A/N: I once told my lovely reviewer of The Inevitable Tends to Happen, BlurtItAllOut, that I'd never ever write a story in which Klaine wouldn't be endgame. I take that back now. Never say never. That was before this idea came to me, forcing me to write it. It doesn't mean that Kurt will find somebody new. No, I don't intend to have another endgame. As far as the story is thought out to be right now, Kurt is single at the end. I can spoil that much, I guess.

I can also say you can expect fluff. Lots of fluff. But also lots of tears and sadness, because ultimately it's a sad fic. But hopeful and lovely at the same time. At least that's what I want it to be.

It might appear that the story is random or disorganised (maybe not the first chapter, but the next ones), but well, there's always a purpose behind that.

There will be an epigraph at the beginning of each chapter, and there's a pattern: I'm using Evanescence lyrics for those. I'm taking advantage of the gigantic amount of dark love- and death-related lyrics they have.

If there are any similarities to another fic, or to the book/movie PS, I Love You, they're coincidental. I don't read much fic, but have never seen one like this. When it comes to the book and movie, I read the former a long time ago and don't remember it very clearly, and never saw the latter.

Um, and the fic isn't completed yet, so there's still a chance I won't finish it. I want to though, and I'll try to do it. I'll be updating every week for now, and so far I have enough for at least a couple of months (I've written 12 chapters so far.)

So, enjoy the read!

Letter 1: Whenever I Die

Catch me as I fall

Say you're here and it's all over now

Speaking to the atmosphere

No one's here and I fall into myself

This truth drives me

Into madness

I know I can stop the pain

If I will it all away

(Evanescence – Whisper)

The house was so empty. Everything was quiet. No one was playing the grand piano in the living room. No one was laughing. No one was talking. There wasn't even anyone to talk to.

And Kurt felt just like the house, empty. There was nothing left. The love of his life lay buried, six feet under, with a marble headstone over the freshly dug dirt. How horrible it was to see Blaine Anderson-Hummel, lived for 29 years, beloved husband, son and brother. But he only saw those words for a few seconds before tears blocked his vision for good.

It had been almost a full year since they came back home from the doctor's with the sentence. Inoperable brain tumour. Nothing left to do, but wait. Wait for Blaine's condition to deteriorate. Wait for the Reaper to come and take Blaine away. They tried to live on as normally as possible. Tried to make the most of the short while they had left together.

But now it was all over. Blaine was gone, and Kurt felt as if it sucked the life out of him too. They had planned to start looking for an adoption agency just before those headaches started. Just before Blaine went for the tests that revealed how serious his condition was.

Everything left to do now was packing up Blaine's things. Kurt was unwilling to do anything that would remove Blaine's presence in his life any further, but he had to do something. And being with his husband's things was as close as he could get to being with Blaine. Had he believed there was an afterlife to which Blaine had proceeded… It would have been comforting to know that his husband was somewhere up in the clouds looking down on him and smiling lovingly at him. But no matter how hard he would try, he couldn't believe that. He had tried to after his mother's death, so many years before. He couldn't believe then, an eight-year-old kid, he couldn't believe now, a grown man of thirty.

Kurt entered Blaine's study filled with innumerable sheet music neatly stacked on every available surface. Only the desk was a mess, as it had always been. As if it's owner was just about to come home, give his husband a kiss on the cheek and a hug, as he had for all the years they lived together. Kurt swallowed, trying to stop the tears from filling his eyes again.

He took up a stack of papers, and started looking through them idly. Sheet music. Scribbles all over whatever Blaine was working on. One of the early drafts Blaine had so many of. The final versions of his music were always perfect, without anything that could be considered unnecessary.

He put the papers aside, and moved to another untidy stack of drafts. A patch of red caught his eye when he lifted the sheet music. A small rectangular box lay directly under the papers. Kurt couldn't recall seeing that box before. He picked it up carefully, abandoning the sheet music and all the other objects scattered on the desk.

Only then did he notice there was a sticker on one of shorter ends of the box, saying clearly Kurt in a familiar handwriting. That surprised him even more. Why would there be a box with his name on it on Blaine's desk? Blaine knew very well Kurt never even came near his desk, and neither had Blaine come near Kurt's.

He held up his hand hesitantly to pull the lid, stopping for a second before he proceeded. He still felt like he was crossing a line, as if Blaine would come in and catch him red-handed, messing around with his work stuff.

He's not here. He's not coming back, he repeated to himself one more time, and took the lid off the box.

Inside the small cardboard rectangle was a stack of cream-coloured envelopes. Kurt sat down, putting the box in his lap, and flicked one envelope after another. Each carried a date and Kurt's name, all in the same handwriting. Blaine's.

Finally, his hand trembling, he took up the envelope that topped the rest. Unlike the rest, it bore no date; instead of a month and day, it said Whenever I die.

His fingers lingered on the writing; it was almost as if he was touching Blaine's hand through the lightly embossed letters. Slowly, very slowly, he opened the envelope and produced a folded piece of paper from inside.

Kurt swallowed, closing his eyes, and opened the letter.

One deep breath more and he opened his eyes.

Darling, darling Kurt,

Maybe what I'm doing now is stupid, or pointless. It may still turn out to be not as bad as the doctor said, right?

Anyway, I guess a piece of me has to admit that this is all real, and that these are really my last months on this earth. I know that no matter what I do, it's going to hurt you far deeper than it is ever going to hurt me. I know that I would go insane if I were ever to lose you…

But I just have to make sure I've done everything in my power to help you. To cheer you up somehow, even when I'm not going to be around anymore. To remind you of the beautiful moments we got to share in our life together. It's been over ten years, honey! A wonderful decade that no one is ever going to take away from us! No one and nothing.

So I'll be writing you letters. If you're reading this, I'm probably already gone and you're packing my stuff. Unless for some reason you went into my study and rummaged through my sheet music. In that case, naughty boy! Anyway, you must have found the box. All the letters will be in that box. Read them all, just don't do it in advance! Each of them is dated, so read them on the day given.

And please, take care of yourself. Not for me, for you. I don't want you to lose yourself because of me.

And remember, I will love you always and forever. No matter where I am, or if I am anywhere at all – and I know you don't believe I'm in heaven or hell, or wherever else – I will never stop loving you. I might be nowhere, but those letters are coming from somewhere – from the bottom of my heart, if from nowhere else. And my heart is and will always remain yours.

Don't cry, honey, please.

I love you,

Blaine.