Chapter 6

Time has stopped.  It feels like days since the altercation.  Blaine hasn't moved in hours, scared to know what he'll find when he examines his body.  He knows there are bruises on his ribs, judging by his short and careful breathing.  He identifies that his head is throbbing, in an excruciating pain that's so beyond a headache.  He believes that there could be a gash somewhere in the back of his scalp, because he's lying in what feels to be a puddle of water.  Blaine knows better; he's a smart kid.  He knows the dampness at the nape of his neck is blood, if the warmth of the liquid is any indication.

He's gaping at the popcorn ceiling, listening intently to the movement upstairs.  When the noise above is nothing but silence, Blaine lifts his head in a fluid, lazy motion and raises his hand to the impacted section.  Peeling away from his head, sticky and thick, Blaine's fingers come into focus with a red smear.  His nose can't ignore the intense smell of iron and he can officially confirm it is blood.  He knows that head injuries are generally not to be fucked around with, so Blaine finds himself in the middle of a minute panic attack.  He is chanting to himself not to move too much, don't freak out, in case the ribs are close to cracking in half or puncturing a lung.  He feels more alone than he's ever been after a situation like this, with no one to call and nowhere to go.  Nowhere safe.  He needs to take care of himself, yet again. 

His bends his body at his waist to sit up on the concrete floor, ignoring every glimmer of pain, and tries to determine his bearings.  He blinks swiftly, and shifts all of his weight onto the balls of his palms to lift himself up and onto his feet.  His ribs are contracting uncontrollably and he winces in true discomfort with every step toward the staircase.  He's up, trembling, and he steadies himself by grasping the banister as a lifeline.  Every bend of the knee and flex of the ankle simply hurts, but he carries on, knowing the only way out is to go upstairs.  He needs to just get the hell away from this house and from his father.  He takes his keys and slips his Toms on.  His eye catches at the crumpled change in the key bowl, presumably from when his mother got home however many hours ago.  What time is it?  What day is it?  What the fuck is happening?

Kurt.  Kurt will save me.

Blaine remembers he didn't spend any money today; Kurt gave him his usual meals on the house at the Lima Bean.  He steals his mother's change and stuffs it into his pocket, feels around for the crisp twenty he had from before, and pulls out his phone.  He has enough to splurge on a cab.

He leans against the back of his mother's pearly white Escalade until the taxi arrives ten minutes later.  He struggles to climb into the back seat, tells the driver an address, and disappears into the setting sun, blending with pinks and purples into the soon-to-be night sky.

xK&Bx

Kurt is exhausted.  Today was an especially busy day at the coffee shop and everything, everything, was empty when they closed.  Julie, Austin, and Kurt even spent an extra hour ensuring the stock was full for the sake of the dreaded opening shift at five AM, and Kurt is finally retreating to his bed after the longest day at work in the history of his return to Lima.

When he's supposed to be doing other things, like restocking fake sugar packets and sleeves that keep his faithful customers from burning their hands on paper cups, Kurt spends a lot of time thinking about fate.  He thinks back to when Rachel forced him to become part owner of the Lima Bean, and then again when she gifted him the rest of the establishment.  She was adamant that he help her out with this, because he was the only one that she trusted to keep the business flowing.  Then it became clear that she was stubborn in his sole proprietorship, because this was a good move for him, a good distraction from everything that seemed to fall through his fingertips in his life.  Despite his frequent pushback, Rachel signed over the Lima Bean, saying that everything happens for a reason.

Kurt has been waiting five years for that very reason.  For a while, he was convinced that Rachel's ulterior motive was to keep him away from her in Los Angeles; their relationship was one of sincere competition when it came to nearly everything, and it was less than easy to live together.  He figured that she kept re-signing leases throughout college because it was better than living with a stranger.  Maybe she forced him back into Lima, knowing he would never not come back after the Eddie debacle, because she wanted to be better than him in some way.  It's proven fact, at least in Kurt's mind, that those who come home to their hometowns are quitters and failures.  Especially when he had so much potential.

That couldn't have been the reason.  Regardless of how competitive and selfish Rachel always was, she was also supportive of every single dream and if New York was still his dream after she moved away and after Eddie, then Rachel would have supported Kurt every step of the way. 

Maybe the reason was to be closer to his father before he got sick again, which was an inevitability because he just couldn't stop him from eating french fries, try as he might.  That reason was a strong contender; Rachel and Burt always seemed to be in cahoots about something Kurt-related, but usually something like pooling their money together for a ridiculously expensive Alexander McQueen outfit. 

Maybe this reason had nothing to do with Rachel's or Burt's planning, though.  Maybe it was as simple as true love, as simple as fate.  Maybe it was something as simple as friendship, as truly being there for someone who needs him.  There could be someone who needs Kurt's help in getting back on their feet, or getting away from the life they know.  Maybe the reason why Kurt owned the Lima Bean instead of running freely through the streets of New York without a care in the world… was Blaine. 

Kurt is thinking about Blaine in an asymmetric way to the rest of his life.  Admittedly, Blaine is taking up way too much space in Kurt's head, but maybe it's okay with him being the reason he's back in Lima at all.  Kurt hasn't had experience with the bruised and broken type, he always was the one in need from others. He feels like it's about time to give back.  He wants to be someone else's – Blaine's – saving grace the way Finn was for Kurt in high school.  He can do it for Blaine because he had the world's best teacher in his brother, and he's excited to work on the proposition.

xK&Bx

Kurt is still so tired, his eyes fluttering shut with every formation of mental reevaluation.  He peels himself out of his blanket anyway.  It is the absolute opposite of grace that he exudes when he sits at his desk and snaps his laptop open and slams the keyboard until the screen comes to life.  He opens a blank word document and stares at the blinking cursor.  His eyes roll while he inserts a blank table, changes the landscape, and formats it to be rows of different shades of purple.  In the first column, he types PROS.  He hits the “tab” key and types CONS.  This is the beginning of his trusty list when it comes to pursuing Blaine Anderson, as a friend or something more.

Forty-five minutes pass, and he's got an appealing list, with far too many “pros” and not enough “cons”.  He saves it as “Blaine” on his Desktop and shuts the laptop before hoisting himself into the wrap of his blanket.  He'll sleep on it.

He doesn't sleep.

xK&Bx

The only fucking place he could have possibly gone is fucking closed.  It's dark inside the building, and if that wasn't an indication that he wasn't allowed inside, then the adorable sign in girly handwriting hanging on the door sure is.

“Closed.”

Blaine attempts to open the door again, to no avail, and punches the brick next to the glass.  It hurts, but he doesn't care at all.

He slides down the wall carefully and sobs in a way he hasn't, maybe ever.

xK&Bx

Kurt must have drifted off; you have to be asleep to dream.  He's part of a wedding.  It's white and black and burgundy and burnt orange and gold and brown.  October wedding.  Central Park.  Pumpkin centerpieces with Gerbera Daisies overflowing out of the stem.  There is Kurt.  And there is… Blaine.

“Oh my God.”  Kurt bends quickly at the waist and flicks on the bedside lamp.  His breathing is weirdly calm and serene.  He sighs and inches to the kitchen to get water or tea or warm milk.  One always dreams about the person he's thought of last.

The kitchen's only window is cracked for the sake of circulation, and Kurt hears a faint sob on the street.  He arches over the sink and strains his neck to look out and down to the sidewalk but can make out nothing.  There is a sniffle and a groan, and Kurt knows someone downstairs is in need of someone else's assistance.  Kurt hurries now; he fixes a quick glass of water from the faucet and slams it, throwing the cup into the sink and rushing back to his bedroom to get a shirt on.  He shoves his arms through the sleeves of the first tee shirt he can find and snags the key off of the hook next to the door.  He jumps down the one flight of stairs and barrels out of the building. 

Kurt points his ear to the sound and follows the whimpering out to the other side of the door to the Lima Bean.  There's a shadow of a hunched-over figure, and Kurt kneels down, trying not to startle him.

“Hey… are you okay?”

Blaine lifts his head and wipes his red-rimmed eyes with the back of his wrist.

Kurt's eyes explode out of their sockets when he realizes that he knows this crying, hurt boy.  Well, he sort of knows him.  He's a customer; he's just a customer.  It's Blaine.

“Blaine!  Oh my God!  What happened to you?  Holy shit, you're bleeding!” It's like someone slammed into Kurt's panic button.  He's looking at Blaine's bloody face with condolences, like Blaine's not even breathing anymore.

Blaine rolls his eyes a little, before realizing how badly his head hurts.  “Get away from me, pretty boy.”  His voice breaks mid-sentence and he looks up to Kurt then away quickly.  He hugs himself tighter and drops his chin to fall to his chest. Now that he's here, physically in front of Kurt although it's all he wanted the entire way over, Blaine is ashamed that Kurt is forced to see him like this.  He's embarrassed, knowing that Kurt is only going to put two and two together and it's too late to deny the details.  Blaine grunts at the reaction of Kurt's inevitable enlightenment, allowing only one tear to fall before he wipes it away.

Kurt's still there, kneeled down with a hand situated over Blaine's forearm.  Is it support, for comfort?  Blaine's not sure – it's not working.  “Leave me the fuck alone.”  He doesn't have the fight in him; it's easier for the walls to be folded into the corner.

Blaine thinks back to when he was in the fourth grade, when his elementary school went through some construction during the regular school year.  They transferred his class out into a trailer in the parking lot where classes remained through the winter.  It was overcrowded with the two classes that had to fit in there.  The principal and the janitor interrupted one morning while he was reading Matilda and installed a folding partitioned wall between his class and the other.  It sectioned the two classes off, enabling the trailer to feel like only theirs.  The interesting part about these walls, though: they were temporary, folded up in any way the teachers wanted them to.  They would sometimes fold them halfway if it was a recess and snowing so the kids in both classes could interact.  They sometimes folded them three quarters of the way, or one quarter, and sometimes they kept them open.  The walls could come down partially or entirely.  They were completely variable. 

The walls protecting Blaine's heart and mind are pressure-built partitioned walls that he could only pray were temporary.  Felt-covered and flexible, Blaine's walls are pressured between a rock and a hard place, and although they are not currently flexible in any way he could fathom, they might break down and become brittle shreds of dust.  Some day.  Eventually.  Not today.

“Please go, Kurt.  I'm fine, I just-”

“I'm sorry, I can't do that.  Not after I've seen you.  Come upstairs and let me help you.”

Kurt grasps around the bicep that's closest to him and pulls Blaine up to his feet.  He's unsteady and leaning against the brick wall, wincing, moaning at the pain endured by the simplest of movements.  Kurt allows the boy to lean on his side, slipping an arm around his waist for additional security. 

“Think you could make it up a flight of stairs?”

Blaine is suffering and shakes his head faintly.  “Kurt, please don't make me… do this.  I can't-”

“What hurts?  I need to call the cops.”

“No!  Please, no, no, no.  Please, I'll go wherever you're taking me, just don't call them, okay?”  He straightens up as much as possible as if that's going to mask how he really feels.  “Kurt, I'll do anything.  Just don't.”  He holds onto the older man's wrists and looks earnestly into his eyes.

Kurt responds with a faster, more encouraging nod and all but carries him to the conspicuous door to the left of the coffee shop's entrance, and allows the boy to lean every last pound of his body weight onto his shoulder as he unlocks the door with one turn of the wrist.

Blaine's attempt to catch his breath is devastating.  With every step, he winces vocally and curses a creative slew of words.

“Okay, honey.  Shhh.  Almost there.”

Climbing stairs, and walking upright in general, is certainly a challenging feat with bruised ribs and an apparent head injury.  After literally eternity, Kurt is shifting Blaine's limp and exhausted body again to throw the second door open.  Blaine groans when Kurt's hand meets the tenderness that is his right lower rib bone, and drops his head again, clutching the doorway as support.

“Okay… you're okay… I'm so sorry…” Kurt kicks the door open and gets rid of the key before fully focusing on dragging Blaine inside completely.  He deposits the whimpering boy slowly on the couch and runs to get a large bath towel from the hallway closet that would protect his couch from the blood.  He eases it behind Blaine's head, and runs to the bathroom for first aid supplies.  Kurt works on autopilot, and Blaine stares into space, patiently awaiting his return.

Kurt returns promptly to stand in front of the bruised and battered boy, with a pouch held tightly under his armpit and his phone in his hand.

“Blaine.  I need to call the paramedics, okay?  You are bleeding from your head and I'm actually really, really scared.”  Kurt's eyes are wide, focused on only Blaine, and crystal clear.  They're almost transparent up against the milky brightness of his eyeballs.

Blaine flashes an undeniable fear, as he looks to the door and back up to Kurt.

“No cops.” Blaine looks to the floor and ducks his head to rest his chin on his chest.  “Please, Kurt.  No cops.”

Kurt sighs and kneels down so that they are eye level, “No cops, honey.  Only medics, somebody who can clean that nasty gash the right way so that there's no infection or complications later.”

“No.  They always send a cop.  Kurt, I'll go back.  They'll lock me up again.  Then when I get out, he'll kill me.  He said so himself, Kurt.  He will kill me.”  Inexplicitly, Blaine is a little boy again.  He's allowed himself to go back to the world, if only for a second, that he was constantly running away from.  This was the world of ring pop weddings and folding, temporary walls.  This was the world he'll never see again.

“What if you need stitches?  What if I can't clean this properly, Blaine?  They are not going to hurt you, I'll make sure-”

“I can't go to the hospital.”  Blaine's eyes turn cold.  Kurt decides to drop it; this is a battle he shouldn't pick.  Not now.

“Okay.”  Kurt searches for a feeling desperately in Blaine's eyes, but there's nothing behind them.  “I'll try my best, then.”  He sighs, “This might sting, okay?” 

The peroxide feels like it's being poured into Blaine's brain, and ironing out each and every wrinkle of knowledge he's ever possessed.   Blaine passes out.

Kurt calls Carole immediately.  Resting his cell phone between his ear and shoulder, he frantically follows the sought-out directions delivered by his stepmother, the head nurse in the ER at Lima Memorial.  He declines her several offers to come over and take care of this mystery friend for him; he's not sure why Blaine didn't want to go to the hospital but he's pretty sure that having anyone here besides himself would only upset the boy more. 

He doesn't need his patient to be conscious, apparently, to wrap his head in gauze and reposition his body until he seems the most comfortable for the sake of his ribs, and somehow, Kurt remains calm though his mind is on fire.  His eyes rake down Blaine's body in an effort to find any other bruises through his ripped clothing.  He fetches a blanket and a pillow and situates Blaine, hoping his new position is a bit more comfortable than leaning against the bricks of his building's outside wall.  He runs to his room and finds a pair of sweats, and his least fashionable blue-checkered button-down shirt.  He'll force Blaine to change into this seriously hideous outfit when he wakes, draping the borrowed items over the arm of the couch closest to the boy's feet.  He leaves three Advil and a tall glass of water on the coffee table in front of the couch, and curls up on the loveseat facing the boy, staring at him for what feels like hours, punching himself awake each time he feels the slip.  He needs to watch Blaine and make sure he's okay. And alive.

Three hours pass.  At some point, Kurt finds his cell phone, previously thrown on the floor after he hung up with Carole, and summons an unsuspecting teenage employee to come and cover him at the Lima Bean starting bright and early.

xK&Bx
Suddenly, it's five-forty in the morning, and Kurt needs to go downstairs and open up.  He leaves a note for Blaine to find should he wake, and changes quickly to rush downstairs.  He meets Julie, allows her to get situated, and double checks to see that she has his cell phone number in case of an emergency.  He fibs about taking paperwork upstairs into his apartment, which wouldn't be out of the ordinary, in theory, and there's no reason to lie about it.

He brews the first pot of coffee and when it's finished pours himself two cups, grabs a few croissants, and goes through the mixing motions at the condiment station. As he creates the perfect shade of brown in both cups, he pointedly ignores Julie's raise of an eyebrow.  Picking up the necessary breakfast supplies for both himself and Blaine, he pushes the door open with his elbow to venture back to his apartment.

xK&Bx

Blaine's everything hurts.  His eyes flutter open uncontrollably and his eyeballs shift, trying to figure out where he is.  He honestly has no idea, but there's no beeping machines or handcuffs so that's a good sign.  His hand finds the gauze wrapped around the back of his head in a circle around his forehead.  Blaine bends to get up off the couch and wails in pain.  He thinks that this time his ribs could be broken.  There's an open and close of a door somewhere down what could be a hallway.  There's a drop of a set of keys and a muttered swear word.  Fuck.

Kurt comes into view, unaware that he is awake.  He sets two cups of coffee and a bag of what is seemingly breakfast pastries on the table in front of Blaine's still-horizontal body and sighs.  He glances to Blaine's face and jumps back slightly, straightening up when he realizes he's being watched.

“Blaine.”  Kurt bows his head and focuses on his shoes.  “Umm, how… how are you feeling?”  He looks up, but too tall, and back down again.  Those boots must be really interesting.

Blaine follows his line of sight to Kurt's feet.  He coughs weakly, a bit out of breath, and winces at the pain of a rib bone that must be puncturing his esophagus or something.  Jesus fuck! That hurts.  “Like fucking rainbows and daisies.  How do you think I fucking feel?” 

Kurt frowns.

There's a swoop in his stomach; seeing Kurt's sadness does something terrible to the way Blaine feels.  “Sorry.”  He apologizes because it's all he can do.

Kurt nods.

There's an awkward pause in the conversation and they both find the frays of the area rug below them fascinating.

Kurt is whispering now.  “What happened?”

Blaine looks around the living room; he looks anywhere but at Kurt's shining blue eyes.  He knows they are shining and blue and so pretty because he hasn't been able to get them out of his head, injured or not, for the past two months of his hell-forsaken life.   Blaine's head is pounding, throbbing and caught on each syllable.

“Blaine.  What happened?”  Kurt repeats, speaking fully now.  Kurt's studying his face and reaches to brush a curl away from the gauze.  The contact sends a shiver down Blaine's spine, a jolt of energy for only his electrocution of emotion.  They both look to opposite corners of the room, focusing on any inanimate object they can find.

Blaine decides to man up, if only for a second.  He makes eye contact.  “I tripped.” 

“Into a lion?”

Blaine stares at the bag with a Lima Bean logo stamped on it.  It's an intricate logo, obviously designed by Kurt or someone he trusts immensely, with a unicorn and a cloud and elegant calligraphy to spell out the words.  This is what distraction looks like.  “Whatever, pretty boy.  Leave me alone.”

“Can't.”  Kurt springs up and paces on the outside of the table.  He glances down at the breakfast patiently awaiting them and slowly handles a cup and reaches inside the bag to present a croissant and pushes both toward Blaine.  “From downstairs.”  He crosses the room and disappears into the kitchen, quickly returning with a few napkins, and two small ceramic plates to house morning carbohydrates.  “I want to help you, Blaine.  This is twice that I've seen you brutally beaten up.”

“You should see the other guy.”  This is a lie.  Kurt knows this by the manic change in color of Blaine's eyes.  They darken; they become less expressive.  They almost look dead.

“Who's beating you up, Blaine?” 

Blaine focuses on sipping the perfect concoction of milk, sugar, and delicious coffee that instantaneously became his favorite all those mornings ago at the Lima Bean.  He sinks his teeth into the buttery croissant and lets out a small moan in response to just how delicious it still is, even after having one every weekday morning of his recent existence. 

Kurt takes Blaine's mouthful of substance as a hint.  “You don't have to tell me.  If you ever need me though… please come find me.  I… I can be here for you.  I am here for you.”  Kurt ends the conversation with a shrug and works on his own breakfast. 

They eat in silence.  It's strangely comfortable.

Kurt clears the garbage and empty plates; Blaine lets him. 

Blaine tries to shift and winces at his ribs swirling around the cage unnaturally. He can almost feel them doing just that.

Kurt side eyes him as he enters the room again and sighs.  “Do you think anything's broken?”

“Maybe one of my ribs. But it's fine.  I can just wrap it when I get home.  That's all they'd do at the hospital, and I can't…” Go to the hospital because then they'd probably arrest me for going against whatever stupid probation rules I will never understand.  He loses his shirt nonchalantly and in one swift movement to minimize the pain.  He examines the familiar purple splotching painted on his skin.  He looks back to Kurt's direction and shrugs.  “I'm fine.”

“You usually use like, an ACE bandage?”  Kurt's eyes flicker to Blaine's barely developed chest, then back to his face.

“Or whatever I can find, I guess?”  Blaine shrugs with one shoulder and looks away again.  He can't bear to feel the pity radiating out of Kurt's body.

Kurt bolts out of the room again, and rummages through the bathroom cabinets.  Blaine hears a triumphant but distant “YES!” and Kurt slides back into the living room on his socks and topples onto the rug at the abrupt stop of hardwood floor.  Stumbling back upright, he waves a brand new bandage at Blaine and starts to unravel it as he approaches him. 

“I found four.  I don't even… know why anyone would need… four.  My stepmother is a nurse.  Maybe she plants them here when she's over, just in case…”

Blaine laughs a little.  It hurts.  His foggy mind mildly recollects memories from last time, when he was alone and unhappy.  Now, someone is there to take care of him. 

Besides the constant pain behind his lungs, he almost feels like the old Blaine.  Before he came out, before his father started taking his disappointments out on him.  Blaine's not sure what it is about Kurt, but he is at ease around the older man.  He's familiar, but a total stranger.   Blaine can't put a finger on it, but it's something.  There's a small, warm pull in the pit of his stomach when he realizes that this is what arousal feels like. 

Kurt sits carefully, in an attempt to avoid shifting the cushions beneath Blaine.  He's mostly squatting beside the couch, with one half of a cheek balancing on the edge for support.  It feels natural for Blaine to wrap one of his arms around his neck as the man pulls him and bends him closer so he's leaning chest to chest rather than back to pillow.  Blaine clenches his eyes closed at the seams and allows Kurt to manhandle him gently, breathing steadily with every wrap around.  Kurt works himself up, wrapping diligently until he reaches Blaine's midsection.  Blaine cries out in pain and leans his cheek onto Kurt's shoulder, the closest sturdy surface. 

“Shhh.  Almost done, okay?”  Kurt really shouldn't expect an answer, but Blaine gives him the opportunity to be on the receiving end of a moan too painful to even listen to.

Each minute feels like sixty.  Blaine can't get a handle on his inside bones shifting.  He swiftly retreats his head from the points and curves and smiles, looking down shyly.  “Sorry… God.”  He bites at his knuckle to trap another moan.

Blaine feels Kurt inhale, literally pushing away any spark that could have just captivated his mind, and fastens the last of the bandage wrap.  There is a prominent pressure as Kurt plays with the edge of the material to tuck it into itself.

“Is that tight enough?”

“Perfect.”  Blaine says, “Thank you.”  He glances at the clothes laid out across the arm of the couch.  “Can I borrow those?”

“Of course!  That's what they're there for, silly.”

Blaine tries to sit straight as Kurt helps maneuver the boy's arms into a checkered button-down colored shirt.  He lifts his ass off the couch when Kurt pulls off his pair of pants, then again when he replaces them with his own sweatpants.  They never drop each other's eye contact.  Kurt is rubbing Blaine's arm, exuding comfort patiently, and it all seems rather domestic.  Blaine can't shake the feeling that this might be where he belongs.  He's been looking for this forever.

“That outfit is ridiculous.”  Kurt giggles and takes him in, small as a little puppy curled up on the couch, with the most terrible outfit Kurt had ever put together for himself or someone else. “But I thought you wouldn't want to lift your arms too high, or button your body into jeans.  This is what you get.”

“Thank you.”  Blaine looks up at him and allows the corners of his mouth to ascend only a little.  “Seriously.  No one's ever helped me the way you are now.  I mean-” He sputters; new Blaine is not supposed to be gracious.  “I just mean, thanks.”

Kurt smiles.  He shifts lightly and takes Blaine's calves in his hands, sliding downward until his right hand gets caught on the obstruction of the ankle monitor on Blaine's left ankle.  A blush quickly reaches all four of their ears.

“Sorry.”  Kurt says.  “Sensitive subject?”  When there is no answer, Kurt guides the feet to the floor and directs Blaine's body to sit upright.  Kurt slips in to sit beside him, but not touching.

“Are you up for the day?  You can stay here for as long as you'd like.”

“Thanks.”  Blaine says it again; there's nothing better to say.  He shifts deeper into the cushion of the couch as Kurt approaches his movie case without another word.

The boys settle on a movie; Kurt insists they watch Moulin Rouge.  Blaine has never seen it, and although he'd never tell an over-excited Kurt this, he never really understood why everyone was obsessed with it. It's only about seven thirty in the morning, and he's not sure if he can handle weird covers of songs that had not even been recorded at the time the movie was supposed to take place.  He obliges anyway, just wanting to be close and without any serious thought.

xK&Bx

Blaine remains very still; even the slightest of movements could put him into a terrible spiral of excruciating pain and despair. His mind drifts.

“Hey, Kurt?”  Satine is coughing blood into a handkerchief again, and Blaine has officially stopped paying attention.

“Mmmm?”  Kurt's entranced in the movie; he is in love with Moulin Rouge.  Apparently, “Come What May” is going to be his wedding song someday.

“Aren't you supposed to be at the Lima Bean?”

“The best part about owning a coffee shop is the fact that you can hire employees to do your work for you.  I don't have to be there every day.”  He turns his head to look at Blaine, injured and small.

“Do you miss me on the weekends, pretty boy?” 

Blaine's not sure why he doesn't hang out with Kurt at the Lima Bean seven days a week.  In the beginning of the summer, it seemed like too much and too soon. He found other spots within his four-mile radius that suited his needs just fine.  It turns out he was cheating on Kurt with Starbucks, after all. Sometimes, he'll venture to the library or the park when it's nice out.  Other times, he locks himself away in his room for weekends at a time when he knew his parents' schedule included lots of errands and running around.  It's been tricky on the weekends; his parents don't have a set schedule as they do for work during the week, so it's a crap shoot as to what type of environment Blaine is walking into every single time he gets home.  He'd rather not get beaten three times on a Saturday, so sometimes he just stays in, locked away with Netflix and a book.

Kurt shoots him a bitchy face and rolls his eyes.  At the unspoken understanding that he isn't going to admit anything to Blaine, the boy probes.

“Why are you, then?  Why are you there every day?”

Kurt looks over to him then, and meets his eyes for five seconds before looking back to the television. 

“I think you know why.”

xK&Bx

Kurt and Blaine spend the rest of the morning warming up to each other at a tortoise's pace, with Kurt slowly inching his way closer until noon when they are touching thigh-to-thigh.  At one point, Blaine crosses the contraption-clad ankle over and across Kurt's, and neither of them seem to mind.  They stay intertwined for most of the day as they steal glances when the other isn't looking, suspiciously unaware that each of the other has peripheral vision, which they both make sure to use with each sneaky look.  There is an obvious attraction on both ends, but no actions to ever be made. 

Blaine stares intently at his hands folded in his lap. He holds his own fingertips in his opposite hand and tries to imagine his left hand as Kurt's. He is willing to bet anything he owns that he'll be holding Kurt's hand regularly before he is released from his probation.  This becomes his goal.

They finish Moulin Rouge and Beauty and the Beast and some other movie Kurt wants to watch and suddenly it's three o'clock in the afternoon.  Blaine has snacked on a pretzel, popcorn, and M&M mixture a very tired looking Kurt supplied for him all day, so he's not terribly hungry, but he does need to get home before his parents beat him to it.  He plants his feet heavier on the ground and slowly inches to stand up straight.  His pain-induced frown is forcing creases into the sides of his mouth, and he wobbles a bit until he's steady. 

“I've gotta get going.”

Kurt checks the time on the cable box.  “Seriously, where do you go every day at three!”  He stands.  “You're a mystery, Blaine Anderson.”  Kurt leads the way back to the front door.  “You… you could stay, if it's home… if your problems lie at home, I mean.”

Blaine shrugs in response.  “Home is fine, okay?”  If he's a mystery, then the act is working.  He still makes a mental note to try harder not to let Kurt in, as much as he wishes he could just drop the damn act.

“Okay.  At least let me drive you there?”  Kurt's eyes linger on Blaine's mouth, like he's only looking at lips.

Blaine locks eyes with the older man and subconsciously licks his lips.  His newly darkened eyes flicker to Kurt's mouth and he wants to lean in and take Kurt for all he's worth.  He doesn't.

“I can't let you do that.” 

Kurt shrugs.  He doesn't think at all.  He just does.

The older man licks his lips and leans in. Cornering Blaine up against the wall that meets the door, he covers his mouth gently over Blaine's, with hardly any pressure so as not to hurt him in a shift backwards and slamming into the wall, and stills.  He opens his eyes and makes contact with shocked and widely golden sparkling eyes with pulsing pupils looking back at him.  He closes his baby blues again and opens his mouth slightly as an invite for Blaine's tongue, but not before he nibbles on the boy's bottom lip.  He shifts his head to tilt the other way, and folds one wrist over the opposite around the back of Blaine's neck.  He drops his jaw farther and Blaine understands enough to sweep his tongue into Kurt's mouth and they lick at and taste each other like life depends on it.  Kurt moves his hands delicately to Blaine's hips, hooks his fingers at the curves, and pulls him in a bit closer to deepen the long-awaited exchange.  Blaine wraps his arms around Kurt's neck and grinds into the man's hips only once.  Now it's his turn to tilt his head, ignoring the annoying throbbing pressure in his brain and chest.  Blaine loosens the kiss only enough to catch Kurt's lip, and bites down seductively, pulling Kurt's lip away from his teeth.  The saliva is helping with the glide, and their tongues are igniting what could only be described as a slow-motion porn-flutter.

Kurt steps back and touches his pointer and middle finger pads to his lips like he's thinking, but he's just feeling; he's soaking it all in, still with his eyes closed tightly.  

Blaine glances at him and takes him in. 

Kurt blinks his eyes awake and smiles only enough to lead Blaine on. 

Blaine wants to jump and dance around to like, Britney fucking Spears; he wants to grin and force him even closer, but can only connect his eyes to his shoes.

“Uhh, did I have anything with me last night?”

“No.  Your old clothes are ripped and bloody.  I sort of already threw them out.”  Kurt goes to the hook by the door and waves Blaine's keys at him.

He nods at Kurt.  Kurt opens the door for him, pressing the set of keys into his hands.

“See you tomorrow, pretty boy.”  He steps out into the hallway.

“Is that a promise?”  Kurt folds his arms and leans on the frame of the door, just a hint of a smile on his lips.

Blaine nods.  “And thank you.”  He grins back at him, and makes his way slowly downstairs, out of the door, and away. 

Kurt stares at the nothingness that's left in his line of vision.  He allows himself to squeal, just once, before closing his door and sliding down until he's hugging his knees and shaking out of pure joy.  He shakes himself out of it, and gathers himself to head downstairs to the coffee shop and help out with whatever afternoon rush that may be happening.  He is seemingly distracted, only thinking of Blaine, and returns to his apartment after getting in his teenage employees' way on more than one occasion.  He whispers to the nothing in front of him.

“You're welcome.”

xK&Bx

Before he blinks, Kurt is on his father's doorstep, bottle of white wine in his hands. Carole is very much a creature of habit, at least since the accident, and rotates the type of meat in a particular order – fish, chicken, beef.  She likes to experiment with all sorts of awesome recipes, in theory, and so Kurt makes it a point to experience the different wines of the world and he brings a new bottle every time. This hasn't changed since he's returned home.

After Kurt moved back to Lima all those years ago, Friday night dinners were happily reinstated into Kurt's life.  The Hummel-Hudsons never skipped, under any circumstance, especially ever since Kurt's stepbrother passed away in a car accident.  Finn had always been a good kid, did well in school, and was generally happy.  After a lot of trials and tribulations, trying to figure out what to do with his life, he traveled and came back home to Ohio.  Enrolled in the University of Ohio, Finn kept his new college habits of going out drinking rather secretive.  He swerved right off of an overpass by the school and never returned to Friday night dinner again.

Carole has set the table every Friday since to include Finn's spot. Burt and Kurt have never said anything; they know it's been hard on her to first lose her first husband – Finn's father, Christopher – then Finn himself.  Kurt knows, having lost his mother.  The place setting is not awkward; it's actually quite comforting.  Kurt feels as though when he comes over and tells his parents news, he's telling Finn as well.  They were a family, and a family they will remain.

His father opens the door with a wide grin on his face.  They haven't seen each other all week, and for only living fifteen minutes away, Kurt is ashamed.  He tries to make time to visit more often, but with the Blaine distraction… well, family time hasn't been high on the priority list these past few weeks.

“Hey, kiddo.”  Burt half hugs his son and lets him inside.

“Hey, Dad!”  Letting his father crush him in the only way he's used to, he steps back and grins at him.  “What's up?”

“Oh you know… dinner at the Hudmels.”

Kurt smiles again.  He's glowing.  “Hudmels is never going to work, Dad.  Dinner at the Hudmels, though.”  He shakes his head fondly at his father and steps further into the foyer.

Burt looks at him, studying him with all the brainpower he has.  Kurt's hair is coiffed like it used to be.  (Lately, Kurt's been uncharacteristically letting it dry naturally after the shower and hardly using any styling products, at least for Friday night dinners.)  His eyes are large, full of wonder and joy.  His clothes are put together to resemble years ago when he cared a little bit more.  What has made Burt's son so God damned happy?

“Have anything to tell me?”  Burt questions, pointedly.

Carole enters the living room, wiping her hands on her apron-covered thighs.

“Hi, sweetie.” 

“Hi, Mom!”  He wraps his stepmom in a big bear hug, twirls and dips her before kissing her cheek and releasing her.  He practically skips to the kitchen and starts stirring a sauce that's on the stove.  His parents exchange a confused look and follow him to watch him cook, everyone catching up on the last week.

Dinner is ready, a delicious grilled tilapia with creamy white wine Alfredo sauce, vegetables, and Caesar salad.  Kurt serves his family food, skipping over Finn's plate, and puts the extra in a combined serving platter on the counter behind them.  He sits, gracefully folding a napkin over his lap, and pours himself a glass of wine.  He casts a gaze at his parents, who are both staring at him in a happy surprise.

“You're usually a lot… less chipper.  At least you have been since New York.”  Since Finn.

“Oh, Carole.  We can't be sad forever.”  He takes her hand with both of his and squeezes.  She lends him a sad smile.

There is silence.

“I met someone.”  He confesses.

She jumps out of her chair, “There it is!  Oh, Kurt!  Tell us all about him!”

Burt watches the exchange, although it's safe to say he's less than impressed.

“Umm, I can't.”

One pin plummets to the floor.  The family collectively hears it with no disruption.

“I mean, we kissed.  But he's, he's kind of messed up, I'm not really sure what I want from him yet.” 

There is indefinite push back from the parental units, but Kurt promises that he will tell them the whole story when the time is right.  He flawlessly uses the “I just don't want to jinx it” excuse so hopefully, they will respectfully change subjects and get on with the visit.  Not all conversations go on as planned.  His father continues to ask him twenty questions about this new mystery man.

“It's all too new.  I want to make sure it could work first before I tell you details.”  This might be a lie, Kurt's not sure.  He needs to figure out what it would take for him to date a seventeen-year-old boy, assuming that's what Blaine wants. 

Kurt continues, sort of thinking out loud at this point.  He realizes now that his parents probably would have dropped the subject, but now he's on a roll and needs advice.  “I mean, I haven't smiled really at all.  Since Finn died.  He had my back, always, and when he left me here all alone, no one else was ever good enough to take his place.  I've been waiting for someone to care about me like Finn did, but maybe a bit more deeper than that, and I think this boy could be up to the job if I let him.  Hopefully on an entirely different level, but the same kind of support?  I just don't know if I'm ready.”  Kurt really has no idea what he's saying.

Burt and Carole are staring at him, eyes misty and faces sad.

“Stop!  It's been years, and I know it's not easier but it's become… bearable.”

It scares Kurt how he never breaks a sweat when he seems to have omitted the truth that comes with Blaine.  He promptly picks himself up, though.  There are just certain things that parents would never understand. Kurt's complete infatuation with a boy born in the nineties who happens to be on probation being at the top of that list.

xK&Bx

Dinner was perfect.  Dessert was… well, Carole tries.  They are lounging on the couch with Criminal Minds in the background.  Kurt's phone buzzes and the text message is from Santana.

Santana's quickly become one of the few constants in Kurt's life again.  She is an unbiased (for the most part) ally.  Theirs was always the most unconventional friendship, but that could have been why it was one of his most comfortable.  If the stars had aligned right, they would have never been close, but here they are and here they stayed, as close as they were in high school without any complaint.  They sometimes analyze other people, places, and things that have nothing to do with Blaine Anderson, but not often.  Santana is disappointed in Kurt for not getting closer to her boy and isn't afraid to offer her judgment in the matter.  It's for the good of the kid on probation, anyway.

Santana:  Why wouldn't you want to make my life easier, Hummel?
Kurt:  Because I don't care if your life is easier, Lopez.  J
Santana:  Seriously lady lips, what is it about him that's untouchable?
Kurt:  He's not.
Santana:  He's not?
Kurt:  He's not untouchable.  He's… sweet.  He's just going through some shit, I guess.
Santana:  YOU'VE SEEN HIM?
Kurt:  What?  No.
Santana:  You've seen him!  Lima Bean?
Santana:  Kurt, where was he?
Santana:  Kurt.
Santana:  Lady Hummel!  Where the fuck did you see him?
Santana:  Fucking shit, Kurt.  You are making me look bad at work! 
Santana:  If you know details about where he can be, you need to tell me. He's fucking up, Hummel.  They'll throw him in juvie again.

Santana knows him too well.  She knows that the only way to Kurt's heart is via the ways he could possibly help someone.  She knows that as soon as she threatens the wellbeing of someone he so clearly cares about, she will get the information she needs.

She glances at her phone as it starts to come to life, vibration hard and strong.

“Hummel.  Where's Blaine?”  Santana is on her last fucking nerve at this point; she hates being bad at her job.  Any job, Ohio or not.

“Will they really send him to juvie again if you can't find him?”

“Yeah.  He's already missed three meetings with me and he's supposed to be enrolled in school.  I can't cover for him anymore.”  She sighs.

“He's taking his GED test soon, I think.”

“Getting a GED isn't going to school, Kurt.  It's not the same thing.”  There's sincere panic in her voice.  Kurt can't determine if it's for Blaine's wellbeing or for her job, though.

“I'll tell him to call you, okay?”

“Are you friends with him?”

“Don't look for him at the coffee shop.  He doesn't come in anymore.  He'll call you, okay?”

“You are protecting the little shit from me!  This is what you always fucking do, Hummel!  What the fuck?”

“I'll tell him to call you.”

“Humm—“

The line goes dead.  Santana curses in Spanish and lunges her phone into her headboard.

xK&Bx

It's been a good day for Kurt Hummel.  There was a boy and there was a kiss.  There was a lovely dinner with the two people he loves the most.  There were absolutely no tears, and there was a conversation with his friend even if he did hang up on her.  He's calling this progress.

Then, there's a text.

It comes through as Kurt is reversing out of his father's driveway, thinking of how quickly he could get home and go to sleep.  Five AM comes quickly.

Unknown Number:  Goodnight, pretty boy.