He lay down on his back, straight on the cold stone floor, a slightly dusty jumper made of wool clutched to his chest. It was warm, since it'd been laying in the sun for a while. He wasn't here anymore. Kurt had to tell himself that, over and over. But it didn't seem to come through yet. Slowly, still gaining the courage to, he brought the piece of clothing up to his nose and inhaled the scent that lingered. It smelled like him. That smell had lasted all the time. it had been a few weeks since Blaine had died. Kurt remembered it far too well. Eyes closed, living on on Blaine's scent, he saw everything flashing in front of his eyes again. Images, noises, motions...

It had been February. He and Blaine were strolling around at an almost empty parking lot after they had gone clubbing; it was a very nice night and they didn't feel like going home yet, so they were walking a bit, getting some fresh air. And then it started. Sebastian suddenly appeared from behind a tree. He walked over to them and he punched Blaine right in his face. And again and again. Kurt just stood there, stunned, in shock, frozen on the spot like a statue. He didn't know what to do but to watch. Blaine's face was bruised, his arms red from the scratches, his legs a little bloody from falling to the ground. Judging by the swollen ankle he probably slightly sprained it. But that wasn't the worst part. Nor was it the knife Sebastian had pulled out of his pocket and stabbed him in the stomach with, which caused the largest wound for Kurt to ever see. It was being alone. No one was around anymore, because the club had closed his doors a few minutes after they had left, and thinking of that, a hopeless and desperate feeling dawned on him.

When it was finally over, Blaine looked less human then was ever possible. Sebastian threw one last filthy look at him, and a crumpled paper at Kurt. For everything you've done, it read. And gone he was. It took Kurt a few moments to realise what had just happened, and that his boyfriend was sort of dying in pain in front of him. But the blur cleared his vision. Swiftly he bent over Blaine, stroking his head on the parts that weren't hurt. Tears streamed down Kurt's face; something like that should've never happened. He never thought it was realistic, until now.

"How are you?" he said in a trembling voice.

"Fine enough."

Kurt shook his head and smiled a vague smile.

"I love you, don't forget," Blaine's voice spoke quite weakly.

"I love you too," Kurt murmured in his ear.

Then he quickly stood up, reached for his phone in his pocket and dialled 911, his heart racing in his throat.

The rest had been a straight down blur. He remembered an ambulance arriving, sirens full on. And there was Blaine, lying on a stretcher, barely being able to roll around. And there were policemen asking him questions, be Kurt had forgotten everything. The next thing he knew was that they were in a hospital. A lot of noise everywhere he went. People involved in intense discussions. A monitor beeping continuous. Burt's hand on his shoulder, or had it been Blaine's? There had been multiple hands enclosed around his. And tears.

And he passed away.

With a shock Kurt returned to his reality. He hadn't noticed the now-familiar tears streaming down his cheeks which the jumper slowly absorbed. Nor had he heard himself sobbing out loud. The spring sun had made place for clouds. He didn't have to open his eyes to know; he felt the warmth disappear. The afternoon became twilight, and twilight became evening. He couldn't lay there forever though. But just the moment now, alone with Blaine's jumper. Just one sniff more. Just a minute alone with the illusion that Burt's hand was Blaine's.

"Take your time. Be patient," he heard someone say far aware, "but above all, be courageous. There's only you and me left."

Kurt rolled over. He buried his face in the wool and gradually sank away into sleep. There would be plenty of days after tomorrow, but none would ever be as bright as the former. Never.