It was a week before Kurt returned to Blaine's apartment. After their session Blaine had asked Kurt to allow him some time to ‘recover' to which Kurt replied ‘"of course take as long as you need"' and ‘"if you ever need anything"'. Blaine was grateful. Grateful that he had Kurt's number so he could call and hear his voice and learn more about him as he tried to put himself back together. Grateful that Kurt was so willing to be with him, so adamant that he was staying until Blaine regained some semblance of control and normality.

Once Blaine insisted, Kurt returned to Blaine's for their second session, but something was off. It was stiflingly hot in the apartment. All doors and windows off from the living room were closed and a sickly smell hung in the smokey and stagnant air. Amongst the usual mess Blaine sat, covered in paint, grin broad and pupils dilated.

Blaine was practically buzzing, his leg jiggling up and down incessantly as he watched Kurt sit across from him. Kurt eyed him warily, taking in his red rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks, his sweat damp curls sticking to his forehead. Blaine just stared back at him, smiling and trying to keep still and composed under Kurt's gaze but failed and continued to fidget and giggle like a small child. Finally Kurt sighed and began taking out his own materials. He'd come to his conclusion quickly enough.

"Hello Blaine" he said stiffly.

"Hello to you too beautiful" Blaine replied cheerfully, Kurt ignored it.

"And how are you?" Kurt pursed his lips, eyes trained on Blaine.

"I am fantastic!" He crowed, throwing himself backwards and star fishing out on the floor. His furtive eyes, uncoordinated arms and wriggling fingers traced smoke carried dust motes as they danced through the air.

"Oh of course you are." Kurt snapped.

"Hurmph?" Blaine replied, smiling dazedly up at the ceiling.

"You're high, Blaine." Kurt sounded angry.

"Mayyybe" Blaine giggled.

"On what?"

Blaine froze. He blinked several times, attempting to clear some of the fog clouding his mind. He frowned slightly. Kurt sounded so upset. He sounded angry and (here we go again) disappointed. Did he do that? He didn't like Kurt upset. He honestly didn't think that just a little bit, just a little to take the edge off, would be that much of an issue.

"It's just weed Kurt" Blaine muttered rolling over towards Kurt. "We're students, half our class smokes pot for shits and giggles on a regular basis."

"Not you," Kurt said, looking concernedly down at Blaine's slightly shivering form "you don't do weed for ‘shits and giggles', I can tell. So why, Blaine?"

"Because it feels good."

"Bullshit, if you wanted just to ‘feel good' you would still be fucking a different guy every night."

"Kurt" Blaine's eyes flashed, his voice low and sharp.

"Why?" Blaine fixed Kurt with an unwavering gaze as he glared up at him; his dark and bloodshot eyes flashing dangerously with panic before turning much more sinister.

"As a means of dealing with unresolved trauma and a temporary attempt at escapism." Blaine laughed bitterly, the sound jarring and so very, very wrong coming from sweet, cheeky and gentle Blaine Anderson.

"Blaine I-"

"Let's start with the escapism shall we?" Blaine pronounced in an unnervingly jovial tone. Every word sounding like it was being recited, like he'd been told so many times before. "I don't sleep and most of the time, when I do, it doesn't go too well. So when it's time I get up, go to work to pay the bills for the studio apartment my parents signed me a lease for because my mother's affections lie with her social circles and her twenty-something PA and my father wants nothing to do with his son because he's too busy fucking his secretary at the law firm and he can't stand having a queer in the house."

"Blaine, I had no idea, I-"

"Then I go to class, which I also pay for because art is a ridiculous career choice and it will get you no where and, then I do stale and suffocating commissions for unimaginative bourgeoisie types that give me barely anything despite the time and money I spent on the pieces in the first place, and then I have a niece who I absolutely adore but have to look after a little more than necessary because I also have a brother that needs me to help keep him from falling apart despite the fact that he takes every opportunity that arises to tell me about how much of a disappointment I am, to all of them."

Kurt's face was damp when Blaine looked up, still boiling with anger, yet he was more subdued. He lay with his arms crossed panting, exhausted and ashamed.

"Don't you dare cry. I've told you, I don't need your fucking pity Kurt."

"I don't- It's not pity Blaine, I just want t-"

"You just want to what Kurt?" Blaine was quiet now, a little lifeless. "Help me? Fix it all? Not gonna happen. I'm a little more than just damaged goods sweetheart."

He reached out and thumbed away a few of Kurt's tears, smiling crookedly and wearily at how simplistically beautiful he was. "I'm sorry, I- you ask so many questions. Of course you deserved answers but not like that. I'm a little out of practise with the whole honesty thing. I'm sorry beautiful." he whispered looking into stormy grey irises. "It's okay." Kurt whispered back, but they both knew it wasn't.

.oO0Oo.

Hours later they found themselves in their most focussed and productive session yet considering the fact that it was still only their second. They each had at least five sketches and around another two or three outlined. Eventually they spoke again, but only about Kurt. About his life in high school, the bullying which made Blaine shift and his hands clench painfully down on a piece of charcoal, snapping it in two. They talked about his loving family, his loud best friend and Broadway baby Rachel who happened to be married to his step-brother and his own Broadway dreams and how it all changed once he arrived in New York and discovered his passion for art.

It was hard at first, to fall into a rhythm. For a long time Kurt was still on edge and shaky from Blaine's outburst and Blaine was trying to handle being shocked back to reality. He struggled to battle through the haze and actually concentrate on something.

The ice was officially broken when Blaine heard Kurt giggle beside him. Kurt was smiling down at Blaine's sketchbook with a hand pressed over his mouth to try and muffle the sound. Blaine looked down confused; on the page was a messily outlined sketch of Kurt with wings.

"Why are you laughing?" he asked, bemused.

"Honey, you were high and drew me with wings." Kurt said softly as Blaine picked up his sketch book, tracing the fine lines, his mind swept with ideas of sudden clarity.

"Hmm" he uttered thoughtfully, "I think I just found the concept for my final piece."

"You're going to draw me with wings? Because your intoxicated mind somehow threw that imagery at you?" Kurt spluttered.

"Well yeah," he shrugged "you're free spirited, superior, strong and beautiful. Angelic symbolism seems to demonstrate those qualities well don't you think?"

"Angelic?" Kurt whispered, looking up to find Blaine smiling at him softly, his honeyed eyes crinkling slightly.

"Nothing less, angelo mio."