Chapter 22

Trip squirmed in his chair as he looked around at the other patients in the room. A glance back at Blaine confirmed that his eyes were still closed. With a loud sigh, he groped along the side of his recliner until his fingers lit upon a lever. He pushed it down and the footrest popped up with a loud enough creak to startle Blaine into opening his eyes.

"I don't understand how this place has enough La-Z-Boy's donated to seat every obese man in the U.S., but no one's thought to donate a can of WD-40." Trip pressed his heels into the footrest experimentally.

"Maybe that can be your donation." Blaine yawned.

"Some people leave park benches in honor of people they know having cancer, I leave WD-40," Trip smiled, "I think I like that."

"I'm sure they can stick a piece of duct tape on there to commemorate the both of us." Blaine sniffled.

Trip scanned the others a second time, before pushing his shoulders into his chair until it reclined back further with a groan, "This is a real ball; I've been longing for the day that I got to watch you throw a minor hissy fit over an IV and then proceed to spend three hours drifting in and out of naps for longer than you can possibly imagine."

"You can go, I don't need someone to sit here with me," Blaine shrugged, "Just thought you might like a chance to get off campus for a few hours."

"Right, you spend two weeks sitting with me when I'm a goddamn stranger and I leave your sorry ass when you need me here for a couple hours," Trip turned his head to look up at Blaine, "I know you think I'm a dick, but you really think I'd sink that low?"

"You come by your abrasiveness honestly," Blaine shrugged again, but when Trip lifted his phone to respond to a text he frowned, "… I can make sense of most of the things you do, save for one."

Trip tucked his phone back into his pocket and rolled his eyes, "Fine, I'll bite. What is the thing you can't figure out?"

"What's your angle with David Karofsky?"

"if I didn't know any better, I'd swear you wanted to jump the guy's bones with the way you perseverate on the him and Kurt living together thing." Trip sat up and attempted to bully the back of his chair into rising too.

"I want nothing to do with David fucking Karofsky," Blaine snarled.

"Take it down a notch, Cujo," Trip had managed to coax his chair up a few degrees, but it remained leaned a little too far back, "And I don't know what you're referring to anyway."

"You do too," Blaine let out a frustrated sigh, "You single him out and go after him like prey ninety percent of the time, but the second an adult is anywhere in the picture, you lay off. What gives?"

"He's not out to his dad so I'm not about to be the one to nail him to that particular cross… and Hummel's dad kinda freaks me out," Trip got up out of his seat and went around behind it; he gave it a hard kick, "As for my predatory decisions, he's prone to bouts of extreme embarrassment; of course I go out of my way to make him squirm a bit."

"Trip, Karofsky is…well, he's David Karofsky." Blaine sniffled and dug through his pocket for a tissue, "He's not exactly a saint. Be careful."

"Would you relax?" Trip rolled his eyes, "Kurt doesn't seem to mind him too much. They live together."

Blaine folded his legs up into his chair, "I know they do, but Kurt's on some weird personal mission he won't explain to me with all of this. Besides, Kurt's too kind for his own good and a lot more willing to forgive Karofsky than I am."

Trip snorted, "Hearing you, of all people, say someone is too nice for their own good is positively laughable."

"I mean it," Blaine twisted his Kleenex between his hands, "He's not the ice queen people think he is."

"Of course you think that; you're fucking him, idiot," Trip let a long breath out his nose, "There's nothing wrong with him being a little bit of a bitch, though."

"He's not a—"

"Okay, fine; whatever. He's as cuddly as a fucking kitten," Trip gave Blaine a pointed look, "Interesting though that you're so open to looking past his snark and me being an all around asshole, but you won't give David a chance. I know for a fact he asks Kurt about how you're doing all the time."

"Fine; I'll be nicer," Blaine's eyes drifted over the IV line; he sniffled again, "I know you're standing by the claim that you're harassing him for a bit of a laugh but…are you maybe a little interested in him?"

"He's gay and he has a working dick, right?" Trip folded his arms across his chest and grinned.

Blaine smiled apologetically when a woman and her friend looked over at them in alarm, "A little less crudeness would be appreciated."

"Your mouth is just as awful as mine," Trip pulled out a new tissue for Blaine and offered it to him.

Blaine took the tissue but made a face at Trip, "My crassness is illness related."

"I'm sick too. I'm a chronic asshole," Trip smiled, "But Fine. Let me rephrase: By your definition of interested, no. By my definition… maybe."

Blaine sighed, "Trip, would it kill you to let someone in a little bit?"

"You've been ripping David apart for the past fifteen minutes, and now you want me to take the guy out to dinner? Is this a tumor thing? Do I need to grab a nurse?" Trip narrowed his eyes at him as though scrutinizing for signs of illness.

"You know what I'm trying to say. I don't just mean David. What about the Warblers? You've been in school for a couple weeks now, and I know you're going to practice… are you getting along with them?"

"Ya know it's crazy how close we've gotten; it's like we can read each other's minds," Trip leaned in closer to Blaine as though divulging a secret, "We show up to class and we're all dressed in the same outfit! Crazy, right?"

Blaine let out an exasperated sigh, "Eventually you're gonna have to start letting people in, Trip. Wasn't that the point of coming out here?"

"The point of coming out here was for me to get out," Trip snapped.

Blaine regarded him quietly, "Your temper is even worse than mine is."

"Yeah well, not all cancers have a physical origin," Trip muttered.

Blaine smiled almost sadly, "You're poetic whether you want to be or not."

"And you have a brain tumor that makes you say stupid shit," Trip retorted, "Change the subject."

"To what?"

"Anything not me." Trip's scowl softened. He motioned a hand toward Blaine's head, "You had a doctor's appointment yesterday, yeah?"

"If you get to change the subject then so do I; pick something else." Blaine turned his attention to the blanket draped across his lap and focused on tucking the edges of it around his knees.

"Fine, lets talk about your favorite thing."

"That being?"

"Kurt."

Kurt had known living with David Karofsky would be a little awkward at first…okay, really, really awkward. What he hadn't expected was David nearly tripping over himself with anxiety every time they occupied the same room. After the first forty eight hours, Kurt began to wonder if people had been right about him moving in with Karofsky, though for much different reasons than had been everyone's initial concern.

The adjustment was slow. On the first full day in the apartment, Karofsky shut the front door on his hand in an attempt to get out when he walked in on Blaine and Kurt cuddled on the couch together watching a movie. On the second day, he apologized three times for coming into the bathroom while Kurt was brushing his teeth before closing himself up in his bedroom again. But then on the third day, David had made enough coffee for both of them and they sat across from one another at the kitchen table. They hadn't said much to the other; instead they'd stared intently at their respective laptops. David had smiled awkwardly and asked Kurt if he'd read the headlining story on Yahoo. Kurt asked for the link and offered a few comments on it once David sent it to him. On the fourth day, Kurt made the coffee. By the end of the first week, Kurt had pounded hard on David's door when his alarm had been going off for almost five minutes straight.

Kurt had decided their ultimate bonding moment was when they'd sat down and plotted a list of things they would need for the apartment that they couldn't put off buying any longer before making a joint trip to Target.

"We need this."

"Why?" David stared down into the cart at the box of Swiffer dusting wipes, "We already got the damn Swiffer, why do you need more shit for it?"

"David, if we buy the Swiffer and not the wipes, it would be like trying to use a mop without getting it wet first." Kurt let out an exasperated sigh and glanced back down at their list. He frowned, "Why do we need WD-40?"

"Your door creaks," David shrugged, "And one of the cupboard doors does, too."

Kurt found the can and pulled it off the shelf. He turned it to read the label, "Do you think this would work on a squeaky bed, too?"

David shrugged, "Did you try tightening up all the screws in your bed frame?"

Kurt dropped the can down into the shopping cart and crossed the item off of their list, "I don't even know if it's a problem yet."

"Then why—oh." David flushed red. He cleared his throat awkwardly, "What's next?"

"Windex, a hand towel for our bathroom, and laundry detergent," Kurt tucked the piece of paper back into his pocket, "If you don't mind Tide, we can share the detergent."

"Fine by me." David gazed down the aisles. He smiled absently when they passed the Back to School section, "When I was a kid, I loved getting all of my school stuff."

Kurt smiled, too, and turned to look over the displays of paper and locker accessories, "Me too. Remember the Lisa Frank stuff?"

"That was a girl thing," David scoffed, but then, seeming to remember himself, mumbled a quick, "…I think."

"Well, I for one, loved all of it," Kurt turned their cart into an aisle of folders and notebooks to look closer, "Let me guess, you had the Pokemon notebooks."

David laughed, "Nah, I never got into that shit. I had Power Rangers."

"That's right! You stole my planner in third grade—the one with the red power ranger on the front and the pink one on the back, remember?" Kurt scowled at David, but there was no venom behind it.

David laughed and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck awkwardly, "I didn't even know what the hell it was. What kind of eight year old has a planner?"

"I liked organizing," Kurt shrugged, "My mom died the year before, so I liked feeling like I was in control of something even if it was just copying the daily schedule off of the board… Mrs. Murphy used to give me the lesson plan schedule a day in advance so I could write it down."

Karofsky looked stricken before looking down at his feet, "…I'm sorry for taking it."

Kurt laughed hollowly, "It was years ago, David. If you plan on apologizing for every bad thing you ever did to me, there won't be room for much else in terms of conversation."

David nodded and glanced back up at Kurt, "I might apologize for things as they come up, though… is that okay?"

Kurt studied David's face for a moment before moving the cart forward again slowly, "Sure. If you want."

They walked through the school supplies in silence. Kurt pulled a couple nondescript folders and notebooks out for the classes he was taking, but they otherwise just gazed at the displays until they'd made there way through the section.

Kurt pulled a hot pink folder covered in glitter out of a display. He laughed in delight, "I have to get this for Blaine."

"…Does he like glitter?" David asked, but then added, "Not judging or anything. Just wondering."

"No; no, it's just a joke between us." Kurt smiled fondly at the folder before dropping it into the cart, "Come on, we still need to go get that towel for the bathroom."

Karofsky followed behind Kurt and stood quietly while Kurt fussed over the color of their hand towel, "Hey, Kurt?"

"Hm?" Kurt pulled a black towel out and scrutinized it with a wrinkled nose.

"How long have you and Blaine been together?"

Kurt blinked, "Um…. about a year and a half now. Why?"

David shifted his weight from foot to foot, "Dunno; you two are just…"

"Just what?" Kurt folded the towel and replaced it before pulling out a different one.

David shrugged, "Really close."

"I'd hope so," Kurt raised an eyebrow as he glanced back at David, "That's it?"

"What's it?"

"You just wanted to know how long Blaine and I have been dating for the hell of it?" Kurt pulled out a second towel and looked between the colors thoughtfully.

"I guess," David shrugged again; blushed.

"Well, if you were hoping to figure out if you could get me to break up with him and date you, it's not going to happen," Kurt held the towels out toward David, "The honey beige or the eggplant?"

David stumbled back a step, "I didn't; Jesus, Hummel, I wasn't trying to find out if—"

"Honey beige or eggplant? I need an answer." Kurt tapped his foot impatiently.

"The brown one. Seriously though, Kurt, it wasn't like that, I just wanted to know—"

"Relax, David, It was a joke; I do that sometimes, as do most people," Kurt dropped the selected towel down into the cart. He glanced back at Karofsky with a smirk and added quietly, "And I'm pretty sure I know who you're actually interested in."

"What?" David frowned.

"I didn't say anything." Kurt folded the second towel neatly and replaced it on its shelf.

David nodded slowly; his cheeks still red, "Oh… Are we done?"

Kurt held up the list for David to see, "Is everything crossed off of our list?"

"No."

"Then, no, we're not," Kurt started back down the aisle. He looked over his shoulder when he didn't hear the hum of the cart's wheels behind him, "Should I just leave you here then, or do you plan on coming with?"

David shook his head and pushed the cart toward Kurt, "Coming."

"I knew I'd have to be your tutor in all things cultured and classy, but I had no idea how much work your daily social skills were going to take," Kurt sighed, "Thank God you've started working; social interaction with a few people who haven't taken one too many hits to the head should be good for you."

David smiled a little, "Most of them are ex-football players."

Kurt rolled his eyes, "Well then, thank God you have Blaine and I for stimulating conversation."

"And Trip." David added.

Kurt gave him a pointed look, "Trip Morgan and social skills should never be used in the same sentence."

"It was a joke; believe it or not, I can make those, too," David smiled a little, "And I don't think you hate him as much as you say you do."

"Trip and I have a seventy-thirty kind of relationship where seventy percent of the time I hate him and thirty percent of the time I tolerate him," Kurt paused by a display of candles and picked one up to smell, "I should probably edit that to sixty-five hate and thirty-five tolerate. He went with Blaine to chemo today."

"I don't get why you didn't just go. You're half an hour from him."

"I was in class this morning when he had to leave, and we're attempting to go five days without each other to adjust to work and school schedules once they get into full swing," Kurt dropped the candle down into the cart, "His idea, not mine. I think he thinks he's being helpful by giving me some me time, but he doesn't get that I don't go with him to appointments out of some sort of obligation. I like going."

David was quiet beside him again.

Kurt sighed, "I know it sounds cliched and corny to say I want to go sit there, but—"

"It's not," David cut him off, "…it's nice."

Kurt studied Karofsky as they walked down another aisle, but then turned his attention back to the task at hand: selecting a rug for in front of their door, "See any winners?"

Karofsky looked over the rugs and finally pointed at one with the words 'Home is Where the Heart Is' printed across the front in scripted font, "How about that one?"

Kurt studied it and then looked at David's face for any sign of a joke. When he found none, he looked back at the rug, "It's really gay."

David looked at Kurt in shock, "It is not!"

Kurt picked it up from a stack of others with a smirk. He dropped it down into the cart, "It's also half off."

They moved slowly through the aisles until everything was crossed off of their list.

When they returned home, they settled into their own routines. David oiled Kurt's door and the cabinet. Kurt hung up the towel in the bathroom and lit their new candle. When he heard a strange slapping sound near the door, he turned to find David standing by the door, staring down at their rug.

He turned to grin at Kurt, "You're right. It's kinda gay."

Kurt moved to stand beside him and look down at the thing, "Really, really gay."

They looked back at one another and burst into laughter.

3 Days Later…

Kurt glanced up from his textbook when he heard the front door slam. He smiled at David, "Hey, how was work?"

"Good; intense," David was sweaty and his shirt was smudged with dirt, but he was smiling. He nodded toward Kurt's book, "Homework on a Friday night?"

"If I do it now I can focus on Blaine all weekend," Kurt smiled; shrugged, "Besides, I start work in a couple weeks, and I'd rather be in the routine now of getting this done than trying to figure it out later."

"Schedule guy; right," David nodded, he lifted a hand to show off a six pack of beer, "Any chance I can get you to take a break later?"

"How did you even get that?"

"A fake ID," David gave Kurt self-satisfied smile.

"You could have bought anything and you got beer?" Kurt wrinkled his nose.

"Come on, Hummel, grow a pair." David shook the pack and the bottles clinked quietly against one another.

Kurt raised an eyebrow, "I'm assuming it's not even light beer."

David groaned, "You're going to make me drink alone?"

"Trip's coming over tonight, I'm sure he'd be happy to humor you." Kurt looked back down at his book and scribbled down a note.

David sat down on the floor and pulled his shoes off, but he didn't respond.

Kurt looked up again, "Problem, Dave?"

"Huh?" David looked up from his feet.

Kurt twirled his pencil between his fingers, "I know you're not exactly brilliant, but you're not stupid. You know what I'm talking about. "

David blushed, "…I don't really know what his deal is… I don't know how he'd take it if it's just me and him drinking."

"It's Trip; offer him a beer, he'll make a completely inappropriate joke, and then either take the drink or not; it's not exactly that big of a deal, Dave," Kurt scrutinized David's face, "… unless it's a big deal to you."

David frowned, but his cheeks were still red, "What are you saying?"

"I'm not saying anything," Kurt looked back down at his notebook and doodled a little heart, "… I'm just…considering possibilities."

"I don't like him." David said quickly.

"I never said you did," Kurt looked back up at David and smiled.

"I don't!"

"Mhm."

"I mean it, Hummel. I'm not into him." David got back up and moved to the kitchen to shove the beer in the fridge.

"Oh, so you don't think he's attractive?" Kurt smirked knowingly and sat back in his chair to watch David over the top of the breakfast bar.

"Of course I think he's attractive," David snapped, "Don't you?"

Kurt laughed, "Yes, I do. It's a shame such gorgeous eyes are getting wasted on someone who's such an ass."

"I don't think—" David cut himself off; shook his head.

"You don't think what?" Kurt tilted his head to study David's face.

"Nothing," David sighed, "What time are they coming over?"

Kurt glanced at his phone, "An hour or so. Go shower; I can smell you from here."

David snorted and moved toward the bathroom, "Beer's in the fridge if you change your mind."

"Noted." Kurt rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his homework, but he couldn't focus. He plucked his phone back off of the table and found Blaine's number in his contacts.

He rested his phone between his shoulder and ear and flipped idly through the chapter he was supposed to have read for Monday until he found the end.

"H'lo?"

"Are you high?" Kurt frowned to himself.

"What? No!" Blaine sounded indignant.

"Sorry, your voice sounded funny." Kurt pulled a corner off of a piece of notebook paper and tucked into his book before closing it.

"I have a cold." Blaine sniffled as though for proof, "What's up?"

"Just checking if you were still coming over." Kurt yawned.

"That's the plan if you're up to it," Kurt could picture Blaine smiling on his side of the line, "You sound beat."

"Of course I'm up to it—I haven't seen you in a week," Kurt stifled a second yawn, "But I can't promise that I won't nap on your shoulder."

"I look forward to it. Trip's got Warblers' practice, but he's supposed to be swinging by to get me as soon as he's finished. I'll see you in a bit."

"Can't wait; love you." Kurt ended the call and gathered up his things; there was no way he could focus anymore. He busied himself trying to choose a new outfit until he heard the bathroom door open.

"I'm done in the bathroom if you need it or something." David appeared in his doorway in a clean white t-shirt and jeans, his hair still dripping wet.

"Thanks," Kurt pulled a coral colored sweater out of his closet and inspected it critically, "I talked to Blaine. They'll be over when Trip's done with the Warblers."

"The what?" David blinked.

"Dalton's glee club." Kurt laid the sweater out on his bed and flipped through the other shirts in his closet.

"He sings?"

"Apparently," Kurt quirked an eyebrow, "I've never actually heard him, but Blaine has, and he says he's amazing."

David nodded absently, "Why won't he sing for you?"

"I've never asked him to," Kurt shrugged, "Maybe you can get him to sing."

David glared at him, "If that's meant to be some sort of dirty joke—"

"It wasn't, but the fact that you thought it was says something about where your mind is, David," Kurt looked over Karofsky disdainfully, "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a boyfriend who I am openly trying to impress, so I need to change my shirt. Out."

David grumbled to himself as he pulled the door shut.

"And David?" Kurt called through the closed door, "Wear that camel colored shirt of yours."

"Why?" David called back; his tone dubious.

"It looks nice on you." Kurt dropped his button down into his laundry hamper and pulled a fresh undershirt from his dresser.

"Hummel, I told you I don't have anyone I'm trying to im—"

Kurt sighed and pulled his door open again to give David a pointed look, "You never need a reason to dress nicely, Dave, just put it on."

Karofsky let out an indignant sigh, but he went back to his room and closed the door.

Kurt smirked to himself; satisfied. He'd train David Karofsky yet.

It ended up being another two hours before there was a knock on the door.

Kurt pulled it open and wrapped his arms around Blaine immediately; inhaling the smell of him deeply, "Mm, you took forever."

Blaine hugged him back and smiled into his shoulder, "Sorry."

Trip shoved past them into the apartment; a birdcage dangling from his hand, "Those fucking Warblers are perfection Nazis. Three fucking hours of touch stepping and harmonizing."

Blaine snorted and whispered in Kurt's ear, "Watch out, he's on a rampage."

"Not playing nice with the other kids, Trip?" Kurt pulled out of Blaine's embrace and closed the door. He looked down at the cage, "Is that the bird?"

"No, it's a birdcage with a fucking puppy inside," Trip snapped. He put the cage down on the table with surprising gentleness, "As for the merry band of Warblers, I'm going to break into their dorm rooms and smother them with their pillows."

Blaine rolled his eyes, "You're all bark and no bite. I just talked to your roommate; you sit in the back of the senior commons and sing when they tell you but otherwise don't say a word to anyone."

"How would you know, asshole? We had the same conversation twice today and you didn't even fucking notice," Trip glared at Blaine, "Maybe you're hallucinating."

"Trip, that's enough!" Kurt glowered at Trip and pulled the door back open, "You can get the hell out if you're going to talk like that."

"Hey, come on, both of you settle down," Blaine looked between them tiredly, "Kurt, he's got a right to be pissed—I shouldn't be meddling. Trip, I'm sorry, but you need to settle down; you're being totally out of line."

All three stood frozen for a moment. The tenseness of their silence was laced with happy chirps from the bird.

Trip dragged a hand through his hair, "Fine."

Kurt didn't move from the door; he glared hard at Trip.

Trip sighed, his expression softening when he looked to Blaine, "I'm sorry, all right? I didn't mean it."

"It's fine; you had a long day," Blaine smiled weakly.

Trip looked to Kurt with a little more irritation, "I'll think before I open my mouth, okay? I'm… Blaine's right; it was a shitty day and I'm sorry I'm being a dick about it to you guys."

Kurt held onto the door for a minute longer before closing it quietly, "Don't let it happen again."

Trip crossed a hand over his heart, "Scouts honor."

David cleared his throat awkwardly from his bedroom door, "…everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," Kurt nodded before pressing a hand into Blaine's back and guiding him toward the couch. He glanced over his shoulder at Trip still standing near the door looking suddenly exhausted, "I think Trip could use a drink, though."

David looked over at Trip, too, "You wanna beer?"

"Christ, yes," Trip looked at David gratefully.

David paused as though waiting for Trip to say more, but Trip only sagged down into a chair beside the table and peered into the birdcage. David he nodded and moved toward the kitchen.

Kurt leaned in close to Blaine's ear, "What's wrong with him?"

Blaine glanced over at Trip before speaking quietly, "Bit of a run in with some of his past. He's upset, but he'll mellow out; go easy on him."

"You're too sweet for your own good," Kurt touched a kiss to Blaine's cheek. He frowned and touched a second kiss to his forehead, "You have a fever."

"It's nothing; I feel shitty from chemo," Blaine smiled for Kurt, "How were classes?"

"Fine," Kurt shook his head, "Have you been sick at all today?"

Blaine looked exasperated, "Stop with the chemo talk; I have a head cold and an upset stomach; it's fine—I'm fine—I wanna know about college so I can live vicariously through you. How's campus?"

Kurt searched Blaine's face and sighed, "It's nice; it's fun. I saw Puck today and guess what he was doing?"

"Hitting on women?" Blaine smiled.

"Well, yes, but guess what else?"

"Drugs? Drinking? General miscreant behavior?"

Kurt shook his head, a smile pulling at his mouth, "He was going to class."

Blaine's eyebrows shot up, "Noah Puckerman was going to—are you sure it was him?"

Kurt grinned, "Right? He cut our conversation off because he was afraid of being late."

Blain laughed in delight, "I need to see that for myself. Do you think he does homework, too?"

"Probably," Kurt giggled, "I'll ask Finn next time I see him."

"Hummel, I'm assuming it's still a no on the beer?" David called from the kitchen, "Blaine, you're not drinking right now, right?"

Blaine twisted around to look at David over the back of the couch, "No, I'm not. The last thing I need is something else messing with my head."

David nodded, "Want anything else? Water or something?"

"Water would be great, thanks," Blaine smiled before turning his gaze to Trip, "You wanna come sit down over here?"

Trip didn't respond, but he got up from his spot at the table, and loosened his tie as he settled down on the other couch.

David came into the room, dropping a bottle of water down beside Blaine and holding out a bottle of beer toward Trip.

Trip took it and looked at the cap, "Gotta bottle opener?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry," David dug his keys out of his pocket and held them out, "Keychain."

Trip popped the lid off of his bottle and took a long drink, his eyes drifting over David's keys, "That piece of shit pickup of yours still running?"

David frowned a little, "There's nothing wrong with my truck."

Trip snorted and offered the keys back, "Sure."

David took the keys and popped the lid off of his own bottle before re-pocketing the keys. He glanced between the couch Kurt and Blaine were occupying and the empty space beside Trip.

"I know I'm pretty, but are you just gonna stand there all night staring at me, or are you gonna take a seat?" Trip smirked and motioned a hand at the empty space beside him.

"Right, I, uh—" David sank down on the couch as far away from Trip as he could get. As though in an attempt to save face over his sudden bashfulness, he glanced over Trip, "You look like Blaine."

"That's offensive." Trip directed a smile toward Blaine good-naturedly.

David motioned a hand at Trip's chest, "I meant the uniform."

Trip glanced down at himself and shrugged off his blazer as though realizing for the first time that he was still wearing it, "I left right after Warbler practice; I needed to get the hell out of there."

"Bad day?" Kurt pulled Blaine's hand into his and massaged his palm lightly. He rubbed at the spot between his thumb and pointer finger, wishing he could massage out the incessant muscle spasms.

Trip snorted and took another drink from his bottle, "You could say that."

"Did the Warblers oust you from solo tryouts?" Kurt turned Blaine's hand over to inspect his fingernails. He made a mental note to coax Blaine into letting him give him a manicure.

"No, they gave me a solo today and they gave me fucking Bocelli," Trip sank back into the couch.

"Bocelli?" David echoed.

"The bird," Kurt supplied; motioning a hand toward the kitchen table where the birdcage still sat, "Whoever the newest Warbler is gets one."

"I brought it to see if you'd consider playing foster parent," Trip looked toward the table too, "I'm afraid I'm going to come home in a rage from practice someday and take it out on the fucking canary."

"Team player, Trip." Blaine warned solemnly.

Trip rolled his eyes and pointed at Blaine with his bottle, "They need you back in there to tell them that. They bitch and moan and gripe at each other more than they sing."

Blaine frowned and Kurt felt him tense slightly at his side, "How's the new council?"

Trip laughed hollowly, "Their favorite card to pull to try and win an argument is to insist that their idea is the idea you would have liked best."

"Jesus," Blaine muttered and shook his head, "…Steve's no good? I was sure he'd be a decent moderator."

"Ha! Steve starts most of the fights," Trip took another drink, "They're all kinds of buddy-buddy with each other the second practice is done, but they can't work together to save a life. We're screwed for sectionals."

"Why don't you rally them?" David spoke up, his gaze moving from Blaine to Trip.

"Me?" Trip barked out a short laugh, he lifted his bottle toward David before taking another drink, "Didn't take you for a funny guy, but good one."

"I'm serious," David blushed a little, but stared at Trip in earnest, "Why not? You're new and you already have a solo, and that's not, like, easy to get, right?"

When David looked to Kurt for confirmation, Kurt bobbed his head up and down, "You either earn solos or you're so good they can't possibly say no."

David looked back at Trip, "So everyone respects the great players, right? And you hang out with Blaine more than any of them do, so if you've got the talent and a solid mentor to back you up, why wouldn't they take you on as a leader?"

"Because I don't want to be their leader," Trip snapped, "I'm not going to be responsible for a bunch of privileged, whiny assholes."

Karofsky frowned, "If they lose, you lose. And it sounds like they could use someone to act as an example for them."

"I am the last person in the world who should be an example for anyone," Trip put his beer down on the side table and started digging through his pockets, "I'm not the person people look up to."

"Why not?" David pushed, "It's not like you'd have to be a dick about it, if you're all buddies outside of—"

"Because I am the person everybody knows they can hate, that's why!" Trip was on his feet, glaring hard at David. He slung his blazer over his arm and moved toward the porch, "I'm gonna go smoke."

Once the sliding door slid shut with a soft whoosh of air, the other three sat in silence for a long minute.

David stared down into his bottle, a frown line between his eyebrows.

"Is he having a hard time at school?" Kurt asked quietly.

"People at Dalton don't mind him at all," Blaine shook his head, "His roommate, Tommy, is on the Warblers, too. He says Trip doesn't open his mouth during practice except to sing, and he doesn't say much to Tommy outside practice and they live together so I'm assuming he's not going out of his way to chat with any of the guys in his classes."

"That doesn't make any sense," Kurt frowned, "It's Trip. He doesn't ever shut up and he doesn't exactly go out of his way to be mindful of others."

Blaine looked toward the sliding door almost sadly, "He does whatever he can to keep people at arms length… he's just taking a new approach at Dalton."

Kurt smoothed his fingers over the line of Blaine's thumb. He knew what it felt like to feel the need to create defenses. His snarkiness had not been born out of nothing, "He's scared."

Blaine nodded and sighed, "I don't know what he's doing with the wallflower routine, but his brashness might be partially my fault."

"He's trying to keep his head low," David shook his empty beer bottle beside his ear and stood up, "…the being quiet at school thing, I mean. He doesn't want to draw attention to himself. He even took the lip ring out."

Kurt blinked. He hadn't even noticed its disappearance.

"Some people fit in by making themselves invisible," Blaine cast a dark look toward David who had moved back over toward the fridge, "Some do it by picking on those of us who don't fit in quite so readily."

"Blaine," Kurt stroked a hand over Blaine's arm gently, "Please."

Blaine muttered something unintelligible and sunk low into the couch.

David tapped his bottle against the sliding door and motioned toward it.

Kurt couldn't see how Trip responded to the miming, but David was suddenly back at the fridge retrieving a second bottle, and by the time he finally came back to sit down, Trip was slipping back into the apartment.

"I can smell you from here." Kurt wrinkled his nose as Trip approached.

In response, Trip flung his blazer onto Kurt's lap with a smile.

"I loathe you." Kurt picked up the blazer between his fingertips and moved it to Blaine's lap, "Fortunately for you I'm a good person and, to answer your question from earlier, I'll take the bird for awhile."

"Thanks," Trip sat down in his previous spot on the couch and took the opened bottle David offered him. He glanced around at all of them and took a drink, "… sorry about before. I didn't need to be that much of an ass about stuff."

"You don't need to be as much of an ass as you are ever," Kurt rolled his eyes, "…but thank you for at least acknowledging it this time."

David shrugged, "No harm, no foul."

Trip took another drink out of his bottle, "… uh oh."

"If you spilled on the rug, so help me God, Trip Morgan—" Kurt scanned the carpet with narrowed eyes.

"No, all of my beer is either still in the bottle or in my stomach," Trip shook his head, "Our issue lies in the fact that I am under twenty one, I've got a history of walking a thin line with the law, and I'm supposed to be driving Lance Armstrong and myself home tonight."

"Lance Armstrong had testicular cancer," Blaine looked up from the uniform jacket in his lap to make a face at Trip, "His brain was fine."

"Anyone who chooses to bike a million miles around Europe for fun has to have something wrong with their head," Trip held his bottle up to the lamp on the end table to peer at how much was left, "And that's irrelevant to the current issue."

Kurt groaned, "Damn it."

"I didn't even think about it, Hummel, I swear; I'm not going out of my way to be a pain in the ass this time." Trip set his bottle down on the side table with a frown.

"I know, I know," Kurt tipped his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes as he thought, "I was the one who suggested Dave offer you a drink in the first place."

Blaine fidgeted with one of the gold buttons on the front of the blazer still in his lap, "… we could stay the night if it's okay with you guys."

Kurt rubbed a hand over his face, "Would your parents go for that?"

"Couldn't hurt to ask," Blaine looked toward Trip, "Would Tom cover for you if you asked him to?"

Trip shrugged, "Maybe, I don't know."

"Only one way to find out. Call him." Blaine already had his own phone up to his ear.

Kurt sat back and listened to the halves of the phone conversations on either side of him. Trip stared down at his knees for the entirety of his exchange.

"Hey, man, it's Trip; listen, I'm out with Blaine and—uh huh, yeah—anyway, I think we're gonna crash at his boyf—yeah, Kurt—yeah….could you co—thanks… You too. Bye."

Blaine's conversation was somewhat more complicated.

"Hey, dad, could—No, I'm fine, could you put mom on? Really, I'm fine, I just need to talk to her...thanks—Mom? Hey—I'm fine, I swear, I just wanted to ask—no, it's okay, but I wanted to ask if it was okay if Trip and I spent the night at Kurt and David's place? I don't think I'm really up to the drive—No! You don't need to come get me, I just wanted to see if you'd mind if I crashed here for the night. They've got two couches and—Mom, it's a couch, not a radiation chamber. It's not going to mess with my head—I took them before I left and I have my stuff for morning—Mom, I told you not to make that appointment—Fine, okay…"

Kurt watched Blaine anxiously, sure that his request was being denied.

Blaine rubbed his free hand over his eyes, "…I'm sure Kurt has Advil or something—uh huh, love you, too. See you in the morning."

Kurt raised his eyebrows in surprise, "She said yes?"

Blaine dropped his phone down to his lap with a groan, "Yes, but Jesus Christ, you'd think the only plausible reason for me ever calling would be to tell them I'm bleeding from my ears or something."

"Wonderful; a big gay slumber party," Trip picked his beer back up with a faint smile, "This is everything you promised Ohio would be and more, Blaine."

David flinched at the comment, but offered no input of his own.

"At least I'm still here to entertain you," Blaine yawned, "And I used to be a lot more fun, I swear."

"Right now all you are is tired," Kurt glanced at his watch, "Do you want to go to bed?"

Blaine rubbed his eyes, "Wouldn't be much of a slumber party if I decided to just go and… and…"

"Pass out." All three filled for him.

Blaine looked mildly amused, "Yeah."

"That's your first word slip up all night," Kurt nudged Blaine's foot with his, "I think you should call it a night just to end on a good note."

Blaine looked toward Kurt's bedroom door almost longingly, "…I could make it another hour."

"Stop feeling guilty," Kurt rolled his eyes, "You stop answering your phone by ten these days and it's currently quarter to eleven, so I know you're ready to drop dead. David had to be up at five this morning and Trip's already regaled us with his long day, so I think it's safe to say we'd all be happy to turn in early."

David nodded his confirmation when Blaine looked between him and Trip hesitantly.

"And I just finished my beer," Trip shook his empty bottle as proof, "Perfect time to call it a night."

"…Okay." Blaine nodded.

"One of the couches has a pull out bed. I'll get you the sheets, Trip." Kurt moved to the front closet and pulled it open.

"Give me a blanket and a pillow and I can just sleep on the couch as is," Trip pulled his tie off and dropped it down on the floor, "And something to cover the bird so he doesn't chat at me all night."

"I think you're going to miss him," Kurt smiled affectionately at the canary before covering its cage with a sheet.

Trip snorted, "Unlikely."

"Blaine, do you want the pull out then?" David stood; already moving to pull the cushions off the couch.

Kurt rolled his eyes as he returned to drop a blanket down on the couch for Trip, "David, please."

Karofsky blinked in confusion, "No?"

"David, I'm going to break this down for you, okay? Blaine and Kurt are boyfriends; lovers; exclusive fuck buddies," Trip unbuttoned his suit shirt and dropped it down on top of his tie, "They share a bed."

David flushed red, "Right."

Trip shook his head and looked back at Kurt, "Can I steal some toothpaste?"

"Sure, but I don't have a toothbrush for you; you'll have to use your finger," Kurt moved to the bathroom and pulled open a drawer. He glanced toward Blaine, "Normally I'd let you use my toothbrush, but I don't want to get you sick, so you'll have to use your finger, too."

"I'm sure we'd both love to use or fin—"

"You're going to stop talking now or I'm not sharing toothpaste." Kurt snapped.

Trip turned a smirk toward Karofsky, "David would still share, right, Dave?"

David stopped his toothbrush halfway to his mouth. He cleared his throat awkwardly, "I—yeah, sure."

"Please don't make me regret letting you stay here anymore than I already do." Kurt shoved a tube of toothpaste against Trip's chest with a scowl.

They brushed their teeth in silence and, because Blaine was leaned against the counter already half asleep on his feet, Kurt did his shorter moisturizing routine.

"Come on, you, let's get to bed." Kurt grabbed Blaine's hand and pulled him out of the bathroom.

Trip followed them out and settled down on the couch, "Sweet dreams, darlings; try to keep it down."

Kurt rolled his eyes , "You know where I am if you need anything."

"If I need anything I'll probably be bothering David," Trip winked toward David.

David paused outside his door; he looked over Trip thoughtfully for a moment, "Knock first."

All three stared in surprise at David. A slow smile slid over Trip's face; he nodded, "Noted."

"Right; night then." David closed his door and left the other three to blink at one another in confusion.

Trip sat back with a grin, "Interesting."

"Trip," Blaine gave him a warning look.

"Go to bed Blaine," Trip chuckled, "I'll be a good boy; I promise."

When Blaine opened his mouth to argue, Kurt pushed him into his bedroom and closed the door, "Don't worry about him. You said it yourself, he's all talk."

Blaine stared at the closed door for a moment before moving away from it reluctantly, "Any chance you'll part willingly with pajama pants or something so I don't freeze to death during the night?"

Kurt moved to his closet and peeled off his sweater that was beginning to itch horribly, "There's a pair of your pajama pants in the nightstand drawer."

"Why do you have my pajama pants?" Blaine pulled open the drawer and shook out the pants.

"I stole them last spring. It was a part of a grand scheme to make you sleep over as much as I could get you to once we moved to the city by eliminating as many excuses to go home as possible."

"Why would you assume I'd need pajama pants or any clothes at all to sleep at your place?" Blaine sat down on the edge of the bed and slid his jeans off.

"Good point." Kurt hung up his sweater and pulled out a pair of pants of his own, "Maybe I like to wear them sometimes."

"Kinky."

"No, there is nothing at all kinky about Joe Boxer plaid pants with a hole in the knee," Kurt folded his pants and placed them neatly in their proper place before turning to smile at Blaine, "They are, however, ridiculously comfortable, and they make me think of you."

"Do they even fit you?" Blaine laughed and helped Kurt fold back the comforter.

Kurt smiled sheepishly, "They are admittedly a little short on me. If you tell anyone I've let those things touch my body, you're a dead man."

Blaine crossed a finger over his heart, "Never."

"Good," Kurt smiled, "Now get in bed before you fall asleep on your feet."

"Yes, sir," Blaine slid under the covers and watched Kurt flip off the light before stumbling back across the room and climbing into bed beside him.

Kurt pushed at Blaine's shoulder, "You're on my side of the bed and you know it; move over."

Blaine complied but laughed quietly when he snuggled back in with Kurt, "Your feet are freezing."

"They are not, yours are just a thousand degrees," Kurt pressed his toes into the tops of Blaine's feet, "But I wouldn't complain if you wanted to share a little body heat."

"Is that a come on?" Blaine scooted in even closer until their legs were tangled and he could feel the warmth of Kurt's breath against his nose.

"No, your immune system is shit and I don't want to be responsible for getting you any sicker than you already are," Kurt slid a few inches back, "I probably shouldn't even be this close to you right now."

Blaine suddenly wrapped himself around Kurt in a tangle of limbs; he pulled at him until Kurt found himself rolled on top of Blaine's little frame.

"Cut it out, first I was worried about killing you with germs, now I feel like I'm going to crush you." Kurt squirmed to roll back off, but Blaine kept his arms and legs wrapped around him tightly.

"You couldn't crush me if you tried," Blaine scoffed, "Besides, I'm warm right now; are you going to deny me this one small comfort?"

"Fine. Could you at least untangle yourself from me? I'm getting claustrophobic."

Blaine lowered his legs back down to the bed, but his arms remained wrapped around Kurt's back, "I like this."

"The thrill of potential asphyxiation?"

Blaine laughed, "No. Sleeping over."

"We've had sleepovers before at your place." Kurt folded his arms on Blaine's chest and rested his chin on them.

"I know, but this is what I imagined we'd be doing this year if we'd gone to New York," Blaine slid his hands forward until they were cupping Kurt's face, "Can we do this more often?"

"Of course we can," Kurt leaned in closer to the warmth of one of Blaine's hands, "I'll start making a list of excuses we can use so your parents won't mind."

"Mm, 'kay," Blaine yawned, "Also baths. I took a bath a few days ago and it was nowhere near as nice as when you were there with me."

"That's going to have to be at your place, we only have a shower here," Kurt brushed a thumb absently over Blaine's chest, "But I'm sure we could arrange something."

Blaine fell silent; his fingers sliding back down Kurt's shoulders to ghost over his back in slow, lazy patterns. A sudden giggle from Kurt reengaged him, "Am I tickling you?"

"No," Kurt giggled again, "I'm just trying to imagine you suddenly deciding to draw yourself a bath. That doesn't seem like you at all."

"I was stressed and my nose was stuffed up; I thought a bath would help." Blaine prodded Kurt between two ribs, "It's not that strange."

"I'm sorry, you're right," Kurt was still giggling, "I just—the mental picture I have; I wish you could see it."

Blaine was quiet for a minute, but then suddenly he was giggling too, "Can you imagine Trip deciding to take a bubble bath?"

Kurt burst into a renewed fit of laughter, "Oh my God—like with candles and bath salts and everything."

Blaine laughed harder, "Better yet, imagine Karofsky. With a little towel turban on and Enya playing "

Kurt rolled off of Blaine and tried to stifle his laughter with a hand, "Oh my God, I don't want to picture that."

Blaine giggled, "I'd be okay with my memory glitching and erasing this entire conversation."

Their laughter quieted until they were both silent. Blaine rolled onto his stomach and groped around Kurt's nightstand until he found the box of Kleenex.

"Don't you dare drop a used tissue in my bed; the trash can is by the door." Kurt nudged Blaine with his foot.

"You're going to make me get out of bed to throw this away? Can't I just put it on the nightstand and deal with it in the morning?"

"No, you may not. Drag the trashcan over here and you won't have to get up again."

"But what if I get out from under the covers and catch a chill and then get even sicker?" Blaine tucked himself further under the comforter, "You'd feel awful."

"You're such a drama queen. Just go do it." Kurt yawned and closed his eyes.

"If I'm a drama queen, what does that make you?" Blaine muttered under his breath as he slid out of the bed.

He returned noisily; dragging the trashcan across the floor and grumbling as he slid back under the covers, but Kurt paid his griping no mind. Once Blaine was settled, he scooted back in closer to him, "When did you take your bath?"

"Huh?"

"The bath you took this week without me. When was it?"

Blaine laughed quietly, "Um, Tuesday; why?"

"That was the same day you had a doctor's appointment," Kurt rolled onto his stomach and turned his face toward Blaine, "Was that what stressed you out?"

"Goodness, look at you, Sherlock," Blaine teased, "Your attention to detail is spectacular."

"Was it?"

Blaine sighed, "Yes."

"You told me it was fine," Kurt pressed.

"It was," Blaine hugged his arms around a pillow and stifled a yawn.

"It was fine but it stressed you out." Blaine didn't need to see Kurt's face to know he was looking at him with an expression of disdain and anxiety; a look he was becoming a little too accustomed to.

He was quiet for a long minute; thinking.

"Blaine," Kurt's tone was tense; nervous. He reached out and wrapped a hand around Blaine's arm.

Blaine pulled his arm out from under his pillow and found Kurt's hand. He ghosted his fingers over the soft skin of his palm, "I'm 'an especially unique case'."

Kurt was still beside him, "…what does that mean?"

"It means I'm as special as I've always been," Blaine traced the smooth surface of Kurt's fingernails beneath the pads of his fingertips, "It also means my doctors don't know what the hell is going on with the stuff creeping around in my head."

Kurt's fingers trembled just a little beneath Blaine's, "Is the treatment working?"

Blaine stilled Kurt's fingers between his, "It's killing cancer cells."

"But?"

Blaine was quiet for another minute, "My feet keep falling asleep."

Kurt felt Blaine's fingers tighten around his, "Why?"

"That's the part they don't know," Blaine rubbed his thumb absently against the underside of Kurt's fingers, "Everything that's great about our brains being complicated turns kind of shitty when there's stuff growing in there that shouldn't be."

"Growing." Kurt echoed hollowly.

"I didn't mean to say—" Blaine cut himself off; his fingers stilled against Kurt's.

"But that's what's happening, isn't it? The chemo's killing stuff, but there's more." Kurt's voice was a practiced calm.

"They're good doctors," Blaine spoke quietly, "And the chemo's not not working per say… they want to be more aggressive with it."

"Isn't that what they did this summer?" Kurt's voice wavered, "How much more aggressive can they get?"

Blaine slid in so close his forehead bumped Kurt's, "I'll be fine. They know what they're doing."

"Trip says that—"

"Never listen to a word Trip has to say about anyone in peoples' service industries; he's bitter and biased and hates them all," Blaine smiled and touched a kiss to Kurt's nose.

Kurt pulled his fingers out of Blaine's hold and pushed himself up. When Blaine sat up beside him, he turned to search his face. Before Blaine could say anything, Kurt threw his arms around him and hugged him a little too hard.

"Kurt," Blaine returned the embrace more gently, "Hey, it's okay; this is just part of what they do, they mess around with drugs and stuff until they figure out what works. It's not that unusual."

"Says the especially unique brain cancer patient." Kurt whispered into Blaine's shoulder.

Blaine pushed at Kurt's shoulders until he could make out his face in the pale light coming in through the window, "Listen to me; it was a frustrating appointment and a bad day. I didn't feel good, my parents got into a fight, my grandma called me, and then the news at the appointment was neutral—not good, not bad—I wouldn't have mentioned this as casual pillow talk if I thought it was something worth fretting over, okay?"

Kurt was quiet.

"Kurt, come on," Blaine pulled Kurt back into a hug, "It's alright."

"Do you promise?" Kurt's voice shook.

Blaine didn't hesitate, "Yes."

Kurt remained still in Blaine's embrace for a long minute before nodding his head, "Okay."

"Okay." Blaine echoed. He let go of Kurt and slid back down in the bed, "Come here; I'll play big spoon tonight."

Kurt took in a calming breath as he settled down under the covers and forced his tone to be light, "You think you can handle big spoon?"

"Of course I can," Blaine snuggled in behind Kurt and wrapped an arm around him.

Kurt shifted a little until he was comfortable and laced his fingers between Blaine's, "I think I like Little Spoon; kind of a cushy job."

"Do not mock Little Spoon," Blaine squeezed Kurt's hand, "It's a big responsibility."

"Little Spoon's job is to get cuddled." Kurt retorted. He felt lighter already, the previous conversation melting into the recesses of his mind as his body relaxed into the warm shape of Blaine behind him.

"On the contrary, Little Spoon is responsible for being so irresistibly cuddly that Big Spoon wants to remain Big Spoon," Blaine kissed the top of Kurt's head, "And you're doing a great job, I might add."

Kurt's words were slurred with a yawn, "Mm, I'm adding letting me be Little Spoon to our list of things to do more often."

Blaine echoed Kurt's yawn; his voice already laced with sleep, "Won' figh' you on tha'one."

Kurt nuzzled in a little closer to Blaine and listened to the sound of his breathing until the slow rhythm lulled him to sleep.

Kurt was staring down at him, and for a moment, Blaine was sure he must have fallen asleep on the couch in the new apartment in Columbus, though he couldn't remember when. But there was something wrong with this picture; something out of place.

The smell, the stiffness of a pressed suit against his skin, and… was Kurt crying? Blaine tried to reach a hand up to touch his cheek and offer some comfort. But nothing happened. His hand remained folded over the other one on his chest and his mouth was unmoving. He panicked—the smell was overwhelming and a sudden claustrophobia came over him when he couldn't turn his head from side to side.

Kurt seemed unaware of his plight. He kept crying; a few wet tears falling down onto Blaine's face and burning against the cold skin of his cheek. He was speaking, but Blaine could barely hear it— it had the echoed, distorted quality of sound underwater. He strained his ears to make out the words.

"I miss you. I'm going to miss you everyday."

But I'm right here. It was what he wanted to say, but his mouth still refused to work.

And then Kurt wasn't alone. A bigger figure with dry, solemn eyes was beside him, his arm weaving around Kurt's middle. David Karofsky, Blaine realized with a pang. Kurt turned his face into David's chest and cried in earnest.

Kurt, I'm here! I'm right here! His head screamed it; everything in him willed it to be voiced.

But David was leading Kurt away and out of sight.

Trip was next, leaned on the edge of—of what? Blaine could just barely make out soft silk and mahogany on either side of him, but he didn't have time to ponder over it. Trip was talking and he had to strain to understand.

Trip's expression was blank; solemn, "What was the point, Anderson?"

Blaine wanted to cry, but, of course, he couldn't. Trip was gone and Blaine was left to stare up at the ceiling… he knew that ceiling. He'd recognize those dark beams of wood anywhere; he'd spent countless Sundays as a child counting them during sermons to pass the time. It was his grandmother's church.

Things suddenly began to make too much sense. His suit; his stiff limbs; the smell…. He recognized that, too, but not from church. He knew that smell from bio labs in high school—dissecting frogs and fetal pigs at the lab tables while resisting the urge to gag.

Dead. He was dead.

But he wasn't; he couldn't be—he could still think and feel and see, but he couldn't tell anyone; warn them it was a mistake. And now the lid on his coffin was closing; the rafters of the church disappearing from sight, the air drawing closer; the darkness growing heavier.

He tried again to cry out, but it was too late; the lid was closed.

And now the reality of it was setting in because suddenly everything hurt. It hurt more than anything he'd ever felt. His bones snapping; skin tearing; muscles being shredded apart. Over and over and it fucking hurt. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt.

He let out one last desperate scream and he felt a shock of pain in his head and he was falling.

He wasn't sure what woke him up—his head smacking the corner of the nightstand, or his body hitting the floor in a tangle of sweat dampened sheets. He struggled in the knot of fabric, sobbing and gasping for air.

Someone was holding onto him tight; too tight. He struggled hard, but the arms didn't move, "Blaine! Shhh, Blaine, you had a bad dream; hey, look at me."

Blaine blinked and stared hard at the face beside his in the dark, "Kurt?"

"That's right," Kurt stroked a hand up and down his arm, "You slept at my place, remember? You fell out of the bed."

"It was a dream," Blaine tried to swallow down his terror; take deep breaths in through his nose, but the smell was still trapped there. Stale air and chemicals and death. He shoved hard out of Kurt's arms and tried to get to his feet, only to stumble and end up back on his knees. He grabbed a hold of the nightstand and lurched himself back upright.

"Blaine," Kurt was right beside him again, "Blaine, what's wrong?"

"I'm going to be—" Blaine tried to swallow down the bile already burning its way up his throat.

Kurt caught a hold of his arm and half dragged him to the bathroom.

He'd barely deposited Blaine on the floor in front of the toilet and turned on the light before Blaine was choking and gagging, but nothing came up. He dry heaved and gulped in too much air.

"Shh, you've got yourself all worked up," Kurt touched a cold washcloth to the back of his neck.

Trip appeared in the open bathroom door, blinking against the light, "What happened?"

"Nightmare," Kurt murmured, a hand still stroking up and down Blaine's back, "Just a nightmare."

Blaine focused on his breathing until he felt the nausea in his stomach ebb and his head quiet apart from a dull ache. He sat back against the wall; his hands still shaking.

He flinched when Kurt's fingers ghosted over the side of his head, "You hit your head on the nightstand."

Blaine nodded mutely.

"Your mother is never going to let you sleep over again," Kurt sighed; brushing his thumb over a tender spot on Blaine's scalp, "What's with you and your sudden affinity for hitting your head?"

Blaine opened his mouth to respond with something equally light or funny, but he couldn't think of anything to say.

"Come here," Kurt slid an arm behind Blaine's back and pulled him closer.

Blaine didn't resist. He turned his too hot forehead into Kurt's neck and focused on the smell of laundry detergent coming off the soft cotton of Kurt's undershirt. He stared down at the white tile of the floor and tried to settle himself. Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream…

Trip's knees suddenly obscured his view of the floor. He held out a glass of water; his expression solemn, "Drink it. You'll feel better."

Blaine took the glass, intending to only take a sip for the sake of being polite, but as soon as the first cool wave of it hit his throat, he realized how dry his mouth was; how much his body craved more. He swallowed down the whole glass, feeling decidedly better when he handed the cup back to Trip.

"It helps, right?" Trip smiled faintly.

Blaine nodded; relaxed against Kurt's shoulder, "Thank you."

The three sat in silence for a long minute.

Trip shifted off of his heels and sat down on the floor, "You s'pose David heard and is just too scared to come see what we're up to?"

"David sleeps like a rock; his alarm goes off for ten minutes before he reacts most mornings," Kurt rolled his eyes. He leaned in close and kissed Blaine's forehead, "You're really warm."

"Tylenol wore off," Blaine muttered.

"I have a bottle of it in my room. Do you want to come back to bed or do you need a minute?" Kurt pulled away from Blaine slowly.

Blaine wiggled his toes briefly, "I think I should sit here for a bit before I go back in."

Kurt nodded, "I'll go grab the Tylenol and bring it in here. Do you have any of those nausea pills with you?"

"Yeah, but I don't need one. I'm fine, I just…" Blaine paused; shook his head, "You were right; I got too worked up is all."

Kurt nodded and got to his feet, "I'll bring the Tylenol in."

Blaine drew his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on them. He looked toward the open bathroom door and then back at Trip, "If I ask you a question, can you just answer it and then drop it?"

"You've never extended that particular service to me when I ask you things, but sure; shoot." Trip shrugged; still blinking at the brightness of the lights.

"What do they use to embalm bodies?"

Trip studied Blaine's face for a moment before answering, "Probably formaldehyde and some other stuff. Your guess is as good as mine."

Blaine nodded absently. He traced his hand over the side of his head until he found the raised bump. He moved his fingers over the spot gently and tried to get a feel for how big it was.

"It's not noticeable." Trip watched Blaine's hand work over the spot.

Blaine dropped his hand back to his lap and nodded, "Good."

Trip glanced down at Blaine's feet, "Are they giving you trouble again?"

"Just the one; I might have just been sleeping on it funny," Blaine tapped his heel against the floor.

Trip nodded, but he looked unconvinced, "Can you walk on it?"

"I don't know," Blaine shrugged, "It just feels like it's asleep."

"What's asleep?" Kurt returned with a fresh glass of water and the promised bottle of pills.

"My foot." Blaine opened his palm for Kurt to shake out the pills.

Kurt's face was immediately anxious, "It is?"

"It was," Blaine shrugged. He cupped his hand over his mouth and swallowed down the pills. He bent his knee and pushed weight down on his foot experimentally, "I think it's fine now."

All three fell silent.

Trip yawned and stretched his arms above his head, "If the show's over, I'm gonna go back to sleep."

"We should head back to bed, too," Blaine pressed his thumbs into the small of his back and stretched until it made a faint popping noise.

"You're feeling okay enough to go?" Kurt hovered close when Blaine pushed himself to his feet.

"Yeah; I'm fine," Blaine smiled, "Besides, your room is like twenty feet from where we're standing."

Kurt nodded, but he watched Blaine's every step until they were back in his bedroom. He voiced a quiet goodnight to Trip before slipping into bed beside Blaine,

"Roll over."

"What? Why?" Blaine squinted into the renewed dark toward Kurt's silhouette.

"I get to be Big Spoon right now." Kurt pushed at Blaine's shoulder until he complied and rolled onto his side, "And I'd rather have you on the side of the bed that doesn't have a nightstand."

Blaine laughed hollowly, "You should get me a guard rail."

Kurt squeezed Blaine's hand in a silent response.

They lay in silence; neither one asleep.

"Are you going to tell me what the dream was about?" Kurt spoke quietly.

Blaine shivered, "I'd rather not talk about it."

Kurt slid in closer to Blaine, "Try to sleep. If you have another bad dream, I'm right here."

"Don't have to tell me twice," Blaine mumbled; his eyes already tired despite the quiet edge of anxiety still tugging at the corners of his mind.

"Blaine?" Kurt whispered.

"Mm?"

"Like you for always."

"Love you…" Blaine mumbled; already asleep again.

Kurt lay awake. He watched the cold white light of the moon shift across the bed and gradually melt to the dusky orange of dawn. Blaine had remained still for hours; the quiet rise and fall of his chest soothing to Kurt's nerves, but never lulling him fully back to sleep. He whispered into the back of Blaine's neck, "You're not very good at keeping secrets."

Blaine mumbled something in his sleep and shifted in closer to Kurt.

Kurt's eyes drifted up the tanned skin of Blaine's neck to the back of his head. The spot of hair Blaine had fretted over a few weeks before had fallen out and left a spot that looked like a lopsided heart just as Kurt had predicted. Kurt touched a kiss to the spot gently, "You're scared, too."