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Kurt slid the glass of whiskey towards himself when the bartender finally refilled his drink and took a long sip as he closed his eyes.
He was in a small crowded bar, one he had found barely a few nights ago when he was walking back to his apartment in Brooklyn. It was rustic and cozy, with pictures of various sizes and themes hanging on the walls, leaving almost nothing of the bare wall to see. There was also a flat screen in the far corner playing a football game. It wasn't Kurt’s scene by any means but neither was his friend’s so the chances of them finding him there were none.
A man took the barstool next to him, a man with dark hair and tanned skin who was too brightly clothed for a place like the one Kurt was in, a man Kurt knew and who addressed him with a quiet, “hey.”
He was biting down on his lower lip, trying and failing to contain his excitement, eyes alight and a grin bound to break free at any given moment.
“Hey,” Kurt said, smiling softly and suppressing a deep sigh. As the silence stretched between them Kurt saw the man’s features forming a worried frown.
“Are you okay?” the man asked.
“You mean other than the fact that you’re here?”
Kurt turned to look down at his empty glass, not waiting for an answer, not entirely sure he would get one. He hoped it was just a side effect from the alcohol, which he wasn't supposed to be drinking. The last months had been good ones, but maybe the recent change in his medication wasn't the ideal. He would have to talk to Marianne about it.
“Who is Marianne?” the man beside him asked. Kurt didn't realize he had been talking out loud.
“She’s my… doctor. Psychiatrist.”
“Why are you seeing a psychiatrist?”
“Depression and slight SPD,” was Kurt’s toneless response. It had become that way after the most popular topic of discussion between his friends and relatives became his mental health. When he regarded his companion again he saw his face had fallen. He was looking at him with eyes so saddened and so broken it tugged at the strings in Kurt’s heart and a sheer protectiveness he had only ever felt for this man flared up inside him again. “No, hey, I’m fine. Well, I clearly am not but the depression has been controlled for years now and the SPD isn't as bad as it used to be. I’m – I’m managing.”
“But I’m here now,” Blaine whispered.
“That’s kind of the problem, sweetheart.”
Kurt’s hand twitched with the need to stroke Blaine’s beautiful face, to soothe all of his worries and make him look happy again. He couldn't of course, watching him every now and then Kurt could cope with, the disappointment of finding cold nothingness instead of Blaine’s warm skin when he tried to reach for him was more difficult to bear.
He needed to go. He didn't want to inconvenience the other patrons with his odd behavior but he couldn't make himself leave. Blaine was still there and he wouldn't be when Kurt got out of the building. He decided then to enjoy the precious few minutes he had left, watching Blaine and memorizing every detail and contour of his face, even if years after Blaine’s death he still remembered every single one of them.
The bartender approached him again and asked if he wanted another whiskey. Kurt declined with a polite smile. He was in the process of taking out his wallet to pay for his drinks when the man addressed someone else.
“Anything for you, sir?”
Kurt’s body froze, his mind working rapidly to remember if there had been anyone else around him. He was further shocked when Blaine responded as if the question had been meant for him.
“I’m good, thank you.”
Kurt’s head wiped around and he took a hold of the bartender’s hand before he was gone. His expression couldn't have been one of a sane man since the bartender eyed him defensively.
“You – you can see him?”
When caution turned to confusion Kurt turned to look at Blaine. He could sense a weight pressing down on his chest that was making it harder to breathe, harder to think.
“Kurt? Are you okay?” Blaine asked worriedly.
Kurt jumped off his stool but he couldn't tear his face off Blaine. He wanted to run but his legs failed him.
“Who are you?” Kurt spat as he walked backwards, trying to put some kind of distance between them.
Blaine chuckled nervously as if Kurt had said the silliest most ridiculous thing, but the hurt was evident in his eyes. “What – what do you mean? I’m – I’m Blaine.”
“You are not,” Kurt said, his back hitting a wall, “You can’t be. Blaine died. He’s – he’s gone.” His voice trembled through the sentence and broke at the end. He could feel the control slipping off him at a dizzying speed and his heart wanted to jolt right out of his ribcage.
“Is everything okay?” a dark, lean man asked Blaine because he could see him, because Blaine was there.
“I think he’s having some sort of panic attack, I – I’ll handle it.” Blaine approached him slowly with his hands in front of him in a gesture that was clearly meant to calm him down. It wasn't working. “Kurt, please. It’s me, I promise.”
Blaine’s eyes shone through the dim lit place. Kurt hadn't passed a day without thinking in Blaine’s eyes, the ones that were right in front of him. It was too much.
“No,” he whispered and slid abruptly down the wall, his hands fisting into his own hair. Blaine knelt in front of him instantly. “No, you can’t.” With his eyes firmly shut he started muttering between faltering words, “I saw you – I saw you. I was there… when your heart stopped, when they lo-lowered your body to the ground and – and when Cooper yelled at your parents for giving you a Christian service when you’d said you didn't want it. I was there…”
He was right in the edge and he had a moment to wonder why he hadn't broken down into hysterical sobs, he felt them all bottled up in his throat. He was tugging wildly at his hair but he didn't feel any pain. He just wanted to breathe.
Solid weight settled on his lap, restraining his legs. The first instinct that kicked in was that of pushing Blaine off him as fast as possible but two strong hands framed his face and his head was suddenly pushed to the wall by the force in which Blaine crashed their mouths together.
In an automatic response, he clutched the back of Blaine’s polo and brought him unbearably closer. There wasn't anything else in the world but Blaine. Blaine and his hands on his neck and his tongue sliding between Kurt’s parted lips. Blaine, solid and beautiful. Kurt barely noticed the chill of the tear tracks running down his face.
“I’m here,” Blaine panted, leaning their foreheads together. “I’m here, Kurt.”
“Why?” Was the only thing Kurt manage, voice shaky.
“They gave me another opportunity.”
All of his thoughts were muddling together. Nothing made sense. Blaine was there. Who were “they”? Why? How? Would Blaine stay?
“What for?”
“To spend the rest of our lives together.”