Happy New Years! The first chapter of 2012, is Back to December. It's not very long, almost three thousand words, but I'm VERY happy with how it turned out. A bunch of these things, I hadn't planned, and just happened as I wrote.

A few things to keep in mind:

1.) I suck at dates. Honestly, calendars are the bane of my existence. Please excuse any faults in the timeline.

2.) I meant to put this in the last chapter, but I forgot. None of these chapters will correspond with each other unless stated. Each one is in their own 'verse. Some might be in the canon 'verse, some might be future!fics, who knows.

Anyways, I do believe that's all. Enjoy.

-Fiona

DISCLAIMER: I am in no way affiliated with the creation of Glee (unless RIB steals ideas from tumblr) nor do I own any part of the show (except for merchandise, obviously...).


I'm so glad you made time to see me

How's life, tell me, how's your family?

I haven't seen them in a while


Today is December 19th. I hate this day so much. It reminds me of everything that I've done wrong, everything I could have done, and everything I didn't do. There's only one other day that I could possibly hate more than today.

One year ago, today, Blaine and I split up.

Our lives had gone separate ways and we were finding less and less time for each other, until finally, I cracked.

I yelled and screamed and broke plates, shouting accusations at him about how he didn't care about me anymore, he only cared about success, about getting a recording contract, about meeting new people, but not about little old me.

He held me even though I kicked him and punched him and tried to get away. I probably left him with countless bruises. He held me until I fell asleep. When he woke up the next morning, I was gone. I only left him with a short note, saying I'm sorry, I can't do this. I began to regret it a couple of weeks later, but I was too prideful to go after him. He didn't try hard enough to chase after me, so why should I go crawling back?

The only other day that can match the pain I feel today happened eight months ago.

I received a phone call from a panicked Finn Hudson, asking me if I knew at all where Blaine was. I told him no, why on earth would I? We had broken up four months before that. I asked what was wrong. Finn said that the news was reporting a fatal car pileup, caused by someone jumping in front of the cars. Someone who, when described, sounded a lot like Blaine.

I turned on the news channel Finn was watching. The news anchor said that before the person who had hit the unnamed man was loaded into an ambulance, they got a short statement.

"The first person to begin the pileup said that the man who stepped into the flow of traffic was standing on the edge of the curb. He seemed to be knowledgeable of the oncoming cars, and still put himself in front of the danger. It is possible that the man was attempting to commit suicide. The last report we have received is that he is in critical condition, no word on if he will survive. Once again, the only description we can give of him as of now is that he is a man of smaller stature with tan skin and dark, curly hair. All of the other victims from tonight's debacle have been all transported to the closest hospital, and most have reported as being in stable condition."

The words faded to the background until I couldn't hear anymore. My phone fell to the floor.

I tried to stop myself, saying that there were around eight million people in New York City alone, it could be anyone.

Later, the news anchor confirmed that the police had identified the body. Blaine Anderson. He died soon after.

Today, I am numb. Instead of taking the subway, as I usually do, I take a cab, not being able to stand the hustle and bustle of the city. When I arrive at my destination, I pay the cabbie, and step out into a misting rain. I take a deep breath as the car drives away and enter the cemetery.


You've been good, busier than ever

We small talk, work and the weather

Your guard is up and I know why


I make my way to the right side of the dismal cemetery and stop in front of the most familiar grave.

Blaine Michael Anderson

"Why does distance make us wise?" – RENT, Jonathan Larson

February 5th, 1994 – April 20th, 2015

"Hi," I say tearily. For a moment, I try to regain my bearings.

"How are you? Classes have been really stressful, senior year at NYU is really shitty." I recount everything that has happened in the last two weeks, which was the last time I visited. I tell him about the finals, about Chrys – the girl I share my apartment with – and about my life in general.


Because the last time you saw me

Is still burned in the back of your mind

You gave me roses and I left them there to die


I pull a thick blanket out of my bag and spread it out on the snow before sitting on it. I lean on it and look off into the distance. My right hand falls onto the grass limply and I try to remember how it felt to have Blaine's hand in mine.

My mood quickly becomes serious. "You remember…you remember, two days after I left? You sent me roses. A dozen red roses. I took one look at the card and told the delivery guy to send them back. And then all those months later, when I had to go to your apartment and clean it out because…because you would never go back, I looked at the table next to what used to be our bed, and those same roses were there. It had been four months, and you kept the roses. It looked like you'd never touched them, because all the petals were lying around the vase, dried up and dusty. And then there was that damn card, lying next to them."

I retrieve my wallet and automatically pull out the exact same card. It was becoming weak because of how much I looked at it, and soon would start yellowing with age.

"I'm sorry, I love you, please come back so we can talk. Love, Blaine," I read from the card. I give a hollow laugh. "I love the way you sign your name. The B is so curly and intricate, and then the rest looks like you were rushed for time and were barely able to write it fast enough."

I stare at the traffic driving past the cemetery. "There's a box under my bed that has the stems and petals of those roses. I barely ever open it up, because I'm scared that one day, I'll open it, and they'll have crumbled into dust."


So this is me swallowing my pride

Standing in front of you saying I'm sorry for that night

And I go back to December all the time


"I have nightmares a lot, and every time I wake up, I grab this card and hold it to my chest. And if I still can't calm down, I go into my closet, and sit where I have all your clothes hanging up. Every few months, I spray your cologne on them so that they'll still smell like you. That always brings me to my senses," I say, a small smile playing on my mouth. Why am I smiling? Maybe it's because I'm remembering all the good times we had together.

"Do you remember when we found that stray puppy?" I ask, knowing I won't get a response. "It was a little basset hound, and you begged and begged to take it back to our apartment, but I said no, and said that we couldn't afford to keep a puppy. Really, I just didn't want another distraction, something else you'd spend more time with than me. And now, every time I see a basset, I think of you. Twice I've walked into a pet store. I'll spend half an hour, staring at the bassets, trying to tell myself to man up and buy one. But then I walk out, knowing that it would be just one more reminder."

It turns out freedom ain't nothing but missing you

Wishing I'd realized what I had when you were mine

I go back to December, turn around and make it alright

I go back to December all the time

"I'm living with Chrys right now; we're splitting the rent on an apartment. My room is really small because I kept the huge bed we shared. She tells me that I'd have a lot more space if I just threw it out, but I can't. It still has a little bit of your smell on it, even though it's been so long. Sometimes, when I'm making dinner, I'll realize that I just automatically started making your favorite foods. Then I'll remember you're not there, and Chrys will have to take over because I'll start relapsing into that depression I was in after you died," I whisper, staring at my empty hands, trying to keep the tears at bay.

"Every now and then, when I'm in the kitchen, I'll just stare at the knives, wondering what it would feel like to just pick one up and stop everything I'm feeling. But then I realize what it would be like if Chrys walked in on that. If she came home and saw me in a puddle of my own blood on the linoleum floor…and I know I couldn't do that to her. But when something makes me think of you too much, I go back to those knives, and I imagine how nice it would be not to have to remember you anymore," and in that moment, the tears break through.


These days I haven't been sleeping

Staying up, playing back myself leaving

When your birthday passed and I didn't call


"And then, then came your birthday. I locked myself in my room that day. Chrys and I hadn't moved in together yet, but she was worried because I wasn't answering any calls. She had to call Ian over and he kicked the door down because she was so scared that I'd do something really bad. Ian was her boyfriend back then," I explain. Why did I feel the need to remind a dead guy of who's who? It makes it seem normal, I guess. "I'd curled myself up into a ball and basically made a nest of blankets so that I couldn't see anything that would remind me of you. But, in the darkness, it was easier to remember…the memory that kept coming back was your birthday the year before, when you turned twenty. We stayed home, I cooked dinner, lit candles, spread rose petals everywhere…it was so clichéd, but that was us, wasn't it? We were the cheesiest couple, but that's how we liked it."


And I think about summer, all the beautiful times

I watched you laughing from the passenger side

And I realized I loved you in the fall


I begin to shiver from the snow around me, but I'm intent on staying there. I'm not going to leave him for another stupid reason, not again.

"Then right before the next year of college started, we went back to Ohio to visit my mom and dad. Then we had that amazing idea to drive home, and you were so sure that the GPS would take us the right way, but of course, it didn't know that there was road construction. We were forced to get off on an exit that took us down a dirt road…and when we finally got home, it was four in the morning. And I remember, as we were stumbling to our apartment and we collapsed into bed, about to pass out from exhaustion, I knew right then that I wanted to marry you. Of course, I didn't have enough money to get a ring, so I waited, saving up little by little."


And then the cold came, the dark days

When fear crept into my mind

You gave me all your love and all I gave you was goodbye


"Those are the things that I think of when I go to sleep at night. Those little milestones, and then I think about how much more we could've gone through together, if I hadn't been so stupid to think that you didn't care about me, that you didn't love me anymore."


So this is me swallowing my pride

Standing in front of you saying I'm sorry for that night

And I go back to December all the time


"Blaine, I'm so…I'm so sorry that I let the insecure part of me take over. I'm sorry I left, and I'm sorry I didn't come back. I know I can't take it back, because you're gone. I just wish that I'd been able to tell you how sorry I am. I miss you, I miss you so much. Sometimes, I get scared that one day, I'll wake up and everything of yours will be gone. Your smell will be gone, your things will have fallen into disrepair, and all my memories will fade," I shiver even more as tears roll down my face and the cold wind blows against my skin.


It turns out freedom ain't nothing but miss you

Wishing I'd realized what I had when you were mine

I go back to December, turn around and change my own mind

I go back to December all the time


I try to keep talking, but the cold sinks into my skin and my body convulses in on itself. "I'm so sorry," I manage to whisper, wrapping my arms around my knees and I rest against the cold headstone. "Please forgive me."


I miss your tan skin, your sweet smile

So good to me, so right

And how you held me in your arms that September night

The first time you ever saw me cry


I feel weak, but I just wrap my body in on itself, trying to contain my body heat. "And sometimes, when I go on those crying jags, when I miss you so much, Chrys will come and hold me, and that just makes me cry harder," I say, so quietly that it's barely audible to myself. I can see my breath in the cold air in front of me. "Because whenever you held me, I felt safe. But then when she's the one keeping me together, it just feels wrong."


Maybe this is wishful thinking, probably mindless dreaming

But if we loved again, I swear I'd love you right

I'd go back in time and change it, but I can't

So if the chain is on your door, I understand


"And I know you probably can't forgive me, because look at what I drove you to do. This is my fault, and I can't take it back," I mutter, pulling on all my leftover energy so that I'll stretch out my frozen muscles and stand. I lean down and press a kiss to the frozen stone. "I'm sorry. I hope that wherever I go after I die, you're there with me."

I wrap the blanket around the gravestone, spare it one last glance, and then walk away. I know that will be the last time I visit his grave. It's too much, I can't handle it anymore.


But this is me swallowing my pride

Standing in front of you saying I'm sorry for that night

And I go back to December


Though I'm shivering, and occasionally, my body convulses and I have to stop and wait until I can continue walking, I keep going. I can't stop; I know what I have to do. I walk all the way to Times Square. It should've been a ten minute walk, but it takes me twenty minutes because of how slow the cold is forcing me to walk. The subway is warm, but I'm not on there long enough to retain body heat.

As I walk into the loud heart of New York City, I take a deep breath.


It turns out freedom ain't nothing but missing you

Wishing I'd realized what I had when you were mine

I go back to December, turn around and make it alright


I look up into the sky, the only place I can imagine Blaine would be. I then follow the flow of traffic and let the people push me around in whatever direction they wish. Soon, I start fighting my way to the edge of the curb.


I go back to December, turn around and change my own mind


Some more tears fall down my face as I watch the rush of cars, and I wonder if this is how Blaine felt. Is what I'm feeling now, the same as what his last emotions were? This indescribable pain, a feeling of permanent loss and emptiness? I hope it wasn't.


I go back to December all the time


I push those thoughts away, and focus on the traffic. The speed that they're going is forcing wind to pulse against me, and my body convulses yet again, and this time I don't have the strength to stay standing. I fall onto my knees and try to catch my breath. Then, slowly, I fight my way back to standing.


All the time


"I love you," I whisper to Blaine as I step in front of the cars. There's pain, the screeching of car tires, screams, and then everything goes black.


Wow. Okay. Sorry, this chapter just makes me a little emotional.

Anyways, I really hope you liked it. In the first idea, Blaine wasn't dead, and then suddenly, that idea popped into my head, and my hands had a different idea than my brain, and then all of a sudden, Kurt died, too.

If you noticed any inconsistencies with dates, just tell me, and I'll try to fix them (if I can wrap my head around it...dates confuse me).

Please review. The next chapter will focus on Speak Now. This excites me.

You can follow me on tumblr at cutegayboysex . tumblr . com. If you follow me, tell me if you found me through my fics! It warms my heart. Literally, I flail when I learn that.

I know the first chapter was written in past tense third person, and these last two have been in present tense first person. I'm sorry if the change annoys you. I tried writing past tense, but for some reason, recently, I've found present tense to be a lot easier. And especially for this chapter, first person was a better choice because Kurt was really the only character (alive).

Also, yes, I'm guilty to using Darren's birthday as Blaine's birthday. I'm really lazy and I hate making up my own dates, because, once again, I SUCK AT DATES. I just created his middle name (Blaine Michael Anderson. It does have a certain ring to it, doesn't it?) and the quote on his grave is from RENT and it's in the song Your Eyes which Roger sings to Mimi and it's really adorable and it brings Mimi back to life and just LKJASDHFLAKJSHLK (sorry, I just watched RENT last night and I'm sort of fangirling).

ANYWAYS.

I'm just going to say this again. Please review. Please? I'll love you forever.

I'll start working on the next chapter ASAP.

-Fiona