Let It Be

by padfoot

A/N: Lyrics from 'Let It Be' by The Beatles, characters belong to Ryan Murphy et al.

And when the broken hearted people living in the world agree
There will be an answer, let it be...

...

Saying goodbye isn't the hardest thing he's ever done. It's just a word, after all. A word, a wave, a lingering smile and a tingle in the tips of his fingers, as if something he's been holding has slipped from his grip. Dropped to the cold pavement, with its thin cover of ice. Shattered into tiny, transparent shards – irreparable. Almost as if it was never there at all.

But that process, that goodbye is quick. It's fast and simple, comprehendible, cause and effect.

After goodbye is what's hard.

Because afterwards, there's this... sort of gap in the world. And Blaine thinks he might just be a bit angry. And places in himself that he didn't know existed begin to ache.

The pain is in his head and behind his eyes and on his tongue where he can still maybe taste Kurt if he tries. It's a- a feeling at the back of his throat, not like he's choking, but like he's changing. Like puberty or pregnancy, where it's still him but it's also not.

The tickle behind his eyes is constant, unrelenting. His subconscious isn't choosy about what it notices: a scarf in a shop window, the light switch by his front door, his shoelace, his sleeve, his books, his bed. Kurt is everywhere and it's not fair. It's not fair because he's gone, he's left, he's not coming back, but everything about him still lingers like the sweet scent of rain on hot tarmac. A scorching, stinging smell. One that traps itself in Blaine's nose and won't go away. And it's stupid, because the smell isn't of Kurt. It's of his absence.

And as Blaine lies awake he wonders if this is it. If Kurt was it. If it has all slipped away in a day that he can barely remember through the numbness. And why was today any different from every other? Why do the old memories still make him smile, but the new ones make him cry? Why does a part of him long pathetically for the boy he gave up, but the other half lies dormant, submissive? Why does he miss Kurt now when he never missed him before?

He tries to think of other boys – the barista with the infectious grin, the celebrity with the body of a God, the old friend that always makes him think 'what if'. It doesn't work. For some reason, he can't get his head around the idea of Kurt being gone. Of being free. Freedom is a scary thing.

For a second – a long second that stretches out for days – he regrets it, and hates that he does. He silently begs for those familiar arms to wrap around his waist, those familiar lips to kiss his neck, that familiar voice to murmur something soft and sweet and private. He relives the tingles that used to spark up his spine, feels his whole body shudder because it's wrong, it's fake without Kurt there. And he misses him.

He misses him some more.

He misses him so much.

...

...For though they may be parted, there is still a chance that they will see
There will be an answer, let it be