Alone on Jan’s couch later that night, Blaine lets his thoughts wander and regroup, clutter and undo him. The distance between them seems almost too much. Blaine wonders how they’ll ever bridge this gap. He wonders, for the first time, if they can. If he can. If he’ll ever be able to reach Kurt again, reach out to Kurt and find that place that was once so comfortable, so familiar, so home. When he thinks, do I really want to do this? the thought is both new and completely familiar. He thinks about his life, stretched out before him, and what it might look like without Kurt. What he might look like, if he’d ever find someone else to make a family and a place with.  And he can’t.

Blaine has to laugh at himself, a little. He can’t even think about a life without Kurt seriously- it’s all he can do to stay away now. Kurt has been so much to Blaine over the years- best friend, comfort, lover. He’s surprised now by the sudden tears, curling around himself on the couch, because this- all of this- hurts so fucking badly. Loving Kurt right now is suffering and wanting; conflict and resolution, and just too much. He has no real answers, no way to know how they are going to fix this, just the understanding that Kurt in his life is as necessary as breathing.

He thinks of all the things he has done wrong, the ways he’s tied and tied and tied Kurt’s hands, moment by moment. The way Kurt is so careful when he’s around other men, so as not to make Blaine jealous. Kurt cutting off ties with his theater friends; hoping that avoiding the chance of running into Jason will be enough to pacify Blaine.  Kurt’s quiet voice, offering to give up his audition, offering to give up something that he loves and needs, to keep Blaine happy.

A memory appears, skipping across his tired brain, of his mother’s jewelry box. When he was younger, he would sit and watch her put her makeup on. She had always been so beautiful; to this day Blaine is positive that his mother is the most beautiful woman he’s ever known, lovely in an untouchable and fragile sort of way. As a boy, just being near her, being allowed to spend time watching her, talking with her, had been enough to make him giddy and nervous and warm all over, basking in her attention. Occasionally, when he had been well behaved, she would let him poke through her jewelry box, helping to chose what she should wear. He remembers the mess of necklaces, delicate gold chains knotted in a heap, pushed to the bottom of the box.

“Mama, what happened to these?” He’d held out the gleaming hodgepodge of chains.

“Oh,” She wrinkled her nose, “Nothing really. Sometimes if you aren’t careful or don’t pay attention, they get tangled up somehow.” She’d laughed softly, “I never have the patience to unknot them, so they just get worse and worse.” And Blaine had smiled, vowing to untangle the chains for her when she wasn’t there, hoping to surprise her, wanting to see her proud of him, to feel her love for him because he’d done something just for her.

The memory now is a little bit bittersweet. Blaine knows he is a people-pleaser, and times like these, when he remembers moments from his childhood usually feel a little sad. Remembering himself, so desperate for love and acceptance even from a young age.  Wanting to be the light in his mother’s eyes, even for a moment.

But really, what he’s thinking about was that mess of chains. The way he’d had to pick them apart, tiny bit by tiny bit. He’d used a bent safety pin and a magnifying glass, terrified to snap the fragile gold links. It had taken days, and a store of patience he’d never suspected himself to have, before he’d finally finished the task. He’d always wondered, later, if his mother would have taken more care with those necklaces if she’d known how hard he’d worked to fix them. Six months later however, he’d looked into her jewelry box to find a tangle of chains, left carelessly strewn amongst other jewels.

He sees now, the chaos they’ve made of their lives. Not with carelessness by any means. But Blaine knows now, he’s been so focused on one aspect of this whole mess, he’s let all of the real things, all of the true intricacies and problems pile up and knot and coalesce and worsen. He thinks of Kurt; sweet and imperfect, so fucking beautiful sometimes Blaine aches with it, hurting to touch and wonder and wallow in the hollows of Kurt’s body. Kurt who is one thing on the surface- bitchy and reserved, but possessor of the ability to love, of a genuine tenderness and warmth that only the most select are privileged to know. Blaine is awake at three am, awake and every cell in his body speaks before his mind can form the words, each one crying to be near Kurt, to hold him and to love him.

It will be too soon, Blaine realizes, to go home to him now.  Kurt hurt him, cut right into the most vulnerable parts of him and that’s a fact. Blaine chose to forgive him from the get go- he knew it would be hard, but he didn’t realize how much of a mess he could make of everything in the process.  This isn’t a moment for blame, but for reality. Kurt alone hasn’t been able to fix what needed fixing, and neither will Blaine be able to.

He remembers the morning after their engagement, waking up so happy and replete; the way he’d crashed hard, finding Kurt in the bathroom, still marked by Jason’s mouth. The way he’d thought, I can’t do this.  But he could, Blaine knew, because he had to. He remembers thinking that Kurt’s actions had cracked their foundations. If Kurt’s actions were responsible for those cracks, his reticence to really let himself feel what happened, to let himself deal with what was really broken, had only served to widen those cracks. They would have to take time, to work together, to fill them.

So they will, Blaine promises himself. Come morning he’ll get up off this couch. He will stop for coffee, find Kurt in their apartment, and they will talk. And it might take more months. It will be hard, and somehow he will have to find a way to talk around his fears and insecurities and form some sort of shaky bridge. Something small and temporary to bridge these gaps.  And they’ll call it trust, even though it will only be the beginning. But he’s committed to it now, hands aching to take this tangled mess and start to pick apart the strands. To take Kurt’s fingers with his, to hold them steady as they slowly make their way through the fragile strings holding them hostage in this moment.