It may be that he’s drunk, but Blaine is absolutely baffled and overwhelmed by Kurt. They are sitting in a half empty diner on opposite ends of a booth meant for at least 8 people, with stale coffee going cold as they get to know each other. And Kurt - this beautiful boy who has fascinated him for months - he is so much. He’s almost too much: all sass and verve and god, he’s just breathtaking really.

Blaine isn’t completely sure how they’ve ended up here at three in the morning. It should feel strange that they’re talking over pancakes and somehow managing to smooth over everything that’s come before this: the desperate kissing on a crowded dance floor, the sparked invitation, promising something fast and reckless and just everything that Blaine isn’t.

But they have, and nothing about this feels weird. It’s overwhelming maybe, but really, that’s to be expected. Blaine is reeling from lack of sleep, the emotional upheaval of breaking up with Ryan, the combined effects of too much alcohol, and this stunning boy across the booth from him. Kurt is so far away and yet too close.

“So,” Kurt looks at him dead on, and Blaine feels himself sway a little as the power of those eyes hits him. “What’s your story?”

“Hmmm?” Blaine is picking at his pancakes, drawing a strawberry through the melting whipped cream and dripping syrup.

“You seem…” Kurt tilts his head to the side, studying Blaine candidly. Uncomfortable, Blaine twitches, fiddling with his fork and the strawberry. “Sad.”

Blaine laughs; it’s reflex, instant deflection. Really, who is this kid?

“Huh.” He isn’t sure of his footing here. He is so used to people seeing what he wants them to see that the projection has become a familiar second skin; a happy and confident Blaine, always on and ready to do whatever is needed. To have someone see through all of that is…disconcerting. Maybe it’s the alcohol.

“I don’t know…I--it’s been a hard day?” Blaine is startled by the way he says it, how he turns it into a question. He can feel the surprise on his face and has the sudden realization that maybe he’s even more drunk than he’d bargained for.

Kurt is still watching him, one carefully groomed eyebrow arched. Blaine is overcome by a smothering desire to unload his ugly mess of confusion all over the table.

“I think I broke up with my boyfriend today.” The words are out before he’s even planned on saying anything. It’s unexpected and disquieting.

“You ‘think’?” Kurt scoots around the rounded booth until he’s beside Blaine, one leg curled beneath him and the other propped up. His elbow is crooked on his knee and wow. Blaine thinks it might be the alcohol talking, but it’s been so long since anyone has really, actively, listened to him. Kurt is obviously waiting, wanting to talk, and Blaine has to look away. He blinks hard to keep tears from forming in his eyes.

“Um, yeah. I think.” Blaine isn’t sure, to be honest. He knows what he said, but he’s not sure what Ryan heard. Or how strong he himself is feeling. When Ryan comes back around, which is inevitable because he always does, Blaine can’t promise that Ryan won’t manage to talk his way back in, undoing every argument Blaine has come up with for why breaking up is right. Why it’s necessary, because right now he might just drown if he doesn’t find some air.

“Okay.” Kurt is still considering him, “What about your friends? What do they think?”

Blaine can’t help the bitter laugh, “I don’t know, I’m sure they’re still celebrating. My roommate isn’t Ryan’s biggest fan.” He shrugs, embarrassed. He doesn’t have close friends, other than Ryan. He hangs out with his roommate, Jeff, and Jeff’s friends. But there’s no one he feels close to.

“Hmmm.” Kurt’s answer is noncommittal. He’s picking at the seam of his jeans, still watching Blaine. He looks…soft? There is something in his eyes, maybe the sympathy; it’s too much for Blaine right now. He feels unguarded and vulnerable, drunk and a little disoriented.

“You know, I’m sorry- I’ve just met you, you don’t need me dumping my dumb problems all over you.” He tries to wave it off, as if there aren’t obvious tears in his eyes. Kurt is gentle, his hand easy on Blaine’s arm.

“Maybe that makes me the perfect candidate. You seem like you could use a friend. I’m actually really fabulous- you could do worse, you know.”

That’s when Blaine gives up, head thumping heavily on the table. He’s not sure if he wants to laugh or cry. The only thing he knows is the thread of Kurt’s fingers as he grips his hand. It feels like comfort; it’s foreign and he longs for more.

“Yes. I really could.”

~*~

Depending on who you ask, it’s either late or early as they make their way home, considerably more sober. They’d been in that diner for hours, talking and getting to know each other. They walk slowly toward campus. Blaine can see the street lamps in the distance when Kurt asks, “Where do you live?”

“In the same dorm as you, dummy.” Blaine’s laugh softens the insult. Kurt’s smile under the street lamps is natural; the way it makes the breath catch in Blaine’s throat is not. Not for him, at least.

“What? How do you know that?”

“I’ve seen you around,” Blaine shrugs. “I noticed you at the club one night and then saw you at the dorm a few days later.” He winces, “Is that creepy? I feel like I’ve gone to the creepy place.”

Kurt laughs, bumping shoulders with him. “It’s not creepy... at least I don’t think so. I can’t believe I’ve never noticed you.” Kurt’s gaze is assessing. Blushing, Blaine turns away. He wonders what color Kurt’s eyes are in the dark. He doesn’t turn back to see.

“Yeah well,” he pauses when Kurt threads their arms together. Kurt is warm, taller and thinner too. It’s nice to have someone touch him like this. It feels friendly, safe. “You stand out.” He can feel Kurt tensing next to him, but before he can say anything, Kurt is speaking.

“Yes, I believe that. What is it? Too gay? Too flamboyant?” The faint tinge of bitterness in his voice sneaks under Blaine’s skin and he wonders, who hurt this boy? From a distance, Kurt has always seemed confident, dynamic, and radiating moxie. Blaine thinks of the night he first saw Kurt, of Kurt’s whispered confession in the bathroom of the club. He’d been struck by the idea that there was something <i>more</i> to him, something under the surface of all that lively vivacity. He sees it now; Kurt is more like him than he’d thought- one thing on the outside, but maybe just a little damaged inside.

“No,” he says quietly, stopping and turning to face Kurt. “You seemed... I noticed you because you- you seemed so alive.” His voice is tinged with embarrassment, but Kurt isn’t laughing. Blaine can already tell he’s thinking. They consider each other for a moment before Kurt turns, pulling Blaine along with him. They don’t talk again until they are almost at the door of the dorms.

“It’s so dark out.” Blaine hunches his shoulders, he’s cold and tired and not dressed for the overnight temperature drop.

“Isn’t there some sort of saying about that?” Kurt asks, amused, “About how it’s darkest before the dawn?” Blaine is startled by the words but doesn’t respond. He wonders how dark his own life is right now, and if dawn is just over the horizon.

“Hey, give me your phone.” Kurt is already pulling out his phone as he gestures for Blaine to do the same. Puzzled he takes Kurt’s, giving him his. “Put your number in. Can’t be friends without knowing each other’s numbers, right?”

Blaine feels the smile, what feels like a real smile, breaking through his numbed skin, cracking along the seams. He nods, shaky fingers programming his number into Kurt’s phone. He’s about to speak when he feels a hand on his shoulder, causing him to jump and almost drop the phone in his hands.

“Hey.” Blaine freezes as he turns to find Ryan, dressed in ratty track pants and an old sweater. He looks a mess: his eyes are puffy and something about the look of heartbreak fractures Blaine.

“Ryan.” It’s the barest whisper, and he has to close his eyes. He doesn’t want this, can’t have Ryan near him, not when he’s tired and cold and defenseless. What’s worse, Kurt is right there, watching the scene unfold with wide eyes.

“Can we- can we please talk? I have my car, if Jeff doesn’t want me to come up.” Ryan has his pleading voice on,and his face is so earnest. It works well; Ryan barely has to exert any control anymore because they both slip into this like a second skin. Between Ryan’s tone, eyes, and his fingers at the hollow of Blaine’s wrist, he’s shamelessly tugging at every one of the strings he’s sewn around Blaine’s heart. Blaine can’t do anything but gesture toward the dorm. He looks at Kurt, apology and warning in his eyes, and Kurt just looks back, steady and unfazed.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.” Kurt smiles as he says it, handing back Blaine’s phone. Blaine wonders what the protocol is here- if he should introduce them. What would he even say? Ryan, tentative ex, meet Kurt, the boy I was tongue fucking six hours ago. The boy who might be the only real friend I’ve had in years, if I don’t manage to scare him away or fuck this up.

It’s probably best that he not say anything; he nods at Kurt instead. They head into the dorm in silence, parting ways at the stairwell. Blaine doesn’t turn toward Ryan, assuming he’ll be followed. Blaine is torn between anger and regret and he’s just so tired. Not because it’s 5 am, but tired because he knows how this is going to end. He’s tired of being so weak, and tired of feeling like his happiness is the last consideration. For anyone, but especially for himself.

He unlocks his door with fingers that are still shaking from the cold, moving away from Ryan’s hands. Blaine doesn’t think he can stomach the thought of Ryan touching him right now, not even to help him out of a coat he isn’t wearing but should have been. He’s fucking cold right now, but even the warmth of the familiar touch is too much.

“So…” Ryan starts. “That was fast.” His tone is bitter and Blaine feels accused and defensive all at once.

“Ryan. Don’t.”

Ryan snorts, picking things up off of Blaine’s desk with jerky movements, putting them down haphazardly.

“No, really.” He sits in Blaine’s chair, turning to face him. The chair squeals loudly, reminding Blaine, once again, that he needs to either get a new one or fix this one. The noise is like nails on a chalkboard. “Blaine.” Ryan’s voice is filled with hurt, “I thought you loved me- who was that guy? How can you just-” He lets the accusation hang, cloaking guilt around Blaine’s shoulders.

“Ryan, come on. He’s a friend. Besides, even if he wasn’t, isn’t it my business now?” Blaine tries to see Ryan the way he looks in his mind’s eye, to hold onto the way he sees him when Ryan isn’t there. But all he can see are Ryan’s tears.

“Please don’t mean that.” Ryan tucks his face into Blaine’s shoulder, tears wet against his neck. Blaine’s skin crawls, his heart splitting. If he believes anything, it’s that in this moment, Ryan is sincere.

“Please don’t do this, baby. I love you so much. I’ll do better. I can change, I can change anyway you want me to.” Blaine stands stiffly, trying to avoid the guilt and confusion.

“Ryan, you shouldn’t have to change. Please stop, I meant it. This is over, I can’t do this any m-more.” He’s stuttering, trying to get the words out, helpless as his arms come up to hug Ryan. It seems to be instinct to comfort people in pain, even the people who hurt him the most. There’s this overriding feeling that someone else’s pain is more important than his own, because Blaine has been hurt before. He’s been hurt and disappointed and beaten, and he knows he’s strong enough to get through almost anything. Anything but hurting someone else.

“Please, Blaine.” It’s hard to understand Ryan through his tears, “Please just give me one more chance.” Blaine bites his lip, trying to figure out how to make <i>‘I’m so unhappy’</i> enough of a reason to hurt another person. It’s in his power to make this better, to undo the heartbreak he’s inflicting. Maybe Ryan will change, or he will change. Maybe somehow he’ll find it in himself to want to be with Ryan again.

“No one can love you like I can,” Ryan’s lips are on his skin and Blaine’s eyes close. “No one knows you like I do.” And he’s right, Ryan is right: in his life, there is no one who loves him as much as Ryan does. No amount of wishing changes that simple truth.

So he ignores the aching in his bones and the crushing weight of carrying another person’s happiness solely in his hands. He wonders when it will be time, when he’ll have reason enough to break free. When Ryan will finally do something irrevocable, something even he can’t beg or cry his way out of. Because there has to be something. Some moment or action that is enough; it’s his hidden door, an escape he half hopes for every time he finds himself here. The hope for a time when he can justify to himself, and to everyone else, that leaving this boy who has a stranglehold on his life and his heart will lead to his happiness. Or better, a time when he’ll be brave enough to go it alone, brave enough to live in a world without even the smallest glimmer of love to warm his hands with.

~*~

It’s almost morning when they crawl into Blaine’s tiny bed. The bunk sways with their combined weight. Blaine feels unreal, untethered and numb. He’s been withdrawn for so long, found so many ways to exist in his life and in his body without having to really feel any of it, that the numbness is almost a comfort. He’s had one night of exposure, of letting himself try to breathe and be and feel. There were moments where he’d felt so exposed: in the club, walking with Kurt, particularly the conversation in the diner. He’d been left rubbed raw and defenseless. 'Maybe,’ he thinks, 'maybe numb is better in the end.’

When Ryan’s hands come around him, cold and sure, dipping into his waistband, Blaine jerks away hard enough that he’s almost sent over the edge of the bed.

“Come on, you weren’t serious about that were you?” Ryan whines against his back. Blaine closes his eyes, trying not to remember. He tries to ignore the memory of nights past, of things that make his skin crawl. There are reasons why he’d finally found the courage to tell Ryan, months ago, that they wouldn’t be having sex any more. At the time, it had been survival: he felt like he would go crazy, literally go insane, if he had to stomach Ryan touching him ever again.

But that feeling is far away right now. When he’d said that and stuck to his guns for the first time, it had been the first step of many that he’d taken thinking he’d finally find a way out of this relationship. That he’d found a way to extract and untangle himself, but that’s over now. He’s already given in just by letting Ryan back into his life. He knows the drill, the ways that acquiescence will make his life smoother, easier. Letting Ryan have his way has always been easier than fighting. Blaine doesn’t speak, just rolls closer and onto his back, watching as the sunrise lights the ceiling of his dorm. He pretends to be somewhere else as Ryan’s hand finds its way into his pants.

He lets himself be pushed and pulled and flipped over, ignoring the way Ryan pants words like, ‘love you’, ‘so tight’, and ‘all mine’, into his ears. Blaine closes his eyes, then opens them. The sheets are white and he’s anesthetized, far from this body, from Ryan. He’s some place where he can let these things happen to him without feeling them at all. He thinks of Kurt, who has promised to be his friend, of Kurt’s words about the darkness before dawn. As he winces at the twinges of pain (Ryan has never been one for control), Blaine thinks of his favourite song, the way Tim Kasher’s voice sounds at the very end, broken and hopeful, singing: the worst is over.

He has the feeling it’s not really, not by a long shot. Maybe one day.