‘Wait, you didn't get my letters?'

‘What letters! Blaine? What letters?'

‘Shit... I shouldn't have spoken to you. Shit'

‘Blaine, no it's okay just tell me'

‘Shit...'

‘No Blaine! Come back'

‘I have to go' Blaine steps back, fumbling and knocking people out of the way. Kurt follows him, stretching out his hand to try and stop the other boy and cursing the small children that he almost falls over when they get in his way. Blaine ducks into a group of people and Kurt tries to keep his eyes on him he really does but he's just so small. He easily blends into the other crowds of people and slips from Kurt's sight, gone too quick for Kurt to even process.

And then someone's making a speech and Carole and his Dad are asking if he's okay because he's ever so pale and does he not want to eat something? And Blaine is talking to Brittany but by the time Kurt gets there he's gone. It's a continuous cycle for a while- find Blaine, chase Blaine, lose Blaine. And then Mercedes finds him again and convinces him to go out with them all later. And then there is a drink and then there's another and then there's just a hole where Kurt knows he should be feeling something but he can't remember what, and if he can't remember it can't have been that important right?

Kurt never finds out what Blaine actually wanted to talk about.

 It isn't until about 3am when he's lying stiffly in his bed and trying (and failing) to get to sleep that he remembers it, and now he's definitely not getting to sleep. He doesn't even know how he forgot, he was distracted by Santana recounting the last time she ran into Rachel (and it took all of my inner strength not to push her in front of that passing cab) and Quinn getting him to dance with her and Rory hugging him and a thousand other things that were nowhere near as important.

But now he remembers and he wishes he didn't. He pulls his covers up to his chin like a shield, it's too hot in his room, smothering and overwhelming, but he doesn't care. He looks around, takes in the dresser that still has half of his skin products on it, his wardrobe- almost empty now, the CDs and DVDs and knick knacks that he left behind, and of course the pictures of Blaine that he didn't have the time and his Dad evidently didn't have the heart to take down. It's makes him nauseous; seeing himself there with Blaine, smiling with Blaine, laughing with Blaine, taunting himself with Blaine. His room, the empty shell of the person he was, the skin he has outgrown, the memories he has left behind, is too bare. It's open and empty and bleak. It makes his head spin.

He feels terrible and he's not exactly sure why, it might be because Puck kept buying him drinks, or that it's 3am, or that he has whiplash from the quick changes in the tumultuous emotions he was experiencing tonight, or maybe it's just Blaine's fault, for being there, for being himself, for... for everything.

He curls in on himself, tucking his knees up to his chest and burying himself under his bedding. He just feels lost, even in his own bed, the bed that he's been dreaming about for weeks because his one in New York is too hard and too stiff and smells like Tate. New York is too big and Ohio is too small and he's just caught somewhere in the middle. He briefly thinks that he should want Tate to be here, should want his boyfriend to comfort him, but there is only one person he wants right now, and they're not here to hold him. He wants them more than he's ever wanted them before, knowing he can't have them only spurring on his desire.  It's not his boyfriend and it's not his Dad, it's not even Blaine Anderson. The only person he wants to comfort him is the only person who can't.

 His mother.

He wishes he were eight again, because nineteen is far too old to be going and curling up in your parents' room. He wishes he was eight and he could crawl into his dad's bed and open his mother's dresser and let the smell of her faded perfume wash over him and cry until he hurts himself, until he's so exhausted that he has to sleep all day and his Dad has to let him off school. He wishes he didn't have to take care of himself and he wishes his mum was still alive, because she would know what to do, she would know what to say and she would make everything better again.

He writhes in his bed. He tries to think of what she'd say to him, what she'd do and wants to scream when he doesn't know, when he can barely even remember what her voice sounds like. He's thinking of going to wake his Dad up, he's always saying that his mum is better at knowing what to say, at making things alright. Well why isn't she here then? Why doesn't Kurt know what she'd say? Why is it that the only person capable of comforting him is some dead woman? It's ironic really, there is somebody out there who could make everything just that little bit less painful, someone who knows just how to make him okay and they're not here. They had to go and get themselves killed.

He cries then.

Because this, whatever this is, whether it's residual hurt from a breakup he should be over or discontentment from a relationship he should be in or something else entirely should never make him think that about his mother. And he hates himself because it just did, if only for the blink of a tear filled eye, he thought of her with something less than unconditional love and the awe only and little boy could feel towards his hero. He felt it and it's more painful than any heartbreak or any slushie could be. He thought it and now he hates himself for it.

On shaking legs he pulls himself out of bed, shivering when his protective blanket slides away from him and curling his bare toes into the familiar carpet. He wipes his eyes and rubs his face because it may be the middle of the night but he doesn't want to look too dreadful and then tiptoes downstairs.

His head is buried in the fridge, and maybe it's the sleep deprivation or maybe it's the hunger but whatever it is he doesn't hear his Dad sneak up behind him until there is firm hand on his shoulder and a friendly voice in his ear.

‘Hey kiddo, what're you doing up?'

‘I couldn't sleep, and what have I told you about midnight snacking.'

‘I know I know, but in my defence, I know where the Oreos are' His Dad is holding his hands up in mock surrender and smiling guiltily. He's missed that smile, the one that tells him life is good and everything is going to be okay and that it's probably safe to complain about football because his Dad's team seem to have won. He wants to submerge himself in that smile, bury his head in ugly plaid and absorb every part of his Dad he can.

‘I Hid ‘em, knew Finn'd eat them all otherwise' His Dad laughs, offering the packet out to Kurt, and drops himself into one of the kitchen chairs. ‘So, couldn't sleep huh'

‘Nope'

‘Want to talk about it?'

‘Nope'

‘Want to talk about something else?'

‘WhywereyoutalkingtoBlaine' His Dad has barely finished speaking before the words come out in a rush, an accusatory tone in his voice and a look that he is hoping is more aloof and less hurt and slightly desperate on his face. The look on his Dad gives him shows that that wasn't the question he was expecting.

‘Thought you didn't want to talk about it' Kurt isn't in the mood for joking, he's exhausted- physically and emotionally and all he wants is a little peace of mind. The roll of his eyes doesn't go unnoticed by his Dad. ‘Kid's having a rough time, thought he needed someone to talk to, I didn't think it would bother you'

‘Well it did. ‘

‘Kurt. What is wrong with you? You're only here for two more days and all you're doing is being a brat' Kurt pouts, like the five year old who keeps getting trucks and toy cars instead of tea sets and teddy bears. Then he gives in, because his Dad hasn't taken any of nonsense in years and he's probably  not about to start.

‘I don't know, you're right I'm sorry, I don't, I don't know...'  Then Kurt does something that shocks them both. He launches himself at his Dad, overestimating slightly so he almost ends up in his father's lap, and clings to Burt's body.

 Kurt is not an affectionate person. He doesn't like to be touched when he's upset or angry, in fact before Blaine he wasn't even used to being touched at all, at first it had been a novelty, new and exciting, this handsome, excitable boy who somehow managed to make contact with Kurt any way he could. But then he had left Dalton and all of its overbearing camaraderie and remembered how cold the world really is. And then the fear came back, Blaine's hand would reach out for his and his heart would skip but his stomach would drop, his cheeks would flush but his eyes would dart around him. And yes he is getting better, because his whole life isn't small town Ohio and his only friends aren't people who are still subconsciously afraid they might ‘catch the gay' and his current boyfriend isn't scarred because he once dared to attend a dance with a boy, but no none of that makes Kurt Hummel an affectionate person.

So of course his Dad is a little taken aback at first but it's only a few seconds before strong familiar arms are enveloping him and he begins to forget what he was even upset about because all he can feel is safe and all he can smell is home            and everything will be okay.

But then it's not okay because he has a direct view of the living room and a thousand memories crash into him at terminal velocity. Family movie nights curled up on that couch with Blaine and making out in the living room when they think no one's home and that first night that Blaine slept round in that very living room.

 Blaine had been ordered to stay on the couch so of course Kurt got up in the middle of the night to come join him and ran into his Dad in the kitchen, just like this. Blaine had been asleep- humming softly and buried in a knot of blankets, his Dad had given Kurt a stern look, clearly not believing his story about needing a drink and then hugged him, one of the rare times he ever had, told him that he was proud of him and then not so subtly sauntered off. So Kurt had curled up on that couch with Blaine and gone straight back to sleep. Of course in the morning his Dad had pretended to be pissed, mocking Blaine with his ‘yes sir' and ‘sorry sir' and winking at Kurt behind Blaine's back. It had taken Kurt four weeks to convince Blaine that his Dad wasn't going to murder him, he didn't even own  a shot gun.

So no, Kurt doesn't think he is going to be okay, because these memories hurt,  but worse even than that, they make him feel good, they make him want to laugh and sing and recreate them. That hurts far too much, because these memories can't be recreated, in a few months he won't even be a teenager anymore, he won't have a teenage relationship where they have to sneak around the house to be together and he already has bigger problems than what songs he's singing at the bar tonight or whether he brought his hairspray to his boyfriend's apartment.

‘You think too much'

‘What are you talking about' Kurt's face is still buried in his Dad's shoulder, he's standing in an awkward position and his back is beginning to ache but he doesn't care, he just clings to his Dad like a baby koala and squeezes his eyes shut to try and block out the memories.

‘You always have done, you spend all your time worrying about the future and the past and living in some fantasy in the present, you overthink things far too much'

‘I suppose' Reluctantly Kurt lets go, and he suddenly feels very exposed, he feels his father's eyes on him but daren't look back.

‘Come on what's wrong?' Somehow Burt's eyes find his and it takes all of Kurt's self restraint not to crack right there and then.

‘Nothing, I don't want to talk about it'

‘Kurt you are wandering around the house in the middle of the night something is clearly bothering you... Look, I know I'm not very good at this sort of thing, I've been trying to get better since you were eight years old and still haven't succeeded, but I'm your Dad and you can tell me anything'

Kurt sighs, his Dad is clearly not going to change his mind about this but he doesn't even know where to begin, he's not sure himself what the problem is.

‘Is this about a boy? Because I'm totally fine if it is'

‘No Dad, it's not about a boy. Much. Maybe it is. Oh I don't know' Kurt flops into the chair opposite his father, it isn't often that he has trouble expressing himself and this is only adding to the problem. He and his Dad stare each other down for a few more moments before Kurt loses.

‘So you talk to Blaine?'

‘On occasion'

‘Did he ever mention any letters?'

‘Letters?' Burt crinkles his nose the same way Kurt does when he's confused. ‘What letters'

‘I don't know! He ran off before I could stop him'

‘So you're telling me this boy, your ex- boyfriend, has been writing you letters you don't know about'

‘Apparently, maybe, I don't know. Maybe I misunderstood, maybe he meant letters in the alphabet or something'

‘But why would you not get his letters'

‘I don't know Dad, I don't know where he sent them or why he sent them or even if he sent them. Ugh maybe I hallucinated the whole thing'

‘What was in them?'

‘I don't know'

‘You don't know much do you'

‘Well all he said was ‘wait you didn't get my letters' and then he got all nervous- well more nervous- and dear in the headlights-ery and ran off. It wasn't a very informative conversation'

‘You should talk to him'

‘How? I'm only here for another two days and I can't just turn up at his house and anyway we're over, it's done'

‘Is it?'

‘Yes, I will go back to New York and carry on with my life, and I'm sure those letters weren't important anyway, he was trying to apologise, they were probably just angry hate mail or something.' His Dad gives him a look that says he doesn't believe a word of what Kurt just said.

‘Back To New York?'

‘Yes'

‘Back with that boy'

‘Yes, that boy whose name is Tate'

‘I don't like him'

‘I know'

‘You can do better Kurt'

‘He's not as terrible as you think he is'

‘That doesn't mean he deserves you'

‘He likes me, and he supports me and he takes me out to dinner and suggests good books for me to read and- I like him Dad. That's the end of it'

‘Do you like him how you like Blaine'

‘No! because I'm not desperate and young and foolish like I was with Blaine' His Dad lets out a low chuckle under his breath, smiling wryly and shaking his head at Kurt.

‘I'm going to go to bed now Dad' Kurt huffs, rolling his eyes and getting up to leave. Well at least he just feels indignant and slightly put out now.

‘Sleep well'

‘You too, and seriously no more midnight snacking, I can't afford to lose you'