Kurt closes the door to his small apartment quietly and leans against the wall. He listens to the tiny sounds for a moment, gaining his bearings and calming himself. The fridge hums from the kitchenette and he can hear the faint whine of the TV on standby in the corner. There are muffled sounds coming from Rachel’s room, indicating she is home and watching something on her computer. There is no light under her door, however.

He moves expertly across the small space to his room and pushes the door open, turning the light on as he moves through the doorframe. His bed is as he left it that morning, sheets rumpled with his pajama bottoms and tank top thrown carelessly on the pillow. How his father would chuckle at him if he could see that. The once impeccably tidy Kurt letting the little things go.

He sits at the end of the bed and unlaces his shoes slowly, the silence closing in on him. He steps out of the shoes, placing them neatly in the corner, and changes out of his clothes into the pajama bottoms and tank top.

Standing in the middle of the room, he sighs.

So many nights were like this. So many nights ended like this. It didn’t matter what he’d done, or where he’d been, or who he’d been with. He would always find himself in the same room, aching.

Aching for Blaine.

New York wasn’t lonely. New York was fabulous. His classmates were fabulous. So fabulous, in fact, that he spent a lot more time with them than Rachel did. He might live with Rachel, but they weren’t really close. Not like before.

Nothing had happened, really. Kurt just found it too hard. Too hard to hang out with any of the McKinley kids who had found their way to New York that year. He loved them all but every time he looked at them he expected to feel the warm brush of Blaine’s hand against his, the press of Blaine’s body against his, the soft press of Blaine’s lips against his.

And his new friends didn’t constantly ask how Blaine was. With them, he could escape from the aching that filled him now.

But he couldn’t escape from anything in his room.

Late at night was the worst. Even he and Blaine chat on Skype, it doesn’t help. It’s not like they have anything new to talk about, everyday is one long conversation via text message so by the time they get to Skype there is never much left to say, other than “I love you” and “I miss you” over and over again. Because he does, and he does. Most of the time, they just kind of look at each other, both hurting and aching and on the point of tears.

“I love you. I miss you.”

It wasn’t exactly helpful. But then nothing could help.

Nothing could help Kurt feel Blaine’s arms around his, or feel Blaine in his arms. Nothing could help Kurt when he wanted to just bury himself in the scent of Blaine which was oh so familiar but maddeningly unreachable. He hasn’t forgotten it, but he can’t smell Blaine and the memory is so clear it’s disorienting.

He retrieves his phone from where he placed it on the nightstand before changing out of his jeans and types in a goodnight message.

“I love you. I miss you.”

He tosses the phone onto the bed, turns the light off, and lays down, his fingers lacing around the cool rectangular shape next to him. He is too tired to brush his teeth. Too weary to observe his skin care regime. Too exhausted to miss Blaine.

But he does.

The phone buzzes.

“I love you. I miss you.”

Kurt sighs, and puts the phone back on the nightstand. He pulls the sheet up over himself and closes his eyes, willing the New York night away, so that he’ll be one day closer to seeing Blaine again.

---

Fin.