“C’mere,” Kurt says gently, standing and encircling Blaine’s slumped frame in strong arms.

There’s no hint of a protest from Blaine. His arms curl up against his chest, caught between both of their bodies and he just – he just cries. Kurt feels the cool pressure of Blaine’s glasses pressed against the side of his neck and the sticky gel from Blaine’s hair on his cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” Kurt whispers. “You’re right, I’m so sorry, Blaine.”

“And now you have him and – and it doesn’t even matter because he’s gorgeous and he’s not – not shy or weird,” Blaine laments into Kurt’s shoulder. “Nobody says anything when he sits next to you and it’s not fair because I was here first but you don’t – you don’t-”

“Hush,” Kurt cuts him off, squeezing Blaine tighter, pulling him even closer.

“I don’t even like to sit in the lunch room anymore,” Blaine says miserably. “I eat my lunch in a bathroom stall alone ‘cause I can’t stand looking at you guys.”

“Blaine,” Kurt breathes, heart in his throat.

“Sometimes I go home and I just look at your name in my phone and I wanna call you but I don’t ‘cause I don’t have anything to say, I just wanna hear your voice.”

“I’m so sorry,” Kurt says again, pressing a fierce kiss to Blaine’s temple.

“I just want you to kiss me again,” Blaine sobs. “I just wanna be with you but I can’t because you won’t and now that he’s here, I know-”

“Please stop,” Kurt begs, his own eyes becoming misty.

“I just want you to kiss me again,” he cries, fingers clutching at Kurt’s jacket between them.

Kurt wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss Blaine and he wants to kiss away all of his fears and all of his tears. He wants to cuddle up on the couch and he wants Blaine’s head to rest on his chest. In this moment, he wants everything with Blaine and he wants nothing to do with Sebastian. His head is so muddled with thoughts, like ‘how is this going to work’ and ‘what will everyone else think’ but right now, none of that matters.

Right now, Blaine is the one that matters.

And as much as he wants to kiss Blaine and hide him away from everything horrible in the world, he can’t take advantage of him in this state. He won’t.

Kurt scoffs internally at his conscience, wondering when it suddenly decided to return and rear its infuriating head.

“Sit down,” Kurt urges, guiding Blaine over to the sofa.

Blaine follows, his sniffles too loud in the sparse room. They sit and Blaine curls up into Kurt’s side. Kurt plucks his glasses off and Blaine buries his face in the crook of Kurt’s arm, tears finally subsiding and Kurt doesn’t actually care that his shirt is going to be a little damp from Blaine’s wet cheeks. Kurt pulls him as close as possible, rocking him gently, holding him as he calms.

“I’m sorry, Blaine,” Kurt says again because he’s at a complete loss. “I never meant – fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry,” Blaine says. Kurt suspects it’s a lie. “I just want you to stop acting like I don’t exist.”

“I know. I will. I will, I swear. I don’t know how,” he swallows, “how easy it’s going to be because I’m not – I mean, after everything, I don’t know what people will do.”

“It shouldn’t matter,” Blaine huffs, his previous emotional outburst under control.

“You’re right,” Kurt nods against the top of his head. “But it does and I’m gonna do my best.” Because his best is all he can promise.

The clock on the wall continues to tick.

Tick, tick, tick and with every passing second, Kurt’s stomach unclenches and Blaine’s breathing becomes even, shallow, and quiet. His body is heavy against Kurt’s side, arms limp around Kurt’s waist.

The storm has died, but in its wake, Kurt is left with an armful of sleeping boy.

He should go. He should slide out from under Blaine and maybe cover him with a blanket or something.

Just a few more minutes, Kurt tells himself, snuggling down into the sofa. He’s comfortable, warm, and for some reason he’s exhausted. Eyelids becoming heavy, Kurt allows himself one last look at the bare living room, bemoaning the absence of a sense of home or haven inside Blaine’s house.

But then, it doesn’t really matter, Kurt thinks.

Because, to him, it seems like Blaine makes the whole world feel like home.

Just a few more minutes turns into just a few more hours. Kurt jolts awake, cursing his idiocy, hoping he hasn’t woken Blaine. Blaine sleeps peacefully though, cuddled in the crook of Kurt’s arm, and Kurt glances at the clock on the wall that continues to tickticktick.

Shit.

It’s nearly midnight. On a school night.

His dad is going to murder him.

Doing his best not to jar the sleeping boy any more than necessary, Kurt slides out from under Blaine and eases him down onto the sofa. Blaine curls into himself, brows furrowing in discontent at the lack of Kurt’s warmth. There’s no blanket or pillow in the general area. Kurt feels slightly bad about just leaving him on the sofa in the chilly room, but he has to get home before his father has some sort of conniption. With one last soft kiss to Blaine’s forehead, Kurt bids a silent farewell and shows himself out.

Once he’s in his car and speeding home, he calls his father.

“Where the hell are you?!”

“I’m sorry, dad, I’m sorry! I fell asleep at a friend’s house! I’m on my way home now, I’ll explain everything when I get there.”

“Jesus, Kurt. I called you seven times!”

“I’m sorry, dad, I really am. I’m almost home.”

“If you’re not in this house within the next ten minutes, you’re grounded for a week.”

“Okay, okay, I’m going as fast as I can.”

His father ends the call. Kurt feels horrible. Despite how much he has lied to his father in the past, he has always, always, been home on time or at least given him a call if he knew he was going to be late.

Kurt whips into the driveway, pulling the shittiest parking job on the face of the planet, and his heart pounds loudly in his ears as he approaches his front door. Before he can even turn the knob, however, his dad is wrenching open the door. Burt promptly pulls Kurt into his arms, smothering Kurt against his shirt with a tight hold on the back of his head.

“God, I thought someone – I thought – don’t ever do this again, Kurt!” his father hisses into Kurt’s hair and Kurt almost thinks he can hear tears in his voice.

“I’m sorry, dad,” Kurt whispers, clinging to his father.

Burt Hummel has never been a strict man. For one, Kurt has never given him any reason to be overly protective. However, Kurt recalls the various evenings his father would find him alone in his bedroom, crying and screaming about how cruel the world was and how unfair it was to him that he couldn’t just be himself at school without getting taunted or harassed. Ever since then, his father has always been on the lookout for bullies, ready to file a restraining order against anyone who even dared to look at his son the wrong way. As such, Kurt can only imagine the horrible, awful things that might have been running through his dad’s head when Kurt hadn’t answered any of his calls.

And so, because of how tightly his father holds him and because Kurt can feel the fear in his father’s strong palms, Kurt decides it’s time to tell his father the truth about everything.

After all, he promised Blaine he would do his best.