A.N: Hi guys! Sorry it took me so long to update, but I'm done school now so hopefully I'll be able to bang out to end of this fic pretty fast. If any of you are still here and reading, just know that I love you, you all have the patience of angels and thank you from the bottom of my heart :)

Chapter 8

Kurt walked into the bedroom to discover Blaine with his head hanging out the window.

"...Are you sticking your head out the window in a rainstorm in lieu of taking a shower?"

Blaine laughed, still half hanging out the window. "I just love smell of rain on hot asphalt."

Kurt eyed him skeptically. He reminded him of one of those dogs who liked to stick their head out the windows of cars.

"Hey," said Blaine, noticing Kurt's expression. "Don't bring around a cloud to rain on my parade."

Kurt walked over to the window and gently pulled Blaine inside, closing the window while reciting, "The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plane."

"I'm singing in the rain, just siiinging in the rain." Blaine countered.

"You, got me caught in all this mess, I guess, we can blame it on the rain." Kurt sang back, intent on winning their impromptu sing-off.

"I don't feel any pain, a little fall of rain, can hardly hurt me now" Blaine intoned, quoting Les Mis.

"Can't you see that it's just raining, ain't no need to go outside." Singing a line from Jack Johnson's Banana Pancakes.

Blaine blew the damp curls off his forehead and raised his hands in defeat. "I'm out of lyrics. You win!"

"Hah!" Kurt grinned triumphantly. He turned and grabbed a towel off the back of the chair, using it to dry off Blaine's wet hair.

Blaine shook his head, spraying Kurt with water.

"Hey!" Kurt recoiled from the spray. "Don't be a sore loser."

Blaine grinned, "Me? Never." He said, feigning offence.

"Come on, I came in here to get you for a reason. I want to show you something." Kurt clasped Blaine's hand and pulled him from the bedroom.

They walked into the living room and Kurt stood Blaine in front of his painter's easel.

"Does this mean I finally get to see this secret painting you've been working on?" Blaine asked, gesturing to the canvas on the easel that was covered with a large drop cloth.

Kurt nodded before pulling off the cover and waiting with baited breath as Blaine surveyed the canvas.

Kurt watched as Blaine put on his serious art critic face as he scanned the painting he had never been allowed to see before.

His stomach lurched as he recognized the expression of recognition take over Blaine's face.

"This is-" Blaine turned to Kurt in astonishment.

Kurt nodded, a smile playing on his lips as Blaine turned back to the painting, not seeming to believe his eyes.

The painting had taken him over a month to complete, even with squeezing painting in at every possible spare moment after work and before breakfast.

He had laboured over every line, every hair, each eyelash.

It was a portrait of Blaine and himself, foreheads pressed together and hands intertwined.

But what had Blaine's attention wasn't their perfectly painted faces or the delicate brushstrokes that made up their intertwined fingers, but the small strips of gold that Kurt had painted around the ring finger of each of their left hands.

"Is this..." he was still gaping, open mouthed at the oil painting.

Kurt laughed, amused by his apparent inability to form a sentence. He took Blaine's hands in his own and gently steered his gaze from the painting to meet his eyes.

"I know that right now is probably the worst possible time to be talking about this, what with you looking into going back to school and me, spending 18 hours a day at the office, but I couldn't help it. The thing practically painted itself. I couldn't get it out of my head."

"Kurt," Blaine breathed out in awe.

"And I know that when we talked about this, you said that when we did get around to marriage, you wanted to wait until you could afford to buy me a ring yourself, so I didn't buy a ring for you. But I am hoping that you'll accept this painted version. At least temporarily, as a promise."

Tears were falling freely down Blaine's face by this point.

Kurt reached out and wiped them away, ignoring the burning of his own eyes.

"Until we're ready for the real thing. This painting is me...promising you that-" Kurt choked on his words, unable to continue as the tears that had been threatening to fall started to run down his cheeks.

Blaine picked up where he left off, "That one day, you'll be my husband."

Kurt nodded mutely, kissing Blaine fiercely and clinging to his neck.

Blaine let out a shaky breath as they pulled apart, both half laughing, half crying.

"It is so...so beautiful, Kurt."

Kurt smiled, basking in his praise.

"Except..."

He raised his eyebrow questioningly as Blaine trailed off.

"Yes?" Kurt asked.

"Am I really that short?"

"Oh shut up!" Kurt laughed, smacking Blaine on the arm playfully. "You are a moment-ruiner. You know that?"

"Don't even get me started on how big you made your own biceps. I think we may need to have a talk about the size of your ego, Mr. Hummel."

Kurt still worked too much.

They started fighting after he collapsed the first time.

The doctors told them it was just a case of severe exhaustion, but Blaine was sick with worry anyway.

He fussed over Kurt for days after, and Kurt soon grew weary of it and insisted he needed to go back to work.

Blaine tried to reason with him, begging him to take some more time off, or consider switching jobs. The stress of working under Julius was taking a toll on his body, and now their relationship.

The fighting got worse the second time Kurt collapsed.

It was early in the evening in the month of September and Kurt was back at his laptop.

"Can you please just take one more day off?" Blaine pleaded as he watched Kurt work.

"Blaine," Kurt began, sounding more impatient than ever, "we've talked about this. I can't miss any more days. Things are piling up."

Blaine wasn't about to give up this time though.

"Honey,"

Kurt raised his eyebrows, knowing that Blaine only ever used that term of endearment when he was trying to butter him up.

"You don't even like your job and you're killing yourself over it." Blaine pleaded.

Kurt gave up trying to pay attention to what was on his laptop and glared at Blaine. They'd had this conversation one too many times.

"I make good money at that job. It's in fashion, which I happen to enjoy. It pays the bills...for both of us." He added as an afterthought.

Blaine recoiled at his icy tone, but pressed on anyway. "Kurt, Kurt please listen to me." He walked over to where Kurt was sitting and placed his hands on top of his.

Kurt pulled his glasses off and looked up at Blaine expectantly. "Yes?"

"Remember when you told me that if you could do anything you wanted, you'd open your own art gallery? On the Upper West Side?"

"Yes, but-"

"No, listen. I know you think it's just a silly dream, but it doesn't have to be. Don't you see? It could be real. You could paint and work with other artists, own your own gallery and just spend your days marking art."

"Blaine," Kurt began impatiently, standing up and pulling his hands out from underneath Blaine's.

"I just don't see why you would spend your life working for that awful man, doing something that makes you so miserable. You should do what you love."

He gestured to the painting of them that was now hanging on the wall. "You are amazing. You're good enough to really go places, Kurt."

Kurt laughed sharply. "Painting is not a career, Blaine. It's a hobby. It doesn't pay for these clothes or this apartment or for the electricity, the groceries..." he ticked things off on his fingers as he turned his back to Blaine and walked away.

Blaine exhaled and ran his fingers through his hair. He didn't know why Kurt always shut him down when they tried to have this conversation. He needed him to understand, he needed him to listen.

He couldn't bear to see him wind up in the hospital again.

"Please, don't walk away." He called after Kurt as he followed him into the bedroom.

"If you're worried about me being stressed, then arguing with me probably isn't the best way to remedy that." Kurt snapped.

Kurt looked up and searched Blaine's face for a moment. "I know I sound cold. But I have responsibilities."

Blaine could hear the pleading note in his voice.

"Living in New York is expensive. I still have debt from college and I want to make sure that if anything ever happened to my dad, that I could help him out. Not all of us have the luxury of not having to worry about anyone but themselves."

It was Blaine's turn to laugh derisively. "Luxury? Tell me you're not implying that the fact that my family disowned me is a luxury. You wouldn't."

Kurt rubbed his eyes as he spoke, "No, I just, recognize that I can't be like you. My job allows you to sit around all day and write songs and make music okay?"

Blaine froze. "I...you...is that really what you think I do? I didn't think I was such a burden to you." He snapped, spinning around and heading back into the kitchen.

He could hear Kurt sigh heavily and start to follow him but he didn't care. He kept walking, trying to keep the edges of his vision from blurring with anger.

This wasn't how this conversation was supposed to have gone.

He stormed into the kitchen and turned on the sink, piling dirty dishes into it.

"You know that's not what I meant." Kurt said from behind him.

He continued piling the dishes into the sink, ignoring the fact that the water was scalding his hands.

"Blaine, come on, don't be like this." Kurt tried again.

Blaine scrubbed at a plate, submersing his hands in the burning hot water.

"I don't need your money." He mumbled.

"Blaine, let's be practical here. You work at Starbucks. That doesn't exactly go a long way when we pay the bills okay? And I'm not holding that against you, but I can't quit my job. We both need me to keep working."

"I don't care!" Blaine cried, dropping the plate into the sink with a loud splash.

"Don't you see? I don't care about any of it! I don't care about this apartment or nice clothes or being able to afford all those stupid restaurants. We could move, we could live somewhere less expensive, so you could pursue your art. Anything, anything so I don't have to watch you kill yourself every day."

"That's just it, isn't it?" Kurt's icy tone contrasted with Blaine's raised voice. "You have to watch me kill myself every day. You don't have to actually do the work, you're not the one up all hours of the night slaving away. This doesn't affect you! It's my life, and it's my choice."

"I thought we were supposed to be sharing our lives? Isn't that how a relationship is supposed to work? It's not just about you!" Blaine retorted angrily.

"Are you honestly accusing me of being selfish? After everything I've done for you? Have you forgotten that I let you live here when you had nowhere to go? Or that I forgave you when you lied to me? That I offered to help you pay to go to college? How dare you accuse me of being selfish!"

"But I'm telling you I don't need you to do those things for me anymore! I just need you to do what makes you happy."

"Don't be naive." Kurt spat. "I honestly think you live in some dreamland where everything just magically works out. Well guess what Blaine? It doesn't! If I quit, we won't live happily ever, making art and music and living in sweet harmony with nature! This is reality, and it would be nice if you got in touch with it every once and a while. We wouldn't be happy, we'd be homeless!"

"God forbid," Blaine said sarcastically.

"Yes! God forbid! Not all of us want to live on the streets. Face it, one of us has to be the responsible one, one of us has to keep a roof over our heads and its sure as hell not you."

"If I'm that much of a burden to you, then why don't you ask me to leave? If I'm such a disappointment in comparison to the fabulous Kurt Hummel then just ask to me go! I don't need you to take care of me Kurt."

"Fine! If my generosity is such a chore for you, then go! Leave if you want to." Kurt yelled out, throwing his hands in the air in frustration.

Blaine's hands were shaking at his sides. His head was swimming. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe.

"Fine."

When he finally spoke, the word came out quieter than he'd expected and seemed to echo in the silence that suddenly filled the apartment.

He whirled around and snatched his jacket off the couch. He then picked up his guitar.

Kurt turned white.

"No, no" he was suddenly frantic.

"No, Blaine, that's not what I meant. You know that's not what I meant." He reached out for Blaine's arm but Blaine jerked it away.

"Stop." He said firmly, suddenly filled with calm.

"Blaine, no, don't. It's night time, don't go. You shouldn't be out there alone." Kurt was trying to grab onto any piece of Blaine that he could as he walked out of the apartment.

"God, please don't leave. Where will you go? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't-" he grabbed onto Blaine's arm again with frantic fingers.

Blaine turned to look at him and saw that his eyes were filled with tears. He kept his expression neutral. He needed to leave, he couldn't stay.

He would always be nothing in Kurt's eyes.

"Let. Me. Go." He spoke so firmly that Kurt automatically detached his hands from Blaine's arm.

Blaine whirled around again, walking through the door with his guitar in hand. As he started down the stairs he could still hear Kurt calling,

"Blaine! Blaine, come back. Please, Blaine, Blaine..."

He didn't turn back.

Kurt called Rachel in tears.

"I know this isn't what you want to hear, but he'll be fine." She cooed into the phone.

"Rachel, he's out there all alone in the middle of the night. In New York City. He could get mugged or hurt or..."

"He's done it a few times before Kurt, one night isn't going to hurt. And in the morning he'll come back and you guys will make-up. You always do."

"I told him he'd never have to spend another night on the streets. I promised him." Kurt choked out between sobs.

"Oh sweetie, it's okay. Shhh, he'll be back soon I'm sure."

"I was awful, I said awful things to him. He'll probably never come back."

"Don't be silly, you two are madly in love."

"Last time he was out there, he got so sick, he, he..." Kurt trailed off.

"That was in January, Kurt. It's September now and it's warm. He'll be fine. He probably just needs some space to cool off."

"I was right though wasn't I?" Kurt asked meekly once he had been assured Blaine would be okay.

Rachel didn't respond.

"Wasn't I? He wasn't being practical, Rach."

"I don't know." She admitted.

"I'm going to go." Kurt said softly.

"Okay. Call me in the morning okay?"

"Mhm." He replied, tapping the screen and ending the call.

He picked himself up slowly off the floor, feeling utterly at a loss for what he should do.

He opened the fridge four times before ascertaining that he wasn't hungry.

He thought about finishing the dishes Blaine had left in the grimy water in the sink, but couldn't bring himself to do it.

He picked up his coat and keys and was headed out the door when he realized that looking for Blaine was a stupid idea. He could be anywhere.

Besides that, he wasn't sure what he would say to him when he saw him again.

Was he sorry?

Or had he meant every word he said?

He wasn't sure.

His head pounded but he didn't want to sleep yet. He flipped open his laptop, idly scrolling through pages of work notes without really reading a single word.

He looked over his electronic calendar, checking to see if he had any appointments for the next day. His eyes found the box circled in red that said "TODAY" in big letters. September 10th, 2001.

He eyed the square on the calendar miserably, wondering if he would always remember that day for years to come as the day he lost Blaine.

The box for tomorrow, he noted, was mercifully blank except for a dentist appointment.

What Kurt never could have known was that the very next morning, at exactly 9:59am on September 11th 2001, the first tower would fall.