By the next morning, Carson was in slightly better spirits, but only just. He decided that he wasn't going to even try to write anything today. The frustration and disappointment when he inevitably couldn't do it was just too much for him to take, and he didn't want to go through another day of that. He didn't have it in him. He made up his mind that he would distract himself with other things for the hours that Kurt was at work. Maybe he would take advantage of Kurt's Netflix subscription, even though most television shows irritated him unless he was watching something for Kurt (and even then, he was seldom able to keep his sarcastic comments to himself).

Or maybe he could just torture Rachel. That could be fun.

"Ok, Carson, here we go," said Kurt, snapping Carson out of his thoughts. He hadn't had the energy or the desire to get up out of bed when Kurt had to wake up, so Kurt had gotten himself ready and then, apparently, made Carson waffles for breakfast, which he was currently carrying on a tray into the bedroom, along with juice and Carson's pill bottles.

"Oh, Kurtsie," said Carson with a smile as he took in the sight of the carefully arranged items on the tray. "This is beautiful, baby. Thank you."

"You're welcome, sweetheart," replied Kurt cheerfully, leaning down to kiss Carson quickly on the lips as he placed the tray in his lap. "I didn't think you felt much like going into the kitchen to eat this morning, and I didn't want you to starve. Are you sure you'll be ok while I'm gone?"

"Kurtsie, I'll be fine," Carson assured him. "Really."

"Ok, ok," said Kurt, reaching out a hand to stroke Carson's cheek tenderly. "I keep my phone on all day, so if you need anything, I want you to call me, ok?"

"Ok."

"And try not to send Rachel running from the apartment in tears, hmm?" Kurt continued.

"I make no promises," Carson deadpanned.

"Ok. Well, I'll see you tonight," said Kurt, leaning down to hug Carson. "I love you."

"I love you, too," said Carson, watching Kurt as he turned around and left, pulling the privacy curtain closed behind him.

I really do love you, Kurtsie, I just don't understand why you love ME, Carson thought with a sigh as he picked up his fork and speared a bit of waffle onto it. He chewed it mechanically as he listened to Kurt give Rachel the same speech he had given her the day before about making sure Carson took his pills, and then he heard the door open and close as Kurt left for work, leaving him and Rachel alone. He took another bite, and then another, eventually realizing with a heavy sigh that while the waffles were delicious, he wasn't really enjoying eating them. In fact, he was mostly just eating at all because he knew he had to, or else Kurt would worry about him and his disappearing appetite. He might even make him go to the doctor, and Carson was determined not to have to do that any more than was absolutely necessary.

So, down the hatch went the waffles. He stared blankly at his empty plate when he was through, contemplating what he should do next since he had hours and hours ahead of him with no Kurt. He had just decided to get out the laptop and see what he could find on Netflix when the privacy curtain opened and Rachel stepped cautiously inside the room, looking as though she would rather be having throat surgery than dealing with Carson right now.

"Are, um... are you done with that?" she asked warily, indicating the empty waffle plate.

"No, actually I've been in here practicing magic tricks, and my latest one was making all the food disappear off the plate," answered Carson dryly. "As you can see, I'm in the process of trying to make it reappear. Which shouldn't be too hard, since you have the uncanny tendency to make me gag."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "So I take that as a yes, then," she replied, taking the juice glass and the pill bottles off the tray and setting them on the nightstand beside Carson before taking the tray itself in her hands.

"You're an intuitive one," muttered Carson, reaching clumsily into the nightstand drawer for his laptop. "Now that you've put in your daily quota of pretending to give a shit, you're free to go practice making balloon animals, or whatever they teach you at the clown school you get your makeup from." He carefully wrapped his hands around the laptop and lifted it out, trying not to drop it in the process.

"Do you need help?" asked Rachel with a sigh.

"No," Carson snapped quickly, finally succeeding in getting the computer out of the drawer and into his lap. "I'm fine." And the last fucking thing I need is Trollberry's sympathy. Shit.

"Whatever," said Rachel, stalking out of the room with the tray and yanking the privacy curtain closed on her way out. Carson rolled his eyes and opened the laptop, hoping he could at least find something to watch that didn't completely suck.

Let's see... no... no... no... no... ugh, whatever. Fuck this. I'll just sit here and look at the ceiling. It will probably be more interesting than any of this shit.

He closed the laptop and shoved it aside, crossing his arms across his chest and settling back against the pillows, his eyes trained up at the ceiling as he sighed heavily. He wondered if this was going to be his life from now on if he never returned to normal. He could picture himself laying around in bed all day, every day, doing nothing and going nowhere, constantly waiting for Kurt to come home and feeling like a gigantic burden on him. He imagined Kurt forever looking for new babysitters as Carson scared away the old ones. He imagined going through life being a pain in the ass to everybody, someone that people only tolerated because they felt sorry for him. He felt a dull pain in his stomach at the thought.

Fuck my life, he thought bitterly. As if to rub salt in his wounds, he heard Rachel begin practicing her scales at precisely that moment, and he frowned, holding his hands over his ears to escape the dreadful sound. Goddamn, she sounds like an angry cat in heat. This can't go on. I'm gonna go tell her to shut up. He carefully got out of bed, taking his pills with the rest of his juice before shuffling out into the living room and flopping down on the couch, arms crossed and frown in place.

"Can I help you?" asked Rachel, sighing as she stopped singing.

"Actually, yes. You can stop that god awful racket," said Carson. "I can barely hear myself think over the sound of you stabbing sea lions in the heart out here. Oh no, wait, that's just your singing."

Rachel glared at him. "Might I suggest earplugs if it bothers you?" she asked in a syrupy sweet tone of voice laced with sarcasm. "It's very important for me to practice every day to maintain the quality of my voice, you know."

"Well, I'm sick and it's annoying me," retorted Carson. "You shouldn't annoy a sick person."

"Deal with it," said Rachel with a shrug, returning to practicing with a pretty impressive "fuck you" smile thrown in Carson's direction. Carson rolled his eyes and stalked back to the bedroom, climbing back into bed and pulling the covers over himself. Eventually he must have fallen back asleep to escape the noise, because the next thing he knew, he was being gently shaken awake by Kurt.

"Carson," Kurt whispered, his hands on Carson's shoulder. "Carsey, baby... wake up, sweetheart."

"What time is it?" asked Carson groggily through a yawn.

"It's almost six, honey," answered Kurt. "I'm sorry I didn't call today. It was a pretty busy day at the office. How long have you been asleep?"

"I don't know," Carson murmured. "All day, I guess. Ugh, my head hurts." It did. He could feel the dull ache already spreading in the middle of his forehead.

"All day?" asked Kurt, horrified. "Did you take your pills on time?"

"I... I took them this morning," said Carson quietly, suddenly feeling guilty. He couldn't remember if he had kept his phone ringer on or if he had slept through the alarms.

"Ugh, I ask Rachel to do one thing for me and she can't even do that," Kurt muttered angrily. "She should have woken you up if you were sleeping through the alarms."

"You should yell at her," suggested Carson hopefully. "I've been so bored, and it would amuse me."

Kurt smiled. "I would, baby, but she's gone out again. I'll definitely be giving her a piece of my mind when she gets home, though," he added with a scowl. "She's supposed to look after you when I can't." He took Carson's pill bottles and shook out the correct dosage of each, handing them to Carson. "Here, sweetie, take these. I'll get you some water, and then we're going to get some food in you, since I'm assuming that you haven't eaten since breakfast, either."

Carson shook his head. "Nope."

"What do you feel like eating?"

Carson shrugged. "I don't know."

And it scared him just a little bit that he didn't really care.

The next day was the worst day of Carson's week, by far. Not only was he stuck with Rachel again, but he also had another physical therapy appointment at the hospital, and he wasn't sure which was worse, the fact that he had to go at all, or that Rachel had to be the one to take him there. Kurt had asked Carson at least a million times that morning if he was sure he didn't want him to stay home from work and take him to therapy himself, but Carson vehemently dismissed the very idea.

"Kurt, I don't want you to feel like you have to put everything on hold for me," Carson insisted. "I survived the last time, and I'll survive again."

"Yeah, but you were with Dad last time," Kurt pointed out. "Are you sure you're ok with Rachel taking you?"

"Hey, as far as I'm concerned, it's a bonus because I know for a fact that she would rather do almost anything but take me to therapy," replied Carson with a nonchalant shrug. "And when Trollberry suffers, I smile."

"Well," Kurt said, biting his lip uncertainly.

"Kurt. I'll be fine," said Carson, kissing him lightly on the lips. "I promise. Now go, before I push you out."

"You're too much," said Kurt with a smile, giving him a hug. "Call me when therapy is over, ok?"

"I will," Carson promised. "And tell Sebastian if he suggests a threesome again, I'll fix it so that he has no genitals anymore to have threesomes with."

So although he would rather have been driving pins into his nails, Carson put on a brave face and set out with Rachel later that morning for the hospital. He looked warily at the sky when they got outside, not liking one bit how dark and overcast it looked.

"Is... is it supposed to rain today?" he asked Rachel, trying not to let on just how much the very idea of it made his stomach churn. Rachel sighed.

"I don't know," she said impatiently. "I guess, maybe? Will you come on? You're going to be late for your appointment, and then Kurt will bitch at me like he did last night about your pills. Let's go."

"Do you have an umbrella?" asked Carson, wondering even as he asked the question what good an umbrella would do them in the event of lightning, but he supposed every bit of protection was helpful.

"Yes, now come on!" said Rachel impatiently, and Carson nodded, hesitantly stepping all the way outside. He was nervous the entire way to the hospital, constantly looking at the clouds to determine if they had gotten any darker. They didn't seem to have, but the uneasy feeling stirring deep in his stomach wouldn't go away. It wouldn't, not until the sun was completely shining again.

His nervousness wasn't helped in the slightest by his physical therapy session, which went pretty much just the same way it had the last time, complete with Allison setting a notepad and a pencil in front of him toward the end of the hour.

"Have you been practicing at home?" she asked gently. Carson nodded, looking with disdain at the notebook.

"Yes," he answered her glumly. "And I'm still just as shitty at it as I was the last time I was here. Do I really need to do this again?"

Allison nodded. "I know you don't like it, sweetie, but if you've been practicing then surely you've improved, even just a little. We won't know until we try, hmm?"

"Again with the we," Carson mumbled crankily, taking the pencil into his hand as best he could. "I'll remind you again that it's not us going through this shit, it's me. Everyone who pretends to have a clue what this is like for me can just shut the hell up, ok?" He took a deep breath and pressed the pencil to the paper, making it halfway through a shaky looking "CAR" before throwing the pencil down onto the table in frustration.

"You see? I still can't do it!" he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling. Allison looked at him carefully and sat back into her chair across from him, folding her hands over her lap.

"Do you think that maybe the reason you can't do it is because you believe you can't?" she asked thoughtfully. "Perhaps if you tried to have a little more confidence in yourself, you could do better. You're already doing better than last time," she pointed out. Carson frowned.

"Let's give it one more try, ok?" she prodded. Carson sighed and nodded, picking up the pencil and taking a deep breath before beginning to write.

I can do this, he chanted to himself. I can do it, I can do it, I can do it. There is nothing wrong with me. I can write my name just like I always have. He concentrated all his efforts into shaping the letters of his name, and, to his astonishment, he actually was able to write almost his whole name, only stumbling over the N at the end.

"You see?" said Allison with a smile. Carson felt a swell of pride in his chest, which quickly dissipated as he took a good look at his work and realized just how terrible and childish his handwriting looked. It looked awful. It was all shaky and ugly, and he wanted to cry just thinking about the possibility that even if he managed to write again, his handwriting might never be the same.

"Can I go now?" he asked, glancing at the clock and realizing with relieved joy that his time was up. "I'd hate to make the next patient late for their appointment."

Allison nodded and waved in the direction of the door. "I'll see you next time, Carson. Remember, have confidence! And keep practicing."

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Carson muttered under his breath as he walked out into the waiting area. "Time's up, Trollberry," he said to Rachel, who was sitting in a chair with a copy of People magazine in her hand, looking bored out of her mind. "Let's go home."

"How did it go?" Rachel asked, not sounding as if she particularly cared. Carson shrugged.

"Medicine is a sham. All of it," he answered as they made their way out of the hospital. To his horror, the sky had gotten significantly darker since they had arrived, and it looked like rain was definitely in the cards in the very near future. "Let's hurry. I... I want to get home before it rains," he said quietly, the nervous feeling in his stomach, which had been laying somewhat dormant during his therapy session, rising back up with a vengeance. He did not want to be outside when the rain started to come down. He might actually have a heart attack.

Luckily, they got back to the apartment just as the rain started to fall, pounding relentlessly against the windows as Carson practically sprinted for the bedroom. He clumsily undressed and put his pajamas back on before diving into the bed, pulling the covers protectively around himself and trying not to panic too much as the sound of the falling rain kept splattering against the glass of the window. It's just rain, Carson, stop being a fucking baby. It's just rain and that's all. It's outside. You're inside. You're not out in it like a dumbass, like you were that night. You'll be perfectly fine as long as you stay here, inside the apartment, in the bed, under the covers. Pretend Kurt is with you. Kurt makes you happy, right? He calms you down. He grabbed the nearest pillow and hugged it to himself the way he would normally hug Kurt when they were in bed together, trying to control his breathing, which had gotten very fast and very ragged in his panic over the stupid rain. This pillow is Kurt. This is Kurt until you can have the real Kurt later tonight, ok? Now, calm the fuck down. The lightning is in the past and it can't hurt you again. Not if you don't let it. You can't even remember being hit, so just... He closed his eyes as he hugged the pillow, turning over every piece of memory he had uncovered so far from that lost day. What little he could remember made almost no sense, and he wasn't able to string it together even remotely coherently. He heard a knock on the apartment door and Rachel's footsteps going to answer it.

"Fed-Ex!" called a voice from the other side, and Carson tuned out, a nagging feeling in the back of his brain. There was something familiar about this... had there been a knock on the door the night of the accident? He tried to remember. He knew he had been kissing Kurt on the bed, and then...

Yes, there definitely had been a knock. He was sure of it, but he couldn't remember anything else, much to his frustration. Yay, me. More memories. Ugh, can the rain just fucking STOP already? I can't take much more of this.He really couldn't. His stomach was churning so much, and he couldn't breathe, and he felt as though the walls of the bedroom were closing in on him, ready to crush him like a bug. It was the fucking rain. If the rain would just stop...

Please... please stop. It hurts.

It rained for what felt like forever, and Carson just kept to the fetal position under the covers, riding it out as best as he could and trying his best not to scream. He was never so relieved in his life as when the pounding raindrops finally slowed to a light drizzle and then eventually stopped altogether, leaving him a panting, shaking mess. And I didn't even get like this in the fun way, he thought bitterly, waiting as his body slowly returned to normal. Kurt's not even here. He peered his head out from under the covers and breathed a sigh of relief as he realized that he could breathe again. He heard Rachel singing along to her headphones across the apartment and rolled his eyes, but he was more focused on the fact that he'd survived this....whatever it was. Panic attack.

Fuck yeah, I made it. Suck it, rain. Suck. It.

The ringing of his phone interrupted his private little celebration, and he reached for it quickly, answering it without bothering to look at the caller ID.

"Kurtsie!" he said into the phone, trying to sound bright, or at least like he hadn't just spent god knew how long panicking in bed over a thunderstorm like a little kid. "How's work, baby? Do I need to go over there and remind Sebastian who's the only one that's allowed to touch your ass? Or any other body part?" He figured with Rachel's headphones blasting away in her ears, he was pretty safe talking like that without risking her hearing.

There was silence on the other end of the line for a minute, and then Carson heard a very familiar voice ringing through from the other end. "You little shit."

Carson froze in the bed, his eyes widening and his heart rate quickly climbing back up to dangerous levels as he realized his mistake. "S-santana?"

"Why was I not informed that you and Kurt were now getting on your sweet twin kisses on a regular basis?" Santana asked, sounding only slightly put out, but mostly amused. "Come on, I was so instrumental in getting you to finally make out instead of getting us all pregnant with the sexual tension between the two of you, and I don't even get told? I'm hurt, Hummel, I have to say."

Carson didn't quite know how to answer her. He was too busy trying to calm back down. "I'm... I'm sorry?"

"Well, you should be," answered Santana with a sniff. "But you almost died and everything, so I guess I can forgive you. Hence the reason I called. I've been traveling a lot this summer, and the internet's been spotty at best. I just found out about you the other day. How, um... how are you?"

Carson let out a breath and sat up, leaning his back against the pillows and adjusting himself comfortably. "I'm... I'm ok, I guess," he said.

"You don't sound ok."

"I am, though," Carson insisted.

"After being hit by ten thousand volts of electricity? Come on, how are you really?"

Carson sighed. "Well, I can't remember being hit, so I guess that's good. I'm..." He hesitated, wondering if it was safe to talk to Santana about his problems. He kind of desperately wanted to talk to someone whom he knew wouldn't become a worrywart over him, and he knew that Santana wouldn't. That she would sympathize, but wouldn't treat him like a baby.

"Carson?"

He took a deep breath and started talking. He told her everything, or close to it, leaving out only the most personal of details. He told her about the headaches. The mood swings. The terrible hospital food. His inability to feed himself for a long time. His hard time writing his own name. It felt kind of good to get it all out.

"That... doesn't sound very ok," said Santana after a moment of silence when Carson finished talking.

"It's not," agreed Carson. "But I don't like Kurt making a fuss over me when he should be focusing on his own things, so I keep it pretty low-key. He has such a great opportunity with this internship, and I don't want to spoil it for him more than I already have."

"But I'm sure he doesn't feel that way," Santana pointed out. "Trust my psychic Mexican third eye, ok? That boy is head over heels in love with you. He's probably so glad you're still alive that he doesn't care about any of that stuff."

"Mmm," Carson murmured, wishing she would stop talking about this. Thankfully, she seemed to get the hint.

"Ok, well, now you have to tell me how Gelmet McBlowties got kicked out of Kurt Town and you got in. Because I am still very very hurt that you didn't see fit to inform me. I practically pushed you two together as best as I could," she said.

Carson smiled, glad that she had gotten distracted and gotten off the subject of the lightning, and knowing that she was like a dog with a bone and wouldn't rest until she got the relationship details she was after. "Well, to the surprise of absolutely nobody, Bingo doesn't have the ability to keep his fucking dick in his pants for more than two weeks."

"Ugh, seriously?" said Santana. "I mean, not that I can't believe it, because, well... I used to cheat all the time, so... but truth be told, the thought of anyone stroking Bowties' warblers kind of makes me want to barf."

"Ugh, god, Santana!" Carson exclaimed in a hissed whisper. "Haven't I suffered enough in the past month without that visual in my head?"

"Well, it's true!" Santana protested. "I mean, right? I just... even when I was into guys and he was in his "Do I like boobs?" phase, I just... no."

Carson snorted. "I've suddenly remembered why we were such good friends," he said happily.

"Shut up, you never forgot. So getting back to you and your precious Kurtsie Wurtsie," Santana prodded. "Details. Now."

"I don't kiss and tell, Satan. Sorry."

"But-"

"Nope."

"But you've at least... you know... with him, right?" Santana asked pointedly.

"Sorry, none of your business," said Carson, enjoying the frustrated sigh that came from the other end of the phone.

"Whatever, I'm assuming that you have," she said. "You must have, you were practically sucking each other's tonsils in my parents' linen closet that time, and that was before you had carte blanche to freely explore each other's junk."

Carson grinned. "Let your imagination run wild."

"I will," she said. "Ugh, I have to go, but don't be afraid to call me once in a while. I may be a heartless bitch, but, you know, you're my friend, so..."

"Ok," Carson promised. "I will."

"Bye. Don't do anything with Kurt tonight I wouldn't do. Wait... I'm a lesbian, so... scratch that. Do what you want."

"Thanks for the permission," said Carson sarcastically.

"You're welcome. Bye."

"Bye."

Carson hung up the phone, almost sad to have the conversation come to an end. It had been a good distraction from all the shitty things that had been happening to him. He spent the majority of the rest of the day reading a book in bed, practicing his handwriting a little (he wasn't able to get through his whole name again... he guessed that it was just a lucky fluke that he did it in therapy), and trying not to panic again when the rain started back up (thankfully not as hard as it had fallen earlier). He made sure that he took his pills on time and forced himself out to the kitchen to eat something late that afternoon, even though he still wasn't very hungry.

"Oh good, you're eating," said Rachel in a bored tone. "I hope you took your pills, too, because I don't want to have to deal with Kurt tonight."

Carson ignored her and carefully spooned cereal into his mouth, determined not to spill any. Other than a few errant drops of milk on his shirt, he thought he could call himself successful. Thank fuck, he thought as he gingerly carried his bowl into the kitchen and turned on the faucet. Maybe I'm on my way back to being semi normal. Whatever "normal" means anymore. He ran the bowl under the water and grabbed the bottle of dish soap, squirting some onto it and using the sponge to lather it up. I told everyone I could wash my own dishes. See? I'm managing just fine. I'm not a baby. He turned the faucet off after rinsing the bowl and was about to carry it over to the drying rack when he suddenly felt an all-too familiar tingling in his hands.

Oh god, no, not this right now, please, not until I've put the bowl down...

It was too late. He lost all feeling in both hands and promptly dropped the bowl, shattering it into a million pieces on the floor. Shit!

"Carson, what the hell?" Rachel shrieked, rushing into the kitchen and glaring at him angrily. Carson stared down at the floor, trying to flex his fingers and failing, since he still couldn't feel them.

"I-"

"We don't have a hell of a lot of bowls and plates, you know, and you're not even supposed to be washing your own dishes," she continued, crossing her arms across her chest. "God, look at the mess!"

"I can..." Carson stammered, trying to defend himself. "I can clean it, I just... my hands..."

"And great, that was one of my bowls," Rachel huffed.

"I said I'd clean it," Carson said again, swallowing the lump that was rising quickly in his throat. He didn't know why he felt so humiliated right now, considering it was Rachel and her opinion meant absolutely nothing to him, but he did. Maybe it was because he'd had such a trying day already and this was just the straw that broke the camel's back. He lowered himself carefully down to the floor and tried flexing his fingers again. They still tingled, but he could kind of feel them a little now. "I just... can... can you get the dustpan?"

"Get it yourself, it's your mess," Rachel snapped as Carson started clumsily picking up broken pieces of ceramic from the floor. "Why the hell would you try to wash your own dish anyway when you know your damn hands don't work, I don't-"

"RACHEL!" Kurt's voice echoed through the apartment and Carson looked up sharply. He hadn't heard Kurt come in, but apparently he had just in time to hear Rachel's tirade.

And he. Was. Pissed. Carson knew he must be, because Kurt hardly ever raised his voice, and he was practically screaming at the moment.

"What the hell is going on in here?" Kurt yelled, taking in the sight of Carson on the floor among a sea of broken bowl before glaring at Rachel as he placed himself defensively in front of Carson. "What is wrong with you, Rachel? YOU DO NOT TALK TO HIM LIKE THAT!"

"I..." Rachel said quietly, looking slightly scared at the tower of angry Kurt looming in front of her. "He tried to wash his own bowl, and..."

"And you decided to fucking scream at him and demean him rather than, oh I don't know, help him?" Steam was practically pouring out of Kurt's ears. "He's sick, Rachel. He can't help it if he can't control his hands sometimes, and you were supposed to be helping him with things like this!"

Carson swallowed and cast his eyes down at the broken pieces. A flash of red caught his eye, and it took him a minute to figure out that it was his own blood. He must have cut himself when he tried picking up the mess. Not that he could feel it.

"K-kurt," he said quietly, his bleeding hand shaking. "Kurt, my... my hand..."

Kurt stopped yelling at Rachel and crossed over to Carson, kneeling down beside him on the floor and gazing with horror at the sight of the blood. "Oh my god! Oh Carsey, baby, let me see." He gently took Carson's hand in his and examined it, gasping when he saw just how much blood was gushing out. "Oh my god, baby, come here, let me get you to the bathroom so we can clean that before it gets infected." He got up off the floor and gently helped Carson up, placing one arm around him and leading him out of the kitchen.

"Kurt, I..." Rachel began.

"Forget it, Rachel, just fucking forget it," Kurt snapped. "Just... clean up the bowl. Or don't. I don't care. Just stay away from him from now on."

"I'm sorry," Carson mumbled quietly as Kurt led him away. "I... it was an accident..."

"Shhh, baby, I know," Kurt soothed, rubbing Carson's shoulder as they entered the bathroom. "It wasn't your fault, Carsey."

"I almost had it," Carson murmured miserably, sitting down on the closed toilet as Kurt took an antiseptic pad and began cleaning the cut, which turned out to be not as big as the amount of blood would suggest. "I almost had it, and then..."

"I know, sweetie," said Kurt sympathetically and taking out a Band-Aid. "I'll stay home with you tomorrow, ok? You don't have to be alone with her."

"Kurt, no," Carson protested quickly. "You have work, you can't skip it just for me."

"Carson, it's ok," said Kurt, throwing away the bandage wrapper and stroking Carson's cheek softly. "Isabelle will understand. She knows the situation, remember."

"But-"

"Shhh, Carsey, you need me, and I want to be there for you," said Kurt. "You're more important to me than an internship, ok?" He leaned in and caught Carson's lips in a tender kiss, making Carson shiver with pleasure, momentarily forgetting his protests to Kurt's plan.

"Just one day, though, Kurtsie," he insisted. "Ok? Vogue is important, and I'm usually fine. Today was just a hard day."

"Just one," Kurt promised, standing up and reaching his hand out to Carson, who gave him a small smile and took it. "What do you say we take a bunch of junk food into bed and then cuddle for the rest of the night, hmm?"

"Ok," agreed Carson, wishing he could feel the same enthusiasm he normally would have felt at such a suggestion. "Sounds good."

Or I could just disappear so that you don't have to spend so much time looking after me. You deserve better than that.