The timbre of the music weakens before it fades away completely, an echo that consumes itself out of existence. Kurt doesn't let go of Blaine, folds in close and plants himself there with no intentions of moving any time soon; Blaine's grip on him doesn't relent either. The places where Blaine's hands touch (his shoulder his side just under his ribcage his palm pressed over his spine) warm and pulse unnaturally, like Kurt's never been touched before. It makes him curve closer, an excuse to hold his body flush against his.

"Kurt?" Blaine says, hushed and choked in a way starkly different from the power his voice held when he'd been singing to him just moments before. Kurt feels his lips brush against his ear, hears the small hitches of his breath. "I'm so sor—"

The furrow between Kurt's brows deepens as he shhs him. He lifts his head from Blaine's shoulder and notices their non-distance for the first time when he tips forward and nudges his forehead against Blaine's. "Don't. Please."

Thinking about it hurts. Talking about it hurts. That's why he hasn't. He's tried, oh he really has. Every word sticks to his tongue, every train of thought leading down that path punches him with blunt force. It's a bone-weary feeling he's had for months, like gravity is trying to pull him under and let him go at once.

It's something he's grown so used to that some days he forgets why he's sad. He'll wake up and feel molded to the bed, laboring over his own spiraling thoughts before he can free himself. He'll think to text Blaine about it, will think of him and feel the way his heart soars out of his body like he has no connection to it (no pulse, no blush, no anything), and then he remembers why he can't do that. Why his natural tendency isn't something he can go back to anymore.

He feels ridiculous for all the motions he goes through. He's setting up hurtles and building brick walls, but for what end? It doesn't make him feel better. He doesn't know what to do, and ignoring it seems to be the best option. Blocking it out with the all reasons he should filling his head, repeating like a mantra. He hurt you he hurt you he hurt you.

But now when he's standing in front of him, it's quiet. It's calm. The reasons become less concrete and more like leaflets people hand out on the sidewalk, detailing all the reasons why this is wrong and why that needs to be fixed – pieces of paper that line trashcans, formal lists of bullet points that don't matter.

He doesn't need apologies right now because they don't matter anymore. I'm sorry is Blaine's mantra and Kurt's is either too loud for him to hear anything else or so far gone that Blaine's words make no sense. Kurt's not listening.

He doesn't know where they are. The rooftop is melting, the gazebo lights dim, and Kurt draws the curtains closed to keep out the cold. Blaine sits down on the pillows; Kurt chooses to stand.

Blaine's looking up at him with wide, wide eyes, expression like pleading. "Just sit down," he says, "We can talk about it."

"I don't want to," Kurt says, his voice jarring and loud compared to Blaine's wisp of a voice.

"Why not?" Blaine all but exclaims, and Kurt realizes there's something wrong with the cadence of his speech, and the tone – the entire sound is off, like Blaine's forgotten how to speak like himself. All Kurt hears is a whine colored in a cookie-cutter voice, and everything starts to feel thinner. "We've been avoiding this conversation for months. I think it would be best for us both if we could just talk to each other. It might make both of us feel better."

Kurt shakes his head, not even considering it for a moment. He's heard this before from plenty of sources – Rachel being the respite in a sea of impartiality, with her encouragements to take New York by storm and leave the rest of the world, including boring old Lima, behind him. Talking muddies the waters he's trying to tread; talking makes it real. It makes it real.

Blaine's voice is barely louder than the buzz of silence when he says, "All we're doing is dwelling on the hurt. Don't you ever think about that? Don't you just want to let it go?"

"Of course I do, that's what I'm doing."

Blaine shakes his head. "No, you aren't."

"Yes, I am."

"You know I love you," Blaine says, sounding as heartbroken as his eyes look, and Kurt gets the distinct impression he's being pitied. "I love you more than anything in the world. I know that you're trying to make yourself better. You're so good at piecing yourself back together. But this isn't the way."

Blaine's final words pierce the air, and Kurt's turning away from him before he's done, shaking his head and drawing his arms up to cross. "I'm fine," he says, rough. He's doing his best not to become aggressive, to manage his pounding heart, tired of the way Blaine's staring at him like he's something sad.

"Isn't there anything I can do to change your mind? Isn't there anything I can say?" Blaine asks, sounding strained. "I don't know how much longer I can ignore this for you. I love you, but this is hurting me so much."

"I don't care."

"That's a lie."

Kurt turns around. "How would you know? And: I'm pretty sure I'm the injured party here. You say that you're hurting but what about me?"

"We both are, Kurt, that's the point." Blaine stands and he isn't wearing his suit anymore. He's dressed in the outfit Kurt remembers him wearing when they had dinner around Christmastime with his father. "We're always going to be there for each other, and right now we need to do that. We need to help each other through this, like we haven't been all this time. I know that we can make this better if we try. But we've got to start trying, Kurt, or we'll never be able to move on."

Kurt looks at him, with all his passion and sense and calm insistence, how he can plead without imposing. He does make a compelling argument. It's something Kurt thought about once, not too long ago. The reality is something he's been skirting around since Blaine said the words – "I was with someone" – and while he understands what those words mean, he doesn't know their meaning. The avoidance makes the situation less real, but it also makes it abstract and untouchable, a floating mass of emotion that clouds him up and gets him riled up like a dog chasing its own tail.

It scares him more than anything to learn the truth behind what Blaine did to him. How far he went with this person, who this person even is if it wasn't Sebastian, why Blaine would even do this to him in the first place why why why. What went wrong. Those answers, the reality, are the monsters under his bed. But like in growing up, you learn to see the shadows and what makes them, and you stop being as scared. Making the monsters into reality, the unknown into the known, is what makes it all better.

Kurt looks at Blaine and sees someone who he's been hurt by, someone pleading with him to listen when he has no reason to do so, someone who sees that and still tries anyway because Kurt is worth the attempt.

With as much calm conviction as he can maintain, Kurt makes his decision.

"This conversation is over."

The movie is scenes past the trigger into the depths of his imagination. He turns off the DVD player and decides to go to bed.