Another Klaine fic. I'm not sure why, but I seem to have a thing for writing depressing fics and giving Blaine a hard time. I'm not sure about the ending in this one, so please let me know what you think.
They can't keep on living like this. Kurt knows it, Blaine knows it - or at least, Kurt suspects that he does. He's sick of walking on egg shells in his own home, treading so carefully around the person whom he once loved with all of his heart, the person who at one time he could be his complete self around. Living with Blaine is like living with a hidden, ticking time bomb, Kurt muses. You never know where or when it will go off, but the fact that it one day will is inevitable.
When a dramatic change comes in to a perons life - an eating disorder, alcolhism, addiction - they often say that they can't pin point exactly when the change came. But Kurt can. He can remember the day so clearly it's as if it happened only yesterday, and now he's reliving it over and over and again and again.
They came to New York fresh from their last days of McKinley, when Blaine chased after Kurt at the airport and begged him to postpone his flight so that he could pack and come with him too. And Kurt did. Of course he did. Give up the chance to live the dream in New York with Blaine at his side? Never. So they flew out a few days later, found the tiniest apartment Brooklyn could offer, and their new life began.
That was almost eleven years ago. They were both twenty nine now. Kurt had had a few breaks in various shows over the years, but never major. He gave up musical theatre as a career at the age of twenty four. He was one of New York's best up and coming fashion designers by twenty seven. And Blaine was… well, he was Blaine. In a twist none of them had expected, Blaine had fewer breaks than Kurt, and an accident in rehersals ending in Blaine breaking his ankle prevented him from starring in a Broadway show. By the time he had recovered it was too late, and Broadoway seemed like an impossible, distant dream.
Whilst Kurt went from strength to strenght, Blaine dwindled his life away doing odd jobs, ranging from a pretzel seller one week to a photographers assistant the next. And they still had each other. It was enough to get by. Then.
2nd January, 2021.
That was the date when everything changed. The day after New Year, when everybody cleared out their leftovers from Christmas and New Year, when the celebrations fizzled out to the usual Monday morning fug, when everybody accepted that after the month of parties it was time to return to normal. All except Blaine. Kurt can still remember coming home that afternoon to find Blaine drinking the last bottle of their Christmas champagne. Drinking in the day, Kurt mused, that was new.
"Give me a break, Kurt," Blaine had sighed when Kurt had quizzed him about it, "I'll start looking for a new job next week. Let me just enjoy this last week of freedom while I can, will you?"
And so Kurt had. Funnily enough, that week of freedom slowly turned in to a whole year of freedom. A year of drinking and partying and God knows what else. It became the norm for Kurt to arrive home to that same scene of Blaine drinking on the sofa, or curled up in bed with a revolting hangover, or else not there at all. Kurt didn't like to give those times much thought. It only upset him. Blaine always came back, that was the main thing. Even if it was days later, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes and, sometimes, other men.
Kurt put up with it all because he loved him. He still loved Blaine. The years of rejection and disappointment had finally gotten to him, and this was just Blaine's way of dealing with it. It would pass, Kurt reasoned.
Then one day something inside of him snapped.
One night after work Kurt stormed in to the apartment and tossed a newspaper hard in to Blaine's lap. "What is this?" he demanded to know.
Blaine barely responded. He simply looked down at the newspaper with the tiniest glimpse of interest, then shrugged and turned his attention back to the TV screen. Kurt was trembling in the attempt to reel in a frustrated scream. He looked around the room. The coffee table was piled high with dirty plates and empty, dented cans of beer. Blaine was still wearing the grey jogging bottoms he had slept in the previous night, his chest bare and his dark curls rumpled. There were grey, almost purple, smudges beneath his eyes.
Kurt picked up the paper and shook it out. "Designers fiance stumbles out of yet another club, but what's to Blaine for his behaviour?" he read aloud from the blaring headline, "Blaine Anderson, long time fiance of renowned fashion designer Kurt Hummel, was yet again seen wandering the streets of New York City last night, clearly soaking up the cities wild night life along with a few drinks. One source, who wishes to remain anonymous, claims to have seen Anderson, twenty-nine, looking cosy as he shared a cigarette with an unknown man, who certainly wasn't his fiance, in the empty doorway of Paulie's Pepperoni, which was closed earlier on in the year due to health and safety concerns."
"Kurt please, can we do this later? I'm not in the mood," Blaine sighed. He got up and walked in to the kitchen. Kurt was hot on his heels.
"Well you had better get in the mood, because we are going to talk about this right now!" he hissed.
"It's all lies. Okay, yes, I did go out last night, but that thing with the cigarette… I quit smoking months ago, Kurt. You know I did!" Blaine argued.
"Did you? Did you really, Blaine? Because quite frankly I never know when to believe you anymore!" Kurt said, folding his arms.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Blaine raged, then his eyes grew softer, "You can trust me Kurt, you know you can. I love you, and you love me, remember?"
Kurt sighed. "Yes, I love you. It's just getting hard Blaine, really hard. Do you understand what this is doing to me?" he asked.
Blaine sighed heavily and turned around. He rested his palms against the kitchen counter, head bowed, eyes closed. Kurt stared at his lover, so hopelessly broken, and felt a tear roll down his cheek.
"Is it killing you like it's killing me?" he whispered.
Blaine finally turned around.
"Maybe I should just leave," he suggested.
Kurt felt nothing at his words. He didn't have it in him to fight anymore. Blaine knew this, and he stared at Kurt just a moment longer before leaving the kitchen and walking down the hall towards their bedroom. Kurt didn't follow. Instead he brushed away his tears, sucked in some air, and rolled up his sleeves. He began to wash the mountain of dishes in the sink. If he acted normally, maybe it wouldn't seem so real.
He heard a thud behind him. Kurt turned to see Blaine stood in the doorway, fully dressed, two suitcases by his side. Kurt swallowed, then calmly turned around to finish off drying the dishes. Blaine waited until he was finished to speak.
"I'll come back for the rest of my stuff when I know where I'm staying," he said.
Kurt simply nodded.
"I'll keep my cell on, just in case you need me," Blaine added.
Still tight lipped, Kurt nodded again.
"Don't I get a goodbye?" Blaine croaked. He looked lost, like a small child wandering around a department store looking for its mother.
Kurt burst in to tears and ran forward. He flung himself against Blaine's chest, ignoring the smell of sweat and stale beer, and sobbed hard. Blaine wrapped his arms around his boyfriends waist and planted a firm kiss on his forehead. Just for a moment, it felt like old times.
"I'll miss you so much," Kurt sobbed, "But you have to understand why I'm letting you go. I have to do it, for myself. Before I crack up or… or something."
"I know," Blaine said quietly.
Kurt looked up at him. "Get help Blaine, please. I'll pay for the best treatment there is. Just come back to me, please," he whispered.
"Promise me you won't leave then?" Blaine said, "I can't do this without you. Promise me."
Slowly, Kurt nodded. "Okay. But the moment - the moment - I sense that you're giving up again, I'm leaving. I'm only prepared to put the effort in if you are too," he said firmly.
"Thank you," Blaine muttered, resting his cheek against Kurt's.
3rd Febuary 2022.
That was the date when everything changed.