They're late so the room is already set up, a circle of chairs in the middle of the room; filled with kids who from what Blaine can tell, all have a certain level of disability.

“You didn't tell me this was a support meeting,” He hisses at Artie as they move closer to the group.

“Where else am I going to meet a group of disabled people?” Artie replies, rolling his eyes and his wheelchair forward, “the metal of my wheelchair doesn't like attract them or anything.”

“I didn't mean…” Blaine backtracks, flushing. He can feel the heated gaze of new eyes on his skin and it doesn't feel the fresh heat of an audience.

“I know man,” Artie slaps his side and pushes him into the circle, “You don't have to reveal your deepest secrets or anything, just listen.”

He nods and takes a seat, following the gazes of these new faces, there's seven of them, not including him or Artie and most are visibly disabled. A bald Chinese man with glasses rolls up in a wheelchair next to Blaine and nods kindly. His hands look rough with blisters and cuts from wheeling around all day. His hands and face are patched with white and it's not something that Blaine's ever seen before.

“Vitiligo,” he says before Blaine can open his mouth, his voice is reedy and peaceful, “Not as uncommon as you think. Now, let's begin shall we?”

The group nods and claps, Blaine joins in, embarrassed. He can't stop staring. All these people his mother used to tell him not to stare at on the street and now he is one of them. It doesn't feel as bad as he thought.

“I'm Lee,” The man beside him begins, “Most of you know me I think, except this young man right here,” he turns and looks at Blaine, his mouth is soft and kind, almost childlike.

“I'm Blaine,” he replies softly, hoping it is enough.

“He's a friend of mine from school,” Artie explains.

“Well Blaine,” Lee continues, “We tend to go with a butt in when you want to speak type situation but if everyone today could introduce themselves to Blaine before the roll right on that would be super helpful. Alright?” He claps his hands together again, they make a strong drumlike sound and Blaine begins to think about the power of it. Lee cannot use his legs yet the strength of his arms is beyond that of most athletes. Why? Because he has to use them more. Perhaps, Blaine can find some strength somewhere else.

“My parents let me join the golf club,” a lanky teenage boy, in a wheelchair across the room, starts; he grins as Lee coughs his attention, “Sorry, I'm Kai born and raised in this fine automobile. Legs crushed on my way out, you know how it is? Life's a bitch.”

“Kai,” Lee starts, but there is a warmth in his warning.

“Right on. Life's an unpleasant fellow,” Kai tries again, in a ridiculous British accent, tipping his baseball cap and winking in Blaine's direction, “Anyways. Yeah, I'm in, so I can finally thrash those sweater wearing self-righteous young gentlemen,” he winks again, “Progress, as they say.”

“Progress makes time tick on,” Lee reminds him, and they share a smirk which brings a warm stutter to Blaine's chest that only loneliness in presence of great understanding can bring.

“Right on, Lee,” Kai raises a fist and kisses it, “Oh yeah, before I forget, Ada you promised you'd speak this week. I did not give that cookie out of generosity.”

“Kai, come on, I have nothing to say,” a quiet voice comes from the corner. It is a waif of a girl, knees pulled up tight to her chest, trainers wedged under the arms of the seat.

“That wedge of a diary says otherwise, you're up at bat,” Kai says, almost harshly, but there is a sweetness to his tone.

“I'm Ada,” the girl starts, almost sarcastically, pointing her tongue out across the circle, “I'm eighteen years old, I should be dancing with the American Ballet but instead I'm stuck in this arse of a place.”

“Why do you consider this place to be so terrible?” Lee interrupts.

Blaine watches as she curls deeper into herself, her feet and hands twitching. Her thin arms settle over her knees.

“I should be on stage, I shouldn't have to open my mouth for everyone to understand, I used to have that,” he voice cuts deeper across the room.

Blaine can't help but think of NYADA and the wavering movement of his new self as he passes the mirror each morning, how singing makes the blood rise to his skin but the moment he catches a glance in the mirror it sinks again.

“I used to have that. I used to move like love was in my body reaching to get out and now,” She sighs and rests her head against her knees, “I used to be proud of the mess of my feet. I used to be proud when they came out bleeding, when they hurt so bad I couldn't walk upstairs to my bedroom. It meant I was working hard. But now, I can't feel my toes anymore, I'm a wobbling clown.”

Blaine's eyes pulse, attempting to break the wave of understanding over his eyelashes and down his cheek; but he cannot cry when he is in a room of survivors.

“I still think you can dance,” Another voice starts. It's a small African-American kid, with big hair and big black glasses on, a cane rests next to his chair, “I can still play piano and I can't see the keys. I just started using my hands more. Can't feel your feet, start using something else more.”

“It doesn't work like that,” Ada mutters, “I'm never going to be a classical dancer.”

“Why be classical when you can be unique,” The boy answers shrugging. She doesn't answer only buries further into her arms, “Anyway, I'm Davey, blind as a bat; they call me Davey Wonder because I can jam like Stevie.”

“How do you begin to learn again, something you thought you knew?” Blaine surprises even himself by asking. The room turns to look at him, “Sorry,” he takes a gulp of air, feeling for his waist so he can hold himself in the right place, “Blaine, 18, shark attack in Hawaii, a month ago.”

The room takes in a breath.

“Holy crapsticks, man.”

“Kai.”

“Seriously, Lee, did you know that? Because holy crap on a crapdog.”

“Kai, let him ask the question.”

The room breathes out.

“So, how do you begin when you thought you knew something inside out?” Blaine asks again, fixing his gaze on Davey, who he knows cannot see him. There is a little comfort in that.

“All that bull about learning to ride a bike?” Davey begins, twisting towards Blaine, so he can see how his fingers tap against the arm of his chair, constantly in motion, constantly remembering something, “Yeah, anything and everything can be forgotten. You just got to let your body figure it out. Stop fighting it because you think it's wrong and feel. Okay?”

“Okay,” Blaine replies, he shifts in his chair, letting his arm dangle. Somehow he still fits together, nothing else falls apart.

“Anything else you want to ask, because some people have really dealt with these things for a long time,” Lee tells him.

There is something else. Something he is desperate to know; how his life is awash with Kurt but he doesn't know how to do it anymore, he doesn't know if it is possible.

“I think I lost my boyfriend,” He starts, waveringly. He feels Artie shift beside him but not say anything.


“Can you expand on that?” Lee prompts him, “You say, you think?”

“I don't feel like he can love me anymore,” he says out loud for the first time.

“Is he being a dick?” Another voice enters. She is two chairs away from him so he has to turn to face her. She is gorgeous, her tan face etched with scars and like him one arm missing. He can feel a lump in his throat, “because he's not worth that.”

“Actually he's being lovely, almost too lovely,” he explains.

“Alright, gotcha, guilty conscious,” She shrugs and sits back in her chair, “You still love him?”

“Of course.”

“He still love you?”

“Yes,” he tries to start again, tries to explains but instead he huffs out, “But it's complicated.”

“It isn't love if it isn't, sweetcheeks, and it's certainly isn't worth it if it isn't,” She watches him, twirling a piece of hair between her fingers absentmindedly, “The love is there, the rest will fall into place, I promise.”

“How do you know?” He asks quietly, embarrassed at the childlikeness of his voice.

“See this?” She points at her scars, he nods and ducks his head.

“You can look it's alright. Car crash, 3am, both of us off our faces. My boyfriend just stops suddenly. Car up our ass, unbelievable at that time of night right? His airbag works, mine fails. Arm goes through the windshield. Glass everywhere. I mean, that's what I'm told because I don't remember a damn thing.”

She pauses for a moment, watching the memories pass across Blaine face like dust. There is so much familiarity in her words.

“And of course he blames himself. I mean he calls the cops and they take him into custody. Of course I don't press charges. I mean we were both stupid but he was so sweet and kind and lovely those first few months because he felt so terrible.

“You know what I told him, when I finally got angry? ‘Shut up and stop it, I want you to love me and hate me again. I want you to piss me off so I can tell you you're stupid and kiss you until we don't remember why. I want to feel unbreakable again.'”

“And I'm telling you,” She looks Blaine directly in the eye and winks, “That was a hell of an evening.”

***

After the session there are drinks and snacks like a tea party. Blaine can feel the thrum of his own blood against his skin.

“Is your phone off, man?” Artie asks, his phone in hand.

“Yeah,” he admits. He hadn't wanted to hear from his mother, or anyone else really.

“It's Kurt,” Artie hands him the phone and Blaine almost drops it scrambling for it.

“Hi,” His breathes out.

“Listen, Blaine, I know you don't want to talk,” Kurt hurries out, he sounds out of breath. It makes Blaine flush.


“I've got to say something, but I don't know how it will come out,” he replies, almost as quickly. He lowers his voice and finds himself a corner to stand in. He doesn't want anyone else to hear this.

“Okay,” Kurt says.

“I want to feel like I'm unbreakable again,” He says slowly, choosing his words carefully. His face reddens even without an audience, “Invincible. Like we were at the beginning. That's what our love used to feel like remember. I want to feel that again. That invincibility that let you walk back on that stage at prom. That invincibility that let me jump into that slushie. That invincibility that made us brave enough to love each other despite everything. That's what I want, and I don't care if we hurt each other because we will and we'll cry and break and then we'll put each other back together.”

He pauses and waits for Kurt's reply, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Blaine,” Kurt starts, his voice is strong but there is a quiver of energy beneath it like he too can't bear to breathe just yet, “I'm outside. I'm outside the hall and I'd like if you could come outside.”

“Okay.”

“I want to come to your house.”

He just breathes down the phone for a second and then rushes back to Artie, almost dumping his phone in his lap. He scrambles out a goodbye and then hurries down the stairs. He almost trips at first but by the third floor his legs feel strong again, as the heat of something real bursting at his skin rushes through him.

Kurt is there, in the sun light, still and waiting; turning to face him but this time he is on the stairs and Kurt is there, all around him.

“Hi.”

A harsh kiss is pressed against his lips, suddenly and invincibly and he has to push back so he doesn't fall over.

“No stopping,” Blaine hisses out and they reach for a breath together.

“Not unless you want to,” Kurt smiles reaching for another kiss.

“I've got you,” is the reply and they are winding together, tripping towards Kurt's car. The heat of fingers pressing together is enough, for now. That and the little smile right on the corner of Kurt's mouth that is just his.