disappear — yeah, well, you wanna try

[likesboys]

Kurt wakes up with a jolt to the sharp sound of Cat meowing from a good three feet away. His face is smashed into the cushions, and a quick brush of his fingers tells Kurt that the imprint of the fringe is deep and clear over his cheeks. The world doesn't pound yet, but it spins, and as he pulls himself up into a seated position, Kurt immediately remembers flashes from earlier in the evening — colorful lights, pulsing music, the sharp hint of alcohol in the air and bodies pressed close on the dance floor. Suddenly, the apartment feels too empty as he tries to piece everything together, step by step, rubbing at his eyes until his gaze falls on his cat.

"Don't judge," he warns with a pointed finger, yawning as he gets to his feet and nearly stumbles down again.

There are certain details which are oddly clear, while the rest of the world remains heavy and hidden under a blur. For instance, the unlocked chain of the door means that Neil was the one to send him home. The trash bin by the side of his couch means that he's had a lot more to drink than he ever has before. And, suddenly, more than anything else, Kurt remembers that he hasn't checked his mail today. He usually checks it at the end of the day, before his nightly shower, wanting a pile to go through before bed and whatever relevant letters waiting for him when he first wakes up.

And he just... hasn't checked his mail today.

So, with a groan and a stretch, and a pair of rolled eyes directed at Cat, Kurt stands up as straight as he can, striding directly for the door. He still feels... well, dizzy. Like the world doesn't matter. Like...

"There's a moment you know you're fucked!" he sings as he heads down the stairwell, conscious enough not to want to run into anyone on the elevator. "Not an inch more room to self-destruct. No more moves, oh yeah, the dead-end zone. Man, you just can't call your soul your own."

It's nice to sing and just not care who overhears.

Comments

[likesboys]

Kurt lets out a few shallow breaths, processing Blaine's words. Would it be okay for Kurt to text him tomorrow? If Blaine plans on doing that, can't Kurt just invite him to stay the night? Make it all easier? He squeezes his eyes shut shortly after the thought, pushing it out of mind and trying to settle himself enough to sleep.

"Yeah, I'll let you know," Kurt says, nodding his head vigorously before letting momentum settle him back on the bed, burying his cheek against the pillow and his nose more deeply against the fabric, holding it to himself to block everything out. "I'm... I'll text you. Sometime. Get lunch? But now I need to... just sleep this off. And never go clubbing again."

[thewarbler]

Something in Blaine's chest breaks a little more as he takes the water glass from Kurt so Kurt can settle back into the bed. The bedding is achingly familiar and with Kurt nestled into it, face smashed into the pillow as Blaine gently draws the comforter up over him, he can't help but reminded of so many nights where he was able and welcome to slide into the other side.

Luckily, Kurt's eyes are closed, leaving him blissfully unaware to the way Blaine's own start to sting as he starts heading for the door, quietly placing the trashcan near the bed just in case. He lets himself indulge in a few more moments of watching -- just to be sure he's really okay, he tells himself -- before turning the lights off.

Only after he's sure he can speak clearly, he says, "Sleep well, Kurt."

The I love you, he manages to keep to himself as he makes his way back to the kitchen to put the glass in the dishwasher. He doesn't let himself linger any, doesn't want to see all the ways the apartment still looks the same or all the ways Kurt has tried to erase his presence. He just flips off the light and quietly leaves, closing the door behind him with a faint click.

[likesboys]

He pretends to sleep. It's not that hard, surprisingly. He tells himself to hold still, to even out his breathing, to do whatever it takes to reassure Blaine enough for him to leave, and every direct order he gives himself lulls him further into that smooth, even rhythm of breathing. Maybe he really does almost fall asleep. Almost. Up until he hears Blaine's words and has to seize up, every part of his body, to keep Blaine from coming back. Because Blaine can't come back, not now, otherwise Kurt knows deep in his chest that his resolve will crumble and that, above everything, can't happen right now.

But his breath starts to waver as soon as he hears Blaine's footsteps retreat, hears the slide of the dishwasher's tray, far too loud for a model from recent years. And he hears the door shut. Hears the lock slide. And that's it, that's enough, that's too much as Kurt suddenly pushes his face further into the pillow, tears sliding hot and seeping into the fabric. He doesn't cry loudly, too afraid of drawing Blaine back somehow; instead, he sniffles and muffles his cries in the cushion, the heels of his palms pressing deeply against his eyes, as though he might be able to stem the flow.

When he murmurs apologies under his breath, stomach turning and twisting, he can't tell who he's directing them towards.

Maybe both Blaine and himself.