DISCLAIMER: I do not own Glee, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy.

this was a little drabble done on Tumblr in response to the spoilers from the filming of Glee in Battery Park (you know what I'm talking about). and if you don't know, here be spoilers.



"Hi, you've reached the voicemail of Blaine"—"and Kurt!"—"no, Kurt, (laughs) this isn't your phone, stop"—"and I'm sorry he can't answer your call, but he's with me, so leave a message!"

Kurt's heart twists uncomfortably in his chest at the cheery tone to their voices and his grip on his phone tightens. Nothing but dead air plays over the receiver but he can't hang up, not now, not after he's dialed one, two, three times already and Blaine still won't pick up. He needs to know something other than the crushing reality of what is, of what happened.

His face is damp and hot, splotched red from crying, and still the tears come, welling up and blurring his world before spilling down onto his jeans and the dirty, weathered wooden floor of his shoebox New York apartment.

He doesn't want this to be the end. It can't be the end—they were only on chapter four of the story of their lives together. They're supposed to have dozens more, enough to get them lives together, children and a retirement home. Blaine's not supposed to tell him that it's over already. Kurt's not supposed to live his life without Blaine already. He feels sick and his head is pounding, but he can't move up from where he's curled against the wall and the side of his bed, isn't sure if he could move at all if he tried.

Blaine's words still echo in his head, sharp and loud and clanging. It's for the best, Kurt...can't be holding you back, not when you've got the city at your feet and I'm in Ohio...I'm sorry, I really am, but I don't think we should see each other anymore...we need to break up.

Stop it! Just stop it!

Kurt disconnects the call and pulls his phone from his ear long enough to shakily redial. The screen is smeared with the salty residue of tears and the oil from his fingertips; he jams it back to his ear as it rings one—two—three—four gets cut off but Blaine isn't hitting decline. He can't be. Blaine would never ignore Kurt's phone calls, he'd promised with gum wrappers and that stupid sincere smile of his—

"Hi, you've reached the voicemail of Blaine—"

Kurt quickly hits end again, takes a deep breath and lets it out in a shuddering sob. It echoes in his bedroom, loud and heart-wrenching and utterly final. His phone is hot in his fist and where it rests against his thigh. He should give up, let everything simmer for a few days before trying once again. Time can help. It always does. He knows for a fact, from the dull throb the pain of his mother's death has become over the years, the way everything had gotten better when he'd met Blaine...

But just once more, one more chance, maybe Blaine's had enough time to properly think things over, maybe it was a mistake.

When he redials this time it's slower, his finger tapping each little number precisely, afraid of the possibilities when he hits call this one last time. He schools his breath, tries to cough out the shake he knows will be in it when he speaks (please answer the phone Blaine god please just talk to me baby I love you please don't do this to me just pick up).

It rings.

He holds his breath, hope fluttering dully in his stomach.

It rings.

He knows the photo Blaine took over the summer of them by the pool will be flashing on the screen.

It rings.

Just pick up, Blaine…

It rings.

"You've reached the voicemail of Blaine Anderson. Leave a message and I'll get back to you."

It doesn't dawn on Kurt right away, the change of words, the change of tone from upbeat and happy to cold and dead. Flat, like Blaine's fight has left him, like he's resigned himself and this is his one last change to shake Kurt for good. It registers after Kurt drops the phone to the floor, wants to throw it instead so that it shatters like his heart just shattered into splintering pieces with a sound like glass, and wraps his arms around his legs, hugs them close to his chest and sobs until his throat is raw, he can't take a sufficient breath, and he feels like he's going to throw up.

His world is tilted on its side, shaken up and set back down awkwardly. He doesn't know where to put his feet, where to stand, where to look.

Blaine changed his voicemail.

Blaine…gave up.

You promised.

You said you'd never let me go.