Blaine thought about going to school on Tuesday. He got all the way to Dalton before he couldn't take it and turned back. He kept weighing the pros and cons between texting Kurt again and waiting for him to text first. He felt shaky and upset and hadn't been able to eat. Once he got back home, he texted Wes to let him know he wasn't coming to school at all, then he changed out of his Dalton uniform. He tried on three different outfits before giving up and sitting on the edge of his bed in his boxer briefs, clutching his car keys in his fist.

            He felt antsy and sore all over like he was getting the flu. Since he'd gotten home he couldn't stop messing with the bandage. After wrapping it he'd had to undo it and rewrap it twice because he kept picking at and destroying it, causing the scabs to crack and the bleeding to resume each time. He found that occupying his uninjured hand was the best way to stop himself. Normally he'd go down to the basement and hit the punching bag until he started to calm down, or play the piano but he couldn't do either of those without making the injury worse.

            When his phone lit up with a new text, he threw the keys down on the floor to reached for it.

            It wasn't from Kurt.

            Why not? Are you feeling okay? You know I'm not actually rabid about what happened at regionals, right?

            It was from Wes. He texted back, I know. I'm fine. I'm sorry. See you tomorrow. Then he sat there tapping the phone on his knee before getting up to get his iPod and turning to the playlist he knew could calm him down.

            There were only two songs on it, and both were poor-quality bootlegs. One was from the clip of Kurt singing "Total Eclipse of the Heart" and the other came from an audio recording one of the Warblers had found of the Sectionals performance. Shifty trade deals had supposedly procured the sound clip. The group had been interested in it in order to hear themselves so they'd know what to fix for Regionals, but it turned out that theirs hadn't been the only audio on the bootleg. Some of the Warblers had apparently gotten together and cut up the audio. As a present, after Regionals, Blaine had come home from dinner with Kurt's family Saturday night to find an e-mail with a single file attached. On it was The New Direction's performance of "The Edge of Seventeen."

            Blaine put in his ear buds, lay back on his bed and just listened to Kurt's voice.

            It was that voice, singing that song, and that boy up on the stage, absolutely on fire and drawing in the crowd, that he'd fallen in love with. He'd known it instinctively, the way he'd never known anything except maybe what kind of cereal he liked. He'd known that he wanted to get to know Kurt, and now, in one lapse of control, he felt like he'd blown it.

He put the song on repeat, listened through it twice, then sang along the third time.

"Well, he seemed broken hearted, something within him. But the moment that I first lay eyes on him all alone on the edge of seventeen..."

            He lay there on the bed when the song rolled over to repeat again, head turned to the side, staring at his door. "I should never have asked him out in the first place."

            It was just after 9:45am when Blaine's phone buzzed in his hand and he sat up quickly, accidentally pulling one of the earbuds out in the process, so he could check the message.

            It was from Kurt. Would you be able to come over after school today?

            He texted back immediately. Yes. Yes, I can come over anytime. Are you sure you're okay?

            The text didn't come for several long minutes, and during that time Blaine started rummaging through drawers and through his closet with one hand, trying to come up with an outfit that was good enough to see Kurt in. Suddenly it seemed like none of his clothes had ever matched. Kurt deserved so much better than any of six combinations of pants and a polo or button down shirt.

            When the message did come, he was halfway into a pair of black pants. He snatched the phone off the bed and read the following: I am. Anytime is fine.

            Blaine took a deep breath. He clenched his teeth, hoping this didn't mean Kurt had stayed home from school as well.

Did you stay home? I can come over now. He sent.

Whenever works.

His heart fell. The message was too passive for Kurt, whose idea of being passive was telling you straight up that he was being passive aggressive. With a message like that... Blaine knew that if Kurt weren't upset, he would have sent more. He lowered himself down to sit on the bed.

He knew he'd have to talk to Burt. He'd have to. As terrified as he was by the idea, he knew he needed to explain and apologize to Kurt's dad. He and Burt hadn't talked much before, but Kurt was close to his dad, and Blaine had a lot of respect for that. Whatever Burt had to say about what had happened, Blaine needed to hear it now.

            I'll be by as soon as I can. He texted, then pulled his pants on and started throwing shirts out of his drawer. The first thing he wanted to do was swing by the tire store.

            A little over an hour later, a car pulled up outside the Hummel's. Burt glanced at the window, then stood up for a better look. Kurt was drifting off and Burt had been hoping he'd be able to grab the remote from him soon so he could mute the TV and switch over to the sports channel.

            Moving the blinds, Burt recognized the car. He sniffed. "Blaine's here."

            There was a gasp from the couch behind him and he turned around to see Kurt literally rolling off of it, knocking ice packs to the ground and using the couch to pull himself to his feet with minimum movement from his back. "No! No! No! He can't come now! I'm not dressed. I look like a mess. Oh my god. I have to go change."

            "Hey!" Burt cut him off.

The car door shut. Kurt's eyes got big and pleading. "I have to wash my face. I need to moisturize. I need to fix my hair. I should brush my teeth again. I need to change. He can't see me like this. I need to get the file... oh my god, I didn't think he'd be here so soon!"

"You sit right back down and keep looking pathetic."

            "Dad. I cannot let him see me like this!"

            "Kurt, you look the way you feel. Keep it up. He should be ashamed of himself."

            Kurt's eyes were darting from the doorway to the stairs. "Stall him! I have to do a quick facial."

            "Slow down. Kid, you don't owe him anything. Let him see how bad you look, especially your back."

            Kurt shot him an exasperated look.

            There was a tentative knock at the door and Burt squared his shoulders and went to answer it. Behind him, Kurt slipped past and darted up the stairs.

            When he opened the door, he found Blaine staring at the stoop. He opened the door an arm's length and then leaned against the frame.

            Blaine glanced up at him, then back down. "Hi," he whispered, then he looked up again, "... Is he okay?"

            Burt raised an eyebrow and looked down at a bouquet wrapped in paper that was being squeezed to death in Blaine's good fist. "I see you brought flowers."

            "For Kurt..." Blaine clarified softly, as though it wasn't obvious.

            "You think showing up with some flowers in the middle of the school day is going to make things okay?"

            Blaine's shoulders dropped and his face fell. He blinked rapidly a few times, then looked down at the bouquet. He lifted it, then let his arm fall limp again, flowers facing upside down. "No...I just... hoped it'd make him smile," he admitted.

            Burt nodded and stood there, letting Blaine shift awkwardly for a few long seconds. "Well, he could use that." He stepped back so there was enough room for Blaine to enter, "Come on in."

            Blaine hesitated, glancing back at his car before stepping inside. "You weren't at the shop," he mentioned.

            "Decided to stay home with my son," he replied, putting emphasis on the last word.

            They stood there in silence for a minute after Burt closed the door.

            "So," Burt started, keeping them in the narrow entryway, "You usually punch lockers when you're upset?"

            Blaine flinched and glanced down at his bandaged hand. He shoved it in the pocket of his coat. "No, sir."

            Burt smirked. "I like the ‘sir.' Keep that up. ... You gonna tell me what happened?"

            Blaine tried to make himself look up, but he got as far as Burt's crossed arms and decided it was better to stare at the floor. "I hurt him," he whispered. "I... threw him into a locker. I didn't mean to..."

            "Have you seen it?"

            Blaine shook his head and closed his eyes. Barely any sound came out when he asked, "Is it bad?"

            Burt raised an eyebrow. He looked down at the flowers that were now just dangling there, holding on to a few fingers. "Why'd you do it?"

            Blaine drew a breath. "I didn't mean to... I shouldn't have."

            "So why did you?"

            "I...it was an accident. I...didn't... I didn't know it was him?" he tried, but he couldn't keep it from sounding like a question. "I just... I freaked out and I didn't know. I have... problems... I thought I was being attacked. ... It sounds really stupid when I say it..."

            "Yeah, it does," Burt agreed, stoically.

            "I'm so sorry."

            "Well, you should be," Burt pointed out. "What's to stop you from doing it again?"

            Blaine paused and thought about it for a long time. What was there? He hadn't thought he'd do it the first time. He'd thought he was under control. "I'm going back to therapy." He knew that sounded weak. He shook his head. "Nothing... I guess. I'm trying... I'll deal with things... I'll try everything. But I don't... I don't know. Whatever I can..." His voice dropped down to a whisper, "I love him."

            "There's a lot I don't know about you, Blaine. And the stuff I'm hearing, I don't like a lot of it."

            Blaine just nodded weakly, squeezing the flower stems again to keep them from falling to the floor.

            After a few seconds, Burt sighed and stepped back toward the living room. "Get a vase for those."

            Blaine jerked with surprise and frowned until he realized Burt meant the flowers. He looked down at them. "Oh," he breathed and turned around to go back out the door.

            "Vases are in the kitchen. Right hand side over the fridge. Carole hides a step stool under the sink if you need it. Better to get them all fixed up now so he doesn't try to do it on his own later."

            Blaine stopped and lifted the flowers up, holding them against his chest. He turned back toward Burt. "I can stay?"

            Burt shrugged. "You've gotta bring him those, don't you? Scissors are in the drawer second to the left of the sink. It'll drive him crazy if they're too tall for the vase. Use the... here. I'll get the right one."

            Burt led the way into the kitchen. He brought down a clear glass vase that was just slightly yellowed with age. It was ornate with delicate, sharp lines, starting from the bulb at the bottom and splaying out at the top. "Here. He likes that one," he said, setting it on the counter beside where Blaine had laid the flowers. "It's an heirloom. It was his mom's."

            They stayed silent for the rest of the time it took for Blaine to methodically unwrap the flowers, cut the stems, very gingerly fill up the vase with water, and arrange the flowers. Once Blaine could bring himself to stop fidgeting with them, Burt stood from the stool he'd been perched on and led the way upstairs. Blaine scooped up the vase and held it close to him with his good hand underneath it for support, and his bandaged hand keeping it from tipping over.

            When they reached Kurt's room, Burt knocked. From the other side of the door Kurt yelled, "No! Not yet! I'm not ready."

            "Kurt? I'm coming in. You decent?" Burt replied, reaching for the doorknob. No response, so Burt opened the door to find Kurt's room looking like a natural disaster had blown through. Clothes were strewn everywhere. "What are you doing?"

            "I don't know what to wear... I just..."

            "Hey," Burt stepped into the room, but Blaine recoiled. He leaned back against the opposite wall, just out of sight of the bedroom and just breathed. His heartbeat was racing. He wanted to see Kurt so bad, but he was afraid of himself again. The clang of the lockers rang in his ears.

            "I don't want him to see me in sweatpants, Dad," Kurt hissed.

            "Kurt," Burt said sternly. "You look fine. Relax. I told you to keep looking pathetic."

Kurt gave him a devastated look and tipped his head back to heave a protest.

Burt cut him off, "You're fine. I'm bringing him in. You want me to help you shove these things back in your closet first?"

            Kurt gave him a small, defeated nod and Burt leaned down and swept up as much as he could, then he and Kurt dumped all the clothes on the floor of the closet and shut the door.

            "Okay, Blaine? You can come in now," Burt said loudly.

            Kurt sucked in a breath and started trying to pull his hands out of the massive sleeves of his hoodie so he could mess with his hair.

            "Blaine?" Burt called after a moment, and Blaine appeared at the doorway. Kurt forced himself not to turn away on instinct. He wanted to hide. He wanted to maintain the illusion that he was always completely put together. This, would destroy that fantasy right before Blaine's eyes. The big hoodie and the loose sweatpants might cover everything, but they made him feel completely naked. He wished he'd at least slipped into jeans or slacks or kapris... anything. Maybe if he'd clipped a stylish pin to the hoodie... Maybe if his hair had had time to fully dry...

            Blaine stepped in, looking sheepish and afraid behind a bouquet of flowers. His hair had been gelled, but it was sticking up in places and curling at the back like he'd hardly spent time on it. His clothes were nice, though they didn't perfectly match, and his eyes had dark lines under them from a lack of sleep. His hand was bandaged with gauze.

            "Hey," Blaine said, running his eyes up and down Kurt's oversized red hoodie and loose grey sweats. The boy looked small in his clothes; disheveled and flushed. Blaine sucked in his lips and bowed his head behind the flowers.

            Burt looked pointedly at Kurt, "You be okay if I go wait down the hall?" he asked. When Kurt nodded, he left the room, giving Blaine a lingering stare.

            Once Burt was gone Kurt half smiled. "Hey."

            "So... how are you?"

            Kurt smirked and rolled his eyes playfully, "Still not over having to wear that shirt yesterday." When Blaine didn't respond he tried again, gesturing to himself, "Not that this is an improvement."

            "I like the hoodie," Blaine murmured.

Kurt sighed and his gaze rolled back to Blaine's hand. "Your hand swelled up."

            Blaine shifted and held out the flowers to Kurt to hide the hand. "Just a little. I brought you these."

            Kurt stepped forward to accept the flowers, "They match my décor."

"Of course," Blaine bit his lip and barely trusted himself to breathe. Once Kurt had taken the vase, smiling when he recognized it, and was holding it securely, closing his eyes and sniffing deeply, Blaine spoke again, "You're not okay."

            Kurt considered for a moment, then looked Blaine in the eye and shook his head.

            "How bad?"

            "It's... just my back. I just feel a bit stiff and sore. It's bruised a little."

            "A lot?" Blaine gently corrected.

            Kurt smiled softly and nodded.

            Blaine closed his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Kurt."

            Kurt walked over and set the flowers down on his desk beside his laptop, turning them until he found the angle he liked best. "It happens. I'll recover... Oh! I need to get you that file!"

            He started toward the door, but Blaine reached out like he was going to stop him. They both froze, just a little ways apart. Blaine's hand curled into a fist and dropped to his side. He murmured, "I'm so sorry, Kurt," again.

            Kurt hesitated, then reached down and took Blaine's hand, willing the touch of his fingers to transfer to Blaine that he wasn't afraid of him. "...I know," he said, after a pause. "I'll just go get the file."

            "No," Blaine said quickly. "I don't care about that. Please. I was... I was thrown off before, but..." he shrugged. "The file doesn't matter, Kurt. I thought I was okay, but now I know I need to actually deal with things. And I'm going to. I'm going to see my therapist this week, and I'm going to go back to all my exercises once my hand heals..."

            "...Blaine..."

            "I just... I know it's not just an instant fix for everything, and if it isn't enough to regain your trust then I'll understand. I won't push you. But... I care, Kurt." He blinked rapidly several times, "It's killing me."

"...Blaine..."

"Will you show me how bad it is?"

            "You'll just feel guilty and blame yourself."

            Blaine turned his hand over so that Kurt's palm was lying facedown over his bandaged one. He wrapped his thumb around the edge of Kurt's hand. "Not knowing isn't stopping that."

            Kurt watched Blaine's face. Blaine was avoiding his gaze at first, but then he looked up, big, sad puppy eyes, and immediately Kurt had to look away. He smiled to himself for several seconds, face growing redder as he did, then he let out a short laugh and said, "I honestly thought the first time you'd be helping me undress would be under different circumstances."

            Blaine's eyes went wide and his face formed a clear "Wait, what?" look while Kurt turned away, hiding his blush, and then turned back and tugged at the hem of his hoodie.

            "You'll have to help me get this off."

            Blaine's head dropped, chin to chest, with a laugh, and then he raised it again with a sigh of relief, smiling. He raised both hands up between them. "Is it okay if I--?" he asked.

            Kurt nodded, so Blaine asked him to turn around. Very gently, avoiding all skin-to-skin contact, Blaine lifted the hoodie up off his back.

            Suddenly Kurt stopped him, reaching back and touching his wrist. Blaine let go and the hoodie fell back down. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, afraid he'd hurt him and wishing he had something he could stab himself in the gut with so it could just be over.

            "T-the shirt too," Kurt corrected him, letting go of his wrist. "If we don't get them both in one go then this is going to be a whole lot more difficult."

            "Oh." His heartbeat calmed some. "Just breathe, Blaine." He went for it again, this time letting his fingers glide beneath the fabric of the cotton t-shirt and peel it away from Kurt's skin.

            He closed his eyes as he raised the shirt up and off and away from his shoulders. Kurt turned and sort of backed out of the hoodie, then took it from him and clutched both the hoodie and shirt to his chest.

            Blaine couldn't turn off the warning message in his head alerting him to the fact that Kurt was now half naked in front of him. He stood there awkwardly, trying to avoid looking at Kurt's collarbone or the shape of his creamy white shoulder, because both also drew his gaze to how the skin was dark and discolored just over the back of it. Between guilt and sexual frustration he felt like a complete mess standing there, blood surging in his veins. When he let out a breath, he finally realized he'd been holding it.

            Kurt was bright red, holding his hoodie protectively across his chest between them. Blaine reached up to touch his shoulder, but his hand dropped. After a few more seconds, Kurt couldn't stand the awkwardness of just standing there facing each other anymore and slowly turned around.

            He could hear the breath catch in Blaine's throat. He pursed his lips and chewed on the inside of his cheek, focusing his eyes on the burnt-red of his hoodie and how the reverse side felt against his chest. Here he was, shirtless for the first time ever in front of his boyfriend-"In front of a boy at all," he reminded himself-and in sweatpants which were hanging lower on his hips than he'd have liked. Everything about the situation should have been sexual. He wanted this to be the kind of romantic situation where Blaine would be touching him, loving him, caressing his skin. He wanted this to be something safe and wonderful and to have the door closed instead of standing wide open. But instead, he was standing there showing his boyfriend the ugly wounds on his back and trying to ignore the way seeing them was audibly tearing Blaine apart.

            After a few seconds he decided to turn around and ask for help putting his clothes back on, but he was stopped by a touch, low on the center of his back, just along the spine, a few fingers against his skin. Then he could feel Blaine's breath against his back. The fingers left his spine and reappeared against his side, back and above the hip. Kurt closed his eyes, reached around, and laid the tips of his fingers over the tips of Blaine's.

            Blaine's nose and lips touched Kurt's skin ever so lightly just to the side of the broken skin. They lingered there a moment, then Blaine's breath ghosted across the bare skin as he whispered, "It hurts?"

            Kurt only nodded. It hurt, but suddenly he was losing focus on the pain.

            "I'm so sorry," Blaine breathed again, and there was another touch of lips on skin.

            Very slowly, Kurt turned around. Blaine hastily wiped his cheeks, but the corners of his eyes were pink. "Blaine," Kurt said softly, feeling shy again, now that he was facing his boyfriend, shirtless. "I know there are reasons why you freaked out... And we're gonna get through them. I'll do whatever I can to help you."

            Blaine squeezed his eyes shut and opened his mouth to speak, but Kurt cut him off, holding up a finger.

            "No. None of that. You are going to smile and be cute and charming as you ever were, and you're going to help me put my clothes back on before I die of embarrassment."

            Blaine's jaw hung slack for a moment, then his eyes twinkled and he dipped his head so he was looking up at Kurt coyly. "You have nothing to be embarrassed about."

            Kurt nodded sharply, "That's better."

            They both tried to hold down their smiles, then broke at the same time, commencing in fond giggles.

            "Either way, I can't just sit around half naked," Kurt mumbled. To that, Blaine cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrows, half an inviting smile plastered all over his face. Kurt batted at him teasingly and they both giggled again.

            From out in the hall, Burt called, "Hey, you two. Enough with the being cute. Kurt, I'm going to go put your ice packs back in the fridge."

            He waited for the embarrassed, "Okay!" before he started off down the stairs with a heavy sigh. This whole situation probably wasn't good for his heart. It was bad enough that Kurt was hurt and Blaine looked like a drowned puppy, but standing outside the room, just to the side of the doorframe and knowing they still really cared about each other despite what had gone down the day before, was hard for a parent. Burt wanted to be able to scoop up his son, put him on his knee, kiss the bruise and make it better. He wanted to scold Blaine and know this would never happen again. He wanted to be able to protect his little boy... but Kurt wasn't little anymore.

Burt leaned against the stair rail. In the long run, he was lucky there was someone who loved Kurt like Blaine did. He was lucky that Kurt's first serious injury was a misunderstanding, something that could be avoided in the future, and that it hadn't been a call from the hospital. He was lucky Kurt was up there mending things and not lying in a hospital bed holding on to a life measured in blips. Burt knew that. He knew that, but it didn't make this sit well. It would be a while before this was okay. Kurt would have to get better first. Blaine would have to prove himself again... but they could be alone together for a minute. He'd go back and check on them in a minute.

After Burt had interrupted, Kurt had turned to his side and dislodged the t-shirt from the hoodie, smiling. "Help me put this back on," he asked, holding an arm across himself now as he abandoned the hoodie on the bed.

"You don't have something comfortable to wear that would be easier to get on and off?" Blaine asked, then added quickly, "Just so it doesn't get worse."

Kurt considered, and took a sweeping glance across his room. If he'd gotten more sleep, this would be easier. With his brain functioning at half capacity it was difficult to remember his entire wardrobe. It couldn't be anything with buttons, or it'd hurt to sleep on his stomach. No zippers either, and no coarse stitching in the back... This was why he'd gone with the t-shirt in the first place; for the first time in Kurt's life, clothes sounded better when they didn't take elaborate planning.

He took a step toward his dresser, trying to think, keeping the shirt with him.

Blaine sucked in his lips and tried hard not to glance down at Kurt's ass when he turned. The part of his brain that was reminding him it was inappropriate with regard to the circumstance that had brought him over was not corresponding with the part of him that wanted to reach out and squeeze. "Or, you know, we could just..." he started. Kurt looked back over his shoulder, smiling, but daring him to finish his thought. Between the glance and the angry purple splotches that were once again staring him in the face, it shut Blaine up fast. He tried to remember, "cute and charming, that's what Kurt wants," so he shrugged, "There's always the Walmart shirt."

Kurt groaned and rolled his eyes. He walked back over to Blaine and entrusted him with the shirt he was already holding. "Don't make me think, just help me with this one."

After they got Kurt into the shirt, which wasn't tight, but was perfectly flattering on Kurt's torso, and Blaine got over once again trying not to focus on his stomach, his belly button, his pecs, oh Christ, nipples!, they kissed each other softly several times. Then Kurt brought it up again, "I could go get that file..."

Blaine shook his head. It didn't matter. He knew what would be in it. Knowing was what had set him off in the first place. He didn't need to see it, not when Kurt was more important, not when Kurt should have always been the most important. "Don't worry about it," he insisted. "I just want to be with you."

Kurt smiled, then hesitated, glancing over at the bed, biting his bottom lip momentarily, and having to catch himself and start again, "Would you... um. ... Would you... mind maybe...cuddling with me?... F-for a little while. I was told to rest..."

"Is that okay? ... with your back...?"

Kurt quickly amended, "I mean, if you don't want to-"

"I do!" Blaine blurt out. "I just..." he almost stopped himself, he knew exactly how bad it sounded and even though his words dropped down below a whisper, he wished he'd kept them in, "...don't want to hurt you."

Kurt took the words in stride, accepted them, and immediately tried to distract from the fact that he'd heard them at all. Someday, when they were both better, he would bring up everything and make Blaine talk him through what was wrong. He'd let it escalate to yelling if it needed to, he'd let them both cry, talk, really work it out, make a plan for their future... but for today, he didn't want that.

"Lie down," he commanded. "On your back, nice and flat, but make yourself comfortable." Blaine slipped out of his jacket and left it on Kurt's desk chair. He moved the hoodie off the bed and lay down, staying toward the edge near the door and waited for further instructions. "You can be on the bed," Kurt pointed out, sarcastically, and Blaine scooted closer to the middle. "Now... is it okay if I sort of... snuggle in and... lie on top of you a little?" Kurt asked, giving Blaine a distinct ‘stop my crazy now if it makes you uncomfortable' look.

Blaine just opened up his arms in invitation.

Very slowly, carefully, Kurt crawled onto the bed and lowered himself down, nestling his head so it was just above Blaine's heart. He dug his fingers into the fabric of Blaine's shirt and let his eyes fall shut, enjoying the smell and the feel of Blaine right there beneath him. Blaine's arms slid around him gently, falling low to avoid the bruises.

Blaine leaned down and kissed Kurt on the temple.

For a few moments they lay there completely still and in silence, soaking up the warmth and comfort of each other. Kurt had anticipated being cold without his hoodie on, but Blaine's body was so, so warm he was glad he was without it. Outside, a dog had started barking.

"Doesn't skipping school mean missing Warbler practice?" Kurt asked gently, running his middle finger in circles just in front of his nose across Blaine's chest.

Blaine hummed for a moment, and Kurt smiled at the way the vibrations felt against his cheek. They'd never done this before: they'd never just lain together. Blaine's thumb was rubbing slow, lazy circles in the small of Kurt's back and it was lulling him to sleep. "You know..." Blaine started, almost dreamily, "I joined the Warblers as part of my therapy."

"What?" Kurt frowned and made to sit up, but remembered that it hurt and satisfied himself to just stay there and listen.

"Yeah. I had some problems when I first transferred. I was such a mess," Blaine told him, "And what I was doing at the time wasn't cutting it, so one of the academic advisors suggested I join the Warblers. I already liked singing. I used to sing with my brother. They thought it'd be good for me, that it would give me an outlet as well as a support group. It worked. Since I'd joined I... I hadn't had any more incidents. I thought I was really lucky."

"You are lucky," Kurt reminded him. "You still have them. And you have me."

Blaine kissed the top of Kurt's head again and whispered, "I don't know how I could possibly deserve you."

"Sing to me?" Kurt suggested.

"Right now?" he asked, which Kurt confirmed with a hum. Blaine drew in a sharp breath and asked urgently, "Can you still sing?"

"Not very well while I'm on my chest," Kurt snorted, "But I assume so."

"Okay. Because you know this song, and I love listening to you."

Carole arrived home from work, a bit frazzled and absolutely starving. She'd spent all morning looking forward to having the leftover salad from the night before and then taking a hot bath and a nap before everyone started getting home. Her plans were interrupted by Burt's truck in the driveway and the same man camped on the couch watching TV on mute.

"What're you doing home?" she asked, as she stepped inside and took her coat off.

Burt stood up quickly and shut off the TV. "We've got a situation," he told her, and he briefly described how Kurt had talked to him earlier and showed him the bruises. "You need to look at him."

"He's upstairs now?" Carole asked, glancing up the staircase.

Burt took a breath, "...With Blaine."

Carole narrowed her eyes, "Sweetie, you're not using me to spy on them."

Burt threw up his hands. "This is more than I can handle! I don't know what to do. For all I know, that kid could be an abusive psychopath, or the whole situation could be a total accident... like falling down the stairs; Kurt could have tripped, or he could have been pushed."

"Okay, I think you're exaggerating. ... Are they okay up there together?"

"That's why I'm sending you," Burt emphasized. Carole just narrowed her eyes at him. Whatever made her think that living with a houseful of men would be easy and fun? Burt tried again, "The last time I checked they were still making goo-goo eyes at each other. I'm just worried, you know? ... about Kurt."

"That's ‘cause you're a good parent," Carole assured him. "Kurt knows you love him, but... they are big boys. If they're okay, then they're probably okay."

"They're just kids..."

"I'll take a look at him. If it's just bruising then chances are it'll be uncomfortable for a little bit and look bad, but heal up just fine. And if, like you said, Blaine's got problems but he's fixing them then..." she just shrugged.

Burt let out a deep sigh and glanced longingly up toward Kurt's room.

"If it makes you feel any better," Carole said as she started for the stairs, "I got a call just a few minutes ago and apparently Finn has accidentally whacked Rachel in the nose and broken it. His only excuse is that he's a clumsy oaf. And I mean that as his mother." She raised an eyebrow, shrugged and started up the stairs. Burt just stood there, gaping.

When Carole reached the top of the stairs she heard the singing and paused to listen.

"Five-hundred, twenty five thousand, six hundred minutes. Five-hundred, twenty five thousand, moments, oh dear..." That was definitely Blaine's voice. She'd heard him sing at the competitions.

Kurt spoke next, "You want the two of us to sing a song with multi-part harmonies? And with me not at my full strength and capacity?"

 "We can handle it." Blaine started the song over again, and Kurt came in after a few lines. Their voices were so soft, just murmurs blending together.

"Five hundred, twenty five thousand, six hundred minutes. How do you measure, measure a year?..."

They were trading off, finding the harmonies, giggling occasionally. Carole poked her head around the door to see them both lying on the bed. Kurt was facing the other way, his head resting on Blaine's chest. Blaine's eyes were closed. He smiled and reached up with his good hand, running his fingers through Kurt's hair and kissing the top of his head before dropping his hand back down to his waist. Kurt's toes curled at his touch.

Carole nodded and pulled back from the doorway. She turned and crept back down the steps. She could check Kurt's back later. Right now she had to deal with whether or not she needed to worry about paying Rachel Berry's medical bill and finding out how much at fault her son was.

As she reached the bottom step, she shook her head at Burt, who was opening his mouth to question her. "They're fine," she insisted.

Burt grumbled, but took her word for it. Their voices were still softly carrying down the stairs.

"Measure your life, measure your life in love..."