They say great things come if you wait,

But I won't wait for anything but you.

Free falls and alcohol, I've paid my dues.

Now I can't get high on anything but you.

A cardboard box of make-believe,

Empty pockets full of dreams,

And you are everything I need.

            They'd texted for what must have been a week, calling every night; Blaine lost count of the days after the first three. And now he missed Kurt more than he thought was actually possible.

            Blaine groaned, the noise loud and uninhibited as it echoed through the living room. He set his phone on his knee as he curled his legs under himself, staring at it as if it might light up the second he sat down. It didn't. He tried to tell himself that Kurt was probably sleeping or something, he'd a habit of just randomly falling asleep as of recently and if Blaine didn't know that it was Kurt, he would probably force him to go to the hospital and get it checked out because there was no way it could be healthy.

            Except it was Kurt and Blaine knew that he had a problem with overworking himself and usually passed out at random intervals anyways. Or maybe he just got bored of talking to him. Blaine's face fell and he glared at the coffee table. He was being stupid again. Not like that was new, though.

            The front door opened and Blaine snapped his head up to look; maybe Kurt came to surprise visit. He tried not to look too put out when it was Christian who came through the door.

            “Hey.” His flatmate sounded distracted, dropping his bag on top of his shoes and going straight to the little kitchenette to raid whatever was in the fridge. Which was admittedly not much because Blaine hadn't gone out to get anything yet.

            “Hey,” he replied, dragging himself back off the couch and setting his phone on the coffee table with finality.  He could ignore it for awhile; he could. Maybe.

            “Why don't we have any food?” Christian was leaning almost completely inside the fridge, holding himself up just by the top of the door while his other hand pawed over the shelves.

            Blaine gave a sheepish little smile when his friend turned around, fixing him with a raised eyebrow and a slight frown that turned the corners of his mouth. “Sorry?”

            Christian groaned, letting his forehead bang into the bottom edge of the freezer with a barely contained wince. “You were supposed to go get groceries.”

            “I was... busy?” he offered weakly, wringing his fingers together in front of him and trying very hard not to look toward the coffee table. Christian just fixed him with a look, cocking an eyebrow and slowly taking in his posture.

            “You were busy waiting for Kurt to answer you, weren't you? And by the look on your face right now, I'm going to say the answer is yes and that he still hasn't responded.”

            Blaine sighed, deflating and leaning against the island. “How come you always have to be right?”

            Christian gave him a proud little grin, tilting his chin up as he finally straightened. “I don't have to be; with you I just am.” Blaine stuck his tongue out. “So, do you want to go shopping with me, now? We always make a list but whenever I come back with what's on it, you complain that you had more ideas. I think it'll be a lot more productive if we both just go, that way you can't complain if we forget something because it'll be your fault and not mine.” Blaine pushed out his lower lip, casting a longing glance back toward where his phone sat. “Blaine, the point of a mobile phone is that it's mobile.”

            Blaine straightened almost immediately, not knowing how he'd forgot that his phone wasn't attached to the house. “I have to pick out an outfit.”

            “We're going shopping, not clubbing.” Christian rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh because he knew how long Blaine took to get ready.

            “Every moment is an opportunity, Christian.” And with that, he took off down the hallway.

            “Blaine, it's been almost half an hour, what in God's name are you doing in there?” Christian appeared in the doorway and Blaine froze, at least five bowties hanging off his fingers. “No.”

            Blaine opened his mouth before closing it again, pouting down at his hands. “I can't choose.”

            “You do not need a bowtie to go shopping, put them back.” He took a step into the room and Blaine took one back. “Blaine.”

            “Yes I do. You don't understand, they need me.” Christian strode across the space between them, holding out a hand palm up and flicking his fingers.

            “Hand them over.”

            “I can't, they're my children.”

            “Give me the bowties.”

            “They need me.”

            “I am going to tickle the life out of you if you don't give me the stupid bowties.”

            “They're not stupid!”

            Their shopping trip had finally been completed. Once they actually managed to leave the house (not without Christian pinning Blaine to the floor and tickling him until he couldn't breathe) everything went by quickly and efficiently. Now Blaine was sitting in the subway, staring at the dark screen of his phone. He unlocked it almost carefully, pulling up his contacts and scrolling down to the Fs where he hovered over the number he had put in just over a week ago.

            He hit call. It rang three times before being answered and Blaine's entire chest seized.

            “Hello?” He wanted to both throw his phone across the platform and give this guy a piece of his mind. Blaine drew in a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes shut and just waiting. “Anyone there?” God, even the sound of this guy's voice made his stomach knot up.

            Blaine pressed his fingers over the bridge of his nose, pinching for good measure as he tried to stifle down his anger. This guy deserved it. He opened his mouth, ready to tear a strip off the other man and then the dial tone ran over the line. He had hung up. Blaine supposed it was a good thing, he didn't think that getting arrested for threatening bodily harm would be good for his and Kurt's relationship right now.

            He slowly put his phone back in his pocket, rubbing his now sweating palms over the tops of his thighs and getting up off the bench.

            And that was how he found himself in the gym. He had gone home after shopping, changing into something a lot more comfortable as the stifling weight of what this guy did to Kurt had almost drowned him.

            Blaine hit the bag in front of him again, barely containing the noise that threatened to force its way out of his throat when it swung back toward him, no matter how slight the movement. He didn't even know what he looked like; didn't even have a face to visualize onto the bag. But he had a voice and a phone number and that was good enough.

            Blaine shuffled his feet, gloved hands in front of his face as he bounced ever-so-slightly. It'd been so long since he'd boxed, probably around five or six years. And now that he was here, he remembered why he started it in the first place. It was an outlet; a much better outlet than self-harm had ever proved to be. At least for him, anyways. It was better than drugs, and alcohol, and blood running down his arm and reminding him he was alive.

            This was so, so much better. He could feel his heartbeat in his head, feel the way the mat shifted under his weight as he moved. He could feel the muscles in his arms and legs and he could see with incredible clarity; the way the fibres of the vinyl were tore up in places, the way the artificial light bounced off the stark white walls. He felt so alive in that moment that nothing else mattered.

            It didn't matter that Kurt had almost been raped after being drugged by a complete stranger. It didn't matter that his father hated him. It didn't matter that Cooper still hadn't called since the hospital incident, even if he promised that he would. It didn't matter that a lot of things were still broken because every time his fist collided with the punching bag, it was as if they were fixing themselves. It felt good not to have any responsibilities.  

            “I didn't know you boxed.” Kurt was standing at the doorway to the weight room, leaning against the doorframe with a cocked eyebrow and crossed arms. His eyes raked over Blaine's body shamelessly.

            Blaine paused, slowing down his bouncing gradually until he stilled. “I didn't think that it mattered.” He knew that he was probably snapping, but he was wound up and pissed off and Kurt was interrupting his coping time.

            “It doesn't. Not really. I just didn't think that you were one for violence.” He knew Kurt was kidding, he knew that he didn't mean any harm.

            “Yeah well, the more you fucking know.” He gave a sort of sweeping motion with his right hand, curving it in an arc that he hoped represented a shooting star before turning back to the bag and taking up his stance again.

            “Hey, I'm not attacking you or anything.” He could hear Kurt's voice getting closer and he wanted to run away. He wanted to run away and scream and cry because he just wanted to be alone.

            “Go away.” He was going to regret being an asshole later; he was going to regret treating Kurt like shit. But right now, he couldn't care less.

            “Blaine.” One of Kurt's hands touched his shoulder and Blaine whipped around, glaring at his boyfriend.

            “I said fuck off.” The hurt that passed over Kurt's face was so prominent Blaine almost wished he could take it back. He didn't. Kurt's fingers slowly dropped and he looked down at Blaine so openly, so vulnerably and sincerely that he started crying.

            Blaine sagged to the floor, hands clasped over the sides of his head as he rocked back and forth, sobbing into his knees because this wasn't fair; nothing was ever fair. He wasn't fair to Kurt, he wasn't fair to his friends, his father wasn't fair to him; everything was against him and it sucked.

            Kurt's fingers touched his wrists, slowly pulling his arms down and bracketing Blaine's face with his hands. “Honey, breathe.” He sucked in a gasping breath, whimpering and shaking from his spot on the floor as he struggled to focus on his boyfriend's words. “You're okay. You're going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay. Everything is okay in the end and if it's not okay, it isn't the end.”

            The ringing of his phone jolted him out of his memories and he moved to grab it off his pile of sweater. Unknown number. As long as it wasn't Kurt, he didn't care.   

            “Who keeps sending the flowers?” Christian called from the kitchen, peeking around the corner to watch Blaine as he shut the door and took off his shoes.

            “There are more? I thought it was just Kurt sending them, but if they're still coming than I have no idea.” Christian narrowed his eyes before ducking back toward what must have been the stove. Blaine moved around the partition separating the front door from the kitchenette and sure enough, resting on top of the island was another vase of roses. Still the same colour.

            “You probably have some secret admirer,” his roommate snickered, back turned to Blaine as he stirred whatever he was cooking. Probably pasta; Christian had some sort of weird attachment to fettuccini recently.

            “Highly unlikely but the faith you have in me is astounding.” Blaine rolled his eyes, sinking down in one of the island stools. “So, how are things with you and Rachel?” Christian was just about to answer when there was a knock at the door. “I'll get it; don't think that you're getting out of this question that easily. I want to know all about Ms. High-Maintenance.” Blaine slipped back off his seat, padding his way to the door and unlocking the deadbolt.

            “Mom?”