II.

Torn apart

Kurt stands up, just to walk somewhere, anywhere else, if only for the sake of movement.

Normally those impulses of running come at night. They are worst then, when he can't go out and run. Not that it does really help. Running.

But now it is too early a morning anyway, still dark outside, even if Saturday already.

So he crouches back over his laptop and mindlessly, restlessly hovers the cursor over the link again.

He has not been answering Blaine's emails or calls since he broke it up. Since the letter. He couldn't have done all, any of this, if he would have.

Yet now this new video, posted yesterday.

No commentary, title simply the date.

What part of him made him think it was safe to watch a video?

Because Blaine would never know he saw it? Because Kurt didn't have to answer it, didn't have to explain himself? Because he was alone here, no-one but him to fall apart? Because there was nothing left to lose anymore anyway?

The blinking cursor mocks him. Replay.

Kurt buries his  head in his hands. No-one but him to fall apart. He almost scoffs, almost laughs at the thought, when a worn shirt over the siderest of the couch thankfully distracts his glance. His hands reach for it before he knows so, and he folds it for nothing and no-one, picks it up when it slips his grip, opens and refolds it.

The memory is there suddenly, everpresent and new, all there anyway, too vivid even in its dulled and faded colours.

That fatal surprise visit.

And he would snort at himself, if it didn't leave him so numb right now.

Because really, could it be any more cliché...?

Yes, he saw Blaine flirting with someone else, unaware that Kurt had come to visit. And somewhere deep down Kurt knows, knew even then, that it just is Blaine's natural way of conversing, eyes alight and so warm and alive.

But he scared himself that moment, when he suddenly didn't seem to have anything left to set against it.

Kurt's fingers are cold and rough, catch on the smooth cotton, drawing slow relentless circles.

They had made it through Blaine's senior year at high school. Had mastered the challenge of a new start together in an apartment. Then the chance for a one year internship from coast to coast had come along for Blaine.

Being apart. They had done this before. So Kurt had been supportive, so sure they could do this.

He had been so sure of a lot of things.

His fingers curl into the fabric.

Yet this time something had gone awry. A minor part of him, growing too fast, had not been able to agree, wouldn't see it as the challenge that was to be coped with, but had turned against him. His body, his chemistry. This time it had all just drained him, and all he'd been able to see after some weeks was the strain, the load on his shoulders, the things he'd been lacking.

He'd never known, had seemed to have forgotten, just how much he needed Blaine's physical presence, at least once in a while, how much it influenced the way he held himself, to have Blaine near.

Phone calls hadn't just been the same.

And Blaine, his old friends, his family, they had not been around to see. See when something had changed, when Kurt had changed.

He had not been able to see it himself then. Wouldn't. Had thought he'd be alright, would come around, eventually. Had convinced himself as he did them, his friends and colleagues here, who it had been too easy to keep up appearances with. He is Kurt Hummel, after all.

Kurt swallows silently.

Easy on the outside at least. Inside he'd been losing himself. Wouldn't sleep enough, hadn't been able to anymore. Not well like he did with Blaine around. Restful nights had gone together with Blaine.

Then fall had come and the sleep deprivation had just added to so many rejections, disappointments, reality-checks of all kinds, day-to-day and random, not unusual, but too many, all of a sudden. Rain, wet leaves on the ground and early darkness. Loneliness. And at some point he'd just become so tired.

The delicate pattern of the shirt swims before his eyes, after staring too long, unblinking.

And then that surprise visit, when he saw Blaine in that lobby.

There it was in front of Kurt for him to see, standing out and sinking in. There Blaine was.

Grown so much into himself.

Kurt's thumbs smooth a crease out of the shirt in his lap, as his throat tightens with a sentiment that he cannot categorize.

Already early on in their relationship he had realized it. That even if Blaine had changed Kurt's own life's dynamic and brought happiness into it that he hadn't thought he'd ever find, Blaine had needed him maybe more than Kurt had needed Blaine.

For Blaine's need had been so much more dire, because it had been more hidden. Blaine had had all those philosophies and morals and beliefs, but when they'd met they all still would seem several sizes too big.

Issues had been even more deeply rooted, more covered up than with Kurt, calling for a much more considerate and subtle support, because most of the time Blaine hadn't even been aware of how hard he was on himself.

And always, sometimes more, sometimes less obvious than others, Blaine had been looking for Kurt to define their relationship. And although they had talked and constituted together, it had been in its depths just so.

Blaine had always trusted Kurt's judgment of their relationship blindly, even more so with time, time that had proven that sometimes Kurt seemed to know Blaine and his needs better than Blaine did himself.

Kurt closes his eyes, Blaine's face there with them shut or opened, anyway.

So he saw him there, talking animatedly and he just knew how much Blaine had grown, finally glowing with a self confidence that was anchored inside him, anchored where Kurt's support and love had rooted it.

A true form of self-respect and self-love that hadn't been there when they'd met, when Blaine had still been trying to believe it, trying and struggling to live it out as an example for others before it really was inside of him.

The corner of Kurt's lips tense.

Blaine had always been beautiful. Because his gentle heart and best intentions had always been there. He'd just been too afraid to love himself like he loved others.

But seeing him that day it became clear to Kurt how very much Blaine had settled inside himself. He didn't need Kurt anymore like this, not urgently like back then.

And it hit Kurt in that moment in that hotel lobby. How empty he'd started to feel himself.

He disgusted himself in that moment.

So his mind found him a way out.

And for the first time in a long time, it chose retreat over fighting.

Kurt puts the shirt away, over the side rest where he picked it up.

He didn't turn on his heel and ran. No, he even went and saw Blaine the next day, and things seemed almost fine for a while. But when he flew back two days later, he knew something had changed.

At first he increased the distance, made it not only a physical one, but took his time with calling back, answering with excuses without a heart to them.

When Blaine asked about it, about him, he said it was nothing.

And somehow they were both busy enough with their lives apart, all day, each day anew, that it was just the way it went. Kurt lost focus, when everything became just about getting through the day.

All those break up songs were on his play list, in his head, he wallowed in them, closed himself off. Retreated into his head. Like he'd never had before. Not since Blaine. Not since he was 17.

He made up his mind, that it was his noble duty, to be reasonable about this. Better for the both of them. For Blaine. Blaine should have a chance on happiness.

And so Kurt sent the letter.

Sorry, I tried, but I can't.

I don't want to do this, but I think it's right. The mature thing to do.

For now, I just can't.

Well, he'd chosen words more eloquent, but that was what it came down to.

He presented Blaine with a fait accompli, making his decision for the both of them.

Don't call me, don't come over. I can't do this right now. Just respect that I need space.

He didn't want drama this time. Didn't need it, could not handle it. He tried to sound, to be grown up and reasonable. For he instinctly knew, Blaine would have defied his decision, had it been a passionate one, presented as such, would have countered with just the same passion.

So Kurt had put what was left of his heart into the letter, all warmth and understanding. Declared his love even, thanking Blaine for the time they had, but asking for his decision to be respected, if Blaine respected Kurt.

And how could Blaine have argued that?

He couldn't. And that was what Kurt had wanted.

Kurt's jaw trembles then sets.

He played Blaine, speaking of having thought about it all, a lot. And thought about it he had, he believed in his reasons. But he knew just what this would do to Blaine.

For Blaine knowing Kurt had no choice but to believe it, too. He'd always known Kurt was a fighter, so him retreating must mean there were good reasons.

Kurt had relied on the image Blaine had of him to make his point, when he didn't recognize himself back then. Or now. Hasn't ever since.

Kurt lets his chin sink to his chest.

He really did believe it, though, himself. Cried for the compassionate tone of goodbye in his own words, cried over his noble sacrifice, because he wanted to cry then.

He meant every word he'd written.

Still does.

For the wave of regret would crush him if he didn't.

Kurt's thumb and indexfinger find the bridge of his nose, the harsh pressure the only thing that keeps his head up, or so it seems to him.

He sent the letter, and from then on it was only time. One week, two, a month, one and a half... as the decision drifted farther from him, the urgency to take it back fading with the first of pain, when the numbness came. Took over what was still left to conquer, rather.

Kurt lets his hand drop to move the mouse around the pad without aim.

He can't be second guessing himself now. He asked Blaine to respect his decision. Now he must do the same, and stick to his own word.

His tongue is dry in the cavity of his mouth, as he slumps in his seat, in on himself.

His breath sounds hollow to him.