When Kurt opened his eyes, he was lying on a soft bed in an unfamiliar white room. Everything was white or grey, from the sheets on the bed to the curtains by the windows, and there was a faint smell of disinfectant, as if the very air had been sterilised. The room was rather large, and there were several empty beds pushed against the wall. It took him several minutes to wake up properly. His eyes did not feel very cooperative and kept falling closed, and when he finally forced them open, the light jabbed through his eyes into his skull. His head was pounding and felt strangely heavy and filled with cotton wool, his tongue was dry, and it tasted as if some small furry animal had curled up and died in his mouth. He could not help the small sound of displeasure that squeaked out, and he jumped when somebody squeezed his left hand. The weight on his arm that he had not noticed before turned out to be from a heavy, bald head resting there, one arm was draped over his waist and the other hidden, but clutching his hand in a warm, sweaty grip. Burt. He barely had time to register the fact that his father was there with him before he had a long, painful coughing fit that made his throat feel as if it were on fire. When it finally stopped, he was left gasping for breath and almost did not notice it when his father pushed a plastic cup of water into his hand. He drank the cold water in careful little gulps, and while it felt like ice in his sore throat, he felt much better for it. When the cup was empty, he had gotten rid of the terrible taste in his mouth and his tongue seemed to be back to usual, too. He looked up to find his father’s face mere inches from his own and looking more worn and grey than he had ever seen before. He managed a small smile and could practically feel the relief radiating from his father at that gesture.
“How’re you feeling, kiddo?”
“Like I have the flu and a hangover and somebody filled my head with cotton candy. Oh, and I’m pretty sure my breath right now could be classified as a chemical weapon of mass destruction.”
Burt let out a startled chuckle, but he looked immensely relieved, all the same.
“Well, I can see that you still have your wits about you. I’ve never known anybody to talk like that other than you. Good to know the concussion didn’t scramble any important bits, huh?”
“Concussion? I’m concussed?” Of course, that would explain why everything felt a little fuzzy, why he was in a strange bed and why he could not remember getting there at all.
Burt’s face softened and he reached out to cup Kurt’s cheek in his large, warm hand. Kurt suddenly felt like he was five years old again, but it was nice to feel so cherished and protected when the last couple of days, or even weeks, had been so terrible. His father sat up a little straighter and patted him on the cheek before getting up.
“I’m just going to go tell the doctor that you’re awake now. She’ll probably want to do some tests, just to be sure nothing’s wrong. I’ll be back in a moment, okay, son?”
Kurt nodded and watched as his father disappeared out the door. In almost no time at all he was back, followed by a white-coated woman in her fifties with short, steel grey hair and rectangular glasses perched on the tip of her nose. It all served to give her a rather stern look, which promptly disappeared when she beamed at Kurt and moved to shake his hand enthusiastically.
“Hello Kurt. I’m Dr Pittorelli. It’s good to see you’re awake. You gave your family quite a fright, I’m sure. Now as far as I can see on your chart, you were brought in yesterday after you collapsed in the school parking lot, is that so?” She gave Burt a questioning look and waited for his nod of affirmation before continuing.
“Now, I imagine you probably have an impressive headache, judging by the concussion. We put you on some nice painkillers for both your head and your throat, but they should have worn off by now, so there’s a new dose for you before we can send you off home. Don’t worry; you’ll get a nice prescription, too.”
“My… my throat? Why is my throat sore? What happened?”
Dr Pittorelli made a sympathetic grimace.
“Well, you have some finger-shaped bruising on your neck. From the looks of it, I would say that somebody tried to choke you. They didn’t cause much damage, though, and you should be able to make a full recovery, but you might want to stick with ice cream and yoghurt for a couple of days. We’ve also got two officers outside who will want to talk to you as soon as you feel up to it. Your father already made it clear that you’re going to file a report, so they need to take your statement. Right now, though, I just need you to look up so I can get a look at your pupils.”
The examination took about twenty minutes, after which Kurt was told he could go home the next day, and left him feeling as if he had been prodded and poked enough to last him a lifetime. His head was pounding and his neck was sore, but the anxious look on his father’s face was enough to convince him to talk to the police officers. They were kind, if a bit impersonal, and during the interview he found out, from his father’s statement, exactly what had happened in the parking lot. After Karofsky had gone after Blaine and Kurt had interfered, the glee club had arrived just in time to see Kurt pass out. The marks on his throat were from where Karofsky’s hands had been moments before he had been overpowered by the combined efforts of Mike Chang, Puck and Lauren Zizes. The entire glee club had waited in the parking lot for the ambulance to arrive for Blaine and Kurt and the police car for Karofsky. Blaine had been conscious the whole time and apparently had suffered nothing worse than some impressive bruises. Puck had gotten himself a black eye from struggling to restrain Karofsky, but nobody else was hurt.
By the time the policemen finally left, Kurt wanted nothing more than to sleep, possibly for two or three days and he was relieved when his father just smiled at him and then brought him a cup of ice chips and his pain medications. It was a relief to sink down into the pillow while the edges of the room started blurring and spinning slowly.

He was in the middle of a dark forest. Pine needles covered the forest floor and made his footsteps almost impossibly light, even though he was walking very fast. There was something he needed to do, but he could not remember what it was, exactly, and with every step he took, he felt the urgency to do that something – whatever it was – grow. When he reached a clearing, he caught a glimpse of something shining between the trees ahead and sped up, but the light ahead of him kept bobbing out of reach, and even when he broke into a run, he could not catch up. He felt himself grow breathless, panting, and his throat seared in pain, but instead of slowing down, he sped up. Now there was something else. Behind him he could hear the soft sound of giant paws hitting the ground at a run. Something was after him, but he did not dare look over his shoulder to see what. Whatever it was, was gaining on him, the soft thump-thump of its feet growing louder and louder, until Kurt could hear its wheezing breath and a low snarl. Thump-thump, thump-thump. Kurt spent his last spurt of energy, taking a giant leap over a fallen tree, but something caught his shoulder, and suddenly his neck was laid bare under a set of giant teeth. He screamed.

When he woke up, the room was dark, the only source of light coming from the moon shining through the window. It took Kurt a moment or two to calm down and wait for his brain to dispel the eerie feeling that the dream left him with; the feeling that he was being hunted by some giant, wild animal. It was not until his breathing was more or less back to normal that he noticed that the warm weight on his arm was back. This time, however, the head cutting off blood to his hand was not his father’s shiny bald pate. Instead, it was a mess of dark curls, soft and silky against his skin and absolutely and undeniably wonderful. Blaine.
Kurt all but held his breath, afraid to move and wake him, but his sore throat had other ideas and by the time Kurt had coughed himself out, Blaine was definitely awake and staring at him as if he might disappear at any moment. Blaine looked horrible. One side of his face was swollen and discoloured, his eye almost shut, and there was something dark that looked like dried blood under his nose. The side of his face that did register emotion, however, slowly stretched into a wide, relieved smile and he held out a hand tentatively and touched the side of Kurt’s face slowly and very carefully, as if Kurt might fall apart if handled with anything but the most exquisite care. Kurt reached up and caught his hand, squeezing it.
“Hi.”
“Hey.”
“How are you feeling? Does it hurt much?”
“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that? After all, you’re the one in the hospital bed.”
“Well. I have industrial-strength painkillers to keep me happy. And a little bit loopy.”
Blaine made a small noise, halfway between a sob and a chuckle.
“God, Kurt! You have no idea how scared I was, seeing you like that! What were you thinking, going after him like that?”
“But he hurt you! I saw you fall to the ground! You called my name!”
“I yelled for you to run, Kurt! Not to confront the guy who’d just given you a concussion!”
“But I – “
“And then he had you and I couldn’t get up and you passed out and you were bleeding from your head! And I thought I was going to lose you!”
“Blaine.”
Blaine was outright crying now, great heaving sobs that left his body shaking. In no time at all, Kurt’s arms were wrapped around him, pulling him against his chest and rocking him slowly back and forth. Kurt was quiet, waiting for Blaine’s sobs to subside. It took a while, but Blaine finally cried himself out and, when Kurt wiggled to the side and petted the space beside him, he crawled on the bed to lie curled into Kurt’s side while Kurt’s hand stroked down his back. Kurt let out a deep breath.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I scared you and… and I’m sorry for lying to you. I swear, I never meant to hurt you or your family. I actually wanted the exact opposite, if you can believe me.”
Blaine sniffled into his pyjama shirt.
“I believe you.”
“But you still got hurt and I’m so, so sorry. I wanted to tell you in the parking lot, but I never got the chance. But I’m so sorry for what happened. You’re really important to me and I just wanted you to know that.”
“Kurt.”
“I love you, Blaine.”
There was a shocked silence. Kurt felt panic rushing in his ears and quickly continued.
“I mean, I can understand if you never want to see my face again. Quite frankly, I’m surprised that you’re here now, I mean, visiting hours must have been over hours ago, but I guess they thought you looked so sweet they didn’t want to wake you, because you really do look sweet when you’re sleeping. Not that I watch you sleep or anything, that would be creepy, but I just noticed before when you – when you… Are you crying?”
Because Blaine was shaking, his head hidden in Kurt’s shoulder, but when he lifted his head, there were no tears. He was laughing, bright and loud, leaving Kurt speechless. Blaine gave him a blinding smile.
“You are adorable when you ramble.”
“What? But – “
“Adorable and flustered and so sweet and I love you.”
“You…? But I – “
“I know you’re sorry, Kurt. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me and I can understand why you did what you did. It hurt, but I’ve forgiven you and I missed you so much when we weren’t talking. And now you’ve told me you love me and it’s the best feeling in the world! I love you!”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
There was silence for a while. Then Kurt cleared his throat.
“You’re right.”
“Huh?”
“You’re right. It is the best feeling in the world.”
Blaine chuckled into his shoulder and settled there, the warmth of his breath lulling Kurt to sleep.

The next morning included a check-up visit from Dr Pittorelli, an awkward moment when Burt opened the door to find his son sharing a bed with Blaine, and a resultant cringe worthy talk. Burt did seem to genuinely like Blaine, however, and after Dr Pittorelli announced that Kurt could go home, he let Blaine help Kurt get up and off the bed, choosing instead to get the prescriptions at the front desk. As Kurt hobbled out to meet him, leaning heavily on Blaine, there was a commotion down the hall, and they turned to see Blaine’s parents striding towards them. They both looked apprehensive, but they introduced themselves to Burt nonetheless. He shook hands with them and returned Mrs Anderson’s tentative smile, and even clapped a grey-faced Mr Anderson on the shoulder, telling him he had a great son. Mr Anderson, however, remained ashen-faced and, with a muttered excuse, drew Burt aside for a fast, muttered conversation. When they left, he looked more like the carefree man from the dinner that Kurt remembered. It was not until late in the evening a couple of days later, when Kurt was lying in bed and talking to Blaine on the phone, that he found out why. He could practically hear the smile on Blaine’s voice through the phone.
“I really like your dad, by the way.”
“Oh yeah? I think he likes you too. He hasn’t made any shotgun-related threats yet, anyway.”
“Yeah, he was really good about finding us like… that. But it’s not just that. Ever since he talked to my dad, he’s been… better. He was really on edge, especially after I told him who you really were and now he’s… not. And I asked him what they talked about and he just said your dad is a great man. And then he said that your dad said to him: ‘Whatever regrets and demons from that day still haunt me, I think yours must be a hundred times worse, but you should know that, for what it’s worth, I’ve forgiven you. And you need to forgive yourself, too’. And I think it really helped him.”
“Well, sometimes my dad can be really wise. It’s shocking when parents do that. They’re supposed to be embarrassing.”
“You’re just going to have to live with it, I think.”
“I suppose. And I do have Finn for all the awkwardness and embarrassment I could ever need.”
There was a laugh from the other end.
They kept talking until Burt came by and banged on Kurt’s bedroom door for some peace and quiet, but even that could not dampen Kurt’s spirits much, although it did mean he had to say goodnight to Blaine. His head ached and his throat felt like somebody had stepped on it, but despite it all, he was happier than he could remember being in a long time. And frankly, Colin Firth could suck it.