Stop Loss, Chapter 27, Part 2
I hate everything about air travel. Proceed.
.
The lights were on at Blaine's house, but all three of the garage doors were down, leaving Kurt without a clue as to who might answer the door. After calling his dad to make sure that it was all right if he didn't come straight home ("Don't worry, Bud," Burt had assured him, "the couch hasn't moved since I sat down on it; I think it'll stay put until you get back."), Kurt had spent the whole drive over practicing his small talk in case he ran into one of Blaine's parents.
There was nothing to practice in preparation for seeing Blaine-even if he had wanted to act like the visit meant less than it did, Kurt was sure he'd crack the second he saw Blaine's face.
Slipping a packet of tissues from the glove compartment into his jacket pocket-he was there because not knowing had finally become worse than whatever Blaine could say to him, but he was sure to shed a few tears either way, knowing him-Kurt took one last deep breath to steel himself and climbed out of the car.
A few seconds after the familiar chime of the Andersons' doorbell rang out, Kurt could hear the clicking sound of Mrs. Anderson's high heels as she hurried to the front hall. Pasting his smile in place, he was ready when she answered the door.
"Hello, Mrs. Anderson," he greeted her politely. "It's nice to see you."
Mrs. Anderson returned his smile with a more genuine-looking one. "Kurt! It's so nice to see you, too; James and I were just saying the other day that you hadn't been over in a while."
Kurt's gaze dropped to his feet. "I know," he acknowledged. "My dad was in the hospital last week, and I've been pretty busy at home."
Mrs. Anderson hummed sympathetically. "I'm so sorry to hear that," she offered, blinking sadly at him. "Is there anything we can do to help? It's just the two of you, isn't it?"
Kurt, who'd been asked the same two questions countless times already, shook his head. "No, we're fine, but thank you for asking," he recited. "I was just hoping to see Blaine, if I could."
Mrs. Anderson's frown deepened. "Oh, Sweetheart, he didn't tell you? He decided not to come home from Westerville this weekend, after all. I tried to get him to change his mind, but he said he wants to spend some time getting to know the campus a little bit better, so that he doesn't keep getting turned around between classes."
It took every ounce of willpower and dramatic training that Kurt possessed not to react to Mrs. Anderson's offhanded revelation.
Blaine had left Carmel. Blaine was going to school at Dalton Academy.
Blaine had left him without even saying goodbye.
"Oh," Kurt managed hollowly, blinking quickly before his eyes could flood with tears and betray him. "No, I thought-he must have called while I was at school. I haven't checked my messages yet, so…"
Mrs. Anderson seemed to accept that as a likely explanation. "I'm sure you boys will be able to see each other next weekend," she suggested. "Or-well, maybe not; it's a long drive to Dalton, and if you've got your dad…"
Not able to deal with his secret (possibly-former) boyfriend's oblivious mother hinting that he should drive out to see said boyfriend at his new school that he had neglected to mention, Kurt shrugged his shoulders in response, and was about to politely excuse himself so that he could go implode privately in the car when Mrs. Anderson straightened up.
"I almost forgot, Kurt," she added, her socialite smile back in full force. "Your sweater is upstairs in Blaine's room; he left it there for you in case you needed it back before he came home. If you don't mind waiting, I can run up and grab it for you."
Inside the house, the telephone rang, and Mrs. Anderson glanced back nervously.
Without stopping to think about what he was doing, Kurt shook his head. "Why don't you go ahead and get that, if it's important?" he offered. "I can get my things from Blaine's room and let myself out, it's no trouble."
Mrs. Anderson's expression relaxed. "Would you mind?" she agreed, hastily ushering him into the house and retreating down the hall. "It's just that I'm expecting a call, and-"
The phone rang again, and Mrs. Anderson shook her head at her own rambling. "It was sweet of you to drop by, Kurt," she said quickly. "Blaine will be so disappointed that he missed you."
With a last, hurried smile, Mrs. Anderson turned the corner and disappeared from Kurt's sight, picking up halfway through the next ring of the telephone and leaving Kurt alone in the front hall.
Kurt kept his expression perfectly neutral as he climbed the stairs and wandered down the familiar hall, concentrating on keeping his breathing composed and even. It wasn't until he shut himself up in Blaine's room-and how was it possible that the space looked so abandoned, even with so few things missing or out of place?-that he gave into his feelings, his hand flying up to his mouth and his breath hitching in his throat as he choked down tears; gasping for air as his legs grew weak and he slid down the dark wooden door and onto the carpet.
Blaine had run away. He was gone, and he hadn't even come to say goodbye. Whatever Kurt had thought was going on between the two of them, he'd never seriously entertained the idea that Blaine was capable of doing anything as heartless as that. Even when he'd failed to visit or even call after Kurt's dad had nearly died, Kurt had ignored it when he could, and had made excuse after excuse for him in his head when he couldn't, unable to face a reality where Blaine could know how much Kurt needed him and ignore him anyway.
And even after talking to Mrs. Anderson and knowing what Blaine had done, Kurt still couldn't make sense of it. Because, even as confused and upset and hurt as he was, Kurt knew that Blaine simply wouldn't have done that. Something was wrong.
Helplessly, Kurt's gaze travelled around Blaine's room. There were no flashing neon signs or open, tearstained diaries anywhere to help him out, but the sweatshirt he had given Blaine the week before was neatly folded on top of Blaine's pillow. Wiping his wet cheeks with his sleeve, Kurt gingerly stood up and walked over to the bed, picking up the sweatshirt and lifting it to his face. The fabric smelled like Blaine, bringing a fresh wave of tears to his eyes, but he shed his jacket and pulled it on anyway, wanting to be enveloped in the scent.
And as he straightened the sleeves and tugged the hem into place, a crinkling sound reached his ears.
Kurt tore at the sweatshirt pocket with both hands and pulled out two messily-folded pieces of paper that were covered in Blaine's familiar handwriting. Feeling suddenly lightheaded, Kurt slowly sat down on Blaine's bed, curling up against the pillows as he carefully unfolded and smoothed out the pages.
The ink was smudged in places, and there were words (and even whole sentences, in a couple of cases) that had been crossed out so thoroughly that Kurt couldn't make out what Blaine had originally written. The letter was addressed to him, though, and Kurt held it close, squinting to make out the words in the more illegible sections:
Dear Kurt, the letter read,
I love you. Whatever else happens after you read this letter, I need you to know that.
I'm sure that by now, you've been told that I'm transferring to Dalton Academy today (Wednesday). And since I'd have ripped this up if I wasn't such a coward, you're probably upset or angry with me for letting you find out from my parents or someone at school, instead of telling you myself. I'm so sorry for doing that to you. I'm upset and angry at myself about it, because I never want to do anything that hurts you, and since I can't pretend that there's much I'm going to miss about Carmel, the only real regret I have in leaving is that I don't have the courage to tell you any of this in person.
I don't want to be like that forever though, and that's a big part of why I'm transferring. Because I know we talked about some of this last week, but I don't think I've been truly honest with you and told you that, too much of the time, I feel like you're the only thing that's keeping me from drowning-not only at Carmel, but in general as well. This last week without you has been hell, mostly because I miss you so much that it feels like I'm missing a physical piece of myself, but also because you're an anchor for me even when nothing else is right. I know I'm mixing my metaphors now, but the point is that even when I feel better for a while, feel like I'm making progress in therapy, the littlest setback is enough to make everything fly apart again. And I haven't been learning to be strong on my own because it's easier to lean on you, or to get angry at everyone and everything, or numb myself with my pills, than to admit that I'm still struggling.
But I don't want to do it anymore. I need to be better than I have been, mostly for me, but for you, too. When I came over on Wednesday, seeing Jesse with you…broke me, and I let how I felt become more important to me than what you were going through. I'd understand if you hated me for that, especially because I couldn't even bring myself to call and explain later. I don't know if he was just messing with me, or if anything happened between the two of you, but it shouldn't have mattered to me that morning. And I'm not proud of myself for not being able to cope with the idea of losing you to someone else in order to help you cope with nearly losing your father. I know we had just broken up, and you were well within your rights to do whatever you needed to do, and I should have been there. Even if that hadn't been true, and you had really cheated on me, I should have been able to help you when you needed help, and dealt with everything else later, the way I know you would have done for me. Because you're a good person, Kurt, even if you don't always think you are or know what the right thing is.
This is the hardest thing I've ever written. I'm sorry that it's getting so incoherent.
I don't know what's going to happen now. Like I said, I'd understand if you hate me and want to make our breakup permanent (even if I really, really hope you don't), but either way, please text me and let me know that you've gotten this letter. You're my best friend, even if we decide in the end that we want different things, and if you say it's all right, I'll give you a call in a couple of months when I've had some time to work on myself and sort out everything that I'm feeling.
I hope your dad is doing well. I think about both of you every day.
I love you (I love you I love you I love you I love you) and I'm sorry.
Blaine.
When Kurt finally stopped crying (his face pressed into one of Blaine's pillows so that Mrs. Anderson wouldn't hear his sobbing and come in), he pulled his jacket from the end of the bed into his lap and took his cell phone out of the pocket. With shaking hands, he sent Blaine the requested message:
I love you so much. Please call me whenever you're ready. I love you.
By the time his phone chimed with a reply (Thank you for understanding. I love you, always.), Kurt was on the other side of town.
Jesse's car was parked in the driveway, but it wasn't until Kurt had stabbed angrily at the doorbell for the third time that he finally heard the muffled sound of Jesse's voice (and a pair of measured, steady footsteps) coming down the hall and approaching the front entrance of the house.
When the door swung open, the reason for the delay was obvious: Jesse was on the phone. "Well, if it has to be a parent supervising her, then she's going to have to wait until the end of April," he was saying. "They're going straight from Thailand to Cambodia, and it's not as if they can fly in from Southeast Asia for a 48-hour visit."
A frazzled voice on the other end started speaking rapidly, and Jesse rolled his eyes skyward with impatience as he waved Kurt inside and shut the door behind him.
"They're scheduled to check in with us on Monday," he informed the caller when there was a pause. "I can ask them then, but I doubt their answer will be any different from mine." Glancing at Kurt, he pointed at the closet and down the hall, indicating that Kurt should hang up his sweatshirt and head into the kitchen, from which the scent of freshly-brewed coffee was wafting.
Kurt did neither, staring coolly at Jesse with folded arms as he leaned against the bannister.
Jesse shrugged his shoulders, wrapping up the phone call. "I'll give them the message," he promised. "Tell Angela I said Hello. Of course. Thank you."
Hanging up the phone, he let out a theatrical sigh. "Honestly, Kurt," he insisted, shaking his head, "these doctors are supposed to be the best in the country; you'd think they'd have a better sense of forewarning. A week is hardly enough notice for the entire family to change their plans and schedule flights home, just so that Angela can come back for a trial weekend. Rising gas prices affect everyone, you know."
Kurt ignored him. "Why didn't you tell me that Blaine came to see me last week?" he demanded instead, looking directly at Jesse with a frosty seriousness that felt weirdly gratifying.
Jesse, unfazed as ever, raised an eyebrow. "Hello to you too, Kurt. Why didn't you tell me that you'd hired me as your private secretary?" he countered mildly, dropping the phone onto the spindly table by the front door. "A lot of people visited you last week; I didn't keep track of them all."
He paused. "I had no idea you were so popular, either," he added. "I would have-"
"Blaine came to visit, you said something to him, and he left before I could talk to him," Kurt interrupted, unwilling to let Jesse slyly change the subject. "I want to know what you said, and I want to know why you said it."
Jesse sighed again. "I didn't let anyone in to see you on Wednesday morning," he explained, looking slightly irritated at Kurt for questioning his judgment. "I didn't think you wanted to see anyone but your dad, since you were so upset and stressed out."
Kurt closed his eyes briefly. It was such a Jesse answer-just plausible enough that he could almost believe that it was true.
But just being turned away at the door wouldn't have upset Blaine so much that he couldn't bring himself to face Kurt.
"I wasn't so stressed out that I wouldn't have wanted to see my boyfriend," he replied, actively working to suppress his anger. Or at least his temper-yelling at Jesse before clearly making his point had a tendency to be counterproductive. "And you knew that. You knew I wanted to see him."
"I knew that you had just cheated on him," Jesse pointed out with a sympathetic frown.
Kurt's blood turned to ice. "We were taking a break," he reminded Jesse, who looked at him pityingly.
"That didn't work on Friends, either," he chided Kurt gently. "It may seem trivial, but you need to know these things, Kurt-cultural education is important for your career."
Kurt growled. "Screw my career," he spat. "Jesse…" He trailed off, too angry and frustrated to figure out how to make Jesse understand why what he had done mattered so much.
If there even was a way-Kurt was stubborn, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd walked away from a fight with Jesse feeling like he'd won.
Maybe he never had.
Jesse was still and quiet, watching him with careful eyes. "I told you," he said softly after a minute, slowly stepping closer to Kurt as if he was trying not to startle him. "When we kissed the other night, I told you that it didn't have to mean anything.
"But you kissed me back," he reminded Kurt, gazing at him so hypnotically that Kurt had to tear his eyes away, even as his throat tightened in remembrance. "Even if you were with Blaine, you still have feelings for me, I know you do. And you and I…we broke up, yes, but we've never really had any closure. Because you and I are different from all the others, Kurt," he insisted. "And Blaine won't ever understand you like I do. I thought Rachel-"
Jesse paused, looking away from Kurt briefly for the first time since he'd started talking. "I thought she was special too," he admitted. "Maybe she is, or maybe she'll sacrifice her future and tie herself down to some moron football player right out of high school; it's her choice."
He shook his head sadly. "But we were born for greatness," he continued, "and I can't watch you throw everything you've worked for away. You can't blame me for wanting to protect you, Kurt."
Kurt looked back at Jesse, ready to fire back with an angry retort about not needing that sort of protection.
And paused.
Jesse was looking at him, wide-eyed but confident, standing just within Kurt's reach. He'd obviously changed his clothes and fixed his hair after coming home, and the light scent of his cologne blended so seamlessly with the aroma of the coffee drifting down the hall from the kitchen that Kurt almost hadn't noticed that both were among his favorites. Even the lighting in the hall was perfect, flattering Jesse's skin tone without washing out Kurt's more delicate complexion.
The staging was perfect, like a scene out of a play.
And if Kurt closed his eyes hard enough, he could even see Jesse practicing his lines in front of the mirror.
Kurt's anger drained away as he opened his eyes, replaced by something more complex and harder to define. "I don't blame you," he answered calmly, looking Jesse in the eye and watching the surprise creep into his expression at Kurt's deviation from their age-old script. "What happened between Blaine and I was my fault, and a little bit Blaine's, as well."
Seeing that Jesse was about to say something, Kurt held up a hand to stop him. "But I'm not in love with you, either," he added. "Not like I'm in love with him, and you hate that."
Jesse's composed smirk faltered. "Is that what you think," he commented flatly.
It was a statement rather than a question, but Kurt nodded anyway. "Part of it, at least," he answered seriously, ignoring Jesse's tone. "You need people to want you, to want to be like you, so that you can justify treating people badly the way you do. But it's not going to work anymore. Not with me, anyway."
Jesse was paler than Kurt had ever seen him; the lighting in the hall clearly wasn't as perfect as he had imagined.
"Kurt," Jesse began, sounding incredulous, "you can't-"
"I can," Kurt interrupted. "And you're going to listen to me talk, for once. You manipulate Blaine because he's as talented as you are, but he doesn't need to be the best the way that you do, and it scares you that other people might see it, too. And they will, because he's amazing, and I'm going to get him back if it takes me until I'm thirty to re-earn his trust."
Kurt swallowed. "But you manipulate me because I let you," he admitted, looking down at the floor. "Because there's still some part of me that needs your approval, and cares what you think about me. And it's my fault, that I let you do that."
Kurt straightened back up, staring evenly at Jesse-who was looking more and more unnerved by Kurt's sudden outpouring, he noticed. "But I'm not the same person that I was when you met me," he continued. "And I don't fit under your wing anymore. I've been acting like there's still so much that you know that I don't-"
"Because that's true," Jesse interrupted quickly, looking intensely at Kurt, a pang of desperation in his voice. "Yes, I can be hard on you, but it's only because I know what you're capable of. You could be incredible, Kurt, if you would just-"
It was Kurt's turn to interrupt. "I will be incredible," he said calmly. "And it'll be partly thanks to you; I know that. But there are some sacrifices that aren't worth the price, and that I'm not willing to make, even if you thought that you were."
Kurt watched the indirect blow land, and if he'd still been angry, he would have felt vindicated by the sudden shock on Jesse's face as he realized that Kurt had worked out what Jesse had never told him about their sudden breakup that was never really an ending.
But even though he still hated what Jesse had done, to him and to Blaine, Kurt didn't feel anything anymore, except for tired. Tired, and a little sorry for Jesse, who tried so hard to orchestrate everyone else around him, but who had given up control over his own life a long time ago.
"You know," he said gently, straightening back up and putting his hands in the pocket of his sweatshirt, where he'd kept Blaine's letter, "being great doesn't mean being exactly like you. You don't have to be perfect. And you're not perfect, no matter how badly you want everyone to think you are."
He was halfway to the front door when Jesse called after him.
"Then what am I?" he asked Kurt.
Kurt paused.
"If I'm not the best," Jesse pressed, looking just as tired and empty as Kurt felt. "If I'm not perfect. What am I?"
Kurt bit his lip silently. Jesse was watching him, eyes searching his face hungrily. As if the right answer was written there somewhere, if only he looked hard enough for it.
But Kurt couldn't give him that; not when he didn't know himself. Shrugging his shoulders, he gave Jesse one last, sad smile, before turning away.
"Figure it out," he suggested, and walked out the door.
.
The lights were on at Blaine's house, but all three of the garage doors were down, leaving Kurt without a clue as to who might answer the door. After calling his dad to make sure that it was all right if he didn't come straight home ("Don't worry, Bud," Burt had assured him, "the couch hasn't moved since I sat down on it; I think it'll stay put until you get back."), Kurt had spent the whole drive over practicing his small talk in case he ran into one of Blaine's parents.
There was nothing to practice in preparation for seeing Blaine-even if he had wanted to act like the visit meant less than it did, Kurt was sure he'd crack the second he saw Blaine's face.
Slipping a packet of tissues from the glove compartment into his jacket pocket-he was there because not knowing had finally become worse than whatever Blaine could say to him, but he was sure to shed a few tears either way, knowing him-Kurt took one last deep breath to steel himself and climbed out of the car.
A few seconds after the familiar chime of the Andersons' doorbell rang out, Kurt could hear the clicking sound of Mrs. Anderson's high heels as she hurried to the front hall. Pasting his smile in place, he was ready when she answered the door.
"Hello, Mrs. Anderson," he greeted her politely. "It's nice to see you."
Mrs. Anderson returned his smile with a more genuine-looking one. "Kurt! It's so nice to see you, too; James and I were just saying the other day that you hadn't been over in a while."
Kurt's gaze dropped to his feet. "I know," he acknowledged. "My dad was in the hospital last week, and I've been pretty busy at home."
Mrs. Anderson hummed sympathetically. "I'm so sorry to hear that," she offered, blinking sadly at him. "Is there anything we can do to help? It's just the two of you, isn't it?"
Kurt, who'd been asked the same two questions countless times already, shook his head. "No, we're fine, but thank you for asking," he recited. "I was just hoping to see Blaine, if I could."
Mrs. Anderson's frown deepened. "Oh, Sweetheart, he didn't tell you? He decided not to come home from Westerville this weekend, after all. I tried to get him to change his mind, but he said he wants to spend some time getting to know the campus a little bit better, so that he doesn't keep getting turned around between classes."
It took every ounce of willpower and dramatic training that Kurt possessed not to react to Mrs. Anderson's offhanded revelation.
Blaine had left Carmel. Blaine was going to school at Dalton Academy.
Blaine had left him without even saying goodbye.
"Oh," Kurt managed hollowly, blinking quickly before his eyes could flood with tears and betray him. "No, I thought-he must have called while I was at school. I haven't checked my messages yet, so…"
Mrs. Anderson seemed to accept that as a likely explanation. "I'm sure you boys will be able to see each other next weekend," she suggested. "Or-well, maybe not; it's a long drive to Dalton, and if you've got your dad…"
Not able to deal with his secret (possibly-former) boyfriend's oblivious mother hinting that he should drive out to see said boyfriend at his new school that he had neglected to mention, Kurt shrugged his shoulders in response, and was about to politely excuse himself so that he could go implode privately in the car when Mrs. Anderson straightened up.
"I almost forgot, Kurt," she added, her socialite smile back in full force. "Your sweater is upstairs in Blaine's room; he left it there for you in case you needed it back before he came home. If you don't mind waiting, I can run up and grab it for you."
Inside the house, the telephone rang, and Mrs. Anderson glanced back nervously.
Without stopping to think about what he was doing, Kurt shook his head. "Why don't you go ahead and get that, if it's important?" he offered. "I can get my things from Blaine's room and let myself out, it's no trouble."
Mrs. Anderson's expression relaxed. "Would you mind?" she agreed, hastily ushering him into the house and retreating down the hall. "It's just that I'm expecting a call, and-"
The phone rang again, and Mrs. Anderson shook her head at her own rambling. "It was sweet of you to drop by, Kurt," she said quickly. "Blaine will be so disappointed that he missed you."
With a last, hurried smile, Mrs. Anderson turned the corner and disappeared from Kurt's sight, picking up halfway through the next ring of the telephone and leaving Kurt alone in the front hall.
Kurt kept his expression perfectly neutral as he climbed the stairs and wandered down the familiar hall, concentrating on keeping his breathing composed and even. It wasn't until he shut himself up in Blaine's room-and how was it possible that the space looked so abandoned, even with so few things missing or out of place?-that he gave into his feelings, his hand flying up to his mouth and his breath hitching in his throat as he choked down tears; gasping for air as his legs grew weak and he slid down the dark wooden door and onto the carpet.
Blaine had run away. He was gone, and he hadn't even come to say goodbye. Whatever Kurt had thought was going on between the two of them, he'd never seriously entertained the idea that Blaine was capable of doing anything as heartless as that. Even when he'd failed to visit or even call after Kurt's dad had nearly died, Kurt had ignored it when he could, and had made excuse after excuse for him in his head when he couldn't, unable to face a reality where Blaine could know how much Kurt needed him and ignore him anyway.
And even after talking to Mrs. Anderson and knowing what Blaine had done, Kurt still couldn't make sense of it. Because, even as confused and upset and hurt as he was, Kurt knew that Blaine simply wouldn't have done that. Something was wrong.
Helplessly, Kurt's gaze travelled around Blaine's room. There were no flashing neon signs or open, tearstained diaries anywhere to help him out, but the sweatshirt he had given Blaine the week before was neatly folded on top of Blaine's pillow. Wiping his wet cheeks with his sleeve, Kurt gingerly stood up and walked over to the bed, picking up the sweatshirt and lifting it to his face. The fabric smelled like Blaine, bringing a fresh wave of tears to his eyes, but he shed his jacket and pulled it on anyway, wanting to be enveloped in the scent.
And as he straightened the sleeves and tugged the hem into place, a crinkling sound reached his ears.
Kurt tore at the sweatshirt pocket with both hands and pulled out two messily-folded pieces of paper that were covered in Blaine's familiar handwriting. Feeling suddenly lightheaded, Kurt slowly sat down on Blaine's bed, curling up against the pillows as he carefully unfolded and smoothed out the pages.
The ink was smudged in places, and there were words (and even whole sentences, in a couple of cases) that had been crossed out so thoroughly that Kurt couldn't make out what Blaine had originally written. The letter was addressed to him, though, and Kurt held it close, squinting to make out the words in the more illegible sections:
Dear Kurt, the letter read,
I love you. Whatever else happens after you read this letter, I need you to know that.
I'm sure that by now, you've been told that I'm transferring to Dalton Academy today (Wednesday). And since I'd have ripped this up if I wasn't such a coward, you're probably upset or angry with me for letting you find out from my parents or someone at school, instead of telling you myself. I'm so sorry for doing that to you. I'm upset and angry at myself about it, because I never want to do anything that hurts you, and since I can't pretend that there's much I'm going to miss about Carmel, the only real regret I have in leaving is that I don't have the courage to tell you any of this in person.
I don't want to be like that forever though, and that's a big part of why I'm transferring. Because I know we talked about some of this last week, but I don't think I've been truly honest with you and told you that, too much of the time, I feel like you're the only thing that's keeping me from drowning-not only at Carmel, but in general as well. This last week without you has been hell, mostly because I miss you so much that it feels like I'm missing a physical piece of myself, but also because you're an anchor for me even when nothing else is right. I know I'm mixing my metaphors now, but the point is that even when I feel better for a while, feel like I'm making progress in therapy, the littlest setback is enough to make everything fly apart again. And I haven't been learning to be strong on my own because it's easier to lean on you, or to get angry at everyone and everything, or numb myself with my pills, than to admit that I'm still struggling.
But I don't want to do it anymore. I need to be better than I have been, mostly for me, but for you, too. When I came over on Wednesday, seeing Jesse with you…broke me, and I let how I felt become more important to me than what you were going through. I'd understand if you hated me for that, especially because I couldn't even bring myself to call and explain later. I don't know if he was just messing with me, or if anything happened between the two of you, but it shouldn't have mattered to me that morning. And I'm not proud of myself for not being able to cope with the idea of losing you to someone else in order to help you cope with nearly losing your father. I know we had just broken up, and you were well within your rights to do whatever you needed to do, and I should have been there. Even if that hadn't been true, and you had really cheated on me, I should have been able to help you when you needed help, and dealt with everything else later, the way I know you would have done for me. Because you're a good person, Kurt, even if you don't always think you are or know what the right thing is.
This is the hardest thing I've ever written. I'm sorry that it's getting so incoherent.
I don't know what's going to happen now. Like I said, I'd understand if you hate me and want to make our breakup permanent (even if I really, really hope you don't), but either way, please text me and let me know that you've gotten this letter. You're my best friend, even if we decide in the end that we want different things, and if you say it's all right, I'll give you a call in a couple of months when I've had some time to work on myself and sort out everything that I'm feeling.
I hope your dad is doing well. I think about both of you every day.
I love you (I love you I love you I love you I love you) and I'm sorry.
Blaine.
When Kurt finally stopped crying (his face pressed into one of Blaine's pillows so that Mrs. Anderson wouldn't hear his sobbing and come in), he pulled his jacket from the end of the bed into his lap and took his cell phone out of the pocket. With shaking hands, he sent Blaine the requested message:
I love you so much. Please call me whenever you're ready. I love you.
By the time his phone chimed with a reply (Thank you for understanding. I love you, always.), Kurt was on the other side of town.
Jesse's car was parked in the driveway, but it wasn't until Kurt had stabbed angrily at the doorbell for the third time that he finally heard the muffled sound of Jesse's voice (and a pair of measured, steady footsteps) coming down the hall and approaching the front entrance of the house.
When the door swung open, the reason for the delay was obvious: Jesse was on the phone. "Well, if it has to be a parent supervising her, then she's going to have to wait until the end of April," he was saying. "They're going straight from Thailand to Cambodia, and it's not as if they can fly in from Southeast Asia for a 48-hour visit."
A frazzled voice on the other end started speaking rapidly, and Jesse rolled his eyes skyward with impatience as he waved Kurt inside and shut the door behind him.
"They're scheduled to check in with us on Monday," he informed the caller when there was a pause. "I can ask them then, but I doubt their answer will be any different from mine." Glancing at Kurt, he pointed at the closet and down the hall, indicating that Kurt should hang up his sweatshirt and head into the kitchen, from which the scent of freshly-brewed coffee was wafting.
Kurt did neither, staring coolly at Jesse with folded arms as he leaned against the bannister.
Jesse shrugged his shoulders, wrapping up the phone call. "I'll give them the message," he promised. "Tell Angela I said Hello. Of course. Thank you."
Hanging up the phone, he let out a theatrical sigh. "Honestly, Kurt," he insisted, shaking his head, "these doctors are supposed to be the best in the country; you'd think they'd have a better sense of forewarning. A week is hardly enough notice for the entire family to change their plans and schedule flights home, just so that Angela can come back for a trial weekend. Rising gas prices affect everyone, you know."
Kurt ignored him. "Why didn't you tell me that Blaine came to see me last week?" he demanded instead, looking directly at Jesse with a frosty seriousness that felt weirdly gratifying.
Jesse, unfazed as ever, raised an eyebrow. "Hello to you too, Kurt. Why didn't you tell me that you'd hired me as your private secretary?" he countered mildly, dropping the phone onto the spindly table by the front door. "A lot of people visited you last week; I didn't keep track of them all."
He paused. "I had no idea you were so popular, either," he added. "I would have-"
"Blaine came to visit, you said something to him, and he left before I could talk to him," Kurt interrupted, unwilling to let Jesse slyly change the subject. "I want to know what you said, and I want to know why you said it."
Jesse sighed again. "I didn't let anyone in to see you on Wednesday morning," he explained, looking slightly irritated at Kurt for questioning his judgment. "I didn't think you wanted to see anyone but your dad, since you were so upset and stressed out."
Kurt closed his eyes briefly. It was such a Jesse answer-just plausible enough that he could almost believe that it was true.
But just being turned away at the door wouldn't have upset Blaine so much that he couldn't bring himself to face Kurt.
"I wasn't so stressed out that I wouldn't have wanted to see my boyfriend," he replied, actively working to suppress his anger. Or at least his temper-yelling at Jesse before clearly making his point had a tendency to be counterproductive. "And you knew that. You knew I wanted to see him."
"I knew that you had just cheated on him," Jesse pointed out with a sympathetic frown.
Kurt's blood turned to ice. "We were taking a break," he reminded Jesse, who looked at him pityingly.
"That didn't work on Friends, either," he chided Kurt gently. "It may seem trivial, but you need to know these things, Kurt-cultural education is important for your career."
Kurt growled. "Screw my career," he spat. "Jesse…" He trailed off, too angry and frustrated to figure out how to make Jesse understand why what he had done mattered so much.
If there even was a way-Kurt was stubborn, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd walked away from a fight with Jesse feeling like he'd won.
Maybe he never had.
Jesse was still and quiet, watching him with careful eyes. "I told you," he said softly after a minute, slowly stepping closer to Kurt as if he was trying not to startle him. "When we kissed the other night, I told you that it didn't have to mean anything.
"But you kissed me back," he reminded Kurt, gazing at him so hypnotically that Kurt had to tear his eyes away, even as his throat tightened in remembrance. "Even if you were with Blaine, you still have feelings for me, I know you do. And you and I…we broke up, yes, but we've never really had any closure. Because you and I are different from all the others, Kurt," he insisted. "And Blaine won't ever understand you like I do. I thought Rachel-"
Jesse paused, looking away from Kurt briefly for the first time since he'd started talking. "I thought she was special too," he admitted. "Maybe she is, or maybe she'll sacrifice her future and tie herself down to some moron football player right out of high school; it's her choice."
He shook his head sadly. "But we were born for greatness," he continued, "and I can't watch you throw everything you've worked for away. You can't blame me for wanting to protect you, Kurt."
Kurt looked back at Jesse, ready to fire back with an angry retort about not needing that sort of protection.
And paused.
Jesse was looking at him, wide-eyed but confident, standing just within Kurt's reach. He'd obviously changed his clothes and fixed his hair after coming home, and the light scent of his cologne blended so seamlessly with the aroma of the coffee drifting down the hall from the kitchen that Kurt almost hadn't noticed that both were among his favorites. Even the lighting in the hall was perfect, flattering Jesse's skin tone without washing out Kurt's more delicate complexion.
The staging was perfect, like a scene out of a play.
And if Kurt closed his eyes hard enough, he could even see Jesse practicing his lines in front of the mirror.
Kurt's anger drained away as he opened his eyes, replaced by something more complex and harder to define. "I don't blame you," he answered calmly, looking Jesse in the eye and watching the surprise creep into his expression at Kurt's deviation from their age-old script. "What happened between Blaine and I was my fault, and a little bit Blaine's, as well."
Seeing that Jesse was about to say something, Kurt held up a hand to stop him. "But I'm not in love with you, either," he added. "Not like I'm in love with him, and you hate that."
Jesse's composed smirk faltered. "Is that what you think," he commented flatly.
It was a statement rather than a question, but Kurt nodded anyway. "Part of it, at least," he answered seriously, ignoring Jesse's tone. "You need people to want you, to want to be like you, so that you can justify treating people badly the way you do. But it's not going to work anymore. Not with me, anyway."
Jesse was paler than Kurt had ever seen him; the lighting in the hall clearly wasn't as perfect as he had imagined.
"Kurt," Jesse began, sounding incredulous, "you can't-"
"I can," Kurt interrupted. "And you're going to listen to me talk, for once. You manipulate Blaine because he's as talented as you are, but he doesn't need to be the best the way that you do, and it scares you that other people might see it, too. And they will, because he's amazing, and I'm going to get him back if it takes me until I'm thirty to re-earn his trust."
Kurt swallowed. "But you manipulate me because I let you," he admitted, looking down at the floor. "Because there's still some part of me that needs your approval, and cares what you think about me. And it's my fault, that I let you do that."
Kurt straightened back up, staring evenly at Jesse-who was looking more and more unnerved by Kurt's sudden outpouring, he noticed. "But I'm not the same person that I was when you met me," he continued. "And I don't fit under your wing anymore. I've been acting like there's still so much that you know that I don't-"
"Because that's true," Jesse interrupted quickly, looking intensely at Kurt, a pang of desperation in his voice. "Yes, I can be hard on you, but it's only because I know what you're capable of. You could be incredible, Kurt, if you would just-"
It was Kurt's turn to interrupt. "I will be incredible," he said calmly. "And it'll be partly thanks to you; I know that. But there are some sacrifices that aren't worth the price, and that I'm not willing to make, even if you thought that you were."
Kurt watched the indirect blow land, and if he'd still been angry, he would have felt vindicated by the sudden shock on Jesse's face as he realized that Kurt had worked out what Jesse had never told him about their sudden breakup that was never really an ending.
But even though he still hated what Jesse had done, to him and to Blaine, Kurt didn't feel anything anymore, except for tired. Tired, and a little sorry for Jesse, who tried so hard to orchestrate everyone else around him, but who had given up control over his own life a long time ago.
"You know," he said gently, straightening back up and putting his hands in the pocket of his sweatshirt, where he'd kept Blaine's letter, "being great doesn't mean being exactly like you. You don't have to be perfect. And you're not perfect, no matter how badly you want everyone to think you are."
He was halfway to the front door when Jesse called after him.
"Then what am I?" he asked Kurt.
Kurt paused.
"If I'm not the best," Jesse pressed, looking just as tired and empty as Kurt felt. "If I'm not perfect. What am I?"
Kurt bit his lip silently. Jesse was watching him, eyes searching his face hungrily. As if the right answer was written there somewhere, if only he looked hard enough for it.
But Kurt couldn't give him that; not when he didn't know himself. Shrugging his shoulders, he gave Jesse one last, sad smile, before turning away.
"Figure it out," he suggested, and walked out the door.