Tom and Johnny took them out to dinner one night – Kurt got horribly drunk and Blaine had to help him vomit into the toilet, holding him tightly on the cold tiles of their bathroom floor, whispering words of love and comfort into his hair.

And then it was the last weekend.

They drove out to their bungalow – tossed their suitcases in the backseat of their car and hit the road. They stopped at the small grocery just on the edge of their little beach town, buying some wine, some bread, some cheese, some fruit, and a large cured sausage that Blaine picked up and waggled his eyebrows suggestively at Kurt.

Kurt unlocked the heavy front door and motioned for Blaine to enter first, which he did after bowing with a ridiculous flourish. They went around the tiny house, stripping off the dust sheets, opening the windows a crack to let in the fresh air.

They were far enough from town that no one just dropped by, and any visitors they had were friends who already knew. The neighbors they had met were polite, but uncurious. They never could figure out why their bungalow was so isolated -- far down the beach from all the others, but they relished their privacy. No need to pretend they were anything other than themselves, here.

Unlike, their apartment in the city, this house only had one bedroom. When they took their bags up to their room, Blaine discovered Kurt's suitcase was actually empty.

"I was planning on not needing any clothes."

Kurt smiled wickedly at Blaine's mild bafflement. Kurt, the clotheshorse, not needing clothes? Shoving him back against the wall, Kurt roughly unknotted Blaine's tie. He knelt in front of him and unzipped his trousers, and, taking Blaine into his mouth, explained without words, the beginnings of his plan for the weekend.
********
Much later, they spent time puttering around the house, like it was just a normal weekend for them. Kurt replaced the burned-out light bulb in the hall closet. Blaine stood on the stepladder and dusted the ceiling fan. Kurt brought in armfuls of wood to put in the bin near the fireplace. Blaine sharpened the blades of the old push mower and mowed the lawn.

Afterward, he collapsed in the hammock and when Kurt brought him a glass of fresh lemonade, Blaine pulled him down into the hammock beside him – nearly tipping them both out – and kissed him until neither of them could see straight.

Just a normal weekend. Except that it wasn't.

********

Monday morning, Kurt took Blaine to the train station.

They'd said their farewells already, in the privacy of the apartment, in the dark of their bed, in the sunshine of their kitchen. Kisses and touches, while Kurt made coffee and Blaine made toast in their tiny kitchen, slipping around each other with caressing hands and bodies– coffee that they barely sipped and toast that neither of them tasted.

“It's not goodbye,” Blaine had his arms wrapped around Kurt's waist, their foreheads pressed together just in front of their front door. “It's 'See you later.' I'm coming back. I am coming back.”
Kurt tried to manage a watery smile. He sniffed. “Right. See you later.” He grabbed Blaine's fedora from the hatstand, and set it on his curls.

Blaine wiped the tear trailing down his lover's cheek. “I'll be back in 3 months. An officer! You've always had a thing for men in uniform,” Blaine tried to tease.
Kurt sniffed again.

“Hey. I promise. I'm coming back.”

“You better. I love you”

“I love you, too, baby. So much.”

But here, on the train platform, there was nothing they could say. Nowhere they could touch, without giving themselves away. With a smile that wouldn't quite stay firm, a wink and a jaunty salute, Blaine hoisted his bag to his shoulder and stepped up into the train car.

Kurt put his arms behind his back, twisting his fingers until they went numb. He smiled brightly, a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

The conductor blew his whistle. Last minute passengers hurried to board. Kurt saw Blaine walking down the aisle of the car, looking for an empty seat. Kurt followed him down the platform, standing well back from the edge of the track. He leaned against a pillar, watching Blaine get his bag up on the rack, settle himself in the seat next to the window.

The whistle blew again. Puffs of steam rose, fogging Kurt's view. He welcomed it. Maybe no one would notice the tears he could no longer keep inside. He twisted his fingers viciously, his face screwing up in the effort not to sob.

If the man sitting across from Blaine noticed the sheer panic that flashed in his eyes when the train lurched on its way, or the way his hand slammed into the glass like he was reaching out for someone outside as the train pulled away, he didn't say a word.