Title: Dear Kurt,
Summary: Blaine is visiting Kurt at school in NYC, and he can't sleep. Fortunately, he can just reach some paper and a pen.

Notes: part of the "and whatever a sun will always sing" story. 
Rating: PG-13? All characters are over-18!
Disclaimer: 1) Obviously, these characters belong to the Glee powers that created them. If I'd created them, (to paraphrase someone a lot funnier than I) it'd be on HBO and called The Klaine Show and all that entails.

November, 2012

One cold and rainy New York City, Kurt realized the pocket of the shirt he'd just put on was crinkling with paper.

Dear Kurt,

I'm writing this letter while you're asleep. It's almost the last day of my first trip to visit you at school, and I don't want it to end. It's been such an amazing weekend. We've had so much fun, laughing and kissing and cuddling and seeing sights and just being together. My eyes feel like sandpaper, and I'm so tired, but I need to store up looking at you.

I don't think I'll ever get tired of just looking at you.

You're so beautiful, Kurt. You're so beautiful when you sleep. You're so beautiful when you're awake, and I've been lying here trying to figure out when it is you look the most beautiful and I can't decide, so I thought I should write you a letter – you seemed to enjoy the others – and try to tell you in such inadequate words how much I love you.

It's 4am, and the moon is blazing through the window above your bed. Moonlight makes your skin look like marble – you look like someone carved you out of stone. Even though I know you're not – I know your body is warm (and flexible!) – I still keep touching your chest to make sure you're real.

When I just woke up, we were completely tangled up on your little, narrow bed – I got myself untangled and snuck over to get some paper and pen. When I lay back down, you rolled over in your sleep and puzzle-pieced your body into mine again. You're holding me in your sleep. Your head is on my chest, and while I'm trying to find the right words, I lean my cheek against your hair. Your finger tips are on my neck, right over my pulse, and every once in a while, they twitch – like maybe you're making sure my heart's still beating. It is. But only because you're mine.

You are mine, right? I mean, we're not each other's possessions, but we're each others....everything, right? You're my everything, Kurt. I didn't know how much I was half a person until I met you. I didn't realize what a shell I was – I knew that something was missing, but I didn't really understand how empty I was. And you've filled me, Kurt –

and I can picture that when you read this, you're going to snicker because of the double entendre...But this is supposed to be a love letter, not a lust letter...

So, you and your smile and your heart and your love, you've made it so I'm not empty anymore. I can do anything, be anything, because I'm a whole person now.

I'm going to put this in the pocket of that old quilted shirt of your dad's that's in the back of your closet. I'm not sure how I'm going to get it there, but I know you wear that when you're feeling sad and blue, and being sad and blue always makes you cold, so you put on your dad's shirt to warm you up and you pull up the collar so you can smell his aftershave. And you put it on so you don't feel so alone.

So, if that's what's happening when you read this, I want to tell you: You're not alone, Kurt. You have your family, who adore you and think you're amazing and smart and extremely talented.

You have me, who loves you so much that sometimes it feels like I can't breathe, who can't believe how lucky he is because you want to be with him, who's such a dork sometimes but mostly just to see you smile, who knows that everything's going to be all right just because you are in the world – even when we're apart, I know that you're out there somewhere, and it's like the world will keep on spinning just because you are.

So, if you're cold and sad, wrap yourself up in that shirt. Cover up in that blanket Carole made you. Pretend I'm snuggling with you – I'm wrapping my arms around you, and I promise I won't complain when you put your cold feet on my shins – you're right, I do have more bodyheat than I know what to do with. Picture that, Kurt. Picture us all cuddled up on this tiny, very loud (!) bed. And pretend I'm whispering really stupid jokes in your ear and making you laugh and just...just that I'm here and I love you. Just picture that.

There's only a little while until you come home for a whole month (!) for the holidays, and then I'll come visit again in March and after that it's only a little while until summer and we'll be together. We can totally do this, Kurt. Everything's going to be okay, baby.

I love you, Kurt. Like, old-romantic-movies kind of love. Like, when I look at you, fountains should erupt and fireworks should explode and birds should start singing. I'm glad – like, really really glad – that you've decided there are things sexier than the touch of fingertips – although, really, back then, you never really said what those fingertips were touching – and I can think of some things...

I'm running out of paper and you made me promise I'd wake you up when I woke up so we didn't waste any time. I'm going to wake you up now, and hopefully my kisses will be enough to keep you from being annoyed at how early it is. I promise, there will be as many kisses as anyone could possibly give anyone, and then there will be...more... and then there will be coffee.

I love you,

~B.