No I’ve never been afraid to cry, and I finally have a reason why.

Kurt stares at the paper. It shakes. Oh good, he thinks, the sky is falling, now it all makes sense. But then he realizes that the walls around him are not falling, even though his world his crumbling.

Blaine’s hand comes under his, steading his shaking fingers, his shuddering shoulders. His tears are coming fast, faster than he can wipe at them and Kurt wants them to fall. They’re blurring out the words in front of him. 

Blaine squints through tear splatter, murmuring to himself as he reads the letter. “Dear Mr. Hummel. Thank you for your application, but we regret to inform you that ––” Kurt lets out a loud sob and Blaine stops immediately, tugging the paper from Kurt’s clenched fingers. He pulls Kurt into his chest who clutches at his sweater but can’t find any kind of purchase, the sweater sliding under his nails, his dreams slipping through his fingers.

Together they fell back against Kurt’s bed, Blaine rolling them so that Kurt was steady on top of him. His hands rub over Kurt’s back, gripping his shoulders, carding through his hair. His breath whispers across Kurt’s cheek as he repeats his mantra since he met Kurt. “It’s okay, you’re okay, we’ll figure something out, don’t lose hope.”

They both fall silent, and Kurt stills eventually. He is quiet. Blaine wonders if he’s asleep, but continues to press Kurt into himself.

“I don’t understand!” Kurt yells suddenly, startling Blaine. He jumps and Kurt rolls out of his arms, turning on his side. 

Blaine tentatively reaches a hand across the gap, gently resting it on his boyfriend’s side. When Kurt doesn’t move, Blaine presses a bit harder, trying to get him to roll over. Kurt arches his back and Blaine’s hand slips off, falling to the soft sheets. “Kurt?”

Kurt stands, a little less than gracefully, and strides to his wall, covered in pictures and posters. His shoulders are hunched but his mouth is a thin line, hard. “I don’t understand,” he says again, to the wall, staring at the papers in front of him. “I killed my audition. I took a risk, she was impressed!”

“I know,” Blaine says, from his perch on the end of the bed. He is at the ready, waiting for a single signal from Kurt, a twitch that tells Blaine to come hold him. 

“But Rachel Berry...” Kurt long fingers trail over a photo of Rachel, tucked between a playbill from Wicked and a Tiffany’s bag, both lifted during their trip to New York. Kurt remembers that trip, standing in the Gershwin, backlit with green lights and staring out at an empty auditorium. It was his dream too. “She choked. Couldn’t get past eight bars. On a song that she’s been singing since she was four. A song that won us Sectionals.”

“I know.” Blaine is quiet. He isn’t sure if Kurt is still talking to him.

Kurt’s fingers pass over the microphone that Rachel’s clutching tightly in her hand. His fingers fold on the edge and he rips it from the wall, leaving peeling paint in it’s absence.

“Kurt!” This time Blaine stands, hands reaching for Kurt. 

Elphaba falls to the ground, smirking. Kurt’s jaw tightens as he stares at the picture. “And if it wasn’t for me, just where would you be, Miss Rachel Berry?”

It’s almost as if he has come full circle, a boy who wants what he deserves but can’t get it. No solos for Kurt, and no NYADA either. Rachel though, she’s set. 

Blaine stands in front of him, keeping distance and pulls the pictures out of Kurt’s grip, letting it flutter to the ground. It lands on top of the playbill and Glinda whispers into Rachel’s ear.

Blaine puts both arms around his waist and pulls him closer. Kurt doesn’t cry this time. He doesn’t reciprocate the hug. He stands, stoic and silent.

“Kurt, please,” Blaine asks, but he doesn’t know for what.

“I can’t.” I can’t win. I can’t dream. I can’t be in Ohio anymore.

“It’s okay, Kurt. We’ll figure something out.” Blaine is speaking quickly and rashly in his ear and Kurt steps out of his arms.

“How many times have you said that to me?”

“Today?” Blaine is surprised, but he’ll take any conversation Kurt wants to have.

Kurt’s voice is flat. “Ever.”

“I don’t know. A few, I guess.”

“Doesn’t that tip you off? That all year we’ve been doing this dance and it never works and I cry and you hold me and convince me to try again and we come back right here. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

Blaine pulls Kurt back to the bed. “It tells me you’re perseverant.”

“Rachel is perseverant. She called Carmen Tibadeaux and drove to see her and look where it got her. Look where I am.”

They are silent again. Blaine knows that he did not bring the magic to Kurt’s senior year like he was supposed to. It was shit. He knows that. But he also know Kurt. 

“I think you’re amazing, Kurt. And yeah, you’re still in Ohio and you might not go to New York in the fall but you’re also here with me.” He puts a hand over Kurt’s, feeling relieved when Kurt presses back. “I love you Kurt, so much. And I am confident in telling you that this letter, this piece of paper, is nothing except evidence that NYADA has no idea what talent is, even if it danced in front of them in golden pants. 

The corners of Kurt’s mouth tilt up.

“And I know this is devastating. I know. But I can’t help but think that this is just another door opening for you. You have so many talents, so much skill, that I can’t believe for a second that you’d fail in New York without NYADA.” He scoots closer to Kurt, pulling his hand in both of his and bring them in to his chest.

“We’re going to figure it out okay? NYADA is one school out of thousands. We’ll find something else for you, okay? Something in New York, something fulfilling.”

“How do you know?” Kurt whispers, facing tilting to stare into Blaine’s eyes. 

Blaine tries to convey all the faith he has in Kurt through his irises, and he hopes that Kurt can feel the love he feels practically coming out of his pores. “I know because that’s what you deserve and because the world needs to know just exactly how amazing you are.”