likesboys | or do you still wait for me?

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or do you still wait for me?

It's date night.

Which isn't to say that Kurt doesn't spend time with Blaine every night, because he does. They both make an effort to come home as often as they can for meals, even if it's just for five minutes, a hand-off of a paper bag and a soft peck of lips. They sleep together at night, both crowding on Kurt's bed, too large for one person, slightly small for two. If it's a question of devotion, or a matter of how much time they spend together, there's no lack of contact between the both of them, not in the slightest.

But sometimes, it's nice to celebrate the ordinary. To break out of habits, spend luxuriously, venture out and set aside their burdens for a day. Date night. With candlelit dinners, a cut flower or two, and dances to jazz music playing live in the background. Quiet, rushed laughter as they head home, because as eager as they are to head out together, it's coming home that they look forward to most, unraveling and reveling in one another.

Date night.

Kurt laughs as Blaine crowds him from behind, peppered kisses tickling the nape of his neck as he tries valiantly to jam his key into the lock, hands fumbling slightly and deepening the flush on his cheeks, and someone's going to hear, someone's going to complain, but it's date night, so Kurt can't bring himself to care.

Until he hears the click of the door, pushing it inside, just in time for a sudden vision to pass in front of his eyes.

Red. He was wearing red, and Blaine was wearing a checkered collar, no tie. His eyes, rimmed pink from that — piano keys tinkling in the background — and a question delivered with that slow, knotting sensation deep in his belly.

Kurt takes a step inside the apartment, and it's dark, but he remembers — the glow of his phone and the vibration signaling a text, and he — missed calls, messages waiting — no, Kurt, you shouldn't answer that, what good is it going to do?

I need to see him. Can't sleep, tossing and turning, waking up with a cold sweat and that unchangeable ache in his chest. Bright lights, glaring to look at, but eyes wide and watching his descent down those stairs, and he looks good, he always looks good, the type of face you could fall in love with over and over. The cutest.

He feels like he's about to die.

The worst thing is, as soon as he turns around, gaze dizzyingly landing on Blaine again, Kurt knows exactly what's missing.

The trust.

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It's like passing into an alternate dimension all over again. One second he's pressed against Kurt's back, laughing as he litters impatient kisses at the nape of his neck and the next they're stumbling inside and it's like hitting a wall.

Everything looks the same, he hasn't suddenly stepped into an entirely new reality this time. But everything feels instantly different. It happens in a flash, an onslaught of images he doesn't remember but knows somehow to be real: kisses shared in the middle of the Dalton common room, others hidden in the dorms later; singing goodbye (goodbye?) on the steps of McKinley and then singing again soon after, but happier this time, smiling brightly. He sees kisses shared in a high school auditorium, intimate touches beneath sheets he feels he somehow knows too well, the cold slice of colored ice against his face and a warm hand in his later, comforting. He sees and remembers clutching a phone in his palm - not his - seeing words that make his chest ache and his stomach curdle and then clutching at skin later, recovering. He sees the flash of a red graduation robe and feels the warmth pride down to his toes, sees bags packed and a tear-soaked face and it hurts, but it's not a bad hurt. Not entirely.

Not until--

He sees a phone again, Kurt's face on his computer. He feels a loss in his stomach, a loneliness unlike any he's felt before. He sees a name and an unfamiliar bedroom, feels lips on his that -- no. No, no, no.

And then he's in New York. It has to be New York. He's in New York and he's singing -- don't ever look back, don't ever look back -- and everything hurts, everything hurts. He's standing in a park and Kurt's eyes are wet and they're sharing a bed, Blaine curled as close to the opposite edge as possible and he's calling and calling and I'm sorry, Kurt, I'm so so sorry and there's nothing but silence in return. Nothing but an ever-growing ache in his chest, a hole in his very core.

He's standing in a hall in McKinley, he's standing in front of Kurt, speechless and with his heart in his throat and -- I don't trust you... this isn't home anymore -- and Kurt's walking away. He's walking away.

They're three feet apart in the entryway of the apartment they've been sharing for months and Blaine can see, he can see that Kurt feels it too, his eyes dark and guarded in a way Blaine's never seen them.

"Kurt," he breathes, voice shaky, pleading with a terrified intensity he can suddenly feel in his very marrow.

The terrifying things in the city were always the ones that Kurt didn't understand. The ghouls that appeared in nightmares, seemingly out of nowhere, arising from the shadows and disappearing in a cloud of dust. Fire licking at his skin, screams curdling his blood, all of his dad's reassurances that monsters simply didn't exist flying out the window. What makes Darrow frightening is how it doesn't follow any of the rules of their world, how nothing is predictable, how Kurt expects the ground to drop out from under them at any moment but doesn't know why, can't even begin to fathom why.

But this is so much worse.

Because he gets it.

Even if time clashes, timelines overlapping in a way that Kurt knows is physically impossible, he can't focus on the disjointed experiences. He can only focus on the hurt that folds within him, because even if he hasn't walked those steps, now his heart has, now he knows what it'd be like to. He knows that they don't survive distance, and that's the most damning thing of all. Before he realizes it, his cheeks are wet, warm, hot with tears that spill into the hand that he quickly raises to his eyes, because this is—

—this is humiliating, caving to Blaine now feels like shame. Kurt sighs, breath leaving him faster than he likes.

"Blaine?" he asks, his voice soft and unsure as he leans against the wall, shivering all over. He's not supposed to cry in front of Blaine — Blaine's the only one he feels free crying in front of — Blaine's lost his trust — there's no one he trusts more. Kurt heaves a breath, and he just can't, that impossible push and pull leaving him staggering in its wake.

There's a lump the size of a small boulder in Blaine's throat; he can't swallow past it. Can barely even breathe. He feels like he's shaking all over, confusion mixing with a bone-deep understanding of exactly what's happened. It didn't happen here maybe, but it happened and he knows what it means, he knows the consequences and he can't breathe.

"Kurt, I'm so sorry," he whispers and the words feel repetitive, like he's said it a thousand times already. "I didn't-- Please, just. Let me explain."

And that's the worst of it, he thinks. He wants to explain, he needs to explain, but what can he even say? What words exist that could possibly justify what he's done?

He takes a step closer, testing almost, one hand reaching out. "Please, Kurt."

Kurt flinches at the word, because this isn't the consolation he wanted. This isn't even half of what he wanted — half of what he's hoping for now that his entire world feels shifted on its side. He's not even sure how resolution managed to worm its way into his chest so quickly, but he's molding already, slipping and melting into the shape of someone else, someone not yet stronger but grown all the same, like he's too tall and might tumble over at the slightest wind. This is the problem, Kurt thinks. He feels like someone else already, even if he shouldn't be, even if a dream or a tumble of scenes shouldn't come even close to that.

Memories of Darrow are still there, but Kurt feels like he has to sift faster and faster through falling sand, clinging to that part of him that wants to shake this away like they do most else in the city.

Because he cannot imagine, cannot fathom being alone here.

"I don't want an explanation," Kurt says, wrapping his arms more tightly around himself. He was so sure back in Lima, so why...? Of all things, why is this what he can't gather from that time? He feels vulnerable. He feels hurt, aching, shaken. "There's nothing to explain, Blaine, I just... I don't know why I suddenly don't trust, I... oh god."

His gaze remains on the ground, hateful. Of all the things to take, he can't fathom how the city managed to pull this away.

Kurt flinches and Blaine lets his hand drop, his heart going with it as he watches the emotions play out on Kurt's face, the betrayal evident in every deep line and dark furrow. And he put that there. Maybe not here, not in this strange, terrifying city where they've only had each other to cling to, but he put it there all the same. He remembers it.

Why is this happening? After everything they've gone through together, why this?

He feels different all over. Older and more worn and lonely and miserable. He's never experienced anything like this before in his life. He doesn't know how to handle any of it; he doesn't know what to do.

"I know why," he says, quiet and resigned. "But I don't... I don't understand why this is happening. I love you."

"You cheated on me," Kurt breathes before anything else. The horrible thing is, everything that's just passed through their minds, Kurt knows that it's real. Somehow, deep in his heart, he recognizes himself in all of it, he recognizes Blaine in all of it, and he can't stop the way that his heart feels like it's being ripped in two. Maybe he shouldn't be blaming Blaine for any of this, maybe he shouldn't be thinking of this path that they've apparently taken back home, because Darrow is different. Because Blaine's never done anything that's even slightly betrayed their relationship.

But the tear feels so very, very real. And even if this hasn't happened in Darrow, it could. Oh god, it could. If Blaine finds someone better, if Kurt's too busy, if Kurt slips up and gets involved in his own projects.

"You cheated on me even after... after everything with Chandler, I," Kurt takes a careful breath, shaking his head as his gaze drops to the ground. "This feels wrong. All of this feels so wrong."

It feels strange to hear that name, the sound of it somehow foreign and all too familiar at once. It has an immediate effect on him, his stomach pulling tight and his heart turning over. He doesn't know Chandler beyond the words he'd seen on Kurt's phone, but that's all he'd needed.

Kurt doesn't know Eli. (God, Eli is his name. It feels just as awful to think of that, to know it, to remember the things he'd had no idea about until only seconds ago.) Kurt doesn't know Eli, but he doesn't need to. He knows all he needs to.

"I-- I don't," Blaine says, weak and fumbling for words, still staring at Kurt as though it's the last time he'll ever get to see him. Maybe it will be. "We didn't-- I didn't sleep with him. Kurt, please. Please believe me, I didn't sleep with him."

"That's not the point—"

Kurt takes a sudden pull of breath, eyes wide as he raises both hands to his temples, rubbing small circles there. It's too much to take in at once, a whiplash of emotion that leaves him unable to distinguish between left and right. He feels everything, so strongly that it might as well be a punch to the gut, but this isn't how he felt a mere two minutes ago, and Kurt isn't sure what to do, isn't sure how to feel when they were so happy, deliriously happy, when everything was fine until this sudden reveal.

"It doesn't matter what you did with him, Blaine, that doesn't matter," he says, shaking his head, because he can't pull this discomfort away. Or the fear that's suddenly wormed its way into his chest. "You're just, what, gonna tell that all you did was hook up, that it was only a kiss, I, Blaine I can't, why couldn't you have just told me that you were hurting instead of..."

Feeling the world spinning around him, Kurt shakes his head vigorously, stepping towards the kitchen and reaching out to tug a chair away from the table. He feels like he's going to be sick.

"I don't know," Blaine says, feeling more and more helpless by the second.

It seems so simple when Kurt says it like that, the words echoing the ones Blaine can hear so clearly in his head now from months ago in a universe he's suddenly been reacquainted with. Just talk to me, don't cheat on me. "I don't, I just-- You were so happy out there. You had a whole new life and I just... I wasn't in it anymore. I wasn't a part of it."

It's not an excuse at all. Not even close. But Blaine can remember the feeling all the same, can remember the ache of watching Kurt slip through his fingers little by little. Every phone call that would slide into the excitement of Kurt's new life, all the new people he'd met and the places he'd gone and the once-in-a-lifetime experiences. Every one paired with the quiet dismissal of Blaine's own daily, monotonous life. The calls and Skyping sessions that had dwindled little by little, leaving Blaine to wonder constantly where Kurt might be, what he might be doing, who he might be with. Every second weighing heavier and heavier until he couldn't see any other choice, couldn't see beyond his own overwhelming misery.

Kurt was going to leave him, he was certain. It was only a matter of time.

"I was alone out there," Kurt breathes, suddenly shuddering as he weaves his fingers into his hair, mussing it and all the strands awry at the mere thought of what Blaine's accusing him of now. Of being happy, of leaving Blaine entirely behind. While in truth, life in New York isn't nearly as glamorous as Kurt once expected it to be. Working for Vogue was the start of a dream come true, but in all of the matters of the heart, in friends and in confidantes, New York's been lacking. Throwing himself into work and climbing the ranks is the best distraction to keep his thoughts away from how he feels whenever Rachel brings Brody around, smiling like she's over the moon.

"I had to spend every day watching Rachel go off to NYADA and meet guys and even start looking at auditions while I was, what? Taking calls and making appointments, serving coffee. Vogue is, Isabelle is great," says Kurt, heaving another deep breath. "And my coworkers are always dressed to the nines, and that was new to me, and the fact that they liked my sense of fashion was new to me but Blaine, Blaine I never would have — I wanted you there. I missed you, I always missed you."

Shaking his head, Kurt squeezes his eyes shut, dragging a hand down his face. "I don't want to talk about this."

You weren't, Blaine desperately wants to argue. He'd had Rachel and Isabelle and a dozen people at the Vogue office he talked about all the time, all the opportunities that were falling into place for him. It wasn't NYADA, it wasn't Kurt's dream maybe, but it was close. And, more importantly, it was a life Blaine couldn't share. While Kurt was busy drinking with fashion moguls and devastatingly attractive models, Blaine was stuck in high school, studying chemistry and joining every club he could think of in an effort to keep busy and stop his mind from wandering. He even ran for class president and won and Kurt hardly seemed to care at all.

And why would he? What could the small world of Lima, Ohio matter to Kurt at all anymore?

"I never felt it," he finally manages after a few moments, the words barely making it past his throat before he pulls in a breath. "I couldn't tell that you missed me. I couldn't feel it. All I saw was you slipping away from me and I-- I don't know. I panicked. I don't know."

It sounds like excuses. Like justification for what happened, like Blaine would do it again if Kurt ever started to slip, and there's something about it, something painful and something almost retributive. Kurt remembers the way that Blaine looked in the park that night, and he just can't imagine, can't imagine what he did to deserve it. Just a hook-up. Just panic. Meanwhile, Kurt feels like he's been torn in half, and like Blaine ran off with the better part of him. He glances off to the side, listening to the silence of their apartment. Their apartment. This is the life that Kurt always wanted to live with Blaine, but now it's all...

...it's ruined.

"How am I supposed to trust you?" Kurt asks, eyes still not meeting Blaine's gaze, skirting instead over the grain of the table. He keeps his arms wrapped protectively around himself, and he wants to duck into his room, hide under the covers, anything but sit and listen to this. "I... I don't think I. I don't know if I can."

Blaine has to swallow keep himself from whimpering or choking on the pleas that want to break free. But the truth is, he doesn't at all know how to answer that. Because he knows, he knows he messed this all up. Regardless of how alone he'd felt, how forgotten, it still doesn't excuse what he did. He knew it the second Eli kissed him, felt it in every touch that wasn't Kurt, wasn't the love of his life, wasn't the man he was meant to spend the rest of his life loving.

Blinking past the tears welling in his eyes, Blaine nods quickly. He doesn't realize he's stepping back towards the door until the back of his leg bumps into the table by the door.

"I'm don't know," he finally manages, broken and pathetic as he curls an arm around his middle. He feels like he's dying, like his entire world has been turned upside down in an instant because it has. He never imagined anything could feel as bad as this. "I don't know, I should-- I'll leave you alone, okay? I'll leave you alone. I'm sorry."

On some level, Kurt knows he's supposed to chase after Blaine now. He knows that the kind thing to do would be to stop Blaine, to at least talk soundly and evenly about the matter. He knows that he should show some amount of compassion, maybe even turn more suspicion on the city itself, rather than assume that Blaine is actually capable of all these memories swirling through his mind. He should, but he can't bring himself to pick his weight up and off of the chair. He can't bring himself to look. Everything's at a heavy standstill around him, and Kurt hates it. It makes him feel more powerless than he has in years, honestly. Years.

He can't help but feel that flare of anger, even though it's already tired.

So he continues sitting on his chair, leaning forward to press his forehead against the palm of his hand.

As soon as he hears the front door close, Kurt's shoulders shake, and he carefully lowers himself down onto the table, burying his face into the crook of his elbow.

Kurt doesn't stop him. Blaine knows he shouldn't have expected him to, but he also can't deny that it hurts all the same. He lingers outside the door for a few moments, waiting and trying to breathe. Trying to figure out how this could possibly be happening.

And Kurt still doesn't come for him.

He has no idea how much time passes before he finally peels himself away from the wall, exhausted and broken as he heads for the stairs. His apartment is only a couple floors down, but he hasn't stepped foot in it in months. There hasn't been any need. He's lucky he still carries around the key, that he hasn't had the energy to figure out what to do with it, if he should alert anyone about its vacancy or try to rent it out on his own. It smells cold and musty when he opens the door and he's surprised to find the electricity still works.

As Blaine steps inside and closes the door behind him, he feels the stone in his stomach grow heavier and he crumples to the floor, knees drawn up as he buries his face in his arms. And cries like he hasn't in years.

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or do you still wait for me?

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