Kurt must have walked the equivalent of half a mile in his room by now. He was pacing. It had been particularly difficult getting through his classes that morning. He was definitely hung over, still wounded from the unjust grade Professor Caldwell had assigned him, and if that were not enough, now guilt had been added to the weight of his anxiety. Kurt could not get Timmy out of his mind: the regret in his eyes, his downturned head as he retreated to a corner, embarrassed and ashamed.

Had Kurt been too cruel, too harsh? Timmy had been kind to him, offered him advice early on, made attempts to introduce him to people, and when Kurt had been upset, Timmy had tried to console him. After all, Timmy had been right; Blaine had told Kurt that Timmy had a thing for him, which, if Kurt thought about it, had been pretty obvious, especially last night with all of Timmy’s blatant flirting. While Kurt had not tried to lead Timmy on nor purposely sought out Timmy’s bed, Kurt had ended up there nonetheless. Could he really expect Timmy to have behaved differently considering he – Kurt – had ended up innocently snuggled against a sleeping Blaine after Rachel’s first and only house party his junior year? If Blaine had awakened and reacted the way Kurt had that morning, Kurt was sure his fragile heart would not have withstood it. Rejection that mortifying was too much to inflict upon anyone, and Timmy had been a friend – his only friend, seeing as Rachel was too busy to spend time with him because she was always “getting into character” for another fruitless audition. Kurt barely got to see Rachel on the weekends and when he did it was almost unbearable, what with her speaking in some strange dialect, apparently necessitated by her character, or once even refusing to speak at all because according to the napkin she had written on, she needed to “understand the impact of silence” in order to fully embody her character#. With friends like that, Kurt did not need any more enemies.

With that in mind, Kurt thumbed out a text.

Kurt 4:27pm
Hey…can we talk?

Timmy 4:31pm
Sure

Kurt 4:33pm
Coffee?

Timmy 4:37pm
Okay

~

Kurt had learned quickly that living in New York meant he would never be more than a block from a coffee shop. Bundled in a fashionable purple scarf and a light jacket of his own creation, Kurt ventured out into the fall breeze and into the corner Starbucks. Kurt was seated, nursing his usual non-fat mocha, contemplating how to respond to Blaine’s text inquiry about their missed Skype date when Timmy walked in. Kurt tucked his phone back into his jacket pocket: Blaine’s answer would have to wait because, frankly, Kurt did not yet have one. In fact, he was hoping this meeting would provide it.

Timmy finally spotted Kurt and shuffled hesitantly toward Kurt’s table in the corner and took the empty seat across from him.

They endured a few moments of uncomfortable silence before Kurt asked, “Are you going to get a coffee?”

“No. I’m not really in the mood,” Timmy replied softly, staring down at the table.

Okay. Timmy clearly wasn’t going to make this easy. Perhaps it was best to just rip off the band-aid, colloquially speaking.

“Look, Timmy,” Kurt began. “I’m sorry about this morning.”

“Oh God, me too!” Timmy blurted, finally looking up and fixing his deep brown eyes on Kurt. “I was really glad you still wanted to talk to me. I was so worried. I meant what I said, Kurt. I really am sorry. So, so sorry,” Timmy rushed, shaking his head. “I never meant to make you uncomfortable.”

“Slow down, slow down,” Kurt giggled, his own anxiety beginning to untwine. “I know. Trust me, I wouldn’t be here if I thought you were a predator,” Kurt soothed; reaching out to briefly pat Timmy’s fidgeting hands. “I think we just had a misunderstanding and I wanted to talk about it before things got weird.”

So, Timmy finally got himself a latte and they talked. It was actually pretty easy. Timmy was very sweet and truly funny. Kurt found himself genuinely laughing at Timmy’s jokes, which was a rarity. They even had a lot in common seeing as Timmy was a southern boy who had also been pulled from the dark and dreary depths of his small town life by the bright lights of the Big Apple. Moreover, there was something easy and familiar about Timmy’s quiet charm and warm smile that never failed to reach his tender eyes. However, what reminded Kurt most of home was Timmy’s honest and complimentary nature.

“You’re really great, Kurt. Blaine is really lucky.”

“Aww, thank you. You’re pretty great yourself. I’m sure you’ll find someone soon. Sooner if you’d start using some product in that hair,” Kurt teased.

“I did have someone,” Timmy confessed, his smile slightly fading.

“Oh?” Kurt said, tilting his head to the side.

“Yeah, we met last summer at Admitted Students Weekend and were together all during our first year…then he broke up with me.”

“I’m so sorry,” Kurt breathed.

“…Said he wanted to experience all the city had to offer,” Timmy scoffed. “Guess he had already checked me off the list.”

“Well, it’s his loss,” Kurt said adamantly, jutting his chin out officially as though his decree was now law. “You’re wonderful and it’s time you started making some lists of your own.” Kurt pushed away from the table dramatically and stood up.

“Where are you going?” Timmy asked, surprised.

“You’re coming with me. We’re going to get you some product for that hair.” Timmy just shook his head and laughed, but he rose to follow Kurt.

~

“Jermane?” Kurt called into his dorm room as he cracked open the door. “Jermane, are you here?” There was no response. “Okay!” Kurt said with a hop and a clap, pushing the door open dramatically and dropping the bags of product from his and Timmy’s shopping excursion onto the floor. “Let’s get you a boyfriend!”

“Kurt,” Timmy lightly protested, “I don’t really want –“

“This is not about what you want, Timmy. This is about what you need. And if we’re going to be friends you need a makeover as much as I need to give one. Besides, makeovers are my favorite thing. Indulge me.” Kurt joked and pushed Timmy playfully onto the edge of his bed with his fingertips. “Now sit.”

Timmy was a great student. He picked up Kurt’s moisturizing routine with ease. “Can’t you just feel your pores shrinking?” Kurt asked, looking over Timmy’s shoulder, monitoring the circular motion of Timmy’s hands, as they both stood in front of the dull, dingy, barely reflective square Residential Life was trying to pass off as a mirror.

“Mmm hmm,” Timmy hummed, rubbing the designer facial scrub over his cheeks and directing a goofy smile at Kurt through the mirror.

“Now, come on over here to the sink,” Kurt directed, leading Timmy by his shoulders. “Wait until the water is lukewarm, wash off the facial scrub, pat – don’t rub – dry and I’ll grab the toner.” Timmy dutifully followed directions and Kurt trotted off to retrieve the next product Timmy would have to obediently apply to his face. Timmy was patting – not rubbing – his face dry when it occurred to him that it had been far too long since Kurt had given him a direction. Face finally dry, Timmy turned from the sink, Kurt’s monogrammed hand towel still clutched in his hands, and opened his eyes to find Kurt sitting on the edge of his bed, the toner forgotten at his side. As Timmy approached, he noticed Kurt was clutching a dimming cell phone. Timmy took a seat on the bed beside Kurt and placed a hand on Kurt’s back, “Hey, you okay? What’s the next step?”

“Oh,” Kurt blinked, exiting distraction and reentering the present long enough to say, “Umm, the toner,” and gesture toward the bottle with a slight movement of his downturned head without breaking his gaze at the phone in his lap.

“Kurt?” Timmy said a little more firmly, now gently scratching Kurt’s back in an attempt to wake Kurt from his reverie. “The phone. Who is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Blaine.” The words slipped from Kurt’s pursed lips.

“Oh,” Timmy perked. “Call him. Don’t worry about me. I’ll amuse myself,” Timmy finished, clapping Kurt on the back.

“I…I’m not sure I’m ready.”

“What do you mean?” Timmy asked, confusion furrowing his brow.

“I’m going to have to…to tell him…about you,” Kurt finished shakily.

Timmy shook his head as if to clear it. When he spoke, it was very slowly, “Kurt…uhh…I’m not following…I don’t get why you can’t—“

“Last night,” Kurt enunciated each word as though he was insulted that he had to say them at all.

“Oh. That. Well, just tell him the truth. It was my fault,” Timmy offered casually.

“Of course, I’m going to tell him the truth, Timmy,” Kurt said, clearly offended at the seeming insinuation that he would do otherwise. “I just don’t want to worry him.”

“But why would he be worried?”

“He knows.”

“Knows what?”

“That you like me,” Kurt said, chancing a glance at Timmy.

“Oh.” Timmy looked away briefly, embarrassment tinting his cheeks. Unfettered, Kurt continued.

“And I’ll also have to tell him about today…and I don’t think it’ll be a problem between you and me, but he might not understand and I just…I need a friend, and I want him to be comfortable…” Kurt dropped his head into his hands. “It’s just so hard, and I…I don’t want to lose him, but I want us to be friends, because I really like you, and if it weren’t for that bastard Sebast—“

“Hey, hey, none of that now,” Timmy soothed, inching closer and rubbing circles into Kurt’s back. Timmy could not see Kurt’s face, but he could feel and hear his tears. “I’m sure it’s gonna be fine.”

Kurt did not remove his face from his hands. He only shook his head. Timmy reached out, wrapped his fingers around Kurt’s wrists and pulled them gently from his damp face. “Seriously, everything will be fine,” Timmy said, lifting Kurt’s chin with the side of his crooked index finger. “If he sees what I see, then he knows how amazing you are and he’ll understand.”

Kurt dragged his eyes to where Timmy’s were gazing into his, mere inches from his face. “You are amazing, Kurt,” Timmy breathed.

“Tha-thank you,” Kurt stuttered, taken aback by Timmy’s intense sincerity. Almost as if in slow motion, Timmy’s thumb intercepted a cascading tear, then ran its way along Kurt’s jaw, where Timmy’s hand shifted to hold Kurt’s chin. Then, as if through molasses, Timmy was inching forward toward Kurt’s slightly parted lips. With eyes wide, tension glued Kurt to the spot. The increasing proximity blurred Timmy’s features but the pressure of his lips was clear. Timmy was kissing Kurt.

It was strangely familiar – the fingers snaking into his hair, the special attention being paid to his bottom lip. Kurt’s tear heavy lashes fluttered shut at the memory and he was kissing back, dragging his tongue over Blaine’s lips, draping his arms over Blaine’s shoulders. It was like he had never left Blaine’s arms that day at the airport. But then Blaine’s hand was on his chest pushing him backward onto the bed. This wasn’t like Blaine. Blaine usually leaned back, allowing Kurt to follow. Kurt’s back hit the bed and his eyes opened, confirming what his mind and heart already knew but his body had wanted to deny – the boy on top of him was not Blaine.

Kurt jerked his head to the side, breaking the kiss, and pushed his palms against Timmy’s chest managing to lift Timmy’s breathless frame just enough for Kurt to roll out from under him. Kurt buried his face in his pillow and did not even try to mask his sobs.

“Kurt?” Timmy was on his knees, panting, leaning over a trembling Kurt.

“Go.”

“Shit, Kurt. Please, I’m sorry,” Timmy pleaded.

“I said go!” Kurt’s pillow muffled his yell but the message came through clear.
Timmy climbed slowly from the bed and with one final glance at Kurt, left.

Blaine’s jaw trembled with the effort of holding back the sob that had been building since the first nod of Kurt’s head confirmed there was more. Now, cracks were rippling through the dam as tears that had collected in his eyes began to fall, blurring Kurt’s image on his computer screen.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt’s voice shook. “I’m so, so, sorry.”

“You called him…you took him to coffee,” Blaine muttered mindlessly, his fragile whisper barely audible beneath Kurt’s laments. “You went shopping…you taught him our routine…” Blaine’s eyes were glazed as he swayed slightly in his seat, dizzy from the effort of clinging to his spinning and swiftly shattering world.

“I know. Oh god, I’m so sorry, Blaine.”

“You kissed him…” Blaine’s jaw was slack, his head shaking unsteadily, his eyes hurt and questioning. “Why?”

“I-I don’t know,” was all Kurt could manage.

“Why?” Blaine pressed, his voice growing stronger as his anger began to rise, suppressing his rising sobs. “Why him? Why now?”

“Honey, I don’t know,” Kurt pleaded, “I-I just needed someone and no-no one else showed any interest in me be-“

“I showed interest!” Blaine belted.

“I know, sweetie, please!”

“How could you do this, Kurt? Do you…do you even want to be with me anymore?”

“I’m sorry…I don’t know…I think so…” the words tumbled clumsily from Kurt’s mouth. “I just didn’t think being away from you would be like this.”

“Yeah? Well I didn’t think being away from you would mean you’d be with someone else!” Blaine countered, completely unsympathetic.

Kurt was nearly incoherent through his tears. “Baby, please don’t say those things. I’m trying! I just don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Neither do I, but I thought we knew what we wanted…” The hurt of betrayal was beginning to peak through Blaine’s cover of anger. “Do you…do you even want this anymore?”

“Of course I do! I love you. It’s just…it’s difficult.”

“Oh? It’s difficult?” Blaine’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. “That’s funny because I seem to be the one in Ohio at a school I hate because I transferred away from my friends to be with my senior boyfriend who left me alone and went to New York to pursue his dreams, which I supported because I love you!” The last words escaped him with a shout as he pounded his fist on his desk, driving the last crack into the dam and Blaine’s tears began to flow in earnest. “But now you’re running around town with Timmy The Facebook Stalker while I’m here writing essays and filling out applications to join you because we promised to wait for each other but apparently you couldn’t make it a couple of months before crawling into bed someone else!
Yes, Kurt, I see now how this is difficult for you!”

“Honey please,” Kurt begged. He just needed it to stop, needed Blaine to hear him out. “I didn’t mean it like that, and I didn’t crawl in—“

“You know what, Kurt? It doesn’t matter what you meant, it matters what you did. And I...I can’t. I’m done.”

~

“No, Blaine! No!” Kurt was screaming and clutching at his now black and empty screen, frantically pounding all possible key combinations, forcing himself to believe there was just something wrong with the connection. If he could fix it, Blaine would come back. But the sting in Kurt’s reddening fingertips and the weight of worry in his joints disabused him of that notion. For Kurt knew there was indeed something wrong with his and Blaine’s connection and it mattered not how many buttons Kurt pressed, Kurt had broken it and Blaine was not coming back.

Kurt slammed his computer shut, lunged for his phone and did what he should have done days ago – he called Blaine. The phone did not even ring.

“Hello, you’ve reached Blaine Anderson…”

“No, Blaine, please pick up,” Kurt begged, ending the call and dialing again.

“Hello, you’ve reached—“ Kurt hung up. Head hung, his shirt clutched into a fist at his heart, Kurt dialed again and again and again. By the sixth time, Kurt could no longer deny that this recording was the only way he would ever again hear the warm timber of Blaine’s chipper tone. Blaine was not going to answer.

Reeling, Kurt collapsed on his bed, his arms wrapped around the gaping wound of loss in his gut. The pain radiated out from his epicenter, his entire body convulsing in the carnage. Doubled over at the waist, Kurt wailed and thrashed as though trying desperately to avoid being crushed by the falling debris of his life. His sobs fed on his heaving, guttural breaths, until suddenly he was choking on his grief. Kurt’s agony constricted his windpipe as his abdomen contracted violently in a vain attempt to dry heave the guilt, despair, anguish, and self-loathing that had settled sour and stinging in his stomach. Oxygen starved, Kurt succumb, one last shudder rippling his frame as he lay, still, unmoving, among the rubble, numb to all but the hard, steady, drum of his broken heart.

Rolling onto his side, Kurt reached out blindly, his fingers clawing fruitless at the sheets until they fell upon his phone. Barely able to see through the sore, swollen flesh of his red lids, Kurt squinted at the bright screen as his trembling finger found the name. He pressed his finger to Rachel Berry’s name, dragged the phone to his ear, and pled for her to answer. Six rings later, Kurt heard her voice.

“Hello!” Rachel sang cheerfully.

“Oh god, Rachel, Blaine,” Kurt rasped.

“You have reached the young and talented Rachel Berry. If you are a casting director calling to offer me a role, please press one.”

Kurt slammed the phone into the mattress as an aftershock pulsed through him, tears falling anew. He needed someone to listen to him, tell him it was going to be okay, help him figure this out. He needed his dad. Again, Kurt pressed the phone to his cheek and waited for comfort.

“You’ve reached Congressman Hummel. If you’re lookin’ for Hummel Tire an—“ Kurt hung up.

Was no one awake? Did no one care? Would no one listen? Kurt pulled his knees to his chest, clinched his eyes shut, and slipped into the blackness of his spinning world. His mind was a tangle of words, thoughts, and images that his tired psyche could not navigate. Kurt was only sure of one thing: this was his fault. He had ruined everything…everything they had, everything they had hoped to have. Now, Kurt had nothing. No friends. No family. No Blaine. There was no one to hold him. He would have to hold his own. But he was not ready, not able. In that moment, as he held himself, he felt how inadequate he was. He could not save himself from this. Kurt needed someone else to hold him, to pull him from the wreckage. He needed Blaine. But Blaine was gone, lost in ruins of Kurt’s own creation. Blaine would never hold him again. No, there was only one person remotely interested in holding him now. That would have to be enough. Kurt would simply have to close his eyes and pretend. It was all he had left.

~

“Hello?” Timmy’s voice was tentative.

“Timmy, can - can you come over? Please?” Kurt whispered into the phone, his voice weak with grief.

“Kurt…I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Timmy cautioned. “…Blaine” As much as Timmy liked Kurt, he did not want to be the cause of Kurt losing someone he loved, for that was a pain Timmy knew well. So, Timmy was keeping his distance because he was learning he could not trust himself around Kurt.

“I-I told him,” Kurt’s voice broke at the mention of Blaine. “He – he…it’s over.”

“Shit, Kurt, I’m sorry,” Timmy breathed, shock and guilt in his voice.

“I can’t…I can’t be alone right now. Please,” Kurt begged.

Timmy could not refuse Kurt now, not now that he knew he was the cause of Kurt’s pain. The least he could do was try to help him mend. “Okay. I’ll be right there.”

The door cracked open ten minutes later and Timmy slipped in on silent, wary feet to find Kurt in much the same state he had left him three days previous. Timmy stood at the doorway, not wanting to do anything without Kurt’s permission. “Kurt?” he whispered.

“Timmy?” Kurt did not turn to face him. Instead, he remained in the fetal position, facing the wall. “Th-thank you for coming.”

“It’s not a problem.” Timmy stood awkwardly, at a loss for what to do or say. “Umm, Kurt, what do you need me to do?”

“Hold me.”

“What?” Timmy stiffened. “Kurt, I’m not sure—“

“No, not like – like that, I just…,” Kurt shuddered in the discomfort of his vulnerability before glancing over his shoulder and meeting Timmy’s eyes. “I just…I need someone to hold me.”

Understanding, Timmy nodded. He toed off his shoes and padded over to Kurt’s bed. “Are you sure?” Timmy asked again. At Kurt’s whispered assurance, Timmy climbed carefully into the bed and lay down behind Kurt’s suddenly small frame. Moments later, Kurt’s hand was reaching backward and blindly pulling Timmy’s arm around his waist.

“Hold me,” Kurt begged. “Please.”

Timmy tried to exhale all of his anxieties, then wrapped his arm around Kurt, tucked his fingers under Kurt’s side, and tried to hold Kurt the way he, Timmy, wished he had been held nearly three months ago when he too had suddenly found himself alone and wanting.

~

Morning came quickly. Kurt’s tender eyelids clung to each other, melded together in the night by misery’s moisture. He gently worked them open with the soft circular motion of his fingertips. Stretching, Kurt rolled over and into Timmy and the events of the previous night suddenly loomed large and unforgiving above the fog of dawning consciousness.

At love’s command, Kurt had told Blaine the truth that had shattered their bond. Blaine had ended things and having nowhere else to turn, Kurt had sought out Timmy, a crude replacement of the arms for which Kurt longed.

Whenever Kurt had fallen asleep in Blaine’s arms he had always awakened still secure in Blaine’s embrace and in their love. This morning, however, Kurt awoke having escaped Timmy’s grasp in the night, his body fleeing to the edge of the bed, maximizing the distance between himself and the substitute even his unconscious self identified as an impostor. Timmy too had turned away, his back to Kurt, rising and falling slowly in sleep.

Kurt jerked back from the accidental contact and Timmy stirred slightly.

“Timmy?” Kurt whispered at Timmy’s back. “Are – are you awake?”

“Yeah,” Timmy murmured, looking over his shoulder to see Kurt. “Are you feeling better?”

“A little,” Kurt nodded, leaning his back against the wall and pulling his knees to his chest. “Thank you for staying.” Awkward embarrassment prevented Kurt’s eyes from meeting Timmy’s.

“No problem,” Timmy said, stretching. “I know how hard it is falling asleep alone the first night.”

Alone. The first night. Timmy had said it so casually, so simply, yet it hit Kurt with such force that had he not been seated and supported by a wall he would surely have fallen.

“I-I need to get up,” Kurt said, scrambling from the bed. “I’m going to shower.” Kurt hurried to his dresser, grabbed a change of clothes, his robe, and a towel and headed toward the door of his small, adjoined bathroom.

“Umm…okay,” Timmy said, sitting up. “Do you…want me to…to wait?”

Kurt stopped and turned. “Yes. Please.” It was a request. As uncomfortable as Kurt was he was not ready to be alone. Timmy wasn’t Blaine, but he was someone, and that’s what Kurt needed right now. Timmy nodded and with a hesitant smile, Kurt turned and went into the bathroom.

As the shower roared to life, Timmy stretched again and got awkwardly from Kurt’s bed. Truth be told, he had been uncomfortable all night. Somehow, for Timmy, cuddling the guy he liked while listening to him cry over the guy he loved was not an aphrodisiac.

A distant buzzing drew Timmy’s attention and he trudged over to Kurt’s desk toward the sound. It was Kurt’s phone. It was ringing.

“Kurt?” Timmy called toward the bathroom. “Kurt!”

“Yeah?” Kurt called, his voice muffled through the wall.

“Your phone is ringing.” The response was immediate. There was a loud thud that was certainly a body colliding with a wall, and seconds later the bathroom door cracked open dramatically and Kurt’s hopeful yet fearful face peaked out.

“Who is it?” Kurt asked, frantic, his heartbeat shaking his voice.

Timmy reached for the phone and read the name on the screen, “Artie Abrams?”

Kurt visibly deflated. “Oh…”

“Should I answer it?” Timmy gestured with the vibrating phone.

“Yeah…sure,” Kurt muttered, as he retreated, defeated, back into the restroom. Timmy was sure he heard the familiar sound of Kurt’s tears, but he blocked it out with a sad sigh and answered the phone.

~

“Hello,” a foreign voice greeted.

“Kurt?” Blaine breathed into the phone.

“No, sorry, this is Timmy. Kurt’s in the shower. Can I take a message?”

“N-no, thank you,” was all Blaine could manage before his muscles gave out and the phone slid from his hands into Artie’s waiting lap. Catching himself on Artie’s wheelchair, Blaine’s breath came hard and fast.

“Blaine?” Artie questioned, grabbing Blaine’s forearm to steady him, and staring up into his anguished face searching for answers.

Blaine’s eyes were clinched and his knuckles were white against the arm of Artie’s chair. “Thank you for coming over, Artie,” Blaine stated, his voice monotone, cold, and unconvincing, “I’m going to go up to my room, can you – can you show yourself out?”

“What’d he say?” Artie asked, ignoring Blaine’s question and spinning a wheel to watch Blaine’s retreating back.

“Nothing,” Blaine muttered, walking unsteadily toward the stairs. He stopped, grabbed the banister for support, and with his last ounce of strength uttered, “It’s over.”

~

“He didn’t leave a message,” Timmy bellowed toward the bathroom door, his voice drowned out by the steady stream of the shower.

But Kurt did not make it back into the shower. Clutching his robe tight around his waist, Kurt slid down the slick bathroom wall onto the cold, unforgiving floor, as the wound in his gut tore open once more and fresh anguish spilled out, crashing over him in waves.

As surely as the voice on the other end of his phone was not and would never again be Blaine, Timmy was right – this was the first day of Kurt’s life without Blaine. Kurt had thought it the moment his computer screen went black, felt it when he was greeted with a cheap recording of Blaine’s voice, but he had not believed it until someone else had been the first to think of him and dial his number on a Saturday morning. In that moment, deep in Kurt’s core, something severed and Kurt knew instinctively that Blaine was gone.

Blaine was done and so were they.