It’s been 365 days, exactly. 365 days of misery, curling up in his room and crying for the first two months with Margaret Thatcher dog and an old t-shirt of Kurt’s and pretending he’s fine during the day. He’s written letters, one every day, unashamedly inspired by “The Notebook.” They take up pages in the beginning, detailing his pain and anger and hurt, sometimes the ink smeared by tears. They get shorter, scraps of his day and missing Kurt and not saying goodbye.

He’s going to watch “The Notebook.” He hasn’t seen it since before Kurt left, when they watched it tangled together under blankets on Kurt’s bed and planned their future together. His roommate is gone for the afternoon; Blaine is in curls and glasses, Dalton sweats and an NYU t-shirt. He has tissues and Ben & Jerry’s and his Kurt box.

He cries through most of the movie, as he’d expected, and is raw and sore when he finally opens the box. He thumbs through photos, finds the pink carnation boutonnière from Kurt’s junior prom, the picture and ticket from Kurt’s senior prom, the poster for “West Side Story.” There are playbills and tickets from movies and shows they’d seen together, Kurt’s senior president campaign poster that had hung in his locker all of junior year, a photo of Kurt and Blaine at Kurt’s graduation, the yellow jeans they shared - left last in Blaine’s possession.

Margaret Thatcher dog is sealed carefully in a plastic bag. Blaine had put her after only a few weeks, when the smell wore off. But then he had found a bottle of Kurt’s cologne while shopping for Christmas and bought it against all better judgment. After seeing Kurt at Rachel’s New Year’s Party, he put both the stuffed dog and the cologne away, suddenly too much for him to handle while trying to accept the fact that they were over.

And then there are the letters, tied together neatly with a ribbon the exact color of Kurt’s eyes in the morning, those few times they had been able to wake up together. Without overthinking it too much, Blaine pulls on a pair of jeans and a coat, draping a scarf around his neck and digging out a beanie to cover his messy curls. He eyes the stack of letters one last time before locking the door behind him.

Winter swept through in early November, biting and bitter, and there’s already a fine dusting of snow on the ground from the morning. He tries his best to keep his mind from wandering too much on the subway ride. But riding the subway always, always puts “Santa Fe” into his mind, which inevitably leads to “I’ll Cover You,” which just hurts. Instead he tries to concentrate on the other people in the train, making up stories about who they are and where they’re going.

He finds the bench; a little surprised he remembers where it is and slumps down, staring up through the trees. Now that he’s here, it all seems silly. Being here is just dredging up all the painful memories, not that he wasn’t thinking about all that anyway, but here it’s real. He can see it play out in front of him, can feel the backlash now of what happened then. He pulls out the last letter.

#365

Dear Kurt,

I’m here. Are you?

-Blaine

“Blaine?” Kurt breathes and yeah, Blaine might cry.

He hasn’t seen or spoken to Kurt in exactly one year, and that is much, much too long. “Hi,” he says quietly.

Kurt sits down on the bench, leaving a bit of room between them. “What are you doing here?”

Blaine picks at the edge of the paper. “I don’t know. I just had to come.”

Kurt nods slowly. “Me too.”

“I’m sorry,” Blaine whispers, chin tucked to his chest, trying desperately not to cry. “I’m so, so sorry, Kurt.”

“Hey,” Kurt carefully rests a hand on his shoulder and Blaine chokes back a sob. “It’s not all your fault.”

Blaine shakes his head, pressing his mouth into a line.

Kurt just watches him for a moment before gingerly curling an arm around Blaine’s shoulder and pulling until he’s tucked into Kurt’s chest. “I’ve missed you so much, Bee.”

Blaine’s crying now and he can tell from how Kurt’s breath is hitching that he is too. When Blaine calms down he presses closer, touching his cold nose to Kurt’s neck. “I missed you, too.”

“We were such idiots,” Kurt mutters.

“I’m sorry,” Blaine says again.

“Stop apologizing.” Kurt gently pushes him away, keeping his hands on Blaine’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, too.”

“You called me ‘Bee,’” Blaine says, voice tinged with something like awe.

“Oh my God, Blaine,” Kurt breathes, twisting his fingers into Blaine’s curls and tugging lightly. “How could I not?”

And then Kurt’s kissing him, slow and careful. Blaine can’t feel much beyond the way Kurt sucks at his top lip and licks into his mouth and slides an arm around his waist.

“I love you,” Kurt whispers when they part for air. “I’ll always love you.”

“I love you, too,” Blaine says, eyes wide and warm with affection. “You’re the love of my life.”

Kurt touches their lips together again and again, short staccato kisses that leave Blaine too breathless to think.

“I wrote to you,” he says and Kurt stops. “Every day. But I never sent them because I didn’t think you’d ever want to hear from me again. Why are you laughing?”

Kurt rests his forehead against Blaine’s. “Oh my God, Blaine. I wrote to you, too. 365 letters. I thought you - ”

“It doesn’t matter,” Blaine says firmly and Kurt nods.

“Wait, though,” Kurt digs through his pockets until he produces a scrap of paper. “Here.”

Bee,

I'm still never saying goodbye to you.

Kurt