"Okay, no, youre gonna talk to me now," Kurt said decisively, snatching Blaine out of his stare and the cigarette out of his mouth. Blaine huffed, his affronted expression turning into a glare when Kurt snuffed it out. "You look like you got hit by a bus."

"Those dont come cheap, you kn-"

"Maybe getting less nicotine is a good thing! Youd actually fucking sleep!" Kurt retorted, flicking the butt of the cigarette onto the ground below them. He shifted and put a leg on either side of the wall they were sat on, the brick grating under his boots.

Blaine rolled his eyes and flicked his lighter on and off in his hand. "I do fucking sleep," he grumbled, before furrowing his brows and looking up at Kurt again. "Wait, like you can talk! You dont even get home till its 3AM."

"Yes, but then I sleep. You have bags-for-life under your eyes, B." Blaine shifted uncomfortably at Kurts tone softening at the edges; hed have almost preferred it if he yelled. "Whats going on?"

"I just wake up a lot," he responded offhandedly, not even realising hed dropped his gaze again, to his hand and his thumb flicking the flame on and off, on and off, on and off -- like if he trained his mind enough on the action, he could ignore his heart starting to pound.

"What, like, insomnia? Nightmares?" Kurt prompted, nudging Blaines foot with his own. Blaine didnt respond to the motion, just how he didnt respond to his leg starting to fall asleep under his other one. Any movement seemed far too reckless a decision to make. "Blaine, for fucks sake-"

"Kinda, okay, kinda like nightmares," Blaine cut in. Somehow talking over him instead of answering when he was asked was easier; somehow his voice took up less of the air around him.

Kurts eyes were darting, icy and calculating, across Blaines face, and he wondered for a brief, terrifying second if he could read minds, or if he was saying his thoughts aloud without realising: I wake up in cold sweats and feel scared about nothing. Nothing is there but I still end up crying and I can't breathe. I feel so weak.

"So do you wake up from nightmares or not?" Kurt asked slowly. Thoughts ran laps in Blaines head but not a single letter could be forced off his tongue: If they were nightmares, I could cope with them. But theyre about nothing. The air around me gets so thick, Kurt.

"I dont know," he murmured in lieu.

"Youre not giving me much to work with here."

"Well, sorry." His cheeks were hot under Kurts stare. He felt each atom turn red and burn as the heat crept up his skin. His heart was still thudding.

"Dont give me fucking apologies. You have to know something!" Kurt insisted. Blaine tensed in an effort to keep his face straight and swallowed the lump in his throat, rising like a warning. Dont. Youre fine. Youre fine, he told himself, the motions of his thumb becoming all the more interesting. On, off, on, off. He wished he had an off button for the hot flush in his cheeks, his clammy palms; the tears burning behind his eyes. No, youre not about to cry. Theres no excuse to cry, youre not even upset-

"Fuck," Blaine cursed under his breath when the flame caught the tip of his finger, immediately dropping the lighter. It fell somewhere in the grass below them, out of reach -- his distraction was out of reach and his thumb was stinging--

"You idiot, is it bad?" Kurt asked, nudging himself closer. No, dont, keep back, Blaine wanted to say, but the knot in his throat told him it would unravel if he did.

He gave a stiff nod and a murmur of, "Its fine." Every time he opened his lips, a little bit of his control seeped out. A little more pressure behind his eyes and on his chest. Youre fucking ridiculous. Get it together. Get it together right fucking now.

"Are you sure-"

"Its fine!" Blaine repeated, louder, and the dam broke in his throat. His voice cracked and his face crumpled, like a house of cards being blown over in the wind, and the tears began freeing themselves from his eyes.

"Whoa, whoa, Blaine-" Fuck, fuck, fuck, the boy snapped, pressing his hands to his eyes. He tried to explain that he wasnt upset -- he wasnt crying because he was sad, not really, it just happened sometimes and he couldnt help it -- but the idea of forming words that didnt sound like strangled gulps was nearly laughable. "Blaine, stop, what did I say?"

Breathe. He shook his head, curling up as best he could on the wall and pressing his lips tightly together to muffle his sobs. They were filling up his airways. He felt like a bomb about to explode and he couldnt risk that, not in front of Kurt, not in front of anybody but the four, staring walls of his room. But the boy across from him reached over, put his hand on his shoulder, and he heard the sound escape.

"Blaine, shit-"

Gasped, broken crying that sounded disgustingly loud in the air. Why was it so loud? Why was everyone looking at it?

"-come on, I didnt mean to-"

Youre making him feel bad. You always make everyone feel bad. Why are you making him worry when youre not upset? "Im okay," he choked, taking in and letting out staggered breaths. "Im- It happens, it j- just..."

He couldnt see Kurt (he didnt want to, he didnt think he could do it) but he felt his body shift, his eyes squint a little and his throat work. The brick rubbed like sandpaper against his jeans as he came closer and pulled him against his shoulder.

"Come on, shh," Kurt whispered, rubbing his arm up and down. Up and down. Up and down. "Its only me. Ive got you."

Do you? Blaine sobbed, cut off the sound and choked. His hands shook and so did his shoulders, jumping almost inexplicably against Kurts palm. Up and down. In and out. He pressed his face up to Kurts neck and shut his eyes till they hurt, focusing on his breathing and how sore it made his head to cry like this. In, stuttering, and out in one pushed gust; even when he felt the tears dry and leave behind their sting he knew he was balanced precariously on a fence. It would be so easy to knock him over. He was so weak to his body and it made him want to claw his way out of it.

"Youre wet," he whispered thickly.

"Shut up," Kurt quipped without any real fire, wiping his neck when Blaine moved back slightly. His attention seemed wholly devoted to seeing right through Blaine and the other boy wasnt quite sure what to feel except exposed. And embarrassed, he added mentally. You just full-out had a fucking break down.

When it became clear that Kurt was waiting for something from him, he forced out a shaky sigh. "This...This just happens, like, out of nowhere," he muttered, scraping the words off his tongue and dumping them in the air. The more time he took to think the harder it was to speak. "Im not...Im not upset, I...Fuck me," he finished with teeth pressed together, rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"Youre shaking," Kurt stated.

"Im aware."

"No, I didnt...Come on," the boy resigned, taking his wrists and pulling his hands down. "Lets go for a ride or something. Get your lighter."

Blaine tried for a brief second to resist his grip but the energy that required was far too much. He wanted so much to agree, but something was pulling those words back, like an anchor attached to the emotions he wanted to let go. An anchor made of his own guilt, his own inadequacy. "You dont have to...just because I cried..." He mentally kicked himself and sucked his lips into his mouth. I cant even explain myself.

"Im not. Come on, suck it up," Kurt said, slipping off the wall and tugging Blaine down with him. He landed with a muffled thud on his feet, the grass bowing to his boots. Then Kurt was snatching up the lighter and slipping it into Blaines pocket. "You may as well appreciate it," he added at the boys look. "I can be nice sometimes, you know."

Blaine huffed out a laugh made out of breath more than any actual sound. "Yeah, I know," he mumbled. Everything around him felt foggy and sore. When Kurt rolled his eyes and said something under his breath, Blaine wasnt present enough to question it. Instead, when Kurt took his hand (and Kurt must really be worried if hes holding my hand), he just let the boy pull him along to the car park.