16.

Kurt managed not to focus on Blaine all day yesterday, busy organizing everything, but now, sitting idly on the plane, he suddenly can’t think about anything else. It’s been 24 hours since they talked; Blaine’s probably been feeling terrible. Kurt can’t help but remember his breaking voice, how lost he sounded, how unhappy – both on the phone and in the memory of that dream that was probably not a dream after all – and he feels like every minute of flight and then the bus ride from Columbus stretches painfully, full to the bursting point of seconds and heartbeats and anxious thoughts. Time flows slowly like a thick syrup, and by the time Kurt finally gets off the bus, he feels almost sick with dreadful anticipation, the memory of those terrible hours after Blaine’s suicide attempt still fresh in his mind, forcing his legs to go faster, almost in a run, during the 15-minute walk to Blaine’s house. He wouldn’t do that again, would he? He promised. But this was before, when he still hoped for Kurt’s support, before he denied himself even this comfort. Would he still feel obliged to keep his promise now?

Kurt is almost breathless, his stomach clenching painfully, when he finally arrives at the Andersons’ doorstep. Before he can ring the doorbell, the door opens to reveal Blaine’s mom, dressed for work, briefcase in hand. She startles as she almost collides with him.

“Kurt, hi, what a surprise! Back home for the weekend? Sorry, I need to run, I’m already late – go on, Blaine’s in his room, still asleep, most likely. He must have been reading half the night again. See you later!”

And with that, she’s gone, her small black convertible backing off from the driveway seconds later.

Kurt comes in and now that he’s finally here, he can feel his fear like a palpable thing. His heart tries to leave his body via his throat and his hands shake as he leaves his bag, coat and heavy boots by the door before quietly ascending the wooden steps on sock-clad feet. What state will he find Blaine in, what mood? Will he have to convince him to drop the façade? Make him listen? Yes, probably. Will he be able to help? He knows he’ll do anything.

Breath catching in his throat, Kurt knocks on the familiar door. There’s a muffled Yes, mom, I’m awake, I’ll be out in a minute and it sounds like Blaine’s in his bathroom. So Kurt waits for a bit and knocks again. The voice is closer now, strong and level, and had Kurt not seen dozens of times how well Blaine hides behind mental walls and covers his true emotions, he might believe he imagined everything these last few days.

“Okay, okay. Come in.”

So he does. Blaine’s standing with his back to the door, in simple blue jeans and a black t-shirt, shuffling through books on his desk. He looks his usual, dapper self. Until he turns a moment later, that is. The second he sees Kurt in the middle of the room, the shock makes all pretenses fall and Blaine just looks himself. A pale, exhausted, broken version of himself.

Kurt wants to move forward immediately, to get to him, gather him into a tight hug and apologize, soothe, promise everything would be all right now. But before he can do anything, one more detail catches his eye.

One of Blaine’s short sleeves has folded back a little and the even red lines that peek from under it look like… like… No. God no.

Kurt realizes there must be a horror-struck expression on his face because Blaine follows his gaze to his arm and the cuts, and he crumples. Hunching over and curling in on himself, his hand pressed against the cut arm, Blaine whispers, his voice barely audible and his eyes squeezed shut.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

And no matter what Kurt’s emotions are now, no matter his shock and guilt and regret that it took him so long, too long to realize, he pushes it all aside. These can wait, Blaine is what’s important now.

In two strides he’s by Blaine’s side, embracing him, pulling him as close as physically possible, feeling the boy cling to him with all his might. He can feel hot tears on his own cheeks as he strokes Blaine’s back soothingly.

“I’m here baby, I love you, I’m not leaving you again. I promise.”

***

For a moment, Blaine is certain that he’s hallucinating.

He was in his bathroom, the bleeding from the fresh set of cuts barely stopped, his mind dazed and reeling and so, so tired after a night filled with nothing but emptiness left after he tore out his heart and crushed it by telling Kurt they are over. And then his mom – or so he thought – was knocking on his door, and he was getting dressed in a hurry and pretending to be busy, praying that she wouldn’t go into the bathroom where the evidence of his actions still lay scattered all over the floor and counters. And the next thing he knows, Kurt’s there, in the middle of his room. Which is impossible.

And then Kurt sees.

This is the point where Blaine stops caring if it’s reality or a creation of his weak, unstable mind. It doesn’t matter. He’s in Kurt’s arms, warm and safe and so close, and if it’s a hallucination – fine, he’ll gladly live in it forever.

Except some time later his brain switches back on and insists on investigating the case. They are on the bed by then, lying tangled together, and Blaine can feel Kurt’s body, which he knows almost better than his own; can smell Kurt’s scent that he’d recognize anywhere. And as he looks up, there’s Kurt’s face in the cold morning light, sad and worried, so full of concern and so real, and then Kurt’s voice, that unmistakable voice repeats again and again that he’s here, he’s back, he’s not going anywhere. And Blaine wants to believe it so much. He wants it to be true, all of it. Can it be? Is it possible?

Kurt’s hand, tender on his cheek, makes him focus on the beautiful eyes he loves so much.

“Blaine, I don’t want us to break up, I love you so much it hurts, it can’t be over. Do you really want it to be over?”

Face to face, drowning in Kurt’s eyes, he can’t lie or pretend. He’s too drained to pretend anyway, he just wants someone to make it right. To make him feel safe and whole and real; take this weight off him. So he whispers the only absolute truth there is.

“No. Never. I love you.”