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At first it was mind-numbing. Taking down the carefully placed post-its and setting them aside in piles.
Green is for humidity-controlled storage.
Red is for trash.
Pink is for stay.
Blue is for go.
Kurt looked down at the pile of blue post-it notes - the largest of the four piles - and he expected tears to start forming, for the depression to hit.
But that's not what happened.
All he saw was his hopes going into the trash while Rachel Berry continued on her way to stardom. A tightness formed in his chest and suddenly he was ripping off post-its without any care for the items they were attached to. He wanted to scream, to throw things, to rip and tear them to shreds.
He began with the post-its.
Green for his mint-conditioned memorabilia when he becomes famous.
Ripped to tiny shreds.
Red for trash, things he thought would no long matter once he got to New York.
Torn to pieces.
Pink, for all of the things he wished he could bring, but knew would never fit in with his new life, but which he wasn't ready to depart with.
Split into uneven halves.
Blue - for everything that was supposed to follow him to his dream.
Crushed.
"Kurt?" a tentative voice asked behind him from the doorway. Kurt, turned around and found a pair of hazel eyes staring back at him with concern and worry lacing their edges.
"Are you okay?" Blaine asked, stepping closer to him and reaching out a hand to place on his shoulder.
Kurt glanced down at his hand, clenched tightly around the blue post-it notes, which he had crumbled into a misshapen ball of sharp angles and wrinkled folds. He relaxed his hand and watched it fall, joining the pile of broken post-its on the ground. He shook his head.
"It's not fair," he whispered. His eyes began to sting and all it took was one shuddering breath and then he was being pulled into Blaine's arms. Tears were leaking from his eyes and snot from his nose and he couldn't stop, didn't want to stop, and Blaine just held him, rubbing his arms up and down Kurt's back as he buried his own face in Kurt's shoulder, pulling him tightly to him and whispering words of comfort and assurance that he would still make it to New York, one way or another.
And Kurt knew he was right. He wouldn't give up, he would find another way. But not right now. For now, he just wanted to be a little selfish, and cry because nothing he did ever seemed to be enough.