“I don’t even know what she was wearing, but it’s certainly something I need to address. My dad seemed to like the whole acid wash combination—”

“Kurt.”

“And her hair. Mercedes, you would not believe—”

“Did you really say—”

“—her hair. I understand she had just been working, but it was honestly no excuse. If she—”

“—that thing about dead spouses?”

“—got the proper hair cut, it would function appropriately at work and in social settings. I’ve already been perusing ideas—”

“I think you’re taking this a bit—”

“Do you think it would be weird if I took her shopping? No, of course not. Mrs. Hudson already loves me, I can tell. I just need to—”

“—far? Kurt?”

“—find a time that won’t interfere. Obviously I’ll be making the hospital a more constant occurrence, and on top of Glee and Cheerios and homework, I don’t want her to think I just have this abundance of free time. Do I? She doesn’t seem like the sort of—”

“Kurt.”

Kurt pauses mid stretch, turning to look at Mercedes with pursed lips at being interrupted. They stare at one another for a few moments before they return to their stretching. Well, mostly Kurt, as Mercedes continues to do some sort of attempt at a butterfly. He knows not everyone is as flexible as him (it’s a gift, really) and he isn’t about to hold those standards up to his best friend, Cheerio or not.

“Don’t you think you’re taking this too far? This whole Finn thing?”

Kurt turns to glare at her and she holds her hands up, as if in surrender, but her face is serious.

“I’m just saying, Kurt. You’re dragging your dad into this now, and his mom.”

“It’s not like they hate each other, Mercedes. They were flirting. I did them a favor.”

“Really?” Mercedes sounds skeptical and Kurt doesn’t even deem to look at her.

“Really. You know, they will date, get to know one another, I’ll continue volunteering at the hospital, Mrs. Hudson will fall in love with me, and then Finn will.” Mercedes is still looking at him, staring at his back.

“Kurt.”

“Don’t.” Kurt knows that voice. Has heard it so many times. Mercedes is his best friend and he doesn’t need to hear it from her, too, even if he still does. They don’t understand. None of them do. Mercedes might not have a boyfriend now, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have the option. She has options. Kurt doesn’t.

“I’m going to do this, Mercedes. And as my best friend, it would be nice to have your support.” She doesn’t respond and the quiet begins stretching between them. Coach Sylvester’s whistle cuts through it fiercely, and there she is, striding onto the field and ready to start practice.

Mercedes appears at his arm, looping them together and smiling at him softly and unsurely. “Come on, let’s go.”

---

Wednesday wasn’t part of the original plan, but Kurt has a new plan now. A new plan that requires visiting the hospital as often as physically possible.

He shows up, showered and dressed in something other than his uniform, and holding a bright bouquet of wildflowers. Blaine seems like a wildflowers sort of person, even if it had been a completely last minute idea.

He’s stopped by a nurse as he signs in, and she eyes the flowers warily.

“I’m going to have to take those from you.” Her voice grits against his ears unpleasantly and he finds himself hugging the bouquet closer to his chest.

“Why?” He asks, affronted.

“Hospital policy. We ask that visitors do not bring flowers or anything that produces allergens, along with anything that could pose a potential threat to patients.” Oh. Kurt looks sadly at the bouquet, not because he spent almost twenty dollars on it but because he’d wanted to bring something for Blaine.

“They’re just flowers,” Kurt insists, still holding them close to his chest. The nurse just continues to stare at him, her expression not amused and not inching. “He’s in a coma, it’s not as if he’s going to prick his fingers on some nonexistent thorns or something.” Kurt realizes that his voice is increasing in volume and that a few people walking past are looking at him.

“Sir.” The nurse’s voice has hardened as she glares at him. “If you do not hand over the flowers, I will have you escorted from the facility.”

Staring at her, Kurt frowns in obvious distaste. What kind of bad day does a person have to have to kick someone out of a hospital over flowers? She has to be kidding. But she doesn’t seem to be bluffing, and he sees her hand hovering just under the desk. Is that where the security button is?

Giving her the nastiest glare he can manage, Kurt hands the flowers over wordlessly and stalks away. Bitch.

---

“How are you this afternoon, Blaine?” Kurt sweeps into the room, moving his chair and settling into it. He sets his bag down, contemplating if he’ll do his homework here or at home. If Kurt hadn’t been doing this whole visiting-Blaine-thing for a few days now, it would have felt strange to fall so easily into a routine. Well, stranger, but he’s pretty sure he’s getting used to it.

“I dressed up today. Well, I’m not in my uniform. You’d like this sweater, I think. Alexander McQueen.” Kurt preens slightly as he crosses his legs. In his mind, Blaine appreciates things like fashion and designer labels. “I’ll be sure to show you the best places to bargain hunt, and eBay is a godsend. Not literally, but… We don’t need to get into that.”

He vaguely wonders if Blaine believes in the whole god thing or not. Does it help to believe in something when you’re in a coma? Kurt really doesn’t know and hopes he never does. But it probably helps not to talk about his atheism right at that moment.

“Oh, yesterday! I said I’d tell you, didn’t I? That’s why I’m here.” Kurt pauses, inching his chair even closer and then smiling slightly. “And to see you, of course.” Kurt has other people to talk to, that’s not all Blaine is. He doesn’t want Blaine to think that he’s just there for Kurt to unload on. He isn’t. They’re friends… In a really weird sort of way that Kurt can’t exactly explain.

“So, um, your nurse is Finn’s mom. Finn, as you will soon become aware of, is this boy I go to school with and he’s just…” Kurt pauses, looking into the space above Blaine’s body as if it provides him with some sort of inspiration or answer. “He doesn’t treat me the way the other guys at school do, you know? He’s nice to me.” Kurt’s fingers fiddle together as if they can’t possibly settle. This is what love feels like, right? This fluttery, unnerving feeling? It must be.

“I introduced his mom to my dad last night.” This time he does pause, glancing over his shoulder at the open door to make sure there aren’t any eavesdropping nurses. Especially ones that his dad was making moon eyes at the night before.

“It’s genius, isn’t it?” His voice becomes hushed anyways and he leans closer. It’s the closest he’s ever been to Blaine and when he breathes he can smell him. Not like he’s doing it intentionally, he’s pretty sure smelling coma patients is not something he’s into; he simply can’t help it. And Blaine smells good. It’s not the generic scent of hospital soap he’d been expecting, but something spicy like cinnamon. It’s warm somehow and it reminds Kurt of hot chocolate and Christmas.

But it’s what’s underneath all the smell of a particularly good body wash (and did they bathe him with a personal one? Oh dear god, they bathed him, naked, and Kurt needs to stop thinking about that right now, what is wrong with him?) that makes Kurt linger a little longer than necessary. He knows the smell, has smelt it hundreds of times through his life, but it still almost makes his eyes close in complete contentment.

Kurt has smelled boys before. Not in a creepy sense, but he’s taken gym and been averting his eyes since he was twelve. Not all boys smelt good and he’d spent plenty of time making sure he didn’t smell like boy in a bad way. Blaine didn’t smell like boy in a bad way, not at all. In fact, Kurt can feel himself being drawn in closer, feeling the urge to—

A cart squeals by loudly in the hall and Kurt snaps back, his spine colliding with the chair almost painfully. He glances around, suddenly nervous, as if someone is about to come in and reprimand him for—What? What exactly had he been doing?

“I.” His mouth feels dry as he turns back to Blaine and his tongue runs along his lower lip, as if that will bring back his use of words. It doesn’t do much of anything except remind him that he has lips and why is that such a bad thought process right now?

“What was I talking about?” As if Blaine will tell him or help him remember. If only.

“Oh, right, um. My dad and Mrs. Hudson and Finn…” The name feels slightly heavy on his tongue, as if a sudden contrast to the airy way he’d just been feeling moments before. He brushes the thought away.

“But it’s genius, isn’t it?” Kurt doesn’t lean in but continues to lower his voice, his excitement building and smoothing over any remnant of discomfort he’d been feeling. “My dad and his mom date, get closer, and it’s a reason for Finn and I to be closer. We could live together.” Kurt places a hand over his heart, smiling more than he ever allows himself as he pictures it.

Surely, surely, once Finn sees how remarkable Kurt is outside of the oppressive walls of McKinley he’ll understand. He’ll see how perfect they are for each other. And then no one will touch him, touch them, because Finn has everything. Surely he wants to share it with Kurt.

“Finn will realize he’s in love with me. I mean, we don’t interact enough at school for such an epiphany to come to him, but it will. Then… I’ll have someone to hold hands with. To kiss.” Kurt reaches dreamily up to touch his lips, his eyes and mind distant and elsewhere, focusing on a place where he is loved and listened to by someone other than his father.

“Mercedes—my best friend, I told you about her—she. She doesn’t get it. No one gets it. They don’t understand what it’s like for me, at that school, in this state. There’s…” Kurt just shakes his head, falling off mid sentence.

“I didn’t really have anyone before Glee club, not really. When you’re a pretty reliable target for bullying, people… They don’t… They don’t want to sacrifice their own dignity to be friends with someone. Which is fine, of course. I know how to be on my own, and I…” Kurt stops again, staring at Blaine and the smooth skin of his neck as it disappears into that stupid grey t-shirt.

“I hate it.” It slips out quiet and broken, swallowed by the silence of the hospital room and only words to Kurt and Blaine. “Ever since my mom died, I’ve just been… Alone. All the time. And my dad tries, he does, and he’s gotten so much better since I came out. I love my dad, but it’s not the same. I can’t… I can’t tell him what happens at school, what they do to me. It’s hard for him, I know it is, I know what people say to him.”

Kurt’s voice catches, much to his surprise, and he slaps his hand over his mouth in alarm. He doesn’t—Kurt Hummel does not cry if he can help it. He does not show weakness because that’s how they’ll get him one day. They’ll see the crack and they’ll go at it, again and again, until he shatters. Shatters like porcelain, just as Coach Sylvester’s nickname dictates.

“Finn could be that person,” he begins again, once his voice is under control. “He… Well, he never directly threw me into any dumpsters or slushied me. And he always let me set my bag and jacket down before, so they didn’t get destroyed. Sometimes when I was locker checked, he’d say something—I mean, after, because he wouldn’t know it was coming. He… He smiles at me sometimes.” Kurt feels himself flush and ducks his head. Because Finn smiles at him.

Blaine groans, snapping Kurt from his reverie and making him jump just a little. He doesn’t overturn the chair this time, or run from the room, but watches Blaine and the slightest twitch of his neck as he groans for a second time. He listens this time, can tell Blaine has a deep voice—at least, deeper than his but that isn’t saying very much. He wonders, briefly, what it sounds like.

“Finn.” His voice starts almost without his permission, pulling him from any and all thoughts he was having of Blaine. “He… I mean, you don’t see it. Mercedes doesn’t either, not really. It doesn’t sound like a lot… But. It is.” Kurt sounds desperate. He feels desperate. After all, he wants someone to understand. Anyone. Even Blaine.

Blaine groans again and Kurt winds his arms around himself, turning his face away.

“Don’t judge me, Blaine. Please. Don’t judge me.”