Come Celebrate the Life of

Sebastian Michael Smythe

Wednesday, February 13, 2020

3-5pm

Saint Mary's Baptist Church

105 Mount Pleasure Rd. Westerville, OH

Reception and Meal.

Kurt can't help but chuckle at the countless innuendoes running through his mind. 'Mount Pleasure, really?' He thinks sarcastically. 'Sebastian would have loved this.'

The envelope is pinched between his wiry fingers, addressed to Mr. and Mr. Anderson. Despite the situation, Kurt feels a prickle of jealousy bite his cheeks. 'Always the alpha-gay' an insecure, immature voice snidely states.

It's mid-afternoon and once again Kurt has nothing to do. He's gone shopping and updates his blog: www.Kourture.com. Dinner is marinating in the fridge and the laundry has been pressed and stacked away. He doesn't know when this monotony bleached his life. A life once vivacious and almost blaringly bright, almost too overwhelming with excitement. It was once a dream made reality. Now it's a memory turned dream.

He could call Rachel or Tina, his old high school friends, but they'd probably consumed by their own work and lives. Finn, his stepbrother, is most likely assisting Puck in attracting a girl with little clothing and brain cells. His dad is probably on a lunch date with Carol, an activity now granted with his recent retirement.

All in all, he's listless, aimless.

In truth, Kurt wants to pity himself; to feel abandoned and lost. However, Blaine had to leave and he...well, he was forced to stay. Because he no longer has to fret over coffee orders and pattern sizes, color combinations, and slimming cuts. Kurt is not a designer, he never will be.

For you see, Kurt was and always will be a dreamer. His romance with the bends and wisps of fabric apparently did not provide evidence towards a future as a mighty brand name. "You have to be tough, you can't get distracted"; they said. But he never understood. Why bother with the mechanical, stiff details? Why not be entangled with passion, seduced into new silhouettes; discover a unique accessory or revitalized a vintage pattern? Why not? "Because if you get lost in your head, you lose your footing and one step behind puts you in a casket lined with polyester."

Kurt sips his coffee ruefully. He needs action, any second longer in this confined apartment and he will surely crack.

With igniting adrenaline he gather his coat and wallet and exits the complex, greeting the chaotic city with almost child-like wonder. He feels 16 again, experiencing the bright, buzzing world with rejuvenated eyes. He can feel his skin tingle with unadulterated exhilaration and with a goalless mind he begins a random adventure.

***

"It's good to see you again, Blaine." Trent says across the bistro's table.

"Thanks, you too. I've missed you and all the old Warblers." Blaine responds amicably.

"Well they miss you...feels like a century since your and Kurt's wedding."

"Yeah, well...I've been busy, running the label and all."

"Right. So how has Kurt been?"

And then Blaine pauses. He doesn't actually know why, it's a reasonable question, but finding an answer is proving hard. How has Kurt been? He should know this, or at the very least form a convincing white lie. Nevertheless, he is frozen; paralyzed by the realization: He hasn't truly spoken to Kurt in a week and any response to Trent's inquiry would be presumptuous and ultimately a lie.

"Blaine?" Trent asks, breaking the hazy amber gaze. "You okay?"

"Uh, yeah, sorry, blanked out there." He shakes it off with a charming grin and lowered eyes.

Blaine focuses on the tiny perforations of his biscotti. He analyzes the crinkles and the hardened chocolate with intense attention; obviously trying to ignore Trent's worrisome stare.

Trent looks directly at the other man's bent head. "Blaine?"

"Hmm?" He hums, nonchalantly.

"What's going on?" Trent asks, fear inching.

"Nothing." He immediately states.

"Whatever it is you can tell me. I won't say anything, but you're kind of scaring me right now."

Reluctantly, Blaine sighs, unable to contain his distress. "I found pills underneath Kurt's pillow." He says, guilty.

"What?" Trent whispers, shocked.

"Benzodiazepine. It's a drug found in sleeping aids...I-I just don't know what's wrong and anytime I try to talk to him he just seems...seems, gone or something! I don't know what to do, Trent. I don't who he is, who I am. And then he had that panic attack and-"

"Wait! Panic Attack? Blaine, what's going on?!" Green eyes alight with sympathetic concern for both Blaine and his husband.

And with that Blaine crumples. He retells his discovery and how he was informed of Sebastian Smythe. He recalls Kurt's behavior and appearance. And eventually, he cries. Cries without understanding. He bawls to his old friend like a hysterical man facing death row. Because in all honesty, he feels like that; death, sickly and wrong has somehow nestled into his ribcage and caused his heart to splutter, his mind to fog, his life-once organized and picturesque-a dying ember.

Trent comforts him. This man who had been a leader, a metaphorical king. This boy who's star has fallen, and with it he fell too.

"I don't know what to do, Trent" Blaine croaks under streaming tears and a runny nose.

"I think, maybe, you should take a break. Go off, escape. You've been working too much and haven't seen your husband in far too long. Why don't you both just go on a vacation? Reconnect?"

Shakily breathing, Blaine nods his head in affirmation. "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea."

"Good. And Blaine?" Trent says, a friendly hand lying across his schoolmate's hunkered shoulders.

"Yeah?"

"You'll be okay. You and Kurt aren't disappearing or lost, you just...need to re-define yourselves, okay?"

"Sure."

Although, what does re-definition cost and what has already been abandoned in their change?

***

Kurt thanks the man with a gentle nod, pocketing an orange cylinder filled with colorful capsules. He plans to dream tonight, to dream on an endless stream. With or without Blaine.