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It’s the hardest thing, that it is getting easier. That life really does go on, that the worst things can happen and getting up in the morning, getting dressed, going out, can be exciting and thrilling and fun and wanted.
Because this is what he’s wanted, for so long, the dramatic arcs and curves of life, the musical numbers to punctuate the highlights and the tragedies. But what he hadn’t realized -
Life is like a musical. You laugh, you dance, you kiss, you cry, and then - you leave the theatre, and go back to your life, on to the next show. And Kurt has no idea what comes next - coda, sequel, epilogue, brand new show? The script doesn’t tell you what to do when you’re done with the script.
He thinks about the ring in his bottom drawer - packed so reverently and then hidden so carefully - gumwrappers and promises, something sweet and sacred but, in the end, just paper and dreams. A gesture they weren’t ready for.
That they couldn’t be saved with a gesture and an apology had been a shock, almost as big a shock as what the apology had been for (shock, like an earthquake, like a shockwave, the molecular structure of his world jarred out of his understanding or control). That this can’t be saved would take so long to become this is over had been another shock, but deeper, longer, slower, the slow tectonic drift of plates below the ocean that sometimes slid into slipping faults and overwheling tidal waves.
(The wedding had been one of those slick-slipping-faults, fun and over and gone almost before Kurt had even realized what he was doing, what it might mean. Mostly he tries not to think about it, and tries even harder not to think about how he can’t remember how Blaine’s hands on him had felt
(Except for one blistering-burning moment, Blaine buried deep inside him, Kurt on his knees over him; Blaine had reached up and touched his face and Kurt had felt his heart crack, everything threatening to flood in, so he had shut his eyes to the love-look in Blaine’s and had fucked his hips down, harder, faster, until the world dissolved.))
He’s said goodbye so many times, now, clung to the encore for too long, and he’s so, so, tired of it, tired and scared and wanting so badly to move on. Adam’s hand in his (his hand in Adam’s) is warm, strong, certain, and it’s hard to take but it’s easier to hold, easier still to walk out the door with him and let Adam help him into his coat and then take his hand again - he makes sure to reach out first this time, and smiles when Adam smiles at him, happy.
Blaine couldn’t be his fantasy, never had been, maybe; willing doting loving boyfriend who had needed things from Kurt but had never asked, or known how to, and maybe Kurt never could have given them to him, anyway.
(That hurts most of all, that maybe it wasn’t just Blaine’s fault, that maybe Kurt shouldn’t have touched him first in the car, weeks ago, that maybe he should have called more, months ago; that mistakes are on both their heads that are making it harder to end this act, because some things never will be resolved.)
So maybe it is time to let go a little, take control by giving up control and letting Adam lead him where he already wants to go, out onto the sunlit street. He puts his hand on Adam’s back as they round the corner, warm scratchy-soft wool under his hand, nothing like smooth-textured black fabric, and that -
That’s okay, and that is the most terrifying thing of all.