Chapter 5
At some point Blaine must have fallen asleep because when he opened his eyes it was light. He was still tired, but his body was aching from staying in one position too long. He sat up and looked to his left. He was alone.
Before he clearly remembered the details of last night, he only had the heavy feeling in his chest to go on and panicked a little and thought that Kurt had left, for real. When he came to his senses he didn't feel all that relieved, more scared of the prospect of sometime waking up alone as in alone.
He shook his head and rubbed his eyes.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” came Kurt's voice from the door. Blaine looked up and tried to define this moment. Kurt was in his black kimono, looking almost as tired as Blaine felt but smiling, almost shyly. It was better than nothing. It was better than most things actually, but it had an awkward nostalgic feeling to it.
“Good morning,” Blaine answered, his throat dry as sandpaper. “What time is it?”
“A bit past eleven. I woke up just a little while ago. Thank goodness otherwise today's dose of vitamin D would have been sorely missed!” Kurt said lightly, twirling the sash of the kimono around his fingers. Blaine smiled faintly. “I thought I'd make pancakes for breakfast, sound good?”
“Like you even have to ask...” Blaine said and Kurt shook his head.
“That's what I thought!” he said and headed to the kitchen.
Blaine stayed put for a couple of minutes, just listening to the sound of Kurt rummaging the kitchen, looking through bowls and pans, cracking eggs and stirring the batter. It was the sound of everything that was right in the world – perfect picture of peace and quiet and home and safe.
Blaine remembered one of the first time they'd spent the night together alone and in the morning they'd had the kitchen to themselves and Kurt had promised him his “notorious pancakes”. Blaine had just sat on the counter and been refused to help, other that to move his legs when Kurt needed something from the cabinet underneath him. The first pancake had been burnt because Blaine blocked the drawer when Kurt needed the spatula and then they'd been caught up in kissing. When they'd sat down to eat Kurt had warned him not to get used to this every morning because 1) the amount of unhealthiness was obscene and 2) he was not to be considered a 1950s housewife, thank you very much. Blaine had laughed and assured him that he would never take the pancakes for granted. Food had never tasted as good as that morning, spiced with love and prospects.
Blaine almost ran out in the kitchen after this recollection, needing to prove that all that still was true. The butter sizzled in the frying pan and Kurt poured a calculated amount of batter over it, filling the kitchen with a delicious buttery scent. Blaine relaxed against the doorframe and tried to stay in the moment. Maybe this morning could be a sanctuary.
He sat down at the table and flipped through the newspaper without reading a word, trying not to think at all. He went to the bathroom and came back just as Kurt flipped a pancake in the air, landing flat in the pan.
“Whoa, I thought you stopped doing that!” Blaine said and Kurt turned around, shrugging.
“Only in the purpose of not encouraging you to drop food on the floor,” he said and raised an eyebrow.
“Are you saying that you secretly throw pancakes in the air at all times?” Blaine said and leaned over the counter, frowning.
“Yes. You have unraveled my secret identity,” Kurt said and nodded seriously. Blaine broke down and grinned, comforted by the fact that some things still could be easy. It was enough for the guilt to subdue for a while, making reality a little distant. Because this moment could have been any moment in their relationship, when it was just the two of them and no conflicting emotions, just mutual love.
“I'll set the table,” Blaine said and grabbed forks and knives and focused on just having one more perfect morning, blatantly ignoring the fact that things were far from perfect.
He set down the strawberry jam on the table and then just watched as Kurt flipped over a pancake on the plate where a pile was growing.
“Who taught you how to make pancakes?” he asked because suddenly that seemed very important. Kurt looked up, a bit surprised.
“Mum used to make them on special occasions or whenever I would wake her up early and I loved being in the kitchen with her. Although she didn't really teach me, I was too young to go anywhere near that frying pan.” He poured the last of the batter into the pan. “Then dad found the recipe, which apparently belonged to my grandmother, when I was 13 and gave it to me. I think he just really wanted pancakes.”
“Sounds legit,” Blaine said and Kurt laughed.
“Yes, it does, doesn't it.”
Blaine smiled at how Kurt always visibly softened when he spoke of his family, especially his father. Their outmost care and respect for one another had always moved Blaine, their dynamic was so different from his own family.
But why did Blaine feel like he needed to take notes on Kurt's loop-sided smile? Or how he tapped his fingers against the handle of the frying pan? Or how he wrinkled his nose when he got impatient?
Why did it feel like he was running out of time, and was collecting memories for the other side?
Blaine looked away from Kurt, as if the motion would delete that idea.
He knew that he couldn't postpone telling Kurt about his job for much longer. Keyword being much.
“About last night...” Kurt started when he put the pancakes on the table and sat down. Blaine looked at the perfect tower of pancakes and shook his head, clinging to the illusion that this was their happy place, even though he felt miserable.
“No, I know. I'm sorry, I've just had a rough week and was so tired,” Blaine cut in and avoided Kurt's eyes by lifting a pancake onto his plate. Kurt's hesitation before he answered said cut the crap, you couldn't sleep for three hours.
“Well, I'm sorry too. I don't really think that you are jealous of me,” he said instead. Blaine sliced a banana. “I know how you love you job and that you're really important to those kids. It wasn't fair of me to accuse you of being unsupportive or something like that because I know you're not.”
Blaine had to look up then, even though he rather not look into those pleading eyes that felt like daggers but looked like heaven.
“Really, Blaine, I feel terrible about that. I guess this is all a bit confusing for both of us,” Kurt continued and smiled a little. “I just... Sometimes I see something in your eyes, like there's something more you want, and I'm not sure I have anything to do with that.”
Blaine's heart was thumping loudly. This was too close, dangerous territory. But wasn't that exactly what he had wanted? For Kurt to see through him until there was nothing left but the grainy details? Blaine looked down on his plate and smiled bitterly.
“But we don't have to talk about that right now,” Kurt said and took a bite. “Let's just... enjoy the morning.”
So that was settled then.

*

“That was delicious,” Blaine said and took a sip of coffee as Kurt put the syrup back in the refrigerator.
“Yes, and I ate way too much. Good thing I have two shows today, sweat it right out,” Kurt said and reached to pick up their plates. Blaine grabbed his wrist.
“Oh please, you could eat whatever you want, you look amazing,” Blaine said and dragged Kurt closer.
“I think I just did. And thank you,” Kurt said and Blaine pulled him down to sit on his lap. “Whoa, Blaine, what are you doing!”
Blaine didn't answer but wrapped his arm around his slim waist and rested his head on his shoulder. He inhaled deeply and traced the side of Kurt with one hand, resting at angle where hip meets leg. The silky fabric of the kimono was like water against his skin, fleeting. But Kurt had his arm over Blaine's shoulder and he was right there.
Blaine let the smell of Kurt fill his lungs and body and mind. He stretched his neck to sense his shampoo and Kurt shifted a little towards him, lifting a hand to Blaine's other shoulder to steady himself.
“Blaine, I have to go really soon,” Kurt said but Blaine only held on tighter, lifting his head to kiss the nape of Kurt's neck. Kurt let out a small sound of protest that sounded more like a moan. He pressed his shoulder down and gave Blaine more access, turning his face into Blaine's hair. Blaine left his skin and his nose bumped into Kurt's jaw as he stretched up to his mouth. He felt Kurt's spine curving under his arm as hunched down, meeting Blaine's lips in perfect synchronization.
It was sweet and soft at first, Blaine sucked gently on Kurt's bottom lip and the angle was a bit uncomfortable. Then Kurt changed his position on Blaine's knee, scotching back and pushing his upper body forward, deepening the kiss and grasping the back of Blaine's neck. The kiss grew hungry and passionate, Blaine opening his mouth at the push of Kurt's tongue against his lip. He tasted like home. Blaine inhaled sharply through his nose, even though breathing felt secondary to Kurt's weight on top of his leg, torso and lips. Kurt dragged in a long, shallow breath, his mouth wet and soft.
Just as Blaine, almost subconsciously, moved his hand down Kurt's thigh, stopping at the knee and sliding in under the robe, back up against the smooth muscle, Kurt broke away and leaned his head against Blaine's forehead. Blaine didn't want it to end, he wanted to stay like this, with Kurt wanting him, and not caring that his leg felt a little numb. He kept his eyes closed, finding Kurt's lips again.
“I really, really, really need to go,” Kurt whispered against Blaine's lips and Blaine forced his eyes open. Kurt was so close that he was a little blurry, but Blaine caught the expression in his eyes – heavy-lidded but serious. Blaine blinked and Kurt kissed him with eyes still open, looking down through his lashes and leaving Blaine's lips slightly pouty and parted when he drew away. He smiled sweetly and apologetically and licked his lips before standing up and looking at the clock.
“Oh shit, I'm supposed to be in make-up in half an hour and I haven't even decided what to wear!” he exclaimed while leaving the kitchen and striding to the extra wardrobe they'd had installed in the living room (also known as Kurt's wardrobe). Blaine chuckled and sighed at the same time. Moment over.
*
After Kurt the Hurricane had left the apartment Blaine loaded the dishwasher, took a shower and got dressed. Then he made the bed and was left standing on Kurt's side and having no idea what to do next. He turned around to escape the memory of lying awake last night and then the memories of being awake for all the right reasons, the quilt too smooth and sheets too untangled. He looked out the window and down on the street. It was another grey day, some umbrellas twirling up against an occasional raindrop. Blaine followed the path of a young woman who walked with such determination and pace that it came a surprise when she stopped at the red light. Blaine watched all the people she hurried past, keeping her head bowed and face forward. They were all strangers to her, not gracing them with a second glance or a glance at all. No words spilled or secrets told, just pushing past, heading elsewhere. Away.
Blaine snorted at this dramatic over-analysis, turning into the room again and casting a last look at the bed, biting his lip as he walked out of the room with a sudden idea of destination.
He sat down at the piano, the lid squeaked a little as he opened it. It was funny, before he'd always turned to music when he was upset in any way. It had been his comfort, a safe haven where his emotions could run freely with being patronized or diminished. It was a place to forget. But he'd let that slip more and more as music became part of his job, not playing for himself but for others. He'd let himself forget that it could be more than technique and performance.
Blaine's fingers moved over the keys, playing bits and pieces from different songs at the top of his head. It was pleasant to feel in control of the sound, but there was no meaning behind it, he could play the piano in his sleep.
He stopped abruptly and just sat and stared for a moment, hands still on the keyboard. He took a deep breath and tries to remember the chords. Once he started playing it came easily, words rolling of his tongue.
“I don't know your face no more
Or feel the touch that I adore”
Blaine closed his eyes and only felt the weight of the piano under his fingers.
“I don't know your face no more
It's just a place I'm looking for”
Kurt laughing, Kurt's lying beside him looking up at the ceiling, Kurt in ecstasy, Kurt smiling like he means it.
“We might as well be strangers in a another town
We might as well be living in a different world
We might as well...”
Blaine bit of the words, they were so bitter. But the melody came out clear, like he had no other choice but to sing it like the truth.
“I don't know your thoughts these days
We're a strangers in an empty space”
Kurt looking down, turning away. Being beside him but thoughts a million miles away.
“I don't understand your heart
It's easier to be apart”
Blaine slumped over the piano, voice almost cracking but he had to keep going, get through this.
“We might as well be strangers in another town
We might as well be living in another time
We might as well
We might as well
We might as well be strangers”
Blaine pounded on the keys of the piano like they could absorb all the pain, filling the apartment with the song and hoping it would find the door.
“Be strangers
For all I know of you now”
The dynamic changed and he wanted to play as soft as possible, almost whispering. He wanted to take it all back, but he couldn't.
“For all I know of you now”
He wanted to say all the things he hadn't been able to and he wanted Kurt to understand.
“For all I know of you now”
He wanted Kurt to look at him like he always had when everything had changed – like nothing had changed.
“For all I know.”
He stayed absolutely dead still after the last note ended, keeping his eyes closed and just breathing heavily. He didn't know for how long he sat there, just existing in his mind. It came to a point where his body started to feel foreign and stiff, like a shell he'd left behind.
He opened his eyes then, and they were strangely dry. He clenched his jaw together, a dull ache in his head. He slammed the piano lid shut and stood up, frustrated with his inability to get away. He needed some distraction.
Blaine went into the kitchen and drank two glasses of water, forcing down the last drop. Then he found his phone on the counter and called up Fiona.
“Hi, it's Blaine. You wanna come over for dinner tonight?”

*

Blaine met Kurt in the elevator. He was going out to buy groceries and hadn't payed attention to what time it was. He pushed the door open and kaboom, there he was, leaning against the umbrella and biting his lip. His eyes went wide when he saw Blaine and then he smiled.
“Hi! You going out?” he said and Blaine was confused at how the painted picture that he'd had his head the last few hours of a darker version of Kurt, not at all added up to the person standing in front of him.
“Ehm, yes, buying food,” Blaine said and held up the door for Kurt. “You had a good show?”
“Yes yes yes,” Kurt said and waved dismissively. “Oh, you might want this!”
He handed Blaine the umbrella and pushed the button to the fourth floor.
“Thanks. See you soon,” Blaine said and stepped away from the door, still holding it with a couple of fingers.
“Yeah. Don't forget to buy milk, we ran out this morning,” Kurt added in the last second and Blaine nodded before the door closed and the elevator started buzzing.
Blaine walked out on the street and frowned at the sky. It was hardly raining. He shook his head at Kurt's sensitivity when it came to water and hair and used the umbrella as a walking stick instead.
He hadn't expected to run into Kurt like that, like two neighbors might. Like neighbors who share milk, the rational part of his brain added.
He spent a good amount of time in the grocery store, trying to decide what to cook by walking up and down the aisles and putting all things one might need in a home (such as cinnamon, toothpaste, powdered sugar and cherry tomatoes). He didn't have a list, and had no specific plans for those items, but figured that maybe sometime Kurt would make a cake and need sugar for the frosting and surely they would run out of toothpaste.
Blaine finally settled for making a fish dish and hoped that it would fit into Fiona's vegetarian schedule. He payed and left with two paper caries, filled to the brim. Halfway home he realized he'd left the umbrella by the checkout and had to go back. By the time he entered the apartment building it was almost dark outside and his arms were down to his knees.
Kurt met him in the hall, coming out from the bathroom and wondering what had taken him so long. He laughed at the sight of the bags and carried them into the kitchen, marveling at the weight.
“Jeez, Blaine, did you buy their entire assortment of cheese or something?!” he said and Blaine heard the thud of the groceries being put down on the table as he threw his scarf up on the hatrack.
Blaine wandered into the kitchen where Kurt was frowning over a jar of mustard.
“You hate mustard,” he said and Blaine felt a little embarrassed over his spontaneous shopping spree. In the supermarket.
“I thought I'd give it another go,” he said and shrugged.
“Last time you tried it you said you wanted to, and let me quote, 'clean my mouth with a sponge and Kurt's guest soap',” Kurt retorted and eyed Blaine amusingly before putting the jar in the cabinet. “It's good to keep your mind open and all, but stay away from the soap okay. It's from England.”
“Yes, dear,” Blaine said and Kurt smirked, leaving Blaine no other choice but to feel a little better. And help with the unpacking. Suddenly he couldn't remember why he'd picked out half of the items.
“You forgot milk,” Kurt said when they were done, closing the full refrigerator. Blaine clasped his forehead. “Good thing you bought everything else though.”
“Argh, I'm sorry, I'll go down to the drug store if you're desperate?” Blaine said and felt like a moron. But Kurt just laughed.
“Don't bother, I'll just put some mustard in my coffee and that'll be that,” he said and Blaine couldn't help but to squirm at the idea of ruining perfectly good coffee in such a despicable manner. “And I think that face just made it worth it.”
Kurt grabbed Blaine's arm and pulled him in for a quick kiss, not stepping back when it ended.
“Plus, I can think of better ways to spend that time,” he said, mouth curling upwards and fingers curling at the hem of Blaine's shirt. “I've been thinking about you all day.”
Blaine was about to say “me too” but realized with a pang of guilt that what he had been thinking about probably wasn't the same thing that Kurt had been thinking about.
“Fiona's coming over for dinner tonight,” he said instead and cursed himself internally. Why the hell would he bring that up? Lately he didn't seem to have any connection between his brain and tongue. Maybe that was the point.
“Oh?” Kurt looked surprised at this sudden announcement, eyes wide and neck a bit straighter.
“I just meant... I'm doing bouillabaisse and I need to get started...” Blaine said and motioned to the stove. “And don't you need to rest before the second show?”
“Yes, I guess I do,” Kurt said and pushed his lips together, eyes dropping to the floor before walking away with eyebrows raised in bewilderment. He added airily “I was just hoping that it would be in a post-orgasmic haze.”
Blaine groaned and turned around, Kurt was halfway through the living room.
“Kurt...”
“I'm just kidding, you looney. Seriously, Blaine, where is your head at today?” Kurt called out from the couch and Blaine rested his head in his hands, leaning against the counter for a moment. He was wondering that himself. “Tell me when you get to the seasoning and I'll come and pry the salt out of your hands.”

*

Contrary to popular belief Blaine was quite a good cook. However, he didn't enjoy it half as much as Kurt, who thrived in throwing well-planned dinner parties for friends and family. Sometimes Blaine would help him, and they worked quite well together (even though at first Kurt had shooed him out of the kitchen, dismissing him as distracting). But Kurt got all the credit because he put his heart and soul into those menus. It hadn't been much of that lately though, and to Blaine it was a necessary evil to make dinner and eat alone.
But now he got a chance to shine, and it had been a success. Kurt had complimented him on the rich fumes and said something in french which Blaine didn't understand. When he'd asked Kurt he'd told him that he'd find out soon enough, looking up in the ceiling innocently.
Fiona arrived right on the clock about five minutes after Kurt had left and she was livid over Blaine's cooking skills.
“If you can feed yourself you'll survive, but if you can feed others, you have power!” she said and nodded seriously.
Blaine also had a talent for picking out wine. And as their bowls emptied, their glasses just kept filling up.
Around the bottom of his second glass he was finally feeling happier than he'd been for days, maybe weeks. Despite the fact that he had an entire aquarium inside him he felt light. They talked about Fiona's upcoming project, a charity concert, and she proposed him to be part of it. They talked about when she had first moved to New York at 19 and accidentally worked as a prostitute. They talked about how Blaine had taken ballet classes for an entire term before being handed a pair of tights and refusing to put them on. Blaine talked about how good Kurt looked in tights (and a leotard). They talked about a lot of random, irrelevant stuff and mostly they laughed, because when Blaine was drunk he became a complete goofball, and Fiona became hilarious.
As the night continued, far after Blaine had put their plates in the sink and opened a second bottle, their topics became more and more philosophic and obscure, and then they talked about Love.
“You know Blaine, I never really believed in love. No no no, it true! I know you think I'm some hippie who goes around planting flowers and painting the streets with hearts, but that's all for the art. The beauty. But, Blaine, tonight! The food was beautiful, and the wine was beautiful, and you are beautiful and I am just in love!” she said with great conviction, leaning back against the wall and throwing her legs over the chair next to hers. Blaine grinned at her and she grabbed the hand he had over the foot of the glass, suddenly very serious. “Are you in love, Blaine?”
Blaine couldn't help himself, he started laughing. Her intense stare just made it funnier, until he asked himself why it was so funny, and then he just wanted to keep laughing for the bubbly physical feeling of it. All evening he'd managed to keep the guilt and anxiety at bay, too busy having a nice time.
“I never told Kurt about the job,” he said, still giggling a little and Fiona's hand fell off him as he lifted the glass to his lips, taking a small sip. “Because I think he won't be too happy. It's selfless really, and isn't that what you are when you love someone!”
Some kind of melodramatic mood had snuck in on him and he waved his glass grandly. She smiled down her lap.
“That's what they want you to believe, when in fact loving someone is the most selfish thing of all,” Fiona declared, looking back at Blaine who tried to frown but just scrunched his whole face together. “Living like a parasite on someone else's being and feeding off their actions and craving their emotions. It's demonic.”
“You sound like someone I used to know,” Blaine said as the image of Sue Sylvester crossed his mind. “Anyway, I think you're wrong. Again! Hah!”
Fiona nodded sadly.
“Probably. What do I know, right?”
Blaine often felt bad for Fiona's unfortunate romantic history, which wasn't very romantic and something she rather not discuss. She focused on a thousand different project instead and most of the time she seemed happy with that, but then there were times like these where she would slip up.
“You can't be bitter already, you're just 30,” Blaine said and she looked at him in disbelief.
“You sound a bit bitter yourself, and you're not even 30,” she said and Blaine shook his head.
“Nah-ah, I'm not bitter. I'm not! I just wish that I didn't have like a...” He squinted up to the ceiling in search for words. “A stone in my chest. Or like, a small creature clawing a hole that just makes me sad...” He snickered a little at the mental image.
“And bitter,” Fiona called out. Blaine traced the rim of his glass with a finger and sighed.
“Maybe a little bitter,” he conceded but was quick to add “but just because I can't look at Kurt without feeling guilty and then because I don't know who the hell I see. Is he mad? Is he sad? Is he thinking about something else? Does he love me? I'm just so, so confused, I don't even know what I'm saying! All these words just spill out of my mouth and I'm thinking, 'what, that wasn't what I planned, man this is annoying.'”
Fiona looked at him for a second and then she stood up and finished her drink.
“Are you leaving?”
Fiona put down her glass and picked up the wine bottle.
“No. Come on, we're taking this party to the living room.”
Blaine smiled instantly and followed her, concentrating on not tripping over the threshold or his feet. It went surprisingly well. Fiona climbed up on the sofa and sat on the armrest, legs stretched over one cushion. Blaine sat down on the other and pulled his legs up under him, his bent knees hoovering over Fiona's toes.
“So Kurt is not letting you express yourself clearly,” Fiona said. “He has turned you into a stuttering fool with an ache in your chest I meanwhile I hear that is what happens when you are in loooove, I don't think that's the problem here. Am I right or am I right.”
Blaine looked up at her and thought about it. This was obviously about so much more than just loving someone, but at the moment Blaine couldn't quite wrap his mind around what.
“What are you afraid of is gonna happen? If you tell him I mean,” she asked and Blaine shifted back a little into the corner.
“That things will change. For the worse.” Blaine crossed his arms over his chest. “And you know, he'll think I'm a loser and stop looking at me at all. Or he'll storm out right away, I don't know. It doesn't sound like something he would do but these days I just don't know. I just don't fucking know.”
“Hey Blaine, don't look like that, you're breaking my heart,” Fiona said because the warm fuzzy feeling had once again been replace with reminders of reality, or what he made out to be reality. She slid down from the armrest and sat on her feet, putting a hand on Blaine's knee. “And more importantly, you're breaking your own.”
“I don't want to tell him. I just want it to work out and then things can go back to normal. Whatever that is.”
“But you said that you had problems before...”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Kurt working too much and I working too much and not enough time together and never go out to eat or see a movie or anything and no sex and weird fights blah blah blah,” Blaine rambled and it wasn't like he'd forgotten that there had been troubles before. That just seemed like another reason for postponing the announcement.
“I just mean that maybe normal isn't working for you anymore, maybe you need something new.”
“No, I need to go back.” Blaine looked up in the ceiling and hated on the impossibility of his statement. “It's not like we haven't had troubles before, we almost lived on the street for a while and if that isn't stressful I don't know what is.”
“But you were in it together. And this isn't about economy or even about you losing your job, it's about your insecurities as a couple and yourself,” Fiona said and Blaine tilted his head at her.
“How can you sound so sure?”
“Because I am hopelessly perceptive when it comes to other people,” Fiona shrugged and leaned against Blaine's legs. “It's quite annoying.”
Blaine chuckled but Fiona looked dead serious. She traced the outer seam of Blaine's jeans with her thumbnail. They sat in silence for a while but Blaine's head was a cacophony of alcohol scrambled thoughts. He felt extremely frustrated at his inability to make sense of anything, even more so than usual.
Eventually the conversation picked up again, starting with some silly remark and going downhill from there. They got quite comfortable, by the time a key twisted in the door Blaine was lying with his head in Fiona's lap (instant therapy session, she had called it) and was half asleep but laughing uncontrollably. Even though he couldn't quite remember what was so funny he couldn't stop when door opened and Fiona stopped twirling his hair around her fingers.
“Blaine? …Fiona!”
Kurt was looking at them from the hall and Blaine tried to lift his head but it was too heavy.
“Hi Kurt, you're home early!” Blaine said and lifted his arm to wave but ended up knocking over the wine bottle that he'd put on the floor. It was empty but Kurt didn't know that.
“Watch out!” he shrieked and kind of leaped forward as the bottle rolled on the carpet.
“Oops,” Blaine said and reached for the bottle, and falling off the couch in the process.
“Oh god, is there a stain, please tell me that there isn't a red wine stain on my antique persian carpet,” Kurt pleaded and inspected the carpet testily. Blaine padded awkwardly around himself. It was quite dark but as far as he could tell there was dry.
“I'm pretty sure there wasn't a drop left,” Fiona said and Blaine chuckled. Kurt let out a relieved sigh and walked back into the hall, taking off his coat.
“Well, I guess I better take off,” Fiona said and stood up. Kurt came back in and smiled icily at Fiona as he walked into the bathroom to wash his hands.
“Wow, I see what you mean,” Fiona whispered loudly to Blaine. “Stone cold.”
The water stopped abruptly and Kurt returned to the living room.
“What's that now?” Kurt said, hands on hips and voice ominous. Blaine's heart took a pause before racing away. This was not good.
“Nothing, nothing!” Fiona laughed it off easily, turning to Blaine before Kurt could answer. “I'll see you on Monday. Thanks for a fantastic evening.”
She bent down and kissed him on the head and was across the room the next second.
“Nice to see you, Kurt,” she said and by the way Kurt was staring at her Blaine realized this would be a good moment to speak up.
“Yes, let's do this again. Do you want me to call a cab?” he said and heaved up from the floor.
“Oh no no, I'll be fine. Now where are my shoes... Oh there!” Blaine dared a glance at Kurt who was looking at him with an indescribable expression on his face. “Okay then. Thanks again, Blaine. Oh gosh, how do you...”
“It's the other way.”
“Oh, there we go.” The door clicked open and she smiled back at Blaine, waving to Kurt, whose gaze Blaine felt like spears in his neck. “Good night!”
The door closed Blaine went to lock it, a little dizzy but yet strangely sober.
“Was it a n-” Blaine tried but Kurt interrupted him.
“What the hell was that about?”
He sounded more upset than Blaine had expected, voice almost shaking.
“What do you mean? If you mean the carpet there really wasn't-”
“No, I don't mean the goddamn carpet – she practically looks like she want to eat you for breakfast, dinner and desert, and what was she doing here so late anyway?!”
Blaine frowned at him, sincerely puzzled.
“I don't know what you're talking about... It got a little late but it was just nice having some company,” Blaine said and reached out to the light switch on the wall, missing it by an inch.
“You're drunk,” Kurt said and folded his arms over his chest.
“Wine was consumed,” Blaine said and nodded. “So what, I'm a grown man, I'm allowed.”
“Yes, Blaine, I realize that. I just didn't expect coming home and finding you in the fucking lap on a woman with her hands all over you,” Kurt said but Blaine still didn't understand why he was so upset. Fiona was a woman. There was really no reason to be jealous.
“Are you upset about what she said? Because I can explain that...” Blaine said and walked past Kurt and leaned against the sofa.
“No, no, let me guess. You told her that I am, what was it, cold? Is that what you think?” Kurt's voice was higher now, and he was visibly trying to gain composure by standing straighter.
“No, I never said that, I just said that lately we'd had some problems and that you seem... absent sometimes and -”
“You told her about our problems? And what the fuck gives you the right to do that, Blaine?” He was losing it now, Blaine could see it in the way his cheeks flushed and slightly aggressive posture.
“She's my friend! She's willing to listen and help and why wouldn't I be able to ask for her advice?!” Blaine wasn't exactly losing his temper, he was more frustrated, because this was yet another thing he didn't understand.
“Advice? Advice about what exactly? How to deal with your boyfriend of ten fucking years?! Yeah, seems like she would have a lot of experience with that!” Kurt snorted.
“Well at least she tries to help-”
“And exactly how does she do that, Blaine? Does she say that you should stay and really, it's not that bad, or does she take your hand and tell you that you deserve better?” The force behind Kurt's words were penetrating and Blaine just gaped like a fish for a moment. And Kurt nodded. “Yeah, that's what I thought. Gosh, Blaine, you are so oblivious.”
“No I'm not,” Blaine said and stood up, blood pounding in his ears. “You don't even know her!”
“I'm perfectly capable of seeing when a woman is throwing herself at you. Been there before, remember?”
“So what! So what if she is.” Blaine didn't think so and this was neither here nor there. “It's not like anything would happen.”
Kurt looked down then and swallowed because he probably realized that this argument was a closed case.
“Well okay, fine. I know,” he said with strain. This was tearing them apart but the rush of alcohol and adrenaline in Blaine's body wouldn't let him get away this time.
“She's a really good friend, she's been really supportive,” he said and Kurt's body language said 'yeah, I bet'. “Stop that!”
“Okay, Blaine, tell me how nice and wonderful and supportive she's been while I have been so terrible and busy and cold,” Kurt said, spikes out again.
“God, Kurt, not everything is about you!” Blaine almost shouted, even though it wasn't entirely true, he needed to tell himself that.
“Would you mind informing me then what this-”
“I lost my job!”
And there it was. Silence echoed between them and Kurt's face was just as shocked as one would think and Blaine didn't dare to look away.
“So there, now you know,” Blaine said because the quiet hurt his ears. He watched carefully as Kurt closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
“And why the hell didn't you tell me,” he said in such a small voice that Blaine wanted to curl up into a dark hole.
“I didn't... I didn't want you to worry,” Blaine tried because it was the closest to the truth he could muster.
“But you... but you told her,” Kurt said and half chuckled half sniffed up at the ceiling.
“She's a colleague, and a friend.” Blaine took a small step towards Kurt and Kurt raised his hands.
“Yeah, I got that,” he said and looked down at Blaine again.
“I tried to tell you, I just... couldn't,” Blaine said.
“Gosh, Blaine, you are such an idiot! And I am such an idiot! And I don't know if I can do this anymore!”
All air drained from around Blaine, he was being sucked into a vacuum.
“And you're drunk and I am so tired and,” Kurt swallowed hard, again and Blaine wished there wouldn't be any tears to hold back, “I just can't do this right now. I'm... I'm sorry.”
Blaine just stared at him and refused to think the unthinkable which he had been thinking all along.
“You're leaving,” he gulped and his voice was so low that he wasn't sure Kurt had heard him.
“I just think we both need to straighten our head out, get some... sleep.”
Blaine's head had never been as clear.
“I just want you to stay.”
He sounded so needy, and it was a childishly worded but he didn't care. He couldn't have Kurt walk out that door.
“We'll talk tomorrow,” Kurt promised. “I just can't... we can't talk about this now and I can't listen to you breathing all night, I have to go. Blaine, please forgive me.”
Kurt's eyes were frantic, darting around the room and over Blaine. They were wide and shiny and they made Blaine believe him.
They didn't made it less hard when Kurt grabbed his coat off the hanger, damp from just minutes before, and Blaine saw him wiping his cheek with the back of his hand as he opened the door. Leaving Blaine nailed to the floorboards, caught between wood and gravity and surrealism.
Leaving Blaine.

***