Kurt looked at his boyfriend, who was standing at the United Airlines desk, a little brown, leather suitcase pulled up against his leg, kept close to him. Kurt smiled affectionately—Blaine always did like to keep his belongings safely next to him. The case was covered in stickers, mainly the ones that Kurt couldn't stand, that read 'SAN FRAN', however there were a few 'OHIO' stickers and one 'I 3 NYC' It was weird this feeling, they weren't going to see each other for at least two weeks, and for some reason, something was screaming at Kurt, something he couldn't quite pick up on.
He looked around the airport. Relatively grand considering he himself had never flown. There was a large board with all the flights, the time and the date listed. Kurt couldn't actually remember looking at his Wicked calendar that morning, and thought it best to check the date so be didn't accidentally wish somebody a happy birthday, surprisingly a not-so-rare occurrence for Kurt.
7:02 September 11 2001
As he turned to the window, watching aircraft take off and land on the ground down below, he thought about how far they'd come in just a few years. It had been just four years since they had met—the timid boy who was bullied by the ignorant, and not to mention hypocritical jock, and the mentor who was there to support him no matter what—and in those four years, he'd grown closer to Blaine than anyone he could remember. Of course, things were about to change for them in a big way. They weren't married—neither boy could decided whether to propose or not—however they had officially begun the process of surrogacy. They had each given a sample and picked their perfect surrogate mother, all that was left was for them to confirm that this was definitely what they wanted to do. And pick a name for the baby. But they were still undecided on both.
But for now, Blaine was leaving New Jersey—the city they had picked as their home—for a few weeks, as his father had insisted he return home to San Francisco at least once that year. Of course, neither boy wanted him to leave.
Blaine would much rather spend the lazily warm Autumn days curled up in the study with a book or a good Broadway film, a packet of RedVines and the company of his other half.
Kurt had to be honest with himself—he was going to miss the sex. But he'd also miss the nights that they spent just staring at each other, lying in bed, watching the way their chests rose and fell to the same rhythm. He enjoyed the romance just as much as the, ahem, other things.
Blaine turned away from the desk and, grinning, waved a ticket at Kurt. He thanked the man stood behind the ticket-desk, a balding chap in his thirties or early forties who winked at him as he smiled. His pants were just a little too tight and his smile a little too friendly for Kurt's liking, and he sort of grabbed Blaine and made sure that he knew they belonged to each other. Blaine pulled his suitcase along behind him as Kurt dragged him away from the desk and the overly-friendly gaze of the desk-man.
'Jealous?' Blaine laughed smugly. He could read Kurt like a book, and his boyfriend's eyes had turned a vicious shade of green and grey. Kurt sort of squirmed, smoothing over Blaine's collar in the way he always did.
'He thinks you're cute.' Blaine shrugged, casually bending down to rummage in his case for something—most likely those sunglasses, Kurt thought. Kurt however, had no time to react to this revelation, as Blaine waggled his perfect ass in front of his crotch, looking awkwardly wrong. Kurt looked down and giggled. 'Flashbacks B-Blaine, flashbacks.' He spluttered, as people around them started to stare. Blaine mumbled to himself, oblivious to everything. 'Flight 93... Departs at 8..' Kurt kicked his foot lightly.
Looking up from his bag, Blaine realised what he'd been doing and shuffled round a little, so now his perfect ass just stuck up in the air as he once again rummaged in his luggage.
'Blaine, put your ass away sweetie, people are staring.' Kurt splayed a hand across his face as his boyfriend resurfaced, something clutched tightly in his hand. 'I don't care.' Blaine replied nonchalantly, 'I'm feeling daring today.' With a dazzling grin, he pulled Kurt in—free hand behind his neck, pressing him close—and kissed him, sending sparks through Kurt's nerves and setting off the fireworks in his head. He pulled away with a triumphant look and revealed the object in his hand. It was, indeed, his hot pink sunglasses. Hot pink. It was the one stereotypical gay-thing that Kurt couldn't resist, but only on Blaine.
'I feel like nothing can stop me.' He beamed, looking effortlessly dapper in his glasses. Kurt laughed and placed a hand on Blaine's cheek, feeling the rough stubble under his palm and the smooth skin of his temple on his fingers. 'Did you take something this morning?' He asked, and Blaine shook his head, like a seven year old when asked if he ate the last cookie. Rolling his eyes, Kurt wiped a faint smudge of chocolate sauce off of Blaine's chin with his thumb. 'Seriously, no pancakes in San Francisco. I mean it.' Kurt said, and Blaine pulled a face.
The next hour was spent just lounging around and waiting for the plane to be board-able. Blaine challenged Kurt to an air hockey tournament but stormed away from the table when it turned out that Kurt was a pro—after playing air hockey as a boy to relieve stress. Eventually though, Blaine forgave Kurt for thrashing him.
'Are you sure you don't want to come?' He asked softly, as they sat on the almost comfortable seats by the check-in. Kurt nodded sadly. 'I'd love to, but your Dad would flip and I don't want to cause any drama for you right now.' Blaine nodded in full understanding—at this point he didn't want any more drama either, his Dad still refused to believe that Blaine was actually gay, he'd only met Kurt twice, and he knew nothing about their relationship, friendly or otherwise.
'Are there even any more seats left?' Kurt tried to move off of the tricky subject of Blaine's dysfunctional family. Nodding, Blaine smiled, 'Surprisingly, yes. This plane is normally really busy but there's more than half of the seats left so they're selling them cheap.'
'Oh, weird.' Kurt picked at his nail. They were both avoiding the 'G' word that would come sooner or later. The boarding calls were announced and it was time for Blaine to leave. With his bag already on the plane, all that was left was to bid farewell to Kurt. 'I'll be back before you know it.' He patted Kurt's knee gently but comfortingly, and Kurt took his hand and squeezed it tight. 'I'll miss you.' Standing up, they watched other people walk past them to board the plane, and Blaine looked around, suddenly desperate not to leave. 'Ring me as soon as you can!' Kurt said and Blaine nodded. He filled with a sudden want for Kurt's lips on his, and he pulled Kurt down the short distance between them, crushing their lips together and biting Kurt's bottom lip ever so slightly. His hand went on the back of his boyfriend's neck and toyed with the hairs at the bottom of his head. Kurt didn't want the moment to ever end, he never did, but he knew that Blaine had to go, and so he pulled away, leaving Blaine with that sad, lost puppy look that he often suffered from himself.
'Right,' Kurt breathed. 'Time to go.' He pulled Blaine into a tight hug, arms wrapped around his waist and face buried in his shoulder. As they pulled apart once more, Kurt blinked away tears.
He took a full twenty second silence to take in every last detail of Blaine's appearance that day. He wasn't sure why, he just did. He started at his curly hair, relatively mop-like and due for it's fall shearing, dark and untameable. His eyes were a subtle shade of autumn gold, the hazel enhanced in the sunlight from the windows. His face was perfectly unshaven—just enough to class as stubble but not so much that it made kissing unpleasant. Kurt found he liked the rough feel of Blaine's facial hair against his smooth skin. His boyfriend had dressed in his best clothes for that day, or maybe his only clothes, considering he had left most of them at the apartment, as there would be a whole wardrobe of clothes waiting for him in San Francisco—most likely suits and expensive ties if Kurt knew anything about Blaine's dad. His blue checked shirt hung open over his white vest top, something he wouldn't normally wear. His beige cords didn't normally appease Kurt, but he had to admit that they matched the shirt and the Converse that were lovingly—and permanently—worn on his feet. He looked so momentarily lost as Kurt tried not to force him to stay. Gulping, he decided it was time for him to board the plane.
'Now, get that perfect ass of yours on that plane. Go.' He almost demanded that Blaine leave, and Blaine planted a kiss lightly on Kurt's left cheek before he walked towards the terminal. Kurt couldn't watch him walk away, he had to instead turn on his heels and walk to the window that he had been staring out of a mere hour ago. He took up the same position, leaning against the wall, head rested on the white painted plaster, arms crossed, breathing silently.
He could see Blaine's plane. It was right there.
And after a while, he was sure he could see a figure in one of the windows. The dark curls, the miserable and yet optimistic expression. A great sadness stirred deep within him, a mixture of illness and a desire. Other passengers took their seats and bustled about the cabin and yet Blaine's eyes motionlessly searched the airport, until he looked up into Kurt's window and seemed to smile. Kurt felt his lips curve upwards to smile back.
He wasn't even sure what the fluttery feeling in his stomach was. It felt like his head was pounding and something in the back of his mind whispered things to him. They were inaudible and had to be ignored—which was just as well as Kurt refused to listen to the irrational judgement of his mind.
Kurt's digital watch changed to exactly 8:42 as the plane pushed off from the tarmac. He felt the need to wave, like they did in movies, but stopping himself, he turned away from the window and went to find the way out, desperately trying to remember where he parked his car. Of course, if this was a Broadway musical, he would simply burst into song and Blaine would run back from the terminal and tell him he couldn't leave. But it wasn't, and he didn't, and Kurt left the airport alone.
He felt some kind of emptiness, almost as if Blaine had taken a piece of him with him on his flight to San Francisco. It still seemed like a stupid idea to Kurt, to fly back home on such a long flight to see somebody who doesn't approve of a single thing you do. It had taken four years to discover the real reason Blaine had transferred to Dalton, and Kurt's whole opinion of Edward Anderson had changed since then.
It took only four minutes to find the car and clamber in, having to put Blaine's jacket in the back so as not to cry over it's mere presence. Immediately turning the radio on—a habit he had picked up from his boyfriend—he found it tuned into a boring news channel.
However today, the news was not so boring.
'An American Airlines aircraft has just crashed into the Northern Tower of the World Trade Center...' Kurt just caught it before they moved on to a reporter live at the scene. At first, his brain didn't process it, and he simply started the car and began to reverse. Then it sunk in, and he stopped reversing halfway out of his parking space. His heart went wild with panic. Of course, it couldn't be Blaine's flight. Flight 93 had been in the air for four minutes, it was impossible. Impossible Kurt, stop being stupid. Struggling to really think clearly, he reversed out completely and tried to focus on the road, but the news reports were driving him insane. He just wanted to get home and discover what the hell was going on.
He drove as quickly as possible to their shared apartment, only a ten minute drive, but Kurt couldn't really feel his hands. Narrowly avoiding hitting another car, he swerved into his usual parking spot outside the apartment complex. Racing inside, he launched himself through the door and onto the sofa, scrabbling for the remote and turning to the first news channel that came to mind. There was live coverage of the World Trade Centre. The North Tower was in flames, the whole top half was just engulfed in smoke. Kurt's skin crawled with the thought of the people trapped inside. He couldn't think of anybody he would know, but he could feel the pain of anyone involved. A hand clapped to his mouth in an attempt not to cry out.
The news became chaotic, claims of terrorists and hijackings and stories of people trapped on the uppermost floors of the North Tower. Conspiracy theories started cropping up about Government plans getting out of hand and it soon became unclear what was reality and what was people just thinking irrationally.
Kurt couldn't understand why anybody would ever want to crash into one of the busiest buildings in America and kill so many people? He'd known much of hate, and ignorance and spite in his life, he'd had enough experience with that for a lifetime. But this.. This was sick.
And the thought of Blaine's plane was in the back of his mind. There were rumours flying around on the TV that possibly more planes had been hijacked. Kurt just sat on the sofa, leaning forwards on the cushion, turning the remote between his hands and letting his eyes flicker between his phone—which lay on the coffee table in front of him, among the mess of surrogacy leaflets and baby name books—and the television screen. He just wanted some kind of news, good or bad, he just wanted to know what would happen next.
The minutes dragged by, but his heart rate didn't slow. It kept high and irregular, and Kurt began to wonder if this was what a heart attack felt like.
Ten minutes. Twelve minutes. Seventeen minutes.
After a long time of chewing his lip whilst staring out of the window, Kurt's attention turned back to the TV screen. A news reporter stood in front of the towers, the image of the North Tower engulfed in the flames in the background. The South Tower was still intact, but Kurt vaguely heard the reporter claiming the intense amounts of heat on the ground. His eyes were now locked on the buildings, watching the way that the fires just seemed to burn and burn. Fire-fighters ran around the scene, desperately trying to save anyone and everyone involved.
'Ohmygosh!' The news reporter screamed—an object flew in from the left side of the screen, collided with the South Tower and burst into a billowing column of smoke. Kurt gasped and a hand clapped over his mouth. The remote flew out of his hands and landed with a loud bang on the coffee table, knocking Kurt's phone onto the floor.
The news reporter didn't know what to say, and Kurt wanted her to just say something, anything. She watched the towers like the rest of the world, turning away from the camera and abandoning any hope of continuing her broadcast. When she turned back, her makeup had run all down her face and she was crying silently into her hands. Kurt felt the tears welling in his own eyes.
Instinctively, he reached for his phone, but it wasn't on the table. He sort of fell onto the floor and searched for it, finding it under the sofa. He quickly typed a message, suddenly desperate.
Blaine, are you okay? - K
He chewed at his bottom lip, which was now bleeding, as he watched the news. The minutes ticked by once again and oh so slowly. Kurt couldn't feel his hands, which shook violently, threatening to once again throw something across the room. His phone did nothing, he wasn't sure if he expected it to or not. He just waited and watched in silence.
The time reached about 9:25 before anything happened again. The news had all but shut down, now camera men were abandoning their cameras to help at the scene, reporters were inconsolable in the background, and nobody really understood what was going to happen next.
As Kurt was finally beginning to regain some sort of regularity to his breathing, his phone began to ring.
In his haste to answer it, he dropped it, and fumbling at the floor, he found it and pressed the answer button.
'Blaine?' He breathed. A little laugh from the other end. 'Hey there cutie.' Blaine was oblivious to anything outside of his plane. Kurt felt a wash of relief as his boyfriend's voice crackled through the speaker. 'Thank grilled cheesus.. Blaine where are you?' Another little chuckle. 'I'm on the plane silly, why where are you?' His tone dropped a little, adopting a hint of worry. 'Kurt, is everything okay?' Kurt's heart was in his mouth.
'There's been a crash—two crashes.' Kurt struggled to explain. 'Kurt, are you okay?' Blaine voice was instantly the tone of panic, and he almost stood up in his seat and demanded that they land the plane so he could be with his boyfriend. 'No Blaine, I'm scared..' Kurt cried into the phone, and Blaine felt the tug of his heart as he knew that Kurt was breaking down without him. 'Tell me about the crashes Kurt, what happened?'
Kurt tried to calm his breathing, just enough to explain what was happening. 'Two planes have crashed into the Twin Towers...' Blaine raised a hand to his mouth in horror. 'I-I don't know what's going on now.. I just... Blaine I want you to come home..' Kurt whimpered, curling up into a ball on the sofa and wishing more than anything that Blaine was just there to hold him and soothe him.
'I can't Kurt, I'm in the air. But the minute I land I'm going to send somebody over. Have you rung Rachel?' Kurt shook his head silently, forgetting that Blaine couldn't see him. 'Kurt..? You there?' Blaine asked. Kurt felt his voice fail him as he croaked a reply. 'Come home Blaine.'
This was killing Blaine. 'Right, Kurt, calm down. I'm going to ring Mercedes and tell her to get her butt over to our apartment and take care of you. Don't you dare move. I'll keep in touch, I promise.' Kurt squeezed his eyes shut and pretended it was a dream. Blaine wasn't flying, he was at home and they were going to make some coffee and then sit down together to watch Breakfast At Tiffany's.
'Kurt. Answer me.' Blaine voice brought Kurt back to reality. 'I—I promise Blaine.'
'Keep checking your phone. I love you.' Blaine hung up and left Kurt to shake in the silence. At that moment, Blaine was furiously texting Mercedes and telling her to get over to his and Kurt's apartment. She only lived ten minutes away, but god only knew what she could be doing—most likely out shopping, or asleep, if he knew Mercedes.
Courage. - B
Kurt read the text that his boyfriend had just sent him and closed his eyes, trying not to break down.
When he opened his eyes again, it was 9:36. The news was still as chaotic as the last time he had looked and he had no new messages or missed calls.
Sort yourself out Kurt, Blaine's fine. His plane is fine, he'll land in a few hours and then everything will be fine. Blaine. Is. Fine.
No matter how many times he repeated it in his head, Kurt couldn't shake the feeling that everything was about to get much worse. The seconds ticked by on the large clock that hung on the wall until the second hand moved a fraction clockwise and it became 9:37.
And then more news broke.
'Another plane has just collided with the Western Side of the Pentagon. Officials are claiming the work of hijackers in what can only be seen as a terrorist attack...'
It was the last straw for Kurt. He was sure he was about to black out, his heart was thumping, pulse racing and there were spots behind his eyelids. Blaine is fine. Blaine is fine. Blaine is fine.
At that very moment, his phone began to rang. He pressed the button as quickly as possible and whipped the phone to his ear. 'Kurt?' Blaine's voice spoke all crackled through the speaker, quietly and quite strained. 'Kurt, our plane's been hijacked. There's four men—we're all okay though, we're fine, I just wanted to say that we're fine and please don't worry.'
Tears fell. They rolled hot and salty down his cheeks, loud and uncontrollable. Blaine soothed him down the phone, and Kurt suddenly realised that Blaine sounded incredibly unlike himself.
'Blaine? Why are you so quiet?' Kurt asked softly, trying to calm himself so that his boyfriend could understand him.
'I, uh,' Blaine winced, a sharp intake of breath that made a harsh noise and startled Kurt. 'One of the hijackers had a—weapon,' Kurt could feel the panic rising in his throat, he was about to scream. 'It was uh,', another wince. Kurt just knew he was trying to be stoic and hide his pain, it was Blaine's worst quality. 'I think it was a knife. In my..'
The phone went silent for about thirty seconds. Far too long, far far too long. Blaine had a habit of getting distracted but not in times like this.
'Blaine!' Kurt shouted down his cell phone. 'Blaine Anderson answer me!' His voice reached a shrill pitch and a raspy breath answered him.
'S-sorry.' Blaine sounded just as strained as before. 'I found a first aid kit.' There was triumph in his boyfriend's voice, even over the phone Kurt could hear it, and it made him smile despite the situation. 'Take out—take the bandage Blaine and wrap it around the... The wound..' There were now other voices in the background, shouting men, a woman crying, and a wince every now and again from Blaine.
'Okay, I wrapped it around tightly. What do I... Kurt I... I..' Blaine struggled to find words as pain made him slump to the floor of the cabin. He curled up into himself in the corner. Kurt could hear him breathing heavily, the unmistakable silent cry that he had adopted. 'Blaine?' He whispered. Everything seemed so damn crackly through the stupid phone, he'd have given anything for them to be together. A woman's voice grew closer.
'Come here, come here.' She soothed, and there was a rustle from Blaine's end. 'Hush now, hush.' She soothed again. Kurt could somehow imagine a woman like Carol, his stepmother, pulling Blaine into a bear bug and mothering him. He always did have a tendency to be mothered—women just saw him and instantly felt the need to wrap him up like a baby and spoon feed him peas. He sniffled and his breathing turned shallow and noisy.
'Hello?' The woman's voice spoke right down the phone now, right to Kurt, who was spooked by the sudden change of tone. The woman sounded brisk and calm, but Kurt could hear in her voice that it was her who had been crying just a few moments ago.
'What's your name sweetie?' She said down the phone. 'K-Kurt.' Kurt stammered in reply. 'And are you this gentleman's brother, Kurt?' Kurt thought he might as well tell her, the situation couldn't get anymore extreme.
'No, Blaine's my boyfriend.'
'That's wonderful.' The woman replied. And weirdly, it was honest. Kurt had never spoken to somebody who didn't flinch when he said 'boyfriends', in person or over the phone.
'Blaine? I'm sure your boyfriend would like to speak to you dearie.' He voice grew quiet as she soothed Blaine, who was convinced that the pain alone was going to kill him. 'Blaine got into a little fight with one of the hijackers, Kurt. He's okay, he's going to be fine. But you need to talk to him sweetie.' The woman told Kurt, and he nodded, wiping his face dry. 'He was very brave, he stopped them from hurting me. He just needs to hear your voice.'
The phone rustled again and Blaine's voice spoke to Kurt. 'Kurt?' He whimpered.
Kurt sat up on the couch, back straight, shoulders straight, head held high. 'I'm so proud of you.' He kept his voice soft but strong. 'I am so, freaking proud of you Blaine, and I love you so much.' He fought back a wave of tears, trying to stay strong for the one person who really needed him right now.
'They're going to crash the plane Kurt. They're going to do it.. We—we have to stop them.' Blaine clutched at his side as he stood up, wobbling on his legs a little. At the other end of the phone, Kurt shook his head. 'You're not doing anything you're going to sit back down and... sleep. You're going to go to sleep.'
He thought up a plan that was sure to calm Blaine down, as much as it pained him to say it. 'Right, you're going to go to sleep. And when you wake up, the plane will have landed, and your dad will be there to pick you up. He'll look you over and point his nose up at your clothes but you'll just grin the way you do and put on your sunglasses and be incredibly dapper, because you don't care what he thinks.' He was smiled at tears silently rolled down his cheeks.
'No, Kurt.' Blaine's voice was strong and solid. 'No.' Kurt didn't know whether to cry harder or smile at his boyfriend's acceptance of the situation. 'No. I'm going to stop them. We all are, together.' A rabble of voices in the background agreed and Kurt shook his head.
'No, you're not going anywhere.' Kurt lost it. 'Why did you have to get on this flight Blaine, why? I told you to leave tomorrow instead but you insisted on today. Why?' He started bawling like a baby down the phone, ashamed of his lack of self control.
'You're always right Kurt..' Blaine grinned despite everything that was going on.
'Please Blaine, please don't..'
'Kurt, we're going to do it, we're going to get control of the plane. I love you. I always have and I always will. Tell my dad not to worry—not that he will—and that I'll be home in time for tea. Tell him Kurt.'
'I love you too Blaine, so much... I love you.'
'The baby. I want to call him Jack.'
'But.. what if it's a girl, Blaine?'
'It's a boy, I just know it. Now I'm sorry, I have to go. We're going to attack them. I love you Kurt.. I love you.'
The phone went dead.
'Ten years on from the 9/11 terrorist attacks, and the world mourns the loss of the thousands of people who died that day..'
The volume on the TV in Kurt and Blaine's apartment was turned down low, so it could still be heard but enough so that it didn't wake their son, Jack, from his sleep.
He was curled up on the sofa, legs pulled into his chest, the image of his father. He had dark curls that fell over his face slightly, olive skin and—when they were open—the most gorgeous honey coloured eyes. Kurt watched him sleeping quietly, observing how his shoulders rose and fell as he breathed. He remembered the day he had gone to visit the surrogate and changed their arrangement—Blaine was the father, no questions.
They started to read out a list of the people who had died on Flight 93. Kurt could feel the tears in his eyes as he looked from his TV screen to his son and back again. There was a graphic list on the screen—people's names and next to that a picture of their face. There were the pilots, the crew, then the passengers. There was the woman who's face looked familiar although Kurt had never seen her before. He could hear her voice like it was just yesterday.
And there he was.
Blaine Anderson 1980 - 2001
The picture was from his college graduation. The dark curls were flattened by a crazy hat of some kind and his pink sunglasses were clipped to his t-shirt. His face was broken out into a huge cheesy grin—and Kurt was there too, his arm around Blaine's shoulder, cheek to cheek with his boyfriend, the same cheesy grin. They had graduated together, this was taken two weeks before they moved out to New Jersey.
Standing up, he decided to go into their bedroom. He hasn't slept in that room for years, not since it had happened. He had slept in one of the guest rooms, and when Jack arrived, he had moved to the spare room and Jack had the guest room. His and Blaine's bedroom was off limits.
He pushed open the door with a creak and instantly he could feel that familiar feeling of home. This is where they belonged, together.
Kurt closed his eyes and breathed in. The smell of Blaine was all around him, all around that damn room. It wasn't right to be there without him, it wasn't home anymore, it was just an empty room with empty picture frames and ghosts of the past. Everything had just stopped since he'd been gone. Kurt had noticed that the birds no longer sang by his and Blaine's bedroom window, there was no light, even the memories had seemed to fade since Blaine had gone.
He sat himself down in the middle of the floor. The room was empty. Kurt had insisted that all the furniture be taken away, all the pictures be taken out of their frames and everything belonging to Blaine—which was most of what belonged in that room—be taken into storage.
He sighed and fought back the tears, his legs closed and hands delicately placed in his lap. Looking around the empty room, he could see everything that was missing. They'd only had a few things and everything but the clothes in the wardrobe had belonged to Blaine. He missed the feel of Blaine's fingers on his, the roughness of Blaine's skin against his own. 'Why,' Kurt thought aloud to himself, his voice soft and catching in his throat. 'Why did they take you away from me?'
He felt warm, salty tears roll down his porcelain cheeks, doing nothing to stop them. There was nobody there to cuddle him and tell him everything would be okay. He was all alone, he was truly alone. Kurt felt his body failing him, and closing his eyes once more, he curled up into a ball on the floor, lying on his side and hugging his legs close to him. Nothing was clear anymore. His life didn't seem to have a future. It had stopped when Blaine had left it. Even after Jack had been born, while he was growing up, even when Jack's first words were spoken, there had been nobody there for Kurt to share it with. And now their son was ten and Kurt still couldn't see a future without Blaine.
The tears now ran sideways down his face, leaving trails on his skin, flowing freely with no concern for the growing wet patch on the carpet. If he concentrated, Kurt could still smell the coffee that Blaine liked to drink, still hear his laugh and the way he spoke in soft, low tones. If he tried very hard, he could still feel Blaine's breath on his neck, feel his fingers tracing down his shoulder and see the smile on Blaine's face whenever Kurt was around. He sobbed, bringing a hand to his mouth to try and muffle the noises he was making.
He could still hear Blaine's voice calling to him, the achingly familiar call of the person who loved him the most. The voice he would never truly hear again. Kurt whimpered into the darkness, his tears subsiding as he managed to regain control of his emotions. He pulled himself up and wiped his face with his sleeve, in the way that Blaine had always told him not to. Walking to the door, he turned around to take one last look at the room that they had once called 'ours'. His bottom lip trembling, he looked into the empty space. He stood just outside of the bedroom now, holding the door-handle in his tiny hand. As he closed the door, he whispered two words, those two words he'd sworn he'd never say.
Well.. excuse me while I rummage for a box of tissues at my own fic.
9/11 was a tragedy, and I remember being a little five year old sat in front of the TV screen watching it all happen. This fic is not meant to cause any offence to anybody, and was a request from Tumblr. I think I may have focused a little too hard on the facts at some points, but hopefully I've done a good enough job.
Thankyou for reading. Reviews are appreciated/
Disclaimer - I do not own Glee, and I do not wish to cause any offence to anybody in this fic.
EDIT - I am not trying to be insensitive. I know just as well as everybody else that this is a tricky subject and not something that can be taken lightly. I wrote this from a request from an anon and it was not for entertainment. I have learnt a lot about the events of that day from writing this story, and I've learnt a lot about what actually happened. It is not just an event for me - one of my relatives was in the South Tower when it collapsed. So no, I am not ignorant, and I apologise for any offence caused.