Notes: Well thank you to that one person who favorited the story. The rest of you... well. Warmth. I feel it.
Disclaimer: What do I own? NOTHING. Not Glee. Not Harry Potter. Nada.
It had been a year and a half since Kurt had stepped foot in Paris and it still felt too soon. The house staff stand shocked at their remaining lord returning back to the manor that his love once kicked and screamed about moving to before the birth of their twins and eventually came to love.
The manor still looked like a day hadn't gone by since Wesley's untimely death. Kurt could only feel his heart break once more, knowing that the world still spun without Wesley just like he always intended.
He occasionally brushed his fingers against the outline of the small heavy bag in his jacket pocket, feeling it tremble like a living thing. For a long moment, he waits alone outside of the lofty carved cedar door, watching the various portraits of his relatives whisper to each other.
With a deep breath Kurt walks into the study and stops, starring at the radiant and mature painted image of his husband like the haunting ghost it was. It had been nearly six years since the man who's image was imprinted eternally on the canvas had stepped in there. He didn't know that he had died. He didn't know that he had been struggling to protect their empire and his legacy. He didn't know that their youngest son had killed himself shortly after his death. Kurt still lived with the guilt that he had the blood of two of his loved ones on his hands.
He's been feeling less and less like himself as the towering clock chimed nine-times. Automatically, he pulls out the pocket watch that Wesley had bought him for their first wedding anniversary out of the cotton bag. His legs seem to work autonomously, carrying him across the floor to the desk.
He is turned away from him, alone with his head in a book and a cup of tea in his hand.
He nearly turns away then, set on running, back towards the Capital a place that was nearly as painful to be as the very home he died in. Back to Azelea, the daughter who was everything terrible about both of them. Back to her twin, the son who was the perfectly balanced blend of them. Back to the realm of political backstabbing that was rift between Sebastian and himself. Back to the place where it all came together. Back to the place where he fell apart.
But he doesn't.
"Hey," he calls. It would be easier to do this with Wesley's back turned, but he wanted to see his face. He needed to face his ghost.
Wesley turns. He is a few years younger then when he had passed, and he nearly steps back when their eyes meet, overwhelmed by the familiar shades of brown. His fingers are clenched around the watch, but his hand is still twitching.
"Hey," Wesley says,"You know in all the time I've been here, you've never visited me once."
He looks unperturbed and slightly amused, even though Kurt's hair looks a tiny bit askew and he is probably shaking visibly. At least Kurt believes he's shaking. Just do it, Kurt thinks.
"I've been busy," he responds.
And Wesley simply had to laugh. It was a rich laughter that he had almost all but forgotten what it sounded like. "I suppose I have too. I haven't seen myself around in a while."
Kurt honestly wants to shrivel up and die. How did you tell the portrait of your husband that he died?
It was simple. You didn't. Like a flash of lightning, Kurt bolted out the study and down the hallway to the nearest fireplace to floo home. Home where he finds Adam waiting for him in the doorway offering a cup of Early Grey with milk. He doesn't question him or the appearance of his red eyes or the watch he's clutching so hard that his hand is nearly white, or why he shoves him away with his forearm when he tries to drop his hand on his shoulder.
"Fuck off," he tells him, and searches the halls for their bedroom, where he finally disrobes and tosses the watch onto his nightstand, no longer bothering to hide it away amongst his scarves. He lifts his sheets over head and waits, shivering, for Adam to come after him. He never does.
In a way, he is grateful. He spends the evening sobbing silently into Wesley's old pillow that he charmed to never lose his scent, while an old record player hummed some of the old lullabies of love, and guilt, and resentment that Wesley used to drag Kurt to dance all alone in the privacy of their spacious bedroom.
Kurt sleeps and dreams, but not necessarily at the same time. He suspects his mind is filling his head with what are not-quite-memories, but feel as real.
Kurt dreams of a world where they never planned on ruling over their dystopia, growing older and happier with each other. He dreams of a world where he never met Wesley. He still follows in his father's footsteps of being a politician, but neither of them ascend to the office of Minister of Magic. He reads in the Daily Prophet that a young asian student at Durmstrang was sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss. He dreams of going back in time and stopping him from ever breaking up with Wesley to date Adam in order to give each other that extra two decades of bliss.
Mostly, Kurt dreams of that day in the study. In this version, he reaches out and clutches the table and tells Wesley that he died. Their youngest son killed himself shortly after and Burt eventually died from a heart attack. He tells him how he can barely make it to the next day without breaking down still.
Adam stands in the doorway of the dark suite watching him.
"Please," Kurt whispers in his sleep. "Please, just give me one last night with him."
Kurt sleeps and dreams, but not necessarily in that order.
In his dreams, he and Wesley live in content bliss with their lives having the happiness they both always wanted, but never truly got at last.