A/N: this is really really strange. I just smushed it out without really checking because I'm supposed to be doing Statistics.
To help you understand, Kurt made his way to broadway by dropping out of college and dropping Blaine along the way. But fame is fleeting and he's left in a dingy one bedroom flat with a druggie roomate who gave him some pills. He hallucinates.
He slipped.
He faltered.
He fell.
He tried it one night. His roommate said the pills were the latest from Bigg M who lived downstairs. He took two, and ended up curled up in bed with a pillow over his face to block out the images.
Images of him and Blaine sat up late in the library. Of him and Blaine intertwined on a sofa, on a bed, on the floor. Of Blaine's eyes. Of Blaine's mouth. All the images he had tried to bleach from his mind.
They hurt, no, they burned the insides of his eyes. All he could do was force a pillow down, further and further in a twisted attempt to smother them.
Then he thought the pillow smelt like Blaine, and he threw it across the room where it hit a wall. He brought his knees up under his chin and lay there. He didn't have the energy to stop the images anymore, and his drug induced brain gladly brought more and more to his attention.
They spun a web that trapped and held him tight.
Oh look here, this is when you first held his hand. His mind said. This is the spot you became frozen to when you realised he didn't want you, and here is where you sat when he showed you he did.
No more, he begged.
The look on Blaine's face, heartbroken and crushed, when he found out they were attending college on opposite sides of the continent. The disappointment in Blaine's voice when he said he was dropping out. The feel of Blaine's hot tears, not his own, on his cheek when they decided to go their separate ways.
This is when you picked a lifestyle over love. His mind showed him a vision of himself staring in the mirror of a high end club. This is the person you mistook for Blaine. A man, slightly taller than Blaine. Another man, but he didn't have the same shaped face as Blaine. Another, and another. This one looked like Blaine when you squinted.
His taunting mind, his self loathing mind, his friend and his foe.
Remember this? The top of concrete stairs that led to the roof. A hand paused at to open the fire escape, remembering another time walking down a staircase surrounded by blazers, and withdrawing the outstretched hand.
You got everything you dreamed of. Singing for crowds. Flashes of cameras as he stretched his arms out wide.
Shame it didn't last. Cold, alone, and eating a takeaway pizza on a bed that wasn't his.
You could try again you know. An email on the computer, a phone call from an agent he didn't have, yet. All you have to do is try.
Try, just try.
His mind. His self hating mind. The voice within was not his own. The voice was lower, slightly rough around the edges.
An image of Blaine's hand on his shoulder, heavy and patient.
Why are you doing this, he thought.
Why won't you try. Why won't you see.
His view shifted. He saw himself on the bed, pathetic and weak. Thin and vulnerable.
Not yet. He wasn't ready yet.
He wasn't left alone that night. His mind cotinued to show him every hidden memory, every single regret, every thrill. Mixed between the most hideous and terrifying moments, it gave him some peace. A walk with Blaine. Holding hands in the sun. Laughing at jokes. The twists and turns, heated touches and electricity. Kisses so sweet and ones so demanding it made him gasp because he could feel. He could feel the want and the need of the chapped lips on his own.
His senses were overwhelmed, yet he could not cry.
He just felt a dull ache that spread through his chest and his lungs until his throat was constricted and he was choking on his own tounge. Through the last long hour of the night, he suffered. Racking shivers caused spasms and his face twisted in pain.
He was breaking.
Try. Try harder. When it ends, find yourself again. Find this again.
This image was the most painful of them all. A noise crossed between an moan and a sob passed his lips as his mind left him with the last memory.
Touches in the dark. Fingertips on his back. A hot breath in his ear echoing the same voice which had tormented him that night.
Brown eyes. Tanned skin.
Find us again.
Maybe. Not yet. But maybe soon.
Yeah, told you it was weird. I have two more klaine to upload sometime this week, and they are more fluffy than this angst.