Blaine couldn't sleep.

Actually, he couldn't remember the last time he had slept. It had been almost three weeks since it happened and he knew he was running on fumes, knew it was only a matter of time before he crashed and crashed hard. But he was waiting for it, hoping maybe it'd be tonight, but it never was. Night after night passed and he'd lie there, just holding Rachel's letter.

He had been pissed that Kurt hadn't given him his letter at first, annoyed that he had held on to it a whole week before handing them out. "You could have given me mine," Blaine had practically shouted in the hallway after everyone left that afternoon.

"I wanted to give them to everyone all at once," Kurt said evenly, still too numb to really process that Blaine's temper was firing.

"So you haven't read yours?" Blaine questioned, and the look on Kurt's face-guilty, nervous, showing more emotion than Blaine had noticed on his boyfriends face in almost a week- it answered Blaine's question for him. He didn't think twice before he stormed off, unopened envelope in hand.

Still, he had waited two days before opening it. He didn't know why he was waiting, or what he was waiting for, but he waited. Sometimes the letter mocked him, sitting on his bed side table with her handwriting screaming his name. The gold star on the back sending him into spirals when he remembered her sheer and uninhibited talent. It was only after he accidentally knocked it in the trash when he threw his bag on his desk that he settled in to read it, crawling into his closet where he used to hide out when his parents were yelling particularly loudly.

But that was two weeks ago now, and he had hoped that the words would stop haunting his dreams. They were the reason he couldn't sleep, he was sure a subconscious part of him was refusing too. When he slept, he dreamed of her, of the words she had written. He dreamed about what could have been, if Kurt wasn't there, if Rachel hadn't gone and offed herself.

He glanced at his clock, anger and hatred bubbling up at the red numbers that seemed to personally attack him just by reading 3:49. He rolled over, one hand wrapped around her letter, and ignored the words he practically felt her whisper.

"I could have loved you."


When it came time to wake up and get ready for school, Blaine managed to rouse himself up and become just functioning enough to pass by as reasonably okay before he headed for school. At home he was allowing himself to mourn-he didn't eat as much as he used to, his outbursts against his parents had become more frequent, and he generally moped in his room. At school though, he had to be there for Kurt. Because Kurt was hurting maybe even more so than Blaine-or at least for a more of a reason.

Kurt had been her best friend, the two had put aside all their past drama, which Blaine was unfortunately a part of, they were almost as close as Brittany and Santana-without all the sex of course. They had leaned on each other in a way neither Blaine nor anyone else had seen them do before, and it comforted Blaine to know that Kurt had someone besides himself that he could depend on.

The fact that it meant Blaine got to spend more time with Rachel was just a fortunate side effect.

The fact that Blaine was glad to have a reason to spend more time with Rachel was a secret he hoped he could carry to his own grave.

At school, Blaine was the supportive boyfriend to the best friend of the girl who died. It was worse than being known as the gay kids boyfriend, but people still generally let him be. The only person who even suspected that maybe Blaine was wearing thin, that he wasn't doing as well as appeared was Mike.

"Blaine, you look like a mess," he told him that afternoon as he walked up to his locker. Blaine just shot a look at Mike, who shut up for approximately twenty seconds. "Have you slept at all?"

"I get like, two, maybe three hours a night," Blaine shrugged, hoping his nonchalance would level his friend out.

"Dude. You need more sleep."

"No shit," Blaine snapped back, "but it's not exactly coming so easily these days."

"I know you're worried about Kurt-" Mike started, flinching a little as Blaine slammed his locker closed. "Dude."

"I'm sorry, I'm just-god I am so fucking sick of everyone acting like Finn and Kurt are the only two who lost someone important."

"No one's acting like that Blaine," Mike said quietly.

"Yes, they are. They're waiting for one of the two of them to have either a fit of rage or a complete and total meltdown. Meanwhile, I think the only one whose noticed Tina's stuttering is you, I'm pretty sure no one saw that giant gash on Quinn's arm when her sleeve fell down the other day, or that Brittany has completely stopped talking at all. Puck hasn't made a sarcastic remark since the funeral, no one seems to care that Lauren is only still there because Puck is, no one cares about anyone but Finn and Kurt and when they're going to break, how they're going to break. Maybe they'll care about themselves. But it's just a matter of time, once we lose at Regionals the group is going to disperse and no one's even going to care about anyone anymore. No one cares that we were all friends with her, that some of us cared about her more than they let on, that-she was important to me too, more than just in a 'she was my boyfriend's best friend' kind of way." Mike didn't say anything, just kind of stared at Blaine. "I'm sorry, I'm just-"

"Heart broken," Mike finished for him.


And that was how Mike found out about Blaine's secret, the one he had kept so well for almost a year. That was how he found out Blaine was in love with Rachel.

"Why didn't you ever talk to her about it?" Mike asked, playing with the sole of his shoe where it was starting to peel. They were sitting in the empty hallway against the lockers, the school deserted since everyone had gone home.

"Yeah, that would have gone over well," Blaine replied sarcastically. "'Um, Kurt, no biggie but I'm in love with your best friend. Who happens to be a girl,'" he gave off a high pitched laugh, and Mike gave him a weird look as he continued with his mocking speech. "'Hey Finn! Why do you look like you're going to murder me?' Yeah. That would have gone over really, really well."

"I said her, implying Rachel, not your boyfriend-who you still probably should have told anyways."

"What would it have mattered? She was either with Finn or moping over Finn, and I was dating Kurt. It would have only gathered a lot of unnecessary drama."

"This is true," Mike agreed. Blaine liked having Mike as his friend-Mike had managed to avoid almost two and a half years' worth of drama that everyone else stirred up, and for the most part it gave Blaine a level head when he got mixed into the groups problems. "Have you told Kurt at all that you need to lean on him?" Mike asked after a couple silent minutes.

Blaine shrugged, rubbing his eyes as a headache started to form. "Right after it happened he tried to break up with me," Blaine answered. "I told him-well, I yelled at him-that she was my friend too. That I might need to lean on him as much as he might need to lean on me."

"What did he say? I mean you guys are clearly not broken up. I think."

"We're not-although we've spent minimal time together lately. He's been on full time Finn duty." Mike nodded, clearly deep in thought.

"Well, I can't provide you with the comfort of sex-" Blaine snorted, letting it turn into real genuine laughter instead of dying out as Mike kept talking. "But I can talk if you need too. Why are you still laughing?" Blaine shrugged, tears now streaming down his face as he was practically doubled over in hysterics, unable to pinpoint exactly what it was that Mike had said that was so amusing, just knowing that he couldn't seem to stop.

"I just, I have no idea," he said through giggles, leaning into Mike's shoulder as he continued to crack up.

"Well, I'll have to keep that joke in my back pocket then," Mike retorted, cracking a smile of his own.


Blaine had only read the letter once.

He hadn't needed to read it more than that; her words had cut so deep that they were practically engraved in his bones. He could recite it aloud, word for word. Not that he did, her voice just had a tendency to recite it in his dreams.

Which is why he refused to sleep.

But he was exhausted after he got home, climbing up the stairs and hoping he could just nap for even ten minutes before his parents got home, before his mom undoubtedly called him down for supper. Before he had to endure his father's narrow-minded comments, though even those were hurting less these days. He crashed onto his bed, ignoring the envelope encasing the letter under his pillow, refusing to acknowledge it as he tried to think of something peaceful, something happy, anything that would give him a few moments of peace.

He lay there for almost two hours before his mom's voice floated up the stairs, calling him down for dinner. He hadn't managed to sleep, ended up pulling out the letter and staring at the gold star on the back of it most of the time as darkness fell, until it was so dark in his room he couldn't see his hand-much less the back of the cream envelope. He sighed, placing it back under his pillow before heading down the stairs.

He greeted his parents thinly, sitting down in the same spot he had been sitting for what seemed like his entire life, glancing at the same plates he could never even imagine not owning. His mom passed him the salt and pepper, and he shook a tiny bit over his steak before passing it to his dad-the same thing they did every night, every week, every month for the past 17 years. He felt trapped, claustrophobic, and sometimes when he got thinking too deeply about what his life was like he didn't blame Rachel for what she did.

"Did you see about the robbery over in Westerville?" his dad asked his mom, and she shook his head. Blaine stabbed his fork into a carrot, spinning it around in the pool of butter now forming on his plate as they started small talk, occasionally their words penetrating Blaine's mind as his thoughts wandered.

"Blaine?" his dad asked, and Blaine's neck snapped up to look at him.

"What?" he asked, his voice sounding foreign to himself.

"Are you okay sweetie?" his mom asked, her face worried as she reached out to place a hand on his.

"Fine, I'm fine. Just, uh, not hungry. I think I'm going to work on homework," he excused himself, ignoring his parents concerned faces.

He had only made it to the top of the stairs when he heard his father's voice, crisp and clear. "You know, I think the death of that girl really shook him." No shit, Blaine thought bitterly, but stood where he was even though he knew deep down inside it was probably a bad idea to do so.

"Well, they were friends," his mom replied.

"It's too bad," his father said, and he could hear a chair being scraped backwards against the floor. "It's almost like he was in love with her or something. He could have had a chance to be normal with her."

He felt sick immediately, rushing to the bathroom to throw up as his father's words bounced off the sides of his brain, melting into Rachel's written words of We could have had a chance at something, and he heaved everything he had eaten in what felt like the past month out before collapsing on the cold bathroom tile.


When he woke up, it was dark and he was in his bed. He didn't remember how he had gotten there-he realized with a jolt that the last thing he did remember was throwing up in the bathroom. He supposed his parents had found him and moved him, and sure enough when he rolled over there was a trash can next to his bed. He scowled at it, rolling out of bed to at least change into some pajamas.

He knew it was a bad idea to read the letter, after the day he had, but as he climbed back into his bed and turned the small desk lamp located on the table next to his bed on, he couldn't feel bad enough to stop himself. He slid the letter out, heart and stomach swooping low again as her words danced in front of him, glancing to make sure that the trash can was still there just in case he did need it.

The words seemed to glare at him with the same fierce look she would sometimes give him when he was slacking during Glee, or when he and Kurt were fighting and Kurt had informed Rachel how it was Blaine's fault. But their meaning, the actual words-they reminded him more of the time last winter when they had kissed, soft and full of wonder and potential that was halted before it could even begin.

Dear Blaine, it began, and Blaine could already hear her voice as he read it. I hope you know that even though we may not have known each other very long, you were very important to me. Not only were you-are you-extraordinarily talented, but you were kind to me and respected me in a way that very few did. You didn't pretend I didn't exist, or hate me for a silly reason-I'd like to say that we got on well enough. And while we may not have gotten to spend too much time together, that was probably best. That day, in the Lima Bean, when you said you were 100% gay? That stung more than I thought it would. But the rejection faded, at least for awhile, because I saw how happy you made Kurt-and I definitely want him to be happy. And I thought we could work through it once you transferred to McKinley. And it seems like we did, at least on the surface.
While my heart always seemed to be sealed to Finn, I want you to know that we could have had a chance at something, something real. If you were straight, or at the very least bisexual that is. I could have loved you, as more than a friend.
But, at the very least, thank you for being my friend.
I love you, and I wish you only the best Blaine Anderson.
xoxo Rachel Berry

He read the letter again and again, until the words all seemed to blur together from his tear, her voice reading the words aloud in his head.

I love you too, he thought as he folded the letter up and put it away.