Work Text:
It gets to the point where Blaine can't remember what records he even owns. He buys more, when he has the money to spare. The way he sees it he's investing in therapy, the music helps him verbally express things he's never been able to put into words himself. His art helps him clear his mind and lose himself for a while whereas music helps him think, wade through and unravel the tangled mess of heart and mind. It helps him when Maggie can't, when he's home and alone and he has to force himself not to walk into the spare bedroom, Kurt's bedroom a voice in the back of his head reminds him unhelpfully, and collapse on the bed and breathe in the scent that no longer lingers there.
I get along without you very well,
Of course, I do,
It's a Sunday afternoon when he realises that moping isn't helping. He was planning on working but as he skims through his sketchbook he lands on a simple sketch of Kurt's profile and he forces himself from the couch, the book sliding to the floor in his wake. He rifles through his collection before finding exactly what he needs, a Nina Simone record called Saga of the Good Life and Hard Times. He sets it on the turntable, savouring the crackle of the stylus before making his way to the spare bedroom.
Except when soft rains fall,
And drip from leaves then I recall,
He sets about methodically dismantling the room. He pulls back the curtains and lets the dull, grey, winter light fill the room. Rain was once a comfort to him, bringing peace and life. He turns toward the bed and briefly shuts his eyes. He can almost see it, feel the contentment he had felt that morning he'd first woken up in Kurt's arms. Looking back it seems surreal but he can't help the small smile that tugs at his chapped lips. The warmth, turning over and seeing those soft and sleepy azure eyes, his gentle caresses, dwelling on the memory makes him ache in the most bittersweet of ways.
The thrill of being sheltered,
In your arms.
When he opens his eyes the room seems dank and cold, like Kurt's absence has sucked the life from it. He strips the comforter and pillows from the bed and hauls the mattress off until it's leaning against the adjacent wall. He dismantles the bed and shoves all of it into the room's built in closet. The space looks bare now, like a blank canvas. It's almost as if every memory the room had held had disappeared. The graphite lines of heated gasps and light laughter erased from the walls and pencilled over.
I've forgotten you
Just like I said I would.
The spare room gets converted into a studio and Blaine moves on, change spurring him on. Guys ask him out, he dates a few and goes home with even less but nothing ever feels quite right. He has fun and he starts to realise that the world hasn't stopped just because Kurt left his. He relearns himself and discovers things about himself that he'd never known. He had been trying to forget because he thought likening the affair to a dream, sweet and fleeting, would make it easier. He had hoped one day that he'd wake up and all he'd remember was a vague sense of warmth and familiarity.
Or maybe except when I hear your name.
Someone's laugh that's just the same.
He starts to re-evaluate when the book comes out and suddenly he's surrounded by Kurt again. Everything rushes back, hitting him with the force of a runaway freight train. Maggie tells him that love is never something you should run from, lost or found. It hurts, remembering every detail, but in time he makes peace with it. He remembers Kurt fondly instead of letting sadness and loneliness overwhelm and control him. He comes to the conclusion that he doesn't need his love to thrive and be happy. Not having Kurt is simply like losing the last piece of a puzzle of the Statue of Liberty. You can still see the picture in all its glory, it's still magnificent, there's just a piece missing, insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Soon remembering doesn't hurt and he learns to love himself, missing piece be damned.
What a guy.
What a fool am I,
To think my aching heart
Could keep the moon.
What really hurts, when he truly thinks about it, is the idea that it may have never meant to Kurt what it meant to him. Insecurity still plagues him, the idea he'd had at the beginning, that he's mediocre, that Kurt couldn't really care for a guy like Blaine, reared its ugly head on his bad days. The days he had tried to pretend that it was all just a dream come back to haunt him as he realises just how idealistic he had been, how naive he had been to cling to hope that had never really been there.
What's in store?
Should I phone once more?
Blaine calls him and leaves a long and rambling message that he regrets as soon as he ends the call. He wanted to play it cool but instead his voice betrayed his excitement and anxiety. It's his first attempt at contact since the short note he'd sent Kurt almost begging him to stop sending him letters. He's in a better place now. Now he knows he can live without Kurt but is starting to realise that maybe he doesn't want or have to. With his new found happiness and success there's a new spark of hope. Hope that he can have Kurt in his life, the missing puzzle piece, completing the picture.
I said that I get along without you very well,
Of course, I do.
He throws himself into preparations for the big exhibition. Finally getting the opportunity to present his art to possible patrons was exhilarating. It reminds him of his dream, his ambitions and his driving force. He dresses to impress for the evening and as he chats amicably with patrons, friends and colleagues he feels overwhelmed by his own accomplishments. The world doesn't stop when he sees him; he's unwittingly prepared for it, or when their hands find each other. As they gaze up at his work, all this time he knew it wasn't goodbye.
Except perhaps in spring,
But then I should never
Ever think of spring.
"Hello Kurt." He says and the sound of his name feels like home. "Welcome to the NYU Fine Art Spring Exhibition here at the Silver Center." He tries desperately to keep his tone light but his heart hammers loud and fast inside his chest, so loud that he barely registers what he's saying, what Kurt is saying.
"I came to see you."
"I wanted to see you."
Warmth spreads from his chest to his fingertips like pins and needles and he knows he must be blushing.
For that would
Surely break my heart in two.
The fact that he's there, their hands joined between them, reaffirms to Blaine that they're tethered. It assures him that what they had or even have, it's real and Kurt feels it too. Hope surges within him as he tugs Kurt by the hand toward the exit but things have changed, Blaine is cautious now, the hopeless romantic less hopeless and more simply hopeful. He's hopeful that this is a second chance that won't leave him with another broken heart. Still he assures Kurt that words can wait for now, in favour of finally feeling complete, if but for a little while.
I get along without you very well...