Sometimes Kurt is convinced Rachel Berry is out to ruin his life. Friday afternoon after Glee practice and Mr. Schue's sharing circle, Kurt just wants to take Blaine home, take him up to his room, put on some relaxing music, strip down to their underwear, and cuddle until they fall asleep. At some later point, there might be food and a movie and some of the sex they've been missing, but right now Kurt just wants Blaine close, and he wants to be unconscious. He and Blaine are walking down the wide empty hall, hand in hand, toward the parking lot exit when Kurt hears the tap tap tap of Rachel's Mary Janes as she jogs up behind them.

"Kurt, wait!" she calls out. "I need your help."

Blaine turns to face her first, releasing Kurt's hand. Kurt sighs and turns more slowly. "Yes?" he asks.

Rachel takes a breath and holds it for a moment, her gaze darting between them. Then she speaks in a dramatic stage whisper, "So Finn and I are getting married tomorrow after we win Regionals."

There's some outrage or incredulity Kurt expects he should be feeling, but he's not got it in him today to summon up much of anything beyond wanting to go home. Her announcement isn't even all that surprising, really. The crazy has become consistent enough, he half expects it. He looks at her and waits for her to continue, but she's staring at him as if bracing herself for his disapproval. In his peripheral vision, he sees Blaine has turned to look at him, too. They both expect him to say something

"Okay, so you've moved up the date of the Finchel marriage trainwreck extravaganza," he says so she won't be disappointed, but his heart's not in it.

Rachel smiles. "Yes. I mean, it's not a trainwreck—of course it's not—we just didn't want to wait any longer because— Well, you know, Kurt, how short life can be, we never know when something might..." Rachel trails off blinking furiously. She rallies to continue, "Anyway. I need you to make a wedding cake for us. I printed out the recipe I want you to use. It's vegan." She presents him with a small stack of printed pages fastened with a hot pink heart-shaped paperclip; there's a neatly folded twenty dollar bill tucked on top. "That's to cover the cost of ingredients," she says.

"Rachel..." Kurt says.

"Please, Kurt? I know it's last minute, but I couldn't get any of the local bakeries to do it, and you already know how to bake vegan cakes. My Dads and I will be too busy making finger sandwiches and other stuff tonight." She gives him a wide-eyed pleading gaze; one he can't really resist, unless he's very angry. Right now he's only very tired. "You're the only person I trust with this. I need you," she says softly.

"I'll help," Blaine says, nudging Kurt's shoulder with his own. "Come on, it'll be fun."

"Fun," Kurt says skeptically. He takes the recipe and the money from her hand. "Fine, but you'll owe me."

"Of course," Rachel nods. "Anything. If you guys ever get married, I'll be your wedding planning slave."

Beside him, Blaine chuckles softly, but Kurt replies seriously. "I will hold you to that, you know."

Rachel laughs brightly and throws her arms around Kurt's shoulders. He staggers back in surprise. There's usually some warning first, but he returns the hug.

"Thank you, Kurt. This means so much to me," she says and squeezes him tightly. "You know what else? Tomorrow I'm getting a brother."

Kurt smiles despite himself, glances at Blaine with a roll of his eyes. "Okay, sister, I need to breathe," he says to Rachel.

She lets go and steps back. "I forgot to mention, I want both of you in the bridal party," she says, and then she turns to Blaine. "And thank you, too, Blaine." She leans forward to kiss him on the cheek, then turns with a swirl of her skirt and heads swiftly back down the hall. "Call me if you have any problems, Kurt!" is the last thing she says.

~*~

They have to go to all three supermarkets in the area to get the ingredients needed for the vegan raspberry-lemon wedding cake Rachel wants. Kurt makes sure they also have everything they need for a back up carrot cake if the recipe fails. They'll have to make do with frozen raspberries for the raspberry puree. Fortunately the florist has organically grown roses she promises will be safe for use with food. Kurt doesn't think they'll have time for decorations fancier than some artfully arranged rose petals. He hopes Carole and his Dad won't mind if they reuse the cake topper from their wedding cake. Perhaps it will count as something borrowed.

When he and Blaine finally get home with the groceries and flowers, Finn, his Dad, and Carole are gone. They're having dinner and helping with wedding prep at Chez Berry tonight. Kurt doesn't know if it's some kind of family bonding thing or one last intervention attempt by the grown ups. Either way, Kurt is now grateful he's been tasked with nothing more fraught than making the cake. Sam is still home, and he helps get the bags from the car into the kitchen and unpacked as Kurt assembles the tools and ingredients they're going to need. He's going to make three layers, which is going to require lot of raspberry puree, lemon frosting, and sugar-glazed rose petals.

Blaine is already getting the food processor and the fine chinoise out for the raspberries. They talked strategy in the car: Blaine will do the raspberries and the flowers. Kurt will make the cakes and the frosting. Sam is hovering in the kitchen, a little tense and uncertain. Kurt pauses in the open door of the pantry, the canister of cake flour in his hands and looks at him. "Yes, Sam?"

"What can I do to help?" Sam asks. He picks up one of the packs of tofu (they're for the frosting) from the counter and frowns at them.

Nothing, is the first word that comes to Kurt's mind, but doesn't say it. Tries to think of something more diplomatic. Sam is sincere, but he's got little intuition about the kitchen and food preparation. Maybe he can send Sam out for takeouts. They'll all still need dinner.

"You can help me with the roses," Blaine says, drawing both Kurt's and Sam's attention. "I'll show you what we need to do, Sam. It's not hard, but they're going to take a while. You can get started while I make the puree."

"Cool," Sam says and moves over to where Blaine's getting set up near the sink.

Kurt gives Blaine a grateful smile and turns back to the pantry for the sugar.

~

Once the last cake is in the oven, the rose petals are drying on sheets of wax paper, and both the frosting and the puree are ready for the cooling cakes, Kurt sends Blaine and Sam out to get Chinese food. He puts some brown rice on to cook (none of the local restaurants serve it), loads the dishwasher, and sets some coffee to brew.

~

They eat their dinner in front of the television, watching repeats of Friends. For dessert, Kurt makes up little samples of the cake from the pieces he's trimmed off to make three graduated tiers. Sam is unsure of the frosting, but tries it anyway after Kurt tells him to just think of it as having extra protein. The delicate flavor of the tofu is lost in the lemon, sugar, and vanilla anyway; and Kurt gets approval from both Sam and Blaine, which is fantastic, because Kurt really doesn't want to start making a carrot cake right now. He hides his yawn behind the edge of his coffee cup and forces himself to stand. "If you guys wouldn't mind doing the rest of the dishes, I'll finish icing the cake," he says.

The cake, in the finish, turns out amazingly. Kurt even impresses himself.

~*~

His Dad and Carole and Finn make it home at some point. They 'ooh' and 'aah' appropriately over the cake. Kurt makes sure to tell them it was a group effort. Carole ruffles Sam's hair and hugs Blaine; and Finn seems genuinely touched by the effort. His Dad says to Blaine, "Good to see you again, kid," and squeezes his shoulder. Then it's well past time for bed. Kurt thinks he's going to be relying mostly on muscle memory to get through the performances tomorrow. He hopes it will be enough. For the first time, he's glad he doesn't have a competition solo.

By the time they've got up to his bedroom, Kurt is failing to control his yawning. And then it's making Blaine yawn ridiculously too as he unzips his bag to get his toiletry kit and pajamas. Kurt starts to giggle around his next yawn before falling face first against his pillows to stifle it.

It was an unwise move; now that he's down, he's not sure he's getting back up. And of course he's wearing the tall Docs today. It takes a Herculean effort to roll over and look up at Blaine with a smile of entreaty. "Can you help me with my boots?" he asks and another yawn takes him on the "please?" morphing it into some kind of marine mammal sound. "Sorry," he says against the back of his hand.

Blaine just smiles at him and abandons his overnight bag to come over to the bed, leaning one knee up on the mattress as he reaches to fold a hand over the nearest of Kurt's ankles, which are dangling off the edge of the bed. "I forgot to tell you that you look really great today," Blaine says softly. He runs his hand up the side of the boot and Kurt enjoys the pressure of Blaine's touch muted by the leather barrier. Kurt doesn't understand why it's erotic, but even with his fatigue, he feels it. He can't be bothered doing much about it though.

"I look great every day," Kurt says.

"Well, there are degrees of great," Blaine says. He brings his other hand to Kurt's leather wrapped calf, slides it up to join his other hand at the top of the laces. He tugs the bow free, and pulls the top of the laces slack. "I like these striped pants," he says.

"Mmm, thank you," Kurt says, letting his eyelids close and enjoying the gentle tug as Blaine works his way down the criss-cross of laces, occasionally starting over again at the top when he runs out of slack.

"McQueen?" Blaine asks.

"You have a good eye, Blaine Anderson."

Blaine hums agreement, but doesn't say anything else. The first boot comes off. Kurt sighs in relief, rotates his ankle, and wriggles his sock clad toes. Blaine goes to work on the other boot.

Eventually the silence between them crosses from comfortable into too much, and Kurt realizes Blaine has been subdued all day. "You've been kind of quiet tonight. Are you all right?" he asks.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

And that's when Kurt also realizes he hasn't thought about David once since Rachel tasked him with her wedding cake. He's been so focused on it, he stopped tracking why he's so exhausted. But, he suspects, Blaine hasn't been so lucky. "I'm... okay," Kurt says, and the easy, comfortable fatigue of his body gives way to the darker sink of mental and emotional fatigue. It feels like someone dialed up the gravity. He feels a twinge of tears behind his eyelids, but just a twinge. Still, it's enough to make his breath shake as he inhales to speak. "I'm going to visit David tomorrow, before the wedding," Kurt says. He opens his eyes as Blaine pulls his other boot off.

"Do you want me to go with you?" Blaine asks. He stands with Kurt's boots and takes them over to Kurt's closet.

Kurt scavenges enough impetus to sit up and unknot his scarf. "You can," he says, "If you want to."

Blaine nods and holds out a hand for Kurt's scarf. "Hamper?" he asks as Kurt passes it to him.

"Mirror," Kurt says; silk never goes in the hamper.

Blaine drapes the scarf over the edge of the dresser mirror with the other scarves awaiting hand washing. "I doubt he'll want to see me, but I'll go with you and wait in the lobby or whatever." Blaine turns back with a thin not-quite-smile tightening his lips. "I want to be there for you," he says, and the 'not him' lies implicit in Blaine's tone. Kurt didn't expect that.

"I'm sure he'd—" Kurt starts to protest, because David needs, if not friendship, then at least camaraderie. But then he thinks about it more, remembers how David has responded to Blaine in the past and considers how he must feel about Blaine now. Blaine is most likely correct. "Yeah, okay." He gets up so he can finish undressing. "I'll definitely feel better with you there."

They continue getting ready for bed mostly in silence after that: Kurt preoccupied with planning for the hospital visit, the competition in the morning, the wedding; and Blaine with whatever sub or super set of that is on his mind. Fatigue drags insistently at Kurt's limbs, and he wishes he could banish it, just for a little while, so he could make the most of being with Blaine tonight. It's been a month since Blaine has slept over, but he can't recall enough energy or desire right now. Being close is enough; it's all he needs. Anything more would be luxury, so Kurt doesn't fight it. As soon as he's got the covers pulled up and Blaine has tugged him close enough to pillow Kurt's head with his shoulder, Kurt is covering another jaw-cracking yawn with his hand and growing woozy with sleepiness. Blaine presses a kiss to his forehead, and Kurt lets sleep take him.

~

It doesn't last. Kurt wakes abruptly, terrified. Dread clings like cobwebs. He's cold, his heart gallops, and he's reaching for his lamp. He looks up for the pasty gray light of the high basement window and does not find it. The neighbor's security light must have blown. And then his hand, instead of meeting the hard edge of his night table or the cold metal of his lamp, meets a mound of bedding. It's warm.

Kurt stops breathing as reality flips and spins itself over and around and about like a gyroscope, and the comprehension of where he is and when he is belts into him like he's been unplugged from The Matrix. He's upstairs in the new house in a new bed with his boyfriend. It's his senior year. No one has died, not recently anyway. Someone is in hospital but it's not his Dad or Carole or Blaine or Finn or Rachel or Mercedes... or any of the other people commonly on that mental list of people he fears terrible things happening to. And he's pretty sure he doesn't know kung fu.

Kurt exhales slowly, counts to three, inhales, counts to three, exhales again until his heartbeat has steadied and slowed and he no longer feels quite so much like his brain is jammed in his skull backwards. The nightmare—it must have been one—is vague, the vision of it faded to spectral shadows in the back of his mind, sinking back into the obscurity of his subconscious. He feels himself forgetting the dream even as he tries to remember it. All that remains is a deeply embedded sense of something lost. It's enough that the strangling sensation in his chest lingers, like there's been a monstrous fist squeezing his heart.

More carefully, Kurt reaches for Blaine. He doesn't wish to wake him, just needs the reassurance of his presence. To stifle the urge to say Blaine's name, Kurt presses his lips together firmly. It's too dark to make out much of anything, but Kurt senses Blaine is facing him, lying on his side. His hand alights upon Blaine's shoulder. Softly, slowly, Blaine's pajamas crumple beneath the weight of Kurt's hand, and Kurt holds his breath. Blaine doesn't stir. Kurt relaxes his lips and his lungs, releases a shallow breath. He moves closer to Blaine, drapes his arm over and bends his elbow up so he can lay his fingers against the back of Blaine's head. He moves gingerly, quietly, as he leans in near to feel the warmth of Blaine's breath mingling with his own. Close enough to catch Blaine's scent. Close enough to brush his lips across Blaine's jaw and to feel the scuff of the day's hair growth rasp against his tender lips. And at last, close enough to seek the pillowy softness of Blaine's lips to soothe the resulting harsh buzz of his own. His nose glances against Blaine's, and in the still dark quiet of the night it seems such a strange, intimate contact.

It's not really a kiss Kurt gives Blaine, more the ghost of one. Kurt holds his lips still against Blaine's, touching, not pressing. Sharing little sips of his sleep deepened breaths; precious, life sustaining breaths. Kurt closes his eyes and slides a leg forward until Blaine's knee presses against his thigh. He dares to move his fingers against Blaine's scalp, burying his fingertips in the smooth strands of his hair as if holding him close, but he's not applying any force.

He's too alert to drift back into sleep; the adrenaline has done its job well. So Kurt holds Blaine, tries to memorize this, every point of contact, every shift of breath or faint flutter of a heartbeat. He loses track of the passage of time.

Then Blaine stirs in his arms, his lips flex, and his fingertips venture warm against Kurt's chest. He speaks against Kurt's lips, drowsy and soft, "Kurt?"

Speaking isn't quite enough to break the spell. "Did I wake you?" Kurt murmurs.

With a slight shake of his head, Blaine replies, "No."

"I had a nightmare," Kurt says. He twists his fingers into Blaine's hair.

Blaine presses closer, fitting their bodies together in a way that makes Kurt's heart trip over its next beat. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," Kurt says. It feels like the same 'no' he said on the stage months ago while looking into Blaine's shining eyes, so certain. "I want you to kiss me," he says. He wants that certainty now; the physical proof of it.

Maybe Blaine wants to feel it too, for he surges up to kiss Kurt with an eager, hot mouth. Kurt tips forward, uses his weight and momentum to roll Blaine onto his back, covers him with his body and sinks down into Blaine's mouth and his embrace. He's got one hand still tangled up in Blaine's hair trapped between Blaine's head and the pillow. His other hand is at Blaine's jaw, his thumb skimming down Blaine's throat, following his pulse. Blaine holds him close, one hand splayed across his back over his ribs, the other riding high on the back of his thigh. Kurt doesn't break the kiss to speak, to make a suggestion or ask permission; he surrenders to the impulse of Blaine's hands upon him, rocks down against Blaine, feels his cock swelling near Blaine's, feels the rush of the passion enveloping them.

He grinds down as Blaine arches up. There's little finesse; Kurt feels like he's made of nothing more complex than flesh, heat, and need. The thin material of their pajamas between them is a harsh, dry friction, but when Kurt starts to pull away to remedy the situation (he forgot to put the lube back under his pillow), Blaine just tightens his hold on Kurt and says, "No, stay with me... like this. Just like... Ooh." And then Blaine is hot and tense and straining up against him as he comes. Feeling Blaine pulse and shudder beneath him is almost enough to tip Kurt into his own climax, but he doesn't quite—at least not until Blaine shoves his hands beneath Kurt's waistband to dig his fingertips into his bare ass, and Blaine bucks up hard against him one last time and growls in his ear, "Come on... come for me, Kurt."

It's over so quickly. And Kurt is panting and sweat sticky and—he tucks his face against Blaine's neck to smother his groan—they both just came in their pajamas and that requires more than a tissue.

~*~

Once they've cleaned up and changed, Kurt takes their soiled clothing down to the laundry. Blaine comes downstairs with him and fills the kettle for tea since they are both sufficiently awake now, they won't be getting back to sleep soon. In the kitchen, Kurt is reaching up to the cupboard to retrieve a pair of mugs and Blaine is pressing up behind him, his hands slipping ticklish up Kurt's exposed tummy. When Kurt drops back to his heels, mugs in hand, Blaine kisses the back of his neck and finger-walks his hands up over Kurt's ribs to his chest. Kurt's just setting the mugs down and taking a breath to say something suitably flirty and encouraging, when he hears Finn's voice behind them.

"Hey, guys..."

Blaine's thumb slips away from Kurt's nipple but he doesn't let go of Kurt or step back. "Hey, Finn," Blaine says. Kurt turns his head to smile a greeting.

In the archway, Finn fidgets, but doesn't drop his gaze. "Um, am I interrupting?"

"It's fine, come in," Kurt says, and Blaine loosens his embrace as Kurt reaches back up for a third mug. "Can't sleep?"

Finn moves into the kitchen, dragging the fingers of one hand through his sleep tousled hair. He slumps down onto one of the stools at the island and leans on his elbows. "No," he says. "I heard you guys up, thought maybe you couldn't either."

"I'll heat some milk," Kurt says.

"Cool, thanks," Finn says. Blaine sits opposite Finn while Kurt goes to the fridge.

"So what are you guys doing up, anyway?" Finn asks. "It's like two in the morning. Is that the washing machine?"

"Yeah," Blaine says, "We had some, uh, unexpected laundry to do."

Kurt bites his lips together as he unhooks a small saucepan from the pot rack. He refuses to titter like a scandalized child.

But then Finn laughs, and Kurt nearly drops the bottle of milk. "I'm glad somebody's getting some tonight," Finn says.

And for some reason that makes Kurt bold—and careless. "Mostly it was our pajamas that got it," he says.

Blaine's soft, "Oh my god, Kurt," does sound scandalized, and Kurt turns to see him covering his face and laughing. Finn is staring at Blaine with a crooked grin on his face.

"I'm sorry," Kurt says, "That was inappropriate... and crass, and I—"

"It's cool, dude," Finn says, "It's two AM." As if that excuses all lapses in decorum. "Anyway," Finn continues, "It's not like I haven't had to do the midnight laundry run myself." He pauses for a beat and Kurt sees his smile kink into something more mischievous. "I bet it's way more fun with a friend."

Kurt ducks his head and goes to the spice drawer, finds the whole nutmeg, cinnamon, and the bottle of vanilla. "Are we really having this conversation?" Kurt asks.

"Hey, Blaine started it," Finn says.

"I did not," Blaine says, feigning outrage, but mostly sounding like he's trying not to laugh.

To which Kurt responds dryly, "I'm pretty sure you did, Blaine."

Blaine's smiling when he says, "No, I'm pretty sure you did, Kurt, given how you woke me up."

"You said I didn't wake you!" Kurt points his whisk at Blaine to add emphasis.

Finn says, "I tried to wake Rachel like that once. She elbowed me in the ribs pretty hard."

And then they're all laughing, and it feels necessary and good. Kurt grates some nutmeg into the milk, adds a few drops of vanilla and cinnamon. He stirs the milk with the whisk as it slowly warms over a low heat. It hits him them, in a way it didn't when Rachel told him—in a way it didn't even strike him while he was making the wedding cake. It's a stark, cold realization, and he doesn't bother to censor himself before he says, "Jesus, I can't believe you're getting married today, Finn."

"Yeah," Finn says, "I think that's why I can't sleep."

Blaine sips his tea quietly.

"Cold feet?" Kurt asks.

"No," Finn protests. "I'm just nervous, you know?"

The milk is starting to steam so Kurt takes it off the heat and pours it into two mugs. "It's okay if you're having second thoughts, Finn," he says. He adds a little sugar to Finn's mug and stirs it. "Hell, you probably should be having second thoughts. You don't have to get married tomorrow if—"

"Kurt, why can't you just support this?" There's irritation in Finn's tone.

Kurt passes him his warm milk and leans back against the counter to fix Finn with a serious gaze. "Of course I support you, and I support Rachel. I love you both, but this rush to marry? It's hard to support that."

"Should I go?" Blaine asks; his shoulders are tense.

Kurt sighs. "No, honey. I'm sorry," he says just as Finn offers his own reassurance to Blaine.

"Look," Finn says, "if you two were getting married tomorrow? I'd totally be happy for you."

"Like that's even legal in this state," Kurt mutters.

"You know what I mean," Finn says.

"I will be there tomorrow, Finn."

Finn nods, mostly mollified.

Blaine says, "So will I," but he's not really smiling.

So Kurt adds, "And I'll be doing my best to catch the bouquet." He seeks Blaine's gaze, smiles, and holds it until Blaine smiles back. Then he returns his gaze to Finn. "I just want you to promise me, Finn, that you're not giving up on yourself."

"I'm not. I promise," Finn says, and they lapse into a tense silence for a time. Finn rotates his mug between his hands and keeps taking in short breaths like he's got something to say, it's just not coming out. Finally he sighs and closes his eyes and says softly, "For what it's worth, I don't want you guys giving up either. Not on each other and not on yourselves. I know... There's been a lot of hard stuff lately and this week. I want you to know, both of you, that I'm here for you if you ever need me, okay? I love you guys."

"Hey," Blaine says and reaches across the island to rest a hand over Finn's. "We love you, too."

Kurt looks at both of them, the two boys he loves most, holding hands and looking at each other with rare unguarded affection. It's an odd but perfect moment, Kurt thinks: possibly the sort that can only occur under emotional duress and at two-thirty in the morning, so Kurt appreciates it all the more. He sips his warm, spiced milk and enjoys it.

~*~

Blaine drives them to the hospital after the morning competition. They make just one detour, to buy flowers. Blaine pays for them.

Once they've parked, Kurt can't move immediately. The flowers sit in the footwell braced between his feet. He looks out the car window, up at the many storied building. Thinks about how behind nearly every window is pain. He doesn't want to be here. The buoy of their Regional's victory has sunk. Maybe it was a mistake to sandwich this between the competition and Finn and Rachel's wedding.

There's a silence between them for a time; Blaine's touch draws Kurt's attention. Blaine is looking down at Kurt's hand and lightly stroking the tender skin between Kurt's knuckles with his fingertips. When he starts to speak it's with hesitation. "Kurt," he says. "It's really good of you to be visiting Karofsky, but I... I hope it's not because you're feeling guilty for rebuffing his advances."

Kurt's eyes widen. "I..." But nothing more comes out. That's not really it, but it's not that far off.

"It wasn't fair for him to even ask you," Blaine says. "And what he did? It's not because you didn't want to go out with him. I mean, what did he expect?"

"Blaine," Kurt says, even though Blaine isn't wrong. So he thinks maybe he should try to explain, confess his sin. "That isn't all that happened."

Blaine's gaze comes up from Kurt's hand, concerned. "What do you mean?"

"That night when he asked me out? At Breadstix. There was a guy there from his school who saw David with me, and... figured it out. He said some stuff to David, made it clear he knew." Kurt closes his eyes for a moment, opens them and finds Blaine still meeting his gaze; Kurt forces himself not to look away. "Blaine, I knew it meant trouble for David. You should have seen the guy. But I just—" Kurt shrugs. "And then when David started calling me on Monday. I didn't answer, and I deleted his voicemails without even listening to them. I didn't want to know. But he kept calling me."

"Kurt..."

"I know, Blaine. I know I fucked up. I was selfish and scared and I didn't want to be involved. So I'm not blameless. I told him we could be friends, but I didn't mean it. When he took off the mask that night? All I wanted was to run away. I'm a coward, and I'm selfish."

"That isn't what I was going to say."

"You would have answered his calls. You would have helped him."

Blaine is looking at Kurt with a strange intensity. He speaks quietly and carefully. "I don't know that I would have done anything differently from what you did."

"But you—?"

"Come on, Kurt, he terrorized you. You think if one of those jocks who beat the crap out of me decided to creep on me over Valentine's Day, make me believe he was you, and then ask me out in full knowledge that I already had a boyfriend, that I'd feel anything but horrified by it? You think I'd want to answer that guy's calls?"

"But you answered Sebastian's call."

"Not at first," Blaine says, "And when I finally did, it was only because Trent called me first and asked me to pick up his call, explained to me that Sebastian wanted to apologize." He sighs. "But even then, the situation is different. Sebastian may be an awful person and he should definitely be in juvie, but he didn't..." Blaine trails off with a shake of his head.

"So you wouldn't have answered David's call?"

Blaine shrugs. "I honestly don't know. But look, Kurt. Karofsky was horrible to you, for a long time. I remember what he put you through. I was there. And I remember how willing he was to wipe the floor with both of us.

"That he's gay and struggling with that? That's certainly worthy of our sympathy, but it doesn't excuse his cruelty to you. As a human being he deserves compassion and, god knows he needs friendship and support now, but don't, Kurt, not even for a second, believe any of his pain or struggle puts you under some kind of obligation to be his personal savior or that any of it is your fault. You don't owe him anything."

"But if I'd just picked up the phone, Blaine, he wouldn't have felt so isolated and trapped and without hope, he wouldn't have—" Kurt cuts himself off with a hiccup.

"You can't know that. Not really," Blaine says. "You want to know whose fault this is?"

"David's?" Kurt asks sourly. He doesn't need to hear it again, especially not from Blaine.

But Blaine surprises him and says, "No. The people who harassed him, the people who watched it happen and said nothing, the friends who turned away from him. And what about his parents? The teachers at his school?" There's a ferocity and anger building in Blaine's voice that Kurt has never heard before. "Those things people say to us? I wish everyone would stop pretending like it's just words, like it doesn't matter, like we're just meant to rise above it somehow. 'Sticks and stones and' blah fucking blah blah. It's bullshit. You know it as well as I do. The words can do just as much damage as the fists. It's just the injuries aren't visible until you try to kill yourself." Blaine looks away, says to the window, "And sometimes not even then."

Kurt blinks at Blaine, stunned into silence. He's never asked Blaine if he's ever... It's a thought Kurt cannot bring himself to finish.

Blaine calms and turns back to Kurt with a sympathetic and sheepish grimace. He speaks so gently the words ache between them: "More people than you had to abandon him for it to get to this point, Kurt."

Kurt moistens his lips and clears his throat, but the words come out a little weak anyway: "It doesn't matter if I was the first person or the last person. I could have answered my phone."

"You could have, yes," Blaine says quietly. "But you didn't, and you had reasons of your own. Good ones. Maybe that doesn't make it okay, I don't know. But I do know that none of this is your fault. None of it, Kurt." Blaine's gaze is wide and earnest, brightening with unshed tears.

The guilt relents at the desperate tenderness in Blaine's voice and in his eyes. Enough that Kurt nods, and—damn it—he's tearing up now, too. He dabs his eyes with the tissue Blaine hands him.

Blaine squeezes Kurt's shoulder. "David can probably use your friendship more than your guilt right now. Let him forgive you, okay? Then maybe you can forgive yourself."

"Okay," Kurt says and steels himself to get out of the car.