Chapter 18
Blaine was vaguely aware of people around him cheering in the new year. But, all he could comprehend were Kurt's lips on his. They were soft. So unbelievably soft. The feeling made his knees go weak and his mind hazy. At first, there was a hesitation from Kurt, a resistance. Yet, he gave in, pressing his hips into the bar in a desperate attempt to get closer. Just for a moment, there's the tip of Kurt's tongue flicking out to greet Blaine. Then he's pulling away. Blaine, the puppy he is, chases the feelingr13; the warm of Kurt's lips on hisr13; nuzzling his nose into Kurt's. But, he is stopped by hands on his chest.
Not a word is passed between the two of them. Kurt takes Blaine's hand, calling out that he's taking his break now. He leads Blaine behind the bar and out the backdoor. Blaine can't help but think that this is it. Kurt is going to take him out back and kiss him senseless. There's this overwhelmingly wonderful swooping feeling in his gut as Kurt takes Blaine's shoulders into his hands, bracing himself. He walks the two of them backwards until Blaine is sandwiched between the warmth of the neighboring building and Kurt's body.
“What was that?”
“I'm in love with you.” He declares, voice barely reaching a whisper. When he looked up, Blaine saw those greedy eyes taking his heart.
“Blaine,” And breaking it. “That's sweet, butr13;”
“That's sweet?” Blaine reiterates. “I just confessed my love for you and you think it's sweet?”
Kurt raises a hand to silence him. “Please, let me speak.” He moves his hand to caress Blaine's cheek. The boy has to resist leaning into the touch with all that he is. “Blaine, you arer13;well, you're pretty amazing. You're kind and passionate and intelligent,” Kurt lets his fingers stray away to loop in Blaine's hair. “Beautiful, so intricately…” For a moment, it appears Kurt leans in making Blaine's breath hitch. Just as soon, he snaps back. “And...and you care so much about me. And I care just as much for you, okay?” It's patronizing, but Blaine nods. “That's why we could never be together. You're too good for me.”
“No, I'm not.” Blaine pleads, tears leaking onto his cheeks. The idea is almost laughable— nothing is ever too good for Kurt Hummel. Nothing is ever good enough, either.
Kurt catches them with the pads of his thumbs. “Yes, you are. Way too good. And I'm scared thatr13;I justr13;I…” he pauses to take a steadying breath, breathing in Blaine. “I don't want to hurt you.”
“Little too late for that.”
“Oh, sweetie, this is only a glimpse of what I could do you in for. You deserve better.” When Kurt presses a kiss, maybe a little less chaste than he intended, to Blaine's lips the younger boy wanted to squirm away. Turn the tables on Kurt and reject him. But, despite it all, Blaine would still kiss Kurt until he was dead. “Happy new year, Blaine.” Even when Kurt leaves him, slipping in through the backdoor and letting it fall shut behind him. And it was just a door, but man, did it piss him off. It wasn't so much a conscious decision as it was this deep urge to just hit and hit until things were better. Except, the more he kicked, things only got worse. Blaine could feel the bruises forming on his fists. His toes began to throb from smashing into the metal door, his voice raw from screaming. Still, the door never opened. Kurt didn't come back. Things didn't get better. They got worse; so much worse. As in lights and sirens worse.
“Young man, what do you think you're doing?” When Blaine turned, a whole new wave of tears washed over him. His face went white and he started knocking harder against the door, rapidly, calling for Kurt to save him from the two men approaching. One had a flashlight pointed on Blaine. The other kept a hand poised over his holstered gun, ready. “NYPD, put your hands up.”
“Kurt!” Kick, kick. “Please.”
“Sir, we need you to step away from the door and put your hands behind your head.” This time the second cop had his gun trained at Blaine. The boy, shaking and cold and crying, risked one more glance at the door, before backing away. Instantly, the officers were all over him. “Have you been drinking, young man?” That reminds Blaine of his stomach full of wine. Panic set low in Blaines stomach–cold, numbing panic– at the sound of cuffs securing around his wrists.

“What'd you do?” It was a silent car ride prior to that moment. After two nights in jail, Blaine decided to make his one call. It took him awhile to figure out who to call. But, he had to decide if he wanted to get out of his cell he shared with another drunk minor that reeked of piss. Kurt was instantly not an option. While in jail, Blaine had a lot of time to think about what happened with Kurt. And he realized that maybe Kurt was right. He left Blaine out there, emotional and vulnerable and calling for him. Then Blaine got arrested and Kurt has yet to come looking for him. Maybe Kurt is bad for him. He's selfish. So, even if Blaine called, he probably wouldn't come. Tina would be over in an instant but Blaine can't stand the way she looks at him when she is disappointed. And if he called Sam he would no doubt tell her. Cooper would hold it over him for the next two lifetimes if he had to fly in from LA or send one of his North Coast friends to get him. Wes isn't too far away in New Jersey, but Blaine couldn't be the guy that asks someone to bail him out after a year of rarely talking. So, his choices were limited to be fair. It wasn't who he wanted to callr13; not even close. But, it's who he had to call. Someone who would never earn back the right to judge him, nor his trust.
“I really don't wanna talk about it, Adam.” The man driving the car nodded. “I don't really want to talk to you at all.”
“Still, I'm glad you called me. How've you been?”
“You clearly don't understand the not talking thing.”
“No, I do. You've never been one for discussing your feelings.” Blaine grumbles and hurrumphs in his seat, loathing how well his ex knows him. “I understand you, Blaine.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“Im serious, Blaine. I know you probably hate me now for what I did, but—”
“Actually, I kinda understand it.”
“What?”
“What you did; I get it. Sort of. Or at least who you did it with.”
“Kurt?”
“Yeah. He's amazing.”
“So are you.” And he sounded so genuine. So heartbreakingly genuine.
“Not like he is. Kurt is intoxicatingly amazing.”
“So, you two are together now?”
“Not at all. I think we are actually, completely polarized.” Blaine's words rang out in the car, and in his mind, until they came to a stop outside of the building in which Blaine had to go inside. In which he had to go home.

The door shoved open, with a bit of effort, and there was Kurt. He was pacing, a long blanket and Pamela Landsbury trailing behind him, as if he were a king. The king of heartbreak maybe. He has his phone pressed to his ear and the line through the center of his forehead was creased, as it never is.
“Blaine!” He breathed, as if the boy's presence was fresh oxygen to a drowning survivor. The phone is lowered and pocketed. Theres no need to call Tina anymore. No need to worry Cooper. Or file a missing person's report. “Where have you been?”
“Does it matter?”
“Does it matter? It's been two days! Are you okay? Were you safe?”
Was he? Can you call jail safe? Perhaps he was safe from himself; theres not much self sabotage that can be done under such close surveillance. Others were certainly safe from him and his “public indecency” or “disturbance” or whatever it was they called him. His cellmate was pretty harmless, too. So, yeah, he was safe. “Im fine. Its all fine, Kurt. Just give it a rest.” And then Blaine slammed his door. And all of those bridges Kurt had crossed with him were burned. All of their collective walls theyd let down were reinstated and reinforced, too. Kurt was going to have to work to win his friend back this time.
For the rest of the week, Kurt toiled with the possible methods of winning back his friend— a written apology, breakfast in bed, a much needed guys night out, a guys night in that would result in a more sorely needed heart to heart. He even considered letting Blaine bang one out with him, sexually or more along the lines of punching the crap out of him. The problem was these all involved Blaines cooperation, which he knew hed never ever get. So, it became waiting and sitting and being sorry.
Blaine had more of the moping and cuddling, alone of course, and being miserable approach. It hadnt been so clear to him before how much of his life centered around Kurt. And no matter how much he rants and berates Kurt to his empty room, he still loves that man. Even when he replays that night on a loop in his mind, it ends with him being the lesser. Kurt will always be too good for him. Blaine is not worthy. He isnt even worthy of this empire of beauty he has built for himself—knick knacks and photographs and magazine collages. So, in sort of drained rampage, he has rid himself of them. Call it cleanse or a purge, whichever. Just know that it is pain for an ex convict such as he to be drenched in such delicacy. Some is thrown into boxes and buried deep in his closet, but only the ones he thinks hell need again. Most are torn to shreds, or worse, burned only to be extinguished with tears. Oh the tears. And the poor pieces of work that are tossed out a window, vanishing into the grungy snow. Slowly, Blaines museum is gutted. Just like his little, tar stained heart.
Only one photo, of true beauty, remained. Blaine could remember back to Thanksgiving at the Hummel household. That final bag packing morning, his fingers hesitated over it, sweeping the frame with an admiring delicacy. He didnt want to take it. But, he felt tethered to it. So, it was tucked safely between the pages of his book. A picture of the little blue eyed baby and his mother. Kurt deserved to have it back, Blaine thought. He stooped to slip it under the doorframe when he heard light breathing. He peeked below the door. Sure enough, Kurt was sitting against it. Blaine pressed his palms to the barrier, wishing he could push through. He let his forehead thud against the wood, scrambling away when he heard Kurt stir. Then he heard the loud cry of Pamela Lansbury and the door was gently pushed open.
“Maybe he'll talk to you.” Blaine heard Kurt say, voice hinting at regret. The cat slinked in and Blaine, honestly, was not enthused. But, Kurt quietly pulled the door closed again. And Blaine was stuck with her. Pamela crawled up to him, rubbing against his side, purring gently. Since he had done so well at avoiding the beast, he found himself having no clue how to interact with her. The cat had nuzzled her way under his hand until he cooperated in petting her.
It was nice, having someone there. A living, warm body to be with him. To curl up in his lap, with no fuss, no questions. To say no fuss technically isn't fair. Cats have a particular method of torturer13;kneading. And every time Blaine shifted or stopped petting her, she'd sink her claws just a bit deeper into his thigh.
Blaine grimaced at the cat. “Yeah, its not hard to make others hurt, huh? Still doesnt make it right.”