He was secretly quite glad that it wasn't aimed at him.

"Well, it was more fun doing it together." And Kurt had to stop thinking about Blaine for a second, because, really, that was the sweetest smile he had ever seen on Santana Lopez.

He made a mental note to stay on her good side. He decided that he liked that smile.

But then she was looking at her phone and cursing and rushing away before he had the chance to give her a proper "thank you."

Beside him, Blaine was still tense; shoulders taut, fists clenched, rolling up onto the balls of his feet and back down again.

Kurt shoved his hands in his pockets and look at Blaine through his eyelashes.

"You don't really believe that, do you?" He tensed up even more, which was sort of the exact opposite of what Kurt was going for.

"Of course I-" But then he looked at Kurt, right in his eyes, with that piercingly honest gaze, and faltered.

And then he completely unraveled.

His shoulders relaxed, his fists loosened up, and he sat back on his heels.

"No," he admitted. It was a sharp, almost shameful admission. He looked away from Kurt, who hadn't moved much.

He didn't way anything either, instead allowing Blaine to stride furiously over to the lockers and slam his palms against them, before squeezing his eyes shut.

"I just-" He let out his breath in a quick huff and slid down the wall until he was squatting, palms still rested on the cool metal.

Kurt remained silent, letting Blaine organize his thoughts into coherent words before sending them out into the world as sentences.

"I didn't do anything. He was right there and I just-lost. I couldn't even-ugh." His sentences were becoming decidedly more broken.

Kurt walked over and leaned his back against the wall. Blaine appeared not to notice, busy as he was clenching and unclenching his fists.

Kurt slid down the wall, cursing the locks as his back bumped over each one. He rested his hands on his knees.

"What do you think you could've done?" He asked quietly. His voice seemed to echo in the silent hallways, despite the fact that he was pretty sure he hadn't shouted.

"I don't know. Something. Anything. But I had to-someone had to save me again. And I couldn't even-I just-"

And now Kurt could tell that he was trying so, so hard not to either punch the lockers hard enough to break his hand or cry. Or he was at least trying to decide which would be more appropriate.

Kurt sighed and leaned his head back against the lockers.

"At least sit down properly.: He inwardly cringed, because that was probably the least helpfulthing that he could say here. Nevertheless, Blaine obeyed, turning around so that he, too, was leaning against the lockers.

Well, almost. He was hunched forward with his knees drawn up to his chest, was gripping his ankles tightly, and had his lips pressed together.

He managed to force out a few more words.

"I'm-fuck." And Kurt's lips twitched upwards at the same time that he realized this was serious, because Blaine never swore, ever.

"I'm just-I'm sorry. I mean you, with all of this, right now, and for me, I. It was so long ago, but I can't even…"

Kurt was sure Blaine's ankles would have bruises. And even thought Kurt had absolutely no idea how to deal with this, he sure as hell was gonna try.

"Blaine, you shouldn't blame yourself for what happened."

"But I couldn't even…" Kurt thought that if Blaine uttered one more of those terrible, broken little sentences, then he would start crying, and that would do nothing at all whatsoever to help the situation.

"And you should know that no one, least of all me, is going-" he had to take a deep breath here, because that look of utter helplessness on Blaine's face was literally chipping pieces off of his heart, one-by-one.

"-is going to judge you for it."

Blaine let out a strangled, choked noise that drove a cold, rusty knife into Kurt's stomach. He wiped the tears beading on Blaine's cheek with his thumb and rested his palm there.

Blaine crumpled.

The knife twisted.

He let out another choked sound and leaned into Kurt's hand as if he were trying to hide there.

Kurt shifted so that he was sitting on the floor with his knees out to the side and shifted his hand from cupping Blaine's cheek to wrap around his shoulders. It just seemed like the only option at that point.

And Blaine just fell forward burying his face in the crook of Kurt's neck and clutching Kurt's perfect white jacket like he expected to float away. Kurt kept an arm around Blaine's trembling shoulders and encircled his waist with the other.

They stayed like that for a minute, or an hour, until Blaine seemed to stop shaking and Kurt was sure that his own eyes were dry.

Blaine was the first to pull back. He kept his hands rested lightly on Kurt's shoulders, refusing to look up. He grabbed the edge of his sleeve with the tips of his fingers and swiped it across his face.

"Sorry," he croaked. Kurt didn't say anything, just brushed a stray tear off of Blaine's cheek.

He stood up, still silent, and pulled Blaine up beside him.

"Better?" he whispered.

"Yeah. I'm, uh, sorry about that."

"Don't be." He took Blaine's hand and began to lead him towards the auditorium.

"Well, thanks then." Kurt smiled back at him softly. And Blaine almost, for a quick moment, nearly forgot what he was upset about.

And despite all the assurances that he was fine, Blaine kept a firm grip on Kurt's hand throughout the entire concert.

Kurt's only response was the light, comforting pressure of leaning on Blaine's shoulder.