Kurt walked briskly down the hallway toward the senior commons where he knew the Warblers would be getting ready to practice. Tears stung at his eyes, already threatening to spill out as he considered what he was about to do. It had been a hard few months with the threats and transfer, the flirty Christmas duet that he was sure was leading somewhere and seemingly hadn't, that disastrous admittance of his feelings for Blaine that had come right after the awful Gap attack, that horrible few days where the boy he had a crush on was in lust with Rachel Berry, and now this. He didn't need this, didn't want this.
Stop being so negative, he chided himself as he went. All those things turned out fine. You got to sing a flirty Christmas duet with the boy of your dreams—whom you're now going to school with. Blaine knows how you feel about him; you told him the honest truth, and just because he doesn't feel that way about you now… Well, you're best friends. Even though he kissed Rachel twice, he now knows he's gay. All the way. And… Who knows? Maybe something good can come out of this. Maybe.
Rounding the final corner to walk down the long hallway, the one he and Blaine had run down, holding hands on that first day, he considered why he was feeling so choked up about a bird. I mean, Pavarotti was just a bird. He sang to me, and I carried him around and bought him that special cage cover so he wouldn't be cold… Oh, admit it. The feelings were right there on the surface, and he was crazy if he thought that he could deny them, even to himself. I've gone a few rounds with loss. My mom. Dad's heart attack. I know death isn't to be taken lightly, not even the death of a little bird. Pavarotti meant so much to me. He symbolized freedom and new beginnings. He was more than "just a bird."
He reached the door to the senior commons and placed on hand on the handle, taking a deep breath. This is for Pavarotti, yet it's also for you. It's a moment of honor, and you've also chosen Blackbird because it means something to you personally. Just be in the moment. Don't pay any attention to what anyone else thinks. Sing this song for you. For Pav.
At the thought of the nickname he'd so lovingly given his pet, tears began to shine in his eyes again, and Kurt threw open the doors, walking into the room. His head was down, and he stared at the toes of his shoes. He was vaguely aware that whatever everyone had been arguing about had suddenly been cut off when he came in, yet he couldn't be made to care. All that mattered was his grief and the clear, beautiful, soothing voice of one special boy asking, "Kurt, what's wrong?"
"It's Pavarotti. Pavarotti's dead." He could barely get the words out; he had to finish so he could get to the reason he'd come, though. "I suspect a stroke."
"Oh, my god. I'm so sorry." It felt to Kurt as though Blaine meant it, and it was in that moment that he hesitated.
Do I tell them? Do I admit how much this means to me, how much this feels like a big deal? Someone moved in his peripheral vision, and he immediately decided against it. Maybe if it was just Blaine… This is everyone, though. "I know it's really stupid to be upset about a bird, but… He-he inspired me with his optimism and his love of song. He was my friend." That sentence nearly got him, nearly brought a fresh cry from his chest, yet he held it back. "Now, I know that today we need to practice doo-wopping behind Blaine while he sings every solo in the medley of P!nk songs, but…" He looked at Blaine pointedly as he said it, and the look of something unfamiliar in the other boy's eyes popped out at Kurt yet quickly faded into the background as Kurt turned his head away and finished. "I'd like to sing a song for Pavarotti today."
Kurt handed a cassette tape to one of the other boys, waiting for them to put it in as he focused on centering himself and putting everything else out of his mind. This is for Pavarotti, yet this is also for you. Remember that. Sing this song for your other losses, too.
The first twangy notes of the song began to play through the boombox speakers, and Kurt looked past everyone and out the window, imagining Pavarotti flying around outside, flitting from tree branch to tree branch until finally landing on his mother's finger.
"Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise"