He sat huddled in the corner behind the door of his bedroom, his arms wrapped tight around legs and his forehead resting on his knees. His tears had mostly dried up, like there was nothing left to collect and fall, but he was still finding trouble catching his breath. He was hiccuping and choking on the saliva that had gathered thickly in the back of his throat. He tried not to move because the rough slide of his clothes against his body made him almost nauseous and he felt like he was crawling out of his skin, his hair messy from pulling on it roughly in frustration. It was painful considering the hardhat of gel he wore every day. No one knew exactly why he did his hair the way he did, not even Kurt. He couldn't tell Kurt that he did it to keep himself from implementing his nervous habit of running his hands through his hair and pulling on it absentmindedly when he was upset. It helped that looking collected as he did kept his dad off his back; it kept his dad from questioning him about the future. Something about his physical appearance made his dad believe he was planning for the future. In reality, Blaine had no fucking idea what he was doing.

And he couldn't tell Kurt, not because he didn't trust Kurt -- fuck, he trusted Kurt more than he had ever trusted anyone in his entire life -- but because he didn't trust himself. From day one of knowing each other, Blaine was the rock in their relationship. He was always there for Kurt and he did his very best to hold back any bad feelings. It helped to have Kurt, but he still had his days. Days when he wanted to kick the shit out of something, anything. Days when the pressure in his chest was too much and he wanted to rip it open and let everything flutter out to leave him in peace. He didn't want Kurt to see that, and maybe that was selfish of him, but he couldn't let Kurt see him hurt like that. The few times he had let it show even a little bit, he could see the worry in Kurt's eyes, and he couldn't bear it. Kurt had his own things going on -- NYADA, graduation, normal senior things -- and he didn't want to steal the spotlight. He had so many people telling him he took all the spotlight and he was tired of doing that to people. This was Kurt's time and he was going to be there to support and love his boyfriend if it killed him. But it was exhausting. Somehow, supporting and loving someone is beautiful and exciting and thrilling, but it also drains you so much, sometimes to the point of being unable to take care of yourself, and that's how Blaine felt. Being around Kurt always made him happy, but the moment they weren't together any longer he felt drained and sick to his stomach with worry. Worrying that maybe he had done something wrong again. Worrying that their last kiss was really their very last kiss. He took as much time as he could to soak Kurt up to the point he felt he would burst, and as soon as Kurt was absent from his side he felt empty, like a valve had opened at the heel of his foot and all the good had flowed out to puddle at his feet. And he felt empty and alone, but he couldn't tell Kurt, because Kurt was happy, finally, and he had so much ahead of him, and Blaine was not going to burst that bubble.

Kurt never, ever gave any indication that he didn't want Blaine and he knew that. Logically, he knew that Kurt loved him more than anything or anyone, but for as long as Blaine could remember, he was a worrier. As a child he checked that doors and windows were locked before he went to sleep and he would get upset if his parents didn't kiss his forehead before they walked out the front door for work. He worried when his big brother Cooper was even a little late coming home after school and he worried that maybe his babysitter would burn herself on the stove when she making him lunch. As he got older, the worries became less often but more intense. Cooper hasn't phoned in a couple days, maybe he got in an accident and no one knew who to contact? Dad's drinking is increasing, what if he gets alcohol poisoning? Mom came home smelling different than normal, what if she's having an affair? What if Dad knows about the affair and he's waiting for the right time to crack down on her? Does Dad think I'm fooling around with random guys for money? Do my parents wish I were never born? Do they wish I were dead? Cooper was always the favorite child, it wouldn't be a surprise.

Thoughts like these plagued Blaine daily, hourly even. He forced himself not to keep in constant contact with everyone he loved, because then it would be obvious something was wrong.

The ring of his cell phone on the bedside table made him jump and gasp. He choked on the spit still gathering in his throat and the force brought tears back to his eyes. "Oh, good, I can still cry," he thought. He knew someone was calling because his text tones had been turned on silent, but he had forgotten to turn down the ringer for calls.

His body and mind battled in the corner. His body reacting instantly, wanting to get up to at least turn down the ringer, because it was making his head throb, but his mind was screaming at him, telling him not to move because moving hurt and made his skin prickle uncomfortably. No, he would stay. He wasn't going to get up. Whoever was calling would hang up and leave him alone.

But no, almost the second the ringer stopped it started again, filling the room and by extension, Blaine's ringing ears and pounding head.

"Noo," Blaine moaned, barely audible. It continued and he clenched his jaw and gripped his hair tightly, slamming his eyes shut and rocking slightly. "Stop it, stop it, stop it," he chanted, growing louder, anxiety filling his chest and tears springing plentifully to his eyes. And like that, the ringing stopped.

There was silence for a few glorious seconds, the sound of a car passing outside on the street, and then the ringing started again. Somehow louder and more painful.

Blaine launched himself from his position on the floor and hurdled toward his phone, growling angrily and snatching it without looking at the screen, sending it flying across the room where it smashed against the wall with a loud crack. The ringing stopped and Blaine slide to the floor, his back against his bed and his legs pulled back up to his chest.

"I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm supposed to do," Blaine whispered to himself, tears falling from his face and landing heavily on his knees. They felt like bombs, landing quickly and staining his jeans, leaving evidence of the destruction. "I'm not good enough," he said out loud to himself, rocking back and forth in his place again. "Not for Mom. Not for Dad. Not for Coop. Especially not for Kurt. Why do I stick around? I should run away, never look back. Just like I ran away from those assholes at my old school. Just like I run away from my dad and I run away from my feelings about Kurt leaving. I should just run away."

And then he did something he hadn't done since he was a very small child. He laid down on his back and tried to slip under the bed. He couldn't fit all the way, but if he angled his head the right way and spread his arms and legs out, it almost felt like he was all the way under it. Hiding. If he couldn't run, he would hide. Somehow being stuffed under a box spring felt safe. And he screamed. He just screamed and screamed until his lungs felt like they were going to give out, his eyes screwed shut and his fist balled tightly. His toes curled and his diaphragm felt like it might burst. Being a singer had it's perks, but even the best singers could only scream for so long. When he ran out of breath and energy, he took a second to recoup and then took another giant breath, releasing it quietly in a deep sigh. Tears continued to leak from the corners of his eyes and into his ears, but he didn't dare move, because suddenly he heard the front door slam. Clunky boots scrambled in the foyer and something heavy fell to the floor.

"Blaine?" Kurt yelled, terror in his voice. Blaine's heart stilled and he was half-sure he'd died in that instant. Not Kurt. Anyone but Kurt. He couldn't let Kurt see him like this. And in his fear he found the only logical solution was to stay where he was, hidden, and hope Kurt wouldn't find him. That Kurt would somehow forget he'd heard Blaine yelling and give up and go home. But of course, that wasn't like Kurt at all.

"Blaine! Where are you? What's wrong?" Kurt yelled, barreling down the hall not half as gracefully as he normally would. Kurt slammed the bedroom door open and stood in the entrance, searching frantically but not moving. "Blaine, honey, are you in here?" He asked quietly. Blaine knew Kurt had found him, he could hear it in Kurt's voice, but he didn't want to say anything, still hoping that somehow Kurt would leave as if nothing had happened. But of course not.

Kurt stepped gingerly around the bed and found Blaine laying there, not even halfway under the bed, his face hidden.

"Baby, are you alright?" Kurt asked, gently placing a hand on Blaine's leg. A small whimper escaped Blaine's lips and he cursed himself for letting it out. "Blaine, please talk to me. Are you okay? Do I need to call an ambulance?"

Blaine somehow forced himself to shimmy out from under the bed. He didn't get up though. He just laid there and looked up at Kurt's worried face. He worked so hard not to ever have to see Kurt make that face.

"I'm fine," Blaine lied, smiling weakly, the snot and tears still marking his red, splotchy face.

"Liar," Kurt smiled sadly. He settled down next to Blaine on the floor, wrapping Blaine's limp arm around himself and cuddling into Blaine's chest. "What's wrong?"

Blaine was quiet for a long time. It felt as if an hour had passed before he answered. "I'm scared." He couldn't say more. The more he thought about it the less he understood and the less he could say. It was like his fears were still until he brought them forward, and then they would move about and the more he thought of them the faster they moved and the more jumbled they got, until they were tangled and crossed and indecipherable.

"Of what?" Kurt asked, pressing a light kiss to Blaine's jaw.

"I don't know. Everything. Nothing." Blaine couldn't answer. It hurt to talk and it hurt to think and it hurt to breathe and he just wanted to sleep, with Kurt tucked into his side, forever.

"Okay. Well, when you figure it out, you can tell me. I promise," Kurt placed another feather-light kiss to Blaine's jaw and snuggled closer into his side, tangling his feet with Blaine's.

"Thank you," Blaine said, and small sense of relief flooding his chest. And suddenly, he was exhausted. He was so tired of fighting his brain and it was making him physically tired. "Can we take a nap?" He asked, groggily.

"Yes, I think we can do that," Kurt replied, smiling sadly again. "Do you want to get on the bed?"

"No. Jus' wanna stay here. With you," Blaine mumbled, having trouble keeping his eyes open.

"Okay. I love you Blaine."

"Love you too, Kurt."