(song: A Lack of Color - Death Cab for Cutie)

Blaine picked up his guitar. It had been so long since he had played, let alone, sung. He began idly strumming the instrument. Slowly a melody seemed to form through all the random notes.

Softly he began singing the words.

And when I see you

I really see you upside down

He thought of all the times he and Kurt would go to the park to play on the monkey bars, ignoring the disapproving glares of soccer moms. They had fun, and even though they knew the people around them didn't want them to. He had seen Kurt upside down, with a wide grin on his face.

He smiled a little at himself.

But my brain knows better

It picks you up and turns you around

Turns you around, turns you around

They had danced all night at Kurt's Junior Prom, even with the Prom queen hysterics. It had been great, just carelessly having fun to the beat of ABBA. He remembered it being perfect, with just the right amount of awkward. They had turned around and around until they fell into each other's arms, dizzy and breathless.

If you feel discouraged

That there's a lack of color here

Glasz. That was the color his eyes were. Sometimes they changed color though. They were bluer when he was happy. More green-ish when he was mad.

But they were a soft, pale grey when he cried, as if the sadness took away all their color. He'd seen it too many times…

Please don't worry lover

It's really bursting at the seems

He stopped playing for a second and smiled bitterly.

Please don't worry, lover.

He snorted. Please don't worry. The words suddenly seemed so crude right now. As if he had anything left worth worrying about. His life wasn't bursting at the seems anymore. It had been ripped to shreds a while ago actually. Three years, four months and two weeks ago, to be exact.

From absorbing everything

The spectrum's a to z

They had talked about it. When they would get married, they would have their names in alphabetical order. Kurt Anderson-Hummel. Never happened of course. Although, he was the first to get his invitation to his wedding, since Anderson was at the top of the list. Kurt Bricker-Hummel. What kind of name was that anyways?

He stopped playing again, but this time to take a big swig from his fifth beer that evening. Or his sixth, he'd lost count somewhere around the third.

This fact not fiction

For the first time in years

He wiped angrily at the tears forming in his eyes. He remembered when it had first hit him. He came home about a week after the fight. He came home and almost shouted out: Honey, I'm home! Like in the old movies, like he did everyday, just to hear that little chuckle coming from the kitchen or wherever he was.

Except there was nobody to laugh at his ridiculousness. Suddenly, it became very real. He didn't want it to be real. He just wanted to wake up from this horrible nightmare. He would just wake up next to him and later they would laugh at the thought of ever marrying someone other than the person sitting across the table.
But he didn't wake up. Because it was real.

The words caught in his throat.

And all the girls in every girlie magazine

Can't make me feel any less alone

He had tried it, you know. Every night, he would go to a bar, and every night there would be someone offering to buy him a drink. And another drink, and another. And after that he would just take a cab to the other mans appartement, and he'd try to sneak out the next morning before the other guy woke up. He never refused another drink. The alcohol numbed his senses. When he was drunk, he didn't feel the pain in his heart. He didn't feel the way his stomach seemed to tie itself into a knot everytime he saw Kurt on another Broadway show.

I'm reaching for the phone

To call at 7:03

And on your machine I slur a plea for you to come home

K-Kurt?

It's Blaine.

Look, I-I really really miss you, s-so just come home already, 'kay?

I know I've s-said some t-things I shouldn't have, but I still love you.

I will a-always love yo-you.

Okay, I'm kinda dr-drunk now so I'll hang up the phone.

…

I'm cold Kurtie.

C-can't you come back to make me warm again?

You always make the b-best hot chocolate, you know Kurtie?

The one with th-with the little ma-marshmallows?

The kitchen is dirty too, Kurtie. Because you always clean. But I don't. Huh. Dirty Kurtie.

Hahahahahah! That rhymes

...But I still miss you. Will you come back? Please, Kurt?

Okay, I-I'll go now.

I l-lo-love you, Kurt…

But i know it's too late

I should have given you a reason to stay

Fragments from that night flashed through his mind.

"…And you with your stupid fashion always! You don't even have time for me anymore! Do you fucking even want to spend time with me?"

Given you a reason to stay

"Hell, I'm pretty fucking sure that Elliot guy at your office is just waiting for you to break up with me so he can fuck you up against those fucking studio walls of his!"

Given you a reason to stay

"Maybe that's what we need. A little time alone, so we can sort this shit out. Maybe it's better I break up with you right now, so I don't keep you from getting all the attention you deserve!"

Given you a reason to stay…

"Blaine…"

"No, Kurt, just go, I can't see your face right now…"

"Blaine…"

All his desperation, anger, sadness, disappointment was in that little word.

'Blaine'

He stopped playing, put his head in his hands and let his tears flow.

Small drops of salty water dripped down and made little stains onto the letter lying in front of him on the coffee table.

'Kurt Hummel and Elliot Bricker

Invite you at their wedding.'

This is fact not fiction

For the first time in years

No matter how badly you don't want it to be…