title: leave me your stardust to remember you by

playlist: boats&birds- gregory and the hawk

rating: T

One: Kurt breaks Blaine.

(Kurt knew always that Blaine wouldn't be good for him, because addiction is never good, right?)

It's a rainy night when Blaine says I love you and Kurt just laughs. His laughter is like the raindrops hitting the roof above—irregular and brittle, almost just as cold.

"Really." He says, cigarette dangling off thin fingers, despite the many times Blaine has tells him it'll kill you. Kurt responds scornfully with I'm dead already. And what are you supposed to say to that?

Blaine feels pathetic now, leaning against the wall with desperation. Kurt's delicate features are scornful, and this will not end well. Desperately he clings to the bit of Kurt he still knows, the bit that makes him think of limpid laughter and Ralph Lauren, cold fingers clutched around warm coffee cups.

"Kurt," he says (and he's dying, he knows it) "-Kurt, please-"

"No, Blaine." Kurt says. His voice is tired now, and he inhales from the cigarette in a painfully casual manner. "Just, no."

(kurt leaves the room and a part of blaine leaves with him. it's cold now. )

Kurt's gone the next day, off to New York where he is lost amid the glitz and glamour of the fashion industry that embraces his difference, the very difference that drew Blaine to him to begin with. He doesn't hear from him again, except sometimes through a very awkward Finn who delivers thin updates of his everyday life which are both too much and not enough.

And he searches to mend his he won't say heart soul, drowning himself in strangely sweet vodka and sleeping around with big-eyed, porcelain-featured men, caressing them and trying to feel something other than hollow.

He doesn't succeed. Instead he hears Kurt laughing about what a fucking cliché he's become, legs crossed and eyes bright.

Never pegged you for the wasting-away-slowly type, Anderson.

Well, never thought you'd break me this bad, Kurt.

Two: Blaine gives up.

(Giving up is purely a figurative term, because no one gives anything and you go anywhere but up.)

Their relationship is like the opposite of a geode; brilliant and eye-catching from the outside, but the interior hard and dull. While Kurt still dreams of the knight in shining armour with his dapper smile and heart-melting declarations of love, they are now accompanied with empty promises and hope rotting into despair.

And one day Blaine leaves, and Kurt doesn't cry but instead reads all the love letters Blaine's ever written him and smiles himself to sleep even as everything crumbles and threatens to knock him flat.

Three: The hero dies in this one.

(it's only him and the rain now.)

So yes, they're in love, the toxic, beautiful sort of love only they know and feel. Blaine often stumbles out of Kurt's room in the mornings, tousle-haired and sleepy, but with the glow of someone who has found their the one. Kurt gets up after Blaine usually, walking up to him while the pancakes are frying on the stove to kiss him and whisper good morning. They know each other, these two, and they're young and happy and they have drunk the golden wine of forever.

Except nothing is forever. The fates are jealous things; they disapprove of happy mortals.

*;*;*

An empty carton of milk. Rain, some slippery roads, maybe, a man down on his luck drinking vodka at seven a.m. That's all it takes to kill Blaine Anderson and destroy Kurt Hummel and for the rain to never have the same meaning again.

fin

AN: I DON'T FUCKING KNOW. I'm sorry for making you read this half-unfinished stuff…it's just my inspiration goes only so far and this old drabble has been taking up space in my computer for almost a year now, so I decided to clean it up and post it before I die of old age.

Thanks for bearing with me!