(no subject)

[etacanis]

It was strange coming back through Heathrow. It was like the first time, except so different. This time, he was being met by Isabel, not a complete stranger he’d never met before. This time, he was filled with the hope that if he and Blaine had managed this far already, they could make it work for ever. This time, he was full of excitement for the rest of the year.

Isabel was waiting for him in arrivals - not with a coffee, which was slightly annoying. He’d offered to get the tube back to the halls, but Isabel had seemed desperate for any excuse to get away from her family. They lived close enough to London (not that that was particularly difficult - everything seemed to be close. He remembered when Isabel had told them that they could get to France from London in about three hours, Paris in six. Paris.) that she saw them occasionally during school time, but they’d insisted she go back for the full Christmas holidays. Apparently Kurt coming back a few days early got her out of it.

“So, did you spend your entire holidays in bed with your adorable boyfriend?” Isabel asked as they got into her tiny excuse of a car. Kurt was sure it had originally been a shoe box.

“Not even close, he roomed with my step-brother for most of them.” Really, her car was ridiculous. He was hardly the tallest person in existence, Isabel had a good few inches on him, but he had to practically fold himself into the car and rest his head on his knees. God knows how Isabel ever managed it.

“So? Inviting in a third partner could spice up your sex life. Cosmo said so.” She winked as she spoke, gesturing at the floor of the passenger seat. Sure enough, there was a pile of magazines, Cosmo included.

“That’s disgusting. You’re disgusting.”

“What?” Isabel looked confused, her face scrunched up, though whether that was from confusion or trying to actually switch lanes without getting into an accident, Kurt didn’t know. “It’s not real incest if he’s only a step-brother.”
~*~
Like when Kurt had first arrived, the halls were pretty empty. In fact, nobody who shared either Kurt or Isabel’s flats were back yet. Naturally, that meant pigging out in both of them (Kurt’s had the better T.V., but Isabel’s had the better kitchen) and gossiping about the holidays. Enough seemed to have happened that Kurt’s holidays never came up, which he was thankful for. Despite the fact he was sure he and Blaine could work, there were plenty of things he wasn’t sure about.

“Nick broke up with his girlfriend,” Isabel said, stretching across the sofa as they watched the Antiques Roadshow. It was a habit they’d fallen into at some point. Kurt wasn’t sure when, how, or why, but it had become their thing to do: claim the sofas, stick on the T.V., and take the piss out of the weirdos who managed to make a good bit of money on ridiculously pointless things.

“He had a girlfriend?” Kurt had never heard anything about it. Surely he should have? For starters, he lived with Nick and secondly, they spent half of their time together.

“For about two minutes, don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” Isabel said, trying to fit a handful of crisps into her mouth. “She wanted to shag him without seeming like a slut, I think.”

“Fair enough.” Kurt shrugged. Just so long as he didn’t have to hear it, or about it, he didn’t particularly care what anyone was up to. “Why did they break up then?”

“Other than because you need a magnifying glass to find Nick’s cock?” Kurt frowned at her, gaining a wink and smile in return. “She said he had no ambition. I mean, really? We’re college students. Not even officially uni students yet. Of course we have no bloody ambition. For us, getting the fuck out of bed in the mornings is ambitious.” Kurt didn’t know about that. He could never be like Nick and Isabel, who had no idea what they wanted to do with their lives. They were here to do something they enjoyed, because going to college and getting a degree was the thing you had to do, so they could away from home and get drunk a lot, not because they wanted one.

“Speaking of, have you finished your applications for universities next year?” he asked, thinking about his and his repeated insistences over Christmas that he’d get them done. “I’ve only got one done. I don’t know where else I want to go.”

“I’ve got to make up my mind about what I want to do first. Just do the rest of the Arts colleges, I guess. That’s what Nick’s done. At least three of them have fashion courses, I think. I don’t know why the College of Fashion wasn’t your first choice anyway.” Isabel bent her neck awkwardly to look at him. “Surely that’s a bit more up your alley?”

“I wanted to come here,” Kurt said, shrugging. “I don’t really mind where I end up, so long as it’s in London.”

“If I don’t get a move on, I’ll be leaving come June.” Isabel frowned, turning back to the T.V. and her crisps. “Remind me to do it later.”

It was strange, Kurt thought, the way he’d fallen into the exact same habits with different people. Blaine could remember things, endless amounts of important things, but he forgot simple things. He remembered important dates, little facts about Kurt that had no importance to anyone but him, but he struggled to remember deadlines, little things like taking the laundry out of the dryer or calling his mother. Reminding Blaine to do things later had become Kurt’s duty, almost. Even from a different continent, he reminded Blaine to do things later.

It was strange, Kurt thought, what could remind him of Blaine.

~*~
In the end, Kurt didn’t need to remind Isabel to apply for schools. Practically the second they walked into class on the first day back, Carmen pounced on them, screeching about applications. Kurt and Nick managed to get away after assuring her they were all done and yes, they had taken her advice about where to apply and what their strengths were and no, they weren’t really nervous about being accepted because she was a great teacher.

Isabel, however, didn’t fare so well. When Isabel told her she’d barely started, Carmen instantly switched on her lecture mode. It was somewhat amusing, even if it was difficult to organize their work with an angry Spanish woman ranting and raving about futures.

It was even more amusing when Isabel finally escaped and the person who got accosted after her admitted to not really taking Carmen’s advice.

“She’s crazy,” Isabel muttered as she dug through her bag, undoubtedly looking for something important she’d left back in her room.

“I love her,” Kurt said, trying to sketch the shape of a face. It wasn’t really working. It was turning out more like a gourd. “I’m really tempted to make her a cape for the end of the year. She can use it to terrify next year’s students.”

“I did offer to grow a womb to have her children once.” Nick was staring out the window, his page blank save for a smiley face he’d drawn in the corner. “She said she was very thankful but she didn’t want any children with my nose.”

“Insane, though.” Isabel was still searching, slowly getting more frantic. “Have any of you actually seen my folder?” She finally asked, looking up at them. “Because you better start digging my grave if I don’t have it.”

“It’s on your desk, next to your laptop.” Kurt added the guide lines on to his finally-an-oval. “I told you last night to put it in your bag but you didn’t listen to me.”

“I am so dead,” Isabel groaned. She dropped her head to the desk with a loud thunk. “So fucking dead.” With a roll of his eyes, Kurt pulled his folder out of his bag and pushed it across the desk towards Isabel.

“Open that so she can’t see the front and pretend it’s yours.” Isabel looked up with wide, thankful eyes.

“God bless you, Kurt Hummel. Even if you’re only doing it because you’ve charmed your way into her cold, dead heart and she won’t kill you.”

“I just actually do what I’m told,” Kurt replied, turning back to his drawing. “There’s really nothing to it.”

~*~
Kurt looked at the clock. Twelve-thirty. Blaine wasn’t supposed to be online until at least two, probably later, because his professors had a habit of running over. He stretched, arching his shoulders over the back of the chair he’d been sitting in for nearly three hours. His jaw cracked with a yawn as he stretched and he sighed.

It had been this way for the past week, ever since he got back from Christmas break, with Kurt trying to wait up for Blaine, but being so tired from being swamped with schoolwork that there was no way he could stay up. Then, when he woke up, it would be to a similar explanation from Blaine, apologizing that he couldn’t stay awake longer to speak to Kurt before he went to class. They even only managed to email each other once a day because there was just no time for anything else.

At least, Kurt knew, he wasn’t the only one suffering. Everyone in his flat had been complaining about not seeing their boyfriends or girlfriends, even when a lot of them lived in the same building. Except, at the same time, it was worse for that because they were in the same building and it wasn’t that hard to go and see them, at least quickly. Kurt had seen Isabel and Nick more than enough in the week. It was significantly harder for him to go and see Blaine, what with him being in America and all.

With a sigh, he opened his gmail account, opening a new email, and typing in Blaine’s email address from memory. He left the subject blank, too tired to be bothered with coming up with something witty or even explanatory.

I just spent the past three hours trying to get a nose right. It’s ridiculous and stupid and I’ve reached the point where I don’t understand why I need to know all this, because I’m going to do fashion design and I don’t have to do noses there, if I don’t want to. I don’t even have to do faces or heads, really. Just bodies to draw the clothes on, and they don’t even need to be anatomically correct. In fact, I’m sure it’s cooler if they’re not.

My point is that I’m exhausted, and while all I want to do is stay awake so I can talk to you and see your weird nose, I don’t think I can manage. Especially not when I have to get up before eight tomorrow for classes and breakfast and to make sure Isabel actually remembers to bring her work in, for once. She’s a lot like you, but with less puns.

I hate it, because we made all those promises over Christmas. The ones where we said we’d see each other all the time and speak to each other and we’d never have to worry about missing each other too much ever again.

I want it to still be Christmas.

I love you, and I’m going to see you soon, even if I have to chug Red Bull to do it because I miss you more than I care about sleep, I think.

I hope you had a good day.
Xxxxx

He sent the email with a sigh, because it was true that he missed Blaine more than he cared about sleeping, but somewhere, deep down, he knew that sleep was something he really couldn’t survive without, and no matter how dramatic he got, he knew he could survive without Blaine, sort of.

~*~
“You know how you and Blaine have been together for like, forever?” The question had been fairly unexpected. Nick and Kurt were sitting on the sofa, T.V. switched on, discussing whether or not the accents in The Only Way Is Essex were actually that awful (the answer was yes, unfortunately). He didn’t know how the topic had suddenly come around to him and Blaine (the side of him that was responsible for his weirder thoughts, thought that perhaps Nick was psychic, because that had been what Kurt was thinking about).

Recovering, Kurt shrugged. “Only about two years,” he said. “Not that long in practice.”

“Whatever,” Nick replied, gesturing vaguely. “How do you do it? Because I can barely stand girls for longer than five minutes. I can’t stand anybody for longer than five minutes. It’s a wonder I’m still sitting here, really.”

“I honestly couldn’t say,” Kurt said, pressing his feet against Nick’s thigh - hard enough to bruise a little because nobody implied he was annoying but him - and leaning over to turn the sound down on the TV. “I wonder that myself a lot. I guess that’s what you do when you love someone. You put up with them.”

“I am destined to be forever alone.” Nick frowned for a moment, looking almost despondent before turning up the volume again. “Nobody likes Isabel either. We can be hermits together.”

“You’re horrible,” Kurt said, biting back the urge to laugh because cruelly, it was the truth. They’d be the perfect, average couple, especially with the amount of bitching that went on between the two of them.
~*~
There were only a few things Kurt was sure of at that moment in time. Firstly - it was somebody’s birthday, but he wasn’t sure who’s. Secondly - he hadn’t intended to drink, but somehow he’d ended up with something fruity he couldn’t name. Thirdly - Isabel was brilliant at dancing in shoes Nick had described as ‘stripper heels’, but Kurt wasn’t sure how she was even managing to stay upright, considering she had two empty glasses in her hands.

Beside him, Nick was also dancing, slightly less brilliantly and in flatter shoes. Kurt wasn’t really sure it still classified as dancing, as it seemed to be more like having clothed sex with Annie-From-Essex. Kurt had only talked with her long enough to verify that really, that accent was really real. Really. Every so often, Nick would twist awkwardly to wrap his arm around Kurt, trying to pull him into a strange version of a ménage a trois. If it wasn’t for the amount of actual threesomes Kurt was sure happened between the other members of New Directions, he might have been tempted to call it the glee version, which might have confused Nick enough to leave him alone.

As it was, he had to settle for squirming out of the grip and mumbling about personal space and breasts. Nick never seemed to pay attention, because his arm would be back about two minutes later. Kurt would have moved further away from him, but whoever’s birthday it was had far too many friends (or friends who had friends with nothing better to do, like in his case) and he was hemmed in on all sides. He was quickly becoming very familiar with the stitching on the back of somebodies jeans. He wondered, vaguely, if anyone would like to discuss it with him.

He sips down some more of his drink, smiling at the way it tickles his throat. He can feel himself moving, swaying vaguely to the beat of the music and part of him thinks he should probably stop, because he never was particularly good at dancing. Singing, well, naturally, he was brilliant. It was easy and natural and good, even if it was something he doesn’t have the time to do it anymore. Dancing? He fulfilled the white male stereotype, even if he was better at it than Finn. He could move his hips, or his hands, or his feet well enough, but together? Things got a bit awkward.

He didn’t stop though. He kept swaying, humming along to the song he didn’t recognize. Nick was trying to pull him into the dance again, tugging too hard on Kurt’s arm and splashing orange-strawberry-tickly-throat-whatever it was onto the floor. Kurt wasn’t quite sure if it missed his shoes or not.

He stands awkwardly, sort of between Nick and Annie-From-Essex, but angled away from the grinding. He blinks as he looks around the room, noticing that Isabel wasn’t dancing anymore, but squeezing herself between people on a direct course to him. He waved and she waved back, the glasses she’d held before no longer in her hands. Nick’s elbow caught him between his shoulders, and he stumbled and spilt more of his orange-strawberry-tickly-throat-thing.

“Kurt,” Isabel said, wrapping her arms around his neck. He could smell vodka on her, something that helped maintain his idea of his own sobriety. “Let’s go home. This party is boring.”

“You looked like you were having fun a minute ago.” He wasn’t really sure if it had been a minute or an hour ago, but it didn’t seem like Isabel would really know the difference either.

“But it’s boring now.” Her arms moved from around his neck to around his arm, and Kurt barely had a chance to hand his drink to somebody else before she began dragging him away. He didn’t manage to say goodbye to Nick.

~*~

After his walk home with Isabel, Kurt could maintain the fact he wasn’t drunk. His breath didn’t smell like alcohol like hers had. He was sure he could walk in a straight line and touch his nose, which she couldn’t.

He was, admittedly, pleasantly buzzed from the tropical concoction he’d been drinking. A little giggly and a little too chatty away from the people he didn’t know but overall, his reactions weren’t too impaired. He was still himself. That was why he’d dropped and broken a glass all over his carpet when he saw an email from Blaine with the subject ‘we need to talk.’ Hadn’t they already had the talk about why that sentence was not something Blaine was allowed to use?

He could still feel the buzz as he logged on to Skype, but he forced it away. He tempered the giggles, put on his serious face and nearly jumped out of his skin when his laptop started ringing before he’d even been logged on for five seconds.

He smiled when he saw Blaine - it was a habit, an automatic reaction that quickly died when he realized Blaine wasn’t smiling. He looked…sad, but not like he was hurt. Angry, but not like he was furious with Kurt.

“You look happy,” Blaine said, his eyes avoiding the screen. Kurt frowned at that. Blaine didn’t avoid things. He took the bull by the horns and got it done. “Good night?”

“There were nice drinks.” Blaine seemed to blanch at that. He ran a hand through his hair before finally, finally looking up at his screen.

“I have something I need to tell you.” That really didn’t help Kurt panic any less. There were many things Blaine could tell him: “I-don’t-love-you-anymore’s” and “this-isn’t-working’s” and “I’ve-met-someone-else’s.” He was sure that if Mercedes was here, she’d slap him and tell him not to be stupid. It was hard to be logical when it was one in the morning and your boyfriend wasn’t looking at you and saying you needed to talk, Kurt would reply.

“Oh?” he finally managed, hoping his panic wasn’t showing on his face. Not that it would matter if it was, seeing as Blaine seemed to be more interested in the palms of his hands. Blaine didn’t say anything for a long moment, one that stretched for hours and days and years and okay, maybe Kurt was being a little dramatic. “Blaine…can you say it? Because I’ve been drinking and this is kind of scary right now.” Blaine looked up again at that, biting his lip and twisting his hands together.

“I cheated on you,” he finally said. “I have a million and one excuses - I’d had too much to drink, I was lonely, I missed you, I’m scared, it was just some kissing - but nothing is going to make it right and I couldn’t keep that from you and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Kurt was silent. Time seemed to rush past again and there was a roar in his ears. The buzz was an angry vibration now and he wanted to shut himself up and make it go away. He couldn’t think, not with that, not with what Blaine had said. A part of him hoped he’d somehow managed to mishear but he knew he hadn’t. He knew he’d heard right and he didn’t know what to say, because this wasn’t supposed to happen. Blaine wasn’t supposed to fuck up. Blaine was the perfect gentleman and Kurt was the one who put his foot in it and did stupid things and this wasn’t supposed to happen.

“I need to go,” he managed to say, dropping his hands to his desk. “I can’t do this right now because…because. Can we talk tomorrow? We’ll talk tomorrow.” Blaine nodded, began to saying something, but Kurt just slammed his laptop shut.

He didn’t bother to take his clothes off as he crawled into bed. Not even his shoes. He pulled the covers up over him, dragging them high up around his shoulders as his fingers scrabbled and bit into the pillow.

Tomorrow. He’d fix things tomorrow.

~*~
Every time Kurt closed his eyes, all he could see was Blaine with other men. Random, nameless men who all had one thing in common: perfection. They were all perfect in a way Kurt could never be. They were real men, not someone who’d ever be called faggy or girly. They were the sort of people that Blaine would be perfect with. They would be able to discuss things like football without one of them diverting the topic to how viable it would be to create on-trend football uniforms. They wouldn’t use up the hot water or spend way too long moisturizing or need Blaine’s opinion on whether cherry suited him better than berry. They probably wouldn’t even know the difference between cherry and berry, because why was that something that even mattered?

Kurt wondered if this was it. Was this when Blaine realized that no matter how in love Kurt was with him, that he’d only “fallen in love” with Kurt because there had been no other options? He was a normal teenage boy, after all. Kurt had heard enough about Puck’s needs to know that it had never been normal for a teenage male to want a classic romance, not a quick one-two in a disgusting bathroom.

Maybe being in LA had made Blaine realize that there were other people who were so much better. Maybe Kurt being so far away had helped that.

The door to his room banged open, smacking into the wall. In the doorway stood Isabel, hands on her hips, the image of the classic worried mother.

“Jesus wept, Kurt Hummel,” she snapped, shutting the door behind her. “I’ve been knocking for five minutes. I thought you’d gotten your scarf caught and strangled yourself. I was about to call the fucking ambulance.”

“Sorry,” Kurt said, shuffling across his bed. “I got lost in thought, I guess.” He watched Isabel as she sat in the space he’d vacated, watched as she crossed her legs under her and then watched her as she watched him.

“What’s up?” she asked, brushing her hand against his. “You look utterly miserable. Has someone died?” In a movie, Kurt would have said ‘my heart’ and the audience would laugh, except for the people who’d been cheated on. Their breath would catch in their throats and their knuckles would turn white so they didn’t cry in front of other people and Isabel would be the perfect fag hag and offer him ice cream.

But it wasn’t a movie, because if it was, Kurt would have been in a fairy tale and this wouldn’t be happening, because Blaine would be Prince Charming.

“Blaine cheated on me.” There was silence, and Isabel looked like she was waiting for Kurt to say something more. Something like ‘just joking, I’m just really tired’ or ‘got you’. But Kurt said nothing, and she realized he was entirely serious.

“I’ll go and kick his face in, if you want.” Kurt laughed at that. It was watery, too close to a choke, but Isabel smiled along with him anyway. “I don’t care how handsome he is, my boots could do some serious face rearranging.”

“I think he can keep his nose in the same place,” Kurt said, pulling his legs up to his chest and resting his hands on them. “He said sorry. I’ve not spoken to him yet. Not really. I don’t know what to say to him.”

“Tell him what you’re feeling. What are you feeling?”

“Like it’s my fault.” Kurt looked down at his hands. “Isn’t that how everyone feels? You can’t get round to blaming them because you love them, so it must be your fault. You didn’t do enough, or something.”

“I think Blaine is just jealous of how fabulous you are and is trying to take out his frustration in stupid ways that he deserves to be punched for.” Isabel nodded as she spoke, a curt, reassuring nod. “Forget about him, babe. You could do better. I know for a fact that Tom in my flat is single. You should go out for coffee with him sometime.” Kurt sighed, leaning back against the wall. He didn’t want better, he didn’t want Tom or going out for coffee with him.

“What if I can’t do better?” he asked, picking at his nails. “What if Blaine was the one I was supposed to hold onto?”

“Then God is a total arse,” Isabel said, with a shrug. “But I don’t believe in him or fate or soul-mates or anything, so chin up. You’ll find someone better.”

~*~
Kurt looked at his phone, willing it to ring. Blaine had emailed him while he slept, explaining that he absolutely did not have the time for Skype, but they really needed to talk, and would calling be okay? To be entirely honest, Kurt was glad that Blaine had decided not to use Skype. It was so much easier to talk when he couldn’t see Blaine, couldn’t imagine him with other people.

Still, he was tempted to rearrange the call for another day. He wasn’t quite sure if he was ready for it yet, to face having to talk about something more serious than why Kurt was pissed off with Blaine for something only vaguely irrational and why Blaine wasn’t willing to apologize for something he hadn’t really done.

His hand hovered over the phone when it rang and the photo of Blaine showed on screen. It took a moment, but he eventually pressed the answer button.

“Hey,” he said, trying to find something to look at in his room. This was the difficult part, the awkward part of using phones only made worse by the fact he wasn’t quite sure what to say or how to act with Blaine.

“I’m so sorry, Kurt.” Blaine’s voice was crackling slightly, the reception shitty. Kurt’s stomach lurched as he tried to find something to reply with. His mouth opened awkwardly, but nothing came out. “I know that sorry doesn’t fix anything but I am. I hate myself for hurting you. I hate myself for doing it because I know what you’re like and I know what you’re thinking and it’s not true.”

“Okay,” Kurt said. “Are we-” He broke off, taking a deep breath and trying to find the right words. “Are we…us? Are we still an us? Or, I don’t know, are you just…” He trailed off. He imagined that he could hear the intake of breath from Blaine, but that could have been a glitch on the phone.

“We’re an us if you want us to still be an us,” Blaine replied, and any other time they would have laughed together. There was no laughter this time. Kurt nodded, wishing now that Skype had been chosen because words were difficult to find; his stomach lurched and his throat burned when he tried to find something to say. “Kurt?”

“Yeah, yeah. Us.” Kurt exhaled loudly. That was simple. Three words. Could three words make it work? Make it better? Stop the bitter burn of betrayal, the way he felt sick sometimes when he thought of Blaine?

“I’m glad.” Blaine’s voice was lower now. “I really am sorry, Kurt. So sorry. I love you so much and I just - I wish I could take everything back. I love you.”

“Yeah,” Kurt said, nodding again like Blaine could see him. “Yeah.”

~*~

It had been well over a month since - since Blaine. Snow and cold had turned to rain and cold, but occasionally there were moments of dazzling sun that had Kurt at least stripping down to his sweater. In honor of the changes, he’d not protested as loudly as usual when Isabel accosted his hands and painted his nails an (admittedly chic) grey shade called ‘London’s Weather Forecast.’ He wasn’t getting too crazy however, and had removed it immediately after she’d finished.

Things had been going okay. School was going great - he was finally getting a hang on things like ears and how to make noses actually look normal, something he’d felt like he’d never be able to say just a few months ago. The classes were still interesting, and Carmen still crazy. He still missed home, but every day it seemed more and more like England was the place for him to be, like he’d made the right choice - certain things not included.

Easter had been and gone, with Kurt staying in England and trying to soothe over the vaguely hurt expression on too many people’s faces with an explanation about school, and how busy he was and really, he had so much work to catch up on with interviews coming up. Instead, he’d gone to Paris with Nick and Isabel for a week, just a quick trip marked by the fact Kurt was the only one who had a decent level of French and Nick’s obsession with pastries. Both Isabel and Kurt were sure they ever wanted to see a croissant ever again.

He hadn’t told Blaine about that trip. He hadn’t told Blaine about much, really. It was easier to avoid him, to fob off calls and emails with an ‘I’m so sorry, I want to talk to you but I have xyz numbers of assignments due.’ It wasn’t a total lie - he did have a lot of work to do. It was the important section of the year, something Carmen reminded them of daily.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d told Blaine he loved him. Blaine told him every day, sent a different email each day telling Kurt at least one reason why he was amazing and why he loved him. Most of the time, Kurt didn’t reply to them. When he did, it was a generic ‘thank you.’

He didn’t know why he wasn’t bothered, but he couldn’t find it in him to care enough. He knew he should have been bothered by that, but he wasn’t. It was like he was stuck in a stasis that he couldn’t break out of.

The day before an interview - the interview - the one that would either make or break his staying at Saint Martin’s, Blaine gave up. Kurt wanted to be angry at him for that, for choosing that day to inform Kurt that he had tried, tried so hard but it was getting impossible considering Kurt wasn’t trying so maybe it was better if they broke up. It was, however, hard to be angry when he knew that Blaine didn’t even know he’d gotten an interview.

He wanted to be angry at Blaine for something, anything, but there was nothing. The email was perfectly polite. Perfectly Blaine. There was nothing to blame him for, nothing to be furious about and so he was lost.

He didn’t reply.

~*~
Kurt,

I love you. That has never changed. I’ve been upset with you, angry with you, hurt by you, but that has never changed, ever. It will never change. I will always love you because you are smart, beautiful, witty, perfect. Every positive adjective would never be enough.

I’ve tried. I’ve tried to make it up to you and show you how much I love you - how sorry I am for hurting you, how much I hate myself for that. I’ve tried so hard, you can’t argue that. But it’s impossible. I want this to work, because I love you. I don’t want to lose you. But there are two people in this relationship, and you’re not trying to make it work, so it’s not working.

I know you’re busy. I respect that. I’m so proud of you. Maybe we should let this take the back seat for - until you’re ready. I will always be ready. Just say the word and we can try to make it work. We can make it work.

So what I’m trying to say is that I love you, but I think we should let this relationship go, just until you’re ready.

The ball’s in your court, Kurt. Let me know.
Blaine.

~*~

Kurt drummed his fingers against his thighs, trying not to look like he was about to cry, trying not to squirm at the way his palms were sweating. Here he was, waiting for the interview that could mean his being sent back to America and having to find something to do with his life there. The interview that could mean he could stay in England, finish University in England. All he could think about was Blaine. About how Blaine had given up, and maybe that was Kurt’s fault for giving up first because Blaine was determined - Blaine never dropped anything he’d set his mind to. His portfolio sat in front of him on the desk, and he tried to avoid looking at it because, somehow, that made it more real. It reminded him that this wasn’t a nice chat about his future, but something that decided it.

“Kurt Hummel?” He looked up, forced himself to smile at the young woman walking into the room. He nodded, standing up to shake her hand and trying to look normal and not like he was terrified. He wasn’t particularly sure it was working. “I’m Jane. It’s nice to meet you.” She sat opposite him, folding her leg across the other and clasping her hands together.

“Likewise,” he choked out, hating the way he had to swallow and clear his throat just to be able to speak.

“No need to be nervous.” She smiled widely, leaning towards him. He supposed it was to make him feel at ease, but it just made him feel more nervous, more worried. “I guess you’d feel better if we got this over and done with so…let’s start with something easy. Is there anyone that inspires you?” Kurt exhaled at that. That was an easy question, one he could answer at length, could wax lyrical about. He did it often enough with anyone who’d listen, and occasionally those who weren’t interested.

“Definitely Alexander McQueen and Sarah Burton by extension.” He stopped tapping his fingers, felt himself relax and stopped having to force the smile. “McQueen’s designs were out there, beautiful but still wearable. They were full of personality, he didn’t compromise and that’s something I’ve always aimed to do in every aspect of my life. I’m tired of compromising and not being myself just so people like me, and I see that when I look at his designs. Sarah Burton, somehow, has managed to keep those values and beliefs in her designs. She’s not lost anything from the brand, but has added her personality to make it even more perfect and real.” Jane smiled, seemingly glad that Kurt had stopped looking like he was going to puke, cry, or do both simultaneously.

“Do you have a favorite piece from your portfolio?” Kurt thought for a moment, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. There were a few pieces he liked, a few he was proud of, but a favorite? He wasn’t so sure. He opened his portfolio, flicking through the pages, hoping he didn’t look like he was waiting for one to jump out at him as a favorite.

“This one,” He said, finally settling on one in particular. It was one of his better pieces and it certainly was one he loved. “It’s of my friends - the female ones at least - in clothes I designed to fit their personalities and tastes in clothing.” He pointed to the first one. “This one - Rachel - she’s talented and over the top and she has a thing for gold stars, but she dresses a bit like a grandmother, so I wanted something more modest, hence the length of the skirt and sleeves.” He pointed to one on the opposite end. “Santana - she’s a little bit evil, very sultry and passionate. She’d definitely need something sleek and sensual, but I felt red was too typical.”

The rest of the interview followed in much the same vein - a lot of nodding and smiling from Jane, a lot of rambling from Kurt. By the time it was over, Kurt had almost forgotten the nervousness, the nauseating feel of his stomach fluttering as it had at the beginning.

The happy feeling came with him as he left the building, walking straight past fellow students who looked the way he’d felt. At least, it did until he pulled out his phone, already typing in an email to Blaine before he realized that he couldn’t email him anymore. Not now they were on a break, not with the way Blaine had ended things only a few hours before.
~*~
Isabel, being the one who actually paid attention to things, was the first to notice that something wasn’t quite right with Kurt. They were sitting in their usual bar, Kurt drinking orange juice and lemonade and trying to figure out how to drown his sorrows in it, while Isabel and Nick chugged vodka and Red Bull like it was going out of style. It was, in theory, to celebrate getting through their interviews without any of them going insane. Nick had kindly pointed out that they were already insane and didn’t have far to go.

“You’ve broken up with Blaine, haven’t you?” She pushed the pot of peanuts towards him, picking out the raisins even as she did so. “Was it you or him?”

“Him,” Kurt muttered, taking a handful of nuts. “He thinks we should ‘let it go’ until I’m ready.”

“Makes sense to me,” Nick said, leaning into the conversation. Immediately, Isabel smacked him one, muttering something about ‘truth’ and ‘don’t tell him.’

“You have to stop moping around, Kurt,” Isabel said, taking his hand in hers. “You won’t get anywhere like that. I’m not saying to get over him-”

“You were before,” Kurt pointed out.

“Before. But have some fun, babe. Don’t let him get you down. I bet he’s having loads of fun!”

“I would be.”

“Shut up, Nick.”

“You know what you should do, Kurt?” Nick said. Isabel glared at him, her hand positioned and ready to smack him if he said anything she deemed stupid. Kurt just shrugged. Knowing Nick, the answer would be ‘get laid’ and Kurt wasn’t particularly interested in that, especially not by some random guy from the halls. “Go on holiday. You should go on holiday. Get away from everything, get some sun.”

“How do you expect me to do that? I’m broke and the only reason I’m going to even get back home is because my dad paid for my ticket.” Kurt sighed, resting his head on his arms. In theory, it wasn’t a bad idea. A holiday was what everyone seemed to do when things got too much, so who’s to say it wouldn’t work for him? In practice, it just really couldn’t happen. Like, it seemed, everything else in his life.

“I’m going over to Spain for summer so you could come with me! My parents own like, a villa or whatever so you don’t have to pay hotel fees. Just the plane tickets and you know, Ryanair charges like five quid for those.” Nick was grinning wildly as he spoke, like it was the greatest idea he’d ever heard. Kurt wasn’t sure that wasn’t just the vodka, or if he was genuinely happy at the idea of going on holiday with Kurt. “You can get some sun and drink some tinto verano or whatever and eat fish and forget about Blaine for a while!”

“Shockingly,” Isabel said, looking genuinely surprised. “That’s actually a really good idea.”

“I’ll think about it,” Kurt said, nodding vaguely. Inside, he was already thinking about it. Barcelona, Madrid… Going to Spain would be good for his future career, in a way. Research, as it were. He’d already visited three of the major fashion cities and lived in one. Another couple couldn’t hurt. And maybe a holiday was just what he needed.

~*~
It didn’t take him long to make the decision. With a quick call to his dad and then a call to the airline, he managed to get his tickets back home changed to a later date. He paid for his tickets to Spain (not Barcelona or Madrid, annoyingly, but Malaga, wherever the hell that was) and while they weren’t quite five pounds, they had been less than one hundred. When Nick had told him he was paying for the service and quality, he’d begun to worry, however. The reassurance that the pilots were so good that people clapped when they landed didn’t make him feel any better.

Mercedes and Tina had both been jealous of him when he told them where he was going, though Tina had asked if Blaine knew. When Kurt had said no, she’d gone silent, and eventually restarted the conversation on an entirely different topic completely. Mercedes, on the other hand, had been her usual wonderful self and asked for gossip about the ‘beautiful Spanish boys,’ the ‘beautiful Spanish beaches,’ and the ‘beautiful Spanish boys on the beautiful Spanish beaches in their beautiful Spanish bathing suits.’ He’d acquiesced, if only to keep her on that subject instead of a quick change towards another ‘B’ word.

His dad had been completely understanding too. While Kurt hadn’t told him that he and Blaine had broken up (he kept telling himself it was because he didn’t want to do it over the phone and his dad still hadn’t worked out how to use Skype), he’d guessed that something wasn’t quite right and maybe Carole had helped him work that out, just a little bit.

~*~

He was just queuing to get checked in when his phone started buzzing in his pocket. Somehow, he managed to dig it out (his jeans really were ridiculously tight), shuffling ahead even as he did so. When he saw the text, he managed not to be ridiculously dramatic and drop his phone, but he did turn around.

“Isabel!” he shouted. Isabel, chugging coffee like it was a lifeline and lingering at the end of the queue, looking mildly jealous, looked up with an incredulous look on her face. “Want to go to Spain?”

“What?” she asked, pushing her way past everyone to reach Kurt. There was a good amount of tutting, something Kurt had come to learn English people were particularly good at, but nobody said anything and a few even let her through. “Why? What?”

“Take my tickets. I’m going home.” He looked down at his phone, just to make sure the text wasn’t a weird figment of his imagination but no - it still said the same thing. "I hope we can talk when you're home. Call me? Blaine x".

“I don’t even have clothes, Kurt. How can I go on holiday?” Isabel was looking at him with an expression she usually reserved for Nick and other crazy people - generally, really, everyone but Kurt.

“Get your mum to send you some. Buy loads in Spain! I don’t know, but you want to go and I want to go home so just take them, Isabel.” He shoved the ticket into her hand, edging his way out of the queue and hoping she would just accept.

“Why are you even going home? I thought Spain was supposed to be your weird cleansing hippy thing!” The tickets were clenched in her hand even as she spoke. She looked at Nick, who seemed just as confused, and back to Kurt.

Kurt wasn’t in a movie, and one with such a huge amount of drama would get terrible reviews anyway, but he decided it was time to be intentionally vague and then run away, just like in the movies.

“I have something I need to do!” His suitcase squeaked as he walked quickly away (running? In these jeans?). Most of him knew this was a bad idea. Most of his stuff was packed away in Nick’s bedroom, because even he couldn’t justify taking all of it on a two week holiday. He had no idea if they’d even let him change his plane tickets again and maybe, probably, he’d have to rely on a bit of crying and ‘it’s an emergency’ to let him get to change the destination on them too.

But he could worry about all of that later. Like he’d told Isabel, this was something he had to do.



If this was a movie, Kurt thought as he climbed the steps, it would be raining outside. The sky would be a dark grey and the rain would sting as it hit skin. As it was, it was Los Angeles and the sun was shining. It was a beautiful day.

His footsteps echoed as he walked the hallway. In theory, the walk should have given him time to think. In practice, he didn't want time to think. He'd been thinking since he'd gotten the text from Blaine. He'd spent the entire flight thinking. He didn't want to think any more. He just wanted to be standing in front of Blaine, working everything out and hoping they would be okay again.

Finally, he was there. This was what he'd been waiting for, aiming for. This was where he needed to be. He just had to knock. It wasn't like he was turning up uninvited, not really. He dug in his pocket and pulled out his phone. Blaine's text was still open. He'd had to keep checking it was real, that he wasn't just imagining what he wanted to hear.

"I hope we can talk when you're home. Call me? Blaine x".

Sure, this wasn't exactly a call but...it meant Blaine wanted to talk to him, right? That Blaine was willing to hear him out even though Kurt hadn’t offered the same courtesy. He gripped his phone tighter and stared up at the door. All he had to do was knock. One simple movement. He raised his hand - and if this was a movie, this would be the part where Blaine opened the door and looked surprised to see him there - and knocked.

There was nothing for a moment, no sound of movement, no 'just a minute!' and he began to worry that maybe Blaine was out. With a sigh, he turned around. He'd come back later. He'd go and get a coffee and something to eat and then he'd call, like he should have in the first place.

"Sorry, I was in the-" He turned around. Blaine stood in the doorway, towel tied low on his hips, hair dripping water over his shoulders. "Kurt?" He frowned, his brow furrowing and his nose scrunching. "What are you doing here? I thought you were still in England... I thought you weren’t due back for another couple of days? Did I get the day wrong?"

"Obviously not," Kurt said, before he sighed again and ran a hand through his hair. He knew it must have been a mess, he probably looked like he'd spent the last few days living under a bridge, but he didn't care. "I decided not to call." Blaine took a deep breath, before stepping away from the door.

"Come in," he said, gesturing vaguely into the apartment. "I think it's time we actually talked." Kurt nodded, but he waited until Blaine had actually moved into the apartment to follow. The door shut behind him, and he hovered awkwardly by it.

He watched as Blaine shuffled around, moving things off the couch and clearing space. He wasn't nervous by nature; he could sing in front of crowds, speak up and share his opinion regardless of what it was, but somehow, standing in a tiny apartment with someone who knew every aspect of him, facing the idea of having to fix an entire relationship, was nerve racking. Part of him wondered if it was too late to make up an excuse and leave.

But then Blaine turned around, one hand still gripping onto his towel and smiled.

"I missed you."

Fin

Thank you for reading! ♥