Day 5 – Whenever You're Away From Me (Olivia Newton John)

Whenever you're away from me
Wherever you go
You're never far away from me

Kurt Hummel was a bit of a walking contradiction. A self-proclaimed silly romantic since childhood, he was also eminently practical. He'd been ruthless in marking what items to take and what to leave when he moved to New York. One item, however, though not in any way practical, unequivocally found itself on the "must take" list.

Looking back, the move to New York was only one of many. It had, of course, started out with him in Lima at McKinley. Then it traveled to New York, finding itself pinned to a bulletin board in a Bushwick loft. It went back with him to Ohio, tucked away in a bedside drawer for a while, but never out of reach.

Back it went again to New York, moving to another apartment wall, then to a pegboard in an office cubicle, and finally to a wall in his very first genuine Broadway theater dressing room. When asked, he would tell the story with a fond smile, recalling its origin and the wonderful history it held.

His show now closed after a long run, it was time to find a new, perhaps permanent, home for his most cherished possession. He settled in at the dining room table, laying out his project before him. The glass of the frame was clean and sparkling, and a tasteful mat lay waiting to be positioned. He took the picture out of the envelope in which it had traveled, holding it in his hands for a moment and studying it carefully. It was a little worse for wear, but still in extraordinarily good shape, years of diligent caretaking having done its job. There was a tiny crease in the corner that he smoothed out, not for the first time. It didn't matter. It was still perfect.

He turned the photo over and placed it gently in the frame, centering it just so before assembling the backing. Flipping the frame right-side up, he couldn't help but grin, feeling a bit of the giddiness he'd felt when he'd first received it long ago.

Now, it was simply a matter of placement. With a sweeping glance across the room, he settled on the right spot almost immediately. Kurt crossed the room and reverently placed the frame on top of the piano. It was the perfect addition to their new space.

Later, Blaine would come home and undoubtedly laugh at the prominent display. When they first moved in together upon returning to New York, Blaine asked Kurt about the picture.

"We have so many great pictures that are more recent than this. Why do you insist on keeping my old Warbler photo from the Dalton yearbook?" he'd wondered aloud.

Kurt explained to Blaine how the picture was originally displayed in his locker, even before they'd officially become a couple. It gave him strength and hope to see a friendly face every day, even when Blaine was physically so far away. From that point on, the photo became a symbol for Kurt – a symbol of Blaine's care and affection, and in time, of his love and devotion. When they broke up, Kurt couldn't bear to part with it, even if he couldn't look at it every day. It meant security and safety, regardless of whether Blaine was beside him or not.

Blaine didn't question the picture again after that.

Kurt fussed with the frame, arranging it among others on the piano, placing it directly next to an old photo of himself from when he'd run for student body president at McKinley. Apparently, Kurt wasn't the only one who had kept a photo through the years.

Neither one of them was the boy he'd been in those photos. They'd learned and grown, loved and lost. But when all was said and done, even when apart, they had never been far away from one another.

A/N: I had a little trouble with this prompt, and I needed to keep it short tonight. Hope this was okay.