If I sold my scars,

And every song I wrote,

Said, “I'm sorry dear I let you down.”

If I could trade the stars,

And swallow every stone you throw,

Would I be sorry that I let you down?

            Blaine had set the coffee cup on the island, sinking into the stool and staring at it for who knew how long. He didn't know if he was supposed to drink it, or if it was supposed to just sit there and mock him. Look at what you missed. You stood him up and now you have to suffer. He almost wanted to start crying again, as if he could expel the way he felt through the tears. But he didn't even deserve that. He didn't deserve to cry out the pain. No, he deserved to suffer through it and deal with it because this was his fault and he needed to take responsibility for that.

            Blaine was still watching the cup when the front door opened.

            “Blaine? What are you doing?” Christian's footsteps were slow across the hardwood, as if he were nervous that moving too quickly would scare Blaine off like a skittish horse.

            “My fault,” he rasped, choking on the words. His fingers clenched around the edge of the counter, eyes blurring over again. You're stronger than this. Don't cry, you fucking baby.

            “What's your fault? What happened?” Christian's palm touched his shoulder, warmth seeping through Blaine's t-shirt. He wasn't alone. Christian was there. Christian cared. Didn't he?

            “I did something stupid and now I can't fix it. I don't know how.” Blaine turned to look up at his friend with pleading eyes.

            “But what did you do? How do you know that you can't fix it?” Christian slid into the other stool, turning and resting his hands on Blaine's knees. God, he always knew what to do.

            “Kurt texted me, he wanted to meet up for coffee and talk about what happened on Christmas Eve.” A look passed over his roommate's face but he stayed quiet. “I agreed and told him I'd meet him. And then I chickened out. I just couldn't go in. I couldn't. I was stuck outside the shop looking in and seeing him sitting at that table waiting for me was too much. All I could think about was what it was like in high school. It was the exact same. He even sat the same. And I just... I couldn't handle it, Christian. I took off and didn't even text him to tell him I wouldn't be coming. I stood him up.” Fuck, there were the tears again. His eyes spilled over and Blaine almost wondered when he'd run out of things to cry about.

            “Well, why didn't you text him? Even if it was just to make up a lie or something?” Blaine knew he was just trying to help, but it didn't seem to matter. His reaction would have been the same no matter what.

            “Because I couldn't! Because I knew I'd be letting him down and I thought that maybe if I just ignored it, it would go away. But it didn't! And now he's gone. Maybe forever this time.” His gaze fell back on the coffee cup and he felt like dying all over again. Except he deserved to live, he deserved to deal with what he'd done because this was his fault and he deserved it.

            “Blaine, calm down.” It was then he realized his breathing picked up, then he realized he felt like he was drowning in air because there was just so much. “You're going to be okay.”

            “But what if I'm not, Christian? What if he wants nothing to do with me now? What if that was my last chance?” Blaine sucked in another breath, counting to three before letting it out shakily. “What if he's really gone? God, I came home and just sat on the floor for hours and he showed up and I heard him on the other side of the door. He was talking about how I gave him hope. I broke his heart, dammit. I wish I could just blame him but this time I can't because it's all my fault.”

            “You need to talk to him.” Christian slid off his seat then, as if that was the answer to every problem.

            “I don't know how. He probably doesn't want anything to do with me.” Blaine slid forward until his forehead smacked against the countertop.

            “You never know until you try.”

            It wasn't until around 1 the next afternoon that Blaine finally manned up enough to text Kurt. I'm sorry. It seemed so pitiful. It was pathetic,he was pathetic. He should be putting a lot more into this than he was. I'm sorry, I panicked and I saw you in there and I just couldn't do it. He was such a fucking coward. A useless coward. At least he was owning up to it, that was an improvement, right? I know I should have texted you or called you or did something to let you know that I wasn't showing up but I was just so ashamed that I let it all get to me and I'm sorry, Kurt. He didn't deserve forgiveness. He didn't even deserve a response at all. Which was probably exactly why he didn't get one.

            Blaine slumped down against the couch, not even bothering to sit on the cushions but instead on the floor in front of it. He closed his eyes, head tipping back to stare at the ceiling (something he did a lot recently). Kurt didn't owe him anything.

            They stumbled through Kurt's (surprisingly empty) living room, hands locked around each other from the second the door was closed.

            “Kurt. Kurt, don't you think we should go up to your room?” Blaine gasped out, fingers clenching tightly in the lapels of his boyfriend's coat in an attempt to hold himself upright.

            “Nobody will be home for hours.” Kurt's mouth dropped against Blaine's jaw line, nipping down the side of his throat and eliciting quiet little moans from Blaine. The backs of Blaine's thighs connected with the arm of the couch, toppling him backwards and dragging Kurt down with him.

            “Ow,” Blaine whined, struggling to scoot down the cushions so that they could lie down properly, which was hard when he had another man's weight on top of him.

            “God, I love kissing you,” Kurt murmured when they were finally comfortable. Kurt was between Blaine's spread thighs (which was a chore given how shallow the couch was), rocking slightly and drawing out hushed whines from the both of them.

            “Ditto.” Blaine dropped his head back, exposing his throat to Kurt who took advantage of it immediately, sucking red marks across the tight skin and nipping occasionally. “I'm always worried about someone walking in on us.”

            “Shh, don't bring that up. I don't want a cockblock right now.” Kurt's hot breath rushed over the damp kisses, making Blaine shiver.

            “It was your dad. That makes it your fault.” Kurt made some nonsensical noise against his collarbone as he drifted downward, fingers coming up to push at the collar of Blaine's polo and undo the few buttons there.

            “Sit up. Arms up. Please. Need to see you.” Blaine obeyed the order, nudging Kurt off him enough to help remove his shirt. “God, you're so beautiful.” Kurt's palms slid up the expanse of Blaine's chest, nails catching at his nipples on the drag down and wringing out stuttering gasps.

            “So are you.”  

            Blaine was jolted out of his memory by the vibration of his phone. He raced to open the message, not even caring who it was from. That's a stupid excuse, Blaine. If you didn't want to see me then you should've just told me instead of leading me on. But he wasn't making excuses, dammit. He was trying so hard to make things right and fix things and Kurt was making it so hard. Do you realize I waited two hours for you? And boy did that ever hurt a lot more than it probably should have. Of course he knew. He knew because he sat in the damn cold while he suffered through a panic attack and when he came back, Kurt was still in that stupid coffee shop. Of course he knew.

            I did want to see you! I did. I'm sorry. And he did. He wanted so damn badly. He wanted to stride into the café with all the courage he could muster and sit down across from that man and fucking steal his heart away.

            “Blaine. Blaine. Blaine.” Kurt's fingernails scratched against Blaine's shoulders, hips pumping forward and rubbing their clothed erections together for what felt like the millionth time and it was so much but it was so fucking good that Blaine didn't even care. He didn't care that the friction was almost painful, he didn't care that he wanted to feel more skin than just Kurt's chest catching on his as they rocked, he didn't care that he was far too sweaty and that his hair was probably a mess because he was with Kurt and Kurt loved him and it almost felt too good to be true.

            Kurt made another high noise in the back of his throat, burying his face against the side of Blaine's neck as he came with a gasp, body shuddering against Blaine's and hips jolting forward.

            “Oh God,” Blaine groaned, hands gripping at Kurt's ass and hauling them together once more before his orgasm washed over him, letting out a cry into the otherwise silent house.

            I don't think I can believe you this time. If Blaine could humanly rip out his heart, he would.

            Kurt, please. Please give me another chance. Please. I'm so sorry. I panicked and it was too much and I'm SORRY. Blaine was never one for begging. He was never one to plead for what felt like his life, but here he was.

            I'm sick of playing this game. What do you even want from me? What do you even want to get out of... this? Everything. Everything. I want so much. I want you. I want to be in your arms and kiss you and let you love me again and let myself love you.

            You don't think I'm sick of this? You don't think I don't hurt just as much? I get it, Kurt. I know what it's like to have someone walk away. Don't you remember? I know what it's like to be given hope. It wasn't what he meant to say, but he couldn't grovel any more than he already was. He couldn't look too weak. He wasn't broken, he was... cracked. God, can't you see I'm trying to fix this? This. Not me. I want YOU. I miss you so much. He didn't mean to send it, but somehow he did. Oh well, it was out now. I'm trying, I really am.

            We've already been through this, Blaine. And you pushed me away. We can't fix this –can't fix you- unless you let me in. I've tried to let you in but you keep doing stupid shit that makes me want to push you back out. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Why couldn't he just see that Blaine was trying? It wasn't fair for Kurt to just expect him to be over everything and come crawling back. And he wasn't broken. He wasn't. He was bent and scratched and cracked but he was not broken. Blaine bit his lower lip, blinking his eyes upward in an attempt to smother down his tears because fuck.

            I'm trying! I don't think you understand how hard this is. I'm not broken! I'm not broken. I'm not.

            You /are/ broken, but we can fix this. Together. If you'd just let me break down your walls. Blaine wanted to scream and cry and put a hole in the drywall of the room. You put them there. You did this. He knew blaming Kurt for everything was definitely not the way to handle it, but it was someone else to push things onto. And, if he was being honest, a lot of it was Kurt's fault.

            You're the one who put them there. It was true, though. The day Kurt walked away was the day the brick walls were beginning to be constructed. It was the day that he lost hope in the people around him and buckled down to just go it himself; do whatever he wanted because fuck everyone else. He was his own person and he was going to prove that. Looks like he failed.

            I know I hurt you, okay? I know I fucked you up and I'm sorry. How many times do I have to say that before it gets through to you? The past is the past and you know I would change it if I could. But I can't. So let's focus on the present and learn from our fucking mistakes, Blaine. I'm trying to fix you. Doesn't that count for anything? He still didn't believe he was broken, couldn't believe. But knowing that Kurt was literally begging for him to just slow down for one minute and let him in was too tempting.

            Forget it. I'm sorry. You're right. You're always right. He wasn't. He wasn't right when it came to Blaine's father, he wasn't right when it came to Blaine's mother, he wasn't right about a lot of things. Can we just meet for coffee tomorrow? And Blaine told himself that he wouldn't chicken out. That he would beat Kurt there so that he would be ready and didn't have the time to panic and run again. For real this time.

            I don't know. Shit. Maybe. Good. That was good. Yes. Blaine grabbed a throw pillow off the couch, pressing his face into it and letting out a giddy laugh. I mean, if you promise you won't leave me there. 
            I promise. And he did. He promised both Kurt and himself that he would be ready this time.

            I'll see you.

            CC at 2?

            CC at 2.

            Blaine smiled against the pillow, fingers hovering over the keys once more. Kurt. There was no point really, but that didn't stop him. Thank you. He chewed the inside of his cheek. For giving me a second chance. And that's what it was. This was Kurt giving him the chance to prove that he was sorry. To prove that he was really trying to be there. To prove that this was what he wanted.

            Thank you, too.