A/N: ALICE LIKES HER SONGFICS. AND THE SAD ONES TOO. VERY MUCH. HELLO.
Disclaimer: I do not claim owner ship of Glee or any other affiliates such as Blee. I don't own Amanda Palmer's 'The Bed Song' either.
Exhibit A: We are friends in a sleeping bag, splitting the heat. We have one filthy pillow to share… and your lips are in my hair. Someone upstairs has a rap that we laugh at and people are drinking and singing of Scarborough Fair on a ukulele dare.
Blaine is cuddled up behind Kurt on the hard floor. They're at school and the floor is cold so they're because the sleeping bag is so thin and god, Kurt is freezing. But it doesn't matter to them; they are so in love and that's all the warmth they need - they can't and won't hurt each other in that moment. They're just two young idiots sharing their love evenly on Saturday at a private school that neither of them can actually afford. He giggles into Kurt's hair and feels Kurt's diaphragm shaking a little as well - Trent just started singing Solja boy upstairs and it clashes horribly with Wes and David's slurred rendition of Scarborough Fair; David's singing the lyrics wrong and Wes is out of tune. At least, Blaine's pretty sure that it's Clarion Call rather than Caroline's Call.
They're not going to get any sleep tonight and they know it, but it doesn't matter because they have each other and that's as much as they need to substitute for lack of sleep and money. They just two young idiots who are still sharing love evenly.
Exhibit B: Well, we found an apartment. It's not much to look at - a futon on the floor, dirty desktop for a door. All the décor's made of milk crates and duct tape and if we have sex they can hear us through the floor. But we don't do that anymore. And I lay there wondering 'What is the matter; is this a matter of worse or of better?' You took the blanket so I took the bed sheet and I would have held you if only you'd let me.
Kurt comes in late nowadays; Blaine takes the early job. Both of them have a measly pay - auditions for musicals and plays are few and far between and they're still just doing community theatre so when they do audition, the pay is near to non-existent. And Blaine doesn't know where he works - Kurt won't tell him. Kurt won't tell anyone. He's trying so hard to bring in enough money to pay the bills and even that's not enough sometimes, despite the fact that they live in the cheapest apartment in town. Blaine makes his way from the desk to the futon and lies down. He wants Kurt, needs Kurt; he doesn't care who hears them. But Kurt rolls over. He claims that it's four a.m. and he's tired. Of course he's tired; they're both tired. God knows whether Kurt's work is beneficial to his health, but it brings more money in than Blaine being 'that guy who sometimes knows how to do odd jobs'. Blaine softens. He shivers a little and pulls the bed sheet over himself. Kurt's breath hitches in his sleep. Blaine keeps wondering what is the matter.
When Blaine wakes up three hours later, he pretends that he doesn't hear Kurt snuffling on the bed. He stands up and puts his jacket on. He has to advertise the fact that he's able to fix a sink. Kurt says that he's out selling stuff, but never says what he's selling.
Exhibit C: Look how quaint and how quiet and private. Our paycheques have bought us a condo in town; it's the nicest one around. You picked a mattress and had it delivered and I walked upstairs and the sight of it made my heart pound and wrapped my arms around… me. And I stood there wondering 'What is the matter; is this a matter of worse or of better?' You walked right past me and straightened the covers and I would still love you if you wanted a lover. And you said: "All the money in the world won't buy a bed so big and wide to guarantee that you won't accidentally touch me in the night!" and I said: "You must be right."
Blaine walks in and sighs. Kurt has his first acting job on Broadway in a revival of 'March of the Falsettos' as Whizzer. It's enough for them. Blaine looks up at his husband with admiration; he loves him so much, but he's beginning to doubt whether Kurt has withstood the horrible crap that they've been through with tight finances and shitty jobs. Blaine looks at the grand mahogany bed that's just lying there, waiting for them… Blaine snorts: for them, yeah. But still, his heart is racing in his chest at the sight of it - it's just a fool's hope, but he knows that he always has someone to hold: himself. God knows whether all of this is beneficial to their health, but it's a comfort that they haven't had for ages. Kurt smiles his little sassy smile that's finally making its way back. Blaine stands there, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He clenches his fists, hardening slightly with hope and the prospect of maybe feeling full and warm once more. Kurt takes a few steps towards Blaine, inside the flat. Blaine sighs. Kurt's by the bed, smoothing out the few little ripples. And Blaine's still hopelessly in love. He'll always be hopelessly in love with Kurt because he's the most perfect porcelain doll; he's literally a shell of what he used to be. And then comes Kurt's refusal to have sex - it's not like Blaine is coming onto him, it's just Kurt's nonchalant routine. And Blaine knows that Kurt is right.
But even so, when they're asleep in the night, Blaine dreams of Kurt's touch; not sex, just the feel of skin against skin and lips touching lips. Blaine's still hopelessly in love with Kurt and he prays and wishes that Kurt loves him back.
Exhibit D: Now we're both mostly paralysed; don't know how long we've been lying here in fear, too afraid to even feel. I find my glasses and you turn the light out, roll off on your side like you've rolled away for years, holding back those king sized tears. And I still don't ask you, 'What is the matter; is this a matter of worse of better?' I'll take the heart failure, you take the cancer. I've long stopped wondering why you don't answer.
Blaine lies there. Breathing is still ridiculously difficult; seeing is still ridiculously difficult. His limbs are immobilised with his soul. He's terrified; he doesn't know why Kurt, who was so healthy when he was 22, started getting sick when he was 40 and now at 44 has a diagnosis of Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma. He sighs shallowly; he's sick as well - Restrictive Cardiomyopathy. Kurt turns his head towards him a little and Blaine reaches upwards to remove his glasses from his face whilst Kurt staggers towards the light switch. The room is engulfed in just a little more darkness than the space where Kurt used to live in his heart. But just a little. God knows that this isn't beneficial to their health, but neither was Puck running down the hallways screaming YOLO at his graduation before lighting a cigarette in the changing rooms, but he's still successful in advertising and marketing. Figures. Blaine can feel some of the weight of the bed adjust from where it is and then there's the usual shaking of Kurt's back.
"Kurt?" Blaine rasps.
He doesn't receive an answer, obviously. And he knew he wouldn't when he asks, but it was worth a try. It's always worth a try for Kurt.
Exhibit E: You can certainly see how fulfilling a life from the cost and size of stone of our final resting home. We got some nice ones right under a cherry tree; you and me lying the only way we know: side by side and still and cold. And I finally ask you 'what was the matter; was it a matter of worse or of better?' You stretch your arms out and finally face me and said, 'I would have told you if only you'd asked me.'
They didn't get a restful sleep - they died 20 years too young. The graveyard is nice though - every spring, cherry blossoms fall on top of them and leave them blanketed in white just in the same way that they were blanketed by snow on their wedding day. It's ridiculous, stupid and utterly beautiful all at the same time. The only thing that would make it better would be if he and Kurt were one person again. But they're not. They remain petrified, terrified to inch a finger into the other's grip. But in death's icy grasp, it's possible to speak in a way that pain's licking fires prevent you from doing. Blaine speaks his mind to the being next to him. Kurt smiles.
"You could have asked, Blaine."
It turns out that 23 years ago when they were living in the dumps, Kurt had wanted to do anything to get into a proper flat. He sold himself into illegal prostitution and at one point, someone enjoyed their time as Kurt's client and seemed like a perfect gentleman. Kurt came home with a letter from said gentleman saying only, 'see your doctor'. Kurt did so. It turned out that this man was HIV positive. Within 10 years, this had developed into AIDS. Kurt's weakened immune system had made him succumb to cancer - an attack on his Lymph Nodes that chemotherapy couldn't treat for fear of weakening his immune system even more.
It was funny really, how Blaine had thought that Kurt's lack of advances were because he'd fallen so out of love, when really he was too in love to risk hurting Blaine.
A/N: Yay sad things! I have a great liking of them. Now I shall get back to writing my succubus Santana fic.