Kurt Hummel bit at his already bleeding nail beds as the world began to blur around him. The white walls of his apartment started closing in, forcing him to crawl pathetically towards the center of the room. The stained carpet rubbed against the pale flesh of his knees as he struggled to drag himself to the beat-up coffee table for support. His head was pounding harder than usual, and his pulse rate was through the roof. His whole body seemed to be one giant heartbeat. Kurt clutched the sides of his head tightly, willing the pain to go away, but nothing worked. He watched as the single lightbulb illuminating the room began to flicker above him. A cry of anguish ripped through his dry throat. It had never been this long before. Two days… he was going on two days.

Suddenly, there was a crash from the front of the dingy apartment. The walls stopped moving as the man Kurt had been waiting on practically fell into the living room with a large brown bag in his arms. Kurt struggled to stand up, knowing this guy had what he needed. A huge, crazed smile broke out across Kurt's face as he got closer to him. He pulled the torn jeans of the man above him until he was clutching at the man's strong shoulders. Hazel eyes met blue-green ones, and Kurt sunk them both to the ground. The contents of the bag spilled out in front of the two men. Plastic bags, glass bottles, and wads of cash toppled onto the dirty cream carpet. They both spread their treasures out before the man with dark, curly hair collapsed completely onto the floor.

"Blaine… how much did you get?"

The man sprawled out on the floor in front of him, passed him a bag with a small block of off-white substance in it. Kurt's eyes widened as he snatched the crinkling material from his hands and fumbled with opening it. Blaine's breath began to even out slightly. "Two weeks."

Kurt moaned as he chopped the block into a fine powder. "Two weeks for both of us?"

Blaine nodded and opened a large glass container with "Hummel-Anderson" scribbled across it in black Sharpie. He lifted it slowly to his lips, trying not to spill a single drop. He had used a good chunk of their money getting it refilled from Davie. Kurt chopped and chopped until the substance was lump-free and even. He might be suffering from intense signs of withdrawal, but that didn't mean he could be lazy.

Blaine took a large gulp of the burning liquid before passing it to Kurt, who in turn gave him some of the white powder. Kurt took in a deep breath before tilting the moonshine-filled bottle to his mouth. The alcohol ran down his throat like fire, and the effects instantly hit him. A sliver of the pain diminished as he set the bottle down with shaky hands and reached for the small portion of a straw lying in the middle of the table. Kurt raised the index card and straw to his nose before looking over to Blaine, who held his own index card and skinny portion of a tampon applicator to his nose.

They made eye contact and inhaled.

The moment every trace of the powder was gone, Kurt let the index card and straw fall from his hands. All the pain vanished from his system as he crawled slowly to Blaine and wrapped himself up in his arms. They both buzzed as their highs took over their bodies. The room stopped getting smaller and the lights stopped flickering—or so it seemed to him. Blaine laughed as his high rushed through him, numbing everything. The world was peaceful now. Nothing could touch the two men laying, intertwined.

They can never figure out who starts the kisses, or when the kissing turns into sucking. But then the sucking turns into biting and clothes are lost. They'd always make it to the bed though, no matter how long it had been, they'd always make it to their bed.

Tonight, Kurt is on bottom. He'd been on top the past three nights, so it's sort of Blaine's turn now he guessed.

It's only love-making now. For the past three years, it's only ever been love-making.

There were some nights where one man would start to get carried away, but it wouldn't be long before the other would whisper, "Remember Katie." Then the crying would erupt, and both men would end up only partially-clothed, lying in their bed, clutching each other like life-lines.

They come down from their highs slowly… and together.

Sweat began to dry as Kurt and Blaine stared off at nothing in particular in their room. Sometimes though, they would stare at something specific… and the other knew exactly what it was. Because if you saw just their room, you would have never guessed the two men whom it belonged to were low-lives.

Their furniture was tasteful and the walls and carpet were spotless. The bed was covered in some of the finest linens in New York, along with pure down pillows. Four diplomas were hanging side-by-side, next to their closet. Two were from McKinley High School in Lima, Ohio. One read: Kurt Hummel; Graduating Class of 2012. The other read: Blaine Anderson; Graduating Class of 2013. The two below it were diplomas from NYADA and NYU. Beautifully framed wedding pictures decorated the walls along with various pictures of the two men's high school days.

Even when the two men were staring at nothing, they always ended up staring at the same thing. On the bedside table was a picture of Kurt and Blaine with a little girl around the age of seven. They were all sitting on park swings, smiling at each other. Kurt would always cry first. He'd sniffle and bury himself farther into his husband's chest.

Tonight was no different. Blaine felt Kurt's warm tears splash on his smooth chest before he actually heard the sniffle. Strong arms pulled Kurt up to where he was laying completely on Blaine. He ran his calloused fingers through the soft—always soft—chestnut strands. Kurt cried harder than usual that night, so Blaine ended up asking the question they ask each other every night…

"What happened to us?"

END?