Kurt is barely halfway to his car when someone comes running after him. Still doped up from the Vicodin, he can't even care who it is. He turns and gets a flash of curly black hair and a worn leather jacket.

Shit.

Blaine jogs up next to Kurt and takes the keys from his hands without so much as a word. They walk to Kurt's car, Kurt climbing into the passenger seat. There was no point in fighting. He was so tired of fighting. Kurt watches out the window while Blaine drives to the Hummel's.

This wasn't expected.

Blaine wasn't supposed to care.

Kurt tries to read Blaine's expression in short glances. Slight frown, flushed cheeks, scared eyes. It's confusing. He wasn't supposed to care.

The car gets parked and Blaine nudges Kurt up to his room, shutting the door behind them. No one is home for at least a few hours. Burt and Carole are at work, and Finn's probably at Quinn's. Or Rachel's. Who the fuck knows. Kurt feels itchy, like his skin is too tight. He stands while Blaine sits on his bed. Facing Blaine, especially after singing that song; is terrifying. The Vicodin is wearing off, and Kurt can feel his emotions flooding back. Guilt, depression, frustration, pain. He scratches at his wrists, eyes darting to his night table. The pills and the razor are in there.

He should have done it last night.

He shouldn't have waited to say goodbye.

Blaine watches him evenly, follows his line of sight, then moves to open the drawer.

"Don't—"

Oh fuck, what has he done?

Silently, Blaine pulls out the pills and sets the container on the bed. The orange is bright and out of place in Kurt's cream colored room. He holds on to the razor. It's a blade from a box cutter, and Blaine turns it over and over in his hands. He doesn't look at Kurt and it hurts. Kurt wraps his arms around himself and sits and the foot of the bed. I won't cry.

"So…Jack's Mannequin?" Blaine finally says. His tone is light. Kurt stares at him in surprise. He's found evidence that Kurt was considering taking his own life, and Blaine wants to talk about some stupid band?

Kurt blinks and looks down at his hands. They're pale. Blood would stand out against his skin. "I like Jack's. It's a good album." He says in a whisper. Is Blaine angry?

"Everything In Transit." Blaine nods approvingly. "I showed it to you."

Music was a huge part of Blaine, and he listened to everything. While his tastes gravitated to rock and pop more than Broadway or rap, Blaine made it a point to try any song. And when he found something he liked, he made Kurt listen too. Because music is like love, Kurt, Blaine had said. It shouldn't be bottled up and hidden away. It should be shared.

"You liked their lyrics. Andrew McMahon is a brilliant songwriter." The sharp edge flashes in Blaine's hands and he turns it. "Remember your favorite song?" His voice is barely above a whisper.

Of course he remembers. The lyrics fit his life so well.

"Dark blue, dark blue," Kurt sings softly. His voice cracks. "Have you ever been alone in a crowded room?"

Blaine nods to himself and stares at the blade for a long time. His breathing picks up and his expression changes. One hand fiddles with his earrings, the chink-chink echoing in the room.

It scares Kurt because he can't read his best friend. His eyes prickle from tears and Kurt's throat starts to close up.

"Blaine—" Kurt starts tentatively, reaching out with one hand.

"Do you want to die?" Blaine asks harshly. He looks at Kurt with anger and Kurt stops. Hugs himself. In the months of their friendship, Blaine has never yelled at Kurt. Ever. This might change. Blaine sniffs and rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, letting out a small and broken "Fuck."

For the first time, Kurt starts to wonder what it would be like for Blaine if he died.

He wondered if Blaine would pick himself up and move on.

If Blaine would wind up in jail.

If he'd even graduate.

"I just—" Blaine shakes his head and looks up, squeezing his eyes shut. It hurts, seeing all the pain and fear in Blaine. Blaine chokes off a sob and drops the razor as he curls in on himself. He presses the heel of his hands to his eyes and obviously fights to not cry, but. But.

"Blaine." Kurt whispers. He lays a hand gently on Blaine's shaking shoulder and Blaine launches himself at Kurt. He drags Kurt to lay down and hugs Kurt tight, so tight, like Kurt will shatter if he lets go. He cries harder, and so strange and unnerving to see Blaine Anderson in tears and doing his best to crawl inside Kurt and never leave.

Surprisingly, Kurt manages to keep his eyes dry. He holds Blaine for a while until he slowly calms down. Blaine keeps whispering into Kurt's shoulder, little phrases like don't leave me, you're my best friend, I can't be alone again. Over Blaine's head, Kurt can see the pill bottle and the razor lying on the comforter. It still looks like release. Kurt buries his face in Blaine's soft hair and fills himself with Blaine.

"I just keep seeing you in the bathroom," Blaine whispers hours later. The room is darkened, but there's just enough light to see each other's faces. He traces random patterns on Kurt's arm. "And I couldn't save you. There's so much blood." Sucking in a quick breath, Blaine squeezes Kurt's arm, like he wants to be sure Kurt won't leave. "So much blood, and you're gone, and I'm still here. Alone."

It's what Kurt wanted. Down some Vicodin, wait until he was numb, and then open his wrists in the bathtub. Three long slashes, then peace. But now…

"I don't want to die." Kurt says softly. Blaine looks up. "Or I don't know. Maybe I do." Kurt waves his hands. Silent, Blaine sits up and turns the bedside lamp on. The light is soft and yellow. Kurt leans against his headboard and wraps his arms around his knees. "It's just. Sometimes." Kurt tries to explain in halting sentences. "Sometimes, I just don't want to live." He whispers into his jeans.

Because sometimes it hurts so much to just wake up.

Kurt takes in a shaky breath. "God." He mutters. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm so fucked up."

"You aren't." Blaine says without hesitation. "But I wish you'd have told me." Kurt looks up to see Blaine sigh.

"You had other things to worry about."

Blaine laughed. Actually laughed. "I feel like we've had this conversation before."

Months ago, in the Anderson's house where Kurt was wiping the blood off Blaine's face after another beating from his father.

Unbidden, Kurt smiles and laughs. "Yeah, guess we have." He agrees.

The house is weirdly quiet. His parents should be home, but Carole probably convinced his father to leave the boys alone. Knowing Finn's ability to keep secrets, Kurt figures Burt probably knows about his weird song choice at Glee. That will be a conversation.

The razor is only a few feet from his hands. It's sharp. Kurt tested it the night before, and he barely had to press it against his skin before a thin line of blood beaded up. The silver edge is still mesmerizing. Blaine sees his gaze, and snatches it up, dumping it and the pills on Kurt's nightstand. Mortified at getting caught, Kurt stares at his knees.

"I'm not, like," Blaine huffs, frustrated with himself. "A shrink or anything, but…can you just…tell me why?" His eyes are wide and mix of fear and anger and concern.

"Why the…?" Kurt looks at the razor. Blaine nods. Kurt swallows. He really wasn't planning on explaining himself, but it actually…kind of helped. Blaine, for all his cigarettes and piercings and fuck-you attitude, was a good listener. It was a nice change. Kurt shrugs. "I don't know." Liar. "I mean." Kurt squeezes his eyes shut. And hand rubs his back and Kurt lets out a long exhale, trying to order his thoughts.

Blaine cut through the jumble. "How about one at a time."

Kurt looks up at the ceiling. At the cracks. "I'm just. Scared." The words are small.

"Of what?"

Arms thrown wide, Kurt scoffs. What isn't he scared of? "Everything. Failure. Karofsky. Myself." Razors. Pills. "You." He whispers.

Blaine frowns. "Why me?"

How can Blaine honestly expect an answer? Kurt's not even sure why he's afraid of Blaine. Blaine makes him feel safe. He'll break my heart. Again.

Instead of answering Kurt shrugs and looks away. Thinking about Blaine is confusing and makes Kurt nervous so he studies his room. He has a lot of stuff in this little room. It would take his dad ages to pack it all up. He thinks of Burt trying to box up Kurt's pictures. The little trinkets and bottles of moisturizers. The pain and anguish on his father face startle Kurt. Could I really do that to Dad? Kurt knows the answer. "I don't think I would have gone through with it."

Blaine has to know he's deflecting, but he thankfully goes with it. "Why not?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Kurt laughs bitterly. A tear slips down his cheek and Kurt angrily wipes it away. Christ, he is fucking pathetic. "I'm the biggest fucking coward in McKinley."

"Oh Kurt." Blaine puts his hand on Kurt's knee and Dave Karofsky flashes in front of Kurt's face and Kurt screams. And almost kicks Blaine in the face.

He can't stop shaking—why can't he stop, it's only Blaine, it's just Blaine. "Oh shit—God, I'm so sorry, Blaine, I didn't mean to," and now he's crying, God, why the hell is Blaine still here? He should be with Rachel. At least when she burst into tears it was over pretty quick. He doesn't notice he whispers his thoughts.

"You're such an idiot sometimes, you know that Hummel?" Blaine growls and pulls Kurt's hands away from his face. "I'm here because I want to be here. Fuck Rachel. Fuck her and her big mouth." Kurt peeks at Blaine's pissed face. "Contrary to what you might think, I do actually like you." Blaine's hands hold his own, tight and firm.

Kurt couldn't have heard that right, so he drags his eyes up to meet Blaine's. "But…?"

Blaine breaks into a grin. "No 'buts,'" he says. Kurt has about three seconds to register that oh my god Blaine Anderson likes me before—"Well, for now, at least, because you have a really fine ass—ow!"

"Blaine, oh my god, shut up!" Kurt smacks him with a pillow again before dissolving into giggles.

"Rude." Blaine tries to glare. But he can't keep that dumb smile off his face and he pushes Kurt back flat. Blaine lays over top of him, crossing his arms on Kurt's chest and resting his chin there. "Hi," he whispers.

"Hi," Kurt whispers back. Blaine feels like he's everywhere, his weight pressing Kurt down into the bed. Any loss of control should send Kurt into a panic attack, but Blaine looks at Kurt with hearts in his eyes and Kurt's not scared.

"Can you talk to me about Karofsky?" Blaine asks, barely above a whisper. He plays with his earrings with one hand, though his chin remains resting on the other. When Kurt breaths, he can feel Blaine's heartbeat pressed against him. "Why did you jump about a foot and try to take my head off when I touched you?" There's no room for evasion in Blaine's tone and Kurt shivers, cold.

Karofsky is crossing the line from general harassment to actual terror, Kurt knows. Letting him continue is a recipe for disaster, but Kurt can't ask for help. It's not like Karofsky has actually done anything that can be proven, and Kurt's the one that broke his nose, so it's very likely that any complaint will be turned back on Kurt. It's such a mess, and Kurt can't do a thing but take Karofsky's abuse. Who would ever believe the sad, depressed, flamboyantly gay boy over a football star jock?

But damn his mouth. "He, um. He felt my leg the other day." Kurt tells the ceiling. On his stomach, Blaine snarls, but keeps still. "Middle of the hallway. It was over so fast, and no one else saw. I just don't know what to do. Every time I look around, he's there, and I'm scared of being alone with him." I have no idea what he wants to do to me, but whatever it is, it isn't good. Kurt tries to nudge Blaine off, wanting to be as small as possible, but Blaine isn't having any of it.

"You'll never be alone with him." Blaine says harshly. He grabs Kurt's hands and holds them tight, like he needs Kurt to understand. "Never. And I'm getting Puck and we're going to have a few words for him." His face darkens.

"Blaine, no. You'll get caught, and both of you will be sent to juvie."

"Totally worth it."

Kurt blanches. "What—no, it's not worth it; do you have a death wish?"

Blaine just eyes him with an unreadable expression. He can't actually be thinking of going to juvie for Kurt, can he?

"We need to talk to someone about this." Blaine says. "You can't keep hiding this, He's going to blow up one day and you're going to be the target, and I might not be able to help you."

Kurt looks away from Blaine. His gaze falls on the damn razor. It's on the nightstand, and so close. So inviting. Blaine tugs on his sleeve, and Kurt takes a breath and meets Blaine's eyes. He didn't know eyes could be so expressive. Or maybe it's just Blaine. But Kurt really likes the amount of adoration and love he sees in those hazel pools. It makes him feel wanted.

"I think you're the bravest fucking guy in the universe." Blaine sounds so confident. Like it might be true.

Kurt really wants it to be true.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because," Blaine lifts himself up and crawls forward until he hovers over Kurt. Kurt can't breathe, but his heart starts pounding and a small smile creeps over his lips. It seems to give Blaine permission to continue. "Because you're still here. You let me take you home. You showed me what you were going to do. And you're going to do the bravest thing in the world."

Kurt sucks in a breath. Blaine is close, so close, and his eyes are so filled with determination and love. He can't do anything but wait, and then Blaine's lips are on his and moving and he gasps into the kiss because it's so fucking fantastic. Blaine's fingers are in his hair and gripping and pulling and who knew Kurt Hummel had a hair pulling kink? But everything is wet and warm and Kurt has never felt so loved and special than when Blaine's kissing him.

The kiss is pretty chaste and over way too soon, but when Blaine pulls away, Kurt has to smile through his shock. Blaine looks dazed but happy, and he runs his hand through Kurt's hair again.

"You're going to live."