When Blaine leaves the apartment, he has no clear goal in sight. He thinks for a moment he might go see Jan, but quickly quells the thought. He’s still too angry, skin and fingers vibrating and trembling and god, he hates feeling out of control. He thinks resentfully of Kurt, laughing coyly while Mark made terrible jokes. Blaine is sort of ashamed but still angry enough to feel justified in his anger. Surely anyone could see the way Kurt was skirting that fine line between friendly and too friendly.

It’s this thing, this Kurt thing, that he always does. The way he tilts his head, exposing that length of neck, his hand playing with the skin just below his collar; it’s invitation and temptation and fuck. Blaine has to stop, running his hands through his hair. Never in their years together has he felt this; this burning sort of ugliness. This distrust and jealousy.

But that’s old news, he reminds himself bitterly. It’s old news because never in five years could he imagine that Kurt would cheat on him. That he’d find pictures, pictures that he can’t help but stare at now, vivid and not quite focused enough on the small screen of  his cell phone. Pictures the capture in detail Kurt’s long limbs, lose and pliant, his lips flush against another man’s.

There is some rational part of his brain, some small part that wants nothing to do with the display of anger and the loss of temper from earlier. It’s the part of his brain that says he’s forgiven Kurt. That begs him to put the phone away, to delete the pictures because their existence is a scab he cannot stop himself from picking at. This rational Blaine knows Kurt wasn’t flirting, knows that Kurt is naturally coy and sexy when he’s unguarded, but never cruel or teasing.

Blaine frowns, staring up at the sky which is a startling hue, sunset is laying slowly over the city. His chest aches, whether from yelling or from the weight of forgiveness he’s promised but can’t seem to deliver on, and that ache is a hard reminder.  That they have a long road ahead of them, and he’s not making it any easier. He doesn’t know how to help it though, the way Kurt just does things that get under his skin. The way Kurt is too good looking, too friendly, too Kurt.

Shame is heavy on him; Blaine feels small and unkind, recalling the look on Kurt’s face as his favorite bowl had shattered on the floor.  Blaine is leaning against a brick wall by their favorite café where he plays open mic nights occasionally. He studies the clouds moving across the sky, thinking about his temper and wondering how he can stop this happening in the future. He’s ok with being upset; Blaine is sure Kurt wouldn’t begrudge him the right after what has happened. But he’s let it build for far too long. Swallowing moments of anger or frustration or jealousy that he shouldn’t have pushed away.

The timing just never seemed right. Things moved so quickly- their engagement, Burt’s health in precarious balance, finding their own balance once they’d learned that Burt would be  ok, trying to find some solace and comfort in and with each other. So many times that Blaine should have addressed the elephant in the room but chose not too, telling himself that this was what was meant by forgiveness. That this was the face of forgiving someone you love for hurting you.

In retrospect, he thinks, this is nothing short of insanity. Blaine knows, he knows Kurt would accept and understand that he’s having a hard time.  Hard time forgetting, moving past what Kurt did. Why then, does he feel the need to keep himself in check, to be more careful with Kurt on a daily basis than with himself? All that’s come from this is a truly epic temper tantrum that’s both embarrassing and unnecessary. The whole thing makes him exhausted, and really it’s kind of ridiculous. In an effort to spare Kurt’s feelings (Kurt who cheated on him, he reminds himself), he’s stifled his anger to the point that he can’t even control himself. Which is neither acceptable nor sound in any way.

As his thoughts start to coil, growing more confused instead of less, Blaine pushes off of the wall, wandering the streets of his neighborhood as twilight falls on the city. Everything seems too much- the anger that hasn’t dissipated, the jealousy he can’t deny, the need to prove that Kurt is his- which is primal and sort of embarrassing because if anything Blaine Anderson is a gentleman, not a Neanderthal. But still, the need is there, to take Kurt, to bruise him and lay him open and own him. To love him through the hurting, to hurt him with that love. To lose himself with Kurt in a way that might make him forget, for those few moments, just how much he has been hurt as well. How close he feels to losing it all.

So he walks. He walks and tries to find some peace, some calm. To find some reason or rationality. He walks until his feet blister and although most of these needs, desperate and primal, don’t leave him, he promises he won’t go home until the anger does. Until the shaking in his fingers and the need to yell and enjoy the way Kurt’s face flinches goes away.  He can accept almost everything else, but not that. Because if there is one thing he’s promised himself, it’s the promise that Blaine will never hurt the people he loves just because it makes him feel better.

His feet carry him forward steadily, tapping staccato into the pavement, step after step of dissipating energy, unwinding anger, until he can breath again. With the anger gone, he can feel so much more, everything else that’s been damming up inside, and he can’t do anything but accept it all. It’s all he can do to let go of the anger, and he’s not going to hold himself accountable for much more than that. He’ll go home and he’ll apologize and there’s a good chance he might find some other way under Kurt’s skin where he belongs like a brand, but it won’t be with anger.