19th February
When I Was Your Man - Bruno Mars
This is part two. Earlier today I uploaded a drabble to Luke Conard's version of this song. This is different, and based on the original (Bruno Mars' version). Once again, check my blog to see when I'm planning on updating T&C.
This contains spoilers for 4x04 and any episodes afterwards.
Blaine sat in his room staring into space. He daren't close his eyes, because then he'd see it. No, the wall was safer. Just that blank wall with the wallpaper and the bareness, where happy photographs once hung, the vertical stripes which had seen some of the best moments of his life, with the best person in his life. He could look at the wall and pretend that everything was okay.
When it wasn't.
He knew it was all his fault. He knew that if he'd tried just a little bit harder, this wouldn't be happening. If he'd used his brain and bought plane tickets just a few days sooner, this wouldn't be happening. He could have gone out a week earlier and laid in Kurt's arms, kissing him senseless. He could have tried just a little bit harder to talk to him. He should have told him how he was feeling.
But he didn't.
And now here he was; numb. Kurt was in New York. He was in Ohio. Kurt had Adam. Blaine had no one. And every time he remembered that fact he was immovable for the rest of the day. He refused to talk, refused to walk, refused to live. And all of it was his fault. He couldn't blame Kurt for anything that had happened. Blaine had been stupid. Kurt had done what he was supposed to; he had moved on.
It still hurt.
Blaine glanced at his desk. It was almost clear. Almost. A single thing lay upon it. Blaine couldn't think where else he could have put it. True, he could have shredded it. But he shouldn't. Because Kurt was still his best friend. But the thing; a sheet of card, printed in the most beautiful script. Blaine knew it must have been Kurt who designed it; nobody else could make a horrible invitation look that beautiful.
You're invited to the wedding of Kurt Hummel and Adam Crawford.
