Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.
Note: Okay, so it's been two months since I finished off "Walking Through Fire". I am now about to start the spin-off, "A Little Piece of Hevan". It will probably be around 25 chapters in the end, but that can always change. I will not write any more stories in this series after this one. As usual, reviews are more than welcome.
Two years after
Kurt was in the apartment that he shared with his dear friend, Rachel, in New York City. He sighed, knowing that the second anniversary of his former lover, Puck's, death was approaching. He cast a glance at the old school photo that he still kept in his wallet, the photo that he hid behind the picture of his stepbrother, Finn, but was now held in his hands. Closing his eyes, he slid it back into his wallet, placing it on the dresser. He put his head between his knees, remembering the screams as the gun fired, as his boyfriend fell to the ground, as he told him he loved him before he died. A knock on the door pulled him out of his flashback, and he got up to answer it.
"Hey, baby," Sam Evans said, pulling Kurt into a hug.
"Hey," Kurt whispered, leaning into Sam's embrace. Sam, the boy whom he'd never expected to fall for and find his love in return. Sam, the boy who quietly admitted to Kurt that he was gay just a year prior, and who had been dating him ever since. Sam, the boy who had followed Kurt to New York and who had lifted him out of his post traumatic stress disorder and depression. Sam, who loved him more than Kurt could possibly ask.
"Are you okay?" Sam frowned.
"Just…thinking," Kurt stepped back, allowing Sam to enter the apartment.
"About what?" Sam settled himself onto the recliner in the living area.
"It's been nearly two years since he died," Kurt said bluntly. "And I don't think anyone but me really remembers or cares."
"Oh," Sam looked down at his hands awkwardly. "I'm sorry, Kurt."
"No, no," Kurt sighed heavily and sat down across from Sam. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be talking about my deceased boyfriend around my current boyfriend."
"It's okay," Sam reached out for Kurt's hands. "I know it still hurts. I mean, my grandma died five years ago, and it still hurts to think about her sometimes."
Kurt gave Sam a tiny smile. "How did I get so lucky to find someone like you?"
Sam shrugged. "I ask myself the same thing every day, Kurt."
Kurt blushed. "I love you, Sam. I really do love you."
Sam kissed Kurt's forehead. "I love you, too."
Kurt paced the bedroom. Occasionally, he looked down at his left arm, catching sight of the long, deep scar that ran down the length of his pale skin, remembering the day that he tried to kill himself for the second time. He'd been in the graveyard, running away after his father told him of his dead sister for the first time, and, having broken up with Puck the night before and unable to take it anymore, decided to end it. Quinn, an old friend to both Kurt and Sam, had luckily found Kurt as he was bleeding out, and saved him, and for that, Kurt would always be grateful to her. His arms were littered with scars, in fact, from the days of his former pyromania, a sickness that consumed him and sent him spiraling down a deep, dark hole unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Breathing heavily, he sank into a corner of the room, putting his head between his knees. He had long lost the urge to burn himself, but lately, he was finding himself missing Puck more and more, missing his touch, his kiss, his smell, his very presence. He shivered against his will, trying to push all thoughts of his long-lost love out of his head, trying instead to focus on Sam, the boy who loved him so much, it sometimes hurt Kurt to watch, knowing that he could not possibly match this amount of pure, true love. He caught sight of a candle sitting on Rachel's dresser, wondering what it would be like to burn again, to feel that cradle of passionate love once more. Standing up slowly, he walked over to the dresser, one step at a time, reaching for the candle in seemingly slow-motion. Holding it in his hands, he turned it over and over, striking it quickly and holding it in front of his eyes, staring into the flickering flames, trembling as he did so, not wanting to stumble back into his past, not wanting to go back again.
And yet he wanted to, so badly.