Kurt goes home, feigning illness and spirals himself into his bed, biting sobs into his pillow. It wasn't meant to be like this. It was supposed to be about retribution, standing up and showing everyone that everything is still possible. But Blaine won't even talk to him, keeping secret, destroying himself from the inside. And he doesn't know how to make it better.

He's woken by a phone ringing and he scrambles for it hoping it is Blaine.

“Hey,” the tired voice at the other end says, it's Sam. Unexpected Sam.

“Hi,” he replies.

“How's Blaine?” the phone asks.

“I don't know.”

There is a pause.

“Okay, how are you?” it tries instead.

“I don't know if that question is easier to answer.”
Downstairs he can hear rough laughter and kicking metal.

“Are you outside, Sam?” He asks.

“Come downstairs,” is the reply. And now it is much clearer, faint harsh whispers and shuffling feet. How many of them are there down there? Who could possibly want to come to his house on Graduation Night?

Instead of arguing he throws on a sweater and a pair of loose shorts, it's a cool summer night but he's not planning on staying out long. Just long enough to work out what the hell is going on.

He locks the door on the way out, grabbing his wallet, phone and keys before leaving. Sat on the grass outside his house are New Directions. The girls sitting in the grass, in short summer dresses made for parties and not late night interventions. The boys in dress shirts and shorts, holding cans of beer. Puck is sat in a deck chair he obviously stole from somewhere.

They all stare at him.

“Care to explain?” he asks, crossing his arms. His knees feel exposed and his hair is a mess and he wishes he'd just stayed upstairs.

“The Anti-Graduation,” Puck exclaims from his deck chair, his arms wide, a beer in both hands, “the standard party isn't cool for anyone, so we want to hang with our main guys.”

“Blaine isn't here,” he huffs, tugging his arms closer.

“Which is surprising, because now would be the time to get action am I right?” Puck winks. The others shuffle and smile.

“Look we just want to be here for you and maybe distract you a little bit.” Mercedes says, sweetly from where she is leaning back against Tina's chest, “You could use a little fun.”

“Where's Artie?” he asks, distracted by working out who's missing.

“He may or may not be picking up Blaine,” Mike admits.

“Look he just wants to be alone…” Kurt starts.

“Nope,” Puck starts, standing and hooking an arm through Kurt's nodding to Mercedes to do the same the other side. He sinks his heels into the dirt, but summer has turned the lawn to dust and they drag him forwards.

“Where are we going?” he asks, giving in. There's not much more he hates than being unprepared for something. He likes his details sorted in a row. But here he is in a lounge sweater and an old pair of shorts that might well have been Finn's at some point and his old rafting pumps from their family trips; and he can't seem to find the energy to stay put.

“You'll see,” Is the only reply.

****

“Look Artie, I said yes for another time, to meet your friends,” Blaine starts, staring out into the summer night behind Artie's head, the way the soft moon is echoing a ghostliness around his neighbourhood. The stone steps are still a little warm underfoot and the evening humidity is sweating the cotton of his tank top to his chest, “I'm not going out tonight, I'm tired.”

“You won't regret it,” Artie tells him, from where he is parked at the bottom of the steps, he had thrown stones at the door to get him to open it and then chastised him on his house's lack of disability awareness.

And then he is rolling forward to knock at the step again.

“You've just had a terrible day and I know you're parents aren't in, because their, what I imagine to be particularly enormous, car isn't here. So what makes you think being alone is a good idea? Here's the deal. I'm not leaving. You can either invite me in and deal with the consequences of your horrendous doorway, we can hang out here on the pavement, or you can join me and have a little bit of fun.”

“Artie, I'm really not in the mood,” Blaine starts, despite the fact that as Artie knows, he feels incredibly guilty about his steps and the obnoxious whiteness that is his house and the general unsmiling nature of the neighbourhood. He feels like it is him who has made Artie uncomfortable.

“Well tough titties,” Artie winks, knowing he's caught him, “Because I'm not really in the mood to being hanging around here and since I can't join you…” He wheels around so he's facing the gate and then looks over his shoulder, “You coming?”

“I'm in my underwear,” he replies, looking down at his bare feet and skinny knees.

“Well…” Artie rolls his eyes, “We haven't got all night, go grab something.”

Blaine nods dumbly and scurries back in through the door, leaving it open out of some sort of
politeness to Artie.

“Hurry up, batman!” he hears calling after him. Oh yeah, that's right, the only boxers he had left were the joke ones Sam bought him for his birthday, at least he thought they were a joke. Good thing his neighbours don't enjoy human interaction.

The all night mini putt putt golf place is closer to Blaine's house so they all arrive at about the same time. The girl at the counter gives them a bored look but passes over enough clubs and balls for everyone.

“Guys I literally have one arm,” Blaine calls out at someone tries to pass several to him at once, “Cut me some slack, what is going on?”

“We're playing mini golf duh?” Someone answers, he thinks it might be Santana, “Alright little bitches I'm gonna whoop your asses!” Yeah that's definitely Santana.

“Did you really think this through…” Someone else starts, and yes that's Kurt. Kurt who he didn't want to be with, Kurt who he thought if he could just avoid him everything would be ok, “I mean golf is a two handed game.”

“Yeah, but Blaine hates golf,” Sam replies over his head.

It's true, he supposes, golf was always something he associated with his Dad and his big friends with their big suits and their big jobs; who wore sweaters on hot days and called him Sport. Yes, he hates golf with a passion, he hates the rules, he hates how beautiful grassland has been destroyed to create these too green places.

“I don't get it,” Kurt replies.

“I do,” he finds himself saying, “I don't have to play. I really don't have to play ever again; but I can still count the numbers you guys can still have fun..”

“Blaine, that's silly, this whole evening is silly and rude and…”

“Kurt,” he stops. They both stop. It seems that everyone has stopped. He can see Kurt clearly now, the flop of hair he only gets before bedtime, how he's wearing shorts and his pale legs and glinting in the moonlight. His face is a picture of beautiful worry, “There is a lot of stuff I can't control about this but like Sam says; if we'd come here before I wouldn't have played. I can still choose not to play.”

“And you're choosing…?”

“I'm choosing to be here.” He surprises himself, “I'm choosing to not leave you all on the doorstep.” He looks at Artie then and watches as he pumps his fist into the air.

“Y'all are going to be watching my dust,” Artie shouts back grinning and wheeling towards the first round, “I'm so damn good at this.”

****
It turns out half of them aren't playing, including Tina, Quinn and, surprisingly, Sam. They find a patch together under a tree and watch the mayhem. The last cans of beer are warming in the heat, but Sam slugs them back anyway.

“You can play you know,” Blaine tells him, when Sam squeezes the can into his fist and chucks it at the bin, missing it.

“I kind of planned this so we could chat,” Sam admits, not looking at him. He looks at the girls instead who have moved to another tree to leave them in peace it seems.

“Master plan to get me alone huh?” Blaine continues. He's a little startled; Sam's ignored him for weeks and now they're back to the same old little midnight meetings, like back earlier in the year, with both their families missing.

They had something the same then, and Blaine's not sure if having something the same is enough to counter balance the something so different.

“I know I've not been the best friend I said I would be,” Sam replies, leaning back so his head knocks against the tree trunk, “I've been terrible I know.”

“Not terrible, just not…” Blaine starts.

“There. I know,” Sam butts in. There's a cheer in the distance, Blaine thinks it might be Kurt. He hopes it is, he hopes Kurt's winning at something.

“But we're bros right?” Sam continues.

“Yeah, we're bros,” He's not watching anything except the roundness of the moon, how he remembers seeing it that night, the night before everything went wrong. Just the two of them calling out across the bay. The same moon as it was then.

“So you doing okay?”

“Yeah I'm okay,” is the only response he can think to give.

“It was kind of weird you weren't at Kurt's is all.”

“Yeah, well,” Blaine takes a gulp of air and glances over to where Tina and Quinn are giggling together, plaiting each other's hair and taking small sips of beer, “We needed some time apart.”

“Nah man, you guys, you're a part of each other,” Sam tells him, closing his eyes and resting against the wood behind him, “You're never apart from each other.”

They pause to listen to the muffled shouts of the ongoing game, and the ruffling wind in the grass, creeping like the sunlight above the trees. Morning is coming and it cannot be stopped. The pinkish hue warps the skyline and the desperate moon is disappearing. The grass is damp beneath their legs.

“I'm scared,” Blaine admits finally.

“Me too, man,” Sam replies, “Me too.”