To be honest he didnt even know what he was saying to Blaine. He was just spewing these words out of his mouth about how much he wanted him back. How he wanted to get his heart back. He needed to tell him before he declined him, which Blaine had every right to do. What was he saying again? His brain became overfogged before he could even develop more coherent words.

"Im seeing someone." Blaine slowly spoke, flinching his eyes away from the speculation that he could see aquiring inside Kurts, gorgeous, head.

Kurt almost threw up in his mouth. Blaine didnt love him anymore.

"And I wanted to tell you in person, especially because you know him."

Please dont say Sebastian Smythe.

What felt like 5 million heartbeats later, he felt eyes on the back of his head, then a large, manly hand came down and clambered onto Kurts shoulder. He flinched beyond habit.

"Hey Kurt!" A deep, painful voice prickled his hearing.

David Karofsky.

He watched, intently. As David placed a too-much-saliva kiss on Blaines cheek then perched himself on the barstool neighbourly. Which to Kurts delight, Blaine didnt react to.

On the other hand he needed to get out of here, he shouldnt be here. Blaine was completely over him. Kurt fucked up their relationship something dreadful, so what was the point?

He couldnt hear anything Blaine and his ex-bully were verbalizing about, his head was in the clouds and the music was vein pumpingly heavy. Until one specific phrase came tumbling out of Karofskys alcohol tainted lips.

"Yogi and BooBoo"

Done.

He murmed an excuse and shot up from his somewhat, sticky, barstool. Rushing for an escape. No, not that kind of escape. A place to breathe. A place to just cry. A place where he wouldnt feel like he had taken an overdose of some strong, blood rushing, head pounding, drug.

He saw the flickering lights of a sign, considerably resembling the word "mens", he tumbled into the air forgotten room. The walls of this expanse were pushing in, and in on his lungs. They were dirty. Rotten.

Before he could care about how the walls smelt like sweaty cock, he was pushing his boney back against them.  Holding himself together. Even though his eyes were oversurfaced with a stream of salty, bitter, water. Tears.

Sliding his back down the wall, and his ass on the floor now, hes clutching at his bag. The bag. The bag with, well, the bag holding the most important thing inside that he had to tell Blaine about. 

The bag holding his future. Their future.

He pulls it out of his bag. It. It being a stick. A pregnancy stick. A pregnancy stick that he has used earlier, reading the words "Postive, 6 weeks." His eyes are gushing with liquid now. What am I going to do? He hates me. I cant keep this baby.

Why Karofsky? Why is the father to my baby kissing and touching my old bully. Why.

He didnt notice many tick, tocks of the clock above himself had lingered in his head. Until a loud bang errupted from the front of the minuscule, disheveled, room. "Kurt?"

Shit. Blaine.

Kurt tries to push the stick back into his pockets but both sides are completely done up. He results to putting it in his bag, but his fingers are trembling so hard. His fingers are sliding all over the zipper.

"Kurt, come on. You cant hide from this." Blaine murmered, opening the cubical next to Kurts. "You broke up with me."

Kurt cant get the stick back in his bag. He cant let Blaine know.

"Kurt where are you?"

101 thoughts were flooding through Kurts head. He felt iscolated, compact.

Fuck it. Kurt thought. Run. I may be running from my fears but its so much better than Blaine and Karofsky finding out.

And that is how Blaine found himself stunned, slummed on the ugly floor. Wondering where they went wrong. And what was Kurt holding in his hand?

"I love you." He murmered into the nothingness that Kurts presense had graced. He could hear the blistering sound of the pumping music in his ear drums. Until Karofsky came to sweep him up off his feet. Most literally, then take his drunk ass back home.