Kurt stumbled back to his room, meeting Mike on the way and instructing him in regards to the Prince being bound to his bed, and washed the grime from his body. He collapsed onto his bed, exhausted. He was asleep within seconds.

He awoke much earlier than he anticipated. The light was barely over the walls of the castle grounds, and it was surprisingly chilly for mid-March. He shivered, quickly searching out warmer clothing for the day than the simple linen tunic he had worn to bed.

As soon as he was dressed, he wandered out of his room. It was far too early to bother Emma for breakfast, and he wasn’t sure if anyone else was awake yet. And he was sure Blaine would still be asleep—and despite his urge to go check on the Prince, he didn’t want to wake him.

Of course, he didn’t actually have to wake him. He had proclaimed himself physician—he had every right to peek in, and he didn’t have to say a word. Make sure he was breathing well, and maybe check with Mike quickly if he was awake. That would be it.

He walked through the castle quickly, his shivering increasing as he neared the dining hall. It was strangely colder in this part of the castle—and Kurt didn’t recall it being that way previously. He headed to the back entrance to check.

As he suspected, the door was left open, letting in the morning chill. Kurt reached for the great handle, intending to pull it closed.

Movement caught his eye. He peered ahead, making out the shape of a cloaked figure.  He stepped out of the castle, leaving the door open as he walked quietly down the path.

As he drew closer, details came into focus—the figure was standing hunched over before a great bush that was riddled with closed flowers, its leaves light with frost. The bush was rustling, the figure’s hands pulling at something. A branch, brown with wilt and crunchy with frost, came into view, dropped to the ground by a bandaged arm.

Blaine.

He was obviously still weak; his shoulders slumped, his body skewed from favoring his uninjured side. His arm appeared stiff when it dropped the branch. Kurt stepped closer.

“Blaine?”

Blaine startled, hissing and drawing his hand back sharply. Kurt rushed forward, reaching for it with both of his own.

“I’m sorry, “ he blurted reflexively. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He checked Blaine’s hand, noting the small drop of blood from where he’d pricked himself. Kurt mopped it up with the edge of his sleeve, earning a surprised glance from Blaine. “What on earth are you doing out here?”

Blaine pulled his hand back, refusing to meet Kurt’s eyes.

“The roses…they need tending,” Blaine replied quietly. Kurt followed his gaze to the bush, where several of the roses appeared to be wilting or freezing over.

“Blaine. You can’t be out here in this cold while you’re still healing.”

“I won’t let them wilt,” Blaine whispered, his scars casting strange shadows over his face. His eyes shine just a little too brightly as he finally met Kurt’s gaze fully. “I can’t.”

“You’re too weak—“

“This is important,” Blaine snapped, his voice suddenly forceful. Kurt rocked back a little, as though the words had literally hit him in the face, but he stood his ground.

“So is your health,” Kurt retorted.

Blaine turned away from Kurt, reaching out to grasp a stem awkwardly between his fingers, stiff with pain and cold, his knife held shakily in his other hand. Kurt watched the deep breath he took as Blaine tried to steady himself, but his hand still trembled faintly.

Stubborn fool, Kurt thought bitterly. He’s going to injure himself further.

“Stop,” he said instead. “Blaine, stop.”

Blaine paused and turned a fierce glare on Kurt, opening his mouth to retort, but Kurt cut him off.

“Let me.”

Blaine froze, staring incredulously.

“No one touches these roses but me. You know that, Kurt.”

“Well, if you’re the only one who touches them, they’re going to die.”

“I can handle it,” Blaine insisted, turning back to the plant. Kurt watched carefully as he placed the knife on the edge of a stem, both hands shaking faintly. His jaw tensed and he flexed his arms, but he didn’t cut the plant.

“You can’t handle it,” Kurt said softly.

Blaine’s mouth tensed into a tight, white line.

“Are you saying that—“

“I’m saying that if you don’t allow me to help, you’re going to collapse,” Kurt snapped, cutting off Blaine’s heated rejoinder. “And then no one will be able to tend your precious roses, and they’ll die anyway.”

The two men faced each other, eyes ablaze and breathe coming heavily. Kurt suddenly felt prepared to slap Blaine into submission, but looking into Blaine’s eyes, he realized something.

Blaine was afraid.

“Please,” Kurt pleaded, softening. “Please let me help.”

There’s hesitance in Blaine’s expression, an uncertainty that Kurt knew he could press.

“Please. Just this once. Just until you’re better. Then I’ll never lay another hand on them.”

Something in Blaine collapsed. His shoulders, drawn tense from the argument, slumped down again, and Kurt could see just how tired he was; his skin pale, his eyes sunken into dark circles.

“Very well.” Blaine stepped away from the shrub, gesturing for Kurt to step forward. “What do you know about tending roses?”

Kurt fidgeted.

“Next to nothing.”

“Very well, then,” Blaine said again. “Give me your hands.”

He placed the knife in Kurt’s right hand and guided his left up to the rose.

“Grasp the stem firmly—you don’t want to slip and cut yourself or the rose itself. You just want to snip away the parts that are wilting or dead from the frost.”

His hand closed around Kurt’s as they grasped the stem of one rose together. The parts of his skin that made contact with Kurt’s own were very warm despite the chill.

“Now bring up the knife, and very, very carefully place it on the edge of the wilting leaf,” Blaine instructed quietly, his face very close to Kurt’s, their breath warm as it mingled between their lips. As Kurt placed the knife as instructed, Blaine quickly lifted his other hand.

“No—like this,” he whispered, correcting Kurt’s grasp. “You want to cut with the knife steady in your palm and catch the blade with your thumb. Cut at an angle, just above the joint.”

“Won’t I cut myself?” Kurt asked, feeling tense from the proximity.

“Not if you’re gentle,” Blaine huffed, the corners of his mouth turning up. “You don’t need a lot of pressure.”

His fingers curled to lay against Kurt’s, and Kurt felt the slightest pressure. He breathed out, finding that he enjoyed the contact after having been so distant from people familiar enough with him to touch him. Blaine’s hands were warm and firm, and the pressure was welcome, but Kurt soon realized that Blaine wasn’t pressing to make contact—he was guiding Kurt into cutting the damn rose. Kurt pressed down quickly, and the knife cut right through the branch and stopped against his thumb too hard, cutting the skin. He jumped, pulling back and sticking his thumb in his mouth.

“You pressed too hard, Kurt,” Blaine reprimanded, but it was very soft, a tone that Kurt hadn’t heard since Blaine told him he was talented the first time he played. “Let me see.”

He pulled Kurt’s hand from his mouth and brought the thumb close to his own face, examining the cut. Kurt realized that if he pressed forward just a little bit, he could press the thumb to Blaine’s lips, just inches away, and—

…and what?

Blaine’s own thumb stroked against his softly, and Kurt stared at him, trying to figure out what was going on behind those honey eyes. He has now seen them in many shades since only the night before—anger, fear, pain. He has seen them sparkle with mirth and flatten in defense, but hasn’t seen Blaine look like this. He really had very pretty eyes; Kurt has thought so since the portrait…

“It’s nothing,” Blaine said, snapping Kurt out of his reverie, the softness of his hands betraying the hardness he put into his voice as he turned his face away. “Let’s try again.”

Kurt replaced his hands on the bush, on the joint of the next dead leaf. He placed the knife, and very, very carefully snipped through the tender stem.

“There,” Kurt said triumphantly, dropping the dead leaves. Blaine nodded, a small smile on his face. “Like that?”

“Like that,” he corroborated.

“Is there anything else I need to learn now?” Kurt asked, eyeing the Prince. Blaine shook his head, obviously intending to explain, but Kurt cut him off. “Good. Go sit down in the dining hall or your chambers while I finish.”

Blaine turned to gape at Kurt, but Kurt didn’t budge an inch.

“You are injured and weak,” Kurt insisted. “You need to rest. I told you not to leave your bed.”

“The roses would have been ruined if I hadn’t come out,” Blaine argued. “They can’t handle the frost if parts are dying—the chill can spread and kill more—“

“I understand,” Kurt said, “but—“

“No, you don’t understand,” Blaine said, suddenly flat. “Finish trimming and I will return indoors.”

He turned and walked to a low, crumbled rock wall along the edge of the path. He leaned down, seating himself awkwardly on the stones. Kurt shook his head.

“You’re going to kill yourself,” he muttered, but he turned back to the roses. The faster he finished, the faster Blaine would return inside—arguing would only waste time.

Despite the enormity of the bush—it had obviously been growing for many years—Kurt finished within the hour. The day grew slightly warmer as the sun rose, but it was still enough to make him worry for Blaine, who had remained quietly seated on the rock wall, watching his progress closely.

“There,” Kurt said with a sigh, nodding. “Done. Now get inside.”

Blaine stood, eyes narrowed.

“If you make another comment about me giving orders,” Kurt said, “I will be forced to reply exactly as I did last night.”

Blaine smirked and bowed his head in acquiescence.

“Very well,” he replied, turning and walking slowly to the castle.

Kurt followed him closely, making note of his gait. He was slow and unsteady, obviously weak and tired. He had been a damned fool for leaving his bed against Kurt’s instructions—and he was more than a little miffed that Mike hadn’t kept an eye on Blaine like he’d promised. He’d deal with it after he put Blaine back into bed.

Kurt closed the door behind them when they finally entered the castle, pulling it shut with a resounding thud. He turned to see Blaine watching him closely.

Without his consent, and certainly without his blessing, a faint blush rose to his cheeks. He’d seen that look somewhere before, but he couldn’t place it, its familiarity tugging at his mind and teasing him. He hadn’t seen it on Blaine, though—

Before he could place it, Blaine had turned and started limping toward his rooms.

Kurt followed.

They found Mike in the Prince’s chambers, settling a large wooden basin of hot water in front of the fireplace. As they entered, he looked up, opening his mouth to speak.

“No,” Kurt snipped, holding up a warning hand. “I gave you one job—make sure the Prince’s condition doesn’t worsen. And near collapse in the cold is a worse condition.”

“My apologies,” Mike replied smoothly, apparently unperturbed by Kurt’s annoyance. “He snuck out while I was fetching the hot water, and when I found him you were already with him. I assumed he was in good hands by that point and resumed my duties for his return.”

“Well, at least he’s back now. I’m guessing between the two of us we can stop any more excursions he has planned.”

“I am still in the room,” Blaine interrupted wryly.

“Yes, and as soon as you bathe I’ll apply some comfrey to your wounds and you will remain in the room for the rest of the day,” Kurt replied firmly, crossing his arms. “And while I’d prefer if you kept to your bed, I will allow you to sit by the fire if you choose.”

Blaine blinked and his eyebrows rose in astonishment. “Allow?”

Kurt kept silent, leveling a condescending gaze at the Prince. Blaine sighed and shook his head, turning toward the basin of water.

“Am I allowed privacy to bathe?”

Kurt concealed the fluttering in his chest at the thought of the Prince bathing—naked, glistening in the water, naked—with a carefully raised eyebrow.

“I suppose,” he said, pursing his lips and turning away. He headed to the door. “I will be just outside.”

“I as well,” Mike added, following Kurt out. “Call if you need assistance.”

As soon as the door closed, Mike turned to Kurt.

“How did you convince Blaine to allow you to handle his roses?”

Kurt’s eyes widened.

“Kurt,” Mike persisted. “He literally threw Burt to the ground he was so angry at finding him with one of those roses. But he just…how did you convince him to let you touch them?”

Kurt shook his head, mouth opening with no sound. He thought hard to that morning, but he couldn’t think of anything special.

“I just…told him that he needed to let me help,” he insisted after a moment. “I told him if he wanted to be healthy enough to continue caring for them at all, he’d need help. And he…he taught me what to do and he sat and watched me do it and then we came inside.”

“Simple as that?”

“Simple as that.”

Kurt was seriously uncomfortable with the look Mike was giving him. “What?”

Mike shook his head. “Kurt, you don’t understand just how important those roses are.”

“I think I do,” Kurt retorted. “After all, like you said, he practically eviscerated my father over it.”

“No, you don’t,” Mike said. “Those roses were a gift to Blaine’s mother from his father. She cared for those roses until her death, and the only person she let help her with them was Blaine. They’re all he has left of her.”

Immediately, Kurt’s own feather pin came to mind—his heirloom, his special reminder that his mother was still with him in spirit. He shuddered at the thought of letting anyone else touch it or wear it, and he felt suddenly like he was close to something important.

“Were he and his mother…close?”

“Very,” Mike said, nodding. “She died when he was young. After that, he was alone with his father, who was never particularly kind. He…preferred Cooper.”

“Preferred him?”

“Blaine and Cooper were very different people,” Mike explained. “Cooper was always very…robust, I suppose. Much more of a forceful personality than Blaine. Blaine is…gentler. Quieter. And he could have been just as charismatic as Cooper, if not more so, but…his father never made any secrets about the fact that he didn’t hold Blaine in very high regard. He often expressed a…negative opinion of Blaine.”

“But why—“

Just then, Blaine’s voice rang from his chambers, summoning them back. Kurt sighed and eyed Mike.

“Tell me more later,” he said, though Mike looked reluctant.

When they reentered, it was to find Blaine pulling up his breeches, just settling on the small of his back as he laced the front. Kurt caught sight of two small dimples on either side of his spine just as the cloth was pulled up. Kurt tried not to stare.

He was failing to not stare when the Prince turned, revealing his bare side, the bandages unbound and revealing the injuries from the night before. They were swollen and red, but they were scabbed over and no longer bleeding. Blaine looked down at himself, believing Kurt to be staring at his wounds.

“They do not hurt as badly as I expected,” he said, and Kurt snapped to attention again, studying the scratches rather than the body they had torn. He stepped forward, pulling the jar of comfrey salve from the bag he had left on the table.

“That’s a good sign,” Kurt said, stepping forward.

“Should I—“

Blaine looked around at the chair by the fire, but Kurt shook his head.

“I don’t want you bending too much,” Kurt explained. “Can you stand for another moment?”

Blaine nodded, lifting his arm and grimacing as Kurt knelt next to him.

“Hold still,” Kurt advised, dipping his fingers into the salve.

He applied the cool ointment steadily, pleased that the cuts weren’t deep enough to prevent him using it. He very deliberately did not watch the way Blaine’s stomach muscles clenched with every touch.

“Am I hurting you?” Kurt asked, concerned at how Blaine was trembling.

“No,” Blaine replied quickly, almost before Kurt finished speaking. “It’s just cold—but it feels good.”

“Good,” Kurt said uncertainly, refusing to look up and meet the Prince’s eye. He was feeling uncomfortable, especially with two sets of eyes on him. He was having a hard enough time reconciling his physical reactions with his thoughts, and he felt exposed and vulnerable, as though both Mike and Blaine could see his conflict and the feelings he was increasingly confused about.

“All done,” he announced a few more awkward minutes later. He stood, setting aside the little jar and gathering up some bandages, noting that the old ones lying to the side had minimal amounts of blood on them. He quickly bandaged the Prince’s side before checking his arm.

“I’m going to need more bandages to bind this,” Kurt announced as he studied the stitches, which were holding up well. He’d leave them be and avoid putting the comfrey on them—he didn’t want the skin to cling to the stitches, making it more painful to draw them when he eventually removed them. “Mike, would you—“

“I’ll see what I can do,” Mike said.

When they were alone, Kurt dabbed away some blood that had dried around the bite using the old bandages, which were bloodier than the ones from his side, convincing Kurt that he had been right to tend this first.

“You look concerned.”

Kurt looked up at the Prince, inhaling sharply when he realized their proximity. He quickly dropped his gaze back to Blaine’s arm, brushing his fingers over the tender skin gently. He felt Blaine’s eyes on him, like beacons, calling him in but too bright to possibly look at directly.

“You are lucky this wound is not more severe,” Kurt said, “but I am concerned about it. You bled more than I anticipated, and much worse than your side.”

“And what does that mean?”

Kurt looked up at Blaine again, quickly locking eyes with him.

“It means you are going to have to limit the use of your arm for a while,” Kurt replied quietly. “I don’t want the muscle tearing after it’s been pierced like this. If that were the case, you’d lose the use of it completely for a much longer period of time. I’d say to give it just a few days to mend a bit, and then you can start using it again, but at least for the next three days, I want you to be gentle with it.”

“Then I shall have to be ready for my lessons after that,” Blaine said.

Kurt blinked.

“Your lessons?”

“I believe you offered to teach me the lute,” Blaine replied. “And considering that over the next three days I shall be teaching you all I know of the care of roses, I believe returning the favor is the least you can do.”

Kurt was fortunately saved the trouble of responding to that when Mike returned, fresh bandages held in his hands. Kurt was deeply grateful, for he had no idea how to take anything the Prince had just announced, and he couldn’t help but run the words through his head again and again as he finished bandaging Blaine’s arm and excused himself.

“Mike, stay a moment,” he heard Blaine say as he was leaving. “I have an important task for you.”