Kurt remembers this room, the small after hours café tucked into a corner of the hospital. When his father had had his heart attack, he’d come here many nights, for a cup of coffee and a break in the tedium that was staring at the same four walls, waiting for a miracle. Although he knows it must be different, that six years is enough time for everything to change, he can’t see it, and doesn’t really want to.

            When Carole sits, carefully taking the coffee Finn has for her, she’s more tired than he’s ever seen, and he knows in that moment that it’s really bad. Biting his lip, he turns away, and without thinking, takes Blaine’s hand, reassured by his presence and closeness, the knowledge that Blaine has and will be his friend through everything, even when he’s made the worst of mistakes. Blaine squeezes - it’s a signal, and in spite of everything they can still talk to each other without words, because he knows Blaine is telling him to come back, and Carole is speaking.

            “Ok, so everything I’ve told you guys so far is true, but the thing is…” A breathless moment, where the room is getting dim and Kurt has to strain to catch her words, “Burt had a tumor. A rather large one- it’s what perforated his intestine and was blocking off another part of his intestine and what was causing all the problems. The doctor stressed that the initial pathology reports looked ok, but they still had some questions, and we’re going to have to wait to find out if it…is cancer...or not.”      

            “Holy shit.” Finn’s quiet exclamation is too loud, pressing into the silence, fragmenting the pall. Kurt has the sudden urge to laugh, and it’s completely inappropriate and random and so wrong but he can’t stop himself, he’s laughing. He’s laughing so hard, his head down on the table, tears coming to his eyes. He doesn’t hear what Blaine is saying, hand on his shoulder, voice low and urgent, and he can’t let himself see the look in Carole’s eyes and before he can stop himself he’s up and running, running to the bathroom to throw up that stupid piece of toast and bitter coffee that had obviously sat too long in the pot. He experiences a small lapse in this hysteria, a slow lucidity in which he wonders how many times he’s going to throw up today.  A blink and the moment is gone, he’s throwing up nothing but bile now and hurting with the effort.

            He doesn’t speak when Blaine comes in, picking him up off the floor and wiping his mouth with a wet paper towel. He’s limp and silent, absent, a rag doll in Blaine’s arms. They don’t talk. He won’t let himself see the tears on Blaine’s cheeks, because they don’t change anything. Nothing will change this moment, make this any less fucked up.

He remains shut down and silent, as they leave. Silence presses on them, holding them separate as Finn drives them home. Kurt doesn’t say anything, taking his suitcase and Blaine’s in hand.  Assuming that they are still pretending, he carries them up the stairs together, knowing that Blaine will follow. Once he’s in, kicking the door open and dumping the suitcases with little care or ceremony, he turns, and Blaine is already behind him, closing the door with care. Seconds pass and they just look, staring at each other and into the stillness of the room. Blaine looks exhausted, just spent. His hair is curling, Kurt can tell that he’s skipped any sort of product, and usually Kurt loves Blaine like this- rumpled and casual and so touchable.

            But he can’t love Blaine like this, can’t touch him, because beneath the exhaustion is anger so big it’s palpable, washing over Kurt in waves. He’s lost to it, Blaine is, eyes hard and hands clenched, because Kurt has no right. No right to look so sad and needy and broken, he has no right to this claim on Blaine’s heart after what he’s done. And right now, it’s so much easier, this anger. Feels so much better; Blaine lets himself ride the wave of pissed off and resentful; anything to keep himself together, to keep his painfully beating heart away from Kurt. They don’t have words, either of them, for this moment, and so they stand, staring at each other. 

            “I’ll…I guess I’ll sleep downstairs- I can tell Finn I fell asleep or something.” Kurt is trying, failing to disguise the way his voice breaks, the way his hands are shaking, because he wants so much to touch, to break through the space between them and get to Blaine.  But Blaine isn’t agreeing, and he isn’t moving, and suddenly, his eyes are so fierce.

            “Why?” It’s out before he knows he’s going to ask, and he can’t take it back, even if he isn’t sure he wants to hear the answer. This isn’t the time, neither of them are really in it right now, but it’s there.  No turning back, it can’t be unasked.

            “Why?” Kurt’s playing dumb, he knows it, but he can’t think of another way, another ploy to gain him some time, or perspective, or even answers. 

            “Why, Kurt.” And Blaine’s voice is so vicious, so tense with anger, “Why weren’t you home? Why didn’t you even call to tell me what was going on? Why did you have to go and fuck him, why would you do that, and I didn’t even know, you never said a thing that something was wrong-“

            “No, oh no no no,” He can’t help but cut Blaine off because he’s so wrong. He’s right about some of it, but so wrong about the most important part. And now he’s moving, pushing Blaine next to him onto the bed. It’s almost funny, how they find themselves like this, it’s like high school again when they’d sit knee to knee cross legged on the bed, talking through it all so seriously.

            “That’s not what happened- with Jason I mean-“

            “You know what, Kurt, honestly, spare me.”  It’s been so long since he’s seen Blaine like this, so angry he can’t even bring himself to try for nice.  And it scares him, the insidious trickle of serious fear, because he knows this man. Knows Blaine well enough to understand that anger is so much easier, just another part of Blaine’s show face persona. It’s been years since either of them has felt the need to put that sort of a wall up; it’s all over Kurt’s skin and into his lungs, the realization that he has hurt Blaine enough to bring him here, to this place where Blaine feels safer expressing something hard and false, rather than the truth.

            “Blaine,” he’s taking a chance, putting his hand on Blaine’s knee, forcing him to look, to see, “I’ve never lied to you. I promise to tell you everything, I’ve always promised to be completely honest, and I will. Please, you have to know, I’m not going to lie to you right now.”  It spins out between them, and they are assessing each other, examining past promises and measuring the weight of years of honesty and love against this.  Something cracks, tension still heavy in the air, but with a different taste.

“Tell me.” Kurt has never heard Blaine like this, so small and like he’s already given up.  Kurt looks up, mapping his words across the plain painted ceiling, to find his way through this.

“Carole called, and even though she said it was ok, that everything was likely to be ok, I- I just, freaked out. I was at home, and I had been thinking about making that pasta you love and you coming home and there was music on and, suddenly, the phone was ringing.” 

For a moment he stops, to look Blaine in the eye again, “I know it’s dumb, but it felt so familiar. It felt like I was sixteen again. I just…forgot. I forgot that I’m not alone any more, that I wouldn’t have to do this by myself I guess.” His little shrug is lost in the room, a nothing gesture, insignificant. “I don’t know how long I sat there- long enough for it to be getting dark and I was just sitting. I think I had a small panic attack.” When Kurt sweeps his bangs off of his forehead, it’s familiar, the little bit of diva Blaine knows comes out when Kurt is feeling unsure and vulnerable.

“Then Tracy was at the door, and she was crying, Beau broke up with her again,” he rolls his eyes at the familiar joke, but Blaine is still, taking in his words. Nervous, Kurt rushes the rest, “She had some tequila with her, and I don’t know how she managed to convince me to drink with her, but then we were. And I meant to only have one or two, enough to calm down, to figure everything out, but it didn’t stop there. I don’t remember why we decided to go to Sonja’s party, I don’t know why I thought that was a good idea, and there was even more drinking.  There was music and I was dancing, just dancing by myself and pretending that everything was normal, and someone pushed me, and everyone was laughing and shouting.” His eyes are closed, he’s bringing them back, the memories, before he can think or examine or edit them, giving Blaine every detail, a fulfillment of his promise. 

“I think it must have been Greg, because he was there, he pushed me into Jason, onto his lap and then he was…kissing me. Blaine,” Kurt’s making Blaine look at him, binding him to the conversation, “I did kiss him back. It sounds like an excuse, but I promise it isn’t. I was so drunk Blaine. I can’t even tell you that I really knew what was going on, because by then I was just wanting you, and even when I was kissing him, it was like I wanted it to be you and it wasn’t and it felt all wrong. By the time my brain caught up with me, he was unbuttoning my shirt, and of course you saw the hickey and I freaked out even more, I’m pretty sure I slapped him. I know I made a scene, because Tracy had to drag me out of there.”

He stops, waiting for Blaine to speak. There’s more he could say, more to explain, but this is the part he needs Blaine to understand most. Because he’d been berating himself all day for a kiss, thinking Blaine was too. And he could understand the hurt and betrayal Blaine would feel. But Blaine’s been thinking it was so much more, so much worse, and the magnitude of the whole thing is hitting him, how much Blaine has to love him, to even be here right now, with him in this moment, having thought that Kurt had slept with Jason.

“Are you attracted to him?” Blaine’s finally speaking, and for a moment Kurt almost laughs, the question is so absurd.

“Blaine, honey, no. Never. You know that.” And he does. Because they talk about things. They know, how easy it can be, to fall apart, to fall into something with a new person. How easy it could be to want something new and exciting. Jason has always been a sticking point, ever since Kurt was cast with him in the spring musical, because Jason spared no effort pursuing Kurt, he’d been pestering Kurt for months to give him a chance. While Blaine had never been terribly insecure, it had been hard for him, Kurt working with Jason. Jason is classically good looking, taller and seriously cut. And so determinedly smitten with Kurt.

“And you promise,” He’s earnest and so serious now, “Kurt, you have to promise me that’s it. Just a kiss?”

“Just a kiss.” He’s close, Blaine is so close to him, Kurt can smell the remnants of his shower gel and shampoo. He’s leaning into it, into that space that promises comfort and rest and that feeling of complete.

“No.” Blaine leans back, away. His face is all regret, sorry and sad, “I’m sorry but I can’t right now, I just…I need to think. It’s not just the kiss. You have to know that this is about more than just...this.” He waves a hand, a gesture to help sum up where words aren’t helping him. “It helps, to know…what really happened.” His voice breaks; biting his lip and looking away, he shrinks back into himself a little more, sensing Kurt’s need to come close and comfort in some way.  He finishes, hardening his voice and still not looking at Kurt, “But I still need to think.”

“Ok.” Kurt tries to smile through the tears in his eyes, he’s not letting them fall but he knows they won’t be bound for much longer. There’s nothing more he can say right now though, it’s all too much, and he can’t even breathe. Before he can explain, he’s up, out of the room, leaving the silence and aching behind him.