Chapter 15.

7.05 P.M.

How'd it go?

8.32 P.M.

Should I take your silence as 'really bad'?

8.57 P.M.

You know you can tell me, right?

9.43 P.M.

Blaine, answer me right now, you're freaking me out.

10.14 P.M.

Blaine, I'm serious, now. Just one word to let me know you're okay.

11.01 P.M.

You're making me seem like the biggest stalker alive, Blaine. Now I'm getting worried. I'm calling you.

11.03 P.M.

No reply.

11.05 P.M.

No reply.

12.02 A.M.

Okay, last chance. It's after midnight. Text me back within the next ten minutes, or I'm coming over.

Voicemail left at 12.16 A.M.

Blaine. Jesus, Blaine, pick up, you asshole. I'm going to crash my car now and it'll be all your fault. Fuck. You had better not be just ignoring me because you're having one of your moods. Shit.. Oh my God, CAN YOU STAY ON YOUR OWN SIDE OF THE ROAD, WHAT THE FUCK? Damn. Blaine, I can't believe you're doing this. Ugh. Okay, I'm almost there. I'm hanging up. Oh, God. Please just be having one of your moods...

He felt as if he was rocking back and forth, his movements speeding up until he couldn't stop. But he wasn't moving. He was lying still. He felt the hard, cold ground beneath him and he tried to open his eyes, but it felt as if pressure was being pressed down on his skull every time he did.

The room was swaying with him in it and his body felt as if it was prickling all over and he was confused and lost and didn't know where he was, or what had happened, or what was going to happen.

He tried to open his eyes again, as he pushed himself up by the palms of his hands. Everything spun and a buzzing sound began to scream loudly in his ears. There was a sharp pain at the back of his head and the back of his neck ached. He fell back down to the ground, too weak to try to get up again. Just five more minutes sleep and he would be just fine.

Kurt cursed under his breath as he stopped his car outside Blaine's house. He knew something was wrong. He could feel it. He walked up the drive way, legs wobbling a little, his heart hammering in is chest. He felt as if cold water was running down his back. Blaine's car was there, which meant he was home. This was bad.

He tapped lightly on the door, hoping, praying to a God he didn't even believe in, that someone would come to it and tell him Blaine was fine, just sleeping, or something. Or better still, that Blaine himself would come to the door and tell him he was just mad. Mad was better than in trouble. Kurt would take mad.

Kurt waited for 3 minutes, his anxiety levels were through the roof. He remembered feeling exactly like this when he had been told his dad had had a heart attack. He remembered feeling like this all the way to the hospital.

He wondered if he should go home, let someone else worry, maybe one of his friends. Then Kurt remembered that Blaine's friends sucked. He shook his head and went around the side of the house, hoping the neighbours wouldn't think he was a burglar. That was when he saw the open window.

His heart was racing. He had never done anything like this before. He cursed Blaine under his breath for making him care, then raised himself up on to the window ledge. He could slide through there with no problem. He took a deep breath, then pushed himself through, catching the hem of his shirt on something sharp in the corner.

"Bitch," Kurt muttered, as he jumped down into a room. He looked around. He appeared to be in a dining room.

The room was as intricately decorated as the rest of the house. There was a small, round table in the centre of the room, with four chairs surrounding it. Beneath the legs of the table and chairs was a large, rectangular, wine coloured rug. It had twirling gold designs all over it and it lay across a varnished, wooden floor. It looked like a perfect room where a perfect family ate a perfect dinner together. Kurt would have laughed if it weren't for the man-eating butterflies that seemed to be circling inside his stomach.

Kurt headed for the stairs, figuring if Blaine was home, he would most likely be in his room. He kept thinking someone would bump into him and demand he tell them what he was doing walking around their house. He wouldn't have an answer.

He reached the staircase and took a cautious step onto the first stair. It creaked and he cursed under his breath again. He waited a moment. The sound of his heart thumping made it hard to listen for anyone that might be coming his way. He sighed and continued up the stairs. When he reached the top, he looked around. There wasn't a sound. He headed to Blaine's room.

Kurt knocked lightly on Blaine's bedroom door, then he thought about the fact that he shouldn't really knock. There was little that Blaine could have been doing that Kurt hadn't already seen. He took the handle in his sweating hands and twisted it anti-clockwise. He pushed the door open and walked inside.

Blaine wasn't there. Everything was neat and tidy, everything in its place. The bed hadn't been slept in. Kurt couldn't help thinking the worst. He opened Blaine's bathroom door and looked inside. Nothing. Now he was really worried.

He rushed out of Blaine's room, unsure of what to do. The notion of calling the police crossed his mind but he wasn't sure if he should or not. He didn't even know for definite that Blaine was in trouble.

Yes, you do, his mind said and he tried to ignore it as he walked swiftly down the hall, opening random doors as he went. Blaine's mom was in one of the rooms, under the covers of a bed. He closed that door quickly and continued on. He reached the end of the hall, after having no success and saw a final closed door. This was the only room he hadn't checked. He wasn't prepared for what might be behind it, but now was no time for being afraid. He inhaled deeply then reached out and pushed the door open.

This room appeared to be some kind of office or study. It was a mess. Pens and pencils and staplers and loose sheets of paper were scattered every where. It looked as if someone had ransacked the room and then left. It reminded Kurt of the time his old house had been broken into. It had looked as if someone had picked up his house, turned it upside down and shook it. He also had the same feeling then that he did now. His insides were quivering and his heart was racing and his blood felt as if it was running cold through his veins. Something had happened and he had no idea what.

Kurt turned around to leave the room. He was going to call the police. It seemed like the right thing to do. He guessed he could wake Blaine's mom and ask her, but that would have been extremely awkward. Just as he began to walk outside the room, he heard a sound behind him. His heart stilled. Kurt turned around and listened carefully. He heard it again.

A groan.

If Kurt knew anything, he knew the sound of Blaine's groans. He rolled his eyes at his own inappropriate thoughts and moved forward. Blaine was flat on his back behind the desk. He was semi-conscious and Kurt let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

"Blaine," Kurt exhaled, dropping to his knees next to the other boy. "God, Blaine, what happened?"

"Blaine," the voice sounded like a distant echo. "Blaine, open your eyes. God, Blaine, just please open your eyes."

Maybe he was dead. Maybe that distant voice was some kind of angel. Or maybe a demon, depending on where he had ended up. It didn't sound like a demon, though. The voice was gentle and Blaine would have said calm, but the voice didn't really sound calm. It sounded alarmed, laced with fear and concern.

"Blaine, can you hear me?"

He tried to speak, tried to say yes, but nothing came. He just wanted to sleep some more.

"Don't—Blaine, don't go to sleep, wake up."

Blaine felt the tight grip on his shoulders. He was being gently shaken.

"Blaine, come on. Please, Blaine," the distant voice said. It was getting closer and closer.

"A-am I dead?" he managed, his voice shaky and uneven. His throat felt like sand paper.

"No," the voice said. "No, no. You're alive. Open your eyes. Come on, Blaine, just open your eyes."

Blaine tried to pry his eyes open. They felt stuck, but he pushed anyway, because this voice, this tranquil voice wanted him to open his eyes. He managed to get them open a little, the light shocking and a little too much. His head was throbbing, especially at the back. He pulled his eyes apart and allowed them to adapt to this new light.

He saw them, then, these bright blue, glistening orbs. They were watching him, the icy gaze locked on him. They reminded him of the ocean during the summer. Everything was a little blurred and he had a chronic headache, but that blue was so familiar to him..

He opened his eyes all the way and felt himself smiling up at the owner of the stunning blue eyes and the beautiful voice. He opened his mouth and breathed his name.

"Kurt."

"I'm calling the cops—"

"Don't!"

Kurt turned back to look at Blaine. He had helped him to his room and gotten him down on the bed. Blaine had told him, rather groggily, what had happened and Kurt was mad. He wanted to punch something.

"Kurt, just—please d-don't, okay?"

Kurt looked at Blaine. He looked terrible. His eyes were half-lidded and his hair was a mess and he looked so worn out. His eyes were filled with fear. They were pleading with him, begging him not to do anything. Kurt sighed.

"Fine," he said, sitting back down. "But I'm not happy about it. Let me see your head."

Kurt climbed across the bed until he was kneeling next to Blaine.

"I'm fine," Blaine said, as Kurt tilted his head forward to get a look at the back.

Kurt pushed his hair our of the way and felt the large bump protruding from his head.

"Damn," Kurt breathed and Blaine winced at his touch. "Sorry."

Kurt let his hair fall back down and sat down next to Blaine, with a sigh.

"I'm concussed," Blaine slurred out.

"Hmm?"

"I've had enough concussions to know the sym-symptoms by now," Blaine said, then yawned.

Kurt frowned and wondered how badly Blaine had been hurt in the past. He wanted to get him out of there more than anything in the world. He gave in and reached down to place a hand over Blaine's. Blaine didn't pull away.

"I left you so many messages," Kurt told him. "Just a heads up for when you finally check your phone. I wasn't being creepy, I just had a feeling something was up."

Blaine tilted his head to look at him and Kurt saw him flinch at the pain it induced. His eyes were half-closed. He looked tired and miserable and Kurt just didn't know what to do.

"I'm okay, Kurt," Blaine said and Kurt tried to object, tell him he was actually not okay. "Seriously, I've been through this a million times. I'll always be okay. Don't worry about me."

"Yeah, okay, Blaine. Let me just leave my feelings at the door on the way in," Kurt said, rolling his eyes. As if not caring about Blaine was that easy. Blaine looked a little uncomfortable at the mention of feelings.

"You're the f-first person who's ever come looking for me, you know," Blaine said, sounding a bit dazed. "No one else has ever given a damn."

Kurt gave his hand a soft squeeze. They were silent for a little while, then Kurt remembered that you were supposed to keep talking to a person who had a concussion.

"So, um, do you think he'll come home? Your dad?"

"Probably not."

"I'll stay with you, if you want," Kurt offered.

Blaine looked at him, his eyes were still half-lidded, but Kurt could see those golden orbs peeking out at him.

"You don't h-have to," Blaine told him.

"I'll leave if you want me t—"

"That wasn't what I m-meant," Blaine corrected. "I just meant, won't y-your dad wonder where you are?"

"Well," Kurt said, looking up at the small, plastic clock on Blaine's wall. "It's almost 2 A.M. Maybe I could get back before he wakes up."

"I don't want to get you in trouble."

"And I sort of want you to live," Kurt retorted. "So, yeah, I'll stay."

Blaine gave him a small, grateful smile.

"Can you do me a favour?" Blaine asked, quietly, then. "Because it hurts to move."

"Anything," Kurt said, with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Kiss me?"

Kurt stared at him, trying to work out if he was being serious or not. Blaine nodded as much as he could and Kurt blinked a couple of times.

"You don't have to if you don't want to, though," Blaine said, looking away.

Kurt sighed. He couldn't remember the last time he hadn't wanted to kiss Blaine. He chuckled a bit as he leaned closer. Blaine looked up at him, curiously.

"I always want to kiss you," Kurt told him, then he pressed a gentle kiss to Blaine's lips.

"I appreciate you being gentle with me right now, but I'm not going to break," Blaine told him, smiling slightly. Kurt felt Blaine's fingers gripping the front of his shirt and tugging him towards him. "Come on, pretty boy. Kiss me like you mean it."

"Pretty boy?" Kurt breathed against Blaine's lips, one eyebrow raised.

"I am horribly concussed, I can't be held a-accountable for the things I say," Blaine whispered back, his breath warm on Kurt's skin.

"We're not having sex," Kurt said, when he felt Blaine's fingers brushing their way up his thigh. "No way."

Blaine chuckled and kept moving his hand up anyway. Kurt reached back and pried his hand off of his ass. Blaine pouted a bit, then winced in pain.

"Spoil sport."

"Why are you always so horny?"

"It disappoints me that you're not," Blaine giggled a little and Kurt smiled.

"Are you really okay?" Kurt asked, in a hushed tone.

"I'm fine," Blaine apprised him. "I don't break that easily, you know."

Kurt just studied him, still smiling a bit. Blaine looked so tired. His skin was pale and his lips were dry and his movements were lethargic. The almost-yellow light coming from the light over head made him look even more sickly. Kurt reached up and pushed his curls away from his forehead, then outstretched his hand to flick the light switch, leaving them in darkness.

"You should probably get some rest," Kurt told him.

"You should kiss me first," Blaine smiled in what little moon light slipped through the open blind on the window. "And a real one this time."

Kurt rolled his eyes, but bent his head to kiss Blaine anyway. Blaine kissed him back, lazily. Their teeth kept clacking and Blaine kept trying to go faster, but he wasn't fit for that. Kurt pulled away, gently and smiled down at him.

"Now lie down and stop being so difficult," Kurt demanded, jokingly.

Blaine lay back, slowly and smiled at Kurt, then pulled him by the hand until he landed down next to him. Blaine didn't let his hand go.

"Hey, Kurt?" Blaine whispered, in the dark.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks, okay?"

"Don't thank me, I didn't do anything."

"Yes, you did," Blaine told him. "You were here for me."

"I'll always be here for you," Kurt told him.

He meant it, too. There was nowhere else he would rather be.

"Where were you last night?"

Kurt stopped peeling his orange and looked up at his dad, eyes wide. Burt was watching him, expectantly, waiting for an answer. Kurt figured honesty was the best policy. He sighed.

"I was at Blaine's."

Burt looked alarmed, then, his forehead tightening.

"I thought you said he had a girlfriend," Burt said, accusingly. "And that he was an ass."

"He does have a girlfriend, dad," Kurt groaned a little. "And he's still an ass, just maybe not as much of an ass as I initially believed."

Kurt was pretty sure now that Blaine wasn't really an ass. He was just sort of letting things pilot his life, instead of doing it himself. He wasn't a bad person, not really.

"So, you just spent the night at this guy's house—this guy who has a girlfriend?"

"Dad, it's not like that," Kurt said, even though that's exactly how it was.

"Tell me how it is, then, Kurt."

Kurt wavered here. He wasn't sure he should tell anyone about Blaine's personal problems, but maybe Burt would know what to do, because Kurt was at a loss.

"We've been sort of hanging out," Kurt shrugged. It was difficult to explain how they were at ease with one another without adding the fact that their relationship was more than just platonic. "He's been telling me about his family and stuff. His dad is extremely abusive and the other day, Blaine went to sectionals instead of his football game, so his dad got really mad and sort of, um..."

"Sort of what?"

"He sort of beat him up," Kurt said, mildly. "Actually, he smashed his head repeatedly off of a wooden desk."

Burt looked appalled. "He did that to his own son?"

Kurt nodded. "Yes and I texted Blaine a few times, then called him and got no reply, so I went over there."

"Kurt—"

"His dad wasn't home," Kurt explained. "But I found Blaine and he was in a bad state. He had a concussion, so I stayed with him to make sure he was okay."

Burt looked sort of proud. He reached out and gave Kurt a pat on the shoulder.

"That was good of you, Kurt," he said. "So, he was okay?"

"I think so," Kurt shrugged. Blaine had been fairly normal when he had left him alone that morning. He'd tried to open his jeans again, so he couldn't have been too sick.

"I know there's something you're not telling me, Kurt."

Kurt looked up at his dad, who was wearing an expression that said I know. He couldn't know, though, how could he? Kurt tried to think of ways he might have let it slip, but beyond looking like a lovesick puppy, he couldn't come up with anything.

"I told you everything, dad," Kurt said, quickly.

"We don't lie to each other, remember?"

They had made that pact after Kurt's mom had died, when he was eight. They promised they would always be honest with each other, because being honest always meant that if one had a problem, the other might be able to help.

"Fine," Kurt sighed, feeling defeated. "I might be in love with him." He had never admitted that out loud, he hadn't even really admitted it to himself, but it was true. He was falling harder and harder every day and he didn't know what to do about it.

"Does his girlfriend know he's gay?"

Kurt's head shot up to look at his dad.

"Blaine's not gay, dad."

"Are you kidding me?" Burt chuckled, taking a sip of coffee from his cup. "I knew that kid was gay the second I set eyes on him."

Kurt let his jaw drop. Apparently, his dad had super, awesome gaydar. And apparently, everyone knew Blaine was gay, except for Blaine himself.

"No," Kurt said, giving in. "His girlfriend doesn't know. At least, not really."

"What do you mean 'not really'?"

Kurt told him the story about Karofsky spreading rumours and how everyone has made assumptions, simply because Blaine had chosen glee over football. Burt nodded at the end of it and looked right at Kurt, their eyes level.

"And these rumours," he said. "Are they true?"

We'll always be honest with each other, Kurt. Always.

"Yes."

Burt closed his eyes and exhaled hard.

"But he has a girlfriend, Kurt."

"I know that, dad," Kurt said. "Do you think I don't know that? Do you think I don't stay awake at night thinking about that?"

Kurt didn't hate Quinn Fabray. He didn't exactly like her, but he didn't hate her, either. He just wished she would go away sometimes. And not in a creepy 'I-would-go-to-great-lengths-to-get-rid-of-her' way, either. He just didn't like that she was only with Blaine for stature and that she didn't even listen to him, or worry about him.

"Kurt, the boy's having his cake and eating it, too," Burt said and Kurt raised an eyebrow. "You can't accept him using you—"

"He's not using me, dad."

"Of course, you think that," Burt said. "But Kurt, he's goin' around with that girl in public and hiding you from the world."

Kurt almost laughed, because he was suddenly finding parallels in his own life to 'Jane Eyre'. He didn't laugh, though, because the entire situation seemed so grave.

"I raised you better than that, Kurt," Burt said. "If he's not willin' to tell everyone that you're with him, then he's not worthy of you."

Kurt smiled up at his dad, his eyes suddenly teary. He loved his dad. He always told him the truth, even if it was something he didn't want to hear.

"I know, dad," Kurt nodded. "But he's not a bad guy, he's just a little lost."

"Lost or not," Burt said, sitting back. "If he's not treatin' you right, then you can't sit back and take that. Stand up for yourself. No one pushes the Hummels around, right?"

Kurt smiled, then and his dad smiled back a little. He wasn't the overly affectionate type, but Kurt was so grateful to him for everything.

"Right," Kurt affirmed.

"Good," Burt said. "Now, get yourself ready. The traffic will be hectic with people doing last minute Christmas shopping."

"Oh my God," Kurt gasped when Blaine walked into English later that day. "Your eyes."

When Blaine had woken up that morning, he had looked in the mirror to find that he had two black eyes from the knocking around his dad had given him. Never had he cursed anyone so hard in all his life.

He guessed Quinn was right, that black eyes sort of did make him look tough and badass, so he didn't mind coming to school looking like this too much. Now, however, he wished he hadn't because the horror on Kurt's face made him want to do something crazy, like cry and Blaine hadn't cried in four years.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Blaine said sliding into his seat, his arm brushing off Kurt's. He heard Kurt sighing beside him. He sounded fed up, tired and like he was about to give up. "What?" Blaine asked.

"Nothing," Kurt said, shaking his head. "Just—my dad figured it all out this morning."

Blaine went alert all over, like a cat. "He—what part?"

"All of it," Kurt said. "He asked where I was last night, so I told him and then he said he knew there was something else." Kurt's voice dropped a notch lower. "Then he asked me if your girlfriend knew you were gay."

"What the hell?"

"Right?" Kurt said, opening his book. "It's like you're the only one who doesn't know."

"I'm not—"

"Save it for someone who didn't make out with you on your bed at 2 A.M. this morning, Blaine."

"Dude, it's the only way to show everyone the truth!"

"I have a headache," Blaine said, gesturing to his black eyes. He had told Puck and the others that he'd gotten in a fight with some random guys when he went to buy milk for his mom. They bought it, just as he had expected they would.

Puck rolled his own eyes. "You don't need your head to be in perfect condition for this," Puck informed him. "He's small, skinny. You could take him with your eyes closed."

And I have, Blaine thought, but he didn't think pointing that out would do him any good, especially since Puck was talking about taking Kurt in a different way entirely, a way that Blaine definitely did not want to take him.

"Come on, Anderson," Azimio said. "Squash these stupid rumours for good."

Blaine sighed. He didn't want to hurt Kurt, he wouldn't hurt Kurt, but he was threading a thin line. People were laughing at him behind his back and he just wasn't used to that. He didn't know how to handle that. Things were already bad with his dad and if he didn't fix he didn't even want to think about what might happen. Maybe military school was in his future.

"All you gotta do is give the kid a light beating," Puck said, patting Blaine hard on the back. He jumped a little. "Do it for the team, Anderson. You already let us down with the game. You owe us."

Blaine hated owing people, which was why he never took anything from anyone for free. Owing people meant they had something over you. He couldn't owe anyone.

"When?"

"Why not now?" Puck grinned, his eyes flashing.

"Where?" Blaine asked. He felt sick. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. He didn't ever want to hurt Kurt.

"We'll figure it out," Puck said. "Come on."

Blaine watched Puckerman and Azimio walk away. He stayed still for a second, his head spinning. He pushed away the urge to vomit as best as he could and followed the other guys.

Regardless of what Kurt thought, Blaine knew the cold, hard truth: Blaine Anderson was not a good person.

The crash of his back against the side of the metal locker sent a stabbing pain all down his spine. It had all happened so fast and now he was being held up against the locker by two strong hands.

"What the f—"

"Don't talk, Hummel," Puck said, pushing Kurt roughly back. "I don't like these rumours being spread about my bro, Anderson."

"Well, maybe you should ask your bro, Karofsky why he's spreading them," Kurt retorted.

Puck went on as if Kurt hadn't even spoken. "So, we're going to teach you a lesson for being so gay," Puck snarled. "Blaine here is going to make sure there's no cause for these stinkin' rumours around here any more."

Kurt mentally questioned his word order, because it was confusing, but he stayed quiet anyway, his eyes going to Blaine, who stood a few steps behind Puck, next to Azimio. Azimio was laughing, but Blaine just looked like he wanted to sit down and close his bruised eyes.

Kurt just wanted to shake him until he realised he was going about things all wrong. Choosing glee over football was a step in the right direction, but now he plummeting back downhill.

"Anderson," Puck grinned, expecting Blaine to take over.

Blaine wavered, then stepped forward as Puck stepped back. Blaine stopped and looked down the hall.

"I hear Figgins," he said and he looked sincere, even though Kurt knew Figgins was not any where nearby.

Puck and Azimio looked down the hall.

"I don't hear nothin'," Azimio said.

"Dude, I'm telling you Figgins is coming," Blaine said, looking at his friend.

"Fine, whatever, we can do this some place else," Puck said and Kurt saw Blaine sighing silently.

"Like where?"

"Uh," Puck looked confused. He tended to look confused very frequently anyway, so this wasn't really anything new. "I know!"

Kurt, Blaine and Azimio watched as Puck walked across the hall, a smug smile on his face, clearly happy that he had actually come up with an idea. Kurt wondered if he should applaud him, but he decided that probably wouldn't help him if they were going to beat him up. At least he could probably count on Blaine going light on him.

Puck reached out and pulled the janitor's closet open, the infamous janitor's closet. Kurt rolled his eyes. This was his big idea. All four of them wouldn't even fit in there, there was no way.

Azimio reached out with his big hand and tugged Kurt across to where Puck stood. Puck reached out then and pushed Kurt inside the closet. He collided with an equipment trolley then stumbled and hit the hard, cement ground. That was going to leave a bruise.

Kurt looked up at the exact time that Puck pushed Blaine in after him.

"Have fun, Anderson," Puck laughed loudly. "We'll be out here keeping watch."

The door closed with a loud bang and Blaine's body went loose. He sighed and looked down at Kurt in the dim light of the over head bulb, that hung from the ceiling. Blaine extended a hand to Kurt, which he took and allowed him to pull him to his feet.

"Are you okay?" Blaine asked, quietly.

"How are you going to get out of this one?" Kurt said, ignoring Blaine's question.

Blaine sighed again and shook his head.

"Just.. act like your hurt, or something, I don't know."

"They'll be listening, you know," Kurt whispered. "They'll know."

Panic swept over Blaine's face and he stood up straight. Kurt watched as he walked across the room, then raised his arm and started punching the old, broken lockers in the corner.

"Blaine!" Kurt hissed and reached out to grab his arm back. "What the fuck, Blaine? Stop that!"

"They're listening," Blaine whispered. "I have to make some sort of noise. It might help if you did some groaning, too."

Blaine lifted his arm again, fist clenched, bur Kurt pushed him backwards until he was against the wall.

"What are you—"

"Do you have some kind of masochistic streak?"

"What? I—"

"Blaine, stop punching things, okay?" Kurt said, his blue eyes level with Blaine's.

"But they—"

"I don't care," Kurt said, then sighed. "Look, maybe you should just hit me."

Blaine's hazel eyes went round as saucers and his mouth dropped open.

"Are you kidding me?" he demanded. "I am not—"

"I don't mind," Kurt said. "If it'll make them lay off you, I'm okay with it."

Blaine's face twisted and he looked distraught. "You think I'd hit you just so that they'd leave me alone?"

Kurt hadn't really thought that far ahead. He had suggested it without really considering Blaine's stance on it. He simply shrugged.

"I wouldn't ever," Blaine shook his head. "Now, move back, I need to.."

Blaine moved forward and continued to punch the lockers fiercely, groaning every time his fist crashed down against the hard metal. Kurt continued to try to stop him, but it was no use. He took a step back and sighed. That was when he got his idea. He waited, watched Blaine's pace, as he retracted his arm and plunged it forward again and again. When he thought he knew the rhythm well enough, Kurt waited until Blaine moved his arm backwards, then he moved forward and landed right in front of Blaine as his fist came crashing forward. It struck Kurt's left cheek painfully and Kurt cried out, but so did Blaine.

Kurt watched as Blaine stepped back, his face a mask of sheer horror. Kurt lifted his own hand to rub his injured face and then Blaine was shouting at him.

"What are you—Oh my God. Why would you—Kurt. Fuck. I cannot believe you—Are you an idiot?"

Kurt rolled his eyes and it hurt, because Blaine packed a mean punch. Blaine stopped yelling then and moved towards Kurt.

"Let me see," he said, softly. He pushed Kurt's hand out of the way and studied his throbbing cheek. "Fuck, Kurt. Why would you do this?"

Blaine sounded as if he might cry. Kurt hadn't ever seen Blaine cry, but this was the closest he had come to it since he had met him. His hands were cradling his face, his fingers gentle. Blaine looked distraught, his eyes were sad and his bottom lip was caught between his teeth.

"I'm fine," Kurt told him. "Honestly, it doesn't hurt that badly."

"Kurt, I can't believe you would..." Blaine trailed off and he closed his eyes. He took a deep inhale, Kurt could see his chest rising slowly in the bleak light. When he exhaled, he opened his eyes and looked right at Kurt, his head shaking ever so slightly. "This is officially the worst week of my life."

Kurt's cheek was pulsating now. It hurt every time he blinked, every time he opened his mouth. He forced himself to speak anyway.

"I figure they would have made it much worse if I had left this closet without a mark on me," he whispered.

Blaine sighed silently. "Kurt, stop protecting me, okay? I don't want you to protect me from them."

"Why?"

"Because you end up getting hurt," Blaine told him. "I don't know any more. I wish I'd never dragged you into this." He sighed again, tiredly. "This wasn't supposed to happen."

Kurt studied him for a minute. He looked like he was about to fall apart. He wanted to go to him, wrap him up in his arms and tell him he would always protect him, because even though Blaine was still giving in to Puck and those guys, that didn't change the fact that Kurt really, really cared about him. He didn't take him in his arms, however, because he and Blaine had a less touchy-feely relationship, when it came to affection that wasn't sexual.

"I don't regret it, you know," Kurt apprised him, firmly, his cheek still throbbing painfully. He wondered what it must look like now. "I don't regret one second of our time together, even if you do."

Blaine's golden eyes flashed briefly as he gave Kurt a surprised look.

"No," Blaine uttered. "No, I don't regret this, us. I don't. I just wish—I just wish things were easier."

"Me, too."

They stayed silent for a little while, then Blaine's hand was tilting Kurt's head sideways as he squinted to examine his cheek.

"How bad do I look?" Kurt asked, smiling a bit. It hurt when he smiled. His face felt stiff and sore.

"You never look bad," Blaine told him, his voice low and gentle. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" Kurt asked. "I'm the one that did it."

"It's my fault we're even in this mess in the first place," Blaine said, his fingers lingering on Kurt's face. "You're right. I'm a coward."

Kurt shrugged one shoulder. Blaine's cowardice was something he couldn't really deny. He was afraid of confrontation, afraid of showing who he really was.

He raised his glimmering, honey-coloured eyes to Kurt's and said, "I'll make this up to you, I promise."

"Blaine, blow jobs don't count."

Blaine spluttered, just as Kurt hoped he would. He wished he would just smile and get over it. On the other hand, Kurt was a little pleased that Blaine had been so beat up about hurting him. It meant he gave a damn.

"Seriously, though, I will," he smiled, sadly, his thumb brushing lightly over the line of Kurt's jaw. "I never, ever want to hurt you, Kurt. God. Why would you do something so dumb?"

Kurt sighed. His stomach did a little somersault when Blaine said he never wanted to hurt him, but he needed to set him straight regarding the entire situation. "Blaine, look," he began. "Hitting me isn't really the point here and while I'm not exactly mad at you,—I know you're going through a lot, so it's not really anger—I just can't help but point out that the point is that you agreed to coming inside this closet to beat me up. I mean, I know you wouldn't do it, I know that, I do, but the thought does count, Blaine. Coming in here with me and pretending to hurt me doesn't make it okay, you know?"

Blaine nodded. He looked like a puppy who had just been kicked. "I know that," Blaine told him. "Like I said, I'm a coward."

"You're getting better, though," Kurt smiled, because nobody wanted to see a kicked puppy. "Did you break your hand?" Kurt asked, changing the subject. He took Blaine's hand in his own. It was shaking a little and red raw from punching the lockers. Kurt was shocked that the skin hadn't broken.

"It's fine," Blaine stated.

"I think you've had enough of a beating without doing this to yourself," Kurt frowned.

"It felt good to take my anger out on something, even if my hand looks like it does," Blaine said, studying his red hand. "I just wasn't counting on you jumping in there like that."

"That was sort of the point," Kurt told him. "Maybe we should get out of here. They'll be wondering.."

Blaine suddenly looked really angry, his dark browns furrowed and his eyes went a shade darker. He clenched his fists and sighed hard. Kurt almost expected to see smoke coming from his ears.

"Relax," Kurt whispered, his face still aching. He was going to need an ice pack.

"No," Blaine said. "I want to kill both of them."

"I think you should avoid fights for the next while," Kurt told him.

Blaine looked at him, his head tilted a little. He sighed for what had to be the hundredth time that day. He reached across then and took Kurt's hand in his own, the one that he hadn't punched the lockers with. He entwined his fingers with Kurt's and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

"You know I'm sorry, right?" Blaine emitted. "For everything?"

Kurt looked down at him. He looked sincerely sorry and Kurt knew that he was sorry. He just wished there was something they could do about it.

"I know," he nodded. "Now go out there and act like your arm hurts from punching."

"It sort of does," Blaine chuckled.

They let go of each other's hands and Blaine pushed the door open and stepped out. His expression went dark again when he laid eyes on Puck and Azimio. Kurt limped out after him, breathing heavily. He let out little whining sounds as he began walking down the hall, away from them. He heard Puck and Azimio laughing and shouting names after him. Then he heard Puck asking Blaine something.

"Don't talk to me," Blaine said, gruffly and Kurt turned to see him storming off in the other direction.

Maybe he wasn't such a hopeless case, after all.