Work Text:
Blaine knew that he would make it. Only when you're twenty does one believe you can die of a broken heart. Knowing it didn't mean it didn't feel like a very real possibility to Blaine though. Kurt was still gone and the tight feeling in his chest hadn't lessened in any way. He had packed his bags and left Blaine in an apartment with missing patches of life: the outline of a frame on the wall, a couch bare of his decorative pillows and throw, a missing toothbrush, empty closets and drawers, the cooking books, the Julie Andrews DVDs, an empty bed; everywhere Blaine looked Kurt's absence was there, undeniable. Blaine felt like he was missing a limb, a part of himself. Blaine was sad.
In spite of this, there were moments he forgot, moments when he would succeed in losing himself completely to the present but then he would turn his head and find the seat next to him empty, empty of Kurt, the words he wanted to share with him dying on his tongue. Each time Blaine had to remind himself that Kurt was no longer there, it was as though he lost him all over again. Blaine put down his book back on the coffee table and got up to rinse his cup in the kitchen sink. Each turn of the sponge on the inside curve of the porcelain made him feel like he was being ripped apart. Blaine was just a little over dramatic sometimes, but he felt what he felt. He couldn’t help it.
Wes and David called. Rachel called. They all called a lot. Burt called too. They took turns. They meant well. They were worried. Blaine was thankful, grateful even, but Blaine wanted to be left the hell alone to mourn the love of the last ten years of his life. Blaine figured he was allowed.
Kurt came back three months after he had left. Blaine found him sitting at the kitchen table when he came home from work. It was a Wednesday. Kurt's eyes were hollow and shiny with unshed tears. He heard Kurt whisper his name, voice small and broken. Blaine thought he was going to pass out his heart was beating so fast.
Kurt stood up, came closer and took Blaine's hand, intertwining their fingers in a tight grip. Words weren't needed. I-still-love-you's weren't needed. It had never been a matter of not loving each other enough. Kurt waited for Blaine to initiate the next move, the slide of his other hand against Kurt's cheek like they used to do, their ritual. Blaine could read in Kurt's body and eyes Kurt's need to feel this touch, to feel Blaine erase with a single brush of his hand the last three months of pain but Blaine didn't know anymore how to offer something Kurt hadn't asked of him. His hand didn’t move, rusted by months of sadness and loneliness so he closed his eyes instead. He felt Kurt’s pull, the disentanglement of their fingers and then the press of two soft palms on each side of his face. Blaine couldn’t have transcribed into words the intense relief he felt in that moment. It was freeing. He moved.