Ache.

Kurts left knee twinges sharp as it takes his weight down to the floor of the hangar bay. The cryo-sickness is always worse coming back in off the Andromeda run because of the short turnaround. Its three months there and back, but he feels aged three hundred years. Itll take days to feel right again. He winces and his right foot hits the deck. Pain in his ankle. An unshakable chill. Blurry vision. He needs a strong drink, a hot bath, and some intensive coddling. He has some time before the worst of it sets in.

He looks up at his ship, and then passes a diagnostic stick to the deck chief. "Bettys drive crystals are out of tune again," Kurt says. "Call Miss Berry this time."

"But, sir—"

"She owes me a favor."

Kurt straightens his shoulders and walks away with as much vigor as he can muster. His spine aches like someones taken a pile driver to it. He takes the lift from the docking level to the gallery.

The Blue Bar on the Oasis station is his first destination. They have a piano, and cocktails with slices of real citrus on the rim. Sometimes he finds Blaine there, playing. Its where they first met.

But not tonight. Kurt sits at the battered wooden bar beneath the neon tubes and listens to the girl whos at the piano. Shes painfully thin and pretty in a way that looks far too breakable, but she sings the standards with shining eyes and the soul of experience in her rich, clear voice. Her tip jar is full. Kurt sips his whiskey sour and tries the shake off the déjà vu. Everything feels too much like a memory when hes just woken up, but its nice to be in the company of humans again.

He leaves the bar with the taste of lemon bright and bitter on his tongue and the whiskey smoke filling his nose. Kurt doesnt stop by his rented quarters on his way up to the top deck of the station. Blaine will run him a bath and wash his hair. Blaine will take care of him.

He comes to the familiar door, lays his hand upon it for a moment before pressing the bell.

It opens, and Kurts breath catches in his throat.

"You look like hell," Blaine says with a smile, as he always does.

And Kurt leans against the open door jamb, looks into the beautiful face that he wishes were the home his heart yearns for, and he replies, "Im definitely looking for some sin tonight."

Balance.

"You talk a good game," Blaine says from behind and above Kurt, who lies face down, half-asleep, freshly washed, and naked on the softest mattress in the entire universe. "And yet..." Blaine says with a put-upon sigh. And then one of the hands thats been so expertly squeezing the tension from Kurts muscles swats Kurt across the backside. Hard. "Dont fall asleep on me, Kurt."

"Ow!" Kurt flinches, opens his eyes enough to glare over his shoulder. "Im warm for the first time in months. Dont judge me." Staying awake through the first six hours after coming out of cryo is the hardest. Theres a danger of coma. Only, after that passes then sleep becomes nigh impossible for days.

"You know Im not," Blaine says.

"No," Kurt says as more warmth blooms where Blaines hand landed. "Youre not," he says with a sigh. The warmth trickles into tantalizing and welcome pleasure. Kurt shifts his hips against Blaines bedding, tips his ass up for more. Blaine knows from experience what Kurt needs most this first night back among the living. The shock of pain and pleasure to push and pull and put him back into some kind of alignment and keep him awake. Hes as out of tune as Betty.

Blaine strikes his buttocks again—swift and stinging—and Kurt bites his lip and moans.

"Too much?" Blaine asks him softly. He always asks.

"Not at all," Kurt says. "Keep going."

Cloud.

Blaines got one of the best views on the station. Kurt sits on the edge of the bed looking out at the streaks of gold and crimson dust, bright in the light of their parent, a fading dwarf star. His ass is sore, inside and out, but he grins as he shifts his weight and stretches his arms over his head. His ass is all thats sore, and Kurt will enjoy it while it lasts. Blaines a genius. Who is currently in the shower.

Kurt flops back into the pillows and traces shapes in the nebula with his gaze until he finds his favorites: the rocking horse that breathes fire, the swallow, the umbrella thats looking more like a mushroom these days. Time has passed.

Its silent up here, but for the wet patter of the shower. Kurt can close his eyes and pretend its the rain on the roof of his childhood home. His stomach signals a tentative and nauseous kind of hunger and Kurt rolls to his belly. He reaches for the console on Blaines night table.

He taps the display to life and shuffles through the delivery food options. Blaine usually eats something with him, so Kurt orders for him too.

Dessert.

"You made a cake?" Kurt asks from where hes sprawled shamelessly on Blaines bed, one hand splayed across his overfull belly.

"Yes," Blaine replies, and he brings the plate and two forks over to the bed. His hair is still damp from the shower and curling around his ears. Hes gloriously nude beneath a brief, open robe of midnight blue, but Kurts appetite is piqued more by the scent of chocolate than it is by Blaines body.

"With spoons and bowls and flour and eggs and butter and—whatever else goes into a cake?"

"I did," Blaine says.

"I didnt know you could bake," Kurt says.

"Three months ago, neither did I. But you told me once you missed homemade cake, so..." Blaine shrugs and sets the cake on the bed between them. "You need the calories."

With a grunt, Kurt rolls to his side and takes the fork Blaine offers him. "You dont need to work so hard to impress me, you know."

Blaine just smiles and tells Kurt to try the cake.

Evening.

Hes supposed to be sleeping, but hes not. Its expected, but... Kurt knows how this part goes, and he never gets used to it. He blinks at the ceiling and feels the inevitable creep. Its like metal sliding along his nerves, and as if somethings caught in his throat that he cant quite swallow. The anxiety will start soon, irrational and blinding.

He turns to the man sleeping beside him. Hesitates a moment before putting his hand on Blaines shoulder and giving a gentle nudge. "Blaine?" he asks, tremulous and thin. A spike of animal terror shudders up his spine.

"Im here," Blaine answers immediately, as if he hadnt been asleep at all. He takes Kurts hand in a strong grip. "I wont leave you alone."

Fall.

The morning is the worst. He never remembers it as being the worst, but in the moment of it, its always the worst. Hes weak, trembling, and ashamed—and more tired than seems possible for his body to bear without actually dying. He cries softly against the pillow while Blaine gets him a glass of fortified juice.

"I think Im going to throw up," Kurt says.

"Theres a basin right here," Blaine says. He sets the glass on the night table with a thunk that reverberates bizarrely, makes Kurts bones ache. He strokes Kurts hair from his sweaty forehead. "Its okay if you do."

"I should go," Kurt says. He sniffs and tries to push himself up with reed-feeble arms.

"Stay," Blaine says. "As long as you want."

But Kurt knows all that means is as long as youve paid for. He chokes on a sob, and falls back to the mattress.

Grace.

"I mean it," Blaine says.

Kurt bites back the reflexive Why? Instead he says, "Even after seven straight runs to Andromeda, I dont have enough credit to buy your contract."

"Ive never asked you to," Blaine says. "And Im not asking you for that now."

"But—?" Kurt tries to sit again, but only manages to rouse the queasy feeling in his belly to full blown nausea. He scrambles for the metal basin as Blaine pushes it toward him.

Once his stomach is empty and hes rinsed out his mouth, Kurt lies on his back, panting. Blaine runs a warm washcloth over his chest, soothing away the cold sweat.

"We barely know each other," Kurt says.

"I dont think thats true," Blaine says. "And I dont believe you do either."

"I dont understand what youre asking me for," Kurt says.

Blaine smiles. "Im not asking you for anything."

Kurt doesnt understand. His hands shake as he covers his face.

Harmony.

The mattress bows beside Kurt as Blaine sits and sets the cloth aside. "Its worse every time you come to me, Kurt. Youre not taking enough time to rebuild your strength between runs."

"Im perfectly fine," Kurt says, and the lie cringes in his heart as he says it.

"Youre not." Blaines hand wraps around the biceps of his closest arm, which Kurt well knows is becoming flaccid with atrophy.

"So, what? Now youre judging me?" Kurt says bitterly. "When Im... down like this? Am I no longer pretty enough for you?" Tears burn his vision, which he turns to the ceiling above him. He doesnt need to see the pity in Blaines eyes. His heart thuds too hard behind his breastbone, but it doesnt feel vital.

Blaine actually laughs at him, a gentle huff of breath. "Is that honestly what you think Im doing?"

"No," Kurt relents. He doesnt have the energy for indignation, especially not directed at Blaine. Especially not when Blaines right.

"I need to do it three more times," Kurt says. Hes budgeted so carefully. He could never manage it in less than ten unless he gave up on eating entirely, and ten has given him enough of a cushion he can afford Blaine. He only needs to endure three more runs. Only. The way the ache of it sits so long and heavy in his bones and hangs in his brain makes him doubt he can—but he wont give in. "Thatll be enough."

It will be enough unless Rachel asks him to pay her, which she shouldnt. But as much as Kurt hates to call in a favor from her, he knows even if he can make three more runs, Betty cant, not with the way her drive was screaming coming in yesterday.

And Kurt would swear that an out of tune drive makes the cryosleep harder too, like the bad harmonics fuck with his brainwaves or the tissue in his body or something. The Guild tuner hasnt been able to keep Betty singing sweetly, and Kurts in such poor voice these days, he cant do it himself. The pang of that regret is especially unsavory. But, he reminds himself, he could never make enough tuning drives anyway, not with how specific his voice is. And certainly not after blowing it out on that frigate, saving Rachels ass.

It feels like more than a lifetime ago, but Rachels still the best he knows.

"Enough for what?" Blaine asks eventually. "Youve never told me."

Kurt turns his head to look at Blaine now. Its not pity he sees, but what he sees scares him even more. Its too much to lose, and he knows he cant keep it. "Um," Kurt says, and he has to swallow to keep his throat open. "My Dad needs a new heart?"