Apparently my sleep-ridden mind has decided to construct a sob story. Basically, Blaine dies and then there's Kurt. I heard the song Here Comes Goodbye by Rascal Flatts again recently after reading some extremely sad one-shots that reduced me to tears and it just struck inspiration within me I guess. I suggest listening to it. If this doesn't make you cry then my point has failed or there is something wrong with your tear ducts. Drop me a review to tell me what you think or how much you hate it – either one really works. So um . . . Yeah. That's it. Enjoy.

Here comes goodbye
Here comes the last time
Here comes the start of every sleepless night
The first of every tear I'm gonna cry
Here comes the pain
Here comes me wishing things had never changed
And he was right here in my arms tonight, but here comes goodbye

Here comes goodbye

It had been a stupid fight. Kurt had come home from his internship in a particularly bad mood and had taken it out on Blaine like so many times before. Blaine's day hadn't been any better – his professor liked to pick on him non-stop in his lectures and today had been one of the worst.

Kurt really didn't mind that Blaine had thrown his coat onto the floor in lieu of the coat closet. He wasn't unreasonable, and definitely wasn't tactless, but it gave him something to bitch at when he couldn't directly bitch to his employer.

They'd had plenty of fights like this before. Couples who never fought couldn't really understand each other unless they saw the other in the pure state of emotional distress. Nothing is perfect in relationships, and that included theirs.

Whenever Kurt got mad, he could bitch and insult people like they were absolute trash to him. Blaine was the best at calming him down – usually it was over with a swift kiss or I love you or press of lips to the ring on Kurt's finger.

Blaine couldn't calm Kurt down whenever he was mad himself though. Just because Blaine typically was the most level-headed of the pair didn't mean that he didn't have bad days as well. Kurt knew that, but when you're mad all rational thought gets thrown out the window.

Here comes the last time

Kurt hated that coat. A month after the fight Kurt took a pair of his best scissors after ripping out each seam and shredded it to pieces. He'd sat on the floor and cried like his world was going to end – while in reality it already had.

He regretted ruining the coat a few days after he did it. It was Blaine's favorite item of clothing – and had worn it everywhere. It smelled like him and sometimes Kurt even imagined that if he hadn't destroyed it, it would have been warm with Blaine's body heat. Deep down he knew it was absurd, but torturing himself seemed to be a new past time for Kurt.

His friends were there. They tried to tell him that it wasn't his fault. Kurt knew that they were lying just to make him feel better. Eventually, one by one, they stopped coming for their visits. Kurt couldn't blame them; it was Kurt's fault they'd never talk to Blaine again.

Here comes the start of every sleepless night

The nightmares started the night Blaine left. They'd lived together since moving to Columbus after Blaine's graduation – not coming as a surprise to anyone who knew them. Blaine had allowed Kurt to decorate their apartment, but the final touches and details were made 100% together because that's how they functioned best. It's how they made this new place their own.

Kurt had only slept without Blaine's arms around him twice in that time period. Having his warm body pressed close to his – his warm breath tickling the back of his neck in the best way possible – as Blaine's arms wound around his waist. It was safety. It was familiar. It was home.

He'd wake with sweat pouring down him as he tried to sit up, the increasing need to breathe strangling him as he searched for Blaine's warm comfort always coming up empty. Kurt knew this was punishment because this was his fault. Long nights with slivers of sleep were all Kurt would get to know because he was so selfish.

Kurt couldn't sleep. The images of trusting hazel eyes melting with hatred and blazing in anger – the sound of the door closing.

The phone call.

The first of every tear I'm gonna cry

"Kurt?"

"Hey Dad."

"Kurt . . ."

"I know I don't sound very good, sorry. Blaine and I got into a fight late and I stayed up half of the night waiting for him to come home."

"Kurt."

"What?"

"We got a call today."

"Oh?"

"I . . ." There was shuffling, and the sound of sobs coming from his father.

"What is it? Is everyone okay? Is it your heart? Carole?"

"No, Buddy, no it's not that."

Buddy. The last time Kurt had been told that, his father had told him his mother was dead.

"Dad?" It was a whimper, the sound of someone who knows deep in their heart that something isn't right – can feel it – but is grasping to anything for it to not be true.

"It was a drunk driver, Kurt. They hit him head on. H-he died on impact, or at least they think . . . They found the car this morning. I just got t-the call because they couldn't get a hold of you. Oh my god, Kurt." The sobs shook him and before he realized what was happening tears were gathering in his eyes – he couldn't let them fall though. Not when this was just some stupid misunderstanding that would be cleared in a little while.

"Who, Dad?"

The line crackled with the silence.

"Blaine, Buddy. Blaine's gone."

The first tear of many crawled down Kurt's cheek as his knees gave out.

Here comes the pain

Kurt knew loss. He knew regret, fear, heartbreak, and he knew how to mourn. His mother's death early in his childhood had taught him that.

Blaine taught him pain.

No amount of hunger or headache could surpass the pain of a heart shattering. Kurt's entire world was collapsing in on itself. When a star collapses like that, a black hole is left in its wake.

Kurt was still waiting for his black hole to take him under.

Some days were better than others. He could get out of bed and take a shower, get something to eat or even take a jog at the park. One day Kurt was strong enough to pack away his notebook filled with wedding plans into a box deep in their closet.

Their closet – not his, never just his.

It smelled like Blaine.

Rachel thought he was making himself sick with the grief, and he knew that she was probably right. She still stayed with him on some of the mildly-bad days though. Held him while he sobbed into her neck, clawing desperately for something to hold onto so he could remind himself that he was alive.

On the worst days he didn't even want to be alive. He would shake and tremble, eyes red and throat sore from hours of screaming and sobbing.

Finn had stayed with him on one of those days, as he witnessed Kurt scream and cry in the fetal position on the cold floor. Finn had always seen his brother as a strong person, and didn't know what to do at witnessing the broken man he was. It was the last time he saw his brother, although he didn't know it at the time.

Here comes me wishing things had never changed

As the years passed the grief lifted, but never the pain. Never the longing, the heartbreak and the earth tilting guilt.

Kurt's last words to the love of his life had been malicious, intended to hurt.

They'd been what sent Blaine out of the door and into the cold Ohio winter, into a car and onto a road where he would be killed.

Kurt remembers the day they met on the stairway in Dalton. He remembers the fascination that had been rushing through him and remembers the intrigue he'd felt when hazel eyes met blue. Kurt of course also remembers the months after that he was stuck pining for Blaine while being stuck in the friend-zone, hating every minute of it.

Kurt wanted to go back to that time – back before everything hurt so much and he'd still had Blaine. Back when a simple hand on a shoulder had made his heart pound for more. He didn't want the only time he got to hear his fiancé's voice to be when he called Blaine's voicemail. Kurt hated that whenever he woke up from a nightmare, he always found himself waking up in the closet surrounded by the scent of Blaine in the morning.

His friends tried to get him to move on, to let himself live because it's what Blaine would have wanted.

Kurt didn't know if that's what Blaine wanted him to do – because they'd never even stopped for a moment to think that something like this could happen to them. But Kurt knew himself well enough that he couldn't do that.

He was a songbird, and his mate had died. Kurt was never to sing again and would live with a broken heart.

And he was right here in my arms tonight

Kurt visited the gravesite 2 years after Blaine was buried. He brought red and yellow roses and propped them against the engraved stone.

Blaine Anderson
"No regrets, just love."

"Hi, Blaine."

A dog howled in the distance, a bird called overhead, leaves rustled in the trees.

"I . . . I know you can't hear me. Or at least I don't think you can. I don't know what I believe anymore. I still don't think I believe in god, but there just has to be something more. Somewhere where you're sitting with that damn dog I wouldn't let you have and playing your guitar. Because I can't make myself believe that you're just . . . Gone. That's just not right and I refuse to think it's true. It's unfair."

His head hurt as his eyes went bleary – the inevitable tears coming far too quick.

"I miss you s-so much. Some days I h-hate you for l-leaving me." He hiccupped as he tried to suppress the come-apart he felt take hold of him. "Most days I j-just hate myself for letting you go. F-for making you go." He dropped to his knees, hands pulling at his hair as he sobbed. "Oh my god, B-Blaine I'm so s-sorry. I did this to us! It's all my fault."

"The things th-that I said that night, they w-were all lies, baby, I love you so much. More than anything. I-I want you back more than anything." His hands gripped the grass to brace himself as he sobbed, mouth open as he tried desperately to suck in air.

Kurt stayed there for hours, even after he had managed to stop ripping apart.

"Your closet doesn't smell like you anymore. I thought maybe your cologne would make it smell like you but it doesn't. You smelled like you, not some formulated liquid." Kurt clenched his jaw, willing himself not to cry again. "I'm starting to forget the most important things, Blaine. How you sounded when you laughed, what you looked like when we made love, the exact shade of your eyes." He bit his lip, barely breathing.

"It scares me. Because what happens in a few more years when I forget even more of you? I can't lose you, Blaine. I c-can't."

He stood quickly, debating for a moment before he leaned down shakily and pressed and kiss to the cold stone. His heart was heavy.

It was important that he move on though. His friends made it perfectly clear that it's what he should do, as did every shrink, support group, and family member he talked to.

So he did.

Kurt couldn't let go of Blaine no matter how hard he tried. There were other men. Blind dates that Mercedes and Rachel sat him up on, being hit on at the farmers market, one time he even thought he could get through it and actually find a relationship. He convinced himself that it's what Blaine would want, and actually tried. He tried. But he couldn't do it. None of them knew how to deal with him when he was in one of his moods, could understand his love of Alexander McQueen, or even slightly get that his job at the magazine was so difficult.

They weren't Blaine.

Three and a half years after Blaine had left the apartment he decided that he didn't want to try anymore. Kurt knew that there was only one person for him and that he'd been taken from Kurt too early. So he was at a loss once again at what to do. Kurt packed up the apartment where his adult life was spent, and moved to New York to fulfill a dream that he'd had with Blaine so many years ago.

Kurt met Andrew only a month after giving up. His hair was a dark brown and his eyes were a beautiful green that reflected the mischief that was hidden underneath a calm exterior.

Kurt was broken, and so was he. They didn't think they did, but eventually they leaned on each other for support.

It took Kurt only half a second to sign the adoption papers before he whisked his new 12 year old son home. They fell into a pattern as time went on, and by the time that Kurt was starting to worry about going grey and his son was graduating high school Andrew had taken to calling him Dad.

Kurt cried at the graduation, remembering a late night in bed with his fiancé when they'd talked about kids of their own graduating. Andrew was what both of them had wanted, and he'd saved Kurt when Blaine wasn't there to do it himself.

Andrew got the call on a Wednesday afternoon after coming inside from playing in the sprinklers with his wife and daughter.

His body had been found and identified – a heart attack in his sleep.

Andrew's first calls went to his Uncle Finn in Lima, Aunt Rachel in New York, and Aunt Santana in Boston. They alerted the rest of who needed to know, and Andrew's wife Laura held him while he wept for his father – their daughter asking what was wrong with daddy.

The days later were spent organizing the burial in the plot of an old cemetery in Lima. Andrew remembered visiting the grave every year on a specific date, occasionally stopping by after he'd moved off on his own for college and regrettably even less when he'd started a family of his own.

Kurt had told Andrew about Blaine Anderson, as did everyone else who knew his father's fiancé. How he'd died, and Kurt had never quite been able to let go. Andrew remembered how broken his father had seemed back when he was just a little boy moving into an empty apartment with a new dad and new life. He remembered how Kurt had told him once how Andrew had saved him, and how he loved him like he was truly his own child. Andrew also remembered how he'd felt hearing the stories of Blaine – how hopeless his father looked while telling them.

Kurt was buried beside Blaine in the same cemetery his mother laid. Family and friends gathered as they paid respects to the grieving family. But Andrew knew better than that. He knew not to cry or sob or ask why. Because now his dad – the person who had saved him when he knew no one else would – was no doubt finally reunited with his lost love and they were smiling at him wherever they were. He would miss Kurt but he knew that this was right and it was okay to remember, but time to let go.

A rendition of Teenage Dream was sang by two graduated high school choir groups as red and yellow roses were laid beside both graves. Andrew couldn't help the smile because he knew that his father would have rolled his eyes and he loved that feeling that somewhere, somehow Kurt – and Blaine – were still there.

But here comes goodbye . . .

Fuck. I cannot believe that this came out of my head - how dark of a person am I? I really tried to put somewhat of a happy ending into a hell of a despressing story so at least give me some props for that. Andrew kind of just came out of no where, he wasn't what I'd originally planned but I ended up really liking him. I'm thinking of having him in some of my other stories. Maybe.

Again, I really hope you enjoyed reading and this wasn't just a waste of time to you.

You know what might make a depressing writer happier? A reivew. *WINK WINK*

Beaucoup d'amour!