How many times do I have to tell you,

Even when you're crying you're beautiful, too?

The world is beating you down; I'm around through every mood.

You're my downfall, you're my muse,

My worst distraction, my rhythm and blues.

I can't stop singing,

It's ringing,

In my head for you.

            Blaine didn't wake up until 2p.m. the next afternoon, too worked up the night before over what Christian told him about Kurt to be able to sleep. He rolled over on the mattress, sighing at the wall across the room. Christian was out again, though this time Blaine wasn't so sure he was with Rachel. He had been pretty worked up, and the idea of him going straight back to easily the most insane person was hard to picture.

            He didn't know what to do. Kurt needed him. Kurt needed him to look after him because he didn't have anybody else. He was done with his so-called-fiancé, Rachel was too busy trying to be a star, no doubt; Santana never really was much help to begin with unless she was drunk. And who did that leave? Kurt never spoke about anybody else, although it was hard to believe that he lived four years in New York without meeting a single other person.

            So he wasn't going to tell Kurt that Christian had told him what happened. Logically, he probably should bring it up, because it was a pretty big deal if Kurt of all people was freaking out in public. And then he remembered that he had to see him that night and promptly fell off the bed.

            Outfit. He needed an outfit. He was going out to see Kurt tonight, with the purpose of maybe having a drink or too, and he needed to look at least a little bit put together, even if all the staff knew who he was anyway because this was Kurt.

            He started freaking out.

            Blaine always forgot that he could bake. It was a stupid, actually, because that was all he seemed to do in high school. If he got stressed out, he would bake; if he forgot to do an essay, he would bake; if he didn't know when his father was going to be home, he would bake. So, it was safe to say that Blaine was a stress-baker, which was exactly what he was doing.     

            His room was a complete mess; clothes thrown across the bed and in piles on the floor, drawers emptied, filled, and re-emptied, sheets shoved in the corner just to make more room even though making the bed probably would have been a much better idea in hindsight. He had been mulling over his clothes for two hours, bringing it around to four o'clock where he then gave up and proceeded to make four trays of cookies.

            And then he realized that he had no idea when they were going to meet at the bar. Blaine ran back to his room, bare feet sticking to the hardwood almost painfully, before tripping over a pile of clothes blocking his door and hitting the carpeting with a thump that he was sure the entire apartment building heard. He scrambled to grab his phone off the nightstand, flicking past the two missed calls from that persistent unknown number and opening his conversation with Kurt.

            Hey, what time are we meeting? He really hoped that Kurt had his phone with him because Blaine didn't think he was going to be able to do much until he knew the exact time. He almost let out a cry of relief when his phone vibrated in his hands.

            10:30? He made a noise of triumph. He didn't need to rush. He didn't need to panic and try and be ready for like... seven or something.

            Sounds great. See you then.

            See you then. He really needed to find out what he was wearing and something was definitely burning.

            It was 9:45 and Blaine was going to start crying. He finally figured out his outfit (a rich navy half-button shirt with three-quarter-length sleeves and tight, dark jeans), an entire tray of cookies had caught on fire, and he still could not for the life of him find socks. Blaine let out a shriek (honestly) of success when he managed to find a pair and even though they were light blue with weird hot pink swirls, he really couldn't care less.

            He hopped around the house on one foot, struggling to pull on his socks and shoes at the same time. He was going to be late. He was going to miss that stupid, stupid train and Kurt was going to leave and he was going to fucking blow it again. The little carpet by the door slipped from under him and he hit the floor with a cry. He was going to have bruises.

            Blaine struggled with his coat as he slammed the door behind him, almost tripping again over the random bouquet of flowers just hanging out on his door step once more. Blaine glanced down the hallway just as the elevator doors dinged closed. He let out a pained noise, pushing the roses (the same) in the door with his foot, reaching for the keys he'd forgotten, locking the door, and running down the hall. He almost fell down the stairs.

            He missed the train. He missed the train, he missed the train, he missed the fucking train. There had been too many people. They were all flooding the staircase, going extra slow to attempt not to slip on the steps and he knew right at that moment that he was fucked. By the time he reached the bottom, the train was just leaving, doors closing behind the last person and starting on its way and oh man, he really was going to start crying.

            He got the next one, which came twenty minutes later, and he was the first person on. He'd shoved some poor old lady out of the way, hardly passing her an apology, and sitting right next to the door. Because for some reason, maybe if he rushed onto the train, it would leave sooner. Instead, he just got exceedingly more anxious as the people flooded on and he had to wait.

            He ran again, still being the asshole he knew he was and shoving people out of the way to be the first person off the train as well. Except that didn't work when some beefy guy grabbed a hold of the front of his shirt and pressed him into one of the poles and all but snarled in Blaine's face for him to wait his god damn turn. Apparently this was elementary school.

            When he finally got off, he almost tripped up the stairs (actually he did, but he caught himself with his hands so it didn't count), nearly killed someone by accidentally almost knocking them down, and managed to rip the sole of his shoe right off the toe when it caught the edge of the step. It was 10:45 and he was officially, definitely late.

            He actually slipped in front of the bar, shoe sliding against the vent and barely catching himself on the brick wall with a yelp. He wrenched open the door and—Kurt. Kurt was reaching toward the handle, obviously very ready to leave as it was almost 11, and his eyes widened almost comically as he took in Blaine's face and his heaving chest.

            “You came.” He seemed so surprised, so absolutely blown away that Blaine actually showed up, not that he didn't have reason; Blaine was never really good at showing up on time.

            A slow grin pulled across Blaine's face as he grabbed a hold on the doorframe mostly to keep himself standing upright as black splotches swarmed his vision from lack of oxygen and making a valiant attempt to appear nonchalant. Even though he just ran what felt like forever.

            “Yeah, I did.”

            Kurt exhaled slowly, finally dropping his arm and clearly trying to get a grip on himself. “I-I'm glad you did.” God, he looked so broken, but at the same time, he didn't. He looked like... Kurt, but just a little more worn down.

            “Me too.” And he was; he was so, so glad. He took a step forward, eyes sweeping over Kurt's body and finally, finally taking in his whole appearance. He wore skin-tight black jeans and a golden shirt that shimmered slightly in the dimmed lights, topped off with a scarf wound around his neck. He looked outstanding, as always. “You uh... you look good. Can we go get a drink or dance or something?” Blaine could have strangled himself. He could have just lain down on the scummy Welcome mat and gave up because he was such a stumbling idiot.

            Kurt's cheeks flushed though, and he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and it was exactly something that he would do. He looked so shy and small and Kurt. “Yes. That sounds great.”

            Blaine carefully reached out his hand, palm up in a silent offering and wiggling his fingers. He wasn't sure if he really expected Kurt to take it, he didn't know if he was pushing some new limits the other man had in place after what had happened the other day. But it was worth a shot, right? Kurt just stared at his hand, obviously worrying over whether or not it was worth it before finally taking hold. It was like a puzzle piece. They fit so perfectly together; the soft skin of Kurt's palm sliding against his as their fingers interlocked and it was just so right. Blaine gave him another little smile before making his way to the bar, gently tugging Kurt along behind him.

            “I—can I just get a non-alcoholic Shirley Temple, please?” Blaine cast him a look, eyebrows drawing together in what probably looked like confusion but was definitely meant to be understanding. He was purposely avoiding Blaine's eyes, staring resolutely at the flat surface of the bar.

            The bartender gave Blaine a pointed look, quirking an eyebrow. “Just a plain lime daiquiri, please.” Kurt sat down awkwardly, obviously wrestling with the idea of letting go of Blaine's hand and ultimately deciding against it. He looked like he was struggling with something, like he wanted to talk but he just didn't know how and Blaine wasn't going to blame him, he knew the feeling a lot better than anybody ever should.

            “How've you been?” It was so sudden and so out of nowhere and so much more confident than Blaine was expecting that he blinked, eyes widening in a way he hoped wasn't noticeable.

            “Hm?” It was like he was doing a double-take on what he said and he almost slapped himself. “Oh, uh.” Blaine, get a grip you blubbering idiot. “Good. Good. I've been good. You?” Yeah, because maybe if he said it three times it would make it more believable.

            “I'm good.... I'm good.” At least Blaine wasn't the only one struggling to say the same word once. Kurt twisted on his stool, looking at the dance floor almost uncomfortably. He probably was uncomfortable. “Do you... you wouldn't want to dance, would you?”

            Blaine almost choked on his drink. “I'd love to.”

            Kurt grabbed Blaine by the wrist, giving a coy little grin as he dragged him back to the bar. Blaine let out a laugh, stumbling after the other man and barely catching himself on the edge of the counter. Kurt had loosened up so much during their little dance thing that Blaine almost forgot how reserved he was before.

            “It's eleven thirty-five,” Kurt stated matter-of-factly, pushing his phone back into his pocket. “We still have a bit until midnight.”

            “You always get so excited on New Years.” And it was so, so true. Kurt was one of those people that absolutely loved the end of the year. He wasn't the biggest Christmas fan unless it was him getting the gifts (because it was usually things he couldn't afford) but after the 25th, he just lit up. It was contagious.

            Kurt smiled up at him from where he'd sunken into his seat. “How could anyone not get excited about New Years? It's saying goodbye to the mistakes of last year and welcoming the next. It's like a fresh start.” And it definitely was, for them especially. This was going to be the start of something new. Something great.

            “You're ridiculous.” Blaine grinned down at the bar top as he sunk into his seat as well before reaching his right arm across the surface to offer up his palm to Kurt. Holding hands just felt so good. Kurt reached to grab his hand and then froze. And Blaine was a fucking idiot. Kurt pulled up the edge of his sleeve, eyes following the movement in horror as he unveiled the criss-crosses tracked up the inside of his forearm.

            Blaine flinched back, hugging his arm against his chest and watching Kurt with wide eyes because this wasn't supposed to happen. It was New Years and this was supposed to be left behind. “You weren't supposed to see those,” he whispered, more to himself than to Kurt. He slid off his stool again as the emotions flickered over Kurt's face and he got off his chair as well.

            Kurt took a step forward as he took one back. “Why would you do this? I thought... things were getting better.”

            Blaine forced himself to swallow, the fingers he had around his own wrist tightening. “They were. They were getting better and then they weren't and I did some really stupid things and this was one of them.” He took another step back, biting his lower lip and pointedly looking anywhere but at the man in front of him.

            “That's okay—it's okay—I can make it all better—“

            “No, Kurt!” Blaine cut him off, looking back up into his face. “You can't make it all better. Some things just don't go away. You were a part of the problem this time; you left me there like I was nothing and ran back to that stupid guy and sure I know that you don't care about him now but I didn't know that then and it hurt me, Kurt. It hurt a lot.” Part of him knew he was being selfish. He knew that Kurt had problems too, but that definitely did not at all mean that what he did didn't still hurt.

            “I told you that it was an emergency. Aaron drove his fucking car into a semi-truck because of us! I ruined him and I ruined you and I'm sorry if you want my undivided attention, but you're just going to have to wait in line behind all the other people I've ruined.”

            “I didn't want your undivided attention for God sake, I wanted—needed you to tell me that you still wanted me and that I wasn't just... cold coffee!” Blaine choked on the words, blinking up at the ceiling to force back his tears. He would not cry. Things were supposed to be getting better.

            Kurt threw his hands up in the air and Blaine tried not to shy away from them. “How many times do I have to say it? I tracked you down to try and help you, I broke up with my fiancé so I could visit you in the hospital, I respected your space and left you alone for weeks when you asked me to, I took away your self-harm tools so you couldn't hurt yourself, I waited at a coffee shop for four hours and I showed up tonight –after everything that's happened to me- and you still don't think I love you?” he scoffed.

            “I have been trying to get better for you! Believe it or not I sacrificed a lot, too. Maybe you shouldn't have tracked me down or took awaymy things; my personal belongings. Maybe you should never have even come and helped me up off the floor that night in the bar because then none of this would have happened. I stopped doing drugs for you, I tried so hard to stop self-harming over you and I did it, I managed. This time it was because of myself. God, I slept with Sebastian of all people just because I thought you didn't want me.” He was going to cry. He shouldn't have come. He should have just given up after the first train because now all of this was happening.

            “Sebastian? You slept with Sebastian? Sebastian Smythe?” Kurt was frozen there, staring at him blankly as he sank back into the bar stool slowly.

            Blaine ran a hand over his face, barely refraining from scraping his fingernails down over his cheek because fuck. “You barely even gave me a second glance. You just leapt out of your chair and ran out the door and said something about the man I saw as your fiancé and you were gone.”

            “I said I was sorry. And I'm fucking tired of saying I'm sorry. While you were off sleeping with Sebastian I was—I—“ Kurt's mouth snapped shut and he shook his head. “You know what? It doesn't matter. It's not like we're dating, we don't have some stupid obligation to each other. Why'd you even show up tonight, huh? To make me feel even worse about myself? Because I'm pretty sure there's no way to make me feel lower than I feel now.”

            “Fine. Just fine. If that's the way I make you feel, take a look at me because I promise I'm not any better off.” Blaine ground his teeth, willing away the wetness blurring his vision. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your night. Next time, don't try to play the night in shining armour if you don't have a sword to slay the dragon.” He twisted away, pushing through the throngs of people and fighting to get to the exit as he finally let the tears fall. He ruined everything. Again. There was a group of people blocking the exit (something Christian would have shit himself over) and he just couldn't get out.

            “H-hi. Hi, I'm Kurt Hummel and I'll be singing a song for you tonight. This is dedicated to a very special person in my life.... He was my knight in shining armour when I was in high school and he still is today. He always will be. I hope... I just hope he knows that. Ahem.” No, no this couldn't be happening. He wasn't allowed to do that. He wasn't allowed to tell Blaine he made him feel like shit and then jump up on stage and sing him a song. It wasn't fair. Nevertheless, he froze at the door, fingers clasped around the bar and squeezing his eyes shut.

            “You think I'm pretty without any makeup on. You think I'm funny when I tell the punch line wrong. I know you get me, so I let my walls come down, down.” None of this was fair. None of it. Blaine chewed the inside of his cheek, tasting the metallic tang of his blood on the tip of his tongue as he soothed over it.

            “You brought me to life. Now every February, you'll be my Valentine, Valentine. Let's go all the way tonight, no regrets, just love. We can dance until we die; you and I will be young forever.” He wanted to walk out. He wanted to run right back to the subway and go home and forget that all of this happened. Forget the familiar voice chasing him through the bar. Except he couldn't make himself move.

            “My heart stops when you look at me.” Blaine was sure that his had stopped too. “Just one touch, now baby I believe this is real, so take a chance and don't ever look back, don't ever look back.” Don't look back. Look forward. It was going to be a new year and that meant a new life. He didn't have to look back. He didn't have to run from the demons of his past; he could forget them at the door of 2017. At midnight.

            “I'mma get your heart racing in my skin-tight jeans, be your teenage dream tonight. Let you put your hands on me in my skin-tight jeans be your teenage dream tonight.” Blaine turned back to where the DJ had been before and there was Kurt, standing under a single spotlight he'd probably turned on himself and looking right at Blaine. And as the last few notes faded out, Blaine couldn't even see anymore around the tears flooding his eyes.

            “I love you.”

            Blaine brought a hand up to cover his mouth, trying to choke back the sob that burst from his lips because Kurt wanted him. He wanted him after all the shit they had put each other through and he loved him.

            “Get off the stage!” someone near the back shouted, but Blaine barely heard it over the pounding in his ears. Kurt cast a shy look around, almost throwing the mic back at the DJ and stumbling off the stage where he headed right for Blaine. The music picked up almost right where it left off and they were pushed into their own little world.

            “I had to stop you.” It was so quiet over the thump of not just the music but his own heartbeat. Kurt swiped at his cheeks with the back of his hand. “You really are my teenage dream.”

            Blaine threw himself at Kurt, falling against his chest and burying his face against Kurt's neck because this was real. This was the way things were supposed to be. They weren't supposed to fight and play a game of ‘who can make the other feel like the most shit'; they were in this together. They needed to play the game on the same team rather than against each other.

            They had curled up in an unoccupied booth, pushing into each other's arms and just content to sit there and wait. Blaine had checked the time on his phone, sitting up slightly to point it out to Kurt.

            “Did you want to go watch the ball drop? We can walk.” Kurt had just nodded, passing him a smile and sliding off the bench with a hand outstretched.

            And now there were so many people. Time Square was packed, much more than usual, which was really saying something but honestly. It was New Years. It was expected. A lot of people were holding hands, just as they were; they were all laughing and happy and free. Blaine grinned back at Kurt over his shoulder as he pulled them to a stop.

            “Ready for 2017?”

            Kurt looked down at him, eyes dancing with everything that Blaine missed; excitement, anticipation, playfulness, love. Kurt sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, wetting it with his tongue in an action Blaine couldn't help but follow. “I am if you are.”

            He bumped his hip against Kurt's before looking up at the countdown screen. They had a minute left. “So ready.”

            “You know... you didn't say that you loved me back.” It was so quiet that Blaine was almost sure he imagined it. Until he glanced over and saw that Kurt was very pointedly staring at the space between his feet.

            Blaine twisted back to face him, eyes widening slightly as he squeezed Kurt's hand. 45 seconds. “I do. I do love you, too. I thought you'd gathered that.”

            Kurt gave a little sigh, the corners of him mouth twitching upward and it was a sound that Blaine didn't even realize he missed. He had missed everything; from the quiet, content little sighs, to the way Kurt loved to sing in the morning, to his knack for trying the cheesecake no matter where they went. He had missed it all and now it was here, right in front of him. Kurt's cheek touched his shoulder, and even though it was a little bit of a stretch given their slight height difference, he didn't seem to mind.

            “I wanted to make sure.” Twenty.

            Blaine hummed in the back of his throat, pressed his cheek against Kurt's ear. Everything just felt so right. They were doing what they'd always wanted to do; the amount of times they talked about spending New Years in Time Square was definitely in the double digits somewhere. He pulled away slightly as the chorus of voices counting down around them grew louder.

            Ten.

            Kurt squeezed his hand.

            Nine.

            Blaine added his voice, grinning over at Kurt and squeezing his hand in return. “Eight.”

            There were so many people yelling with them and it was so so so close. Kurt turned to face Blaine, grabbing his other hand in excitement. “Seven.”

            Blaine laughed, eyes crinkling as he bounced on his toes.

            Six.

            Kurt leaned in and Blaine's heart almost stopped. They were doing this. They were really doing this. The flashing lights from the nearby McDonald's flickered across Kurt's face, catching the greens and blues and enhancing them.

            Five.

            He was so close, they were so close. Everything was so close and he was sure he was going to drown in it all. He could feel Kurt's breath against his cheek; warm and just so there.

            Four.

            It was four seconds too long and all he wanted was to press the few inches between them into nothing. The way it used to be. He wanted to feel Kurt's mouth on his, feel the long, slender, perfect fingers in his hair.

            Three.

            Blaine pressed their foreheads together, watching Kurt's eyes carefully and moving his hands to rest at the other man's waist.

            Two.

            He was so sure that he was going to start hyperventilating.

            One.

            Zero.

            Blaine kissed him, fingers tugging at Kurt's hips to seal their bodies together the way they used to. Everything was on fire. It was a lot like... fireworks. The noise exploded above them, colours raining through the sky. Kurt tasted the exact same way he used to; coffee, mint, wind, and home. Kurt's arms wrapped around Blaine's neck, fingers slipping into the hair at the back of his neck and pressing their chests together, hips slotting perfectly and it all just felt so right.

            Blaine's hands slid to the small of Kurt's back, pushing them somehow closer together. He tilted his head slightly, smiling against Kurt's mouth as their noses bumped; they never were good at the alignment thing. Everything was perfect and nobody else mattered in the world because this was Kurt and Kurt loved him.

            They broke apart just enough to suck in a breath, breathing against each other's mouths. They grinned. “Happy New Year,” Kurt whispered against his lips as he pressed in another chaste kiss.

            “Happy New Year,” he responded, returning the kiss before pulling back slightly. “Just like old times.”

            Kurt couldn't seem to wash the smile off his face as he cast his eyes up to the sky above them. Confetti rained around them and the fireworks were still going and people were kissing all around them and it was just amazing.

            And then Kurt froze, pushing away from Blaine even more as he looked at all the people around them. His breathing picked up, chest heaving for air that was right in front of him and Blaine didn't know what was happening.

            “Kurt? Kurt, are you okay?” Blaine's fingers tightened in the material of Kurt's jacket, ducking his head to try and meet his gaze. “What's wrong?”

            Kurt didn't answer, instead spinning away from Blaine and trying to push himself through the wall of people, shying away from those who brushed by him. Did he do something wrong? Did Kurt not want them to kiss? He didn't understand.

            “Move—please, move—“ Blaine chased after him, apologizing to the people he carelessly shoved out of the way. His hands hovered nervously over Kurt's shoulders, wondering if it was okay to touch. Was it? He didn't know what to do, he didn't know how to fix it. Things were supposed to be better; they were supposed to be better.

            Kurt let out a pained noise from between his clenched teeth, doing a little jolting stumble away from someone who bumped into his side. He tripped, falling on his hands and knees on the wet pavement interspersed with mucky snow and Blaine followed him down.

            Kurt inched away. “Don't touch me, don't touch me, get away, oh God don't,” he spat weakly, refusing to look at him.

            Blaine inched back. Christian. Christian said he had a panic attack. He had a panic attack and he didn't know what to do. Kurt was panicking. He was panicking and Blaine didn't know what to do.

            Fuck.