"No, I haven't seen him!" Sam shouted over the outrageously loud music in the gym filled with a mass of hormonal teenagers dancing insanely to Tina, who had pulled on his arm and asked in a yell if he'd seen Blaine. "Maybe he went outside for fresh air!"

"WHAT?"

"MAYBE HE WENT OUTSIDE FOR FRESH AIR!" Sam repeated, louder that time, and Tina bit her lip worriedly.

"WE SHOULD SEE IF HE'S OKAY," Tina responded, and Sam nodded immediately in agreement; though neither of them had been too concerned or pried too deeply into Blaine's reluctance to go and his uneasiness all week, not to mention how he seemed scared of everything until he starting acting like he was fine (he's an amazing actor), they both knew that they should check on him. It was possible he'd reached a boiling point and had to escape to break down. That had happened once before as far as Sam knew, and that time nobody had gone after him, and he'd seen how much that had hurt though he'd said nothing - he couldn't let it happen again.

So he and Tina shoved their way through the throng of flesh and fabric and pushed into the hallway. The contrast was remarkable; inside, sweating had been almost mandatory, and the air was thick and hot and loud. When the doors closed behind them, the sound was muffled and the air was cool and thin and almost chilling due to the sudden contrast in temperatures. Tina, in her short, sleeveless dress, shivered in the cold air, and Sam, wearing a tuxedo with a long-sleeved shirt under his long-sleeved jacket, offered his jacket to her; she took his gratefully and with a brief smile.

"Where do you think he might have gone?" Tina asked, peering down both ends of the hallway. "It's a big school. He could be anywhere."

"Nah, he couldn't be," Sam reasoned. "They gate off other portions so kids can't go sneaking around vandalizing stuff. There's this hallway and the ones its attached to and then the parking lot and that's it."

"Split up?" She suggested, unsure.

Sam considered for a minute. "It shouldn't take very long, especially if we work together." She nodded. "Which way?"

"Um, parking lot first," Tina said. "Maybe he went home. We'll see if his car's still there or if he's about to leave or something. See if he's okay."

It was Sam's turn to nod, and so they set off. Their footsteps echoed in the empty hallways, the icy air freezing the beads of sweat on their face as they picked up pace in the already-cold hallway. Sam wrapped his arm around Tina's shoulders as they walked to keep them both warm and she put hers around his waist in return. They had just turned the corner into the hallway that led to the parking lot when Sam froze and Tina was jerked back beside him. "What? What is it?" she queried, confused. She looked in the direction he was staring and her eyes widened. "That's - that's not..."

On the other side of the glass doors was a figure lying on the asphalt, motionless and nearly blending in to the dark scenery, only truly noticeable from their distance because there were three people clearly beating the living crap out of it. And it wasn't reacting at all.

"Blaine," Sam breathed, his athlete's organization kicking in as he recognized the fighting styles of the hockey jocks, the way they attacked similar to their moves during their games so much they were almost identical. "Tina, get help. Mr. Schue, Coach Bieste, Coach Sylvester, Finn, anyone you can, get help!" And he tore away and bolted down the hall, listening to her shouts that she would and her own retreating footsteps. His feet slapped against the tile floor and he barreled out of the double doors at the end of the hall, flinging them open with all the force he had, and he bellowed, "GET THE HELL OFF HIM!"

The figures had grown more distinguished as he'd grown closer, and they all looked at him for the briefest of moments before swearing profusely and sprinting out of sight, possibly thinking they wouldn't get caught and possibly not caring. Sam burned to go after them and attack, but the puddle of thick, dark liquid he stepped in forced him to stop and look down. His foot was beside what was now clearly Blaine's head.

He stepped back and knelt down, reaching under his jaw to his neck for a pulse, and finding one beating very feebly. He was still upon the ground, his eyes had stopped seeing and had closed, and his ears could not hear the screams for him to wake up. Sam felt around his head for the injury, trying to get it to stop bleeding - because that puddle of what was obviously blood was seriously terrifying - and found his gelled hair now sticky in thicker patches with what wasn't hair gel. The moonlight glinted off his blood sickeningly and Sam fought the urge to gag as he felt around Blaine's head until he found the point, right near his temple, where the blood was both warmest and abundant. He felt himself for his jacket and realized he left it with Tina, and he swore, frantic. He reached up to the top of his sleeve and ripped it down until he slid the cuff off his wrist and balled the fabric up and pressed it to Blaine's skull.

He cradled his head in his lap and managed not to cry until everyone he'd asked for and more burst through those same doors to hear him calling, "Blaine, Blaine, please, Blaine, please," repeatedly.

A hand went to his shoulder, trying to calm him, but his torn-off sleeve was already stained through and absorbing more than it could carry, and his pants were getting splattered on with the crimson, and people were shouting and the New Directions were screaming and hands were trying to pull him back and there were phone calls and everyone was just saying Blaine's name, over and over and over and over...

"Finn? Why are -"

"Rachel I don't have much time so I need you to listen quickly," Finn rushed out as he drove recklessly behind the ambulance with as many of the New Directions as would fit in his car. "We had the Sadie Hawkins dance tonight and Blaine went."

"What's wrong? What hap-"

"The jocks beat him up when he went outside for some reason. He won't wake up and he's bleeding all over the place, and I'm right behind the ambulance right now, and I need you to call the graduates and tell them because I'm busy. Break it to Kurt as gently as you can and tell him I'm sorry."

He could hear her start to cry on the other end with fear and frustration and confusion and he felt enormously guilty for causing it. "Will he be okay?"

"I promise I'll call when I find out," Finn said, his words slowing a bit, his tone softening, Rachel's distress distracting him as it usually did. "I have to go. I'm so sorry I've sprung this on you, Rachel, and I'll make it up somehow."

"Don't hang up," Rachel begged.

He hung up.

Rachel stared at the phone in her hand, drawing it away from her ear. Kurt looked at her from the couch, unsure as to her current state; Finn had called and it sounded like she was crying, but sometimes she wanted to be left alone as opposed to comforted, and he didn't know which this was because he couldn't see her face. Her back was turned to him, her hand coming away from her ear to stare at the phone. "Rachel?" he asked, tentative. "You okay?"

Rachel didn't move and she didn't respond. Kurt's eyebrows pulled closer together and he put down his magazine. "Rachel?"

"Just a second," she whispered, and though he barely heard the words, his heart stuttered at them. She had to say something to him. Either she was composing herself to tell him her problems or something had happened that involved him, and she usually didn't compose herself before telling him her problems. Her shoulders shook as she took a deep breath and she turned around slowly. There was one tears sliding down her cheek to her trembling jaw, and it was tainted with the running makeup around her eyes.

"What happened? What did Finn say? That call only lasted, like, half a minute, it can't be that bad," Kurt's tongue stumbled over the words at the rate they left his mouth. He couldn't tell if he was speaking so Rachel would hear or so he would.

Rachel placed her phone on the table she'd been standing by and walked strode toward him purposefully, but then took a seat next to him on the couch, and managed to make it look like, even though darkened tears stole down her cheeks, she wasn't crying. She looked at him and he was struck by what a good actress she was. But for the actual tears he'd have never been able to tell.

That frightened him more than anything else had. She only ever held back her own emotions when she was sure his would be almost too much to handle on their own.

"I want you to promise me something," Rachel said, holding out her curled fist with her pinky extended. He hooked his around it after a moment of pause. "I want you to promise that you'll try your hardest not to freak out, and that means -" she said, her voice rising a bit as his mouth opened to argue, "that you don't ask questions you know I can't answer or interrupt me when I'm talking. Promise?"

"Rachel -"

"Please, Kurt. Promise."

Silence reigned for a moment before Kurt decided. "Promise."

Silence reigned again, but this time it was because Rachel was clearly searching for words. "I..." she began, but then stopped abruptly and started to form a different word. And then a different one. She cycled through about ten beginnings before Kurt held up and hand and, as gently as he could, said, "What were Finn's words?"

"You don't want to hear those." Her answer came quickly. "I'm trying to find a nicer way to put it that isn't a lie."

"So... it's really bad," he concluded after a beat. She nodded. "Okay. Um..." he trailed off, unsure but itching to find our whatever it was, because clearly he could try to fix it. "Is it my dad?" She shook her head. "Is it Carole?" She shook her head again and pressed her lips in a tight line, which he knew she did to keep from crying. The only other person he could begin to think of that would evoke such a reaction was -

"Oh, God, it's not Blaine, it can't be Blaine," Kurt muttered, and looked to her for confirmation that he was right and it wasn't Blaine.

She didn't shake her head.

"Rachel, it's not Blaine, right?" he asked, making his intentions clearer, a bit of the self-control he'd had a moment ago melting away.

"It's Blaine," she breathed, and her eyes first averted to the ground but then leapt back to his in the hopes of seeing control. They found it and her surprise was genuine, a breakthrough in her mask, but she was nowhere near as surprised as he was. He was surprised and hurt and angry and scared and suspicious and everything seemed to be really far away. Even his voice seemed distant when he asked what had happened; but her answer was much, much too close. "They had a Sadie Hawkins dance at school, and the jocks... beat him up."

"Sadie Hawkins," he echoed, unable to focus his eyes on any particular point, feeling them dart around of their own free will, as if they'd be the ones to find Blaine, his chest constricting so things faded in and out of his mind, though the words rang clear. "But that... he wouldn't go to a Sadie Hawkins dance. The last time... but he wouldn't... no..."

"Kurt?" asked her voice, sounding as if it were from the other side of a tunnel. "Kurt, sweetie? Kurt?"

"Just a second," he repeated her words from earlier. They came from somewhere but he didn't know where. He was still struggling to figure out the tense of her sentence - whether or not she thought she was disclosing a secret that Blaine had kept and had just then let out that Blaine had already told him, or if it had happened again.

Rachel proceeded with caution. "Finn's staying as close to him as he can. He's in an ambulance right now. I don't know anything else but that he wouldn't stop bleeding." She said the word as if holding a filthy rag and pinching it tersely between two fingers.

So it was present-tense. It had happened again. Kurt's mind was one thing nobody had ever questioned and it didn't let him down now, which was a shame because he was begging it to; but he could imagine the injuries and what Blaine must have been thinking, been feeling, as he received them, and a hot sob tore from his chest before he remembered he made a promise to try and stay calm, and he tried to fight it down in the second or two before Rachel was hugging him and telling him it was okay to not be calm now and he broke.

"Kurt?"

"Sam."

"Did you -"

"Rachel told me."

"I - I don't -"

"What was it like?"

"What?"

Sam hadn't expected Kurt to call him. To call Finn, maybe, possibly his parents, and he'd had no doubt he'd call all three of them numerous times, but to call him was something he hadn't expected. And he was currently sitting under what the police called a 'shock blanket', which was basically a bright orange towel made of fleece they draped around his shoulders when they asked him to describe the event. He'd just got done doing that, and was actually still sitting on the bench outside the hospital, when his phone had rung.

"Him... getting beaten up. What was it... what was it like? Did someone find him, or what?"

And Kurt's voice sounded strange. It sounded fierce, and angry, and determined; like Sam had felt when he'd first seen Blaine. Sam wondered if the shock would hit Kurt after the horror like it had hit him or if the horror had already come and this was some form of Kurt's shock. "He left the gym," Sam said, hardening his voice so it wasn't so obvious it was being blocked by a lump in his throat, repeating the words he'd just told the officers. "At the dance, he left the gym. Tina and I hadn't seen him so we went to find him and see if he was okay. He was in the parking lot. The hockey dicks were hitting him and kicking him and he was on the ground and unconscious when we saw. They went running when I reached him and Tina went to get help. He was bleeding around his temple. He hasn't stopped. Or woken up as far as I know."

There was no sound on the other end but a short gasp. To break the silence - because there was way too much of it - Sam asked, "Why are you asking me?"

Kurt answered breathily, the words coming through the phone metallic and warped by the technology but carrying that same sense of anguish Sam knew was on the other side of it: "You're his best friend, besides me."

Sam started to cry.

"How bad is it?" Will asked immediately upon the doctor entering the room filled only with them. They'd been sent directly to the smallest room, and they were all cramped inside, but only so that they'd know exactly what happened to Blaine when the doctors figured it out - the hospital could afford such actions because it was an unusually slow day for the ICU.

The doctor looked all around seriously at the different facial expressions; nervous, scared, sad, accusing. "He has several serious injuries," he answered. "He has three broken ribs, all on his right side, received after what appeared to have been a blow from a blunt instrument. His left leg is also broken, and there was a muddy shoe print on his pants leg right above the break area, so we're fairly certain someone stepped on it with enough force to break it. His neck seems to have been jerked back violently sometime during the assault and is sprained, but the sprain is minor and should heal in about two weeks or so. He also has many bruises, on his skin and his bones, some of which have burst blood vessels. The bruises aren't too bad, all things considered. However, when his head hit the pavement he sustained a concussion, and its degree we're unsure, but with the amount of blood loss it will most likely be highly affective."

The doctor stopped, having through his reading from the clipboard in his arm was sufficient enough as a summary, when Tina asked, "Yeah, but why was he bleeding?"

The doctor scanned the paper he'd been given. "There was a significantly deep laceration across his right temple about four inches long. They're cleaning it now because the cut was full of rust - it must have been done with an old, unused weapon."

"What does that mean?" Brittany whispered to Artie, who sighed and leaned over to whisper back, "There's a big cut on his head and it was dirty," to which she nodded seriously.

"Can we see him?" Finn asked.

"He hasn't woken up yet," the doctor said blandly. After years of seeing the despair that flooded the halls of a hospital meant for cures he had learned detachment; their concern for their friend was no different than that young man's concern for his daughter earlier when she came in without an arm. It was concern for different reasons, but the concern itself was the same, at least in his mind. Something to be avoided, because it hurt.

"Can we see him regardless?" Ryder pressed on.

The doctor pursed his lips. "I'll send someone to come and get you when he's ready to be seen. They're still cleaning him now."

The general reaction was impatient and suspenseful agreement; and so the doctor took his leave.

There wasn't even enough time for them to start discussing before Sam appeared in the doorway. It took them all a moment to figure out what was wrong with what they were seeing. They expected tears, which they got; they expected exhaustion, which they got; they expected the sagging posture and averted eyes, which they got. They didn't expect, or notice at first, the phone he held in his hands that he outstretched as he stumbled over to Finn. "Sam?" Jake asked, but Sam just shut his eyes and shook his head and held the phone to Finn.

"It's Kurt," Sam choked, and the general reaction was as you'd expect; people stiffened and widened their eyes and Finn took the phone from him, standing up and motioning for Sam to take his seat in the uncomfortable plastic chair.

"Kurt?" Finn asked, and Sam sat down with a slump, placing his head in his hands and taking deep breaths through the tears. "Why did you call Sam?" Sam's response was to be unable to hold back a tearing sob, and Finn and everyone else jumped at the sound before Brittany rushed to him and knelt in front of him, asking him to please stop crying because it would be okay. "Never mind that question."

"Don't push him right now," Kurt's voice on the other line was soar, jagged, raw-sounding, not at all like its normal musical lilt. He'd been crying. Not just crying, but screaming while he did so. And recently, too. But he also sounded determined on top of that and Finn wondered how Rachel had broken it to him. "He's not taking this easily and had to tell both the police and me what happened."

Tina, who had happened to have been sitting in the chair beside Sam's, reached over and patted his back and rubbed it in circles gently, while Brittany kept crooning to him. The attention of the room was divided between Sam and the phone call - Will was staring intently at Finn, hoping he'd understand what Kurt said from the responses, as were Artie, Kitty, Ryder and Jake. The others were preoccupied comforting the crying blond.

"Okay," Finn said. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you myself, I figured -"

"No, having Rachel tell me was the right call," Kurt assured him. "Made it easier. But it's been an hour since you called her and I'm guessing more than that since Blaine was found, and I want to know how bad it is."

"I don't remember all of it exactly," Finn said, feeling his gut twist sickeningly at the thought of the list and everything on it the doctor had told them. "But he's got three broken ribs, a broken leg, a sprained neck, a concussion, and a huge cut on his head."

Kurt's silence on the other line scared him more than the gasp and tears he'd thought were coming. "Kurt?"

"Does Dad know?"

"I just called him and Carole a couple minutes ago. They're on their way here -"

"Tell him I'm coming."

"What?"

"Rachel and I are flying down as soon as we can." Finn had a feeling he hadn't actually asked Rachel about that, but that he also knew he didn't need to. "She's calling the other graduates right now - she just got to Santana and you would not believe the distance her voice carries even over a phone - but we'll be there by tomorrow. If he wakes up I want to talk to him as soon as possible."

"Kurt, plane tickets are expensive -"

"I can afford the price of tickets," Kurt said sourly, "But I can't afford to not be there for Blaine. I can't, Finn. If it was Rachel, would you stay put?"

Finn wished he'd had enough energy to lie. "No."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Finn."

"You too, baby brother," Finn closed the call and heard the dial tone the moment after his words ended.

His head was trying to kill him.

He didn't know how or why, because at the moment all of his thoughts and memories were obscured as if through a thick wall of smoke, but there was an intense pain throbbing through it, and it seemed to spread from the inside all around until the edges of the agonizing waves lapped over an area on the right of his head. His head was trying to kill him. He was sure of it.

He felt like screaming at the top of his lungs as his senses faded in, because it was obvious there were people all around him, scooting their chairs gratingly against a tiled floor, whispering, speaking aloud, even crying, and every pulsation of movement sent another stab of pain rocketing around his mind. The bright, luminescent lighting shone through his closed eyelids and he felt like the light was blinding him, even as dulled as it was. The smells were sharp in his nose and his throat was achingly empty and that allowed for yet more pain to ripple through him in tremors. And when they reached his stomach and his leg, and got past whatever had happened to his neck, they stung and collected for a while before moving on.

He ground his teeth as the awareness kicked in. He'd been here before. Maybe not this room exactly, but this hospital. Several times. He'd been hurt... there had... been a dance? A... Sadie... no, that was before, not... wait, no, there was another one. Yes, another Sadie Hawkins dance. And... and he was there. Wait, no, he was in a hospital. So how did -

The memory hit.

He'd been unaware of all the wires attached to him, having been focusing mainly on the internal feelings and not the external ones, but suddenly he was avidly aware of every breath touching his skin feeling like a punch and every part of him sore and causing its own pain (though nothing compared to his head). And the recollection of the punches, and kicking, how he'd gone out for fresh air and they'd snuck up behind him and hit him before he'd had a chance to defend himself, and just never let up, their tuxedos blending in with the night sky and his to the asphalt, cold and unrelenting beneath him, pounding, hurting -

He hadn't been aware he was crying out until the sound reached his ears and sent a spasm of agony tearing him apart. He would have bitten his cheek to keep quiet but he was terrified of hurting any more than he was. He'd felt like this before. Why did it always have to be three jocks at a Sadie Hawkins dance? This had happened twice now. He really should learn to avoid them.

"Blaine? Can you hear me?"

"Stop," he begged them, the noises coming from all directions bombarding him. He tried searching his memory for anything that could help him deal with the headache but he found nothing. He could remember people just fine - the voices that were asking him everything now were familiar. He could remember the people, but their names escaped him. All but a few. There was Cooper, he could remember that, Cooper his brother, and his own name was Blaine, and then... K... Kody? Something that started with a K.

"Stop!" he begged them again. "Stop... talking... need to... think. Please!" He spoke through gritted teeth, inhaling sharply, trying to get enough air to make himself light-headed and float a bit away from the hurting so he could try and remember.

After several "Sh!"s, the room was finally quiet, and the pounding in his head dulled enough that he dared open his eyes. He squinted, unsure, for a moment, and looked blankly at the face that loomed over him.

"I..." he started, observing the face closer. "You're... what's your name?"

The entire room gasped. The tall man, the one that he was friends with, reeled back, his face losing all color and paling to the shade of a ghost. Blaine realized his mistake and rushed to fix it.

"No, I remember you, I do! I remember! It's just your name! F... Flynn?"

"Finn," his friend corrected, and Blaine would have smiled it he wasn't fighting the urge to let tears fall from the pain. He swiveled his eyes around the room instead, and they fell on a blond boy with blue eyes that were overflowing with saltwater.

"S... Sam, right? That's your name," Blaine asked him.

Sam choked and nodded.

Blaine looked to Sam's right. "And Tina. I know Tina. Hi, Tina."

Tina put her hands over her mouth.

Blaine looked to the right again, and was lost for a moment at the blonde girl who looked at him intently. Prominent features, fit, athletic, almost feline - that was it! "And it's Kitty. I think. Kitty?" She grinned broadly at him in what was obviously an attempt to cover relief, and he moved on.

He named Artie, Brittany, and Mr. Schue, but then he was lost. He looked at the brunette girl and the boy with copper hair beside her. "You're the pretty one with the amazing voice who needs to know she's good enough to deserve not starving," Blaine said, remembering all the history and actions, and she wrung her hands in front of her. "Something about a flower... um, Rose. Last name Rose?" She nodded in one brief motion. "First name... um... I'm..." he couldn't recall. But when he thought over Sectionals, he remembered her fainting dead away on stage and how they'd all called her name... what was her - oh. "Marley?"

Marley sighed with visible release of tension and leaned heavily on the boy. "And you're..." Blaine squinted again. "Um, football, crazy end-zone dances, you're... Ry... Ryder?" he said the name slowly, to give the boy time to say no. But Ryder just closed his eyes and took a deep breath and then said that he was right.

"And there's... there's a name." Blaine looked over all of them. "He's really important. And he sings like an angel and he's beautiful and I love him. Starts with-"

"Kurt," Tina interrupted. "It's Kurt. You love Kurt."

Blaine actually did smile and let his eyes unfocus as he relaxed against the pillow, the name like a cushion, easing away some of the insane amount of stress. "Kurt. Crap. I messed up with Kurt. I - there was - oh..." he trailed off as the memories returned bit by bit, becoming clearer, more animated, some of them like a spotlight where all he saw was Kurt and everything about him. And then there was the guy he didn't even want to know the name of. "No, no, no..."

And then there was a knock at the door that surprised them all so much they all gave a start; but when Blaine did it, he yelped at the pain that immediately stabbed him from his jostled limbs and settled down with a slow hiss, Marley and Tina reaching over to make sure he was okay. The door opened and Kurt's dad walked through. His name rhymed with Kurt's, Blaine remembered, it was... Furt? No, that was different and not even a legitimate name. Burt? Yes, Burt. And behind him was the woman he'd married, Finn's mom, the one with the name like a kind of song. Melody? No, that wasn't right. Carol? With an E, so Carole. There we go. Burt and Carole.

"You didn't tell us he woke up!" Burt accused, stepping into the room and pushing through the ring of Glee Club members to get to him. "When did he wake up?"

"He can't remember names," Tina explained, and Burt and Carole froze, their smiles slipping.

"No, I can if I think about it," Blaine assured them. "It just hurts a little. You're Burt and Carole. See? I'm good."

And suddenly Finn was reaching across Burt to hand Blaine a phone. "Kurt wanted to talk to you when you woke up," he explained, and Blaine snatched the phone away before Kurt could pick up because, like an idiot, Finn had already sent the call.

"Finn, how is he? Is he okay?"

"Kurt?"

"Blaine."

Blaine fell asleep. It didn't surprise anyone, given as how it was one of the many symptoms of a concussion to feel almost perpetually tired, but he did manage to make it until the doctors figured out how bad his concussion was. Unfortunately, when he fell asleep and they left the room, they didn't exactly bring good news.

"It's treatable," said one of the two. "It'll heal, it'll get better. It'll be a while, though."

"That's okay," Sam said, leaning against the wall. "What about his whole thing about not being able to remember names?"

The doctors glanced at each other before the second one turned back and said, "That's going to be a problem."

"A problem?" Will said, stepping forward. "What do you mean?"

"A symptom of concussions is amnesia," Doctor 1 explained. "And this is fairly minor amnesia, but depending on what he goes through, how much stress he endures or pain he doesn't complain about and therefore doesn't get helped, it could get worse. It'll be gone by the time the concussion is gone," they added, as if that mattered to them.

"So we keep him on pain medication and without too much stress," Ryder said, looking at the group for approval and finding it.

"Not that kind of stress, although that will affect it too," Doctor 2 said. "Physical stress. He's got a lot of severe injuries and the stress of healing, even if he does nothing but lie around all day, is going to hurt. As will the pain, obviously. But we're not going to do anything to stop the healing, even if we keep him on pain medication."

"So we'll remind him who we are and that we love him every time he doesn't remember and we move past it when he's healed," Brittany said the words like they were the most obvious thing in the world.

"He might forget events, too, or entire periods of his life. Maybe sometimes there will be a certain amount of pain for just too long and he'll just stop remembering for a minute and then be fine. We don't know." Doctor 1 shrugged as she spoke, jotting down. "We can give him therapy for healing and have him talk to a trauma councilor when he's upset -"

"No need for a councilor, have him talk to Kurt," Tina reasoned, and the others nodded.

Doctor 2 raised her eyebrows but jotted down the note regardless.

"I'm here, we're here, hello, good to see you, where's Blaine?"

Kurt and Rachel had just both flung open the front doors to the hospital, both of them carrying one bag and that was all, and they'd spotted Finn waiting for them immediately right beside the door. Kurt hadn't wasted any time; he was practically jumping up and down with such a serious set to his face Finn was a bit scared.

"He's sleeping right now, they had to put him on some pretty heavy medication this morning," Finn explained, but beckoned for them to follow and began to lead the way to Blaine's room. "He might wake up soon, we don't know. But there's something you should know."

"What?"

"The amount of memory he has depends entirely on how much stress and pain he's under," Finn told him bitterly. The New Directions had all stayed the night with Blaine, most of them cuddling up to someone on the floor after Will had gone home to fetch blankets. But when they all woke up to the sound of Blaine's heart monitor beating wildly, though his face was stoic and he didn't say anything; he refused to complain, even when he was under so much pain he couldn't function properly. Tina had freaked out and asked what was wrong and he'd just asked, "Who are you people are why are you here?" Needless to say, Tina had burst into tears.

"What? So he might not - how much proof do you have?" Kurt demanded.

"More than we want to," Finn answered.

"What happened?" Rachel spoke up. He looked at her in surprise; it was one of the few times when he'd heard her voice so hoarse. "To give you proof?"

And so Finn told them and by the end of it Kurt had swung his bag in front of him and kicked it so hard it spun around back over his shoulders and he held it there, almost hitting Rachel, and Rachel had balled her hands into fists when Finn had said everyone went home but the Hudson-Hummels, so as to not freak him out.

And then, before either of them could say anything, they were there, and Finn pushed open his door and peered inside. "Blaine?" he asked. He'd been asleep when he left, but you never know.

"I can do this one, I can do it," said a frustrated and thick voice, and Finn opened the door all the way and saw Blaine laying on his bed, staring at him intently, trying to place him. Burt and Carole sat on either side of him, and Carole was squeezing her eyes shut against tears, and Burt was rubbing his temple. "It's... it's... um..."

"Finn," he said softly, and Blaine groaned and said, "I said I could do it!" It wasn't exasperation, it was pure frustration at his own lack of memory that Blaine was exhibiting.

Rachel stepped around Finn and waved at Blaine tentatively. "Do you remember me?"

"Oh, I remember who you are, it's just your name that's lost on me," Blaine said pleasantly, and Finn sighed with relief and sagged against the frame. This was easy to handle. This didn't really hurt. "Something about fruit. Right? Fruit?"

"Yep, now keep going," Rachel teased lightly, and Finn was as impressed by her acting as always; keeping the atmosphere from getting too tense by supporting those who needed it.

"Um... a berry of some kind?" Blaine mused, his eyes going to his hands and then glazing over as he thought. "Berry... Berry. Berry's your last name, and your first name is... Ray... Rachel? Rachel Berry?"

"Someday you'll see that name in lights," Rachel sighed wistfully, and Carole looked up, extreme gratitude expressed in her every feature, and Burt smiled at the girl as she grinned at Blaine. "So yes, it's me."

"My turn," Kurt announced impatiently, and entered the room. The moment the words crossed his lips, Blaine's eyes flicked upward, right to where Kurt's face would be - he even remembered his exact height - and his face became the most hopeful thing Finn had ever seen.

"Kurt," Blaine said, before Kurt had even finished stepping in the room. Kurt looked a bit shocked, but then his expression melted into one so tender everyone else awkwardly looked away; it was a moment so private that to intrude felt criminal.

That next week, Blaine slept for a good half of the time, and the other half he spent trying to make himself remember. However, after a week, the doctors decided he needed more X-rays of his ribs, because, unfortunately for him, talking so much - and fighting back so many tears - had begun adding a level of pain the medication wasn't taking care of anymore. And so Kurt sat by his bed, lonely and scared of what returning might be like, because even though he'd yet to forget who Kurt was - and had only forgotten his name twice, which was impressive because most of the time he had no clue who anyone else was until he figured out their relationship with Kurt or Cooper - after moving around so much when injured, he was bound to be under a ton more stress than was good for him. Even though they moved him in a wheelchair as slowly as possible, Kurt still hated seeing him wince at the jostling movements.

He didn't expect what happened when Blaine came back in.

Blaine was obviously very calm. His entire demeanor was under complete control. Everything about him was quelled and neutral, and when he saw Kurt he smiled. Kurt wondered if Blaine was on some sort of drug to keep him calm. The doctors settled him onto the bed and then took their leave, giving the two of them looks of something Kurt couldn't determine. Blaine must have felt free, not being attached to the wires anymore, but for the one needle that remained in his arm that connected to his medicinal tube that they'd brought along. His head would have turned to the side if not for the cast around his neck. As it was, his eyes found Kurt.

Kurt expected him to say something, but he didn't. "Hi," Kurt ventured. "How was it?"

Kurt had seen Blaine sad. He'd seen Blaine sad, and angry, and scared, and somehow, without changing anything in his facial expression, Kurt could see all of that in his eyes. Blaine didn't respond to his question.

"Are you okay?" he tried. He thought, for one horrible moment, that Blaine didn't remember him, for the first time; but Blaine answered.

"I'm scared."

"Of what?" Kurt asked gently, reaching up to rest his hand on Blaine's automatically, the way he used to when Blaine needed comfort.

"Of forgetting."

"Well, that's okay," Kurt assured him. "It's only temporary."

"Things like this are never temporary, though," Blaine argued, his face shifting to match his eyes, and Kurt's heart broke when his voice did. "The effects of them are always permanent. Maybe I'll stop forgetting but what if I never start remembering? I'll stop knowing some things and not knowing some others but what if it ends there and I can't remember what I don't know? And what if I don't know you? What kind of hell would each day be not knowing you?"

Kurt had never thought about these things and his reasoning for not doing so weren't good ones. "Then I'll make you know me again," Kurt replied. "I'll stay here each day and fill in what happened. I'll sing to you again and I'll make the Warblers our friends again and I'll let the New Directions have their lead male singer back. And we'll make sure that this doesn't happen to you again."

"But if I have to know you all over again, I'm going to fall in love with you all over again," Blaine argued, too distraught to even realize the line he was crossing. "And in your head it's always going to be that I cheated and did something wrong and you can't really forgive me and in my head I won't have done any of that and it's going to hurt both of us."

Kurt's lips were pressed in a straight line. "This is all completely hypothetical," he clarified, "but if it were to happen, you won't have... cheated. I mean, you would have, but it'll be like you're starting over from a point a long time ago and I can't hold you accountable for something you, in your memory, never did."

Blaine stared at him for at least a minute before saying, "You're not supposed to make me hope for it to happen."

Kurt actually grinned and couldn't fight back a small chuckle. "Well, whatever happens, I'm not leaving," he said, and he squeezed his hand.

Blaine squeezed back.

Blaine spent weeks in the hospital.

The Glee Club got permission to practice in his room, and though it sometimes hurt his ribs to sing a solo or a particularly long note, he never complained. Not to mention that Rachel actually managed not to steal the entire practice for solos every time - and both she and Kurt sang along. The New Directions who hadn't heard Kurt's voice before fell in love with it as quickly as Blaine had when Finn said he might as well sing something. They sang everything either A Capella or with a boombox Mr. Schue brought, along with Blaine's homework, and it wasn't long before the other people in the wing were asking for them to leave the door open so they could hear better.

Blaine got help with his studying from everyone, and Santana drove up from Kentucky to see how he was doing and stayed for a week, during which Sam and Brittany managed to break up somehow (nobody dared ask for details, even though Blaine comforted Sam as best he could) and the two girls began dating again. They both seemed happy when Santana left; Sam was a perfect gentleman and treated Brittany no differently than he had before they dated, even though Blaine - and Blaine suspected only Blaine - knew that Sam was hurt by whatever had happened.

There was only one day when his memory was truly a problem. Most of the time he was alright, just forgetting peoples names, but the day when Cooper surprised him and woke him up by flinging open the door and announcing that he'd flown in to be there and that he wanted a hug. Blaine had had no clue who he was. It was the first time anyone had seen Cooper cry and they all hoped it was the last.

Blaine's parents were only ever there when nobody else was. Nobody saw them but Blaine and Cooper.

By the time Blaine had healed enough to go back to school, a good month and a half had passed, and his neck was healed and his concussion was better and he did, in fact, remember everything. But his leg was still broken and he couldn't use crutches because of his ribs so he was put in a wheelchair. He told Artie that he never thought he'd have to walk a mile in his shoes and Artie decided to tell and lame joke and said "You mean wheel a mile in my chair?" and it made everyone who was there groan.

The thing that nobody told Blaine was that the three jocks hadn't actually been reprimanded; they'd been jocks, and they knew that, but it was impossible to tell which three. They took them all in for questioning, but did they honestly expect anyone to come clean?

Kurt held his hand while he was wheeled outside. Everyone else was with him, too, and it was obvious to anyone but Kurt himself that he actually had forgiven Blaine, even if he said nothing, because nobody can pretend to be so blindly and silently in love without knowing how obvious they are.

Nobody really knew what to expect when Blaine went back to school. Kurt insisted on driving him, even though both Finn and Sam went to the building in the same car anyways and Cooper was still in town and could have driven him right from their house, and Kurt took the truck to pick him up and then they went on to school. Getting him into the truck was difficult; Cooper had to help and Blaine was completely red-faced by the time he'd gotten up with embarrassment. Getting him down in the parking lot was easier. They'd made sure they were there early, so they could get to where Blaine needed to be with no problem from the jocks, but as soon as Blaine had gotten situated in his wheelchair again in what they'd thought was a parking lot filled only with teacher's cars, one of the aforementioned jocks appeared, wearing a hockey jersey, needing a haircut, and actually holding up his hands in a surrendering motion.

Nonetheless, Kurt stepped immediately in front of Blaine, who tried not to stare at his ass.

"Anderson," said the jock, in a tone neither of them had thought they'd hear. "I'm not one of the ones that hurt you."

"How do we know that?" Kurt demanded, though he relaxed his tensed pose a bit.

"You don't," the jock sighed, "but I'm going to try and prove it. Would you let me?"

Kurt paused for a brief moment; Blaine couldn't see his face. And then he stepped to the side. The jock kept his hands up and didn't step forward, but appraised Blaine sadly, as if wary of his injuries.

"I'm sorry you got hurt," he said finally, and Blaine raised his eyebrows. "It shouldn't have happened. And I don't know who did it yet but if I ask I bet they'll tell me, and I can go to the cops."

"And why would you do that?" Kurt inquired, his tone accusing, still drilling him distrustingly.

He pursed his lips before answering. "Because when I come out of the closet they'll do it to me, too, and this way I have less chance of getting hurt myself."

It took them a moment to process it.

Kurt said, "Oh."

Blaine said, "Oh."

The jock said, "Yeah."

"Selfish reason," Kurt said, attempting to remain hostile, for reasons Blaine couldn't guess.

"Not selfish," Blaine disagreed. "It's a good reason. He doesn't want them hurting anyone else unfairly and he happens to be included in that. Not selfish. Good. Kind, even."

The jock actually smiled and dropped his hands. "So you'll let me help?"

"You don't need our permission, but yes," Blaine said, cutting across Kurt's open mouth before words could come out of it.

The jock's smile faded. "And you won't tell anyone about... about me being gay?"

"You're planning to come out on your own and we won't make you do it when it's not safe," Blaine assured him. "But I would like to know your name."

"Frank," he answered. "Frank Cierga." And then, before either of them could say anything more, he gave them one heavily meaningful look and started walking towards the building.

"I don't trust him," Kurt announced as soon as he was out of earshot.

"He can't possibly hurt us," Blaine pointed out.

Kurt looked at Blaine, tight-lipped, and then relaxed and agreed, "You're probably right. I'm just worried."

"Don't be," Blaine said, and grinned comfortingly at him.

"I'm always worried these days," Kurt responded before grinning back, and by that time Blaine's own grin had fallen.

He got all his homework turned in to his teachers, managed not to get yelled at or teased, and blocked out all the people staring with the help of his friends around him as much as possible, all until lunch time. He had enlisted Artie's help to getting him used to being in a wheelchair, and so Artie was showing him how he did it every day. He stretched up to get his tray - which he had to do for Blaine, too, because of his ribs - and then slid it along the top by his fingers, telling them what he'd like on his tray and then placing it on his lap while he wheeled himself to the table. Blaine could only to the part with it on his lap; most of the time, wheeling himself around was extremely painful, and he got one of his friends (usually Sam) to do it for him, and he couldn't stretch up to get the tray of slide it along. Sam pushed him in the line while Artie went through and took care of both of their lunches; Blaine, feeling the whole cafeteria staring at him, had completely lost his appetite for the food once it was placed on his lap.

"Blaine?" asked a lunch lady as he was about to be wheeled to the table; he looked up and saw Marley's mother looking worriedly down at him.

"Hi, Mrs. Rose," he greeted.

"You're okay, right? Don't need any help?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he told her, though he was more than a bit frustrated.

Sam wheeled him over to the table and he put the tray on the table and fiddled with his silverware and everyone else got situated. They immediately all began talking of the latest gossip.

That moment was perfect for him. To hear them speak about things as insignificant as who slept with who and who said what, as if nothing had changed, made him feel loads better than he had before. They still asked for his opinions and included him in matters, and instead of looking at him like he was broken, they looked at him as they always had and responded to his ideas like they normally would. He felt the absolute routine of it all soothe his frayed nerves. He liked that how, of all things, the people he counted on most always viewed him as a person and not a shattered on; it added a feeling of stability that he'd lost, and in that moment, when he gave his opinion and they laughed because he'd made it a joke, he felt at peace in a way he hadn't since Kurt had left.

Of course, in the next moment, it all crumbled.

One second, he was laughing with his friends, and then there were familiar voices behind him and his chair was being tilted back so quickly he had time to only blink once before his head slammed against the concrete floor.

"Blaine!" Tina shrieked, having been sitting next to him, and she stood so quickly her chair was kicked back into the pair of hockey jocks standing directly behind Blaine. But the boy on the floor didn't respond and the person who'd tipped his chair back to begin with jumped back so his head didn't fallen onto his shoe. It was clear from his face that he thought Blaine would get back up; when he didn't and most of the lunch room bolted to see if he was alright, all the color vanished from his face.

Sam was holding his wrists together and his head to the table in four seconds flat and Jake and Ryder did the same to the one who'd accompanied him. Tina kept checking for a pulse, even though she found one every time, and screamed for Blaine to open his eyes, but he didn't. Marley shouted for her mom, who came running through the parting the crowd of students created for her, and Kitty checked his breathing. She looked up and told them he'd only been knocked out and that they should get him to the nurse and that he should be fine.

Artie was the first and only one to say, "But what if he really can't remember this time?"

Everybody froze. The crowd of students because they didn't understand; the New Directions because they did. Both were equally terrified.

Though nowhere near as much as Kurt was when Sam called him saying they'd found two of the three who'd hurt him and that he needed to get there as soon as possible.

"Finn, where is he, Finn, where is he?!"

Kurt slammed his truck door shut and leapt out of it, coat still on the seat inside and his keys still in his hand. His face was ashen and his eyes were wide and he was trembling - his voice, though demanding, shook - and he started sprinting from his space in the lot to where Finn stood outside the doors that would get him inside and all the closer to Blaine. He didn't notice how sad Finn looked, how he had his mouth open as if to speak but didn't know what he was going to say.

"The Nurse's station," Finn finally answered. "You got here faster than the police."

Kurt, by that time, was already ducking around him and shoving the doors open, bolting through them, his feet hitting the tiled hallway floor with enough force to push him forward at thrice his normal speed and to create a lower thumping sound. Finn turned and followed him, shouting, "You need to wait, you don't want to be in there right now -"

Kurt rounded the corner and pushed into the office. Finn faltered right outside and waiting for Kurt to come running back out. He could see the back of his vest over his plain, white, elbow-length shirt through the window in the door, standing slightly sideways as it looked at Blaine on the cot. Kurt's posture slipped into a relaxed pose and though the door had slammed shut behind him, Finn knew he was saying, "Blaine." He waited for a moment. Kurt tensed again, and his hands flew up to cover his face - and then he spun around and might as well have been trying to rip the door off its hinges from how fast he yanked it open.

Finn opened his arms and Kurt ran into them and Finn comforted his brother while he cried.

It was a simple thing. Blaine just didn't remember. He wasn't unfriendly, but they soon figured out that he didn't even remember transferring to Dalton, so in his mind he was stuck back in his first school. They finally found out where it was, too, and that prompted google searches galore; he'd gone to Genoa his whole life, from Elementary to High School (before Dalton, but he didn't remember that). He didn't have a clue who any of them were. The biggest difference everyone noted was how scared he was - at first they thought it was simply a circumstantial thing, but after a while it became evident it was more than that. His eyes flickered all over, he seemed like he didn't know how to smile, he flinched when people spoke too loudly or got close when he didn't expect them to. He was acting like he was terrified of everybody. It wasn't difficult to figure out that that's what it was, and Kurt had to leave the room again, because the idea of Blaine being bullied so badly he didn't want Kurt (or anyone) to touch him was enough to make Kurt nauseated.

After some gentle prying from Sam, who they were all pleasantly surprised to find out managed to be the one best received by Blaine, they gained the knowledge that Blaine thought he was going to the Sadie Hawkins Dance on Friday with a boy named Don. The last part about who he was going with was the thing he seemed most scared to give up, until Sam told him he didn't care that he was gay and he was still a good person, and then Blaine seemed so relieved he almost started to cry. Though he didn't, he did ask Sam to be his friend. Sam laughed and said he would gladly be.

Kurt came back in for a while and sat with him and tried to fill in him on events, but whenever Blaine tried to speak, he began to stutter, and turn red, and look away - even when Kurt told him, "It's okay, you don't need to be scared, you lo- we're friends," he kept averting his eyes and flushing scarlet. Eventually Kurt gave up and went to wait outside, because he'd not managed to fill Blaine in on anything, really.

Sam looked at him afterward, as soon as the door closed, and asked, "Why are you so nervous around him?"

Blaine looked at Sam like he had been for a while, slightly suspicious, observing, looking for any signs of something Sam was hesitant to ask about, and then, slowly, answered, "He seems... important. Like he means something, like he means a lot. And I don't know him."

Sam corrected him. "You know him more than you know anyone else. You know him inside and out and you love all that you know. He is important, and he does mean a lot. I don't think anybody but you could ever understand how important he is and how much he means... and now you don't." Sam looked at him, sadness etched onto his face.

Blaine grew redder and redder as Sam spoke. "What... what do you mean? Why..?"

Sam smirked and even Blaine could tell it was fake. "That's something for him to tell you. I couldn't begin to describe it."

Blaine was silent for a moment, and them mumbled, "He's really handsome."

Sam laughed out loud, and after Blaine flinched, he smiled a small smile at the true sound of it ringing out. "Oh, that's priceless," Sam chortled, his hand going to cover his shaking stomach (his whole frame was shaking, not just his stomach). "Absolutely priceless."

"Why?"

Sam just shook his head.

The police arrived a good deal before they started figuring it all out, and asked to speak to him. Mr. Schue told them it wouldn't do any good because he didn't remember. Sue forced them to go away when nobody else was around simply because she absolutely hated how horrible she felt about the whole business even though she swore to herself she wouldn't care.

The school called Cooper and Blaine's parents. Blaine's parents weren't home. Cooper was. Cooper came barreling through the school like an enraged bull until he threw himself into the Nurse's office, where Blaine was staying.

Blaine's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Coop! Coop, I made a friend!" He pointed loosely to Sam, who waved tentatively at Cooper, who sighed with release of anxiety and then the words struck him and he inhaled the same air again sharply.

"You really don't remember," Cooper said, taking a slow step closer. He reached out a hand as if to take Blaine's and it jerked back instantaneously. Cooper's eyes widened.

Sam had seen a lot of things. Sam had seen his little brother and sister cry more times than they should have. He'd seen his mother throw a vase and hit his father in the head that one time. (He'd also seen them make up.) He'd seen relief and fear and horrifying realization, but never had he seen it so blatant as it was on Cooper's face. And not just his face - every single part of him seemed frozen, as if he blood hadn't just run cold, but had become ice inside of him, lacing every bit of his body so he was a sculpture. His eyes, usually so vivacious - one of the reasons people loved his commercials - were flat and dull and gray and absolutely terrified. And Sam could see that Cooper hated himself more than anything in that moment, though he had no clue why, or for what. It seemed as if the very core of Cooper's being had been shattered. Sam knew the feeling. But he'd somehow never known it as intensely as Cooper seemed to right then.

"It took years," Cooper whispered, his voice broken like Sam had never heard it, staring at Blaine's retracted hand. "Only two, but it took years. And now it's like they never happened."

"What took years?" Blaine asked, confused and worried.

Cooper finally looked up at him and when they made eye contact Blaine was as struck by his heartbreak as Sam had been. "For you to stop feeling like you were going to be attacked every time you looked at someone."

Silence. Sad, sad silence.

"Those were your exact words. 'I feel like I'm going to be attacked every time I look at someone.' We got you tested for social anxiety but you didn't have it. You were honestly just scared of everyone, even the people you trusted explicitly, because you'd been hurt so badly. It took two years," Cooper breathed, "and then you met Kurt and every trace of your fear was gone and you were filled with so much courage and now it's all gone... two years..."

"Cooper, I'm... it's okay," finished Blaine lamely, obviously having no clue what to say. "I don't - I'm sure my memory will come back at some point. We just need to see a doctor. It'll be okay. It's okay."

Cooper closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. "I spent years watching you try to stand out, and then even more watching you try to fade into the background. You finally found a group of people who gave you spotlights and solos and you even told me you finally felt like you were good enough to be my brother. Do you have any idea how hurtful that was? Like I was one of the ones trying to put you down when the whole time I'd been begging Mom and Dad to get you somewhere safer? It took a hospital trip and a three-week-long coma to get them to understand how serious it was, and do you want to know why? Because the only thing you ever said, unless he pushed you almost over the edge to tell us, was 'I'm fine'. And they believed it." Cooper opened his eyes and stared at him. "You're the little brother that made me cry at night because I was scared you wouldn't want to wake up the next morning and do something so you wouldn't ever have to again. You're not the little brother that made waking up in the morning something to look forward to, not anymore. I don't know what you think is 'okay' anymore, since your version of it was always twisted - you were being pinched until you bled and said you were okay, Blaine - but this is not okay."

His memory probably wasn't permanently gone.

It was just a blow in the exact spot the concussion had just healed, and the amnesia had somehow been triggered again due to the tenderness of the spot, though they had no clue how long the lapse would last. The doctors examining him had to keep reminding him that nobody had bullied him like he kept expecting people to in almost four years because he kept trying to get them not to touch him. He kept looking all over his arms, looking for old scabs where he'd been, as Cooper had said, pinched, and he only seemed eased when he found a small old scar that maybe the others hadn't seen because they were very small. And also numerous.

All the graduates had been notified of the situation, and though they all wanted to come home, they didn't immediately make plans, for two main reasons: It was expensive, and Blaine wouldn't be comforted so much as confused by their presence, no matter how much was explained.

And so he got two weeks off from school ("At a minimum, unless his memory returns sooner," Figgins had said) and sat at home with his parents and Cooper, who filled him up basically on all that happened until he got to Dalton, which was when they stopped seeing him so much, as Dalton had optional boarding that Blaine had taken up. They told him how much happier he'd been and how the Warblers had adored him. And when they got to him meeting Kurt, they decided to call over the boy in question and let him do the explaining on his own - and then they all left Blaine alone to have a bit to himself to think over what he'd learned before Kurt came.

When Kurt did come, he didn't ring the doorbell, but instead used the spare key Blaine had given him so long ago, purely out of habit - it wasn't until he was wiping his shoes on the mat that he realized he'd messed up. He froze, the box in his hands that he'd brought going stiff in his clenching fingers, and he waited for any sign that Blaine had heard, his pulse racing, terrified that he'd scare Blaine already. When there was no response, he carefully stepped back out into the air and shut the door silently, sticking his key back in his pocket. He pushed the doorbell button and rapped loudly twice, taking deep breaths to steady himself.

A moment later the door opened. "You came in and went back out," Blaine stated, eyebrows pulled together in confusion, eyeing him warily.

Kurt flushed red and his tongue stuttered over his words. "I, uh, I'm used to coming in with the spare key you gave me, I - oh, I just," he switched, seeing Blaine's eyebrows shoot up at mention of the spare key, "I didn't mean to scare you so I walked back out, I'm -"

"I trusted you enough to give you a spare key?" Blaine asked.

Kurt looked at him. His hair wasn't gelled like it had been the past year and a half or so, it was the version of his hair that was gelled but still fluffy, from when they'd first met, and Kurt almost felt guilty for having killed the fluffy hair. His eyes were warm and golden, but weary, and his face didn't hold any hostility. He was still Blaine. Just the one that he'd been before he'd been happy.

"Yeah," Kurt answered. "It took a while but yeah."

"What's in the box?"

"I'll get to that," Kurt answered him again. "If you'll let me come in. Can I come in?"

Blaine smiled, almost as if he were scared to do so, and averted his eyes. "I didn't stop you the first time, right?" He stepped aside and stood by as Kurt came in again, and closed the door behind him when he moved out of the way. Kurt cleared his throat awkwardly, the air thick with something he couldn't place.

"So, um, living room?" Kurt asked.

"Sure," Blaine said, and, after another thick, awkward moment and a heavy glance, he led the way Kurt knew all too well. Kurt took one more deep breath to steel himself and followed. The interior of the house was so familiar, and the seating placement so common, that he automatically sank into the chair he sat in whenever he went over before Blaine told him to sit, and didn't even notice, possibly because Blaine didn't notice either and sat in his spot. "So, what's in the box?"

"Memories," Kurt said vaguely, moving the box to the side and being glad that he'd brought a lid. "How much did your family tell you?"

"They told me up until the 'Teenage Dream' part, whatever that means," Blaine said, and Kurt was struck with the horrible realization that Blaine didn't even know Teenage Dream anymore. The idea that something that had always been a part of their relationship, literally from start to finish, and he had no clue that it existed. He tried to keep the horror from his face and nodded as Blaine continued. "Apparently the Warblers were preparing for Sectionals and I was heading to an impromptu performance, and then they just left off and said that you should explain." Blaine folded his hands in his lap and looked at him patiently.

Kurt's mind, however, was still stuck in HE-DOESN'T-KNOW mode, and he breathed, "You don't know..."

Blaine grimaced. "At this point I think it's been sufficiently established that yes, I don't know."

"I didn't mean..." Kurt let the thought trail, shaking his head to clear it. "Teenage Dream is a song, the first song that you sang to me, the one you did in the impromptu performance you were heading to. It's, um," Kurt cleared his throat. "It's kind of important to us. I mean, it... it was..."

Blaine looked more confused than ever. Kurt nodded sharply and set his jaw. "Right. Okay, you were walking down the staircase to get to the performance to do your solo, and you were running kind of late. I was also on the staircase," Kurt informed him. "I'd been sent as a spy to scope out the competition by my own Glee Club, the New Directions, who are currently the people that were surrounding you when you... woke up."

Blaine nodded slowly, his eyes downcast, his face calculating.

"And afterwards, you and Wes and Thad, two of the other Warblers, took me aside and got me coffee and then said that you knew I was a spy. You said I was so obvious, you almost wondered if I wanted to get caught, and I -" Kurt had to stop because of the blockage in his throat, and he swallowed tightly around it. Blaine looked up, concerned, eyes searching Kurt's face to see what was wrong, an Kurt blushed again. "Sorry. Do you want me to tell you as many details as I can, or do you want the overview?"

Blaine was still searching over his face when he instead asked, "Can I do something?"

"Whatever you need to," Kurt assured him, making sure his voice didn't shake, his eyes hot and stinging, though he blinked as little as possible to make it less obvious. Unfortunately, that allowed the tears time to build up, and blinking only then dislodged them so they dripped down gently on his cheeks. He laughed falsely and went to wipe them away, but Blaine's hand was around his wrist, and he was standing and leaning over so he was much, much closer, eyes still searching.

Blaine's hand tenderly went up to cup his cheek, and with his thumb, he wiped away the tear Kurt had been going for with his softened nail, so it gleamed on it. Kurt started blinking furiously, fighting back the others that threatened to fall, and Blaine's face fell a bit.

"Your voice," he murmured. "Your voice is so familiar. And for some reason seeing you cry makes me feel like crying myself." He smiled grimly. "And that doesn't happen often. Usually I'm very good at making sure I don't cry. It's hard not to when you do. It makes me sad."

"I'm sorry," Kurt whispered in response, and the grimness turned into sadness. "I - I think that's a good thing, but it hurts, right?"

"Sam says you're my best friend," Blaine told him. "He says I know you better than anyone else."

"You did know me better than anyone else," Kurt corrects. "And you are my best friend. I'll be yours again, if you'll let me."

Normally, in such a situation, Kurt would have felt immensely anxious, with his stomach twisting in knots and Blaine wiping tears away and he had to keep reminding himself that Blaine didn't know he loved him anymore and so kissing him and making up wasn't an option. But the way they were positioned felt on the brink of the area Kurt had once deemed his one and only comfort zone and the way Blaine was looking at him made his heart patter uselessly like it used to before they'd ever kissed.

"I don't know," Blaine replied. "I think... did... did we ever date?"

Kurt actually chuckled a little, but another few tears fell, tears Blaine was quick to get rid of. "You'll have to wait until I'm to that part of the story."

"Will you be okay telling it?" Blaine asked, his voice velvet, smooth, lush, as if cushioning him, and Kurt choked a bit on a hot sob that tore up from the gash in his heart to his throat. He smiled a watery half-smile.

"As long as you sometimes give me breaks to compose myself," Kurt said, and Blaine nodded seriously.

There was another moment where their eyes met and Kurt imagined a flicker of familiarity in Blaine's eyes, but he must have imagined it, because why would Blaine feel familiar? What he'd told him so far was already extraordinary. Kurt could hardly hope for better.

But Blaine pulled away and folded his hands over his knees again and waited, seeming unable to decide whether or not he should look at the floor, Kurt's eyes, or Kurt's lips.

And so he began to tell their tale.

Kurt told him everything. Every tiny detail, every facial expression, every thought in his head that had passed and the ones Blaine had told him about. He told him about how he'd sang to him Teenage Dream and even pulled it up on his phone so Blaine could hear it - his eyebrows shot up and he nodded approvingly before they continued on. Kurt told him of how they'd gotten alone-time for only their second conversation and how Kurt had cried and how Blaine had comforted him and told him to stand up to Karofsky. He told him about what happened when he followed the advice and how Blaine had had his back and was polite and forward and supportive all the time. He told him everything.

Every now and then Kurt had to stop and stare at his hands and Blaine would ask him, in a voice that seemed to get smaller each time, whether or not he was okay. Kurt was so busy being thorough in his storytelling and Blaine so intent on listening that neither of them noticed the time passing as quickly as it did. In fact, with how narrative their story became, as if he was reading aloud from a novel, he only managed to get to what would have been chapter three - him meeting Mercedes, the photo of the event on Kurt's phone was shown to Blaine as photographic proof - when the phone rang.

Blaine held up his hand to pause Kurt, which was good, because Kurt had begun to feel like he needed another couple-of-seconds-long break just by looking at the photos Blaine had been so happy in, and reached over and answered the call, holding it to his ear. "Hello?"

Kurt watched him, committing it to memory, and hating how useless it was. He looked at Blaine's long eyelashes, gracing his cheek when he blinked slowly, his honey-colored eyes speckled with dark amber, his skin even and glowing, his hair thick and full. He looked at Blaine, physically four years older than he was mentally, and thought that he was now, in Blaine's mind, five years older than him - he felt a pang at the age difference but reminded himself that the biggest difference was that he didn't remember his age. He looked at how the artificial lights seemed to shine only for him in ways the sun couldn't because it was too busy being his spotlight. He etched each shade of his skin in the shadows onto his mind like he hadn't before because he hadn't found it necessary, thinking along the naive lines that he'd always be there to look at.

"No, we're nowhere near done," Blaine said into the speaker, and Kurt clung to each word his said, his voice, his tone, how he articulated each word burning behind his eyes so fiercely they grew warm again. "He's telling it to me like it's a book. It's actually really interesting, I can't believe I actually did half the stuff he's telling me." Kurt bit his lip and his eyes swept over him again. "I don't know. I don't want to yet but I have a feeling I'll never want to." Kurt's eyes traveled down to his neck, scoping out the fine curves and lines as he moved and swallowed, his collarbones beautiful ridges. "Do you - I'm not sure. Is that alright?"

Kurt's eyes came back up in time to see Blaine's eyes widen and then everything about him freeze. It didn't seem the kind of frozen where he'd gotten bad news or was scared of something external, it seemed like the kind of frozen Kurt had seen right before he'd thawed and told him he'd been with someone else. It sent a pang through him, but nonetheless he requited the ice in his eyes to memory like everything else, afraid of forgetting.

"Nothing but talk? But what about when I need to sleep?" Blaine asked, not yet completely thawed, still stiff and chilled, his words clipped. He seemed surprised that the sharp tone seemed to come naturally. "I - I have?" There was another pause, one during which Kurt balled his hands into fists, his nails digging into the skin of his palms. "Just as - yeah, okay. I mean, I get it, it's not... wow. Um..." Kurt fought back raising his eyebrows. "So it's... it's okay?"

"What's okay?" Kurt finally blurted, and then bit his cheek to keep from doing it again when Blaine's gaze flickered to him. In his haste to avert his eyes he missed how all the frigidness left in Blaine melted away from him at the sound of his voice.

Blaine held the phone to his shoulder and said, "My family says you can stay, if you'd like, for the night, and we could keep talking - or you could keep talking. If you want to."

Kurt's eyes locked with his.

He slid off the chair and onto his knees without thinking about it, and put his hand over Blaine's, resting on the arm of the couch, gently, so gently it wasn't too forward. "I want you to answer me honestly and seriously," Kurt ordered him softly. "Would it make you uncomfortable if I did that?"

There are no words in the English language to describe the pure frustration and wonder coarsing through every bit of Blaine in that moment.

He pursed his lips before saying, "It should, but I... I don't think it would. I don't think I'd be uncomfortable."

"Do you want me to leave anyway?"

Blaine hesitated again before half-answering and half-asking, "No..?"

He still wanted him there.

He'd only just met him the day before and most of that time he'd been unstable and scared and confused. He'd only ever seen him in ways that he shouldn't be seen. And yet Blaine still wanted Kurt to be there. He wanted to hear Kurt's voice and he wanted Kurt to stay over and talk and he wanted Kurt to be there. And the enormity of that, the whole-scale idea that though Blaine had lost every recollection and thought he'd ever had around him he was still comfortable enough to not only tolerate his presence but desire it for an extended period of time in an enclosed space, was enough to send his mind reeling. Kurt felt, for a moment, looking at those hazel eyes, that though his mind had forgotten who he was, that didn't change the fact that he was still Blaine, and Blaine would always love him. Blaine was only human and would do things wrong, it was inevitable, but beyond memories and history and everything that should have mattered, he was still right there. And he wanted Kurt there too.

And Kurt had ignored him for weeks on end for something that was a reaction to a chain of events orbiting around a problem that could have been resolved if he'd so much as talked to him a little bit more.

The amount of both guilt and hope that carried could have driven a man insane individually, but together, they were sobering enough to make his genuine smile small and timid, and his words easily controlled. "I'll stay."

Kurt felt awkward. Extremely awkward. So awkward that the awkwardness became a pungent odor that only he seemed to notice and that was also awkward.

He was acutely aware of Blaine's parents downstairs and Cooper in his old room at the end of the hall. Though he didn't even begin to plan on doing anything remotely physical with Blaine, the fact that he had previously, in this room, with nobody else around, was burning at him and making it impossible to stop being the color of a ripe tomato. When Blaine had opened the door to his room and held it for Kurt to step through, gentlemanly even then, he'd begun to introduce it before he stopped himself and said, "You've been in here before. I forgot." The words took away another chunk out of Kurt's already-mutilated heart. He sat beside Blaine's bed like he had when he'd worn the eye patch that had made him Blaine the Pirate while Blaine sat in the exact same spot he'd been in then, but under a different blanket. The one he'd used before was piled on his dresser. Kurt kept glancing at it.

He'd just gotten to the part where he was walking into the Warblers meeting after Pavarotti's death when Blaine said, "This sounds familiar."

"What?" Kurt asked, confusion and hope lifting in him so suddenly he felt a little like he had wings and was floating on a thermal. Blaine was staring intently off into space, delving so far back into his mind his expression was completely blank, his eyes nearly flickering between faded images so blurred they hardly made sense.

"Pavarotti... I've heard that name. Before you told me it, I heard that name."

It's impossible.

"And you - you were crying, right? I think you were crying."

Don't get your hopes up.

"And I... asked you... what was wrong..? Yes, that's it, I asked you 'What's wrong?' and you told us Pavarotti died of a stroke. And I..."

It's not going to happen.

Kurt's breath was lodged not only in his throat but also everywhere except his lungs, which screamed for the warm currents of oxygen that floated through him like he had swallowed a cloud of buttery air if such a thing were possible.

"I lost it." Blaine didn't speak the words, but merely exhaled them, and they were simple and yet profound because they didn't mean he wouldn't find it again but they still didn't mean he'd fully remember. He blinked a few times until his eyes returned to awareness, and then shook his head as if to clear it.

"Blaine."

Blaine's head snapped up at his tone and Kurt couldn't blame him because even he had no idea where it came from. It somehow managed to combine desperation, hopefulness, disappointment, ecstasy, and grief all in one breathy word. How he conveyed all of that with one syllable and a clear and unbroken voice was beyond his comprehension; but then, most things, at the moment, were.

"Kurt?" Blaine asked. At first, Kurt thought he was asking for clarification on what Kurt had said, clarification Kurt would have been unable to give, but then he continued: "Will you sing for me?"

"Sing?"

"It was... it had something to do with a bird. Bird... bl... blackbird? Blackbird, will you sing Blackbird?"

So Kurt sang. "Blackbird singing in the dead of night / Take these broken wings and learn to fly / All your life / You were only waiting for this moment to arise." His desperation for Blaine to remember was eased a bit when Kurt recognized the way he smiled - it was the exact same smile that he'd worn the first time he'd sung this, the one Kurt had barely taken note of because his eyes had been swimming.

"Black bird singing in the dead of night / Take these sunken eyes and learn to see / All your life / You were only waiting for this moment to be free," he trilled. His hopefulness grew at the way Blaine looked at him - his eyes so recognized, amber, golden, glistening with knowledge, memories, realization, the exact same as his first performance, but traced by joy.

"Blackbird fly, Blackbird fly / Into the light of the dark black night." His disappointment at Blaine's having lost his last train of memory almost vanished entirely in light of what he was positive was happening. As he continued the song, his ecstasy heightened and preened itself at the top of his thoughts, crooning softly alongside his own voice, telling him it wouldn't be too long. And his grief at Blaine having lost his memory was more than enough to have counteracted all his good emotions about three minutes ago, but in that moment, they all welled up inside him and intertwined all throughout his veins so he was netting through with each thread of golden happiness it brought him to look at Blaine now and see.

He finished the song all too quickly and sat there breathless, waiting for a reaction.

"That was when," Blaine told him, narrowing his eyes to the point where they were no longer actively seeking to destroy him with their beauty. "That was when I knew I loved you. And I told you that later, after I picked out a song to try and show you. I... I went in saying we needed rehearsal, and you... you were decorating his casket. And then you asked me why I wanted to sing the duet with you and I thought 'It's now or never, you've been waiting your whole life for this guy, don't screw up', and then I started to tell you that, and then I k... I kissed you?"

"Yeah," Kurt said, his hands coming up to his mouth, covering them slowly. "You said you'd been looking for me forever and that I move you and that the duet would be an excuse to spend more time with me -"

"Yes, it..." Blaine's brow furrowed and he broke eye contact, looking down and into space again, and Kurt felt nauseated but far too happy to throw up. "I... I did, right? And then I said we should practice and you said that you thought we were and it was adorable and your eyes were sparkling and I kissed you again, and then we -"

Blaine cut off suddenly, his mouth still wide open, his words leaving the still air unbelievably empty. "Yes?" Kurt prompted. "There was more kissing, for quite a while, and then..?"

"And then it all just goes blank," Blaine whispered, utter confusion taking over. "It's like once you described everything these weird fuzzy blobs started forming as a mental picture, but I remember that scene fairly well, those couple hours where there were all those new emotions. Nothing leading up to it and nothing but opaque nothingness afterwards. Just that and then everything disappears."

"That's okay," Kurt rasped, grasping at straws, leaning forward so that he almost tipped off his chair. "We'll go over every nook an cranny and tiny little detail until all of those fuzzy blobs start becoming as clear as they should be. I'll spend forever by your side telling you how long I've been doing so if I have to. Maybe there will be more moments you remember. Maybe more you can't. It doesn't matter. There's always new memories that need to be remember by somebody eventually. It's up to us to make them happen and I won't deny the universe that one favor."

Blaine looked at him again and Kurt saw no doubt but a hell of a lot of certainty. "Ah," Blaine said, "I get it now, a little bit. We broke up, didn't we, eventually? But we still love each other."

Kurt stared at him.

"Yes." He hated saying it. "Yes, we did, eventually. And in time we'll get to the part where I'll tell you why. But you can't rush a good story and ours is good. It's not bad, nor is it over. And yes," he answered the second question, "we love each other. Or, I... love you. I'm not asking you to say anything, since you just met me yesterday -" he cracked a smile and Blaine chuckled, dipping his head, his grin broad and so comforting it ached "- but at some point you're going to have had enough of my storytelling and you'll want to write your own story to tell."

"How do I do that?"

"Do anything and you're making your own story." Kurt's gaze kept flickering unwillingly between his lips and his eyes, the way his eyes did to Kurt's. "And I promise I won't let anyone make it a bad story as long as I'm here."

When Kurt woke up, he knew something was off. And he knew that because nothing felt off. Since the moment Blaine hadn't recognized him something had always been just slightly off-balance, even when everything else was fine, and when his mind first emerged from the depths of sleep, everything felt right.

It wasn't long before he realized what it was that made everything better. Blaine. It was always Blaine. It would always be Blaine. Nothing, not even Blaine having just one bare idea of the gigantic concept, could quell that. And he was holding him. Not tightly, as he often did when he was nervous or scared or sad about something, but not loosely, as he did when he felt at peace and in control. He was holding him, for the first time, like he was taking how Blaine needed to be held into consideration, and not just how he needed to hold him. And Blaine, apparently, needed to be held like something fragile surrounded by softness so he wouldn't break. Kurt's lingering touch on his arms and torso were gentle, but his grip was firm.

When they'd finally gone to sleep, somewhere around five in the morning, Kurt had had a pillow underneath his head in the corner of the bed and his body laying across it diagonally, and Blaine bad been beside him, his shorter frame fitting in the smaller space. But now Blaine's head rested on Kurt's chest and Kurt's arms encircled Blaine's chest so his body, now with one leg slung off the mattress and the other's ankle locked around Kurt's, stayed in one place. One warm, comfortable, right place.

"Morning," Blaine's voice came gently, sleepily, though Kurt could tell he'd been awake for a little while.

"Morn'," he replied, still groggy, blinking a few times before deciding it was worthless and letting his eyes close again, taking more deep breaths. "How'd y'know I was awake?"

"Your breathing changed," Blaine answered. "When you sleep, you take long but light breaths, and when you're awake you take deep breaths of normal length. When you woke up you took a deep breath and it stayed that way."

"You know all tha' already?" Kurt slurred, his brain fogged and misted over with sleep deprivation.

"I know everything about you," Blaine replied, and at first, Kurt, being so familiar with the scene, didn't notice anything unusual about the statement and merely "Mm"ed contentedly, settling back in to the cuddles. But then the words cut through the tiredness and began to root, the small limbs touching bits of his mind still sensitive, and he asked, "How much?"

"I know your daily skincare routine in both the morning and evening and I know you take it more seriously than you ever took homework. I know you love Broadway and everything about it and that one day you'll be the star of it. I know how you smiled when you saw that I transferred to McKinley and I know how you looked when I found out about Chandler and I know how you looked when I told you I was with someone."

Kurt's mind was avidly functioning now, spinning, whirring, running over every single possibility an function and thing he'd learned because when he'd left over last night it had been at Blaine remembering the first time they'd said they loved each other and now he was remembering everything.

"And, probably the most important, I know that I made a promise to you that I broke, and that I'm sorry." Blaine shifted on Kurt's stomach and Kurt drew his arms back so Blaine could sit up, which he did. Amazement and disbelief and pure delight were coarsing through him so quickly he felt all of his limbs just go numb and flop down onto the bed again, and his eyes once again traveled over each scope of his body, each curve of his muscles, each shade of darkness that danced across him teasingly. Blaine swung his leg back up onto the bed and then turned so he was sitting with his butt on the heels of his feet. He clasped his hands in front of him and looked at Kurt in a way Kurt had sorely missed, both imploring and confident, and he swore he could feel the blood rushing through him all over so he tingled from the rush of it. "I promised you that I'd always be there for you and I wasn't."

"But you were," Kurt gasped, inhaling so maybe his head could begin making sense of all the information running through it. "You were always there. And I was there for you, too, and you're... you remember. You remember it all?"

Blaine nodded, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and Kurt shoved himself upright into a sitting position and bounced forward, pressing his lips to Blaine's.

The kiss was rough and sudden and Kurt wasted no time softening his movements so Blaine was shoved over backwards, being pushed and covered by Kurt onto the sheets, a cry of surprise exiting his mouth, one that quickly changed to pleasure. Kurt could feel every muscle in him pulsating, his heart thrumming like a hummingbird's wings, his mind fresh with his new epiphanic determination; he kissed Blaine fiercely, his eyes shut tightly, his body resting on top of Blaine's so he could feel his heart beating out of time with his own, stuttering instead of racing.

Blaine broke away and panted, "Kurt, we should talk -"

"We will talk," Kurt growled, reclaiming his lips before speaking onto them, "when I'm done figuring out what I want to say."

"Wha-" Blaine began, but then whimpered as Kurt began sucking on his bottom lip, biting teasingly, his hands moving to the sides of Blaine's waist, where, against his own, he could feel hardening. Blaine's breath was short and Kurt knew exactly what he wanted and that he wanted it right then - his own crotch was tightening rapidly, pushing against the jeans he'd slept in in a night of forgetfulness. " 'Kay," Blaine finally agreed, when Kurt pulled away from his mouth and ducked his head in the nook between his neck and shoulder, licking and kissing and sucking so his dick throbbed as it rubbed against Blaine's as it rose.

"Clothes," Kurt murmured gently, nibbling on Blaine's earlobe, before he started kissing down along his jaw, reaching just below the corner of his open mouth before he moved up to take possession of it again. Blaine's hands didn't fumble as he pressed them to Kurt, sliding down his sides like they'd done several times before, and then abruptly ripping in an upwards motion, sending Kurt's back arching. He shrugged out of it, and Blaine had barely enough time to toss it aside when Kurt collapsed back on top of him, tighter this time, clenching his shoulders forcefully, kissing him like he hadn't in far too long. And then his fingers curled around the thin fabric of Blaine's shirt, and in a move he never would have committed just hours ago, he yanked as hard as he could on it, and felt the satisfying rip under his palm.

Blaine inhaled sharply, his tongue slipping into Kurt's mouth, massaging his tongue, the taste of him so foreign yet so new, like they'd experienced everything and yet had to do it over - which, if Kurt was being honest, was what was happening.

And then Kurt craned his neck so he could nestle his nose against Blaine's, bringing his mouth away, kissing the edges of those swelling lips tauntingly, and Blaine bucked, a feral moan loosening into the air. "Your parents?" Kurt breathed heavily, his voice cracking even near a whisper, a sudden flush of desire burning through him like a flame and his blood was oil as Blaine's cock rubbed against his, so close, only a few layers, fucking him through their clothes. Kurt whined gutturally, biting his lip so it didn't pass his it.

"Work by now," Blaine said, each word one short, jagged breath, and his hand slid down to Kurt's zipper.

"Cooper?" Kurt continued, the name barely coming to him, his mind busy being engulfed by a redness that made everything seem too hot for a normal activity but too cold for this one. Blaine pulled his zipper down, his fingers tracing along Kurt's underwear so he stroked his dick through a brush of the fingers, and Kurt began to tremble from the effort of not fucking him senseless so he went through the clothing entirely.

"Got a date," Blaine hissed, and then his fingers hooked on the waist of Kurt's pants and curled around his underwear and tugged both of them down quickly, sliding his other fingers over Kurt's skin lightly, like soft kisses, as he slid them off of him. Kurt kicked them off when they got too low, and the movement made thrusting seem just a part of the process, and Kurt relieved himself for yet a few more moments before the frustrating restrain returned. His bare skin scratched again Blaine's sweatpants, so easily removed, and Kurt slid down the bed, trailing kisses over his collarbones, his tongue creating a trail from his chest down to his bellybutton, where he kissed then bit at the elastic waistband of his pants.

"Ah," Blaine said shakily as Kurt's pursed upper lip rubbed down when he brought his pants down with his teeth. He pulled and tugged like a playful puppy, but when it got to be too much - which was quickly - he reached up to let them glide over Blaine's muscled legs until they were in a pool around his own waist - he reached down and threw it off, and then opened his eyes for the first time since closing them again (when had he done that?), and looked up. Blaine was heaving in huge breaths, and his cock was erect and huge, glistening. Kurt's throbbed in protest at the sight and his tongue protruded to wet his lips. Blaine looked down, and huffed, "Kurt."

He needed no further invitation.

He lunged forward and his lips enclosed around the head of Blaine's dick. Blaine's breath hyped up another notch, and he propped himself up on his eyebrows, so the rest of him was slanted slightly more, and he could watch as Kurt moved down. Kurt tasted and teased the bits of shining precome as he slid a small bit down Blaine's cock and then back up, doing and redoing bits of it so Blaine's hips were quivering and he was tossing his head back and repeating, "Kurt, Kurt." Kurt licked and sucked and he could feel the beat of his own dick pushing into the mattress so forcefully it seemed likely to pierce a hole in it - his free hand, the one he wasn't using to massage small circles into Blaine's pelvic area, went down and grabbed it, stroking it for the moment to satiate it until later. Its straining pain sent wave upon wave of thoughtless need through him.

"K-Kurt," Blaine started, and Kurt's heart sped up at his stutter, the stutter he'd always do when close. Blaine's cock was swelling in his mouth, hot and sweating and laced with precome. "I-I'm going t-to come. Ah," he trilled, the sound low and animalistic, as Kurt began swallowing around him already, preparing, adding pressure he didn't before.

And then Blaine's head flung itself back and he loosed a word that was incomprehensible because it kept switching between two different octaves, and he thrust forward, and Kurt had never been more glad for his lack of a serious gag reflex - Blaine was large and by pushing himself further in and then coming noisily into Kurt's mouth Kurt had to fight not to succumb to total evaporation and just fade away from the tension curling in his gut. Blaine's muscles flexed beautifully and Kurt, if he'd had his eyes open, would have been transfixed by the flickering shadows cast by the dim morning light. As it was, the salty, bitter whiteness pulsed into his mouth, and he swallowed again and again, and then Blaine went rigid, and then collapsed, weakened. But Kurt wasn't done.

His own cock was so tight it was more pain than pleasure, and so he lunged forward, and kissed around the tightening part where Blaine's jaw met his ear. "Kurt," Blaine gasped for air, and turned his head with shocking speed in between kisses so he met his lips again. Kurt grunted and pressed against his lips harder, grinding slowly at first, but realizing there was no point building it up any longer, and began thrusting in earnest wildly, simply banging his hips against Blaine's. His tongue slipped into Blaine's mouth and found his, twisting around it, tasting him again as he just had, though this was more chaste. His hands went up to Blaine's hair and his fingers knotted themselves in the hair that had lost most of its gel in his sleep.

And then he entered, and Blaine shouted, "Kurt!" and Kurt just groaned, the sounds combining into a texture that rang in their ears. He pushed in and Blaine's leg hiked around his waist, pulling him closer, and Kurt supported the both of them, grinning against Blaine's kiss, both of them speaking but neither of them listening to a word that was uttered. There had been no lube and Blaine was tight and it did hurt but it felt so much better than it did worse that it didn't register with either of them that it should have been excruciating. Kurt thrust slowly and deeply and it took only four before he was gone.

The feeling rocked through him, wave after wave, overlapping each other each time they passed, splitting into every limb and then bouncing back and rocking all over again, and then, once it had started to fade, there was one more wave that made him shake and then go rigid for the briefest of seconds - and then he collapsed on Blaine's chest and tried desperately to get enough air, his mind moving slowly, his thoughts not clear anymore but definitely satisfied, and Blaine's hand found his and their foreheads rested together and Kurt rolled to the side so slowly that it stayed tat way.

He'd been wrong. Nothing was off. Everything was just perfect.

When Kurt woke up again, he was sticky and nude and nestled in to Blaine, who was just as nestled into him. Blaine's head rested under his chin's upward tilt and his lips hovered just over Kurt's collarbone. His breath was warm and comforting and Kurt knew he was asleep by the way he breathed it - just like he knew about Kurt's state of consciousness. Kurt felt totally flushed by the development that occurred however long ago and what had brought it on.

Blaine remembered.

He'd looked at him with eyes that remembered and talked to him with words of remembrance and chosen those words from a vocabulary he remembered he had. He now had two sets of memories from around the time period of right before his last Sadie Hawkins dance and one set of them abruptly cut off and then repeated after the other set of memories ended, at first overlapping the contesting set and then becoming it. Highly confusing business but to Kurt it made sense and he hoped it did to Blaine.

And then Blaine's breath slowed down a bit from his normal snail-paced breath when sleeping and then restarted, but a bit faster than the normal sleeping pace this time. He'd woken up.

"Hi," Kurt greeted in a voice barely above a whisper, a small smile stretching across his lips.

"Hey." Blaine's voice was still thick with sleep and it was clear his head was, too, because he snuggled closer to Kurt, his heart beating against Kurt's chest, as if to reassure him it belonged to Kurt and only Kurt for as long as it existed.

"We should shower," Kurt laughed quietly, and Blaine chuckled, too.

"We should talk," he refuted.

"We should talk in the shower," Kurt combined the two options.

"We should talk in the shower. We could have shower sex."

The remark was so lazily and casually uttered that Kurt laughed outright. Though the sound was still dimmer than it might have been if he'd been a little more energetic, it was honest, and Kurt found himself laughing just at the fact that he was laughing. The remark was also totally unexpected but not unwelcome and Kurt's cheeks heated a bit at the thought of his recklessness. "We could," Kurt agreed. "Whether we will or not is an entirely different matter. Your parents are probably home by now and Cooper's probably back from his date. I wouldn't want them to think -"

"Yeah, I guess," Blaine mumbled, disappointment but also reason in his tone.

"So a shower it is?" Kurt murmured into his hair, planting a kiss on the top of his head.

Blaine sighed. "Shower. Hot shower. I like showers."

"I like showers with high temperatures and/or attractive people too," Kurt responded, and Blaine lifted his head away and fixed him with a quizzical gaze. "You said a hot shower," Kurt explained, and Blaine grinned and rolled his eyes. A tremor ran down Kurt's back that he suppressed shuddering at.

It took them a while before they found the willpower to stop cuddling and actually get out of bed, but when they did, they walked into Blaine's bathroom (Kurt was extremely grateful he actually had his own and they didn't have to walk across the hall to the other) and drew back the curtain. Blaine turned the dial to the temperature they'd both agreed on back when they took their first shower together and Kurt's heart stopped and then began beating again at how he remembered it. He'd have been touched even if Blaine hadn't just recovered said memory.

Blaine turned on the water and stepped inside, and then held out his hand to help Kurt in. After their first time showering together, Blaine had gotten an adhesive mat for the bottom of his tub, because it was difficult to have shower sex and not slip - which, thanks to turning sideways and the handholds in the wall meant for soap, they hadn't actually done, but had barely managed to escape doing.

Kurt joined him and sighed immediately as the hot water hit his skin, soaking through him already, the steam coming off as the droplets ran down him in rivets. And he looked at Blaine, the water streaming down him, bending and sliding over each curve on him, his muscles shining in the steamed space and his eyes misty and warm, and he said, "I love you."

"I love you too," Blaine said, not even a second space between the end of Kurt's sentence and the beginning of his. "Which is what we need to talk about." Blaine twisted a bit and grabbed the bar of soap from its place and the washcloth from where it sat and handed the soap to Kurt, holding the cloth under the stream of water so it wettened. "You said that if I lost my memory of ever doing it, you'd forgive my cheating. And you did. But now I do remember doing it, and..." Blaine paused to shudder. "And you kissed me anyway."

"Yeah, for a simple enough reason," Kurt replied, scrubbing himself clean. "Even when you had no clue who I was, it was pretty clear you had feelings for me."

"I did," Blaine nodded, "I do, and I always will."

"And that's it, right there," Kurt told him. "You always will. Even when you've never met me and you're scared and confused, you will. Even when I screw up somehow and you or I storm out, you will. Even when I'm wrinkled and old and can barely move, you will. Your feelings transcend the boundaries I thought this had, whatever this is, and they're always going to exist. And mine will too. So I never want to hold myself back from kissing you -" and with this, he leaned forward to peck Blaine's surprised lips "- or holding you -" he took one of Blaine's hands in his and squeezed "- or doing anything with you again."

"So you'll always love me and I'll always love you," Blaine summarized effectively, and Kurt snorted at how shortened it was when he'd just basically made a speech. "But forgiving me, trusting me, those are different things, and last I knew, you hadn't and didn't, and if you haven't or don't, then this isn't -"

"But I have forgiven you," Kurt said, all traces of lightheartedness vanishing, replaced with sobriety. "And I do... I do t-trust you." The words came so much earlier than Kurt had imagined them coming that he stuttered over them, a bit shocked by their truth.

Blaine blinked twice. And then nothing in the universe could have compared itself to Blaine's smile. "Really?"

"Really," Kurt assured him, and squeezed his hand again. This time, Blaine squeezed back, and quickly yanked their intertwined fingers towards the wall, bringing Kurt stumbling right up against him. Kurt dropped the soap and it clattered loudly to the floor, but neither of them cared, because Blaine kissed him. Kurt's hands gripped around his toned stomach by impulse and Blaine's damp hands locked themselves in Kurt's hair.

Kurt's tongue slipped into Blaine's mouth without caution or pretense and he felt his thoughts dim again. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware that they'd agreed not to have sex in the shower, but all the thoughts back there were quickly being overshadowed by the thrilling heat of the situation. "Short talk," Kurt rasped in a whisper, speaking into Blaine's mouth so Blaine's laugh shook both of them.

"My family," Blaine reminded him, and Kurt took a deep breath, pulling away to rest his forehead on Blaine's, forcing himself to calm down. The water that had seemed hot enough before now only seemed warm with the blood rushing through him faster than was normal.

"Damn," Kurt sighed remorsefully, and Blaine laughed at him and splashed a bit of water onto his face with a flick of his wrist.

Years passed.

It seems lazy to describe it like that, doesn't it? And yet nothing more extravagant than that happened. Seconds gathered to form minutes that gathered to form hours that gathered to form days that gathered to form weeks that gathered to form months that gathered to form years. That's all it was, an expression of time. And yet the events in that time were so completely indescribable to any who didn't live it that mere vocabulary wasn't enough to regale any listeners of the tale with the occurrences that took place. Years passed, and that, in and of itself, was simple; but many other things passed during that time, things that shall be told in scant detail now as the important point is driven toward.

When Blaine first announced he'd gotten his memory back, the reactions had been exactly as they'd expected. Blaine's hand was nearly torn from Kurt's every time someone hugged him fiercely and eventually Kurt just put his arm around his shoulders possessively to ensure it couldn't happen.

Kurt had to go back to New York. Every day, he and Blaine spent hours online or over Skype, giving details in turn about their day and everything that went on during it, analyzing actions and criticizing words said, both by them and to them. And neither of them tired of it and neither of them forgot it and neither of them ever felt as alone as they had when they'd first been separated.

Kurt settled in to NYADA and together he and Rachel basically conquered the school, and when it came time for Blaine to audition, both of them were on such good terms with Carmen she allowed them to tag along - and so they watched him perform.

He didn't just steal the show, since it was his to begin with - he stole the stage, the room, and the whole damn world. His voice floated perfectly and Kurt had never even heard of the song he'd sung and wondered why, since it was obviously amazing, until Carmen admitted the same thing (and being shocked about that) and Blaine said he'd written it. He'd already nailed being accepted. At that statement, "Oh, that's because I wrote it," he won himself a scholarship. Kurt didn't pretend he wasn't jealous. He also couldn't pretend he wasn't immensely proud.

So when Blaine joined them at NYADA the next semester he automatically took the school by storm.

By the time they graduated, Rachel had just gotten her first role on Broadway as the female lead in a musical entitled Can't, and Kurt had also gotten a role (his second on Broadway but his first as a lead) as her love interest. Blaine wrote the songs. It was an absolutely incredible feat to have become so productive and well-known so young, and on opening night, almost the entire town of Lima came (and a good part of Westerville wearing blazers or old brooches that featured a calligraphic D).

On closing night, Kurt did something he probably shouldn't have though he did it anyway - he called Blaine out onto the stage. Blaine got a good twenty minutes worth of standing ovations before Kurt asked them all to quiet down, dropped to one knee, and proposed. When Blaine said yes the amount of cheering and screaming and Rachel hugging them with an almost fatal grip almost made them faint, and when they kissed, they had to run offstage in hysterical laughter because the audience was actually trying to get onto the stage. When the curtains closed, Kurt slumped into a chair, and Blaine slumped into Kurt, and they ordered Rachel to make everyone leave them alone for a few minutes. And in those few minutes nothing existed but the two of them and that (useful) chair.

When they did get married, it was around a year later. They had the wedding in Westerville, in the church just down the street from Dalton and designed in a very similar style, partly because they'd met just down the street but mostly because Burt wasn't well enough to travel anywhere even close to out-of-state. The ceremony was beautiful and like they'd always planned and there was never a happier couple alive than them on that day.

That night Burt died with his son and son-in-law holding his hands. Kurt begged him, "Don't go, you promised you'd watch me meet my destiny," and his last words were, "You met your destiny years ago and this afternoon you married it. I kept my promise and he'll keep his. I love you, Kurt, and Blaine, and Finn way over there in the corner, with Rachel, and Carole, sweetheart, don't let them cry too much, today's supposed to be... be hap... happy..."

It was inevitable that they cried. But then, it was also inevitable that the thing that would make them cry would occur. No inevitability is more important than another but some are easier to see.

Less than a full twelve months later Blaine and Kurt were there at the birth of their child, gripping Tina's hands more tightly than they thought they could but not as tightly as she gripped theirs. And three days afterward they brought Elizabeth home. A good two years after that they welcomed Anabel and exactly thirteen months and two days after that they welcomed Ivan. They potty-trained them and taught them to feed themselves and how to read and write and when it came time for school they both knew that Elizabeth was either a legitimate genius (with Blaine's golden eyes to boot) or... well, nothing else, really, she could have only been a legitimate genius. On her first day of kindergarten she talked to her teacher about Anne of Green Gables and the subtext included in it and how its reception with the masses could have been better widespread (i.e. "I think _ means that _ and that more people should know about this book because it's awesome").

On account of her intelligence, Lizzie was never challenged in school, and her grades were always simply average, because though she did the work quickly, she did it so quickly she soon got bored with another book (or song) and forgot where she put it and didn't turn it in.

However, Anabel was the other way around. Not stupid by any means, but she was diagnosed with Apraxia, and so communicating when she didn't understand or was having trouble was so difficult for her she simply didn't say anything and struggled through with it on her own, though she tried very hard and was more organized than Kurt had dared let himself dream.

Ivan was odd. Let's leave it at that. He was a boy and then a man the same way the others were girls and then women. They were all children, infants, at one point, and they all grew, and they all lived their own lives and legacies.

It wasn't until their hair was gray and thinned and their skin wrinkled like raisins did Kurt ever ask Blaine what losing his memory had been like.

The day was normal for them then, slow, and uneventful, but blissfully happy and always joyful. Blaine was running over his latest composition, and Kurt was just putting another Broadway playbill in his collection box, when he looked up and noticed his husband and how the shadows still played across his featured like the faint, dusty paints of an afternoon sunbeam. "What was it like?" he asked suddenly, because though he'd always been curious, it smacked upon him that at some point - probably soon - the shadows would dance no more over those lips and under those eyelashes, and he still didn't know.

"What was what like?" Blaine asked, looking up and smiling fondly.

"Not remembering," Kurt said. "Way back when, when you lost all your memories of me, but you still kind of knew who I was. What was it like?"

Blaine cocked his head to the side. "You've certainly had time to think about this."

"I've spent too much of that time being grateful you got your memory back," Kurt teased, getting up slowly and painfully, his old bones aching at the movement; he walked toward Blaine until he sat across from him at the table, and he put his hand in his. Blaine still squeezed gently, his skin like thin paper, but still soft. His eyes glassed over slightly as he pondered over his answer.

"I can't really think of how to describe it," Blaine said, his eyebrows furrowing. "It was... it was like I was a bird."

"A bird?" Kurt repeated, confused.

"Yeah," Blaine said, nodding, satisfied with the ultimately nonsensical beginning. "And for most of my life people would pluck out my feathers, one by one, but they always grew back, and it was never so much that I couldn't fly anymore. There were times when I had to stop and wait a while for them to grow in again, but they never broke my wings. I always kept flying. When I lost you..." Blaine trailed off, his calculative smile faltering, the thoughts of that time period still plaguing him, and Kurt tightened his grip comfortingly. "It was like all of a sudden I only barely had enough feathers to skate by on the wind in the middle of a hurricane. And when we were friends again, my feathers just appeared out of nowhere, though not all of them. But when I lost my memory, I lost all my feathers."

"All of them?" Kurt asked. "But I thought you said you always had enough."

"I did, but the thing was that I was still me," Blaine tried to explain. "In the very back of my mind, the memories hadn't vanished, they'd just decided to go on vacation or something. But the lack of them took away all my feathers. I kept expecting people to pluck them off me and when all anyone did was help them try to go I started to catch on to that. I'd changed and so had my tolerance for losing feathers. But when I lost those memories, I lost everything I'd ever had of you but my feelings. That ripped out all my feathers and I fell like a deadweight from the sky."

Kurt was silent. Blaine was silent. His gaze was far away, the sunlight shining calmly and dimly through the window in the dwindling twilight. And then his eyes refocused and he smile sadly. "But it took less time than ever for my feathers to grow back. It was you telling me the stories the way you did that started it, I think, and once those few crucial feathers grew back I was flying again, and from then on the recollections came back and I was soaring and invincible and you were there and I still had you, in a sense, and then you had me in an entirely different but totally wonderful sense." He smirked and Kurt blushed.

The moment was so peaceful and serene and beautiful in its simplicity and yet extravagance that Kurt inquired in a whisper, "And where are you now?"

Blaine's eyes swept over his features like they did so often, the way they'd both trained their eyes to, an old reflex. "Flying higher than anybody or anything else. Above the birds, in a way."

They went to sleep when the sun went down and when Kurt didn't wake up the next morning Blaine's wings broke entirely.