Blaine didn’t come to school the next day. Kurt did however, but regretted his decision the moment he realized Blaine had decided not to. The only reason Kurt’d gotten himself out of bed that morning (after barely two hours of sleep), was his hope that maybe Blaine would show up. 

  Not before he got rejected, Kurt realized how important Blaine really was to him. Not before Blaine told him that ‘no, not anymore, you’re on your own until you sort everything out’, did he really realize that there was nothing to sort out, not really. 

  Blaine… Blaine was special. Very special. He’d changed him, somehow, he knew that now. He’d changed so much these last months, yet yesterday he’d failed being the person he was supposed to be now, whoever that was. 

  It wasn’t like now all of a sudden Kurt would do anything to get Blaine to understand this. He wasn’t even sure if he was willing to do anything. He had no idea how and what to do either way. He was so far outside of his comfort zone with this whole situation, still the part of him that so desperately wanted grew stronger every minute. He wasn’t sure what exactly it wanted, but the want was definitely strong. Maybe it was just Blaine in general it wanted. Actually, that was probably the case, only Kurt didn’t really dare to admit that to himself.

  He was scared. He was so scared, because he was in such a venerable position right now, and if this didn’t work out as he hoped it would, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to re-build the walls that had been torn down by Blaine, brick by brick, so gently and slowly Kurt had barely had the time to realize what was happening. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to handle what would come if things turned against him again.

  He was, however, sure that he had to do something, and fast. He didn’t know what, he didn’t know why, he just knew he had to. And he had a feeling that that something would be so weird and out-of-character it wouldn’t even be funny. But he still knew it was going to happen, and he didn’t fight it one bit when he got the idea.

  “Where’re you going’, class’s about to start?” Quinn asked as he turned in the corridor to walk the other way.

  “Please, like I’m going to frickin’ – science class or whatever it’s time for. See ya’ later, preggo.”

  He’d hidden it all from Quinn. This was just something she didn’t need to know anything about. This was between him and Blaine, and there was nothing she could do, not anymore. 

  No one met his eye or even came closer than three feet to him as he walked quickly towards the school’s library.

  Okay. Fuck it, let’s do this. Kurt thought with a deep breath, determent to do this.

  He spent the next two hours by one of the ancient computers that were always available in the library, the ones students were allowed to use for research and whatnot when needed (or, well, they were rarely unoccupied, and Kurt may or may not’ve taken the computer he now used from some girl that didn’t need more than Kurt taking a step in her direction before she was gone in a cloud of terrified smoke), browsing the web for what he needed. It was a slow and pretty awkward process, as he was less than used to using the internet. It was needed now however, so he wasn’t going to moan about it. 

  Two hours later, and he felt his neck getting warm as he sensed the librarian’s (which, by the way, looked way too old to still be a working woman) ice blue eyes on his back as he left the library, a sheet of paper in his hand.

He spent the next two days drinking and practicing the song. He wanted to know it completely by heart; doing something like this, he needed to be totally… prepared. 

  This was how he used to deal with things anyway, so there wasn’t like it was the first time. But still, this time felt totally different. Everything, his absolute last chance, it felt like, was in the words of this song. He needed to know them and he needed to get comfortable with it. He had to get Blaine to understand. 

  He played lazily along on his guitar, which he’d nothing but abandoned lately, as he read through the lyrics again and again. At first, his fingers were clumsy and stiff, but they soon found their way back. He didn’t have any chords, just the lyrics and his feeling. It always worked out better that way, and he couldn’t’ve stood to stay another second in that library anyway. 

  It was pretty hard to practice, to keep focused on learning and focused on staying strong enough not to… to anything stupid. He didn’t sleep. He couldn’t. The dreams were like torture, and he would often wake up with actual physical pain of different reasons. He drank to stay awake and to keep at least some of the voices away.

  At more than one point, he nearly gave in and went back to hiding behind the mask; at more than one point, he felt himself trying to rebuild his walls and find ways to reason with what was going on with him and his… emotions, trying to dismiss everything as just him being weak again. But then he’d remember Blaine, and that would give him just enough strength to read through the lyrics just one more time. 

  At last, he knew every word, could probably recite it in his sleep if he needed. 

  He was still drunk as he parked outside of Blaine’s house. The sun was setting in the west and the air was cold and dry. The grip he had around the neck of his guitar was slightly slippery with sweat. 

  So, his ears red, but not only from the cold, he knocked hesitantly on Blaine’s front door. He was almost about to knock again, thinking he hadn’t been heard, when he heard quick but heavy steps from the other side.

  “What do you want?” Blaine said through the door. Kurt ignore the little leap his heart made from hearing his voice again. Fucking teenage shit, man. Calm down.

  Kurt couldn’t think of anything to say. He’d only thought about the song, he hadn’t thought of the fact that first he’d have to convince Blaine to open the door for him; no way he’d stand outside and sing. Nope.

  “Kurt? You still there?”

 “Oh, yeah, I, uh –” Fuck. This wasn’t going well. This wasn’t going well at all. “Would you let me in?”

  “You know I can’t do that,” Blaine said quietly. Kurt could almost see the look in his eye in front of him. 

  “You wanted me to sort it all out…” Kurt tried. “And I think I have so would you just… –” 

  Blaine sighed heavily. “You’re drunk, Kurt. I’m not letting you in.”

  “How–?” Kurt shook his head. It didn’t matter how. What mattered was that he needed to do this. Blaine couldn’t reject this. He had to listen. He had to. “Blaine. Come on, I’m not that drunk. Barely at all. My head’s, like, super clear. And it’s not the alcohol speaking, I promise.”

  “Then why did you get drunk in the first place?”

  “It just –” Kurt sighed again, frustrated. “It helps me think. Gives me courage.”

  “Then you’re not ready to do this yet. Not if you need alcohol to tell me you’ve made up your mind.”

  Kurt hit the door with the hand not holding his guitar. “Don’t fucking do this to me! Not now, don’t just… You can’t, okay? Not now, not this time –”

  “Go home, Kurt.” He couldn’t tell for certain, but to him it sounded as if Blaine’s voice was… thicker that it usually was. “Please don’t keep doing this. Stay away until you’ve figured your shit out.”
  “I have figured my shit out.”

  “I know, you said that,”

  “Then why the fuck won’t you let me prove it to you?”

  “Because you’re not ready yet.”

  “And what the fuck gives you the idea that you can decide what I’m ready for or not?” He could feel his pulse picking up speed and tried to calm himself. He couldn’t get mad right now. 

  “I don’t want to risk hurting us before you know for sure.” Blaine said, his voice almost too quiet to pick up through the door. 

  “But I already am sure – what the fuck is your problem?” 

  “I just want to stay away for a while, a short, short while, so both of us can calm down our minds, since things obviously wasn’t working. I don’t want to be around so I risk hurting you.”

  Kurt laughed bitterly. “This isn’t some superhero comic, Blaine. And either way, if you think you can hurt me more badly than I can hurt myself, you haven’t been paying attention.”

  He walked to the car and drove off. He’d done enough. Blaine’d been pretty clear with what he really meant, ‘you’ve hurt me enough so just stay away.’ 

  The dark weight inside, around, above and below him got greater and heavier, the voices laughing at screaming at his failure. It felt as if he could barely keep from going insane.

It had been harder than he’d thought, to deny Kurt again. He made him feel so guilty. Maybe it’d been the wrong decision? Maybe he’d been to harsh? Kurt’d said he was sure… But he’d been drunk. Blaine didn’t want to risk it, or so he told himself.

  He was starting to get… scared? Unsure? What was the right word? He just… He was relying too much on Kurt. Kurt was broken, beyond words, and Blaine’d still thought he’d be able to fix him. That wouldn’t happen. Not with himself in this state.

  The nightmares became worse and worse for every passing night. Sometimes they’d even bring waking-hallucinations, as he’d gotten to call it; it was basically hallucinations that were there just as you woke up, but would disappear after a few seconds. Kurt was in his dreams sometimes. Sometimes it made things better, sometimes worse.

  It’d only been about three days. Why was he feeling like he’d ben away from Kurt for years? Why was he missing him so? Especially when it’d been he, himself, who’d decided on this, whatever it was. Was it really him just being a coward? Why couldn’t Kurt trying to do something he was so unfamiliar with be enough for him? Why did he always have to be so greedy? 

  But god, he missed Kurt. He missed his eyes and his touch and… everything. That’s why he didn’t open the door. He knew it was him, and he didn’t want to risk anything by opening the door; he wasn’t sure what he’d do then.

  Jeez. This was madness. What had happened to the pair of them?

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

   Kurt threw the empty liquor flask across it the room angrily. It shattered into a million pieces and fell to the floor. 

  Yesterday had sucked, and the night that followed sucked even more. It just got worse and worse.  

  He let out a little quiet sound somewhere between a grunt and a whine, rubbing his face and turning to his bed. He dragged himself over to it, grabbing his guitar and sitting down.

  He needed to get it out of his system. If Blaine wasn’t going to listen, then this would have to do. He needed to get this said, even if there would be no one around to hear. 

  So, resting his precious on his crossed legs, Kurt closed his eyes, letting his fingers move by themselves. Then he parted his lips to sing again for the fist time in what had to be months.

  When I was younger
I saw my daddy cry
And curse at the wind
He broke his own heart
And I watched
As he tried to reassemble it
And that was the day that I promised
I'd never sing of love
If it does not exist

But darlin'
You are the only exception
You are the only exception
You are the only exception
You are the only exception 

  He cleared his throat. Singing it instead of just saying the words… it made it more real, somehow. He finally felt at home with his guitar in his arms again at least, and it really felt wonderful to sing again, even though the song and the situation wasn’t the least of painless ones.

  Maybe I know, somewhere
Deep in my soul
That love never lasts
And we've got to find other ways
To make it alone
Or keep a straight face
And I've always lived like this
Keeping a comfortable, distance
And up until now
I had sworn to myself that I'm content
With loneliness
Because none of it was ever worth the risk, well

You are the only exception
You are the only exception
You are the only exception
You are the only exception

  He’d sort of planned to skip the next paragraph, as it differed from his situation quite a bit, but as it came, he just kept singing, face turned up towards the ceiling, eyes still closed.

  I've got a tight grip on reality, but I can't
Let go of what's in front of me here
I know you're leaving in the morning, when you wake up
Leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream
Ooh Ooh... 

You are the only exception
You are the only exception
You are the only exception
You are the only exception

And I'm on my way to believing

  He cleared his throat again, biting back the knot of emotion that wanted to escape his body in whatever way possible.

  Oh, and I'm on my way to believing

  The silence that followed was weirdly thick. Like he was awkward with the silence even though it was just him there. His body felt heavy and  uncontrollable. Then, once he caught up to everything, he stood. Suddenly he was angry. Suddenly there was a furious animal inside him, wanting to get out. He bent down and grabbed the neck of his guitar again, and, lifting it up above his head with both arms, he swung. 

  With a furious growl Kurt smashed his guitar in the wall with all the strength he could muster. The wall buckled a little, but he didn’t notice this. He swung again, another cry leaving his lips.

  He didn’t stop swinging until both the wall and his guitar were both in pieces. Then he sunk down to the floor, trembling all over.

  I’m done. I can’t do this. No more.

It took Blaine the rest of the day as well as the majority of the next until he decided that what he was doing was childish and weak. Kurt’d told him he’d made up his mind. Why hadn’t he just listened to him then? Because he’d consumed alcohol? That was just stupid. He knew that this was way harder for Kurt than it was for him.

  He knew they’d never be able to run hand in hand into the sunset, that they’d never get to live the fairytale life together with a Happily Ever After. Blaine had never believed in happy endings, not since his father left. 

  But that was okay. Everything would be okay. It would all be okay because they’d be together. Him and Kurt. And that would be all that mattered.

  Blaine placed his mother in front of the TV, as she refused to go to her room. He left her after he’d fixed her something little to eat and making sure that she had water to drink, and that her alcohol was hidden. He didn’t know for how long he’d end up being away, and he knew that she didn’t stop drinking when she’d started, especially not now when she’d been sober for so very long. Plus he felt like the house didn’t need a total redecoration again any time soon.

  “I’m going then, mom,” Blaine called as he opened the door. “Just watch your movie, and I’ll be back before you know it.”

  He got a grunt in respond, making him smile a little as he closed the door. Good thing Edward Scissorhands always cheered her up, he thought, and he couldn’t help remembering Kurt by his side telling him how he used to cover his eyes when Edward killed the ‘evil’ guy at the end.

Just don’t blame yourself, Blaine. Then I promise everything will be okay. I won’t hurt you more this way. 

Blaine’s stomach was turning, his heart beating hard and quick in his throat. He was on his way to Kurt. Everything would be okay now. Kurt’d made up his mind. Blaine was sure. Things were finally going to be okay, after what felt like an eternity of dancing around each other on hot coal.

You’ll forget about me soon enough, don’t worry. You’ll forget what I did to you.

Blaine drove as close to the front door as he could. He didn’t knock; of some reason he just forgot. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling. 

  But then, when he opened the door and stepped inside, every thought vanished, the knot of weird happiness gone with the wind.

  "Kurt!" he gasped, running trough the room and threw himself down on the floor beside Kurt, hurting his knees in the fall, but paying it less than zero mind. Kurt stopped, but did not look up at Blaine. He kept his gaze on his arm, which was dripping with blood.

  "Kurt, give that to me," Blaine said, trying desperately to keep his voice calm. "Hand me the razor, Kurt,"

  Kurt still didn't react to his voice. Blaine didn't dare to try and take the razor blade from him by force, he didn't know how stable Kurt was, didn't know what his reaction would be.

  "Hand me the razor, Kurt," he repeated, voice quivering slightly. "Please," 

  "There's no point," Kurt's voice was very thin and very quiet. Blaine could barely hear the three whispered words. 

  His heart throbbing painfully in his throat, Blaine found his voice after a moment of silence. "No point in what?" 

  "In anything," He showed no signs of letting go of the sharp blade in his hand. "It's all just… It's all just so – pointless."

  Blaine swallowed sharply, his body aching all over. He had no words. He didn't dare to speak; didn't want to say the wrong thing. Kurt sniffed. When Blaine looked back at his face, he saw tears slowly running down his pale cheeks.

  "You're – you're crying," Blaine nearly hit himself in the head. That was not the right thing to say in this situation.

  "It doesn't matter – nothing. Matters," 

  "Come on, Kurt that's – that's not true – you've got plenty –" He cut himself off. With a painful ache, he realized that the young man in front of him didn't, in fact, have plenty to live for.

  Kurt laughed hollowly. "Just leave me alone." he said, voice cracking, weak and thin with hopelessness. "You don't want to see this, do you?"

  "No," Blaine shook his head, first slowly, then more quickly and firmly. "No, Kurt, you're not gonna do this – you can't –"

  "And why not?" Suddenly his voice was stronger, but still not angry. It was like he was too tired to be angry. "Why would you care? I've ruined your fucking life, hurt you like I hurt everyone I touch – why would you care if I died?"

  "That's not –" Blaine choked on his breath. He could feel himself fighting tears. Kurt's eyes bored into him, and Blaine knew that he was balancing on a very thin line between disaster and…This was horrible. He couldn't find the right words. He couldn't find his voice. He couldn't. He just couldn't.

  "That's not true," he said again. "Please Kurt, please just hand me the razor –"

  "There's nothing you can do!" he jelled, voice rough with anger, but still it was weirdly dead, much as his eyes. Suddenly, Kurt made a quick movement, and there was a new cut on his forearm. Blaine bit back a gasp. For a moment he found himself paralyzed, staring at the thick, deep–red liquid pumping out of wound, continued running down his pale skin until it drip–dropped down on the bed, joining deep-red that was already there. Then, he found the control of his body again, and moved his hand to Kurt's the one holding the razor, which was now shiny with fresh blood. He searched his eyes desperately.

  "Please," he said. "Please let go,"

  "No." Kurt didn't meet his eye. He was already dead. He'd died yesterday, if not years back. He was tired of being the walking dead. He was over the pain it brought. He just couldn't do it anymore, not now when Blaine… 

  "Don't do this," Blaine pleaded. "Please, don't do this. Don't leave me, you can't – you can't…

  "I'm sorry. I should've let you in yesterday. I was stupid – I just –"

  "You were fed up with me and my pathetic words and hollow promises of 'I'll get better just give me a chance'. You didn’t want me to hurt you any more than I already have. I get it. No need to apologize." Kurt's voice was monotone and it scared Blaine beyond words. "It's my fault, don't worry, I don't blame you."

  Blaine bit down hard on his bottom lip, but to no help. As soon as the first tear fell from his eye, more followed eagerly. 

  "I'm sorry for hurting you." Kurt said, his voice still dead. "Don't worry, after this I won't be able to hurt you again."

  "Don't say that – don't – just hand me the razor and we can figure this all out – please just…" 

  "It's my fault for putting you in this situation. It was just me being stupid for thinking I could… for thinking you cared,"

  "That wasn't your imagination Kurt, you know it wasn't." Blaine said, his voice warped and unstable as he tried to stop the tears from falling from his eyes. He trembled with both psychological pain and terrible fright. "You know I care about you Kurt, so don't do this. We can figure this out."

  "This is what I want, Blaine."

  "That's not – that's not true, please just… No, it’s not. It’s really not."

  "This way I won't be in the way anymore." A thin smile came to Kurt's lips then. It sent chills down Blaine's spine; it was so wrong. "I'll finally get rid of the fucking voices in my head and I'll be able to do what I want."

  "You'll be dead, Kurt," Blaine said. "You'll be dead, and I won't be. So don't you – don't you leave me."

  "Why not?" 

  There was only a short second’s silence. 

  "Because I love you." Blaine, feeling the impact of the truth in his words fall over him, took a deep breath, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, Kurt was smiling again, tears running down his face. He shook his head.

  "Please don't lie to me, Blaine." he said calmly.

  "I'm not." He forced his hands to move and cupped Kurt's cheeks, tilting in face upwards. He needed to look him in the eyes, needed him to understand. "I love you, so you can't leave me. Not now, when I finally realized it."

  "You're not – You don't love me. That's a lie." Kurt refused. 

  "Does it look like I'm lying to you?" He dared to brush over Kurt's temple with his right thumb slowly, and maybe he just imagined it, maybe it was just wishful thinking, but he thought he could see something coming back into his eyes.

  "You…?" It looked as if he was starting to believe him, but tried his best not to at the same time. His brow was slightly furrowed, his chin still quivering as the tears wouldn't stop running. "How can… –"

  "You make it pretty damn hard not to." Blaine said quietly, and despite the situation, the corner of his mouth turned upward, forming the smallest of half smiles.

  "You're…" Kurt gasped, eyes widening ever-so-slightly. "You're serious,"

  "I'm afraid that's the case."

  And, for once, Blaine felt convinced that there actually was such a thing as miracles; Kurt let go of the sharp metal, hands shaking tremendously, and his hands found Blaine's, where they were still holding a gentle hold of his head. Blaine brought them down to his lap and, his chest feeling like it was about to break into a million pieces, looked at Kurt's left forearm. There were more cuts there than Blaine cared to count. What mattered was that now he'd stopped, and that the blood was still pumping out of several over them, slowly and steadily. After a time that could've been five seconds, minutes or hours, Blaine got up, moving slowly, as if afraid to wake up from a dream, and drenched the blue-and-read plaid handkerchief on the sink with cold water. Kurt bit back sounds of pain as Blaine dapped the open cuts, so gently he was barely touching. And, whilst the situation was by no means nothing but heartbreaking, there was something… beautiful, almost, over these exact moments.

  About fifteen minutes later, Kurt's upper arm was clean from blood and wrapped in an old t-shirt (that was dirty and spotted with since-long dried blood, but also the only option). Blaine dared to smile a tiny little smile again as Kurt's hands reached for his. For a long time the two of them stayed still and quiet, looking down at their fingers playing lazily on the mattress between them.

  The silence was absolute, yet a thousand words were said and understood between them.