When its good then its good, its so good till it goes bad,
Til youre trying to find the you that you once had.
I have heard myself cry, "Never again,"
Broken down in agony, just tryin find a friend.

Hed made it home around 1:30p.m., cheeks stained with tears tracks as he shook not from the cold. The apartment was empty, eerily quiet which was surprising given Christians track record for babying him. The lights were all flicked off, blinds pulled shut and casting the room in shadow that it barely saw. The sound of the ever-rumbling heating unit was a barely there murmur and Blaines ears almost seemed to ring with the silence. It was as if his roommate never existed. As if the persistent man that he could actually call a friend just vanished off the face of the Earth.

It was 5:21p.m. when he got the text.

Im so glad were talking again.

Blaine set down his phone, eyes squeezing shut as his head smacked against the cupboard. The device slid off his thigh, clattering to the tile floor of the mini-kitchen that sounded far too loud in the silent house. And what the fuck was he supposed to say to that? Oh man, me too. Lets be best friends.

His eyes rolled up to the ceiling as he let out a groan. Why the hell did this stupid man insist on ruining his fucking life even more than he already had? He was supposed to be gone after that day at the coffee shop. Blaine was never supposed to have to deal with cerulean eyes that could read every twitch of his face and long, light fingers that knew every line of his body ever again.

Except here he was, struggling through seeing him all over again and it was just another hole punched into Blaines heart. He was only human, and he could only take so much before he was broken. Blaine let out a harsh sounding laugh, the noise grating out through his nose as he dropped his forehead down to rest on the knees he pulled up against his chest. He was already broken.

Itd been hours since the text message –five if he was exact. Blaine had migrated from the floor to the island, sliding onto one of the stools in a way that felt far too familiar to ever be healthy. His head hung between his shoulders, neck of a beer bottle swaying slightly between his fingertips.

Please make me feel alive again.

Come back to me.

His phone was still sitting on the floor beside the fridge, screen dark as it had been since Kurt had texted. Two dark bottles were pushed to the side, staring at him as if mocking. Why are you drinking, Blaine? Youre being a baby. He didnt know if he even wanted to answer Kurt. Did he expect him to?

Leave your fiancé, I need you more than he does.

Fix me.

Blaine leaned back slightly, downing the rest of the drink before pushing the glass to rest with the others. He wasnt drunk, he didnt like to get drunk at home because the most he could do was get outrageously high and probably end up overdosing.

He cast his eyes back towards the phone. On one hand, answering Kurt would feel like relief; like he could breathe and not worry the other man because thats what he was doing. Blaine knew him well enough to know that he was doing that thing he did when he was anxious, probably pushing off his feelings as if they didnt matter because he was Kurt Hummel and he didnt like people knowing when he was aching.

But on the other, would it make Blaine feel better? Would the weight come off his chest and would he stop hurting over someone he lost? Probably not.

Come back to me.

I need you.

I want you.

Blaine slid off the stool, scooping his phone off the floor before retreating to his bedroom.

The carpet was starting to get hard. Which was stupid because it was carpet, it was supposed to be soft. He had a perfectly functional bed, why Blaine sat on the floor was a question he didnt have the answer to.

Maybe it was the way his ass slowly started to ache after awhile, a reminder of how long hed been sitting around thinking because he was never good at keeping track of time. His cell phone sat in the middle of the room, face up where hed dropped it when he entered.

"Blaine," Kurts voice was breathy when he finally answered the house phone after the sixth ring, "please answer your Godforsaken cell phone before you give me an aneurism."

"Ive been doing homework?" It came out as a question, Blaines tone riddled with confusion as he pulled the device in question out of his pocket. "Holy shit, Kurt! Youd think the world was burning. 19 messages."

"You werent answering and you usually always answer and I got worried." Blaine could tell that Kurt was doing that anxious thing; rubbing his fingers together uneasily as he chewed his bottom lip and rocked ever so slightly in a way he thought wasnt noticeable. Blaine noticed.

"Theres nothing to be worried about, Im okay." Blaine let out a little chuckle that he immediately wished he could suck back in his stupid mouth because there was every possibility that he may not have been okay.

"You cant scare me like that when I have no way of knowing. I swear to God Ill install baby monitors in your bedroom."

"Kinky."

"Blaine Anderson!"

Come to think of it, his back hurt, too. And his foot was numb. He felt so useless, so unproductive because he could probably sit there all night and think about absolutely zilch and be fine with it. He could stare at the blank wall across the room that would have been smothered in superhero posters if he was still the same boy he was in high school and have nothingness running through his head. Life changes people, and Blaine was finally realizing how much that sucked.

It was nearing midnight, the clock on his nightstand betraying how much time had passed. And it felt like nothing. It felt like hed just sat down and gotten comfortable and itd already been two hours. Blaine let out a sigh, head tilting back to lean against the edge of his mattress and eyes watching the stucco ceiling.

Why couldnt he be normal? Why couldnt he have lived a normal life with a family that loved him? Why couldnt he have made it out alive? Because right now, he wasnt living; he was existing.

The wooden box still sat on his dresser, bronze wire pressed into the surface glinting slightly in the artificial light of his bedroom. Except this time, he wasnt tempted. He didnt have the usually overwhelming urge to get off the floor and tear up his arm until he couldnt feel anymore.

The noise the glass made once it hit the wall was sickening, painful shards that felt like Blaines life shattering against the brick. The tears kept flowing over, blurring his eyes as he tried in vain to wipe them dry. The box his mother had made with him when he was in kindergarten was at his side, resting in the grass with an open lid as the sunlight seemed to make the swirls of metal glow.

Blaine dropped into the greenery, fingers twining into his hair and ripping slightly at the gel job as he let out a pitiful sob. He wasnt supposed to feel like this. He was never supposed to feel the way he did right now. He was supposed to be happy, singing and holding hands with his beautiful boyfriend as they planned out the rest of their lives together.

Not like he was dying, as if there was a hole punched through his chest and he couldnt breathe because the tears just kept coming and he couldnt stop shaking and why couldnt he breathe?

1:47a.m.

He was still crying, although the shakes had stopped and he was composed enough to get up out of the dirt. Blaine scooped the box off the grass, walking to the wall where he began to scoop up the remains of both the glass heart and his own.

2:38a.m.

Funny how what was left of his heart was in a box that only held pain. It was like the ultimate torture chamber.

3:17a.m.

Blaine picked up his phone off the carpet slowly, fingertips running over the screen.

I love you.

He still didnt know what to say. Still didnt know how the fuck he was supposed to answer that stupid text message. He almost wished hed never met Kurt. Wished he never had to deal with all the baggage that came with oceanic eyes and high laughs and nimble fingers.

Me too.