20.

Sunday morning isn’t bad; there are even moments when it feels wonderful. They’re in no hurry, so there’s cuddling in bed with Blaine and talking for over an hour before finally getting up; making breakfast together and the feeling of warm domesticity it gives them; sitting with their coffee in the quiet kitchen filled with cold winter sun. It feels good, peaceful.

The day gets even better when Kurt’s dad calls around noon, and his words finally silence the fear and regret that have been fluttering in Kurt’s heart since their conversation yesterday – feelings that appear every time they argue, ever since Burt’s heart attack; that they may not get a chance to say I’m sorry, I love you.

The voice on the phone sounds apologetic.

“Kurt, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that about Blaine. I know he’s not the kind of boy, I was just… taken by surprise I guess, and disappointed. I’m still disappointed, and let me tell you why: I’ve known way too many people who took a year off college and never went back. They started working, earning money, starting families, and suddenly there was no time for college anymore, there were more important things to do. And I don’t want this for you, Kurt. You fought to get where you are, you deserve to enjoy it, to have a few more years where you can focus on yourself, finding out who you are and where you want to go, and not on the hard stuff.”

Kurt’s eyes tear up.

“I know, dad, but I won’t drop out. I promise I won’t, I’ll just work somewhere until August, maybe in the garage if you let me; I’ll earn some money, spend more time with you, and then I’m off again. I just have to, dad –“

“I know. You have to help Blaine; you love him. I get it. And it is your decision. So how is he?”

“Up and down. It’s hard for him.”

“Take care of him. And call me tomorrow, okay? I’d like to know how you are, both of you.”

Kurt’s heart feels considerably lighter after the conversation and everything seems brighter, more hopeful. Not for long though. The horror begins in the early afternoon.

They are sitting in the living room, Blaine’s mom away at the office for a couple of hours, when suddenly Blaine stiffens. He looks scared, eyes wide and unfocused, breathing fast, shallow; Kurt gets to his side immediately.

“Blaine, what’s going on?”

“I… I don’t know, I feel weird. Something’s wrong.”

Within seconds Blaine’s hands begin to shake violently. He’s white as a sheet by then, curled in on himself in the corner of the sofa, his breathing coming in desperate gasps. By the time Kurt chooses his therapist’s emergency number, Blaine is pressing a hand to his chest, panic in his eyes growing by the second and his other hand clawing at the collar of his shirt, as if it chokes him.

Kurt has never been so thankful for anyone answering their phone on the first ring. He describes everything to the woman, trying to make sense as he stumbles over words in his hurry and fear. Blaine is sweating profusely now and looking so scared Kurt’s heart breaks. He has no idea what to do, especially since Blaine doesn’t want him close this time, pushing him away weakly and shaking his head when he tries to comfort him somehow or even try to learn any details about what’s going on.

The therapist seems calm – how can she sound so calm now? – when Kurt finishes describing Blaine’s symptoms.

“Okay, I know it looks scary, and it feels really scary to Blaine, but it’s just a panic attack. He’ll be fine, but you need to help him calm down. Give him something cold to drink in little sips. Open a window for a while, let him breathe cold air. Speak calmly – you need to believe me or he won’t believe you. It is a panic attack, it happens sometimes as the brain gets used to medication. You have to convince Blaine that he’s not suffocating or having a heart attack, because that’s what he’s probably feeling like. Talk to him, calm him down. Don’t make him feel crowded. If you have chamomile tea, make him some when he’s a little better. He may be exhausted when it passes, physically and mentally, and there will probably be more attacks like that. I’ll call in a prescription for an anti-anxiety medication first thing tomorrow morning, to take only when it’s getting really bad. And come with him to therapy tomorrow, please. Now go, take care of him.”

Kurt does his best, pushing away his own fear and clinging desperately to the therapist’s words. It’s just a panic attack; it will pass. He does what he was told and slowly, gradually, it works. Ten minutes later Blaine is lying on the sofa, considerably calmer, but looking completely drained, tears flowing silently from his eyes. Kurt is kneeling on the floor by his head, holding his hand. He can still feel adrenaline coursing in his veins and if he’d had any doubts that it wouldn’t be easy, they’d be definitely gone now. But they’ll survive. He is strong. Strong enough to hold Blaine up until he finds his own strength again.

Blaine has two more attacks in the evening, and even though they already know what they are and that they will pass, it doesn’t make them easier, not really. The sharp, primal fear in Blaine’s eyes, his face contorted as he focuses on controlling his mind instead of letting it control him, is one of the most painful sights Kurt has ever seen. The quiet whimpers that escape Blaine’s throat at one point dig into Kurt like claws. He can’t help his boyfriend, can’t take the suffering on himself, no matter how gladly he’d do it.

By the time they go to bed, they’re both exhausted and silent, but night doesn’t bring relief this time. It takes Blaine hours to drift off to sleep – hours of Kurt’s faithful vigil – and even then he wakes up after two hours, only to fight the sudden insomnia again. Dawn finds them lying there, spooning, with Kurt singing soft lullabies until they both fall asleep for another painfully short moment.