The next morning, Kurt wakes up to the sound of giggles and a stage-whispered, “Shh, you’ll wake them up.” He’s on Rachel’s floor, he remembers that much. Even if it had been his turn to share the bed with Rachel, the addition of Blaine meant two of them had to be on the floor. Like hell he was going to pass it up. He’s got one of Rachel’s too many pillows stuck under his head. Blaine is supposed to have another, but Kurt can tell from the weight on his shoulder and the warm breath on his neck that it isn’t being used.

Kurt shifts a little, causing some panicked shushing noises from the girls. Blaine has one leg draped over both of his, he can tell that much and, from the slight tugging sensation, there’s probably a hand gripping the front of his shirt for all it’s worth. There’s a blanket, wrapped around and between them, that’s making it all a little too warm, but then Blaine’s moving, pressing a sleepy kiss just to the side of Kurt’s pulse point and sliding down to burrow against his chest properly, and Kurt can’t find it in him to care all that much.

Rachel and Mercedes giggle some more and Kurt here’s the tell-tale click of a camera. He just tightens his arms around Blaine and buries his nose in the curls that had finally come loose from the gel around midnight during their impromptu Wicked revival. He vaguely remembers Rachel setting up her video camera, he’ll be taking that performance home with him. She always makes copies.

Vaguely, Kurt wonders how long he can get away with pretending to sleep. He’s not one to sleep in long, even on weekends, even after being up most of the night, and the girls know it. They won’t be the main issue though. The floor is already starting to feel uncomfortably hard the more he wakes up and Kurt is already feeling the need to get up and do something, preferably work out the kink he probably has in his back and make his hair look at least partly presentable. But all he really wants to do is lie here and memorize the way sleeping Blaine fits against him in a way awake Blaine doesn’t, is that too much to ask?

He gives into the urge to bury a hand in those curls and lightly scrapes his nails against Blaine’s scalp, earning a soft groan of satisfaction in response. So that makes two of them that are awake.

The giggling stops for a second, then there’s a soft, “Oh my god,” from Rachel and it starts up again.

The game’s up, so Blaine pulls the blanket over his head and buries his face against Kurt’s stomach. “Kuuuuurt, make ‘em go ‘way.”

Kurt laughs softly, finally opening his eyes, and scratches Blaine’s scalp again.

Blaine lets out another, mostly involuntary, moan. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,” he mumbles, snuggling closer with each repetition. Both of his legs are wrapped around Kurt’s now and he’s unabashedly clinging to him. “…no I don’t,” he amends half a second later and presses a kiss to Kurt’s shirt. “You’re leaving and I love you, I love you, I love you,” he mumbles, like he needs to make sure Kurt knows it before he goes to New York.

Kurt’s hand tightens, hopefully reassuringly, in Blaine’s hair. A long moment later, he loosens his grip slightly and looks up at Rachel and Mercedes, arching an eyebrow. “Did you need something, ladies?” Slowly, he starts twining a curl around his finger.

“An insulin shot,” Mercedes says almost instantly, “seriously, White Boy.”

Rachel just coos and snaps another picture.

*~*

Kurt is sitting at his desk, his weekend calculus homework open in front of him as he taps his pencil against the edge of his notebook and stares at the wall. He can hear the other members of his family moving around the house, the trucking show his dad was watching in the living room, the gunfire coming from Finn’s room as he procrastinates on his final English paper, the sound of the clothes dryer slamming shut during a moment of silence.

After Rachel gave them their copies of their joint Wicked performance, Kurt, Blaine and Mercedes had all gone their separate ways. Mercedes is out shopping with her mom, trying to find the perfect outfit to wear under her red graduation gown. Blaine has his own homework to finish and knew that if he tried bringing it over, it wouldn’t get done. They have already tried that twice this weekend.

Kurt sighs, giving up, and drops his pencil into the crease of his book. He pushes the chair back slightly and pulls his knees to his chest, resting his chin on top of them as his eyes shift from the wall to the picture of him and Blaine sitting on the corner of his desk. Kurt is taking a bite out of a large strawberry, his eyes wide in pretend shock as Blaine pressed a kiss to his cheek. Even in the picture, you can see they pure joy dancing in Kurt’s eyes. You can see the way Blaine is smiling so broadly that it’s barely a kiss at all.

Not long after that, Blaine has started pulling away, trying to practice living without him. Even now, Kurt can’t really understand what Blaine was going through, what he’s still going through. Kurt has never doubted their relationship, Blaine has been it for him practically from the moment they met on that staircase. Kurt’s not leaving, he was never leaving, and though he accepts that Blaine feels that he is, he can’t understand why. They made each other so happy, how could Blaine even think that Kurt is leaving him?

Suddenly, Kurt can feel it, the sudden, sharp tightening in his chest that makes it difficult to breathe, the sudden ache where his heart should be. He’s so busy trying to process the feeling that when a heart-wrenching sob breaks the silence of the room, it takes him a second to realize that it must come from him. He presses his hand to mouth, ignoring the tears that are already sliding down his face and just feels it, the sudden, undeniable loneliness that really can’t be explained in words.

His first instinct is to grab his phone and call Blaine, tell him just how much he misses him, but he fights it. They’d seen each other less than two hours ago, Kurt shouldn’t be missing him yet. Not like this. Kurt is always aware when Blaine isn’t nearby, but this is so much worse, that times fifty, times a hundred. Seeing Blaine won’t be enough to get rid of it, Kurt thinks, so desperate to hold him that it physically hurts. It doesn’t make sense…and yet, suddenly everything makes sense.

The slightly desperate look Blaine has in his eyes before he catches sight of Kurt. The way he’s been hugging Kurt so tightly that he can’t breathe once he does see him and Kurt practically has to force him to let go. How Blaine had started clinging to Kurt so often that Kurt was tempted to call him ‘Koala Bear’ at times. The reaction Blaine had to the letter yesterday. The panicked way he had reassured Kurt that he didn’t hate him that morning.  They were just little moments most of them, easily forgettable, but they all flashed before Kurt’s eyes in a burst of sudden, painful clarity. He is leaving. Graduation is in two weeks and at the end of August, he is leaving.

Oh god.

With his one hand still pressed to his mouth, Kurt wraps his other arm around his torso, trying to hold himself together. It doesn’t work.

Three months, less than that, and he won’t see Blaine again until September.

Three months and it would be just him and Rache-

Rachel wasn’t going. Without NYADA, Rachel had no reason to go this fall. They had talked about it some last night, before she had another breakdown, it was why they had ended up doing Wicked. She was going to apply to NYU, but until they opened applications for the spring semester, she was stuck. She’ll follow Kurt back to the city after Christmas, but until then-

Kurt is on his own.

At least she’d be a friendly face, a distraction, someone to keep him from killing himself every day in dance rehearsal.

This is what it is going to feel like, except even worse.

They’ll see each other at school tomorrow. Glee club might be over for the year, but there’s always lunch and between classes and Kurt will get a hug at some point. It’s practically guaranteed. Kurt’s already clinging to it.

But when he’s in New York and Blaine’s still in Ohio? They won’t have that. No physical contact. The lack of sex will be bad enough, but the rest of it? Hugs in the hall, sleepy snuggles in Kurt’s bed before Blaine has to leave at curfew, sneaky hand holding in glee club, at the Lima Bean, in Breadstix? None of that will happen either, not for four months. They’ll have to settle for skype dates and late night phone calls and texts sent in the middle of class. Nothing to keep it at bay, just the unbearable pain of separation and the hope that love will be enough.

It all hits him in an instant. No Blaine, no Rachel, no Dad, no Carole, hell even Finn.

Suddenly, Kurt doesn’t want to go, but he knows he’s too stubborn to change his mind. He knows Blaine won’t let him.

He needs Rachel. She has to come, but how?

He’s still trying to hold himself together. God, Blaine had been doing this for months, how?

The first is easy to answer, she has to get into NYADA.

How?

He doesn’t know.

Then he does.

Can he?

Should he?

But-

There’s a soft tap on the open door and Carole enters carrying a basket of laundry. “You left a bunch of things in the dryer again, I- Kurt?”

“I- I’m fine,” he says, trying to unfold himself from his chair and wiping at his tears. “I- I just- how can I miss him already?”

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Carole says, sadly and with so much understanding Kurt can feel his tears shift to ones of relief, as she sets the basket just inside the door. She doesn’t hesitate, even though this isn’t something she does often, not for Kurt, going instantly to his side and pulling him against her in a slightly awkward hug.

Kurt tenses, just for a moment, but wraps his arms around her thighs and presses his face into her stomach. “It hurt’s too much, I can’t-“

“You can,” Carole says firmly, gently, “you will. You and Blaine… you’re probably the most well-adjusted high school couple I’ve ever met.” She pauses a moment, decides that Kurt’s hair is well and truly wrecked, and carefully slides a hand into the slightly stiff strands, ready to pull it back out the instant he starts to protest. “I won’t insult you by comparing you to Finn and Rachel-“

“Thank you,” Kurt mumbles, the sound muffled in Carole’s shirt. He pulls back enough so he can wipe his nose on the back of his hand, but he’s back in an instant.

Carole laughs slightly, “but the two of you rely on each other so much- no, no, it’s not a criticism, it’s really quite beautiful to watch, gorgeous even. I’ve seen married couples that – never mind. Maybe it’ll be good for you. You’ll still be together, I don’t think anything will ever change that….” She sighs and rubs Kurt’s scalp slightly, “I’m saying this wrong, give me a second?”

Kurt can’t help, he laughs. Carole and his dad have a habit of making the parenting thing look easy, it’s not often when they admit they have to think about the right words. While she thinks, he gently nudges her back and goes to sit on the edge of his bed. He realizes he’s trembling, the hug had helped, Carole has this magical ability to make everything feel better, but she’s really not the person he needs right now. Still, Blaine had managed to hide this for a month, he can control himself for a few minutes.

Carole joins him on the bed. “It’s just,” she speaks slowly, picking her words carefully, but being undeniably frank, “who are you without him? I won’t say that you’ve changed in the last year and a half, become more you maybe, but not changed. But you were so broken, he’s fixed you so much and you’ve done the same for him. Everything’s been Kurt and Blaine for months it’s like-“

“We’re a married couple?” His lips twitch, “A fabulous married couple, we’re the first to admit it, Carole.”

“I know,” she smiles at him, “but the point is: you’re not. Someday you will be, nobody doubts it, but right now? You’re only eighteen, Kurt and it’s amazing you found each other so early in your lives, but sometimes I think you know each other better than you know your selves. You’re still two separate people and-“

“We haven’t forgotten, Carole, we know. We’ve given each other everything, there’s nothing left but the rest of our lives,” he sighs, shoulders slumping slightly knowing she has a point, even if he thinks it’s a small one.

“What’s one year, compared to that?” Carole smiles, a bit sadly, “I met Chris when I was sixteen, I thought…” She trails off for a moment. “We weren’t much older than you when Finn was born, I was a widowed, single mother by twenty-one.”

“Dad turned thirty a month later,” Kurt murmured absently, briefly remembering watching a casket being lowered into the ground. The look of sheer pain his dad would get for years afterwards. The tears that slid down Carole’s cheeks as they finally buried Chris’s ashes. The pain in his chest tightened into something even more undefinable. He couldn’t imagine losing Blaine, especially like that, the very idea…

“You and Blaine have so much time,” Carole says softly.

“I know, we’re just… impatient,” Kurt smiles a bit, wiping at his tears again. “It just hit me out of nowhere, and it hurts. I’m still here and it hurts, it’s only going to get worse.”

“I know, Sweetheart. There’s always Rachel, she makes a good distraction, if nothing else.”

“She didn’t get in, remember? She’s not coming until spring semester… if she gets into NYU.”

Carole blinks, “You’re going by yourself?”

Kurt laughs, “Mike’s going to NYU,” he shrugs, “really, Carole, being friendless in a city of sixteen million isn’t exactly what I’m worried about.”

“…can Mike be a distraction?”

Kurt snorts before he can stop himself, “Tina’s a junior, too. We can watch Singing in the Rain and wallow in our misery together, lovely. No, I need Rachel, as obnoxiously insane as she is. And Rachel… Rachel needs NYADA. It’s her dream.”

Carole’s silent for a moment, “Isn’t it yours?”

Kurt hesitates for a moment, “It’s a dream,” he says finally, “but it’s not the dream, I think I’m good on that front.” He sighs and absently runs a hand through his hair, “there has to be a way to get her in.”

Carole laughs, “They’re probably full, Sweetie. They had a reason to not accept her, you can’t just tell them to give her your spot instead, life doesn’t work like that. Besides, what would you do?’

Kurt shrugs, “I don’t know.” A moment later, “Finn called about five seconds before they called her in, she got half way through Don’t Rain on my Parade before it fully sunk in and she turned and ran out.”

Carole stares at him.

“I could try.” He says it softly, barely a whisper.

“…you could. I suppose you could always go into fashion.”

Kurt stares at her for a moment, trying to see if she’s serious. “Fashion.”

“Why not?”

“I just like to look nice, that’s not a job, Carole. Not a paying one anyway.”

“Oh, Sweetie,” she gets up and goes directly to one of his shelves, wordlessly pulling down a few things before coming back and setting them in front of him. “Make sure you’re doing this for the right reasons, but…. Think about it.” A second later, she was gone.

Kurt stares after her for a moment a looks down at what she had brought him. The notebook he wrote Pip Pip Hooray in, his West Side Story script and what remained of his Hudson-Hummel wedding monstrosity. He blinks for a second, trying to figure what she was trying to say, but in the end reaches for the stuff from the wedding. Might as well go in order.

A large part of the folder consists of possible reception decoration ideas, most of which he hadn’t used, but the majority of it was dresses. There were a fair few for Carole that had been cut out of magazines only to have been drawn on with pen, as if he could change this detail or that by crossing it out. Even looking at them now, Kurt feels that none of them are quite right for Carole. Behind the glossy magazine pages are notebook pages, at least ten of them, dresses designed by Kurt himself when he realized he wasn’t going to be able to find what he wanted in magazines. It’s the same thing for the bridesmaid dresses, except more of them because he hadn’t wanted any of the girls to match exactly.

He finds himself spreading the self-designed dresses out on the bed. There is literally dozens of them. He can still remember the crushing disappointment he had felt when he realized he wouldn’t have time to make everybody’s clothes. He had just wanted everybody to look their absolute best. It was his dad’s wedding.

He shifts through the papers a bit and pulls out Pip Pip Hooray. He knows before opening the notebook what he’s going to find: three scenes, six incomplete songs and dozens of costume designs. Though he had worked on the musical all last summer, he doesn’t think he actually wrote anything after the second week. He leaves it open on a page with Kate’s bridesmaids dress and sets it aside.

He reaches for the West Side Story script, he’s not entirely sure what he’s going to find, the production was a bit of a blur in his memory. He does remember seemingly endless hours of watching Blaine kill it in rehearsal and, of course opening night. Still, he’s not too surprised when he discovers that the pages are covered with more costumes, in the margins, the blank pages at the end, really a lot of Artie’s decisions were bad at best. He leaves it open to a random page and sets it with the others.

He knows what Carole is trying to say, he does spend an extraordinary amount of time working on his outfits, but- Okay, so maybe he spent more time on his NYADA audition outfit then he did on rehearsing the song, but first impressions are everything. He loves the stage, he does-

So why is he suddenly so confused?

He sighs and gets up, carefully to avoid disturbing the papers too much. He goes back to his desk, the repetitive steps of the Calculus homework should be enough to help clear his mind. It’s weird, how Carole can make one comment and seemingly throw his entire future into chaos, still, best not to screw up his high school graduation this late in the game.

No, not all of it, he thinks as he sits down. He reaches for his phone instead of the pencil still waiting in his book. That sharp pain in the center of his chest is still there, too strong to be ignored, but manageable enough that he thinks he might be able to get through his first semester in New York on his own if he has to. He wonders how long that thought will last.

To: Blaine

I love you

He’s just finished copying the first problem out into his notebook when his phone buzzes.

From: Blaine

I love you too J

It helps more than any conversation with Carole ever could.