A/N: I haven't been on FF in forever, do people still do A/Ns? I hope so. The theme of this one is this is my first fanfiction in a while, so reviews are more than welcome. (Don't ask me what more than welcome equals. I just really would appreciate reviews.) The title comes from the Lana Del Rey song, Without You. I am aware the timing of this fic is odd... it is neither Christmas or Season 4 anymore. I was just struck with a reaction fic really late, I suppose! No matter the season, enjoy!
Was it possible to have withdrawals from Kurt when he was only several feet and a curtain away? Blaine stared at the dim ceiling, vaguely lit by the Christmas tree lights, listening to the room's various sounds. Was it possible his heart was beating louder than the loud New York traffic outside? He felt like he'd been running on adrenaline all day—act normal and everything will be fine.
Kurt will smile at you. Kurt will sing with you. Kurt will love you. If you just act normally, everything will be fine.
Going into this visit, Blaine hadn't been sure what to expect, and lying on a slightly lumpy couch in the midst of it, Blaine was no less positive. Of course he hadn't expected Kurt to run back into their relationship, though he would be lying when he said he hadn't imagined it. He couldn't help but romanticize the holidays… especially considering he romanticized everything else.
The act of the day was taking its toll, Blaine noticed, as he took deep breathes in attempt to calm his heart, his mind. In the quiet night, he didn't feel the need to fill the role he'd been playing throughout the day. He didn't need to smile or pretend setting a table like old times but not in old times was a perfectly happy way to spend the holidays.
A tear rolled down Blaine's cheek, escaping the failing mental resolve he'd had on lock down all day. He was so tired, and Kurt and he had just started mending whatever they were now.
Blaine longed to go to Kurt. He felt compelled with Kurt only a room away. He was always weak when it came to Kurt's magnetic force. He felt tingly all over with the knowledge that Kurt was not only within the same state, but feet near him. Near, he wanted to be near as possible.
They'd shared a hug, a couch, a table today, but it hadn't been enough. He wanted to lay with Kurt, to fight over who was the small spoon, to synchronize their breathing until he drifted into sleep. Blaine hadn't slept well without Kurt's arms. It sounded melodramatic, he knew; he hadn't even slept in Kurt's arms many times while he lived in Ohio. It was just that short taste that left Blaine immediately addicted—an addiction that could not be cured.
Blaine shifted on the couch, pressing his back to the back of the couch. The couch's embrace could hardly compare to Kurt Hummel's, however. He squeezed his eyes shut in frustration, consequently letting a few more tears escape. Closing his eyes, he believed, could persuade his body to sleep. But Blaine knew sleeping would not cure his exhaustion.
From the coffee table, Blaine's phone buzzed loudly. Blaine jerked at the noise, providing some much needed comic relief for himself. Go into any more of a downward spiral and you'll be delivering a soliloquy to rival Hamlet's.
From Kurt Hummel: Are you awake?
Blaine swore his heart jumped as much as his body had when the text startled him.
Can you read my mind? Or am I just thinking that loudly? Blaine responded quickly.
I missed you. I miss you. Kurt responded a minute later.
Me too. Blaine sent, holding his breath in… excitement? Anxiety? Hope?
Come to bed. Quickly, before I change my mind. was Kurt's response.
Blaine hurriedly got up from the couch, crossing the loft in record speed to get to Kurt's blocked off room. Blaine pushed past the curtains; they were no longer a barrier to him, at least for one evening.
"Kurt." Blaine whispered, his voice breaking slightly.
"Ssh, my dad." Kurt warned quietly. "C'mere, Blaine."
Blaine didn't think he could have stopped his body from obeying Kurt's request. He slipped into the bed, into Kurt's open arms. His head tucked under Kurt's, his fingers founded their way around Kurt's back, his feet entwined with Kurt's.
"I couldn't sleep, knowing…" Blaine murmured, his voice running off with his thoughts. He couldn't sleep knowing Kurt was in the next room? Couldn't sleep knowing what he had done? Couldn't sleep knowing Kurt may never forgive him?
"I don't know how to sleep without you. I don't know how to live without you." Blaine quietly admitted.
"Sleep now." Kurt murmured back, stroking Blaine's back with his hand, the back of his head with the other. "Just sleep."
Blaine let out a shaky breath. When had Kurt taken the role of comforting him? Shouldn't it be the other way around? His body didn't protest as his mind did though; he already felt sleep creeping on. He wanted to resist, wanted to remember every second on contact with Kurt, every warm exhale.
"Merry Christmas, Kurt." Blaine said in defeat, closing his eyes in a wave of the white flag. Sleep wasn't far away now that he was where he belonged, next to his rock, even though it felt as though he'd lost it at some point and would never be able to find it again.
When he said Merry Christmas, what he really meant was, I love you, forgive me.
"Merry Christmas, Blaine." Kurt replied. Blaine felt the light pressure of a kiss on his head.
And when Kurt said Merry Christmas, what he really meant was, I love you, and I'm trying.