He can still remember Kurt's face.

It's raining. The sound is soft. The edges of trees and buildings looking blurred. Merging colours. Everything seems duller almost. The sky is a heavy grey, saturation faded and clouds tired and lax. He's looking at the rain through the kitchen window. The room is small. And empty. Kurt's kitchen is bigger.

Something ugly and twisted sits inside him. It's clammy and awful. Like a fever. Only worse. Much worse.

He tries to forget it. But the scent of him is everywhere. Magnolia and soap.

The bed is still unmade.

It's forty-six hours and twenty-two minutes since he last saw Kurt. The beautiful face flashes dangerously in his mind. He begins to get scared. The fear pools inside him but doesn't quite blend with the hideous monster. Like flammable oil on poisoned water.

He paces.

He isn't dressed. He isn't showered. But he can't bring himself to move from the kitchen. He needs to stay. He needs to wait. He needs to explain.

The key clicks in the front door. It's too loud in the too quiet house. But he doesn't care. He can't move. It whimpers within him. Sickening. Weak. But he has to do it. He needs to explain.

His parents are out for hours. They don't care if Kurt's there. They don't care that he cut Kurt a key. As long as it's safe, and unseen, it's okay. Kurt's tolerable on paper. Not in the flesh. Never in the flesh.

The rain is louder now. The window looks cracked and warped. There is no sun to make it shimmer. There's no wind to make it move. It just rains. It just cracks. The door closes quietly down the hall.

He leans forward onto the counter. He stares at the sink. He can hear the footsteps behind him. The hushed muffle of Doc. Martins on the laminated floor. He wonders if he'll be brave enough to turn around and look at him. See whether they're the white ones, or the tall black ones.

The footsteps stop behind him. He breathes heavily. Petrified. He can't hear Kurt breathing, but he knows he's there. He must be there. He's about to speak, about to explain. He needs to explain. But the silence tears. One hard, jagged line. Right down the middle of the room.

'So.'

The word is is so dense it snaps the air in two with a clean break. One half Kurt. The Other... not.

'Is this the part where you tell me it was a mistake?'

They're so careful. So deliberate. The words are constricted, so held back he can almost hear the chains creak and squeak in protest of their forced composure. Kurt's voice is different now.

'The part where you tell me, "it meant nothing". And swear to it?'

The urge is too strong. The words too tempting. Mocking. He turns and faces Kurt. The boy is as tall and stunning as ever. His hair is high today. Like it was when he kissed him first. The taste of Kurt returns to his mouth like a familiar wine. But it mixes sourly with the taste of him. The Other. Bile rises, and he swallows thickly. Kurt speaks again. Short. Sharp.

'Say it.'

He says nothing and the clouds swell. He can hear the thunder rise between them.

'Go on, say it.'

Kurt stands facing him. He argent eyes are staring, waiting. His arms are at his sides, but not limp. No, never limp. Everything Kurt does has a purpose. He is on stage, and it is time to act. His arms are stoic. Kurt looks strange now. In the blue jacket he had come to know on Kurt so well. The one he took him to lunch in. All that time ago.

'Kurt-'

'Blaine.'

Blaine swallows his apology and almost chokes. His name sounds different on Kurt's lips. It doesn't feel like it did before. There's something missing underneath it. Hollow. Empty. The boys eyes flash. A warning. Blaine tries to think of how to speak. How to explain.

He needs to explain.

'Who told you?'

The words are out before Blaine can stop them. They land clumsily on the counter of the kitchen's island. They make a thunk like a heavy pot. Blaine's ears start to ring. Kurt looks like he's going to shout, but he breathes in sharply through his nose. And doesn't.

'Disappointed you didn't get to tell me first?' he asks. There is something cruel in his voice. Like a joke Blaine isn't in on, at his expense. 'Annoyed someone beat you to the punch? Or simply upset that someone thwarted your only chance of convincing me it was some awful lie?'

Blaine almost winces, but doesn't.

Kurt does not take his jacket off. The kitchen is cold. Blaine should've put the heating on. But he didn't. He forgot. He feels as though Kurt could almost sense his thoughts weren't on what they were supposed to be. What they were supposed to talking about.

What Blaine did. How Kurt feels.

'It's not like that,' Blaine says. Slowly. Lightly. Kurt is fragile. Delicate. One wrong step, and he would break. Like a glass dropped in a moment of foolishness.

'Oh, I'm so sorry,' Kurt retorts feverishly. 'Please, explain to me. What's it like? I'm too nervous to give you what you want, so go and get it from someone else?'

This time Blaine does flinch. He can't help it. It hurt.

'No. We didn't. I mean, he stayed, and we- But we didn't...'

Kurt is looking at him strangely. His mouth it parted, like something is hoovering just beyond his teeth, waiting. Then, Kurt's lips seal. They do not want to speak. His eyes close. They do not want to see.

'Kurt.'

The song. The name. The boy.

His eyes open. Blaine stutters on his words. They are suddenly too big to leave his mouth. Too big. But not enough. They're not enough.

'I love you.'

Blaine can feel it. The end of his pyjamas are wet. His feet cold. It's raining in the kitchen now. The water fills the tea cups, and makes the floor shine. He can see it run down Kurt's face. It's raining.

The minutes pass like seasons. It's feels like years since Blaine has spoken. And it rained throughout it all. Kurt ages in the passing of nothing. Blaine can see it.

Finally, Kurt speaks. He does not move.

'I know,' he says at last. And there is something much worse in that than Blaine could've feared. Something concluding. Kurt's beautiful eyes shift greenly. 'I guess just not enough.'

Kurt hands him the words, there is no question in taking them. Blaine does. And he swallows them like stones. They are cool on his lips. And heavy. He feels them sink inside him, making sand swirl as they hit the bottom. Blaine feels something in his eyes. It's raining.

'I love you,' he says again. It's Kurt who winces this time. His eyes close heavily. He walks over. Careful not to slip on the shimmering floor. His hand reaches into his pocket. Blaine can hear his porcelain fingers clink together.

Kurt is before him. His eyes watch Blaine, trying to read the words written across the crumpled, brown paper. Read, but not see. Blaine can smell him. Breathe him in. He reaches out and touches Kurt's face. The skin is soft. But unyielding. Kurt's eyes flutter. They close again.

Blaine wishes they wouldn't close.

Blaine leans in to kiss him. Their lips meet. Kurt is absent. He does not kiss back. Blaine retreats. Defeated. Hurt. Wounded.

Blaine watches it rain on Kurt's face. The clouds turn to lead in his stormy eyes. The rain becomes frost on his china flesh. The leaves are changing colour.

Kurt takes Blaine's hand. The beating of his heart is so hard Blaine knows Kurt must hear it. He has to hear it. It's for you, he thinks helplessly. It's all for you.

There is something cold in his hand. Kurt's delicate fingertips have faded, sliding down Blaine's skin to nothing. But something remained. Blaine looks at his open palm, and counts the glinting coins. They glitter in the flashing rain. It's quieter. The rain is whispering against the window now, the puddles on the kitchen floor becoming still.

'For my coffee the other day,' Kurt says quietly. Furiously. Blaine tries to say something, but he is mute. What can he say to such a thing?

A thing so obvious. A thing so tragic. A thing so... final.

'I don't owe you anything now.'

He's not talking about coffee. Kurt's talking about songs. Hands. Kisses. Love.

Blaine loves him so fucking much.

Kurt turns. His feet makes soft waves on the kitchen floor. It's raining. Then Blaine's speaking again. Suddenly. Loudly.

'I'm scared!'

Kurt turns over his shoulder, but doesn't look at Blaine straight away. His mouth is closed. His eyes watch the floor. Watching, but not seeing. Finally, painfully, Kurt's eyes meet Blaines.

The effect is immediate. It's the first time Kurt looks at him. Truly. Deeply. The oil in Blaines stomach catches fire, and burns. Burns vividly and violently. He can see it. And he knows. He knows this is the day.

The day Kurt Hummel would start to love him just that little bit less. And hate him that little bit more.

He opens his mouth and the words land, making ripples; 'I'm scared, Kurt.' The words are thick with water and grief. Grief for something that isn't gone.

Yet.

Kurt looks at him that way. The apology and anger in his eyes is almost unbearable to see. Blaine speaks again. Rushed, hurried. He needs to say it. He needs Kurt to reply. He needs to explain.

'Don't go. I'm sorry, so sorry. We can try... try again.' He swallows his stones again. Blaine can feel the storm rise in the corners of his eyes. ''It could be different. I don't want to go back to college, just to come home and not see you.' Kurt says nothing.

'I don't want... I don't want to miss you.' Blaine lets them fall from his lips. The words hit the floor with a soft splash. Soaking in the rain. Like sponges.

Kurt's mouth opens. His eyes stay.

'Being without you, Kurt. Not having you... I'm scared.' Blaine repeats.

Kurt faces him properly now, his willowy form illuminated by the shifting light of the splintered window. He looks broken. A doll with a cracked face, showing the ugly inner shadow. Blaine feels his heart begin to quiver. It's holding it's breath.

Waiting.

'I'm scared...' he breathes. Kurt moves.

Kurt is before him again. Blaine does not want him to go. Kurt isn't looking at him anymore. His eyes are on the kitchen puddles, his black boots shining. Blaine waits, but Kurt still says nothing. He leans in. Blaine rests his forehead against Kurt. He can hear music. Hidden in the chiffon rain.

'Courage, Blaine,' Kurt says. Blaine almost lets the thunder roar and the lightning flash across his face.

But then Kurt kisses him.

Blaine kisses back. Eagerly, begging. But it's not the same. Kurt tastes different. He tastes... bitter.

It's short, lasting only a moment. And then he's gone.

Blaine watches the place where Kurt was. The clouds swell and burst.

It's raining.

This is just a small ficlet to keep my faithful alerts going. Unfortunately, the site is in a current state of not letting me update any current stories. I can't access them, at all. I'm so sorry for the delay in my other continuing Klaine/Kurtofsky story. I'm trying to solve it as quickly as possible.

I hope this doesn't have any errors, because once I upload, I can't access it again. If there any mistakes, I'm really sorry. :(

I hope you enjoyed this, though. Nothing like a good dose of Klaine-angst.

~ATGNT xo