Wow, okay. I haven't posted anything in a long while. I guess I had lost my inspiration. And now - what? -, a Glee fanfic! Never saw that one coming, but Klaine is one of my OTPs, so, after watching The Break-up again and dying again, I remembered how much I missed having this scene, so I tried it out.

Sorry, I know it's horribly depressing. I'm writing some real good Klaine fluff at the moment, and it's gonna be a huge one-shot, so look out for that.

After Finn left, Kurt returned to his position on the chair next to the lamp, turning it off again with trembling hands. He seriously hadn't stopped shaking. He had barely slept. At one point of the night, his left arm had fallen asleep, but he couldn't move off of it and face the person who lay next to him, the person whose warmth he could feel irradiating, as if mocking him.

He completely lost track of time as he stared blankly into nothing, flinching at every noise coming from the bedroom. His nerves were killing him. He didn't even know the exact reason why he was waiting for Blaine to wake up; he didn't know what he would say or do, and it scared him not to know how his own self was going to react to looking into those hazel eyes again. If he wasn't already broken, he was sure going to.

Having been there since around five am, Kurt knew he should probably move or eat something. However, he had zero hunger, and he thought he might be like that forever. He feared that if he threw something down his stomach, it would come back just as quickly. He felt so sick he couldn't breathe rhythmically.

Then he started hearing the sound of sheets moving and his heart stopped. He knew he could look to his right through the shelf and see if it was really Blaine waking up, but he couldn't bring himself to.

Finally, after ridiculously long minutes of moving sheets and whatever else that other sound might have been, Blaine emerged from the bedroom fully dressed. His face was worn and tired, with huge bags under his eyes. His eyes were still very much bloodshot and guilty, and his breath caught when he noticed Kurt sitting in the corner. Differently from when Finn had walked out, Kurt couldn't raise his hand to turn the lamp on in a dramatic move.

"Hi," Blaine risked, his voice shaking and barely there.

Kurt only stared at him, not making one sound. He knew what he must have looked like. He knew his face showed that he was far past the crying stage now, even though he would cry some more lately, as soon as he was alone for longer than those ten minutes in the shower the previous night.

"I-I figured you'd be up," Blaine tried again, still very nervous. He took a deep, shaky breath and broke eye contact, staring at the floor. "I, um… I also figure t-that…" His voice broke and he tried to steady himself again, only it didn't work, so he started playing with the hem of his jacket. "I-I'd understand if you wanna… kick me out."

I do, Kurt thought, but said nothing and kept his face expressionless. This broke something in Blaine. His eyes were now searching Kurt's for any sort of response. He was so despaired that he would take anything now.

"I-I mean, it was kind enough of you to… let me spend the night here, after all. Most people would h-have… kicked me to the couch or out on the street or something. I…" He swallowed and hesitated, the tears that were still there now multiplying. "I really am so sorry and I lo –" he stopped himself from saying that he loved Kurt. As much as he meant it, he reckoned it wouldn't help his case. "Y-you're kind of freaking me out with all the staring a-and… Please say something," he begged.

Kurt's face didn't change. When he spoke at last, his voice came out raspy from the lack of use and the general I kind of feel like I'm gonna die feeling. "I don't have anything to say to you."

Another thing broke in Blaine, and he took a couple of steps closer. "Give me something. Anything. Punch me. Yell at me. Throw me out! Tell me how horrible I am." His voice faltered when he took in Kurt's glare.

The silence treatment was so much worse than anything Blaine could have imagined. He had pictured this scene in his mind a lot of times on the way to New York. Still, no matter how terribly things would play in his imagination – from the yelling to having furniture thrown at him –, nothing compared to the suffocating feeling that this brought. Not even knowing that he had to tell Burt before coming. Not even seeing Kurt's face break as he told him.

The emptiness stretched. Kurt made no moves to start talking, and Blaine couldn't bring himself to form a thought coherent enough to speak, knowing that he would be met with silence, in spite of his best efforts.

Blaine did, however, catch Kurt's message: What the hell are you still doing here? He didn't want to move and leave and go back to Lima. His legs wouldn't even consider taking the necessary steps back to the bedroom to get the bag and then out the door, into a cab, to the airport, onto the airplane, out of it, into another cab, and finally home to cry until further notice. His eyes wouldn't dare stop focusing on Kurt. He didn't know, when he walked out that door – because it would eventually happen –, if he would ever get to see that perfect face again. Maybe it would be never. Never again.

A light movement of sheets coming from Rachel's bedroom shocked him into life again. His heart tightened even more as he cleared his throat, looking for something to say. Anything. Give me anything. Coming empty, he finally plugged the guts to get his bag and walk to the door. He hesitated, holding it open, and looked back at Kurt, who was pointedly not facing him. He swallowed a sob and pushed himself out of the apartment. Once he was out and had closed the door behind him, his feet walked fast and his sobs came quickly and violently, threatening to break anything that might have survived the night.

Anyone alive?