By the time Blaine woke up the other side of the bed had long since gone cold, the warmth from Kurt's body absent, just like the man himself. The remnants of hope disintegrated into dust as he stared around the room bleary eyed and exhausted and found no sign of him. It was as if he had never been there. The feeling stung like salt in fresh wounds and burned like venom coursing through his veins. The memories just left aching caverns in his chest, empty and void but for the distant echo of his laugh, the fading image of his smile.

He stumbled out of bed, put on the first items of clothing he could find and left the apartment, grabbing the letter left in his parcel's place as he went.

~*~

Maggie found him curled up in the reading nook at the end of the classic literature section, clutching the letter and a copy of J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan and sobbing into its pages. Her heart ached for him. She hadn't seen such sadness since her dear James passed. She bent down as well as she could to help dry his tears but they wouldn't stop. He looked up at her, eyelashes clumped by the wetness, and she had never seen those golden eyes so pained, so hopeless, so sorrowfully empty. She stared at his shaking frame and wondered how someone could hurt a soul so beautiful. Blaine Anderson made heartbreak look like the most devastating beauty on Earth.

She pried the book and letter from his grasp and helped him up, soothing hands leading him upstairs and to the plush lounge. She sat him down with a blanket and her monogrammed handkerchief and went to start the camomile tea. Blaine gazed blankly out of the tiny square window, tears falling silently now but hot and fast all the same. He didn't even flinch as Maggie came to sit beside him, pulling him into her arms and soothing him with gentle words.

"Shhh what happened my darling?" Maggie asked tentatively and Blaine just buried his face in her soft, purple shawl. "H-he's gone" Blaine choked out "I woke up this morning without him beside me, he's gone and he's never coming back." The sobs started up again and Maggie tried valiantly to calm him but to no avail. "You don't know that sweetheart," she started, being careful about giving him false hope "he said you know how to contact him."

"He doesn't want me anymore, he made that clear."

"But Blaine-"

"But what Maggie?!" He said imploringly "I'm just a kid. I'm just a stupid, naïve, foolish kid. Why would he want a fucking kid following him around like a lost lamb? He's a successful writer, beautiful and intelligent, he could have anyone his heart desires and I'm what? A lousy artist. A lost little boy. I'm nothing."

Maggie gripped Blaine by the shoulders and pushed him back, forcing him to look her in the eye. "Now you listen here Blaine Devon Anderson," she began sternly "you are everything. You're young but you're smart my darling. You have phenomenal talent and a heart of gold. Besides my James you're the best man I have ever known. Mister Hummel is blind, because if he had seen that, seen you, he never would've walked away."

"I love him Maggie," Blaine sniffled looking back out the window "but I don't want to."

"Yes you do" She replied simply patting his knee.

"I do, but he won't let me."

~*~

Mister Hummel,

I am writing to thank you. You have given my boy the best few months of his life. He speaks fondly of you yet he asks that I apologise for the lack of contact between the two of you, he hopes you understand. Despite what you might think we do not hate you, Blaine especially far from it. Though I personally do hope you don't take offence in that your books no longer grace our shelves, for reasons I do not know. J.M Barrie's Peter Pan has also been removed from the store's classic literature section. I assume it is because it holds some significance between the two of you. Blaine has procured the copy, a beautiful green hardback edition with silver lettering; he often says that you would love it though he seems unwilling to part with it. He is in good health but for his sorrow Mister Hummel, and although I do not hate you I hold some resentment in that it was you who caused him this pain. I am a frank woman sir and I will not lie or be content with exchanging niceties when it comes to my boy.

      My boy, because he is a son to me you see my dear. His parents are less than amicable people and I have no desire to ever meet them. New York has always been my home and now it is Blaine's, I do hope you realise what that means if you were ever wondering if he should follow you. He won't. There will be no chase. He simply aims to leave you be, not be a nuisance and allow you to live and love as you see fit. He is attempting to do the same, yet he hasn't much faith in love anymore Mister Hummel and I know you know that.

      I will not implore you to confess what I know you feel for my boy but prompt you to remember one thing: ‘"Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting."'

Should you choose to return, tread carefully, one broken heart is sometimes necessary, another at the hand of the same individual is unforgiveable.

Yours faithfully,

Maggie Atkinson

~*~

Dear Blaine,

I'm not surprised that you haven't answered any of my letters or returned any of my calls, replied to any of my messages given our circumstances. Maybe it's cruel of me to keep trying so desperately to keep us tethered when I'm sure you most likely just want to forget. Words cannot express how sorry I am and how much I miss you. Perhaps it's cruel of me to say that too. Please tell Maggie that her letter is much appreciated and that I'm thankful that she cares so much for you. Tell her that I understand but that it's complicated. Although, I'm starting to think that it's just me that has made things into such a puzzle. The book sounds wonderful but you keep it sweetheart, it's much too precious for me now.

      Chicago is magnificent but it's not New York. It's lonely here and grey, but I can't decide if it's the city or the fact that you're not in it. I'm in the midst of negotiations with the publishers. My editor is discouraged. He says my novel is ‘too emotional and it lacks poise and delicacy'. I can hear you now telling me how that it's bullshit and that I should get myself a new editor. I'm afraid it's not that simple.

      I haven't opened the parcel yet, I want to but I haven't and I don't know why. I hope you're well and send Maggie my regards. Please just tell me if this is too much, if you want me to stop writing. I'll do whatever you feel is best.

All my affection, forever and always

Kurt

~*~

Dear Kurt,

I miss you too. If you ever want to come back

Dear Kurt,

Chicago sounds great. Good luck. Don't worry about me. I'm fi

Dear Kurt,

I love you. Please, I know you don't feel the same but I can't just

Dear Kurt,

I'm so sorry. I can't do this, whatever this is. Please stop trying to contact me. Maybe someday

All my love, forever and always

Blaine

~*~

Kurt hated Chicago. There was nothing wrong with Chicago in particular but Kurt despised it. He woke up every morning wondering why he had even left but then he remembered. The career as a novelist he had let crash and burn as a result of his father's death, the career he was trying to rebuild. After five years without so much as a short story he was hit with inspiration, watching a boy with sure hands and a ragged looking sketch book sit alone in a coffee shop window in New York.

Five years wasn't necessarily a long time for a novelist. He would most likely have passed off the interlude as respite or a chance to focus solely on his next work when in actuality, after his father died, his world fell apart. No one quite understood either, what it felt like to lose the only parent he had left. He felt as though he'd lost the very last person he could count on, that he could trust completely.

He knew eventually that there was nothing to do but write. That day in that tiny coffee shop he saw a boy, practically a man, sitting by himself bent over the table, coffee by his side and sketching away furiously. A small smile graced his lips as he worked, brows drawn low in concentration, pencil flitting precisely across the page. His clothes were too big, white shirt and a navy blue jumper slipping off his shoulders but he was handsome, stunning, captivating as the late afternoon bathed his tanned skin in golden light. A man, tall with lanky dirty blonde hair walked over, cupped the artists jaw and kissed him pulling back with a glance in his direction and a smirk curling his lips. Kurt hated him, even then. If even just because of the jealousy he felt clawing its way under his skin. The other man had seemed oblivious, his radiant smile dropping into a frown as his boyfriend said something and then hastily left again.

The man looked down at his worked and sniffled, quickly wiping at his eyes as he glanced around, checking if anyone had noticed. Kurt had. As the man went back to work, sipping at his drink daintily every now and again, Kurt kept glancing down at the empty journal in front of him, mocking him with its blank pages.

By closing time Kurt had an idea and eight words.

- Chapter 1 -

The boy with a breaking heart

~*~

It was one night. One night after a month in Chicago and Kurt had realised he'd made a mistake. A mistake he couldn't remember the name of. He'd woken up naked, in his bed, with a man he didn't remember meeting. Getting blackout drunk was not something Kurt Hummel did. Sleeping with a stranger he had no intention of seeing again was not something Kurt Hummel did. Yet he'd done it, endless nights with no sleep and a pair of whiskey coloured eyes following him in his mind's eye, forcing him into an abyss of guilt and shame.

He showered and dressed, waiting with bated breath until he heard the unmistakable sound of the front door closing behind the unnamed man. Sighing in relief he walked to the lounge, dragging his feet as he went. He checked his phone, staring almost unseeingly at the screen. No missed calls, no text messages. With a flutter of hope that should never have been there he trudged down to collect his mail, his heart in his throat as he flipped through the envelopes.

Stopping on a crinkled envelope, Kurt noticed Blaine's messy handwriting, blotchy and smudged like it had been caught in a downpour. He ripped it open, eyes devouring the short message with a sinking heart.

Dear Kurt,

I'm so sorry. I can't do this, whatever this is. Please stop trying to contact me. Maybe someday

All my love, forever and always

Blaine

It was time. He made his way slowly back up the stairs, into his apartment and to his writing desk. There lay the parcel still pristinely wrapped and tied in brown paper and string, the label tied on tight. He picked it up with trembling hands, fingertips brushing across it reverently. Slowly, so slowly, he untied the bow, carefully removing the paper to expose a beautiful leather bound sketchbook. On the front, embossed in silver, were Blaine's initials. It looked expensive, different to all the other various sketchbooks Kurt had seen Blaine work in.

He lifted the cover tentatively to find a hand written letter taped to the inside.

My beautiful Kurt,

                              I hope you like the book. It took a while for me to get it but I saw it and instantly fell in love, sound familiar? It was expensive I'll admit but perfect for what I needed. A memento, if you haven't guessed already, something for you to remember me by after you leave for Chicago. I think you'll find the contents very revealing, I guess there are a lot of things I chose not to tell you while you were with me but I couldn't live with the thought of you ever knowing. So, here we are.

      Your tattoo design is on page five; it's completely up to you if you want to get it. I mean the design isn't even really that good, just something simple I thought you might like. The rest is sort of hard to put into words, that's why I'm the artist and you're the writer, however I guess even words fail you sometimes.

      If you don't like the book you can always send it back to me. Even if you can't bear to keep it I'd rather you return it, there are some things I'd hate to see destroyed.

      I know it's kinda silly and overdramatic and maybe it's the teenager in me that's decided to do something this futile and sentimental but still, what's the harm in trying?

      I don't hate you, I don't think I could ever hate you so don't beat yourself up too much okay? I'm angry but I shouldn't be really, I knew what I was getting into, I never asked for anything more, you never wanted anything more and I respect that. It's okay I promise.

      I'll probably try to cut you off but it won't work. I can't stay away. Either way, with you or without you, it's gonna be too hard. It is what it is. What will be will be. As the clichés go, you were the best.

      Thank you for being there for me, for showing me beauty and for bringing me alive. I'll be forever grateful to you for giving me just those things and nothing more.

      I hope you find happiness soon Kurt. I hope you fall in love with an amazing guy who's good to you and makes you smile. I hope you find the ending to your story and always remember: ‘"The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease for ever to be able to do it."'

All my love, forever and always

Blaine

~*~

- Chapter 27 -

Time to fly

I was once told by a dear friend of mine that love brings two things: euphoria and paralysis. He told me that love was a gift, and I would always be happily terrified to both give and receive it. What he unfortunately chose to omit, however, is that it takes a few too many drinks, the biggest mistake of your life and an earth shattering epiphany for some to fucking figure it out. What's even more unfortunate is that I never knew I'd be one of those people. In other words, the type of individual I'm referring to is simply: an idiot.