lavender_love00 (lavender_love00) wrote,

Too in Love to Let it Go, Chapter 28

Author: gingerandfair/lavender_love00

Genre: AU/Married!Klaine/future-fic

Rating: NC-17

Word count: 9,300/200,000

Spoilers: none

Chapter summary: In which miracles come in many shapes and sizes, in the form of a pill, a Word document, a sketchbook, a quiet dinner.

Prologue (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 1 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 2 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 3 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 4 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 5  (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 6 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 7 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 8 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) Chapter 9 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 10 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 11 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 12 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 13 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 14 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 15 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 16 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 17 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 18 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 19 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 20 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 21 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 22 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 23 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 24 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 25 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 26 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 27 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C)

Read Chapter 28 on AO3/Tumblr/S&C

Chapter 28

Monday, October 2nd, 2023

"Alex? Hey, it's Blaine. Will you call me back when you get a chance? I have some ideas and a sort of rough outline-ish thing for a new piece. I think it'll be a series of short stories, but I'm not sure it's what you or the publishers are looking for. Maybe we can meet over lunch and talk about it? I hate that I missed you – I know I've been a lousy friend lately, and an even lousier author, but hopefully I've hit a turning point. I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

Blaine sighed and set the phone down, scrubbing a hand through his messy curls. All he could do now was wait.

* * *

"So, Kurt, how're you feeling?"

Kurt was feeling like he needed to stop staring at Dr. Jacobson's slouchy UGG boots pulled up over a pair of not-so-skinny jeans, for one thing. It was his third time seeing the woman, and her wardrobe was getting consistently worse. He snapped himself back to attention, trying to focus on her face, which was kind and open and smiling at him. Don’t be a bitch, Kurt.

He tipped his head to one side. "How am I feeling about what?"

"Oh, just in general. Or specifically, if you have something in particular you'd like to talk about today."

Kurt blinked at her. "Has anyone ever told you that you're very vague?"

"I'm only vague so that you can't be," she said. "We tend to get more accomplished that way."

Well, at least the woman was honest. He looked at her again, her wardrobe screaming 'I'm Trying too Hard in All the Wrong Ways!' and felt a sudden fondness for her that hadn't been there before. "You know, I think I like you," he said thoughtfully.

"I'm glad to hear that, Kurt." The smile she gave him was genuine, and Kurt felt warm inside, like maybe she'd needed a pick-me-up that day.

"I bet it drives Blaine crazy, though. The vague thing? I bet you make him squirm a lot."

Dr. Jacobson raised an eyebrow. "Kurt, you know I can't discuss any information about other clients' sessions, even if that client happens to be your husband."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to dig," he apologized. "I was just … commenting."

"Commenting, huh? You don't think you were deflecting?"

"I – maybe?"

"Well, no matter, either way," Dr. Jacobson said with a kind smile. "But I really would like to talk about you for a while."

Right. Talk about him. That was what he was there for, after all. He took a deep breath. "Well – I should be feeling really good. That Zofran stuff is like a miracle drug," he said. "I'm eating real food for the first time in months. I went out for lunch with my friend Rachel yesterday, and we had sushi of all things. I cannot even tell you how much I missed the taste of avocado and rice vinegar …"

"That's wonderful, Kurt! But – you said you should be feeling good. Why aren't you? "

Kurt looked down at the couch, fingering the raised seam on the cushion he was sitting on. The answer was very simple and very complicated, knotted up in his mind and heart like a tangled necklace, the kind you'd need a toothpick or some tweezers to fix.

"Blaine," he sighed, still in awe of how one name could hold so much. "I just – he's all over the place. You saw him Friday at our appointment – he was so mad, but then he'll apologize like crazy for being mad, which kind of drives me crazy."

Dr. Jacobson nodded.

"But then we went out on Saturday and he drew me apology flowers, because it was too early to buy them. After that, it was like nothing ever happened between us – it was wonderful. It felt like we were dating again. So I called him yesterday, hoping to – I don't know, flirt with him or something, and he was right back to where he's been."

"And where's that?"

"I don't know, exactly," Kurt said slowly, recalling Blaine's dejected tone of voice, his one-word answers. "Someplace bad. He – he didn't really want to talk, and he sounded so sad. I just don't know how I can learn trust him when I feel like I'm on a roller coaster whenever I'm around him."

"Did you ask him why he sounded that way?"

"Well of course I did, but do you think he'd actually tell me? Blaine's kind of a bottler, if you haven't noticed …"

Dr. Jacobson didn't comment on that. "Why do you think he was sad? Do you think something could have triggered him – do you know what I mean when I say trigger?"

Kurt huffed. Of course he knew what a trigger was. The entirety of his time at Dalton he dreaded gym class, because the combined smell of apocrine sweat and Axe body wash could set him off. He'd have to sit down on the bleachers, Blaine hovering over him worriedly as he trembled, trying to breathe through the panic.

"Yes," he said, trying not to sound irritable. "He – maybe he was thinking about Violet. Or leaving me. Or Nick and Jeff. Or all of the above …"

"Nick and Jeff?" Dr. Jacobson asked.

"They're our good friends, and they just realized that they're totally in love with each other and –" he sighed. "Well, it's a little difficult right now, watching them be so happy when we're having such a hard time."

"I see. So do you think it's the roller coaster emotions? Or do you think you're not ready to let yourself trust Blaine again?"

But Kurt was ready. He was so ready for Blaine to be back in his home, in his bed, in his heart, that it permeated his every thought, but for some reason he couldn't make the leap.

"I – I don't know. Maybe I'm scared of getting hurt again."

"I think that's understandable, Kurt."

He shook his head. It wasn't understandable, not to him. He shouldn't be afraid of being hurt by the man he'd loved for over twelve years. "But I want to trust him again. I miss him. I just – I want to feel married again, if that makes sense."

"Do you not feel married now?"

Kurt laughed drily. "Not even a little bit."

"Well, what does being married feel like to you?"

He closed his eyes to keep from crying. What did being married feel like? It felt like holding hands in Central Park in December, Blaine's tongue stuck out to catch the snowflakes, looking no less than precious in his hat and gloves and coat. It felt like strong arms he felt safe in, whether his dad was in the hospital or he'd just gotten a promotion or he may or may not have just broken his big toe when he dropped a bottle of wine on it. It felt like a cup of coffee brought at two in the morning all the way to his studio before Fashion Week, Blaine wearing pajamas and a sleepy smile. It felt like walking down an aisle and making promises and dancing the night away.

"It feels like everything but this," he whispered.

Dr. Jacobson handed him a Kleenex. "You said you went out with him on Saturday – that went well?"

Kurt nodded, dabbing at his eyes. "I felt like I had my best friend back," he said softly. "Like somehow the Blaine I've always known – the one I haven't seen in a long time – managed to crawl his way back to the surface or something. He was so sweet. I know you don't know him very well, and I don't think you've probably gotten to see my Blaine yet, but that's who he is. He's so sweet and so thoughtful – he'll go out of his way to make somebody's day better. He's the kind of guy who will draw you a bouquet of apology flowers. He volunteered at a soup kitchen the entire time we were in college. That's the guy I married, and that's the guy I had coffee with two days ago."

She made a note on the legal pad she always held in her lap and smiled sadly at him. "Kurt – you do understand that he's the same person he always was, right? No one came and switched out your husband for an imposter. He's grieving. So are you. Grief can change people – trauma can change people. But just because you've changeddoesn't mean you're different people. Does that make sense?"

Memories of Blaine over the years began to fly through Kurt's mind. His face twisted and he hung his head, ashamed to let her see him cry. "But I don't want him to change," he said, gasping a little at the end. "I – I want my Blaine."

"Maybe we can focus on what hasn't changed. He still loves you, right?"

Kurt looked up, wiping his eyes. "Yeah," he said thickly, "he says he does."

"Do you believe him?"

He thought back to their date on Saturday, the way Blaine's fingers tangled in his hair, the way he'd kissed him like his life depended on it. "I think so."

Dr. Jacobson nodded. "Kurt, let me ask you something. Blaine's said that he's sorry for leaving you – do you think he deserves to be forgiven for it?"

"Of course he does. It's not forgiveness that I'm struggling with, here. I've forgiven him already – I wouldn't have gone out with him if I hadn't. It's just – I don't know if I can trust him not to do it again."

"Does he trust you?"

"I – I think so?" Kurt sat still and quiet as he thought of the words to say what his heart already knew. "I don't know if this will make sense," he finally said. "I think he trusts me more than I trust him. But I forgave him for leaving a long time ago, and I don't think he's forgiven me for the nursery thing yet. Actually … I don't think he's forgiven himself, either."

Dr. Jacobson tilted her head a little. "So, to you, trust and forgiveness are two separate things?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, you're the psychoanalyst, so correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure I forgave the guy who harassed and assaulted me in high school a lot sooner than I ever trusted him."

"But you think Blaine trusts you, but hasn't forgiven you yet?"

Kurt went back to picking at the string on the couch. "I don't know if Blaine will ever forgive me for that," he said sadly. "I – I'm pretty sure he knows I won't ever try to pull anything like it again, though."

She gave him a sympathetic look. "Well, let's focus on the things that you have some control over, okay? What do you think Blaine needs to do to earn your trust again?"

Kurt sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. He wanted them gone, wanted to glare, to freeze the sighs out of his chest. He was tired of the sighing, tired of the not-knowing, tired of trying to fix what should never have broken in the first place. "See, that's what I don't get," he said. "He's doing everything right. Pursuing me. Not drinking. Talking to me. Kissing me." He blushed, looking up at Dr. Jacobson. "He's trying really hard, I know."

"Then maybe all you need is a little more time."

* * *

"Hey, studmuffin," Blaine said, grinning as Nick walked through the door after work with a box of Chinese takeout. "You look happy. Good day at work? Or is it just your effervescent afterglow still hanging around?"

Nick set the food on the table, then fell backward onto the couch, his arms spread out wide and a huge smile on his face. "I think it's the afterglow," he sighed. "Oh my god. Just – oh my god."

"That good, huh?" Blaine patted him on the shoulder and ambled into the kitchen, grabbing two plates and utensils for them both.

"Blaine, he's perfect."

He smiled to himself, spooning rice, sesame chicken, and vegetables onto his plate. He could remember saying that very thing to Nick, the afternoon he kissed Kurt for the first time. And the second time. And the third and fourth and fifth times …

"You want some of everything?" he asked, looking over his shoulder.

Nick appeared to hop off of Cloud Nine long enough to answer. "Yeah, and I got egg rolls too – I want two of them."

Blaine finished serving his plate and trotted back to the couch. "Perfect, huh?" he asked, stacking bites of chicken, vegetables and rice carefully on his fork so there were equal amounts of each. "I doubt he's perfect …"

"But he is," Nick sighed, and shoved a mouthful of chicken in his mouth. "God, I sound like a teenager, don't I?" he mumbled around it. Blaine tried hard not to roll his eyes – Nick ate like such a boy. It reminded him of Finn.

"That's okay. I think we're all allowed a moment of weakness." He smiled, hoping that Nick knew he was joking.

"Seriously though – I already miss him, and it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours yet. I'm pathetic."

"You're in looove," Blaine teased, punching him lightly on the shoulder, but a sense of unease washed over him. How many hours had it been that he'd been separated from Kurt? A lot more than twenty-four … He swallowed a lump in his throat. "I think it's sweet."

"He's just – god." Nick started to laugh. "He makes me so happy."

"Good," Blaine said, feeling anything but. He kind of regretted even bringing it up.

"I just don't get it – how couldn't I have seen it before? We could've had years together already …"

"You have had years together," Blaine said sharply. He cut a piece of chicken in half and stabbed it with his fork, maybe a little forcefully than was necessary. "Don't underestimate the power of being best friends first."

"I know," Nick said. "It's just –" He blushed, blood rushing up his neck, over the apples of his cheeks, flooding the tips of his ears. "The sex is good. Like, really good. Like, kind of mind-blowing, actually."

"I – that's awesome, Nick." He let the fork clatter down on his plate. He'd suddenly lost his appetite. The backs of his eyes burned.

"Sorry, TMI?"

"No, it's fine, I just –" Blaine broke off with a gasp, the tears sudden and overwhelming.


"I miss him so much," he cried, burying his face in his open palms. It felt like his heart was breaking – he wondered how many times a person's heart could break and still manage to come out beating. He thought he might be testing his limits.

"Oh, god, I'm sorry – I didn't even think –" Nick tentatively reached out and touched Blaine's back, keeping his hand there when Blaine didn't flinch. "Blaine, I'm so sorry – I'm just rubbing it in your face, god, I'm a horrible friend –"

"No." Blaine wrenched himself back up, a few heaving sobs still left in him. He swiped angrily at his eyes, mad that he couldn't just be fucking happy for once. "Don't ever say that again, Nick," he said, and it was in no uncertain terms an order. "I've just –" He paused to take a gasping breath, "I've been living on your couch for a month. You are the farthest thing from a bad friend …"

Nick reached over and hugged him, squeezing tight, and Blaine squeezed right back, so thankful for his friend's intuition. He was desperate for touch, for some sort of contact – he was starving slowly, like Kurt had been before Rachel came along with her protein shakes.

He took a slow, deep breath, then managed to let go. "God, I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head. "I just keep having these random crying fits …" He laughed ruefully. "I need meds or something."

Then he blinked, looking down at his lap as he realized what he'd just said.

"Blaine?" Nick said cautiously.

His voice grew small. "Do I need meds, Nick? Am I that crazy?"

"I don't know if you need them or not – I think that's maybe something that you and your therapist lady should decide – but I don't think you're crazy, even if you do need them," Nick said. "You know my mom has been off and on them several times, right?"

Blaine looked up at him, surprised. "No," he said softly. "No, I didn't know that."

"Yeah, the first time was after her post-partum depression when my brother was born, and then she needed them again for a while after my grandma died. There's nothing wrong with needing help, Blaine, whether it's with a therapist or medication or whatever."

"I know," Blaine sighed, fighting with the voice inside his head again. "I just – I feel so stupid and weak –"

Nick's voice was gentle as he drew Blaine into his arms again. "Hey, hey, it's okay," he crooned soft in Blaine's ear. "It's gonna be alright, man."

"I hope so," Blaine whispered, and let himself be held.

* * *

Tuesday, October 3rd, 2023

"Hey, Kurt?"

Kurt looked up from the pan of eggs he was scrambling. "Yeah, Rach?"

"I probably won't be home tonight – I've got a bunch of errands to run, and then the cast is going out after the show tonight. It'll probably be easier for me to just sleep at my place, if you don't mind."

"Of course not. I'm not trying to hold you hostage, here."

She paused, looking down. "I – I've been thinking, actually … you've seemed so much better lately. You're eating, and things are getting better with Blaine, and …" She trailed off.

It suddenly dawned on Kurt what she was trying to say. He looked back down at the eggs in the pan, colored with peppers and cheese and tomatoes, and absently stirred them again. Rachel had been a wonderful companion for over a month, but she was right – he was doing better. It wouldn't be fair of him to ask her to stay any longer. That didn't make it any easier, though, wouldn't make him miss her any less. "Rachel, you're allowed to say it," he said, still staring down into the pan.

He heard her take a deep breath. "I think it might be time for me to go home for good."

Kurt turned around to see her eyes filling with tears. "Oh, sweetie …" He held his arms out and she stepped into them, pressing her face into his chest.

"I was so worried," she sniffled as he squeezed her tiny frame tight. "I thought you might not come back to me …"

He grinned down at her. "And miss my chance to gloat when I finally get more famous than you are? Never." She managed a laugh, and he kissed the top of her head. "Thank you," he said thickly. "For everything."

"You're my best friend," she said, lifting her watery eyes to meet his. "What else was I supposed to do? It's kind of my job to take care of you, right?"

He grinned again, letting go of her waist with one hand so he could swipe at his eyes with the back of it. "Right. Just like we took care of you when you broke up with Finn … and Jeremy … and Ansel," he sneered.

Rachel squawked a strangled laugh. "Oh, god, don't remind me of Ansel! I don't know what I was thinking …"

"Me either." He cocked his head and fondly gazed at her. "We've been through a lot together over the years, haven't we?"

"We have," she said, her voice wavering a little. "And I couldn't be happier that it was all with you."

"Because I knew you …" Kurt sang softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Because I knew you …" she echoed.

"I have been changed for good," they intoned together, then broke off laughing.

"God, we're being divas – I'm glad Blaine's not here to see this. He'd never let us hear the end of it."

"Whatever!" she laughed, her eyes shining through the tears. "Blaine's just as dramatic as we are, if not more. Whatever happened to the Gap Attack? Or the Great Sexuality Crisis of 2011? Or that time in college, when that TV couple he liked so much broke up for like six episodes, and he mourned the entire time? Or –"

"Okay, okay, I see your point," Kurt said, his eyes twinkling. "No need to relive Blaine's embarrassing ancient history. Now go – get out, run your errands, reclaim your life as a young starlet. Just don't forget to call me for brunch."

"Oh, Kurt," Rachel beamed. "Thank you for calling me young!"

"With as much as you've done for me? I'll go change your age on your Wikipedia page to 26, and no one would ever know the difference."

* * *

Wednesday, October 4th, 2023

Blaine sat at the table he'd reclaimed as his own at Bean Me Up, typing furiously on his laptop, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. Apparently when he'd started writing on Saturday, it had opened a floodgate and the words kept pouring forth, pages and pages and pages of words.

Braxton, who was working that day and was very obviously trying not to ask if Blaine was alright, brought a second full cup of steaming coffee and set it down by Blaine's laptop. He didn't say anything, but squeezed Blaine's shoulder as he walked back behind the counter and began grinding beans.

Blaine took a breath, his shoulder still tingling from the contact. He was becoming increasingly aware that he was touch-starved, and there wasn't much he could do about it until Kurt asked him to move back in. He stopped typing to pop several of his aching knuckles, looking over what he'd written. The words on the screen were vicious and dark and hurt and angry and all, every single one of them, inspired by his father.

He picked up the cup that Braxton had left, scalding his tongue with the first swallow. When half the cup was empty, he set it down and started typing again.

And an hour later, at two forty-four on the dot, he finished his sentence, shut his laptop, packed his bag and began walking toward the subway. He was late – he had sixteen minutes to make a trip that typically took twenty-five, but the words just wouldn't stop, and he hoped Dr. Jacobson would understand, that she might even be proud of him for finally facing his oldest and most destructive demon – his father's voice.

When he finally boarded the subway, a little out of breath from trying to cut the time of his walk in half, he took out the notebook he'd been using as a guide for his sessions with Dr. Jacobson. His hands shook, and that in addition to the rocking subway car made his typically neat script a little wobbly, but the words were unmistakable.

Topics To Discuss Today

-Why my father hates me

-Do I need medication?

* * *

"You seem fidgety today, Blaine."

Blaine jerked his head up, stilling his hands where they'd been rubbing back and forth over his corduroys. "Do I?"

"Well, your knees are jiggling and you've been rubbing your hands on your legs, and you won't look me in the eye. Is something going on?" Dr. Jacobson asked.

Everything was going on. He'd seen more of Kurt in the last week than he had in a month – which was to say three times, precisely. But they were talking on the phone almost every night, and their conversations were always civil, sometimes even flirty. When Kurt flirted with him, Blaine's heart did somersaults, and he still hadn't decided if it was the best feeling in the world or if it just made him dizzy.

There was the writing, which just kept pouring out of him. It was like he'd been dammed up all this time, and something – whether Kurt, or Dr. Jacobson, or himself, or some other outside force, he wasn't sure – had just unclogged him. He wrote early, he wrote late, he wrote through meals, he wrote and wrote and wrote and none of it was worth anything as it stood, but he knew it could be edited and parsed down and made into something good, if he tried hard enough.

But it brought up so many things, so many excruciating feelings that he'd been repressing, and god he just hurt so much.

"I – yes." It was too simple an answer, but he couldn't find the right words to explain any further. Instead, he opened his notebook to the correct page and handed it to Dr. Jacobson, who stared at it for what seemed to be the longest thirty seconds of his life.

"We'll revisit your dad in a few minutes," she said, "but – medication. What kind of medication do you mean, exactly?"

"Anti-" Suddenly Blaine's mouth felt like it was full of cottonballs. He cleared his throat. "Antidepressants."

"And why do you think you need antidepressants, Blaine?"

"Because." God, why wouldn't his mouth work? He tried again. "Because I'm depressed."

She nodded slowly. "How long have you felt this way?"

"I –" Blaine looked at his lap. "I've been depressed off and on for my entire life." It was the first time he'd ever said the words out loud to anyone. "That's kind of where my dad comes in, but – yeah. This time, I guess I realized after I started drinking one night and I couldn't stop. Which was after I walked out on Kurt, and his best friend yelled at me and said I was killing him. I – I don't think I've mentioned any of that, but –" he gestured to his laptop. "This kind of makes things come to the surface."

"Your laptop?"

"I'm writing," Blaine said. "But – Dr. Jacobson, do you think meds aren't a good idea?"

"Oh, no," she said. "I think they're an excellent idea, especially if you feel like you need them."

Blaine gripped the edge of the couch tightly. "I don't want to need them," he said, his voice thick. "I just – I feel awful a lot of the time. I get in these funks that I can't get out of, and I snapped at one of my best friends, and –"

"Blaine, everybody snaps sometimes."

"But I –" He stopped rubbing his hand over his eyes. "I don't know. I don't know. I just feel like I'll never be happy again, and I feel like it's something wrong inside of me, and I thought that maybe – am I being stupid?"

"You're not being stupid at all," she said gently. "I'll set you up with Dr. Seang – he's the psychiatrist we work with here – as soon as I can, okay?" Blaine nodded. "Now – you wanted to talk about your dad?"

* * *

Thursday, October 5th, 2023

Blaine fidgeted nervously as he sat in an uncomfortable chair in the pharmacy, waiting for his name to be called. He was uneasy – no, that was wrong, he was terrified – after the appointment with the psychiatrist, after hearing the side effects and the options and the strictest instructions to call immediately if you feel like harming yourself, Blaine.

He'd almost thrown up on the sidewalk outside the office.

And then he was at the pharmacy, the CVS where he'd just bought a jug of milk and a bottle of motrin the week prior, hoping and praying that the friendly girl who'd checked him out wouldn't figure out what he was there for when he walked all the way to the back of the store.

He eyed the pharmacist behind the counter who was laughing about something with one of the techs. He wondered if she realized that she was about to fill up a bottle with pills that would change his whole life, wondered if she was this blasé every time she filled a prescription for antidepressants. He wondered if anyone else on antidepressants got so angry, watching other people laugh.

God, he hated that he needed those pills.

Then his phone rang and he jerked in his chair, startled at the vibration in his pocket.

"Kurt?" His hands shook so hard that he nearly dropped the phone.

"Hi. I need to talk to you. I – I'm bored to tears, Blaine, and I feel like my creativity is dying and I'm thinking of –"

"This is. Um. This is maybe not the best time," Blaine stammered.

"Oh." Kurt's voice fell flat. "Where are you? Blaine, are you drinking?"

"I – I'm at the pharmacy."

"Blaine Anderson-Hummel?" the pharmacist called from behind the counter, looking right at him.

"The pharmacy?" Kurt asked, confused. "Are you sick?"

"I –" Blaine laughed morosely. "Some people would say so."

"You're being cryptic."

"Blaine Anderson-Hummel?" The pharmacist repeated his name, the mirth gone from her face, replaced by tired resignation. He wondered if she liked her job at all. He sighed, knees shaking as he shuffled out of the chair, and walked to the counter.

"Alright, Mr. Anderson-Hummel, do you have any questions?" she asked tersely, looking pointedly at his phone. He was being rude.

"Kurt, I have to go. Can we – coffee? What are you doing right now? Will you meet me for coffee?"

"I'll be waiting for you."

There was no goodbye, only a dead silence on the other end of the line. Blaine turned his attention back to the pharmacist. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. Now, you should take one capsule once a day, at the same time each day. I suggest before bed, because they can make you drowsy. Don’t ever take more than your prescribed dose, even if you miss a pill. Do you have any questions?"

Blaine blinked at the pharmacist, her big, dark eyes staring at him expectantly. Is this a mistake? Is it going to change my life forever? Will I still be able to write? Am I going to feel numb? "Um, no," he said. "No questions."

“Okay. Have a nice afternoon.”

“Yeah … you too,” Blaine mumbled, his face flushing as he took the bag from her. It was all he could do to keep from running from the store as fast as his legs could carry him. He managed a tight smile at the cashier as he passed her on his way out the door before sliding to the sidewalk and leaning his head against the bricks, breathing deep.



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