One month, two weeks and two days after I screwed up everything, I get a text.

Breadstix, tomorrow, 5pm.

That’s all it says.

But it’s him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

3:47.

God, I’m pathetic. But if this is it—if he’s making it official—I want to be with him for every possible second. And I’ve always been early for our dates—

Stop. This is not a date. He hasn’t spoken to me in seven weeks. If this was good, he would have called.

3:48. I’m an idiot.

I go for a walk. Ten minutes killed. I go into the restroom and oh my god, I look like hell. Kurt’s coming in an hour, and I look like hell.

I run into a stall, crouch over the toilet and gag, but nothing comes out.

And now that the fear has reared its ugly head, time speeds up. Of course it does. I sit on the bathroom floor and try not to think, and some people obviously see me because they stop, but no one says anything, and the next thing I know the alarm on my phone goes off. Kurt in 10.

Suck it up, Anderson. This isn’t new. You wanted Kurt to give a straight answer, one way or another—well, here it comes.

I stand up, and I realize I’m shaking, but if I don’t go out now, I might not do it at all, so I leave the bathroom and sit back down. I put my phone away.

An eternity later—or a moment—the door opens. My heart skips a beat.

It’s him.

He doesn’t look angry. He looks as nervous as I feel. And I let myself hope, just for a moment: We can fix this. I feel the corners of my mouth tug up against my will.

But then his eyes meet mine, and they widen, but he doesn’t smile, and my heart sinks right back toward my stomach.

He comes over. Sits across from me. Stares at me for what seems like forever, but says nothing.

“Hi,” I say, because the silence is killing me.

“Hi,” he says. He doesn’t sound angry, either, but there’s something in his voice that I can’t put my finger on.

I have to take the chance. I have to say it. “Kurt, I am so sor—“

He raises his hand to stop me.

“That’s not why I’m here.”

I wait for him to explain. He doesn’t.

“Then why…?”

“Sam called me.”

Oh.

“He’s worried about you. He said you… when Mr. Schue asks you to sing, you do, but you don’t offer up songs anymore. And you only speak when spoken to. And you look like hell all the time. And I—no offense, Blaine, but you do look kind of terrible…” He takes a breath. “And I’m worried, too.”

He’s checking up on me. That’s it.

My stomach twists into a knot.

“I’m fine.”

“Please don’t lie.”

I don’t know what to say.

Apparently, neither does Kurt. He lets out a humorless laugh. “I thought about everything I wanted to say on the way here, and now I just—“ He shrugs. “I—I don’t know.”

“Yeah.”

He stares at me again, then takes a breath. “Okay. Okay. After that night, I felt like I was going to die. Or I would wake up and it would all be a bad dream. But then—I kept thinking about the Chandler fiasco. And… I hurt you like that too. I mean, I didn’t sleep with him—“

“Kurt—“

“—but I knew it was wrong. I told myself it was okay because—because of Sebastian but—but I knew.” He rubs his eyes, looking exhausted. “I did what I did because he made me feel good and this—we—didn’t. Not then, at least. And that didn’t make it okay, but it was my reason. And… look, I know I turned into an awful boyfriend when I got to New York. It was just—so new and exciting and I got so caught up in it all that I didn’t realize that you were hurting until later.

“But you… Blaine, you should have made me listen. You should have texted me that I needed to call you when I had time to actually talk, and put 'urgent' or something. I don’t know.“

He gives the laugh again. “God, I’m rambling. But, okay. You hurt me, and I keep waiting for this to just be okay, but I’m starting to realize that it’s not, and it’s probably not going to be, and I’m wasting time and energy waiting.”

“Kurt—“

“I’m getting to the point. I mean, when I’m done you can talk and I’ll listen, but I need to finish. Okay?”

I try and fail to swallow the lump in my throat, and nod.

“If what we had was enough for you—good enough, strong enough, I don’t know—you wouldn’t have done it. We’re not okay, and I’m not sure how long ago it was that we were okay.”

And here we are. What we had. Past tense.

I wipe my cheek. I’m not sure how long the tears have been there.

“All right,” I say, and I hate that I can’t keep the tremor out of my voice. “I’ll—I’ll just—“ I start to stand up.

“No!” Kurt grabs my wrist. “No, I’m not done. God, no, I didn’t come here just to—no. Please. Sit down.”

I sit. He keeps his hand on my wrist.

“Just because we aren’t okay—that doesn’t mean that you can’t be. Look. You messed up and you broke my heart. And—and I messed up—I’m not going to get into a blame war because those don’t go anywhere. And right now I think it’s all too painful to just put behind us. But Blaine—I need you to be okay, because you are so much more than what happened with us. I fell in love with this gorgeous, brave, sweet, amazing boy, and Blaine—that’s still you. Please, please, don’t let one big mistake make you forget that.”

I can’t speak. He chuckles again, more lightly now. “That, um—that’s all I’ve got.”

I swallow. “I—thank you. Thanks.”

He nods, and the awkward silence is back. He clears his throat.

“Well, um—unless there's something else you want to say, I should—I told my dad I’m in town and I’ll come and see him tonight and he’s probably wondering what’s taking me so long.”

I nod, and try to smile. He stands and heads toward the door.

Last chance. “Kurt?” He stops. Turns his head back. “I didn’t sleep with him. Eli. I mean—I think I was going to. I went to his house. But I left before we had the chance.”

He looks at me for a moment that feels like an eternity.

He nods.

And then he’s gone.