Blaine was distraught. It had been two weeks and they dragged by like years alone in the desert. In a tent. By himself. In the fucking desert.

Where the hell was Kurt and why wasn't he talking to Blaine? He drew on all the strength he could muster to put it out of his mind while he studied. He went to group and talked about something he couldn't quite remember. He pet a dog in Washington Square Park and thought of Kurt's silky hair. He went to work. He dreamed of Kurt''s kisses and the way they made him forget everything around him. He called his brother and talked about dull, mundane pleasantries.

He was trying so hard to be patient, to be kind and understanding. He was supposed to know what a chronic illness felt like, and the struggles that it entailed. He wasn't supposed to be judging Kurt for his hardship. But dammit. Where the hell was he?!

Andy was out with whats his name, his latest toy, and Blaine had the room to himself finally. He sat at the computer, dark curls wildly strewn about his head and brushed softy onto his face, on a mission.

He logged in to Skype and sent Kurt a message.

Thinking about you, would love to chat soon.

He sent Kurt an email at his university address. keh216@nyu.edu

I saw that the cute gay guy from Ugly Betty is doing a show I would love to go see it with you. Are you up for it?

He sent Kurt an email at his private address.VogueRogue@gmail.com

You are lovely and gorgeous and amazing and wonderful and ridiculously talented and deserve all the good things in life to happen to you. Talk to me, Kurt. I miss you.

He sent Kurt a direct message on Twitter.

@GoVogueRogue what's new pussycat?

He sent Kurt a public tweet.

@GoVogueRogue Knock knock...(you say who's there)

He sent Kurt a text.

I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you are you okay?

He wrote on Kurt's wall on facebook.

What are you up to this weekend?

Then, satisfied that he had done all that he could do for the moment, he went back to his pile of homework. He had a few fleeting thoughts of trying to contact Kurt's family, but that would be a crazy thing to do, right? Totally invasive and over the top. Kurt's problems weren't technically his business, but then again what if he was the only one who knew what was going on and therefore the only one that could help?

He sat with his books for an hour and brooded more than studied, promising himself to wait 24 hours before going to Kurt's place again.

---AAIGAAIGAAIG---

Kurt opened his eyes slowly against the glare of the sun. The lemon rind from the other day was still there. His phone was ringing, it had been ringing for hours. He grabbed for it where it lay on the nightstand and accidentally ripped the charger out of the socket. It was his dad calling for the 20th or so time. Ugh. Why. With bleary eyes and clumsy fingers, he typed out a text to his father.

Kurt:Okay okay I am getting up, stop calling jeez.

He swung his legs around to the side of the bed one at a time, recalling something he used to do in summer camp when waking up in the morning felt especially difficult.

Jumping jacks.

So he stood up, steadying himself on the mirror without looking at his reflection (no one needed to see that shit) until he no longer felt dizzy. Then he counted them out as he did them, from one to 100. The neighbors downstairs probably heard. Whatever.

He could feel some sweat collecting on his underarms and it felt like reality. Was he ready to face his life today? He mulled the thought over in his head, letting it swish around, then fumble like a fish looking for water. Yes, that would be him today, fumbling and clumsy and careless. But it was a start. At least he wasn't in bed.

There seemed to be a thick red velvet curtain draped over his brain, making all his thoughts muffled and drunken. The jumping jacks had helped a little, but a shower would probably help a lot. Right, shower, good plan.

In the shower, the fog in his mind cleared a bit, and the first real coherent thought that it let in was...

Blaine? What had happened to Blaine? Were they supposed to meet or to talk? Had he forgotten?

Shit.

Kurt promised himself that as soon as he was showered and dressed, he would call Blaine.

But when he got out of the shower, putting on clothes seemed like a really daunting task. He would have to use powder, and deodorant, and cologne, and then his hair, and the gentle moisturizer he would have to use on his face before putting concealer under his eyes and on pimples. It sounded absolutely exhausting. Kurt got back into bed in a white terrycloth robe, realized the bed smelled bad, so moved to the couch. He closed his eyes thinking of Blaine's body and Blaine's voice and the life he and Blaine could have together if he wasn't so completely fucked up.

---AAIGAAIGAAIG---

Alright, 24 hours had passed and now was the time for action. Blaine showered, exfoliated, shaved, dressed in tight dark blue jeans, a light gray shirt, and a yellow sweater that would bring out his eyes. He put on body spray and no-shine lip gloss. He wanted to look and smell irresistible to Kurt when he opened the door. Of course, that was assuming he could get Kurt to open his door. But no, he had a plan, and it would work. He was just sure of it!

He walked purposefully over to Kurt's apartment, and when he got to the door, it was standing wide open, letting the cool air in. He could just walk in, couldn't he? He could walk in and grab Kurt by his shirt and yell at him to rejoin the world of the living.

Blaine closed it from the outside, and knocked.