Blaine was trying to get on with his life, which meant he had thrown himself into his work, which meant he was in the studio. He had always heard it said by “industry insiders” that a broken heart was the best inspiration. Blaine was beginning to doubt that, along with everything else in his life. It had been nearly a month and Blaine was not inspired. To make things worse, his phone was ringing again. It was Kurt. Out of habit, Blaine reached out to silence the phone but it was gone. Startled, he looked up to see Eddie clutching his phone.

“Not this time, Blaine. You should at least talk to him.” Eddie was a good guy and an even better friend. He and Blaine had met at NYU and realized, after running into each other at all the same concerts in the City that they needed to be friends. When they graduated, it seemed obvious that they should partner up and take the music world by storm—and they had. Blaine had always been able to go to Eddie for advice, but right now, Blaine preferred Eddie mind his own business.

“Eddie, give me the phone,” Blaine said casually, holding out his hand expectantly.

“No. You’ve been miserable, buddy. You know I love you, but you’re pretty worthless this way, and your lyrics suck. You’re no Adele.” Eddie had never withheld the truth from Blaine, even when it hurt.

The phone was still ringing.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Eddie. But I don’t want to talk to him.” The fatigue of heartbreak had taken all the fight out of Blaine.

“Don’t lie, Blaine.” Blaine had always been a terrible liar, and Eddie was second only to Kurt in identifying the truth Blaine tried to hide. “I know you’re scared, but maybe it’s not as bad as you think. Maybe he has a good reason.”

“A good reason for having another man, who, by the way, wants him and whom he wants, in our house, with our kids, and obviously not for the first time?”— A flash of anger. Maybe there was a little fight left. “Tori called him…she called him “uncle…” Just as quickly as it had flared, the fight was doused with hurt.

“I see your point, friend,” Eddie comforted, placing his hand on Blaine’s shoulder. “But wasn’t it you that taught me that love never gives up? You and Kurt have something special. At least hear him out.” With that, Eddie touched the screen, accepting Kurt’s call, and placed the phone in Blaine’s still outstretched hand.

Reluctantly, Blaine raised the lit phone slowly to his ear and heard Kurt’s voice for the first time in nearly a month.

“You…you answered,” Kurt stammered.

“Yes. I answered.”

“I hadn’t expected…”

“What do you need, Kurt?” Blaine was willing to listen, but he was not going to entertain Kurt. He was not going to sit through small talk as though they were just friends catching up over coffee and not lovers separated by more than distance.

“Well, I…umm…I was calling about the tree house,” Kurt rushed.

“The tree house?” Blaine’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion on the brink of frustration.

“Yeah…T and B were playing in it earlier—“

“Are they okay?” Blaine interrupted, images of hospitals, blood, and stitches bombarding his mind.

“Yes, yes, of course!” Kurt quickly assured before continuing nervously. “It’s just, well, I was looking at the wood and it’s getting a little dull and I was thinking it needed another coat of lacquer, but I couldn’t remember the brand we’d used.”

Blaine’s hand caught his falling head and his calloused thumbs massaged his aching eyes. “You called about the brand of wood finish we used on the tree house? Really?”

“Yes, Blaine,” Kurt answered matter-of-factly, as though he could not understand why Blaine was questioning.

“Nothing else? You have nothing else to say?” Blaine did not even try to mask his indignance.

“Uhh, are you still taking the kids next week?” Kurt asked.

“Aren’t I always there when I say I’m going to be?” Blaine said, giving up on holding in his anger.

“Blaine, don’t be this way, you ne—“

“We used spar varnish,” Blaine interrupted. “The brand doesn’t matter. Just make sure the label designates it’s for outdoor use,” Blaine hurriedly explained. “Goodbye, Kurt.” Blaine did not wait for Kurt’s response before he hung up the phone and slammed it down on the counter. Blaine’s frustration pushed his chair back from the sound equipment and doubled him over at the waist. If Eddie had not been in the room, Blaine probably would have allowed himself tears, but Eddie couldn’t see that, the situation was awkward enough already.

“I’m sorry, man,” Eddie’s voice was barely audible, but his guilt was loud and clear.

Blaine did not look up, for he feared the look in Eddie’s eyes would bring tears to his. “I’m just…” Blaine whispered into his hands. “I’m just gonna go, okay? I’ll…I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”

“Take your time. I can take care of things here. The divas love me,” Eddie added, trying for a joke.

“Thanks.” Blaine rose heavily from his seat and, still averting his eyes, patted Eddie absently on the back as he went.

~

Blaine did not even exchange pleasantries with the cab driver before muttering his address and retrieving his phone from his pocket. He needed to talk to someone – someone who understood. The phone rang for what seemed like forever when Blaine finally heard the tell-tale click and a curious voice on the other end.

“Hello? Blaine?”

“Hi.”

“Wow, Blaine. It’s been a while.”

“I know…I’m sorry.” He was.

“Don’t worry about it. I haven’t called either. How have you been? I heard about…about you and Kurt.”

“Honestly? I’m not too good. That’s why I’m calling. Would you mind…coming over?”

“Sure, umm, where are you these days?”

“The old apartment -- East 65th Street.”

“Oh yeah, I remember. When were you thinking?”

“Uhh…now…if that’s not a problem, of course.”

“Wow…” Blaine held his breath listening to the breathing on the other end. “Okay, but let me finish up a few things here and I’ll be over.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

~

Blaine leaned against the doorframe, mustering the strength to push himself across the threshold of the apartment. When he and Kurt had moved out to the suburbs, they had refused to sell it: one had to be out of one’s mind to get rid of perfectly good New York City real estate. Blaine had thought of leasing it, but Kurt had refused (“And let someone redecorate? Never!”).

Blaine had been thankful for Kurt’s stubbornness over one month ago, when he had arrived here in much the same emotional state, the night Kurt had first told him of his doubts, the night the sensitive scar tissue of his heart had been torn open. He had stood in the doorway, immobile, unable to enter because the reasons Blaine had loved this apartment -- the windows, the counter space of which he and Kurt had always made good use – were now the reasons he hated it. Upon every surface, every inch, he and Kurt had built memories, memories which, once a comfort and reminder of a shared past, now taunted him with the promise of a future that was no longer his.

However, at least here, surrounded by images and trinkets from the beginning of his and Kurt’s marriage, Blaine could sometimes slip beneath the glistening surface of the pain, wallow in denial, and pretend. In those fleeting moments, everything was fine. Blaine had simply returned home early from work that day. Tori was at school, Bertie was at daycare, and Kurt would be home soon. That night, they would have dinner as a family, he and Kurt would put the kids to bed, make love, and fall asleep in each other’s arms. It was on that crutch of a lie that Blaine hoisted himself across the threshold, passed the kitchen Kurt had always loved, through the light beaming in through the windows Blaine adored, and collapsed onto the bed in which he and Kurt had decided to go from two to three.

Blaine did not know how long he had been lying there when the bell sounded, signaling a visitor. He rolled from the bed, pressed the button welcoming his guest, and two minutes later opened the door to Mike Chang.

“Hey, Blaine,” Mike said, grabbing Blaine by the hand and pulling him into a one-armed hug.

Blaine, starved for contact, sunk into the hug. “Hey, Mike. Thanks for coming.”

“No problem.” The two broke apart and Mike sauntered toward the living room.

Blaine remained awkwardly in the foyer gesturing toward the kitchen, “Would you like something to drink?”

“Blaine, come here,” Mike said, taking a seat. “You don’t need to play polite host for me. Tell me what’s up.”

Blaine ran his steepled hands over his mouth and began, “You heard about…about me and Kurt?”

“Yeah, man, I was really sorry to hear it.”

“Yeah…” Blaine blinked. “Well, he and I haven’t really talked since it happened but he’s been calling. He called again today, and I didn’t want to answer, but I did and…” Blaine looked away, worrying his eyes with his hands.

“What happened?”

“Nothing!” Blaine blurted. “Nothing! That’s what happened! He asked about fucking wood finishing for the tree house. He didn’t even say that he was sorry, that he wanted us to talk. Nothing!” Blaine threw his hands up in despair. “I just, I just…” Blaine’s voice broke as he clasped his hand to his mouth but the tears were already spilling. Blaine turned away and Mike averted his eyes to give Blaine some semblance of privacy while he pulled himself back together. There was nothing beautiful about cracking marble.

“I’m sorry,” Blaine said through his fingers, still struggling to mend.

“You don’t have to apologize to me, man. I know how you feel. When Tina ended things, it really hurt.”

“I know.”

“I figured that’s why you called,” Mike admitted. “I was expecting it, really.”

Blaine’s half smile was as much a confession as an attempt to reaffix the mask. They existed in the silence while Blaine vacillated between continuing his well-crafted game of pretend and finally letting someone else in…all the way in. Blaine settled on the latter, realizing that if he must let someone in, it should be Mike, because at least Mike had been here before and knew the way out. “I just don’t know what to do,” Blaine said, lifting the lid on a dusty and hidden truth. “Without him, I don’t know how to be.”

“You have to find a new way to be.”

“How? How did you do it?” Blaine pleaded, his voice reaching for the answer like a castaway for a raft.

“You have to get out. Meet new people.”

“Did that help you?”

“It doesn’t hurt as much,” Mike shrugged. “That’s all you can really ask for.”

Blaine seemed to consider it for a moment, before turning and declaring, “Teach me.”

~

“Blaine, are you ready?” Mike called from the living room.

“I don’t know, Mike.” Blaine was standing in front of the full length mirror in the bedroom, trying to get a glimpse of himself from all sides.

“The suits we bought look great. Plus, it’s the man that makes the suit. And you can’t say you don’t like the blazer.”

“The blazer is good…” Blaine muttered, looking over his shoulder, into the mirror, trying to get the rear view.

“Come on, man, before it gets too late. We’re not teenagers anymore.”

“Fine, fine…” Blaine said, straightening his tie with a shaky hand, and walking into the living room with what he hoped passed for confidence.

~

Blaine was out of his element. He had never done this. Sure, he had gone to a few gay bars, but he had always been with Kurt. There had never been any pressure, nobody to impress. That had been one of the perks of marrying his high school sweetheart; he and Kurt had never hesitated to gently rub the noses of their unlucky-in-love friends in their adorable love whenever they lamented the trials of attempting to find romance at the local bar. As Blaine sat at the bar, fiddling with his straw, beside an overly confident Mike Chang, he slowly became ever more certain some sort of karma was at work.

“That guy’s looking at you.” Mike’s elbow was nudging him.

“What guy?” Blaine’s eyes darted around in a panic.

“That guy,” Mike said, trying to gesture discreetly to the gentleman at the other end of the bar.

“No he’s not,” Blaine said, refusing to actually look.

“Yes, he is,” Mike insisted.

“How can you even tell?” Blaine needed to pick up as many tips as possible if he was going to get out of this with the few remaining scraps of his dignity.

“Well, if you would look, you would notice that his eyes are aimed in this direction…plus I sent him a drink in your name,” Mike hurried.

“Mike!” Blaine nearly yelped, spinning dramatically on his stool to face Mike but instead inadvertently locking eyes with the guy who was definitely looking at him. Before Blaine could recover and properly scold Mike, Mike was already off his stool and retreating.

“Gotta go. Here he comes.”

“Mike, wait!” Blaine said turning to see Mike’s back disappear into the dancing crowd.

“Hi. Was that your boyfriend?” This guy had been looking at him and Blaine could no longer deny it considering his smiling, chiseled features were now less than two feet from Blaine’s face.

“Uh, no. Hi. He’s just a friend. Or at least I thought he was.” Blaine’s last words came out heated under his breath.

“In that case, I’m Jackson,” the man said, extending his hand.

“Blaine. Good to meet you.” It was not, but Blaine had manners, and they would never allow him to affront a polite stranger.

“So, if he’s not your boyfriend, does that mean you’re single?”

“No, I’m married—well, separated,” Blaine explained casually. “That’s why I’m out, really. Our kids, Tori and Bertie, are back with him—Kurt—this week.” Blaine was talking animatedly with his hands. Maybe this meeting new people thing was easier than he thought. “Would you like to see pictures--of the kids, of course--not Kurt?” Blaine pulled his phone from the pocket of his blazer and began thumbing through the photo album. “Although, I do have some of him. He’s beautiful.”

“Uh, no thanks, Blaine,” Jackson said, rising from his stool. “You have a nice night.”

“But I just found the pictures…” Blaine’s voice faded as Jackson hurried away. Blaine’s face wore a confused expression and his hand was still outstretched and clutching his phone when Mike reappeared looking frustrated.

“Where did he go? What did you do?” Mike questioned in a conspiratorial tone.

“Nothing,” Blaine said adamantly.

“Well then, what happened?” Mike asked, placing his hands on own his hips.

“He asked if I was single and –“

“You didn’t,” Mike said, dropping his head.

“Didn’t what?” Blaine asked, confused.

“You told him about Kurt didn’t you?”

“And Tori and Bertie. Yes.” Blaine nodded as though this was obvious. “What’s the problem?”

“You can’t say things like that?”

“Why not? It’s the truth.”

“You really don’t know what you’re doing, do you?” Mike said empathetically.

“I told you!” Blaine said, throwing up his hands in exasperation, knocking over his drink in the process.
Mike chuckled, shook his head, and asked the bartender for napkins. This was going to take a lot more work.

~

“I saw you from across the bar and noticed your drink was empty. Mind if I fill it?”

“I can’t.” Blaine was fighting an unsuccessful battle with a strong case of the giggles.

“Blaine!” Mike exclaimed, breaking character.

“This is just too weird,” Blaine managed through breathy laughter. Blaine had never known how to react to cheesy pick up lines, they had always made him feel awkward and uncomfortable, and they were even more unbearable coming from a close friend.

“Blaine, you need practice and this is the only way,” Mike said, reiterating the reason they were doing these, admittedly silly, role plays.

Blaine had never been what one would call a “smooth operator,” and he certainly wasn’t one for game playing. He always listened to and spoke from his heart. It had worked with Kurt 20 years ago in the Dalton common room. Why change a winning strategy? However, according to Mike, these days, honesty was not the best policy when trying to get someone to fall for you. Apparently, you couldn’t just have a casual conversation with a stranger – you had to woo them, impress them. Mike said this process often involved a bit of braggadocio, heavy innuendo, and a willingness to bend the truth. If lying was what the new generation of dating required, Blaine wasn’t sure he wanted to be involved. But, Blaine trusted Mike, and if Mike said this was what he needed, then Blaine would do it.

“Fine, fine,” Blaine said, straightening his face. “Sure. Whiskey sour.”

“Whiskey sour it is,” Mike said, tapping Blaine’s kitchen counter to request another drink from the imaginary bartender. “So, what brings a handsome fellow like you out to the bar?”

“Well, it’s not my week with the kids—“

“Try again,” Mike corrected.

“I’m currently separated.”

“Again.”

“Oh, ya know…” Blaine paused, at a loss of what to say if the truth was off limits, “just looking to get out.”

“Better, but you should flirt a little more,” Mike coached.

“Looking to find someone like you,” Blaine cooed, leaning in and cocking an eyebrow.

“Whoa, Anderson! Where’d you get that line?” Mike said, a bit shocked but impressed.

“Trashy, reality TV. Kurt liked to watch. And it’s Anderson-Hummel,” Blaine corrected.

“Aaand, back to square one.”

~

“I’m ready.” Blaine was literally bouncing on the tips of his toes, shaking his hands at his sides. He looked like a boxer preparing to enter the ring, except instead of an oversized full-body hoodie, he was wearing a fitted waistcoat over a designer button down, topped with an impeccable bow tie, and covered in a sleek jacket.

“You’re ready,” Coach Mike assured, rubbing Blaine’s shoulders from behind as they both stood on a New York City street corner, staring up at the bar sign.

“I’m not ready,” Blaine said, promptly deflating and turning to face Mike.

“Trust me, Blaine, you’re ready.” Mike encouraged, turning Blaine again to face the bar. “After our last practice session I, was ready to go home with you.” Blaine dropped his head and let out a few embarrassed chuckles. “Get in there. Have fun. Call me in the morning.”

Blaine’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock. “Wait. You’re not coming?”

“No, not this time. You don’t need me. And…I need to get home.”

“Oh, I see, you met someone didn’t you?” Blaine teased.

“Maybe I did,” Mike said coyly. “And so will you. Now go.” Mike gave Blaine his last little push out of the nest, and turned to go.

~

The place was packed -- bodies everywhere. Okay, Blaine, just follow directions.

Step one: go to the bar.

Blaine made his way awkwardly through the crowd, his posture straightening and his confidence growing, feeling a few lingering eyes as he passed.

Step two: order a drink.

Blaine dutifully waited for his whiskey sour and then began drinking from it in earnest. If he was going to do this alone, his courage would have to come in liquid form.

Step three: look attractive and available.

Mike had told him he had the first one down and the truth of the second was still a pain he carried in his gut. No more effort needed there, thankfully.

Step four: wait.

He and Mike had decided that waiting was the best course of action. Blaine’s history of pursuit indicated a tendency to projectile word vomit all of his feelings onto the object of his affection, or at least that was what he remembered from “The Bullfrog” and Kurt. Stop thinking about Kurt. So, Blaine waited. He was good at that. Thankfully, he did not have to wait long.

“Hi there,” said the slender package adorned with dark brown hair and green eyes.

“Hello,” Blaine smiled back. Manners were something he never had to actively remember. “I’m Blaine,” he said, offering his hand.

“I’m Chase,” the man said, and they shook. “Mind if I get you a drink?”

“You can do whatever you like.” Blaine hated this whole game, the lines, the awkward and overt flirting, but Mike had coached him well. However, though he was new to the game, he could not help questioning whether lines like that actually worked.

“Mmm, forward. I like it.” Well…apparently they did work.

Two drinks later, Blaine was finally relaxing. Chase was actually nice, interesting, and good looking, though not beautiful in the same way as Kurt. Stop thinking about Kurt.

Four drinks in: Chase was downright hilarious, and Blaine’s boisterous laughter was drawing stares.

“You wanna get outta here?” Chase casually offered.

“Yeah!” Blaine said without hesitation, still chuckling and slightly wobbly.

However, once in the cab, Blaine’s previous gales of laughter morphed into nervous, insecure giggles. Chase’s flattery was rapidly becoming less innocent and more eager. Chase was a gentleman, but it was clear where things were headed and Blaine was not sure he was ready to follow where Chase was leading.

“Ya know, I’d seen you in there before but never worked up the courage to talk to you,” Chase said, scooting into Blaine’s space in the backseat of the cab, placing his hand on Blaine’s upper thigh.

“Oh?” Blaine’s anxiety forced his voice into his upper register.

“Yeah,” Chase breathed. “I’m really glad this is happening.” Chase continued to move closer to Blaine and it seemed he was about to begin working on Blaine’s neck when he caught sight of Blaine’s eyes looking into the cab driver’s which were trained on them through the rearview mirror. Changing his trajectory, Chase whispered instead into Blaine’s ear, “I can’t wait to get you home and out of that bow tie.” Blaine’s eyes went wide.

All too soon, Chase was making good on his word. Blaine was on Chase’s couch, Chase was on Blaine, and Blaine was on edge. Chase’s fingers deftly loosened Blaine’s bow tie and worked open Blaine’s collar to make room for Chase’s mouth. With that task complete, Chase’s hands found their way to Blaine’s hips and began tugging at his shirt to reveal Blaine’s muscled torso.

Let it happen. Let it happen. Blaine was trying to relax. This is what Mike told him he needed. But it felt so foreign. These were not Kurt’s hands. This was not Kurt’s mouth. This was not Kurt. It had only ever been Kurt. It would always be Kurt. This was wrong.

“Chase?” Blaine managed, trying to pull himself out from under Chase.

“What is it?” Chase asked quickly before taking a deep breath and returning to Blaine’s now exposed collar bone.

“I can’t do this,” Blaine said apologetically, managing to push Chase away and sit up in the corner of the couch.
Chase looked stung and confused but backed off.

“What’s the problem? Are we moving too fast? I thought this was what you wanted.”

“I wanted it to be.” Blaine dropped his head into his hands. “But it’s not…and I can’t.”

“I…I really like you, Blaine,” Chase confessed gently. “We can slow down, if that’s what you need.”

I need Kurt. “I’m sorry, Chase. You’re very nice, but my heart isn’t in this.”

“I see,” Chase said, looking away. “Someone else?”

“The only one…”

Chase nodded gravely, understanding. Then Chase stood, retrieved Blaine’s jacket, and walked him to the door. “Blaine?” Chase began tentatively, “this guy…this someone. I hope you work it out.”

“Thank you. Me too.”

~

Blaine had not even bothered to take off his jacket and shoes before collapsing into the folds of his sheets. Was this how his nights would end from now on – alone in bed – the ultimate symbol of loneliness? Blaine missed companionship. There was nothing like going to bed and waking up with his lover in his arms because even their unconscious minds clung to one another. Blaine had been sure of that since the first time, the first night he had shared his bed. That had been it for him.

Kurt and Blaine lay facing each other, their warm, naked, sweat-tacky bodies tangled in Blaine’s sheets. Blaine reached out, tightened his arms around Kurt and rolled onto his back, bringing Kurt with him, settling Kurt astride his hips. Blaine was realizing quickly that he liked this – the pressure of Kurt’s body on his, Kurt looming over him, staring into his eyes. Kurt was a vision, the dim light of the room cascading over his shoulders as the light from Kurt’s brilliant blue eyes washed over him, the sheets pooled around Kurt’s hips at the meeting of their bodies.

“I love you.” Blaine had lost count of how many times he had said those words and their countless variations in the last three hours, but a truth so strong always bore repeating.

“I love you too,” Kurt whispered, and even though his lips were sore from hours spent against and inside Blaine’s mouth, he bent down again to kiss him. Kurt fell into the kiss, resting his chest against Blaine’s and stretching his legs out so that he was prone on top of Blaine, his legs between Blaine’s.

“I’m so glad we waited,” Blaine breathed when they finally broke apart, running his fingers lazily through Kurt’s damp hair.

“Mmm hmm,” Kurt hummed into Blaine’s neck.

“I’m glad it was you,” Blaine confessed softly.
Kurt pressed his body onto Blaine’s, trying to communicate his agreement body to body, pore to pore.

“I only ever want it to be you,” Blaine whispered, “forever.”

Kurt began to shift slowly, each movement a chore for his spent muscles, but for this, for Blaine, he would find the pleasure in the pain. Kurt lifted himself slightly and pressed his lips to Blaine’s. Feeling Kurt’s moist eyelashes brush against his cheek, Blaine took Kurt’s face into his hands and looked into his eyes.

“Kurt, are you okay? What is it?” Blaine’s eyes were wide and brimming with concern.

“I just…I…” and Kurt surged forward, breaking free of Blaine’s grip and kissing him with a ferocity Blaine had never felt before; all teeth, and tongue, and tears. Blaine welcomed the intensity, dug his fingers into Kurt’s shoulder blades, and interlocked his ankles at the meeting of Kurt’s thighs. Kurt was all at once inside, on top of, and around Blaine so that Blaine felt he was inside Kurt as well, enveloped in his essence as they made love for what was not the first nor the last time that night.

Blaine had not remembered falling asleep that night, but he would never forget waking up the next morning with Kurt’s warmth assuring him that the dream of the night before had been real. Each subsequent morning waking up to Kurt had been a continuation of the same dream. But now, Kurt’s side of the bed was cold and empty, just like his life.

Blaine’s thoughts were interrupted by a soft buzzing against his chest. He retrieved the vibrating phone from his jacket pocket. It was Kurt. It was nearly 2am. Why was he calling? Blaine answered the phone in a panic, “What is it Kurt? Is everything okay?”

“Uhh…yeah…I didn’t think you would answer…I was just going to leave a message.”

Blaine sighed with relief, “Well, I’m awake, and I answered. What do you need?”

“I…umm…I was calling about Bertie’s sippy cup. I can’t find it.”

“I put it in the right, outside pocket of his diaper bag,” Blaine recited mechanically.

“Oh, okay, let me check.” Moments passed in silence. “Oh, there it is. Found it.”

“Good. Do you need anything else?” Blaine asked, allowing himself to rise, break the surface of the pain, and hope.

“No, but...umm…why are you still up?

“It’s not really any of your business, Kurt, but I was out,” Blaine said flatly.

“Out? Where? What do you mean it’s not my business?” Kurt demanded, indignant. “We may be separated but I’m still your husband, Blaine.”

Suddenly, a harsh realization yanked Blaine back beneath the surface of the pain: he could not accept the dream was over because he was still lying in bed, eyes clutched tight, trying to will himself back into a dream that had long faded into the folds of his memory. It was over. It was time to get out of bed.

“No, Kurt. No, you’re not. You haven’t been for a while,” Blaine said, his voice heavy with heartbreak.

“Blaine, don’t say that. It’s not true. We can make this work. I just need you to—if you could just listen.”

“You need to wake up, Kurt. I finally have. Goodnight.”
The phone clicked with deafening finality.