The next few weeks went past as usual for Kurt, though maybe on occasion there was an extra spring in his step, his smile a fraction of an inch wider. He laughed more freely with his friends at school, let himself stare a millisecond longer than he usually would at the new kid in one of his regular lectures who had shaggy blond hair and a huge grin (on retrospect, he would realize how much the boy resembled a certain Sam Evans and cringe a little), and when Sierra Hartley invited him for a night out with the students all from his program, he agreed, much to her surprise he thought. The gathering at a rather skanky club had turned out more fun than expected. He chatted and joked around with a couple of close friends, watched a few get hilariously drunk, and generally enjoyed swaying at the edge of the dance floor while watching in amusement as an intoxicated Sierra shimmied, shook her hips, and basically jammed out to the appreciative cheers and whoops of the many guys present, strangers included. He didn’t get drunk though – he never got drunk – instead, he nursed a cheap glass of strawberry daiquiri for the entire night. 

                When Rachel suggested catching a movie one Friday night, out of habit, he suspected, he surprised her by agreeing and going on to book two Gold Class tickets for a midnight showing of a crappy rom-com starring Jessica Szohr and Zac Efron. They spent the journey back home giggling over cheesy lines and the contrived, almost laughable deliverance of what was clearly intended to be a dramatic, tear-jerking scene. He hadn’t felt so free in a long while. The next morning, he turned on the television and watched a rerun of the season premiere of Jersey Shore Season 5 – one of his favourite episodes.

                The truth was, he felt liberated from reading the letter. It seemed to have provided – to sound clichéd – closure. Perhaps that was all he had needed all this while. Time to distance himself from the past, to get used to the reality of life, then one final refreshing of the end of Before. Because it wasn’t the End end, as he had previously recognized it as, but the end of a past era, signifying a new, better one of now. Okay, so maybe he was being a little dramatic and overtly flowery with all these fancy analogies, but basically, he felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and it was a greatly pleasant, content feeling. He felt as if he could really start afresh now, and it was with a happy heart that he related all this to Rachel the Friday after their movie night.

                They sat snuggled on the couch, the television turned on at low volume, eating ice cream (vegan) straight from the tubs and enjoying each other’s company. Rachel had recently gone on a dessert buying spree, and now their refrigerator was well-stocked with various flavours of ice cream (his preferred flavour was cookies and cream; hers was chocolate fudge), several slices of cake (vegan) from Rive Gauche (Rachel had eaten dinner there some time ago), and a box full of macaroons (vegan) from a coffee shop a few streets across from their apartment (it was his favourite coffee shop; he went there at least a few times a week on his way to school).

                Rachel was telling him rather excitedly about a mini performance she and a few fellow like minded friends were putting up in a few weeks – it was a sort of spin-off from Wicked, and she was hoping to get the lead as they were inviting a few professionals to come watch and, as she so firmly put it, “they wouldn’t be able to enjoy the show to its maximum potential unless she was the one standing centre stage belting out the final notes to close the show as the others danced around her.”

                “But really,” she added thoughtfully, in between licking the back of her spoon, “it’s such a great opportunity for me to get talent spotted. Since it’s a student-produced show after all. Don’t you think so?” she asked as she darted her gaze mildly threateningly up to Kurt.

                Kurt nodded vehemently, pursing his lips as if in thought. In reality, he had drifted off halfway when she was going on about stage production and whatnot.

                “Since we’re on the topic, what about your big project? We haven’t talked in a while, since we’ve each been so busy with school, and I just realized I have no idea what you’re planning to do for that, which is highly unusual.”

                He thought for a moment before answering. “I’m not sure, to be honest. Most of the people in my class have already decided on their theme, but I’m still dithering between a few. The theme of this year’s exhibition is Eye on the World: Baring Souls, which gives me almost innumerable possibilities. So I haven’t confirmed yet,” he concluded with a shrug and a large spoonful of ice cream.

                Rachel hummed in response. They sat in silence for a while, enjoying their ice cream.

                After a few minutes, Rachel smacked her lips and placed her half-eaten tub of ice cream down on the coffee table. She sat back up on the couch, pulling her knees to her chest and swiveling so that she was directly facing him. She looked at him expectantly.

                “How are you faring nowadays, Kurt?” she asked, her tone shades gentler than it was before. He didn’t need to be a whiz to know what she was referring to.

                “You’ve been chirpier for the past few weeks, and don’t deny it; I can tell, because I’m your best friend,” she hastily added.

                He rolled his eyes at her last bit but replied her nonetheless. “I feel good, actually.”

                Rachel raised an eyebrow questioningly at him, but let him continue. He settled his ice cream onto the arm rest so he could talk properly, and grabbed a throw pillow to his chest before he deigned to go on, stalling. It was such an abrupt change in mood.

                “That day, when you were out, I… relooked at some of the things from, well, before, and I think that really helped.

               “I know I’ve been acting rather out of it for a ridiculously long time, and I think that was because I never really let go. So that day was, well, closure, you could call it that.”

                “Closure?”

                “Yeah. I’ve felt better since, somehow. It’s only been by a little bit, but somehow that makes all the difference.”

                “So you’ve completely let go? Forgotten him?” Rachel asked tentatively.

                Kurt shook his head. “No, and I don’t think I ever will. I think a part of me will always wonder about Blaine, where he is now, what he’s doing with his life, but I’ve come to terms with knowing that I probably never will find out.” Despite all that, he felt his breath hitch slightly as he said his next words, “I’ve just got to accept that Blaine has probably moved on with his life, most likely ages ago, and I have to do the same with mine.”

                “And you’re letting go?”

                “I’m letting go,” he replied softly but firmly.

                Rachel nodded sagely at her clasped hands, and didn’t reply for a while. Then, “I’m happy for you,” she said softly.

                She looked up, nodding gently, lips pressed together in a small but none the less sincere smile. “I’m really happy for you, Kurt. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to have it all.” Her smile widened into a teary grin as she clasped his hand in both of hers. “I’m just really happy for you,” she told him in a choked voice, half laughing, voice breaking a little at the end.

                He too felt the back of his eyes stinging slightly as he lifted his other hand to rest over hers.

                “Thank you. And not just for this, but for everything else. I don’t think I’ve really told you how grateful I am for looking after me all this while. I couldn’t have asked for a better friend.”

                He smiled widely at Rachel, but looked into her eyes seriously to let her know that he really meant all he had said. She giggled at this, releasing her hands from his grasp to press the back of her wrists to her eyes.

                “You’re my best friend, Kurt. Of course I took care of you. And besides, you were always there for me the first year here, what with all that mess with Finn,” she added on a more somber note, at which he gripped her hand more tightly in comfort. “I had to say thank you some way,” she teased, grin returning.

                “I don’t think I could ever thank you enough.”

                They sat there for a few moments, just clasping hands in the quiet, with the only interruption the faint stirrings from the television, relishing the feeling of knowing that no matter what, there would be someone out there to always pick them up when they fell down, or carry them through tough times. There was a certain comfort in knowing that they wouldn’t ever be alone in their problems again.

                After a while, Kurt broke the silence.

                “We should probably keep our ice cream. It’s melting horrifically fast.”

                Rachel laughed her infectious chuckle at this, but extracted her hand form his and moved to scoop up her tub of ice cream from the coffee table, where it had formed a ring of condensed water droplets where it previously rested. As they moved to the kitchen, Rachel piped up unexpectedly.

                “You know, about what you said earlier?”

                He hummed absently.

                “I think Blaine, wherever he is now, would have had as much trouble moving on as you did.”

                He almost stopped at this, but didn’t.

                “He really loved you, Kurt. Just know that,” she continued as she rinsed her hands in the sink.

                “Yeah,” he replied, ignoring the niggling feeling at the back of his mind as he dried his hands.

-

                It was a Monday afternoon, and Kurt was annoyed. He tapped his foot impatiently, standing in the snaking queue of Snice, constantly glancing at his watch.

                1:17pm.

               It was a crazy day at school, and he was exhausted after managing to catch only one hour’s worth of sleep last night. There had been proposals due, theses to write, and he felt very wrung out. That was why he was in line for coffee at his favourite coffee shop, Snice, which was about a ten minute walk from campus. He would normally never come to Snice on a Monday afternoon, when it was the most packed, but he was in desperate need for a pick-me-up, though it seemed as if he might not be able to manage even that, seeing as he needed to get back for a class at 1:30pm. He groaned loudly, causing the middle aged woman in front of him to turn around and stare. He glared back defiantly.

                1:19pm.

                His bright red Doc Martens were scuffed, he noticed with dissatisfaction, as he looked down at his shoes, mentally reminding himself to get them cleaned up during the weekend.

                To his pleasure, the queue started moving relatively quickly, and soon he was ordering a grande non-fat mocha from Ana, the friendly barista who always smiled at him when he came over.

                “Busy day?”

                “How did you know,” he quipped with a wry smile.

                “You look dead-beat, and vaguely ill.” She clucked her tongue reprovingly. “Take care of yourself, alright? I wouldn’t want my favourite customer to stop coming because he collapsed from overwork.”

                “Favourite customer? I’m flattered.”

              “No one has quite as funny anecdotes as you do, honey. I feel cheered up whenever I see you come into the shop.”

                “Aw, thank you! Now I feel similarly cheered up. Ana, you just made my day.”

                He accepted his cup of coffee with a lighter heart, immediately raising it to his lips for a sip, waving goodbye to Ana with his free hand. He hissed as it scalded his tongue. His phone buzzed. Upon drawing it out from his back pocket, he realized how many texts he had received.

                Are you coming? We’re at the Block C Mac lab. –Sierra

                HURRY Kurt, Prof. A is asking where you are. I had to cover for you. –S

                Where the fuck are you?

                God, Kurt. I told him you couldn’t come cos of personal stuff. He wasn’t impressed.

                “Shit,” he mumbled under his breath. He had totally forgotten about the consultation session he and Sierra had arranged with their professor about a joint project they were about to embark on together. God, Sierra would be at his throat when he got back. Now Prof. A had a bad first impression of him, and they hadn’t even started the project yet. The remaining of it would be a nightmare; he had heard about how Prof. A didn’t take kindly to irresponsible students. He let out a groan of annoyance at his own irresponsibility, quelling the sense of guilt rising at the back of his mind. The cheery mood he had acquired after talking to Ana had disappeared completely, and now he felt all hot and bothered. He took another angry sip of coffee, wincing as it burned down his throat. He quickened his footsteps, keeping his head down at his phone screen as he hastily tried to type a suitably apologetic reply to Sierra.

                Then, to his annoyance, he walked straight into someone, splashing his coffee onto both himself and the other person; for a split second before he glanced down, he registered how odd it was that the stranger was wearing sunglasses.

                He swore vehemently, jumping back to prevent more coffee from dripping onto his coat. The hot brown liquid was slowly staining the front of his brand new ivory Marc Jacobs coat. Letting out a frustrated cry – why was today going so shittily for him?—he stretched out his arm and tried, failingly, to clean away some of the coffee with the back of his hand. That was when he remembered the person he had bumped into.

                He looked up, opening with an apologetic (or as apologetic as he could sound while simultaneously trying containing his infuriation at the turn of today’s events) “I’m so sorry,” but the words died in his throat as he saw who he had knocked into.

                Blaine.

                He couldn’t help the strangled sound that escaped his lips. It was Blaine. It was Blaine Blaine Blaine Blaine Blaine. Standing right in front of him. Some part of him knew that he should say something, but all he could do was stare. There was a strange rushing sound in his ears, and he swore he could hear the erratic pounding of his heart. There were odd swooping sensations in his stomach. His mind was racing.

                How long had he waited for this moment? How many times had he envisioned such a scenario, an epic reunion of them both? The numerous imagined encounters had played out in countless different ways, some ending in a beautiful lip-lock as they vowed their undying love for each other, some opening into a furious, heated fight as Kurt screamed at Blaine for putting him through what he had. He had never, however, pictured their meeting in a crowded coffee shop amidst the Monday afternoon buzz. This was surreal, so surreal that for a moment he wondered if he was dreaming. He swept aside that theory a moment later, because if he was dreaming, he couldn’t possibly be feeling all he was at that moment. Part of him wanted to yell, part of him wanted to burst into tears and ask why why why, but mostly he wanted to throw himself into Blaine’s arms, surrender himself to the familiar warmth and sob into Blaine’s shoulder that finally, finally, they were reunited. There were so many things he wanted to do, to say, he didn’t know where to start. He didn’t even know if he could; his throat felt constricted.

                Belatedly, he realized Blaine was saying something.

                “—Damn, god, shit, I’m so sorry, shit I should probably –” and his voice was almost exactly like Kurt had remembered, that magical rise and dip of his words, his voice so deep and rounded like an actor’s. He didn’t know if the tingle across his chest was real or imagined.

                “Blaine?” Kurt choked out. He had finally found his voice, though it was hoarse, faint and thrumming with disbelief.

                Blaine stopped talking and looked up.

                Looking back, Kurt knew that this was the moment when he should have suspected something was wrong, realized that Blaine wasn’t really Blaine, not anymore, but he was so overwhelmed that he couldn’t stop himself.

                “Blaine,” he whispered, and then tears were streaming down his cheeks, because this was real, not just some deluded daydream or hallucination, and he had waited for so long, and he moved forward and–

                “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

                Just like that, for the second time in his life, Kurt’s heart broke.

                He couldn’t breathe, and the rush of blood in his ears had vanished.

                “What?” he asked dumbly, his voice breathy and trembling.

                “I’m so sorry, but I don’t think I quite remember you…?” Blaine replied quizzically, still sounding rather apologetic.

                “What?” Kurt repeated stupidly. The tears had stopped flowing, and now he felt a deep-seated confusion, which masked the growing tightness in his chest. For a split second he wondered insanely why Blaine didn’t take off those ridiculous shades, maybe if he did he could see Kurt properly and realize who he was looking at…

                Blaine’s expression had transformed somewhat into bewilderment. “I can’t, you know, yeah,” he said almost with embarrassment as he gestured to his sunglasses and then down to his left side. Kurt followed the direction to which he was gesturing. There was a cup of coffee clutched in Blaine’s left hand, but what he had failed to notice the first time was the thin black leash looped around Blaine’s wrist, that extended to a collar encircling the furry neck of a large, pale yellow dog which was sitting obediently on its haunches by Blaine’s feet.

                For a wild moment, Kurt felt an urge to point out that dogs weren’t allowed in the coffee shop – this was New York, after all – then he realized what Blaine was actually gesturing to. The dog had some kind of harness-like contraption around its middle, connected to straps around its forelegs. There was a sort of handle reaching from the dog’s middle where the harness-thing was. Kurt’s eyes zeroed in on the words printed on a strip of blue cloth attached to the strap crossing the middle of its back.

                Seeing Eye dog.

                Dazed, Kurt shifted his gaze back up to Blaine’s face, where the pair of sunglasses was perched atop his nose, obscuring his eyes. With a sharp intake of breath, he understood.

                “Oh, my god,” he breathed, shaking his head slowly, “No.”

                Blaine, distracted, didn’t seem to hear him. Kurt watched, mutely, as he reached into his pocket and fished out a five dollar bill. Blaine extended his hand forward, and Kurt automatically reciprocated, taking the note from Blaine’s grasp.

                “No,” he mumbled again, still staring staring staring at the shades as if his gaze could penetrate through the plastic.

                “I’m sorry,” Blaine said for what must have been the millionth time, “I have to rush off to somewhere. I’m so sorry for bumping into you, I hope you’re not hurt, buy yourself another cup with that. I have to go. I’m sorry, goodbye.” With that, he fumbled for the handle-like thing his dog was wearing. When he had a firm grip on the bar, the dog rose meekly to its paws, they both turned, and Blaine walked out of Kurt’s life once again.

                Kurt stood frozen in the middle of the coffee shop, unmoving, unfeeling. In all of his imagined scenarios, this had never in his closest dreams been one of them.

                Then, something kicked in. His head snapped up to scan the crowd, but Blaine was lost among the huge group of college kids who had just entered the room. He felt himself moving, pressing through the throng to much annoyed squeaks from the pushed students. He burst out onto the sidewalk, ignoring the harsh autumn breeze that whipped across his cheeks. Desperately, he cast his eyes around. Then he saw, by the roadside, a figure slide into a taxi, following him an almost-white dog jumping into the cab.

                “Stop!” he screamed, running towards the side of the road, but it was too late. The cab swerved away from the sidewalk and sped down the road. He stopped running, head bent down to his knees, gasping for breath, feeling the judgmental stares of passers-by but not quite caring. Absently, he realized he was still holding his coffee cup. When he had caught his breath, he straightened up and stared down the now empty road.

                Blaine was gone.

-

Dear Kurt,

Perhaps by now you would have found something amiss, noticed that something isn’t quite right. It pains me now to be writing this, but I can only imagine how you might feel reading it, and I am so so sorry. Kurt… there isn’t quite any good way to pen down what I’m planning to say, so I’m just gonna do it straight out. I’m leaving, forever. Don’t try to look for me, you won’t find me. I can’t tell you any more than that, and it hurts me so much to have to keep this from you. So I’m saying goodbye, one final time.

It’s funny how I foolishly thought it would be easier to leave before you returned from New York, thinking it would be better for both of us to not have fresh memories of being together; now it seems ridiculously stupid because now it feels like it may hurt a billion times more without a final kiss, a final touch of your fingers on my face, a final night together to tide me over the times ahead. But I don’t think I would have been able to behave normally in the time between meeting you and leaving, and so this is good in a way that I won’t ruin the last memories we have together. I want you to remember the happy, in love us. And also, I’ve made my decisions and my plans, and I have to stick to them; if I veer even slightly off course I’m afraid I won’t be able to go through with them and that would just defeat the purpose of all this.

I know you must be feeling very lost and confused right now, so I want to make this clear. This has nothing to do with you. Which sounds silly even to me, because doesn’t my life revolve around yours? It has since that day all those years back when we met on the stairs at Dalton, when the silly old oblivious me couldn’t keep my eyes off you as I sang Teenage Dream – because I had never met someone as beautiful, as magical as you. We are linked together in a special, sacred way that perhaps can never be tainted, even twenty years down the road when we are leading our own lives, perhaps even happily married by then (if the world has become as liberal by then). And I can almost hear the catch in your breath as you read that sentence, because, yes, that is the truth: twenty years down the road, that’s the time we might stay apart, and even longer.

But I digress. My point is, my leaving isn’t in any part your fault. Clichéd, isn’t it? “It’s not you, it’s me.” Remember how I always laughed when we watched movies together and that line came up? Because it’s almost never just one person’s fault; it takes two hands to clap in a true relationship. Well, it’s ironic that I’m using it in this situation, because it hasn’t ever rung more true than right now. My departure has nothing to do with us, with our relationship, it’s something else on my side, something bigger than the both of us, bigger than our love, and I won’t stand to put you through that. You must be hating me now for being so frustratingly cryptic, and I don’t blame you. I hate myself to, for doing this to us.

I’m scared, Kurt. I’m terrified of what lies ahead. Try as I might, I could never imagine a future without you, and I still can’t now. But it’s happening, for real. I don’t think I could adequately express how much I loathe myself for this, for leaving you hanging and making you go through all this shit alone. But you are strong, and you are fierce; there’s no one quite like you.

I love you so much. I love how you’re always so confident and snarky on the outside, but how you’re ultimately so tender and honest when you let your guard down. I love how much you care about those you love, and how you’re always ready to forgive. I love how you never let anything or anyone crush your spirit and bring you down. And maybe most of all, I love that you love me. You take me for all my strange little quirks, the messed-up parts of me, for all my imperfections. You open yourself to all of that, and love me for everything that I am, without question, and maybe that’s why it’s so impossibly hard to be doing this. Sometimes I feel almost unworthy of being loved by someone as incredible as you are. I can be me when I’m with you, and I’m afraid that I’ll never get the chance to again.

But you will. You are amazing, and beautiful, and unbelievably strong, and I know that one day you’ll find someone else perhaps a fraction as worthy of you to love again, with as much conviction as I know you’ll get through this. It will be tough, no doubt, but you will, because you are you, and the Kurt Hummel I know and love can overcome everything. And you have your father, Carole, Finn, Rachel, all your friends from Ohio and NY. They will help you through this. You don’t need me. It may be presumptuous of me to think that you think you do, but nonetheless I assure you that life without me will go on. So don’t spend too long mourning my absence, don’t cling to the memory of me for too much a time. I don’t want you to live in the shadow of what could have been.

My last wish of you: let go. It feels like my heart is shattering as I write this, but it’s perhaps the most important part of this letter. Don’t spend too long holding on. Move on with life, and maybe it’s a bit too much to beg you to forget me – I know I never will – but maybe, hopefully, someday I’ll be no more than a half-forgotten shadow at the back of your mind, rising to the forefront of your thoughts only at the rarest of moments. I want you to be happy, Kurt. That is all I ask. Hypocritical of me, since I’m the one person causing your pain, but I have no other choice. Please try to understand.

We vowed to love each other for all of eternity, to grow old and grey together, and I’m letting go of all of that. I hope you can too. I wish you the brightest of futures, Kurt; Broadway, movies, maybe even fashion if you end up there in an unexpected twist. I’ll be watching out for your name framed in lights, or printed on thousands and thousands of playbills hung on the walls of other aspiring little kids whom you are inspiration to. I’ll look out for your face in the papers, in magazines, the sound of your voice on the radio. Don’t let anything or anyone stand in your way to achieving fame, Kurt, especially this. You will do great things, and hopefully I’ll be able to witness them.

I know we swore to never say goodbye to each other, but this isn’t a promise I can keep. Just know that I always loved you, Kurt.

All the best,

Blaine