Blaine stares at the desk in front of him and notices it's messier than the last time he was here; perhaps he's messed up the schedule with his emergency appointment and now everything is hectic. Dr Marissa doesn't let on if that is the case.

“What led to the cheating?” He asks casually, uncapping the same pen as last time. Blaine notices that he phrases it to avoid placing any blame which doesn't seem very fair at all; Blaine deserves to feel guilty.

Blaine shrugs and wishes he had something to fiddle with; his hands feel too large and out of place in his lap. He definitely should have worn a hoodie to tuck his hands into. “I don't really know.”

“Okay,” Dr Marissa writes something even though Blaine has given him nothing to write down. “I don't want to put words in your mouth, but if I asked you some questions about how you were feeling back then, maybe we can figure it out together?”   

Blaine shrugs. He really doesn't want to be here, but his mother had insisted on bringing his appointment forward after last night's fiasco. This was the earliest time they could squeeze him in and Blaine is pretty sure Dr Marissa is working over-time since it's six o'clock in the evening.

“So were you still in Glee club? Were you still singing?”

“Um, yeah.” He pauses, almost elaborates and then stops himself. Dr Marissa seems to sense this because he waits Blaine out, eyebrows raised just slightly. “I was in, like, all the clubs back then.”

Dr Marissa nods, smiling. “And you enjoyed them all?”

“Yeah, mainly. A few of them were a bit weird, but they kept me busy during lunch breaks.”

“Were your friends in these clubs too?”

“Some of them, I guess. Not many.” He adds, thinking about it properly.

“So would it be fair to say you were getting a little bit distant from your friends if you were busy every lunchtime?”

“Probably.” Blaine agrees, wondering if that's another thing he's meant to feel guilty for.

“Did you start to feel lonely?”

“Kurt stopped answering my calls.” He says instead. It doesn't answer the question, and yet it really, really does.

“Okaaay.” Dr Marissa draws the ‘a' sound out as he writes and then pauses, tilts his head to the side. “So you were still very active and busy, and you stopped having down time?”

“No. I mean, I probably got more time off than before because I stopped going out with the New Directions quite so much.”

“The New Directions…?”

“That's the name of our Glee club.”

“I see. But what I mean, Blaine—sorry, I didn't phrase this very well—is that you had time off, but you stopped having down time where you could just discuss trivial things with, say, Kurt and not think too carefully about it.”

Blaine lets out a laugh. “Yeah, you could say that. I definitely started thinking more.”

“About anything in particular?”

“Just…stuff.” He answers unhelpfully and Dr Marissa presumably decides he's pushed far enough in that direction because he changes tact.

“So would you like to discuss last night? Your mom sounded quite concerned on the phone.”

Blaine sighs, yet another wave of guilt cresting inside of him. “Yeah, she does that.”

“All mothers do that.” Dr Marissa corrects, grinning. Blaine tries to work out whether he's attractive or not—it's a game he likes to play with himself sometimes—but whilst his therapist isn't exactly unpleasant on the eyes, Blaine can't quite see him as good-looking. He can't seem to find anyone good-looking nowadays. “So…?” Dr Marissa prompts after a moment's silence and Blaine snaps back to the issue at hand.

“I dunno…Kurt rang.” Blaine knows he sounds like a broken record, but he doesn't know what else to say. All roads lead back to Kurt.

“And you fought?”

“Nope. We were chatting—about you actually—but it was really awkward and weird, and then I realised he had company.”

“Another man?” Damn, Dr Marissa is good at his job.

Blaine nods and can't meet his eyes all over again. “That wasn't even why—I mean, I don't—but it was just…it was weird.”

“This next question's a little tough, but I need you to be honest with me, Blaine, okay? Last night, did you feel suicidal again?”

 “A—a bit?  Not really, I just felt…I don't know, maybe like I didn't want to exist? But I don't want to die or anything like that, not anymore.” He hates how pathetic his voice has gone, but Dr Marissa doesn't acknowledge it.

“Ok,” He says, writing one more thing down. “Ok, so here's what we're going to do. Every time you start to feel like that, I want you to think of one good memory, or one thing that makes you happy, but it can't be related to Kurt. You can't stop yourself feeling like that, but you can start training your brain how to pull yourself out of it again, even if it's just until you can talk things through with me. But it can't be about Kurt. Is that okay?”

Blaine frowns. “Most of my good thoughts are about Kurt. He's my fire.”

If the last part of the sentence is strange to Dr Marissa, he doesn't let it show. “I know; that's exactly why you should try and find something else to use. It could be about a childhood vacation, or when you first brought a pet home or—I don't know—maybe when you used to sing in glee club?”

Blaine nods, wondering if thinking about the Warblers when he first joined Dalton would work.

“I've nothing against Kurt and I definitely don't think you should stop talking to him, or thinking about him, or anything like that. I just want you to use something else to help when you feel like maybe you'd rather not exist at that moment, ok? Because Kurt can make you happy, but I don't want him to become your happiness, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah, no, I get it.” Blaine says, and he thinks he really might.

“Awesome.” Dr Marissa smiles, capping his pen. “So I'll see you in three days—unless you think you might want another chat sooner?”

It's funny how much more harmless ‘chat' sounds compared to the word appointment. Blaine appreciates the effort. “I think Friday will be fine—but, I might change my mind.” He covers himself quickly, just to be on the safe side.

“Awesome.” Dr Marissa repeats, standing up to show Blaine out. “Go home and watch some trashy television or something. And I've told your parents that we'll tackle going back to school next week so don't worry about that. Have a good few days, Blaine.”

“Yeah, you too.” Blaine says mindlessly, feeling the cold air of the reception area hit him as he steps out of the office. It's going to be a long three days.

His mom asks him questions non-stop on the way home, very few of which Blaine can actually answer truthfully, and he's pretty glad when they pull into the driveway. She only drops him off with a quick, “Tell your father to pop that pizza in the oven!” before driving off again to her book club.

As soon as he goes inside, though, he misses her chatter. It's better than his father sat in stony silence at the kitchen table, at any right.

“Hello.” His father says, and Blaine thinks he's either had too much of the wine currently sitting in the glass in front of him, or his mom has blackmailed him into making an effort while she's out.

“Hi,” He says back and checks the wine bottle on the counter which, surprisingly, is still pretty full. He decides he isn't really hungry so doesn't mention the pizza; his father's the sort to fix himself something at his own convenience anyway.

“How was the…appointment?” It's stilted and awkward, but Blaine takes the bait.

“It was actually good, thank you. We talked a lot of things through and it…helped, I guess.”

“Good.” His father takes a long sip of wine and a deep breath and continues, “Kurt rang last night.”

“I know. Mom told me this morning.”

His father nods, takes another sip of wine. Blaine watches his fingers turn the pages of the Investors Chronicle he's reading, notices how much thinner they seem, veins protruding more with age.

“He said he loved you. I was supposed to tell you that.”

He says it out of nowhere, just when Blaine is settling back into the silence, fingers drumming noiselessly against the counter, and he doesn't quite know what to make of it. “Oh. Um…thank you.”

“I think he meant it.” His dad is watching him—actually looking at Blaine's face—and Blaine wonders if he's someone fallen into a parallel universe on his way home.

Blaine considers the statement for a moment, then nods. “Maybe.” He concedes.

His dad nods back, apparently satisfied that he has done his duty, and returns to his magazine. Blaine turns round slowly, glances at the wine.

“Can I have a glass?” He gestures to the bottle, and his dad hums his assent without looking; perhaps he can only stomach Blaine in small doses. 

Blaine pours himself a large glass of the red liquid and heads upstairs, closing his bedroom door behind him. He takes an experimental sip and cringes slightly—he's never been a huge fan of red wine, especially if he's drinking alone. He places it on his nightstand and flops back on his bed, glancing at his phone where it lies next to him and pressing the home button out of habit. He's surprised when he sees Kurt's message, certain that he'd leave Blaine alone now he knew he was alright. He had definitely sent several months' worth of texts last night, all of which Blaine had somewhat guiltily deleted this morning without responding to. He was relieved when he heard that Kurt had rang; at least someone else had told him what a weirdo Blaine had been. Again.

The message lights up his screen and Blaine almost deletes it as well. Almost. But then he just sort of leaves it there, afraid to unlock the phone and read the rest of it. He sits up and reaches for his glass, forcing another few sips down and wondering why it's not helping him feel less anxious. The words of Kurt's message sit heavier in his stomach than any alcohol could so he swigs the last bit back and gives in, typing the passcode into his phone.

I hope you're feeling better this morning—even if only a little bit! I'm so, so sorry about whatever last night's train wreck was. Hope you'll forgive me. I'd really like to hear from you whenever you're free. Just give me a call or we can skype or something. Hope to hear from you soon <3

The first thing Blaine notices is that Kurt's said the word ‘hope' a lot. It feels strangely like a barrier between the words on the screen and whatever Kurt really wanted to say, not that Blaine has any clue what that might be. 

The heart at the end makes his chest flutter pleasantly and, brilliant, now the wine starts to loosen him up. He very nearly rings Kurt on the spot but then he remembers his conversation with Dr Marissa and picks at his nails instead, trying not to think about how Kurt hated that particular habit. He then contemplates sending a text instead, just a quick reply to start up a semblance of communication, but every time he thinks of something to write, it gets all rambly in his head. He lets the phone lock itself as the minutes tick by and then unlocks it again on an impulse, firing off a quick text.

<3

Well, it's just a symbol, really. He's not even sure what it means— perhaps message received, or thank you, or piss off, or God, I'm so in love with you. Maybe it's all of these things rolled into one stupid little symbol.

He doesn't even know how Kurt interprets it since he doesn't reply. For once, though, Blaine doesn't feel resentful that Kurt's probably out living his life in New York, maybe even hanging out with his new male acquaintance. It's no longer reason to see a red that quickly fades into a blue; it's just a fact. The earth is round. Blaine dislikes red wine. Kurt is busy.

Maybe those therapy sessions are worth the money after all, he thinks as he settles back against the headboard, crossing one ankle over the other and flicking on his TV.