Chapter 11

Kurt wondered absently if Blaine was strong enough to actually break his hand. He tried to shift his fingers in Blaine's just a little, but his grip was iron tight. He nudged his shoulder, "You doing okay?"

"Of course I am, why?" Blaine didn't look at him; his eyes were locked on the closed door of the clinic office they were residing in.

"You kind of seem like you're freaking out," Kurt tried again to move his hand.

"Who's freaking out? I'm not freaking out." He spoke so quickly his syllables blended together into one big word.

"So you're just crushing my hand for the fun of it?" Kurt raised an eyebrow.

Blaine looked down at their hands and quickly loosened his grip, "Sorry."

"Don't be," Kurt flexed his fingers a few times to get the blood flowing back through them properly, "Just try and relax."

"Right. Relax." Blaine nodded his head quickly, but he showed no sign of following the instructions. He sat perfectly upright, his back barely touching the back of his chair; his eyes forever watching the closed door.

"You've made it through three sessions already," Kurt tried to sound upbeat, "Now it's just two needles and then no more."

"And a cord winding from my arm up into my chest," Blaine muttered, his eyes finally moving from the door to cast Kurt a quick glance.

"You won't even be able to feel it," Despite his fingers still tingling from lack of blood, Kurt squeezed Blaine's hand, "And it'll make you get better faster."

"Right; yeah," Blaine swallowed hard.

John sighed and turned around to face the boys, "It's just shots, Blaine, you've been getting them since the day you were born and they have yet to kill you. Try and think practically about it."

"Sorry I'm not feeling particularly practical today," Blaine snapped. He folded his arms tightly across his chest and went back to watching the door.

John sighed and turned back to the shelf.

Kurt couldn't scoot his chair any closer to Blaine's, so he tipped his head in so close, his mouth was almost touching Blaine's ear to whisper, "He means well."

Blaine shot Kurt a near-death stare. He opened his mouth to speak, but then quickly clamped it shut again when the door opened.

"Good morning!" A nurse walked in pushing a medical tray. Kurt recognized her from Blaine's past chemo sessions. Her name was Mitzi and she loved Blaine almost as much as he claimed to despise her.

John turned his attention away from the shelf to nod a quick hello.

Blaine eyed the tray warily.

"So who's the lucky guy today?" The nurse beamed around at all of them.

"That's not funny," Blaine snapped; his eyes still on the tray.

"You know, I've heard from multiple sources you are not nearly this snarly with other people, Blaine," She teased him, "If it wasn't my job to stick needles in your arms, I bet you'd even like me."

"After today I don't think there's much chance of that ever happening," Blaine pushed in closer to Kurt's side when she wheeled the tray even further into the room.

She laughed but looked at him sympathetically, "I promise it won't be all that bad. I've done a good job for you before, haven't I?"

Blaine didn't answer. It was true; she had been gentle with him and endlessly patient.

"Could you have a seat on the bed over here, please, Blaine?" She patted the edge of the hospital gurney like it was a favorite pet, "I need you to lie down."

Kurt found Blaine's hand again and tugged him to his feet. Blaine shuffled over to the bed and sat down on the edge. His hand trembled against Kurt's even more than usual.

John came to stand beside Kurt. He squeezed Blaine's shoulder, "You're gonna do fine, champ, just keep breathing, all right?"

Blaine's previous irritation melted; he nodded his head almost imperceptibly and lay back into the bed.

"All right," Mitzi smiled down at him pleasantly, "So here's the drill: we're going to numb your arm first so you won't feel a thing, then we're going to—"

"Can you just do it?" Blaine spoke abruptly; his eyes pleading, "I really, really don't want the play by play."

"Sure," She wiped Blaine's arm with an antiseptic wipe, "if you change your mind and you want me to talk you through it at all, just let me know, all right?"

Blaine jerked his chin down once in acknowledgement.

She plucked a hypodermic needle from the tray and stuck it into Blaine's arm so quickly he barely had a chance to react. Kurt felt Blaine's hand crush down on his for a brief second. He squeezed back.

"See? You almost didn't even know I was doing that one did you?" She patted Blaine on the shoulder.

Blaine let out a fluttery laugh. Kurt recognized it—all nerves and no humor; he brushed his thumb across Blaine's knuckles, "You're doing great."

"How's it feeling?" Mitzi tapped the inside of Blaine's arm a few times.

"Numb," Blaine wriggled his fingers, "I don't like it."

"You'll have feeling back in no time," She pulled more things off the tray, "I know you don't want the commentary to go with all this, but I do need you to know a couple of things. Let me know if you feel any sort of cold sensation in your neck or hear a rushing sound in your ears."

Blaine's eyes widened; his voice hitched in his throat, "Yeah, okay."

"All right, I can't just surprise you with this one, so just try to take deep breaths through your nose," She rubbed his forearm gently, "I know you hate this, honey, but I promise it'll be worth your while."

Blaine turned his head away when she lined the needle up with the soft skin above the crook of his elbow. His eyes found Kurt's; his voice was short; breathy, "Please distract me."

Kurt thought quickly, "Rachel's called me seven times this morning already and David's called me three times. I think we need friends that are a little better at taking the hint that when someone doesn't answer the phone, they don't want to talk to them."

Blaine's nails bit into the sensitive skin between Kurt's thumb and index finger as Mitzi started threading in his PICC line, "What… what do they want?"

Kurt shrugged; tried to give off an air of calm, "They both keep asking what time you have chemo today. I don't know how they've been around you the past week, but they have gotten increasingly weird around me."

"Cancer freaks people out," Blaine closed his eyes tightly.

"They're not acting freaked out, they're acting… excited." Kurt frowned. He hadn't been able to make sense of any of his friends' behaviors.

"What's a PICC line?" Finn frowned at Kurt across the dinner table.

"It's like a more effective way of delivering chemo—it's a… tube sort of thing that they thread through a vein up to his chest. It's supposed to make treatment work better," Kurt squirmed in his seat; still a little unsettled by the notion, "and it's less poking him with needles."

Finn made a face; studied his own arm, "Does it just stay in there?"

Kurt pushed the spaghetti around his plate; the smell of garlic was making him nauseous, "They want to do four more days of really intensive treatment before leveling out his chemotherapy, so it's supposed to be just for now."

"Poor Blaine," Carol sighed, "How is he doing, Kurt?"

It was the same question she had asked every night for the past ten days. The conversation was a routine part of dinner—how was Blaine, how were his parents, was his hair still growing back in a little—questions as common at the Hudson-Hummel dinner table as 'can you pass the salt' and 'Finn, could you please chew with your mouth closed?'

"He's all right;" Kurt put his fork down on his plate; giving up any impression of trying to eat, "He hasn't been sick yet from the chemo."

Rachel—a regular at dinners now—sighed loudly, "He told me he hates the treatment center on the phone today."

"It's too quiet in there," Kurt ignored his father when he nudged his fork toward his hand.

Rachel studied him with an oddly intense look, "How so?"

"It's like this big room where a bunch of people sit and just wait for their treatment time to be up. They're all older than us," Kurt turned to scowl at his father when he thrust the fork back into his hand.

"Eat," His father said pointedly, but then added in a softer note, "They can put him in a private room if he asks, ya know."

"That'd be even worse," Kurt twirled his fork through the food on his plate, but didn't lift it to his mouth, "He gets all stressed when he's getting chemo—I think it's because the IV freaks him out, but whatever the reason, he needs a distraction, and being alone in a hospital room doesn't lend itself to that very well."

Rachel's face lit up, "Could Finn and I be excused, Carol?"

Finn looked between his girlfriend and his plate still half-filled with food in alarm, "But I'm not fin—Ow!"

"We're going to go get ice cream for dessert," Rachel didn't look at Finn when he leaned over to rub his shin.

"Why'd you kick—ow! You did it again!" Finn scowled and pushed his chair away from her.

Kurt eyed them warily, "I know that look Rachel Berry; you're up to something."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Rachel turned toward the door, "Come on, Finn, you're driving. I have a phone call to make."

Finn hobbled after her miserably and Kurt was left with his parents, irritated and confused.

His friends had acted strange in increasing numbers—first Rachel and Finn's abrupt departure; then Mercedes coming up with an elaborate excuse for why she couldn't come over to Kurt's for a sleepover, and the strangest of all: Kurt could have sworn he saw Nick and Jeff driving in Lima the previous day; when he texted them to ask about it, they'd both denied it vehemently.

Kurt shook himself from his reverie. He needed to focus on Blaine, "Have they been calling you, too?"

"I, um—" Blaine opened his for a minute to look at Kurt, "y-yeah, they've been calling; I told David it was at noon."

Kurt squeezed Blaine's hand even tighter; he was fairly sure his hand was going to be bruised by the end of the day, "You're doing great, Blaine; she's almost done."

"Whoever said facing your fears helps you conquer them was a damn liar," Blaine said through gritted teeth.

"Lucky for you, I'm done," Mitzi beamed down at him, "How's it feel?"

Blaine turned his head back toward her almost warily; he eyed the thin hose just above the inside of his elbow; he bent his arm experimentally, "Same as any other IV, I guess."

"Good; that's good," Mitzi motioned toward her own head, "No rushing sound in the ears; coldness in the neck?"

"Would that mean you'd have to do it again?" Blaine looked at her wide-eyed.

"Blaine," She eyed him sternly, "You need to be totally honest either way."

"No; my head's fine," Blaine eyed his arm again, "How long's this going to be in for?"

"At least the next five or six days; we'll see what your doctor thinks after that," She turned back to the tray again to retrieve an IV bag, "Now here's the part where you're going to love this thing—no more needles!"

She set Blaine's IV up and let him out of the bed with warnings to make sure he wasn't too dizzy before letting him cross the room.

John checked his watch, "I have a conference call to make; will you two be all right on your own for a while?"

"We'll survive," Blaine waved a hand toward the door, dismissing his father.

Mitzi accompanied them down to the treatment room—a space dubbed the Nancy Inman Common Area—it was all plushy chairs and open, big windows. It was an attempt at some sort of comfortable space for cancer patients and loved ones, but Kurt was nonplussed; it looked the same as the place his mother had received treatment—no amount of serene watercolors on the walls or casual looking furniture could soften his feelings about being in that place. It was a room where people sat to get pumped full of nasty chemicals to fight an even nastier disease and that was all.

Mitzi settled Blaine and Kurt into their usual place, "Do either one of you need anything right away?"

Kurt shook his head; exchanged a few silent nods with other visitors and their loved ones he recognized from the past few days.

"No, thank you," Blaine chewed at his lip; he looked up at Mitzi sheepishly, "I'm sorry for my behavior towards you; it's been uncalled for, I'm just a little—"

Mitzi waved a dismissive hand in the air, "Honey, you are as sweet as sugar and adorable to boot; people have said much nastier things to me without a brain tumor than you have ever come up with. Don't fret over it; focus on getting better."

She prodded at the bag on his IV stand for another moment before smiling and hurrying away to assist another patient.

Kurt and Blaine sat quietly; looking around at the others. The room was silent save for the occasional soft murmurs exchanged between the others.

Kurt sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes.

"Tired?" Blaine folded his legs up underneath him in his chair—an ugly green Lazyboy that Kurt assumed had been donated to the clinic at some point.

"Just a little," Kurt smiled. In truth, he was exhausted; he'd spent the previous night tossing and turning; falling in and out of fitful naps, "How have you been feeling? Nauseous at all?"

"Nothing awful," Blaine shrugged, "Can we talk about something not cancer related?"

Kurt nodded quickly, he was used to Blaine changing the subject when questions about his health came up, "Finn had an orientation for Ohio State yesterday. He got you a hat I was supposed to give you, but I forgot it at home."

"That was nice of him," Blaine closed his eyes and tipped his head back into the chair, "But I wish I could just come over to your place and get it myself; I miss your family."

"They miss you, too," Kurt ignored his phone vibrating in his pocket, "I'm sure you could come over soon if you're feeling up to it."

Blaine let out a sigh through his nose, "I hope so."

They lapsed back into silence, but Kurt's phone was filling the air with a noisy hum. He let out an irritated sigh and pulled it out of his pocket.

'Ready for an awesome surprise ? –Rachel'

He squinted at the text warily.

'I'm with Blaine at chemo right now… can it wait?'

Blaine was reading over his shoulder, so as an afterthought, Kurt added another text.

'Oh God, you didn't try and give yourself a makeover, did you? I really can't fix you if you do any more damage.'

Blaine let out a short laugh, "Be nice."

"I'm being honest; have you seen what this girl deems good outfit choices?" Kurt rolled his eyes.

Her name appeared on his screen again in bold, blocky letters. He opened the message and frowned; confused.

'No and no.'

He was about to type out another snarky response when the sound of clipped whispers and shoving bodies broke his attention. There was a pack of people walking into the room, and they were not just any people.

"Am I tumor-hallucinating or are two-thirds of our junior year regionals group standing in here right now?" Blaine's eyes went wide as he took in the others; he looked to Kurt with confusion.

"Did you know they were coming?" Kurt asked in equal shock; the others had spotted them and were shoving one another into three lines.

Blaine shook his head, "I—"

Rachel stepped to the front of the group and beamed around the room; her voice shattering the quiet, "Ladies and gentleman, for your listening pleasure, we give you the Warblers and New Directions."

She threw Kurt and Blaine her best smile as she hurried back into the group while the Warblers started up the background harmony to a song.

If you ever find yourself stuck in the middle of the sea

I'll sail the world to find you

If you ever find yourself lost in the dark and you can't see

I'll be the light to guide you

Find out what we're made of

What we are called to help our friends in need

You can count on me like one, two, three

I'll be there and I know when I need it

I can count on you like four, three, two

And you'll be there 'cause that's what friends

Are supposed to do, oh yeah

Kurt looked in alarm between his friends and the patients around them. The others looked pleased; entertained. Blaine was watching them with wide, almost-uncomprehending eyes.

They sang the entire song, and when they finished, the room broke into applause.

Mercedes stepped in closer to Blaine and Kurt; smiling, "We heard you guys get pretty bored out here, so we thought we'd provide a little entertainment."

"And we wanted you guys to know, we're here for you," David added, "Whenever or whatever."

"I—" Blaine looked near tears. He bit his lip for a moment and reached out a hand to squeeze David's, "… I don't even know what to say."

"I do," Kurt, unlike Blaine, made no attempt to cover his tears. He got to his feet and made a beeline for Rachel. He hugged her tightly, "Thank you."

4 Days Later...

"Kurt, I'm a little surprised to see you here," Elizabeth stepped aside to let him through the door. Kurt took her in curiously—her usual neatly pressed dress and made up face had been replaced by a touch of mascara and a muted pink t-shirt and jeans. She looked exhausted.

"Blaine told me not to come," Kurt admitted as he stepped into the entryway.

Elizabeth looked toward the stairwell; "He won't let me come within twenty feet of him right now."

"Is it the tumor making him angry?" Kurt looked toward the steps too, "He wasn't exactly pleasant on the phone."

Elizabeth shook her head; "Some of it could be from that, but he's always been odd about letting people near him when he's sick. Even when he was a little boy, he made me keep away… I tried to tell him he should have someone with him—"

She fell silent and they both listened to the sound of water running somewhere upstairs.

"He's sick from the chemo," Kurt felt a slight sting in his chest. Blaine had tried to keep him away while he was getting sick.

Elizabeth nodded; her eyes misty, "He hasn't eaten anything in two days and I don't think he slept. They wanted to try and do another three days of chemo right away, but there's just… I don't see how he can."

Kurt strained to hear another sound from Blaine upstairs, but it was quiet.

"I need to go in and see if we can re-work his treatment schedule and his doctor said they can write a prescription for the nausea," Elizabeth looked pleadingly at Kurt, "Would you mind staying here with him for a little while? You don't even have to go up there—"

"Of course I'll stay, Mrs. Anderson; you don't even have to ask."

"Thank you, Kurt," she was already pulling her purse out of the hall closet, "It might take a few hours—you know how impossible it is to get—"

"I don't care how long it takes," Kurt wanted to get upstairs to Blaine, "I have your number, I'll call if anything happens."

Elizabeth paused in her flurry of movement to look at him; she squeezed his arm gently, "You're a good boy, Kurt."

Kurt felt a light blush touch his cheeks, "Go on and get going; the sooner you leave, the sooner you can get something to make him feel better."

She nodded quickly and made for the front door. She looked over her shoulder and reminded him one last time that her phone would be on and she'd be back as soon as she could.

Kurt locked the door behind her before turning and jogging up the stairs to Blaine's room, "Blaine?"

Blaine's door was open; the blankets from his bed twisted into a knot of wrinkled sheets on the floor. Kurt could see a yellow line of light slipping out from underneath his closed bathroom door. He knocked softly and let himself in.

Blaine was crouched low on the floor; his elbows resting on the toilet seat and the heels of his hands dug into his eyes. The room held the sickly smell of humidity and stale air. Kurt crossed the small space and crouched down beside Blaine, "Hey you, it's me."

Blaine didn't lift his head to acknowledge him.

"Your mom said you were pretty sick, so I thought you could use some—"

"Get out," His voice was hoarse; muffled.

"Blaine, I—" Kurt touched a hand to his shoulder. He'd known Blaine wouldn't be exactly happy to see him, but the harshness in his voice still stung.

Blaine recoiled from the contact; his voice a half-strangled scream, "Get out! I said get out!"

Kurt's back bumped the wall as he scrambled to his feet. No sooner had he backed out through the doorway than a quick kick from Blaine's foot sent the door slamming shut in his face. He was ready to retreat to the kitchen; try his luck another day but something held him still; suspended him just outside the door. He could hear Blaine being sick again. He sank to the floor on shaky knees; touched his fingertips to the wood.

"Talk to me, Blaine; tell me what's wrong," Kurt leaned his face against the varnished surface.

"Kurt," Blaine's voice was tense, probably on the verge of another round of retching, "go home."

"I'm not going anywhere," Kurt responded quietly.

"I don't want you here," Blaine snapped; his voice sounding even harsher.

"Why not?"

"I just—" He was sick again; silenced momentarily by the chemicals that laced his system and tainted his stomach to the point of turning on him.

Kurt touched a hand to the doorknob but thought better of it. He clenched his hand shut in his lap.

"Please, Kurt, please just go home." His voice was quiet now; trembling.

Kurt could picture him: his knees hugged to his chest; his cheek pressed to the edge of the bathtub for the small comfort of the cold porcelain against clammy skin, "Blaine, why won't you let me help you?"

"Kurt," Blaine spoke through gritted teeth, "Go. Home. Now. I can't handle you being here, I need you to leave, I need you to—"

He was sick yet again, still trying to fit in his demands that Kurt leave, but he could barely get a syllable out. Kurt pressed his open palm against the door, "Blaine, you have to tell me what's going on. There's more to this than you just not liking people being around you when you're throwing up."

It's so much easier to have a conversation through a closed door. Words spilling out like a confession; forgive me lover for I have sinned, I don't remember the last time I felt this vulnerable.

"I..." Blaine was silent for a long time, he took a shaky breath and spoke so quietly, Kurt had to press his ear into the door to hear him, "I just really don't want you to see me like this. This has all been horrible enough, I don't want… I don't want to add this to the list. Please... please leave."

Embarrassed. Blaine was embarrassed… No, Kurt decided, humiliated. The boy who had kept it all together for as long as he could remember had fallen apart in less than a month. He couldn't come up with the word for what he wanted to eat for breakfast; was reduced to a panicky mess at the sight of a hypodermic needle nearly everyday; was vomiting up the contents of his stomach. and he was doing it all in front of the boy who worshipped him; who found just about everything he did before this point disarmingly sexy, and he didn't want to do it anymore, didn't want to further degrade himself any further than he already had.

Kurt's mother had never been made terribly ill by her treatment. Kurt vaguely remembered her lying on the couch looking nauseous from time to time, but this with Blaine... he had no experience to go off of with this one, so he did the one thing he knew he was good at. He turned his face closer to the door and sang quietly.

When you're overwhelmed and you've lost your breath

When the space between the things you know is blurry nonetheless

When you try to speak but you make no sound

And the words you want are out of reach but they've never been so loud

If your heart wears thin I will hold you up

And I will hide you when it gets too much

I'll be right beside you

I'll be right beside you

When he finished, Kurt didn't wait to see if he would be invited back in. He got to his feet and pushed the door open.

Blaine was curled on his side on the floor; one hand balling a fistful of the bathroom rug into his palm to try and provide an outlet other than his mouth for some of the pain in his body. He registered Kurt's presence and lurched into a sitting position, "Kurt, I told you—"

"Shut up," Kurt crouched to pull a washcloth out from under the sink. He stuck a hand under the faucet and waited until the water was icy on his skin before placing the cloth underneath the stream.

Blaine was still protesting his presence even as he knelt beside him, "Kurt, I mean it, I don't want—I don't want you to sit here and watch me puke my guts out. I just really, really want—"

"Well I really want to be with my boyfriend when he's sick, so I can support him and show I love him as much as I always have," Kurt snapped back, "and, as you should know by now, I get my way, so stop trying to make me leave. I'm not going anywhere."

Blaine opened his mouth to respond but then clamped it shut again; his skin suddenly looked a little grayer around his mouth, his shoulders shuddered, and then he was twisting himself back toward the toilet. It really was awful—his back shook with the effort, one knee kept trying to slide out from under him while he choked and gagged, and it seemed it would never stop. Kurt waited quietly.

When it was over, Kurt stood and went out of Blaine's room to the hall closet. He pulled down a blanket and carried it back with him to the bathroom.

Blaine hadn't moved—he still gripped the side of the toilet like he would topple over if he let go.

Kurt crouched behind him and took hold of his shoulders. When he guided him gently back to sit between his legs, Blaine didn't resist; he collapsed in against Kurt's chest like a ragdoll.

Kurt wiped his face with the washcloth and pressed it to the back of his neck. He wrapped an arm around Blaine to keep him from falling when he leaned forward to grab the blanket. His forehead was still clammy against Kurt's neck, and his body trembled, but when Kurt pulled the blanket up around his shoulders, Blaine let out an audible sigh; his body relaxed just a little.

"You see?" Kurt murmured, "Is the world ending just because you let me help you?"

"I'm supposed to be your boyfriend," Blaine mumbled.

"You are my boyfriend," Kurt replied easily.

"This is like the opposite of attractive," Blaine made a move to wipe the sweat from his face, but his hand was shaky and he ended up causing the blanket to slip off his shoulders.

Kurt caught his wrist and gently pressed it back down. He dabbed Blaine's face with the washcloth despite it no longer being very cold and pulled the blanket back up around them, "You are the most beautiful person I know, so shut up and stop insulting my boyfriend."

Blaine was quiet. Kurt wasn't sure if he was thinking over the response or if he had fallen asleep. Either way, a few minutes later, he was lurching forward to grope for the edge of the toilet again.

The process repeated once, twice, three times… on and on it went: Blaine retching to the point of barely being able to keep himself upright and then Kurt wiping at his forehead with the washcloth; offering him Dixie cups of water to rinse his mouth out. The cycle wore on and slowly, slowly ebbed to a stop. Blaine was exhausted; his shirt drenched in sweat and his face ghostly white as he pressed himself in closer to Kurt's chest to try and glean some extra body heat.

The room smelled like sweat and vomit and tepid dampness. Kurt rubbed slow, soothing circles between Blaine's shoulder blades as he looked around the little space and allowed Blaine to try and wriggle even closer, "Are you cold?"

"Chills," Blaine mumbled hoarsely.

A light went on in Kurt's head, "I have an idea, but I need to get up for a minute. Is that okay?"

Blaine nodded against his chest, "Sure."

Kurt gently pushed Blaine into a more upright sitting position, he watched him teeter precariously, "Are you all right?"

"'m fine," Blaine tipped himself until he was leaned against the far wall; clutching the blanket close to himself.

Kurt watched Blaine for another minute before turning his attention to the bathtub. He cranked on the faucet and sat back on his heels to wait for it to heat up. He stuck the underside of his arm beneath the tap and twisted the knob until he was satisfied with the temperature before straightening up to deal with the rest of his plan. He threw the crushed paper cups and scattered tissues in the trash; plucked up wet washcloths to drop down the laundry shoot and finally set to work rooting underneath Blaine's sink until he found a bottle of soap. He squeezed the bottle over the tub and watched the bubbles form and multiply underneath the stream of water, spreading out like lace across the top of the water.

Blaine paid him no mind; he'd sunk down all the way to the floor, the blanket pulled all the way up to his chin.

"Come here," Kurt tugged him back upright carefully, "Look it, I started a bath for you, it'll warm you up and it'll make you feel better to be clean."

Blaine looked at the side of the tub with glassy eyes.

Kurt crawled across the little space between them and slipped behind Blaine, "Arms up."

Blaine remained motionless for a minute, but then with almost drunken movements, he lifted his hands above his head.

Kurt worked patiently. He pulled off Blaine's damp t-shirt; his wrinkled pajama pants; his boxers. Blaine objected to none of it, though he wouldn't meet Kurt's eyes. He shuddered when all of his skin was exposed to the cold air of the room.

"Put your arm around my shoulders," Kurt said softly. When Blaine complied; he helped him to his feet and into the tub. He guided him gently back down until he was sitting in the soapy water, "Don't get your arm wet."

Blaine rested his arm on the edge of the tub but said nothing.

Kurt sat back on his heels and bit at his lip. Elizabeth wasn't due home for at least another couple hours… He stood and pulled his shirt off.

Blaine turned to watch him with the same drugged-looking eyes, but his eyebrows lifted just a little when Kurt slipped off his pants.

Kurt stepped into the bathtub and settled himself behind Blaine. He pulled him back gently until the back of his head was resting against his shoulder; the short, dark hair tickling his collarbone and neck. He touched a kiss to Blaine's temple, "Feeling better?"

"Thank you," Blaine nuzzled his head in closer to Kurt's neck, "For everything."

Kurt laced an arm around Blaine's middle; prodded him lightly in the ribs, "Is it really so bad to let me take care of you?"

Blaine tipped his head back to meet Kurt's eyes, "You're wonderful."

"Right back at ya, baby," Kurt winked at Blaine, and wrapped his arm around him just a little tighter.

They sat in silence and watched the bubbles move across the surface of the water and break against the walls of the tub. After a while, Blaine's chin tipped down toward his chest every once in awhile only to quickly jolt back up; he yawned.

Kurt sat up a little straighter, pushing Blaine up with him, "Why don't we get you to bed?"

Blaine caught his wrist, "No, just stay here with me for a bit."

Kurt nodded and settled back into his previous position and wrapped his arms around Blaine's stomach, "Just let me know when you want out."

"'kay," he closed his eyes and lifted a hand to squeeze Kurt's forearm.

Blaine drifted to sleep and Kurt remained still behind him until the bubbles disappeared and the water turned cold.