Kurt jolts out of the nightmare, neck jerking painfully, and immediately reaches for his phone.

Even a month after their split, his first instinct is still to call Blaine when he has this dream.

It starts like any of the other dreams: some weird, inexplicable dilemma involving something he knows nothing about, but is given full responsibility for taking care of anyway. As he attempts to work through the problem (with clues that never make sense after waking), he gets a phone call and finds out that his father has died. He begins to panic, terror filling his lungs and then, mercifully, he wakes up.

That’s usually the dream, anyway.

That’s usually when he dials Blaine’s number and babbles through the shock and terror until Blaine talks him down and soothes him with the gravelly tone of his half-asleep voice and directs him gently to check on his father to make sure he’s sleeping.

It�wasn't�the usual nightmare this time.

This time, his father is the one on the phone. Blaine has been found in a parking lot, having fallen from the window of some tall building.

His stomach turns violently at the implications, at the memory of Blaine at four in the morning on one of those (not-so-rare) occasions when his parents have left him home alone, and he and Kurt can spend the night together.

Blaine had blearily blinked as he held onto Kurt’s hand desperately.

“It’s a falling dream.�You've�had them, right?”

Kurt had nodded, eyes traveling over Blaine’s weary face.

“Everyone has it, right? Everyone has that dream where you’re just doing something and all of a sudden, the ground has opened up beneath you and you’re plummeting down.”

Kurt nodded again.

“Well, see, at first, I’m terrified of this falling, you know? Just going down so fast and nothing is going to stop me and I can’t breathe or think or do anything and if I can’t do that, who the fuck am I?” And then, Blaine’s face sort of melted for a second, eyebrows smoothing slightly before he said, “And then everything slows down as I realize: no one is going to stop me. I’m going to hit the ground and I don’t have to be anyone, I’m just falling, and that’s all I am, and no one can have any expectations of me anymore.” The frown begins to return. “No one can hurt me for being me, because I’m going to die anyway-- who’s going to have the time to stop me? I’m done with this place and this planet and this life and I can just be me and be free, if only for those seconds right before I die.

“And then, I wake up, and I feel this huge sense of relief and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m awake and know I’m not going to die or if I’m relieved because I’m still half-asleep and feeling the emotions from the dream. And then usually, I freak out, because, does that relief in the dream mean I want to die? Or does the relief mean I want to live and that’s more normal, right?”

Kurt didn't know how to answer him, but clearly, that�wasn't�what Blaine was looking for, because he just kept talking.

“But when you’re here,” Blaine said, hand reaching up to cup Kurt’s face, “I’m less afraid of the relief, because I know I’m just relieved you’re here with me.”

Kurt knew then he should've felt the weight of that responsibility heavily; it should have weighed him down to know that Blaine needed him so desperately, clung to him to give life meaning, to make sure he’s relieved to be not falling.

But it didn't, because Kurt knew that he needed Blaine just as much.

Now, of course, Kurt knows he needs Blaine, and he doesn't have him, and where does that leave him? Across the room from Rachel, so close to someone and knowing he’s completely alone.

But what he’s concerned about now is not his own loneliness, but Blaine, alone in his bed in that big, cold house filled with furniture he didn't help pick out, didn't like, and wasn't allowed to get comfortable in.

Blaine has always been so much more alone than Kurt.

He reaches for his phone, wishing he could call Blaine and check on him, make sure he doesn't feel nearly as empty as Kurt does right now. Instead, he calls Sam.

“Yello?” Sam answers, sounding completely awake.

Kurt squints at his bedside clock. “Sam, it’s three in the morning, have you even been asleep?”

“It’s three in the morning; of course not.” He sounds calm and assured and everything Kurt needs right now. “What are you calling me at three in the morning for, anyway?”

“I just—” he stops abruptly, trying to think of a way to say I want to check on Blaine without actually saying it. “—I had a weird dream.”

“Alright,” Sam says, dragging out the word in bemusement so it sounds like four syllables. Kurt wonders if Sam, like Brittany, spends his entire life in a state of bemusement.

“Is everyone alright?” Kurt asks, struggling to figure out the way to connect �the peripheral question with his actual worry.

“Kurt, just ask me what you’re thinking about and get it over with.”

Maybe Sam�wasn't�as bemused as Kurt thought.

“When was the last time you talked to Blaine?”

“Two hours ago. I wanted to try out my Alan Rickman impression on him.”

Kurt tries to imagine Sam attempting to imitate the voice of the British actor, shaking his head and saying, “So, he was home, right?”

“Yeah, of course, it was one in the morning Blaine time. That’s like five in the morning Sam time.”

The fact that Kurt immediately understands speaks volumes about the number of times he had conversations with Sam over breakfast in the span they spent living together.

“Okay. Alright, then,” Kurt says, wanting to know one more thing, but there’s no way he’s going to ask it.

“His parents are in Germany, I think. He invited me over to watch a movie tomorrow. I think it’s a musical, but he says it has Alan Rickman in it, so I figure I can practice my impression.”

And that’s it, the question he needed answered. Blaine’s parents are still absent, but he’s still coping with the emptiness.

“He’s doing alright, then?”

“Yeah, but he says he’s been having some weird dreams lately.”

Kurt’s breath catches. “Falling dreams?”

Sam is silent for a few seconds and then he says, “Yeah,” once again, dragging out the single syllable. “That’s freaky, dude. How did you know that?”

Kurt swallows. “I just do. Listen, Sam?”

“I haven’t gone anywhere.”

“If the dreams come up again, tell him he should be relieved to wake up.”

“Kurt, that’s—”

“Just—” he breaks off, wanting to make sure Sam gets this right. “I know it’s weird, but just say that he should be glad he isn't falling anymore.”

“Fine, whatever, I’ll tell him.” He doesn't sound irritated, like Finn would, but just sort of confused at the request. “Anything else I should pass along as my own?”

“No, I think that’s all. Thank you so much.”

“Not a problem, dude.”

Kurt ends the phone call swiftly before Sam can introduce him to his Alan Rickman impression and stares blankly at the ceiling.

Clearly, Blaine is doing fairly well, adapting to evenings without Skype dates and phone sex and being alone in his house by making friends.

He doesn't know if he’s relieved because Blaine’s not alone or because Blaine’s not with someone.

He doesn't know if he even cares.

Blaine’s alive; he hasn't fallen from any building and he hasn't lost his ability to adapt.

Kurt just hopes he’s still relieved to be awake.