Christmas is in the air at our house. Coincidentally we're having a lunch tomorrow to catch up with some friends and it feels a lot like the kind of lunch we'd have on Christmas Day so I'm all confused... but oh well. I have to work Christmas morning anyway so it'll be a strange Christmas for me.

Please forgive me for this.

From Klaineforthewin: One of them dies. And when he's either on the hospital bed or in the casket at the funeral, the other, who had never gotten up the courage to tell him their feelings, kisses the corpse.

I actually received this at the same time as the 'near-death scenario' kiss and went 'no way in hell can I write this!' And then I published the near death one and I suddenly got a taste for horrible angst and I had to. But I couldn't make it too painful… still, the fact that one of them dies is horrid but I could never leave one of them in love with the other who had just died.

Death

It made headlines everywhere.

Funny, he thought to himself, funny how all people seem to want to do is ignore the gay kids until something like this happens.

And then he remembered that there was nothing at all funny about the situation and calmly told himself to shut up.

Everything had been calmly done the past few days. Calmly, responsibly, safely and with a very clear head. No emotions attached because that would hurt and the last thing he needed right now was to start hurting. Of course he was surrounded by other crying and hurting people but not him. At least not yet.

"… was the first person he came out to. I didn't know what to say because it didn't make him any different to me and it never should and…"

It didn't feel real, that was the problem. It was the kind of thing people saw on the news in other countries, other towns where homophobia was rampant. Of course he knew full well that gay bashing happened here in Ohio, he had experienced some of it himself. But it all seemed like a horrible horrible dream that he would wake up from, shaking and worried and sending the boy a text to receive a reply a minute later and be assured that no, he really was okay.

It wasn't going to happen.

"… always there when I needed someone, and now more than ever I just feel so bad that I could never return the sentiment, could never help him the same way…"

Someone started sobbing just in front of him. He didn't know the names of all of the friends but vaguely recognized the boy. His mouth twitched a little but he controlled it, not ready to break down yet. It was the strongest control he had ever exuded over his emotions but it was necessary.

He couldn't break down now, because if he started crying he was afraid he would never ever stop.

"… singing voice was phenomenal, just mind blowing. He had such amazing talent…"

It was open to anybody but he couldn't get up and speak. What could he say, after all? That he had known the boy for a few weeks thanks to a chance meeting on a staircase? That they sent texts - had sent texts - to each other constantly?

No. He didn't have the words anyway.

The pastor finally took over again, his voice low and soothing. He idly wondered whether the man struggled presiding over the funeral of a gay teenager before pushing it away in favour of hearing what he had to say. "It's time to say our goodbyes. If you wish to see this young man one last time, please file by the casket in an orderly fashion."

There was a short prayer and he bowed his head with the others, not taking in the words. The people in the rows in front of him stood. The family walked by first and he had to look away from the pain on their faces because that more than anything was too much. Friends were next, most still crying and leaning against each other as they slowly filed past. Some looked in, others didn't seem to be able to bring themselves to do it. And then all the other well-wishers until the room was near to empty and still he sat, staring ahead.

Waiting.

"Are you alright?" came the voice from beside him.

He nodded. "Can you just give me a minute?"

They stood from either side of him and followed the rest of the crowd out, worried glances going his way but thankfully not causing them to stick around. He waited until the room was otherwise empty and stood himself, slowly walking over to the casket.

Beautiful, even in death.

For a long moment he stared down at the body, feeling the weight of truth settle somewhere in his chest. Not drowning him, not weighing him down, just there as a reminder that this wa sreal.

Then he leant in and kissed him, a soft brush of lips together before pulling away. The reason he had waited for everybody else to leave because nobody would understand, not even his closest friends. It appeared weird on the outside, he knew it, and he had never understood the appeal of kissing someone who was dead. But this time there was a much greater reason.

"There's that real kiss you always wanted," Blaine whispered, staring down at Kurt again. "I'm just sorry I couldn't give it to you while you were alive to receive it."

When the newspaper had arrived at Dalton, Blaine had been certain that the headlines were wrong. Obviously Kurt was fine - no, Blaine hadn't heard from him the previous afternoon but that was okay, Kurt was often too busy with school or Glee to text. There was no way what he had read was true.

There was no way that Kurt Hummel had been killed in a gay bashing.

The name of the attacker hadn't been released, of course, but Blaine knew. He knew because David Karofsky had threatened Kurt's life the day before and Kurt had told him, called him and told him that he was terrified and what was he supposed to do? Blaine had given the best advice he could - tell his father, tell the school, tell someone who could do something - but Kurt had ended up deciding to leave it. And they had agreed that it seemed very unlikely that Karofsky would actually go through with it, that it was probably just a threat and nothing more.

So, so wrong.

Blaine had called Kurt's phone straight away and continued to call throughout the day. When nobody had answered by the end of the night and the news documentary had played, complete with interviews from the school and an attempt at an interview with Kurt's dad, Blaine had known. It was true.

He hadn't slept at all that night, staring at the wall the entire night. No tears had fallen - none had at all since Blaine had heard the news - and a numbness had seeped through him that still remained today. Like there was a way he was supposed to react but hadn't found yet.

Like there was something that would make this all okay.

There wasn't.

The first tear fell, startling him. It dropped onto Kurt's silver waistcoat and Blaine hurriedly brushed it off, knowing what Kurt's love for his clothing had been. And then he had to take a step back as the rest came - not in the broken sobs he had heard from the others but in silent rivulets down his face, seeping out, unstoppable.

He had only just known Kurt well enough to call him a friend but it still hurt.

He didn't need to cry for long. The tears stopped as suddenly as they had come and Blaine sighed, stepping closer to the casket again.

"I'm glad I met you," he said quietly. "And I'm sorry." It felt stupid but needed to be said. "I'm sorry you died, I'm sorry you won't get the chances you wanted, you won't get to follow your dreams like you wanted. I would change it if I could." He gently reached out to straighten Kurt's tie. "I want you to know that you inspired me. I spent so long hiding behind those walls at Dalton that I started to forget how to be myself. You reminded me. And some will say that this shouldn't be the thing to inspire me to stand up for myself and be more real about my sexuality, but it is. Consider this me picking up where you left off."

Kurt had been the one to inspire courage. Blaine had never sent it; Kurt had simply found it within himself. And now Blaine needed to do the same.

"I think I could have found myself falling for you," he admitted. "You were so fabulous that I was a little stunned at first, but there was something about you that I just wanted more of. But I can't dwell on that, or I'll never be happy."

He took a deep breath and let it out and began to heal.

Footsteps were winding through the room and Blaine stopped talking. "Blaine?" came David's voice from behind him.

"I'm alright," he said, turning to face them and not bothering to wipe the tears from his cheeks. "He just deserved my last respects."

Wes's arm slipped through his and Blaine held it gratefully. "Do you need some more time."

Blaine shook his head. "There's nothing else I can do."

But there was.

"I have a request for Sectionals," he said as the three of them made their way out of the funeral home. "Candles, by Hey Monday. In memory of Kurt."

Yes, I just turned their first song as a couple into Kurt's 'in memory of' song. Go ahead, hate me.

Please no death threats for this one. Okay? Express your emotions but there's no way I can make this right with a sequel so I'd appreciate no threats.

MusicalEscape:

"Good singer, if possible... Sassy, perhaps. Outspoken, a natural beauty if that's an option. But not someone that flaunts that beauty, at least not too much. They should have a fashion sense that they use to accentuate that beauty."

"Now think... Blaine, who are you describing?"

"DRACO MALFOY?"

*facepalm* "Think brunette. A real person. With the initials KH."

"Oh... Kurt. Kurt? OHMYGOD I'M IN LOVE WITH KURT."