Blaine had never been against petulance and when confronted with situations he adamantly did not want to be in, but for some reason had to, he was as petulant as a spoilt child with teething problems.

Trace, his support worker and councillor, was nothing like that shitty shrink Dr Reed but she still didn't make him feel anymore compelled to spill his guts. She didn't know him. The only person he'd ever told was Kurt and look where that had got them. So Blaine sat, opposite Trace on a rickety beat up chair about three times too small in the room he used to call his studio and tried to tune out.

"Blaine, Blaine!" But Trace was stubborn and pretty difficult to ignore. "I know you're uncomfortable with this but I think it might help you process things." Blaine hesitated, he'd had sessions with Trace before and he'd been perfectly responsive, never approaching the subject of Jake but talking about his relationship with his family even Kurt. But that day he out rightly refused to so much as speak let alone actually start dealing with anything.

"I think I know what bought this on," Trace said, smiling slightly and flicking her bright blonde hair over her shoulders "I think this is because of Kurt, isn't it?"

"No" Blaine replied harshly, bordering on pouting. "Nothing to do with him, not anymore."

"Ahh well that's the problem then isn't it?" she said slyly, leaving Blaine baffled. "You need him" Blaine just rolled his eyes.

"It's that obvious it's bordering on pathetic" he sighed dejectedly.

To anyone who knew very little about Blaine it would seem like Blaine was hardly affected by Kurt's departure. In actuality Blaine was crushed and to make it worse all the pain from their messy separation he had inflicted upon himself. He was not angry or spiteful or bitter because he had no reason to be. As far as he was concerned he bought it all on himself.

The sleepless nights, cold chills and nightmares no longer kept at bay by Kurt's warmth, weight and reassuring presence. Endless days, time passing at an agonising crawl, the tick of each minute an echoing reminder of the emptiness closing in. He dreamt of being back in high school, his future self happy and giddy with Kurt in his arms beyond an impenetrable pane of glass while he relived the horrors of his past, desperate with everything he had hoped that would come to be and now what was and what could've been.

Blaine had cried himself hoarse. He was a mess, sobbing and screaming like a part of him was being ripped away, piece by piece, tear by tear. It took everything he had to as much as look past the door and into the studio, the whole room scattered with piece after piece of Kurt. Kurt, Kurt, Kurt, everywhere and anywhere. He was lost, void of meaning, losing will and strength. His journey to recovery seemed a much more ambiguous and even less likely one.

When he was with either Trace or Cooper he was shut down and closed off. Nothing could provoke a reaction apart from when Cooper would speak Kurt's name in the midst of speaking Italian. He and his brother were used to talking in the language; having grown up bilingual thanks to their mother's input. Their father did not speak it and hated that Cooper and Blaine were fluent and were able to converse in a way he could neither understand nor moderate. So it became custom for them to speak in Italian whenever times were tough. But with every word he felt more and more lost, remembering his own murmured utterances, desperate to let his words caress Kurt like the silken sheets they'd slept on curled so tight they were almost one.

So Blaine had become used to closing off, shutting himself away and losing himself in what he had lost. He was jolted out of his longings by the sound of the front door opening and then slamming shut, the faint strain of a hummed melody floating through the air. At first he let it be, let Trace continue to talk at him assuming it was only Cooper stopping in for a while to check in. But, the more he strained to listen the more he came to realise, the humming was more melodic, soft, in that beautiful countertenor he cherished and knew so well. He was up and out the door and down the hallway in a matter of seconds, Trace following belatedly behind him.

"Kurt" Blaine breathed out, frozen in the living room archway. Kurt was flitting around the kitchen, several grocery bags perched on the island. His movements were sluggish and loping but never lacking grace, moving as if it was just another day. He looked frail, thin and vulnerable, hands shaking as he put various items away in the fridge and cabinets, wrists coming up to scrub at his eyes every now and again. His eyes were that same stormy grey they'd been at the hospital, seemingly drained of colour and life. He looked tired, dark circles and porcelain features etched with sadness.

"Kurt, what are you doing?" Blaine said voice low as he made his way towards the kitchen. Kurt didn't even look up, barely even flinched at the sound of Blaine's voice. He continued to move around Blaine's kitchen, reluctant to meet his eyes.

"I'm putting the groceries away idiot. Your fridge is almost always empty and you don't eat enough to feed a fly, I'm not letting you starve you need your strength." Kurt's voice was hard and monotonous. "I can see that," Blaine replied, moving tentatively closer "but why are you doing this?" He gestured to the bags of food, completely baffled; Kurt should hate him not buy him groceries to make sure he has enough to eat.

"Because!" Kurt said abruptly, voice raising and cracking. Angry tears flooded his eyes, the grey irises smouldering like billows of smoke, flecks of blue and green flashing in the light like sparks rising from the ashes of fire. "Lover or not I'm never giving up on you." It was said with such fierceness than Blaine was struck dumb. Kurt always knew how to surprise him. "I made a promise Blaine" it's quiet though even from feet a way it sounds like a gun shot. "I promised we'd do this together, no matter what. I promised I would never leave and I swear Blaine I'm never saying goodbye to you."

Uttered with such conviction Kurt made it completely irrefutable. Neither of them knew who moved first but within seconds they were striding towards each other, crossing that last barrier, going the distance and crashing their lips together. It was desperate and rough, sharp inhales and pressing in as close and tight as physically possible. Kurt's arms snaked round Blaine's shoulder's roving over the planes of his back and digging in through the fabric of his shirt. Blaine's hands gripped Kurt's face; fingertips spread wide cupping him from temple to jaw, brushing over cheekbones.

They kissed and kissed, tongues sliding and tangling, teeth clashing and biting at crushed and bruising lips. Blaine backed Kurt up against the kitchen island, Kurt completely oblivious to the edge jutting out into the small of his back, his senses consumed and overwhelmed by Blaine, Blaine, Blaine. They were so lost to each other, so enraptured and enthralled by the other's touch and taste and scent that everything fell away. Trace slipped out the front door, grin wide and bright and feeling flushed after witnessing the boys' clearly unbridled passion for one another.

Nothing occurred to Blaine but Kurt's heaving chest and blistering skin, the breathy whimpers he was swallowing with his mouth that he'd missed so much, the high whines and moans vibrating in the back of his throat that drive him insane with want and need. And it's then, pressed against him, with Kurt bucking and writhing and pushed against the counter top that Blaine realised how wrong he was. That even though Kurt doesn't show it nearly as much, Kurt needs him. He needs Blaine and not the prince charming he'd conjured up. Even though Blaine would maybe never feel worthy of Kurt, he could have him, just as long as Kurt needed him.