Chapter 11

Kurt's eyes may have been broken, he had to walk slowly around new places and grip tightly onto the objects around for balance, but he never wanted that part of him to break the rest of him. It was strange how many people thought it had. How people would talk softly to him like he was a china doll- speak too loudly, play with him too harshly, he'll crumble under your fingers. It was strange how many people believed his mind would be broken too, like he was a child always in need of their guidance.

His mind was fine. His thoughts and ideas, his beliefs and his emotions- they weren't broken or shaken or warped. He knew what he wanted and felt; he knew what others wanted and felt. People themselves were so ironically blind, that they'd forget that he could hear every word they said, that his lack of vision had no effect on his perceptions of them.

But there were times when what he'd guess about how others felt would feel too much like a dream, like he was making the whole thing up in his head; the picture he was painting was inaccurate and blurred. And if for a second he allowed himself to believe Blaine returned his inappropriate feelings, and it turned out he was making it up, he didn't know how he could pick himself up.

Maybe Blaine's feelings were a mystery, perhaps he'd never fully work them out, but Blaine holding him, and dancing with him, standing in the rain with him, leaning up so his breath was so very close to Kurt's mouth- that had been so very real and solid and there. That had happened. Kurt had felt that himself- something was there.

And yet he'd pulled away. Even though every cell in his body was screaming at him for doing so, even though he was aching to close back the gap, he'd tugged himself away and the moment dissolved in a clap of thunder.

He was always told, from such a very young age, and for every night when his mother would tuck him into bed, that the foundation for everything was complete honesty. That lying to his parents, to his friends in school, to his teachers, would render his relationship with them all less meaningful. And perhaps that wasn't strictly true- people lied to the ones they loved more than to those they disliked, whether it be to save them from harsh opinions or awful secrets- Kurt believed keeping everything with Blaine on a level playing field was exactly the way they should work. Cards on the table, every detail shed in the light.

So he pulled away. He wrapped himself up and curled away, running back into his house and waiting for Blaine to leave, so he could dry off only to collapse and turn in on himself on the couch.

Hours after Blaine had left, amongst hours an internal battle of figuring out whether to call him and apologise for the confusing mess they'd both been dropped in, his Dad and Carole returned home, the brief opening of the door allowing the sound of rain to roll through the house. He listened for a while to them stumble through the house, for their laughter and chatter to carry on down the hall into the kitchen, the coffee pot refilled and Carole talking over the sound of it.

It had been his dad who fumbled around with the DVD, the one Kurt had not known was there, and his stomach twisted in knots of guilt as the familiar music played. He stayed curled up on the couch even as his dad patted him sharply on the shoulder, stiff but familiar and oddly needed.. His dad left without another word, but Kurt felt the end of the couch dip as Carole settled herself by his feet.

They sat together in silence barring the music from the television for only a few moments, and as easy as they were, Kurt was glad when Carole broke it, his throat awfully dry like sand was scratching at the back of his throat from his hours long silence.

"Did Blaine forget to take this home?"

Kurt shrugged. "Yeah, he must have." The words felt heavy themselves on his tongue, so incredibly false.

"How was your day with him?" she asked, even though through her soft voice and gentle questioning, Kurt figured she had as good as guessed.

"Short," Kurt muttered, fingers curling in on themselves beside his cheek. Carole sighed and rubbed her hand gently on his ankle nearest her.

"Did you argue?"

Kurt shook his head, though it felt too heavy to. Carole didn't press further, and the next few minutes were filled only with the faraway music Kurt couldn't seem to grasp on anymore.

"Carole?" he ventured after a while, propping himself up and dropping his feet to the floor. "Can I ask you something?"

She only hummed quietly in response but it was all the pushing Kurt needed. He sucked in a quick breath and stole himself the smallest of moments.

"It's just... Carole," he started, pulling himself up and shuffling out of his curled up ball. "If you felt for someone, so badly, so deeply, so much it confuses you and-" He paused, the rest of his sentence sticking in his mouth.

"I know the feeling," he heard Carole pipe up softly, a small attempt to nudge him in the right direction. His chin tilted up, turning so he could face the area where she sat.

"What if you had a feeling that, maybe, there was a possibility that person returned those feelings?"

"Oh, Kurt,"Carole began.

"But then what if you don't think he's being completely honest with you?" he murmured, believing for a second Carole hadn't caught what he'd said.

Everything was silent, but for the low buzz from the television. He could hear his own heart beating in his throat as the question hung in the air, and Carole remained quiet.

And then she was right next to him, arms snaking around to grip him tightly, but softly, and the couch dipped again as she moved towards him, cushions shuffling around as she sank down. He propped his chin up against her shoulder, embracing in the warmth he remembered his own mother giving him. That was what he needed, he realised. He was tired of trying to make himself understand, let alone Carole. And she understood. Understood he needed something else than explaining, something in an embrace, something in a mother's arms.

She pulled away stroking the hair from Kurt's forehead.

"What happened with Blaine?" she asked gently, filling Kurt's stomach with an ache and sickening churning he couldn't swallow down. He tugged himself away, arms locked across his chest. He didn't answer, or couldn't bring himself to, but focused on the zoned out music; through the thicket of his thoughts it sounded fuzzy and faraway. Carole didn't prod any further, only moving over to the television and shutting it off. And even though the music had been white noise before, the silence of the room without it was deafening.

"He's not telling me something," Kurt admitted softly.

"And you think he should?" Carole asked.

"I've told him everything about myself."

Carole laughed. "I don't think you have, Kurt. That's a lot to tell someone you've known for a short time."

Kurt's shoulders fell, head weighing heavily down on them.

"It's not that," Kurt tried to explain, propping himself up a little more. "I mean, I think he's avoided telling me something for a while. Something huge- and I don't think I've been completely..." He paused, fingers caught playing idly against the cushion.

He could feel Carole's eyes heavy on him, waiting for his words to trail back into something, but his head dropped and he stayed silent.

"You just have to talk to him, sweetheart," she told him. "These things are better out in the open."

"I don't want him to think his problems don't matter," Kurt cut in, bluntly, the weight of the words relieving him of the pressure against his chest. "People do- because I'm blind, they think their problems are nothing in comparison. I don't want him to think that what troubles him isn't important. I want him to tell me things. Because I don't want him to be in pain any more than he wants me to be."

He tilted his head up as he heard Carole pad over, and her hand was over his shoulder in an instant, gripping it for a second as a sign of understanding. Of comfort.

And though as comforting as she was, Kurt had to get away. Pull himself up and escape to his bedroom. He felt squashed, with no room to breathe.

He wished he could gather up even a lowly amount of courage to call Blaine. Just talking would be nice. He loved the sound of Blaine's voice. He missed the sound of it, and his laughter. But he couldn't even muster enough up to do that, to square his shoulders and face it head on. To tell Blaine how ridiculous and idiotic he felt about today. It wasn't Blaine's fault; it was entirely his.

Oh poor, brave Kurt Hummel.

He never understood why people called him brave. They said it because he was blind, but he didn't understand how that made him brave when being blind didn't scare him.

His hopeless, crushing feelings for Blaine that left him breathless and overwhelmed scared him. And he did nothing about it. His fears that Santana would never want to talk to him again, that his dad's heart would give up, that he'd be stuck in Lima forever- they were the ones that troubled him through sleepless nights. Not that he was blind.

And that he was terrified that he would try Glee club and be face with the solid fact that no, this wasn't for him, never could be for him. That his dream of performing should have vanished all those years ago, instead of him clinging on, however so slightly. At least when he watched from the sidelines, when he dreamed about it, he could imagine himself succeeding.

Then what would he do when he was confronted with the fact that he couldn't- that he just wasn't good enough. How does a person watch their dreams fully die, with no much as a handle to hold onto. At least now he could pretend he wouldn't fail. At least it was something.

He hadn't told Blaine. More that he couldn't. Blaine was one of the bravest people Kurt knew, in that he hadn't let anything stop himself from doing what he loved, being who he wanted to be. And wasn't that what bravery was in the end?

Bravery was what he told himself he would do on the Monday back in school, in the morning, prepared to go in, tell Blaine he wanted to go to Glee (even if his heart dropped through his stomach at the thought). Despite the hiccough of the forgotten doctor's appointment (that his dad had to drag him to as he complained about it being a pointless yearly activity, a waste of money and time) he was determined and set on his tasks.

He was tired. Having barely slept all weekend, he was drowsy and warm, everything took extra effort. Every step walking through the house (and later on in school), every minute spent concentrating on his dad, and then the doctor, and then his teachers, every moment keeping himself from his head slipping on the hand it was propped against.

"And how are you feeling?" the doctor had asked, towards the end of his appointment.

"Fine and dandy," Kurt replied, a little shortly, fully itching to get to school and talk to Blaine. "Really coming to terms I'll never see anything again. Really cheers me up when I remind myself of the fact by coming here every year."

He hadn't meant for it to come out so harshly. But at least the man hurried through their appointment and skipped over useless questions those appointments were usually filled with.

He didn't understand where bravery came from, or how Blaine did it. But in short moments Kurt felt like he could muster some up. He mightn't save lives or have risked his own, but in the moments he decided to go to Glee club and confront Blaine, they were enough for him to use as stepping stones for now.

Bravery was singing that damn song, and having Blaine sing it with him. Easier to have a little courage when someone's there to (figuratively) hold your hand.

Kurt reminded himself, as he sat down in the choir room after everyone had left, that the best way to get Blaine to talk to him was not to push. Blaine had never really pushed him, after all. It wasn't what he and Blaine were built on. Not to push, but there to hold the other's hand.

He folded his hands in his lap, Blaine brushing past him on his way to another chair, squeaking against the floor as he pulled it out.

"Blaine," he started, taking a short breath and exhaling the rest of the sentence. "I know something's up."

There was nothing but Blaine's silence which replied to him and he fidgeted on his stool, listening for something from Blaine, but barely even catching the squeaking of the chair against the floor.

"Something up?" Blaine's voice finally piped up, confused and off.

"With you, yes," Kurt prodded him. "Something you aren't telling me."

Blaine was still; he could hear that much. Even his breathing slowed as he steadied himself.

"What... what do you mean?" Blaine said on exhale.

"You know what I mean, don't you?" Kurt asked carefully. "I understand why you wouldn't want to tell me-"

"It's just hard, Kurt, I'm-" Blaine tried to explain, pushing his chair back and his steps padded only slightly away from it.

"I know, Blaine," Kurt interjected, softly. "I know. Things like that aren't easy to talk about. I would know."

Blaine's tapping foot against the floor stopped, only a squeak audible through the room as he turned on the spot.

"You would?" Kurt's eyebrows rose, the tone of Blaine's voice oddly surprised.

"Of course," Kurt said slowly, "I've had my fair share of torment from those jocks and others at this school."

"What?"

"What?" Kurt returned at the odd twist in Blaine's voice, forehead creasing. "I've noticed how you've been around them," he explained. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

"Oh," Blaine breathed, pieces sounding as though they'd finally clunked into place. "No, of course not," he added quickly, moving softly towards Kurt.

"Did you think I was talking about something else?" Kurt questioned, brow still furrowed, still shaken by the tone of Blaine's voice.

Blaine pulled his chair up again, but Kurt could feel him still standing above him. Standing very still.

"No, "he answered."I just didn't catch on what you meant."

Kurt tilted his head down, brow lifting, face relaxing even as his fingers tensed.

"So you know what I mean about how I've noticed you around them," he clarified, Blaine's breathing heavy between them.

"Kurt, you know I was bullied at my old public school," Blaine said. "Old perceptions of people die hard, I guess."

"You were terrified the other week when Karofsky and Azimio cornered us," Kurt pointed out, impatience rising in his voice. Blaine wasn't being dishonest but he was holding back on him- he could feel the drag between his carefully chosen words. "You've never talked to me about what happened at that school."

Blaine's silence dragged, each second stretched between his statement and Blaine's answer.

"You never asked," Blaine muttered, piano creaking as he leant against it.

"I didn't know how to," Kurt explained. "But I am now." He tilted his chin up, hearing the piano creaking under Blaine's slight weight. "Blaine-"

"Kurt-" His voice dropped, leaving his name hanging in the air.

"You promised, Blaine," Kurt cut through, wincing at how his voice turned so whiney. "You promised you wouldn't get upset if I asked!"

"I'm not upset," he replied, voice sounded a little off, so Kurt couldn't place the tone.

"Sounds it," Kurt mumbled, folding his arms tightly across his chest. He swallowed the dryness in his throat, guilt pressing down on his stomach. Weighing on how he'd ruined a perfectly good day again, this time because of his own impatience.

And then Blaine was laughing. Peeling away from him in loud, staccato bursts, bubbling and taking over him.

"What?" Kurt's lips quirked, Blaine's laughter catching his small smile so he couldn't press it down, his laughter running through him so worry almost lifted from him. "What's so funny?"

"I just..." he laughed out, "When did we go from a serious moment to bickering like a married couple?" Kurt blanched, lips parting as a way to form an answer to Blaine's words.

"This would be serious, Blaine," Kurt pointed out, "If you weren't laughing it off." His lips betrayed the tone of his voice, still drawn into a small smile.

Blaine laughed, moving off the piano, making his way towards Kurt until his hands were squeezing his shoulders. Kurt tilted his chin up and Blaine tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

"Of course I'll tell you, Kurt," he chuckled. "I'm surprised that was the question, is all."

"You will?" Kurt's hand flexed in his lap, hopeful tone creeping into his words.

"You're my best friend," he sighed, smile at the edge of his words. "Of course I want to talk to you about... things." He paused for a second, hands pulling away from Kurt, the loss of the weight on his shoulders horribly empty. "But... you know how it took you a while to talk about your mom?"

Kurt nodded.

"Can you give me that, Kurt?" he asked, laughter gone now from his voice. "A little time?"

Kurt nodded again, a sad smile following. Exactly how much time Blaine needed churned his stomach a little. But he could wait. He could.

"Yes, sure. I'm sorry; I came on too strong."

Blaine laughed. "I wouldn't expect any different from you."

Kurt scoffed, eyes rolling, though hidden from Blaine. "I'm glad you find it hilarity in all this." His lips twitched before he broke and he was grinning up at Blaine widely.

"I find it hilarious you bicker like a grandma, yes," Blaine admitted. "I also find it funny you'd think I wouldn't want to talk about things in my past," he added a little softer. "But..."

"Time," Kurt cut through, smiling. "I know." He reached forward, until his fingers brushing over Blaine's hand, and gave it a soft squeeze.

No push. Just holding his hand.

Blaine squeezed his hand back, warm and small in his, the heat so welcoming and needed.

It meant all that much more that Blaine understood what those handholds meant to Kurt. He had missed him, as short as the weekend they hadn't been talking was. He had really missed him.

Glee practice became a chance to spend more time with him, to spend more time with the others. To realise exactly how much time he'd been missing out on. Puck whacked him on the back the following Monday and congratulated him on a promotion from honorary member status. Sam performing his impressions that apparently Kurt "just had to see... I mean, hear, dude, sorry!"

"I don't understand," Kurt said slowly. "Who was that meant to be?"

"Obi-Wan," Sam stated, he imagined with a quick eye roll and a very silent duh.

"That sounded nothing like him!" Kurt argued.

"Ewan McGregor Obi-Wan. From the prequels," Sam shot back. "Obviously."

"I never bothered with the prequels," Kurt admitted which, without having realised he would, began a huge discussion in the middle of practice beginning with the questioning of the quality of the Star Wars films to somehow loud arguments over whether Avatar was worth all the hype.

He really had missed so much. Their inside jokes, their daily arguments and banter, missing Santana in her prime environment of happily bestowing her opinion on anything and everything, missing how Blaine was with them all, how he was so well integrated into the group and as much a part as all those who'd been there from the start.

Easy as it must have been for Blaine, it was for him too. It was scarily easy becoming a part of the club. Perhaps because he'd always been a part just not... officially.

He didn't even mind when everyone got up to dance. If someone didn't grab his hand and pull him in, he would mill over by the side and listen, edging around, tapping his feet in time. Glued to the spot.

"Kurt," Blaine laughed, taking his hand. He was slightly breathless but giddy, tugging at Kurt's arm. "It's okay, Kurt, you can dance."

Kurt raised his eyebrows.

"I can dance?"

"Yes, you can dance," Blaine replied, slightly confused.

Kurt grinned. "I can dance if I want to? I can leave my friends behind? 'Cause if my friends don't dance then they're no friends of mine?"

"Kurt."

"What?" he laughed back at the giggles in Blaine's own voice, until Blaine was pulling him by the hand into the mix of the group

"Take this seriously," he told him, laughter becoming the music and the music completely surrounding them, hand in Kurt's and Kurt so sure he wore a grin to match the one on Kurt's face. It was music and noise and everything Kurt had allowed himself miss out on, yet he no longer was. So the music became his laughter and his laughter became Blaine's. And even if that moment would be broken up minutes later by another argument between Rachel and Mercedes, it was still enough to keep the smile on Kurt's face.

In fact, he would even say he'd missed Rachel bickering with everyone.

His questions fell to the wayside, drowning his lingering thoughts by immersing himself in Glee projects. The soonest of which, as Mr. Schue called it, "A Night of Neglect" he threw himself right into.

"You want to perform, Kurt?" Blaine asked brightly, such a hopeful smile in his question, Kurt felt his heart break to answer.

"No," he replied slowly, apologetically as he could, Blaine's resulting silence remaining a mystery to how he'd responded. "I was thinking more about promoting, advertising," he carried on. "I could give out leaflets in my dad's shop, promote it there.

There was a mumbling of approval sounding through the room, Mr. Schue's hurried scribbling on the board following.

"I could get some guys from my dance class to come," Brittany piped up.

"And I'm sure my friends from Dalton would love to come too," Blaine added, Kurt grinning in his direction.

Although he wouldn't mention it until Blaine was ready to talk, and he was preoccupying himself with Glee, it didn't stop him from wanting desperately to talk to him. Didn't stop him from taking every moment spent with Blaine and cherishing them. There'd be times Kurt was sure Blaine was doing the same thing, felt the same way about Kurt. After all, he was sure Blaine had tried to kiss him.

Or he was fairly certain.

Or maybe he hadn't.

Maybe he had made the whole thing up in his head.

"Hey," Blaine's voice peaked through his clouded thoughts. "Are you okay?" Kurt's head snapped up, the fingers fidgeting in his shirt stilling, coming to a short stop down the corridor. He listened for a moment to the clambering of people in the halls farther down towards the auditorium. Although he was glad their fundraiser was so far going well, the clatter around them as they'd piled in became too tight and restricting, and Kurt had needed to walk away, breathe air that was a little less densely packed with parents and friends.

"Kind of-" he admitted. "It's just that-"

"You two," Santana's sharp voice snapped across their conversation, breaking Kurt's train of words. "Time to get yourselves in the auditorium, we're about to-" Her voice trailed as her heels clipped loudly against the floor. "What are you doing here?"

Kurt's mouth fell open, but she moved smoothly past him, the echoing of her heels stopping slightly ahead of them. Blaine shifted against his shoulder as he turned, and Kurt turned with him. Blaine's shoulder knocked against his with a sharp inhale of breath.

"We aren't allowed to watch you people?" the familiar voice of Azimio answered. Kurt's heart leapt to his throat.

"Since when have you been bothered with what Glee club do?" Blaine retorted, ice in his words.

"We've been invited here by Coach Sylvester," another voice answered. With his stomach crunching, Kurt pulled his cane tight against himself. "And we've paid so you can't kick you out, you little f-"

"Yeah, well I can mess you up enough, Karofsky. So if you even think about screwing around tonight," Santana bit across, only causing the two to laugh at her words, scoffing at the threat.

"You do that, Lopez," Karofskty spat, feet stumbling slightly forwards. A hand suddenly pulled against Kurt's shoulder, but despite the tight grip it was pulling him back, with a short, soft squeeze as it did. Kurt breathed in relief as Blaine linked his other hand around Kurt's arm, pressing him against his side. "Though you might want to spend your time keeping your eyes on certain others tonight."

"Keep your hands off him." Blaine's voice was low, fingers digging into Kurt a little tighter. Kurt gripped his cane, words lost before he could even come up with any. He shrugged himself out of Blaine's grip as Karofsky's feet scuffled back, yelling out as Santana had dragged him back.

Before she had a chance to yell more than, "You even dare-" they were scuttling past Kurt, laughter hanging in the air as they knocked him into Blaine. With a soft tug against his wrist, Blaine pressed Kurt to his side, only gently releasing him once the footsteps and voices died around the corner.

"What's Sue thinking letting them come?" Kurt moaned. "Can't we just kick them out?"

"They've paid. We can't," Santana pointed out, although her voice seemed distant, focused on something else. "Blaine?"

"Huh?" Blaine's arm shifted, brushing away from Kurt's side.

"Are you okay?" The tone in Santana's voice was oddly soft, a hint of curiousness lying in it, but still gentle. Blaine stiffened beneath Kurt's fingers as he reached out.

"I'm fine," he answered. "Is everyone else okay?" There was nothing else in his voice to hear other than a fragile crack and Kurt reached closer to Blaine immediately. Fingers through Blaine's, just needing him to be there.

Santana hurried past them, with a firm, almost lingering, squeeze on his shoulder- something of a sign of understanding, that she disappear now and let them talk.

Blaine moved to pull out of Kurt's grasp and follow Santana, but Kurt tightened their fingers together.

"Blaine," he started, pulling at Blaine's hand, like a child lost and confused but still desperate- so desperate- to help.

"Kurt," Blaine cut through, turning so Kurt's hand was tugged closer. "I-" Kurt sucked in a breath, now maybe not as good a time as any for Blaine to talk to him, but a time nevertheless. But he was hesitating and then he was pulling away, the breath Kurt had taken leaving him. "We need to get to the auditorium or we'll be late," he laughed stiffly, Kurt following his footsteps dumbly. Lost, confused child. Desperate to help. So desperate.

Blaine didn't want to talk to him.

Or he did.

He did but he was holding back, he was... scared. Or nervous.

Blaine was leading him through muddling thoughts and dropping him into a mess of confusing words and notions. Kurt needed him to be honest with him, because him not doing so was tearing away at him.

Even if they were muddled and messy, most of his thoughts ended up being taken over by Blaine. With small attempts he organised them and cleared them up. So they weren't just readable and coherent, but physical and real.

When he climbed into bed that night, they were thoughts of how Blaine froze next to him during the benefit, even if moments before he'd seemed to melt into relaxation as he'd met back up with his Dalton friends. Heckling from farther in front of them began and Blaine was shrinking in on himself.

Kurt wanted so desperately to break any patience he had so far managed to maintain. Wanted to take Blaine away from nasty slurs yelled up at their friends on stage and ask, or beg, or demand him to tell him. Tell him what was going on. Or at least why he needed so much time.

It was frustration clawing away in his mind, but it would have to stay there, clawing away, while he bit down on his tongue and waited.

Useless doodles across the page, circled and circled, over and under- simple patterns and scribbled. All equalling the same thing.

A mess.

A distraction. A distraction from the stiffly quiet Blaine sat a little away from him. Or a distraction from the conversation he was on the brink of forcing themselves to have.

Blaine was scribbling away on something, occasionally taking a sip from his coffee he'd made in Kurt's kitchen earlier. His pen scratched hurriedly against paper as he carried out the studying they had both planned to fill the afternoon with. Kurt sighed as he carried on his own useless doodling, rolling his shoulders and shifting his position propped up against the edge of the bed. When he felt his hand tracing familiar letters on the page he scribbled almost violently against the page and threw the scrap of paper away. The scratching of Blaine's pen stopped, paper rustled, and Kurt was very firmly under the impression Blaine was watching him with knitted eyebrows.

"Are you going to get your laptop out and do some actual work or scribble in a notebook for the rest of the afternoon?" Blaine asked with a smug little quirk in his tone.

Kurt barely smiled in return, pulling his knees up to his chest.

"You want to go to prom?" he mumbled a little too quickly, words running into each other. Blaine was silent, shuffling to indicate he was moving up.

"What?"

"Prom," Kurt repeated, with a little more clarity. "Do you want to go to prom?"

His stomach swooped at Blaine's resulting silent answer. It wasn't even worth asking. Prom wasn't for a few weeks off anyway, and Blaine hadn't tried to kiss him and he didn't return any feelings and he didn't want to go to prom. Not with him.

"Kurt... I-"

"As friends," he amended quickly. Blaine's voice was so sad and apologetic, Kurt couldn't allow it to drown him like the disappointment his pulse carried through his veins was doing. He meant as friends anyway, but he felt a need to reinforce it, not just to Blaine but for himself. For the slow trickle of letdown consuming him to stop.

"Kurt, I-" he said slowly, almost as if there was an explanation coming. Kurt ducked his head and breathed in slowly.

"No, no," he interjected. "It's okay. If there's someone else you want to go with... that's fine. I just-"

"No, Kurt, it's not that it's just," he began. The pen in his hand drummed against his book as he looked for a word, silence light between them and Kurt waiting with fingers locked over his knees. Blaine sighed. "Prom," he settled on.

"What about prom?" Kurt asked softly, shifting his legs and unlocking his fingers.

Blaine didn't answer immediately, a soft realisation hitting Kurt squarely in the stomach. Blaine was so very quiet, so very reserved. He was so far and so detached from Kurt. It only took a few seconds for him to not answer for Kurt to sense the same hesitation he had talking about public school. It only took those seconds to put together that the two were one in the same.

"Kurt, I need-"

"Time. I know." Kurt smiled tightly, but the corners of his lips fell when Blaine sighed.

"No, Kurt," he carried on. "I need to tell you." His clothes rubbed against the carpet, soft pads as he crawled across the bedroom floor so he sat a little closer to Kurt, though he could feel there was still a good amount of distance between them. "I need to swallow my pride and just tell you."

Kurt nodded. Stiffly and almost broken, throat tight, but he nodded. He curled back in on himself and waited, leaning in slightly to catch the rest of Blaine's sentence.

"A couple of years ago, when I was still in public school, I went to a dance at school," he started, words slow and careful. "And I went to it with my friend- the only other gay guy I knew and-" He sucked in a breath, Kurt feeling himself lean in towards Blaine without a second thought, hand itching to take his. "Well, we got caught up in a group of...um... overenthusiastic and possibly drunk jocks. And... you know. I was in hospital for a couple of weeks."

Kurt made a small noise at the back of his throat.

"Blaine," he breathed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it's not even a big deal," Blaine told him. "I'm okay now. I'm just... I'm more ashamed of the way I dealt with it. By running away."

"That's nothing to be ashamed of," Kurt insisted, but Blaine only laughed brokenly.

"Running and hiding behind a fancy school my parents threw a lot of money at. Not what I'd call courage," Blaine scoffed. Kurt leant in, closer to Blaine so that when he moved his hand curled up in his lap, it was brushing against Blaine's jeans.

"It takes a lot of courage to admit there's something going on. And a lot more bravery to get up and leave," Kurt said stiffly, turning his palm up and smiling as Blaine wrapped their hands together, and gave his hand a soft squeeze.

The seconds seemed to trickle by, hands still linked, both sat against the bed in silence, only the sound of the clock ticking breaking it. But holding Blaine's hand wasn't enough, as warm as it was, as safe as he felt, and he shifted away only to lean back in, wrap his arms around Blaine's shoulders and tighten his grip as Blaine rested his head on his chest.

"Thank you for telling me," Kurt mumbled near his ear. Blaine stiffened for barely a second before relaxing back into Kurt's hug.

"I guess you don't understand why it took me so long to," Blaine said, pulling away slightly. Kurt's arms still rested against his shoulders, Blaine's hands still barely on his hips.

"I-" Kurt stopped. He couldn't understand completely, no. He wanted to. He knew things took time but why so much time he couldn't figure out.

Blaine laughed. "Guess I don't like seeming less than perfect to you."

Kurt smiled. "You think I think you're perfect?" he laughed. "Where did you get this from?" Blaine shook gently with laughter, pushing Kurt away so he landed against the floor with a small shove.

"Cheeky."

Kurt grinned up, with what he hoped was the face of perfect innocence. Tilting his head, he followed Blaine's movement as he lay out on the floor next to him, brushing against his side. Kurt stretched out his own legs, facing up, listening to Blaine's breathing in time with his own.

"So you want to go to prom?" Blaine asked on a breath. Kurt shifted himself up, leaning on his elbow and tilting his head to where Blaine laid next to him.

"We could go in a group with the girls," he suggested. "We'll be safe. Or you can just not go if you don't want. I won't go either-"

"Kurt-"

"Hear me out," Kurt said, stopping him from arguing. He sat himself up fully, drawing his knees back into his chest and listening to his own heartbeat. "I'm scared too. Going to prom. But a really annoying kid keeps going on at me and telling me to not let anything hold me back. And I want to be that person for you."

"Well, you've got the annoying down to a tee," Blaine interrupted. Kurt kicked his leg out, catching Blaine's calf, and he yelped back with a laugh.

"You know what I mean." Kurt smiled, with a little force, and Blaine's laughter subsided, his thoughts loud between the two of them. Kurt could hear the cogs clanking in his head, the wheels spinning.

He bit his lip before he continued.

"Besides," he continued, smiling, "if anyone tries to touch us, Santana will beat them up with her little finger."

Blaine's laughter started off small- tiny giggles escaping as he tried to keep them in. But then he was really laughing, huge bursts one after the other. Kurt leant his chin atop his knees and fought down the huge grin playing at his lips.

"Fine," Blaine said between his laughs. "Let's go to prom."

The noise that escaped Kurt was embarrassingly high pitched, but he found himself not caring, flinging his arms around Blaine and pushing them both back to the floor in a squeal of excitement mixed in with Blaine's laugh.