The sheets were cold without him. Which was funny because he was always freezing. There was ice behind his pale skin, but Blaine didn't mind. It was an excuse to get closer, so close they felt like one. Wrapped in each other, until the morning rolled around and he pushed Blaine off, shaking the pinpricks from his floppy arm.

Blaine hoped wherever he was, he could forget about the mornings where he'd just lie, yawning until he fell back asleep, not brave enough to take on the day. The days where he left Kurt to fight his own battles, while having to worrying about Blaine's too. He hoped he could forget the times when they were broke because no one understood; no one cared how he felt. There were jobs to do, and there was money to make and no one cares how you feel when money is on the line.

He hoped whoever he found would be able to appreciate him better than Blaine ever could. Because it was so hard to concentrate when his hands itched for his guitar, when there were melodies in Kurt's voice, and whole choruses to be found in the spaces between his eyes lids. But he couldn't seem to see why some days all Blaine did was stay in bed, and some all he did was strum, endlessly. On neither of those kinds of days would he eat, and he would only get up if he really had to pee. It was surely infuriating, but Blaine couldn't find it in him to change his ways, the thought alone only brought him down deeper into his isolation.

But he needed to put it into words, how much he loved it when Kurt would start during the night, sitting straight up in bed, mumbling incoherence before sleep found him again. He needed to immortalize the way his heart thrived for the times when Kurt would stand in the freezing cold, his teeth chattering uncontrollably, just to watch him busk. He got wrapped up in it all. The little things were what caught his attention; the big picture was lost on him. It was too much all at once.

Thinking about the past was always troublesome for Blaine too. Even more so now that, that was all Kurt was now, just a part of Blaine's past. He'd gone so quickly from all he could ever think of, past, present, and future, to just his past. It made his head spin. This was not the life he planned out in his songs. This was not the life he had ever envisioned for himself. This thought alone caused another day in bed.

…

Three and a half weeks after Kurt left him, without warning or much reason other than, "I can't do this anymore Blaine, I can't live like this," Blaine was in bed. He'd been in bed more days than not, and he was starting to think that maybe this wasn't so bad. He wasn't bothering anybody; if he didn't eat then he didn't have to busk to get money for food. And on the days he did drag himself out the front door he'd just stay out a little longer to ensure he could eat, and pay his bills. And if he couldn't strap together enough cash he could always call his mom. She'd never let him starve.

It had been three and a half weeks without Kurt, and Blaine hadn't written a single word. He didn't sing any original songs when he went out to busk, because the first time he did venture out into the chill of New York air he realized Kurt was the subject of all of them. Instead he replaced most of them with Katy Perry songs that had been decidedly over played years ago. Blaine didn't care if no one was listening. Singing top 40s (even if they were top 40s from ten years ago) lifted his mood just enough to be able to stand being around other people.

Three and a half weeks without Kurt, and there was a knock on their apartment door. His. Blaine meant his apartment door. Blaine was in bed, which shouldn't be a surprise to anyone, but the banging on his door wouldn't quit. He'd thought maybe a package was being delivered, and it was a mailman banging for a signature, and that hopefully he'd go away. Blaine had no such luck.

The banging drove him just crazy enough to get out of bed. He put his feet on the wood floors, a ripple of cold traveled up his legs and into his back, making him shiver. He stretched, and yawned, and did all those things you do when you first wake up. Except Blaine hadn't been asleep, he'd barely slept at all in the last three and a half weeks.

The banging continued, but this time a voice joined it. "Come on Blaine, I know you're in there. Your bike is still in the hallway," …it was Elliot? Was Elliot really at his door?

With a little fire under his ass to know exactly why Elliot was at his apartment, Blaine shot up from bed, throwing the curtain aside dodging the plates, cups, utensils, and take out containers on the ground that seemed to make a path to the entrance. He pulled the door across the traveler and was indeed greeted by Elliot who looked a little less than pissed. And then Elliot got a good look at Blaine, and a good look at the mess, trailing behind Blaine like a big warning sign, and his face softened.

"I um- well here," Elliot held out an envelope to him that just said "rent money," in Kurt's elegant script.

"What's this?" Blaine said, motioning towards the envelope but not making any moves to take it from the other boy.

"It's rent money, genius, gosh you think someone who graduated from NYU could be able to figure that one out." Elliot stuffed it in his hand, "Here."

Blaine shoved it right back towards him, "I-I don't want this; tell him I don't need this." Blaine hand was already on the door handle, starting to yank it shut, but Elliot was strong, not stronger than Blaine usually, but right now? Blaine had very little fight in him, and he wasn't going to waste it on Elliot.

"He's not going to take no for an answer Blaine, just take it."

"No you know what, I won't take it, because he probably thinks I won't have enough because-becau- well just tell him that I have enough and that he doesn't have to worry about me, because he's not my fucking boyfriend anymore." Blaine reached for the door handle again, and this time Elliot was smart enough to back out of the doorframe before Blaine pulled it hard. The door slammed, bouncing open a little bit before Blaine pulled it to the wall and secured the lock.

The next day there was another bang on the door. He found his headphones and blasted Katy Perry as loud as it would go.

…

"He wouldn't take it?" Kurt stared at the envelope in Elliot's hand. It was crumpled and a little bit ripped. It told Kurt all he really needed to know.

"No, he said that you don't have to worry about him, because, and I quote 'He's not your fucking boyfriend anymore.'"

Kurt groaned. Blaine was so fucking stubborn sometimes… "I just, I feel bad that I left him to pay all the bills. I wasn't trying to-to pity him or anything; did you explain that to him?"

"Yeah, well I was about to, but then he almost took off my nose with the door so…" Elliot shrugged, looking a little pissed as he recounted his visit with Blaine. "He's bad Kurt, he's really bad. He's got a fucking caveman beard, for a start. His hair looks like it did when he used to gel it it's so greasy. There's trash all over the floor. It was disgusting, I was waiting for a rat to run across my feet."

Kurt wasn't stupid; he knew that Blaine suffered from depression. And he wasn't so cruel to ignore that Blaine couldn't always help it when he couldn't get out of bed. And the fact that Blaine had depression wasn't the reason why he broke up with him. Kurt broke up with Blaine because he refused to acknowledge the fact that there was something wrong. He wouldn't get help, and it scared Kurt. It scared him to death some times, when Blaine was really bad, talking about being worthless, and a waste of skin. It terrified Kurt to his core, because the thing that he was most afraid of was losing Blaine, which all sounds a bit dumb now.

The reason Kurt broke up with Blaine was for one reason and one reason only, he wanted Blaine to get better. He wanted him to be happy again, and Kurt wasn't so sure that he was making Blaine happy anymore.

…

Blaine didn't stay angry with Kurt for long. Instead he channeled all of his energy into writing. It took six and a half months from the time Kurt left to the time he got his first song on the radio. It was just a crappy local station, but it was still his song, his voice, being broadcasted to at least one hundred thousand people. Soon he had an EP on iTunes, with close to a quarter of a million downloads.

…

Kurt first heard Blaine's song in the car.

Miss you terribly already

Miss the space between your eyelids,

Where I'd stare through awkward sentences

And void through awkward silence

It was about them…

…

Please forget me, you were right dear

I am cold and self-involved

And though I'll miss you, recent lover

I am weak and therefore fold

Get distracted by my music,

Think of nothing else but art

I'll write my loneliness in poems,

If I can just think how to start

…

And I

I hope for your life

You can forget about mine

Just forget about mine

Kurt had to pull into the nearest gas station, his vision clouded with a build up of tears. He wanted to pick up the phone and yell at Blaine, because it wasn't that simple. As hard as he tried to forget, to convince himself that this was the right thing for Blaine, he couldn't stop thinking about him. Kurt closed his eyes and turned the radio up to an unreasonable level. It was crackling slightly; he was close to being out of range. He let Blaine's voice fill him up.

He missed him. He missed Blaine so damn much, and if the song was anything to go by, Blaine missed Kurt as well. Maybe forgetting about Blaine wasn't the right thing to do. Maybe it was time Kurt stopped sending Sam and Rachel over to check up on Blaine, maybe it was time he did it himself.

…

Blaine was just finishing the last line of a song when there was a knock on the door. He looked around his apartment and sighed. It was a mess, as usual, but there wasn't anything he could do about it now. He stood, groaning at the tightness of his muscles and the way his knees popped. He glanced at the clock above the sink, it was later than he thought, almost nine o'clock. Who the hell was at his door at nine pm?

He couldn't figure out if he was more surprised or mad when he opened it to find Kurt standing there, his face blotchy, his eyes sparkling with a sheen of tears. He didn't say anything. He just stood there, his breathing heavy. Blaine didn't know what to do or say, so he leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Waiting.

"Can I-can I come in?" Blaine still didn't say anything, just gestured into the apartment. He shut the door behind Kurt as he entered.

Silence settled again.

"What?" Blaine said, breaking it, "could neither them make the weekly 'make sure Blaine's not dead' visit?" Blaine laughed.

"That's not-" Kurt shook his head. Blaine rolled his eyes, at least one of them had shown up at his door every week since Elliot had tried to drop off that rent money, sometimes if he'd seemed bad they'd both show up that week. Not that he really minded the company; he just wished Kurt would stop thinking of him as a child who needed to be babysat.

"I heard your song," Kurt continued, he bit his lip, suddenly looking shy and uncomfortable in the kitchen they had once shared so many fond memories in. Blaine shifted awkwardly, knowing full well that Kurt knew the lyrics were about them. About him.

"What'd you think of it?"

Kurt eyes lit up, a smirk pulling at his lips, "It was beautiful Blaine, and you sounded amazing." A beat passed and then, " I'm so proud of you."

Blaine was a little confused, "is that all you came here for? Cause honestly, a text would have-"

"No, I- I wanted to talk to you."

Blaine took a seat at the kitchen table, which was currently littered with take out containers, empty tumblers, and beer bottles. "About?"

"I actually came here to apologize," Kurt said, picking at a loose string on the upholstery of one of the kitchen chairs. "I didn't end things right between us." Blaine shifted forward in his chair, his eyebrows flying up to his hairline, obviously not expecting that particular truth to spew from Kurt's lips.

"It wasn't right," he continued, "leaving you like that… It was a fucking cop out is what it was."

"Kurt, what-"

"The truth is I had no idea how to help you. You kept slipping further away from me, and I didn't know how to help you." Kurt pulled the chair he'd been picking at out and sat, grabbing Blaine's hands in the process. "You were never happy anymore, Blaine, and I was scared that I was the cause of your depression."

"So you left?"

Kurt nodded, "so I left."

"Kurt you do realize that, that doesn't make any sense, right?"

Blaine stared into Kurt's eyes as they began to well up for the second time that night. "I know that now. I know that I made a huge mistake, but at the time I thought I was doing what was best for you, I promise."

"You don't have to lie to me Kurt, I know it wasn't easy being with me."

"I'm not saying it was easy Blaine, because it wasn't. What I'm saying is that it was worth it. I never stopped loving you Blaine; I left because I wanted you to get better." Kurt looked around the apartment flustered, and unwilling to meet Blaine's eyes. "It's why I started sending Rachel and Sam over after Elliot told me how bad you looked. I couldn't blame you for still being upset after three weeks, I was down for at least two months after we broke up, but I wanted to see if you'd get better." Kurt stopped; his teeth grabbed onto his bottom lip and started chewing on it relentlessly.

"And then you did," he said with a sad laugh, "you started shaving, and you were laughing. You even started writing again." Kurt looked up at Blaine, his breath catching when he saw two tears racing down the other mans face, disappearing into the thin layer of stubble on his chin. "I thought I had made the right choice. I thought I had done what was best for you."

Blaine stared at him as if he'd just spouted of a math equation, "how-how the hell could you think that, that was what was best for me, Kurt?" Angry tears continued to stream down his face. "After 6 years you'd think that you'd know you're always what's best for me, Kurt… At least you were."

"See?" Kurt said, straightening up in his seat, "you just proved my point! I wasn't good for you anymore." Kurt brought his hands up to wipe the tears from under Blaine's eyes, "and leaving you was the hardest thing I've ever done, but I think that, in the long run, it was the right thing."

"Kurt-" Blaine sighed.

"Just think about it Blaine," Kurt said, just a hint of a smile touching his teary eyes, "if we didn't break up you wouldn't be on the radio!"

"You don't know that."

"You weren't writing anymore, Blaine." Kurt said, his mouth turning down in a frown.

Blaine didn't say anything to that, but Kurt could see the realization in his eyes. Blaine knew it was true, even though he refused to say it out loud. He wasn't writing then, he could strum on his guitar for days on end, but he could never figure out the right words to go with the melodies. And it wasn't like he didn't try, it was all he tried to do, and that was the problem. He didn't care about anything else. He could barely be considered present in his own life.

A chocking silence settled between them. They were both stumped for what to say next. They sat there, looking at each other, taking in everything that had changed. Blaine's hair was a lot longer than when Kurt left, it almost reached the point where he would consider it a 'fro. Kurt's hair was about the same length it was when he left, but the summer sun had brought out bright, blonde highlights. Blaine forcefully averted his eyes, picking up the tumbler on the table in front of him, and taking a swig of the amber whisky. It was just the burn of courage he needed.

"So…" he set the tumbler down, watching Kurt's eyes travel from the glass, up his arm, and land back on Blaine's eyes. "If you're no good for me, why are you here?" It was what Blaine had wanted to ask since Kurt had walked through his door. Why was he here? After almost seven months of no contact whatsoever. Why did he show up today? Just as Blaine got done spilling out his regrets on paper; why did Kurt have to come just as soon as Blaine had started accepting that it was truly, one hundred percent over?

"I heard your song," Kurt said, as if that were explanation enough, "and I mean, I know I don't smoke, and my hands are actually bigger than yours, but I know it's about us Blaine."

"Of course it's about us Kurt but I don't see how-"

"I miss you too, Blaine," Kurt said, slashing through Blaine's sentence, sufficiently killing it, "and just because I made the right choice then, it doesn't mean that it's still the right choice."

"Kurt, I think you should go," Blaine stood up and moved to open the door, his hip bumping the table and sending his notebook, which had been balancing off the edge, onto the floor. Kurt bent to pick it up before Blaine could even think to stop him. Blaine watched as his eyes started to skim the lyrics scratched down onto the worn composition book pages.

Does he know

Who you are?

Does he laugh,

Just to know

What he has?

…

Do you know

Who you are?

Do you laugh,

Just to think

What I lack?

…

And do you notice when you're sad?

You don't like to be touched,

Let alone kissed

Does his love make your head spin?

Kurt held the notebook out in his shaking hand. Blaine stared at his, his back straight, his mouth set in a firm line. He looked like stone, cold and unmovable, so different from the lyrics that had spilled from his brain not even an hour ago. Those lyrics with hot with jealously and bitter memory. They were beautifully tragic, and so, so wrong.

"Blaine, what is this?"

"It's a song Kurt, what does it look like?"

"I know it's a song Blaine," Kurt flung the notebook down onto the chair beside him, "I just don't understand why you wrote it."

The stone surrounding Blaine started to crack. His eyes, now soft and vulnerable, as they fell to the floor. "Who says it's even about you?" He spoke softly, afraid if he let himself raise his voice that he'd lose all control.

"Enough bullshit, Blaine, can we just be real, and honest, and open with each other for like two seconds?"

Kurt looked back down at the scratchy lyrics, he read over the first line of again and felt bile rise in his throat. When he glanced back up Blaine looked like he was about to break. Any defense he'd put up had fallen apart, and he didn't even look like he cared. He was completely open for the first time in a long time, well before Kurt had left. Kurt could barely hold himself back, he wanted to rush into him and force him to take him back. He wanted to scream at him, there isn't anyone else, how could you think I could be with anyone else?

"I don't know why I wrote it," he sniffled and rubbed under his nose, "I didn't set out to write about you, or… It just happened. I wrote down what I was feeling, before I even realized I was feeling it," he said, "believe it or not, I try to not actively think about the person who broke my heart."

Kurt was frozen in his spot. His brain replayed those words over, and over again. The person who broke my heart, the person who broke my heart… he wondered if that was his name in Blaine's phone now… or if he was even in Blaine's phone anymore.

"I guess I just thought that you would be with somebody by now," Blaine admitted with a sad shrug and self-deprecating smile, "how could anyone pass you up?"

"There's been no one to pass me up, Blaine. I've basically either been at work or holed up in my apartment for the past 7 months. I haven't figured out how to live in this city without you. My whole New York experience has consisted of school, work, or you. I honestly have no idea what to do with my free time. Every time I want to go out I turn to ask where you want to go and you're not there and it kills me because I did this! I ruined us."

Blaine might not have been very open towards the end of their relationship, but Kurt had been pretty closed off too. Kurt had always been pretty quiet, keeping everything in until it all got to be too much and he'd go through a whole day where he'd cry about nothing and everything all at once. So maybe their breakup (or could it possibly turn into just a break?) was a ticking time bomb. Maybe it had to happen in order for them to get themselves together. And now that they had found some semblance of balanced with in themselves, could they come together and be just as balanced? Neither of them knew, but they were both more than hoping the other would be willing to at least give it a try.

"Is there any possible way at all that you would be willing to try again? To try us again?"

Kurt unknowingly held his breath. His eyes darted around Blaine's face, looking for the slightest movement. The slightest hint to him that he was not wasting his time; that coming here wasn't opening his wounds, but instead sewing up the ones that had been left gaping for so long. Blaine's eyes narrowed on the ground, right in front of Kurt's feet. Kurt watched as they soften, watched as the firm line of his mouth opened to speak, and then, oh- And then words started hitting his ears, but before Kurt's mind could string them together and comprehend them Blaine had disappeared into his music room.

Kurt stood there, in the orange light of the kitchen; his clothes still slightly damp from the rain that began to fall as Kurt had walked passed the "Big Gay Ice Cream Shop," on East 7th street, and continued until he arrived at His-Blaine's, he meant Blaine's apartment- when East 7th intersected with Avenue C. He tried so hard to work out in his mind what Blaine had said, but his brain wasn't cooperating. Should he go? Did Blaine tell him to go? Or did he tell him to wait? Could Blaine just please come back into the kitchen so Kurt could stop internally freaking out?

When he did come back into the kitchen (thank god) Kurt gave him a good look over for the first time that night. He was scruffy sure, but it wasn't more than a day and a half of growth, and when Blaine was making music he didn't stop to eat, never mind shave. His hair was loose, and a little frizzy, but it looked clean. He wore a heather grey, short sleeve button up, with a bowtie covered in little, yellow warblers untied, hanging around his neck. His shirt was tucked into a pair of navy blue Chinos, and his feet were bare, spread apart on the warm wood floor. His stance drew Kurt's attention upwards.

Blaine stood with his guitar, he fiddle with the tuning keys for a moment before he glanced over at Kurt; he smiled weakly and began to sing.

And I am alone, so don't speak

I find war, and I find peace

I find no heat, no love in me

…

And I am rude and unkind

Have no thought, and have no time

Have no eyes, so no point of view

…

And I am more than this frame,

I feel hurt and I feel shame

I just wish you would feel the same

…

My body's weak

I feel my heart giving up on me

I'm worried it might just be

My body's weak

Feel my lungs giving up on me

I'm worried it might just be

Something my soul needs

Something my soul needs

Something my soul needs

Is you, lying next to me

And it's you, lying next to me

The guitar didn't have a chance to stop humming before Kurt was on him, the guitar between them, pressing into his ribs but he could hardly feel anything beyond the electricity passing their lips as they kissed.

They shared coy smiles as they broke apart. One of Kurt's hands had disappeared some where in Blaine's curls, the other clutching his jaw, running his thumb over the prickle of stubble. One of Blaine's hands rested on Kurt's hip, while the other one traced the shallow slopes of his lips.

"We're both going to have work a lot harder than last time," Blaine's voice was a whisper, "because this time I'm not going to let you leave." Blaine tilted Kurt's chin up sharply. The pain in his eyes made Kurt want hole up with Blaine, he wished he could hold onto him forever and never let go. "I couldn't handle it is you walked out again Kurt, I couldn't-" He was shaking, tears dripping down his face.

"I'm here Blaine," his hand slipped from Blaine's cheek, he rubbed large soothing circles into his back while they rocked gently, the wood creaking below them, "I'm not going anywhere. I'll lie next to you forever if you'll let me."