Staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer.

Tell my love to wreck it all,

Cut out all the ropes and let me fall.

Who will love you?

Who will fight?

And who will fall far behind?

            Kurt left his coffee. He left his coffee just like he left Blaine; because he didn't want either of them. Blaine stared at the cup unseeingly, fingers curling tighter around his own. You aren't wanted; you're just like cold coffee. Nobody wants you.

            It had to be true, why else would everybody leave? His mom, Cooper, Kurt, his dad; he was just the old coffee that people threw out so they could go to the pot and get another. Get a new coffee. A new Blaine... a Blaine that wasn't him.

            His mom was gone, probably with a new husband and new kids; he more than likely never even crossed her mind. Cooper had gone off to Hollywood, and yeah, he had come back, but he hadn't spoken to Blaine since the hospital. His father went to alcohol a long time ago and Blaine had the feeling that he never actually wanted him in the first place. Kurt had Aaron....

            “Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes? Although, if we're being honest, you're the one who looks pretty sore.” The familiar voice jolted Blaine out of his thoughts. He lifted his gaze from the coffee cup across the table to settle on the man that was now in Kurt's seat. “Long time no see.” Blaine didn't know if he wanted to smile or cringe. That was Kurt's seat. “What? No hello? We haven't seen each other in three years.”

            “Two. It's been two years.” The man across from him quirked an eyebrow, smirking in a way that drowned Blaine in nostalgia.

            “Keeping count of the days, are you?”

            “Sebastian, please don't do this right now. If you continue to mess with my head I'll either explode or start crying and neither of those sound particularly appealing right now.” Sebastian's face fell slightly, pursing his lips before dropping his gaze to the cup resting on the table.

            “GNFM. Grande non-fat mocha? Didn't you and Tickle-Me-Doughface break up?” The smirk was back and Blaine was seriously debating clawing it off.

            “We're friends.” And man, did that ever hurt a lot more than it should have. Friends. Were they even that anymore? Did Kurt even want to be his friend? Did Blaine want to be his?

            “So, did he stand you up? Too busy taking it from some other guy to show for your little coffee date?” Blaine blinked down at the table, sucking in a shuddering breath and trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. He was joking; he didn't mean it. This was Sebastian. He didn't know anything. Kurt doesn't want you.

            “No, he was here. He just had something more important to do.” Everything is more important than you.

            “Blaine, breathe. You look like you're going to pass out. I won't pry.” Blaine brought his eyes back up to Sebastian's surprisingly sympathetic expression.

            “Thank you.” The other man gave him a little smile before leaning over the table slightly.

            “Need something to get your mind off it?”

            “Sebastian—“

            “I'm being serious. You're obviously not important enough to him for him to want to stick around; so why don't you prove that what he does doesn't define you? Be adventurous, get out and live. Fuck whoever you want because you're Blaine Anderson and nobody gets to take that away from you.” If only Sebastian knew how much he'd been getting out and living these past few years; Blaine was almost sure that he ranked higher on the one night stand scale. But he was right; he was so right. He wasn't useless just because Kurt didn't want him. He wasn't a failure because his father called him one. He didn't suck at everything just because Cooper told him he did. He was not unwanted because his mother left him behind. He was just the man strong enough to get back up from it all.

            “You're right.” Blaine slid out of his seat, grabbing both coffee cups and throwing them in the trash.

            “I am? I mean, yeah, of course I am.” The other man's eyes followed him to the garbage and back, pleased smirk settling right back in place.

            Blaine sunk into his chair once more, folding his hands on top of the table and eyeing Sebastian skeptically. Speaking of fucking whoever he wanted to. “Wanna know something that you never ever succeeded at?”

            The taller man's eyebrows drew together slightly, lips pursing as he thought about what Blaine was saying. “And what might that be? Because I definitely succeeded at a lot; I seem to have lost count.”

            “You never succeeded to get in my pants.” Blaine sat back, crossing his arms over his chest and shooting Sebastian a triumphant grin.  

            “In my defense, you were playing hard to get. And I didn't actually try; if I had, you'd have fallen right into my arms.” Sebastian braced his forearms on the edge of the table, leaning over the surface slightly.

            “Oh please, you were definitely trying. Constant compliments, obviously ogling my ass, touching me whenever you could. You were not subtle.”

            “I wasn't sure if you noticed the staring, you were pretty oblivious back then. You were the hardest to make flop, surprisingly. You had a boyfriend who I knew you weren't getting it from and I was basically offering you sex and you declined. I don't know if it was your pride in the way or you actually had morals unlike the vast majority of men nowadays, or if you actually genuinely cared about him. Or if you were just a prude.”

            Blaine let out a snort, rolling his eyes. “Definitely not a prude.”

            “Definitely not? You sound pretty sure of yourself. I wasn't sure if you'd actually fuck someone after Twinkle-Tush.”

            “There were unquestionably a lot more after.” Sebastian seemed thrilled, which was slightly nerve-wracking.

            “I didn't think the bowtie-wearing-preppy had it in him.” Sebastian's eyes slowly trailed over Blaine's body for what must have been the millionth time.

            “Image. I'm not a bowtie-wearing-preppy anymore.” With that Blaine quickly undid the bow sitting at the hollow of his throat, letting it hang off his shoulders.

            “Come home with me.” Blaine almost fell off his chair. He nearly knocked over the table and slid to the floor because where the fuck did that come from? He was practically positive that he was gaping like a fish. “Kidding.” Sebastian was laughing, red in the face and gripping the edge of the table. And then it hit him; show that what he does doesn't define you. He didn't need Kurt. He didn't need him to fix him. He was his own person and he was going to do what and who he wanted.

            “Okay,” Blaine responded, sliding out of his chair and grabbing his coat off the back. It was Sebastian's turn to flounder. The other man's mouth opened and closed a total of three times before he finally managed to get a hold of himself and realize what was actually happening.

            “What? Really?” Sebastian blinked up at him, eyes slightly glazed over and Blaine could almost see the ‘am I dreaming?' running through his head.

            “Yes really. You're finally getting your wish.” Blaine turned toward the door, striding confidently out of the shop and it just felt so damngood. Because he was letting go. He was finally letting go of Kurt for real. If Kurt wanted to get married to that sap, he would let him. He didn't need Kurt to fix him, he didn't need someone to come into his life and try and help him live it. He was going to live for himself.

            He heard Sebastian obviously stumble from his seat, the legs of the chair scraping unhappily against the tile as he chased after Blaine.

            “You really want to do this?” It was a question that had been asked approximately four times every ten minutes and Blaine was very near considering just going home.

            “Sebastian, if I didn't I wouldn't be here right now standing outside your door which you refuse to open without being completely two-hundred and ninety percent certain that I am dead set on having you fuck me until I can't remember my name.” Blaine let out a noise, leaning against the wall and casting his eyes to the off-white vestibule ceiling.

            “I'm just trying to make sure that you're not just doing this to do this,” Sebastian mumbled, finally fiddling with his key ring and attempting to unlock his apartment.

            “You spent how long chasing after me in high school? I didn't think ‘are you sure?' was in your vocabulary.” This was a stupid idea; Blaine knew that after the sixth time Sebastian asked. What was the point in blowing off steam if his methods were just going to create more?

            “Retract the claws, Blainey. Four hours ago you were still looking immeasurably distraught over another man.” Sebastian finally got the door open, stepping inside and immediately toeing off his shoes before removing his coat and hanging it on the tree. Had it already been four hours? Had the subway really taken that long? That meant it was already around 7p.m. and Blaine really didn't want to take the train again tonight if he didn't have to. He followed Sebastian inside, shucking off his leather jacket and hanging it on the coat tree as well before slipping out of his shoes. It was a small little apartment very similar to Blaine's own; except it didn't feel lived in, it wasn't a home. There was Ikea furniture for Christ sake.

            “Are you just going to stand there and silently judge my house or are you going to come to bed?” Blaine blinked, only now realizing that Sebastian was halfway to what must have been his bedroom, walking backwards as he unbuttoned his shirt and watching Blaine quietly. He was doing this, he was going to sleep with another man just because he could and he was not going to think about Kurt.

            Thinking about Kurt only made everything worse; it was like rubbing salt in the wound because Kurt didn't want him. Blaine quickly followed after Sebastian, dropping his hands to start working on his belt.

            It didn't work. Of course it didn't work. Blaine sat up on the edge of the bed, leaning his elbows on his (bare) knees and running his fingers through his hair. It stuck in odd clumps, clinging together in tufts where the gel had somehow managed to keep its hold. He just knew he looked like a drowned rat, he felt the part, too. Sebastian was snoring softly on the other side of the bed, sheets pooled around his hips. Blaine glanced up at the alarm clock on the nightstand beside him. 3:20a.m. He didn't remember what happened, not really, anyways. He remembered having sex with Sebastian, he remembered closing his eyes and tossing his head back and trying so hard to believe that it was Sebastian grunting and sweating above him rather than the images of Kurt. He tried so hard.

            Blaine didn't realize that his vision was blurring until he blinked and a tear rolled off his cheek. He was so stupid, so naïve to believe that he'd be able to just forget. He had been able to before though, so why was now so much harder? Why was it so hard? Blaine slid off the bed, wandering around the small room and gathering the clothes he thought were his before heading to the bathroom. He'd shower and leave. Sebastian didn't have his phone number, he wouldn't be able to text him or find him ever again. It would be as if he never existed.

            Blaine flicked on the bathroom light, quietly closing the door behind him and setting his pile of clothing on the tile, rifling through it and making sure that what he had was actually his and that he hadn't missed anything. By what must have been sheer luck, every article belonged to him.

            The pipes rattled to life, shower head sputtering slightly before finally giving a choppy but constant stream of hot water. Blaine stepped into the tub, pulling the curtain shut behind him and letting the heat patter against his back. Maybe if he stood there long enough the water would wash away everything he felt; his feelings, his regret, his pain. Maybe he'd forget what he did. No, the way his ass twinged with every wrong shift wouldn't let him forget that.

            Blaine leaned his forehead against the tile wall, sucking in a shaky breath. He closed his eyes, trying to focus strictly on the hot streams washing over his body. The wall was cool against his skin, a firm pressure between his eyes that just ruined the illusion that he wasn't dreaming, that this was real and he had to face it because this was his life.

            “Blaine Anderson, I swear to everything that is holy, if you splash me with that horrible water I will withhold sex for two weeks.” Kurt was eyeing him carefully over the rims of his sunglasses. Blaine was in the pool, arms resting on the ledge and watching Kurt mischievously. The older boy had a book in his lap, stretched out on one of the patio chairs with legs crossed at the ankles, content to soak up the sun (with his approximate fifty layers of sunscreen) and enjoy his reading.

            “I'm positively hurt that you would accuse me of such a thing, Mr. Hummel.” Blaine pressed a palm to the middle of his sternum, sucking in an obvious gasp of disbelief. Kurt quirked an eyebrow, cheek twitching as he kept his gaze on Blaine warily.

            “Blaine, I'm not kidding. This is a brand new book and I just bought these shorts and if you get either of them wet I will end you.” Kurt slowly looked back down at the pages, but not without giving Blaine another pointed glare. Blaine bit his lip to hide his grin, slowly sinking down so that only his eyes were visible over the edge of the pool. “What in God's name are you doing?”

            “The mighty hunter first stalks his prey.”

            “Blaine.” Kurt snapped his book shut, quickly putting it behind the chair and taking off his sunglasses to openly scowl at his boyfriend.

            “He observes the way his victim acts in its surroundings before carefully calculating a route of execution.”

            “Blaine Devon Anderson, take everything you're thinking right now and drown it because I'm telling you no.” Kurt got up from his seat, nervously watching the boy in the pool as he backed away. Blaine followed him around the edge, inching in whatever direction Kurt went. Kurt let out a squeal as Blaine heaved himself out of the water and perched on edge of the concrete.

            “The hunter then moves in for the kill.”

            “Blaine!” the taller boy shrieked, bracing himself behind another one of the chairs. Blaine slowly crept across the pavement on his toes and the tips of his fingers, leaving a trail of water back toward the pool where it dripped off his suit. “Three weeks! A month! I will withhold sex for a month!”

            Blaine pounced, knocking over the chair at the same time as his arms locked around Kurt's shoulders, dragging him down into the garden against the fence. They crashed into the dirt with a shriek of agony from Kurt and a pleased noise from Blaine.

            “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you so much. Get off of me you disgusting beast. Now I'm dirty and wet and my clothes are ruined. If I knew that having a boyfriend was like owning a dog I would have been content to be single forever.” Blaine grinned, shaking his head and laughing at the squawk that followed when the water from his hair splattered across Kurt's face.

            “You don't hate me.”

            “No, I'm pretty sure I do. Now get off, you mutt.” Kurt shoved at Blaine's chest, squirming underneath him.

            “I'm a dog, huh?”

            “Don't even think about it.”

            “I'm a dog?”

            “Are you deaf? I said don't.”

            “But I'm a dog though, right?”

            “Get your filthy, disgusting tongue away from my face, you absolute slob!”

            The water was starting to go cold. Blaine didn't know how long he had been standing there; it had to be more than an hour if the hot water was finally cutting out. Sebastian probably wouldn't be happy about that but Blaine didn't really care.

            “Hey Kurt, hey, hey, Kurt.”

            “What do you want?” Kurt slowly lowered his book, visibly trying not to scowl at his boyfriend on the floor at the foot of the bed.

            “You should come here.”

            “No, I don't think I should. You ruined my clothes after I told you not to, and then you licked my face. I think you deserve to suffer down there all by yourself.” Kurt brought his book back up. Blaine pouted from his seat on the carpet, dropping his gaze to rest on Kurt's ankles which were carelessly stretched in his direction. “Whatever you're thinking, don't do it.” Blaine slowly slid his palm along the comforter before locking his hand around one of Kurt's feet, hauling him down the bed slightly to get a grip on his calves and drag both him and the bedding onto the floor.

            “I wanted to tell you something and you weren't listening to me.” Blaine scowled as he rolled them over, pinning Kurt to the floor and slapping a hand over his mouth. Kurt glared, eyes icy and piercing while his jaw worked against Blaine's palm. “I love you.” The glare softened and Blaine could feel the way Kurt's lips stretched under his hand. He slowly uncovered Kurt's mouth, leaning down to press a kiss to his boyfriend's mouth. Or he would have kissed him if he wasn't shoved off. “That was rude.”

            “I love you, too, you idiot. You dragged me off the bed just to tell me that and I don't know if I should find it romantic or annoying that I now have to get comfortable again.”

            Blaine was shaking. The water was definitely cold now, chilling him to the bone and raising goosebumps on every plain of skin. He didn't know what time it was, didn't know whether Sebastian was aware that he wasn't in bed anymore. He didn't know what to do.

            He slowly turned, teeth chattering as he twisted the knobs (the hot one useless now anyways) to off. He stepped out of the tub, pulling one of the bleached white towels off the rack and wrapping it around his waist before taking another and draping it over his shoulders. Blaine slowly sunk down against the door, pulling the material tighter around his body before resting his forehead on his knees. This was a mistake. In a way, Blaine knew it was from the moment he took Sebastian's offer. He knew that he shouldn't have wanted to, knew that it wasn't going to help. But he pushed it aside and tried to believe for himself that it might.

            Blaine wound his arms around his legs, pulling them ever closer to his bare chest. He was stupid. He had always been stupid; from the day he let Kurt walk away from him at the Lima Bean until now, he hadn't grown any. He was just a sad little boy from Ohio who loved bowties and wanted to be loved.

            After finally heaving himself off the bathroom floor and changing into yesterday's clothes, he left the bathroom. The clock in Sebastian's kitchen said that it was nearing 6a.m. meaning that the other man was probably going to be getting up soon seeing as it was a Wednesday and without a doubt had work. If he even worked. Blaine tugged on his shoes, taking his jacket off the coat tree and slipping it on. He felt like he should leave something for Sebastian, felt like he deserved to at least know that he had been there. Blaine moved back into the kitchen, tearing a sheet off the notepad that was probably there for shopping list purposes and grabbing a pen off the island. He sat at the counter, clicking the pen as he stared at the blank slip of paper. The empty lines seemed to be mocking him.

            In the end, Blaine just settled with Sorry –B. It was innocent enough. It was enough. He didn't need to explain himself; he didn't need to give any reasons. From what he knew, he could convince himself that it was a one night stand and he was following the stereotypical etiquette.

            The New York streets were far from quiet, as always. Part of Blaine wanted to see if he would be able to walk all the way home; a four hour train ride could only mean hell for his feet if he took to the pavement. Blaine hailed a taxi.

            It'd taken nearly two hours to get home in a vehicle and Blaine was glad that he hadn't tried to hoof it. The taxi had dropped him off a few blocks away as per Blaine's request; he wanted enough time to have to walk, to be able to try and soak in the rising sun and the chilly air and just the feeling of being alive.

            “Blaine! Wait up!” Blaine spun on his heel, gaze chasing after the sound of his name and the voice that seemed so familiarly unfamiliar. Hunter. The boy was jogging down the sidewalk, guitar that Blaine bought him strapped to his back and he couldn't help but smile. “What's up?” Hunter was so smiley, he looked so much happier from when Blaine saw him last, which was only two days ago.

            “Hey.” Blaine knew he didn't sound good, he knew that there were still creases in his forehead and that his smile probably looked fake. “Nothing, just got back from a friend's house, you?” He tried to look normal, he really tried.

            “There's a whole lot of something happening here, you're a bad liar.” Hunter gave him a look, it was that look that Kurt gave him a lot when he knew he was hiding something. Blaine hated that look; he was an actor, he should be able to mask these things.

            “I'm just dealing with a lot and I thought it was getting better but it isn't and it just sucks.” Blaine sunk down on the bench beside the glass doors, leaning his face into his hands and letting out a sigh. Hunter sat down beside him, swinging his instrument off his back and leaning it between his feet.

            “Is there anything I can do to help?” Did Blaine ever wish.

            “I don't think so, I think this is just something I need to get sorted out on my own, if that ever happens.”

            “Boyfriend troubles?” Blaine winced. Hunter made a sort of sympathetic noise. “Ex-boyfriend troubles.”

            “We were together four years ago and I was pretty certain that he was the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with. And then things happened and stuff got out of hand and we had a bad breakup and then recently I thought we were going to try again but he's got this fiancé from hell and—“

            “Blaine, you're rambling.” There was a warm, comforting pressure on his thigh and Blaine looked down at Hunter's hand. “Have you tried talking to him?”

            “Yeah. I mean, we were going to have a coffee date yesterday and then he ran off back to his lover and I really wanted things to work out but now they just kind of suck and it's kind of all my fault.” Blaine sighed, leaning back and letting his head smack against the brick wall.

            “I mean did you really talk to him? Not just think you were telling him what you needed to and leaving it at that. He probably isn't a psychic and when it comes to a relationship you really need to spell things out for each other. From what I'm hearing, neither of you spelt anything out and you're kind of in this little mess now, aren't you?” How a nineteen year old had more smarts than Blaine was beyond him. Because Hunter was right. Both him and Kurt had sort of been beating around the bush in more ways than one, they had never really sat down and talked things out and really got everything settled the way it probably should be. God, Blaine really was stupid.

            “I don't know how you're so smart, but you are.” Blaine sighed, looking over at the boy with a little smile.

            “Sometimes you just need someone from the outside to give you another perspective.” Hunter shot him a wink, patting at Blaine's leg in a sort of affectionate way before pulling back. “Take it as a thank you for helping me out the other day. Which, by the way, was so awesome. I made almost a hundred dollars today, can you believe that?” He looked so happy and carefree and alive that Blaine envied him. He almost wished he could get excited over making money on the streets.

            “That's so great,” Blaine replied with a grin before getting up off the bench. He still felt sort of empty, no matter what Hunter's words meant they still didn't make him feel like any less of a complete and utter moron. “I better turn in. I only slept about four hours and I can hear my sheets calling from here.” Hunter just stood up and wrapped Blaine in a brief hug before pulling back and holding him at arm's length.

            “Just don't beat yourself up about this too badly, okay? Hurting yourself will only make it worse for everyone.” The boy patted at Blaine's cheek before grabbing his guitar and swinging it up on his back again and starting off in the opposite direction.

            “Hunter?” He turned around slightly, casting a questioning look over his shoulder. “Thank you.”

            Blaine felt a little better. He felt like instead of drowning, he was occasionally breaking the surface and sucking back a lungful of air before being dragged back under. He froze outside his apartment door, staring stupidly down at the bouquet of roses resting on the Welcome mat. They almost looked random; violets, whites, pinks, yellows. And there was a single tag attached. I'm sorry for what I did to you was all it read and somehow, Blaine knew it was meant for him.

            He was sitting at the island when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He almost forgot the thing existed and when he pulled it out, he almost wished it didn't. Hey, I'm really sorry about yesterday. Rain check? It was just after 10a.m. and Blaine didn't know if he wanted to throw his phone or cry. Needless to say, he didn't answer Kurt's text.

            Christian wasn't home. Christian was never home anymore. There was a note stuck to the fridge that said he was out with Rachel which translated messily to out trying to bone Rachel which admittedly couldn't be that hard if he'd already succeeded once. Christian was nothing if not obvious. It'd been hours. Blaine had been sitting on the uncomfortable island stool for what must have been racking up to six hours and he didn't feel a thing. Part of him wanted to go to bed, wanted to lie down and just sleep for the rest of the week and forget about everything. So he tried.

            He was running and he couldn't remember what he was running from. Blaine could hardly breathe, the cold air stinging at his lungs as the brick walls seemed to try and close in around him. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins, urging him onward and deeper into the darkness despite the cramp starting up in his calf and the way his thighs just ached. And then he heard the voices, the voices he was almost sure he'd forgotten.

            “Hey fag! Stop running and we won't hurt you!” There was laughter, the noises bouncing off the walls and chasing him as well as the footsteps. He had been here before, it was all so familiar except so different. Everything felt wrong. He wasn't a teenager, he was still him. Blaine knew it was ending seconds before it did, knew that he was going to hit a dead end and they'd finally catch up with him and he would lose to them again.

            Blaine's shoes were soaked, catching on the pavement as he skittered to a halt in front of the brick, palms frantically searching for some way, any way out. He knew he was stuck, he knew that the four men behind him were going to be there any second.

            “Blaine.” No. No, that was wrong. They didn't know his name. They weren't supposed to call out to him. They were supposed to call him names and beat him up and leave him in the rained-out alleyway for some shopkeeper to come along and find. Blaine spun around, facing not four men but one. He was slender, broad shoulders tapering into a trim waist and—hair that swooped up off his forehead out from under the rim of the hood pulled over his head. “Why do you keep running from me, Blaine?” The high voice echoed around the alley, drilling itself into Blaine's head and tormenting him. This wasn't supposed to happen.

            Blaine let out a choked noise, wrapping his arms around himself as he stepped back to press himself against the wall. This was all wrong. The silhouette of the man stepped closer and Blaine started crying. This wasn't fair.

            “Why the fuck do you keep running from me?” the voice snapped as he took another step in Blaine's direction.

            “I'm sorry.” Blaine crumbled, sliding down the wall.

            “You don't get to be sorry. You're useless, Blaine. You're absolutely useless. Nobody wants you because you don't do anything for them. You look after nobody but yourself, and even then you do a half-ass job. You're a loser, Blaine. Nobody wants to be with a loser.” And then he was right there, standing over Blaine's body as he mocked, piercing blue eyes somehow visible in the darkness. “You aren't wanted. I don't want you, your parents don't want you, your brother doesn't want you, hell, I'll be damned if Christian even wants you. He's always with Rachel now. He's moved on.” He couldn't breathe; he was suffocating under the words. The man reached out a hand, cold, long, pale fingers grasping Blaine's chin and tilting it upwards. “You're disgusting.”

            Blaine bolted upright, a sob breaking through his lips as the shakes set in. It hurt so much more than anything physical ever could have. It hurt because of who said it, it hurt because of what he said, and it hurt because it was true. He was so useless, sitting in this shitty little apartment all by himself crying in the middle of the night over a nightmare like a pitiful child.

            Blaine dug his fingers through his hair, pulling at the strands sharply as the tears washed over his cheeks. He wasn't supposed to feel this way; he wasn't supposed to hurt so fucking much. Things were supposed to get better; he was supposed to get better. Blaine's chest ached, the shuddering breaths he sucked in making it feel like his ribs were cracking. It redefined heartache.

            After the trembles subsided, Blaine could focus. His forearms itched, wanting, needing something. He needed to get it out, needed to focus on something physical rather than the mental assault that was wreaking havoc on his sense of mind. Blaine went to the bathroom and tore up his razor.

            It was exactly 4:03a.m. when his phone rang. Blaine was slouched against his mattress, staring pointlessly up at the darkened ceiling like maybe it held the answers he needed. It had rung a few times throughout the night and Blaine didn't pick them up, assuming that if he was needed, they would leave a voicemail. When there wasn't one, he just put up another tally mark for another thing he wasn't needed for.

            His phone kept vibrating from his nightstand and he ignored it. His arm stung a little, but it was welcome; it numbed the pain that twisted through his heart and poked needles at his brain. He'd wrapped it after he was done doing what he needed to do, out of necessity rather than want. If Blaine had it his way, he would have let himself bleed all over the floor. But bloodstains were hard to get out of carpet and he didn't want to try and explain himself to the cleaners.

            And then the voicemail came through. This is Blaine. Leave a message after the beep. “It's...” the voice cracked and there was a barely audible sniff. “It's Kurt. I'm at a club on fifty-fourth street—fuck, it was a mistake to come—I... I'm alone. I've been alone. God, I can't focus.” Why was Kurt calling him? Why did Kurt want to talk to him? Why should Blaine care? And why was he calling in the middle of the night? He was probably drunk. Except he sounded broken, there was definitely something wrong. Half of him wanted to pick up, the other half wanted to die. “There was this guy and he tried to... he tried to... and it just made me realize that... I need you, Blaine. And I—I love you. And I'm sorry for everything I've ever done, I'm so sorry—“ It was broken off with a sob and Blaine squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing back the lump in his throat and pushing back the tears. He wasn't allowed to do this. Kurt wasn't allowed to just call him and make him forget everything he was suffering through because of him and expect Blaine to want him back. Blaine wanted him back.

            “I should call Rachel to p-pick me up but I-I... thank you.” There was a slight fumbling, plastic rattling against metal as he hung up. He didn't know what Kurt was thanking him for. He didn't know why he suddenly wanted to be with him. What happened to his fiancé? There were so many mixed messages and he didn't know how to handle them all. Blaine pulled his thighs up against his chest (a position that he seemed to end up in a lot as of lately) and pushed his eyes into his knees. Everything hurt so much and he just wanted it all to stop because it wasn't fair.

            It wasn't fair.