Another quiet breath caught lightly in Kurt’s throat as blue eyes continued to stare out blankly at the crisp white editorial covered walls directly opposite his desk at Isabelle’s Condé Nast office. It had been a long night, his boss’ phones were ringing off the hook and yet somehow, in spite of everything and his current surroundings, he was trembling. Anxiously watching his phone vibrate and alertly scanning over his phone’s notifications as he received yet another pointless e-mail about the latest vintage finds and fashions. He hadn’t slept. It had been practically impossible. The soft, all too familiar sounds of his ex-boyfriend’s gentle breathing haunting him even as he lay there, wide awake, incapable of moving.
Blaine had always been his safety net. His one shoulder to cry on and the one person he could turn to whenever things got messy or complicated. Neither one of them had expected the distance to be easy. Instead, he had been left heartbroken. A piece of him completely evaporated as he had watched him, emotionally belting out the notes to a song that had once meant so much to them. He had been paralyzed. Blaine’s words playing over and over in his mind and his brief talk with Finn only furthering his need to get out of the loft as soon as humanly possible.
Thanking one of his Vogue coworkers for the quiet refill on his coffee mug, he quickly refroze in his position as his eyes glazed over the all too familiar new notifications on his phone’s shiny display. He wasn’t sure what he had anticipated. Whether to respond, or to throw away his number and forget anything had ever transpired between them at all. Typing, hesitant and uncertain; his insides definitely shaking, Kurt finally pressed ‘send’ on his response.
( mssg » blaine | sent ) I’m at the office.
Every last detail of the room started to come into focus as he waited for Kurt’s reply wondering if he’d ever get one. Blaine bit into his bottom lip–attention locked on one item in particular sitting on the nightstand beside the bed. The coffee mug he’d placed there before they left for the night was one of those silly touristy looking white ceramics with the New York City skyline hand drawn and wrapped around the entire surface. He’d picked it out and sent it to Kurt only a week after he moved away–stuffed with a few coffee gift cards promising that he’d be there soon to have their coffee dates in person but these were going to have to do until then. Two months ago but it felt like a lifetime now.
Last night, it was filled to the brim with tea as they got ready and Blaine kept sipping it trying to get the courage to say the words that he knew would change them forever. The courage to face what he did and potentially lose Kurt and never get him back. Hoping for the best was the only option he had. Deep down–he knew and feared that he’d get what he deserved. And he did. Fixing it, fixing them was all he had left. Taking it back was impossible. If begging for the chance would give him one? He’d be on his knees right now. But panic set in. How could he fix it if he didn’t have the slightest idea how?
This time–he didn’t have any answers. This time–he was as lost as he’d ever felt. And so so sorry. If guilt could erase everything? Proof positive it couldn’t and wouldn’t was a set of trembling hands and tears welling up in his eyes. Kurt owed him nothing..but he could try? Going back to Ohio without trying? He couldn’t..
( mssg » kurt | sent ) I’ll go. I promise. Just.. Can I see you before..? Please,come home.
The thing about mornings are they’re always a new beginning. When you wake up–there’s a few seconds where all you feel is the warmth of the blankets and the comfort that you’ve sunk into during sleep. No matter what happens before drifting off (in Blaine’s case for less than three hours) there’s a blissful sense of–peace. Until your life tunes back in with the sunlight leaking through the curtains stirring you away from the solitude from your thoughts. Blaine’s first instinct was to reach behind him and feel for the hip that was supposed to be against his. There was nothing but a cold outside of a space on the bed long abandoned.
His world sped up. Reality came crashing down with flashbacks from last night causing his throat to feel like it was torn to shreds and had a rock jammed inside to suffocate him. His heart shattered and there came the vile taste of guilt in the back of his mouth. One he should be used to by now but was even more potent than every morning since it happened. ‘I was with someone..’ The apartment was empty. He could feel that from here. Hollowness that crept inside his bones. What more could he expect? Swallowing painfully–he pushed himself up on one elbow, purposefully avoiding looking behind him and grabbed his phone instead. 9:39 am was when the first string of apologies began to pour out before his feet even touched the floor.
( mssg » kurt | sent ) I know I don’t deserve it. I know you hate me. ( mssg » kurt | sent ) I’m sorry. Please come back. I don’t want to leave like this. Please?
( mssg » blaine | sent ) I think so, too. ( mssg » blaine | sent ) I guess desperate times do call for desperate measures. Plus there’s definitely always going to be room for dessert. And pretty much anything Italian. ( mssg » blaine | sent ) Things… definitely aren’t improving. Mr. Schue’s been trying to distract us with our glee club assignment but– ( mssg » blaine | sent ) I guess you could say I have yet to experience a day when I’m not consistently shoved against my own locker.
( mssg » kurt | sent ) I’m so sorry that keeps happening to you. You are such a good person. You don’t deserve any of that. ( mssg » kurt | sent ) Have you thought over what you and I talked about? Do you think confronting him head on would work? I’m not pressuring you into that. Please, don’t think I am. God knows I have no room to talk. But you can’t keep going through each day being hurt the way you are now.
( mssg » kurt | sent ) We’ll figure something out, okay? Just know that I’m here for you and I’ll do whatever I can to help you through this. I promise.
pianokeysandbowties 