White specks of soft snow fell from the grey sky, gathering on the ground to become a blanket of white. Trees were dead already even though it had only been a few weeks of bitter winter. The air was cold, nipping at his face as he walked up the path to the main entrance of the hospital. It was surreal knowing that the person you love had lost his mind. That he was in a place where he had to heal. Blaine knew that Kurt was struggling with the treatment. He was being kept in a small room with a tiny bed and no color. He was put on medication and needed shots. He needed blood tests to make sure that he was actually taking the medicine. He was shouted at and, more than likely, made fun of. Places like that arent necessarily nice. Hopefully seeing his face would help him collect as much bravery as possible to go through with the rest of his time there. It had already been a month and Blaine had yet to see Kurt.

As Blaine walked up to the front desk, all neat and plain, he unzipped his coat. The lady behind the desk didnt notice him for a few moments before he cleared his throat and she looked up in surprise.

"Sorry-" Blaine began, nervously, "Im here to see Kurt... uh, Kurt Hummel..."

"Give me a minute, dear," she replied before leaning to the side to open a filing cabinet. She rummaged for a minute before taking out a red folder with Kurts initials. She opened it, pulling out a paper that titled Visitor List.

"Are you Blaine Anderson?" she asked, tipping her head forward. Blaine nodded.

"Yes, hes my partner," Blaine said, shuffling his feet anxiously. She smiled for the first time. Maybe it was sympathy, or mockery, Blaine didnt know. All he knew was that she knew exactly what Kurt was in for, and she must have felt something for Blaine. She held out her hand, a visitors pass with Blaines name on it in her palm. Blaine took it with a shaky hand.

"Hes in room 204C, hun. Therell be a guard waiting for you there," she informed him, "Have a good visit. I think he needs it."

Blaine hesitated to walk, but once he got started,  it was like he knew the way with his eyes closed. The halls were white, each door made of metal and had one window. It was like a prison. Blaine found himself walking faster and faster, hearing screams and pleads of patients being punished for something or refusing to take their medicine. Blaine feared, suddenly, for his husbands life.

He came to a stop in front of 204C, a guard standing next to it. He was a muscled black man, clad in a belt with a gun and taser.

"Blaine Anderson," he said, "Welcome to hell."

Blaine smiled, forcefully  and nervously, while the man opened the door. They both walked into the small room. There was a tiny bathroom with a door, a small dresser, and a twin sized bed. The room was grey, old, and small. It seemed suffocating. On the bed, there was person, curled up in a ball underneath the thin blankets. It was cold in the room, and the person was shivering. His hair was all Blaine saw poking out from his shelter.

"Kurt..."

Blaine sat down on the edge of the bed and put an unsure hand on his husbands leg, startling him. Kurt sat up straight, very suddenly, making Blaine jump back a bit. His eyes were wide; Kurts were, too. But Kurts eyes were red, bags beneath them. His face pale, frame small. He was thinner than he was just weeks before. He looked like hed gotten hit by a bus.

"Blaine?" Kurt breathed, shaky in his voice. Tears formed in the corners of his glossy eyes. All Blaine could do was nod, letting out a dry sob before tears even became present.

"Yeah," he coughed, ducking his head.

"I wanna go home," Kurt whispered, tears becoming more active, rolling down his cheeks. Blaine looked back up into his eyes and he touched Kurts face gently, reassuring him.

"I want you to, too," Blaine said, breathless, wiping a few tears from Kurts face.

"Im better," Kurt cried as Blaine wrapped his arms around his loves shoulders. Kurt nuzzled his face into Blaines neck like a kitten, "I wont hurt anyone. I wanna come home. Please let me come home, Blaine."

"I cant take you home, Kurt. Id get arrested," Blaine muttered. Kurt responded with with a muffled sob.

It was true; Blaine wanted to take Kurt home with him more than anything. The last thing he wanted to do was leave him in this place. It killed him, but Kurt couldnt come home.

"You did something bad, baby," Blaine explained, rubbing Kurts back. He felt Kurts spine sticking out. Kurt wasnt healthy, "I know you dont remember, but you have to be here. You have to get healthy. Then you can come home with me."

"Why didnt you visit?" Kurt asked, sounding sad in his voice, "You waited so long."

Blaine placed his hands on Kurts shoulders, pushing him back to look into his hurt eyes.

"I was scared," he answered as softly as possible, cradling Kurts face in his palm. Kurt looked like hed been slapped.

"Of me?" his voice cracked. Blaine shook his head and his hand slid down to rest at Kurts neck.

"No," he sighed, "Of... of everything. I was afraid that youd be angry with me and that youd hurt yourself."

"I am angry with you," Kurt said, frustrated, "I dont know why Im here. You put me here and I dont know why. Why am I here?"

Blaine hushed him, rubbing the back of Kurts neck with two fingers. Kurt brought a hand to Blaines wrist, holding it.

"Ill tell you, okay? Ill tell you."

______________________________________________________________________________

It was seven oclock in the evening when it happened. I had been late coming home from work and you had your friend Michael over. He was a co-worker, remember? I knew that you both had ordered a pizza and you were waiting for me to get home. When I did get home, I never expected to walk into what I did.

The house was a mess. Magazines and books all over the hallway floor. The living room was trashed. Our tv was smashed to the ground in front of our broken, glass coffee-table. The kitchen was a mess, too. I was frantic trying to look for you. I saw blood on the floor and the fridge was wide open, food splattered everywhere. I knew it was blood because we owned no red liquid. We had strawberry jam, but it was chunky. Anyway, I continued to walk slowly, not knowing what Id find. When I walked in the bathroom, I nearly threw up. Michael was in the bathtub, red water over his head. His throat was slit. Thats when I let out my first yell. I cried a little as I walked to our bedroom, dialing 911 at the same time. With the phone to my ear, I opened our door cautiously. You were crying.

"Kurt?" I called out, "Kurt, where are you?"

You didnt answer me. You just kept crying. I didnt want to startle you, but I knew you were in the closet. I opened it as fast as I could and there you were. A blood kitchen knife in your hand. You held it to your wrist as soon as you saw me.

"Kurt! Put that down now!"

No matter how much I yelled at you, it only made it worse. Thats when the lady picked up my 911 call. I had to put the phone down to take the knife from you, but before I could move, you dragged the knife across your wrist, sobbing out of control. I screamed at the woman on the phone.

Everything else is a blurr.