“Are you still floating?”

Kurt's voice was careful, whisper soft, and it tiptoed through tiny spaces in Blaine's brain, pulling his awareness ever so gently in its direction.

Blaine tried to think of an answer for him, but he felt too serene as he was to try very hard.

Later, later he would hurt, his body would ache in so many places. Kurt's hands were avoiding those places as they stroked him and each slide of warm fingers, each rise and fall of Kurt's chest, each whoosh of breath so close to Blaine's ear, buoyed him up and slid him down gentle waves of contentment.

Something poked at his lips and he opened automatically and sucked cool water, soothing relief to the throat he hadn't realized was burning.

Somewhere, there was music. It was sweet and high and familiar.

He shivered and found himself enveloped in something warm and soft. Perfect. Everything was liquid bliss.

Oh. Humming. Kurt was humming, lips pressed to the top of Blaine's head. A song . . . but he didn't have the energy to figure out what song it was. And it didn't matter. Kurt's arms were around him and he was safe, he was warm and loved and wonderful. He was perfect.

The straw came back and he took another obedient sip, then he let his head fall back on Kurt's strong chest. His lover's song lulled him, tugged him down toward the depths. It lured him to let go and sink.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed since Kurt's question, but he shook his head against the chest that pillowed it.

“I'm drowning.”