The interviews are the worst.

Kurt gets driven to the police station and placed in the interview room. It's nothing like Law and Order. There's windows, but they're just covered in old blinds. The floor is carpeted with a dull grey, giving the whole room a depressing atmosphere. Kurt sits sullenly in one of the old plastic chairs as he waits. A uniformed officer waits by the door to make sure he doesn't run.

Like he'd go anywhere; honestly. Burt waits outside; Blaine's in another room getting interviewed as well. Finn already gave his statement. The night he came home from the station, he hadn't looked at Kurt at all. Kurt wasn't sure if he was upset or relieved about it. Maybe Finn had realized all the ways he'd let Kurt down. The way the whole club let him down. Detective Adler mentioned that DeCarlo (her partner; that's his name) was at McKinley. Kurt wonders what the students there have to say.

Yeah, Kurt got pushed around a lot. He wore some crazy outfits. Once he had a corset on. And a kilt. The jocks slushied him every other day. I thought everything stopped with Blaine. I couldn't do anything. That's the way things are.

He picks at a stray thread on his hoodie. It's Blaine's, an old Ohio State one. He'd brought it over when Kurt mentioned he was still having nightmares. They're not as bad when he can wake up wrapped in Blaine.

Detective Adler comes in and Kurt sighs. He's going to lose it by the end. Just like the last two sessions. He watches dully as she sets up the video camera, ignores her sympathetic eyes.

Kurt closes his eyes and breaths. Then begins to tell the unforgiving lens his story. He's spent so many years and months hiding himself the bullying that talking about it was like reliving it all over again. The pain, the fear, the hurt. Unclothing himself for the entire fucking world.

He's never felt more naked.

Burt won't let Kurt stay home alone with all the media on their front lawn, so a police officer stays with Kurt during the day while everyone else is at work or school. They have to pay for the lawyer somehow. Officer Hoshino is a young, Japanese man of twenty-three, with an easy smile and bright eyes. His first name is Jon. When Blaine skips school, Hoshino allows him inside without a fuss. And doesn't tell Burt.

Kurt likes Officer Hoshino.

He's the one that lets Rachel in three days after the locker room.

Like the past several days, Kurt is holed up in his room. His hair is wet from another shower and he's stolen another one of Blaine's shirts and hoodies. He hasn't moisturized in days. Kurt swallows back another pill from the psychiatrist. He doesn't really care.

Rachel finds him on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

She knocks hesitantly before stepping inside. "Hi," she says quietly.

Kurt doesn't answer her. Rachel, bless her, bravely walks over to him, head down and fingers white around the strap of her bag. Kurt takes a second to glance at her. For once, he didn't want to burn everything she was wearing. Her pea coat was a sensible dark blue instead of the bright pink she's drawn to and her shoes were simple and classic Mary Janes. It was probably a good thing he couldn't see her sweater though.

"I just wanted to…um." Rachel can barely get the words out and when Kurt looks at her, there are tears in her eyes. "I'm just—I'm so sorry, Kurt." There it was. The pity he was so afraid of. This was why he hadn't seen anyone from the Glee Club since he got home. Blaine told them all to piss off, but naturally Rachel would be the one to ignore it. Damn her.

"Rachel, believe me," Kurt starts, "our fight has honestly been the last thing on my mind. Forget about it. It's fine." He grabs his phone and opens up Angry Birds. Her eyes water and Kurt ignores the tight feeling in his chest because he will not let her see him cry. He won't. His finger shakes and the stupid bird flies backwards.

"Kurt, stop that!" Rachel snaps. She stamps her foot, shocking Kurt into looking at her. Anger was not something he was expecting to see.

"What—"

"Stop pushing everyone away like that!" Rachel crosses her arms and looks down at her feet, voice choked. "The detectives came to talk to us yesterday." She whispers. "They asked us all these questions about you and Karofsky. And…and I realized." Kurt can't speak, can't meet her eyes. Big and brown and wet. Too full of emotion, because Rachel Berry feels everything and Kurt is so fucking tired of feeling anything at all.

Kurt shuts his phone off.

"I realized how much of a shitty friend I've been to you. We all have." Rachel sniffed. "And—and I'm really, really sorry. You didn't deserve any of it."

"You can sit down." Kurt sits up and waves at his bed. His head is fuzzy; he wasn't really expecting this rush of emotions today. Rachel perches carefully on the edge near the foot of the bed, like she thinks Kurt's going to throw her out at any second.

He's not; he knows when her apologies are truthful. And he meant what he said earlier. Their stupid fight was just that—a stupid fight because Kurt is vindictive and Rachel is selfish. They are kids. They're allowed to hurt each other and make up later.

He's been over the Glee club for months. He has Blaine. They're sweet and crazy and imperfect, and Kurt learned not to expect too much from them from the very beginning. It's what made the bullying so easy to hide.

"Rachel," Kurt grabs her hands. It's Blaine's fault; he just really likes holding hands now. It's such a simple way to reach someone. Rachel smiles softly, but a few tears leak out. "I promise I'm not mad. I hid stuff from you guys for years. It isn't your fault. I never expected you guys to notice anything. Or do something. Okay?" Rachel nods but her face crumples and Kurt takes a chance and hugs her. He keeps expecting a flashback but Rachel's frame is so much smaller than his and she has a fragrant perfume on and his body remembers Rachel and he holds it together until she pulls away. She squeezes his hands.

"You know it's not your fault either, right?" Rachel says gently. Kurt nods, but doesn't believe her. It may not be his fault, but it sure as hell feels like it. Thankfully, Rachel drops it. "Do you know what's going to happen to Israel for posting that video?"

Jesus, one sore subject to another. Kurt glares and drops his head. "I think he might be charged with some breach of privacy laws. I don't know." He picks at his comforter moodily. The video was taken down after a few hours, but it still went viral. Fucking Jacob.

"Blaine punched the shit out him the other day." Rachel grins. "It was great, Jacob almost peed himself when he saw Blaine storming at him down the hallway."

The mental picture is easy to imagine. The meaner part of him takes some pleasure in seeing Jacob cowering in fear against the lockers. "That sounds like Blaine." He smiles faintly. "Can we just—talk about something else?" Kurt pleads. "I just need something normal right now…" his voice trails off.

Rachel gets it. She unbuttons her coat and Kurt was right, the sweater has a unicorn on it for some reason and he still wants to burn it, but then Rachel plugs her iPod into Kurt's speakers and her Broadway playlist turns on. The showtunes wash over Kurt and Rachel starts gossiping about McKinley, which is still insane even though he's stuck at home and Kurt forgets his life for a little while. Rachel is useful like that.

"Karofsky's awake," Blaine says as a greeting as he throws his ratty backpack and jacket into the corner and flops down on Kurt's bed. He watches Kurt, laid back against the pillows, with narrowed eyes. "You're not surprised." Blaine states.

"The detectives came by earlier." Kurt doesn't open his eyes. It's too exhausting. "He's supposed to rest today and then they're going to interview and arrest him tomorrow." He tonelessly recites what Detective Adler told him that morning with a slight bitter note. Karofsky was awake after four days in a coma, and now the real fun would begin. The media vans had already started to congregate again.

He should care. Feel relief that he's not actually a murder. But he can't even bring himself to look at his damn closet, raiding his father and step-brother's clothes for baggy shirts and loose sweatpants, all the while hearing Karofsky's whispers of fucking tease in his ears. Not to mention that Kurt's gotten even jumpier and more volatile now that he knows Karofsky is still alive. Because he can come back now and finish the job; finish what he started in the damn locker room.

It's stupid, Kurt knows Karofsky is in no condition to even tie his own damn shoelaces, let alone attack a gay kid in his own house, but Kurt's never been quite rational where the jock is concerned.

So he pushes his fears back and puts on a brave face.

And changes the subject.

"Detective Adler convinced the judge I wasn't a flight risk, though." Kurt wiggles his bare ankle up in the air.

Blaine grins. "Oh damn, I was just telling everyone about my delinquent boyfriend this morning. They were all properly intimidated too. Now you don't even have an ankle monitor? Lame."

Snorting, Kurt kicks out at Blaine's leg. He misses, but Blaine scoots up close, using Kurt's bicep as a pillow. The touch is like fire, spreading warmth and emotion and feeling through his veins and Kurt can't breathe, can't think, not with Blaine so close and unafraid and relaxed. It's loving and safe and Blaine, Kurt's heart knows, but his brain screams and his body hates the feeling of skin against it and the ghost of sweat and huge and fear press over Kurt and blocks out Blaine and Kurt can't handle it. His chest heaves, shuddery and tight, and Blaine backs off.

"Too much?"

Kurt's throat closes up but he nods; eyes hot with unshed tears. He's been like this since the attack, just hot and cold when it came to touches and it has to be driving Blaine crazy. It has to.

What good is a boyfriend that can barely handle a fucking hug?

He hides his face in his hands. "I'm sorry."

An angry growl. Hands tug his arms down and Kurt sees Blaine's dark expression. "Jesus, Kurt. You have to stop apologizing for shit that's not your fault." Blaine's shoulders bunch up, tense with repressed fury. Not at Kurt, at everything else.

"I'm—"

"Fucking in love with my awesome boyfriend, right?" A surprised laugh bursts through Kurt's lips at Blaine's cheeky grin. He shakes his head, but pulls Blaine back down. There's an inch between them and Kurt ignores how it feels like a cavern.

"Yeah, I am," he whispers.

"Me too."

They're quiet, just lying on the bed, two fucked up gay teenage boys. Blaine lets one hand drift close to Kurt's, and Kurt tries to work up the courage to take it. Just fingers, it's just fingers, Karofsky isn't here and Kurt just wants that looming specter the hell out of his bedroom because this is his, just KurtandBlaine. Karofsky has no fucking place there.

The pills the doctors prescribe mess with his emotions and Kurt suddenly shakes with angerfurydefiance and he's leaning over, catching Blaine off guard and capturing Blaine's lips and swallowing Blaine's surprised Kurt?

His hands tangle in Blaine's curls and he can smell the leather and tobacco and Blaine's mouth moves with his instinctively and it's good, so good, fucking fantastic, really, and then Blaine groans with pleasure and Kurt freezes as images run across his eyes.

Hand on his shoulder mouth over his, sucking out his breath and forcing a tongue inside, can't breathe can't control fear scared help me please please no can't breathe hurts it hurts stop STOP

Kurt pulls off with a sharp sob, backing off and away and shaking. Actually shaking, he can't get his hands to stop trembling long enough to wipe his face. Blaine just stares for a few seconds; hair mussed and lips kiss-red, purple V-neck askew. He looks thoroughly debauched and Kurt's stomach lurches.

"I'm—" Kurt cuts himself off. Blaine's face is more confused and worried than angry, but still. No need to add to it. "You don't deserve this." Kurt says quietly.

Blaine sits up, crossing his legs. He watches Kurt tug at his own t-shirt and sweatpants. They're Finn's, they're much too big, and Kurt knows Blaine notices. The look in his eye suggests he knows what they mean.

Too open, Kurt feels too open, like none of his secrets are safe, is this what being in love is like? Being totally vulnerable to someone else, someone that could crush you with a few words?

Blaine opens his mouth, but Kurt doesn't want to hear it and slides off the bed. He grabs Blaine's discarded jacket and roots through the pockets. Blaine doesn't stop him.

Tissues, a broken pencil, some loose change, a rusty pocket knife and a key chain in the shape of a bottle opener. Fuck. Kurt stares at the mismatched pile on his floor, then grabs Blaine's school bag. They have to be in here. Before he can open it, though, a hand gently tugs the bag away.

"What are you looking for?" Blaine asks.

Kurt grabs the bag back, unzipping it with more force than necessary. "Smokes," he says shortly. The open pocket only has a few notebooks and some pens. Kurt mores on to the smaller front packet. "Where the hell are they?" Kurt growls, hands still trembling. Cigarettes calm people down, right? That's what he needs. To calm down. To stop feeling. Relax.

"I don't smoke."

Kurt looks up.

"What?"

Shifting to a more comfortable position on the floor Blaine shrugs. His knees draw up to his chest and one hand fingers his earrings. "I don't smoke. Not anymore." Blaine avoids Kurt's eyes.

But how… "You smell like smoke." Kurt says slowly. "Every time you hug me, you smell like tobacco." It's nice. Familiar. You.

"Well, I've been doing it for a while." Blaine tugs on the ring in his earlobe. "Probably can't get it out of my coat, you know?" Kurt just nods and Blaine studies the ground. "I've never tasted like cigs though, right?" His voice is hesitant and embarrassed.

That was true. In all of their kisses (Blaine hasn't initiated one, none since Karofsky, why, why, because you're dirty and weak) Blaine has never actually tasted like tobacco. Just coffee and chewing gum mint and Blaine. He'd never questioned it. But he'd seen Blaine smoke before. Before they'd become friends.

"I quit pretty soon after I met you." Blaine interrupts Kurt's thoughts. "When I found out you were a singer. 'S'not good for me anyway. Or you." He still doesn't look at Kurt and his cheeks blush faintly. It's how Blaine gets when he's trying not to show he cares that much. "It's not a big deal." He mutters and Kurt just wants to hold him and smile and show Blaine that yeah, it's big deal; Blaine changed one of his more destructive habits for Kurt without any help or encouragement. All because he didn't want Kurt to be around smoke.

Kiss him, kiss him! half of Kurt's brain screams while the other half freezes in fear. Blaine's shoulders hunch, like he's readying himself for rejection. He can't, just can't, make himself meet Blaine's lips, so he grabs Blaine's hand and squeezes.

Safe.

"Thank you." Kurt voice is tiny, but the resulting grin from Blaine is sweet. He deserves so much better than Kurt. "I'm…um." Kurt hesitates.

"I know." Blaine smiles crookedly. "It's ok, Kurt. I know. We're gonna be alright."

God, Kurt wants to believe him.

"I want us to be." He admits. And then Blaine's arms wind around his back, gripping Kurt tight and Kurt's face is in Blaine's shoulder and he only feels protected and loved and invincible.