Kurt's wedding had been lovely. His husband was charming and such a gentleman to all of their friends and family. The reception was elegant and fun and the food had been absolutely delicious.

The only problem with the entire thing was that Blaine hadn't been that husband.

He hadn't been the one to slide the ring onto Kurt's finger.

No.

He sat in the back, only barely lucky enough to have been invited.

Blaine watched as Kurt's eyes watered as his husband said his vows and he looked on as an outsider as they shared their first kiss as a married couple.

He left as soon as politely possible.

Blaine now sits on his living room floor, his small house devoid of any soul save for him. There's a photo album open in front of him.

It's been three years since he and Kurt broke up.

Blaine doesn't begrudge Kurt finding someone else to love him. Obviously, Blaine hadn't done a good enough job himself.

The pictures in the photo album span a number of years. There are a few of them in high school and multiple pictures of them in college. There are quite a few from their trip to California and a smattering of their trip from Italy and Spain.

Maybe if he had been able to show Kurt more of the world. Maybe if he had given him more kisses or told him he was beautiful more often. Maybe then he'd be in a hotel room right now with Kurt somewhere as they celebrated their honeymoon.

Blaine's favorite picture of Kurt is one that Blaine snapped while Kurt was sleeping when they were in Italy. Kurt's skin is only a few shades darker than the stark white sheets of the bed. His face is relaxed and his eyes are closed, lashes soft and delicate against his cheeks. His hair is only slightly mussed and it almost looks like there's a tiny smile on his lips.

Blaine's chest aches.

He flips the page.

Maybe if he hadn't distanced himself so much. Maybe if he hadn't been so scared of how much he truly loved Kurt. He had been terrified and he began keeping Kurt at arm's length. Maybe if he hadn't picked so many fights.

In another picture, they're sitting on the sofa at Kurt's parents' house during Christmas. He knows it's from Christmas because Kurt's got a sprig of holly pinned to his shirt. They're grinning widely, both of them, and Blaine's got an arm around Kurt's waist. Their cheeks are pressed together.

They were so happy.

And Blaine destroyed that in the span of two months. Because he hadn't been willing to let Kurt in anymore. Because he yelled too much. Because he was scared of loving so deeply. Because he was beginning to rely on another boy's smile to make his day better.

Because he told Kurt he stopped loving him.

Because he lied.

Blaine tucks his knees up to his chest as the tears begin to well in his eyes. He wraps his arms around his legs and presses his cheek to the top of his knee.

It's useless to cry. It's all over now. Kurt found someone who made him happier than Blaine ever could.

Someone to tell him that he's beautiful every day. Someone who doesn't yell all the time. Someone who lets him in instead of pushes him away. Someone who will hopefully show him more of the world.

The house is too quiet. It seems too big for one small person.

Blaine glances down at the picture on the page opposite of the one from Christmas. It's from Kurt's birthday. They were in Central Park. He remembers the young girl who took the picture. She was small and had short brown hair. Blaine remembers pulling Kurt into his arms and pressing their lips together when the flash went off.

He can still remember the feel of Kurt's smooth lips on his.

With a trembling hand, he reaches out and strokes the picture, one finger touching Kurt's face.

"You're beautiful," he whispers.

Blaine closes the photo album, stands, and replaces it on the bookshelf. He turns off the light. He pads to his room, feet bare and cold, and crawls into his bed.

His bed is lonely. He stares at the pillow next to his, wishing Kurt's pretty brown hair was fanned out on it.

He places his hand on the top of the pillow.

"I miss you."

Sleep doesn't come for hours.

He'll never tell a single soul that he looks at those pictures every single night. He'll never let anyone know that, now, he's sure to tell Kurt he's beautiful every night before he sleeps.

End.