Kurt avoided Blaine as much as he could. He could see that Blaine was mad, and a part of him understood-they had, after all, been dating for over a year. It might have hurt more if Blaine wasn't upset. But then the voice that told him to break up with Blaine in the first place spoke up, the one that reasoned that Blaine hadn't been as invested in their relationship as Kurt was anymore. That Blaine was a little too heartbroken over Rachel's death to fully be in love with Kurt, and Kurt didn't need that hanging over him.
But Blaine's words had hit close to a part of him that Kurt wasn't ready to acknowledge. How he had spent more time mourning over Pavarotti the previous year than he had been spending mourning Rachel, that he had been pretending she had never existed. He hadn't been doing this intentionally, had been so focused on keeping Finn from doing something stupid that he had barely noticed. But he realized, as he lay on the rug in Finn's room while Finn lay staring at the ceiling, as was their customary evenings nowadays, that this is what he had been doing. When he was younger, and his mom died, it was natural to cry and mourn and deal with it as any other kid had. But he was older now, and mourning like that seemed like it wasn't enough.
He missed Rachel, there was no doubt about that. But he didn't have to cry all the time to show that. He showed that by moving on with his life, by making sure the New Directions were still focused on the goal of winning National's, by demanding that they had performed Don't Cry For Me back at Regional's. By helping Finn every day.
But the truth was, he hadn't moved on.
He just wasn't going to accept that.
Flying to New York was a lot more nerve-wracking than it had been the previous year, with the group in a far more mellow mood. No one was messing around, Puck wasn't challenging Mike to rap offs while they tried to put together a song, Santana and Brittany weren't giggling together in their seats. For the most part, everyone slept. Kurt watched the world fly by beneath him, Finn's head resting on his shoulder as he napped.
"I know last year you all went a little crazy," Mr. Schuester said as they all gathered in the girls hotel room. "But this year we're at least prepared enough that I think you can have this night off to go do whatever it is you want. Just, stay safe." The room quietly stood up, a few of the girls grabbing their bags as they headed towards the door. Kurt hesitated, not sure exactly where he should go. He felt vaguely uncomfortable being in New York now, without Rachel on his side. It was supposed to be the two of them here, in Manhattan. They were supposed to be moving there in only a couple months.
But instead he was running off to Chicago, putting distance between him and the city he had fallen in love with. Because even being there, in a different hotel on the opposite side of Manhattan, reminded him too much of her.
He hadn't really made a plan when he got on the subway. He had just gotten on different trains, riding until he felt he should get off. When he climbed up the stairs outside of Central Park, he shouldn't have been surprised. Of course he ended up near Tiffany's, where he had dragged her to for breakfast. He walked in the direction, past the Plaza and it's fountain where people were mingling about. He stood across the street from the building, just looking at it. He could practically see them there, laughing as they talked about their future. Should she choose love or career? Should she bring Finn along? Blaine had agreed to come. But that was a year ago, and now Blaine was the only one of the four headed to New York, Finn going to Ohio State. And Rachel, well Rachel would never see her dreams of being on Broadway come true, and that broke Kurt's heart into a thousand more pieces than he thought was possible.
He gulped back a rush of tears, willing them to stay at bay as he crossed the street, walking up to Tiffany's and leaning against it. He knew where his next stop would be, knew it even if he didn't want to vocalize it, starting to walk in the direction he had only been in once before. It would have been quicker to take the subway or find a bus, but this wasn't about easy. This was about facing what he had been avoiding for so long, for finally letting out everything he had been hiding and trying to avoid.
He passed by the H&M on the corner of 5th and W51st, turning the street and letting the memory of Rachel going "Oh, we should stop there on our way back," fill his mind. He wasn't going to block it out, not today. He probably looked like a mess, half crying as he strode down the busy streets, focused solely on his end destination.
He thought about how different this trip would be if she was there, if they would make the trek together again. She had promised that they'd go inside the Plaza this year if they made it to National's, and now he hadn't even wanted to go near it, much less inside the elegant hotel. He wondered if they would have tried to crash a different theater, or if they would have stuck with the Gershwin. If they would have gotten the opportunity to sing again, what other song they could have possibly done.
He crossed Broadway, less than a block away from the infamous theater. It was still relatively quiet in the area, no one around for the show that was sure to be performed that night. He glanced around before darting inside, feeling much more reckless than he did before. When he was with Rachel, it was fun, an opportunity, just hoping they'd have a few minutes so that he could help her realize that this was where she belonged. Finn or no Finn, she needed to be on that stage.
He didn't run into any security as he walked into the actual theater, choosing a seat somewhere in the middle as he let the memories wash over him, remembering how he and Rachel had chosen perhaps the realest song to apply to their friendship to sing. How it had been three years ago that he found her obnoxious, bossy, too talented for her own good. They had been rivals in a way, because they were the best-and the best don't usually get along. "It gets lonely at the top," Rachel had confided in him once, and he nodded, understanding.
"That's why we have each other," he had reassured her, and he felt the tears well up as he thought about her, thought about all that time they spent being enemies purely because it was what was expected of them. Looking back, she had been there for him all along, even if it was in her own Rachel Berry way. She had been a great person, something that few had taken the time to see. She was harsh and brash on the surface, but he couldn't blame her. You didn't get the kind of abuse and bullying they had both endured without coming off as a bitch. But there was so much more to her, so much more that she had to offer, and so few had seen it.
The tears were coming down now, hard, and it felt like he was forced to sit through some sort of horrible home movie of his own life. The time he had convinced her to dress up like Sandy at the end of Grease because he was petty and jealous that she could get Finn and he couldn't, the time he told her that even she was replaceable. He hadn't meant it, of course, and hoped when he told her that she too was one in a million like Barbra that it replaced any memory of his earlier cruelty, but was sure it hadn't. He, of all people, knew how the criticism could stay with you far longer than the compliments.
He remembered how she was the one who started the campaign against Karofsky in the first place, before they even knew the extent of what had happened. How she had tried to defend him in the only way she could-by getting together a group that could actually take him on. He had never told her how much he appreciated it, how much he appreciated that even though their relationship at the time had been rocky she still tried her best to look out for him. She was doing that for everyone, even if they ignored it. It depressed him to think that it took the whole Karofsky situation and transferring to a different school for him and Rachel to become real friends, genuine friends. How Rachel, so hell bent on winning everything for herself, supported him and the Warblers without question when they were up against one another. How proud he had been when she stepped on that stage and belted out a song she had written, a song that expressed everything she could never really say to anyone.
He was bawling now, unable to keep out all the pain he had been doing so well at keeping locked up. He wanted her to be with him, needed her to be there to support his decision to go to Chicago, to back away because it was just too hard for him to be in the city. But he knew she wouldn't have, would have talked him up until he realized what a stupid idea it was. And he knew it was a stupid idea, he didn't even like Chicago, but he couldn't be in Manhattan if this was what was going to happen every time he was there. He could hear her voice, stern as she told him to "Suck it up, New York City was made for us."
It didn't change anything, wouldn't change anything.
He missed her so damn much, and as he tried to compose himself he knew the only thing that had changed was that he was willing to admit it and ready to deal with it now.