The weather was nice. Not beautiful or sunny. In fact, it was cloudy, but there was a breeze and it was cool. It was nice. Kurt was thankful for it as much as he hated it. It was a nice day, but Kurt did not want it to be.

Today was a sad day.

Today was the day he was saying goodbye.

He looked down at the patch of green grass, freshly trimmed, before letting his eyes trail up to the vertical granite slab, a few bunches of flowers propped against it. There was an inspirational quote Kurt had memorized long ago, a set of dates just above that, but it was the name he stared at the longest. Somehow, even after eight years, it was still fresh, almost unbelievable as it was that name carved there. His name.

Lips turned up slightly, despite the feeling, in a small and gentle smile. Kurt knelt in front of the... head-stone.

"Told you I would come back. But today," he looked over at the dark-haired man standing not too far off. "I brought someone to meet you. You remember him; I've talked about him before, just like I talk about you with him. This is a special occasion though. You see, he proposed to me earlier this week, and I... and I said yes."

Kurt waved his hand at the man, who quickly answered the beckoning and Kurt continued to look at his face, even when he towered over him from his standing position.

"I would like to introduce: Blaine," he was smiling, but he did not really feel it.

Suddenly, he fiancé was crouched down next to him, smiling at the marble slab, "Hi, Blaine. It's nice to finally meet you." The man rested his hand on the top of the marble briefly before turning back to look at Kurt, "I'll leave you two alone."

Kurt waited and watched as his fiancé walked back to the car, out of ear-shot. "He's a good man. He treats me right, he's kind and sweet... he loves me." The blue-eyed man looked guiltily down at his hands, which he was wringing nervously. "But despite that... he's not you. It was supposed to be you, you forever. I can't help but think about how am I going to keep myself from running away... when I walk down that aisle and it's not you standing at the end of it. How horrible is that? I'm horrible.

"But I just can't do it anymore, Blaine." The man shook his head and scooted closer to the marble head-stone, "I still love you so much that it physically hurts to smile or laugh or... or kiss that wonderful man because it's not for you. He's not you!" A choked sob escapes his lips, hands shooting up to cup his mouth, "I know I've said it before, but I miss you and I'm so sorry. I forgave you, Blaine. I wish I just had not been so stubborn. I should have told you. You had the right to know!"

He spent several minutes crying, wanting nothing more than to be comforted by the love of his life that was taken away from him. Kurt felt so empty inside. No matter how much time had passed Blaine felt like an open, bleeding, festering wound that refused to heal. The few moments when he would be caught up in life and something happened that he just needed to share it with Blaine—he would reach for his phone before he remembered. Or how he would turn a corner and a sense of deja vu would sneak up on him—he fully expected to see Blaine there in front of him, with his beautiful, childish grin. Or how he could not listen to the "flash-back" radio stations without having to pull-over and cry his heart out. Or when he tried to go to his five-year high school reunion but could not even walk inside because all he saw was Blaine waiting by the front door with two coffees.

"B-but he's a good man, Blaine! I know you would want me to be happy, and I want to... but only for you," Kurt laughed, it was watery and pathetic, "It's so selfish of me to take this man when I could never love him the way I do you. What kind of life is that? Always being second best to someone who you can never beat? Because you'll always be number one, Blaine. My knight in a pressed, dry-clean-only blazer. My Nightbird.

"I love you so much. I miss you more and more. Sometimes I can barely make myself get up in the morning after I remember you aren't here." His whole body was shaking now, "I lied to you... when I said I would never say goodbye. I did it once and now... I'm doing it again." Why was it getting so hard for him to breathe? "I-it's not fair—to you and him—that I am like this. So I said 'yes', and now I have to say goodbye." Kurt's eyes were burning, it felt like the heat was eating at them, "I'll still come visit—because I won't forget you. But I can't do it every week anymore."

The breeze was chilling to the bone, a cold pressure against his back and caressing his cheeks with icy wisps.

"I'm sorry."

It picked up, wind pressing against his back more; pushing him towards Blaine's head-stone.

"I'll never forget you."

There was a small lag in the air before the wind picked up more, sneaking into his sweater, pushing him harder.

(He had taken several things from Blaine's room when Cooper called him to let him know that his parents told him to empty it. Kurt took sweaters that were too big for him, Blaine's Dalton hoody that still smelled like him, all of his bow ties, the photo album—their photo album, and his water-fall scented hair-gel. Cooper had held Kurt as he cried his heart out against Blaine's bed—where they lost their virginity to each other—while he called Blaine's name over and over again. Screaming until he was hoarse, until he could not make a sound, until it was just his lips moving. He rocked back and forth with Cooper until his dad had to bring Finn to help carry him down stairs to take him home. He almost did not leave, but his dad had begged him with tears in his eyes making Kurt realize—he was not the only one hurting. He was not any better by the time the funeral came around. He made everyone around him cry when they ask him how he was feeling and all they got was—"I don't feel anything.")

"I love you."

Desperate. It all seemed so desperate, and Kurt could not figure out why. What was desperate? Was it the wind?

But that was just silly.

"Goodbye, Blaine."

Everything stop. There was no more noise or wind. It was as if time itself stopped. Colors faded and nothing moved. So Kurt did not either. Something, it was just something in the air; and the man would not be the one to break it first.

"Kurt?"

Everything came back, but no breeze.

Blue-eyes drifted over to the dark-haired man waiting just beyond the row of graves, but Kurt did not have the energy to glare at him. "I'm ready," he whispered hauntingly. It probably scared the other man but Kurt had already turned back to the head-stone.

Just one more touch. His fingers caressed the granite, tracing Blaine's name one last time. It'll all be so impersonal after this. Kurt pressed a kiss the 'B'—My B.—running his hands down the head-stone and only pulling back when they met grass.

He could not wait anymore after that. Setting a small bouche of red tipped pink and yellow roses down on the grass—right around where Blaine's heart would be—before practically running back to the car, not bothering to pause for his... that man.

But once he was inside, he did not hold anything back anymore. Kurt cried anew, feeling like he had when he went to Blaine's house to prevent everything from being thrown away—to prevent Blaine from being thrown away. Don't look, don't look. It'll only be harder.

He looked. Through his teary eyes he saw Blaine's head-stone in the distance. But something was wrong. Blurry as it was, there was a figure sitting on the stone, the bouche Kurt left in one hand. When Kurt blinked, they were gone. He had seen them, not clearly, but he had. A teenage boy with dark hair wearing a bright bow tie with a dark shirt... and he had been waving. A small, one-handed wave. It was sad, so sad.

Blaine. Kurt cried harder, head falling into his hands. "My Blaine."

---

He was crying when he woke up. But he did not open his eyes. Everything was still fresh and sharp, it hurt. Kurt did make sure to take in his surrounds as best he could though.

He was in bed, because their couch did not feel this comfortable; and by the smell of dull hair-spray and vanilla cologne, it was his bed.

He was sleeping next to—between two people; and by the feel of certain parts pressed against his sides, they were female. Rachel and Santana.

Then it was as if everything was no longer in slow motion.

There had been a shooting at McKinley.

His dad had called him several times while he had been in class and did not see them until he had picked up a coffee with Adam at the cafe he was meeting Santana at before they made their way back to the apartment together. (There had been a recent spring of related crimes in the area and no matter how tough they both knew each other was; strength was in numbers. Rachel had already left for home around noon when her last class of the day had been cancelled. Just her lucky Thursday.)

When he called his dad back, he could not stand—not breathe. There was still no word on who was hurt or if anyone had been.

Santana dismissed Adam when she got there, practically carrying Kurt as she tried to get him to talk to her.

When the words came out, they had to lean on each other as they tried to get a hold of as many people in Lima as possible.

Sam answered his phone, said he had been in the choir room.

Tina was crying but she had been in the parking lot at the time it all started.

Artie had been in the hall on his way to the choir room when he heard the first shot, but managed to speed in with Sam.

The new members had been in there too.

Finn had not even been at the school.

But Santana could not get a hold of Brittany and Sam did not know where she was.

Blaine—he did not answer any of Kurt's calls or texts and the older teen was distraught when Sam said that Blaine had gone to pick up something from somewhere—Kurt kind of tuned out when Sam said Blaine was not there.

Kurt check his phone—still no reply from Blaine. His dad had called then text him to check up on him and the girls. He told his dad that they were fine ever since Brittany and Finn called to let them know they were safe.

Brit had been in the bathroom at the time but it was near the front of the school, so it had been one of the first places evacuated after police were able to narrow down the search for the shooter. But Kurt did not say anything about how he was because honestly did not know.

He felt a hand on his face and he turned to look at Santana, her dark eyes sad but firm. "He's okay," she seemed to say without words. Rachel said earlier that Kurt would have known if Blaine was not okay, because they were soul-mates. He wanted to deny it, but he could not do it. Not then, not now. Denial was for when he was being stubborn about trusting Blaine again. All Kurt wanted to do right now was hold him, have Blaine hold him in return; kiss and make love while they whispered sweet nothings in each other's ears.

It was late. Why had Blaine not called him?

Santana made Kurt look into her eyes again; shaking her head like she knew what he was starting to think.

Everything was becoming sharp again.

The stillness of the apartment.

Rachel, clinging to his side.

Santana's stern, dark-eyes and her hand on his cheek.

His deepening breathes and stinging eyes.

Kurt's phone vibrating suddenly in his hand, Blaine's ring-tone blasting out of the small speaker.

He had barely waited until the phone was at his ear, "Blaine?"

"Kurt."

"Oh, god." He sighed then sobbed and he could not stop.

"Oh, Cake. It's okay. I'm okay. I'm completely and utterly in one piece."

"I-I t-thought—"

"Sh, I'm here. I'll always be here."

Kurt sniffled before he sat up, "W-where—?"

"I was with Coach Sue and spent most of my time rounding up students with her and ushering them out of the school through the gym. My phone was in my locker and they would not let us go back into the school until the police canvased the school to make sure there was not more shooter and that they got everyone that was hurt."

"Did y-you—" Kurt could not even fathom his Blaine being hurt.

"No, no. Not me. No one was actually shot. Apparently the shooter was a terrible shot and really only ended up making a lot of noise and hitting lockers."

"Oh, B!"

"Cake, I'm fine."

"W-where are you now?" He wanted him in New York. He wanted his Blaine with him now.

"I'm at my house. My phone died before I could get to it. I didn't—"

"I want you here," he shook his head as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Stop being selfish! "Sorry, that's not—"

"Okay."

Kurt blinked, "Okay?"

"Yeah. Let me just pack a few things and buy a ticket."

He was in shock, there was no way that this was happening, "B, you don't have to."

"Yes, I do. You need me," there was a pause where Kurt thought he heard the other teen swallow, "and I need you. So I'm coming."

Kurt was nodding before he even realized he was on the phone, "Okay." But it was not enough to say it once, "Okay, okay, okay."

"Just give me a few hours. I'll be there by one."

... and he had been. Kurt did not listen to him when Blaine told him he would just get a cab and to not come pick him up. Kurt was at the release gate, waiting for his curly-haired boy to come around the corner. When they say each other—they both ran at the same time. Holding tight and crying before they seperated enough (still arms wrapped around one another) to walk to the cab Kurt had waiting.

They held each other through the night. Clothed, then naked when Kurt needed to feel Blaine. Just holding tightly until they had the sense to become even closer, which did not happen until Rachel and Santana left the apartment early in the morning.

Blaine was on top of Kurt right now, nose-to-nose with him as they shared this moment. The blue-eyed teen's arms were wrapped around broad shoulders, his legs spread for the other teen to settle between while hands caressed his hip and face.

"Don't leave me."

Hazel-eyes crinkled at the edges, "I won't."

"Hold me."

Blaine chuckled and brushed the tips of their noses together, letting his body fully rest onto of Kurt's while his hand held him tighter. "I am."

"Love me."

"I do." No hesitation, no laughing because it was purely undeniable.

Kurt held Blaine tighter, blinking a few times to keep the tears at bay, "We still need to talk about this."

"Yeah, I know," hazel-eyes flickered away, "Adam?"

"I'm not with him," Kurt responded firmly, "I didn't work out. I just didn't tell you because I..."

When he trailed off Blaine looked back at him, noses touching again. "—were trying to get back at me?"

It was Kurt's turn to look away, "Yes. But it was stupid. I feel stupid." He closed his eyes as he collected his thoughts before opening them again, shifting under Blaine (Kurt purposefully ignored the moan he got for it), "I love you. I want to be with you. Will you—will you be my boyfriend again?"

Blaine blinked back his own tears now, chuckling, "I'll be your boyfriend... but only if you promise, that someday not anytime soon because we have issues we need to work out, that when I ask you to let me be your husband—you say 'Yes.' I can't imagine it not being you, Kurt. So if you can't see us married—" he stopped, he could not say it. Kurt just looked at him though, using his eyes to search within Blaine the answers to his silent questions.

A smile blossomed slowly on those beautiful lips, "I do. I never stopped. Even after you told me what you did, I still saw us married—it was just fuzzier and further down the line; maybe after multiple, failed relationships, possibly even a marriage or two. But it was always us in the end."

"Good—" his own smile lit his face as he leaned down to kiss Kurt, "because I spent the entire time waiting for the plane to look for the perfect style of ring on my phone."

Kurt glared at him. "B!"

"Sh, Cake." Blaine kissed him again as he mouthed against Kurt's lips, "I'll love you until the end of time."

"Even so, I'll love you more."

"Nope."

"Yes."

"Not a chance."

"Are we seriously arguing about this?"

Blaine hummed thoughtfully and sighed dramatically, like his next words were painful, "I guess we'll have to have make-up sex."

"How dreadful!"

They both laughed before kissing each other again.