Chapter 16

Blaine smiled when he saw the name on his caller ID; he hitched his bag up higher on his shoulder and balanced the phone between his shoulder and ear as he unlocked the door to his dorm room, "Hey, you, what's go—"

"I got a letter." Kurt cut him off abruptly.

"What le—wait, the letter? Did you get the job?" Blaine sat down on the edge of his bed and dropped his bag down on the ground beside him. He waved silently to a group of boys passing his open door.

"I don't know."

Blaine frowned, "How can you not know?"

Kurt shifted the phone to his other hand; "I'm staring at it right now. It's in the mailbox."

"You haven't even taken it out of the mailbox yet?" Blaine blinked; confused, "How do you even know it's for—"

"I can see the logo on it." Kurt stared at the silvery embossed symbol on the envelope just barely peaking out of the box.

"So you're just standing outside, in the dead of winter, staring at your mailbox." Blaine couldn't help but smile. Only Kurt.

"Yes." Kurt glanced down at the ad for a maid service in his hand to ensure it, too, wasn't some how connected to the internship. It was the only thing he'd managed to pull out of the box before spying the letter.

"All right, well," Blaine crossed his legs on the bed, "Does it look big or little?"

"Big…ish." Kurt squinted into the box.

"Biggish?" Blaine rolled his eyes, "Give me dimensions."

"I can't, it bends up on the edges in the box." Kurt tilted his head to try and get a better look.

Blaine closed his eyes and smiled, "That would constitute as big, which constitutes as good."

"…Maybe… it's not like huge though, it's just…" Kurt cranked his head the other way to get a new perspective, "It's just not standard letter size is all."

"Kurt," Blaine bit back a laugh, "Take it out of the mailbox and open it."

"I am not opening it." Kurt took a step back as though the letter might actually leap out into his hands.

"How are you supposed to find out if you got the job if you don't open the letter?" Blaine tried to sound calm and not teasing.

"How am I supposed to live with myself when I open it and it's a rejection?" Kurt bunched the maid service flyer in his hand.

"It's not going to be a rejection." Oh God, please, oh please, don't let it be a rejection letter.

"You don't know that." Kurt insisted. He contemplated just closing the box, going back into the house, and pretending he'd never seen it.

"Neither do you unless you open it."

"Will you come over?" Kurt asked abruptly. He looked down the road as though he expected Blaine's car to appear around the corner at any given moment.

"Right now?" Blaine glanced at his clock. It wasn't as though it would be any big issue with his schedule. He was done with classes for the day, and it was a Friday; he had planned on going to Lima to visit Kurt after Warblers' rehearsal anyway…

"Please?" Kurt whined, "I need emotional support."

"What would happen to you if I left two hours from now as apposed to this very second?" Blaine pulled his notes he'd jotted down in preparation for the next Warblers performance from his backpack and scanned through them.

"I will either go tragically insane from the stress of knowing this thing is out here," Kurt sighed deeply; his breath formed a cloud in front of his face in the icy air, "Or I'll die from hypothermia."

"Do you at least have your jacket on?" Blaine glanced toward his frosted over window.

"No, I was planning on just running out here to grab the mail," Kurt rolled his eyes, but shivered. His thin sleeves were doing little to block out the icy January air, and his feet were growing painfully numb. Still, he sighed again, "But I'm so emotionally distraught and lacking someone to hold my hand that I can't bring myself to go back inside. But it's okay, if you need to go to Warblers' Rehearsal, I can just lose all of my toes and part of my nose to frostbite, don't worry about—"

Blaine groaned, "All right, all right, I'll get one of the guys to cover Warblers practice for me and then I'll be over."

"Hurry, please, I think I can feel my heart slowing down," Kurt closed the mailbox decisively and started trudging back up the driveway through the thin coating of snow.

"I don't think it happens that fast." Blaine loosened his Dalton tie and got up from his bed to find a shirt to wear over to Kurt's.

"It could," Kurt jogged the last couple of steps into the house, unable to stand being in the cold any longer, "And are you walking and talking right now?"

"Oh my God, yes, I'll be out of here in two minutes," Blaine laughed and pulled a long sleeved Dalton shirt from his closet, "Please go inside?"

Kurt closed the door as quietly as he could, "If you insist, I suppose I could."

"You can be so—" Blaine smiled; shook his head, "I'll be there soon. I love you."

The roads were slick with ice, and the drive to Lima was a slow one. Kurt had sent exactly ten text messages over the past two hours, but they remained unread until Blaine was pulled into the Hudson-Hummel driveway. He smiled when he opened them.

2:33: We hung up four minutes ago; please tell me you're on your way.

2:57: I'm going to assume you didn't answer my last text because you're fully focused on driving as quickly but safely as possible to Lima.

3:09: If you haven't left yet and you're just ignoring my texts, I'm never going to give you another blowjob again

3:09: EVER.

3:24: If you still haven't left, sex has now been taken out of your life, too. I am going to wear the tightest jeans I own around you, and you will die from sexual frustration all because you couldn't bring yourself to leave at a decent time to rush to my side and support me through my emotional crisis.

3:25: You better not be reading these and laughing because you have no idea how serious I am right now

3:38: I'm sorry I'm being silly; I just really want you to be here with me for this no matter what's inside that envelope.

3:39: …and I would never take sex away from you…that would mean punishing myself.

4:11: I hope you're not reading these while you drive. If you get into a car crash and die, I will never get to open this letter.

4:13: My dad just came in and said the roads are awful, so I'm taking that last text back because it's not funny. Drive safe. See you soon. XOXOXOXOXO.

He jogged to the front door and rubbed his hands together for the warmth while he waited for someone to let him in.

"Thank God," Burt rolled his eyes and stepped aside to let Blaine in, "I was about to open the damn thing myself if you didn't get here soon."

"Where is it?" Blaine looked around, "Where is he?"

"They're both at the kitchen table," Burt led the way, still grumbling, "He didn't even take it out of the mailbox. He just left it all out there, so I had to go back out and get it."

Blaine smiled at Kurt as soon as he was within sight. He sat perfectly straight in his chair; hands resting on his thighs, and his eyes glued to the big white envelope. Carole and Finn were seated across from him, both watching him curiously.

Kurt's eyes snapped up to Blaine's as soon as he heard the familiar rustle of his coat, "Finally."

"I could have sped here and risked hospitalization for wrapping my car around a tree," Blaine pulled his jacket off and hung it over the back of the chair beside Kurt before sitting down.

"Well thank you for making it here all in one piece," Kurt's eyes flitted back to the envelope.

"Dude, why don't you just do it?" Finn talked around a mouthful of sugar cookie, "Waiting won't change whatever it says."

"I know that, Finn," Kurt snapped, but he made no move to even pick it up from the table.

"Kurt, I am a patient man," Burt folded his arms across his chest, "I have sat through a million of your musicals, listened to you talk about all your organic crap, and I've even let you take me shopping, but this is ridiculous. If you don't open it, I'm going to burn it."

"No!" Kurt threw his arms over the paper defensively; his eyes wide.

"You said you'd do it once Blaine was here, honey," Carol motioned a hand toward Blaine, "You're going to give yourself ulcers if you keep fretting over this thing."

"Fine, fine," Kurt sat up straighter but then glared around at them all, "Everyone out."

"What?" Finn looked at him incredulously.

"You heard me;" Kurt waved his hands in the air frantically, "Out, out, out!"

Blaine met Carol's eyes and shrugged as he got to his feet.

Kurt caught a hold of his wrist and glowered at him, "Not you! I just waited two hours for you to show up so I could do this, why would you leave?"

"Because you said ev—" Finn looked at the icy glare Kurt was giving him and quickly shut his mouth.

Blaine waved and smiled apologetically as the other three filed upstairs before turning his attention back to Kurt, "Well?"

Kurt blew out a long breath; rubbed his hands up and down his thighs, "Yeah, okay…"

"Go on," Blaine motioned a hand at the table.

Kurt clasped his hands at his chest and chewed at his lip.

"Why don't you pick it up," Blaine prompted, "That's a start."

"Right," Kurt reached out and lifted the envelope slowly; traced his thumb over the return address.

"Now slide your finger under the—"

"Lets sit on the floor." Kurt cut him off quickly.

"What? Why?" Blaine frowned. Even by Kurt's standards, this was getting ridiculous.

"I don't know! Because I feel like I need to be closer to the ground right now!" Kurt met Blaine's amused smile with a glower, "Don't judge me, I'm freaking out!"

"Okay, okay," Blaine pushed his chair out and sat down on the carpet beside the table.

Kurt sat down across from him; the envelope in his lap.

"Better?" Blaine was starting to get tired of the theatrics; he contemplated throwing out his own threats of refusing sexual favors…

"Yes," Kurt traced his fingers around the seams of the envelope.

"Kurt, just—"

"You have to do it." Kurt suddenly thrust the thing toward Blaine.

"What?" Blaine blinked at it in surprise.

"I opened your NYU acceptance letter for you," Kurt looked at him over the top of the big square of paper, "It's only right."

Blaine smiled and took the envelope from Kurt's grasp. He slipped his thumb under the flap and looked back up at Kurt who was watching his hands with strained intensity, "Ready?"

Kurt covered his eyes, "Just do it."

Blaine slid his thumb along the seam and pulled out the sheet inside. He scanned over it slowly.

"Well?" Kurt peaked out from behind his fingers, "Did they ask me why I even bothered applying? Did they put me on a fashion blacklist? How bad is it? You can tell me; I… I can take it."

Blaine put the letter aside and stared solemnly at Kurt, "My only regret is—"

Kurt moaned and flopped sideways onto the carpet, but Blaine was still talking.

"—that this is the beginning of me having to share you with thousands of adoring fans."

"Wait, what?" Kurt lifted himself on an elbow to look at Blaine again.

"You know, once you're, like, the world's most famous fashion designer and—"

"I got the job?" Kurt asked breathlessly. He sat up straight and stared wide eyed at Blaine.

"Kurt," Blaine laughed, "I think it's pretty—"

Kurt snapped forward and grabbed a hold of Blaine's shoulders, "Blaine Michael Anderson, this is no time for cutesy teasing, I need straight answers here."

Blaine laughed again, "Look and see for yourself."

Kurt stared at the paper when Blaine held it up, his mouth held in a disbelieving 'oh' as his eyes scanned the letter. His voice came out as a near whisper, "I got the job."

"You got the job." Blaine agreed.

"I got the job! Blaine, I got the job!" Kurt shouted and threw his arms around Blaine's neck.

Blaine laughed and hugged him back tight, "You're going to New York!"

Kurt sat back far enough in Blaine's embrace to grin at him, "We are going to New York, Blaine! Because you're brilliant and amazing and you're going to NYU and I'm fabulous and freakishly lucky and I just scored the best thing I could ever ask for!"

Blaine rubbed his hands over Kurt's back and smiled, "Luck has nothing to do with it, you earned this thing, Kurt. You deserve it more than anyone else ever possibly could. I'm so proud of you."

"Say what you want, I am the luckiest person on the planet," Kurt sniffled when happy tears found their way down his cheeks, but he made no attempt to brush them away. He clasped his hands on either side of Blaine's face and pressed a kiss to his mouth. He pressed sloppy kisses all over his face and laughed.

Blaine pulled Kurt to his feet and they both let out another happy whoop of sound; hugging one another over and over again as they held the letter between them and read it again.

"I take it it's good news?" Burt called from somewhere upstairs.

"Start spreading the news," Kurt belted out, "I'm leaving today; I want to be apart of it—"

"New York, New York!" They sang together; spun one another in drunken circles; belted out every other song about the city they could think of.

When they finally settled down—their throats sore and everyone exhausted of their theatrics, Kurt curled into Blaine's side on the couch, the letter held out in front of him again even though he was sure he could recite the entire thing from memory by now.

"You need to send in an acceptance letter," Blaine had draped the other things that had been nested in the envelope across the armrest of the couch, "Probably wouldn't hurt to call and personally thank some people too; never too early to start making a good impression."

"We're actually going to live there, Blaine," Kurt whispered; giggled, "Like, we can go to Fifth Ave and shop and we can see Broadway shows and we can go out to dinner at all of those amazing restaurant and—well, we won't be able to afford any of that, but we'll be there and it'll be real, and, and—I just can't believe it's real."

"Start believing," Blaine laughed; pressed a kiss to the top of his head, "it all starts now."

Blaine stared at him; tears still finding their way down his face; getting caught on his chin, but he didn't look sad—he was confused, his eyes searched Kurt's face; tried to make sense of his words, "What?"

Kurt swallowed, but his mouth was dry; his tongue felt too big or too something and didn't want to work properly, but he stammered out a response, "I—I quit the internship, and I talked t-to Rachel and—"

"What the hell were you thinking?" Blaine's voice was breathless, his eyes—already looking so big in his face—were wide, and Kurt could see him still struggling to catch up; make sense of what he was being told.

"I couldn't go and leave you, I—"

Blaine was staring down at the carpet; sorting through his thoughts when flicker of understanding crossed his face and something else—something intense—started boiling behind his eyes; his tone was dangerous, "When did you quit?"

"Yesterday morning," Kurt whispered. He hated the look on Blaine's face—furious betrayal that only looked all the more hurt at Kurt's words.

"You knew," There was nothing icy about Blaine's fury—it was hot and burned bright behind his eyes as he turned his glare between Kurt and his parents, "You all knew before any of this—before the doctors appointment—"

Elizabeth looked near tears, "Blaine, baby, we wanted to—"

"How long?" Blaine cut her off sharply, and, when she hesitated, he shouted it again, "How long?"

John answered for her, his tone quiet; subdued, "We talked about it your fourth night in the hospital."

Blaine's shoulders tensed as though the words were a physical blow; his jaw was set tight for a second before he spoke again, "You were never even going to give me the chance."

"Honey, please, we were only trying to—"

"To what?" Blaine snapped; he was suddenly on his feet, glaring down at them, "To make me feel like I was even less in control of my life than I already do? When the fuck were you planning on telling me?"

Kurt stood slowly and touched a nervous hand to Blaine's arm, "Blaine, they were going to tell you, but—"

"You knew, and you didn't tell me. You let me go on and on about living in the city and the things we were going to do, and you didn't say a word!" Blaine threw his arms in the air, and for the briefest moment, Kurt was sure he was going to hit him. He flinched involuntarily and stumbled back a step.

Blaine's eyes clouded with another momentary fog of confusion over Kurt's sudden retreat. He looked between his hands and the space between them, and Kurt was sure he could feel his heart breaking—shattering—in his chest over the complete hurt on Blaine's face in that moment, "You—you actually think I'd hit you? …You honestly think I'm that far gone?"

Kurt recovered the lost couple of steps quickly, but it was too late. The damage was done, "It's not you, Blaine, it's the tumor; I know you wouldn't ever, but…"

"Why is that all I am to anyone any more?" He looked around at them; his expression still torn between anger and despair, "Why is that always the precursor to every time any of you decide to so much as look at me? I'm not blind—it's all over your faces. Blaine's sick; Blaine might yell; Blaine might forget something; Blaine might fucking drop dead at any given second."

"No, honey, no one thinks that!" Elizabeth was crying, too, now. She shook her head hard.

"You do too!" Blaine shouted, "You treat me like I can't decide anything for myself; you act like I don't deserve to even be consulted about my own life—"

He closed his eyes hard; searched for the words. The worst Kurt had ever felt when Blaine lost a word was when he couldn't come up with the word 'water' after he'd been sick from the chemo; this was worse than that. There was so much hurt he couldn't express; so many things he wanted so desperately to say and all he could do was close his eyes and hope the words would come. When they finally did; his voice was choked with a barely confined sob, "I'm still here—I'm still me, but I feel like I might as well already be dead."

He looked at Kurt through fresh tears that clung to his eyelashes and left tracks down his cheeks that Kurt wanted desperately to kiss away, "I asked you yesterday what was wrong, and you lied to me. All I wanted to do was be there for you, and you fucking lied to me over and over again."

"I'm so sorry, Blaine," Kurt sniffled hard; the tears made their way all the way down his neck; he could feel them catching on the collar of his shirt. They had fought over a lot of things in their relationship—Blaine's sloppiness and promiscuity when he drank; Kurt's self-centeredness; their clashing sense of what was appropriate in terms of PDA. But there had always been the understanding that they would not lie to each other—it was never argued over; never even really a topic for conversation, "So incredibly sorry."

"Blaine, sweetheart—" Elizabeth stood, her tears were making her mascara run—black, muddied puddles formed around her eyes and she wiped at them forcefully as she tried to gather herself.

"Elizabeth, come on," John stood and put a gentle hand on the small of her back, "Give them some privacy, we can all talk later."

Kurt didn't watch them go; his eyes were glued to his shoes in shame. Well intentioned or not, he'd broken a cornerstone of his relationship with Blaine—a piece that stretched back to the very first time they'd ever sat down for coffee in the Dalton commons. They were always honest with one another. Always.

"I want you to take the internship back. I want you to go to the city without me."

Kurt snapped his head up and met Blaine's angry eyes, "What?"

"You heard me," Blaine shouted, "I don't want you to stay here!"

"You don't mean that." Kurt whispered—there was so much volume behind Blaine's voice, but he could find none for his own.

"Yes I do!" Blaine was suddenly right in front of him and Kurt let out a yelp of surprise when Blaine's hands were suddenly on his face; his fingers pressing hard into his temples, "I don't have a fucking choice in this, but you do. Go to the city."

"No," Kurt whispered; tried to shake his head beneath Blaine's hands.

"Kurt, go to the fucking city!" Blaine's fingers pressed even harder into the sides of his face and his voice was so loud it made Kurt startle, but it also woke something up in him.

He latched his hands hard over Blaine's wrists and shouted back, "If I have a fucking choice then why are you telling me what to do?"

"Because I am not going to be the reason for you to look like you do right now. I don't want to watch you catch this cancer, too." Blaine snarled back.

"Cancer isn't contagious." Kurt snapped.

"That's a fucking lie—you are as infected with this thing as I am," Blaine's fingers relaxed a little, but his eyes never left Kurt's, "Maybe you've given up on me not being eaten alive, but I have not given up on you yet. If you stay here, this thing will drown you. If you stay here, eventually you are going to hate me for ruining your life. I can take the lying and the secrets and the goddamn pity, but I cannot take the idea of you coming to resent me because you feel obligated to—"

"Shut up!" Kurt startled himself with the sudden shout as much as he did Blaine, "An obligation? You think I quit my dream job out of obligation? When have you and I ever been that to one another? You have absolutely no right to stand there and accuse me of treating you differently over all of this and then throw that sort of accusation in my face. I thought you of all people would understand I did this as much for me as I did for you. I can't go to New York and live out my dream because you were a part of that dream. You're angry right now, and I understand that and I shouldn't have lied, but don't you dare act like I could ever love you any less. Don't you fucking dare even think that. And then to say, after I tell you I gave up my job to stay in Ohio, I was giving up on you? I don't think I even need to explain how many things are wrong with that statement. I might be a liar, but I have never underestimated you so much as you just did me."

When he finished speaking, he was breathing hard and he realized his hold was so tight on Blaine's wrists it was turning his knuckles white. He let go quickly and took a step back. That's all it was meant to be—a step back to put just a little distance between them…Maybe it was because Blaine had echoed exactly what his father had said, maybe it was because he was sleep deprived and exhausted, maybe it was because he was furious with himself for actually hearing some small voices in the recesses of his mind whispering he was already tired of this—of this shouting and this ugliness and it was only going to get worse… maybe it was the way Blaine was looking at him-foggy and intense at the same time and so utterly not Blaine... whatever the reason, those two little steps suddenly had him walking out of the room and then out of the house, the door banging shut behind him with finality. When he looked out toward the front path, his mood only worsened.

"What's the matter, Hummel? Did Blaine puke on your Etro's?" Trip looked him over with a smirk.

Any other day, Kurt could have ignored the comment; breezed past Trip and been in his car without much more than a quick bitch glare, but not then; not after Blaine; not after everything, "Do not fucking push me, Morgan; I am not in the mood."

"Hmm, sounds like a lover's quarrel," A slight raise of his eyebrows accompanied Trip's normal smug expression, "Did Prince Charming forget to commemorate the anniversary of your first fateful meeting in the hall at Dalton or something?"

"Prince charming spent three hours in the bathroom last Wednesday puking his guts out while I watched. I gave up my dream life in the city to stay with him in fucking Ohio. He forgets what he ate for lunch forty percent of the time and half the time he does remember, he can't come up with the word for it," Kurt snarled, "Don't you dare presume we live in some sort of perfect fairytale world of our own. You don't know a single thing about me or my relationship with him—you do not get to walk in here and act like you know us."

Trip, for once, didn't smile; he didn't even glare. He watched Kurt with something akin to wonder.

Kurt didn't wait to see if Trip was going to recover. He shoved past him and made his way down the steps. On a last second whim, he turned and fixed Trip with one last frosty glare, "And it wasn't the middle of the hallway. It was the staircase."

Trip caught him by the arm just as he moved down the last step of the porch, "Hey, slow up."

Kurt turned to scowl at him, "Let go."

"Come on, don't be like that," Trip took a step down so they were eye level, "what happened?"

"I never said anything happened," He tried to tear his arm free from Trip's hand again, but his grip remained firm.

"Kurt, you're crying and storming out of the house," Trip raised an eyebrow, "If nothing happened, this is a little dramatic even by your standards."

"What the hell do you know about my level of drama?" Kurt snapped, "Why do you even care?"

Trip looked down toward his shoes; he bit on the ring in his lip before giving Kurt an irritated look, "I just do, all right?"

Kurt stopped struggling, but the rage was still burning in his chest; heating his cheeks and making all his nerves feel overly sensitive. He fixed Trip with his nastiest look, but Trip only stared back at him with that same confused frown.

"Come on," Trip motioned his free hand toward the porch, "Bitch it out at me."

Kurt realized his arm had been freed from Trip's hold, but still he stood hesitantly on the first step.

Trip didn't seem to mind his indecision. He seated himself on the porch swing and pulled a cigarette from his pocket. He stuck it between his lips, lit it, and took a long drag. He met Kurt's eyes again as he let the cloud of smoke out his nose.

"My entire life with him has been a series of accidents," Kurt was surprised by the sound of his own voice, but once it had started flowing, it wouldn't stop. He paced the porch and poured out everything—not just the fight. He told him about how he met Blaine on the staircase; about Jeremiah; about Rachel's disastrous party; about Pavarotti dying; about Blaine falling in the parking lot. Details and infuriating moments and utter despair all the way up until he'd nearly crashed into Trip trying to escape the house.

When he finished, his mouth was dry and his throat was sore; he felt strangely cleansed. He hadn't looked at Trip much through his speech; when he had stolen an occasional glance, Trip had been staring back at him lazily or staring down at the floorboards. Now that Kurt was finally silent, he was looking out over the front yard; the heel of one shoe pushing him back and forth a little on the swing.

Kurt leaned against the railing across from him and waited, listening to the creek of the swing and the neighbors a few houses down unloading groceries from their car.

After what felt like an eternity, Trip flicked the butt of his cigarette out over the rail and let out a long sigh, "Well, shit, Hummel. You're even stupider than I originally had you pegged for."

Kurt gaped at him for a second before snapping his mouth shut and pushing himself more upright; fury igniting in his veins once more, "Well thanks for listening to all of that just to make me feel even shittier."

Trip groaned when Kurt made to leave, "God dammit, could you stop being such a fucking sissy pansy ass and let me explain myself?"

Kurt pivoted around to glower at him, "Oh, please, Trip, do tell me your take on things. You always have the most insightful comments."

"The kid fucking adores you, all right?" Trip snapped; his expression relaxed just a little as he added, "And you love him too, right?"

"Of course I do," Kurt snapped; folding his arms across his chest. But then his expression fell; a tinge of guilt twisted in his stomach, "And I know he didn't mean any of what he said."

"Who the fuck cares," Trip rolled his eyes, "Him tearing you a new one is not the reason you were doing your little bitch storm out."

"Enlighten me, then, as to why I'm acting this way," Kurt felt his fingers curl into a fist almost involuntarily. It had been a long time since he'd ever really wanted to hit somebody, and he wasn't even entirely sure why he was so angry.

"Because, like you said, you and Blaine are one big fucked up accident," Trip's eyes met his; flickered with some sort of dark understanding, "If he can come into your life that fast, who's to say he won't get ripped right out of it again? You hate that you can't be angry at him and dump his sorry ass when he goes all Mr. Hyde on you. You hate that shit doesn't ever go your way, so who's to say this will? You hate the you're so fucking trapped in him."

"I am not trapped in Blaine," Kurt took an angry step toward Trip, though he wasn't entirely sure what he hoped to accomplish with the motion, "I chose to quit my internship. I chose to stay with him. I love him."

"Love is the trap," Trip broke his gaze and scowled out at the yard, "People thread themselves into you until they're so fucking sewed in that there is not a damn chance that if they break or try to get out that you won't tear right down the fucking middle."

Kurt opened and then closed his mouth. Trip was still scowling, but the bitterness in his voice was what held Kurt still... So this was the Trip that Blaine saw. He moved forward and sat down quietly on the other end of the swing, "Is that why you came to Ohio? Because someone hurt you?"

Trip snorted, "Oh, please, Kurt, grow up."

Kurt waited, but Trip added nothing more, "So why are you here?"

"We're talking about you here, Hummel, not me," Trip snapped. He got to his feet and patted his pockets, most likely in search of another cigarette, "Jesus, if I thought I was going to get put on your fucking sob story therapy couch, I would have just let you skip out of here."

Kurt watched him as he lit the second cigarette, "…thank you for doing it. For listening."

"Yeah, well," Trip turned his back to him and leaned on the railing, "it's been great hearing your entire fucking life story. Real inspirational shit in there, Hummel."

Kurt didn't try to protest. He stood silently beside him at the rail and stared down into the flowerbeds. He appraised Trip out of the corner of his eye as he tapped ash down into the roses, "Those things are going to kill you."

Trip turned his head and blew smoke in Kurt's direction, "I thought you were leaving."

Kurt looked out toward his car in the driveway, "I was…"

"But now you're going to stay and keep me and the three faces of Blaine company?" Trip quirked an eyebrow at him.

"You don't even seem like you like him," Kurt turned to face him more fully.

"Yeah, well, Blaine can be a real fucking piece of work, can't he?" Trip smirked, "You like him a whole lot and look at the dramatic exit you just tried to pull."

"If you don't like him, why do you hang around?" Kurt looked at him in genuine wonder.

Trip looked over what was left of his cigarette before dropping it to the ground and grinding it out with his shoe, "I never said I didn't like him, you did."

"But—"

"I'm going in; if you have more bitching to do it's going to have to be to an empty yard." Trip turned toward the door.

"No, I'm coming," Kurt wiped at his cheeks and smoothed his shirt. He rolled his eyes when Trip made a show of holding the door open for him with a low bow.

The second the door clicked shut Kurt could hear the piano. He stood still and listened to the soft chords threading their way through the house.

Trip gave him a little push in the small of his back toward the family room. Wordlessly, they crept forward until they were in the room; the whole place filled with the sound. Trip moved forward and sat down on the couch, but Blaine didn't seem to notice their presence; his hands kept tapping out song after song, just enough of a melody for Kurt to put a name to it and then he was switching to another. Kurt passed Trip on the couch and moved to stand just behind Blaine.

Blaine stopped playing for a moment; his fingers ghosting the keys, and then he was tapping out another song; something Kurt didn't recognize.

Oh my God this hurts like hell

I had that dream again

Where I was lost for good in outer space

Tell me doctor how to shake

A waking nightmare

That is only worse when I am sleeping

Kill the messenger

I swear it's not me

It's just someone I used to know…

Kurt couldn't remember the last time he'd heard Blaine sing… that was a lie, yes he could, it had been graduation. He slipped onto the bench next to him, but Blaine's voice was quiet now; his fingers still finding the song as they slipped over the keys, but then even that stopped. He traced a finger over an ivory colored key; his voice came out as a near whisper, "I thought you left."

"I didn't." Kurt replied just as quietly. A long pause sat between them before Kurt ventured to speak again, "I haven't heard you sing in a long time."

Blaine met Kurt's eyes; searched them, but for what Kurt wasn't sure. He let out a long breath and wrapped an arm around Kurt's back, "Come here."

Kurt leaned in close to Blaine; rested his head on his shoulder, and then he felt fresh tears stinging his eyes again. They were not the hot, angry ones from before; they were relieved—Blaine's voice was gentle; his arm tight around his middle in the way it had always been, "I'm sorry I lied, I never meant—"

Kurt could feel Blaine shaking his head; his arm squeezed tighter around him, "You have no reason to apologize. It should be… me. It should be me saying I'm sorry. I should be apologizing to you a thousand times over."

"You couldn't help it," Kurt sniffled; nuzzled his face in closer to Blaine's neck.

"It wasn't even you I was angry with…I was angry with myself… I should have know I wasn't going, but it just… to have it said out loud…and then when you said you were staying…" Blaine let out a long sigh; his tone guilty, "I was so relieved that I got to keep you, and I was so angry with myself for being glad you weren't going and…I snapped, and I shouldn't have, and I'm sorry."

"I should have told you sooner," Kurt breathed in the clean smell of Blaine's cologne; tried to steady his breathing.

"Oh my God," Trip groaned. He pushed himself up off the couch and disappeared through the doorway without explanation.

Kurt and Blaine were silent for a long minute. Kurt traced a finger along the soft outline of Blaine's spine; his eyesight was full of kelly green. He sniffled, "I hate this shirt."

Blaine let out a short breath through his nose—a sad attempt at a laugh. He twisted sideways; kicked a leg over the other side of the bench, and wrapped both arms around Kurt. Kurt tried to return the hug, but Blaine shook his head; hugged him even closer, "Just let me hold you for a little while."

"I can do that," Kurt whispered; melted in closer to Blaine's chest.

Blaine's fingers traced down his back; followed the soft arc of one of his ribs, "You've lost weight."

"Look who's talking," Kurt murmured back. His eyes were heavy; he was exhausted.

"I'm on chemotherapy," Blaine returned.

"My boyfriend has cancer; I'm stressed," Kurt fought to stifle a yawn.

Blaine rested his chin on Kurt's head, "We'll both just have to do better from now on."

"Mm…go out for a…" Kurt yawned; nested in closer to Blaine, "…steak dinner when everyone leaves us behind."

Blaine smiled and gently pushed Kurt upright, "Go sit on the couch, you're about to pass out."

"I'm fine," Kurt rubbed his eyes with one hand.

"You won't be if you wake up with a stiff back," Blaine pushed at him again, "Go on."

"'M not even that tired," Kurt insisted, but he tangled his fingers between Blaine's and dragged him along toward the couch. Once they were seated, Kurt curled into Blaine's side, nested his feet in his lap, and dropped his head back to his shoulder.

"Better, right?" Blaine wrapped an arm back around Kurt; savored the warmth of his breath against his neck.

"Mhm."

Blaine listened to his breathing, already getting slower, "I love you."

"Love you, too," Kurt mumbled.

By the time Trip came back in, chewing on one of Carol's cookies, Kurt was fast asleep.

"You took my spot," Trip made a face, but sat down at the far end of the couch anyway. He looked at Kurt and raised an eyebrow, "Did you drug him?"

Blaine rubbed his hand up and down Kurt's side absently, "He's exhausted… I exhaust him."

"You exhaust everybody, tumor or no tumor," Trip took another bite of his cookie and motioned a hand toward the doorway, "Your parents are taking cover in the kitchen. They weren't too plussed about me crashing their party… no idea why, but your grandma doesn't seem to like me much."

"Yeah, mystery to me, too," Blaine rolled his eyes but then sighed, his voice hushed to avoid waking Kurt, "I need to talk to them later... Apologize or something."

Trip shrugged, "You have like the best built in excuse ever, 'Sorry, Mom; sorry, Dad—tumor made me lose my shit and try to bite your heads off.' They'll forgive you anything."

"I guess so..." Kurt shifted against Blaine's side; sighed in his sleep. Blaine watched him until he was still again, "…how'd you get him to come back inside?"

"Who said I did anything?" Trip studied the rest of his cookie before popping it into his mouth.

"You guys were out there for forever."

"Maybe he was sitting out there when I got here and we walked in together." Trip shrugged, but when he noted Blaine's cynical expression, he added begrudgingly, "...He told me what happened—you two fighting, I mean."

"Well, whatever you did, thanks for doing it." Blaine nudged Trip's foot with his own.

"Whatever," Trip looked away and folded his arms across his chest. After a moment, he let out a long sigh, "It's a tough break, man; I can't believe after all that big shit talk about living in New York you're gonna be stuck in Ohio all year."

"Yeah, well; start believing," Blaine felt Kurt shift against him again; he pulled him in just a little closer; pressed a kiss to the top of his head, "It all starts now."