Remind Me to Forget

Chapter 11

Blaine enters the choir room next to Sam, covering a yawn as they take their seats and hoping no one catches him. At the front of the room, Mr. Schue and Tina seem involved in a heated discussion, and Blaine hopes he won't see Tina stomping to the door. He lets out a small sigh moments later as Tina turns triumphantly and takes a seat next to Kitty, leaving Mr. Schue looking slightly exasperated by the board.

“Okay!” Mr. Schue's voice carries over the chatter, but it lacks his usual energy. “I'll admit that I was a bit hesitant when I first heard about our first performance today,” Blaine shares a confused look with Sam (and hides another yawn) before glancing at a smug Tina. “But,” Mr. Shue's emphasis draws Blaine's gaze back to the front of the room, “Glee Club is about pushing boundaries. So, let's hear it for Tina and Kitty!”

Blaine watches Tina and Kitty move to the front, sharing somewhat unnerving smiles. He leans to his left to question Sam.

“Do you know what they're singing?”

“Nope.” Sam answers, his voice a bit too loud to count as a whisper. “Tina's refused to talk about it – said she wanted to surprise everyone.”

Blaine nods and leans back, feels his eyes widen as the music starts to play.

Text message from Blaine:

[photo] Tina and Kitty – deadly combination!

Blaine stands as the song ends, clapping and whistling as Tina bows from next to Jake and Kitty ducks her head in appreciation, staying in Artie's lap.

“Well!” Mr. Schue shakes his head, clapping as he moves back to the front of the room. “That was certainly a performance! Any volunteers to follow that act?”

There's silence for a moment, but then Unique stands. “Never let it be said that we,” she nods to Marley, “didn't rise to the occasion.”

Moments later Blaine sits, frozen in his seat by the blend of Unique and Marley's soulful voices. It's a sharp contrast to the previous upbeat, risqué song, but beautiful and moving nonetheless. His tiredness fades as he focuses on the song, remembering lounging with Kurt, singing along to Adele, collapsing in laughter when they'd pulled theatrical faces.

Blaine's smiling as the song ends, clapping next to Sam. Unique and Marley bow, looking proud.

Mr. Schue returns to the front of the room, and Blaine leans back in his chair, thinking over his day and only half listening to the speech about merging talents and focus and effort. He startles when a hand lands on his shoulder, spins to see Sam at his side, laughing.

“Dude! You're so jumpy lately – I should have Artie keep his camera out in case I ever need blackmail.”

Blaine blinks.

“You…want blackmail?”

Sam smiles and keeps the arm around Blaine's shoulder as Blaine stands. “You never know.”

“Right.” Blaine grabs his bag and follows Sam out of the room, agreeing to practice after dinner.

Ten minutes later Blaine hums along to Come What May as he waits at the light to turn into the gas station, absently eyeing the traffic speeding by on the other side of the divider. He looks over the cars at the gas pumps, sighing when he realizes all of them are currently in use. A middle-aged woman leans against a black jeep, seemingly impatient; an elderly farmer jabs at the pump, his battered Ford behind him; a young blonde woman enthusiastically speaks on her phone while leaning against a mint green beetle with fake eyelashes on the headlights; a dark haired student leans against a dark truck –

“Couldn't even put up a fight?” Biting laughter follows, and Blaine stays still – watches as a puddle grows and the shoe moves.

“Pretty sure they're down, Steve.”

As the shoe disappears there's a pop from his shoulder, pain eclipses him and laughter registers over the roaring in his ears.

Blackness closed in, briefly broken –

A blast from a car horn has Blaine jerking in his seat, and a quick glance shows that the light is green. Blaine quickly moves forward, turning and pulling into the gas station.

There's no truck.

Blaine pulls up to a pump and turns off the engine, before leaning forward and resting his head on the steering wheel.

Breathe in. There's no truck.

Breathe out. It couldn't be his truck.

Breathe in. Lima isn't Marysville.

Breathe out. He's not here.

He closes his eyes and releases a sigh before releasing his seatbelt and opening the door with slightly shaking hands. Moments later he's leaning against his car, wincing at the blast of questionable music from the too-loud speakers and absently watching as the numbers increase as he waits.

He pulls out his phone, wanting to push aside memories of trucks and shadows and honking horns and embarrassment.

Text message from Blaine:

Why do gas stations have the worst music?

Text message from Kurt:

They want you to escape inside and end up buying candy and soda ;)

Despite the echoes of fear and worry, Blaine smiles.

Text message from Blaine:

It's twangy country, Kurt. There's twang. I keep hearing the Warbler Council telling people to watch their vowels.

Text message from Kurt:

The joys of small town Ohio ;)

Text message from Blaine:

You're reveling in New York's culture, aren't you…

Text message from Blaine:

Done! Heading to your dad's

Text message from Kurt:

:) Maybe he'll let you choose the music ;)

Blaine lets out a small laugh as he replaces his gas cap. Moments later he smiles as Somewhere Only We Know fills his car, calming him as he pulls into traffic.

-*-*-*-

Carrying the plates over to the table, Kurt holds in his wince as he waits for the couple to acknowledge him so he can set down the food. He can't wait for Blaine to move to New York, for them to be able to hold hands as they walk down the street and maybe even share the occasional affectionate peck.

He loves Blaine, he does, and he doesn't mind if the world knows.

Still, the world will never know because they can't be bothered to keep their hands to themselves in a very public diner booth.

Next to a window.

Kurt takes a breath. “Here you go!” His voice is overly bright; false. Still, it serves its purpose and the couple – somewhat reluctantly – separates, eyeing the food Kurt quickly sets on the table.

The girl smiles. “Sorry. He's just amazing, you know?”

“I'm sure.” Kurt forces the smile to stay on his face. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

After receiving a distracted ‘no' from each of them, Kurt turns and heads back to the kitchen, leans against the counter once he's there.

“You always get the interesting tables.”

Kurt briefly closes his eyes, opening them to see Santana's smirk.

“That's not the word I'd use.”

“Well, I did say you were boring.”

“Hm. And yet the couple attacking each other's faces is interesting.” Kurt gives Santana a side-long look. “There wasn't even any technique; hardly interesting.” Then, with a shrug, Kurt steps away from the counter as Santana's laughter follows.

Half an hour later, Kurt sighs as he exits the diner's bathroom, tired from a long shift but glad to be back in his own clothes. His feet ache and his tips for the day aren't extraordinary, but still he's finally done.

He heads for the door, torn between wanting to leave the diner and trepidation about meeting Rachel at the loft. Her and Santana's snipping seems to be unending, and she has no qualms about sharing every detail with Kurt.

Kurt turns from the door of the diner at Dani's shout, adjusting the straps of his bags as she rushes over.

“Sorry! Just wanted to catch you before you left.” She continues before Kurt can respond. “Anyway, I was hanging out with Elliott and we came up with an awesome cover of I Love Rock and Roll. I just wanted to give you a heads up before practice tomorrow. But I'm excited – once we add in all the voices it's gonna be perfect!”

Kurt gives a tight smile. “I can't wait to hear it.”

“Great! So –” Dani cuts off midsentence, turning as an enthusiastic patron waves from their left. “Duty calls, I guess. But I'll see you tomorrow! It's gonna rock!”

Shaking his head, Kurt finally leaves, pulling out his phone as he heads for the subway.

Text message from Kurt:

Finally heading home!

Kurt's hand jerks when his phone starts to ring a moment later, the Beatles filling the air.

“Texting not enough?”

“Oh my God, Kurt.” Blaine's voice rings with excitement and happiness. “I can't believe you!”

“What? Blaine –”

“The flowers, Kurt.” Blaine cuts off Kurt's question. “You sent me flowers.”

“Oh.” Kurt smiles, and relishes in the bubble of happiness building in his chest. “I did.”

“Your dad kept glancing at me while I was at the garage and I thought…well, I guess it doesn't matter. But then we got back to the house and Carole was smiling – more than usual, I mean. But I went to put my bag in your room and they were just sitting on the dresser. They're gorgeous, Kurt.”

“Well,” Kurt sidesteps a woman juggling one too many shopping bags, waits at the crosswalk. “I just thought you deserved something special.” Kurt thinks back to the initial stress in Blaine's voice weeks ago; the culmination when he'd called, unable to speak for the tears, the fear when he'd described nightmares and flashbacks. “I'm glad you like them.”

“Red and yellow roses, Kurt. Our flowers. How could I possibly not like them?”

Kurt smiles, knows it's conveyed when he speaks. “I know, I know. And you deserve them, really. Besides,” Kurt holds the phone a bit tighter, “It's tradition.”

“Tradition?” Blaine's voice is questioning but light.

“Mm. We always give each other flowers when the other person has done something that makes us proud.”

“Kurt.” Blaine's voice has gone soft, filled with too many emotions to name. “I haven't –”

“Nope. No arguing. I can send roses to my fiancé if I want to. And I wanted to, so really there's nothing you can say against that. If I happen to be extremely proud of him as well, it's because he deserves it.”

“I can't win against you.”

“No. I thought you knew better than to try?”

Blaine laughs. “I'm learning. But honestly, Kurt. Thank you. I love them. I love you, too.”

“I love you.” Kurt stands at the subway entrance indecisive: entering means ending the call, but it also means being that much closer to home. “And I'm glad you like the flowers.”

“I have the best fiancé in the world.”

Kurt huffs a laugh. “I think we're tied, actually. But,” Kurt looks to the entrance again, “I'm actually at the subway, now. So I'll talk to you later, okay?”

“You need to find a cell phone that gets signal on the subway.” Blaine's pout is audible, even through the phone line.

“Our first purchase once we're rich Broadway stars, I promise.”

“Hm. I'll remember that.”

“Of course you will.”

There's a pause, and Kurt hears Blaine's muffled voice before his voice returns, clear. “Sorry. Carole just let me know dinner's ready.”

“Guess that's a sign for us to finally hang up.”

“Hm. I'll talk to you later, then. This evening? Maybe around nine? Sam's coming by after dinner so we can work on our duet for Glee tomorrow, and then I have to finish my homework.”

“That's fine, Blaine. I have some work to do too – we can just text when we're done – see who's finished, okay?”

“Mm. Have safe ride home.” Blaine's voice takes on a joking edge, “And treat yourself for dinner; you deserve it.”

“I'll stop by the sub shop on the way home. I love you and we'll talk later, okay?”

“Of course. Love you, too.”

Kurt ends the call before rummaging in his bag for his headphones. Blaine's call certainly lightened his mood, and he doesn't want it ruined by hearing angry New Yorkers on the subway. 

It's not until Kurt's waiting for the subway doors to close that he realizes Blaine never explained why he thought Burt had been glancing at him at the shop.

-*-*-*-

Kurt enters the loft to Rachel singing a capella by the piano. She stops as he enters, clapping her hands in excitement. “Oh good, you're home! I really need an accompanist to practice – I can't play piano and dance at the same time – so you're just in time!”

For a moment, Kurt simply stands, steps inside the doorway. Then, shaking his head, he crosses the apartment, heading for his room and ignoring Rachel's comments as he goes.

“– thinking I could add a crescendo, you know?” Rachel's followed him, stands at the curtain while he sets his bags by his desk before pulling out his diner uniform and adding it to his laundry basket. “Are you even listening, Kurt?”

“Yes, Rachel.” Kurt turns and faces her. “I am listening, but I just got home. Do I get time to eat my dinner,” he waves the bag containing his sub, “before you require my basic piano skills?”

“There's no need for you to be rude, Kurt. Of course you can eat your non-Vegan dinner.”

Kurt sighs and heads back toward the kitchen, a “thanks” hastily added as he passes her.

Moments later he's seated in one of his vintage flea market chairs, a soda and his sub before him. He takes a bite and suppresses a groan of appreciation as the flavor bursts on his tongue. He'll have to thank Blaine for his suggestion later. By the time he's swallowed Rachel's joined him at the table.

“I'm going to assume that you had a frustrating day and that's why you've been snippy since you came in the door.” Her voice conveys her superior attitude, and Kurt wonders how Rachel can believe that her words are kind.

“As a matter of fact,” Kurt takes a sip of soda before continuing. “My day was perfectly fine. Just long.”

Rachel narrows her eyes. “Then why were you so harsh when you got home?”

Kurt sets his sub down with a sigh, closes his eyes for a moment to regret the passing of a nice evening. Opening his eyes he takes in Rachel's crossed arms and stare. “I wasn't harsh Rachel. I just –” Kurt gestures toward the door. “I'd just walked in the door. Did it even occur to you that I might not want to immediately be your accompanist?”

“You're my best friend, Kurt. And we promised each other that we'd help each other achieve our dreams. We promised Kurt, the first day we were both in New York. Forgive me for thinking that you meant to keep it.”

“I meant it, Rachel! I still do! It would just be nice if you asked once in a while, instead of just assuming that I would be at your beck and call as soon as I got home!” Kurt immediately regrets raising his voice, wishes he'd chosen different words even as Rachel leans across the table.

“I'm not asking you to be my servant, Kurt. But you know how much getting this part means to me. You know that better than anyone. And I thought that as my best friend I could count on your help and support as I work on my role.”

“I support you, Rachel! I share my notes with you because you're too tired from rehearsal to write your own, I run lines with you and critique your dance. How supportive do I have to be to meet your standards?”

“Standards? This isn't about some mythical standard of support Kurt. This is about my best friend being there for me during one of the most trying times in my life!”

“I –”

“Being in a Broadway show takes work, Kurt.” Rachel cuts off Kurt's comment. “I have to go to rehearsal and classes and work at the diner and I do it all because it's how I'm going to achieve my dream. And it's hard, and trying and I thought that you would appreciate what I'm going through and be there for me!”

For a moment, Kurt sits in silence, replays Rachel's words in his mind and feels his anger growing. Rachel's complaining about how trying her life is, how Kurt isn't there for her even though he sees her every day while states away Blaine isn't safe in his own home, is wearing makeup to hide his pain, has daily nightmares from an event that has crippled others and yet still continues to thank Kurt for sending him something as small as a bouquet of flowers.

“I am here for you Rachel! Every day I am here for you, cheering in your corner and ignoring every truthful comment Santana makes because you're my best friend. But I'm not there enough during the ‘most trying time' in your life? And really, Rachel, having your dreams come true meets that requirement? Other people –” Kurt pauses, takes a breath and hopes his voice won't catch. “Other people have problems, real honest-to-God trials that they're suffering through. But what, because I hoped to have a breather after a thirteen hour day I'm a bad friend for not immediately sitting at the piano? I want you to succeed, Rachel, you deserve to, but you need to wake up!”

Rachel pushes back the chair and stands, turning to head for her room before stopping and heading back to the table, hands on her hips. “I can't believe you, Kurt. Like you know about trials? What could possibly be hard in your life right now? It's all nice and easy: Your dad's cancer is in remission! You met the love of your life at sixteen – you're engaged and going to the school of your dreams! But you always were a star at hurting others, breaking promises, right Kurt? What's a broken promise to your former best friend in the grand scheme of things? You always get what you want, even if it comes to you by accident.”

In his lap, Kurt's hands clench into fists. “Rachel, I say this as your friend. You need to stop talking.”

“No, Kurt. I will not! You said – you promised to help me achieve my dreams, just like I promised to help you with yours. I even joined your band when you were worried about not having something! But now, when it's time for actually fulfill your end of the promise you can't be bothered to keep your word. You know how important rehearsal is! But you can't be bothered to take twenty minutes to play for me? Is it too hard for you to watch me succeed? I thought this was settled when we talked months ago, when my best friend was thrilled that I've gotten my dream role! But you haven't been, have you? Enjoy your dinner, Kurt. I'll be sure to send you a signed copy of the playbill from opening night. I don't need your kind of support in my life!”

Rachel turns and stomps away as Kurt blinks at his dinner. Absently, Kurt notes the banging of the loft door.

“Damn, Hummel. If I'd known there was a show I would've gotten home earlier.”

“Santana.” Kurt raises his head, prays for patience as Santana crosses into the kitchen. “When did you get home?”

Santana returns and sets a glass of water on the table as she slides into a chair. “Around the time Little Miss Diva was whining about how hard her life is. I've got to hand it to you – you don't hold back.”

Kurt spares Santana a quick glance before he takes a bite of his sandwich, not responding to her comments.

“No come back for me?”

Kurt eyes Santana's smirk. “It's been a long day, Santana. Can I please just eat my dinner?”

“Hey, I'm not criticizing. In fact, hang on.” Santana slips from her seat and heads for her room, returning moments later with her hands behind her back. At Kurt's questioning gaze she places a take-out box from the diner on the table.

Slightly suspicious, Kurt stares for a moment before cautiously opening the box.

Part of a chocolate cake rests inside.

“Is it poisoned?”

“Harsh, Kurt. I thought you knew by now that you're not the roommate I'd poison.” Santana smiles and takes a sip of water. “It's been in the case for two days – Gunther was just gonna throw it out.”  Santana shrugs. “I figured there was no need to waste some perfectly good cake.”

“Right.”

“Besides,” Santana smirks, “you earned it. Think of it as a reward for finally leaving Switzerland and telling off Rachel.”

“Santana –”

“Hey, I'm being nice, Hummel. Take advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime event.”

Kurt gives Santana a half-hearted smile. “Thanks.”

“I'll get the forks.”

-*-*-*-

“Are you sure you boys don't need anything?”

Blaine shakes his head at Carole's question, but offers her a small smile. “We're good, I think. Thanks for letting us practice in here.” Blaine pauses and catches her gaze. “Are you sure, though? If you want to watch T.V. or something we can move the keyboard to Kurt's room and –”

Carole cuts Blaine off with a small laugh. “It's fine, Blaine. It'll be good to hear some music again.” She turns to Sam. “But if you boys get hungry or thirsty you help yourself to anything in the kitchen, okay?”

“Sure thing!” Sam's enthusiastic response has Carole laughing again even as she moves to sit on the sofa, joining Burt.

“I hope you two don't mind an audience.”

“Nope!” Sam smiles before turning toward the keyboard.

“I don't mind.” Blaine quietly adds with a slight shake of his head. “Although you might – the first few run-throughs might be a little rough.”

“Go play the piano, Blaine.”

Offering Carole a mock salute before turning to follow orders, Blaine mentally runs through the problem spots he'd noticed earlier. Moments later he's running scales to warm up and then he's losing himself in the music, Sam standing beside him.

Blaine raises his hands from the keyboard, accepts the high-five offered by Sam with a smile, absently noticing that at some point during their rehearsal Burt and Carole had left the room.

“I think we're good, yeah?”

“Hm.” Blaine looks back at the music before returning his gaze to Sam. “Maybe after another run-through – two at most. I just think that this section,” Blaine gestures to a series of measures on the page, “could use a bit more work.”

“Do you practice this much every week?”

“What?” Blaine turns on the foldable bench so he's facing Sam.

“Just – this is a lot of work for a weekly assignment; do you practice this much all the time?”

“Oh.” Blaine flashes Sam an embarrassed smile and shrugs his shoulders. “I guess? If I'm going to perform a song I want it to be as good as it can be, you know? But if you're tired or something we don't have to. We've already practiced for,” Blaine glances at his watch, “about an hour.”

“Nah. It's fine.” Sam smiles. “We're gonna win this thing!”

“I don't think it's a competition, Sam.”

Sam shrugs. “Whatever. We're still gonna win.”

Blaine turns back to the keyboard with a smile and slight shake of his head; Sam would certainly keep this interesting.

Some time later, they finish to a round of clapping, and Blaine turns to see Burt standing by the sofa. “Sounded real good, boys. Blaine,” Burt nods toward the phone that's standing on the end table. “Hope you don't mind – Kurt wanted to talk to you and I figured he could listen in til you were finished.”

“Oh –”

“Dude,” Sam interrupts Blaine's response. “Why's Kurt callin' you at his parents' house?”

Blaine freezes, shooting Burt a panicked glance.

Thankfully, Burt answers Sam's question, casually mentioning how Kurt had called to check-in, and Burt figured he could talk to Blaine, too. Blaine feels his shoulders drop in relief.

“Right, well I guess I'll go then.” Sam stands and Blaine joins him, giving him a brief hug goodbye. Burt follows Sam out of the room, and Blaine turns, picking up the phone from the end table.

“Kurt?”

“Hey, Blaine. I didn't mean to interrupt your practice.”

“Oh.” Blaine turns and moves to sit on the sofa. “No need to worry; we were done. I think if I'd asked Sam for one more run through he'd have lost it.”

“In that case, I'm glad to serve as an interruption.” There's a pause and Blaine hears the rustling of blankets. “So, I'm guessing this means Dad was able to get your keyboard?”

“Yeah.” Blaine leans back further, sinking into the sofa's cushions. “He stopped by the house earlier this week. He said he had to go out there for a tow anyway, so he got it while I was at school. I'll still go to the house to play the piano to prep for nationals, but it's nice to have the keyboard here, too.”

“Well, I'm glad things worked out.”

“Mm.” Blaine pauses and then releases a breath. “Kurt?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay? I don't – I mean, you just seem kinda quiet tonight, and you weren't when I called earlier.”

“Oh.” Kurt's silent for a moment, and Blaine simply listens to his breathing. “Yeah. Sorry. I guess I'm not as over it as I thought. I just – I got into a fight with Rachel. It's been building for a while, now that I think about it. But I got home tonight and she immediately assumed I'd be free to play piano for her and then it just escalated.” Kurt gives a small, humorless laugh. “She stormed out. And Santana brought me cake. How's that for role reversal?”

“That sucks. I'm sorry, Kurt.”

“Don't be. It's certainly not your fault. And it was going to happen at some point. That's actually why I called Dad. I wanted his opinion on events; I thought that talking to him would mean I'd be over it before our call. I just,” Kurt pauses. “I wanted to calm down before talking to you.”

“You don't have to always be happy when you talk to me, Kurt.” Blaine's grip tightens on the phone.

“I know. I know. I want to be, though. You shouldn't have to put up with my second-hand frustration.”

Blaine lets out a breath. “Hm. Maybe not, but I'll know it's not because of me, and we're supposed to tell each other things, right?”

“Using my words against me – you're learning.”

“I'm a quick learner, remember? Besides,” Blaine relaxes, “I've had the best teacher.”

Kurt laughs. “I can't argue with you there.” Silence reigns for a moment. “Your duet sounded wonderful though, even if I only heard half through a crappy speaker phone.”

Blaine smiles. “I'm glad you like it.”

“Mm. It fits…Hey Blaine?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” Kurt's question has Blaine sitting up straighter on the sofa, even as Kurt continues in a rush of words. “It's just that Dad said you looked a little shaky when you got to the shop, and he said there was something with a car? And earlier when you called to thank me for the flowers you said you thought Dad kept looking at you because of something but you didn't say what that was. I might be overthinking things and I don't mean to nag, but I had to ask.”

For a moment, Blaine simply sits on the sofa, mentally replaying Kurt's words. It's only when he hears multiple repetitions of his name from Kurt's increasingly worried voice that he replies.

“Sorry! I'm fine, Kurt. I just…” Blaine sighs and shakes his head. “I didn't realize it was noticeable. It wasn't even – you're going to think I'm going crazy.”

“You're not crazy, Blaine.” Kurt's voice rings with assurance. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened. Not really.” Blaine releases a breath. “I had to get gas on the way to your dad's shop. And while I was waiting at the intersection I was checking the pumps to see which ones were free and then I saw this truck and some guy. And I know – I know it wasn't that truck. But it startled me for a moment. That's all. Promise. Just some bad memories from nightmares.”

“I'm sorry, Blaine.” There's a pause and then Kurt lets out a small huff.  “I'm really beginning to hate these nightmares of yours, Blaine.”

Blaine chuckles. “Me too.”

“Mm.” Kurt hums in agreement. “Okay, so that explains his afternoon. What about at the shop?”

“Oh.” Blaine briefly closes his eyes. “An older white four-door was brought in and I guess you could say there was a repeat performance?” Even as he says the tasteless joke Blaine remembers seeing the white car enter the garage –

“Damn homos couldn't even put up a fight.”

Surrounded by nothing but pain, all-encompassing blackness only broken by two streaks of green and white –

Blaine shakes his head, pushing the memories aside as Kurt's voice comes through the line. “I'm so sorry, Blaine.”

“Hey. Don't be sorry. At least I didn't drop anything this time.”

“Not funny, Blaine.”

“You never appreciate my jokes.”

“Blaine.” Kurt's voice is still quiet, but it's lost the tense, worrying edge it had moments before.

“Sorry.”

Kurt sighs, but it holds a hint of laughter. “Didn't we talk about your use of that word?”

“Sor – oh.” Blaine laughs. “It really is a hard habit to break.”

“I never would have guessed.” When he continues, Kurt's voice has lost its sarcastic edge. “But I should probably go soon; I still have some reading to do, and I wanted to look up covers of Joan Jett before our goodnight call.”

“Joan Jett?”

“Mm. Dani caught me as I leaving the diner. Apparently she and Elliott came up with a ‘completely awesome' – her words – version of I Love Rock and Roll for the band to practice tomorrow.”

“Well it is an awesome song, but you don't sound excited.”

There's a pause before Kurt speaks again. “This is the second time – that I know of, anyway – that they've worked on something for the band without me. I'm just not fond of it, I guess.”

“Well, I've never met them, but they both sound like nice people and talented musicians.” Blaine keeps his voice calm, soft as he continues. “I don't think they're trying to exclude you, Kurt.”

“You're right. I know you're right. It's just – this band is mine, you know? And now, after today I'm not even sure if Rachel will show for rehearsal tomorrow.”

Blaine winces at the reminder of the argument and possible – probable if Rachel's past actions are anything to go by – repercussions. “It is your band Kurt. And it's a great band. It'll continue to be a great band even if Rachel doesn't show. I've seen the YouTube videos, remember? You're the heart of the band, Kurt. Not Rachel.”

“You give the best pep talks.”

Blaine smiles, hears the fondness in his voice. “Only to the most deserving.”

“Flatterer.” Kurt sighs. “Guess we should stop procrastinating, though.”

Blaine sighs in agreement, and moments later he's left sitting on the sofa in a silent living room. Stretching, Blaine stands from the sofa and grabs the phone, intent on returning it to its charger in the Hudson-Hummel kitchen.

Entering the room Blaine sees Carole silently unloading the dishwasher. He crosses to her after hanging up the phone.

“Need any help?”

“Oh!” Carole straightens and gives Blaine a small smile. “No, it's fine. I'm almost done actually.”

“Okay.” Blaine watches as she turns back to the racks, pulling out mugs and cereal bowls. “I'm just going to go finish some homework then.”

“Burt keeps some cookies in the cabinet; take some if you need a study snack.”

Blaine smiles and shakes his head. “Thanks, but I'm good for now.” When Carole offers no response Blaine murmurs a quick ‘see you later' before turning and heading for Kurt's room.

Seated at the desk minutes later, Blaine breathes in the rose scented air, carefully placing the note that came with the flowers in the corner of the picture frame.

Text message from Blaine:

[photo] I love you!

Text message from Kurt:

<3 I love you too.

Blaine sets his phone down with smile and reluctantly pulls his Calculus book closer.

Homework it is.

-*-*-*-

Blaine jerks upright, Kurt's designer sheets tangling his legs, and he can't get free –

A hand grabs his shoulder, spinning him around. A punch takes his breath and pushes him back, further into the arms of his captor. “Sadie Hawkins isn't for gays, Anderson! Hold ‘em Mitch. Cover his mouth, too. Can't have him crying, now.”

The streetlight flickers, making spots dance in front of him and Blaine sees the shadow in front of him grow.

A green truck speeds away, music blasting from open windows. Tires squeal and a white car follows.

His phone clatters on the end table, dropped by clumsy hands. Moments later its bright, harsh light casts shadows.

3:18 A.M.

Blaine winces at the time, but unlocks the phone anyway, opening his texts without thought.

Text message from Blaine:

Think the playlist will work again?

Text message from Blaine:

Sorry for waking you up :(

Blaine's untangled the sheets, flipped the pillow, and grabbed his iPod before his phone buzzes with a response.

Text message from Kurt:

Maybe – and I want to be woken up

Text message from Kurt:

love is a place / & through this place of / love move / (with brightness of peace)

Text message from Blaine:

<3

Text message from Kurt:

Sweet dreams!

Blaine replies in kind before placing the phone back on the table. He carefully puts the earbuds in, closes his eyes, and thinks of Kurt as love songs fill his mind.

Kurt loves him.

Kurt is safety.