IF YOU EVER COME BACK
Kurt bit his lip as he walked up the path. The grass on the lawn was unkempt and flat in place, as if someone had sat on them for an extended period of time. The small light bulb over the porch was buzzing and so yellow that it almost stung Kurt's eyes.
He had been walking in the dark. Ten blocks wasn't that far, was it?
The motel wasn't that far, really. He'd walked farther. The last thing Kurt needed was to have that curly haired boy run out the door the moment he heard the familiar hum of Kurt's car. No. He couldn't take that. He walked.
It was the same wood floor. The same steps that creaked in place but Kurt knew exactly where he needed to step to make his arrival as silent as possible. You noticed these things when you lived in a house for three years.
The same bench was pressed up against the side of the house, on the very left of the porch. From that bench, you could see the entire front yard, as well as a bit down the street. Kurt always loved watching their neighbours' kids play with sprinklers and water guns and he sometimes wondered if he would ever have children like that. And if he did have kids, would they be happy? Blaine always loved kids. They loved him, too. He was amazing with them, but he never expressed the desire to have his own. He'd want them if Kurt wanted them. Kurt was never able to decide.
His feet were silent and light as he stepped on the faded green doormat. It had once said "Welcome", but years of different shoes had worn it out and had make it look straggly and old.
He remembered arguing with Blaine about what colour the mat should've been. Kurt wanted it green. Blaine wanted it red. After a few minutes, Blaine gave in. He was always first to give in. Always.
The small copper key was pushed against the floor as Kurt stood on the mat. He knew it was there. He just knew. He could feel it against the soft soles of his shoes and it was tempting and horribly painful. Blaine never took the key out from under the mat. He always remembered his keys, and Kurt did too.
The silence was overwhelming. It was nine o'clock. Blaine was usually in the living room, watching TV. It was football season too. He loved football. Blaine never missed a game, unless it was for Kurt. Blaine was always willing to miss a game if it meant having Kurt watch that new episode of America's Next Top Model and he never complained. Blaine never complained.
Before he could stop himself, a closed hand was hovering over the wooden door. Kurt didn't even realize it, but he was shaking. Not just his hand. Everything. He was shaking, but the silence was still there and he couldn't hear the sounds of a bathroom or a coffee machine or a TV or anything. He couldn't knock.
Blaine always had coffee when he was nervous. You'd think that coffee was the last thing someone needed for nerves but Blaine was never the conventional type of guy. The warmth cooled him down. The cinnamon made him so so happy and it calmed him better than any tea did. Kurt always had tea. That's why they had two heating pots. One for tea. The other for coffee.
Kurt's arm fell limp against him. This wasn't right. Blaine never left the porch light on when he left the house, which means he had to be in there. Could he be asleep?
Kurt's eyes trailed over the drawn curtains. It was the same as he last looked. All the lights were on. The familiar light from the living room shone out from the small crack in the curtains. Blaine never did learn how to close the curtains completely.
The hallway light was on too, because it shone onto the toes of Kurt's shoes, the familiar shadow on the hallway table steady by his feet.
Kurt stood there, outside, wondering what would happen if he actually knocked and if Blaine was really in there and if he was, where he was and if he wasn't, why he left all the lights on and was wasting electricity because without Kurt to help pay for the house he couldn't afford the extra billing and Kurt wondered why he left.
He doesn't know.
Kurt pulled a small slip of paper from his pocket and held it softly in his hand.
It's now or never.
Blaine hasn't been able to sleep for two days.
It's not as if he got much sleep to begin with. Oftentimes, he had ran on two hours and coffee and that didn't bother Kurt much because he didn't know. Blaine just lay there in bed with Kurt's arm wrapped around his torso and even though he wasn't asleep, he was completely at peace with himself and the world.
The bed felt empty without that warmth beside him.
Blaine had to stock up on coffee because he realized that he could no longer function without it. He was working overtime and nothing was right at work because no one was giving him tips for being a waiter and although people still loved him as a performer, it was never enough.
Nothing would be enough without Kurt.
The TV was always too loud. Blaine had tried to get up and watch that one football game with that one team he used to like but the sound deafened him and he remembered watching that McKinley game with Kurt all those years ago and it was too much so he squeezed the remote until he hit the right button and the screen blinked to black.
Blaine stopped locking the door.
It was stupid of him, really, but he knew Kurt had left his keys and his spare keys on the hallway table that night he disappeared and Blaine couldn't bear think of what would happen if Kurt came back one day and no one was home and the door was locked so he changed his mind.
Kurt hasn't come home yet.
That's why Blaine decided that the best way to solve this problem was by sleeping against the door. On nights like these, when he couldn't sleep even if he tried, he lay against the cold unforgiving wood and tried to will Kurt to come, as if he had some sort of psychic power.
It's never worked.
Blaine been leaning against the door, unmoving, for three hours. He hasn't done anything besides stare at the blinding florescent light bulb above him and he wonders if staring into space is all he's good for now.
Before he even realized it, tears were running down his eyes for the second time that day. He tried to blink the tears away but that didn't work so he shifted to his knees. He laid his forehead against the door and just wept. There was nothing else he could do.
From outside, Kurt saw the shadow he thought belonged to the hallway table move. It didn't leave his feet, but it moved, which meant Blaine was in there. No, he wasn't just in there. He was by the door. He had been all this time.
Kurt's breath hitched and he tried his best to stay as silent as possible. The piece of paper in his hand slipped out and fell slowly to the ground. It didn't make a sound, but something else did.
Blaine was sobbing. Kurt's breathing stopped altogether as the other boy—the boy he loved—sounded like his world has ended and there was nothing left, like he had been abandoned—which he had been.
Kurt had abandoned him.
The sobbing continued and the sound pulled at Kurt's heart piece by piece and ripped it apart slowly and surely and more painfully than he had thought possible. Before he realized it, tears were filling his own eyes and he stopped thinking clearly.
An angry fist slammed against the thin wooden door and Kurt was knocked back to his senses. He couldn't do this. He couldn't.
Kurt's feet started thinking for themselves as they ran, ignoring his desperation to stay quiet, making loud sounds he ran from the porch down the path towards the sidewalk and back down the road. His shoes made loud thumping noises that were not lost to Blaine.
As if it was a reflex, the sound of footsteps made Blaine immediately stand and open the door. The white hallway light shone on the empty porch. From the corner of his eye, Blaine could see the outline of a thin, tall, beautiful boy running away. Kurt was here. Kurt was here.
But he didn't come back.
Blaine's eyes filled with fresh tears and he dropped his head, standing in the open doorway as the sobs once against wracked his body and made him shake. Through the water, he saw a long shadow and it was a piece of paper that had fallen just to the left of the doormat.
He picked it up.
"I'm sorry"
Kurt's fine, smooth script filled this tiny piece of paper and Blaine lost it. His knees buckled and he was sitting in a crumpled heap on the doormat, his voice too tired and too hoarse to scream a name and to beg him to come back. Kurt was out of his reach.
Kurt was gone, but he would always be welcome. If he ever decided to come back.
A/N: Mostly based off of If You Ever Come Back by The Script. It's unedited and pretty raw and I only wrote it because I got to urge to write in the middle of doing a paper, but I decided to post it anyway. I hope you enjoyed that product of my procrastination :)