Now Kurt enjoyed Dalton, that remains an uncontested fact, but he did miss his friends at McKinley. However, that feeling of loss was very nearly balanced out by Blaine, new best friend and potential love interest. Kurt had boarded at Dalton in the beginning, and the two of them often walked footpaths in the forest behind Dalton, but only the official, post-marked ones. Kurt would rather not get lost in the extensive woods, and Blaine really didn't want to either.
On one such walk Kurt mindlessly commented on the familiar scent hanging around a tiny rabbit as it hopped innocently across their path.
"Poor thing," Kurt said, staring at it.
"Why?" Blaine asked.
"It's going to die," Kurt replied, pity in his voice.
As if on cue, a hawk swooped down and snatched up the rabbit, carrying it off for a meal.
Blaine stared at Kurt, confused.
"How did you know that?" he asked incredulously.
Kurt's eyes widened as he realized his mistake. "Um… lucky guess, I suppose."
Blaine's subconscious was far more suspicious than Blaine himself was willing to admit, though. He often found himself keeping track of the strange things Kurt noticed: that a seemingly friendly dog was dying ("Stay away from it. We can't help it now; it's probably rabid"), that Jeff's grandmother was going to die (she once came to pick Jeff up for the weekend and Kurt bought Jeff a black suit that very day, which he wore two weeks later to her funeral). The last straw, however, was Pavarotti.
"What are you doing?" Blaine asked one Thursday afternoon. Kurt seemed to be sticking tiny gems onto a small black box.
"Decorating Pavarotti's casket," Kurt replied absently.
"Pavarotti died?" Blaine asked, shocked.
"Not yet," was Kurt's answer.
"Kurt," Blaine began, "I'm sure he's just molting again—"
"No, he isn't," Kurt said definitively.
Blaine sighed, frustrated. He was sick of Kurt's abnormal obsession with death, and he honestly wanted to help his friend.
"Kurt, this is getting out of hand!" Blaine said, setting his hands on the table to punctuate his declaration.
"What is?" Kurt asked calmly, continuing to decorate the miniature casket before him.
Blaine plucked the small box from Kurt's hands and set it on another table. Kurt looked up at Blaine in annoyance.
"Give Pavarotti's casket back," he demanded.
"This preoccupation with death has got to end, Kurt," Blaine said. "I'm worried about you!"
"Worried about me?" Kurt scoffed, crossing his arms. "I'm fine!"
"No, you're not!" Blaine cried. "This is not normal, Kurt, this thing you've got about death!"
"What, a healthy respect?"
"No, an unhealthy fascination! Honestly, Kurt, I'm starting to think you're suicidal!"
Kurt narrowed his eyes. "Oh, yeah, Blaine, I've just escaped a hellhole of a school and a bully out for my blood only to go off myself. If you'll excuse me."
He stood and sent one last cold gaze Blaine's way before stalking away, snatching up his casket-in-the-making as he went.
Blaine collapsed at the table, dropped his head in his hands, and groaned. That had definitely not been the proper way to go about confronting a possibly-suicidal friend.
In the end he decided to give Kurt time to cool off; besides, this gave him time to work on his apology speech.
However, when Kurt came to school the next morning looking thoroughly displeased with Blaine, all thoughts of a carefully prepared speech flew out the window.
"Kurt, Kurt, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, I'm just worried, I'm sorry!" Blaine said, all in a rush.
Kurt's expression lightened a bit. "It's fine, Blaine. Just leave it."
Blaine quieted immediately, still staring at Kurt.
Kurt sighed. "I suppose you require an explanation for my odd behavior?"
Blaine hesitated slightly before nodding.
"You probably won't believe me," Kurt muttered. "I barely believe it myself. But as it is, I have— somewhat of an imaginary friend. She's always been there, and I just assumed she was merely a product of my rather vivid imagination. But as I grew older it became clear that she was more than that. She was—" he gulped nervously— "a ghost."
Blaine stared at him, mouth hanging open. "Are you— are you serious?"
Kurt nodded. "She's just been a part of my life for so long, I've become accustomed to her, like you get used to your right arm." He paused, contemplating what to next tell Blaine. "She's the reason I can tell when someone— or something— is going to die."
"Does she— tell you?" Blaine asked.
"Not quite," Kurt said, quickly explaining the concept of the reaper. "For example, when my dad had his heart attack, I knew he wasn't going to die. That didn't stop me from being terrified that at any moment I'd smell that awful smell all over him, though."
Shortly afterward, Blaine excused himself to go to class and spent the rest of the day mulling over what Kurt had told him. Eventually he came to a conclusion: he needed to alert someone to Kurt's apparent ability to see dead people.
Blaine knew from a previous conversation that Kurt was going for some 'retail therapy' with some of his friends after school, and so took advantage of this time.
"Uh… hey, Blaine," Burt said warily when he spotted Blaine leaning against the wall of the garage. He was probably remembering the last time Blaine showed up to talk to him without Kurt.
Blaine hesitated, then blurted out the entire story, from Kurt's odd behavior to his morbid predictions to his strange story.
Burt absorbed the information quietly, looking shaken.
"All right," he said finally. "You said he talks to a dead girl named Anna?"
Blaine nodded, biting his lip.
Burt sighed. "I'll talk to him. Thanks for telling me, Blaine."
Blaine nodded again and bid him farewell. As he left, he could only hope he'd done the right thing.
TBC.
There will be a bit of a delay between this penultimate chapter and the next, as I'll be on vacation and I doubt I'll have access to the Internet. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated!