Chapter 6

Blaine was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, holding an ice pack to the back of his head when Kurt came bursting through the curtain.

"BLAINE!"

"Kurt! I'm okay—"

"What happened?" Kurt asked, worry creasing his face as he moved to sit down on the bed. His eyes roamed over Blaine as he reached for his hand. A couple of scrapes and a bruise purpling on his left cheek, but aside from looking a little crumpled and very, very tired, nowhere near as bad as Kurt had feared.

"I was mugged coming home after work. I never even knew what hit me. Joey, who has that little convenience shop across from the diner? He saw the guy jump me. He yelled and the mugger took off running, but by the time he got to me, the guy was long gone."

Blaine paused a moment to adjust the ice bag, then continued, "I hit my head pretty hard when I fell, so he brought me here as a precaution. I don't think I actually got knocked out, but I'm not sure I knew my own name there for a bit. The doctor said I have a mild concussion— I should be fine with some Tylenol and rest. But because I've had a head injury, they weren't going to discharge me on my own." Blaine smiled weakly. "Sorry to have to drag you out of bed in the middle of the night for this."

"Sorry to drag me out of—? Blaine,really?" Kurt huffed, equal parts indignant and relieved. He squeezed Blaine's hand and pushed a mussed curl off his forehead. "I'm glad you're okay, all things considered. Did the mugger make off with anything?"

"My phone was tucked inside my coat, so it was safe—" Blaine turned to Kurt, eyes worried, "but he got my wallet."

"Replacing ID and credit cards are a pain, but certainly doable," Kurt said sympathetically.

"No, you don't understand," Blaine shook his head, wincing. "Before heading home, I stopped at the ATM to withdraw my part of this month's rent. The rent money was in my wallet."

Kurt's eyes went wide in dismay. "Oh, Blaine," he breathed.

"Mr. Anderson?" a nurse said as she pulled the divider curtain back. "Now that Mr. Hummel is here, I have some paperwork for you to sign and we can get things wrapped up to send you home if you're ready."

"Yes, please," Blaine sighed, reaching for the offered clipboard.

***

It was 5:30 a.m. before the two of them made it home from the hospital. The doctor had cleared Blaine to get some sleep, but gave specific instructions on the signs they needed to watch out for that might indicate a problem. Kurt shifted into full-on caregiver mode, insisting Blaine stay in bed while he prepared a little breakfast for them.

"Kurt, I'm fine. You don't need to wait on me hand and foot—"

Kurt silenced him with with a steely gaze. "Listen, Anderson. I got my father, my meat-and-potatoes 'the parsley garnish and ketchup count as vegetables' father to switch to a diet of whole grains and veggies after his heart attack. If you think your wimpy little protests are going to deter me from taking care of you, you have another thing coming."

Blaine held up his hands in surrender. "Okay. Whatever you say, boss." He allowed Kurt to gently push him back onto the pillows, and pull the covers over him.

"Besides, I like taking care of you," Kurt continued as he smoothed Blaine's hair back and kissed him on the forehead. "You relax for a minute, and I'll get us a little something to eat. Then we can snuggle and sleep a little."

Blaine watched Kurt disappear around the corner, then huffed out a sigh. His eyes drifted to the armoire in the corner, its once plain exterior now vibrant with a retro New-York-meets-Paris-fashion motif. What better way to decorate the place you store all your lovely clothes than with an homage to the two world capitals of fashion? Kurt had said, eagerly holding up a small pack of artist brushes in one hand and a bag with tubes of acrylic paint and a jar of Mod Podge in the other.

They had worked on it together as time permitted over the next few weeks— Kurt taking the lead and Blaine offering suggestions here and there, until finally Kurt pronounced it done. They celebrated by indulging in a shared order of gooey-but-oh-so-good Shake Shack Cheese Fries. Another homage to a perfect blending of New York and French culture Blaine declared, earning him a epic eye-roll.

He shifted on his pillow, causing a stab of pain that snapped him back to harsh reality. He gingerly repositioned his head to avoid laying on the still-tender lump, and the pain subsided to a dull ache. Blaine squeezed his eyes shut, brow furrowing as his mind churned over what to do about the lost rent money. Before he knew it, Kurt was back with two plates of steaming scrambled eggs and toast, standing beside the bed and looking down at him with concern.

"Are you feeling okay? Do you need another dose of Tylenol?"

"I'm fine," Blaine said in a tone that didn't quite match his words. He sat up and reached to take the plate Kurt held out to him. "I'm just trying to figure out what to do about this whole mess I've gotten us into."

"You don't need to worry about that just yet." Kurt responded, sitting on the bed. "You need to get your mind off that and rest like the doctor said—"

"I can't rest until I figure out what to do about this!" Blaine snapped, his voice rising. He looked up at Kurt, his spark of anger extinguishing as quickly as it had lit. "I'm sorry. I'm just so frustrated. It's just— how could I have been so stupid?"

"It was a random thing, Blaine," Kurt said quietly, "you can't blame yourself for what happened."

"Yes, I can. I could have paid more attention to what was going on around me. I could have gone to the bank in the morning, in daylight, but I didn't want to get up an hour earlier to have time to swing by before class." Blaine set his plate on the nightstand and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. "I was trying to be efficient, and didn't take precautions to be safe. I knew better, but did it anyway— and now we're $1,500 short for the rent that's due this week, and our landlord has never been one to err on the side of grace."

"Could you ask your Dad for a loan? I mean, now that you two are on better terms and all—"

"No! I— I can't. We're on better terms because I had been able to prove to him I could do this on my own—" Blaine gestured expansively with both arms, "New York, NYADA, living with you— all of this with no financial assistance from him." He closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts for just a moment, and then looked over at Kurt, deflated. "I told you how he said he was so proud of me at Christmas. If I turn around not even two weeks later and ask him for money to cover my rent— all of that respect I earned goes out the window and he gets to say 'I told you so' and... Kurt, I just can't."

"It may not be that bad. You're letting your pride get in the way—"

"I can't do it. I won't do it. Not as a first option," Blaine was adamant. "There has to be another solution."

Kurt bit his lip, taking a moment to let his immediate reaction dissipate before speaking. "Well, maybe I could ask my dad for a loan to get us by? You're starting your new job soon... he wouldn't have to float us for too long—"

Blaine shook his head with a vigor that threatened to bring his headache back with a vengeance. "No. No. Not an option. Your dad just paid a big chunk of change for your next semester at school, and the only thing possibly worse than asking my dad to bail me out of my fuck up is asking your dad to do so."

"You know he loves you like you were his own son. He wouldn't think less of you for asking for help—"

"This isn't about him or anyone else! This is about me!" Blaine hit the bed with his fist, the impact causing vibrations to ripple through the mattress. He turned to look at Kurt— who was now sitting with his arms folded across his chest. The tension between them was almost palpable.

Blaine sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to find the right words. "Being able to make it on my own in New York wasn't just about proving something to my dad, it was also about proving something to myself."

He sat up on his knees in front of Kurt, reaching to pry one of Kurt's hands free to hold in both of his own. Taking a deep breath, he looked down at their hands and began to speak. "Moving to New York represents taking that last step from being a teenager to being an adult for me. I am finally here, living with the person I want to spend the rest of my life with, pursuing a career I've dreamed about since I was in grade school. I knew it wouldn't be easy— but god, even after planning so carefully, I'm in this mess where the only immediate solution is to go running back to my parents to fix it. I thought I had things all figured out, but it seems I'm still this work in progress..."

Blaine finally dared to glance up, and was heartened to find that Kurt's shield had a slipped a little. He took that bit of courage and forged ahead. "I need to be able to do this on my own— for so many reasons I can't even adequately describe right now. I need to at least try." He squeezed Kurt's hand to emphasize his point.

Kurt exhaled, dropping his guard. "Damn you and your earnest puppy dog eyes." He stroked Blaine's cheek with his free hand. "You don't have to do this all alone, you know. You have me."

"I know, and that fact is about the only thing keeping me from completely throwing in the towel right now." He leaned in, kissing Kurt gently on the lips. "Maybe... we could open a lemonade stand or something? With your culinary skills and my earnest puppy dog eyes, we'll be able to make up that lost money in no time!"

Kurt laughed and up scrunched his nose. "We may want to rethink opening a lemonade stand in the middle of January— but we can definitely keep that in mind for the summer! Oh, and for the record?" Kurt said nodding his head toward the armoire in the corner, "We've done pretty well taking 'works in progress' and making quite spectacular results."

"That we have, my love. That we have."

***

The rest of the day passed in a bit of a haze— the two of them napping for a couple hours at a time and catching up on some trashy reality TV together. Kurt insisted Blaine limit his activity to resting in bed or on the couch, and was immediately at his side anytime Blaine got up to move anywhere— despite Blaine's protests that he was perfectly capable to making it to the bed/couch/bathroom on his own, thank you very much.

"Maybe we could all chip in a little to help cover the gap this month," Kurt said as he rinsed their lunch plates in the sink, then turned to look at Blaine. "I have a couple hundred in my account, and Rachel might have a little extra too."

"I'm not sure she does." Blaine said, ruefully. "In addition to her tuition payment this month, she also spent a boatload on those new 'professional headshots' she had done. She said something to me about hoping the grocery store had some 'cheap vegan ramen noodles' because that's what she'd be existing on for a couple of weeks."

"Well, your lemonade stand idea is starting to look better and better now," Kurt said brightly, and Blaine chuckled.

He glanced up from his notebook just in time to see Kurt's smile vanish and shoulders slump as he returned to the task of washing dishes. Kurt might be able to fool anyone else, but Blaine knew him too well. The signs were all there— he put on a brave face because Blaine had asked for his support, but in reality he was worried sick. The thought knotted in Blaine's stomach, spurring him to refocus his attention on his brainstorming notes.There had to be a way.

That night, Kurt drifted off to sleep snuggled in Blaine's arms, head on Blaine's chest. Blaine laid with his own head propped up on the pillows, absent-mindedly stroking Kurt's shoulder as he stared into the shadowy corner where the armoire stood. We've done pretty well taking 'works in progress' and making quite spectacular results. The words rolled over and over in his restless mind. His brain (and frankly, his pride) felt as battered and bruised as that armoire had been when Kurt first brought it home. And yet, there it stood now, a testament to their resourcefulness.

Fatigue finally overtook him, and he fell into a restless sleep— the first wisps of an idea beginning to take shape, driving swirly, bizarre dreams for the rest of the night.