Welcome back, guys. So this is a little bit different: here I've got drabbles, one-shots, and short fics that might fit into the canon of one of my stories but for whatever reason wasn't/won't be uploaded with that story. I do take prompts, and if you'd like to prompt me, just drop a review here, or send me an ask on tumblr (painted-polar-bear).

This first installment is Chapter 1: A Letter. This follows shortly after Scars On Your Wrists, and while you won't need to have read that story to enjoy this one, having some background information will make this more than just a letter.

Dearest Blaine,

Please don't cry. Not for me. Cry because I was stupid enough to push you away when I got too scared. Cry because I never said everything I wanted to say, because we'll never move to New York and rent a closet-sized apartment and own a cat. Well, you can always go to New York anyway, and don't you dare feed that cat anything but organic. And don't you dare blame yourself for anything.

That's really important, Blaine, and I'm going to say it again because I know you won't listen the first time: Don't. Blame. Yourself.

Seriously. I know you will anyway. Don't do it.

My issues were not your issues. My personal life was not yours to be burdened with. I know you would have brought me the moon if I asked for it, but don't you see, that's only a reason not to ask. I know you would have wanted to help, and maybe I would have unloaded on you anyway if I'd gotten the chance.

That's not the point.

You did everything I ever could have asked of you. More than everything.

You were supportive.

You were reassuring.

You were there.

And that's all I ever wanted from you. Hell, that's all you could have done anyway. I think if I hadn't had you, if I had been truly alone, I would have gone a long time ago. You saved me, Blaine, and more important, you made me happier than I'd ever been in my entire life up to the very last day.

Please don't imagine that everything you did wasn't enough. Please don't beat yourself up, or think that if only you'd done this or that. Beyond caring for me, making me feel less worthless sometimes, holding me when I couldn't stop crying...there wasn't much that could be done. I was sick, Blaine, and I needed more help than maybe it was humanly possible for anyone to give. Even with that, Blaine, I loved you more than you can possibly know.

I loved you.

I love you.

Now you have to let go.

Not now. God, not now. Grieve. But then let go. You've reached the end of the book, Blaine; you can't look at that last page forever, waiting for something more to happen. You have to put it down and find something new. That doesn't mean you forget...but you have to move on.

I love you.

(Your Kurt)