Blaine sat idly by in his booth, watching the last of the partygoers leave Breastix with a wave and a halfhearted, "See you Monday." Once the restaurant was empty, save the sparse waitstaff, Blaine pulled out his phone for what felt like the thousandth time and stared at the one text on the screen.

Kurt Hummel
sorry couldn't answer, talking with boss. so much to tell you! I'll call later. xo xo xo

It was sent an hour ago, and Blaine was still waiting for a call back. He knew that Kurt was busy doing more important things than worry about a high school presidential election, but he still just wished his boyfriend would call.

His phone finally rang at midnight, the faint sound pulling his attention from the final pages of Looking for Alaska. He pressed "Answer," and Kurt's excited voice came ringing through the device's small speakers.

"Good evening, Mr. President!" he sang, and Blaine's heart almost sank. He had wanted to be the one to tell Kurt that he won, to be able to get the first reaction. Of course, he didn't mention that. Instead, he just laughed.

"Yeah, who told you?"

"Rachel texted me the news, and I think TIna told her. I'm sorry I couldn't answer your call; I'm sure that's what you were going to tell me. But B, I'm so proud of you. Rachel and I are having our own my-amazing-boyfriend appreciation party right now."

Upset as Blaine was that he and Kurt couldn't celebrate together, he couldn't help but crack a smile at the fact that he could make Kurt proud. Kurt, his older, successful, beautiful boyfriend was proud of him, so he must be doing okay.

For weeks, this pattern continued; Blaine would go through the day with an ache in hie heart and only the rushed night-time conversations with Kurt to look forward to. For weeks, Blaine tried to convince himself that he didn't need anyone, that he was okay on his own.

But Blaine needed someone. His heart broke every day that Kurt had to hang up on him to help Isabelle, and he wanted to cry every time he remembered that no matter how loud he sang in the choir room, Kurt would never hear him. He tried to keep a smile on his face, but at some point Blaine's energy was lost, and he simply stopped trying to act like he was okay. He rarely talked and went weeks without a performance in Glee Club. He stopped telling Kurt about his day, and instead just sat and listened to animated stories about greatest city on earth, the one that was 532 miles away.

The only person who wanted to listen to Blaine, it seemed, was a boy Blaine didn't really know at all. He had met Eli at Scandals over a long weekend, and in his inebriated state, Blaine had ended up spilling all his problems onto the stranger.

"I didn't think that it would be so hard." He explained, the alcohol slurring his words. "Like, you don't know how much you need to be able to just, like, touch someone . . . until they leave! And then you can't even touch them if you want to." Blaine gulped down the last of his beer, then looked directly into Eli's eyes. They look a little like Kurt's.

"Eli, I r-really miss touching Kurt."

"Blaine, a guy like you shouldn't be having problems like that! You're young! You're hot. A sexy piece of ass like yours could get guys lined up to be touching you."

Blaine's eyebrows knitted together in concentration as he worked to decipher what Eli had said. His eyes were glued to the bar when he mumbled a response.

"Yeah, tell Kurt that." Kurt, Kurt, Kurt. I want Kurt. "Actually, I've gotta go. Thanks for the talk, Eli. Maybe I'll see you again sometime!" And with that, Blaine paid the bartender and hurried out the door.

Blaine tried to call Kurt the whole way home, redialing every time he reached voicemail.

When he got back to his house, Blaine's first thought was to try to reach Kurt through Skype. He ran to his room and opened his laptop, but just as he was about to click the small blue cloud, he stopped himself.

You're being stupid; of course he isn't going to be on Skype. He had a life now. He doesn't have time for you.

Instead, Blaine pulled out his phone again and texted Eli, taking longer than usual to type out the message in his hazy state.

To: Eli C.
kurtsnot answrig his fone, go figure :(

Only a minute later, and the phone buzzed.

Eli C.
if it makes u feel any better, id definitely be pickin up ur call

See, Kurt, even Eli responds faster than you.

Shocked at his own thoughts, Blaine turned off his phone, hiding under his covers without changing, tossing around in bed until his own anger tired him out, and he fell into a restless sleep.

Because yeah, Eli did make him feel a little bit better.

After waking up with a nasty hangover and a missed call from Kurt, Blaine looked back at Eli's text and their conversation at the bar and wanted to slap himself in the face. Eli had clearly been hitting on him, and Blaine hadn't said a word. Eli was Blaine's Chandler.

It's not the same. Kurt looked to Chandler when I was sitting right next to him.

It's not he same when he's already left me alone.

The thought turns Blaine bitter, and after that he stopped trying to call Kurt before bed. He would wait and wait, wishing that Kurt would think to call him first, but half the time it wouldn't come, and Blaine would fall asleep with silence for a lullaby.

Blaine mostly just missed the company that Kurt had given, but he couldn't deny that with his boyfriend gone, he had never felt less sex

Hours, days, weeks went by, and eventually the loneliness became too much. Every time Kurt hung up the phone, every time Kurt didn't have time to Skype, every time Isabelle kept Kurt late at the office, Blaine felt like his heart was being slowly ripped to pieces. He could hardly remember what it felt like to truly be loved, to have someone wrap their arms around you and know that all he wanted was for you to feel like the only man in the world.

So when Eli asked him to come over, Blaine just thought, It's not like I have anything to lose.

When he got to the motel, Eli welcomed him at the door. He was taller that Blaine remembered, standing so that Blaine only reached his nose, and dressed in skinny jeans and a deep v-neck black T-shirt.

Kurt would never wear that, he thought.

Not that I would know how he dresses anymore.

"Good afternoon, sexy." Eli purred, gently pulling Blaine into the room by the collar of his cotton shirt. Blaine stumbled toward him without being able to say a word.

The pulling stopped once they reached the edge of the model bed, and Blaine felt his knees pressed against he mattress and his chest pressed against the other boy's. Blaine looked into the eyes that were not quite Kurt's, a little more grey a little too dark, and a little to far above Blaine's own. This wasn't Kurt, but how different could it really be?

A beat passed, and the two had joined lips, not too rough but still rushed, mouths working against each other, trying to work the pleasure out of the other person. Blaine felt how dry and how this Eli's lips were, and how rough the stubble was across his cheek, much more rough than Kurt ever was. And when Eli moved his mouth down Blaine's jaw and his neck, he completely ignored the spot near his ear that Kurt knew would have driven Blaine crazy.

Still, the almost familiar feeling of a tongue across his body was just close enough to what Blaine needed to make him hard, his body yearning for more despite what his mind was thinking. Blaine was tired, he was worn out, and for the first time in months, he had someone to make him forget, for just a moment, how horribly exhausted he was.

He let himself be pushed back onto the bed, his breath heavy under Eli's weight, and he relaxed against the mattress, craning his neck toward the ceiling as the other boy's mouth worked down his body. Eli pushed the hem of is shirt up his torso, leaving open-mouthed kisses along the path of his hands, until a tangle of both boy's arms pulled the shirt off and tossed it aside. Without thinking, Blaine arched off the bed when he felt a tongue run over his hardening nipple.

Before Blaine knew what was happening, Eli's mouth was around his cock, and Blaine writhed under the rough lips and the quick-moving tongue. It was nothing like being with Kurt; Eli's mouth, his body, everything felt to entirely different.

When Blaine was with Kurt, he always felt sexy and loved and desired. Of course, he hadn't shown up in a sketchy motel room looking for love, but part of him had hoped that he could bring back that wonderful feeling of being wanted that had always come along with the physical pleasure. But now, even knowing that Eli wanted to be doing this with him, Blaine didn't feel desired, and he didn't feel sexy. He felt used. This boy didn't know him and couldn't tell his cock apart from any other guy. Blaine was the one getting a blow job, but he still felt like the sex toy.

One of the windows blew open at that moment, and cold air washed over the both of them. It was a short breeze, but it pulled Blaine out of his euphoria for just long enough to feel a bitter disgust rise in him as he looked at himself, pants pulled half-way down and some boy he didn't know leaving a trail of spit along his dick. Mortified, Blaine let out what was almost a whimper while he rushed to push Eli's body off his own. Eli looked back at him with a confused, almost hurt expression, red-faced, lips swollen, and very clearly aroused. The scene made Blaine's stomach churn, and he went cold with shame. He clumsily pulled his boxers and pants back around his waist and scrambled to find his shirt.

"I'm sorry," he croaked, mostly to himself. He looked to Eli and whispered, "I can't do this." As he spoke, he felt the miserable taste of Eli's tongue and lips in his mouth, coating the surface like poison.

"Are you okay? You look like you're gonna be sick, man."

Blaine shook his head. "I think I need water." I think I need Kurt.

As politely as he could, Blaine accepted a bottle of water and made a hasty exit. His drive home was silent, stoic, with Blaine doing everything he could to focus on nothing but the road. Upon reaching his home, Blaine ran to his room and locked the door, ignoring his parents' inquiries.

Once he was alone again, Blaine thrust himself onto his bed, stuffed his face into a pillow, and let out a scream. He screamed until his throat was raw and he was trembling, fists clenched around soft fabric, his muscles tense and pained. With his knees folding tightly under his aching chest and nowhere to turn Blaine prayed into empty space that the last hour hadn't happened, that he had made it up in some crazy dream. He prayed that he could rewind time and undo everything, and he prayed and prayed to not be so stupid.

You're an idiot, he thought. A lousy, horny shithead. You don't deserve Kurt. You fucking ruin everything.

Feeling his own mind start to slip away, Blaine forced himself off the bed, trying to restore some sanity. He stood with jelly legs threatening to give out under him, but in a final burst of rage he landed a solid kick to his nightstand. He hissed at the pain in his leg, then heard a small crash, and on the floor in front of him laid a picture frame, face-down. With tentative hands, he lifted the frame and was met with Kurt's bright smile, and he himself pressing a gentle kiss to his boyfriend's cheek. The photo was taken the day before Kurt left for New York. Blaine remembered the moment; he had said that he wanted a way to remember how perfect Kurt was when the distance made things hard.

Perfect. Kurt is perfect, and you gave him up for nothing.

Now, the glass of the frame was broken so that a thick vein weaved itself right between Kurt's cheek and Blaine's lips, and from it branched thinner stands that left the picture hardly recognizable. Blaine placed the frame back on the nightstand, treating it like some sacred token that had been defiled, and stared at it for what might have been hours. He squinted through his tears and tried to recognize the couple in the picture, tried to remember when they had been so perfect. It hadn't been long, had it? A couple months, that's hardly anything in terms of a lifetime.

A lifetime you can never have.

Why do you even bother to try?

Lost in the picture and in his mind and in his past, Blaine began sobbing, chest heaving and body trembling, coughing when he forgot to breathe, his tortured moans filling the room and multiplying as they returned to his ears. He ripped the picture from it's place beside his bed and hurled it across the room, and with a sickening crack, the frame shattered, glass shards dancing along the floor, reflecting light light bits of glitter. Watching the result of his anger settle on the floor, Blaine took in a shuddering breath, then cried in agony, wishing that he could disappear, or that he had never existed at all. But still, he remained, so he just cried until he was out of tears, and then he kept on crying, falling, knowing that no one would catch him.