"Kurt! Kurt!" 

Kurt spun lazily on his heel, the sole of his black boot squeaking against the linoleum floor. His eyes blurred against faces and backpacks and left-open lockers. The voice seemed familiar, but he couldn't place it. His stomach felt empty. His heart felt emptier.

"Hey, Kurt; you weren't at the coffee shop this morning."

Oh. Blaine.

Memories seemed to rush at Kurt from all directions. A lazy Sunday spent at Blaine's house, legs thrown messily across his lap, laughing at a rom-com movie with a disappointing plotline. Tiptoeing through department stores and watching Blaine dive head-first into a double bed. Hiding the second half of a three-bean wrap at the bottom of his designer bag while Blaine dropped his wrapper in the bin. Dreaming about stroking a long, pale finger up the long, thin neck of the boy that stood before him.

Kurt shivered at the thought. "I'm sorry. I woke up late this morning and I forgot to text you."

"Hey, no problem. I got you a coffee, anyway."

The coffee made Kurt's eyes water, and he imagined it was in a good way. Blaine smiled, so endearingly, so lovingly, that Kurt couldn't imagine having to endure a morning without being greeted by that wonderful smile.

Gripping the lukewarm paper cup with two hands, the fingers from both hands overlapping clumsily, Kurt smiled back. "You're too kind."

"No, it's nothing. Well, nothing short of a favour," Blaine grinned.

Kurt seemed to nose-dive back into reality. Normality. If Kurt had ever felt sane, it was when Blaine was looking at him with those eyes.

"Oh, do elaborate Mr. Anderson."

Blaine pushed a hand up against Kurt's back, and it took Kurt all the strength he could muster not to break down and cry. The numb, wide-eyed sensation seeped through the whole of Kurt's body, and he allowed himself to forget to breathe for a moment. Just a moment, because all too soon Kurt's body was surging forwards, and the hand against his back had curled into a fist and was nudging him down the corridor and towards calculus.

Kurt smiled and cleared his throat. "Don't keep me in suspense, Blaine. I didn't think you could act so cruel." 

Though Blaine didn't answer, Kurt could hear his smile. It sung like a dream, a beautiful piece of music that dripped warmth into the very bones of mankind. Once again, Kurt felt the warmth that escaped him in every waking moment of solitude; a warmth he'd only ever felt in the arms of his mother, or the gentle clasp of his father's hand, or on the odd occasion, in the reassuring smiles of Mr Schuester or any of his fellow Glee club members.

Blaine, he realised, also supplied him with something more. He gave him heat. And Kurt could feel that heat pooling underneath his stomach.

Eventually the sturdy support of the hand on Kurt's back slipped away, and Kurt stilled and leant against the wall outside the classroom. Blaine slid into view, head bent to meet Kurt's downcast eye. 

"Hey," he whispered. "You know, there's a low-fat cheesecake in my fridge that's much too big for a little thing like me to encounter by myself."

"Is that your favour? For me to eat your cheesecake for you?"

Blaine paused and Kurt felt his head swim. Cheesecake? Oh no. "I would so terribly appreciate it if you could help me win the battle. You know cheesecake is my one and only enemy."

"It's a delicious enemy, I'll give you that."

"What, no height jokes today? I set you up for some good ones." Blaine nudged Kurt again.

Kurt smiled blankly. "Hey, I didn't want to undermine you anymore than you've had to endure today. I mean, come on, you're too small to eat a cheesecake by yourself? What, you need me to hold your hand while you slay the calorific beast?"

Blaine giggled. "Hey, stop that!"

"You stop," Kurt countered, rather glumly, though his smile never faltered. Cheesecake was probably the last thing Kurt wanted to eat; Kurt felt nauseous just thinking about it. Blaine failed to notice, however, and turned to another student, a smile tickling his lips.

In the absense of social interaction, Kurt observed. He saw a lot; most of which he was adamant he couldn't care less about. But no matter where he looked, Kurt's eyes seemed to always ghost back to Blaine's miniscule figure.

The way his shirt was tucked so neatly into his jeans. The way his suspenders hung loose, as if he hadn't remembered to tighten them while he was dressing that morning. The tan on the back of his neck. The way his hair fell in natural curls at the nape of his neck, as compared to the gelled, compact hair that covered the rest of his head. The way he smiled so genuinely, like none of life's hardships had affected him ever; Blaine was happy, Kurt realised. 

And Kurt knew he loved him, and he knew exactly how. 

He reached out gingerly to fix the gaping suspenders, pulling them taut, revelling in the way that Blaine didn't react to his touch. Almost as if he wasn't there. He refrained from stroking his palms down Blaine's shoulderblades, hitching in stolen breaths, trying his hardest to stay silent despite being swallowed up by the surging crowd. The bell rang, and Blaine turned to catch Kurt's eye. 

"So, tonight, at my place? You can walk me home, if it's still nice out."

That evening, as Kurt dutifully walked Blaine home, Kurt smiled to himself.

"Blaine?"

"Hm?" 

They walked in a comfortable silence. Their hands swung in synchronisation, always milliseconds from brushing. 

"I love you."

Blaine stopped. Kurt kept walking. After a few fumbled seconds, during which Kurt noticed he was alone, Blaine had started to panic. Kurt turned, and saw the fear, the horror swimming in Blaine's expression, and Kurt couldn't. He just couldn't. He started walking again, this time at twice the pace as before. Blaine called for him to stop but Kurt kept walking, because he knew that if he stopped again to explain, that meant looking into Blaine's big eyes. Kurt couldn't do that without realising how Blaine didn't reciprocate Kurt's rash, overwhelming emotions, because Kurt knew that would be what he'd see, and then he would cry, and Kurt really didn't want Blaine to see him cry because that was the only thing Kurt had over Blaine and he just couldn't ruin what already teetered on a very thin ledge.

Suddenly, Kurt was collapsing, in on himself, down on the floor; the ground was reaching up to caress his face, wipe his running nose, soothe his stinging eyes. He was sobbing, screaming, searching the cold air and rough tarmac for a hand to hold, a shirt to cling to, a lifeline of some sort because Kurt was no longer living. He was merely existing amongst the pain and turmoil and hatred that occupied his weary brain and his lonely heart and his goddamn broken body.

"I'm so sorry," he whimpered. He wasn't sure who or what he was talking to.

Moments passed where Kurt screamed at the ground, but then Blaine was there, kneeling beside him, with his gentle little hands and his minty breath and his pretty voice strained against his own unshed tears.

"Please Kurt, please don't cry, oh god Kurt, Kurt please don't do this, I mean I really like you, really, I do, please just stop crying, okay? Please Kurt, please."

They lay there together, on the path outside a two-storey house that Blaine had never noticed before, with a red car in the driveway that looked so dirty and damaged Blaine wondered why they didn't sell it for scrap. And that's when he realised that it was because the car wasn't broken at all, despite first appearances. 

Kurt was the reverse. He was so beautiful, so lovely, and on his first day, Blaine had felt a tug in his chest, his head, his groin. He knew Kurt was something new and something different. Blaine wanted to be his friend before he had even seen him truly smile. 

But first appearances aren't everything. Because beautiful, lovely, smiling boys don't break down crying on the pathway outside unknown houses and scream unprofessed loves in order to break a comfortable silence. 

Kurt lifted his head from the ground and buried it into Blaine's chest. Despite his small frame, Blaine's chest was sturdy, and he was strong enough to cradle Kurt comfortably, tightly holding the poor boy.  

"I love you I love you I love you I love you-"

"Kurt, please-"

"I love you, just I love you so much, oh god I love you-"

"Kurt, I can call your dad if you want..."

"I love you, Blaine, and I love cheesecake and sleepovers and movies with you."

"Kurt, just talk to me. Please. We can have cheesecake and talk."

Kurt's eyes were closed as he whimpered, "Okay."

Blaine paused, swallowing back the rapidly accumulating saliva in his mouth. "Okay?"

"Okay." It was such a quiet whisper, and Kurt's mouth barely moved. Blaine wasn't sure whether Kurt was exhausted mentally or physically, or both.

It took Kurt a moment to compose himself, in which time Blaine slowly stood up, straightened his legs, brushed off the dusty shins of his jeans. He held out a hand for Kurt, who entwined their fingers clumsily, hoisting himself from the ground in a tangle of limbs and bags and rumpled clothes.

"I'm sorry," he declared defiantly, though quietly, with his face streaked with tears. 

"It's okay, Kurt. I'm sorry for reacting the way I did. I don't know why I paused like that. I shouldn't have paused."

"It isn't your fault."

"It isn't yours either," Blaine replied gently.

Kurt took a step forward, not meeting Blaine's eye. He'd done it. He'd pulled Blaine into his labyrinth of madness, and he was fairly sure Blaine was now doomed to be as hopelessly lost as himself.

Ten minutes later, seated opposite Blaine in an otherwise empty kitchen, in an otherwise empty house, with three floors and six bedrooms and a spa and mezzanine living area and chandeliers and beautiful antique vases and dark paintings of women in long skirts and men with swords and Kurt felt horribly alone with the weight of Blaine's immense fortune bleeding into his skin.

Blaine looked so concerned, so mentally bruised. Like he wasn't sure whether he'd ever recover from this. Kurt wouldn't, but Kurt was used to picking open old wounds.

"So, do you want to tell me what's going on, Kurt?"

Kurt waited for a moment. He stared into Blaine's eyes, although Blaine couldn't hold eye contact for long. But Kurt stared and stared, trying to drain them of life and energy, in order to absorb a fraction of it for himself.

"I love you," he replied simply. His expression was blank.

Blaine frowned. "But... but Kurt, you've never said anything, never even made any indication that you might feel... feel anything more than platonic towards me."

"I love you, Blaine." He took a deep breath as a signal that he wasn't done talking. Blaine's eyes locked against his, and like a knife twisting into a fresh, deep wound, Kurt exhaled all too quickly.

"I love you because you're the only person that's taken any notice of me, ever, and actually cared about what you've seen. You make me happy, and warm, and you make me feel good. I love you like the best friend I've never been able to have. You're more than a best friend to me. It's like you're the only thing I know. I am lost. All the time, Blaine. It's like I'm walking through fog and I don't know which way is forwards and which way is backwards. Everyday I am lost. But you're like a beacon of light, a... a torch and you blind me, okay yes you blind me. You're just the only thing..." Kurt trailed off. A sparkle had erupted in his eyes, and Blaine couldn't tell whether they were tears or just Kurt being something more than a blank canvas for once. His eyes were just so beautiful and so sad, all at the same time.

"Kurt, I had- no idea." Blaine swallowed thickly. Kurt could hear the wet sound distinctly. It sickened him to the point that Kurt let the saliva build up in his mouth until it pressed against the insides of his tightly closed lips. He felt a cold sweat break out on the skin under his nose. The air was warm in his nostrils. He exhaled slowly.

"I just love you so much, Blaine, but I don't love you how I wish I could."

This time, Blaine didn't falter in his answer, because this wasn't romance, and it wasn't sex. Blaine could cope with that. "In that case, I think I probably lo-love you too."

Kurt shrugged. "I don't want to scare you off, but this... I can't control this. There's this part of me. I don't think. I can't think. I just know what I feel, and sometimes I do things..."

"No." Blaine stood up, walked around the table, and fell to the floor beside Kurt. His knees were going to be riddled with holes, but he didn't care anymore. With a careful hand, he scooped one of Kurt's clammy fists between his warm palms. "You're not allowed to do this; not to me, not to yourself. Don't you dare lie to me, Kurt. I'll know."

"I'm not lying."

"Do you love me? Like, really, really love me?"

Kurt pondered. His head began to pound. He felt like he was floating face-down in a lukewarm swimming pool. "More than anything in the world."

"Then you should know that nothing could scare me away, Kurt. I'm not going anywhere, ever."

"Okay." 

"And despite your reservations about me, and your feelings towards me, I can tell you confidently that you're the best friend I've ever had, and I value you over every boy I've ever met. I really do like you, Kurt, but I'm not that comfortable using that word just yet. Do you understand that?"

"Yes."

"And you understand that I want you to tell me things like this? I want you to be able to talk to me about anything, Kurt. I mean that. Anything."

Kurt looked down at the tabletop sullenly. His heart ached, but this felt different to the usual pain. It felt more like salt in a wound rather than pressure on a bruise. "Do you wish I had a crush on you? That I loved you.. like that?"

"I.. gee, Kurt, I don't know; like I said, you never gave any indication so I never really thought about it..."

"What would you have done?"

"If you had a crush on me?" Kurt nodded briskly. He didn't look up. Blaine began to feel silly, kneeling on the ground with his hands encasing one of Kurt's. "Well, I think I'd be flattered, but I'd tell you I didn't return the feelings."

Kurt nodded thoughtfully. This time the movements were slow and deliberate, like he was mulling over Blaine's words, trying to get them to fit like an elaborate puzzle in his mind. After a while, Kurt laughed. It was a painful laugh. "You know, when my mom died, I thought I died along with her."

Blaine nodded sadly.

"Sometimes, I still think that."

Blaine rubbed circles into Kurt's hand. "But you're right here with me, Kurt. And I'm never going to let you go."