Go inside. Close the door. Check the answering machine. Take meds. Eat dinner. This was Blaine's schedule, and it had been for exactly eighty-two days.

"You have no new messages," the computerized voice said out of the phone. He set it down on the dresser in his bedroom and stared at it for a second. Then he looked at the little orange bottle in his hand, and up into the mirror in front of him. There was a picture beside it of him and his brother, which was taken about three and a half months ago. He compared Picture Blaine to Mirror Blaine.

Picture Blaine was smiling like an idiot, his arm wrapped around Cooper's waist as the older boy held him off the ground. There was paint smeared over both of them, along with soap bubbles and mud streaks on their knees. Both of them had been so happy, so carefree working at the summer camp Dalton and Crawford organized every year. Nothing had been wrong.

Mirror Blaine on the other hand looked like a disaster. Tangled hair, wrinkled clothes, sullen face. His eyes were empty, expression blank. The only colour on him was the pink scratch marks down his arms from needing to physically hold onto something without drawing attention to himself. Compared to the photograph, Blaine's reflection looked like it had been thrown in a blender and aged ten years.

It's because he's gone, Blaine thought. The doctors had said it would be best to not think too much about him, so Blaine had taken down all of the photos of him. But one line from a song explained everything perfectly:

An empty room, I'm empty too,

But everything reminds me of you.

The dried rose on the shelf. The smell of coffee. Hearing Katy Perry come on the radio. All of it triggered the same thought:

Kurt.

He's gone, Blaine reminded himself. He's gone, and you can't do anything about it. He ran a hand through his hair and stumbled backwards until he hit the bed. He fell on his back and shut his eyes against the tears, but nothing could stop it now. Silent sobs wracked his body as he curled into a ball on his side, barely holding himself together.

"I can't do this anymore," he whispered to himself. His hand tightened around the bottle in his hand and he squinted at the label:

DULOXETINE HCI

Take one tablet twice daily.

It would be so easy, Blaine mused silently. Then, for a second, his mind blurred over. He felt... happier. Sort of. Like someone had given him a sad sort of smile, reassuring yet understanding, like the people at Kurt's funeral who'd seen death before and didn't say things like "it'll be okay," or "he's in a better place now." It didn't make him feel perfectly cheery, but he wasn't as suicidal anymore.

Blaine froze as the memory of a voice, breaking through tears, whispered through his befuddled mind: "I'll never say goodbye to you."

Then, something he'd never heard Kurt say before: "I'll come back. Don't do anything stupid."

The bottle fell out of Blaine's hand and rolled onto the floor. His eyes fluttered closed, and he fell asleep to Kurt's voice echoing through his head.

~o0o~

At school, it felt like everyone was in one of three moods: mourning (the glee club and most of the senior class), pissed off (mostly the jocks who somewhat respected Kurt and had anger management issues), or pissed off at the mourners (idiots who thought Kurt had been asking for it and were tired of the depressing mood around school). It sucked. So, Blaine offered his idea.

"Hey, guys," Mr. Shue greeted the glee club glumly at the end of the day. A few people mumbled responses, but most stayed silent. Blaine looked up and built up the courage to speak.

"Mr. Shue?" he asked. Everyone looked at him—he hadn't spoken more than two words to anyone since Kurt died, much less called out in class. The teacher nodded silently in acknowledgement.

"I know things haven't been the same since..." He trailed off, knowing everyone knew what he was talking about. "So, I had an idea. We could write a letter."

Mr. Shue looked at him and thought for a second. "That's actually a good idea," he commended. A few people nodded and sat up straighter.

"I've got a notepad and a pen. Whadda you say?" The room nodded as a whole and shuffled to the piano in silent agreement.

Blaine pulled out the paper and started writing.

Dear Kurt,

I haven't seen you in a while. I miss you. I wish you really could come back. But you can't. Those idiots on the football team went too far. I love you. I know you know that, but—

Santana snatched the pen from Blaine's hand as a few tears fell onto the paper, effectively creating a line of black ink across the page. Blaine moved over without protest, letting Santana sit on the piano bench and write her part.

Hey, Hummel. Blainers over here is getting all sappy on us, so I thought I'd save the paper from getting too many tear stains. We all miss you, but now you're with your mom again, so you must be happy about that.

"Santana, move it," Finn whined. The cheerleader rolled her eyes halfheartedly, writing one last line.

Finn's getting grabby on me, so I'm gonna—

Finn stole the pen out of Santana's hand the same way she had with Blaine. She sighed and got up, standing beside Brittany as Finn began writing.

Hi, Kurt. Burt's been a mess since you died. Blaine hasn't even spoken. No one's been happy at all. Just remember that you're my brother, and you always will be.

Finn nodded to himself and handed the pen to Rachel silently. The diva did her best to keep her message light, taking the time to dot her "i"s with little hearts.

Hi, fellow fashion lover! I went through some old photos of us from freshman year, and I swear you looked ten years old! I know we're turning into a broken record, but we really do miss you.

"Rachel, hurry up," Puck sighed sadly. Rachel ignored him.

Puck says I've had enough time, but I—

Santana helped her ex-boyfriend by stealing the pen from Rachel, who pouted as Puck slid the notebook over to himself and took the pen from Santana.

Sorry about Rachel's rambling. We still can't get her to shut up. Just so you know, I personally beat the shit out of the assholes on the football team. They aren't going where you are, that's for sure. Things have been really freaking depressing around here lately. Anyways, say "Hi" to your mom for me!

Puck gave the pen to Mercedes as Blaine spoke up again.

"I'm going to give this to the Dalton boys tomorrow," he said. "Kurt's their friend, too."

Mercedes nodded and began writing.

I love you! I miss you! Without you, the only shopping partner I have is Rachel. I really wish I'd worked on my fashion sense with you earlier. The Warblers get this tomorrow (via Blaine, of course), so be prepared for crazy!

"Anyone else?" she asked quietly. No one spoke up. She slid the book back to Blaine, who stuffed it in his bag and stood up. There was a few seconds of silence before the bell rang.

"See you guys," Blaine mumbled, fleeing the room before anyone could stop him.

"Hey, little brother," Cooper greeted at the front doors of the school. Blaine hadn't trusted himself to drive for the last few days, afraid he might give up and drive off a bridge or something. So Cooper had driven him home every day, having given up on trying to make it in Hollywood.

Blaine grabbed Cooper's wrist, holding onto his older brother like a lifeline. Cooper led him to the car, opening the door and closing it behind him.

They drove home in silence, Blaine still holding a vice-like grip on Cooper's arm. He ran inside as soon as the car stopped in the driveway, locking himself in his room for the night.

"Blaine," Cooper called from the hallway later. "Do you want anything for dinner?"

"No," Blaine responded. Cooper left him alone, trying to pretend he didn't hear the muffled screams and sobs coming from the bedroom upstairs.

When Blaine did come out of hiding, he'd changed into a dark, long-sleeved shirt and grey sweatpants. Cooper was sitting in the living room watching a rerun of CSI: Miami, half asleep with his body draped across the couch.

"C-Coop?" Blaine said quietly. Cooper sat up and looked over to his brother, who kept his hands behind his back.

"Come here, Blaine," he sighed, falling easily into big-brother mode. Blaine shuffled over and sat beside him, pulling his sleeves over his hands.

"Lemme see," Cooper pressed, rolling Blaine's sleeves up to his elbows. The younger boy's arms were bleeding, his hands streaked with blood, and there were already a few new bruises starting to form on his wrists.

"I'm sorry," Blaine mumbled, trying to pull his sleeves back down. Cooper caught his eye and stopped him. Silently, he pulled his brother to the downstairs bathroom and cleaned the scratches, scrubbed his hands, and wrapped his arms in clean white bandages. Then, in a spur of the moment idea, he led Blaine into the kitchen and sat him at the counter.

"What are you doing?" Blaine asked halfheartedly as his crazy older brother put a frying pan on the stove. Cooper pulled a handful of ingredients out of the fridge and got to work.

"What always made you feel better when you were little?" he asked while he blocked what he was doing from Blaine's vision. Blaine thought for a minute and remembered just as he was served.

A tiny bit of a smile broke out on his face. "Grilled cheese sandwiches," he began, looking up at Cooper.

"... With bacon in the middle and pretzels on the side," the older boy continued in a phony British accent, twirling once and dropping a handful of pretzel sticks on top of the sandwich.

"It's one o'clock on a Monday morning," Blaine chided lightly, chewing on a pretzel. Cooper shrugged and sat beside him, handing him a water bottle.

"You missed dinner. Eat." He punctuated the last word by shoving the plate a few inches closer to Blaine.

Blaine accepted the gentle hug Cooper gave him and ate his sandwich, realizing that Cooper had been the only person who could get him to eat lately. Or sleep on a somewhat normal schedule. Or make him take his medication every day.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked once the last pretzel was gone. Cooper looked at him.

"Doing what?"

"Taking care of me," Blaine replied quietly. Cooper laughed once and put an arm around Blaine's shoulders.

"Blaine, I'm your older brother. It says in the job description that I have to take care of you when you can't quite do it yourself," he soothed before Blaine yawned loudly.

"I need you to do something for me, okay squirt?" Cooper asked gently. Blaine looked at his brother and nodded.

"You have to stop hurting yourself like this," he whispered, gesturing to the bandages on Blaine's forearms. "You know I won't get mad at you for it, but I still don't like seeing you like that." Blaine rested his head on Cooper's shoulder and nodded again.

"O-okay. I'll stop." Cooper smiled sadly and led Blaine back upstairs to his room, the younger boy falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

~o0o~

Blaine left early that morning, aiming to get to Dalton before classes started. Which was easier said than done, seeing as he had a two-and-a-half-hour drive ahead of him and first period started at 8:15, and he was running on four hours of sleep. Miraculously, he made it with fifteen minutes to spare.

"Nick!" Blaine called, spotting the sophomore across the courtyard. Nick turned towards his voice and waited for him to catch up.

"What's up, Blaine?" Nick greeted quietly. He had been one of the first Warblers to learn about Kurt's attack, and so he took it a bit harder than the rest. He'd been unable to form a completely coherent happy thought for the last two months.

Blaine told him about the letter idea, and Nick summoned a few other Warblers to the practise hall.

"Blaine?" Jeff said as he walked in, followed by Wes and David. "What're you doing here?"

Blaine explained the letter idea again, and typical Warbler insanity ensued. Wes barely got to write his part before David stole the pen, and they fought over it so much that the paper was soon covered in blue scribbles, one of which Wes made into a doodle of a fire-breathing kitten. The same thing happened when Jeff and Nick tried to get it from him. Jeff laughed it off and wrote at the bottom of the page:

P.S. The ink marks are from the Warblers fighting over the pen. You know us! :)

"Thanks, guys," Blaine mumbled when he got the paper back. They all had to rush to first period, but Nick ended up forging a sad little group hug before they left.

Blaine ditched school for the next two weeks, hanging out at the Lima Bean and wasting about thirty dollars a day on refills of peppermint hot chocolate. He spent his time alternating between sulking out the window and attempting to figure out where that little buzz if confusion had come from that one night. Whatever it was, the only thing his mind could ever come up with was, "It saved my life." If he tried to think too much about it, he'd get a headache.

At one point, Blaine could have sworn he saw something out of the corner of his eye—a shimmering form on the other side of the room. When he turned to see what it was, it was gone.

"Please, Kurt," he whispered to the empty space around himself, "I need you."

~o0o~

Nothing happened for a few weeks. Blaine kept the letter in the dresser beside his bed, the glee club having signed it after the Dalton boys had finished with it. About a month later, though, things got interesting.

Blaine woke up one morning and reached out for the letter, which he had stuffed in an envelope addressed with Kurt's name. But... it wasn't there. Instead, he found an unmarked box about the size of a small book. There was a sticky note on the far side:

Don't open this until glee practise today. Show everyone. -K

The note was written in what was unmistakably Kurt's neat-ish scrawl. It was impossible, Blaine thought, that someone who had died four months ago could write anything.

But then again, this was Kurt.

The day blurred into nothing by way of Blaine's anxiety. All too soon, he was sitting in the back row of the choir room with the box in his hand.

The glee club had become a bit happier after they'd written the letter. Rachel had gotten the skip back in her step; Mercedes mothered Blaine and Rory, the new kid; and Puck was back to his badboy sex-shark ways. Things were almost normal.

Curiosity took over as Blaine opened the box. He shook a folded piece of paper onto his lap and opened it.

Dear everyone,

Thank you. I miss you guys, too. My mom says hi, and that she's glad I found such great friends and an even better boyfriend (her words, not mine. But I agree with her, anyways).

Finn, of course you're my brother. You're such a freaking teddy bear, it's hard not to love you. Take care of my dad for me.

Mercedes, I give you full permission to raid my bedroom and take the box of magazines I have stored under my bed... And show them to Rachel. Please.

Puck, thanks. As much as I know you won't admit it, you've really protected me lately. You're just as much of a teddy bear as Finn sometimes.

Blaine, I need you to listen to your brother. Whenever you feel physical pain, it's doubled in me. I can't stand to see you like that. The connection between us is too strong.

As much as they would like it, don't tell the Warblers I wrote back. They already belong in padded cells.

I need to tell you something. In person. So if anything weird happens, blame me.

I love you,

Kurt.

"Guys?" Blaine called quietly, earning the attention of everyone in the room. He looked up from the letter—which was written entirely in Kurt's handwriting—and into the eyes of fifteen curious teenagers, their teacher running late. "I think you should hear this. Remember the letter we wrote?"

Everyone nodded and a few people "uh huh"'d. Blaine took a breath. "We got a response."

Once he'd successfully stopped everyone from freaking out, Blaine read the letter aloud. He omitted the part that had been written to him, as no one knew what had been going on in that aspect and Blaine preferred to keep it that way.

"In person?" Rachel mused after a few seconds of stunned silence. "Are you sure this isn't just a cruel prank from your brother?"

"It isn't," Blaine said confidently. "One, Cooper isn't that mean or ignorant, and two, this is Kurt's handwriting." He turned the paper away from himself and waited for everyone to calm down again.

"Which means..." Quinn speculated from her seat, trailing off.

"Yep," came a voice from the corner. All heads turned at the sound as a figure stepped out of the shadows, his arms folded across his chest.

"I've missed you guys."