I.

Blaine hated goodbyes. And as he sat in his dorm room with Kurt, the day before Kurt was going to go back to McKinley, Blaine couldn’t stop the tears from prickling at his eyes, and his heart felt heavy like a stone. Kurt rested his head on Blaine’s shoulder.

            “You’re not crying, are you?” he asked suddenly. Blaine sniffed and shook his head.

            “No,” he said unconvincingly. Kurt sat up and looked at him.

            “Hey,” he said, tilting Blaine’s chin so their eyes met. “I’m only going to be two hours away.”

            “I know,” Blaine said, sighing. “I’m being ridiculous. It just feels like—like I’ve only just begun to have you and now you’re leaving.”

            “You’ve still got me,” Kurt said, and he pressed a gentle kiss to Blaine’s jaw. Blaine cupped Kurt’s cheek in his hand and kissed his lips, mouth open slightly, and their lips were warm and soft against each other. Blaine reveled in the taste of Kurt, mint toothpaste and chapstick and a hint of coffee and the saltiness of skin. He felt Kurt’s hand at the base of his neck, fingers fiddling with the fine curls of hair there.

            Kurt pulled back, lips red and wet, and he smiled at Blaine. “I might be leaving Dalton, but I’m not leaving you. I promise.”

            Blaine nodded, and Kurt held out his arms and Blaine fell into them gratefully, feeling Kurt’s chest rise and fall as he breathed. Kurt pressed a kiss to the top of Blaine’s head and God, it wasn’t fair that he was leaving. Two hours seemed so far away when Blaine had Kurt beside him.

            “I’ll miss seeing you every day,” he said quietly.

            “I’ll miss you,” Kurt replied.

            And Blaine would miss sneaking Kurt up to his dorm to kiss and kiss and kiss until Blaine’s roommate walked in and they sprang apart, flushing and warm and with noticeable bulges in their pants. And he’d miss brushing his hand against Kurt’s during Warblers practice, and feeling the feather-light touch as Kurt returned the gesture. He’d miss the way Kurt would gently rub his foot against Blaine’s calf during lunch, causing him to blush so hard everyone laughed at him. He’d miss the way his Dalton blazer smelled after he’d fallen asleep on the couch with Kurt in his lap while they tried to do homework together but just ended up kissing. He’d miss Kurt, so much it felt childish and ridiculous to admit.

            Kurt kissed the spot behind Blaine’s ear and then nudged him up, rising from the couch. “I should head home. School tomorrow, you know.” He looked nervous and excited at the prospect, and Blaine felt his gut wrench. Kurt was so happy to be going back, to rejoin his friends at McKinley, to go home. Blaine felt an irrational twinge of abandonment, but he just stood up and wrapped Kurt in his arms for a long hug that was probably too tight. Kurt pulled back just far enough to kiss him, and then he was walking out the door saying, “Goodnight! I’ll call you tomorrow.”

            Blaine fell back onto the couch, worrying his lower lips between his teeth.

            Yes, Blaine Anderson really hated goodbyes.

II.

Blaine was crying. Kurt hated to see him cry, but they were both in tears at this point so there was really no avoiding it. Kurt left for New York the next day, and even though Blaine had meant to be home twenty minutes ago he couldn’t find it in himself to get off of Kurt’s bed.

            Kurt’s life was packed away into boxes, already in storage or ready to go on the plane to New York, 590 miles away from Lima, Ohio. 590 miles away from Blaine.

            “Don’t go,” Blaine said, and it was barely a whisper, his voice thin and wavering and raspy, and Kurt tightened his grip on Blaine’s hands. They’d been holding hands for the past ten minutes. Neither one wanted to let go.

            “I’m sorry, Blaine,” Kurt whispered. “I have to go.”

            “I don’t want you to leave me. I don’t want to be alone.”

            Blaine was sobbing now, the tears falling in hot, fat trails down his cheeks, and Kurt had rarely seen Blaine cry so hard. His throat constricted, and he didn’t know what to say. What could he say, really?

            “I won’t leave you,” Kurt said finally. Blaine looked at him, blinking back his tears. “I’ll call you every night and you can visit me and I’ll visit you and next year you’ll come with me. I’m not leaving you, not really.”

            And he hoped that was enough, because that was all he had to give. He finally let go of Blaine’s hands and pushed forward and kissed Blaine until they were both lying down on the bed, kissing and kissing in a desperate kind of way, and Kurt wondered when he’d be able to kiss Blaine like this again. Tomorrow, at the airport, they would have to be chaste in front of Kurt’s father and the judgmental people in the airport. They would have to be quick, and gentle, and unobtrusive. But not now. Now, Kurt could suck a line of needy kisses down Blaine’s jaw, Blaine groaning underneath him, and Kurt’s lips made a wet trail along Blaine’s neck, tasting all of him because he wanted to remember it, had to remember it, before he left Blaine behind.

            Blaine’s hands twisted in Kurt’s hair, and Kurt felt himself growing hard. Blaine’s hips bucked up when their lips crashed into each other again, and Blaine was hard too, and then they were grinding against each other, urgent and messy, muffling their soft noises with each other’s mouths. Their kisses became sloppier and sloppier as Kurt rubbed roughly against Blaine, feeling a deep heat low in his stomach, and Blaine was murmuring nonsense against Kurt’s mouth and then his hand slid down between them and Kurt felt Blaine’s palm pressing against the bulge in his jeans and he was done, breath catching in his throat, and Blaine came only a moment after. They were both panting, and Kurt rolled off of Blaine and lay beside him on the bed, the front of his pants sticky and uncomfortable.  

            Kurt heard a low snuffling sound, and he looked at Blaine and Blaine was crying again. Kurt brushed the tears off of Blaine’s cheek and whispered, “It’s okay, shh. Don’t cry, don’t cry.”

            “I don’t want to say goodbye,” Blaine said, and Kurt felt the tears burn in his own eyes and he blinked rapidly.

            “What did I tell you?” he said. Blaine looked at him.

            “You’re never saying goodbye to me,” he said thickly. Kurt pressed a kiss to his forehead.

            “That’s right,” he said. “And I meant it.”

III.

            “I’m sorry,” Kurt said, and tears trickled down his cheeks. “Goodbye, Blaine.”

            Blaine watched Kurt walk away, a hand pressed over his mouth, and he cried out, “No, Kurt, stop, stop!” but Kurt kept walking, and no, no he must be dreaming.

            But he wasn’t dreaming, and a broken sob wracked through him as Kurt turned the corner, running away from the hopeless boy he’d left behind. Kurt’s words played over and over like a twisted loop. “It’s for the best. I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry. You’ll find someone else. Goodbye, Blaine. Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye.”

            Blaine sunk to the ground, sitting like a lost child on the sidewalk, pressing his face into his knees. Every hollow goodbye that echoed in his ears felt like a knife to the gut, wrenching in and staying there to ache and cut him apart from the inside. This wasn’t right. Kurt wasn’t supposed to leave him here, alone, with nothing to hold onto but goodbyes.

            “You promised,” he said, wanting to scream even though it came out a whisper. Kurt had promised and the words he wasn’t supposed to say, the words he’d promised not to say, he’d said them anyway. Blaine got to his feet shakily. He could still catch the Greyhound back to Ohio if he hailed a taxi. He felt the sudden urge to run, to leave New York as quickly as he could, as if the very soil of this place was tainted. A broken promise and a broken heart.

            Blaine had always hated goodbyes.