Kurt woke the next morning shivering slightly, despite the blankets piled on top of him. His pillow was still a little damp from last night's wet hair and the torrent of confused tears that had been his lullaby. He had gone looking for Blaine after the kiss but hadn't been able to find him, not even in the attic. Physically and emotionally exhausted, he had eventually fallen into bed without even bothering to dry off properly. Kurt climbed out of bed and took a look at himself in the mirror; his eyes were red, his face completely white, and two spots of pink burned on his cheeks. His limbs were slightly stiff, too, and his forehead hot. Clearly, he was to pay for last night's moment in the rain in many ways - though he suspected that a fever would soon be the least of his concerns.

Kurt showered and changed quickly, and looked at the clock, realising that lunch was probably almost over by now. He made it down to the dining hall just in time to see the doors close and Blaine wave David and Wes off somewhere. Blaine was just about to walk in the opposite direction, towards the library, when Kurt called to get his attention.

'Blaine!' Kurt's voice sounded the tiniest bit hoarse, but at least it didn't shake.

Something tightened in Blaine's shoulders as he turned to face his best friend. 'Oh, hey, Kurt,' he said quietly, not really looking - until he caught a glimpse of Kurt's face.

'Kurt, are you okay? You look sick. You should go see the nurse. Come on, I'll-'

'Blaine, I don't want to see the nurse. I want to talk to you.' Kurt didn't miss the way Blaine shifted uneasily on the spot.

'No, Kurt, really, you look like you could have a fever. We-'

Kurt glared at Blaine. 'I'm not going anywhere until you talk to me.' Despite the weariness he could already feel tugging at his limbs, Kurt raised his chin defiantly.

The uneasiness had reached Blaine's face now, and a pale echo of the wild look that had been in his eyes just before he ran was returning. 'I really don't think this is a good idea.'

'Blaine, you can't drag me out into the rain, kiss me senseless, leave me there and then not talk to me about it! You're better than that! And you owe me an explanation. What were you doing? What are we?'

Blaine grabbed Kurt's wrist - no hand holding now, Kurt noted - and dragged him off to a nearby classroom, shutting and locking the door behind them.

'We're best friends, Kurt. You know that.'

Kurt tried to push away his hurt that Blaine could just deny things between them, and let his frustration show instead. 'You kissed me, and not just once. That means something.'

'We were caught up in the moment. I shouldn't have done that. It was inappropriate. I'm sorry. I won't do it again.' Blaine's voice had fallen completely flat. There was absolutely no variation in his tone as he stared at the wall.

'"It was inappropriate"? Blaine, really?' Kurt couldn't help it, now, and let his hurt show. 'It wasn't inappropriate. You had to know that it was amazing. You had to feel that too. Something that felt like that couldn't be inappropriate.'

'It was. We're just best friends, nothing more. We've established that,' Blaine said defensively, still not meeting Kurt's eyes.

'Well, what about everything else, then? All that other behaviour?'

'What behaviour?' Blaine asked stubbornly.

Kurt rolled his eyes, snapping. 'God, Blaine, you could pass yourself off as clueless once, but you can't do it again. Everything that normal best friends don't do: the hand holding, the extra long hugs, the sharing a bed, the dancing pressed so close together you couldn't fit a thing between us. Tell me that's stuff you'd do with David and Wes. Tell me that's nothing!'

'Stop hoping! Please!' Blaine half-shouted over Kurt, and Kurt didn't think he was imagining the agony in Blaine's voice. Their eyes finally met, and Blaine's were full of pain and fear, like a trapped, wild animal. But his words were cruel when he spoke again. 'Look, Kurt, I know you have... feelings... but I thought we covered that already. We're not a romance; I don't feel that way. I thought you'd stopped seeing signs when they're not there. I thought you knew we were always only going to be friends.'

'Seeing signs when they're not there?' Kurt' was loud and incredulous. 'Blaine, jumping someone in the middle of a rainstorm isn't a sign! It's practically a slap in the face!'

'Can we please, please stop talking about last night?'

'What were you running from last night, Blaine?' Kurt asked suddenly. 'When you ran away from me, what were you really running from?'

'Stop. Kurt, stop.'

Kurt walked towards Blaine, who was perched on the edge of a desk. He paused, mere inches away. 'A dazed boy in a wet shirt isn't anything terrifying. What had you so scared?'

'Kurt, please stop,' Blaine pleaded weakly.

'You've announced that you'd fallen in love to all your classmates without a pause,' Kurt said, moving Blaine's face with one hand so their eyes met, and Blaine couldn't look away. 'You've sung to a boy you barely knew in the middle of a busy store. You're the most recklessly brave person I know. Why could you do that, but you couldn't face me?'

Blaine stared at Kurt helplessly for a moment, terror appropriate for someone hanging off the edge of a cliff filling his face, before he seemed to surrender. 'Because those feelings aren't deep,' he muttered. 'They don't matter.'

Kurt stepped back, letting his hand drop. 'I see,' he said evenly. 'And I matter?'

'You know you do.'

'Then why,' Kurt asked, his voice rising again, 'did you give me my first real kiss, and then leave me alone to cry myself to sleep?'

Blaine winced and turned his face away again, hands shaking. 'Kurt! I - I can't! I'm sorry! I can't!'

'Why are you so afraid of failing something real?' Kurt shouted.

'Because it will hurt!'

'And this doesn't hurt already?' Kurt laughed, and it had a hysterical edge. 'Dear God. Either you're really, really good at ignoring your own feelings, or you care a lot less than I thought.'

'But, see, that's the thing, Kurt,' Blaine said. 'You expect me to care - care more than anyone else expects of me. You're always asking for more from me than anyone else. You're always getting me to put more of myself on the line; it doesn't matter if it's in a performance with the Warblers, or in dealing with a difficult situation, or in my relationship with you. And it doesn't matter if you lead by example, consciously provoke me, or just make me want to by the sheer power of your goddamn presence in my life! You're always looking for more feeling and more effort.

'And I can't do that. I'm not brave enough,' Blaine continued, staring at the floor. 'I can't just throw myself out there and hope that my feelings - the real ones - don't get knocked around too badly. I'm not as strong as you. I won't.'

Blaine's timid, sad voice took all the fight out of Kurt. He slumped into a nearby chair and bent over. His head was pounding, and he could practically feel the heat radiating off him; his temperature could only have gotten worse over the course of the argument. 'Okay,' he muttered finally. 'You run, then. I won't make you do anything else.'

Blaine walked towards him, but stopped a few feet away. 'Kurt, I don't...'

'As of tomorrow,' Kurt continued, his voice deadpan, 'we'll regress. We'll pretend the last two days never happened, and we'll go back to playing best friends, if that's what you need. But you remember-' Kurt lifted his eyes at this, and they were burning with something stronger than fever. 'You remember that I'll be living a lie for you. And regardless of what was happening at McKinley, I still wasn't doing that.'

With that, Kurt got to his feet and started to walk away slowly, as if his joints were aching - which, Blaine realised, they might be, if was sick. 'Kurt...' he said hesitatingly. 'You're still unwell. I need to take you to the nurse.'

Kurt's back stiffened. 'Blaine, I can be your best friend tomorrow. Right now, though, I just need you to fucking go away. I'm a big boy. I can look after myself.'

Kurt got all the way out the door before Blaine sank to the floor and let the guilt swallow him.

x

Kurt realised pretty quickly that he and Blaine sucked at being best friends. Actively trying to be that didn't work - because they'd never really stuck to the definition of friendship in the first place.

He'd crawled back into his bed after their fight on Saturday night, wanting to just curl up under the covers and die. His fever had brought with it a blocked nose and cold sweats, and by dinner time it had developed into a full-blown flu. Kurt's roommate returned after a weekend at home to find a coughing, snivelling, semi-incoherent wreck on his hands that refused to go anywhere or see anyone. And the misguided roommate, not knowing what else to do, had gotten Blaine to help him.

So Blaine had come sweeping in, tissues and medication in hand and grin fixed firmly in place. Kurt had to admire that - Blaine clearly didn't need much time to pull himself together, and put an act back in place. That's probably why he fits in so well at Dalton, Kurt thought with only the littlest bit of spite. He's so good at hiding everything inconvenient.

'I told you you needed to see the nurse,' Blaine said with an exasperatedly fond smile that even Kurt almost bought as genuine. 'You're just going to be sicker for longer now.'

'I don't care,' Kurt sighed, rolling on his back to stare at the ceiling. 'Blaine, go away.'

'No,' Blaine said, and his smile widened. Bastard. 'I'm not letting you lie here and torment both yourself and your poor roommate with your illness. I'm going to look after you and keep you quiet. That's what best friends are for.'

'Whatever. Fine,' Kurt muttered. 'Do whatever you want. I'm going to sleep.'

'You're not going to be able to sleep unless you take this cold and flu medication,' Blaine said gently. Kurt seriously thought about ignoring him, but deciding that would be too childish, consented to sit up and swallow the pills. That was as far as his tolerance would last him, though. He lay back down again, facing the wall, determined to drop off.

Blaine hovered by the bedside for a moment, clearly debating something. He eventually sighed and sat down on the floor, knees bent, and leaned back against the side of the bed. When Kurt showed no reaction to this, he pulled out his phone and started to play Angry Birds. The sniffles and coughs from the bed eventually quietened, and then the slightly ragged breathing evened out as Kurt fell asleep.

Kurt awoke, several hours later, to find Blaine in his bed, an arm wrapped around the sick boy's middle. Oh, is this how we're going to play it? he thought bitterly. Blaine, I hate to break it to you, but this isn't friendship. This is a relationship without kisses and the label.

And we're not even really lacking kisses any more, another part of Kurt's brain supplied helpfully.

Kurt lay there for a long time, debating what he should do about Blaine's behaviour. The most self-respecting option was probably to tell Blaine that if they were just going to be friends, then he had to act like it. They'd have to retreat almost entirely back into their own personal spaces, and keep it slightly cooler than they had before. That would probably have the most dignity to it, and if Blaine didn't like it - well, it would only be fair repayment.

On the other hand, as angry as he'd been at Blaine, Kurt didn't want to lose this. The press of a warm, strong chest against his back was becoming something like home here at Dalton. And, as much as he loved Mercedes, he had to admit that this friendship was the best he'd ever had. Even with its unconventionalities and painful moments. And so maybe, maybe, a little pain and loss of dignity was worth it, if he could keep Blaine like this.

Kurt's train of thought was disrupted by a tiny groan from behind him, accompanied by the arm around his waist instinctively pulling him closer. Kurt stiffened, recognising the signs of Blaine waking. Any second now - yep, there was the yawn and the slight kick of the right leg that signalled that Blaine had joined the land of the living.

'Hey,' Blaine muttered sleepily, pulling Kurt onto his back so Blaine could see his face. 'Feeling better?'

'A little,' Kurt said tentatively. He was slightly nervous, to be honest - he could make all the decisions he wanted to about Blaine while the boy was asleep, but in reality, Blaine's own behaviours and reactions would be what dictated the situation. It didn't matter what arena it was - Blaine Anderson was a force to be reckoned with.

'That's good,' Blaine smiled, and absently lifted a hand to push through Kurt's fringe.

Of all things, it was the touch of Kurt's hair that seemed to fully tug Blaine into awareness, far more than the shared bed or the press of their bodies had. He stiffened immediately, and pulled his hand away. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I shouldn't do that. It's...' he paused, and seemed to almost choke on a bitter laugh. 'It's inappropriate.'

And then he was out of Kurt's bed and through the door before anything else could be said or done.

The school nurse confined Kurt to bed rest all Sunday and Monday, and Blaine didn't visit once.

x

Kurt was confused, concerned and hurt.

The last month had been... an awful mix of heaven and hell.

There were times where it seemed he and Blaine really could go back to the way they had been. When they were bouncing around the choir room during Warbler's practice (before Wes pulled them into line) or engaging in playful commentary over the latest edition of Vogue, it all felt natural. They were enjoying themselves. But then, as Kurt went to turn a page, Blaine would grab Kurt's hand without thinking about it and interlink their fingers, and Kurt would have to hold his breath. Because soon enough - whether in thirty seconds or half an hour, it didn't matter - Blaine would remember that this wasn't what normal friends did. And he would freak out, not meeting Kurt's eyes, until he could find an excuse to leave.

At first, the people around them had been curious. They had both fended off jabs about Blaine's "time of the month" for a week, until Blaine had snapped at David to just shut up already, and subjected his friend to a taste of the same silent treatment that Kurt himself had been suffering at times throughout the week.

Then the questions had turned concerned. After one incident, where Blaine had tripped and fallen into Kurt's arms during an emotionally charged performance and had very nearly kissed the taller boy without thinking about it, Blaine had spent the rest of the day locked in his dorm. Then David had Wes had approached Kurt with real worry on their faces. Petty squabbles were one thing, but it was becoming clear to the boys around them that something was wrong between Kurt and Blaine.

But eventually, even David and Wes had stopped asking questions, and the looks on their faces slowly went from concerned to merely sad.

Because, so subtly no one had noticed, not even Kurt and Blaine, the days had slid from moments of when-will-they-fix-this to when-will-they-fall-apart. Until one afternoon in the attic, listening to John Mayer and not knowing why he wanted to cry, it hit Kurt like a punch hard enough to bend his sternum: he wasn't focussed on trying to spark a relationship any more. He was trying to save one.

Blaine found him half an hour later, still in the attic, slumped carelessly on the floor with tear tracks running down his face.

'Kurt!' he said sharply, rushing over the sit against the wall next to the other boy, and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. 'What's wrong?'

Kurt winced, and pushed Blaine's arm away. 'We can't keep doing this.'

Blaine slowly let his arm fall against his side before he asked, 'Doing what?'

'This!' Kurt said, gesturing vaguely to Blaine's arm. 'We act like we're in a relationship one moment, and then you run off scared the next. And we can't keep doing it. It's burning us both alive.'

There was a very long pause in which Kurt looked away and Blaine said nothing. Both of them just stared at the floor, and the dust on their clothes. Eventually, Blaine said, 'You're right,' and Kurt started crying again, just hearing the pain and resignation in Blaine's voice.

And there was that hand on the back of his head again, and the other one on his neck. There was a warm crush of mouths as Blaine kissed Kurt, desperately and needily. The tears on their cheeks mixed together and stung Kurt's raw, swollen skin like acid on an open wound. The pain made him gasp, and as he opened his mouth Blaine plundered it. Blaine tasted like salt and candlelight; and it didn't matter that this kiss was horribly wrong, Kurt still felt like he could fly the entire time their lips touched.

Kurt eventually pulled away, leaving their foreheads pressed together, though his eyes were closed. Blaine let out his first real sob in this entire ordeal. 'You know what happens now, don't you?' Blaine whispered brokenly.

Kurt pressed kisses along the furrows of pain on Blaine's forehead, down his nose, on the bags under Blaine's eyes, and at both corners of his mouth before resting their foreheads on one another's for the last time. Blaine still hadn't opened his eyes.

Kurt took a deep breath, and whispered, 'You run.'