Unsurprisingly, he couldn't sleep. He turned out the light almost immediately after the door shut as he always felt like he was being silently judged whenever he cried in anything less than darkness. The tears were plentiful and came with no prompting at all, not that he tried to stop them either, yet sleep evaded him. He stared at the black walls, tracing the shadows round the windows where the tiniest cracks of light peeked through from behind his blinds and curtains. He thought of poor, alone, heartbroken Blaine huddled underneath the blankets in the guest room; he always got cold easily when he was upset. Kurt cried harder and sleep continued to evade him, cruelly refusing to relieve him from his misery. At least he could control the sobs here in the darkness; years of practice at keeping the full extent of the bullying he'd endured from his father had taught him how to cry quietly. He wasn't sure if it made the process more cathartic or simply more torturous. Sometimes he wanted to scream so badly it hurt, but there was something perversely pleasurable about that intense burst of grief as tears rolled down his cheeks.

But the worst part, he thought as he rolled over yet again to let the other side of his pillow dry a little bit, the worst part was that no matter how awful he felt, it was surely nothing compared to how Blaine must be feeling. Kurt wasn't sure whether he would be lying there motionless in the darkness, his mask still firmly in place, lips trembling in the effort to keep from breaking as he internally torments himself, or whether he would have allowed himself to give in now that he's alone and cry into his pillow having also mastered the art of silent tears. Either way, Kurt was positive he wouldn't be asleep.

He quickly, angrily wipes at his wet cheeks and sucks in a shuddering breath as he kicks the duvet off and half-stands, half-rolls out of bed. He opens his door quietly, the slight click unnervingly loud in the silent hallway and pads down the landing to the guestroom, taking extra care when passing his dad and Carol's bedroom. Pressing his ear to the door, he waits, heart in throat, to see if there's any noise within. After a moment of silence, he pulls back and raises his hand to knock softly before realising that he wasn't in a fit state himself to talk Blaine down off his mental ledge tonight and, anyway, he couldn't risk waking Blaine just in case he was asleep.
Closing his eyes against the fresh well of tears clinging to his eyelashes and threatening to spill over, Kurt reluctantly backed away. He decided to go and get a glass of water in the hope it might dislodge the lump in his throat enough that he could at least dose until morning. He crept down the stairs, mouthing a curse when the bottom step creaked, and walked into the kitchen, fumbling with the light switch for a moment before blinking against the sudden brightness, an unwelcome contrast to his beloved dark.

A glass and a half of water later, he realised the lump in his throat wasn't going anywhere and resigned to a sleepless night, he walked through to the front room, deciding he may as well watch some muted night-time TV. He could still feel the sobs heaving around in his chest, like the ebb and flow of the sea, swelling inside him and constantly threatening to surge out. He bit his lips together, just in case. Luckily, the sitting room door was open and he bent to pick the remote off the coffee table before turning round to sit on the sofa and freezing.

Blaine was lying along it, pressed up against the cushions at the back with his arms huddled securely around his knees, tugging them up against his chest. He had his eyes shut, but Kurt couldn't tell whether he was actually asleep or not, and then he spotted the coat draped over him, clearly meant as some sort of pathetic makeshift blanket and his heart broke into impossibly smaller pieces. Why hadn't he slept in the guest room?

"Blaine," He breathed out, somewhere between a sigh and a wine, and softly sat down on the free bit of couch next to him, jolting himself when Blaine jerked awake, his eyes small and raw-looking from crying. Kurt could see him physically struggling to look unaffected as his memory caught up with him, trying to claw some part of the mask back into place.

Kurt opened his mouth to say something else but Blaine had already dropped his gaze so he decided to try and different tactic and swung his legs up, sliding his body downwards until he, too, was lying on the sofa, pressed right against Blaine from forehead to foot due to the lack of space. Blaine tried to wriggle backwards but the back of the sofa stopped him so Kurt took pity and tried to move himself back a little instead, not appreciating just how small a couch it was, and almost fell off backwards—but then Blaine's arms were around him, his fingers splayed out on Kurt's back as he dragged him away from the edge and back against him.

Kurt rested their foreheads together again and breathed in that heady Blaine scent that always made his heart beat faster in his chest. Blaine's expression was guarded, but all traces of the mask was gone, and Kurt suddenly felt incredibly tired, unable to arrange his millions of thoughts into coherent, comforting words so he settled for just leaning even closer and pressing his lips to Blaine's forehead, eliciting a little hum from Blaine, who tucked his head under Kurt's chin. Soon, the combined warmth from the bodies and the comfort of being held had caused his breathing to even out as he fell asleep and Kurt let the steady rise and fall against his own chest lull him under too. His last thought before he drifted off was that the lump in his throat had disappeared.

*

The next morning, Kurt blinked his eyes open, still half asleep and disorientated. And then he inhaled slowly and became blissfully aware that Blaine's scent was all around him, telling him they'd fallen asleep in each other's arms. Sighing softly, he wiggled his toes and rolled over to snuggle into Blaine—and promptly landed with a muffled smack on the floor.

Then he simultaneously remembered that they'd slept on the couch (which would explain why his back was killing him) and realised that Blaine was no longer on said couch. It took his sleep-addled brain approximately two more seconds before memories of the previous night properly came back to him and then he began internally freaking out. This couldn't be a good sign; Blaine always stayed in bed whenever he and Kurt had shared a bed, regardless of whether they'd done anything or merely fallen asleep watching his TV. In fact, he had confessed to Kurt once, whispered in between stolen, sleepy kisses that it was one of the things he looked forward to most about them having their own apartment someday—that he'd be able to wake up next to Kurt every single day and never be cuddle-deprived again.

Disentangling himself from the coat which had fallen on top of him, twisting half under his legs (and, oh God, Blaine had chosen to sleep on the coach with a coat for a blanket rather than use the guest room), Kurt got up and ran into the hall, praying Blaine hadn't just left without saying goodbye. He was bound to still be upset and angry at himself and it would be the kind of stupid thing he'd do. He heard his dad's low chuckle coming from the kitchen and rushed towards it, ready to somewhat hysterically explain the situation to his dad and get him find him again, but when he skidded into the kitchen, he stopped dead in his tracks.

His dad was indeed in the kitchen, leant against one of the units, his usual 'best dad' coffee mug in hand, but there, stood in front of the stove next to him, chatting away happily, was Blaine. Before either man had time to look up, Kurt was rushing towards him and wrapping his arms around his back, his chin instinctively dipping down to rest on his shoulder.

"Whoa, morning," Blaine laughed, putting the spatula from where he was turning pancakes over in the pan down on the side. Kurt didn't say anything, merely hummed into his shoulder. Blaine was still here, everything was good.

"I see someone's a little touchy-feely today," Burt commented amusedly, raising his eyebrow at his son who was still clinging to Blaine so tightly that he couldn't so much as turn in his arms.

"At least you didn't walk in on them earlier," Finn interrupted, walking into the kitchen probably having smelt the food. "I went in to watch last night's sport highlights and there they were getting-it-on on the sofa."
Burt laughed but Kurt turned his head to the side to look at him.

"We were asleep, you moron." He mumbled, still refusing to let go even when Blaine attempted to extract himself.

"Yeah, well, I still don't want to see that." Finn was already hovering near the stove, clearly looking to see if he could steal something. He didn't seem to twig the implication of his words until he looked up and saw Kurt's glare and Blaine's wide eyes and slightly open mouth. "No, I—God, I didn't mean like that," He said quickly, stuttering slightly as he rushed to explain himself, "Not— because I'm totally cool with you being gay and all that— I just didn't want to see— not 'cause it was two guys, just—"
"I think they get it, Finn," Burt interjected, placing a hand on his shoulder. "No need to give yourself an aneurysm."

"Talking of heart problems," Kurt said, finally peeling himself away from Blaine, albeit it reluctantly, as he began to dish up. "Who said you could eat pancakes for breakfast? What happened to your diet cereal?"

Burt rolled his eyes as he took his plateful from Blaine. "Oh, come on, you're no fun."

"Neither are heart attacks, dad." Kurt said pointedly.

"Yeah, but it's a special occasion. Let me celebrate in peace." Burt sat down in his chair at the table.

"What are we celebrating?" Kurt asked, confused. He knew for a fact it was no one's birthday; he'd always been good at remembering dates.

"Blaine staying over again," Burt said, raising his orange juice at Blaine who blushed.

"I—what?" Kurt asked bemusedly.

"Can't I celebrate the fact you both got your heads out of your asses and are working stuff out now instead of moping around?"

"Yes, I—yes." Kurt said, his voice much quieter, no longer feeling like his dad was insane.

"So sit down and eat up the pair of you." Burt gestured to the chairs in front of him and both Kurt and Blaine sat down with their own platefuls, Finn attempting to slyly slip the remaining pancake onto his plate near the stove.

They ate in silence, broken only by the occasional complement at Blaine's cooking; Kurt hadn't been able to hold back the moan when he'd taken his first mouthful and although he'd flushed when all eyes turned to him, he secretly thought it was worth it when he caught Blaine grinning out of the corner of his eye.

After they'd finished and Burt had made Finn do the dishes ("Blaine did the cooking, Finn, it's only fair.,", "But what about Kurt?", "He did them last night.", "Ugh, fine..."), Kurt lead Blaine back into the front room where he froze as he saw the coat on the floor again.

"Blaine," Kurt said, twisting his head to look at him where he was stood awkwardly a few paces behind, as if unsure whether Kurt wanted him to join him or not. "I think we need to talk."

Blaine didn't draw into himself like Kurt had been expecting, he merely nodded and sat down when Kurt patted the couch next to him.

"Ok," He said quietly.