And who do you think you are?

Running around leaving scars,

Collecting your jar of hearts,

And tearing love apart.

So dont come back for me.

Who do you think you are?

He shouldnt have answered it. He should have just turned off his phone and ignored Kurt because now all he could think about was how long it would take for the other man to send another. Would he even? Blaine wasnt in control anymore and it was scary as all hell.

Blaine rolled over with a sigh, grey morning light filtering through his blinds and drenching the room in shades. It was as if the sunrise that was expected to splash over the walls and fill the space with life was sucked of all its colour; vibrancy gone and leaving dull emptiness in its place. And thats what it was; it was empty. The same way Blaine felt.

He didnt know what time it was, but judging by the light it was probably 8 or 9 a.m. The sheets twisted around his waist and legs, almost clinically bleached threads scratching at his skin. Blaines cell phone was laying face down on the carpet, slid across the floor to touch the wall guard. Part of him wanted to check it, to see if Kurt responded; God knows he was already awake, never one for sleeping in. Had he read it? Thought about it? Was he just as fucking broken up about everything as Blaine? It had seemed like it the day before, but Kurt was a lot stronger than he was.

And then there were voices; voices that were definitely not his roommate. They sounded far too familiar and yet so foreign to his sleep-addled brain. Blaine froze in the middle of the living room, eyes watching the door as the noises got closer. He inched toward the window, fingers touching at the latch as flight took over fight.

"Apartment two-twenty-one." Shit.

He pulled the fire escape window closed just as the doorknob twisted. The metal frame was slicked over with snow, freezing Blaines feet as he pressed against the wall. This couldnt be happening. Why was this happening? He should have just stayed inside; hid behind the door and fucking knocked them both out because this was his house. They shouldnt be able to scare him away from his own home.

Blaines breath swirled around his nose, curling in the air as a reminder of the temperature. Their voices echoed around the apartment and against the glass that was barely centimetres from his fingertips. He wanted more than anything to peek in and watch them, to see him. Except he shouldnt want to.

Blaine stepped away from the wall, turning to look over the railing. One move. One fucking step and hed be done. He wouldnt have to deal with being alive anymore.

But he was a coward; he was a coward and even the thought of taking his admittedly pitiful life made his stomach roil. His fingers clenched around the painted black bar, paint rusted away in places and iced over. Itd be so easy.

"I need to see something." Blaine spun as the familiar sound of his bedroom door creaking open jolted him from his thoughts. No. His toes burned from the cold, bare torso stinging in the frozen air. His palms scraped against the brick wall once again, leaning around the edge to watch the man in his room through slits in the maroon blinds.

Kurt was at his dresser, fingertips grazing over the intricate swirls of metal design on the box. Blaine couldnt see his face when it was opened, but he could hear the quiet sob that fell from Kurts lips. One hand was covering his mouth when he turned slightly, giving Blaine a profile view as the strip of photos of them together that was clenched in his fingers shook slightly. And he did look so broken; standing there holding the pictures that were stashed with Blaines self-harm material. Because honestly, it was an object of use all on its own. Good, he deserved to hurt. He deserved to feel everything Blaine felt when he looked at that stupid picture.

And then Kurt was moving toward his closet, fingers grazing through his clothing in a way that was so Kurt before reaching for the top shelf and pushing aside the blankets stacked there. It was a shoebox, off-blue from the dust itd collected and lid torn at a corner. It was the shoebox hed thought of burning so many times and he suddenly regretted not doing so. Because now Kurt had it, he had it and he was touching at the pictures of people who were once his friends and pulling out bowties with almost loving fingers.

"You have so many of these." Kurts thumb brushed at the edge of the bowtie that sat in the hollow of Blaines throat. "Where do you even keep them all?"

"I like them," he replied simply, smile gracing his lips, "and the top shelf of my closet. I have a box." Kurts finger lingered at the corner, mouth twitching up to match Blaines.

"Theyre cute, and they make you even cuter."

And playbills; there were so many playbills. Ranging from Annie to Wicked and alphabetized. He remembered that much. He remembered sitting on his bedroom floor back in Ohio and sorting them, a little smile pulled across his lips as he chewed the lower one.

He couldnt breathe; the icy air was constricting his lungs, catching in his throat and strangling him. Kurt slid the lid back over the cardboard and nudged it onto the shelf before spinning to sit down on the edge of Blaines mattress. His eyes seemed to scan the room slowly, as if he were probing into Blaines head and taking all of his thoughts. He was in Blaines sanctuary for Christ sake.

And then something broke across Kurts face and he was up off the bed, swishing through the room toward the dresser once more. He paused, as if he were looking for something before giving up and taking the box as he left, the hinges of the door creaking once again.

Blaine quickly pushed open his window, sliding in and hissing in pain as his frozen feet ground across the carpet slightly. It was gone. It was gone because Kurt fucking took it. He took his release; his oxygen, life, memories, heart – the glass heart, of course. Blaine didnt even think he had one of his own anymore. If he ran he could stop them. He could stop them from leaving and take back his stolen belongings and lock himself away.

The front door clicked shut almost silently and the deadbolt slid into place. Too late. He was too late, like always; he was always missing his chance. And then he was pacing. His fucking feet hurt and he was still so cold that he was shaking but he didnt care. He left the room, pushing into the bathroom and turning on the tap to fill his hands with water. It probably didnt help that it was cold water but he honestly didnt give a shit. The water stung his cheeks, catching in the ringlets that hung over his forehead and falling back to the rich porcelain sink bowl. Blaine glanced up at his reflection; heavy purpling bags slung low under his eyes and his skin had lost all its vibrancy –all its life. He was so fucking empty that even his skin gave it away.

"Blaine, youre better than this. Youre so much better. Think of all the things that you could have become." His eyes flicked to the figure behind him, chestnut hair swooping up off his forehead with an elegant twist at the tip and bright blue watching Blaine in the mirror. And when he looked back at himself he was different. His now dull and almost scummy brown eyes were bright and amber and alive; his skin was clear and smooth and his unruly hair was combed to its immaculate gelled posture. He looked the way he did in high school; he looked like he had hope.

"Just look at you," the high voice was almost disembodied, figure behind him unmoving, "youre a mess. Youre disgusting. Look at what you did to yourself." And his reflection snapped back into place, back into the drooping empty eyes, messy hair, cracked lips, and blotchy skin. Blaines eyes misted over, fingers grasping at the edge of the sink.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he rasped out, barely able to breathe past the suffocating thump in his throat.

"You did this to yourself." He chewed on his lip, head slumping between his shoulders. Because it was true. Hed done it all to himself.

"Leave me alone."

"Its your fault."

"I said leave me alone."

"Youre such a fucking embarrassment."

Blaine spun on a heel and the doorway was empty. Except turning back to the mirror and there he was. Standing there and mocking him as if Blaine didnt already know that everything was something he could have prevented. "Go away!" There was a sickening crack as the mirror shattered; fractures of glass peeling away as he retracted his fist. Now his reflection was just as broken as he was.

Blaines fingers traced over the cracks, knuckles stinging where the shards had cut into him. He dug his nails behind a particular piece with a smooth edge that he knew from experience was sharp. Blaine ran the edge over the soft inside of his wrist, not enough to break the skin. It was perfect.

He glanced back up at his own face. Im done. I cant live like this anymore. And no matter how much of a coward he was, he knew when something wasnt worth saving.