Kurt stood, with legs of lead, staring at the black and white photo that was once so elegantly framed upon the wall; a photo that was now in pieces, scattered along the wooden floor. He touched his cheek, closed his eyes; still able to feel the warm lips sweep over his wintry skin. It had been 5 years, but Blaine's breath sprinkled dew across Kurt's face, nonetheless.

He would never forget.
__________________________________________________________

"Do we have to?" whined Blaine as he tried to wriggle his toes inside of the uncomfortably tight ice-skates.

"Yes, we do," Kurt answered, pulling the silly hat snug onto his own head.

They were at a small, frozen pond in Ohio; one that was already teaming with eager skaters, just like himself.

"But I don't know how to do this! I'm gonna fall!"

"Honey, everyone stumbles on their first time," replied Kurt. "Besides, you're short and closer to the ground; you won't have as far to fall."

Blaine huffed and poked out his lower lip, a sure sign of discontent.

"Not this time!" Kurt said with a smug grin, yanking his reluctant fianc� off of the bench.

Blaine was dragged the few steps it took to reach the edge of the iced-over water, then quickly planted his feet in the crunchy snow.

"Please, don't make me," he grumbled. "It's so cold, and I don't want to make a fool of myself."

Kurt rolled his eyes;

"Need I remind you of the day you threw that little performance for Jeremiah in the midst of a busy Gap?"

Blaine's shoulders slumped, and he said nothing.

"Everything will be fine," Kurt assured. "Now, get over here and take a picture with me. I need a before and after one; you know, so I-I mean, we can laugh at all of the injuries I'm sure we'll sustain."

"But you said everything-"

"Calm down, sweetie. I'm just kidding," laughed Kurt as he set the camera's timer and brought Blaine in for an embrace.

The stubbly boy immediately wrapped his arms around Kurt's neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek; Kurt smiled as he caught the scent of Blaine's Dr. Pepper flavored chap stick. You are such a child, he thought, holding him closer, and I love it.

*click*
__________________________________________________________

They spun in circles, Kurt and Blaine. Spun and laughed as they watched the blur of swifter bodies fly by.

"You're doing great!" Kurt shouted, squeezing Blaine's cloth-covered hands.

Excited shrills of children hung heavy in the air, and Blaine tensed, concentrating on keeping his balance. The breeze bit at his eyes, and he tried to slow his pace, but Kurt kept whirling and the wind kept whipping.

Blaine closed his lids, just for a brief moment. He felt tears tumble over, and he instinctively reached up to wipe them away.

It was then he realized there was no longer the heat of Kurt's touch, the sweet smell of his overly-priced cologne. Blaine opened his eyes and his vision was hazy. His surroundings were white, with occasional splashes of brown and green.

His body was twisting; he was going too fast.

Blaine bumped from one person to another, desperately digging his skates into the ice as an attempt to stop the careening.

He thought he heard Kurt's voice, but it was distant; muffled by the blood rushing through his ears.

His feet still fumbled beneath him;

Dammit, why can't I stop?

Why isn't anyone helping me?

"Blaine!"

He knew he heard it; Kurt's panic-filled screech.

Everything will be f-
__________________________________________________________

His head was cradled in crimson, and he could feel the agonizing pulse as it thumped through his skull.

He could feel the vibrations of frantic skates speed across the ice; feel the flurries melt on his lips; feel Kurt's arms hold him; feel waves of cries, that were not his own, crash onto his skin.

"Oh, God. I-I am so sorry," Kurt sobbed. "I shouldn't have made you do this. You didn't want to do this. I told you everything would be fine." He ripped off Blaine's sopping beanie and placed his hand on the gushing wound. "I told you. I fucking told you it would all be okay."

Kurt's chest shook as his scream bounced between the trees, and he recited an apology amid chattering teeth.

The moment he caught his breath, he began to tenderly sing lyrics into Blaine's ear;

"White lips, pale face,

Breathing in snowflakes."

"Slowly sinking, wasting,

Crumbling like pastries.

And they scream,

The worst things in life come free to us."

"It's too cold outside,

For angles to fly,

Angles to fly."

"Don't fly away from me," Kurt croaked.

Blaine could hear him, hear his pleas, but he couldn't find the strength to move his mouth. The words were on the tip of his tongue; dripping with the water that rolled from beneath his lashes.

I love you I love you I love you, ran so relentlessly through his mind, he was sure it somehow found a way to Kurt's.

And thinking that simple sentence, Blaine succumbed to the darkness that was more than willing to wash over him.
__________________________________________________________

Kurt stood at the end of Blaine's hospital bed. Tubes sprouted like vines from every inch of his body, and the drone of various beeps filled the room.

"Possible traumatic brain injury."

"May not wake up."

"Will never be the same."

The doctor had stared at him, as if expecting a breakdown, but Kurt didn't move, didn't breathe. He was having flashbacks of his father, and when Burt was in that same sterile gown. He couldn't understand how this was happening again. Why Blaine? Why now? They were happy; about to be married.

The one person that held his world together, was falling apart in front of him.

And it was his fault.

Kurt refused food and sleep. He couldn't miss it if Blaine were to wake up, or even move. He remained by his side for hours on end, never letting go of his hand; never slowing the prayers…sent to a God he didn't believe existed.

"Sweetheart, why don't you have a seat?" Carole said, noticing his trembling knees. She, Burt, and the Andersons had been there for quite a while.

He didn't look away from Blaine;

"No. If I sit, I'll get tired."

"You need rest, kid," Burt replied.

Kurt let out a wheezy sigh;

"I'm fine. Please, leave me alone."

Blaine's parents watched from the door, never exchanging more than a few syllables with the Hummels, but stopping the doctor every time he walked by.

When Burt and Carole finally left, Mrs. Anderson stepped in to kiss her son goodbye; she also made sure to offer Kurt a sympathetic glance, as if to say, "I don't blame you."

But that meant nothing; Kurt did blame himself.

Everyone was gone; he was alone.

What if, from now on, he would always be alone?

"Blaine," he whispered, "I'm scared to be by myself. I can't live without you, do you understand?"

The dark circles were even more prominent under the harsh lights.

"Wake up."
__________________________________________________________

It had been a week, and Kurt finally surrendered to going home, but only for the day. He found his camera, staining the screen with droplets of pain when he came across the photo from the evening of Blaine's accident.

However, he remembered tasting the Dr. Pepper chap stick, and that caused a small giggle to leap from his throat.

Kurt printed out the portrait and hung it in the living room of their apartment, making it the first thing everyone would see. He studied Blaine's form; how it fit perfectly into his. He watched the scenes behind shut lids, smirking to himself…until the ice cracked and blood flowed. Kurt shook his head, trying to erase the memory.

He plopped down on the couch, not sure what to do. He'd showered, eaten, and had actually managed to take a short nap.

The place was eerily quiet; the smallest noise echoing through each room, so when the phone rang, a ferocious shiver ran up Kurt's spine.

"H-hello," he stuttered.

"Hey, Kurt. It's Mercedes. How are you? How's Blaine? How-"

He cut her off before she could spew out anything more;

"I'm okay. Blaine's…still not awake."

Kurt could practically hear Mercedes gnawing at her lip on the other line.

"I'm sorry, babe. Do you want me to come over? We could lie around in our pajamas and eat ice cream!"

"What is this? 20 questions?" he retorted. "I think I'm about to head back to the hospital, but thanks for asking."

"Of course. Let me know if you change-"

"I won't," Kurt spat.

"Oh, okay. I'm sorry. I just-"

He bit his tongue, silently cursing;

"No. I'm sorry, Mercedes. I'm really stressed, and I don't know what to do. I shouldn't take it out on you."

"I getcha. It's no problem," she replied. "We'll talk later. Love you."

"Love you, too."

Kurt pressed the "end" button and buried his face in the pillow next to him. He fingered a loose piece of string, yanking it out when there was a loud knock at the door. Will I ever get a break? he wondered.

Before he got the chance to answer, Rachel had burst through;

"Oh, Kurt! Are you okay? Finn told me what happened! I'm so sorry!" she said, tackling him.

"I'm f-fine!" he squeaked. "Would you please release me from your death grip, woman? I cannot breathe!"

Rachel pulled back, smoothing Kurt's rumpled hair.

"Look, I'm leaving for the hospital,"

"Do you want me to come?" Rachel interjected, far too enthusiastically.

"No, thanks. I'm a big boy now."

He saw a glint of hurt in her eyes, but it was just for a split second.

"I love you, Rach. I'll call if I need anything," Kurt reassured as he grabbed his car keys.

She nodded and they exited the apartment, sharing another hug before parting.

Kurt began his lonely drive just as the sun was setting, sending shadows dancing along the highway.
__________________________________________________________

"He's awake!"

Kurt heard Mrs. Anderson from down the hall, and he ran like his life depended on it. His lungs were burning, muscles aching-

"W-what happened?" he gasped.

"He's awake!" the brunette woman said again.

Kurt choked back tears; everything was going to be okay.

…but then he glanced at Blaine's hazel eyes. They were foggy, as if they weren't really seeing. Kurt waved a hand; Blaine's pupils twitched.

"Honey, can you see me?" Kurt asked.

A tilt of the head, but Blaine still seemed to be looking past him.

"Is something wrong?" Mr. Anderson questioned as he sauntered in.

If he only knew.
__________________________________________________________

"Traumatic brain injury."

"Will never be the same."

It had been five years.

They were 28; lived in the same apartment, slept in the same bed, wore the same engagement rings around their necks, yet; it all was different.

Blaine was confined to a wheelchair; his body contorted. He couldn't speak, just gurgle. No more singing, no more dancing…no more of the things that made him the happiest.

Except for Kurt. There would always be Kurt.

Kurt fed him, changed him, bathed him. He sang to him, held him, watched him as he failed to sputter out words. It was like having a child, but Kurt tried not to picture it that way. He was just thankful to have him.

Every now and again, their friends and family would come by, offering help. Kurt was gracious, but said no. He felt he was the only one who truly understood Blaine, who knew exactly what to do when he would cry.

But not this time. This time, Blaine cried and cried. He coughed and gagged; suffocating on the spit he couldn't swallow.

Kurt wiped his face, beat his back;

"Shhh, Blaine. You have to settle down."

He kissed his nose, his cheeks, his hair;

"You're alright. Shhh."

Blaine didn't stop. His screams only escalated. He thrashed in his chair, wildly swinging his arms whenever Kurt got close.

"God dammit! You can't do this!"

"What do you want?!"

Kurt stormed from the bedroom, covering his ears. He needed the yells to end, needed to cease the ringing that resounded in his head. Just this once, he needed Blaine to have a voice.

He stopped in front of the old photo and glared at the beaming couple that smiled back at him.

That was all it took, to send him over the edge.

Kurt grabbed the sleek frame from the wall and threw it with impenetrable force. It hit the ground with a piercing crash; the shards of glass cutting small slits in his jeans.

And suddenly, everything was silent.

He gulped, flicking away the sweat that had collected on his forehead;

"Blaine?"

Not a sound.

Kurt shuffled back toward their room, and he found Blaine rolled up next to the bedside table, clutching a pen.

"How-"

He saw the yellow notepad, picked it up, tried to decipher the message…

Then he realized,

Blaine had scribbled "I love you" in between the lines.

That was all he'd wanted; to tell Kurt he loved him.

Kurt laughed, kissing Blaine's grinning mouth.

He did have a voice, it just took Kurt five years to really hear it, to really listen.

And for the first time in five years,

Kurt had heard what he'd been wanting to know all along…

That Blaine still loved him.