Time slowed to a crawl. Blaine barely let Cooper touch Kurt as he carried him through the door and into the bathroom. Adam stood back in the main room, he had no time to marvel at the décor or think idly about how safe he felt surrounded by these people. He just felt his stomach churn at the thought of what could've happened to Kurt, to what could happen to him if he got in any deeper with Evan.

He wandered through the kitchen and living room, unwilling to sit anywhere or touch anything. The space felt sacred yet haunted, the whispered words of comfort and quiet whimpers drifting through the space like lost souls. For hours he didn't even see Blaine and only once did he see Cooper, striding out with hair askew, the sleeves of his shirt wet to retrieve a glass of water and then carry it back to the bathroom.

Cooper was jittery, a little shaken but overall he was calm, relieved that no more damage had been done. He hovered in the bathroom as Blaine coaxed Kurt into the shower, after Kurt had mumbled about being able to smell him and begged him to do something about it. The look on Blaine's face was heartbreaking and with every wince and mewl and loll of Kurt's head his expression grew pained.

They sat on the bottom of the shower, Blaine too weak to hold Kurt up, the water cool to wash the remnants of hot, grabbing hands from Kurt's delicate skin. Kurt wouldn't let them leave for a long time. He was still disorientated but he was aware of what happened, what could've happened.

It didn't hit full force until they were in the bedroom, Kurt having drunk glass after glass of water to try and flush the chemicals out of his system. The effects of the GHB had lessened but not dissipated and he felt helpless, vulnerable in a way that terrified him. With Blaine curled around him it was hard to separate past from present, clinging closer as well as trying to push him away but Blaine's hold was firm, unwavering. Kurt's pushes were weak and when he pulled Blaine close the tug on his shirt was barely there.

Seven hours later as the sun began to rise Kurt fell asleep in Blaine's trembling arms. The apartment was deathly quiet, his voice hushed as he whispered his fears to a sleeping Kurt, brushing at pale skin and through hair with unsteady hands. He kissed him again and again, fleetingly, scared that anything more than a peck would startle him, his breath was uneven, fitful. Tired eyes and buzzing veins, a boy who needed his help and a boyfriend who currently needed it even more so all lead to one thing. Exhaustion, settled deep in his bones, the fight to hold everything together like swimming against the current.

Cooper came to watch over Kurt after a while, battling with Blaine to at least get some sleep but that was impossible. Blaine fought and fought until Cooper put his big brotherly foot down and with all the authority he had gained from being a father told him to get the fuck out. Because "Kurt's okay, he's gonna be okay."

Blaine stumbled out into the living room and just stood completely still. The dark room engulfed him, so full now. Scatters of him and Kurt, KurtandBlaine everywhere, anywhere. Sketches on the floor, sketches in-between couch cushions, handprints on the furniture and walls, Kurt's silk robe, Blaine's glasses. It was a home now, but why did it feel so unsafe, so compromised?

Because home wasn't a place, it was a person and that person happened to be Kurt. If the walls were stripped bare and nothing remained but the two of them it still would've felt like home, like heaven. It felt right; nothing like what home was before, a fancy big house empty with the sounds of silence, an apartment that felt like a prison cell.

Kurt was everything but no matter how much Blaine had begged for it in the past he wasn't a saviour. Blaine Anderson saved himself, he was rough around the edges, but braver and stronger than he could have ever fathomed and it was Kurt who taught him that, who showed him with every glance, with every touch, kiss, smile, sigh, moan and laugh. With everything he was he showed Blaine how to get better, dared him to do it for himself and for love.

With one swoop of his arm he sent the sketches flying into the air, fluttering angrily to the ground, settling to spread across the floor, covering it like a canvas of them. He swore that one day he'd document everything, in paint, pencil or in pictures. Still images of the life in both of them.

"You okay?" Blaine heard the voice echo from the kitchen, oh of course the kid.

"I'm not my best," Blaine replied heavily, "and I'm guessing neither are you."

"And how would you know?" Adam snapped back.

"Trust me, I know." He said with a grim smile.

"Really now?"

Blaine slammed his arms down on top of the kitchen island, palms facing up where scars and track marks covered the once smooth, tan skin of his forearms. "Really." Adam stuttered out a breath at the sight of them, old and fading but still serving as a grizzly reminder.

"I'll spell it out for you shall I," Blaine said harshly, his voice bitter and almost booming in the dark apartment. Adam was messing with a man that could've lost his everything the night prior. He often didn't let anger or frustration get the better of him but his eyes flashed dangerously and his frame tensed considerably. "My history with heroin goes back about four years. I'm currently in therapy and part of a month long rehabilitation programme. I'm about to enter the third week. Withdrawal is kicking my ass. Shakes, lethargy, restlessness, vomiting, muscle cramps, vertigo. I suffer from trauma induced insomnia and night terrors. I have been through hell."

Adam was silent, staring at a gasping Blaine in complete shock. Blaine trembled and glared down at his arms. "I'm sure you've been through hell too. But I understand Adam. I get it okay? The things I've had to do, the things you've had to do. You may not like being told this but we're more similar than you think."

Adam broke. His skin was burning and itching and his stomach rolled with fear and anger and revulsion, revisiting every second of what he'd had to do. He collapsed to the kitchen floor, desperately trying to catch his breath as sobs wracked his body, shaking without control. And despite all his impertinence, despite being a total stranger that Blaine shouldn't have even graced with a second glance he held him. He held him, tight with one arm around his waist and one arm firm around his shoulders. Adam sagged into him, loosing the battle with his body and mind and not once did Blaine falter. He didn't speak, just placated him with sure hands and soothing sounds.

Kurt was lucky, he could see that. Blaine was brave and strong in ways he didn't even know were possible and with a capacity for love and compassion that was beyond all measures. There was no doubt that Blaine would be willing to go to the ends of the Earth for those he cared about, and Adam was grateful to just have a miniscule amount of his concern. It was ridiculous but he was young and impressionable and Blaine was quickly becoming his idol.

Suddenly Adam felt something heavy drape around his shoulders, something thick with the smell of paint, cinnamon and leather. Blaine was pulling his leather jacket tight around him. "Here take this, it's yours." Blaine said softly, smiling lopsidedly with tired eyes as he patted and stroked the old leather. "I couldn't, I don't need-"

"Take it," Blaine interrupted, "Kurt's been dying to get me into some designer version of it anyway."

Adam smiled weakly, shrugging on the jacket and tugging down the sleeves. He smoothed his hands across the warm leather before shoving his hands into the pockets. His hand immediately came into contact with a piece of paper, folded neatly and tucked into a corner. He pulled it out and unfolded it carefully, Blaine watching him do so intently.

It was a photograph of Kurt and Blaine. They were sitting by the window, Kurt in between Blaine's legs, pressed back to chest. Bright sunlight streamed over them, making them almost glow with happiness as Kurt threw his head back onto Blaine's shoulder laughing and Blaine's nose and eyes scrunched up in amusement. It was the little things that brought a lump to his throat. The way one of Kurt's hands was wound into Blaine's hair, the way the other hand was entwined with Blaine's. The way Blaine was cradling Kurt with his body, arm wrapped snugly around his waist. The way Kurt was clearly wearing Blaine's sweater, lounging in his embrace so breathtakingly at ease.

"You're in love." Adam stated and Blaine smiled stroking reverent fingertips over Kurt's pictured form. "I guess we are." He replied with a goofy grin, his eyes alight. "I hope I find my Kurt some day." Adam sighed and Blaine chuckled.

"You will. One day when you're better, you'll find them. A crowded room, a city street, a lecture hall and you'll see them and think to yourself ‘oh there you are I've been looking for you forever'."

"Was Kurt what you'd been looking for?"

"No."

"Then wha-?"

"I was looking for my saviour,"

"But you found?"

"Angelo mio. My angel."