‘Look, Kurt – it seems to me that you need to talk to him –‘  The dark haired man raises a hand anticipating Kurt's inevitable rebuttal, smiling slightly before continuing.  ‘Talk to him.  Sober.  From what you've said it is obvious that you still care about him.'  Elliot takes the younger man's hand in his own and gives it a reassuring squeeze. 

Kurt rolls his eyes.

            ‘What if I do talk to him and he's actually insistent that he's happy and that he's going to marry that man?  I mean – he's Doug's uncle!  Blaine has had precisely one previous relationship, not counting the time when he cheated on me obviously!  There is no way that he should be making that kind of commitment.'

            ‘That's not for you to decide, Kurt.'

            ‘I know – I just…'  Kurt looks down and runs his slim fingers through his hair.

            ‘You still care.  I get it.'  Elliot gives Kurt a sympathetic smile before finishing his drink and standing up.  The slighter man raises an eyebrow at his friend's sudden burst of energy and Elliot grins.  ‘Come on!'

            ‘Where are we going?'

            ‘Finish your coffee – you are going to lend me your impeccable fashion taste to help me decide on which of two designs I am going to go for for Starchild's latest frock coat and then we are going fabric shopping.'

Kurt toys with the cardboard sleeve of his coffee cup making no move to join his friend.  The other man frowns slightly before slowly returning to his seat and raising an eyebrow.

            ‘Call him, Kurt.'

            ‘I can't.'

            ‘I thought Blaine's friend gave you his number?'

            ‘Sebastian?  Yeah… he did.'

            ‘Call him.'

            ‘And say what exactly?  “Hi, Blaine – it's me, your ex (you know - the man you said you loved more than anything then cheated on?).  Well, I wanted to talk because I'm worried about how you seem to be sabotaging your own life and I think you should stop.”  Yeah – that would go down brilliantly.'  He rolls his eyes and glares when Elliot laughs.  ‘I'm not joking.  I really don't know what I'd even say to him – which is ridiculous because I have never not known what to say to him.'

            ‘Leave out the first part and just talk about that last bit, or – better yet – ask him to meet for coffee or something and talk face-to-face.  You owe it to yourself, Kurt, because you desperately need closure on this.'

            ‘I just…'

            ‘You still love him?'

            ‘I don't know.'

            ‘Come on, Kurt.  I get that you're pissed at him, but you really need to work out your motives here.  It's fine not to know what you want from him but you need to know one hundred percent why you think he should not be with this Douglas guy.  Whether it is because he's your ex and you are jealous, or because he's still your friend, or whether it is because you still love him...  There's no right or wrong here.'

Kurt frowns.

            ‘You know what the terrifying thing is, Elliot?  That man in the club – I hardly know him.  I hardly know him and yet when he held me…'

            ‘It's like all the lights around you go out and you cannot see anyone but them - it is only them holding you that keeps you from falling or floating away.'

Kurt nods slightly, and Elliot pulls his lips together in a tight smile.

            ‘Kurt – you have to tell him.'

            ‘I know.  It's just…what if he's happy now?  What if he's in love?  What if it's too late for us?'

            ‘Only one way you're going to know.'

-+-

            It arrived soon after Douglas had left – a Steinway Grand; hand built and shining gloss black.  The inside of the lid, music desk, fall board, and top stick are bright red - he knows because it had been left open for display when he had arrived home after his first full day at college – gaping wounds; stark slashes against the black body as if someone had carved out its heart. 

A red rose had been left on the music desk together with a note in Douglas' own clear script:

            Blaine,

                        So sorry I can't be with you to ask you how your first day went in person.  I miss you, darling, and I deeply regret arguing with you before I left.  I hope this gift helps your brilliant smile to return…  Please know that I love you and, even though I can't hear you from here – please play for me like you did back at the Summer Palace?  Somehow I find the thought of you playing comforting – it makes me feel a little less homesick (or rather) Blaine-sick.  Because that's what I am without you.  I don't think I show you enough what you mean to me, darling.  I never used to get homesick before you.

I need to stay out here for a while longer – I'll explain later.  I wish you were able to be here with me… perhaps next time the timing will be better. 

Speak later – I hope you like your gift.

            Always yours,

                        Douglas 

The note was trapped now between rose petals and the black-white-red of ivories and lid – it had been left where it lay when he had shut it up; closing the wounds away with everything else.

He cannot stand to look at it - it takes up a good portion of what had been his bedroom before he had moved in officially.  Douglas had seemingly planned to have decorators turn it into a music room for him while he was out, and Blaine feels terrible that his first gratitude was that at least this way he can shut the door on it – but it is there regardless of which room he occupies.  An all too real reminder of the magnitude of what is happening, where he is and the choices he has made; starkly real and strikingly beautiful. 

He knows, should he play it, that it will be the best instrument he has ever, and likely will ever, play.  But he cannot bring himself to touch it.  He feels unworthy.  He feels it judging him through the walls and it makes his skin crawl. 

College is not what he thought it would be – there are too many new faces, too many egos – all bright and fierce and eager – they want success; they breathe it.  The truth is – Blaine does not - he never has.  It was never his dream to be a lawyer, and every lecture, every piece of coursework, every textbook feels like another nail in the proverbial coffin that he built entirely for himself.  Even having a friend in most of his classes is no real comfort because all Sebastian does is ask if he is alright – and he is not, and there is nothing anyone can do to help him because even he cannot really explain what is wrong.  He feels like he is drowning - out of his depth at college, and he feels like he is marooned in the massive penthouse at night.

He spent a couple of days sleeping in the guest apartment – he cannot bring himself to call it ‘his' because, though he owns it legally, it does not feel like his.  Eventually he gave up, curling back up in the cold sheets of the bed he and Douglas had shared, the bitter taste of guilt and unworthiness in his mouth and in his skin.

On the phone he lies – he feels bad enough without making his partner feel terrible that Blaine is alone and miserable.  He tells Douglas a story about a young man who makes lots of friends at college and excels academically.    

He considers joining clubs in an attempt to pull himself out of his funk auditioning for one of the a cappella groups, Kingsmen, and even considers (briefly) joining a Rush for a fraternity such as Delta Sigma Phi, but he only succeeds in further proving to himself how much he really does not belong.  Adrift in a sea of faces all as beautiful, as young, and just as (if not more) talented as him. 

He almost floats away when he finds out that he was successful in auditioning to join the Kingsmen, but the feeling is short lived as, though he auditions, he does not win any solos and the longer he spends with the group the more he feels as if he is damaged goods and unworthy – a chipped tea cup in a regal dinner service.  They are on a whole new level to anything he had anticipated and he feels left behind and unable to catch up.

By the end of the first month he feels physically sick whenever he sees an Arts student.

As the end of the second month nears he spends more and more of his time beating his frustration out of punching bags, literally pounding out the minutes until Douglas returns as if his partner's return would magic everything better again.  He ignores the voice in the back of his mind that whispers that he cannot hide his failures from his partner. 

The chip becomes a crack when Douglas calls, sounding tired and stressed, to apologise – he is needed in China still (something to do with the client being bought out by another company and major changes being made to the original plans) and will remain there for at least another month.

Two weeks later and Blaine has lost his job at Bar Henry Bistro, lost Sebastian as a friend, and quit the Kingsmen.  At the penthouse the piano remains closed and untouched, and Blaine cannot stand the sight of it – the symbol of everything he once wanted. 

Which is how Blaine comes to find himself staying at Charlie's.

-+-

            ‘Kurt, I love you, okay, but this has got to stop.' 

He had known something was up from the way that Rachel had been lying-in-wait for him on the sofa – bolt upright like a mantis.  Kurt rolls his eyes as he puts down his bag and unwinds the pale blue scarf from around his neck.

            ‘I mean it – this is an intervention!  Take a seat.'

            ‘Better do as the hobbit says, Hummel.'  Santana comments as she saunters over from the kitchen, and by the way she actually takes a seat next to the other woman Kurt knows that he is outnumbered.

            ‘What's this about?'  He sighs and folds himself into a chair carefully guarding his expression.

            ‘We're just worried about you, Kurt.  Call that number every night but no one ever answers and it is not healthy -'

            ‘What the Sunkist dwarf is trying to say is that she went all stalker and sniffed out Fievel with that massive nose of hers –‘  Kurt watches in perplexed amusement as Rachel glares at Santana's interruption.  ‘- Turns out that Blanderson's gone AWOL.'

            ‘Wait – what?'  His heart somehow is beating in his tongue.

            ‘Sebastian said they had this big fight…'  Rachel looks uncomfortable and even Santana looks grim.  Kurt swallows to find his mouth is dry.

            ‘Well – that's no big surprise.  I mean, it's not like they haven't fallen out before.'  He tries to make light of the news, but Santana raises an eyebrow and his mouth snaps shut.

            ‘Relax, Hummel.  She weaselled the address out of ferret-boy.'

            ‘Santana!  We agreed –‘  Rachel's voice raises an octave.

            ‘-Yeah, well it's not up to us, Berry.  Give it to him.'

The shorter brunette produces a small scrap of paper and Kurt's eyebrows end up in his hairline when he reads the address.

            ‘Yeah.  No wonder he's with the old guy.'  Santana stands and heads over to the fridge.  ‘Want company?'

            ‘What are you talking about, Santana?  Kurt's got company – he's with us!'

            ‘Don't be dense, Berry.  He's about to run out the door right this second.'  The Latina turns slightly to watch as Kurt proves her correct – winding his scarf back around his neck.  ‘Look, Kurt – be careful, okay?'

            ‘Did Sebastian say why they fell out?'  Kurt locks eyes with Rachel as he picks up his bag.

            ‘No – only that Blaine wouldn't listen to reason.'

            ‘Nothing new there.' 

Kurt ignores Santana's jibe and sends Rachel a silent ‘thank you' before heading back out into the cooling early evening air.