He wanted to tell Blaine. As soon as that mask came off and that head was too high, and those chubby hands he was used to feeling against his shoulders as he was shoved into a locker, and-

It was a Pavlovian response, he knew that. The eyes were different, and the smile was...new. And not unpleasant, really. Scared, but not like last year. Vulnerable in a less-predatory way.

But Kurt couldn't help the way his stomach clenched as the face that had literally driven him out of his school appeared where he'd been expecting Blaine's. He'd been waiting for one gorgeous brown eye – maybe two, he knew the patch was due to come off any day now – and triangular eyebrows and that grin that made him melt every time... and when Karofsky appeared instead, just for a second, his hand twitched over his pocket as he contemplated just how quickly Blaine could get here.

It was dumb, he knew that. He'd handled Karofsky plenty of times on his own, and Blaine had taken a slushie – really, had taken eye surgery - for him, so really he owed his boyfriend a break from dealing with crazy boys. And Karofsky didn't look so crazy anymore, he looked...human. Not gorilla. Not hamhocks. Just a hopeful boy.

A hopeful boy who had added 'stalking' to his long list of offenses.

He was glad Karofsky was happier, that he looked less cornered or scared than he used to, but Kurt didn't know if he could ever look at that face and think of him as any other person. He didn't know if he would ever stop thinking of that name as synonymous with being slammed into a locker and having ice thrown in his face and the sweaty smell of him as the much larger boy tore a kiss from him and tried to steal another.

He wanted to be supportive, but even if he didn't have Blaine, he would never want...that.

He stared at the box of candies on the table for a long time, as everyone else filtered into the restaurant and started on their first round of mocktails. As Mike and Tina cuddled and teased each other with chaste little kisses at the next table, he reached down and gingerly lifted one out – butterscotch. It seemed strange to know little things that brought pleasure to the guy who had made him unable to survive on anything but the tiny moments. The number of days he had come home after being shoved and teased and tormented and sat with a cup of his favourite tea, just clutching the mug and breathing in deeply and trying to enjoy the moment long enough to give himself the strength to get through the afternoon...

He could picture David up in a hypothetical generic bedroom, fidgeting and moving from the bed to the chair to the wall by the door, pacing and caged, and worrying about who might know and what he would do if they found out...and plucking up a butterscotch candy-

Okay, now this was just ridiculous.

Yes, Karofsky was human, he knew that. He had known that last year, too, when he apologized, and at the bar that night, but a human who liked him...

He didn't know what he was supposed to do now. How he was supposed to think or feel about any of it...and the person he wanted to call more than anything was the person he really didn't know how to explain it to.

He'd never had that problem with Blaine before. They talked about everything. They could always say what they were feeling with complete and total honesty. Wasn't that what they had done last year on this date? When he had told Blaine how he felt and Blaine had...given him the gentlest rejection a boy could ask for?

He just wasn't sure how to say it in a way that would convey what actually happened, which was nothing but still something. Karofsky hadn't tried anything, he hadn't been violent, he hadn't even really done anything untoward or without permission or pushed too far, but at the same time...the idea that the boy had been sending cards to him at a school he no longer attended, then going to see him – twice – in a gorilla costume felt a little too much like stalking and obsessing for Kurt's comfort. But how could he tell Blaine that without his boyfriend panicking for his safety? Because after all, Karofsky had left without even being asked, and he hadn't given any indication he intended to keep pursuing something, he...he seemed to understand, at least in part, and he didn't seem violent in any way. But he looked panicked for just a second at the end, and so heartbroken, and Kurt couldn't quite shake the feeling that he wanted to tell Blaine.

Which just meant he was back to the place he'd started: wanting - needing - to tell his boyfriend but having no idea how.

Because Blaine was still recovering and shouldn't be too stressed, even though he was doing really well and the doctors said everything was fine, and Kurt didn't want to unnecessarily make him worry. And he wasn't even under any obligation to tell Blaine – after all, it wasn't like he and Karofsky had done anything that meant he needed to tell his boyfriend about it, he was allowed to talk to boys, and it wasn't as though Blaine hadn't kept talking to the boy Kurt hated more than any other weasel in the world right up until the point where that boy tried to kill him.

(Blind him, at any rate. Maim him. It still counted.)

...The justification lasted only a few seconds and was enough to make him feel guilty. He hated when Blaine talked to Sebastian and didn't tell him, and not just because he thought the satanic chipmunk should be dragged behind a cart pulled by a team of clydesdales of a different colour. He hated that it felt like Blaine was keeping something from him, and he didn't want to do that anymore. He loved being open with each other and feeling like they shared everything there was to share. He craved that kind of intimacy with his boyfriend.

But how was he supposed to say that he thought his boyfriend was sending him adorable, romantic admirer notes and it turned out they were from the boy who had threatened to kill him?

Blaine would understand, he reminded himself as he ran his finger slowly over the edge of the candy box. His boyfriend was incredibly big-hearted and wanted to help even the people who might not always deserve it. The duet for Santana had been Blaine's idea; he'd talked about how they both understood what she was going through in a way no one else in New Directions could, and how they needed to help her see that everything would be okay and that there was nothing in the world wrong with her. As long as Kurt made clear that Karofsky hadn't done anything to threaten him, Blaine would be able to see the situation for what it as and would probably even suggest a way to reach out and make sure he was okay.

Kurt hoped, at least. But Blaine had never played the role of the crazy-possessive boyfriend before, so he had every reason to believe it would be okay.

Then Blaine showed up, and it was hard to stay worried when those eyes (yes, both of them!) were gazing at him as he grinned and offered up a microphone. And there was dancing, and gossiping, and catching up, and of course everyone wanted to ask how Blaine was feeling, and it wasn't until they were on their way back to Blaine's that he finally had a moment alone to talk to his boyfriend. It felt so silly to bring up now, three hours removed from the initial ice block in his stomach and the instinctive clench of his fingers, but he needed to talk through all of it...and there was no one in the world he would feel safer with than his boyfriend.

“Blaine?” He glanced at his boyfrind out of the corner of his eye, his fingers tightening around the wheel. Blaine looked over at him, face bathed in streaks of streetlight, with an eager but concerned expression, and suddenly he wasn't sure what to say. Should he start at the beginning, with the first card? Should he start at the end, with the chocolates and the hurt expression? Somewhere in between?

A warm, broad palm covered his right hand, drawing it gently off the wheel and into a tender clasp in a well-practiced motion. “Everything okay?”

He drew in a deep breath and offered a faint smile as he said, “It's been a strange week. When we get home, I...need to talk about some things. And not just Sugar's hideous fur stole collection.” Blaine squeezed his hand, knowing the joke was a cover, but he didn't push. He didn't have to; they would talk when they got home, and he could sort through everything then.