I wrote this after a particularly difficult day at school. Without getting into detail, I was feeling really down. I tried talking to my mom, but she just didn't quite understand where I was coming from. So, instead of trying to seek out comfort from somewhere I knew I wouldn't get it, I decided to create my own escape. Of course, as my mind works, my first idea was Klaine. I tried to think of a reason why either Kurt or Blaine would need a lot of TLC, and I thought of Kurt losing Pavarotti. I picked up where Klaine left off in "Original Songs," leaving Pav's grave. In this fic, the students at Dalton live on campus. I honestly don't think the story is very realistic myself, but I wasn't writing to be realistic, so I'm okay with it. (And yes, I shamelessly took my title from a chapter in the Half-Blood Prince. LOL.)

Writing Began: April 19, 2011

Enjoy!

Their hands remained locked together as Kurt and Blaine returned to campus, leaving behind the tree where Pavarotti now rest under a small headstone and a few shovels of dirt, viewable from the window of the Dalton common room often used for Warblers' meetings. Kurt felt Blaine's worried eyes watching him from time to time as they walked through the almost empty hallways on the way to their rooms.

When they reached the door with a plaque that identified it as number 517, Blaine continued walking, passing his own room as he escorted Kurt all the way to 542. Stepping inside, Blaine couldn't hide a tiny smile of affection. The room was just so Kurt. From the table covered in products vital to his nightly moisturizing routine, to the closet hooks hung with scarves, to the French textbook he read for enjoyment laying open on his desk.

Against his palm, Blaine felt a tremble in Kurt's fingers. Breaking out of his reverie, he glanced at Kurt's face once again. His eyes were sparkling with unshed tears. Blaine followed his gaze and saw Pavarotti's cage sitting empty on Kurt's bedside table, looking perfectly normal apart from the missing yellow bird. The silence in the room was poignant without his cheerful song.

A shaky breath escaped Kurt's lips, and Blaine squeezed his hand, leading the way to the bed. He sat down on the soft comforter, pulling Kurt into his arms. If he was embarrassed by his grief, Kurt didn't let it show, willingly snuggling into Blaine's comforting embrace. Blaine held his boyfriend's shaking form, running a hand across his back in a soothing rhythm. He let Kurt cry, soaking his neck and the shoulder of his blazer. After a while the tears slowed and finally stopped. Kurt's breathing became normal, and his tremors subsided, but Blaine did not let go. He was content to stay here as long as he was needed.

They remained silent, even as they shifted into more comfortable positions. The shadows in the room grew longer; the sky outside the window grew darker, and still Blaine did not leave. Curfew be damned. Wordlessly, as 11:00 rolled around, they kicked off their shoes, hung up their blazers, and took off their ties. Kurt's eyes were still red and puffy, but pain was not the only emotion Blaine could see. There was a sparkle of hope, a ghost of happiness starting to emerge.

Their lips met, and the sparkle grew into a loving glow. In the darkness, they crawled under the covers together. In the too-small bed, they cuddled close, warm in each other's arms. Kurt felt a single tear slide down his cheek, but the cause was joy, not pain. Leaning close, he pressed a kiss to Blaine's lips, murmuring a "Thank you," as he closed his eyes…