The sound of a cupboard being slammed shut cleaves the silence, and Kurt finds himself facing Blaine’s back. He’s filling a glass with water from their fridge, movements precise and angry and Kurt wishes, oh he yearns to be able to make this better with a joke, or a kiss. With anything he’s learned through five years of loving and fighting. But all the little things that always work with Blaine won’t work right now.

Kurt watches Blaine drink his water, standing in the small galley kitchen, shoulders tense and god, so furious. He stands and doesn’t speak and Kurt feels like he might go a little crazy waiting.

“Blaine.” His voice is affection and reproach, a tone he’d use any day. Any normal day; today it is obviously the wrong tone altogether because Blaine sets the glass down with a crack and Kurt is surprised to see that the glass doesn’t shatter on impact.  Forcing himself not to flinch, because he is not now nor had he ever felt threatened by Blaine, Kurt tries again.

“Blaine, come on, what’s going on. Talk to me, please?” He hates to feel like he’s begging.  He can see that Blaine is breathing; slow, steady breaths. To calm his temper, Kurt hopes.

“I just don’t like to see you flirting like that.” Blaine’s voice is low. He sounds troubled and hurt, but not angry, really. Flirting? Kurt can’t help but frown because he doesn’t remember flirting with anyone, but honestly, he’s been told he can come off as flirtatious before.  Kurt’s always thought of flirting as something one does with intention, something born of interest; everything else aside, there was no intention or interest anywhere in that shop this afternoon.  Anywhere at all really, outside of this man in front of him.

But he isn’t sure how to answer, or what he can say, because he knows that this isn’t an isolated argument. Blaine has never before been bothered by the way Kurt interacts with other people, never shown insecurity or jealousy in response to something Kurt has done.  Before he’d kissed Jason, that is.

Kurt bites his lip; everything is different now. Before, there was no reason for Blaine to mistrust him, to wonder or worry. But he’d given him a reason; hell reasons. Kissing someone else, keeping Burt’s crisis to himself, leaving their apartment to get wasted alone- leaving Blaine to find out about Burt from Finn hours later. There is a part of Kurt that wants to feel like Blaine is being unreasonable, holding too hard to a mistake that he regrets so much. The part of him that insists on focusing on the kiss, like he knows Blaine is; the way they both pretend that the rest was forgiven and forgotten with the rings.

He’s wondered, maybe, if this isn’t part of the problem. Blaine’s jealousy and anger all seem to stem from insecurity, the worry that Kurt would cheat again. Which Kurt deserves, even if a tiny, bitter part of his heart wishes Blaine could just see into it, because he’d never, ever cheat again. Sex and love, in his world, are connected in ways that cannot be unconnected. What happened was such an aberration, so far outside the norm. There are days when just the memory of kissing someone else is enough to have Kurt turning the water temperature up in the shower, trying to cleanse his skin and memory. But what sits between them is so much more more than the kiss- it’s trust and intimacy and friendship, all damaged by his actions.  And he’s too afraid to bring it up, to push the issue with Blaine, because he can’t. Kurt has no ground to stand on here; no right to snap back that Blaine knows better.  No right to push Blaine when he so obviously isn’t ready to be pushed.

“I wasn’t flirting.” It’s lame, but it’s all he can think of. It’s redundant and expected but it’s all he has, the only part of this that Blaine will let him address. Last time he tried to bring up Burt it had gone disastrously, with Blaine leaving the apartment for a full night, coming home cold and unresponsive. The week following that aborted and ill conceived conversation had been painful and fruitless.  It feels like defeat, fighting around the real problem, but Kurt is at a loss for what else to do at this point.  When Blaine snorts it’s derisive and Kurt has to work hard to keep his own temper in check.  He’s fucking doing his best, and god, Blaine is just making it so hard.

“Blaine.” Well, maybe his temper isn’t all that checked, if his tone is any indicator, “Come on, really. You know me. What’s this really about?”  One more try cannot hurt, nothing else is helping, he thinks.

Blaine’s laughter is unexpected, and when he turns, there’s a look of disgust on his face,

“Fuck off Kurt. Really. I know you? I know you?” And now Kurt is flinching, and failing to keep his voice down,

“Yes. You do. Don’t tell yourself you don’t. I’m the same person I was before. I made a mistake. But you know me. I’d never hurt you on purpose. Even if,” His hands wave a little wildly, “Even if I wanted to flirt with someone, which I wouldn’t, especially a middle aged man with terrible taste in clothing and absolutely no sense of humor, thank you very much- even if I wanted to flirt with someone, why would I do it in front of you? To hurt you? Why would I do it now, when you’re already looking for excuses to be mad?” And, oh, he knows that this is probably not appropriate logic for the situation, but he’s frustrated, and tired of this argument.

“Ok, so what you’re saying is that you’d do it behind my back?” Blaine’s voice is vicious with sarcasm; he’s pulling his phone out of his pant pocket, hands shaking, “Wait, let me see if I have any texts labled ‘Kurt flirting behind my back’, I’ll just file them along with ‘Kurt fucking kissing fucking Jason while I sit at home alone wondering if he’s dead-“

“Blaine-“ Kurt jumps in, still angry but also somehow tremulously close to tears because, god this is so broken.  They are so broken right now and anger can’t hold out against the bone deep fear that no matter how hard they fight, they won’t be able to fix it, “Please. Please stop. Come on. You know me.” It’s imploring and soft now, the way he says it. “I love you, please, please. You know I love you. We’re here,” He holds out a hand, his ring plain and heavy on a shaking finger, “Because you know this. I get that you’re still mad, and hurt. But can we just talk about it?”

Blaine is looking away, then walking away, circling around the couch and scrubbing his hands through his hair. Kurt can hear him, muttering to himself before he spins to face Kurt.

“I just- I just can’t…everywhere you go, I see it now.  I never used to worry that you would leave me for someone else, that you might want someone else. But…I can see it now, all I have to do is turn on my phone and it’s there, and I don’t know how to go back. I don’t know how to look at you and see it, not picture it.” Blaine sits, sighing. His voice is quieter. Through his tears, Kurt watches as Blaine leans his head back, closing his eyes. Moving carefully, Kurt lowers himself at the other end of the couch.  They sit in silence for a while; the apartment is darkening around them, muffled city sounds marking the still air.

“I miss you.” Kurt is still crying, just a few tears. He’s not looking at Blaine; like him he has his head tipped back, only his eyes are open, staring at an old water mark on the ceiling that has always bothered him. His words fall into the deep silence, unanswered.  The stain on the ceiling kind of looks like Goofy, which is a strange associate to make, but once he sees it, he can’t unsee it, even with the tears in his eyes. When he hears Blaine sigh, Kurt turns his head, and sees that Blaine is watching him.

“I know. I miss you too, but-“ Kurt closes his eyes; he wonders when words got to be so heavy that they could hurt. “It’s all I can see Kurt. I close my eyes and I can picture you kissing him. I’m talking to you about breakfast and inside everything aches because you kissed him. I try to kiss you and it’s like he’s still on your lips.”

Kurt is leaning forward, head in his hands, and all he wants is to crawl over to Blaine, to bury himself in Blaine’s warmth and find some way to make him feel how much he loves him. Find some way to erase all of those things. But all he can do is cry incoherently, and apologize again and again; until somewhere in his hysteria he feels Blaine’s hand, lightly squeezing his shoulder. His breathing is erratic and his body seems to be shaking, hard and he wants to lean back, to press into the weight of Blaine’s hand, but he can’t, he shouldn’t even be the one crying, it’s fucking unfair because he’s the one who hurt Blaine.  It seems pale, his apologies, but it’s all he has, this broken mantra I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Blaine, I love you and I am so sorry.

When Blaine’s hand slips from his shoulder, tugging Kurt’s hand away from his face, he’s surprised to feel Blaine’s fingers, sliding between his own; to feel Blaine’s body warm next to his as they lean back against the couch. Blaine’s head is on his shoulder and when Kurt looks, he can see the tears on Blaine’s face, and he wants to dry them, wants to run the pad of his thumb against the rise of Blaine’s cheek bones. But he can’t let go, won’t let go of Blaine’s hand. Unwilling to move, he breathes carefully, exhaling into this sort of peace they’ve created; this space where everything is still far from ok but at least they're here together.

“I love you.” His voice cracks painfully, throat full of tears, and Blaine’s hand squeezing his is painful and reassuring.

“I know. I love you too.”