“Okay, this is the best Caesar salad I’ve ever had.  Kurt, why haven’t we come here before?” Rachel asked, lifting another forkful of lettuce to her mouth.

Kurt glanced at Zoe, who raised an eyebrow and took a sip of her sweet tea.  He had been having lunch with his coworker, like he did most every day, at their usual café, when he got Rachel had called, stating that she simply needed to show him something immediately.  He reluctantly told her the address of their café as Zoe rolled her eyes, and just minutes later the Broadway diva had arrived, sitting at her table and inviting herself to join them for lunch.  She ended up getting so caught up in the new eatery that she seemed to have forgotten all about whatever it was she was so desperate to show Kurt.

“I come here a lot,” Kurt began, twisting off a piece of his breadstick, “and it never really struck me as the kind of place you’d like.” 

“Nonsense,” the brunette girl scoffed.  “It’s so quaint and cute, not to mention peaceful and utterly relaxing!”

Zoe snorted.  “It used to be.” 

Rachel aimed a glare at the other girl and opened her mouth to reply, but before she could say a word Kurt butted in.  He was tired from his morning shift with Amber, who, per usual, worked him like a dog.  “Rachel, what was it you wanted to show me?”

“Oh!” Her eyes lit up and she dropped her fork onto her plate, clapping her hands together.  “Look.  At.  This.”  She reached down by her feet for her large red Kate Spade purse, lifting it onto the table and pulling out a tabloid.  She set it down in front of Kurt, who moved his plate of spaghetti out of the way just in time. 

The tabloid was a cheap locally printed thing, and the price at the top said it cost only ninety-five cents.  As Zoe peeked around her plate, and Rachel’s giant bag, which was still sitting atop the table, his eyes flitted around the cover, landing on what he figured Rachel must have been freaking out about.  At the bottom right, there was a small picture of his friend crossing the street, arms linked with a taller man who was wearing a blue hoodie and a beanie.  In the picture, Rachel’s mouth was open as if she were in the middle of speaking, and the man next to her was looking down at her and smiling softly. 

Kurt looked across the table to see the real Rachel staring at him, a smile stretched wide across her face and her hands clasped together in excitement.  “Isn’t that awesome?” she practically squealed.

“Definitely, Rachel,” he replied.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zoe raise her pupils to the sky, as if praying for the power to get through this lunch.  He stepped firmly on her ballet flat-clad foot and she scowled at him before turning her attention to her chicken salad croissant and new issue of In Style.  “But who’s the guy in the picture?”

“Oh, that’s Theo,” Rachel answered, her voice taking on a dreamy quality.  She took the tabloid back and carefully returned it to her bag, which she then pulled off the table.  “He’s in the show with me.  Which, I mean, you would know if you ever came to see it….” She trailed off then, giving him a pointed look and picking back up her fork.  “We might be sort of dating.  There’s actually a little blurb inside the tabloid, talking about just that, but only speculating.”

“Does Finn know?”

“Kurt, who cares?  We’re not engaged anymore, we’re not even dating- why would I tell him?”

Zoe muttered under her breath, saying something that sounded suspiciously like, “Better him than us.” 

Kurt ignored her and shrugged, sliding his plate back to the center of the table. It was true that after Finn called off the engagement and shipped Rachel to New York, the two had gone their separate ways.  They had never really reconnected the way everyone thought they would, but Kurt knew it still bothered Finn.  After being step-brothers for nine years, Kurt could tell when Finn was upset by something, and he knew it wouldn’t be long until Finn found out about this and called him to chat, “casually” mentioning Rachel and asking how she was….

Kurt half expected his phone to start ringing any second now, but that didn’t mean he was any less surprised when it actually did.

He dug it out of his pocket, glancing at Rachel, who, much to Zoe’s dismay and annoyance, was still rambling about Finn and how he wasn’t even in her life anymore.  Kurt was relieved to see that it was a text from Lucas.

So, how was your morning with your own personal Miranda Priestly?

Laughing, Kurt typed out a reply, nodding and letting an “uh huh” or “sure” in response to Rachel’s comparison of Theo to Finn and how the former was clearly better for her emotional and mental health.

Same old, same old.  She made me restock the cash register today, but only after thinking I miscounted the first time and making me recount everything twice. And also she spilled a bottle of wine on the carpet and somehow twisted it around to make it my fault. She said she’s going to take the fee for the cleaner out of my paycheck, but I think it’s an empty threat.

“Kurt.”

Hitting send, Kurt looked up to find both Zoe and Rachel staring at him.  “What?”

“Was that Lucas?” Rachel asked, smiling.

Blushing, he nodded.

Zoe rolled her eyes.  “Shouldn’t have even asked, Rachel.  He’s been texting no one else for months.”

“That’s true.”

“Not even me.”

“Me, neither.”

“I’m surprised they haven’t actually talked on the phone yet.”

“I’m surprised they haven’t set up a time to meet yet.”

“I’m surprised they haven’t set their wedding date yet.”

“I’m surprised-”

“Girls,” Kurt said loudly, setting his phone on the table.  It immediately began to vibrate with a new text and he smacked Zoe’s hand as she reached for it.  He picked it back up and held it on his lap.  “We haven’t just been texting- we’ve made some progress.”  Kurt turned to stare icily at Zoe, and added, “But not to the point of marriage, thank you.” 

Rachel quirked an eyebrow at him as Zoe giggled.  “Okay, spill, Kurt,” she said, leaning on the table in eager curiosity.

“Yeah,” Zoe agreed, nodding, and she, too, leaned in.  “What progress?”

Kurt fiddled with his phone, looking seriously first at Rachel, then Zoe.  A grin burst across his face and he said, quickly, “We’re meeting,” before pressing a fist to his mouth to smother the squeal threatening to escape his lips.

Zoe’s eyes widened and she grabbed his hand and shook it excitedly.  “Kurt! That’s great! You must be so excited!”

Rachel beamed at him, bouncing in her seat.  “What?! Do I get to meet him?!”

Looking incredulously at the other girl for a moment, Zoe opened her mouth, letting out a “Why do-” before apparently thinking better of it and stopping herself.  Instead she turned back to the boy sitting on her other side, asking, “When are you two meeting, Kurt?”

“A little less than a week!” he said, lifting his phone from his lap.  “He texted me and said he was going to be in the city for movie promotions, and asked if we could meet, so of course I said yes!”

“This calls for a celebration!” Rachel said, standing up and lifting her to bag to her shoulder.  “I have to go buy some wine or something and then I’ll come to your apartment, okay?”  And with that she was off.

Zoe stared after her, frowning.  “What is wrong with her?  She didn’t even finish her salad, let alone pay for it.”

Sighing, Kurt said, “That’s Rachel for you.”

“Inconsiderate?”

“Self-considerate.”

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

“Hey, so Blaine, what do you think?”

Blaine turned from the clothing rack outside his and Porter’s dressing rooms.  He found his costar leaning out the door to his dressing room wearing gray slacks, a black button up shirt, and a red tie.  In his hand was a black fedora, which he flipped onto his head as Blaine looked him up and down.  “Nice,” Blaine responded.  “You’ll probably look way better than me, because I can’t figure out what I’m supposed to wear.”  He sighed, running his hand through his hair, and mumbled under his breath, “Kurt was always so much better at this.”

“What’s that?” Porter asked, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

“Nothing,” Blaine said.  He found a black vest on the rack, right next to a white button up shirt.  Not too far down were some black slacks.  His mind flitting back to the night of Kurt’s senior and his junior prom, Blaine pulled the articles of clothing off the rack and held them up.  Maybe….

“That’s not a bad outfit, go for it,” Porter said.  His voice shook Blaine from his reverie, and he nodded. 

“I think I will.”  But not for the reasons you think.

“Of course, you’re still not going to look as good as me… I mean, who could?”  Porter smirked, looking in the mirror next to the rack and straightening his tie.  “You might want to add a tie or something, but I think it’ll do.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.  Now go get changed, they need us out there soon.” 

Fifteen minutes later Blaine and Porter were standing in front of a red backdrop, which made Porter’s tie pop and Blaine’s outfit look sharper than it had when he was putting it on.  He had rolled the sleeves up and left the top few buttons of the white shirt open, mimicking the look Kurt had sported nearly a decade before. 

The photographer moved around, taking pictures from multiple angles.  Blaine and Porter stood, arms crossed, next to each other.  Blaine moved to put his hands on his hips, and Porter raised one hand and rested his chin on it before pushing his hat back and scratching his head.

“These things never get more fun, do they?” he asked.

Blaine looked at him out of the corner of his eye.  “What do you suppose would make it better?”

“I don’t know… music, chicks, food, chicks.”

“Porter, your engaged,” Blaine reminded him, rolling his eyes.

“I’m allowed to look.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Don’t blame me that you’re forever single,” Porter retorted, earning him an intense glare from his friend.  “Too far?”

“What do you think?”

“That’s good! Keep glaring, Blaine!” the photographer said, snapping one picture after the other.

“Wasn’t planning on stopping.”

Porter made a face, and Blaine raised his eyebrows at him before he heard Perfect by P!nk playing in his pocket.  He instinctively reached for his phone, but stopped, looking at the photographer. 

The woman sighed, lowering her camera.  “Go ahead,” she said.  “We’ll take a twenty minute break, and you can answer your phone and have your make-up retouched.”

“Blaine, you hear that? You need more make-up,” Porter sniggered. 

“I meant you, Dupree,” the photographer called as she walked off.  Blaine snorted and fished his phone out of the pocket of his slacks.  His face broke into a smile when he saw it was Kurt, something that Porter didn’t fail to notice.  He snatched the phone out of Blaine’s hand, turning around quickly and opening the message as Blaine let out a shout of surprise. 

“Hey, Lucas, what day are you coming into town? There’s this really nice café we could meet at, but they’re closed Sundays,” Porter read out loud.  His brow furrowed in confusion as he turned back to Blaine, who was shifting uncomfortably.  “Who’s Lucas?”  He tapped the contact name.  “Kurt Hummel? Isn’t that the guy you said was a friend in high school?” Blaine nodded slowly, biting his lip.  “Did you really know him?”  Blaine nodded again.  “This isn’t a wrong number then… are you pretending to be someone else?”  When Blaine didn’t answer, Porter frowned.  He held out the phone.  “Blaine?  You are, aren’t you?”

Taking the phone, Blaine stammered, “Not- not really.”

“What do you mean?”

“I- I just- It’s a long story.” And I really don’t want to tell it, Blaine added to himself.  Saying it out loud, that would be admitting that he was lying.  That would be admitting that he was wrong for doing this, for lying to Kurt, for fooling him.  But it would all be worth it when they got back together, right?  It would all be okay and the outcome would excuse the less-than-honest path Blaine took to get there.  It made sense in Blaine’s head, yes, but would it in Porter’s? Or, more importantly, Kurt’s?

Porter gave him a blank look.  “Well,” he said, “You have, like, fifteen minutes.  So get to it.”

Blaine sighed before relenting and telling Porter the whole story.  At the end, Porter stared at him, mouth slightly open in wonder.

“Wow,” he said after a long moment.

Blaine fidgeted with his phone; he still had not texted Kurt back.  “What?”

“You-” Porter stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “Are….”

“Porter?”  Blaine asked nervously.

His friend sighed before dropping his hand back to his sighed.  “I’m sorry; I don’t even know where to start.  Blaine, for someone so smart you sure are stupid.”

“What do you-”

“You really thought lying to him would win him back?  Really?  Out of all the ways to go about this, you thought pretending to be someone you’re not would be the best?  What in the world were you thinking?”

Blaine opened his mouth, but no words came out.  Apparently, no, it did not make sense to Porter.  And it probably wouldn’t to Kurt either.  Finally, he forced himself to form some kind of sentence.

“So… what do I do?”

Porter sighed exasperatedly.  “Call it off.  We’ll go to New York, and maybe you’ll run into him as yourself.  Get rid of Lucas.  Try contacting him as you.”

“But he won’t respond!” Blaine cried out desperately.

“You don’t know that.  And think about the story you just told me- what happened the last time you lied to Kurt?”

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Kurt trudged down the side of the highway, hugging his arms across his chest and his gaze on his feet.  The flashes of crimson caused by his graduation robe fluttering around his shins barely registered through his tear-blurred eyes.  He focused on even breaths and placing one foot in front of the other.

He had feared this would happen- he had spent countless nights worrying that he and Blaine would break apart but hoping with everything in him that these worries would be fruitless.  Kurt knew when he left for New York it would be hard; a long distance relationship, halfway across the country, relying on weekend visits, Skype chats, and phone calls.  But now that Blaine was headed to California, they would be twice as far apart, and as far as Kurt was concerned, staying together would be twice as hard.

He truly was happy for Blaine, really. After all the crap he'd been through before Dalton and at McKinley after and the issues with his brother and his parents... Blaine really deserved something like this. And Kurt couldn't help but chuckle at the fact that Blaine had not only gotten a part in the movie that his egocentric brother so wanted to be involved in, but a lead role.

But still... California? Was Ohio not far enough from New York?

It's like he wants to make this difficult for me, Kurt thought fleetingly, but then he shook his head. That couldn't be true. Kurt loved Blaine and he knew Blaine loved him in return. This would hurt him just as much as it hurt Kurt; it would be just as hard on the both of them.  Wouldn’t it?

If anyone asks,

I’ll tell them we both just moved on.

When people all stare

I’ll pretend that I don’t hear them talk.

Whenever I see you,

I’ll swallow my pride

And bite my tongue.

Pretend I’m okay with it all-

Act like there’s nothing wrong.

Blaine sat huddled in the passenger seat, biting his lip, trying to slow his breathing. He had to be calm when Kurt came back, had to be able to make sense of everything and be rational.

But he knew that this wasn't going to go the way he had hoped. He looked in the rearview mirror at Kurt's receding back as he walked away, and a tear slipped down his cheek, followed at first just by one, but then by streams of salty sadness.

Kurt was, quite literally, walking away from him.

But, Blaine thought, he kept his promise. He didn't say good-bye.

No, instead he had just left Blaine sitting there, watching the seconds turn to minutes on his wristwatch, checking the rearview mirror for any sign of Kurt’s return, sighing when he realized that he had disappeared from view.  Yes, he had left Blaine crying in the car on the side of the road, but he hadn’t said good-bye.

And that made it even worse.

Is it over yet?

Can I open my eyes?

Is this as hard as it gets?

Is this what it feels like to really cry?

Cry…

Kurt took a deep breath and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, pausing in his walking.  I really should go back, he thought.  Blaine didn't deserve me just walking out and leaving him there... We can figure this out together, right?

He turned and slowly started back for his car, a little surprised when he saw the great distance he had walked.

As he trudged back to the car, he tried hard to stay positive.  Long distance relationships can work, he reminded himself. We might even come out better for it, stronger. But he knew even the plane rides that could take them from California to New York, the Skype calls, the texting… they wouldn’t replace the trips Kurt had imagined himself taking, flying home to Lima, stopping by to see his Dad and Carol before heading over to Blaine’s, whose parents would be out of town until Monday for some business retreat…. And even that, if it had worked out, wouldn’t replace the good old days of high school and sitting in first the Dalton commons and then the McKinley choir room, catching each other’s eye, holding hands, kissing whenever they felt like it, just enjoying being close.

Kurt reminisced, rubbing the back of his right hand, tracing a memory of held hands in an empty room on top of a table covered with Tacky glue.  He knew finding a way to make this work would be anything but easy.  

If anyone asks,

I’ll tell them we just grew apart.

Oh, what do I care

If they believe me or not?

Whenever I feel

Your memory is breaking my heart,

I’ll pretend I’m okay with it all,

Act like there’s nothing wrong.

Blaine took one more look into the rearview mirror, saw Kurt heading back towards the car, wringing his hands.  Blaine straightened up in his seat, running a hand through his hair and taking a deep breath.  This was it, they could have the talk now.  He folded his hands in his lap, mulling over his words in his head.  What could he say that would make Kurt understand?

Is it over yet?

Can I open my eyes?

Is this as hard as it gets?

Is this what it feels like to really cry?

Cry.

Kurt arrived back at his car but could not bring himself to open the door and climb back in.  He just didn’t want to face the future yet; he couldn’t have the talk he knew Blaine would insist on them having, though he knew it would probably be best if they did.

No, instead he leaned against the trunk before sliding to the ground, not even noticing his nice slacks and red robe hitting the dirt through the sparse grass as he buried his face into his hands, pulled his knees to his chest.

I’m talking in circles,

I’m lying, they know it,

Why won’t this just all go away?

Kurt never was sure how long he sat there, eyes closed and pressed to his hands.  He didn’t notice the cars whizzing by on the highway, barely registered the rain that started to fall, turning the dirt beneath him to mud and flooding the road.  The only thing he really knew, the only thing that he took into account, was the sound of a car door falling shut behind him, feet creating squish squish, squish squish sounds as they stumbled through the mud, and the back of Blaine’s black blazer, streaked with rain and fading into the distance as the distance increased between them.  That and the realization that Blaine never looked back, never turned, never waved.  Nothing.

Kurt blinked as more tears sprung into his eyes.  His breathing was shallow as he whispered into the rain.  “Good-bye, Blaine.”

Is it over yet?

Can I open my eyes?

Is this as hard as it gets?

Is this what it feels like to really cry?

Cry.

Cry.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Wine was being poured into two glasses in Kurt’s small apartment kitchen by Rachel when Kurt’s phone vibrated on the counter.

“Hey, your phones ringing!” Rachel called to her friend who had stepped into the bathroom to fix his already perfect hair.  He dashed into the room, causing her to laugh and spill a few drops of wine on the white countertop.  “Oops,” she giggled, reaching over to the sink for a paper towel.  “There, good as new,” Rachel said after wiping up the spill and depositing the now burgundy towel in the trashcan. 

“I…”

“Want some wine?” Rachel asked, grinning and holding a glass out for him.  When Kurt didn’t respond, or even acknowledge that she had spoken, she set the wine back down.  “Kurt?”

His face was pale, and his mouth was agape as he held his phone in both hands.

“Kurt, what happened?”  She rounded the counter to put an arm around his shoulders.  He looked at her, confusion and tears shining in his eyes, and held his phone up wordlessly.  She took it from him and read the short text on screen.

Not coming after all. Sorry. I think maybe we should end this.