When Burt comes to get Kurt for dinner, he finds his son sketching in one of his many drawing books. Kurt doesn't even look up at his father's knock, just shakes his head when asked to come down for dinner. The lump in his throat is too big and speaking would only make him cry. Or scream in anger. Kurt's not sure which.

"Thought Blaine would be here, where'd the kid go?" Burt asks, glancing around the room. Kurt flinches at the name, but shrugs sullenly. But Burt narrows his eyes. "Kurt." He watches Kurt sternly.

"He left." Kurt snaps out. His eyes burn but Kurt just swallows hard and glares at the paper in front of him. He's been drawing Blaine, rough approximations of his hair; jacket; arms; eyes. The pencil shakes in his hand and a thick black line jolts across the page, cutting through a half-finished face. Blaine left.

Burt seems to sense something because he nods and goes back downstairs without another word. Back to Finn and Carol. The normal ones in his family.

God, Kurt's such a fuck-up he can't even be a good son. Or a good boyfriend.

Kurt's suddenly seized with rage; how dare Blaine walk out like that, the bastard, and he rips the paper out of the notebook and tears it into little pieces, flinging the scraps across his bed like snow. Blaine is such an idiot; didn't he know Kurt just needed some time? He hadn't meant to say it like that; like he didn't want Blaine at all; because he does. Blaine's…Blaine.

And Blaine's gone.

He can't stop the tears anymore.

Later, when the room has grown dark and Kurt's stomach has finally stopped rumbling, Burt slips in. He flicks the light on and Kurt winces, on his side and turned away from the door. He doesn't look up when the bed dips and a careful hand pushes the hair off his face. No, the wall is much more interesting. And isn't judging him.

Burt clears his throat before speaking. "Do you want to talk, Kurt?" he asks, but Kurt can hear the resigned tone. He doesn't disappoint.

"No."

Snorting, Burt pulls his hand away. His gaze burns Kurt's shoulder and Kurt keeps his eyes averted. Not telling his father his problems is second nature now. It has been since his mother died and eight-year-old Kurt knew his father had bigger problems than his strange son getting picked on during recess.

For some reason, Burt doesn't leave it alone this time.

"Alright, that's enough." Burt says sternly. Kurt's brows furrow, then he's yanked upright and looking directly at his simultaneously nervous and annoyed father. Kurt watches with wide eyes as Burt fumbles for the right words. "I know we're not as…as close as we used to be," Burt starts, sighing. "And that's my fault. I haven't been there for you like I should have."

Kurt shrugs. "It's fine. You have Finn and Carol," he says, though the words come out more bitter than Kurt intended. He drops his head and tugs at his comforter.

"What?" Burt growls and Kurt shrugs, cheeks flaming. He didn't mean it like that. He loves Finn and Carol, loves that they make his dad happy.

Kurt just kind of hates that he wasn't enough.

So he doesn't answer. But Burt stays. "Kurt Elizabeth Hummel." Burt snaps and Kurt jumps. Burt hasn't used his full name in a while. "Explain yourself." Burt snarls, his voice tight with anger. Kurt can't tell who it's directed at though.

"Nothing, Dad," Kurt lies, and the words slip off his tongue too easily. He tries not to cry.

"Kurt."

"It's nothing!"

Burt looks at him for a long time. "Come on downstairs. I'll make you some warm milk." Kurt's eyes widen. Burt hasn't made him warm milk in years. Not since the horrible months after his mom died and Kurt couldn't sleep for fear of bad dreams. It was his mom's recipe.

They used to sit at the kitchen table and drink from their mugs. And talk.

"With the vanilla and nutmeg?" Kurt asks hesitantly.

Burt smiled and claps a hand on Kurt's shoulder. "'Course with the vanilla and nutmeg. C'mon, kiddo."

Kurt follows him down the stairs to the empty kitchen. It's later than Kurt thought; Finn and Carole must already be in bed. He sits at the kitchen table, murmuring where the spices were as Burt put together two huge mugs. Glancing at the stove and then Kurt, Burt winced. "You gonna be annoyed if I use the microwave instead of a saucepan?"

"That's fine," Kurt rolls his eyes but grins. It's nice, actually. He hasn't spoken to his father like this in a long time. There was too much of a chance he'd slip up and mention the bullying, but that's all out now. Thanks to him.

They're silent as the mugs get put in the microwave and warm up. When the timer beeps, Burt takes the steaming milk out and stirs, placing the bright red one in front of Kurt and keeping the blue mug for himself. He sits next to Kurt and sips.

Carefully, Kurt tastes the milk. It's just like when he was a kid and Kurt's hit with a sudden sadness. He's not a kid anymore. Pushing his thoughts away, Kurt wraps his hand around the warm mug and drinks.

A few minutes go by before Burt sighs. "I know we don't…" Burt gestures between them, "talk too much anymore. An' we've had a rough year and all." Burt fixes Kurt with a stern look. "I haven't been there for you like I shoulda been and I haven't made you feel loved like I shoulda."

"Dad, it's fine," Kurt protested weakly. "Really, it's ok, you've been perfect, you've—"

"I haven't." Burt rubs his face, looking older than his years and Kurt's paralyzed with fear. "I should've known you were lying to me."

Kurt shakes his head, hands tight around the mug. It grounds him. "I didn't want you to know," he says in a harsh whisper. "I didn't tell anyone. I didn't want help. I was dealing."

Burt takes another sip of the milk while he waits for Kurt to work through himself.

"I didn't want to worry you." Kurt admits sullenly, looking into his mug so he doesn't have to see his dad's disappointed eyes. "You had the heart attack already and you didn't need the extra stress. And I didn't want you to see how pathetic I was." He wipes at his traitorous eyes.

"Dad," Kurt's voice cracks and he clamps his mouth shut, forcing down the lump in his throat. "Dad, say something."

"I think we're both workin' through some guilt issues, don't you?" Burt smiles wryly. Kurt stares at him, shocked. "Kurt, you're the kid. You don't gotta take care of me like that, you know?" Burt says pleadingly. Distress seeps into his words and Kurt feels like the worst son ever for dumping this on his sick father. "I want to know when you're unhappy. 'Cause it's my job as a father to fix it. C'mere."

He opens his arms and Kurt doesn't even stop to think before he's in his dad's lap and squeezing hard. Sometimes, he wishes he was a little kid again because his dad gives the best hugs. After Blaine, of course.

No flashbacks either.

Which, of course, makes Kurt burst into tears because it's been an hour since the last time he cried.

"You're perfect, Kurt. Your job is to be yourself and mine is to love you anyway. What happened to you don't change anything. I'm proud of you, Kurt. Always have been, always will." Burt murmurs into Kurt's hair. "Love you, kiddo." Kurt holds him tighter. "You're brave, Kurt, so brave and I'm so proud to be your dad."

When Kurt comes back to himself, he stands up, wiping his face with his sleeve. The sweatshirt is, surprise, Blaine's, and Kurt stares at his arm. "Blaine says that." Kurt says quietly. "That I'm brave." He won't anymore.

Burt seems to consider his words. "You wanna talk about him?" he says awkwardly, but Burt's not shying away either. He's trying. For Kurt."

Maybe his dad can help.

Kurt's not ready to give up on Blaine.

"I think I screwed up, Dad."

Burt pats the table to get Kurt to sit back down. "I'll make more milk." He says neutrally.

Kurt kind of has the best father ever.

At school the next morning, it takes Kurt three minutes to figure out Blaine hadn't bothered to show up, and four minutes before Azimio finds him.

"You got balls showing up back here without your fucking boyfriend," Azimio snarls, crowding Kurt against his open locker. His face is swollen and his cheek is discolored, but it doesn't stop him from holding a fist near Kurt's face.

Kurt silently panics, but anger overwhelms the helplessness and Kurt's too distracted by Blaine not talking to him to really comprehend the amount of danger he's in.

"You really want to threaten me when I put your buddy in the hospital for going on two weeks now?" Kurt snaps. Honestly, these guys are too stupid to live. "You really want to do that after I took lessons from Blaine and I can rip your balls off in two moves?" Okay, maybe he is exaggerating, but the blood still drains from Azimio's face so Kurt really doesn't care. He slams his locker shut and fixes Azimio with a death glare. "We're playing by new rules. I pretend you don't exist, and you don't burden me with your unfashionable ass. My eyes can only handle so much polyester." Azimio gapes, but Kurt is already walking away.

Anger is definitely more helpful than fear. He can't help but preen a little bit. Blaine would be proud. If he was talking to Kurt. Kurt checks his phone. Ten minutes until Homeroom. And no sign of the idiot. But Puck's flirting with some freshman and Kurt doesn't wait before he marches over and taps his shoulder. He shoots a haughty look at the blonde girl and she flees in terror, much to Puck's chagrin.

"I want to talk to Karofsky." Kurt says to Puck before the mohawked teen can open his mouth. "And I want to talk to Blaine, so tell him to answer his damn phone before I hunt him down and throw it at him." Kurt's maybe a little annoyed at Blaine. Thirty-two missed calls and forty-seven unanswered texts will do that to a person.

He might also be a little obsessed but really, who's counting.

Puck frowns. "Dude, is that why he hasn't answered me all morning?" Puck narrows his eyes. "What are you doin' here, anyway? Thought you'd lay low for a bit after yesterday."

"I'm done being scared by those troglodytes." Kurt waves a hand dismissively. "About Karofsky—"

"Blaine let you come to school by yourself?"

"First of all, Blaine doesn't dictate anything I do," Kurt starts icily and Puck throws up his hands in surrender, "and secondly, Blaine thinks I hate him for yesterday!" Kurt explodes. At Pucks shocked face, Kurt tries to calm down and breathe. "I'm working on it. If he'd answer his phone."

Puck nods nervously. "I'll try calling him?" He says, making it a question. At Kurt's firm nod he sighs. "Okay, and what was that about Karofsky? Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Kurt scoffs. People need to start believing him when he says he wants something. "He attacked me. I think I deserve an explanation." He glares at Puck, daring him to question Kurt again.

"Okay, bro, I can get behind that." Puck grins. "After school? You want some mayhem unleashed on the nurses so you can get in his room, yeah?"

"Not too much," Kurt says, slightly alarmed. Maybe asking Puck for help wasn't the best idea, but he got Blaine in alright. And Puck stopped throwing him into dumpsters last year, so.

Puck patted Kurt's shoulder, still grinning. "Don't worry, Hummel. I'mma pro at this shit!"

"That's why I'm worried," Kurt mutters as they start walking to class.

"Yo. Listen." Puck suddenly stopped and gave Kurt a hard look. Kurt raised an eyebrow at his weird behavior. "I like you, Hummel. And you're kinda bros with one of my bros, so you cool. Plus, you're here after yesterday, so you got balls. Respect!" Puck holds up a fist for Kurt to hit, which he does, albeit hesitantly. "I'll knock some sense into Blaine. He's bein' stupid. Don't worry about loverboy. The Puckasaurus's got a plan!"

Kurt just laughed at Puck's antics. It felt nice. He hadn't laughed in a while.

Now he just had to hold it together for the afternoon. Kurt's stomach twisted at the thought of being in the same room as the boy that's been the subject of his nightmares for weeks. But he needed to do this. Kurt waved to Puck and walked to his homeroom with a few stragglers.

He could do this.

The hospital room is small and white. Kurt stands against the wall, arms crossed as he watches the boy sleeping on the bed in front of him. Karofsky's face still looks slightly puffy and there are a few lines of stitches across his cheek and along his hairline. They're tinged a faint purple. But there's no oxygen lines or heart monitor and Kurt breathes a low sigh of relief. Karofsky is alright. Kurt's not a killer.

He has about fifteen minutes. Puck had toppled a vending machine and then ran, followed by Karofksy's police guard and a few pissed off nurses. He hoped Puck escaped. He still needed to talk to Blaine for Kurt, after all.

"Wake up." Kurt says, and Karofsky stirs at the noise. Kurt flinches, but stands tall. He's still a good seven or eight feet from the bed and he can see the glint of silver that holds Karofsky to the bed, but Kurt's not stupid. Just being in the same room as this monster makes his knees shake and fear race up his spine.

Karofsky's eyes flicker open and he twists around to see Kurt. Scowling, he sits up and tugs the hospital gown into place from where it bunched in his sleep. "The fuck are you doing here?" Karofsky growls. Looking Kurt up and down, he frowns. "What happened to those skin-tight pants? Those look like Hudson's hand-me-downs."

Kurt stiffens. "You did." He takes some pleasure in Karofsky's guilty shifting. Silence falls over them. When Karofsky reaches for a glass on the table next to him, wincing as his stitches pull, Kurt starts at the movement.

Jesus, Kurt's the one with all the power here; why the fuck is he still so scared?

Courage, whispers Blaine.

But he's here for a reason. He's going to stick to that.

"Why did you do it?" Kurt says. His fingers squeeze his biceps and he fights to remain standing, to not bolt. He's strong enough to hear the reason he was attacked by a classmate.

Resentful eyes glare at him, but Kurt doesn't move. Karofsky's fingers clench into a white fist and Kurt has to fight to resist taking a step back. God, he wishes Blaine was here. But he can do this. He can. This asshole did his best to ruin Kurt's life, the least he can do is give Kurt a good fucking reason.

"I deserve to know." Kurt says, voice hard. "You attacked me, tell me why!"

"'Cause I was angry!" Karofsky yells and Kurt snaps his mouth shut. Karofsky glares, breathing hard. "You—you walk around like it doesn't matter! Like liking boys is okay!"

There's more fear in Karofsky's voice than anger and Kurt listens, fascinated.

Karofsky sniffs wetly. "And—and you're with Anderson." He spits out Blaine's name with hatred. "That fucking poser. He's a piece of shit, you know, never liked that douchebag—"

Kurt can't breathe. This was because Karofksy was jealous? An angry beast snarls within his chest, but Kurt squashes it down. Now is not the time. There has to be more.

Karofsky looks down at his sheets. Voice thick, he continues. "I hate you." He mutters. "I really do. You make me feel…fuck, things I shouldn't and it's too confusing and fucking scary and you're always just there and perfect and teasing me with your legs and face and lips." He looks up with that and Kurt swallows hard. Loose pants suddenly seem really appropriate and Kurt so thankful he passed on his regular jeans this morning. His arms hug around his chest tighter, like he can shield himself from Karofsky's leering.

"That's not my fault." Kurt whispers. He did not bring this on himself, he didn't.

"Yeah it is." Karofsky scoffs bitterly. "I was perfectly fine until you came along." His thick arms tremble, like Karofsky wants to hurt him. Kurt steps back at the venom in his voice. "I didn't do anything you didn't ask for."

"I asked you to stop!" Kurt stops just short of screaming. His chest feels tight and his breaths come in short gasps. "I didn't want you, but that doesn't mean you're allowed to attack me, you asshole—"

"I WAS NORMAL UNTIL YOU!" Karofsky bellows. Kurt flinches back against the wall. "I WAS FINE, AND NOW MY MOM WON'T EVEN LOOK AT ME!" His whole face is flushed red and Kurt has never been so thankful for handcuffs because he's pretty sure they're all that's stopping Karofsky from trying to strangle him. "She hates me because she thinks I'm a fag!" Karofsky howls and throws his water glass at Kurt. Somehow, Kurt ducks and it shatters against the wall with a crash.

"No. It's because you're a rapist." Kurt tries to keep his voice from shaking, but he's not sure he succeeds. "Not because you tried to kiss me, but because you tried to rape me. And the only reason you didn't is because I beat you." Kurt curls his mouth into a disdainful smile. "I beat you." He repeats, straightening himself and lifting his chin. "You didn't ruin me."

Karofsky glowers and lunges forward, but the handcuffs hold him back and then nurses are running inside, drawn by the noise. He screams curses at Kurt retreating back as Kurt leaves him. The words follow him to the elevator where Puck waits. They wait for the elevator silently, the commotion for Karofsky's room echoing down the hallway. When the doors open, Kurt steps inside and jabs the ground floor button viciously. Puck follows him without a word.

Kurt doesn't say anything until the doors close, and then he takes a deep shaky breath and looks at Puck.

"Oh my god." Kurt breathes, and collapses into terrified sobs. Puck's strong arms wrap around him and he rubs Kurt's back and lets him cry into his shoulder.

"You did good, Hummel." Puck murmurs. Kurt's arms are trapped between their bodies and Kurt gradually calms himself, though his knees still feel weak from the encounter.

But he survived. And Puck is seriously the best friend ever, which Kurt tries to tell him through his tears and Puck's shoulder.

Puck just chuckles and ruffles his hair. Kurt figures he can let it go, seeing as the teen did just run all over the hospital for him. "You did good." Puck repeats, and holds up a fist.

Kurt laughs weakly and pounds it with his own.

He feels weak and drained from the day, and Kurt shuffles his way to his front door. There's an unfamiliar car in the driveway and Kurt wonders. Trepidation grips his throat as Kurt opens the unlocked door. His dad should still be at work. There shouldn't be anyone home.

"Kurt?" His dad calls from the living room. Kurt drops his backpack by the stairs and follows the hallway to find Burt sitting in his armchair. Detective Adler and Detective DeCarlo are there too, looking grim. Heart somewhere in his throat and stomach tight, Kurt walks in carefully.

"What's going on?" Kurt asks, eyes flitting between the adults.

Detective Adler glances at her partner and sighs. "Come sit down, Kurt. We were just about to explain to your father."

Numbly, Kurt jerkily walks to his father and perches on the edge of the armrest. He folds his arms.

Detective DeCarlo starts. "The prosecutor made an offer to the Karofsky's this afternoon." He watches Kurt's expression, which stays neutral. "It's…not what you expected."

Kurt snorts, but gets ignored.

"Whaddaya mean, 'not what we expected?'" Burt snaps angrily. "That kid tried to hurt my son—"

"Mr. Hummel—"

"Burt."

"Burt, then." Detective Adler runs her fingers through her hair. She looks angry. "We're trying to avoid a trial. Because trials are long, messy, and costly, and your son will have to get up in front of roomful of strangers and have to recount every incident that the accused scared him or assaulted him. Every single one." She's looking at Kurt with that and Kurt can't breathe, can't imagine laying himself bare for the world like that. All those eyes staring at him and judging him and hating him. Hell, the interviews alone were enough to break him apart. He leans into his father and Burt puts a hand on his shoulder. The weight is comforting, full of love and protection. Detective Adler's voice softens. "We don't want to put Kurt through that. Or the cross-examination."

"We've worked against their lawyer before." Detective DeCarlo's expression sours. "Lunsford is an asshole. He would destroy Kurt on the stand, never mind that he's only sixteen."

Burt's grip on his shoulder tightens and Kurt worries fleetingly about his heart. The stress can't be good.

"What are the terms of the deal?" Burt glares at the detectives.

They look at each other before Detective Adler takes the plunge. "It's the best we could do. They don't want a trial either." She says, looking nervous.

"Just tell us," Kurt says softly. They stare at him in shock. It's the first he's spoken since he came in.

Detective Adler nods, though she doesn't look away from him. "We're offering two years in juvenile detention for aggravated assault and harassment, plus three years on probation, the successful completion of an anger management course, and therapy. The sexual assault charges will be dropped." Kurt sees his dad flush and puts a hand on his arm to calm him. Detective Adler continues. "In return, they won't push for assault or attempted manslaughter charges on you." She says.

The terms aren't good. They kind of suck, actually. Kurt looks down and the floor, thinks. If accepted, there won't be a trial. But… "Juvenile detention?" Kurt repeats, looking at the detectives.

"Yeah." Detective DeCarlo frowns. "He'll be charged as a juvenile instead of an adult."

Something from those crappy cop shows Carole likes to watch flashes through his mind. "But juvenile records can be sealed."

Detective Adler nods. "Once he's done his probation, he can request the records be sealed, yes."

Burt growls. "That boy tried to rape my son and this is all he's getting?" The arm on Kurt's shoulder shakes. "That's it?'

"Dad, please," Kurt murmurs to him, grabbing his hand and squeezing. "I know it's not the best, but this is good. I won't go to jail for beating him up and he'll still be out of my life. I won't have to testify." Kurt's eyes burn hot and his stomach squeezes at the thought. "Please, Daddy, don't make me have to testify; I can't—" Kurt's cut off when his father pulls him down into his lap and holds him tight.

"Okay, Kurt; it's ok, everything' gonna be fine," He mutters gruffly, though he doesn't let go. "We'll get through this."

"We're very sorry," Detective Adler says apologetically. Kurt turns his head to watch them stand up awkwardly. "We'll let you know what their lawyer says." She gives a half-smile to Kurt. "You're a brave one. Keep it up."

"Stay strong, kid," Detective DeCarlo raises his hand in a small wave to Kurt. They let themselves out.

Kurt stays in his father's lap for a few minutes, head reeling. The day's been…emotional. Kurt's suddenly exhausted and he only wants to sleep, just sleep and forget everything for a little while. He checks his phone, but no messages. Blaine's still ignoring him. Kurt pushes himself up.

"I'm just going to…" He croaks, gesturing vaguely towards the stairs. "I'm going to lay down for a bit." Burt just nods.

"Come down when you're ready, kiddo."

Kurt nods, and flees.

God, what a day.

Around two in the morning, Kurt's phone startles him out of his sleep when it begins buzzing on his night table. Blearily, Kurt forces his eyes open and squints at the screen. His face feels puffy from crying most of the day and he hadn't eaten dinner the night before. The screen swims into focus and Kurt nearly drops the phone in his haste to answer it.

"Hello—shit—hello? Blaine?" Kurt holds the phone to his ear, trying not to squeeze it too hard because Blaine's calling him. "Blaine?"

There's a sniffle then a quiet whimper. "Kurt?"

How can his eyes still be watering up? He thought he'd gotten all the tears out hours ago. "Blaine, what's going on? It's like two a.m., where are you?" Kurt doesn't even think before he's out of bed and trying to pull on his shirt one-handed. Blaine's about as stubborn as he is and twice as hotheaded, so there has to be a reason why he's calling so late. A good one. Kurt's suddenly scared.

"I just…" Blaine's voice is quiet and slurred and Kurt can hear muffled music coming through the speaker.

"Are you drunk?"

"Very." Blaine admits. And giggles. "Feels good, Kurt. Doesn' hurt." Another sniffle. "'Cept it really kinda does."

Shit. Kurt throws on a coat and grabs his keys, tiptoeing out of his room. The house is quiet and dark and Kurt stubs his toe running into Finn's sneakers left in the hallway. He tries to muffle his curses and creeps out to his car. "Where are you, Blaine?" He says, fumbling with his keys.

Blaine sniffs again. "Scandals," he says thickly.

Kurt narrows his eyes. "The sleazy gay bar in West Lima?" He wrinkles his nose. There are rumors about that place. Supposedly it's lax with IDs and full of middle-aged creeps. According to Puck, at least. He had no idea Blaine even wanted to go.

"Yeah." The line crackles. "Kurt, Kurt I know—I know we broke up and—and you hate me but I miss you so much, I do," and Kujrt's hearts breaks a little because what the fuck, they didn't break up and he definitely doesn't hate Blaine. They just had a fight, couples do that. They both were irrational and under a lot of stress. It happens. Blaine takes a deep breath and Kurt knows he has to talk about this in person. "…Can you come get me?" he says, the defeat heavy in his voice.

"Of course. Blaine, of course I'll come." Kurt immediately says. Christ, why's Blaine so upset? "Okay, just hold on, Blaine, I'll be there in ten minutes. Stay on the line with me." Blaine's silent, but doesn't hang up so Kurt counts that as a plus. He can't be that mad if he hasn't cut off the call yet. Kurt backs out and drives one-handed, the other holding the phone to his ear.

He finds Blaine in a dirty alley next to the bar, talking to a tall, thin guy with spiky brown hair. The guy, who looks about their age, actually, crowds in close to Blaine and runs a possessive hand up Blaine's arm. A spike of jealously thrums through Kurt at the sight and he slams his car door a little harder than necessary as he stalks over.

When he's closer, Kurt can hear their conversation.

"Come on, let's go back to my place, sexy," the boy purrs, hands on Blaine's hips. Blaine pushes his shoulders weakly.

"No. No. Don't wanna fuck you, you don't smell good." Blaine scrunches up his nose and yeah, he is definitely drunker than at Rachel's party. "And you're a bad kisser." Kurt's not sure if he should be angry or burst out laughing because Blaine sounds so affronted and offended. "'M waiting. Kurt's comin' f' me." Blaine looks around, but the boy catches his hair and tilts his head back. Blaine lets out a small whimper.

The boy laughs and mouths at Blaine's neck as he runs his fingers through his curls. "Kurt's not here and I'm definitely a better fuck, baby. Come on," He laughs at Blaine's halfhearted attempts to fend him off. "You were just beggin' for in out on the dance floor, shaking your ass and everything." Kurt sees his hands wander down Blaine's backside and the way Blaine's body suddenly stiffens and Kurt's vision goes red.

He yanks the taller boy off Blaine and pushes him against the opposite wall. "Leave. Him. Alone." Kurt growls. Up close, the boy is pretty handsome if Kurt is being unbiased. But he's not. "Blaine told you quite clearly he didn't want your smirky little meerkat face, so beat it, Craigslist." Kurt shoves him towards the street, choking on the overwhelming cologne the boy drowns his clothes in. God, that's disgusting.

The boy dusts himself off and glares. "Blaine was dancing like he needed a good fuck. I was just offering, Pillsbury Dough-Face. Seeing as he clearly isn't getting anything from your pathetic virgin ass."

Rage boils in Kurt's blood and Kurt steps forward hotly. "Let me tell you something, you preppy, wannabe—"

"Kurt's got a nice ass. An awesome ass." Blaine puts in. He grins. "It's firm and round and—"

"Blaine, shut up." Kurt blushes furiously. He kind of wants to die, but Blaine takes a step forward and almost falls, so Kurt catches him. Blaine leans heavily on Kurt's shoulder and nuzzles, sighing happily. The boy rolls his eyes and storms away, though Kurt shoots him a dirty look anyway. Asshole.

"You know, I still think you're hot as shit." Blaine presses up close to Kurt and winds his arms around Kurt's waist. "I know you think you're like—damaged or something, or like, dirty? Used? 'Cause of Karos—karo—that fuckhead jock—but that's stupid." Blaine works his face into a smile. "'Cause you're amazing."

Yeah, Kurt really kind of loves this moron.

Then Blaine's face falls. And Kurt feels like an asshole because he knows exactly why Blaine looks like someone stole the last cookie from the cookie jar.

"Kurt, please, le's just go," Blaine buries his face in Kurt's shoulder. "Please? M' head hur's and—and I'm so sad and—shit, I don't know what I'm saying. Wha' 'm I saying?" He looks utterly perplexed and Kurt sighs.

"Alright, Boozy. Let's go." Kurt gets his arm under Blaine's and supports him to his Navigator. He helps Blaine into the passenger seat and glares at the drunk boy in his car. "If you puke in my car, I am making you clean it whether you're still drunk or not, got it?" Blaine's eyes go wide. "I mean it; I will castrate you if you ruin the upholstery." Kurt threatens, smiling when Blaine nods nervously, properly terrified. "Good boy," Kurt sighs and gets in the driver's side. They pull out of the parking lot in silence.

He drives to Blaine's house. It's big enough that his mother should hear them trying to get to his room, something that would never fly at Kurt's. Blaine's ridiculously uncoordinated when he's smashed, and the crashing around would definitely wake up Burt and Carole.

Even so, Blaine's not helping much as he bursts into giggles when he walks into a wall in the dark. Kurt only had his hands off of him to close the door. Blaine's hopeless.

"Jesus Christ, Blaine," Kurt groans and marches Blaine as quietly as possible up the long staircase and to his room. It's even messier than the last time he was around. Blaine flicks on his light and then flops face-down on his unmade bed, mumbling something into the covers.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the boy I'm in love with," Kurt mutters to himself. He sits down near Blaine's head and strokes through the curls gently. "Blaine, turn on your side so you don't pass out and choke to death on your own vomit." He says soothingly.

"So romantic." Blaine pouts as he obeys, but smiles when Kurt lets out a faint laugh. Kurt lays down next to Blaine, facing him. They don't speak for a while.

"Do you want to talk about why you felt the need to go to Scandals?" Kurt finally asks. And what's that asshole's name so I can kill him for you?

Blaine shrugs and rubs his forehead. He stops looking at Kurt.

"You haven't been answering your phone."

Blaine groans and grabs a pillow to stuff his face in. "You hate me." He says, hurt and muffled.

Kurt strokes Blaine's shoulder. "I've been calling and texting you nonstop. Clearly I don't." Kurt gently tugs the pillow away, revealing Blaine's upset face and watery eyes. "Sweetie, come on. Talk to me."

"If I talked to you, you'd know." He looks at Kurt sadly. "I fuck up e'rything. E'ryone always leaves me. Like you did. And m' dad." The whispered words cut deep into Kurt's skin.

He needs to fix this. "You went to Scandals because you thought we broke up? That I didn't want you anymore?"

Blaine nods as a tear slides down his cheek and soaks the sheets. "I just wanted to forget. It hurts so bad." It's probably the alcohol that makes Blaine talk so much, but Kurt's not complaining. "Sebastian—"

"The kid from the alleyway?" Kurt's jealously raises its hackles again.

"Yeah. Him." Blaine shrugs. "He offered…you know. And I went along for a little while but I kept thinking about you and he made me feel even worse and then I thought about what happened to you and how scared you were and he scared me so I left and I knew you probably didn't want to see me but I had no one else, Kurt," Blaine babbles and Kurt grabs his hand to try and calm him down. "I had to call you and you came." Blaine looks at him strangely. "Why'd you come?"

Kurt strokes Blaine's cheeks fondly. "Because, you idiot," he leans in close and smiles at the hitch in Blaine's breathing. "I'm still in love with you." He breathes, then catches Blaine's lips in a chaste kiss. It's terrifying, exhilarating, and amazing all at once.

He can feel Blaine smile into it, but Kurt pulls away before it goes any deeper. He strokes his thumb across Blaine's knuckles in apology. Blaine looks blissed out, though, so he's pretty sure he's forgiven.

"We'll talk about this in the morning." Kurt kisses Blaine's forehead and tries to climb back out of the bed. It's late; he should go home before his father wakes up. But a tight grip holds him in place.

"Stay with me?" Blaine looks up hopefully, and Kurt's particularly spineless against his puppy looks. Even the drunk ones.

"Blaine…"

"Please?" Blaine tugs on Kurt's sleeve. "I promise I won't try anything. I know 'm drunk and all but I just…I need to be close to you."

Kurt's gone by that point. He sighs and leans across Blaine to turn out the light before falling back into place. Blaine wastes no time before he's curling himself around Kurt's body. He's like a big, clingy starfish.

"You're losing your badboy street cred, Anderson." Kurt teases.

"'s worth it," Blaine mumbles happily in Kurt's chest and snuggles in farther. "Smell nice. Feel good."

"Go to sleep, Blaine."

"Make sure I don't die."

"Never."

"Love you, Kurt."

Kurt smiles softly and runs his fingers through Blaine's hair. "Love you too, Blaine." He murmurs, and means every word.