Prolouge

Who says ghosts have to be bad?

Ghosts are simply lonely. Ghosts are spirits that haven't moved on yet. 

The souls of people who don't want to move on, spirits who didn't want to accept their own death and be peaceful. 

Because that's exactly what death should be. Calm, quiet, peaceful. Happy. 

One shouldn't die sad.

So ghosts are simply unfortunate. They don't mean us any harm. 

If ghosts want to see you, maybe you're just someone they miss so much, so much and want to see again.  They don't want to be alone anymore. 

Maybe we can feel them, sometimes, but it shouldn't be a bad feeling. It should be a warm feeling, because someone that you loved is back just to see you again, even if you're worlds apart.

Maybe ghosts are just memories of people.

People who wanted to leave you a memory of them. 

Places

13th of May, afternoon. Somewhere on the outskirts of New York.

-

It was difficult to act like he wasn't there. 

Because Kurt was there, in everything. 

He was there in Blaine's hopes, in his dreams, in the house, the world. Everything in the world seemed to silently scream Kurt now. 

The stars in the sky. Every song on the radio. The simplest things.

The funeral had actually been the easy part. Overly easy. The worst thing was the daytime. 

Everyone had been at the funeral. Everyone. Even people Blaine had never expected, such as the barista from their coffee shop, or the cross old lady who lived over the road from them. 

Kurt's death had, of course, effected everyone. It seemed that the whole of McKinley was their, the glee club, Sue Sylvester, wearing the black tracksuit hood Kurt had given her indirectly for Christmas all those years ago. 

She must have gotten it back somehow. 

He didn't even cry throughout the whole service. He simply shushed the baby, Matthew, sitting on his lap in his tiny black one-piece, and smiled down at him. 

Blaine didn't listen to all the speeches.

He couldn't. He simply looked down at his son and thought.

Santana was sitting next to him, clad in a too-short black minidress. Blaine regarded her with interest. Tears was silently falling down her face, smudging her eye make-up. 

Then it was his turn to speak. 

He gave Matthew to Santana. Or Rachel. He couldn't remember. 

And the small church he had chosen wasn't even a church. 

It was a villa that he'd visited with Kurt before, when they had been looking for an apartment, some place to live. 

"It's far too expensive," Blaine had sighed lovingly at his husband. "You know we can't afford it."

"No, but we can look at it. Can't we?" Kurt had said, looking at the advertisement wistfully.

Of course, it had turned out to be a quite petite, vintage house. Not right in the city, but not to far away.

And way, way over their price limit.

"It doesn't matter that we're not getting it," Kurt said, untruthfully. "We'll find another place."

They did, of course, but not as perfect as the house.

After this they drove by the place often, to pretend they lived there, that it was theirs.

Blaine knew it was the perfect place for the funeral. He knew it, somehow. Kurt didn't like churches, the dark echoing rooms and hallways. The small, bright room this took place in now seemed much more fitting. 

It was cramped with people, who were now looking up at Blaine expectantly. 

He blinked. He hadn't even realized that he was standing at the podium at the front. The coffin was across the room. Covered with flowers. Lilies, violets, forget-me-nots.

Forget-me-nots.

Blaine closed his eyes.

"I don't really know what to say."

His voice was steady, no tears, nothing. 

He heard rustlings in the seats, impatience, questioning. 

Blaine opened his eyes and looked towards the coffin. Then he saw what he'd been waiting for all day. The time he waited for every day. The person that still helped him get through every day, without himself closing away from the world. Because that person would never die.

Could never.

Blaine saw Kurt lounging on his coffin, like the most normal thing in the world. He was wearing his favorite Marc Jacobs coat, the expensive one, and the ring Blaine had given him as a gift all those years back. Kurt looked his best, he was even smiling, his eyes shining. He looked very much alive. 

So Blaine looked over at Kurt, and smiled at him.

He knew Kurt wasn't dead, he'd still been there from the day the crash had happened. 

A car crash, they had told him. Unfortunate. "Happened all the time." Kurt had kept his eyes off the road for one second, maybe bent down to pick up a CD, or to change the radio station. A truck had crashed into the side of the car.

Meaningless things, now that Blaine was standing at the podium, looking right into Kurt's eyes. 

"You can do this," Kurt mouthed. "A few words. They expect it from you."

Blaine looked back to the audience. 

"It seems odd for us all, to be here, at a funeral. Funerals are for someone who dies. But Kurt's not dead. He's there, right there." Blaine pointed towards the coffin. "You can't see him."

"But he's there."

Kurt nodded his encouragement.

"I love Kurt, more than I can say. I can't say it. More than all the stars in the sky, more than I've loved anyone in my life. And I'm blessed with him and Matthew, our beautiful, beautiful son. 

I'm sure you all can think of your own words to Kurt. Some of you have. 

All I want you to remember from today is that I love Kurt. 

I love him. For all of eternity."

Blaine smiled across at Kurt, who was sitting on the coffin in typical Kurt style, legs crossed, admiring the flowers. He winked.

The audience stared, and shook their heads.

-

20th of June, evening. An apartment in the city.

These times were the worst. 

The waiting. 

After he'd put Matthew to bed, sleeping in his cot, Blaine would sit next to it, and wait.

Wait until he felt his presence, when he felt Kurt there in the room. 

He turned round.

"There you are." Blaine smiled at Kurt. "I thought you wouldn't come."

"Don't be silly", Kurt said, leaning against the doorframe. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"That you are." Blaine turned back to Matthew. "I just got him to sleep, see?"

"He probably won't wake up tonight." Kurt walked towards Blaine, and took his hand.

"They all think I'm crazy, you know," Blaine said conversationally. "But I'm not. You're real, and alive."

"I'm real and alive for you," Kurt entwined their fingers tightly. "Isn't that the best thing?"

"Hmm." Blaine hummed in agreement. 

After some silence, he spoke again.

"They're all devastated. All of them."

"Perfect," Kurt smiled happily. "I'm the center of attention."

"Yep. Finn and Rachel especially."

Kurt's smile faded a little. 

"You will tell them I love them, right? As often as they can? Don't let them forget me."

"How could they?" Blaine leant his head on Kurt's shoulder. 

"We're so lucky with him." Kurt looked down at the child in the cot sleeping peacefully, snuffling a little. "Never thought I ever be this lucky. I'm just sad I won't see his first steps. Or the first time he goes to school."

"What?" Blaine stiffened. "You will be here to see it. You're here now, and you will always."

Kurt shook his head.

"You know that's not true," he said softly. "You know it's not."

Blaine rolled his eyes. 

"No, Kurt. Don't scare me."

"Blaine. I'm gone. Just not for now. For now I'm here."

"No. For Gods' sake, why didn't you see the van, Kurt. Why didn't you, they're big and why didn't you notice–"

"Ssh," Kurt put a finger to Blaine's lips. "Ssh. You'll wake him." He glanced down at the baby. 

"Listen," Kurt began, whispering in Blaine's ear. "I'm here, okay? I' m here. I was always."

Blaine shut his eyes.

"You always will be."

-

 29th of June, midday. Central park.

"Blaine, the ice-creams' dripping all down your arm! Why are you eating it anyway, it's got a ton of cal–"

"They're delicious. And Matthew likes them, don't you?"

It was a hot summers day. The shade from the tree by the lake provided little protection. The pram was standing on the freshly-cut grass, and the park wasn't very busy. The baby was kicking his legs. Blaine was sitting next to it on a picnic blanket, Kurt next to him, still in the Marc Jacobs coat. He never wore anything different. His clothes stayed immaculate. Blaine had asked interestedly what happened when they got dirty, or were Kurt went when he wasn't with Blaine. But he rarely asked these questions for what were they, except unnecessary, when he had Kurt by his side? 

"I love you." Blaine lay back on the blanket. "I love you more than anything else."

"Love you more," Kurt said, resting his head on Blaine's chest. "Believe me."

"Want some ice-cream?" Blaine asked lazily. The heat was stifling and the strawberry ice cool.

"Ew. Wrong question." Kurt grimaced. 

"Right. Sorry-"

The sun was burning down from the sky. 

-

29th of June, midday, a busy New York restaurant. 

"I don't know what to do," the young woman is saying, her dark brown eyes looking tired, nothing but tired. "I don't know what to do."

"You're telling me," says the other, a Latina by her looks, graciously accepting her greasy pizza slice from the heavily bearded guy behind the counter. "Don't trouble yourself about it, Berry. Things are bad enough as they are."

They both sit down in one of the dingy plastic seats, one of them placing her hands on the table gingerly, the over started to eat her pizza. 

"He sees him, San, you know," says one of them. "I know he does. And Blaine talks to him, like nothing ever happened. Sometimes I try to talk to him, ask him out somewhere, and he can't focus."

The dark one, 'San', crosses her arms. 

"So? Let him be."

"Hmmm," the other hums.

After a minute or two, after finishing their pizza, they begin talking. It seems like a topic they've tried, or attempted at, to discuss, for a long time. And now, in the most unlikely place ever, they're suddenly talking about it.

"What does Quinn say about all this, anyway? You must know, you live together now." 'San' asks. 

The other shakes her head. "Don't ask what she says about all this. You know we all feel the same."

'San' attempts at indignation, but fails. Maybe both of them are just to tired, to tired, to show any feelings other than sorrow. Or something similar. 

"For the record, I'm not okay." 'San' says. 

She seems to be the blunt one of the two. 

"I'm not okay either," the other one says quietly, her eyes looking at the tabletop, unmistakably hiding unshed tears. "I don't think any of us will be okay, ever again."

"We won't." 'San' is saying, and then they're walking out of the greasy restaurant, dodging a couple of small kids, and a cleaning lady. They simultaneously throw their serviettes into the rubbish, and the Latina's high heels are tip-tapping on the floor while she's still saying something.

"That damn van, Berry. That fucking van."

-

People

Rachel.

It was odd, Rachel thought, how normal everyone seemed to be. They had to be, because they were alive.

Doing chores, gigs here and there. She'd given up on Broadway a long time ago. "Just a hiatus, of course," she had told Kurt. "I could never leave the stage! I want a break for some time." Kurt had raised his eyebrows, because he always knew when she was lying. 

She had been quite lost, back then, her relationships falling apart, Quinn, then Finn moving back to Ohio. 

For what?

Of course, this city was her dream, she thought, turning the key in the lock of her apartment. It would always be where she belonged. But she didn't know what to do here. 

The apartment felt empty without Kurt there to greet her, although his cologne still lingered about the place. 

She was being silly, she had Quinn living here, even if she did get back late from the office. Quinn brought the old Rachel Berry back to the surface, painted her from head-to-toe in in colour and love, washed away the grey from the years.

Rachel still set the table for Kurt, without meaning to, then sat down and realized what she'd done. 

She'd eaten while glancing at the chair. 

That was the difference between her and Blaine, she thought, setting her bag down on a chair and pouring herself a martini. She was trying to carry on with life. He wasn't even trying.

She knew everyone thought he was a lost cause but she knew Blaine better, and he truly believed Kurt was still there, still living. In some strange way, he did think everything was normal. 

Then, she contemplated, while stirring her drink with the cocktail stick, she did have Quinn. She loved Quinn, more than anything, and she was the only thing that kept her from turning completely insane. 

It was easy to remember, with the light dimming and the clock ticking away the minutes until Quinn came home. 

-

Blaine.

One evening, they had been sitting together in the lounge, watching something on tv, only not really watching. Kurt was leaning against Blaine's shoulder. That was the closest he would get to touching Blaine, he seemed uncomfortable with anything else. Kisses were rare.

But Blaine was content with what he had. He could have a lot worse if he let Kurt go. 

"Do you ever see Cooper these days?," Kurt asked, disrupting the silence, reaching for the popcorn bowl only to pull his hand back again. "You never talk about him much."

"He's in LA again," Blaine murmured, focusing on the tv. "Why should I see him if I've got you?"

Kurt sighed.

"Blaine. Let me go."

Blaine kept silent.

"You'll have to one day. Please."

After a few minutes, Kurt spoke again.

"LA's a long way away, isn't it?"

"Hmm," Blaine said noncommittally. 

"A long distance."

Blaine took some more popcorn. His hand was shaking.

"Maybe you should visit him."

"I don't want to. You'll be gone when I come back."

"I will one day! Blaine, start fresh. Please. For my sake. Be happy."

"Like I'll ever be." 

Blaine shook his head, backtracked. "Wait, Kurt, I am happy!"

"You're not! You're with me, or Matthew, you have to visit Santana, Rachel or Britt, anyone! Please, Blaine," Kurt was pleading. "Speak to your family. Go out, to the cinema, or to the park, with others. Get used to me not being here, gradually. 

I'm begging you."

Blaine put his head in his hands.

"I just want us to be free, Blaine."

"I know that." 

-

Cooper.

Blaine groaned, and dialed the number. Waited for one ring. Another. Four rings. Kurt was behind him, encouraging him. Blaine was about to put the phone down, when-

"Coop at your servi-"

"It's Blaine." 

The line crackled.

"Hey, bro! Good to hear from you. How are," Cooper hesitated. "things?"

"Fine."

"No they're not, B."

More silence. Blaine heard a bossy voice bark something through a megaphone in the background down Coopers' line.

"B, you can pull through, please, listen to me, you're going to-"

"Coop, is there any space in your apartment?"

-

Everyone.

"You'll call us when you've landed?"

"Of course."

"You got everything, hair gel, bowties, that sort of thing?"

"Yep."

"Your cuddly toys, swimsuit?"

"Santana!"

Brittany hushed her, pushing the luggage trolley, Rachel holding hands with Quinn, Tina standing quietly next to him and smiling sadly. He was so grateful to have them here. 

"Mercedes said she'd come say bye as well," Santana added, picking up his passport and laughing at the picture of him in it. "She should be here in a second."

Brittany was checking in for him, pointing him and back to herself, obviously having difficulties.

"I'll help her," Santana muttered, flouncing off.

"She'd better be, otherwise you'll miss the flight," Rachel said, first signs of tears were showing in her eyes. 

"Not the waterworks," Quinn said, rolling her own eyes, but gripping Rachel's hand even tighter. 

"Guys!" Mercedes rushed up next to them, hugging Blaine. "I'm here, I'm here now."

"Finally!" Santana came up to them. "Everything's ready, B."

"I should go," Blaine said, smiling. "LA can't wait, and neither can Cooper."

"You'll visit, right?" Brittany asked, all of them grouping together. "Often?"

"As often as I can, promise."

They all gathered around him and hugged him, shouting words of encouragement, his shirt damp with tears. 

"I love you guys."

"We love you too."

He'd talked to each of them individually before they had gotten to the airport, Mercedes only last week. 

He slung his rucksack over his shoulder, the old, faded Warblers' tie attached to one of the straps, purely as a keepsake. He was looking forward to LA, to Cooper, to the new energy it all brought.

A fresh start.

This felt like a group goodbye, a goodbye to glee club, a goodbye to New York. 

A goodbye to someone else. 

As Blaine walked out onto the tarmac with a hundred other people, the wind whipping on his face, he turned.

Kurt was standing there, tears running down his face, still in the Marc Jacobs jacket. The other people rushed past him, oblivious, late, hurried.

"I love you," Kurt mouthed. "Forever."

Blaine smiled.

"I love you." 

Blaine walked towards the plane, only turning back when he reached the steps. One last time.

Kurt was gone, and Blaine knew he had let go.

For all of eternity.

-