The morning air is stale and dry until he sings. His voice fills the starkness of the day with melody and color. It is soft and sweet, like that of an angel. Sometimes, I even wonder how one person can have something such as beautiful, but then I'd be asking myself why I have him.
When he isn't singing, his voice whispers sweet nothings in my ear. Words like 'I love you', 'I'm yours forever' and 'I'll never say goodbye' tumbles out of his soft lips and into my awaiting heart. My mind reels from his whispers. They are nothing short of loving. It feels as if my heart will burst with so much of a good thing.
~ I miss his voice...
The morning air is stale and dry until I bury my head in the crook of his neck and smell his fragrance. His scent is effeminate but manly enough to be musky. It is unlike anything I have ever encountered before. Unique, just like him.
The smell of coffee always lingering in the air is something we have been accustomed to throughout these years. For us, it is home. There is just nothing more relaxing and utterly blissful than waking up to its heady odor, more so if I know he is the one preparing it. It has always been our thing ever since high school, and it still is.
~ I miss his scent...
The morning is stale and dry until I open my eyes and let it sweep over his beauty. In all of my years in this earth, I have never seen anyone more glorious than he. His complexion is pale, like the first snow. He sometimes says that he hates it, but I always reassure him that I love it. Who wouldn't? It makes him look more like a seraph wrongly discarded by heaven. His eyes are mesmerizing. They are the most wondrous gems that mine have ever met. Even though I have been gazing at them for more than ten years, I can still never tell what color they are. They fleet from the softest of blue, to the most lush of green and to the shiniest of silver. His lips are rosy, more so after ours have met in heated moments of passion. They too, are mesmerizing. I can stare at them all day long, but I have better things to do with them rather than to merely stare.
~ I miss seeing him...
The morning is stale and dry until our lips meet and our tongues clash, making flavors explode in our mouths. He always tastes like his strawberry chapstick, the coffee he had drunk earlier and a bit like mint from his mouthwash. It is all so dizzying, in a good way of course. And if I had my way, I would get drunk on them every single day.
~ I miss his taste...
The morning is dull and dreary until our skins meet. His is so smooth, as if they were made of the finest silk. I run my fingers through his soft, chestnut hair. He hates it [or so he says] when I do so but I retort by saying he shouldn't make it so soft then. He just smiles and orders me to hold him tighter. I comply. What can I deny my love? When his lips are kiss-swollen, I love running my finger on the just to feel their berry plumpness. Sometimes I do them absently but sometimes I do them consciously. He never minds when I do it, so I think that he loves it when I do.
~ I miss feeling and touching him.
. . . t e l l t a l e . s i g n s ...
"Blaine, I know this is hard for you. Hell, it's hard for all of us but you have to move on. That's what Kurt wou—"
"No! Don't say his name! No... No... No... Just don't."
"Blaine, I—"
"Just leave me alone!"
"Come on Finn, let's do what he says"—the voice lowers—"for the meantime."
The door slams.
A curly-haired man is curled up on the couch, clutching a piece of clothing. From the looks of it, it is a navy Marc Jacobs sweater. It seems too small to fit him but he still holds onto it tightly, as if afraid to let go.
His surroundings are a mess. Clothes are strewn everywhere, dishes are stacked haphazardly in the sink and so many junk litter the floor.
His eyes are red and puffy, his body shaking and trembling. No more tears fall from his eyes; they had dried up three days ago. His mouth opens and closes, trying desperately to suck in air as he tremors. He rocks back and forth like a child and he speaks in broken tones.
"Kurt, Kurt, Kurt, Kurt, Kurt... This isn't real, it isn't. You promised you would never say goodbye. You promised." he murmurs, his voice breaking at the end.
From daybreak to sunset, he remains like this, weeping for his loss. Knocks resound at his door but he does not answer. Rings blare from his phone but he does not pick up. Letters of condolences are slotted through the mailbox but he does not fetch them.
It all continues this way, until one night, he falls asleep on his—their bed. The covers wrap around him in a soft embrace, and there is a lingering fragrance in the air.
Blaine opens his eyes and meets glasz ones. He smiles.
"Hey gorgeous." he whispers before pressing his lips to the other man's forehead.
The brown-haired man sighs. "Mhhm, good morning to you too, handsome."
...
"Blaine, what do you want for breakfast?" his husband asks as he got out of the bathroom, drying his hair.
Blaine, still seated on the massive bed, wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. "Can I have a Kurt Hummel special?" he answer-asks, standing up and grabbing the other man and practically dragging him to the bed.
Kurt lets out a sigh. "That could be arranged." he says, a little bit breathless.
Their lips meet in a moment of passion.
...
You make me feel
Like I'm living a teenage dream
The way you turn me on
I can't sleep
So let's run away and don't ever look back
Don't ever look back
Blaine stares at his husband as the other man sways his hips while singing. He bops to the beat and hums along.
Damn, he thinks, I am one lucky man.
...
The two men lie in their bed. They held each other, their arms wrapped around one another.
"I wish we could stay like this forever." Blaine whispers, snuggling into Kurt's neck.
The countertenor murmurs his agreement.
Blaine doesn't wake up to singing. He doesn't wake up to the sound of soft whispers. He doesn't wake up encased in his lover's warm embrace. He doesn't wake up with the taste of Kurt inside his mouth. He doesn't wake up gazing into glasz eyes.
In fact, he doesn't wake up at all.
The following week, the old members of the New Directions, Kurt and Blaine's family and some of their new friends and a few other people who knew them did a double funeral.
A double funeral for a certain Kurt Hummel-Anderson and Blaine Anderson-Hummel.
. . . t e l l t a l e . s i g n s ...
A/N: So yeah... I have been writing death!fics in a streak now. Damn it [Janet]! I don't know why but that is all what I'm in the mood for! Cuuuurse!
Review please? Don't let karma bite you on your hiney!