It's not Blaine's finest day. For starters, he hasn't gotten much sleep. The New Year's Eve party he had been at the night before had gone until three in the morning and it had taken at least two hours to get home in the crowds. Now Kurt is banging around in the kitchen at seven in the morning for absolutely no good reason and it's impossible for Blaine to go back to sleep.
On top of that there's the sheer amount of alcohol that is still coursing through his system, making him regret going out at all last night. He can barely sit up without the room spinning, but he needs to make it to the bathroom. He needs to shower the stench of cigarettes, stale beer, and sweat off of his body and quite possibly throw up once or twice. Yes, he was definitely going to be sick this morning. Drinking always made him have horrible hangovers, which is why he often avoided it.
However, and here's the real kicker, the actual reason why this was shaping up to be a shitty day was that Kurt had walked in a few minutes ago and given him the most pitiful look. As if he knew that he was going to be spending the day taking care of Blaine and there was nothing he wanted to do less. Somehow, Blaine had become a burden to Kurt. Sure, Kurt still doted on him like he always had, but lately it wasn't done out of love, it was done out of obligation. Didn't that just make him feel like the shittiest person in the world?
No wonder Kurt had ditched him for a working dinner last night without a second thought. Blaine didn't even want to be around Blaine anymore; could he really blame Kurt?
"Are you showering?" Kurt walks into the bedroom and gives him a bored look.
"Will you shower for me?" Blaine says, trying his best to send him a charming smile. It doesn't quite reach his eyes once he realizes that Kurt is not amused. That isn't something that they do anymore.
"I have to meet Jean-Luc for lunch soon, so if you want breakfast you're going to have to get up," he says and leaves the room before Blaine can answer. It's not a question. Kurt is cooking for Blaine and Blaine had better get up and eat some of it.
Cursing the gods that found it appropriate to invent alcohol, Blaine slowly rolls out of bed and manages to stumble across the room and into their bathroom without falling over. He calls it a win; he knows it's the best he can hope for from today—that he can scrape through without serious injury.
After a quick shower, he's feeling a little bit more alive. At least he feels well enough that he can dress himself and walk into the kitchen. He never really feels completely alive anymore, more like a ghost than his former self. They tell him that this will pass, every day it will get easier. He thinks it's bullshit. Losing his father isn't something he's just going to get over one day, but arguing this fact is too exhausting.
"What happened last night?" Kurt asks from his spot by the door. He's putting on his boots, getting ready to leave. His voice sounds distracted, uninterested. He already knows the answer. It's the same answer Blaine always gives; he doesn't know why Kurt even bothers asking anymore. Keeping up appearances, Blaine figures.
"I don't know," he shrugs, sitting down to the omelet and toast Kurt has set out for him. The eggs cause his stomach to flip a bit, but not enough to prevent Blaine from eating them. He knows it'll be better once he has food in his system.
"Okay," Kurt says, before heading out the door.
It's the first time that Kurt hasn't suggested therapy. That he hasn't tried to tell Blaine that medication could help with the anxiety attacks. In retrospect, this should be the first thing that clues Blaine in that his life is about to change forever. At the moment he just can't help but feel grateful that he doesn't have to spend his lazy New Year's Day arguing about treatments.
After he finishes breakfast and cleans up the kitchen a bit—because god forbid anybody leave a dirty dish in Kurt Hummel's kitchen—Blaine settles in to watch a movie on the couch. He's got at least another week and a half before classes start up again and he fully intends to enjoy these days with nothing to do as much as he can now.
About halfway through The Hills Have Eyes (he's been on a horror kick recently, the gore fascinates him), Blaine's phone starts to go off. He makes his way over to answer the call, knowing that there are only a small handful of people that could be calling him today and each and every one of them will just keep calling until he answers. They all know him well enough by now to know that he's too far into this funk to deal with others. Why they don't ever take the hint and leave him alone, he doesn't know. Secretly he's grateful that they care enough about him not to let him slip too far off the edge.
"Hello," he answers.
"Hey," Wes says, sounding somewhat cheerful considering the night they both had. "How are you feeling?"
"Like death, but it's getting better," he says, flopping back down on the couch.
"That's good," he says, trailing off like he wants to say more but doesn't know how to ask.
"I'm fine," Blaine says, knowing that Wes is worried about the panic attack he had last night.
It was stupid. He always felt so stupid when they happened. It is never over anything serious, that he could understand. No, they are always the simplest things that set him off. Something that reminds him of his father; a stranger standing too close. Shit, one time he had a panic attack watching an episode of Friends. They are horrifying. The way that his throat closes up and his head starts to cloud like he is underwater. Once his mind clears and his breathing goes back to normal, he always feels so ashamed.
Normal people can go about their lives without problems. Normal people don't have anxiety attacks at New Year's Eve parties and end up locking themselves in a coat closet until their boyfriend gets called to rescue them. It's embarrassing.
"You know, my dad's a therapist," Wes says, trying to sound casual, but he knows where this conversation is heading.
"Can we not?" Blaine asks, sighing deeply. "I can't do this today."
"I'm just trying to help," he says. "You haven't been yourself since your dad died. I don't think he would have wanted to see you like this."
"You don't know what my dad would have wanted. He didn't care about my happiness," Blaine snaps, a bitter tone in his voice. He feels bad instantly. He hates that his temper does this to the people that he cares about, but he doesn't know how to control it. Not anymore.
"Fine, I'll drop it for now," Wes says. "I met a girl last night."
"God help us all," Blaine teases. It's not an apology, but it's the best he can manage.
"Hey, now," he says with an easy laugh. "I don't know why you hate every girl that I date."
"Because they are all way too serious for you. You date these future lawyer types and the two of you end up spending your free time discussing world politics and BAR exams. You need somebody who's going to help you loosen up, not wind you tighter."
"She's an interior designer," Wes says, smugly.
"Well this sounds promising… when is the wedding?" he asks.
With that they fall into an easy conversation. Blaine appreciates that Wes can so easily forget all of the mistakes that he makes and just be his friend. They've always had an easy relationship, Wes playing the calm and mature one to Blaine's overenthusiastic at times, crazy ideas. It's Wes that Blaine had always looked up to and aspired to be back in high school when he was still trying to find himself. It's Wes who taught him confidence and maturity. He's one of Blaine's best friends and he hopes he can get over this depression riddled craze that he's in before he manages to push him away.
Before he pushes everyone away.
Several hours later, Blaine is sitting at the kitchen table watching as Kurt moves around preparing dinner. It's been awhile since they got to eat a meal together. Usually their schedules don't line up enough for them to share more than five minutes together here and there. He's looking forward to a quiet meal and maybe a nice movie together cuddled up on the couch.
He thinks that some quality one on one time with Kurt might help him forget about his problems for a little bit. He's never admitted this out loud, but he sometimes wonders if this funk has been harder to kick because his rock has been away for too long.
"I think we need to talk about last night," Kurt says, dropping noodles into the boiling water for the pasta he's preparing.
"I know," Blaine says, picking at a scratch in the wood of their table, the one that was too small for the area but that Kurt had insisted was essential for their apartment. We can't eat at the coffee table, Blaine!
"I don't want to see a therapist, though," he continues. "They'll just ask me a bunch of questions that I won't know the answer to and I'll feel awkward. I don't like talking to strangers."
"You won't talk to anybody, though." Kurt sighs.
"It'll get better, I just need to get through the holidays," Blaine says with mock confidence. He has no idea if this thing will ever pass.
Kurt doesn't respond to that. He focuses his attention on putting their meal together and avoids catching Blaine's eye. Blaine has to wonder if this is about last night. If Kurt is still upset that he got called out of a business dinner to come and babysit him. Blaine wants to be frustrated, to tell him that it's his own fault for ditching him. Kurt was supposed to be at the party with them, he had promised Blaine when he couldn't go back to Ohio with him for Christmas that they would spend New Year's together. He doesn't want to upset him more. Not today, when Kurt won't stop looking at him like he was a child, like he was incapable of making any decision on his own.
Once dinner is on the table, he listens quietly as Kurt rambles on and on about responsibilities, school, the funeral, anxiety attacks and it all keeps coming back to the same thing. Kurt can't do this anymore.
Blaine and Kurt have fought a lot over the years. No couple can be together for five years without their share of hiccups. There have been drunken missteps, texting scandals, long distance insecurities and, of course, the bickering that comes from adjusting to living with your boyfriend for the first time. So by now Blaine is pretty confident that they can make it through anything, even this horribly suffocating thing that seems to be consuming him. They love each other and they want forever, so they will make it work.
This isn't it's not right, but it's okay. It's not screaming whatever, fine, I don't need you drunkenly at a bar Christmas Eve. This is different. It feels so different this time. Blaine starts to wonder if he is the only one fighting for forever. If that is the case, the two of them don't stand a chance. Blaine lost most of his fight for anything when his father died two months ago. If Kurt isn't with him on this, and it would appear that he isn't, then Blaine is terrified that this is it.
It's ironic, after over a month of being too busy to fit time together into their schedules, the day they finally come together is the day that Kurt tells him they are falling apart.
"Are you listening to anything that I'm saying?" he snaps at him angrily.
Blaine slams his hand down on the kitchen table barely able to control his rage.
"Yeah, I'm listening," Blaine bites back, not holding back now. Not now that he knows his life is about to fall apart more than he ever thought possible. Not now that the person who was supposed to glue him back together was throwing him away. "I'm listening to you justify choosing your job over me, again."
He's heard his friends' grumblings that Kurt has changed. He's defended his boyfriend time and time again, explaining that he was just tired. That he didn't mean to blow them off. That, no, Kurt hadn't meant to tell you that dress makes you look like a pregnant hooker, he was just stressed. It's gorgeous on you.
All of that has been a joke, because obviously Kurt has changed. He doesn't even care that Blaine had had a panic attack at the party last night and had to lock himself in a closet to get away from all of the suffocating stares. No, all that he cares about is that Wes had to pull him away from an important dinner meeting.
Kurt hadn't even asked if he was okay, last night. He'd shown up, sure. He'd coaxed Blaine out of the closet, gotten him water and an anxiety pill that he'd gotten from god knows where. But the entire time, Blaine had been an unwelcome obligation. He never asked how Blaine was. There was no soft whispers of I love you and Come back to me, love. There was no apology for leaving Blaine at the crowded New Year's party to begin with. There was nothing.
This isn't Kurt. Blaine hasn't exactly been a stellar boyfriend as of late, but his dad had died, what does Kurt expect? Isn't his boyfriend of five years supposed to be a little more understanding? It's not like Blaine tries to be like this. It's not like Blaine wants to be tired all the time, so desperately unhappy. He can't control the fact that crowds now make him anxious. This is temporary, as much as it feels like it will be permanent. It's one of the stages of grief, a stage he could probably get through much faster if his boyfriend were ever home to help him. If he could just talk to Kurt without feeling like he's bothering him.
"You are sick and you won't get help," Kurt says. "I don't know how to deal with this." There are tears in his eyes, but Blaine doesn't feel pity for him. All he's got left is his anger.
"Be home! Don't leave for your job when you're supposed to be at a party with me!"
"It was Steven Swartz, what was I supposed to tell my boss? Sorry I can't come to a meeting of a lifetime, I've got plans to go to a college party with my boyfriend?" He throws his hands up, frustrated. "You used to support me; are you really this selfish?"
"You used to give a damn about me, about your friends. Don't talk to me about being selfish," he says, willing himself not to cry. Not to give Kurt the satisfaction of his tears.
"If this is about Rachel again I already told you, that's as much her fault as it is mine."
"Oh, my God!" Blaine screams, unable to control the rage inside of himself. "This is about you!"
"If I'm so horrible, why are you still here?" Kurt asks.
"You know, sometimes I wonder," Blaine says, not really knowing how much of his words are the truth and how much are just said out of spite.
"We can't keep doing this to each other," Kurt says. "I obviously can't be here for you like you need. You don't let me help you and you need help. I need somebody that will support me and stop asking me to give up my dreams just so he can be happy. It's not healthy."
"So you're just going to give up because we've hit a rough patch?" Blaine asks, defeated. "This isn't you, you fight for things."
"And you care about things. About life," he says. "You know how many times I walk through this door terrified that you're not going to be here? That you're going to hurt yourself? It's not right. I don't understand why you won't just get help."
"I don't understand why you won't help me."
"I try!"
"Asking me what's wrong when I don't want to talk isn't trying," Blaine says. "It's just speaking for the sake of making yourself feel better."
"This is what I'm talking about. I can't be with you when you are like this," he says, his voice going high like it often does when he's frustrated.
"Nothing I do ever makes you happy."
"All I've ever asked is for you to be happy; that's all I've ever wanted," Kurt says, shaking his head and biting his lip like he does when he's trying not to get upset.
"And now that I'm not the happy go lucky cheerleader you're breaking up with me," Blaine says, resigned.
"I don't know how to do this. I don't know what you need from me, and you need so much. You deserve to be with somebody that can take the time to help you," Kurt says not bothering to hide the tears.
Well, let him cry, Blaine thinks bitterly. If he is going to throw away years of hard work and happy memories because Blaine isn't perfect for once, then fuck him. He deserves to cry. He should feel bad.
"I deserve somebody that understands love is more important than any job," Blaine says.
"My job is my passion. It's what I love to do. I do understand that it's the most important thing." Kurt crosses his arms across his chest, no longer trying to make Blaine understand. Now he's just digging in for a fight.
"But you love it more than you love me," Blaine says, nodding his head and waving Kurt off. He doesn't want to hear his response. Anything he says will hurt.
"I shouldn't have to choose," Kurt says. "I'll always love you—"
"Don't," Blaine cuts him off. "If you don't want me anymore, fine. But don't you dare try to tell me that we can be friends or you'll always be there or whatever bullshit line you're about to feed me. Save it. If you're going to throw this away, own it. At least do me the dignity of ending it properly."
"Fine," Kurt says, his voice clipped. "Goodbye, Blaine."
Blaine instantly feels suffocated. He's never once, in all the years with Kurt, heard him say goodbye. Not even in the casual ending of a phone call. They had come to a mutual understanding long ago that was a word they would never utter to each other. Something promised early on when their relationship was still so fresh and new and there were so many questions of if they could make it work with a two hour distance between them. It was a promise they both took very seriously over the years.
It's this one little word that finally breaks Blaine completely.
He stands up and runs out of their apartment, slamming the door before Kurt can see him begin hyperventilating. He presses the elevator button repeatedly, willing it to come faster, but also secretly hoping it won't come at all. That Kurt will open the door and drag him back inside. That he'll say he's sorry and didn't mean it. But the elevator door opens, dinging loudly—too cheerfully—at him. The apartment door remains closed.
Blaine gets in and presses the button to the first floor. He curls his arms around his stomach. He can feel himself falling. He wonders if he lets go of his death grip all of his insides will just fall right out. He feels sick.
In the back of his mind, the small part that is capable of rational thought at the moment, he realizes that he must look terrifying. He is close to suffocation. His throat is filled by his tears and he can't catch his breath. It feels like he's drowning. His head is being held underwater and he can't remember how to swim. It's been so long since he's had to paddle on his own.
He loses himself for several hours. Lost to memories and caught up in nightmares. He vaguely remembers being pulled out of the street—unsure if he actually walked in front of that taxi or the taxi had run a light. He thinks that he might have wandered through water at some point because his shoes are wet and starting to freeze into ice that cuts up his feet. He doesn't remember anymore than bits and pieces of any of it.
Not like a sane person should. It feels like he's watching somebody else's life. Like he has detached from reality and floated up and now just watches life pass by from above, never having any affect on anything.
It's late when he finally starts to come to again, or possibly very early. The sun is starting to peek up from between the tall buildings, welcoming in a new day. It does nothing to melt the ice that he has become. He's trembling from the cold, but he's pretty sure he'd still be trembling if he was wrapped in a million blankets. It's his heart that's turned to ice now. He doesn't know if there can ever be a cure for that.
Blaine is curled up in between two pillars in an underpass, enjoying the serenity that being almost completely hidden grants him. It makes him calm to know that nobody else can see him, nobody can silently judge him. Nobody ever has to touch him again so long as he stays here.
His peace is short lived, because soon a familiar voice is calling his name.
"Blaine," Rachel yells, sounding over-dramatic but also sincerely worried.
"Blaine!" she yells again. This time he tries to get up and go to her, if she keeps yelling like that in an area like this she's going to attract some very unwanted attention. He tries to move but his limbs are paralyzed. He can't move. His body seems to have finally caught up with his heart—frozen.
"Oh, thank God," she says, turning the corner and spotting him through the small opening between the pillars. "Your lips are blue, what were you thinking?"
Blaine just shrugs and lets her mother him. She takes off her scarf, hat and mittens, putting them on him to try and warm him up. He had left in only a sweatshirt and jeans, too hysterical to grab anything more substantial. He wonders if he's caught his that would be a good thing; it might finally silence the demons in his head.
"You can be grateful you had the GPS on your phone on, otherwise we never would have found you," she says, pulling him to his feet.
He wonders who we is. He knows who he wants it to be, but the likelihood that Kurt came looking for him now is slim. He'd cut Blaine out precisely so he could stop having to do things like this.
Leading him up a hill until they are back on a main road, she sits him down at a bench while she simultaneously makes a phone call and tries to hail them a cab.
"I've got him," she says, suddenly sounding so tired. "Yeah, no I think he's fine. He's nearly frozen to death, but he should be alright. Thank you... Nope, I'll take him to my place... I'll talk to you when I know more... Bye, Wes."
Wes. Of course, the only two people that gave a damn about him in New York now: Wes and Rachel. What an interesting group the three of them made.
"We broke up," Blaine says just loud enough for her to hear. The words sound foreign on his lips. He wants to blame it on how violently his lips are shaking, but he knows it's because he never expected he'd have to say those three words.
God, is this his life now? Is he going to have to tell everyone he runs across that no he doesn't know how Kurt's doing, they broke up. I'm sorry, I don't need a plus one, I'm single. Single. He hasn't been single since sophomore year of high school. It's so long ago that he's nearly forgotten what it's like to not have somebody to share his life with.
Rachel stops, hand still raised for a taxi. She stares at him in a mixture of shock, pity and anger.
"Excuse me?" she says, her nostrils flaring and teeth gritting, she looks ready to kill.
Blaine has no explanation to give, not at the moment. Maybe after he's had some sleep and can process things a little bit better, maybe then he'll understand. Maybe then he'll start to feel some of the guilt for pushing Kurt away so he could selfishly watch Kurt pull him in closer, because now he's pushed him too far.
"He sent Wes a text saying that he thought you were having another episode. He didn't say that he was the cause of it. What a selfish asshole," she rants. New York has hardened her, made her words harsher and outbursts more violent. It's understandable, New York has changed them all and Rachel's had to deal with the ugliness of the city way more than the rest of them have.
"He can't do this!" Rachel yells, throwing her hands up in the air.
"Well, he did," Blaine says.
He watches as she takes several calming breaths. She paces back and forth until the anger is gone and then makes her way over to sit next to him. She pulls him into a warm hug and he can't help but sob into her shoulder.
"It's okay," she whispers softly into his ear, rubbing his back. "Shh, it's okay. We'll get you through this. You won't be alone."
"I don't have anything left," he cries, clutching to her hard like she might disappear, too. "I lost my dad; my family is all the way back in Ohio and handling this no better than I am. Kurt doesn't want me anymore... I don't have anywhere to go. I don't have a home and I don't have anyone to love me!"
"Hey, no," she says soothingly. "I know how much this hurts. I know it feels like there's nothing left, but you'll get through this. You helped me when I thought I had nothing and I'm going to help you. I won't leave you."
"I wasn't good enough for him," Blaine whispers, barely able to confess what's been plaguing him for so long. Whether he means his father or Kurt, he's not sure, but it applies all the same. It's the fear he's always held. The one that Kurt had managed to quell right up until his father died.
"No, none of that," she says. "You're perfect, and if he can't see that then..."
Rachel cuts herself off when he glares at her. He might not be happy with Kurt at the moment, but he isn't nearly to the point where he's ready to start bashing him.
"Can I sleep in your bed tonight?" Blaine asks, nervous that she might say no. "I don't know how to sleep alone."
"Yeah," she says, giving him one final pat on the back before standing up again to get them a cab to her apartment. "It'll be just like the sleepovers we used to have in high school."
"I don't mean to be like this," he apologizes. The last thing he needs is to start being a burden to Rachel like he had been to Kurt. He needs to get better before he loses everybody. He will get better. He promises himself that this is the last time he's going to let himself fall apart like this. After he gets some sleep, he's going to sign up for sessions at the school clinic.
"I'm going to get past this."
"I know you will," she says with a smile.
"Don't leave?" he asks softly.
"Never."
He's not sure when it happened. When Rachel became his person: the one that he confessed his deepest, darkest insecurities to. He doesn't know when he stopped leaning on Kurt and started leaning on Rachel instead.
He thinks it started when Rachel's record deal went south. She was taken advantage of and her talent was abused until there was almost nothing left. Blaine understood the feelings of worthlessness she had. He had been there for her when Kurt was just starting his internship and barely even noticed anything was wrong with her.
Now the two of them together just feels natural. An easy friendship based on the understanding that they can say whatever they want to each other and not be judged for how they feel. That no matter what, they will carry each other's secrets to the grave.
Blaine doesn't go back to the apartment he shared with Kurt. Rachel goes over to his place to pack up enough essentials for him to live off of for a few weeks. She won't tell him what happened when she was there. All he knows is that Rachel came back from Kurt's with red-rimmed eyes and a forced smile that tells him not to fight this. That Kurt's mind can't be changed.
He had meant it when he said goodbye. Now it was up to Blaine to figure out how to swim on his own without sinking.