Kurt sits in the open window with a bottle of vodka, looking out over the city. He’d started out with just a glass of the clear alcohol- a glass that was chipped, admittedly, which he’d nearly cut his lip on but he couldn’t throw it out because they had too few glasses as it was- but had traded it out for the whole bottle because why bother transferring the liquid from one container to another when it was just going down his throat in the end anyway?

It was the beginning of summer and it was a hot night. Kurt had never been a fan of New York in the summer time. He always preferred the cold weather- his carefully layered outfits, steam rising off of paper cups of coffee, his breath becoming solid in the air, wearing scarves, the clean beauty of the city after snowfall. Winter made him feel closer to Blaine. During the cold months they cuddle more, clutching eachother for warmth. They eat at home more, sharing meals and laughing over glasses of boxed wine. There’s Christmas, when they see family and Kurt feels more right and home, when the atmosphere is full of love so Kurt feels perfectly in place with Blaine’s arm around his waist. There’s New Years Eve, when everything feels so hopeful and new and Kurt always gets a kiss at midnight from Blaine.

But eventually the frost thaws, turning the city streets into tiny rivers, the water dirty and abrasive. It gets warmer and Kurt wears less clothes and drinks more alcohol. During the summer everything feels dirtier, himself included. It’s summer when he starts taking long walks through the city, sometimes not returning home until after he knows Blaine will be asleep. In summer he goes clubbing, sometimes with friends and sometimes alone, losing himself in the music and the movement and thinking that maybe if he sweats enough he’ll emerge as a new clean person, the person he wanted to be.

Kurt sips from the bottle, sighing. His legs dangle out of the window. Even though they’ve got a wide sill, their apartment is still eight stories up, meaning that if he gets too drunk or too distracted and slips he’ll fall and splatter against the filthy cement of the alleyway below him.

New York City is not as magical as it once had been to Kurt. There are still times when it takes his breath away, but mostly the perfect mask has worn away. Life is hard. The apartment is cramped and the thermostat hardly ever works. They’ve been living in the city for years but this is still the best place they can find to live. The walls shake and the bed creaks when they have sex. Kurt swallows hard on the vodka. They haven’t had sex in a week. The apartment is too small for their love but also too small for their hate. When they get in arguments one of them has to leave- Blaine will go to the office or Kurt will go sit outside a theater, bumming cigarettes and lighting them up even though he isn’t a smoker- because they can’t be so close when they’re so angry. The apartment is too small for a piano so there’s an electric keyboard leaned up against the wall- it’s covered in dust now, though, because Kurt can’t remember the last time that Blaine took it out and laid it on the coffee table, kneeling so that he could play a song. There’s only one closet and it’s tiny, and Kurt and Blaine constantly argue over how much space in it they each deserve. There’s no dishwasher in the kitchen and it drives Kurt absolutely crazy the way that Blaine lets dishes pile up in the sink, too lazy or tired to wash them. Kurt either yells at him or washes them himself and then retaliates by refusing to go shopping for groceries, forcing Blaine to take the subway late after work to buy them food.

Blaine works too much and Kurt works too little, instead spending a lot of time sitting at home and wishing Blaine wasn’t working. Blaine’s at the ad agency all day and sometimes into the night, coming up with ideas to sell products. When he gets home he’s tired and often low on patience. Kurt never made it to Broadway and still doesn’t get acting gigs often enough- and when he does, he shows up to at least a third of rehearsals either drunk or hungover. He knows it’s bad form and he knows he should be more concerned about his career but he can’t help it. He gets serious for performances, though-going for weeks without drinking, even on his free nights, depending on how long the show runs. Performances are usually a good time for Kurt- Blaine almost always manages to get opening night off and they go to dinner before the play. Kurt’s excited and Blaine is supportive, and they hold hands over the table. After the show they go back to the apartment and Kurt’s still full of adrenaline from performing and they’ll fall into bed, slowly and romantically making love, whispering and sighing instead of yelling and moaning. They’ll fall asleep in eachother’s arms and sometimes Blaine even stays late the next morning, cooking breakfast and giving Kurt a kiss before leaving for work.

There are bad times too, though-times when Kurt stays out all night and Blaine won’t talk to him the next day. Times when Kurt meets a man at an audition who gives him his number and Kurt wants to forget about Blaine entirely. Times when Kurt wants to fuck but Blaine says he’s too tired. Times when their rent is late because even though Blaine works his ass off Kurt sometimes spends too much money on booze. Times when Kurt walks past stores with beautiful clothes or furniture or dining sets that he knows he can’t afford- and they don’t even have room for a dining table, anyway. When Kurt said “Forever” back in high school he meant it, and he still does. But forever can be a long time, especially when Kurt is alone and drunk and it feels like forever since Blaine has brought home a bouquet of tulips like he used to. He meant ‘forever’, but they’ve also been together forever yet neither one of them has proposed. Kurt thinks about how he could lean forward and fall out of his window, and he wonders what Blaine would do when he got home that evening to an empty house, how Blaine would react when the police called him, how long Blaine would grieve for him. Kurt thought about how that morning after Blaine left he’d jacked off in their bed and then washed the sheets so Blaine wouldn’t know. He thought about how he hadn’t showered in a few days and he was probably repulsive and no wonder Blaine didn’t feel like fucking. He thought about how he hadn’t eaten anything that day besides cold Chinese takeout, consumed with a cranberry juice cocktail on the couch as Kurt watched crime dramas.

Kurt took one last sip of vodka and another glance at the alley below him before he stood and slipped back into the apartment, heading for the kitchen. He figured he could make pasta so it would be ready when Blaine got home- he’d like that, and maybe they could watch a musical afterwards and cuddle on the couch. It was hot in the apartment but maybe Blaine would be in the mood.

Kurt put the lid on the vodka and put it back in the cupboard, running a hand through his dirty hair. He left the window open so that he could watch the sun set over the city which he once dreamed of so desperately.