It was strange how cold the empty backstage felt after a practice, when everyone had gone home and the wings were deserted.
Actually, really, physically cold; draughts curling across the floor from cracks under doors and from between stage floorboards. There was a haunted feel to it; a feeling of ghostliness to the rows upon rows of empty seats and the dusty, unswept floors.
A few discarded, dirty sequins, presumably missing from some fanciful costume somewhere, lay across the back of the stage, catching the last rays of chilly sunlight through one of the tiny overhead windows. The curtains moved ever so slightly with the draught, tiny, ghostly ripples quivering across the faded material.
Blaine sat motionless on a backstage metal stand, chin resting on propped-up palm, taking in the eerie stillness of the empty theatre. Normally, it was bright, magical, echoing with songs and shouts and laughter. It seemed as if that same magic faded away when the people left.
Like the magic left my life when he did, he reflected. That was an exaggeration, he knew; Kurt hadn't left him, he'd only moved farther away. Much farther away, to the big, bright city of his dreams and of his future, miles and miles away, but he hadn't left Blaine. Not really. He'd promised.
Then why isn't he answering my calls? Blaine had phoned three times that day, four the day before, only to be met with an empty beeping and a tinny recorded voice: 'This is Kurt Hummel's phone. Please contact me again at a more convenient time or leave a mailbox message.'
It seemed that the up-and-coming fashion guru of New York had no time left for gloomy, lonely boyfriends. Blaine stared at the picture of Kurt on his phone, one eyebrow raised, lips quirked in that gorgeous smile he had.
Another try?
Blaine closed his eyes and took a deep breath. If he answers, he loves me. If he doesn't, it's over.
A quick jab at the green phone image sent the dialing tone whirring, the beeps beeping.
What was Kurt doing now? It was fairly late, but he might still be at work, bent over whatever the hell he did. Maybe he was at home with Rachel, typing something out for the next day. Maybe he was out sightseeing in the city or finding fashion inspiration at some club somewhere. A gay club, perhaps. Maybe he was seeing someone…
Beep.
He loves me.
Beep. Beep.
He loves me not.
He wasn't going to answer. Blaine gritted his teeth with frustration. The mailbox voice was on.
'Hey, Blaine. How're you doing?'
Not the mailbox. A real, warm, human voice! A rush of relief, a jolt of happiness.
'Kurt!' He sounded choked; he could hear it. 'Kurt… so good to hear you again.'
He was trying to sound light and cheerfully jokey, but Kurt picked up on something anyway.
'You okay, Blaine? Something wrong?'
'I'm fine, really. Just- missed you. You know?'
'Oh, honey. I miss you too. Santana swears she's gonna make me pay five bucks every time I mention your name if I don't shut it. I just can't help talking about you. I miss you. I couldn't speak to you all yesterday because the boss had me working full time and over time, and when I got back it was really late. I'm sorry.'
Maybe it was a little weird to be pleased someone misses you, but Blaine couldn't help but be glad. Glad? Make that ecstatic.
'Didya do anything cool today?'
'Oh, some design work, but mostly just menial stuff, you know, going through records, matching up samples, making calls…'
'Enjoying it?' Could Kurt hear his grin now, he wondered.
'Yeah, my colleagues are great, the clothes are cool, it's kinda fun, you know? Finding stuff that I'd like, some that's more your line, talking to really inspirational people…'
It was a simple conversation, but a therapeutic one. Blaine found himself laughing at Kurt's accounts of life in New York and with Santana ('- she and this girl made out and worse on the couch, Blaine. On the couch. Whilst I could hear. It was so creepy and gross, I'll never be able to sit on it again-') and smiling as he told Kurt about life back home.
Half an hour slipped by, then another, and then the sun had gone down and it was dark in the theatre but Blaine was happy, because he had Kurt on the phone laughing and telling him he loved him, and they were making plans for meeting up and he was realizing all over again just how much he loved this guy.
Especially with his wonderful, melodic, half-singing laugh, his adorable squeals when he got really excited and the way he said 'I love you' over and over before saying goodbye, promising to call again the next day. As Blaine slipped the phone back into his pocket, he found that he was grinning and couldn't help it, and that he didn't care.
He practically skipped across the stage- Kurt had danced here! They'd sung together here, so many times! – stopping to pick up the abandoned sequins on the floor, because Kurt could use them on some crazy costume. As he straightened up again, he glanced out over the empty chairs, half-lit by the emergency lighting, and remembered students sitting there, teachers sitting there, Kurt sitting there.
It was strange how warm the empty backstage felt after a phone-call with a loving boyfriend, when you were going to see him again and your heart was full.