do you ever play with kids in the basement,
soot upon your face so you were a hot mess?
It's a sunny, chilly day in the fall of 2000. Red, orange, and yellow leaves flutter and dance to the ground, falling from the trees around an old, battered house in Lima, Ohio. The neighborhood is quiet on the Saturday afternoon, people taking advantage of the somewhat nice weather to relax.
On the front porch of the house, a small, young boy wriggles out from his sleeping father's grip, hopping carefully from the swinging bench. His small legs carry him to the front door, which he pushes open with most of his strength. The lights inside the house are off, the living room bathed in afternoon sunlight. The small boy runs forward, looking around the room.
"Mommy?" he calls out.
But she doesn't answer.
The small child thinks for just a moment, before carefully venturing down the tall stairs, his chubby fingers gripping tightly to the railing as he thumps from step to step. As soon as he hits the floor of the basement, he takes off at a run, stopping in the middle of his mother's makeshift art studio.
"Mommy?" he asks again, quieter this time.
The room is just as empty as the living room was, and the boy frowns, getting frustrated. He turns to leave, but his little mind gets distracted easily by the canvases shoved up against the wall. His fingers move up to his mouth as he looks at his mother's paintings, his young mind lost to the underlying meanings and metaphors.
He sees the gentle brush of leaves on one canvas, met by the rough trunk of a tree. On the next one, the curves of an ocean wave span across the length, and the boy smiles, thinking of the summer months that have suddenly disappeared. He reaches forward to touch the canvas when a small noise interrupts his thoughts.
The boy turns around, looking curiously around the room for the creator of the noise, but nothing's there. Most six-year-olds would feel scared, would possibly run at a time like this, but he's simply filled with wonder.
"Hello?" he whispers.
Across the room, below the small window that filters dusty sunlight, a can of paintbrushes have fallen over. From underneath the work bench, the boy can make out a crouched silhouette.
"I can see you," he says, talking to the person.
The silhouette moves, crawling forward and straightening up.
The boy stares at it, eyebrows furrowed together, confused. The silhouette is a person, but not a normal one. His body is made of wisps, clear and undefined, shifting around in constant motion, making it almost impossible to make him out. He's small, probably the same age as the human boy, and he stands nervously twiddling his transparent fingers.
"Who are you?" the first boy asks, not apprehensive at all; just eager to make new friends.
"Blaine," he replies quietly, his voice unlike anything the other boy has ever heard. It's as if he's speaking through a window, the sound struggling to get through.
"Oh, hello," he says. "I'm Kurt."
"Hi," Blaine says slowly, looking at Kurt with an uneasy expression.
"What's wrong?" Kurt asks, moving closer.
Blaine flinches, stepping back. "Don't- don't you want to run away from me?" he asks.
"Why?" Kurt asks, cocking his head. "You seem nice."
Blaine looks at the floor, moving his sneakered foot around. "Usually when I try to talk to other people, they run away. They're always scared."
"That's silly," Kurt says, smiling. He opens his mouth to ask if Blaine will play with him, when his mother's voice travels down the stairs.
"Kurt?" she calls. "Kurt, sweetie, where are you?"
"Oh no," Blaine whispers so Kurt can hardly hear him. "I have to go."
"What- why?" Kurt asks, turning to look as his mother enters the room.
"There you are!" she exclaims, her face lighting up at the sight of her son. She scoops him up into her arms. "Who were you talking to?"
Kurt looks back to where Blaine had been standing, only to find he's gone. He turns back to his mother, pouting. "There was a boy," he says. "But he's gone now. I don't think he wants to play with me."
"Oh, dear," she says, giggling. "Your first imaginary friend."
"I didn't imagine him, Mommy," Kurt says, smiling and smacking his mother's shoulder.
"Of course you didn't, sweetheart," she assures, turning back to go up the stairs. "Now where's your father?"
"Daddy fell asleep," Kurt confirms.
His mother mumbles insults as she carries him upstairs, but Kurt doesn't listen as he looks behind her. Just before the door to the basement shuts, he catches a glimpse of the same boy- Blaine- before he disappears again.
and all your little molars cracked in the pressure
come here little [boy], let's get you to bed
It's been over a year, and as the cold wind whistles through the house, Kurt shivers, burying deeper into his blankets. He watches the snow swirl past the window, fighting off the drowsiness. He turns over, looking at the rocking chair in the corner of the room, where Blaine sits, crossing his legs.
"Aren't you cold?" Kurt asks, shivering once more.
"No," Blaine replies, shrugging. "I can't really feel cold or hot." He looks uncomfortably at his feet, folding his hands in his lap.
"Oh," Kurt says. "You're lucky. I don't like being cold. Or too hot. I like it when things are just warm."
Blaine forces an awkward smile, trying to hide his discomfort.
Kurt smiles back before yawning. "I'm really tired," he informs Blaine. "I think I'm going to sleep." He yanks his quilt over himself more tightly.
Blaine shifts his weight in the chair, feeling very out of place. "Goodnight," he says softly.
Kurt's eyelids snap open, and he stares at Blaine curiously. "Aren't you tired?"
"I'm not tired that often," Blaine replies quietly, and as small as he is, Kurt can still see through the barrier that the unique boy is putting up. He doesn't feel like he belongs, and Kurt would do anything to change that.
"You look tired to me," he lies. He pushes himself up, whipping the blankets off of himself. "I'll make you a bed on the floor next to me," he promises, hopping from his bed and running to the dresser. He opens the bottom, rickety drawer, bending over to snatch a soft, old blanket. Returning to his bed, he lays it carefully on the floor smoothing it out. He climbs atop his bed, grabbing a pillow and dropping it on the floor next to the blanket.
"There," he says, admiring his work. "Come on, Blaine."
He watches the boy get up from the chair, leaving it completely still. He bends down awkwardly, situating himself on top of the blanket.
Resting his head on the pillow, Blaine says, "Thank you, Kurt."
"You're welcome, Blaine," he says, smiling and crawling back under his own blankets. "Goodnight," he sighs.
but, oh, you caught me sleeping in the power sockets
you caught me mildew in the tiles of the bathroom
and, oh, you shot a glance like i was doing okay
but i am never on my way
The two boys grow older, start changing, and not only do their looks change, but so does their personalities. Kurt grows taller, freckles dot his cheeks, and he starts slicking back his hair. Blaine grows bigger, his curls becoming thicker, and the white swirls that make up his body start stretching thin, his entire silhouette slipping farther into nonexistence.
As Kurt grows up, he starts socializing, he starts realizing that Blaine can't be a part of his life so easily anymore.
Other children have long gotten rid of their imaginary friends, replacing them with real ones, and though Kurt is certain Blaine is not a figment of his imagination, he knows their relationship is not a normal one. Kurt seems to be the only who notices Blaine anymore.
They still enjoy each other's company, preferring to spend it together alone in Kurt's bedroom, relaxing in the laziness of the evenings. Kurt reads and does his schoolwork and Blaine observes him, sometimes reading along, sometimes toying with the things in Kurt's room, trying to move, to even touch them.
It's a particularly hot day in the summer before Kurt enters fifth grade, and the two of them sit on Kurt's bed, simply talking.
"Blaine," Kurt says quietly, and immediately the other boy knows this is something important, something that he's been dying to say.
"Hmmm?" Blaine asks, rubbing his fingers uselessly against Kurt's bed sheets; he can't feel them.
"Have- have you ever seen my mother?" he asks softly, looking at Blaine with vulnerability evident in his expression. "I mean- after her death. I've never seen her- I think I should be able to if I can see you- but I'm not sure how it works- if two spirits can see each other, or-"
"Kurt," Blaine starts, stopping the boy from his strangled rant. "I'm sorry. I've never seen her."
"Oh," Kurt says, looking down at his lap. "I kind of expected. Like I said- if I can see you . . " he trails off, expression turning deeply thoughtful.
After a good length of time, Blaine finally speaks. "What are you thinking about?"
Kurt sighs, turning back to him, eyes shining with a sort of longing. "You know this is going to be difficult, right? Our friendship?"
Blaine nods sadly, his image flickering. "I know. But it's worth it."
Kurt smiles, desperately hoping so.
do you ever run with him in the morning,
think about jumping over the back fence?
Kurt has started middle school, and as the days drag on, and Blaine waits around the Hummel house, avoiding his father until he returns, their relationship starts to go through some heavy strain.
Kurt starts making closer friends, real ones- with beating hearts and breathing lungs. Ones who can touch him, feel their skin against his. Ones who can be seen in his company. And slowly, Blaine goes through a new human emotion.
It's a Sunday when he spots the two of them walking down the sidewalk together, hands tucked into pockets. He's tall and lanky, dressed in an old flannel shirt, and he walks with a sort of semi-graceful lope. He's full of color, and heat, and life.
Blaine watches as he says something to Kurt, leaning his face down to Kurt's level. Kurt throws his head back, laughing. The other boy bumps his shoulder and he calms down, settling on just a simple, bright smile.
Blaine looks down at himself, all image, all spirit and nothing else. He reaches out, trying to touch the windowsill, but his fingers simply slip through the wood. He used to be able to touch some things, but as he grows older, and his spirit grows more weary, all the things that make him the least bit human start to slip away. He can't even step anymore; he simply glides.
Kurt doesn't return to his room until after dinner, sighing heavily as he opens his door. He jumps at the sight of Blaine on his bed, putting his hand over his heart.
"You scared me," he breathes, smiling slightly.
Blaine says nothing, crossing his wispy arms.
Kurt sets his backpack down on the floor beside the door, wriggling out of his sweatshirt. Throwing it over his desk chair, he moves towards the bed. He takes a more observant look at Blaine. His face is set in an angry expression, his eyes showing the faintest hint of disappointment.
"What's wrong?" he asks immediately.
"Oh- nothing, nothing," Blaine lies, raising his eyebrows innocently. He huffs, looking out the window, eyes scanning over the path Kurt and the other guy had just walked. "Had a nice time with whatsisface, did you?" he asks bitterly.
Kurt ignores his tone, answering the question politely. "His name is Finn, and yes, I did," he says, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Finn," Blaine scoffs softly, and luckily the fading quality of his voice makes it hard for Kurt to hear.
"Look," Kurt says, staring him down. "If there's something I did wrong, please tell me so I can fix it. I don't want to upset you."
Blaine is silent for a moment, still averting his eyes as he thinks of a way he can say what's on his mind. "You can't fix it," he finally blurts out.
Kurt's eyebrows come together as he looks at Blaine confusedly. "Why do you say that?"
"Because this is too difficult," Blaine huffs, throwing his arms down and jumping from the bed. He turns around to face Kurt, anger and frustration burning in his clear eyes. "Because this was never going to work."
"Blaine," Kurt breathes, shocked and startled. "Blaine- what are you talking about?"
"Us!" Blaine exclaims. "Our friendship. I can't be better than him, Kurt."
"Him?" Kurt questions.
"That guy!" Blaine shouts, pointing his arm towards the window. "Finn- or whatever the hell his name is. I can't compete with him. I can't even compare with him, Kurt- because he's alive."
"Blaine, calm down," Kurt says, his eyes wide, just a bit of hurt showing in them.
"I can't calm down!" Blaine yells. "I hate this. I hate that we can't just be friends without having to worry about everything. I hate that I can't be a good enough friend for you. I hate that this is going to have to end. And I hate that you're just going to brush me off as if we never knew each other."
"Blaine, stop," Kurt says, his voice wavering. "We can work through this. I promise you."
"No- you don't," Blaine says exasperatedly. "Because obviously this Finn guy means a lot more to you than I do." He shakes his head, turning his body. "And you know, that's just fine. Before I met you, I was used to being on my own. I can get used to that again."
He turns to leave, and Kurt jumps from the bed.
"Please, Blaine," he whispers. "I'm sorry. Blaine, don't go!" he says, alarmed.
But he's already heading for the door. Kurt chases after him, and tries to grab his arm.
But his fingers only grab air.
Kurt drops hopelessly to the floor and cries.
seven different places need a bitter mending
all we use are eyes to fill in the missing gaps
Blaine is fourteen years old when he realizes he's in love with Kurt.
He's fourteen years old when he realizes that this can never, possibly work. He's fourteen when he foolishly believes it could. He's fourteen years old when he breaks his own heart.
Of course he'd returned after their fight those few years ago, apologizing and telling Kurt how stupid he'd been. He promised to be more understanding of Kurt's social life and to not get jealous or worried when they couldn't be together all the time.
It's a chilly spring afternoon, and the two of them sit outside, the neighborhood quiet and deserted. It's just stopped raining, and Kurt runs his finger along the wet wood of the porch. Blaine watches him, an empty feeling in his nonexistent stomach. He sighs, looking at Kurt.
He looks at the way his eyes sparkle, even without the sunlight, blues mixing with greens and grays. He looks at the way his rosy lips curve. He looks at the way his brown hair poofs backward on top of his head. He looks at the curve of his pale jaw line, and he wishes just for a moment that he could touch it.
"You okay?" Kurt asks, and Blaine curses under his breath as he shakes his head.
"Yeah- sorry," he says.
"Something's on your mind," Kurt accuses, and Blaine wishes that sometimes he wouldn't be so perceptive.
He sighs, leaning back. He touches the step of the porch too, but he can't feel the water, or the wood, or anything at all. He frowns, and if he could've cried at that point, he would've.
"I can't stand it," he finally admits, his voice quiet, and Kurt has to lean closer to hear him.
"What?" Kurt asks.
"This," he says, and slowly, carefully, he reaches out his fingers, attempting to wrap them around Kurt's wrist, but they simply go though. Kurt stares at his hand, unsure of what to say.
"I can't stand not being able to feel," Blaine continues. "It's like a curse. We're friends, but I can't touch you. I can't pat your knee. I can't hold your hand. I can't hug you. I can't do anything. And I . . I- I just wish I could."
Kurt looks sadly down at Blaine's hand for a moment, which looks like it's resting on the floor of the porch. His expression turns thoughtful before he smiles. He meets Blaine's eyes. "We can pretend," he says.
And he puts his hand over Blaine's, his fingers vanishing into the transparent ones.
"There," Kurt says. "Now it's like we're holding hands."
"But I still can't feel it." Blaine sighs heavily, but doesn't move.
Kurt smiles wider. "But I can."
Blaine's head snaps up, looking at Kurt seriously. "What does it feel like?"
Kurt laughs a little before answering. "It's cold," he says. "It's a misty cold. But at least there's something there."
Blaine grins, and carefully moves his hand, fixing it around Kurt's as if he was holding it gently. He looks up, examining Kurt's expression. He looks pleasantly surprised.
"Oh," he breathes.
"What?" Blaine asks eagerly.
"I- I can feel the shape," Kurt says breathlessly. "I can feel the shape of your hand- your- your fingers."
The two of them stay there like that, marveling in the miracle that is touch. Neither of them moves a muscle for what feels like hours. Something like this always seemed so impossible, but slowly, gradually it seemed to work.
And though Blaine still can't feel a thing, after awhile, he begins to feel the warmth of Kurt's hand, and his clear eyes actually burn, as if he could cry.
After awhile, the two of them start to believe the impossible. After awhile, the two of them start to believe that this could work.
After awhile, the two of them start to believe that they could be together.
but, oh, you caught me sleeping in the power sockets
you caught me mildew in the tiles of the bathroom
and, oh, you shot a glance like i was doing okay
but i am never on my way
Kurt is sixteen years old when he falls in love with Blaine.
Kurt is sixteen years old when he knows that Blaine is a spirit, and he's a human, and this could be the craziest idea ever. Kurt is sixteen years old when Blaine thinks that idea is a little too crazy to work. Kurt is sixteen years old when their relationship takes an incredible turn, for the better or worse, they're not sure.
It's a chilly spring day and they walk through a path in the woods. Kurt isn't exactly excited about this, worried about ruining his leather boots, but spending the day with Blaine is a bit more important to him. They walk close together, but don't hold hands, too afraid that it might suddenly not work. And both are worried that the other can tell their feelings, worried that they might not return them.
The wind blows fiercely around them and Kurt glances at Blaine worriedly, thinking he might get blown away, but he glides next to him, solid as he could possibly be.
"I'm not going anywhere," Blaine assures, just about reading his mind.
Kurt laughs shyly, looking at the ground and fixing his hair. When he looks back up, Blaine is staring at him with a sort of curious look on his face. Kurt stares back for moment, somewhat captivated himself, before he asks, "What?"
Blaine stops moving, turning to face him fully.
"I just- " he starts, but the words catch in his throat.
Slowly, he reaches his shimmering hand up, attempting to cup Kurt's face.
"You're- I think you're beautiful, Kurt," he breathes, a small, choked laugh coming out of his mouth. His lips part as he watches Kurt blush. Warmth floods under Blaine's wispy fingertips.
"Umm.." Kurt replies, unable to form anything coherent.
But before he can try to say anything more, he starts leaning in. Blaine isn't sure what makes him do the same- they could hardly hold hands, but he closes his eyes,
and then their lips meet.
They actually meet.
Kurt's lips are warm and soft, and it's amazing to finally feel. Temperature was never enough- even if it was a miracle he could feel it at all. And now he can feel the skin, the gentle part as Kurt gulps in air quickly.
Blaine's lips are somewhat undefined, but they're there. Kurt can feel the shape of them, and though they aren't warm and comforting, Kurt likes the feel of them. It's almost like molten water- cool and soft and not entirely solid.
Taking a risk, Kurt reaches up, feeling for Blaine's hair, and somehow, he grabs what feel like tendrils of mist- his curling locks. And in his own hair, he feels Blaine's chilled fingers, moving his hair like the wind.
They pull away, both completely breathless- which is strange for Blaine since he doesn't need to breathe.
"I love you," Kurt whispers, swallowing hard. He clutches to Blaine as tightly as he can, not even sure how he's grasping anything.
Blaine does the same in return, holding for life to Kurt's waist and shoulder. "I love you too," he says, and then immediately they both gasp.
For the longest time, Blaine's voice has been fading more and more each day, harder and harder to hear. It was always a grainy sort of sound, muffled and thick.
But now, as those words leave his lips, it sounds almost entirely clear- almost human.
And that's enough for the two of them.
They're silent for a moment, just breathing each other in. Blaine looks at Kurt's messy hair, his ocean eyes, his pink, swollen lips. Kurt takes in Blaine shimmering form, somehow more solid and defined. He looks at his curly, water-like locks, and when he looks straight in Blaine's eyes, they flicker.
A color: hazel.
"Blaine?" Kurt whispers, eyes still locked on his.
"Yeah?" he replies, equally as quiet, his voice still clear.
"Do you think this will work? Can we make this happen?" Kurt's voice is full of everything they've ever felt in the prospect of the two of them: uncertainty, fear, longing, desperateness, love.
"I think the most we can do is try."
the reason my molars are so broken
is i spend too much time ghosting
with the likes of you and yours
Inside the old, creaky house, two boys lie in bed, their bodies close together. One boy is completely ordinary, save for the fact that he's dressed in insanely fashionable clothes, and the fact that he isn't interested in women.
For the other, it's much more complicated.
He isn't whole, isn't human. His body is made of white, shifting air- the reflection of a bodiless soul. He can't be seen with the other boy; he can't really be seen at all by others. But when they can see him, they turn away, running, screaming.
But it's always been like this; and the two boys- the two boys who are blissfully in love are used to it.
The stranger boy, Blaine, takes a hold of the other's hand, his transparent fingers clinging desperately. The other boy, Kurt, sighs, caught between contentedness and indecision.
Kurt isn't sure how long he can keep this struggling and unique relationship up. He's almost ready to start senior year. His senior year of high school. After this year, he'll be heading off to college, and he still has his head in the clouds. He shies away from reality, preferring to spend time with the impossible in the world, and that may not get him very far.
People worry about him, wonder why he likes to shut himself away in the house, wonder why he prefers to be alone than in the company of someone else.
But the truth is- he isn't alone. He has Blaine- Blaine, who no one can see. Blaine, who no one would ever believe is real. Blaine, who no one would ever approve should they get the off chance to see. Blaine, who's nothing more than a spirit, trying hopelessly to cling to the unexisting human life within him.
Kurt sighs, turning on his side to face Blaine. He reaches up and gently, and he grazes his fingers across Blaine's cheek. Blaine grins shyly, and again, his eyes flash- the faintest hint of hazel.
Kurt assumes he just imagined it this time, because right now, he's so desperately wishing that Blaine was human, that this relationship wouldn't be so impossible, that people wouldn't want to lock him in a psych ward if he would just come out and say he was in love with a spirit who haunted their house.
Kurt closes his eyes, pretending for a just a moment that his life is normal. Pretending that the boy next to him has a beating heart, and that he breathes in oxygen and breathes out carbon dioxide, that blood flows through his veins, that his voice is clear and beautiful, that the fingers gripping his are warm and soft, and that everything would work out and be simple.
"Blaine," he whispers, opening his eyes again. His fingers close more tightly around his boyfriend's, the chill seeping into his skin.
"I'm right here, Kurt," he replies quietly, stroking Kurt's soft hand with his thumb. "What's the matter?"
"I'm scared," Kurt whispers, looking straight into Blaine's eyes.
"About what, love?" Blaine asks, his voice steady, but muffled.
"Everything," Kurt breathes. Something wet and hot falls down his cheek, and as he sniffles, he realizes he's crying.
As slowly and carefully as possible, Blaine reaches up, touching his thumb to Kurt's cheek. The tear dissolves into his skin.
"I know we've gone over this," Kurt whispers shakily, "but I just- this is so hard. I'm almost ready to leave for college, and I have to go out in the world soon, but I just don't know how I we can make this work if my mind is with you all the time- someone only I can see."
"Kurt, relax," Blaine whispers, continuing to stroke his cheek.
"I mean, I love you so much, Blaine, but I just- I don't know how this is going to work." He begins to hiccup and takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "I just- I feel so alone sometimes."
"Honey, sshh," Blaine says, and again, his voice sounds stronger, clearer. "We've made it this far already. We'll make it through this. Just believe in us."
Kurt nods his head, silencing his hiccups. "I do," he assures, and he feels Blaine's cool, soothing lips on his forehead.
the reason my insides are so swollen
is i spend too much time ghosting
with the likes of you and yours
Kurt and Blaine are eighteen years old when they finally step into reality.
Kurt and Blaine are eighteen years old when their world is torn apart. Kurt and Blaine are eighteen years old when their hearts are shattered into a million tiny pieces. Kurt and Blaine are eighteen years old when they last see each other- human and spirit.
Blaine looks around Kurt's room- the empty walls and closet, the cleared shelves and desk, the stripped bed. On the floor, three suitcases sit, their contents of Kurt's belongings spewing over the sides.
Kurt has taken a break from packing and Blaine sighs as he sits on Kurt's bed. He's amazed that it supports him. He can barely feel shape anymore, and temperature is a lost cause.
As of late, things have begun to change drastically.
Blaine feels himself slipping farther and farther away with each night, his soul being stretched, uncomfortable in this realm of mortality. He keeps telling himself to hang on, to stay here for Kurt's sake, for the desire longing in his hypothetical heart, but it's become to overwhelming.
When Kurt returns, he braces himself.
This is going to be one of the hardest things he's ever done.
Kurt smiles as he enters, and it only deepens his regret. "Hey, babe," he says, and picks up packing right where he left off.
Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, Blaine jumps into it. "Kurt, we have to talk."
His tone of voice sends Kurt's heart pounding right away, mind going straight to the worst-case scenario, which just happens to be accurate. "What is it?" he asks apprehensively.
"This has to end," Blaine says quietly but firmly, his eyes glittering, as if with tears.
Kurt swallows hard, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to Blaine. "What does?" he asks, though he already knows.
"Us," Blaine clarifies. "You're going out into the real world, and I need to move on."
"Move on?" Kurt asks, starting to panic. He knew this day would come eventually, but he's sure as hell not ready for this. He's known Blaine his whole life, forming a close and intimate relationship, and he's not ready to let go. "What do you mean?"
"Kurt," Blaine starts, sighing heavily. "Kurt, I've been dead for fifteen years. My time has long past."
"But- but you're here," Kurt objects. "I can see you- that- that has to mean something." Tears already run steady and fast down his cheeks.
Blaine shakes his head, pressing his lips together. "It doesn't. I don't belong here. I'm just simply stuck in between. I need to find a way out."
It's Kurt's turn to shake his head, his lips quivering. "But you can feel. You felt that kiss. You can hold my hand. I- I watched your eyes turn hazel once. This isn't some normal death-spiritual- moving beyond situation."
"I have to move on," Blaine repeats, his voice almost disappearing in the quiet. "You have to let me go, Kurt. Please." He stands up, and Kurt follows, gripping his wrists.
His fingers slip through Blaine's arms, and he hisses, "Shit."
Blaine hangs his head in sadness. "This is what I'm trying to say, Kurt. I have to go," he whispers.
"Blaine, wait," Kurt forces out.
"Kurt, I can't-"
But Kurt's lips press against his, and once again, he feels almost solid, almost alive, his fingers moving up to grip Kurt's face. When they pull away, they stare into each other's eyes, trying to accept the inevitable.
"I'll always love you," Blaine breathes.
"I'll love you too," Kurt whispers, more tears falling from his eyes. "So that's why I have to let you go."
Blaine leans down one more time to kiss Kurt's forehead. "Goodbye."
"Goodbye," Kurt whispers, and Blaine disappears.
After standing there for what feels like a solid week, he drags himself to his bed, where he crumples into a ball and sobs, hugging his knees to his chest tightly, holding himself together.
Kurt is thirty-two when he's settled down with a husband and one beautiful son.
The family of three walk down the quiet, but crowded streets of New York, making their way to their car after a family dinner out. Sydney is settled on Kurt's waist, gripping tightly to his father's shoulder.
Liam grasps Kurt's free hand, rubbing circles affectionately into his husband's palm.
"I thought that went well," he muses, smiling.
"Mmm," Kurt agrees, feeling proud of his son for behaving himself.
As his heart swells with love and pride, he looks around the street filled with people, and his eye catches someone else's.
The burning hazel is familiar, and he blinks rapidly, surprised.
A man about his age, his head full of dark curls smiles, before disappearing into the midst of everyone. He had an odd sort of glow around him, and right then, Kurt knows that the young boy from his past had been able to move on.
A/N: This was definitely the hardest thing I've ever written and I'm so proud of it.
I got the idea from the lovely Freelance Whales song called Ghosting.
What happened with Blaine at the end, um..- he did move on. This has to do slightly with religion. He went up to heaven, and was able to come on Earth to sort of.. watch over Kurt.
Please review- I would appreciate it so much, and I promise this time around I'll try to thank everyone personally. I get so lazy so I'll just thank all of you who continue to read my Klaine fics right now! It means so much to me that you guys read the things I work so hard on. :D