Prologue

Kurt says I need to get out more.

"Explore the world, it's who you're meant to be."

And I tell him he's crazy—he's all I want and need. But things aren't as simple as all of that, or so he tells me. Things are so goddamn complicated and I'm so goddamn sorry, he says. I paraphrase. But really, I'm not listening as intently as he wants me to.

"This next part is important, don't just nod your head and smile," he furrows his brows in concentration. The seriousness of his features makes me do just that though—I smile and nod away. "You're bigger than this, bigger than us, and I need you to see that. I need to you say that you understand and that you'll let me go."

I shake my head, still smiling. How can I let him go? How can he expect me to? He sighs, rubs his temples in this over dramatic gesture meant to make me feel sympathy for the strain I'm causing him with my stubbornness. But I don't budge. I refuse. Can't he see that I don't want to be bigger than this? That it's not who I'm meant to be?

"I really thought you'd be ready by now," he shakes his head, his eyes sad. Tired. And my heart leaps up into my throat, lodging itself there like a big pill I can't quite swallow. Ready for what? "Go home, Blaine. Think about what I said. Really think about it, okay?"

He turns to walk away and I panic; why does he always try to leave at the very worst times? "Wait, don't go—please, I need you!" It's the selfish plea of a selfish child and I wonder how on earth he possibly thought I was bigger than anything. He gives me too much credit, he expects too much of me; but can't he see I just need him? He stops, his back to me, and I suddenly can't recall a single thing I planned to say. He glances over his shoulder, expectant glittering eyes stare back at me and all hope is lost—I'll never remember now. "Please, I—don't, I—stay." I can see the turmoil in his eyes, pleasant calm to violent waves right before me, but I don't care. I'll riddle him with guilt if that's what it takes to keep him here beside him.

"You need to let me go, you'll only hurt yourself more the tighter you hold on, Blaine. I wish you could see that. I wish you could—"

"Was it something I did? Said? I thought you... I love you—don't you love me too?" And this seems to drive a stake through his heart. His eyes go wide, that doe eyed expression I've come to adore so very much, and I have him now. I must. But in an instant he's staring at me with those mournful eyes and I contemplate if there's any truth behind the stories of people dying from a broken heart. The pain in my chest starts to offer up proof but it's the next line he feeds me that let's me know for sure.

"Oh, Blaine. You can't love me. This is all my fault, I should have seen this coming."

We'd spent so much time discussing love, its fleeting, flirtatious, wispy feathers teasingly caressing my cheeks through the late night confessions. Had they meant nothing to him? Was he stringing me along? He spoke of love as though it was the most important thing to strive for, the only thing worth having any faith in.

It's me. It's me, it's my fault—I'm just not good enough for him.

"You weren't supposed to fall in love with me, Blaine."

"You can't choose who you fall in love with, Kurt."

Maybe I need to retrace my steps—go back to the start and try to figure this whole thing out.