Super angsty story. Didn't warn Livejournal enough of the angst and everyone was expecting fluff and got angst.
So I wrote 'fluffy adorable wearingbf's!clothes fic ' which I'll upload tomorrow :)
Title from Fall Out Boy's G.I.N.A.S.F.S and that line was my own little stimulus for this story.

(Currently writing more of One Of THOSE Nights but not overly happy with how it's going so far... and the next chapter of Glass Bones & Paper Skin is a bit of a flop, I'm afraid)

Things haven't been the same since Blaine left.

The house has been silent for the past month. No more echoes of Blaine singing stupid songs in the shower. No more nights spent cuddled up in front of the television, watching some cheesy chick-flick. No more empty Red Bull cans littered around the kitchen or dirty underwear on the bedroom floor. Small, ridiculous little things. But Kurt missed them and it hurt.

It was another sad, grey Thursday morning. How dull. The rain was tapping on the window pane, as if trying to capture the attention of the person on the other side of the glass. The person on the other side being Kurt, of course, but he didn't care. Not that he was going out at all today. He never did. The only times he ever left the comfort of his own home was to buy alcohol and Paracetamol because he needed the pain to go away and to lift the fog that had settled in his brain, clouding everything over. There wasn't much food left in the house anymore, not that that mattered either. Kurt never ate much but since the argument and since Blaine walked out… he had barely touched a thing.
So Thursday found Kurt curled up in Blaine's armchair once again, clutching his phone, dark circles under his eyes. Too much sleep, not enough, he could not find the right balance anymore and maybe the fact that he slept in Blaine's old t-shirts didn't help at all. His scent was rapidly fading from the material and Kurt hated it. He liked pretending that the cloth was Blaine's arms around him, gently caressing him, holding him while he slept. But now as the smell of his ex-boyfriend began to stop lingering, it became harder to pretend and harder to force himself into believing it.
It didn't stop him wearing Blaine's shirts though and he spent his days shuffling around the house in them and Blaine's favourite pair of slippers, which he hadn't come round to collect yet. Maybe he couldn't face Kurt after certain words were exchanged…

It was just a petty argument. A silly, little petty argument that went too far. Screaming obscenities, throwing nearby objects and neatly placing bruises on one another's skin. Kurt's black eye faded long ago but it still hurt. Not in that way, but the memory of Blaine raising his fist to the man he loved hurt…

Suddenly, the phone in Kurt's hand vibrated to life and he, without checking the caller ID in hope of it being Blaine, answered, pressing the cold plastic to his ear.
"Blaine? Oh my God, baby, please…"
"Kurt, it's not Blaine. It's Finn," the voice answered quietly on the other end of the line. Kurt growled slightly.
"I d-don't want to talk, Finn. I know w-why you're calling and I-I can't talk about this, okay? You won't understand, you can't understand, I don't want you to understand!" Kurt shouted down the phone, clutching the mobile so tight that he could hear the plastic creaking from the strain.
"Kurt, just listen to me, right? You need to move on, he doesn't deserve you. He hityou-"
"Oh just fuck off, Finn. You don't know the half of it!"
"I would if you told me!"
"Get fucked."
Kurt angrily pressed the red button on his phone and slammed it down into his lap, frustrated tears falling from his eyes. His friends didn't get it. They didn't get how Blaine made him feel. They didn't get that he would never move on because you simply can't move on from someone like Blaine… he was so exciting, so new, like the breath of fresh air that Kurt needed in his life. He was passionate and exhilarating, a rush of adrenaline. Kurt needed him, regardless of everything.

He must of dozed off in that little armchair for God knows how long as Kurt jumped awake at a knock on the door. He ignored it and snuggled up further into Blaine's shirt, dried tear trails still clear on his soft, angelic face. It was probably Finn, coming to pester him again. Doesn't he get the picture? But the rapid knocking persisted and a very fed up Kurt lumbered over to the door, yanking it open with a impatient look.
But Finn was not the one standing in his doorway. It was… Oh God.
"Don't get too excited, Kurt. I'm here to pick up some things…" Blaine whispered, his eyes lowered to his feet.

After Kurt had gotten over the initial shock of Blaine turning up on his doorstep and had let him enter the house, he properly looked at Blaine and… something wasn't right. Blaine was... Kurt's reflection. The dark circles under the eyes, the ruffled hair, the sunken look. And as Kurt watched Blaine shoving things into his bag from the bedroom doorway, he realised that possibly Blaine had been affected by this just as much as he had.
"I… I don't want to talk, Kurt."
"Then why are you here?" Kurt answered defiantly. Blaine had been missing for over a month, why the hell would he only turn up now for his things?
"For my stu-"
"I'm not stupid Blaine, for fuck sake." Silence…
"I need you, Kurt." he softly whispered, his eyes boring into Kurt's. His eyes. Full of pain and hurt and confusion and remorse.
"Then why did you leave?" Kurt choked, his tears falling freely now. His hand shook unsteadily and his heart thudded out of time and a part of him just wanted Blaine to leave now he was here because maybe it would make everything easier. But he needed answers and he needed his boy back, desperately. He looked up at Blaine with pleading eyes which merely said "Please. I need you to tell me."
"Oh God, Kurt. Please don't cry. Please." Blaine sobbed, rushing across the room and pulling Kurt into his embrace, clutching at him and tugging him close. "I-I can't take it when you cry… I don't know why I left, it just felt like the right thing to do but…" He didn't finish. Kurt was never given any real explanation as the next second… they were kissing. And as Blaine led them both to the bed, as they both tore at one another's clothes and as they gently made love on top of Kurt's crumpled duvet, the pain only got worse for Kurt, question marks and unanswered queries lingering in the air around them. The pain shouldn't have got worse. Everything should have got better. Everything should have fixed themselves on their own. But Kurt still felt like there was something wrong, the doubts niggling inside the back of his mind. Everything was still so wrong.

That night, when Kurt woke up from falling asleep in Blaine's arms, he was gone. His bag was packed, his stuff was missing, there was no note. The bed was empty, the house was empty, Kurt was empty. Fuck, it hurt. Was it really possible for a broken heart to break again? But something felt clearer inside Kurt's mind… like the fog had finally gone. Like… like… Like a breath of fresh air had blown it away… Everything felt crystal clear for once and something clicked inside Kurt's mind. Through his tears, he realised that maybe… just maybe… it was time. It was time to move on. He didn't want to, he wanted to cling to his hopes of Blaine returning until he done so. But it was something he had to do. Yes, it was going to hurt. Yes, there was going to be tears. None more than usual, perhaps. Clean break… Kurt stumbled over to his wardrobes, avoiding Blaine's screwed up shirt on the floor, looking for something clean to wear. No more moping… Get up and live your life, Kurt. He tugged out a clean pair of skinny jeans, his little boots, his favourite Marc Jacobs jacket… no shirt? His favourite shirt… it was there the other night as Kurt had resorted to washing and ironing his clothes to distract him from the fact that some of Blaine's were sitting in the pile with his own… he liked that shirt because Blaine always said that he liked it… that it brought the colour out in Kurt's cheeks…

He looked around, spotting Blaine's creased shirt on the floor, it suddenly dawning on him where his own shirt had disappeared off to, imagining Blaine sleeping in his own shirt, just like he had spent so many nights doing. Running a hand wearily through his knotted locks, he dumped his own clothes back on the shelf and picked Blaine's shirt up, tugging it back over his head and slipping under the duvet. It smelt strongly of him once again…

Back to square one.