'd woken up that morning, Blaine began to cry—like really, really, cry. He couldn't hold it in anymore, he couldn't blink the tears away, and he definitely couldn't just keep pressing the feelings back—it was just too hard. His flood of emotions burst through him like a dam breaking. Blaine let it all out, sobbing shamelessly into his hands.

The empty loft fell dark as the sun began to set. Blaine's crying echoed through the apartment—the sound of his sharp inhales as he desperately tried to catch his breath, almost choking as he did so. His hands trembled as they tried wiping at the tears that flowed faster than he could wipe away, leaving his eyes rimmed red, and bloodshot.

"Where the fuck are you Kurt?" Blaine whispered to himself in between sobs, running his fingers through his hair.

Kurt stood in a daze, staring at the spiraling conveyer belt let out one piece of hideous luggage after the next. A bright LAX Baggage Claim – Flight 86 from New York to Los Angeles, flashed in front of his eyes.

6 hour plane ride and Kurt was still trembling, biting down his lower lips to keep from crying again.

He felt so lost, and scared. He'd spent half the night sitting in the airport, staring up at the giant departure board wondering where he should go—he knew he couldn't go to Paris, because then Josh would know where he was, and where he was staying. He didn't know who to call, because seriously at this point, who would help him, it wasn't exactly the type of situation people found pity on—not that he wanted their pity anyways.

He hoped Josh hated him, he hoped Josh didn't think twice about even considering taking that flight. If Josh hated him, maybe he would feel a tiny sliver of a inch better for what he did.

Kurt had really done it this time. Because of his own stupid flaky mind, he'd managed to ruin the relationships between two of the people he cared about the most in the world. He hurt them both in such a deep, painful way—he didn't know how he'd face either of them ever again.

Kurt wiped his eyes with his sleeve, blinking as his vision blurred back to normal.

Blaine. He'd seen the note by now for sure. Kurt could feel the lump in his throat starting to form again as the familiar sting in his eyes began to burn.

If Blaine hated him—which Kurt was pretty much sure he did—he didn't know if he could handle it. Kurt trembled at the thought of Blaine waking up that morning and seeing that stupid note he'd scrawled onto that piece of paper. He could imagine Blaine's confused face as he read it over and over again trying to decipher its meaning.

Kurt's eyes fell, staring at the cold airport floors. Of all the things he could have written, why did he write that? What the hell did it mean anyways? I could never say goodbye to you. He was stupid—he panicked. He should have written about what a selfish asshole he was, and how he didn't even deserve Blaine, who was always patient…and kind and—

Kurt shook his head.

At the least he should have written that he loved him. He was a coward leaving that note, a stupid, scared little coward. He couldn't even believe he ever thought he deserved Blaine. The Blaine who left his fiancé for him—something he was never able to find the courage to do, who waited for him while he tried to figure out if he'd be able to leave Josh, and stayed with him despite the longevity of time he spent still figuring it out.

Kurt spotted his suitcase approaching, and stepped forward, pulling it from the revolving carousal.

Blaine was better off without him, Kurt thought to himself. Besides, all he ever did was hurt him…over and over again. Kurt dropped his suitcase onto the floor, gripping the handle in his fingers, and shakily walked toward the airport exits.

After finally being able to pull himself together, Blaine stumbled into his studio, flicking on the lights, and rubbed his eyes as he stood in the doorway. He blinked as the light flickered for a moment before turning on.

It was the first thing that caught Blaine's gaze as soon as the room was illuminated with the familiar sepia light—that painting of Kurt. It was always there, still half finished, and to be honest, not as great Blaine had envisioned it to be when he'd decided to put the image on canvas.

Blaine sort of figured that maybe there was just no way to capture the way the light hits Kurt's blue-green eyes, making his heartbeat freeze momentarily when they looked at him, or a perfect shade for his porcelain skin, and rose colored lips. Maybe there was no way a person could capture that stunning aura that positively radiated off of him—Blaine sighed, walking toward the painting propped on its easel in the middle of the room, and pulled a stool up in front of it. Maybe it was time for him to accept that he'd never be able to finish the damn thing.

Feeling irritated and angry again, Blaine got up in one quick, frustrated movement, shoving the stool aside, and sending it crashing onto another painting, causing it to knock over onto the floor.

Blaine bit his lower lip as he walked over slowly, picking up the painting and staring at it so intensely he could have burned a hole into it. Blaine felt a shiver up his spine as he flashed back to a few weeks ago when he'd first painted it, and showed it to Kurt.

"Blaine, what is this? Did you just paint it? I don't remember seeing it the last time I was here." Kurt asked, his eyes running up and down the full canvas, his finger tracing down the painting, admiring Blaine's handiwork.

Blaine poked his head from behind the current painting he was currently engrossed in. He laughed, rubbing the sweat from his forehead, accidentally smearing a yellow streak across it.

"I don't know, kind of felt inspired after out talk, so I went down to Staten Island and painted this cute little house I've always loved. It's nice isn't it?" Blaine said with a smile, grinning at the way Kurt admired the house.

"Staten Island?" Kurt repeated, realizing Blaine was alluding to the talk they'd had nights ago about getting a house together with white picket fences and big porches.

Kurt stared intently at the pastel blue house, with cute flower bushes surrounding the wooden porch. There was a wary old swing set beside the front door with the fading screen door. The paint on the picket fence had chipped, and it was obvious that the house had gone through a bit over the years.

"Yeah, well, Manhattan and Brooklyn aren't exactly 'suburb' areas, and I know you have that weird thing against New Jersey—"

"Hey, it's not that I have a thing against it…I just—dislike everything about it is all" Kurt sniffed, raising his nose in the air.

Blaine chuckled, "Yeah well, I know you probably didn't want to venture too far, so I figured Staten Island was our best shot." Blaine smiled to himself, his eyes falling to his lap, "I know it's like way, way in the future, but I don't know—I was just inspired by the idea of it."

Kurt rolled his eyes, "Oh, Blaine…if we're getting a house we are not going to settle for an old cottage thing in Staten."

Blaine raised his eyebrows curiously, "We're not?"

Kurt laughed, and walked towards Blaine cheerfully, and settled in his lap, "Of course not! You think all of New York is urban and stuff? There are houses in Buffalo, Evans, Carmel, Colonie, maybe even Westchester…I mean, Staten Island really Blaine? Sure there are—" Kurt droned on happily wrapping his arms around Blaine's neck.

Blaine cut him off, craning his neck up to plant a kiss to Kurt's lips. He smiled as he pulled back, reaching up and brushing his thumb over Kurt's lower lip.

Kurt chuckled, "What was that for?"

Blaine pressed his forehead against Kurt's, "You've been thinking about our future house Kurt Hummel?" Blaine asked cheerily, raising his eyebrows a couple times.

"Well, I mean—I may have thought about it once or twice," Kurt blushed.

Blaine reached around his neck, unwrapping Kurt's hands, and held them against his chest.

"I love you Kurt," Blaine said softly, staring up into Kurt's bright blue-green eyes.

Kurt smiled back, blushing even more, "I love you too Blaine."

Blaine stared angrily at the painting. The memory causing his chest to tighten, and his heart feel like it was about to explode.

Blaine couldn't do it. Everywhere he looked, the studio, the bedroom, the living room…it all reminded him of Kurt. The memories began to flood his mind, causing his lower lip to tremble in a mix of anger and pain.

Blaine shook his head, raking his fingers through his messy curls roughly. No. He couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't bare staying one moment in the god damn place,how was he going to wake up here every morning and think about him, again and again and again.

He stormed out of the studio quickly, walking straight to the living room and grabbing Danny's letter up off the table, and pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. With trembling fingers, Blaine typed out the enclosed number, and pressed call.

"Hello? Mr. Sampson?" Blaine breathed heavily into the phone, a tad breathless, "My name is Blaine Anderson, and I know it's been a few weeks since I should have called you but my—my friend Danny Miller told me to contact you?"

Kurt stepped out the cab slowly, handing the driver a couple bills, and going around back to haul his luggage out of the trunk.

He looked at the modest LA home, and took a deep breath, hoping to somewhat compose himself before knocking on the door.

As the cab drove away, Kurt pulled his suitcase down the driveway and to the front door, pausing to take a deep breath before stepping in front of the Welcome matt, and hesitantly ringing the doorbell.

Maybe he shouldn't be here, he should've checked into a hotel or something, and spare her his grief. What would she say to him when she told him what he'd done? Maybe she'll hate him like pretty much everyone else will when they find out—oh god, what if she already knew? What if Josh called his dad, and his dad had called—

"Kurt?" Mercedes asked curiously, as she opened the front door, smiling a little as she stared her best friend of ten years standing before her.

Kurt bit down on his lower lip to try to stop the quivering, and stared at his friend nervously.

"I wasn't expecting you to…be here…" Mercedes said carefully, noting the obviously distressed state Kurt was in.

Kurt opened his mouth to say something, trembling as he did so.

"Is—is everything okay, Kurt?" Mercedes asked worriedly, her eyebrows knitting together.

"Mercedes—Mercedes…I need to stay here for a while—I—I didn't know who else to call, and I just, it was the next flight out from New York, and I just I can't—" Kurt stuttered, feeling his eyes starting to fill with tears again as he tried to explain the situation, "Please…"

Mercedes' eyes searched Kurt's face for some sense that his words just weren't making right now. His eyes were rimmed red, and his face was puffy from crying for what seemed like hours.

"Kurt, calm down. Does Josh know that—" Mercedes began.

Kurt shook his head vigorously, trying to calm down and keep from crying again.

"…Oh." Mercedes replied, immediately grasping the gist of the problem from the look on Kurt's face. "Come here," she said gently, pulling Kurt down into a hug, and ushering him inside.

"You stay as long as you need to baby," Mercedes said soothingly, rubbing circles into Kurt's back as she pulled him into the house.

Kurt gripped the mug of tea, avoiding Mercedes' eyes as the news settled in. It was silent for a while as Mercedes sat there at the kitchen table, trying to grasp everything Kurt had said.

"Mercedes?" Kurt squeaked nervously, after an uncomfortably long moment of silence.

"You—you cheated on Josh." Mercedes said flatly, as if trying to summarize everything Kurt had said, "On Blaine—from high school…who was also engaged…"

Kurt opened his mouth to say something, but was silenced by Mercedes, who raised up a hand, and continued speaking.

"And then he left his fiancé for you…and you promised to do the same, but didn't…"

Kurt felt like he was being stabbed repeatedly in the heart right now. He swallowed, and nodded, staring down at his tea, which was now ice cold.

"But you couldn't leave him, so you left…both of them, and came to LA." Mercedes finished, finally lifting her head and staring incredulously at Kurt.

"Yeah…" Kurt murmured, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

"Oh lord Kurt…" Mercedes said, taking a deep breath, 'You couldn't call me…like…at all during all that time? I mean really?"

Kurt dropped his head in shame, refusing to meet Mercedes' glare.

"What was your plan after flying here?" Mercedes asked, her voice softer this time.

"I know I'll have to tell my family and everyone…if they haven't found out already…" Kurt began, "But I just couldn't stay in New York anymore…Blaine—look, I just couldn't bear it anymore." Kurt said finally.

"You can't run away from this Kurt." Mercedes said firmly, reaching across the table and taking Kurt's hands in hers. "You have to deal with this, with Josh, with Blaine…with everything."

Kurt nodded, "I'll settle things with Josh, it'll be tough, but…the way I left things…we'll have a lot to work out."

"And Blaine…?" Mercedes asked, catching Kurt's eyes fall upon hearing the name.

"I think—I think it'd be best if I didn't talk to him anymore, I might jump on the next plane to New York as soon as I hear his voice." Kurt said, his voice shaky.

"It's him isn't it? He's the one." Mercedes murmured, reaching across the table to lift Kurt's chin up so that he'd look at her.

"It was always him Mercedes…always. I couldn't even—I couldn't even say goodbye to him." Kurt whispered, his eyes shining with tears once again.

Mercedes squeezed on her friend's hands.

"He shouldn't put up with me anymore, I can't put him through anymore. I've hurt him so bad I don't know if…I—just can't anymore. The way he looked before…his eyes…I did that to him. Me." Kurt wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

"But Kurt—he loved you too, you need to—"

"No," Kurt cut off, "No, I can't. He's better off without me…"

Mercedes thought pressing the situation was enough, and instead got up from her chair, and walked around to Kurt's side, and hugging him tightly.

"You've had a rough night. Come on, I'll show you to the guest room. You should rest, lord knows you need it."