Once Kurt was in the kitchen he braced his hands on the island counter and shut his eyes. Every inch of him felt like it was made of melting wax. For reasons he didn't quite understand he'd convinced Blaine to stay after spending half an hour the previous night arguing with his father about the other boy's presence in their house. All of the conflicting thoughts he was having were making him dizzy. He knew he was wrong to treat Blaine the way he did, and he knew he was sorry for it, but actually saying it to Blaine made him feel so uncertain. Making an effort to rebuild their bond didn't seem to have much of a point, not after so long or while their social statuses at school remained as they were.

So what if he apologized to Blaine? Things couldn't go back to how they had been – a simple sorry couldn't change or make up for that. He couldn't be seen with Blaine at school or out in public because it would bring all of the jocks and Cheerios back down on Blaine. He'd done everything he could to prevent that in their freshmen year, and it still hadn't been enough because Blaine hadn't cared enough about himself to hide. Blaine had faced them head on and refused to let their friendship be pushed into the dark. At least until Kurt had shoved it down and stomped the life out of it.

Kurt couldn't imagine losing his status at school either. There was no way he wanted to go back to being tormented and shoved into lockers, but was it really fair or right to do it to others just so it didn't happen to him? Was it fair to Blaine to make him feel as humiliated and worthless as it had made Kurt feel?

Kurt dug his elbows into the counter and buried his face in his hands. He didn't know what he was doing anymore. He couldn't go back to that. He could barely face Blaine knowing how terribly he'd crushed him, regardless of whether or not Blaine had been in love with him like Burt had said. It was probably foolish for him to think it wasn't true, because the more he thought about it the more he saw the looks and the smiles in his memories – the glances of adoration and just how bright Blaine's eyes could shine when Kurt had smiled at him.

Kurt shook himself and stood up straight. He didn't know what he was going to do, but he couldn't have everything. He'd learned that the hard way when he was fourteen. All the memories of him and Blaine, of the good and bad times made his heart ache and made his limbs feel weak. Now that Blaine was a more solid, purposeful presence in his life again, even if it was by force and not very heartwarming, he felt... strange. More complete or full or himself. There was no reason to hide the real him from Blaine, not when the other boy knew the best and worst he was capable of.

With a great effort Kurt shoved the thoughts aside and started grabbing ingredients for breakfast. He'd have all of winter break to figure this out, and maybe even if he and Blaine couldn't be friends again he could find a way to stop hating himself. A way that meant Blaine didn't have to hate him either.

He startled a bit at the thought and splashed milk onto the counter. For the better part of two years he'd thought the only way forward was to replace his self-hatred with Blaine's. It had never really occurred to him that there might be another way to start liking himself again without hatred being involved from either of them. With a quick shake he went back to pouring skim milk into the measuring cup.

A soft, clear note chimed for the family room. It made Kurt pause again, because someone was sitting at the piano that hadn't been touched in over a year. He went back to stirring as silence filled the room again, but then a short melody began. It was one that jogged Kurt's memory back to his middle school days. Briefly he remembered Blaine trying to teach him the piece the other boy had started writing, but Kurt had never really managed it. He could hold a tune on a piano if he really had to, but Blaine was the one with the inherent gift when it came to musical instruments. There wasn't an instrument Blaine could touch and not pull at least a few notes from, but at the keys of a piano Blaine had always been remarkable.

Kurt let the soft, sad tones wash over him, not realizing his hands had stopped stirring as he listened. He couldn't see Blaine, see the pain, sorrow, or regret on his face, but he could feel it. The whole room seemed to be filling up with it as the music poured from Blaine's fingertips and out into the air. It was almost suffocating to hear, and the brief images in his mind of all the happy moments he remembered with the other boy made the spoon in his hand shake so badly it splashed down into the liquid in the bowl. He was just hoping to re-gain control of himself as the piece neared what had once been the end, but the tones didn't stop.

The chords seared right though him as a new part picked up where Blaine had normally left off. The thought that Blaine had finished his song – one of countless songs he'd been working at – without him, maybe even because of how Kurt had treated him, made tears spring to his eyes.

As the new addition to it finished and the first melody began again, Kurt slid down to the ground between the island and the main counter, drawing his knees up to his chest as his father's rumbling voice carried in from the family room and the piano stopped. An unbearable hollowness had settled in his chest, and as tears started pouring down his cheeks he wondered if this was how Blaine had felt the day he'd lost his best friend. He wondered why it had taken him so long to realized he'd lost the same thing.

Tired and exhausted, Kurt stumbled into the empty boys' locker room after practice. He might be flexible and athletic enough to make the squad, but keeping up with Coach Sylvester's vigorous routines wore him out, and today was only his first official practice. His entire uniform was soaked through with sweat and he didn't even want to think about the state of his hair.

The first thing he did was grab the huge water bottle out of his locker and drop down onto the bench to drink. Kurt downed a third of it in one giant swig and set it aside, stretching his aching arms over his head as something buzzed loudly from inside his locker.

A bright smile took over his features despite his exhaustion. There one only one person who would be texting him right after Cheerios practice was set to end. He fumbled through his bag and pulled out his phone to see the message.

Just like he'd thought it was from Blaine. Seeing the short message asking if he was still alive after the beat down made his chest flood with warmth. Blaine, even in text messages, always made him feel happy, content, even safe. It was something nobody else had ever really managed. Especially none of the Cheerio girls. The majority of them side-eyed him in annoyance because he'd been at the top of Coach Sylvester's list, while the girls ahead of him –Quinn, Santana, and Brittany – were trying to pull him into their little gang.

The only thing the whole squad seemed to have in common was their mutual dislike of his friendship with Blaine. But Kurt wasn't going to let them break them apart. They weren't going to take away the best part of his life, not after he'd agreed to all of this in order to make Blaine's life better at school.

The door to the hallway clattered open as he was grabbing his things to shower and he stopped abruptly, feeling uneasy. There were any number of people he didn't want to come through that door, and unfortunately all of them were guys so they could walk right in. He still hadn't been able to gage the jocks' reactions to his social advancement, but he didn't think they'd like him any better when he was parading around in a cheerleading uniform.

But instead of a hulking jock, or even Blaine, one of the three girls he'd just been thinking about stepped around the row of lockers. Santana's nose was crinkled at the smell, but somehow she still looked as venomous as ever.

"Hey, lady balls," she greeted. "Me and you need to have a nice little chat."

Kurt started to ask what she wanted to talk about, but the girl barreled on. It was trait he was starting to grow accustom to, because when Santana started talking she rarely stopped until she had made her point.

"So I get that you and afro like to get handsy and pull each other's dicks or whatever you wanna call it, but you've got something better to hold up to now. Either you ditch Frodo McHeart Eyes and stick with us, or I'll let everyone know just how much you're dying to be bent over something– "

"I'm not g– " Kurt started to vehemently refute, but Santana held up a hand and gave him a bitchy look.

"You're as gay as a flamingo painting unicorns while shrieking about how much you need a mani, okay, Hummel?" Santana snapped, poking him in the chest. "Anyone with eyes can see it, and the only reason this entire school hasn't blown your balls to the Netherlands is because you're in that uniform now."

The thought that Santana had figured out his biggest secret terrified him. He wasn't ready. It was only last year that he'd finally admitted it to Blaine, but telling the rest of the world that he wasn't afraid of himself when he still was, was something else entirely.

Kurt glared angrily at her for several moments, hating the smug smirk on her face. "What do you want?" he said finally. "What difference does it make to you if I stay or not?"

"Okay, look. I don't like you, and I couldn't care less if you spread 'em for Hobbit Boy or some closet case jock," Santana paused and crossed her arms. The corner of her mouth turned down in annoyance. "But you're good. Really good, and we need a strong male presence – or as close as you can give us to one – " Kurt scowled at her "on the team. So you're staying, and that means I'm teaching you the ropes or I'm outting you to all of Lima. Get it?"

Kurt opened his mouth to reply, but fear was screaming through his limbs. He couldn't even handle thinking about coming out to everyone, let alone being outted. His father's disappointed face flashed through his mind, and his stomach churned. There was no way he could let it happen.

"I– just leave Blaine out of this," Kurt demanded, though even he could detect the plea in his voice. He couldn't do that to Blaine, not after everything Blaine had done for him.

"I'll leave him out of it as soon as you do," Santana retorted sharply. "Ditch him, and I mean really ditch him. Not some half-assed pretend stunt, cause I'll know. In fact, if you tell him any of what I just said this whole deal is off."

She started back towards the door, and Kurt was so scared and worried his shampoo bottle fell out of his hands. "But this isn't a deal– "

"It is if you want to make it through high school with that uniform," Santana cut in, eyeing him up and down before disappearing around the locker row.

A few seconds later Kurt heard the door slam closed as he slumped down onto the bench. He'd sworn to protect Blaine, to find a way to make the torment they both suffered stop. If he stayed Blaine's friend he'd just bring even more of an avalanche down on him, and if he quit the Cheerios Santana would probably still out him and then he'd bring that same attention to Blaine. No matter what way he looked at it things were only going to get worse for Blaine.

What was he going to do?

Several days passed without much incident. Kurt spent a lot of time holed up in his room while Blaine hung out with Finn and avoided coming into the room until he had to sleep. Both of them had separately tried to convince Burt to let Blaine stay in Finn's room, but Burt wouldn't hear of it, especially when he saw how much they avoided each other.

Without his phone, computer, and television Kurt was miserable. He'd read through several of his favorite books and magazines, but he hated being cut off from the world he'd created for himself at McKinley. By Christmas Eve Burt was forcing him out of his room and upstairs to the family room to help decorate the tree and bake cookies.

It was both familiar and awkward to have Blaine present, and every time Kurt looked at him anymore his stomach squirmed. Some small, randomly pointless memory would go off in his mind from just a little glance and it made him feel sick. Sick because of how much wrong he'd done even though he'd told himself he'd isolated and pushed Blaine away to keep him safe. Now he could finally admit the truth of his reasoning: he'd done it to protect himself. Sure, he'd still wanted to keep Blaine safe when Santana had first confronted him, but the following Friday in the hallway had been all about him. Kurt's fears, and Kurt's self-preservation. None of it had been for Blaine's benefit. He'd directed all the negativity at Blaine to keep himself hidden.

"Finn, stop eating all of the popcorn," Carole scolded, smacking her son's wandering hands. "That's for the tree."

"But I'm hungry," Finn whined. "Can't I eat just a little bit?"

"No," Kurt snapped angrily, smacking Finn's hand before Carole had a chance to the second time. "Stop. You can eat whatever's left after it's strung up."

"If I don't beat you to it, that is," Blaine chimed in, appearing from behind the tree where he'd been hanging the ornament Carole had passed him. Carole handed him another, a tiny hand shaped one that Kurt had never seen before. There were a lot of ornaments this year that he wasn't familiar with. He supposed that's what happened when two families became one.

"Gee whiz, I can't believe your hand was this small, Finn," Blaine said in amazement. He held it up to his own, and laughed. It was barely as long as his fingers.

At the sound Kurt's stomach gave a funny jump. Confused by the feeling, Kurt stared after him for a moment as Blaine returned to the tree to hang the little hand.

"Didn't you used to have one like that?" Kurt found himself asking as Blaine returned again, smiling pleasantly and seeming at ease. It was strange for Kurt considering how awkward and unnerving the first night and morning had been. Even when they were getting ready to sleep at night, things between them dissolved back into tense silence, but around Kurt's family Blaine was a gentlemen. He fell easily back into place at Kurt's house as long as they ignored each other, and he seemed more at ease than Kurt could recall him ever being at his own house.

It had always been that simple for Blaine at Kurt's house, Kurt had to remind himself. Even the first time Kurt had brought him over after school in fifth grade Blaine had bounced around, laughed loudly and been charming. Blaine always fit in when he was here, or better yet, didn't feel like he needed to fit like he did at his own home. Here he was just Blaine, just himself, and the thought made Kurt shut his eyes and block out the room where Finn and Blaine were laughing at another ornament, this time of Finn's baby foot.

Everything Kurt had just thought about had been taken away from Blaine by him. Through his own actions and need to stay hidden. The only thing trying to stay closeted had done was make him even more terrified of coming out. Now he was so far in he was starting to think he wouldn't find his way out even when he graduated and went to New York.

The timer went off in the kitchen and Kurt stood up quickly, despite Carole's protests, and followed her into the kitchen to take out the last batch of cookies. A pair of strong hands forced him into the seat at the island counter, and Kurt sunk down into it as Carole shuffled over to the oven, turned it off, and pulled the cookies out.

"Blaine sure gets along well with them," Carole commented as she set the cookies on the little rack on the island.

Kurt glowered down at the little gingerbread men, particularly the four with bow ties that Blaine had decorated, and shrugged. He wasn't mad at Blaine for fitting in here so easily, he just hated how everything Blaine did reminded him of what an asshole he'd been and still was to the other boy. How was he supposed to make amends of any kind when just seeing Blaine's face filled him with pangs of regret?

"Him and Dad always got along," Kurt offered as Carole fanned her oven mitt over the tray.

"Hmm," Carole replied.

There was a knowing, annoying little tone to the simple noise that made Kurt snap.

"Hmm, what?" he demanded, and she had the nerve to laugh at him. "Stop laughing at me!"

"Kurt, just... " Carole shook her head, and let out a few more giggles. "Sweetheart, you can't keep pretending like you don't miss him. I've seen all of those old pictures of you two. I know being a Cheerio means a lot to you, but doesn't having Blaine as a friend mean more?"

"I– I'm not pre– we can't go back to how things were," Kurt said forcefully. "There's just no way."

"Don't be so dramatic. Yes, a lot has happened, but who says he wants to go back? Maybe instead of focusing so much on what has happened, you should focus on right now."

At Carole's words Kurt's mind jumped back to Friday night, and then Saturday morning. Blaine had said he wanted to forget all of it, everything they'd shared, and Kurt had taken that to mean the good moments as well. He'd also said there was no reason they couldn't move forward. Even though Kurt had tried to block it out and pretend he'd stopped caring again, he'd still heard Blaine's words, the slight, unbearable note of hope in his voice.

"But, I– how? How am I supposed to do that when every time I see him I just think about... about all the horrible things I– " Kurt rambled, his voice cracking as he stopped talking.

Carole circled around the counter and cradled his head against her. "Shh, it's not going to be easy, Kurt. You've just got to remember there's good things you two have shared as well. There's even better memories just waiting for you two to create them. Just give yourself a chance to be you again."

Be himself. What a joke. The last time Kurt had really been himself had been the day he'd come out to his father. That had been the weekend after he'd turned against Blaine, and when his father had found him curled up in his bed crying he'd told him exactly who he was.

Since then he'd just built up a fortress around him, posting Cheerio guards and a haughty comeback at every entrance. All the while he'd left his real self to wander the echoing halls until he was so lost he couldn't even find a crevasse to crawl out of.

Carole squeezed him tightly again and went back to the cookies. He watched her pick them off and set them on a plate as he tried to remember if there'd been any point in the last two years that he'd really felt like Kurt. He didn't think there was.

"Carole," Kurt began slowly, "what if– what if I don't know who me is anymore?"

As Carole scooped the last cookie onto the plate, she looked up and gave him a sad, but certain smile. "Blaine does. You let him back into your heart and I promise he'll show you just who Kurt Hummel really is under that uniform."

"But– "

"You once trusted him with everything from what I've gathered," Carole cut in smoothly. "He hasn't let you down yet, even after all of this. Give him a chance."

Kurt stared after her as she carried the plate of cookies out into the living room. Her words hit him hard, a lot harder than he'd expected because he'd been so focused on his own mistakes and choices that he'd never stopped to think that Blaine still hadn't betrayed his trust. Even when he'd tormented, taunted, and made Blaine look like a fool the other boy had always kept his promises even if their friendship had no longer remained. He'd never returned fire and outted Kurt.

Kurt didn't believe that he deserved a second chance of his own, but Blaine did. His old friend deserved a lot more than that.