Sunday

Kurt doesn’t pull his collar up to shield his neck from the wind. He’d rather be numb as he walks and walks and walks through the city, strangers shoving into him without apologising, no eyes meeting his, not a speck of warmth in sight. A year ago nothing would have made him happier than walking through Manhattan in Autumn, shop windows full of browns and reds and golds, the build-up to Christmas already close enough to taste. Even a week ago he was enjoying it. A week ago he couldn’t imagine not enjoying anything. Now he’s just another body in the surging wave of people, invisible as he lets himself be pushed along, a cell squeezed through an artery only to be poured out on the sidewalk, aimless, pointless, nothing.

Monday

Kurt smiled as he heard those two voices burbling through from the living room. Sometimes they were almost indistinguishable, but then Blaine laughed and they were separated again. Kurt wandered back in with a plate and a bottle, sandwiches and fruit for them, milk for her. He set them down and pried the baby from Blaine’s arms.

“No, it’s still my turn-”

“Nope. You fed her this morning. Eat your lunch.”

His voice was strict but he was grinning, and Blaine stopped pouting as soon as Kurt’s lips touched his hair. Hannah settled into Kurt’s hold, so familiar and comfortable and warm, and yawned as she leaned against him. She could just about hold her head up, but she’d decided not to right now. It was too cosy.

“Oh no you don’t, young lady, you’re not sleeping yet.” He bounced her up a little so that her eyes opened. She was on the brink of closing them again when Kurt slid the bottle into her mouth. She was fully awake again almost instantly, reaching out to grab at the food supply just in case it tried to escape. Kurt laughed. “Well, if we needed any more proof that she’s yours…”

Blaine frowned, his mouth full of chicken salad sandwich.

“Purp, oo oh ih ivvem imporpam.”

He raised an eyebrow, sitting opposite Blaine on the floor. Their toes wiggled together between tufts of the rug.

“Do you wanna swallow and try that again?”

Blaine raised both eyebrows in a defiant attempt to one-up him. He swallowed, grimacing as it was probably too big a mouthful to take in one go.

“You know what I said. It isn’t important. She’s ours.”

Kurt smiled. He knew but it was always nice to be reminded. All of this was his, this man, this baby, this life. This was more than he’d ever dreamed he would have. He took a deep breath and nodded at Blaine, leaning forward for a kiss despite the girl guzzling away between them. Blaine picked up a banana and started eating it suggestively.

Tuesday

He could get used to these looks. They weren’t ‘holy crap that’s the gayest kid I’ve ever seen’, or ‘look at those guys holding hands – weird’ looks. People were looking at them and smiling, some nudging their friends and nodding towards them, eliciting an excited ‘awwh!’ This was why Kurt loved New York. There was a pulse to it, a warmth that he’d never found in Ohio. It was a living being, with a heart and arms that wrapped him up and- maybe he was exaggerating. But he still adored it. The chaos and noise and constant movement. It was where they belonged.

He felt Blaine’s hand squeeze at his waist and he turned to see him grinning at him, obviously thinking the same thing. There was barely room for them on the sidewalk with the stroller, but Blaine managed to stick to him somehow, determined to stay by his side. He leaned up to kiss Kurt’s cheek and reached into the pram to take Hannah’s hand between his thumb and forefinger. They felt like they were having a conversation without saying a word.

A scream interrupted them.

Kurt’s side went cold. He tried to grab at Blaine, to stop him running, but he was too quick and he had to keep a grip on the stroller. There was a boy in the road, the blur of Blaine’s jacket as he pushed him out of the way, then a yellow flash and a figure rolling over it. A thud, a screech, silence. Of course the noise didn’t stop, but all Kurt could hear was his pulse racing in his ears, throbbing until everything else was drowned out.

“Blaine?”

People were screaming and rushing to the scene while he stayed frozen to the spot. Despite the crowd, he could see red.

“Blaine?”

Nobody heard him. Kurt didn’t know if anyone even knew he’d been with him before he ran into the road. His knuckles whitened as he gripped onto the handles of the pram, and a mewling snapped him out of his stupor. He looked at the baby, squirming uncomfortably. She couldn’t see anything, and she wouldn’t have known what was happening if she could, but there was rarely just one man standing over her.

“Sir? Sir, are you oka- is that your husband?” Kurt screwed his eyes shut for a second. He had to be dreaming. “Sir?”

Kurt turned to look at the woman at his shoulder. He shook his head quickly as if that would make it all un-happen, but it was no good.

“Baby. My baby. She’s, I’ve, oh God, Blaine-”

The woman placed a hand on his arm.

“Someone’s already called an ambulance. Is there anything I can do? Call somebody? Do you want me to take her for a second?” She nodded at the baby. He shook his head.

“No, no, I need her. I need them both. I can’t.” He didn’t know what he was saying, or if any words were actually coming out of his mouth, but he scooped Hannah up, automatically pressing a kiss to her shock of dark hair, squeezing her to his chest. She was in a thick coat, puffy and too big for her, but he could still feel her pulse, her breath on his neck. “Blaine.”

The crowd parted automatically, sensing somehow that Kurt was the one that needed to see the most. He was torn between running to Blaine and running away. His stomach felt like a rock, cold and hard and weighing him down. He heard a ‘let the man through!’ to his right, and a few ‘what’s going on?’s behind him. As people drifted aside, he saw him. His leg was bending the wrong way, his eyes were closed, and he was perfectly still. A woman stood on the other side of him, clutching her little boy desperately, stroking his hair and whispering ‘I’m so sorry’ again and again. Kurt dropped to his knees.

“Blaine?”

He took his hand, already cold, and squeezed it.

“Blaine, please, if you can hear me, just do something. Anything. You can’t- you can’t leave us…”

He already had.

Wednesday

“I don’t care!” Burt shook his head at Rachel, who had already forgotten to whisper. He didn’t blame her, but they’d finally got the baby to sleep. “Bullshit!” she muttered, “If you cared so much about Blaine then why haven’t you called before? Why haven’t you met his daughter? It’s Kurt’s decision, and that’s final!” Burt put a hand on her shoulder and eased the phone out of her hand.

“Hi, this is Burt. Kurt’s dad. No, we haven’t met, but seeing as I saw your son a damn lot more than you did maybe you’d like to listen to me?” Maybe it wasn’t Rachel’s fault she got riled so quickly. “It’s been less than twenty-four hours. I’m not making funeral arrangements with you. You’re not doing them at all. That’s up to his husband, his friends, his real family. I don’t give a crap how you do things or what announcements you need to get out. Kurt says goodbye in his own time, and right now he’s a little busy piecing this together. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a son and a granddaughter to look after. What the- Rachel, how do you hang this thing up?”

He walked into the living room to see her on the sofa, Kurt curled up into her side, his face buried in her shoulder. He was crying again, dry and hoarse and broken, and Burt didn’t know if it was better or worse than him being curled up in a ball in silence. Without looking, Rachel tapped the screen Burt was holding out to her, hanging up on Mrs Anderson. She pulled Kurt closer, stroking his back and whispering ‘shh’ into his hair.

“Bring him back, please, bring him back… it’s not fair… I miss him… so much…”

“I know, baby, I know,” was all she could say as she rocked him back and forth. “I’m so sorry, Kurt.”

A whimper came from down the hall. Hannah almost always woke up again when Kurt was crying, so she wasn’t getting anywhere near the sleep she needed.

“I’ll go,” Burt mumbled, desperate for an excuse to leave the room. He’d always prided himself on being there for Kurt, making him feel better when he was sad, but this was too much. He couldn’t see him go through the pain he knew only too well.

Kurt sniffed and shook his head.

“No. I want to.”

His cheeks still stained with tears, he wiped at his eyes with his sleeve and pushed himself up from the couch. He wandered into the baby’s room, so light and warm, painted with such devotion and excitement and so many playful flicks of paint across Kurt’s cheek. Kurt was too tired to block the memories out, and he managed a smile as they flooded his mind. He reached into the crib and picked Hannah up. He held her up against his chest, rocking her gently, whispering to her, and stroking her hair.

“It’s okay, honey, Daddy’s got you. I’m here.”

Thursday

Kurt held on tighter to the baby. He stared at the piece of paper in Burt’s hand.

“I don’t understand. What does it mean?”

Burt shook his head hopelessly.

“It means… they want her. They found out Blaine was the biological-”

“That doesn’t mean anything. That never meant anything to them; why should it matter now?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Kurt. They’re going to fight you on this. My only guess is that they’re grieving and lashing out.”

“No, Dad, they’re not grieving! I’m grieving! I’ve lost Blaine, I can’t lose her too, not now-”

“Sir,” the man in the suit cut in, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to take the child now.”

“Get out of my house! You’re not taking her!”

Burt gave his elbow a squeeze.

“Kurt, I know it’s not what you want to hear, but it might be for the best to go along with this for now. You need to stay calm. For her sake.”

“Dad, you can’t be on his side? You want me to hand her over to this stranger for her sake? She belongs here with me. I’m her father.”

The man in the suit took a deep breath. He clearly hated doing this, but it was his job.

“Legally, Mr Anderson was-”

“His name was Anderson-Hummel; now get out of my house and away from my daughter.”

The man didn’t move.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. I’m under strict instructions.”

“They don’t even know her! Please, you can’t do this!”

Burt put a hand on Kurt’s back, using the other to stroke the head of the girl in his arms.

“Kurt-”

“Dad, no-”

“You’ll get her back real soon, I promise.”

His voice, usually so certain and steady, was wavering.

Kurt shook his head, dumbstruck, his arms going limp as his father eased the baby out of them.

“Please, can’t you just tell them we weren’t here? There’s got to be something you can do,” he kept protesting as Burt wrapped Hannah’s blanket securely around her, “Please don’t do this,” Burt kissed her forehead.

“Come on baby girl,” Burt whispered gently. He swallowed hard but it wasn’t enough to stop his voice breaking. “You’re gonna go see your grandma and grandpa. That’s it,” he blinked rapidly but it wasn’t enough to stop his eyes burning. He passed the baby over to the man, who seemed more than a little uncomfortable holding her. He tentatively tucked the blanket around her and glanced at Kurt guiltily. “What a good girl,” Burt whispered, determined to stay calm for Hannah.

Kurt’s arms dropped, empty and cold, and he stared at his father in disbelief.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I don’t like it any more than you do, Kurt, but we have to take the high road here.”

The man nodded.

“Thank you for your cooperation, sir. I’ll look after her.”

Kurt looked at Burt, lost and terrified.

“Dad, do something. Do something! Fix this!”

Burt shrugged, a tear rolling down his cheek. His most important job was looking after his son, and now he was helpless. The man started walking towards the door with the baby, and for a second Kurt just watched him go. He thought he was going to be sick. The suit was out of his sight, taking his daughter, all he had left, with it.

“No. No, no, no way in Hell-”

He started following the man out, and Burt ran close behind him.

“Kurt, stop. Kurt!”

“You can’t take her! You can’t!”

The man ducked his head down as he hurried out guiltily. Kurt was running after him now, but Burt caught up with him in the doorway and grabbed him, wrapping his arms around his waist. He was older and weaker, but Kurt had barely eaten or slept for two days and Burt managed to hold him back. Hannah started to cry as she was carried down the street and into a car, where the Andersons were no doubt waiting to leave with her. Kurt thrashed and shouted, kicking at Burt’s legs with his bare feet.

“No, Dad, stop them! Bring her back!” His body went limp as he realised struggling was pointless, but he couldn’t stop calling out. Burt said nothing as he felt Kurt’s fingers digging into his arm. “Hannah, sweetie, I’m not letting them take you; you’ll be back here soon, I promise, baby.” His eyes burned but stayed dry. He was out of tears. His voice was just a rough croak as he whimpered “but… but she’s our daughter. She’s our baby girl…”

“I know, Kurt,” Burt nodded, squeezing Kurt to keep him upright, “we’ll… we’ll get her back, okay? We’ll do everything we can.”

Kurt turned and hid his face in his father’s chest, breathing in the comforting scent and almost choking on it. He needed his father now more than he ever had before, but his being there just reminded him of everything he and Blaine were supposed to be, and everything that had been taken away.

Friday

Burt, Rachel and Santana had been making calls all day, so they didn’t notice the house phone ringing. Kurt stood for the first time that day, leaving an indentation in the couch. He let the blanket fall from his knees to the floor and answered, face pale, expression blank.

“Speaking…” He frowned as the voice on the other end spoke, formal and cold. “Unless they’re calling to change their mind, I’m really not interested…” he listened for a moment, and his eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He dropped the phone, hands shaking, and Santana caught it as it dangled on the cord.

“This is Mr Hummel’s attorney; anything you have to say to him you can say through- excuse me?”

“Kurt?” Rachel whispered apprehensively, “Was it them? What did they say?”

“They… They’re…”

“What?!” Santana boomed, “After everything you’ve done, you have the nerve-”

“Kurt?”

“They’re inviting me to the funeral.” He sucked in a couple of frantic breaths and sank to the floor, the floor he and Blaine had sat on together the very same week. Rachel sat next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, squeezing his hand. “Tomorrow. They’re doing everything and asking if I want to come. They’re inviting me to my husband’s funeral.”

The words sounded so alien to him, so unlikely and new and all too soon, and his only chance to take it in had been taken over by someone else.

Rachel tucked his head under her chin, pulling him as close as possible, whispering that she was sorry even though she’d already said it a thousand times. Kurt let himself be pulled, wishing she would just squeeze him so tight he would just disappear.

“How can they do it so quickly? It’s only been three days – why-”

“It’s like they want to pretend he never existed. Just get him out of the way. They don’t know the right songs. They don’t know what he wanted.”

“Clearly,” Santana muttered, and Burt shook his head at her. They all knew what Blaine wanted. He wanted to grow old with Kurt. He wanted them to have a family. He wanted to be the one holding Kurt when he was this miserable. He wanted to see his daughter’s first birthday. He wanted to see her off to her prom whilst embarrassing her by making out with Kurt in front of all her friends. He wanted a life and it had been snatched away.

“Kurt, I know this hurts, but… maybe you should go?”

He didn’t even look up at Rachel.

“What?”

“You’re right to be mad at them, but I think you’ll hate yourself if you don’t go.”

“It won’t be right. They’ll mess it up.”

“The only thing that would be really wrong is if you weren’t there. That’s what matters.”

Santana wiped a tear from her cheek with her wrist and looked out of the window at the sun setting. She was better at being an angry lawyer than a proper, comforting friend. Leave that to Berry. Burt knelt in front of his son on the floor, wrapped up in his friend’s arms. He took Kurt’s hand in his.

“I think she’s right. You don’t want to look back and regret not saying goodbye.”

And just when he thought he’d run out of tears, he was sobbing again. Maybe it was the very idea of saying goodbye that he couldn’t bring himself to face. He remembered that no matter how awful it was, he would get to see Hannah. He knew she would be terrified, surrounded by strangers, and if he got to hold her for a couple of hours in the middle of this mess, remind her that she still had one father, maybe it would be worth it.

Saturday

“You look gorgeous.”

Kurt forced the corner of his mouth to turn up out of politeness. Bless Rachel; she’d been wonderful this week and she deserved an attempt at a smile, but it just seemed to make her sadder. He sighed and hugged her, squeezing as hard as he could manage after no sleep and little food.

“Thank you,” he whispered into her ear, “for everything.”

“Anytime,” she replied with a peck to his temple, even though if she had to watch anything this heart-breaking again she was pretty sure she would shatter. She pulled back and smoothed down his lapels. “You know, if he were here I wouldn’t be allowed near you. I’d be on babysitting duty while he ravished you.”

He had to laugh. It was inappropriate, but she was trying. And she was probably right. He closed his eyes and let himself imagine it for a second, warmth and lips and hands and that smile and that voice, and he found himself swaying slightly, breathing the memory in. He tried to shake it off, and Rachel came back into focus, her sad smile and black dress. She slid her hand into his and they started walking from the car to the church, the heady feeling of Blaine still clouding Kurt’s mind.

The air was crisp. It was freezing, but the sun was shining on the grey building and the graves surrounding it. It was far from home, both Ohio and New York, some place Blaine had never even mentioned but was apparently a big deal to the Andersons. Kurt didn’t want to let it get to him. He knew it didn’t really matter where his body was, which clich�d symphony was played as guests took their seats, but he was furious. They’d spoken about it, sometimes in jest but usually getting serious. They wanted the songs from their life, what they’d danced to at their wedding, what they used to sing to each other, the song Kurt had dedicated to him on the awful Lima radio station that nobody else listened to, along with Bootylicious because… just because. It would be a sad old man remembering a happy life with his soul mate, whoever went first. Now it was just Kurt, aged twenty-eight, still refusing to believe they wouldn’t have another sixty years together. He almost kicked himself for having thought so much about a funeral he wouldn’t even be allowed to organise, but not getting around to filling in some papers just to make sure his daughter was his by law.

He squeezed Rachel’s hand as they sat at the front. Mrs Anderson nodded politely, while her husband faced forward, his jaw stern. Neither of them was holding a baby.

Kurt glanced around frantically.

“Rachel. Rachel, she’s not here. Why haven’t they brought her? Where is she?”

She put a hand on his thigh and tried to stay calm despite the tremor in her voice giving her away.

“Maybe, uh, maybe they thought the church would freak her out. It’ll be hard enough without a crying baby. I’m sure somebody else will bring her later.”

“If I don’t see her I- I’ll-”

“Kurt. You can’t think about that now. You’re going to get her back. You’ll have her whole life to look after her. This moment, right now, has to be about you and Blaine.”

Just as his stomach was churning from the realisation that this was it, this was his husband’s funeral, the organ came to a stop.

“Thank you for coming, everyone. We are here to say goodbye to Blaine Devon Anderson.”

Kurt’s head fell forward. Of course he didn’t say Hummel.

“Beloved son, brother, and of course, father to baby Hannah. His parents have been overwhelmed by the kindness shown by their dear friends and family in the last week. We all know how much Blaine loved music (finally, something the reverend had got right), so if you would all please stand to sing his favourite hymn from his childhood, on page forty-three.”

He’d never heard of it.

Singing had meant so much to them, it was how they met, and now he couldn’t even sing a tribute to him at the funeral. He probably wouldn’t have made it through the song even if he’d known it, but this felt like an extra kick in the gut.

Blaine’s parents were positively stoic. They didn’t glance across the aisle at their son-in-law. They held hands firmly and sang about God and tears ran down their cheeks for the son whose wedding they hadn’t attended.

Kurt stood as still as he could. He was terrified of moving slightly and collapsing on the spot. He sucked in one shaky breath after another and leaned on Rachel.

A man, another one Kurt didn’t know, stood in the pulpit to give Blaine’s eulogy. Kurt knew exactly what was coming – and more painfully, what wasn’t.

“Blaine Anderson was a kind boy. I remember even when he was a child, he was eager to please, always trying to do what was right. His parents were always proud of him, his good grades, his hard work and his cheerful attitude. He was in the show choir at Dalton Academy, where he was almost always lead vocalist. He made the brave move from Ohio to New York, where he studied music and became a teacher and vital part of his local community.”

Rachel glanced at Kurt. Her eyes were wide with worry, gripping his arm in case he burst into tears.
He kept listening.

“Blaine leaves behind his mother Julia, father Ian, brother Cooper and daughter Hannah, just seven weeks old, now fatherless. This loss is senseless and cruel, but it was so very Blaine to play the hero, even to someone he didn’t know. He always put others before himself. He loved more in twenty-seven years than most do in a lifetime, whether it was his friends, his family, or a the child of a stranger.”

Kurt’s face was blank. He rose from his seat and walked out, down the aisle, his breath hitching as he fought of memories of walking down a similar aisle with Blaine’s hand in his, smiles on both of their faces, their friends cheering for them, celebrating them and the happiness they had together. Now it didn’t even get a mention. Nothing about how brave Blaine had been, the struggles he’d been through, his transfer to McKinley to be with the boy he loved, the fact that the second he arrived in New York he’d jumped straight into Kurt’s arms and far away from his parents. It had been conveniently left out that he hadn’t spoken to his parents since they declined the invitation to his wedding. Cooper wasn’t even there – presumably away for work, unable to get there on such short notice. Kurt actually wouldn’t have minded him being there today, kicking up a fuss over the unfairness of it all. He heard Rachel’s footsteps behind him and realised he was running outside, stumbling when the cold air hit his skin.

“Kurt! I don’t know what to say- I- why didn’t they say-”

“Fatherless. They said fatherless. They’re not bringing her. That’s it.”

“Kurt, no, we’re still gonna fight-”

“Rachel, I’ve got nothing against them! Even if a judge takes my side, they’ve got enough money and enough lawyers to fix something. They’ll get somebody different or they’ll bribe someone or they’ll harass me until I give her up, and she’s going to be caught in the middle of it for who knows how long, not knowing what’s going on.”

“But you’ll win in the end; you have to-”

“With what? It’d cost so much to get her back that I wouldn’t be able to care of her when I did!”

“But you’re her dad-”

“No. Weren’t you listening? I’m not anything! I’m not even a friend or a roommate. I’m something they had to skim over. Twelve years, Rachel. We got married, we had a baby, and it’s still not enough. Isn’t something like this supposed to make them get it?”

Rachel’s mouth hung open as she tried to find something to say, but there was nothing. She knew there wasn’t a single word she could say that would make anything better.

“I’m so sorry, Kurt.”

“I know.” He glanced up the sloping graveyard surrounding the church towards the empty spot waiting for Blaine. “That’s where they’re going to put him. He never even mentioned this place. He told me he liked going to church when he was little because he got to sing, but that he never wanted to go inside one again. It was too serious. He said- he said there-”

He’d said that there was more godliness in Kurt’s eyes and in Hannah’s laugh than there could be in any building. That the only thing that could ever really give him faith was the feeling of Kurt’s arms wrapped around him, a whisper of ‘I love you’ in his ear, or the way he smiled when he saw Blaine holding Hannah. Blaine believed in Kurt more than anything else. And now he was being laid to rest here instead of his ashes being scattered under the tree where they’d held hands for the first time.

“I want to go home, Rachel. I can’t be here anymore.”

She nodded.

Sunday

Kurt woke up after just five minutes of sleep. Of course he’d been dreaming about Blaine, as if he was still here, as if they were still a family, only to jerk back to life in tears. Those first few seconds every morning were the worst, when he had to piece it together again, had to watch it happen again as his brain reminded him what had happened.

They hadn’t got back to Manhattan until early in the morning. It was still dark when he woke up, but he couldn’t stand to be in the house for another minute. He’d forced Rachel to go to her own place for the first time that week. He knew how uncomfortable the spare bed was from the numerous times he’d got home late and not wanted to wake Blaine, or when they’d had another argument about baby names and he’d slept in there to prove a point. He wished he hadn’t. He regretted every second he hadn’t spent with Blaine.

He was still in his clothes from the funeral. He clambered out of bed and hauled his heaviest coat on and left the building as quickly as he could. He didn’t know how long he walked for, but he knew the exact spot he needed to be in. He sat on their bench, where they’re had coffee together on Blaine’s first day in New York, on the day they got back from their honeymoon, every time they’d had a fight and needed to stop and remember what they’d come through and how strong they were. This was where they’d brought Hannah on her first outing.

Kurt knew the inscription on the bench by heart:

For Daisy, 87, and Arnold, 88, best friends and high school sweethearts

“That was meant to be us, Blaine,” Kurt said to the empty park, letting the wind push him, “we weren’t finished yet. We were supposed to be that crazy old couple walking through the park, holding hands, bickering about nothing, spoiling our grandchildren rotten, and now… Now you’re gone. And Hannah’s gone. We can’t have grandchildren if we- I-”

He sniffed loudly and his head fell forward. He shivered but didn’t try to warm himself up. He wanted his body to feel something to take the pressure off his head, off the pain in his chest that hadn’t stopped since it happened. He groaned with exhaustion as tears spilled over his eyelashes again, wiping them away furiously. It was impossible to imagine a day where he didn’t feel like this. He couldn’t picture not bursting into tears and not being frustrated about it, because he knew crying didn’t change anything but it was all he could do.

“It’s all so empty, Blaine. I can’t be in that house knowing you’ll never be in it again. I can’t go to work knowing I don’t have you and Hannah to come home to. I’m not strong enough to fight for her without you. I’m not strong enough for anything without you.”

He looked up at the trees, the footpaths, the early joggers and dog walkers, and loved and hated all of them. They were all fine. Their hearts weren’t breaking. Even at his worst points in Lima, he had the future to look forward to. He could get away and be somewhere better, but now he knew nothing could be better than Blaine and Hannah. The rest of his life would be spent missing what he had. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, getting a lungful of the park.

“I love you, Blaine. I’ll never stop loving you. Goodbye.”

He stood up. He knew exactly where he wanted to go. He marched through the early commuters, staring at the ground. In what felt like seconds he was looking out over water, grey and cold and swirling. He heard someone shouting at him, but he couldn’t listen to them if he tried. He was vaguely aware of being higher up, of his arms and legs climbing, trembling from weakness and hunger but not lack of resolve.

He closed his eyes and leaned forward.

Spring

The sun shines over the park. Children laugh and play and their parents reluctantly agree to buy them ice cream. A bird sits in a tree, providing a chirping soundtrack to the afternoon’s activity.

A bench stands near the one dedicated to Daisy and Arnold. Not everyone stops to read the silver plaque on it, but some do. They say it’s sad, and they keep walking.

For Blaine and Kurt Anderson-Hummel.
A hero and the man who couldn’t live without him.
For twelve years of forever, and a love that will live on.