August, 2012

Five days before Kurt is supposed to leave for New York, Blaine feels like he's going to break.

He's been trying, he's really has. He's been going through the motions – mechanically, numbly – eating food he doesn't taste, wearing clothes he can't remember putting on, speaking words and then not being sure what he's just said. He's been trying to keep everything on an even keel, maintain an even strain, not get too worked up, just pack everything down until after he leaves and then you can fall apart, Anderson. Don't waste the time before he goes with your blubbering. Just don't. Keep it together.

Even though, every time he realizes it's their last time to do something together before The Move – kissing on the park bench near Blaine's house, grabbing coffee at the Lima Bean – hell, even one last trip to the mall to grab last minute packing supplies – it's like little shards of ice being stacked around his heart, keeping it from beating properly. He just sees the deadline of Kurt's departure, every minute, looming even closer, and it feels like a vise grip around his chest and he can't breathe properly.

Blaine knows Kurt is never going to say goodbye to him. He trusts it. He believes it. He knows it. They are going to make it, make it together, make it because they're together and this time next year, it'll be Kurt helping Blaine pack up to move to New York – and it'll be Kurt helping Blaine unpack in New York and for a moment, Blaine lets himself get lost in that image – sweaty and tired from hauling boxes up all the those stairs – no elevator, Blaine, but wait till you see the view when you stand on a chair and look out the living room window – and they'll flop on the floor of the tiny apartment they'll share – their apartment – and Kurt's tired smile will warm Blaine and Blaine will reach out with his hand and cup Kurt's cheek and Kurt will close his eyes and lean forward and kiss him – he tucks that future memory away to look at later. After The Move.

They're at Kurt's house, chatting in the kitchen with Burt and Carole and Blaine doesn't know exactly what he's said but Carole gives him a sweet smile and hug, and Burt claps him on the shoulder, neither one of them dislodging Kurt's hand where it's clutched around Blaine's.

Now, walking into Kurt's bedroom behind Kurt, hearing Kurt's voice echoing off the freshly blank walls, seeing the empty shelves – most everything is packed away, neatly and safely, to go with Kurt to New York – and Blaine knows that he should be happy that there isn't a photo left behind of him and Kurt on the dresser, knows that all their special mementos are wrapped like precious cargo so Kurt can have them with him – but it's still such a blow to the stomach to see Kurt's room so devoid of everything. The one place he's felt completely safe to be himself, to be as dorky and awkward and giggly as he wants, to explore the wild sensuality he's beginning to suspect (and Kurt has always known) has always been just below the surface, to be as vulnerable and fragile as he needs, without the hair gel and the bowties and the silent disapproval of his parents and the weight of everyone's constraints and expectations.

Kurt's room – Kurt's bed – that's where he doesn't need to be anything but the real him. Kurt sees him, and loves him – not his name or his family connections or his reputation or any of the facades he puts on on a daily basis. Him. Just him. And now this room is empty. Empty of Kurt. Empty of him. Empty of them. And Blaine knows – he understands, okay – he knows that Kurt's taking everything special with him, to remind him and keep him strong and make it so the distance doesn't hurt him so badly. And they're going to be fine. They're going to make it.

But this room is so empty and chilly, just like his life is going to be and it's going to be such agony to be apart, Blaine doesn't know – doesn't want – doesn't know how they're – he's – going to survive it. Suddenly, he's cold and nauseated and shaking.

Blaine sinks to the edge of bed and tries to take slow, deep breaths. Kurt fussing with his collar of his shirt – it won't lay flat, and he's slightly miffed about it. He heads straight to his closet to find a replacement – and doesn't see the blood leaving his boyfriend's face – the golden glow of his skin turned sickly yellow.

Kurt is jabbering in his closet – flicking towards the back through the clothes he's deemed Too Ohio to bring to New York – most everything else having already been carefully packed, trying to find something suitable . He soon realizes he's not getting any response to his quips, no opinions, no jokes in reply – and comes to sit next to Blaine, who's staring numbly at his hands tightly clasped in his lap.

“Blaine? Baby?” Kurt sits as close as he can to Blaine, feeling the tension in his jaw in his own, watching the grip of Blaine's hands on each other, watching him twist and turn his fingers over and over. “What are you thinking about, baby?”

'Baby' is not a word Kurt uses easily – terms of endearment, real endearment, not just the social platitudes or slightly snarky “honey” that he uses from time to time – but names of real love – Kurt's not very familiar with them. His dad calls him “Bud” or “Buddy” from time to time, but “Kurt” the rest of the time. No one's called him anything like 'baby' since his mother died. She always had a million pet names for him. Baby, sweetie, sweetpea, punkin – he can feel the warmth in his mother's voice, even now.

He feels a measure of that warmth, plus some extra new heat, when he hears any one of the number of pet names Blaine has for him – “baby”,“cutie”, “gorgeous”, “beautiful”, “sexyface” (which is guaranteed to make Kurt giggle), and for reasons unknown, “Sparky” – though for anything truly important, it's always “Kurt” in so many different tones of voice. Kurt.

“Baby?” Kurt rubs one hand on Blaine's back – feels how stiff and unyielding it seems. He takes one of Blaine's hands, if only to stop their incessant wringing. Blaine's fingers are cold and they clutch at Kurt's.

Blaine's looking like he's going to fold up into himself, bringing his feet up on the bed so his knees are tucked against his chest. Kurt puts the back of his fingers to Blaine's cheek, rubbing gently and is rewarded with a watery smile.

“God, this is going to suck” Blaine gasps. Kurt exhales a mirthless laugh.

“Yes. Yes, it is.” Kurt can't deny it. This is, by definition, going to suck.

“I just...I just really don't want to do this. I know everything's going to be okay. I know we're going to be fine. I know we're going to be okay – I do, Kurt, really. But just the thought of not seeing your face – not being able to touch you or feel your arms around me or hear you breathing – I just...I just don't want to know what that's like.”

“I know, baby.” Kurt continues his rubbing. “I don't want to know what it's like, either.”

They are both silent, lost in their own thoughts for a bit, dreading what next week is going to feel like.

“I'm just so afraid, Kurt. I'm not afraid of us breaking up, or losing you or any...nothing like that.” Blaine's eyes, usually so brilliant and full of sparkle, are dull – the warm honey colour of them dimmed to a weak tea. “I'm just so afraid of going back to what it was like before I had you. It was so lonely – I was so alone.” Blaine couldn't keep the hitch out of his voice.

Kurt's eyes well with tears. He knows that, apart from himself, Blaine doesn't really have many friends – not any more, at least. The Warblers had turned on him – reluctantly, Kurt was fairly certain, but nevertheless, so very viciously – it couldn't ever be the same, not after Sebastian's so-called joke. Wes had graduated the year before, and was as loyal and staunch a friend as ever – he was also all the way on the east coast at Georgetown. Rachel and Finn, Mercedes, Puck would all be gone in a few weeks. Santana and Britt, too. Mike, Blaine's closest friend at McKinley, left for college last week.

Blaine reaches up to knuckle the tears out of his eyes, smiling grimly. He takes a shuddering breath. “I just fucking don't want to fucking do this again. I don't want to go back to being hollow. I want to keep feeling – I don't want to be numb all the time any more. I...I haven't felt numb, I haven't felt hopeless since I met you, Kurt. I've felt everything – every wonderful thing – I've felt alive. I've been alive.”

“I put on this great show, right? I'm always what whatever anybody else needs me to be – I can pull off confident, I can put-together, I can pull off doesn't-have-any-problems, I can pull off – god – passing-as-straight, I can pull off whatever..I can sell it, I really can, you know?” Blaine can't keep up with the tears rolling down his cheeks. “But I'm just so tired of it. I'm tired of the show. I'm tired of not being me. I'm so me when I'm with you, when I'm around you. I don't have to pretend, and that's such a weight off my chest. You don't want me in a specially labeled box, you don't want to cut me down to size so I fit. You just let me be me.” Blaine laughs breathlessly. “And, for reasons I'll never understand , you love me for it.”

“Of course, I do,” Kurt tugs on Blaine's hands, pulling him towards the head of the bed where they could rest more comfortably, but Blaine remains locked where he sits.

“I'm just...I'm just afraid. I'm afraid that, without you here to remind me, I'm going to turn back into that automaton I was before. Without you to be near, without you to help me feel, to make me feel – I just... I'm just afraid that I'm going to fall back into that pit – that pit that I'll never get back out of again. I'm afraid I'll turn back into stone and ...and god, Kurt. I'm just going to miss you so fucking much..”

Kurt finally pulls a little harder, manages to budge Blaine – tugs his arms until Kurt is leaning back against his headboard, Blaine leaning back against him. He wraps his legs around Blaine's hips, his arms tightly around Blaine's chest, pressing kisses into Blaine's ear, his hair, his neck.

“Well, your mixed metaphors aside, –“ Kurt sniffs and clears his throat. “You want to know what my mom used to say about missing people?”

Blaine relaxes his head, leaning it back against Kurt's shoulder.

“Well, do you?” Kurt nuzzles his nose into Blaine's ear, isn't really that impatient, just wants any sort of response.
“Okay. Yes, please.” Blaine tried to laugh.

Kurt's voiced gentles, just above a low whisper, as he watched Blaine's flawless profile from the corner of his eye. “When I was really little, my parents would go out every other Friday night, for “date night”-- it was a tradition. And they left me with a babysitter – always very nice, somewhat confused teenage girls. And, I remember being really really upset. Because I would get this horrible yearning for my parents. Like, just swamping waves of missing them, while they were gone – and it was never more than a few hours. So, one day, my mother tells me they're going out, and I just burst into tears. I knew I was just going to miss them so much and I thought I couldn't stand it if they weren't going to miss me.”

Blaine nodded his head quietly.

“My mother said to me, 'when you feel that – that missing somebody with all your heart and soul, you can bet that that's the exact moment they're missing you too. That's what makes you miss them so badly right then and there – because, right then and there, they're missing you too.”

Blaine huffed a quiet laugh. “That's really sweet.”

“Yeah. I know. My mother was really sweet. And it really helped.”

Blaine caught Kurt's arms with his hands, holding them tight against his heart.

“Blaine, I promise you – there's no pit to fall back into. There's no turning back to stone. It's going to be hard, and sometimes it's really going to suck, but we're going to get through it. And I promise you, every single time you miss me, you're homesick for me, I'm going to be homesick for you. Because it's not home without you, Blaine.”

Tears were flowing down both their cheeks. They rocked side to side for a bit, soothing each other. Then Kurt wiped Blaine's face with his palms, then his own.

“Which reminds me...I have a song I've been meaning to play for you.” Kurt wiggled out from behind Blaine's back and headed for his cd player.

“A song?”

“You've heard it before, I'm sure. I just want you to really listen to the lyrics this time, because every time I hear it, I think of you. Makes me almost wish we could find some of those fucking Warblers around-- ” Blaine snorted and tossed his head “-- just so I could sing it to you properly. I mean every word of it.”

Kurt crosses the room and climbs back on the bed and begins to sing

And now that we've reached the end

I think of all that's past

and of how I've come to depend

upon the faith I feel inside your guiding hand

Blaine leans forward slightly to let Kurt wiggle back behind him, wiggles himself to allow Kurt's legs around his waist again more comfortably, sighs as Kurt's arms wrap tightly under his own, turns his head to rest his ear against Kurt's chest so he can hear how this song vibrates through Kurt's ribs.

Say you'll go with me forever

though I know that you can't

well I ain't much with words

there's nothing I can say that you ain't heard

but I promise you

each and every day

I'll hear your voice

In every thought that flows through my mind

I'll see your face

In every cloud that floats through my sky

and when the world is too much

and the hurt's got me

down on my knees to pray

I'll hear your voice

and then you won't be so far away

Kurt is singing softly, and for the first time in days, Blaine is able to breathe normally.

Say you'll go with me wherever

even though I know it's just a dream

though I know it's unknown

but it's somethin' that I gotta do alone

but I swear to you

I will never do anything

without your soul inside

Blaine shivers in Kurt's arms – knowing Kurt means it. And Blaine means it too.

“You know what's going to be awesome?” he asks hoarsely.

Kurt stops singing to whisper into Blaine's hair. “I could think of a few things..but, no, baby, what's going to be awesome?”

“When we go back to just normal life. When everything stops being so dramatic and life-altering and momentous and we can just be back to being – what did Santana call us? – 'smug old marrieds' and forget all this...crap.”

“We are so not about the drama.” Kurt hums his agreement, reaching up to run his hand through Blaine's hair.

“Let's promise we're going to be boring for the rest of our lives. No more drama. No more heartache. No more fights. Just you and me together.”

“Being boring? No drama, no heartache, yes I wholeheartedly agree. No more fights, ehhhh, not sure we can follow through on that, unless you finally see the light and just agree with me about everythi---HEY!” Blaine's fingers find their way under Kurt's arms to tickle him in the ribs. There's some more tickling, some good natured, half-hearted slapping of hands, and then they settle.

Someday I'll hold you,

and we will be sailing,

and I will never have to say goodbye again

Till then,

till that day

I'll hear your voice

In every thought that flows through my mind

I'll see your face

in every cloud that floats through my sky

and when the world is too much

and this hurt's got me down on my knees to pray

I'll hear your voice

And then you won't be so far away.

Kurt sings while Blaine quietly hums along, gently plays with their hands, feeling the long strength of Kurt's fingers, massaging the muscle at the base of his palm. Everything's going to be okay.