Chapter 10

He expected Kurt to call him out when they pulled themselves back into the house, drenched and pouring water across the kitchen floor. After the way he forced the door shut, he expected him to snap around and yell at Blaine for abusing his trust like that. Because that was what he'd done after all- or had felt like. His mouth was drying out as he tried to form some kind of apology, some attempt at a promise that he'd never do it again. It was just going to be that one time, because he hadn't seemed able to stop himself.

But Kurt did nothing. Instead he reached down and rolled his pant legs up to avoid further dripping, shivering as he did and Blaine's stomach dropped because Kurt had lied and he was cold. He was freezing and shivering because Blaine had let him stay out there.

He had no idea what to do except stay frozen still, the legs of the borrowed pants now unrolled and dangling over his feet, soggy and dirty from the rain. Kurt leant across the worktop and grabbed the air, and then a little further until his aimless fingers clasped around a towel. He threw it to the floor, one foot atop of it as he started to move it around in circling motions to soak up where he expected the puddles they'd left to be.

Blaine seemingly shivered out of his trance, unable to leave Kurt to just guess hopelessly at what he was cleaning up, and grabbed for a towel in the drawer he knew the Hummels kept them in. Kurt had managed it alone earlier in the hall but there had only been a few sodden footprints, easy to guess where to clean. Rolling the pant legs back up and dropping to his knees he began to dry up as much of their mess-his mess- as he could. They completed their work in an eerie silence- apart from Blaine asking where they kept the mop and Kurt's stiff answer. Blaine had flinched but collected it anyway, wringing the mop until the floor was as clean as they could get it before they began dripping all over it again.

The rain outside was pattering slower against the windows and roof, Blaine glancing out the window as he poured their cold, untouched tea down the drain, to see the clouds dispersing and tiny slithers of blue visible amongst the grey.

How ironic, now the sky was brightening Blaine felt like doing nothing more than curling in on himself, holed up indoors. He turned tentatively, eyes trained over Kurt. Kurt who looked so small, clothes clinging to him, hair sticky against his small, youthful face, stood with arms folded tightly across his chest. Water still dripped from his clothing, his hair, his face, droplets caught in his dark glasses.

He looked so scarily small, so lost, even in his own house, that all Blaine wanted to do was wrap him up and not let go, even though after what had happened, it was the last thing he should do. The best thing to do would be to get Kurt to go change, warm up and dry himself off, to stop him from shivering while Blaine gave the kitchen another clean.

He didn't say anything. He remained leant against the worktop, eyes skimming over Kurt, stomach eating up at him from inside itself, the silence between them so very heavy and so foreboding to break.

Kurt did it, though.

"I'm not feeling too good," he muttered, turning his head away. "I think I need to get warm." Blaine moved forward smoothly, ready to help, but fumbled back as Kurt added, "So maybe you should go home and get warmed up, too." The smile on Kurt's lips as he turned his head back around pulled so forcefully it looked as though it would tear him apart and, God, Blaine just wanted to hold him.

He didn't bother arguing. With a barely there mumbled okay in reply, he rushed out as fast as he could carry himself, throwing the borrowed pants into the hamper in Kurt's room as he dragged them off and pulled his own back on, along with his still damp coat. He collected up his DVDs Kurt had left on top of the player, and then hesitated, placing his Les Mis one back down because Rachel still had Kurt's, and even though he wouldn't notice it there, his dad could and Kurt might just take it as a pathetic form of apology for breaking unspoken rules. About boundaries and trust and, God, Blaine hoped at that moment he hadn't screwed everything up.

Kurt saw him to the door, and just about broke Blaine as he said goodbye, his hug achingly short and cut off, and it was all Blaine could do by biting his lip and throwing his DVDs into the passenger seat as he clambered back into his car to not burst into tears.

The drive home was long and drawn out-a blur of pictures flashing in the corners of his eyes and a seemingly endless road ahead, he could barely fathom when he got home how he made it through.

Once he made his way back into the house, musicals left scattered in the car, he finally curled up, too tired to take off his wet clothes or even make his way upstairs. He collapsed at the bottom of them and felt only sick at himself, but he didn't feel like crying. He barely ever felt like doing so, but the bile rising in his throat begged to differ. He forced himself up, fumbling upstairs, peeling his clothes away as he did, knowing as long as he was doing something, he could forget to worry.

He busied himself for the rest of the day with cleaning, and checking his phone, and homework, music practice, and staring at Kurt's name in his contact list, and catching up on his overdue English essay, and hovering his finger over the call button, and placing all his musicals back on his shelf, and glancing at the phone he had tried to hide under a pile of throw pillows.

He ignored the pull to his phone until it finally rang around seven. He flew across to his bed, throwing away his pillows until he found it, pressing the answer button in a flurry of anxiety, and worry rolling away from him.

"Kurt?"

"Um... no. Though apparently my name looks similar enough in your phone for you to make that mistake," was the answer returned to him and with a sigh, he fell back into the pile of disarrayed pillows.

"Hey, Rachel," he mumbled. "Sorry, I didn't look at the caller." He slumped against the strewn pillows, only half-listening as Rachel continued to talk. The truth being he zoned out more than once, mind wandering to whether Kurt would try to ring him in the time it took for Rachel to talk about Nationals, then Finn for a bit, and then New York, with a healthy dose of Finn towards the end.

"Isn't Nationals still a month away?" he mumbled into the phone, cutting her off as she listed more original song ideas, imagining her ticking them off on her fingers, phone pressed against her cheek with her shoulder.

"It's never too early to prepare, Blaine," she retorted, a little bitingly. "I thought you'd understand that." He gave a small, non-committal grunt in reply, rolling over to curl up on his side.

Rachel sighed down the phone. "Sorry I seem to be taking up your precious time, Blaine."

He shifted a little, twisting to get comfortable.

"No, Rachel, I am listening," he assured her. "I'm just tired."

"Good," she said stiffly, he imagined with a tight nod, probably sat ramrod straight, legs neatly crossed as she nattered down the phone. "But perhaps we should talk about it another time when you aren't so distracted." He grunted in reply, barely caring to try and sound interested, resting himself into his bed. There was a shuffle as she shifted down the other end. "How was Kurt's by the way?"

He didn't manage to hide his groan as he buried his head into the pillows and tried to bury himself from the shame burning his cheeks. Of how he had been turned out the house, while Kurt stood with his hair dripping, and shivering, arms folded tightly, a strong block between himself and Blaine.

His stomach twisted in double knots, ears ringing, bringing himself to say something, but feeling too... empty... stupid... hopeless to carry on.

"Blaine?"

Rachel's voice was soft down the other end. She could muster up those moments, he'd found, when she wasn't as self-centred as she could usually be. Not as demanding nor as questioning. Those moments when he'd been around her house and she'd seen his face and instantly turned the brashness in her voice down, because she could sense something was up.

They were a lot more alike than he would have initially liked to admit.

He took a whisper of a breath to calm himself, swallowing a thickness he couldn't let Rachel hear.

"I screwed up, Rach," he admitted, rolling over so he was lying once again on his back, blinking back the burning in his eyes.

"Oh, Blaine, what happened?" she asked gently, a hint of curiousness in her tone, but Blaine ignored it.

"I-" he paused, with a sharp inhale. "No offense, Rachel, but you're a bit of a gossip."

It was a short, indignant huff, and Blaine winced, afraid he had touched a nerve. But she continued, however a little sharply. "I'm only trying to help."

He ran his fingers along his comforter, the fabric soft against the pads of them, stealing a moment to prepare himself.

"We were... dancing," he started slowly, her little hum down the phone urging him to carry on. "I don't know exactly what happened... we were... I just..." He sat up, crossing his legs, rubbing his temple, rearranging a mad rush of words into some kind of coherent sentence. "I think I just got caught up in the moment, Rach. And I... I tried to kiss him."

The silence down the line was deafening. His breath bated, hardly aware of his grip on the phone, he waited- just for her to say something. His voice had drifted off towards the end, mumbling in his embarrassment. A chance, perhaps, she hadn't heard or couldn't catch what he had said.

"You tried to kiss him?" she repeated slowly.

"Yes. I know. I shouldn't-"

"I'm not sure I see the problem here," she cut through instantly, and the words he'd prepared dropped from his mouth as she struck him dumb. At his silence she continued, "I thought you and Kurt were... you know... not together but...together."

"What? No!" Blaine exclaimed, jumping slightly at the judgement. "We're just friends- I don't see him like that. He's my-"

He should have known Rachel Berry's soft moments lasted as long as the time between her having a solo and demanding another did. He should have remembered she could wriggle anything out of anyone, leaving next to no prisoners.

"You tried to kiss him," she interrupted. "And you only like him as a friend?"

He glanced down to his fingers, the ones curled up his bed sheets, extremely interested all of a sudden in how the fabric twisted around them, chest a little tight, eyes fluttering shut as he tried to imagine a way to answer her and hoping it would make sense.

"I care about him a lot," he started. "But when you spend a lot of time with someone, especially in the proximity Kurt and I spend time together..."

He let himself fall back across the bed, tucking a hand behind his head so he no longer played with the fabric of his comforter but the frizzing curls at the nape of his neck. There was nothing to say other than it had been in the whirl of the moment that he had been caught in. That he had seen Kurt and the only thing he wanted to do was to step closer and keep him there, and kiss away the rain that fell into the corners of his smile. He forced the words down, knowing it was the wrong thing to say, but he gave the excuse, anyway, quickly followed by a short scoff from Rachel.

"Don't say that," she tittered. "Friends don't just have a sudden urge to make out with other friends."

He rubbed his eyes in frustration, his head almost splitting with the pain he'd given himself over fretting, but she was wrong. Because she wouldn't understand. She couldn't understand.

"You don't ever get that feeling when you're with someone close?" he asked tentatively. "You must do, right?"

"Yes," she answered after a beat, voice incredibly soft, and he grinned, poised to prove his point until she finished. "With Finn."

He held back a groan.

Quick, quick, quick, change the subject before she starts ranting about him.

"Well, I hate to break it to you," he began, "But Kurt didn't exactly react in the clichéd, fairytale way so..." His voice drifted again, a whole new wave of shame replacing the dwindling older one.

"What happened?"

Oh, how he missed the Rachel with the soft questions, instead of demanding curiosity.

"He seemed to want me out of the house pretty quickly to be honest," he told her, voice quiet, swallowing thickly, fingers twining back into his comforter. Rachel stayed quiet apart from a very short Oh and he rubbed at his eyes again- this time less in frustration.

"I upset him," he told her, voice heavy, "I went too far into his personal space. I made him uncomfortable and I..." Rachel seemed frozen down the other line as his words came out more frantically, though he kept a control over himself by sitting back up to not burst into tears. "I was supposed to try and make him feel better. Because he and Santana haven't talked in weeks and he misses her, I can tell. And I just did the opposite, Rachel, and he probably doesn't want to talk to me. He's going to feel so crap and alone and I can't believe I made him feel so uncomf-"

"Okay, okay!" Rachel broke through, with a sharp raised voice. "Take a breath, Blaine. For goodness sakes, breathe!" He did as she said, the first few breaths coming shakily, his chest hitching, until they came easier, and softer.

"I'm sorry, Blaine," she said gently after a few seconds of silence. "I know you must feel awful. But Kurt likes you. He likes you a lot. So, this is not going to ruin anything, okay?" He nodded, humming slightly, drained and tired and just wanting to curl up and forget this day- which had started so perfectly- wishing it would just burn away in his memory. Rachel paused a moment before adding, "I guess you can't be feeling too good about being the reason Santana isn't talking to Kurt..."

His head snapped up, heart jumping to his throat before feeling like it had fallen down and rested in his stomach, weighing it down. "What? I thought it was something about Brittany?" He couldn't even make his voice sound shocked, the hollow sound echoing down the phone sounding nothing like him. But he couldn't pretend the thought hadn't passed through his mind.

"Oh, no, I'm sorry," she tried to backtrack quickly, "I didn't know you didn't know. I thought she'd made it clear to you. I'm sorry."

"I stand by that you are a blabber mouth," he said, blankly. The glares from Santana, how her eyes had rested on him the past few weeks with a new coldness that chilled him right to the bones, made sense. Maybe Kurt did say something about her and Brittany, but he had no doubt that he had been a catalyst in that conversation, in their friendship fraying until it snapped so it was held only by thin threads. Perhaps it was why he had tried so hard to cheer Kurt up.

"What exactly have you heard?" he ventured to ask, a little intrigued.

"Well," Rachel strung out the word slowly. "Tina told me that Mike told her that Brittany told him that Santana told her-"

Blaine scoffed. "The level of trust you all have for each other is overwhelming me," he remarked, dryly, more to himself.

"-that she was pissed because Kurt's been spending less and less time with her since you've been in the picture," she finished without missing a beat, even between Blaine's interruption.

"Right." His head rested against his knees, wondering if his heart could plummet any further, or if a person could really drown in guilt.

"That's what I heard," she said, and he could almost see the little shrug as she did. "I mean, I know she's always kept her eyes on him but I didn't even think they were that close."

With a short huff, he lifted his head up again, rubbing circles into his temple. "I just screw everything up." The tone of his voice- how whiney he sounded, and pathetic- stung him and he winced at Rachel's exasperated sigh.

"It's not your fault, Blaine," she assured him. "You can't help the crazy things you do when you fall in love."

He couldn't hold back his snort even if he had tried to. "I'm not in love with him," he insisted, and maybe his feelings for Kurt were muddled and wound together and knotted and confusing and perhaps he couldn't understand them fully but he knew that much.

"Come on, Blaine," she said, voice slightly scorning. "You pretty much came to a realisation today-"

"Wanting to kiss someone is not even on the same level as falling in love, Rachel," he shot back, pointedly. He froze a second before adding slowly, "Besides, falling in love would feel a lot more... something more than that."

He pictured a roll of the eyes to accompany her snort down the phone.

"How would you know?" she demanded.

"I don't know," he replied, voice a little edgy. "I've read about it?"

"Wow," Rachel breathed, dryly, followed by an achingly long pause.

"But you love him," she said, voice flat, a statement that fell as simply and as surely from her mouth as if she were telling him her own feelings about Finn.

He didn't reply for a long moment, phone pressed to his ear, churning the words over in his head.

"I care about him so much, I do."

Rachel didn't seem to think she had to take it any further than that, thoroughly convinced she'd planted enough seeds to grow thoughts that would bother Blaine for the rest of the night.

And she had. Once he'd said goodnight to her, placing his phone down, having given up hope of a call from Kurt, he couldn't stop thinking.

Thinking that saying he cared about Kurt didn't even touch on how he did feel about him. How Kurt was everything he strived to be, how he admired everything about that fiery strength that so many people just mistook for a cocky self assured attitude. Yet how his cracks were so easy to find if he got close enough, for him to dig his fingers in, to hold them together and hold them in their place. And how Kurt could do that alone, without Blaine. How Blaine knew, if he let him do so, Kurt could find a way to put Blaine back together better than he could do for Kurt.

And there was how he wanted Kurt close. He wanted to hold his hand, or squeeze his shoulder, or tuck loose hairs behind his ear.

Or lean in and kiss him until he could feel the curve of his smile against his lips.

He just wasn't sure if it was a rushed stupidity to label it love when he'd always been taught relationships built slowly. It should take longer to feel something like love. Or so the voices of his parents whispered to him in the back of his mind, tangling with the web of thoughts grown from Rachel's words.

He'd have to talk to Kurt at school, lead him off to the side to apologise and tell him he hadn't meant to make him uncomfortable. And could they still be friends because the thought of anything else was a dagger twisted in his gut.

The rest of Sunday was spent drumming pencils against worksheets and staring blankly at a computer screen, his phone beside him in case it rang, in case Kurt wanted to talk and tossing and turning in bed as he watched the numbers on his clock reach closer to midnight, and then one and then two so when he stumbled out of bed at six. His eyes were heavy and scratchy, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up and pass out.

There was no one near Kurt's locker when he arrived there a little later, coffee in hand- having had a few cups himself- and apology drummed into his head so it would roll off his tongue easily. Kurt was always at his locker. Always.

Blaine turned on his heel and scurried around a corner, eyes flickering up to the clock to check how long he had before class, hurrying along so his feet tripped up on the floor a couple of times. He wasn't thinking when he saw Santana at her own locker, instinct ahead of brain, asking, "Have you seen Kurt?"

It was with the dark glare as she snapped her head up to study him, and her eyebrows knitted in quiet fury, that he decided to turn away again, hurrying before she really did take razor blades out of her hair.

He wasn't in any of their classes together, nowhere to be found at lunch, Blaine's feet tired from the countless circles as he walked around school until he finally made his way back to class.

On his way out of last period, Rachel came skidding down the corridor, colliding with a smack and forcing Blaine back into four students crammed into a bottleneck in the doorway. He gripped her wrist and dragged her away, apologies yelled over his shoulder to the grumbling students behind him. He rounded on Rachel but her words left too quickly, in too much of a flurry, for him to berate her.

"He's in the auditorium. GO," she insisted with a push, and his brain caught up with his feet, carrying him automatically.

He was curled over the piano, notes playing softly as they echoed around the stage, and Blaine approached him quietly, watching sadly as Kurt played the notes without any conviction.

He coughed, Kurt bolting up and snapping his head around, a fleeting look of shock across his face before he straightened up. His skin looked paler than usual, hair stuck up at the front from how he had been leaning against it. His shoulders drooped and behind the shock, he was worn out and haggard. Blaine had no doubt if Kurt took of his glasses, he'd see bags beneath his eyes.

"It's me! I didn't mean to..." he trailed off, expecting Kurt to shift away, to try and get up and leave, but instead his lips curled up and he rolled his shoulders, visibly more at ease when he heard Blaine's voice.

Blaine sighed, dropping his head in relief.

"Hi," he replied a little weakly, voice rough.

"Are you okay?" Blaine ventured softly, toeing over towards Kurt, as he leaned back against the piano. "I didn't see you in any of our classes today." The small upturn on his lips fell and he breathed a little deeply.

"I had to go to a doctor's check up this morning," he told him, "I forgot to tell you. I'm sorry. I didn't get in until after lunch." He sniffed, rubbing the side of his nose absently and Blaine's feet took a few more steps forward.

"I'm sorry," he said, feeling a little arm as he faced Kurt. Kurt looked up from where he'd been rubbing his temple and frowned.

"Sorry?"

"For what happened on Saturday."

Kurt's mouth fell slightly open, in surprise or realisation Blaine couldn't tell. "Oh."

And then he turned to reach by the bottom of his stool, where his bag lay open, and felt around inside it, twisting back with the DVD Blaine had left at Kurt's in hand. "Yeah, you left this," Kurt said needlessly. "So I brought it in so... um... here. I watched it though," he babbled, "I mean it was there for me to so I-"

"Kurt."

Kurt looked up again, mouth falling into a soft line, his hand stretched out for Blaine to take the DVD. Blaine didn't take. He wouldn't take it- not just yet, so Kurt could use it as an excuse to deflect the conversation.

"Keep it," he insisted.

Kurt's frown deepened.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, a little more firmly. His shoulders sagging, hands-with the DVD- falling to his lap, Kurt's head dropped.

"Why?" he asked. "Why are you sorry?"

It wasn't the question Blaine had expected- he thought it would be obvious, seeing as Kurt had asked him to leave so soon after. Unless Kurt was testing him, making sure he was sure of his reason for apologising.

"I made you uncomfortable," he answered with little thought, and Kurt's chin raised, brow creased. "That's why you asked me to leave so soon, right?"

"I..." Kurt began to say, but faltering in his word, head dipping down. "No, that wasn't it." His fingers stroked the spine of the DVD slowly. "I was overwhelmed. And I felt stupid. It all felt stupid. Dragging you out there like that-"

"It wasn't," Blaine tried to argue.

"But I felt like it was. And then you..." his voice trailed into nothing once more.

Blaine shifted eyes over Kurt in the way they always were and he waited. Kurt tilted his head and said, in a wavering voice, "You don't make me uncomfortable, Blaine, trust me." He reached a hand out, spreading his fingers, inviting Blaine to thread his with them. When he did, when he had Kurt's warm hand in his, his shoulders rolled back, he breathed slowly, he melted within the small touch.

"I do," he whispered, without thought to speaking. Kurt squeezed his hand. And his breath stuttered, pulling his hand slightly. For a flash of a moment Blaine was sure he was going to ask him to really kiss him, with the way he lifted his head up and his lips parted in question. As his eyes flickered over Kurt, the jolt in his stomach signalled an overwhelming wave of want, because God he wanted to.

"I wanted to ask you something," Kurt started slowly, threading and rethreading their fingers, the brush of skin leaving Blaine's tingling.

"Uh huh," he replied, voice fighting to stay steady.

"On Thursday... I want to go to glee club." Blaine's head stopped spinning, the hand in his was just a hand once again, his heart ceased erratically beating like a trip hammer, and he looked at Kurt. "Would that be okay?"

Blaine's face spilt into an instant grin, Kurt sounding so unsure, and he laughed. He threw himself at Kurt, linking his arms around him and holding him in a vicelike grip. Kurt's laughs joined his somewhere in there, his arms holding Blaine just as tightly.

"Blaine," Kurt gasped.

"Sorry," Blaine laughed, pulling away. "But Kurt... Kurt this is wonderful. Kurt..."

He rested his hands on Kurt's shoulders and steadied himself, and with the subduing shakes from beneath his hands steadying Kurt as well.

"Are you sure?" Blaine asked. "I mean... what changed? Last week you said you weren't ready."

Kurt shrugged. "I was thinking about it all weekend," he said slowly. "And I just... it's now or never. I'll always put it off." Blaine's smile fell slightly, catching to something missing in Kurt's explanation, but then Kurt smiled that grin where his nose crinkled and Blaine lost whatever point he wanted to make.

Thursday couldn't come fast enough. The rest of Glee all eyed him suspiciously during the Tuesday and Wednesday practices as he bobbed in his chair, feet unable to stay still, smile turning his lips seemingly without prompt. With a promise to Kurt not to tell anyone about Thursday, he stayed silent. Mike shrugged at him a couple of times, but Santana's eyes felt burning on his skin, even when he turned away from her gaze.

On Thursday, he met Kurt at their lockers before glee club, the last few minutes now showing the different colours of nervous excitement: Blaine's bobbing feet, and Kurt's fingers playing in the hem of his shirt. Blaine pulled his hand away and into his.

"Lead the way?"

Kurt smiled before his lips pulled into a thin line and he turned down the corridor, cane in front, finding his way, Blaine following, just as they had done that first day in January.

When they made their way into the choir room, they were greeted with eyes all turned towards them, eyebrows raised, and a storm of questions, chairs squeaking as people moved up. As Mr. Schuester tried to sit everyone back down, and Blaine pulled Kurt away from the bundle of excited hands trying to hold him, his eyes fell on the still occupied chairs. Artie and Quinn both looked like they'd put two and two together and were smiling softly. Brittany was rocking back and forth in her chair, staring longingly to the excited bubble, but eyes flashing to Santana on the other side of the room, who sat with arms folded and stared intently at her shoes.

Once the crowd dispersed, and Kurt brushed his clothes down a little, he spoke out to Mr Schue.

"Would it be okay if I just sat in?"

Before he could answer Kurt, they were interrupted from a laughed scoff from the other side of the room.

"What are you meant to do? Watch?"

Blaine rounded, having enough of the weeks of glares, and unwarranted insults, ready to tell Santana she couldn't say things like that, but when he did, he faltered. The soft smile on her face reciprocated in Kurt's.

"Actually, I don't need such banal ways to observe," he replied coolly. Santana's eyes flashed to Blaine, and he stared steadily back.

She held his gaze with a questioning look, and he wasn't sure of it was a harsh or innocently quizzical one. But as soon as her eyes fell back on Kurt, her expression softened. For all the time she said looking out for him was a chore she did to get in Coach Sylvester's good books, it took only the look on her face to confirm those were lies. Kurt had already moved to sit down to find a seat, holding onto Blaine's arm as he did, when she spoke up again.

"It'd be good to finally get someone other than Berry singing all the show tunes," earning an indignant grumble from Rachel but Kurt turned a soft smile toward her. She returned it sadly, though it stayed invisible to him.

Kurt integrated himself into the group as easily as if he'd always belonged, because he practically always had. The only difference this time being that a teacher was actually present and they were focusing on glee club tasks, not aimless jamming during lunches.

"Mr Schue really does go on a lot," Kurt muttered from the corner of his mouth part way through practice. "And is anyone going to do a duet off? This is far less dramatic than I hoped it would be." Blaine coughed into his hand violently to suppress his laughs. He'd turn to see Kurt's smile throughout and grin himself, feeling light and oddly warm.

Nearing the end of practice, Blaine had to tear himself from the seat next to Kurt to join the group labelling ideas for new songs, though threw short glances over his shoulder to Kurt, who was talking animatedly with Brittany. He was nodding along to something Brittany was saying. As Blaine glanced upwards, he saw interest light Santana's eyes. Tina elbowed him below the ribs, a faraway question asking his opinion forcing him to turn back, though his interest had fairly waned. When he looked back a few seconds later, Santana had joined their conversation. She took Kurt's arm to prop him up.

"Mr Schue?" Kurt asked, a little too quietly over the group's discussions, their teacher too caught up between Rachel and Mercedes to even hear himself think, let alone Kurt. Kurt coughed, and repeated a little louder, "Mr Schue?"

The group went nearly quiet, and Mr Schue looked up.

"I... um..." Kurt shifted, as though aware every pair of eyes had been turned on him in the silence. "I wanted to audition." Blaine smiled softly, though when he looked back to Mr. Schuester his brow was creased.

"You don't have to, Kurt, you're in." Kurt shook his head.

"Everyone else had to audition to get in," he argued. "I want to audition." He gave a small smile in the direction of their group, Blaine hoping that really, it had been for him. Everyone made their way back to their seats as Mr Schue nodded and gave Kurt the okay- to which Kurt added, "I wanted to play the piano and have someone sing with me. Is that alright?"

"Sure, Kurt, who did you want to sing with?"

Blaine had already turned to go back to his seat, halfway there, before Santana gripped his arm and his feet stuttered against the floor. He glanced up to her in question, pulling his arm away, but she just shrugged and turned him slightly.

"Blaine," Kurt answered. His head snapped up to Santana, the one he'd thought he was going to sing with- they could use it, he thought, to get them talking, which would lead to them making up, and hanging out again so he wouldn't have to be on either end of their bitter feelings because they both felt too strangely empty without the other. As his eyes met hers, she smiled and nodded, and with a little push on Blaine made her way back to sit next to Brittany.

He steadied himself in front of Kurt, who still waited for his answer.

"I don't know what you're going to sing," he pointed out in a whisper against Kurt's ear, the response from him a short laugh, a tiny smile, hand gripping his arm almost too tightly.

"You'll know it."

He made his way to the piano and sat carefully on the edge of his stool. Blaine shifted around, eyes catching those of the rest of the group, all watching Kurt attentively as he played random notes. He looked up.

"Ready?" His voice was bright, and Blaine nodded and answered, a little too softly, but Kurt heard him.

The song began, slowly at first and then Kurt's fingers sped up on the keys themselves and it only took those few seconds for Blaine to realise the song. The song that had played once in the background on Kurt's iPod one evening doing homework, one which had fixed itself in Blaine's memory as he heard Kurt hum along absently. The one he'd joined in on just as absently until their soft humming had reduced to nothing as the song had carried on in the background, Kurt's voice wavering when he realised Blaine was there still with him.

Not that that exactly would mean Blaine would remember it. It had been months ago now- the first couple of weeks they had known each other. Except that night, he had gone home and downloaded it, put it on his own iPod and how Kurt had heard it playing on one of his playlists weeks later and smiled, reaching across and brushing his fingers along Blaine's. Other than it always seemed to be on one of their playlists in the background, it was a song Blaine often let himself forget about, until it was there, and his throat felt too tight with an emotion he hadn't known he connected to the music.

Kurt nodded at him, a silent request of you first and he almost stuttered against the first notes, losing them before he found them. He steadied himself and sung along, eyes glued to Kurt playing the same notes on the piano, his smile growing as he heard Blaine's voice.

When you're down and troubled, and you need some love and care

And nothing, oh nothing is going right

Close your eyes and think of me

And soon I will be there

To brighten up even your darkness night

There was the smallest of hesitant pauses from Kurt, and Blaine knew he'd be singing the rest of the verse by himself, giving Kurt more time to stabilise himself, as even though he was sat and lost in his piano music, there were a few seconds he needed, and Blaine, gladly, would allow them him.

He sang directly at Kurt, the words seeming far enough away he hardly felt he was singing them. As his verse closed he walked softly over to the piano and leant across it, hoping Kurt would sense him there.

Kurt's shaky inhale was invisible to anyone but him, but his voice follows, soft and almost a part of the music. Beautiful enough it intertwined with the piano, like that was how it was supposed to be, as if the piano couldn't sound as whole without Kurt's voice.

If the sky high above you

Should go dark and full of clouds

And that old north wind should begin to blow

Keep your head together and call my name out loud

Soon I'll be knocking upon your door

Blaine was glad for the piano providing him support, even if he felt he could melt into it, feeling his eyes grow wider as he concentrated on Kurt- on, as far as he was consciously aware, the only other person in the room.

He had heard Kurt sing before, but something about this was different. Was so achingly different and he couldn't label why.

You just call out my name

And you know wherever I am

I'll come running to see you again

Winter, spring, summer, or fall

All you've got to do is call and I'll be there

You've got a friend

It was Kurt. It was purely, wholly unmasked, and there for the world- or a room full of teenagers and their teacher but what difference did that make- to see. Even as Blaine began to sing again, and their voices mixed- and yet didn't mix- adding to each other in a way where nothing had actually been added, but completed, it was all Kurt. Blaine leaned closer to him as he sang, eyes not having left him since the song had started, and he smiled. Because Kurt was smiling. Smiling in such a way Blaine had not seen before.

And it was beautiful.

He was beautiful.

It was only when the sound of clapping started filtering through, when sharp claps to the back shook him out of whatever bubble of that haze he had been drowning in, he floated back up. That the world came back into focus and it wasn't just him and Kurt and that piano. That other people were watching and hugging Kurt now and congratulating him, and he was sure there were voices speaking at Blaine but they were just words- confusing and blurry.

He turned his head slightly and caught Rachel's eye. Caught her smile.

When he turned back, Santana had Kurt locked in a tight embrace and was mumbling something into his ear, Kurt shaking his head into her shoulder, their chests shaking as they pulled away with a laugh.

As the rest of the group moved away, leaving the choir room as the final bell of the day went and Mr Schue dismissed them all, Kurt straightened himself, and reached a hand over to Blaine. And thankful, and with a slight desperation, Blaine took it, locking them together, blinking rapidly as he thanked the warmth they provided.

"You believe me now right, yeah?" Kurt asked gently. Blaine looked up in confusion. "You could never make me uncomfortable."

Blaine nodded, throat too thick to speak but managed to exhale, "Yes, I know."

If he could ask, he would. But the pressure against his ribs was threatening to break them, knowing if the answer to his questions were the opposite of what he wanted them to be could possibly break him too.

Then again, he wasn't sure if his question would be "Did you know I tried to kiss you?" or "Did you want me to?" because the pressure on his chest told him Kurt's answer to the first would be yes. And he didn't know if that was a good thing or the worst.

"I need to ask you something," Kurt's voice started before his own could, breaking the train of his thought.

Blaine coughed, tightening his fingers briefly around Kurt's. He was suddenly very grateful, for a moment, that there was a piano between themselves and their linked hands.

"About?"

"About something I've been meaning to talk to you for a while," Kurt admitted. "And I want you to answer me honestly about it..."

Blaine's brow furrowed, and he shrugged, lost and slightly curious. "Not telling you what?"

Kurt's head dipped low, face almost hidden as his hair fell across his face and his glasses obstructed the rest from Blaine. After a moment, he looked back up, and sighed softly, and pulled their fingers a little loose.

"Promise you won't get upset if I ask?"

Blaine almost tugged his hand away but steadied it and let himself tighten their hand hold once more. Though he spoke his next word shakily, it was as sincerely as he could mean it, as if the fingers gripping Kurt's could be the only way to communicate it.

"Promise."