Blaine slams the door when he enters, making Kurt glance up from the stove and the sauce he’s currently stirring as Blaine walks past. “How did it go?” Kurt asks, twisting his head to look at Blaine, whose only answer is to grunt as he sits heavily on one of the barstools and thunks his head on the kitchen counter. “Oh. That bad?”

“Well, it made me really want a stiff drink,” Blaine mutters, which Kurt tries to ignore. The drinking hasn’t been much of an issue since the last time. No matter how hard it is, Blaine seems determined to quit - for good this time. At least, Kurt hopes so; the subject hasn’t really been breached yet.

It was Blaine’s first time at the support group for those struggling with depression that Naomi had recommended, following her advice to try out different types of treatment. Though the one-on one counseling seems to be having some effect, she wants him to try other methods too, just in case. (There was a pamphlet for Alcoholics Anonymous, too, but Blaine had thrown it out, muttering something about ‘having to do it himself’.) Blaine had been reluctant, his anxiety flaring up at the thought of going and talking to strangers about his personal problems, but he had agreed to try it at least once when Kurt encouraged him.

So not long ago, he had driven Blaine back to his apartment to get his car, so that he has the option of going out whenever he wants. He usually doesn’t, but it must be nice knowing he has the option, though every time, especially if he’s out with Santana, Kurt can’t help but wonder if this is the day Blaine will leave and never come back.

He had also come back from the apartment with his guitar and keyboard to take back to Kurt’s, and though he hasn’t played them - as far as Kurt knows, he hasn’t played or sang outside of the glasses he taught until recently in years - they both like the familiar sight of them sitting in the corner, waiting patiently.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says sympathetically. “Didn’t Santana go with? I figured she would be your moral support.” He leaves the sauce he’s been cooking to simmer and turns to face Blaine.

“Yeah.” Blaine props himself up on his elbow, resting his chin in his hand. After a while he murmurs, sounding ashamed even as he says it, “God, I hate them all.”

Kurt says nothing.

“I didn’t talk, I wasn’t ready yet, but the whole time everyone else was blathering on and on, all 'my name is so-and-so and I’m depressed, blah blah,' all I could think was shut the fuck up. They just sounded so fucking pathetic, you know?” He laughs without humor, shaking his head. “But then I feel like the biggest asshole ever, because I’m no different from them, am I? I’m just as pathetic as the rest of those bastards, more so even, at least they have a reason to be fucked up. I just suck.”

Kurt has no idea what he can say, to any of it, so he blurts out, “I don’t think you’re pathetic.”

And that works, the irritable expression on Blaine’s face smoothing out a little. He starts to speak. Stops, tries to hide a tiny smile, and ducks his head almost shyly.� “Kind of an asshole, though,” he quips.

It’s almost cute, and Kurt’s heart melts just a tiny bit at Blaine’s attempt at a joke. “Only a little.” He’s rewarded with another smile, another twitch of the lips.

It’s weird, that’s the only word Kurt can find for it, how difficult and yet how easy this whole ‘friends’ thing it. Easy, because they have always been best friends, at the heart of it all. Hard because of everything unsaid between them - or more importantly the things that have been said.

All but confirming their feelings for each other, complicated and twisted as they are; admitting that they get jealous and can’t find satisfaction in other men… and then nothing. They make a very conscious effort to be kind to each other, actually treat each other like human beings and not an object work out their frustrations on. But there have been no discussions about what it all means, and what they’re working towards, if anything. They’ve kept each other at a specific distance, able to talk about just about anything - except for the past, and what happened between them, and the strange, careful parody of a relationship they’re cultivating.

Kurt still can’t talk about what Blaine did, to him, to their family - even putting it into words in his own head makes him feel sick (and then guilty, and a hundred other things he can’t name.) Someday, maybe, but not now. And that’s why he won’t let himself think about taking things further with Blaine. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“So… if support groups make you feel bad, don’t go.” Kurt says firmly. “There’s no point in making yourself feel worse. Keep up your appointments with Naomi, if that’s working for you.”

Blaine nods. “Naomi wants to talk about medication,” He says quietly, avoiding looking into Kurt’s eyes. “I keep postponing the subject.”

“You don’t want to try it?” Honestly, Kurt isn’t sure about it either, but that’s more because he doesn’t know a lot about antidepressants than not liking the idea of them at all.

“I just, I don’t know.” Blaine traces nonsense patterns on the countertop, Adam’s apple bobbing as he tries to find the words. “I guess… I don’t like the idea of taking something that changes the way I feel. Like, it might keep me happy for a minute, but that won’t be me, will it? Underneath I’ll still be… this.”

“But if it’ll help… I’m not saying you should out shouldn’t, but maybe don’t rule it out until you talk to her about what they’ll actually do? And then tell me what she said so we can talk about it if you want, because I have no idea.”

Blaine bites his lip and nods. “Makes sense… I didn’t mean to dump all that on you.”

“No apologizing. That’s what I’m here for, right?”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Blaine murmurs. He smiles again, still shy, his cheeks flushing pink. He’s done that a lot more lately, in the week since the date and the fight.� Smiling, that is. Not always, but more often than before, and Kurt’s heart flip-flops in the most terrifying way every single time he sees it.

Neither of them knows, exactly, where this friendship is going, or even how to handle it.

But as he watches Blaine stand up and leave the kitchen, walking down the hall toward his room, all Kurt knows is that having Blaine so close again is only succeeding in making him want more.

---

“Save me!”

“Please, Blaine -“

“Kurt, help me.”

“I don’t know what to do!” A silent sob tries to wrench its way from Kurt’s throat, but as always, the wind whips it away. If he could only move, take even one step forward, he knows that he could stop what always happens at the end of the dreams. “Just tell me what to do, tell me how to help you, Blaine, please -“

Blaine closes his eyes, and falls.

Kurt wakes up with a whimper, pressing his face into his pillow to muffle it. Waking up after these nightmares makes him feel exhausted, like he hasn’t slept in weeks, even just after waking. He lies very still, breathing steadily and refusing to let his eyes close again.

Just a dream, he tells himself. It’s just a dream, just a sick, twisted nightmare. It never feels like that, though - Kurt has had his share of nightmares, but none of them left him with the sick feeling in his gut that these do.

The sound of footsteps going past his door distracts him; the light barefooted steps of someone trying to keep quiet. He knows that it’s Blaine without even thinking about it. He’s had years to get used to the sound of those footsteps.

He climbs out of bed and pulls on his robe, not even sure why he’s getting up but knowing he has too. He opens the door to find Blaine almost at the end of the hall, looking tiny and almost childish with the way his pajama pants hang over his bare feet, his hair wild the way it always is after sleep.

“It’s really early,” Kurt whispers - when he woke the clock had read 2:00 AM. Blaine spins around, eyes wide and startled. “Sorry.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” Kurt pulls his robe tighter around himself, shivering a little. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, just… couldn’t sleep, you know?” Blaine shrugs, shuffling back and forth like he thinks he’s done something wrong. “Nothing new. I can’t remember the last time I slept for more than like, an hour.”

“Damn. How long has that been going on?”

“Um… two years and nine months.” He mumbles, looking down at his feet. “You know. Give or take.” Since the breakup. Exactly since the breakup, in fact, and Kurt is a little surprised to find that Blaine has been counting the time, too, though Kurt has only done it unconsciously.

Jesus. No wonder he’s such a mess. Kurt is always tired, but he can’t even imagine that. Kurt leans on the doorframe and watches Blaine curiously. “God, that sounds awful. Have you tried taking something? I mean, I know you don’t like pills, but…”

Blaine shakes his head. “They don’t work. I mean, not regularly enough to be worth it, usually they just leave me feeling all drowsy all day. Or bouncing off the walls. I don’t know, it’s weird.” He tries to laugh, but Kurt can tell it’s getting to him, or already has.� He had no idea that Blaine’s insomnia was so bad.

“Is there anything that does work?” Kurt asks. He keeps his voice soft, so as not to wake Amelia. “You can’t keep going on like this…”

“I… no. Nothing.”

The way he hesitates makes Kurt doubt it. “What?”

Blaine crosses his arms over his chest. “Nothing. It’s stupid, don’t worry about it, just go back to bed.”

“Blaine. I told you, nothing you have to say is stupid. I want to know.”

“No, it’s - too weird. And it doesn’t matter anyway.” Kurt just raises his eyebrows, eyes locked on Blaine until he starts to shift uncomfortably. Finally, he sighs. “Fine.” What he says next is nothing more than an unintelligible mumble.

“…Was that even English?”

“I said...“ Blaine lets out a frustrated breath, and then speaks again, quietly but at least understandable. “I think, maybe, it’s that I can’t sleep… alone.”

“Oh.” Kurt doesn’t know what to say, so he just waits.

“Because… um, the night of your birthday…“ They never talk about what actually happened, it’s almost as if it was only a dream. “I slept through the night for the first time in years. And… you remember when Amelia was having all those nightmares last year?” Kurt nods. He remembers it well, those weekends when he got to see her, feeling helpless and wondering what on earth a four-year-old could have seen to make her wake up crying almost every night. Eventually it had gotten better, but it had taken weeks. “She would crawl into bed with me sometimes, and… that helped. Just having someone there. I don’t know why.”

Kurt wets his lips, hesitating a moment before he blurts out, “Do you want to… I mean, if we were just sleeping…”

Blaine looks up, eyes wide. “No.” Kurt isn’t sure whether to be hurt or not. “I’m not - not asking for that. For anything. I’m just going to go… drink some tea, see if that helps. You go back to bed or whatever.”

But it makes sense to Kurt, in the way things only make sense in the early hours of the morning. It’s simple and it might help and it’s something that Kurt can do. All this time, he’s felt so helpless, flailing around and just making things worse no matter how hard he tries, but if this tiny, simple thing can help… “Blaine, it’s okay. You can’t go forever without sleeping.”

“I’m used to it. Just - drop it.” He turns and starts to walk away.

“If it will help, then I want to do it -“

“This isn’t easy for me either, okay?” Blaine bursts out, raising his voice a little as he turns back, and Kurt is shocked by the frustration in Blaine’s expression. He takes a deep breath, and when he speaks again it’s back to a murmur. “I know that this whole thing is… hard for you. But it’s hard for me, too. Being friends, it’s - different than I thought it would be. Not bad, just - weird.” Kurt nods. He’s been feeling the exact same way. “And I’m not going to do anything to complicate it.”

“It won’t.”

“It will and you know it.”

“But will it help?”

All of Blaine’s resolve seems to melt from him as his fists unclench, leaving him small and frail and so, so exhausted. “Yes.” He whispers, staring up at Kurt. “But I’m not - asking. For that. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, and don’t lie, I know I do.”

Uncomfortable isn’t the right word, exactly. There are a thousand adjectives to describe Blaine, and a thousand more to describe how he makes Kurt feel. ‘Confused’ is the first to come to mind, but not ‘uncomfortable.’ “I’m here if you want,” Kurt says, and steps back into his bedroom, leaving the door standing open to let Blaine in if he so chooses.

It takes a moment, and Kurt can practically feel Blaine lingering in the doorway, but then there are footsteps, and then Blaine is in the barely-lit room. He stands by the end of the bed as Kurt sits, and Kurt pats the left side, always Blaine’s, in an invitation to lie down.

When they’re both under the covers, they stay very still and very quiet. Kurt can hear every nuance of Blaine’s breathing, feel every movement he makes, and they aren’t even touching.� Once, Kurt would have had every single sound and motion memorized. He would have known what that little hitch in Blaine’s breath means, read every motion like sign language. He hadn’t realized, until now, that he had forgotten. So many of the tiny things, little gestures and idiosyncrasies that made them who they were, have slipped through the cracks of Kurt’s memory, like water through cupped hands.

Kurt glances to the side, where Blaine is lying stiff on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He can’t tell if Blaine just can’t relax, or if he doesn’t want to be here at all, and suddenly feels bad for pushing things. Every time he’s tried to help, he’s ended up dragging his own feelings into it and making everything worse - but this is so simple, and he just wants it to work. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe this will be too awkward. But he can’t say so now.

“You kind of have to close your eyes to fall asleep,” Kurt mumbles, already feeling himself start to drift off. He doesn’t let his own eyes close yet - he wants to see if Blaine can fall asleep like this, make sure it works.

Blaine turns to look at him and - god, they’re almost close enough to kiss, and Kurt has to banish all thoughts of that from his mind right now. Instead he focuses on how sad Blaine looks, and how desperate. “Why do you still care so much?” He asks softly.

“I don’t know how not to,” Kurt sighs, only half-aware that he’s speaking. He burrows into the blankets. “Try to sleep. I’m right here, it’s okay.”

“…okay.”

Blaine lies still for a while longer, but eventually, his breathing starts to slow along with Kurt’s. Kurt’s last waking memory - and he later wonders if he dreamed it - is of Blaine’s hand, warm and familiar, covering his where it lies between them on the bed.

Only then are they both able to slip into oblivion.

--

The second time Kurt wakes up, he only has the vaguest memory of dreaming before reality punches him in the proverbial face.

Blaine is a cuddler. This is something that Kurt should have remembered, before inviting Blaine into his bed. It’s never intentional, but no matter whom he sleeps next to, Blaine always ends up wrapped around them, like he gravitates toward other warm bodies. It’s endearing, precious even, but…

But Blaine is pressed up against Kurt’s back, feet tangled at the end of the bed, hips flush to Kurt’s ass. And Kurt can feel every inch of his hard cock through the thin, flannel pajama pants he wears.

He moans softly as he wakes up to the feeling, forgetting for a moment where he is, his first instinct to press back into the hardness against him. It fills him with an overwhelming, all-consuming rush of lust through his entire body, little electric shocks through his veins. The quiet sound wakes Blaine from his fitful slumber, and he sighs and rolls his hips forward into Kurt before he realizes what he’s doing and freezes.

Kurt holds his breath and stays quiet, not sure what else to do.� He knows that he has to end this, whatever it is, now, but his mind is still fuzzy from sleep and desire and he can’t bring himself to move, never ever wants to.�

Blaine sucks in his breath and tries to disentangle himself, quickly rolling onto his back, but only manages to drag Kurt with him with the way the blankets are wrapped around the two of them. “Sorry, oh god I am so sorry -“

“Don’t go,” Kurt whimpers, voice slurred from sleep. His hand shoots back to touch Blaine as he rolls over, to keep him close, and ends up high on his thigh. “Please don’t go.”

Blaine stiffens, and the skin and muscle under Kurt’s hand seems almost scorching hot, and it makes his fingers ache to touch, anywhere, everywhere.� Somewhere, in the corner of his mind, he knows that he shouldn’t, that he’s such a hypocrite, a horrible person - he’s the one who rejected Blaine, not the other way around like his behavior would suggest. The rest of him is overpowered by pure instinct, and want. Ever since that night, it’s been so hard not to think about, and Kurt finally has to admit that he just isn’t strong enough to resist. �He flexes his hand, squeezing Blaine’s thigh, and the sound that comes out of Blaine’s mouth - sharp, quiet, barely audible except that he’s so close - sends a surge of heat from Kurt’s toes all the way up his spine.

“Kurt?” Blaine whispers, eyes wide and shining.

“Can I…?” He trails off, doesn’t wait for an answer before he takes the plunge and lays his hand between Blaine’s legs. He doesn’t move, doesn’t stroke, just cups and feels the outline of Blaine’s hard cock through the thin fabric. It’s not anything he hasn’t felt before, of course, but it still thrills him.

Blaine moans, low in his throat, already fighting to stop his hips from arching off the mattress. “Yes, god, yes,” he says, and there goes any sort of resolve Kurt might have had. He squeezes gently and rubs down once, listening for the shuddery hitch in Blaine’s breath.�� Blaine’s head lolls to the side and his eyes flutter closed, the tiny bit of light from the window casting shadows from his eyelashes on his cheeks. His legs fall open and invite Kurt in, and the sight of him still takes Kurt’s breath away, sucks it straight out of his lungs, even after everything.

Kurt curls around him, rubbing and stroking and exploring through the fabric as he hesitantly presses kisses to Blaine’s skin where his t-shirt has been tugged down on his shoulder. He doesn’t kiss Blaine’s lips, though, doesn’t dare to, and he’s not sure why that’s a line he can’t cross but it’s there all the same.

“Please,” Blaine gasps, his own hand reaching out blindly to touch Kurt, somewhere, anywhere. He ends up with his palm flat against Kurt’s belly, slipping under his shirt to feel all the soft skin and hard muscle underneath, and Kurt automatically presses forward into the touch. “Please don’t stop oh god -“

“Fuck, what am I doing?” Kurt whispers to himself, blushing when he realizes he said it aloud. But what is he doing, what came over him, how could he make himself stop now when that’s the very last thing either of them wants? �The feeling of Blaine writhing under his hands is just too, too much and he doesn’t think he can stop, now.

“Don’t think,” Blaine says breathlessly, his hand searching further until his fingers brush one of Kurt’s sensitive nipples, sending shudders up Kurt’s spine. “Don’t think about it so much, just -“

- just touch.

Kurt sits up to get a better angle, his wrist aching already where it was twisted in such an odd way, and leans over Blaine where he’s laid out and waiting. Just waiting for Kurt to do what he wants, trusting Kurt to take care of him even though he’s just as unsure of what’s happening, here. It’s almost scary, but Kurt doesn’t think about it. Thinking too much would end this and he can’t do that, he couldn’t stop now if his life depended on it. Doesn’t think when he hooks his fingers in the waistband of Blaine’s pants, spares only a passing thought of appreciation when Blaine lifts his hips off the bed to let Kurt tug them down and off. Next comes Kurt’s shirt, tossed carelessly to the side, and Blaine ducks down to kiss up his chest as he pulls it up and over his head. And soon they’re both naked, and Kurt doesn’t let himself think much about that, either - doesn’t even have to, he has every inch of Blaine memorized anyway. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t still like to look, but for now, he doesn’t. He moves on autopilot, follows his instincts and wraps a hand around Blaine’s cock, hot and long and hard and perfect and just the weight of it in Kurt’s hand, still the same as ever, is enough to get him achingly hard too.

Blaine’s breathing goes harsh as Kurt starts to pump up and down with a twist of his wrist and his thumb swiping over the head to collect the beads of precome already forming there, slicking up his hand just enough to make it perfect. The movement is just like muscle memory; he still remembers every single way to make Blaine fall apart, and he can’t help but be pleased even though he’s trying not to think about anything at all.

Blaine moans and his hips roll up into Kurt’s hand, fucking into his fist for a moment before he lays a hand over Kurt’s. “Let me,” he pleads, and Kurt doesn’t know what he means but nods anyway. Blaine’s hands find Kurt’s hips and grip them tight, flipping them both over and pushing Kurt into the mattress, the bed bouncing a little with the motion. It makes Kurt almost want to laugh, but he doesn’t. Blaine settles over him and reaches down to grasp both their cocks in one hand, and it’s messy and his hand isn’t quite big enough for the two of them but it feels too good for Kurt to care. He feels good, for all the guilt he had felt just a few minutes ago - not thinking helps, he decides, because he can just focus on everything he’s feeling and not what it means.

He whimpers as Blaine tries to stroke the two of them together, unable to stop himself from thrusting up into the touch. Their skin is already covered in just enough sweat to make them slide against each other, everywhere they touch.“Fuck, Blaine -“

“Shh,” Blaine breathes. He kisses and then sucks at Kurt’s neck, sure to leave a bruise but Kurt is so far past caring. He keeps rolling his hips up and Blaine grinds down and it’s messy and desperate, no sort of rhythm at all.� He’s always loved this, for some reason, his cock rubbing and sliding against Blaine’s, the contrast of soft skin and the hardness underneath and their hands keeping them pressed together - god, just everything about it is almost too perfect even when Blaine can’t quite find a rhythm.

He can’t stop touching, tracing the sharp outlines of Blaine’s hipbones and ribcage with his hands, feeling how thin he’s gotten, so thin it’s almost worrying. He’s let himself go, stopped keeping himself healthy because he just doesn’t care enough, and Kurt will have to talk to him about it soon - but not now. Now he scrapes his blunt fingernails down Blaine’s back and revels in the way it makes his hips buck forward, his thrusts stuttering as he groans low in his throat. “Nnngh, Kurt, fuck -“

“Close,” Kurt gasps out, not even ashamed as he feels the familiar, unmistakable heat coiling at the base of his spine. He’s going to come just from this, just from Blaine’s hand. God. “So fucking close, Blaine -“

“Come on, then,” Blaine growls, and grinds down hard and that’s enough to push Kurt over the edge. His hips jerk up and he comes, hot and sticky all over their chests and Blaine’s hand.

He doesn’t give himself time to recover before he’s scrambling up and pushing Blaine up with him, ducking his head and taking as much of Blaine into his mouth as he can, all at once. Blaine chokes on a moan, obviously fighting to keep still, trembling with the effort of it. Kurt bobs his head until he can’t go down any further without choking, then pulls back up, tongue tracing over a thick vein and around the edge of the head. Blaine’s hands tangle in the sheets beneath him, gripping them so tight his knuckles turn white. Kurt wraps a hand around the base of Blaine’s cock and jerks him off, slick with spit, as he sucks and licks around the head of Blaine’s cock, then down, sliding his lips down the shaft before he sucks one of Blaine’s balls into his mouth.

Blaine bites his lip to keep from moaning too loud, trembles and shakes and falls apart underneath Kurt’s mouth and hands. If Kurt hadn’t just come absurdly hard he would probably be close again, just from the taste and smell and feeling of Blaine hot and heavy on his tongue, just from making him feel good - once upon a time he would have, for a certainty, but they’re not as young as they used to be.

“Want you to come,” Kurt mumble in between mouthfuls, his grip around Blaine’s cock tighter now, moving faster. He’s consumed, overcome with the need to make Blaine feel good, even just for a moment. “Wanna see, Blaine…”

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” Blaine groans, and without warning he tangles his fingers in Kurt’s hair, forcing him down onto Blaine’s cock. He only does that when he’s close, when he wants to come in Kurt’s mouth. Kurt bobs his head faster, and licks and sucks harder, every trick he knows, until Blaine’s cock twitches and jerks, and then Blaine’s hand tightens in Kurt’s hair, holds him still as he cries out and comes down Kurt’s throat, the taste salty and a little bitter and still the same as Kurt remembers. �His hips jerk again when Kurt swallows around him, almost making Kurt choke, but by now he’s had enough practice that it doesn’t matter much.

Blaine is gorgeous when he comes, everything in him tensing, straining and shaking, head tipped back, and eyes closed. Kurt has to roll his eyes back uncomfortably far to see him from this angle, but there’s no way he can look away.

He keeps moving after Blaine’s hand relaxes, no longer pulling on Kurt’s hair and making his scalp sting. Keeps trailing his lips and tongue up and down the length of him, sucks on the head and licks the slit there to chase the last taste of Blaine’s come. He keeps at it until Blaine’s sounds of pleasure turn to discomfort, and then finally lets him go, his softening cock falling from Kurt’s lips.

He lies down, watching as Blaine does the same, their breathing labored and heavy as they come down. Kurt couldn’t form a coherent thought if his life depended on it, and he likes it that way. The sheets smell like Blaine’s sweat and he never wants to move again.

It’s not long before his mind starts to work again, though. He can’t write this off as a fluke, anymore, a onetime mistake, he could almost believe it before but not after this. It’s real and it happened and he doesn’t know why or what to do, and he should feel ashamed, he should run away, he should never have let this happen again, but -

But he doesn’t feel any of those things, not yet. He just feels sort of numb, not happy or upset, just - tired, mostly. Tired of fighting it. But he knows it isn’t that simple, so he tries to speak, says hesitantly, “Blaine -“

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

Kurt looks up at him, and he’s a little surprised when Blaine makes eye contact. “What?”

“We don’t have to talk. It’s okay.” Blaine tries to smile, and it’s not quite convincing, doesn’t quite reach his eyes, still broken. But god, it’s an effort, and it’s still beautiful.� “It’s okay.”

He knows what Blaine’s doing, and gratitude wells up in him until he feels like he’s bursting with it. He’s giving Kurt an out, giving him a chance - time to think, or not think, time to figure out what this is and what he even wants. Even if that might not be what Blaine wants.

I know how hard this is for you, Blaine had said. He’s starting to feel empathy again, to care, to think about others besides himself and his own misery, and though Kurt doesn’t blame him for focusing on himself, he wonders if that means Blaine’s breaking through the fog of depression he’s been stuck in for so long. God, he hopes so. Kurt is overwhelmed, all at once, by how much he loves this beautiful, broken man.

He can’t say it; not yet, he doesn’t know when or if he can, he’s still so confused. He feels like if he says it, before he knows for sure what it means and what he wants, their careful equilibrium will shatter to pieces and leave them both worse off than before. Even in his head, he can’t quite explain why he feels that way, but it’s still true. So he keeps his feeling hidden as best as he can, locked deep in his chest where no one can see, not even himself, because this isn’t and will never be about him and he has to stop treating it like it is. It’s about Blaine, and he’s not going to add his own selfishness on top of Blaine’s struggles anymore.

“Thank you,” Kurt says, voice still a little hoarse - and he’s not sure if he’s thanking Blaine for the sex, or not making him talk about it, or both. Blaine nods, his fingers stroking through Kurt’s thoroughly mussed hair as he closes his eyes. It’s the only place they touch, no post-sex cuddling this time, but it’s sort of a separation between what they’re doing now, and the way they used to be.

This time, Kurt sleeps without dreaming.

--

The third time Kurt wakes up, he’s alone, but the bed is still warm.

There’s a voice tickling at the edges of his mind, and music, so familiar it makes him smile and want to snuggle deep into the blankets and sleep the morning away. Like he’s fallen asleep to these sounds a hundred times before.

Because he has, he realizes, with a jolt that wakes him instantly.

Blaine is playing music.

Kurt pulls on his bathrobe for the second time that morning and tiptoes out into the hall, peeking around the corner to look into the living room. Amelia is eating cereal at the kitchen table and playing with the old Power Ranger action figures Kurt had given her from his childhood collection, chattering away to herself, lost in her own imaginary world and not noticing Kurt. Blaine is sitting on the couch, the Saturday morning sunlight from the window shining on him, his guitar cradled in his lap, and he’s playing.

Kurt hasn’t heard him play since before the divorce. Music had always been such a huge part of Blaine’s life, but then he had just stopped and Kurt had never understood why until recently. Hearing it again hurts in the best way, even when the song is quiet and unpolished.

"You are the hole in my head,
you are the space in my bed,
you are the silence in between,
what I thought and what I said,
you are the nighttime fear,
�you are the morning when it's clear,
when it's over, you're the start,
�you're my head and you're my heart…”

And he’s singing, too. Stilted and stumbling, slow and out of practice just like his playing, but still just as wonderful as ever. Kurt vaguely recognizes the song from years ago, not familiar enough to put a name to but enough to spark his memory. He leans against the wall, breathing shakily and trying to keep quiet and watching as Blaine plays.