Blaine ends up at Jan’s again, coming unannounced. Jan is the only person he knows who knows what has happened with him and Kurt, and even though he isn’t ready to talk, doesn’t particularly want to talk, the need to be with someone who knows what is going on is overpowering.

Of course Jan won’t let him get away with not talking. She knows him well enough by now, the look on his face and the set of his shoulders. So she brings him in, offers him a beer and lulls him into feeling safe by talking about mundane topics. Law school applications and specialties.

“So are you breaking up with him or what?” It comes out of nowhere and manages to startle him into fumbling his beer. His laugh is rueful and resigned,

“No. I don’t want to talk about it.”  Blaine turns away, toward the tv that’s been muted. Jeopardy has never been so fascinating, he thinks.

“Fuck that, why else would you be here? For my stellar taste in beer? Come on, talk to me.”  When he looks at her, he really looks. Jan is small but strong. She radiates competence; there’s something about her very nature that inspires confidence and trust. Blaine thinks she’ll make an excellent lawyer.

“I don’t want to break up with him. I just don’t know how to make this better. I just need to get over this, find some way to trust him not to cheat again.”

“Do you really think he’d cheat on you again?” Jan’s voice is quiet, the question free of judgment. She leans forward from her curled position, putting her beer down and squeezing his knee, waiting for his answer.

He starts to answer, knee jerk words on the tip of his tongue, but has to stop. He thinks about that moment in the kitchen. The moments all along, every step of the way, when he had a chance to tell Kurt what he was thinking. The times when he could have laid it bare, exposing his insecurity, but chose silence instead, thumbing through the pictures on his phone. Masochism and silence, my two constant companions, he thinks bitterly.

He heard Kurt, that morning in January after the club debacle. Blaine heard him so clearly; promised himself that from that moment on he would. He would talk, he’d delete the pictures and move forward and fix everything. But it was so much harder than he thought it would be, to put words to the feelings that cluttered his throat until he struggled to breathe.  Even now, the thought of pushing them out makes him feel scared and naked.

Jan’s question rings in his ears and suddenly he has a name for that feeling, that feeling that’s been sitting in his chest and heart for almost a year now; fear. He’s not afraid that Kurt will cheat again because he knows Kurt would never want to hurt him like that again. But he’s afraid that Kurt will hurt him, somehow. He’s afraid to trust Kurt again, to trust him and get his heart broken in some other unknown, unforeseeable way. The realization shocks him, slamming into his body which is suddenly cold and numb. It’s late, maybe too late, and he’s just realized that he doesn’t trust Kurt.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust Kurt to be faithful, or to love him, Jan is so right on that score. But Blaine no longer trusts that Kurt won’t hurt him. Jan is calling his name, gently, and he can see beer spilling onto her carpet from his dropped bottle. He can hear her calling his name but he can’t move because he’s just now realizing how deeply this fear has rooted itself, and the realization is like a paralytic. He can feel the tendrils of this fear, gentle roots in his bones and muscles, corkscrewing and squeezing deep, deep inside.

Everything he’s been feeling, the frustration and anger, moments of short temper and the times he’s lashed out or behaved irrationally, all seem to make sense now. When he walks in the door and sees Kurt on any given day, beautiful and lazy on the couch, he could never explain why it make him so angry. Why he wanted to yell at Kurt, why some days, just seeing Kurt hurt so much.

Despite his promises- to himself and Kurt, promises to talk instead of getting angry, to communicate instead of allowing himself to boil over, he hasn’t said anything. He can’t find the words, even when he wants to; even tonight when he tried so hard. He feels them, log jammed in his throat. It’s that fear, this fear he wasn’t even aware of. It speaks louder than wishes or common sense, and his body won’t let him. Now that he can see, now that he has a name for this feeling (god, I’m so scared) Blaine can see how much this fear has touched. All of the anger and insecurity; they are nothing more than masks for what makes him feel weak and vulnerable. It is so clear - he hasn’t been able to say anything because that would mean exposing the most tender parts of his self, the most fragile and hurt, and he doesn’t trust Kurt with those any more.

This whole time, he’s been telling himself that this was the problem; that he didn’t trust Kurt not to cheat again, not to forget him again. Blaine’s hands are shaking, fingers nerveless as he picks up the bottle, apologizing dimly.  His mouth is apologizing and his brain is whirling, spinning. He’s so confused, because he realizes now that through everything the most rational part of his brain has known, with certainty, that Kurt would never cheat on him again. He has managed to somehow know this and not recognize it; somehow managed to sell himself this lie.  Spin himself into this story where he felt jealous and threatened. It’s no wonder he’s been confused as fuck, because his brain has been looking one way and his heart another and the realization is like a truck hitting him. This distrust, lingering and predatory, isn’t about cheating; it’s so clear to him now. He doesn’t trust Kurt in the ways that have no words. The tethers that have always bound them, intimacy and safety and the sense of being; those are what’s been severed.

His brain is moving almost too fast, thoughts whipping through him, and it hurts because he’s so angry and heartbroken and lonely all of a sudden. It’s as if, for the first time in almost a year, he’s finally really and truly upset about the right thing.  He is alone now on the couch, Jan has left, hands full of wet towel, and his phone is ringing, Kurt’s ring tone loud in the small apartment.

“Blaine?” Kurt’s voice is questioning; beautiful and tempting and Blaine knows with certainty that he cannot come home right now, not for anything in the world. He can’t. He needs to think, to work things out. If he goes home he’ll just want to make Kurt feel better and everything else will get pushed aside and this is too important. Blaine knows he’s walking a fine line, on the cusp of really and truly fucking this whole thing up. The memory of Kurt’s voice rings in his inner ear, we’re breaking this beautiful thing, and he knows now what Kurt meant. Blaine has to work to keep his tone even.

“I’m sorry. I think I need some time…I’m going to stay with Jan tonight.” It comes out colder than he intends. He’s tense, his body readying for a fight that isn’t going to happen. Kurt breathes into the phone. It’s a small sound, hurt maybe, and Blaine’s heart contracts painfully. “I’m not…it’s ok. Kurt,” Blaine’s voice is softer now; he can feel Kurt’s fear humming through the line, “I just need to figure some things out. I’ll be home in the morning, I promise.”

“Ok.” Kurt’s voice is thick. Neither acknowledges the tears; there’s nothing to say right now. Alone in their apartment, Kurt is cold. Fingers and toes, skin crawling with chill. He’s cold and so alone and desperately afraid that come morning, Blaine will come to the door, ring in hand, carefully snipping the last of the mangled threads holding them together. All that’s left to him now is hope. And a deep and abiding love he knows he’ll never be able to let go, no matter what Blaine chooses.