Make a wish on our sorry little hearts,

Have a smoke, pour a drink, steal a kiss in the dark,

Fingernails on my skin like the teeth of a shark,

I'm intoxicated by the lie.

            Blaine woke up around 10a.m. the next morning, pressing his fingers into his eyes as if that would push away the light streaming through his blinds. His neck felt like he'd been sleeping on his head the whole night and his back somehow seemed to agree with that.

            Blaine slowly opened his eyes, squinting up at the ceiling. Everything ached and he just wanted to go back to sleep. He shivered, feeling around on his bed for the sheet that had mysteriously gone missing. Except he wasn't on his bed, he was on the floor. That explained the pain. Was he hungover? He didn't remember drinking the night before; come to think of it, he didn't remember much.

            He slowly pushed himself off the floor, grunting as his back protested and his knee didn't seem to want to bend. He felt... old, if that was what old felt like. Not that he would know. Blaine dragged himself to the shower, hoping that the hot water would loosen up the fuckery that was his muscles.

            In the end, the shower didn't do much. He felt tight all over and the ‘hot' water was actually only just barely warmer than body temperature which admittedly didn't make things any better. Blaine wandered from the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist as he made a valiant attempt to massage his own back on the way to the living room.

            Where he was met with flowers. There was a crystal vase sitting on the island carved with curling floral patterns, and it was filled with a mush of colourful roses. Blaine eyed it carefully, edging his way toward the counter. He didn't remember flowers, and he knew for a fact (somehow) that Christian hadn't been home recently. So that meant that they could only be his, which meant he brought them in last night, which meant that something important definitely happened.

            He reached out for the little card hanging off the plastic stick that was wedged in with the stems of the flowers. I'm sorry for what I did to you. There was no signature, no return number, nothing. Blaine leaned his hip against the island, staring at the little slip of paper. He couldn't even tell whose handwriting it was.

            Later, he would realize that this was a mistake. He would regret every single thing that happened, but that was later and this was now and right now, he didn't regret it at all. Blaine leaned his forehead into his arms, spreading his legs behind him slightly as Sebastian's index finger ran lightly over his entrance. Everything felt so good and he would be damned if the thought of Kurt ruined this for him.

            Sebastian was making quiet noises behind him as he worked Blaine over, fingers stretching and moving and just right but so wrong and he just didn't care. He was going to enjoy having pointless, meaningless, emotionless, useless sex with this man if it killed him. Come to think of it, it probably would.

            Sebastian rolled him over, kneeling up between his thighs and reaching for the condom on the pillow beside Blaine's head. Half of him wanted to say not to use it, but the other half, the somehow more rational side, warned him that it was a horrible idea and even though he had to wait to be filled, it was for the best.

            And then he didn't like it. Sebastian was pushing into him slowly and everything was wrong. So, so wrong. The other man was too thin, his hips settled uncomfortably against the inside of Blaine's thighs, his shoulders weren't thick enough, his dick, although lengthy, didn't have the girth that Blaine was so used to. He also did this weird panty-thing where his breath caught and he shuddered; it was probably attractive to other people but he just couldn't see it.

            Sebastian's hair flopped over his forehead as he worked his hips back and forth and Blaine almost wanted to cry. The hands on his sides were too wide, the fingers weren't long enough and they didn't press into his skin the right way. The arms were too wiry, and again, maybe some guys liked that, but he couldn't see how.

            So Blaine tipped his head back, squeezing his eyes shut to hold back the tears as he tried to imagine that the hipbones jabbing against his legs were softer, that the fingers were clenching at his sides rather than just holding, that the odd gasp-breath-shudder was a high, quiet moan, that the cock pumping in and out of him was thicker and filling and perfect.

            Blaine came first and it was a relief when he did because then he didn't have to try so hard to imagine someone else to get him to the edge rather than constantly getting ripped back into reality when Sebastian shifted positions.

            He came with a shudder, body quaking slightly as come rushed over his own fingers. He probably wouldn't have been able to get there if Sebastian had taken it upon himself to finish Blaine off; even the idea of his hand (the wrong hand) wrapping around him almost ruined it.

            Sebastian followed almost immediately, curling over Blaine's body as his hips did a funny little jerking motion while he groaned (almost too obscenely if that was possible) against the skin of Blaine's chest. He pulled out far too slowly for Blaine's liking, peeling off the condom before flopping on the other side of the bed and promptly passing out. That was when he started crying.

            He barely caught himself as he stumbled back toward the hallway, fingers slipping on the doorknob of his bedroom. It was all coming back and he was so so stupid. Blaine grabbed his phone off the nightstand, going through his call history. Kurt had called him last night, why didn't he remember that? He also had a missed call from Christian (probably telling him that he wouldn't be home) and three from that unknown number that was ever returning and he was just too lazy to block.

            A streak of red on his right forearm caught his attention. He'd self-harmed again, he'd hurt himself and he didn't even realize it until now. He had ignored the barely there sting in the shower when the soap washed over him, too distracted with the chill of the water. And for some reason, he didn't realize the bloodied gauze wrapping pushed up against his nightstand where it had probably fallen off during the night.

            Breaking apart his razor was actually a lot harder than he thought it was going to be. Blaine heard about people doing it all the time, that it was the fastest way to get some relief when you had nothing else. Except as his fingers slipped for the fourth time, he was ready to give up. Tears clouded his vision as he tried again, chewing his lower lip and just willing the stupid flimsy plastic to break.

            He twisted the head to the side once more, letting out a breath as it snapped and it was one of the most glorious sounds he'd ever heard. Part of him wanted to sit in the tub, maybe run some freezing cold water and just sit there and take it while he did his business. He settled for dropping down on the closed lid of the toilet, bracing his elbow against his knee and just staring at his forearm. He was a living tally chart. Dozens of even, smooth lines crisscrossed over the once perfect skin. And it wasn't just his arm; there were a few pressed together over his left hip, five on the inside of his right thigh, and three on the inside of his right calf. He was a walking disaster and here he was setting up to ruin himself even more.

             He followed the twisting lines once more before, for the first time, switching arms. It wasn't a pain thing, he was just right handed and so marking up his left arm was the easiest. But for some reason, he felt the need to shake things up, felt that this was enough reason to press his feelings into the once flawless skin of his right arm.

            The first drag made Blaine shudder. His eyes rolled back slightly as the metal slid through his skin like butter and it was instant relief. He felt like he could breathe again, even though everything was slightly hazy and floaty; he was alive and this was proof.

            Blaine was lying on his bed, still not dressed, and staring at the ceiling. It was a position he ended up finding himself in without real reason. There was something about the roof that was calming, that settled his thoughts and just let him float. He didn't have to feel.

            Part of him wanted to check the voicemail Kurt left him, wanted to see what he said and wanted to remember what happened the night before. Except there was another little voice in the back of his head that told him that maybe he didn't want to remember; that he wasn't checking it for a reason.

            Blaine rolled over, looking at the clock on his nightstand and eyeing the green numbers warily. It was 4:30p.m. He had been lying around staring pointlessly at his blank ceiling for hours and he hadn't even noticed. Blaine reached for his phone, slowly unlocking it and opening his voicemail. He was going to do this; he was going to man up and listen to this message and deal with whatever happened last night like a man. Because he was an adult, not a scared little boy and he was going to face up to what he had done.

            “It's... 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. There was this guy and he tried to... he tried to...” Blaine sat up, fingers clenching around the device. Someone did something to Kurt. Someone did something to him and Blaine wasn't fucking there when he needed him. “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.” Kurt sounded so broken as he cried; a heart wrenching sob choking its way out of his mouth. “I should call Rachel to p-pick me up but I-I... thank you.”

            And before he knew it, he was texting him. He had to make sure he was okay. Kurt didn't say what this guy had done to him, but he had a pretty good idea. Kurt? Are you okay? I just heard my voicemail and you said something about a guy. What happened? Please tell me you're okay and not laying in some alley somewhere. Please be okay. He didn't know what he would do with himself if something happened to Kurt, he didn't know how he would deal with it if it was his fault because he was wallowing in self-pity and didn't want to pick up the fucking phone.

            Blaine let out a sigh, breath whistling through his teeth as his phone vibrated out its response. I'm alright. Sorry about last night. I didn't mean to bother you. Was that what he thought it was? Did he think he was bothering Blaine by needing someone because he was potentially raped last night? What did that say about Blaine if he gave him the reason to feel like that was the case?

            Kurt, you didn't bother me at all. Are. You. Okay? You didn't sound okay last night. He just needed to know, he needed to know that Kurt was still breathing and living the way he wanted to and not dealing with this all by himself.

            You made me okay. You saved me. Blaine arched an eyebrow, staring at his phone.

            What do you mean I saved you? Because he hadn't, he'd done the farthest thing from saving anybody.

            You just appeared you woke me up and I got out of there before anything happened. Blaine blinked back the tears, casting his eyes to the ceiling once more and struggling to swallow around the pressure in his throat. Kurt was okay. But—appeared? His eyebrows drew together, lips pursing ever so slightly.

            I appeared? Did he drug you? How high were you last night? Are you high now? Had he been drugged? What had this guy used on him? Something flared up in Blaine's chest; he was angry.

            I drank a little to help me sleep but I'm not sleeping now because you texted me. He was avoiding the question, he was lying and pushing it away and maybe that was better. Maybe it was better for him to try and ignore everything that had happened. The pang of anger was followed by the weight of guilt that pressed against his ribs. Kurt needed to sleep. He needed to have the time to himself and get over what he'd been through and Blaine was being selfish and keeping him living in the moment.

            Should I let you sleep, then? God, I'm so sorry I'm such an idiot. Blaine slid off his bed, scooping his sleeping pants off the carpet and pulling them on before wandering to the living room. Maybe he would start dinner; if Christian came home, he could surprise him. They both loved pasta.

            He filled a pot halfway before putting it on the stove and turning it on high, leaning against the island and staring at the water. His phone vibrated in his pocket, jolting him into reality as it was made louder against the counter.

            Stop saying that stop fucking putting yourself down. Can't you see that I think you're perfect? His eyes blurred over again; he was getting really tired of crying all the time. Kurt did want him.

            Kurt. He wanted to say more. He wanted to say so much more but he just didn't know how. He wasn't used to this; he wasn't used to feeling like this again. He didn't know what to do. The water was starting to boil.

            You make everything better and you're always there when I need you the most. Blaine, you saved me when nobody else could. But he didn't. He wasn't there and he didn't do anything but sit on his bedroom floor and quietly hate himself. He was so selfish. Kurt had saved himself, sure it was the image of Blaine, but it was still Kurt. He couldn't take the blame for something he did to himself. But he was being stupid again. This was Kurt telling him that he wanted him, that he needed him. It was in a roundabout sort of way, but that was just the way that he functioned.

            I'm so sorry I've been so stupid. I'm so, so sorry. I thought you wanted nothing to do with me. I thought you ran right back to your fiancé because you didn't want me. And it was so true. He had been acting the way he was because he was positive that Kurt didn't want him – that he didn't need him. And, as it turned out, he was wrong. So wrong.

            I'm done with Aaron. For good. I'm interested in someone else now. The bottom fell out of Blaine's stomach. Was he so naïve to really believe that this other person Kurt was interested in wasn't him? Yes.

            Oh. Blaine clenched his teeth, working his jaw as he ripped open the little package of spaghetti. Kurt had come right out and told him that he needed him, and yet here he was believing that there was someone else. Someone else. Someone else that couldn't be him because he was a horrible person.

            Can we get together soon? I need to see you. Half of the pasta in his hand slipped, breaking as it struck the tile and skittering in all directions. He was fucking stupid. It was him, of course it was him. He needed to learn to listen.

I want to thank you in person.

            How about New Years? Can we do New Years? It would be perfect; they would see each other and it would be like a rerun of Christmas. They'd be together. They could fix everything and it would all be okay. They would be okay.

            Yes god yes. Blaine's insides twisted as a grin broke across his face.

            Where?

            I can see if Rachel will throw another party? Blaine grimaced down at his phone before staring longingly at the broken noodles scattered around the kitchen. Dinner would have to wait.

            No offence, but I don't know if I want to try and handle Rachel. Blaine could almost feel Kurt's chuckle; he knew better than anyone the terrors of Rachel Berry.

            Where did you have in mind?  

            We could go to the piano bar? He didn't think Christian was working tomorrow, giving a perfect opportunity to be able to sit down and actually talk without him hovering the way Blaine knew he would.

            Okay. And then we can watch the ball drop together. Just like old times. Blaine's heart clenched painfully as his breath caught. He slid to the floor against the island, fighting to suck back air. Like old times. They were really doing this. They were going back to the way things were; Kurt said it himself.

            Just like old times. I'm looking forward to it. And he was. It was so close and so right there that he was almost drowning in it.

            Me too.

            And Kurt?

            Yes, Blaine?

            I love you so much and I'm so glad that you're okay.

            I love you, too.

            Blaine let out a broken cry, gripping handfuls of his hair and rocking on the tile. Kurt loved him, Kurt wanted him, Kurt was okay. The tears poured over and Blaine laughed. He was okay, they were okay, everything was okay.

            Blaine had heaved himself up off the floor, throwing himself in bed and for the first time, crying himself to sleep in the best way possible.

            He didn't wake up until 3p.m. the next afternoon and sleeping for a straight twenty-two hours was taking its toll. Blaine rolled off the bed with a groan, welcoming the thump of his body against the carpet. How he managed to stay in bed that long was anybody's guess. And he really had to pee.  

            Christian was finally home for what must have been the first time all week (okay, that was a lie, it'd been three days or something, he wasn't keeping track.) He looked absolutely exhausted, overnight bag hitting the shoe mat with a dull smack. There were heavy bags under his eyes and his hair was literally all over the place. It was not a look that suited him.

            “I can't decide if you look like you had the night of your life or if you look like a corpse.” Blaine arched an eyebrow, before going back to poking at his bag of chips. Did it count as breakfast if he had dip with it?

            “Little bit of both.” Something was off, his voice broke at the end and he swallowed carefully, avoiding Blaine's eyes.

            “Are you okay?” He wasn't, he knew that much. But he also knew that Christian was going to wave his hand in Blaine's direction, nod his head too enthusiastically, wince when he realized he had a headache and it was a bad idea, confirm in a tiny voice that ‘yeah, I'm fine, don't worry about it', and go straight to his bedroom.

            Christian flicked his fingers at Blaine in a sort of half-wave and Blaine slid off his stool, starting toward his friend. “Blaine, I'm fine.” He almost sounded panicked as Blaine got closer, taking a slight step back with eyes that stayed firmly fixed to the hardwood between them.

            “Now we both know that's bullshit. What happened? You literally look like you were eaten and shit out and it's not a good look for your pretty face.” Christian's mouth twitched, but other than that he remained stoic. “Tell me or I'll tickle the hell out of you, and we both know how that'll end.”

            Christian inched back ever-so-slightly, arms wrapping around his torso in a defensive stance. “I just witnessed something today that I really wish I didn't have to.” There was more to it. There was so, so much more. He was never one to get overly emotional about people he didn't know, even though he was totally the type for that. And if it were Rachel, he would look at Blaine. This was someone they both knew.

            “Who was it? Just spit it out.”

            “I can't. I'm not supposed to say anything.” God, he was so quiet and he looked so nervous and scared.

            “Christian, you're pretty messed up about this, I think I deserve some insight here.”

            “Kurt had a panic attack in public because of some guy and I had to talk him down and I wasn't supposed to tell you but it was so horrible, Blaine. I've never dealt with an attack before, not even with you; which is actually quite surprising, to be honest. But I didn't know what to do, I just sat there and tried to make him breathe and he was just crying and screaming and I was so scared.” Christian's eyes met Blaine's as he crumbled and started crying.

            And Blaine's whole world caved in because he was supposed to be okay, he was supposed to be strong and be Kurt. Maybe he needed to be the one to put Kurt back together.