It had been many months since Kurt had left.
And when he had left, promises had been broken.
The strange thing about it though, was no one could decipher who had broken what.
Truthfully (if one were to argue semantics) Kurt had never said goodbye to Blaine, no.
Blaine had plainly stated that he just didn’t think he could do it, and shoved Kurt through the gate to board the plane.
It had been three months since that day.
And in that time, Blaine had not answered any of Kurt’s calls.
Did not open any of his texts.
Did not accept any of his Skype calls.
Hell Kurt’s pretty sure that a neon flashing sign above his head reading “Blaine talk to me” wouldn’t have made Blaine answer him.
And that was hard, but with a little help from his friends, (namely Santana,  her fake ID, and the promise to make himself scarce while Brittany visited) and two very scary weeks,Kurt gradually got over it.
Well maybe over it wasn’t the word for it.
More like he just grew numb, withdrawn.
He stopped letting people in, no one ever got close enough to hurt him.
And anyone that was already that close, was pushed away.
Because really, the boy that he had given everything.
The boy who he had trusted to take his heart and keep it safe.
The boy that Kurt had imagined being with twenty, thirty, forty, seventy years from now.
Had just taken everything from him, then tried to give it back like, “Oh hey this was great and all, but I don’t want it anymore.”

It took a Kurt a while, and a couple of nights he was deeply ashamed of, but when it came time to come home for Thanksgiving, Kurt felt like he was going to be okay. He was back, colder and stronger, than ever. His father and Carole could tell something had changed, it was almost as if Kurt had broken, broken beyond all repair. When Kurt stumbled off the plane, Burt could hear Carole’s words echo in his ear, What they had...it wasn’t a high school thing. It was Quinn and Finn...that was...That was Kurt losing a big part of himself. Burt had cringed at that, cringed at the thought that his son had already experienced such a harsh reality, but he smiled anyway, and caught Kurt up in a big hug, trying to ignore the vacant look in his eyes, the boneiness of his body, and the way his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

Kurt tried to smile and act happy, he shared tiny anecdotes about crazy nights with Santana and Rachel, whatever crazy thing he could think that his boss had done. And those two weeks were never brought up once. It was almost as if it was just any other Thanksgiving. But it was gradually wearing on him, and the facade was getting tougher to keep up. It was the day before Thanksgiving, but Carole was already starting some preliminary cooking and he volunteered to help, dying for something to keep him busy.

Which was working pretty damn well until:

“You miss him don’t you?” Her tone wasn’t accusing, but soft, and motherly.
Kurt didn’t respond.
“He misses you.”
Kurt wanted to yell, “Then why the hell did he ignore me for so damn long?!”
But Kurt didn’t respond.
“He’s here every Friday for dinner.”
Kurt wanted to ask how he was.
But Kurt didn’t respond.
“He asks about you. How you’re doing. How you’re classes are.”
Kurt wanted to spit, “Well he could ask me his own damn self if he answered once in awhile.”
But Kurt didn’t respond.
“He still loves you, you know.”
Kurt wanted to say, that No, he wouldn’t know.
But it was all too much.
So Kurt did the only thing he could think of.
He ran out the front door into the pouring rain.

Kurt only ran to the end of the block before the splashes were soaking his jeans, and he slowed to a walk. He didn’t really have a plan as far as where he was headed, but at the moment he didn’t really care. He walked several blocks in the pouring rain, his clothes beginning to stick to him in very uncomfortable ways. When he stopped, it was in front of a playground that Sugar’s dad had had built when they were all about five since dubbed ‘Sugar’s Playground Emporium’ (most people just called it ‘the playground’ though). Kurt sighed heavily, looking at the swings, going back in time for a moment.

“Blaine?! What are you doing?” Kurt giggled.
“Swinging. C’mon Kurt, come swing with me!” Blaine hopped in the highest swing.
“No!” Kurt said, laughing.
“Why not?!” Blaine faked a pout.
“Um, because it’s three in the morning?” Kurt suggested.
Blaine chuckled, “Exactly! C’mon! Be spontaneous!”
Kurt rolled his eyes, but walked over to the swings anyway.

Kurt say in the lowest swing, not really swinging, just moving back and forth. He dug his boot in the softening earth, knowing he would regret the mess later. He could feel his cold clothes chilling him to the bone, but somehow he just felt numb, not cold. Kurt lost himself in the feeling of raindrops hitting his skin.

He didn’t even realize he’d begun to sing.

If you ask me how I'm doin I would say I'm doin just fine
I would lie and say that you're not on my mind
But I go out and I sit down at a table set for two
and finally I'm forced to face the truth
No matter what I say, I'm not over you
Not over you

Damn, damn boy you do it well
And I thought you were innocent
You took this heart and put it through hell
But still you're magnificent
I I'm a boomerang doesn't matter how you throw me
Turn around and I'm back in the game
Even better than the old me
But I'm not even close without you

He stopped though when he heard a shifting in the gravel surrounding the playset. He jerked up and was met with a curly haired boy, soaking wet, down to the bow tie. “Kurt,” the boy said softly, “What are you doing here?” Kurt wanted to say something spiteful. He wanted to demand what made him think he could just show up and ask what Kurt was doing. He wanted to ask where the hell Blaine had been. Kurt wanted to stand up and slap the boy. Kurt wanted to stand up and kiss him. Kurt wanted to do so many things. But what he actually did was stare at the ground and say, “Just taking a walk.”
“In the pouring rain?”
“You’re one to talk.”
“You’ll get sick.”
“Yeah? Well anyone who gives a shit is several blocks away, so why don’t you go tell them,” Kurt spits.
“That’s not true.”
“Oh really? So what, now you think since you’ve been going to my parents’ every week you think you know the address better than I do?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Really? Well then please, enlighten me, what, oh wise one, did you fucking mean?” Maybe Kurt was being a little harsh, but at the moment, he didn’t really care. He was one step too close to breaking down and begging Blaine to take him back, and to hell if he was going to do that.
“I’m not several blocks away.”
“Yeah? Well you lost your right to give a fuck about me when you basically left me for dead.”
“I’m not the one who left.”
“No, you’re just the one who cut me off.”
“That didn’t mean I stopped caring about you.”
“Yeah. Well sorry if all those nights I spent calling you, texting you, trying to skype you, and being ignored, didn’t really give me that message. Hell, I even wrote you letters, and nothing.”
“You wrote to me?”
“Why do you even pretend to care? You didn’t give a shit when I was in the hospital, you didn’t give a shit when I tried to contact you, you didn’t give a shit period, when you just shoved me off, so why even try?”
“You were in the hospital--what?”
“Oh, did Burt and Carole not bother to share that little tidbit with you? Just as well. Now kindly, leave me the fuck alone.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“And why the hell not?”
“Because, I still love you, Kurt Hummel. And I’m not leaving until you explain to me what you meant about being in the hospital.”
“You want me to explain? Me? How about you explain first! Explain to me how two years can mean nothing to you! Explain to me how you can make all those promises, and then just break them in one swift move! Explain to me, how you can just leave me?!”

Blaine looks about a thousand years old, and at the same time barely four, as he murmurs, “I was afraid.”

Kurt doesn’t lessen his glare, though now he just wanted to wrap the boy in front of him up and never let him go.

Blaine continued, “I was scared...scared that there’d be so many other people. So many other guys, just lining up at your doorstep, begging for you. Scared that I’d be holding you back...scared that you’d get there and realize I wasn’t good enough for you...scared of being left behind.”

“So you left me instead,” Kurt says bitterly, although without venom.
“It wasn’t that great of an idea,” Blaine admits quietly.
“So?! How come you didn’t try to call me?! How come you didn’t answer?! How come you never did anything?!”
Blaine threw his hands up in surrender, “I tried! I did! I called you, the third night...I’d gone to Cooper’s and,” Blaine smiles ruefully at the memory, “He’d actually smacked me, y’know? Not hard or anything, but he called me an idiot and smacked me. So I tried to get a hold of you, and Santana picked up the phone. And she...God, I remember you guys telling me about how she goes off in Spanish, but damn that’s a lot scarier than it sounds. But, she was screaming at me, telling me how she’d spent the last three days having her Cheerios 2012 t-shirt cried into, all because ‘my-dumb-hobbit-ass’. And she said she didn’t give a flying fuck what I had to say--her words, not mine--because I had hurt you, and she wasn’t going to let that happen again. She said that I had to just leave you alone. Because I was hurting you.”

Kurt looked at him incredulously, all pouring rain forgotten, “And you listened to her?!” Blaine shrugged in defeat, “I knew I had hurt you, and I didn’t want to cause you any more pain.” Kurt looks at him blankly for a minute. Trying to reconcile the image of the caring, heart broken boy in front of him, with the couldn’t-care-less, heartless man he’d been picturing all this time was proving to be impossible. And when Blaine says, “So why were you in the hospital,” Kurt’s so shocked by the interruption of the silence, that he answers, albeit quietly.

“I...alcohol.”
“What?”
“When you...when you left me like I did...there was just so much pain Blaine...so much...and I just wanted it all to go away....and one night, San took me to a bar...and I had one drink. And another. And another. And another. And another,” Kurt could feel the tears stinging his eyes, “And she tried to drag me back to the apartment, told me I’d had enough. And I went with her, but we got halfway back and she realized she didn’t have her purse. She wanted to go back herself, but it was late, and so I went back for it. I don’t know...trying to be chivalrous and gentlemanly and what not...but I got there and I hadn’t finished my last drink. It was still on the counter...so I finished it...and Santana’s...and had a few more...the next thing I know I’m in the hospital, being informed that my stomach was pumped...I was in there for two weeks, the first three days on suicide watch because they were all convinced that I had done it on purpose...because of you.”

At the last three words, Blaine looks stricken.
They sit in silence for a while, their lips turning blue in the November air.
Kurt’s teeth start to chatter and Blaine says, “I never stopped loving you. I love you.”

And that’s all it takes, for their lips to come crashing together in a heated kiss.
Blaine’s hands scrambling for purchase, re-memorizing every line of his face, Kurt’s pulling at Blaine’s hips, lifting him until Blaine has his legs wrapped securely around Kurt’s waist.
All rain and cold forgotten, the heat of love and passion, months neglected comes back with a vengeance. There are whispers of, “I love you” and “Missed you” and “Don’t ever leave me” and “Promise never ever again”

They know not, how long the kiss lasts, but at the end of it, they are both shivering and breathless, beaming at each other.