Chapter 20

Blaine had spent the last thirteen days in his new home, sleep walking through a daily routine that left him feeling hollow and empty. He'd applied half-heartedly for a job at a new local coffee shop that held open mic nights and to his surprise had been hired. His enthusiasm for working as many hours as humanly possible had singled him out as a positive candidate despite his sad eyes and weak smiles, and he found that the bland monotony of the tasks distracted his mind during his waking hours.

 Sleeping was different.

 He couldn't escape him; no matter how hard he tried to physically exhaust himself in the day, his mind would never allow him peace. Kurt's face, his touch, his voice all permeated every atom that floated around the darkened bedroom of his new flat and every morning Blaine dragged himself out of bed to face the day with darker smudges staining the skin under his eyes. Blaine had never been one to wallow in his own solitude; had always been active in his participation in the world but now nothing seemed to bring light and everywhere he looked appeared muted in colour and monochrome.

 "Blaine! Blaine!"

 Jayce's voice startled him out of his daytime slumber and he rocked on his feet slightly as he hauled his mind back into the present. He blinked a few times before registering the cloth moving in rhythmic circles beneath his hand over the wooden counter.

 "Hon. Are you ok?" the blonde barista said with concern etched across her face, her ponytail bobbing as she cleaned the coffee machine vigorously. She narrowed her eyes with suspicion when Blaine nodded dully and went back to wiping the table.

 "Only you're about to wear away the varnish on that table top if you continue to clean that same spot any longer...." she smiled gently at the other man before reaching out and settling his hand. "Blaine sweetheart, you've been here two weeks and you've barely said a word. Hey I'm not one to complain about a dedicated worker," she said holding up her hands in mock defence, "but you kinda look like you need someone to talk to and, well I've been told I'm a good listener." She squeezed his fingers again.

 He stared emptily down at her hand stroking his and thought back to Kurt's fingers brushing over them when they'd laid side by side up at Cedar Point. He carefully slipped his hand out of her grasp and turned away, moving to another table and feeling tears prick infuriatingly in his eyes again.

 Jayce sighed. She'd been working at the coffee place for over a year now and had watched many a temp come and go. She prided herself on her ability to read people and spent her days inventing elaborate background stories for each customer that wondered through the doors of ‘Caffeine Rush' and then disappeared again just as fleetingly. When Blaine had come for the interview she'd been impressed by his resume; his musical background was perfect for their new venture into open mic. and live music and despite his sad looking eyes, Jayce had snapped him up. Now though, after observing him over the last two weeks, she was becoming increasingly concerned.

 He was always polite with customers and his work was beyond reproach but he wasn't ever really there; just a ghost of a person that floated around trying to fade into the walls. She'd invented many a background story for Blaine, broken dreams in the music world, money troubles, even a gambling problem - an elaborate scenario that had popped into her head one evening and made her smile before she swept it aside - but nothing seemed to fit to the enigma that was Blaine and she'd eventually given up; reminding herself it was none of her business. Today though, she thought she'd try again.

 "We've got an open spot at the mic. night tonight." She ventured gently. "In fact, one of our regular guys has dropped out and I'm kinda desperate. You play right Blaine?"

 The other man's back stiffened as he straightened up and reached for the floor mop. "I'm not really playing anymore." He said quietly.  He'd been unable to pick up his guitar since Kurt woke up and just looking at the instrument in the corner caused his heart to throb. Music had always been his comfort before but Kurt seemed to have even taken that with him when he left.

 "Oh please Blaine, You'd be doing me such a favour. The customers come for music and all I've got to offer is some strange poetry slam guy coming in for the early slot and nothing from nine onwards. I'll say it again...I'm really fucking desperate hon!" she pleaded, eyes watching the small man carefully.

 He sighed quietly. "Jayce, you've not even heard me perform. I could be awful."

 "Believe me babe, no matter how much you say you suck, you've got to be better than a guy who recites poetry about his cat to the rap tunes of Jay Z!"

 Despite himself Blaine felt his lips curl up slightly at the image and he smiled for the first time in days. Jayce grabbed on to it with both hands. "Does that smile mean you've taken pity on me and decided to help? Please Blaine. I need you. I want you oh baby oh baby" she deadpanned as he couldn't help but surrender to a full smile as a laugh escaped.

 "Fine, fine" he said half-heartedly, his face sinking just as quickly back into the weary and defeated state it had become accustomed to. The older woman squealed with excitement, clinging on to Blaine's momentary lapse in misery. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou" she said, grabbing hold of him and hugging him to her as the other man stiffened against her touch. She released him immediately but smiled warmly at him as she stepped back. "You're awesome Mr and I'll make it up to you I promise. Remember you're on at nine!" she called back over her shoulder as she disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Blaine reeling, staring slightly stunned after her.

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 The covers looked like he'd been wrestling with them again, when Kurt finally disentangled himself and hauled his body out of bed; another restless night with Blaine. Moving into the kitchen, Kurt stubbornly ignored the black notebook sat glaringly on the edge of the counter and begun his coffee routine. The words from Blaine's quote screamed in his head and he was grateful for the sound of the percolator as it drowned out some of the volume.

 He didn't want to confront it, any of it. And even if he did want to, like his body had desperately cried out to him to do last night, he had no idea where to find Blaine. He'd disappeared that day after the hospital and none of them had seen him since. It was as if Blaine had been a ghost that had solved his ‘unfinished business' and calmly vanished into whatever was waiting on the other side. Kurt shook his head at the nonsense he was now concocting and poured his coffee. A splash of dark liquid slopped over the side of the cup and pooled on the counter and another small flash appeared behind his eyes before it disappeared just as quickly. Sighing and grabbing the cloth beside the sink, Kurt wiped out the stain

 ***

 The sun made his skin tingle, so unused to daylight after weeks in the hospital and Kurt allowed his neck to roll back slightly to welcome more of the heat to brush his face. He breathed in the scent of Topiary Park, wondering again briefly what had compelled him to come here for the first time in years. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy the park but it was usually so crowded and it had always seemed to highlight his aloneness. Today was no exception; the park was packed with families, enjoying the early summer weather and Kurt had to navigate a wavering path through the picnicking groups to reach his chosen spot.

 The topiary Seurat tableau had always been his favoured area and although busy today, there was still some solitude to be found hidden behind the various figures craved out of the shrubs. He sat down, folding his legs beneath him and inhaled slowly, eyes closed. It had been ages since he'd just sat and allowed his surroundings to wash over him. The flashback from the week before danced around his brain and he gasped suddenly as he connected his current location to the arms wrapped around him on the blanket and the music that had drifted across his skin. 

 He remembered it.

 He remembered the feeling of confusion as they'd sat down and the quiet, low voice telling him to "just wait" as the anticipation built. He remembered manoeuvring himself into the other man's lap, allowing the comfort of the strong arms to wrap around him and succumbing to the sensations of feeling protected and soothed. He remembered the soft cascade of notes that tumbled from the bandstand and floated around the gardens.

 He remembered Blaine.

 Just fleetingly but deeply and with absolute clarity before it blurred again into confusion and became the usual distorted memory that Kurt couldn't trust.

 But it had been there and Kurt's heart had surged momentarily.

  He remained in the garden far longer than he'd intended and the light was beginning to fade when he eventually stirred himself and unwound his stiff legs. People had gradually dispersed around him and there were only a few remaining groups dotted around the park when he emerged from the trees.

 Wondering home, Kurt took a circuitous route, enjoying the sensations of being aimless and appreciating the city that he'd ignored for so many years now. Inhaling the deep smell of coffee nearby, Kurt paused outside the newly opened café and let his eyes rest on a flier stuck in the window. The words ‘Open mic.' had attracted him for some reason although he struggled to recall why, and he read over the rest of the information advertising a live music performance that evening.

 Something in his stomach uncoiled slightly and Kurt found himself eager to return. He'd been unable to face playing the piano since the accident, fearful that his ability to play might be lost somehow in his jumbled memory and he yearned to hear ‘real' music. Thinking back to the reluctant boy encased in the journal pages still resting on the kitchen counter, Kurt pulled out his phone and noted down the address for later.

 The word ‘courage' flashed into his head and he set off home with a little more determination.

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 Blaine's hand shook as he clutched his guitar to his chest. It felt alien in his fingers and he was furious at Jayce for pushing him to do this. When he'd returned home that afternoon off the lunch-time shift, he'd cautiously reached for the instrument lying abandoned in the bedroom corner and tentatively strummed a few chords, letting the familiarity of the habit seep through him and direct his movements. It had felt awkward and uncomfortable, the notes sounding discordant in his ears and the well-rehearsed songs dying on his lips.

 "No! No way Jayce! I can't do this."

 He'd almost sobbed down the phone at the confused woman on the other end, desperation and panic pouring down the line. Unrelenting, Jayce had reasoned, cajoled and finally threatened him with the sack if he wasn't there, guitar in hand at 8.45 ready to perform and Blaine had finally surrendered.

 But now, as he peeked through the beaded curtain of the kitchen doorway that had temporarily become his ‘off stage' area and taken in the crowd of coffee drinking intellectuals scattered on sofa's and cushions, he felt his stomach twist hideously.

 "You ready babe?"

 Jayce's voice hissed at him from behind, more a statement than a question of concern, as she non too gently prodded his back and pushed him out on to the tiny stage erected in the corner of the café. Momentarily stunned, Blaine stood frozen for several seconds before registering the expectant faces of the waiting crowd. Taking a deep and rather shaky breath, he moved towards the stool beside the microphone and positioned himself awkwardly on it, perched and unstable. Shouldering his guitar in his trembling hands, Blaine strummed a simple chord before looking up nervously and addressing the crowd.

 "Ok. So it's been a while since I ...uh... played for anyone. So um...well, be nice ok." The last line was said with a tiny smile that suggested Blaine was far more comfortable than his churning stomach would suggest and a slight twitter of laughter filtered through the eager audience. Closing his eyes and feeling the familiar electricity tingle through his fingertips, Blaine began to play.

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 Kurt was frozen. Couldn't move. Couldn't think. Just frozen.

 He'd been distracted by spilt coffee when the musician had come on stage, blotting at his now thoroughly damp jeans after a slightly over zealous patron had bumped into him on their way to the bathroom. He'd not looked up as the practise chord had sounded out amongst the low level chatter of the audience; and so it was without warning that the man's hesitant voice punched its way into his conscious, making his head snap up and jolting another slop of coffee on the ever growing wet patch.

 Blaine.

 It was Blaine. The man who had plagued his every waking and sleeping thought for the last two weeks was sat, looking desperately uncomfortable on a stool not ten feet away from him, guitar in hand and unruly mop of now so familiar curly hair hanging over his face. His eyes were closed and Kurt watched in quivering anticipation as the beautiful man in front of him drew into himself, pausing for the tiniest of seconds before visibly sinking into the first note.

 And now he was utterly frozen as the first discordant sounds of the achingly familiar song wrapped around his cold heart and squeezed the air out of his lungs. 

 _____________________________________________________________________

 He'd not planned for those notes to come out, had already decided on a his failsafe go-to song as his familiar starting point, but his fingers seemed to take their own journey as they stumbled over the chords. It shouldn't have been surprising; the words had spun through his brain like a worn out track on repeat since the night before Kurt ‘died', but he still tripped over the opening lyrics as they spilled out of his mouth without warning.

 "Sing me to sleep, sing me to sleep"

 Blaine felt like he was sleep-walking, allowing the words to float out of him smooth and controlled as the café around him disappeared and he was transported back to the living room and the cushions and Kurt's hot breath on his lips. His eyes, drifted up to glance hazily through the faces that merged and swam in his vision before one solid figure slammed into his consciousness. His fingers faltered and a harsh flat note jarred into the room before Blaine had time to steady himself and continue playing.

 Kurt.

 He was there, pale blue, sparklingly vivid eyes locked on to his face, shocked and immobile. How was he there? Why was he there? Blaine's gaze remained fixed while his fingers and voice echoed around the room that now appeared utterly devoid of life except for the two heartbeats thudding in time to the music. He couldn't bring himself to look away. Did he remember? Had he come back to him? His stomach lurched with hope, twisting uncomfortably as his mouth still formed words he was no longer able to recognise.

 "There is another world. There is a better world. Well there must be. There must be."

 The final lyrics resonated; no longer a desperate plea to escape, they seemed to present the hopeful promise of something more for both of them but Blaine couldn't bring himself to acknowledge any reality in what they suggested. Instead his eyes continued to linger, following the contours of the beautiful face that was finally in front of him again.

 As he reached the gentle conclusion, Blaine realised he was going to have to continue, at least play another few songs to satisfy Jayce and the expectant crowd that were now applauding enthusiastically. His hands held the mic., unsteady and betraying his flustered state.

 "Umm...ok...well, thanks. That was The Smiths for those of you who don't know." He stammered a little, eyes scanning the crowd and avoiding the pale figure that was emblazoned into his retinas in the corner. "I'm going to play a few more tracks before we take a break." He mumbled. "This next one is a little more upbeat and is something I wrote at uni. So yeah...again...bear with me."

 He smiled then; for the first time in what felt like forever Blaine allowed his body to relax into the music and let the calming familiar lines of his song comfort him. Occasionally he would flick his eyes up to meet the other man's; wanted to check that he hadn't disappeared again, that he was really there.

 Kurt remained exactly where he was, slightly less frozen but still trapped within whatever inner struggle was raging through him and burning behind his eyes.

 Four songs later, Blaine finally excited the stage, eager applause and a few whistles ringing in his ears. He was grinning now, the buzz from playing having fully consumed him and at last he felt the tell-tale sparks of energy tingle through his veins. He couldn't decide whether it was the thrill of allowing music to heal him again or whether it was Kurt's presence. Either way, Kurt was the first thing his eyes sought out in the darkened coffee shop when he ran out of the kitchen, guitar case in hand not four minutes later.

 He was gone.

 The chair that he'd sat fixedly in all evening was now occupied by a young girl, legs slung over the arm and talking animatedly to her companion. His heart crushed into mangled metal again and he gulped down the hideous lump that burned the back of his throat.

 How could he just go again? Why had he stayed if he was just going to go?

 Ignoring Jayce's calls from the other side of the counter, Blaine ran out of the shop, tears blurring his way as he pushed past people out into the alley beside the building. He turned towards the wall, banging his fists against the harsh bricks in frustration and letting his head thump painfully against the concrete; he cursed out an agonised growl of despair.

 "Hi"

 The voice was so tiny, cautious and hesitant, but Blaine's head whipped around so quickly it was as if he'd been punched. He was there. Standing, small and fragile and unearthly luminous in the meagre glow the streetlamp afforded the secluded alleyway. His arms were wrapped tightly around himself as if in protection and he was turned so his shoulder leant against the wall Blaine had recently been arguing with. They stood, a few metres between them but a gulf of unspoken confusion separating them. Blaine peered up at him over his forearm that was still pressed to the wall, eyes locked together for a moment before he realised it was his turn to speak.

 "Hi" he said quietly and a little unsteady. "I thought you'd left...."

 Kurt shook his head slightly and cleared his throat, "You sounded great." he offered, trying to dispel the aching awkwardness that hung in the air by clinging to common ground. Blaine nodded his thanks with a small movement of his head. The silence unreeled again.

 Turning, Blaine leant his back against the wall and slid down uncomfortably until he was sitting in the dirt, knees hugged to his chest. He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face and looked down at the ground.

 "Why are you here Kurt?" he whispered brokenly. "Do you remember?" the last line was weary, his voice sounding defeated even in his own ears but he raised his eyes slightly to see Kurt's reaction. The other boy was clearly working through words and thoughts as they tumbled through his brain and he didn't speak for several minutes. Eventually his own body seemed to surrender and he too, slumped against the wall, mirroring Blaine's position.

 He was closer now, not quite touching but their shoulders and knees separated by the thinnest fraction of air that seemed charged between them. He didn't look at Blaine when he spoke, choosing to say them to the alley rather than Blaine himself.

 "I don't know what I remember." He started, honestly. "I have dreams.......visions and flashes but...." He trailed off, unable to explain what he experienced. Blaine remained silent, tracing circles in the dust with his finger.

 "I think I need you to tell me Blaine......I think you need to tell me..." he opened his palms, offering his hands up in frustration at not being able to articulate his need fully.

 "It doesn't make sense" Blaine started to say, "If you don't remember it, it won't make sense."

 "I need to hear it Blaine. I know we didn't meet at school but I feel like I know you and ..well.....I just need to know Blaine. I need your memories."

 Taking a deep breath and glancing one last time towards the expectant man beside him, Blaine returned to the night he'd moved in to Kurt's apartment. Kurt said nothing; made no indication of his thoughts as Blaine pressed on with the story, his eyes closed and his breath steady. His voice remained calm throughout, the words wrapping around the two men in the darkened alleyway and binding them together in unreal memories.

 Blaine left nothing out, left no element unshared, wanting to make Kurt understand what they'd been, what they'd done. He watched the blush flush across Kurt's pale skin as he retold moments of bodies pressed together, desperate pleas, tongues searching mouths, sparing no mercy for the man listening. Kurt had asked for ‘everything' and once started, Blaine couldn't have stopped himself even if he'd wanted to.

 It was cathartic in a way. He'd felt so unresolved when he'd left Kurt's pained, confused face in the hospital bed that day, had spent waking hours stumbling around like an unfinished narrative, but now he was able to take ownership; at least he was able to fill in his own story.

 Kurt's face sagged, weary and utterly exhausted when Blaine finally finished; both men left standing in the hospital again as Blaine's heart tore out of his chest once more, reliving the rejection of Kurt's quizzical gaze. His eyes tuned to the man beside him, wanting to see his reaction; needing it.

 And still he said nothing.

The sickly, heady smells of the hot night air permeated the space around them and Blaine finally pulled himself back into the present, registering it was now heading into the early hours of the morning. He stretched his legs out in front of him, easing the cramped muscles and letting his head fall back against the bricks again lightly. Kurt moved tentatively; his fingers trembling as he reached across the gap and ghosted them over Blaine's own hands clasped in his lap. He stroked the flesh, watching the dark hairs stand up as he tickled over the skin in a fluttering movement that mimicked Blaine's own heart. The other boy remained perfectly still, not wanting to break the fragility of the moment.

 "I don't remember it." Kurt breathed into the air as Blaine's hope disintegrated into the dirt surrounding them. "Bits of it seem like de ja vu, little brain synapses, but.....the story doesn't play out in sequence in my head. It's like it's tattooed in here somewhere." He touched his chest with his free hand and pulled Blaine's own fingers, intertwined with his own, to touch against Blaine's heart at the same time. " and here....but I'm reading it all backwards in a mirror and it doesn't make sense."

 "Where does it leave me?" Blaine's voice hitched in fear at the answer, tears pooled in his eyes again slightly at the agony of Kurt's continued touch and he looked down at their clasped hands.

 Kurt didn't say anything for a moment; couldn't form any words of comfort. It still didn't fit for him. Still didn't work. His own tears spilled over his cheeks as he looked at the broken man beside him, realising he was the reason for his despair. He was so beautiful. This man who Kurt had spent years longing for; months writing about wanting in his journal without even realising he was looking for him....but Kurt couldn't claim him back.

 He was still a stranger to him.

 Turning Blaine's palm over in his hand, Kurt started to trace letters down his forearm and over his wrist with his finger. Blaine watched the movements intently, following each curve of the words spelled out into his skin. Kurt didn't speak when he was finished, just pulled himself to his feet, wiping away his tears with the palm of his hands and turned away from the crumpled figure at his feet.

 Kurt walked away into the darkness, leaving the alleyway, leaving Blaine, leaving his tingling forearm with the words ‘I'm sorry' inked into the flesh.