When Kurt crept into his bedroom that night, he felt dirty. The guilt clenched his gut when he laid eyes on his husband, his Blaine, lying in their bed. Even in sleep, Blaine’s hand was extended onto Kurt’s side of the bed, attempting to hold him even in his absence. Why had he been out with another man when this perfect man was here waiting for him? The shame caked Kurt’s skin like a layer of grime. He needed to get clean.

Kurt hastily removed his clothes. They smelled of Brimley, smoke and lies. Although, like most of the garments he owned, they were dry clean only, he shoved them to the bottom of the dirty clothes hamper. He could not bear to look at them. Kurt crossed the room quickly and silently, avoiding his reflection in the bathroom mirror, as he entered and turned on the shower. He stepped into the stream of water. It was scalding but not hot enough to wash off the guilt. They had not done anything but Kurt had done enough. He had been lying for months—telling Blaine he was in meetings. And, yes, maybe that is what they were at the beginning, but those “meetings” had become something more. They had become dates. Kurt had allowed another man to flirt with him, to pursue him, to touch him. Worse, he had wanted it. For what? To feel attractive? Desired?

Kurt had abused Blaine’s trust. Blaine, who found him beautiful, wanted him, desired him so much so that even Blaine’s unconscious self reached out for him. And where was he? Out with another man. He did not deserve Blaine.

“Kurt? Babe?” Blaine was there, like he always was. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Kurt sniffled, suddenly realizing he had been crying. Kurt bowed his head under the flow of water to mask his tears.

“No you’re not. You’re crying.” Blaine was standing outside of the shower, his feet cold on the marble floor, the flannel pajama pants Kurt hated loose around his waist, his chest bare, his hair mussed and wild around his concerned face. Kurt, the guilt pressing in on him from all sides, began to collapse into himself from the pressure. His knees gave way and his body rocked forward until his forehead was flush with the tile, his hands catching the wall just in time to stop himself from falling completely. Kurt was slipping, but then Blaine was behind him, his arms firmly around Kurt’s waist, holding him up. Seeing Kurt’s distress, Blaine had pushed open the glass shower door and, without even bothering to remove his pants, stepped in and taken his husband into his arms. Kurt let himself go completely, Blaine supporting all of his weight as Kurt let his body be wracked with sobs.

“Kurt, you’re scaring me!” Blaine’s breath was coming quickly now. His voice was panicked. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m so sorry,” Kurt sobbed.

“For what, Kurt?” Blaine’s confusion and panic increased with each heaving breath Kurt took.

“For lea-lea-ving. For not be-be-ing here.” Kurt forced the words through the tears.

“Babe, I understand you have to work. Don’t beat yourself up about it.” Blaine tried to rid his voice of fear and fill it with comfort.

“No! You don’t under-st-st-and! I was gone!” Kurt wailed. “I wasn’t here.”

“You’re here now, Kurt.”

“I shouldn’t have left. You, you don’t deserve that. I don’t de-de-serve you.”

“Stop it,” Blaine said firmly as he clutched Kurt tighter, his chest now flush against Kurt’s back. “Don’t talk like that,” he continued soothingly, running one of his hands through Kurt’s soaked hair. “I love you. You’re just stressed out. We are fine.” Blaine could feel Kurt begin to still. “Everything will be fine. The line is almost done.” Blaine leaned Kurt’s head back onto his shoulder and gently kissed his neck. “You need to rest.” Another kiss. “Let’s get you to bed.” Blaine reached for the shower door, but Kurt grabbed his arm.

“No.” Kurt whispered, putting Blaine’s hand back on his body. “Touch me.”

“Kurt, you should rest,” Blaine cautioned.

“Please,” Kurt begged. Kurt needed this. Needed Blaine on him, in him. Kurt needed to erase the guilt and shame with something good, something he knew was right. He needed to come back. Completely.

“Kurt, are you sure?” Kurt nodded adamantly. He reached out behind him and frantically grabbed at Blaine’s soaked pajama pants, trying to pull them from Blaine’s skin.

“Need you,” Kurt pleaded and he bent forward, forehead and palms against the tile, as Blaine’s pants fell heavy and wet around his ankles. Kurt felt Blaine’s fingers at his entrance and he reached back to slap Blaine’s hand away, and instead grabbed his hips and pulled him forward.

“But, Kurt—“

Kurt answered with an insistent tug, cutting Blaine off mid-sentence. Yes. Now. He sighed with relief when he felt Blaine slowly acquiesce, making Kurt assure him of his comfort and continued desire with every inch. Desperate, Kurt pushed back against Blaine. Kurt wanted to feel it—now, tomorrow, forever. He had been gone for so long. Now he was back. He wanted to hold on to the feeling as long as possible. Kurt wanted a physical reminder of the love he had and had almost allowed himself to forget. Although Blaine did not know it, he was reminding Kurt with every soft caress, gentle stroke and whispered “I love you.” Blaine held Kurt tightly and they rocked together as the water flowed over their warm bodies.

Kurt’s tears came again, born from the guilt of knowing that he had allowed Blaine, this man who so clearly and fully loved him—was loving him—had always loved him—to be pushed from his mind, his heart, for even one second. Blaine, feeling Kurt’s renewed tremors, bent forward and placed one hand above Kurt’s head on the tile, steadying himself, while the other gripped firmly on Kurt’s hip. Blaine aligned his chest with Kurt’s back, and assured his lover, “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re here. You’re here.” Those words continued to flow from Blaine’s lips, like a mantra, accompanying each thrust as Kurt pushed back against him, their bodies in sync. Blaine repeated it, and repeated it, and repeated it until both their bodies were overcome with the truth and pleasure of it and the last word to escape their lips was the name of the other.

Spent, they collapsed onto the shower floor and lay entwined in each other until the water ran cold.

Kurt was going to end it. Whatever it was. Today.

“Tiffany,” Kurt called into the speaker, “have Brim—Mr. Johnson meet me in my office for lunch.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Hummel?”

“Tiffany! What have I told you about questioning me?”

“I know, Mr. Hummel, but…it’s just…”

“It’s just what, Tiffany?”

“You’ve been seeing a lot of Mr. Johnson…” she was practically whispering now, “…and I know it’s not my place but…Blai—“

“Tiffany!” His voice was harsh. It should not have been. Tiffany was right and it was his fault. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. Then, softer,
“I know. I’m trying to fix it.” He paused. “Please, just have Mr. Johnson meet me at noon. Okay?”

“Yes, Mr. Hummel.”

Kurt fidgeted through his morning meetings. He was so distracted he did not even comment when Phoenix Song smudged pastels on her chair. The Gaggle of Gays had brought it to his attention during their meeting and Kurt just waved it off. Thankfully and unfortunately, Brimley was nothing if not punctual. He came strolling in at exactly 12 o’clock.

“Can’t even wait for dinner, hmm?” Brimley said, strutting confidently into Kurt’s office and stalking across the room toward him. Kurt rose instinctively and defensively from his seat.

“Brimley, we need to talk,” Kurt tried.

“We need to do more than talk,” Brimley teased as he closed the distance between them. Kurt found himself retreating until his back was up against the glass of his windows.

“I’m tired of chasing you,” Brimley whispered into Kurt’s ear, “boosting your ego.” Brimley, only inches separating he and Kurt, placed his lips where Kurt’s jaw met his neck and Kurt closed his eyes and turned away from the sensation. Brimley did it again and that jolted Kurt into action. Kurt pressed his palms against Brimley’s chest and pushed him away.

“We can’t. I can’t,” Kurt said as forcefully as possible.

“He doesn’t have to know,” Brimley pressed, pushing against Kurt’s hands.

“I’ll know! So, he’ll know. It will kill him. And that will kill me.”

“Stop fighting this, Kurt. You know you want this.”

“And that’s bad enough!” Kurt nearly yelled as he pushed Brimley away.
“You have to go. Just get out!” And he went.

It had been painful to say, but Kurt knew it had been even more painful for Blaine to hear.

“He tried to kiss you?” Blaine asked in a measured tone.

“Yes?”

“Did you want him to?” Blaine always had a way of getting to the truth of the matter and Kurt would not deny him.

“…yes.”

At this, Blaine shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his coffee abandoned and cold. “But you pushed him away?”

“Yes.”

“Is that all?”

Kurt wished it was but it was not and he had done enough lying. “No.” He took a breath. “I invited him to drinks that night to--”

“Wait. Wednesday night?”

“Yes, but--” Kurt knew what was coming and he knew he deserved it.

“Let me get this straight.” Blaine took a shuddering breath. “You carried on a…a relationship, with another man for months. That man tried to kiss you. You wanted to kiss him. So you took him to drinks instead of spending the night with your husband and eating the dinner your children made?” Blaine’s voice broke at the mention of their kids and he did not even try to stop the tears as they fell from his eyes.

“Yes, Blaine. But I needed to know…”

“Know what, Kurt?” Blaine’s voice was hoarse with tears. “What’s there to know except that I love you? That was always enough for me. Why am I never enough for you?”

“It’s not about whether you’re enough,” Kurt pleaded.

“Then what is it Kurt? Please tell me so that I can know. So that the next time you leave, I can understand why.”

“I didn’t leave Blaine. You did!”

“I left because you left!”

“I left because I wanted you to chase me, but you didn’t even notice I was gone!”

“Well, Kurt, forgive me if I was too busy raising our kids to worry about you
fulfilling your cat and mouse fantasies.”

“Why don’t you ever fight for me, Blaine? Pursue me?”

“Why do you run?” Blaine nearly yelled. There it was—the question that had been hanging in the air for years, finally spoken aloud.

Silence.

Suddenly, the rest of the coffee shop rushed into their peripheries reminding them that they were not alone. Kurt pulled himself up to his full height, determined to remain dignified under the scrutinizing gaze of the other customers. Blaine, however, sagged with the weight of the release, his shoulders slumped, and his head cradled in his upturned palms.

“I shouldn’t have to fight for your love, Kurt,” Blaine muttered into his hands. “You’re my husband…or at least you were.”

“Blaine!” Panic. Pain. Desperation. “No. Wait. Let me finish,” Kurt begged. He reached out for Blaine, but when his hand brushed Blaine’s arm, he flinched. Blaine actually flinched at his touch.

“I’m tired of fighting.” It was true. There was no fight in Blaine’s voice—only defeat. Kurt heard it and tried again to take hold of Blaine, to keep him there, to keep him in his life. Blaine slowly and gently pulled his arm out of Kurt’s grasp and stood to go. Blaine shrugged on his coat and his whole body sighed. “Let me know when you figure out what you want.” Blaine looked down on Kurt and their eyes met one last time. Kurt realized that even now, even though he had chased light and joy from his lover’s eyes, there was still that look. The look that had been there since the first day at the foot of that staircase. The look that had lived in Blaine’s eyes since Kurt had taken up residence in his soul. But it was flickering.

What had Kurt done? What would he do? What could he do but watch as Blaine turned to go. Blaine took a step, paused, and his body seemed to waver with indecision. Then, Blaine whispered, “I’ll be by tomorrow to pick up the kids.” And he was gone. He did not look back.
Kurt sat alone across from Blaine’s empty chair, staring at Blaine’s empty cup, and he feared the next time he looked into Blaine’s eyes, they too would be empty, along with his life.