“Kurt, I think maybe you should leave?” That’s the first thing Puck says when Kurt steps into his cramped bathroom and closes the door behind himself. His voice is firm and unwavering. Puck doesn’t beat around the bush and I’m so grateful that his defensive nature comes about in such an honest way. Tonight, if nothing else, I’ve learnt that it’s not tricky to understand Puck, he tells it to you straight. You don’t have to look for hidden meanings or messages in everything he says; if he says it, he means it. End of story.

Puck’s very different from me, at least in that respect, because I’m staring at a tiny dot on an otherwise spotless wall, questioning why I can’t speak for myself when I have so many things to say. I have a mouth, I know I do, it just doesn’t seem to be working. I think that maybe it’s because I’ve been keeping this secret since I was eight years old, that’s half a life-time of carrying a single secret around like a dead weight, but I’m not sure, not really. It doesn’t truly explain why I can’t even turn around and face the boy who is almost certainly my best friend in the entire world. It doesn’t explain my loss of strength, does it?

Puck shifts himself a little behind me and I know that he’s standing incredibly close to me because I can feel the heat coming off his body. It’s then that it clicks in my head, he doesn’t want Kurt to see me like this, he told me it was my business, that I had to tell Kurt when it was right for me. He’s being very protective of me. If nothing else, one thing rings astoundingly true tonight, Noah Puckerman is a man of his word.

“No.” Kurt says and I can hear how determined he is even if his voice isn’t as strong as he wanted it to be, I know what it’s like when you’re trying to stand up for something and your vocal chords wont collaborate with your brain, “Why would I leave? This is my bathroom, Noah!”

“Kurt, that is so not the point, right now. You need to leave, for Blaine.” Puck tries again and this time his voice is bursting with so much sincerity that Kurt doesn’t even reply for what seems like an eternity. I’m glad I can’t actually see Kurt because I‘m feeling so ashamed of myself right now and I’m completely mortified by my lack of participation in this conversation.

“No. Those marks-” Kurt starts again and I feel really dreadful, I feel like my life is a fiasco and everything I’ve tried so hard to keep from everyone, from Kurt in particular, is slowly being unravelled and part of me just wants to black out so I can escape this. All those contusions and scars and I have never ever felt like this. I have never felt like such a pathetic, pitiable, dismal human being. The worst part is- I let this happen when I let my guard down.

I keep my focus on the wall.

“Kurt, he can’t do this right now, okay?” Puck endeavours to explain and I feel brainless because Puck is still being my voice and that must make me twice as weak as I thought I was being. I bet Kurt’s wondering where I’ve gone, where’s your courage now, Blaine? Where’s your nerve and your bravado? Where’s the audacity and the gallantry you tried so damn hard to drum into him so he could finally just be himself? Has it’s all gone, just like that?

“No.” Kurt says defiantly, “I want him to tell me to leave. He‘s hurt, Noah.” Kurt is whispering, I wonder if that’s because he can’t physically sound any louder or if he’s suddenly remembered that Finn‘s asleep just beyond this small, claustrophobic room.

“Kurt, why are you making this so hard for him?” Puck verbalises finally and I have to close my eyes tightly just to keep my emotions check, I‘m being so useless. Why am I letting them both talk about me like I‘m some kind of hopeless mute? Puck shifts behind me and I’m imploring him not to move away from me.

Don’t leave me here Puck, not yet, I still can’t handle this. It’s too much. Leaving me now would be the final straw, the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“He’s my best friend, Noah.” Kurt whispers and he sounds like he’s crying now, his voice sounds heavy and altered, “Blaine, please, who hurt you? Please, I don’t understand what‘s going on here.”

Pleading is so evident in his voice that it scares me and he’s talking to me now, not Puck. I wonder if he sounded as sad as this when he asked Karofsky to leave him alone. Did he sound quite so lost? I don’t like it, not at all, and for the first time since Puck woke me up I’m focusing on Kurt rather than myself. My heart flutters, hearing Kurt sound so genuinely upset is incredibly distressing for me. I want to hold him. We built him a new life, he doesn‘t have to sound so dejected anymore, I promised him he‘d never have to cry again.

It’s then, when I can barely stop myself from turning around, that I realise something profound. I’d do anything to stop Kurt reverting back into that terrified, miserable person he was when I first met him. He was so exhausted and worn down. I remember my heart breaking when I realised that we were the only people he could talk to seriously about his troubles. We were his rivals, what did that say about his friends? I gave him my trust that day and Kurt gave me his. I owe him something. I owe him answers and I owe myself the opportunity to be honest and connect with him truthfully.

“Blaine?” Puck starts softly as he moves cautiously to stand in front of me. He’s not dim-witted and apparently his word is law, so he keeps me turned away from Kurt at all times. When I look up at him his eyes are still red, but more importantly, he looks shattered, “I don’t know what to do here. What do you want? For you?”

Mainly, I think, I want to go away, so ridiculously far away. I want to escape and run from everything- this room, these two people who care for me too much, my house, my father, my life. Everything. I could start again. I could start a new life and no one would ever have to look at me and know that I’m the kid who’s father abused him.

But then there’s Kurt.

Kurt who I appreciate and adore so much it actually hurts. Kurt who is the only person in the world to ever make me truly forget my troubles. The very same Kurt who could keep me happy, keep my dreams alive, keep me alive. We could be alive together. If only he wouldn’t see all of these stupid bruises every time he looks at me. I can do this. For me, for Kurt, for my dreams and for Puck, the wonderful Puck who seems to understand this situation on such a personal level that it worries me.

“Blaine?” Puck asks again and I feel like it’s just me and him for a second.

“Can you let me talk to him, alone?” The words leave my mouth before I can question them and maybe it’s because my subconscious trusts Kurt.

“Are you sure?” Puck asks and I just nod because there’s no way I’m getting out of here without speaking to him anyway. Kurt lets out a shaky breath and that makes me relax.

“I’ll be right outside the door, okay? If you need me just call me. I’ll come straight in. Straight away.” I nod and he rubs my shoulders tenderly before he leaves me staring at the wall. Except I’m not staring at the wall anymore, I’m waiting to turn around. Kurt likes me, he tells me that he loves me. He’s on my side. He cares.

Puck’s voice echoes around the room once more before the door clicks shut and we‘re alone, “Just be there for him, Kurt. He needs you to listen.”

I think that sometimes you don’t give certain people the credit they deserve. I think sometimes you can build yourself up for something so terrible that you’re genuinely shocked when people show you kindness and understanding and humility. You’re shocked by their unusual stoicism as they try desperately hard to restrain themselves. For you. It’s startling when such passionate people, people like Kurt, don’t start shouting and demanding and waving their arms around. Then you realise, they know what you need and what you need is a friend.

“I don’t understand what happened to you.” Kurt says honestly as I turn around to finally look at him. His cheeks are flushed and his face is wet and I’m reminded of all the times he cried on my shoulder before he came to Dalton. It makes the protective side of me stir, it grounds me a little.

“I don’t want to lie to you, Kurt.” I say because it’s true and I feel like I’ve probably told enough lies to last a lifetime. Kurt reaches out a hand then. I reach mine out too, of course I do, and when I take his I’m shocked at the tremble that runs through it. He’s shaking.

He crouches down slowly and falls into a seated position on the floor, dragging me down with him. I’m glad for it, I don’t know what’s going to be said or how much I’ll give away or if I can trust my legs. It’s better like this, much less confrontational and no one can just walk away. He can’t just abandon me in a second.

“Blaine, you can tell me anything you want to, I’ll always love you just the same. Always.” I have to close my eyes to fight off forming tears because that’s what I’ve feared all along. I feared that he would love me less. As if it were possible for him to turn on me so quickly- after everything we’ve been through together. I’ve miscalculated Kurt, I have, because we haven’t even talked about anything serious yet and he’s crushed my greatest concern. Part of me wants to kick myself for not telling him as soon as he mattered to me so much but I was so scared then. I can’t be scared now. Kurt is handing me my courage back. I have to take it.

“I- I think this would work better if you asked me questions.” I say shakily because I don’t want this to be some huge confession, this isn’t a confessional it’s a bathroom. I don’t think I can just tell him everything like I’m dictating to a diary, exposing dark secrets and harsh truths. I need him to help me. I need him to stay. I need him to have a role in this.

“Okay. I can do that but-” He stops himself and he looks at me intently, so intently that my heart pounds, before he continues with a tiny voice, “Can I give you a hug first?”

I bite my bottom lip as I nod and he moves towards me on his knees, letting go of my hand to wrap his arms around me softly. All I can hear is him breathing and all I can feel is his love. He rubs my back gently and whispers hushed words into my ear.

I’m so sorry, Blaine.

It’s okay.

I love you.

When he pulls away from me he settles back down and our knees are touching, both of our hands are touchng too, and I have never felt so intimate with another person. I have never felt so cherished.

“Okay.” He starts, letting out an sigh, his hands squeezing mine reassuringly as he asks, “Who did this to you?”

That just had to be the first question, of course it did.

“We don’t all have fathers like Burt.” I say quietly because I still can’t quite bring myself to say My dad does this to me, Kurt.

He frowns when he realises exactly what I’ve just told him, he looks burnt, but he wont stop looking at me with those beautiful eyes of his.

“Okay.” he says as he sucks in a deep breath, he needs to keep reassuring himself and it's unnerving, “When did he do that?”

He nods his head towards my neck and I look down instinctively as if looking down would let me see what he can see too- the half-hidden mass of blues on my skin.

All I can see are our hands clasped together but that doesn’t matter because I know what my neck looks like, I spent a very long time trying to cover it tonight.

“Yesterday.” I say eventually because what else is there to say? I need to be honest here. I'm telling him the truth.

“Wait.” he says and his eyebrows furrow, “Is that- That’s why you couldn’t phone me, isn't it?”

I nod and I can see that he’s trying to process it all in his head, he’s probably trying to imagine what was going on last night. I'm almost sure he doesn't see the blood on the wall.

“Blaine," he starts and his voice is impossibly tiny, "How often does your dad hurt you?”

I can see tears brimming on top of his lower eyelids now. My heart thuds. Don't cry, Kurt, I'm okay. You make me okay.

“When he’s drunk.” I answer honestly because it’s true and it's not like we schedule it. I can’t put a time frame on it. It just happens. It’s just the way my life is. It's the way it's always been, though, obviously it's been a little worse since I came out to him.

“And how often is he drunk?” Kurt responds quickly and when he looks at me like that I can’t lie to him. He’s gripping my hands so tightly that I know he’s not going anywhere. I need to relax.

Breathe. Just say it. Breathe.

“All the time.”

“Oh, Blaine-” he says and I watch as a stray tear slips down his face and under his chin. He can’t wipe it away because our hands are still firmly entwined. There’s something profound about not being able to hide yourself away when you feel so lost, so vulnerable.

“How long has he been doing this to you?” He asks me as he sniffles, his nose is as red as his cheeks. I dread to think how blotchy my own face is.

I don't quite know how to answer Kurt's question because I know exactly when it all started. Exactly. It was the night of my mom's funeral. We'd just put her in the ground when we went home and he abandonned me in our house, in favour of going to a bar. That's very confusing for an eight year old. It's even more confusing when your father comes home like a wild monster from a book your mother once read to you and hits you in the face. It's hard, when you're eight, to understand why your father wishes you dead.

“Since my mom." I start. "I’d just turned eight, I remember because I was so scared. He terrified me.” I say and Kurt squeezes my hands tightly again. I'm grateful for that because no matter how tiny those gestures are they help me. In fact, the more I tell him, the lighter I feel. I no longer feel like Atlas with the heavens bearing down on my shoulders. I feel unburdened. I feel progress.

“You can’t go home tonight.” He says suddenly and I shake my head then. No. I have to go home. This has been so beautifully cathartic for me but I don’t want to ruin it all by arguing with Kurt.

“I have to, Kurt. I should already be home by now.” I can see that he doesn't know what to say to that.

“He might be drunk.” He says eventually and he sounds so scared. He’s scared for me and a warmth surges through me. Oh, Kurt.

“I’ll be careful, I swear.” I offer and hope he accepts that, I hope he can understand that I can’t just walk away. People knowing doesn’t make a difference to anything. It doesn't modify the situation when I walk through the door later.

“Maybe I should tell my dad. He could help you.” Kurt suggests and I stiffen. He can't do that.

“No. Kurt, you can’t tell them. You can’t.” I urge and he eventually nods reluctantly, I know he’s just obliging me because it doesn’t seem to settle well on him. He’s humouring me, it's obvious and I'm almost impressed by the self-restraint he's clearly showing.

“I could take you home now, if you want, I don‘t want you to get into trouble because of me.” He offers and he smiles then, the tiniest of smiles before he takes one of his hands back from me to wipe at his cheeks.

“He’s probably asleep. It’s getting late, Kurt, you don’t have to take me. I could get a bus or something.” I say helpfully and he looks scandalised.

“You are not going home on a bus in the middle of the night! I‘ll take you.” He says before he stands up and hoists me off the floor.

Kurt doesn’t let go of my hand as he opens the bathroom door and we come across Puck. Puck’s sitting on the floor, his knees draw upwards and his back leaning against the wall. He startles when the light hits his face before he turns to look at us, his eyes lingering on our hands before he rises from the ground.

“Are you heading home now?” Puck asks and I can hear the concern in his voice as I close the bathroom door behind us. We are once more coated in the semi-darkness of Kurt‘s room but it doesn't make anything easier.

“I’m going to drive him now.” Kurt says and his voice is still a little shaky. Puck just nods and draws his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Please, take care of yourself.” Puck says to me as he leans in to give me a hug. I nod and he looks me over before he reaches over to Kurt and rubs a comforting hand up and down his arm.

“I’ll try.” I say shortly because it’s an honest answer and Puck deserves that.

“I want you to have this.” he says as he reaches into his pocket- it’s my tub of concealer and a small piece of paper. The paper is a phone number. His phone number.

“Thank you.” I say not knowing what else I can say in response to a gesture like that. I'm blown away by his kindness.

“Call me if you need to talk. Day or night.” He says and his eyes are searching mine so deeply that there’s no way I can reject such humility. I smile at him and I hope that I’ve found someone that I can talk to because I don’t think I can talk about this with Kurt. Not really.

I couldn’t give him the horrible details or explain to him how dejected I actually feel when I'm forced to barricade myself in my bedroom. Not to him. I don’t think I could handle telling Kurt but Puck, he gets it.

“Noah?” Kurt says softly, breaking the silence, “Can you come too? It’s really late and I don’t want to drive back alone at this tme of night.” I could never argue with that, in fact I’d prefer that. Anyone driving anywhere in the dark makes me instantly paranoid. I can’t lose Kurt, not now. Not now he knows and he still cares.

“Of course I‘ll come, Princess." He says sincerely and I wonder how long Puck's been calling Kurt 'Princess' because he doesn't even flinch, he actually smiles.

"Wait, what about Finn?” Puck asks finally, looking behind himself to observe his sleeping friend. There's a hint of tenderness there.

“He’ll be in the exact same spot when we get home.” Kurt offers and it’s settled, they’re taking me home.

I just hope that my father’s not there, not when I’m feeling so relieved and cared about, I'd like the feeling to linger a little longer. I know Kurt’s going to ask me about my father tomorrow at school and I wont be able to lie to him.