Skin Deep, a glee fanfic

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.

Was watching a few of the old episodes with drunk Blaine and emotional Kurt and was thinking we could push it a little further. Hopefully it's alright, I'm not too up to date so forgive me if some of the details are wrong :)

Notes: Takes place somewhere in Season Five. The songs included are the acoustic version of 'Latch' by Sam Smith and 'I Know You by Heart' by Eva Cassidy. I also wish I could take Blaine's 'All of Me' cover and roll it all over this fic instead, but again, I don't own Glee. In this version of events, Rachel does not live with Kurt and Blaine.

Warning: Includes violence, blood, drug abuse, intimacy (although no full on sex) and bad language.

In New York, the city of dreams, the big apple, the world of the free, it was beginning to rain. And, tramping across the gathering puddles, Kurt couldn't help but despise his utter inability to consume alcohol. Ahead of him the rest of their small group - Artie, Rachel, Sam, Mercedes and Blaine - were staggering and reeling from side to side, Sam sprinting ahead and pushing Artie's wheelchair before him like a stolen shopping trolley. Their yelps and shrieks of excitement broke over Kurt's bubble of silence in waves, and he glanced at the beer he was carrying. He sniffed it surreptitiously, and then abruptly drew back as the gassy reek made his stomach wince. Convinced, he dropped the half-drunk bottle in a nearby trash can as he passed and pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his coat. The sprawling puddles proved difficult to pass by; he was wearing suede shoes, a choice he was seriously regretting considering the turn of the weather. He watched the others clattering across the road ahead of him and considered turning back for home - but no.

Tonight, after all, was supposed to be a celebration.

"A celebration of what?" he had demanded incredulously as Blaine had proposed the idea that afternoon, presenting Kurt with an unexpected glass of wine. "What could we possibly have to celebrate? The ridiculously expensive rent? Me getting mugged? NYADA's new policy that no one may have any free time ever?"

"This! Us! You and I and all the others being here, together, in the best city in the world, being young."

Kurt had eyed him suspiciously, searching his face for signs that Blaine had somehow accidentally ingested ecstasy during the day. His fiancé was grinning widely, swaying his hips across the living room as he sipped from his wine. He'd put Tom Jones on and his shoulders were jiggling to the horns and trumpets.

"And we deserve a break," Blaine added sharply, jutting a finger at him. "We've all been working so hard, we're all wound too tight, we need a chance to relax and remember why we're here in the first place."

"To get wasted?"

"To have fun!" Blaine bounced over to him and planted an abrupt, hard kiss on his lips before Kurt could dodge out of the way. "To live," he continued, smiling against Kurt's cheek. His breath beat like butterfly wings against Kurt's skin in a way that made his heart shiver. "To be."

And, of course, Kurt's heart had melted like an ice cream in the sun. And had turned just as gooey, too. Blaine had, apparently, been planning the night out for most of his day, and he had a compelling case put together. For one fluke occasion, their little group of friends were all free - Rachel's rehearsal had been cancelled due to tech malfunctions, and Blaine had even texted Elliott on the off-chance that he would be tempted into joining them after work. And so, eventually, Kurt had relented and peeled himself off the sofa in order to change.

Now, far ahead of him, Kurt could hear Mercedes laughing uncontrollably. He almost wished he had forced down more alcohol at the last bar they had visited, but ever since he had vomited all over Miss Pillsbury back at McKinley he hadn't been able to stomach the stuff properly. One doesn't forget public humiliation in a rush. So although he had drunk enough to feel tipsy, he had in no way managed to keep up with the others. And it was getting later and later, and he was getting less and less enthusiastic, but still on they went to the next bar, to the next, and the next... He felt his phone vibrate in the pocket of his coat and dragged it out, frowning against the glare in the darkness. Elliott had texted, asking where they were. Perhaps he would come after all. Kurt's spirits lifted slightly - maybe with one other person who was sober, the night would be a little more bearable. Because being the only sane person in a group of hysterical broadway lunatics was hell. He began to text, and then halted at the realisation that he had no idea where they were heading.

"Rachel? Rachel!"

She turned at his call, one arm slung around Mercedes' neck. "Kurt! Come on!"

"Where are we going?"

"Mr. Lynch!"

Kurt had no idea where or even what Mr. Lynch was - it sounded like a strip club - but Rachel didn't seem to realise that he needed more clarification. Casting his eyes skywards, he replied to Elliott and shoved his phone back in his pocket before quickening his pace. He managed to catch up with Blaine, who had slowed down at the sound of his voice. His hair was messy and his eyes bright with alcohol as he reached for Kurt's hand, stealing a kiss before Kurt could duck.

"Kuuuuurt," he sang loudly, pressing his lips to Kurt's hand. "Kuuurrt, you better be having a good time."

"If I say I'm having fun, will you let us go home in an hour?"

"Wha? Kurt, you're..." Blaine gestured vaguely, blowing his cheeks out. "Don't be... so serious."

"Don't be so drunk," Kurt muttered.

Blaine dropped his hand, pouting comically in mock despair, but the excitement in his face faded a little. Kurt instantly regretted his words. He hadn't meant to sound so cruel - Blaine deserved to relax for a bit, they all did. But Kurt just couldn't help but wish that they were both curled up in bed watching bad TV and eating takeaway and-

Blaine broke away from him and ran at Sam, who had finally released Artie's spinning chair, leaping onto the other boy's back. Sam whooped and wove a dizzy path across the road, Blaine clinging on for dear life and Artie speeding after them. Kurt allowed himself to be scooped up by Mercedes and Rachel, one taking up an arm each. The skyline of New York sprawled into the damp sky above them, piercing the clouds with flashing lights.

"What's Mr. Lynch, Rachel?"

"Mr. Lynch!" she repeated, high-pitched. "Mr. Lynch! This guy - This guy, he told me about it - it's like off the map for NYADA students - so me, I'm going."

Kurt's stomach sank. "Oh no, no, Rachel. We're not going to some sketchy bar in the middle of nowhere that smells like old man urine and sawdust."

"It'll be good, gonna be good," Rachel shushed, slapping his arm hard.

"Come on and smile, Kurt," Mercedes urged, poking his shoulder. "You know you want to party with us."

Kurt took a deep breath and prayed that Elliott would be joining them so that someone could help him carry everyone home by the end of the night. He shot Mercedes a smile, and then gasped in shock as Sam tripped over the curb. He and Blaine crumbled in a giggling heap, tangled together. Kurt pulled free of the girls, ready to dash over, but to his relief Blaine was already climbing to his feet and reaching out to heave Sam up too.

"Knuckle brains!" Kurt muttered. But he couldn't quite help but smile as Blaine glanced up at him, his face split in a laugh. Once more Kurt's icy exterior felt a burst of heat, and he allowed himself to be swept towards the bar.

And Mr. Lynch was every bit as greasy, sticky and smelly as he had expected it to be.

It was little more than a large dark room with a bar running along one wall, a cluster of sofas and a coupe of pool tables. It was moderately busy for a week night, but the people there appeared to be slightly older than Kurt had been expecting. He could only see a few small groups who could be under thirty. Their Glee Club pack stood out as being unacceptably bubbly and fresh-faced amongst the low, thumping music and the dim lights.

"Kurt!"

Kurt glanced over to the bar, where Blaine was waving to him. Blaine mimed drinking, to which Kurt shook his head. Somehow, he doubted that Blaine would get the message. He waited to see that Sam and Rachel were joining him at the bar before following Mercedes over to the pool table where Artie was searching for a cue.

"Who's playing?"

Mercedes laughed, shaking her head. She reached for Kurt, pulling him tight against her. "Only if he helps me!"

Kurt opened his mouth to refuse, but Artie was holding out the cue stick and Mercedes' smile was so bright that he didn't have the heart to. Saving them the disappointment he stripped off his coat, took the cue and hefted it uncertainly in both hands, trying to remember any knowledge he had on pool. Or snooker. Or were they the same thing? He decided against shouting over the music and instead resolved to follow Artie's lead.

Artie took the first shot, bending out of his chair to lean on the table and sending the neat triangle of yellow and red balls scattering. Kurt leant forwards, attempting to line up his cue stick with the white ball - he was sure that was right - and was about to take his first shot when something barrelled into him from behind and his shoulder was drenched with something cold and sticky. He smothered a yelp, aware of his neck beginning to prickle with frustration. He could hear Rachel choking with laughter as he turned slowly, coming eye to eye with Blaine, who now had him cornered against the pool table. Blaine's lips curved upwards mischievously.

"S'rry," he slurred, clearly attempting to hold back laughter. "No, Kurt, I'm sorry. Come here, I'll kiss it better-"

Kurt stonily stopped the incoming kiss with his hand, pushing Blaine's face away gently but firmly.

"Blaine, just- God, please just get off."

His tone struck a chord. Blaine blinked, as if stunned by his iciness. Then, a split second later, he had dragged his grin back and huffed, pushing Kurt's drink at him.

"Fine, here. I got it for you. Come on, let's go!"

He turned on his heel and sauntered off across the bar, heading for one of the sofas. No one seemed quite sure who he had been speaking to, but after a moment Rachel and Sam staggered off after him. Kurt passed Sam his unwanted drink as he passed, nose wrinkled, and turned back to the table. He didn't even want to look at the damage to his shirt. Thank god he'd had the sense to wear navy - the wet patch wouldn't show in this lighting. He looked up to see Artie's smirk and scowled in response.

"Roll your sleeves up, Kurt, someone's going to get carried home tonight," he called.

Kurt bit back a sharp retort, knowing he was simply too sober to laugh along like to others. He bent over once more, shot a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure he had no unexpected visitors on the horizon, and then let loose.

Blaine's legs may have lost their co-ordination ever so slightly, but that was not about to stop him from dancing. Rachel was happy to oblige him, although when she did disappear for short periods of time he began to fail to notice the difference between dancing with company and dancing alone. He was convinced that his dancing was fantastic, and was drawing the gaze of every eligible bachelor in the bar. Well, he assumed there would be an eligible bachelor somewhere in this bar...

He turned and stabbed two fingers at Sam, who was sitting back on the sofa.

"Sam! You're an eligible bachelor!"

Sam whooped loudly and feigned a dive for Rachel, who was returning to the table with more drinks balanced in her hands. She swayed, slopping some out, giggling. Blaine craned his neck to see above the crowd, seeking out Mercedes, and waved his arms high above his head to get her attention.

"Mercedaaays. Mercedes, do I look good?"

She grinned and nodded, flashing him the thumbs up. He looked down at his shirt, his too-short yellow chinos which always seemed to irritate Kurt just a little. His shirt was now peppered with droplets of alcohol, but he was sure that no one knew that. He took the drink Rachel was holding out and took a few large gulps. As he turned back towards her, he found himself making eye contact with two figures on the sofa beside theirs. Their gaze caught him off guard and he hurriedly returned his attention to Rachel and Sam.

"Rachel," he mumbled, attempting to speak discreetly. "Rach... I'm gettin' checked out."

She looked, looked again, and then turned to him and mouthed 'Yes. You. Are!' Blaine smirked, feeling a bubble of smugness grow in his chest. He glanced over at the pool table on the other side of the room, watching as Artie pointed out a different ball for Kurt to target. Kurt bent over slowly, eyes narrow, mouth serious, his slender hands curled around his cue. And, as always, Blaine felt that pang somewhere in his chest that made him want to sing and sob at the same time. He wanted nothing more than to cross the room and scoop Kurt into his arms and taste his lips and kiss the soft, pale skin of his neck... And yet tonight, Kurt was ever so clearly not in the mood. So Blaine pulled his collar straight and took another gulp of his drink. He span away, about to restart his dance moves for Rachel and Sam - and collided abruptly with someone's chest. In a matter of seconds his drink had spilled over the someone's shirt and he was nose to nose with a stranger.

"Oh my god - oh god, crap, sorry... Ooohhhh no." Words tumbled from his mouth like a waterfall. He dabbed pointlessly at the massive stain spreading over the man's chest. He realised dimly that it was one of the men from the other table, one of the ones who had been looking at him. "Jesus, I'm so, so sorry. I'll pay-"

"You know what, it was my turn to buy the next round anyway."

Blaine looked up, hardly able to believe the man's generosity. Before him stood a tall man, a few years older than Blaine himself, with dyed blonde hair. One eyebrow was quirked upward slightly, following the curve of his high hairline. The man was wearing a grey blazer and skinny jeans. While Blaine searched helplessly for something to say, some apology for the large, dark patch on the man's pale blue shirt, the man clapped him on the shoulder and stepped past him.

"Sit, kid, it was an honest mistake," he called as he crossed to the bar. "Could have happened to anyone."

Blaine turned slowly to face Rachel and Sam, whose mouths were gaping wide. Stunned, he smiled widely and made his way back over to them, slumping onto the sofa beside Rachel.

"And you can thank me later," he smirked, slicking his hair back with a flourish. "I believe we've just made a friend."

Kurt had finally relented and allowed Mercedes to press a gin and lemonade on him, having settled down somewhat in the strange atmosphere of the bar. He still didn't feel quite comfortable, but the others clearly were and he didn't expect to be leaving at any time soon. So he and Mercedes leant back against the pool table, and he let himself laugh at her Christina Aguilera impression, the pool cue transformed into a microphone, Artie rapping alongside for good measure. Still, he couldn't help but let his eyes wander over to the sofa every few moments. Rachel, Blaine and Sam had been joined by two men, clearly a few years their senior. And one in particular, with dyed blonde hair and a writhing, snake-like tattoo on his forearm, seemed to be looking rather intently at Blaine, who was still laughing and chatting hyperactively, his gestures large and extravagant. As he watched, the man reached out and squeezed Blaine's knee, his hand lingering a little too long. Kurt's heart clenched and all at once the fear and the paranoia came rushing back - that Blaine was turning his attention elsewhere, that it was happening all over again - and then, abruptly, Blaine brushed the man's hand off his leg, firmly concentrating on something Rachel was saying.

And Kurt could breathe again.

Mercedes was telling a story about a coffee machine fiasco at her recording studio. It was clearly funny, because Artie was laughing out loud, but Kurt couldn't catch up with the story now. He tried to laugh along, but his eyes strayed to his watch. The night was drawing on into the early hours, and being so sober, Kurt couldn't wait to get home. He felt on edge, like his skin was prickling. But, eventually, Artie and Mercedes began calling for another game of pool and he obliged slowly, finishing the rest of his drink and readying himself for the game. As he reached for the pool cue once more, asking himself why anyone had even come up with the game in the first place, a hand landed on his shoulder. Blaine's face leapt into his mind and he turned quickly, but his hope died away rapidly. Still, he was greeted with Elliott's smile, and that in itself filled him with relief.

"You have no idea - no idea - how happy I am to see you," he muttered, reaching out to hug the taller boy.

Elliott laughed and patted him on the back, shrugging off his coat as they drew apart. "What are you even doing here? This isn't the kind of place I'd expect you guys to visit."

"It's not," Kurt replied, returning his attention and reaching over to take his first shot. "Some guy at NYADA told Rachel about it or something. I don't like it. It's like going into Walmart after spending too much time with Vogue..."

"Well, we not millionaires just yet," Elliot smiled, waving hello to Mercedes and Artie who were setting up a return shot across the table. "When are you guys going home?"

"Any time this second would be great."

His mumbled comment made Elliott laugh again, and Kurt let himself relax. At last, he had some back up.

The man with the colourful tattoo kept touching Blaine's shoulder, and it was beginning to bug him a little. Every time he felt it, feather-light and yet somehow firm, Blaine would look down and see that red, faded snake jumping beneath the rolled-up sleeve of the dark blazer as the man's arm moved. But it almost didn't matter, because their new friends had supplied him inexplicably with several free drinks. He lifted the drink that had been placed in his hand only a few minutes ago and offered Rachel a toast - she rolled her eyes.

"What, jealous? Miss Rachel Berry, jealous?" Blaine whispered, snorting into his drink.

She shot him a playful glare. "Furious, I'm sure. What even is it?"

He shrugged. As he took another sip a hand pushed the end of his cup upwards, forcing him to gulp down more than he had expected. He pulled away, barely managing to avoid spilling the last part of his drink, and the man with the snake tattoo laughed.

"Drink up, drink up. There's a place down the road we were thinking of going to, you should come."

His voice was quiet somehow, and yet it wasn't drowned out by the music. Blaine squinted through his blurry vision and took in the dyed blonde hair, a long nose, brown glittering eyes, a scattering of stubble. Their new accomplice looked something like a used car salesman in training. Either way, Blaine was beginning to regret their chance meeting. He didn't want a drink anymore; he wanted... he wasn't sure. The man gestured meaningfully to the drink and Blaine reluctantly tilted his head back and swallowed the last of it down.

"We're going back after this," Rachel said, answering for him in a light, cheerful voice. "We've all got things we should be doing tomorrow, things other than lying with our heads in the toilet."

"Yeah, I mean, I'm a model," Sam mentioned, and as if to prove it he pushed his hair back and cast his gaze into the distance, his brow furrowed tightly, his mouth turned firmly downwards. The second man, thinner and with longer hair, burst out laughing at the sight, but the man with the snake tattoo only reached for Blaine's knee again.

"Well, you needn't all come," he said. "Just whoever wants to."

The strange, velvety lightness of his voice was making Blaine's skin crawl a little, although he wasn't sure why. It was as if the man's voice was probing his mind every time he heard it, searching for something that Blaine wasn't entirely sure he wanted to give. Perhaps he was just too cold. Or too hot. Or sleepy. He found himself staring at the man's hand on his knee, wondering why he hadn't shaken it off yet. He lifted his heavy hand and pushed forwards, but instead of flesh met open air before his fingers. It felt like running in a dream, running as fast as you could and yet hardly moving at all.

"Well, we can't," Rachel insisted, tossing her hair back. Her eye make-up had smudged slightly. "You see, I'm going to be a star. A star. On Broadway. Yeah. That's where I'm going. That's been my goal, ever since I was a baby."

Blaine could hear his own breathing loud and hard in his ears. He tried to calm it but found that he couldn't - he couldn't remember how to. Slightly alarmed, he tried to catch Sam's eye, but the other boy was enduring selfies with Rachel and was currently blinded by the flash of her mobile camera. The light left spots across his vision, and Blaine screwed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Once again he felt the squeeze and he sluggishly waved the hand away, finally managing to reclaim his knee. His heart was pounding slowly and violently against his rib cage, and he lifted a hand to feel it. He counted the beats for a while, trying to focus on something on the table, the floor, anything, trying to ground himself. He lifted his gaze, trying to make out Kurt among the confused faces of the crowd. It was so dark... had it always been so dark?

"... need to get pizza on the way home," Rachel was saying loudly, throwing herself back against the sofa. Her voice echoed slightly in her ears, as if played through a faulty phone. "And I need to not remember eating it so I don't feel bad about skipping my diet course for today, I need to be perfect for the stage..."

He watched Sam's mouth move for a few minutes in response before realising that he couldn't actually hear the other boy speaking. He felt strange. He felt his mouth filling with bile and hastily swallowed it. The nausea was both unexpected and unknown to him - usually he could take his alcohol far better than this. He reached up and touched his forehead, felt sweat.

Kurt... Kurt...

"What'd you say?"

He turned sharply at Rachel's voice, caught off guard. Her face wove in and out before his eyes. He realised she was waiting for a response and his mouth formed shapes without words. He scrubbed a hand over his face once more.

"Toilet," he managed eventually. "I need the toilet."

"Blaine," Sam said, pointing at him. "You're drunk, aren't you? You're completely trashed."

"No, I'm not," Blaine said fiercely. "No... I'm goin' toilet. I don't know... where toilet is."

"Lucky for you, we do." The man with the snake tattoo was rising to his feet and reaching for Blaine's hand. When he pulled Blaine upright the whole world bucked like a wild horse, sending Blaine staggering forwards - he was straightened by Rachel and the man, who he was forced to hold on to while the world stopped spinning. The nausea stung his stomach and he hesitated, suddenly wanting to ask Sam to come with him. But the man was leading him past the table and Rachel and Sam were out of sight...

"Kurt?"

"Who's Kurt?"

Blaine shut his mouth quickly. The voice that had replied wasn't Kurt. Dark clouds were flickering across his vision every now and then, and his heart was thumping like a bass drum. Or maybe it was the music... he wasn't sure where his body ended anymore, where his legs were.

"Where'sa toilet?"

"Here."

A door creaked open and a sudden rush of cool, damp air rushed into Blaine's face. He felt momentarily as if he were soaring into the sky, and then suddenly felt a cold, wet wall against his side and stumbled, struggling to right himself. He reached for support, found a large skip beside him. There was a skip in the bathroom? He tried to open his eyes wider - everything was so damn dark. But his eyes were open... He squinted hard, finally making out the rain drizzling from a street lamp above his head. Orange, fizzing light. He blinked hard, certain now that he was not in a toilet. Turning, he caught sight of the man with the snake tattoo, who was standing nearby lighting a cigarette. A creak of a door came again and out of the fogginess came another figure. Blaine's heart leapt - Kurt? - but he quickly realised that it was the man's friend, not his. Tall and thin. Blaine tried to straighten up and instantly felt his legs buckle beneath him. He lurched for the wall, searching for anything, something, to keep him upright. He tasted bile once more and swallowed hard, his head spinning like a roundabout.

"Where 'we?" he said, the effort of pushing the words out of his mouth making his knees shake. "I need t' toilet. Feel... weird."

"Not to worry," the man with the snake tattoo said from somewhere nearby. "Just the Scoop setting in, kid."

"Scoop...?"

"The Scoop, the Soap, the Ticket to Heaven, you know."

Blaine didn't know, but the more the man talked the more he was confused. He was now holding tight to the skip with both hands, forcing himself to breathe through the heavy sickness in his stomach, trickles of sweat hot against his back. His head felt like it was vibrating with each shuddering boom of his heart. He swallowed once, twice, and then attempted speaking.

"I... Can s'm'ne find m'boyfr'nd, plea?"

"Don't think we need him for this, kid."

The voice floated through Blaine's misty head and set off alarm bells. Even now, even in his muddled, spinning, confused state, Blaine could understand that there was something wrong. He needed Kurt. Narrowing his eyes in a final, desperate attempt to see, he managed to make out a door opposite him. It was small and metal and had a fluorescent green sign on it, and for some reason he framed it as his only chance. If he made it through that door, barely a metre away, he would be ok. Gathering his strength, he pushed away from the wall and launched himself towards it, snatching for the handle. The next moment, something hard had collided with his head and his jaw and whiteness was exploding in front of his eyes. The world jerked away from his feet and then slammed into the back of his head like the front of a truck, and he could hear his own cry as if from the end of a tunnel. He forced himself to breathe, blinking hard to bring something - anything - into focus. But before he could regain his senses, something had ploughed into his stomach like a cannon ball and everything was pain.

By the time he had clawed his way back to consciousness, a heavy weight was straddling his chest and his face was throbbing hard. Blood roared in his ears so loud that he could barely hear the distant whub of the music from the bar. He licked his lips and tasted blood. Voices filtered through the confusion and beat against his brain like clubs.

"... God damn it, Mac! You... to take it too far... trouble for us!"

The weight on his chest shifted slightly and a sudden heat pressed hard against his lips. Blaine froze. Because those lips weren't Kurt's, and Kurt's mouth was the only mouth that was allowed to touch his. Kurt's touch was the only one that was allowed to ghost over his skin and raise goosebumps on his arms. His heart jerked and his body reacted without waiting for his brain to recover - his knee jerked upwards and collided with something hard, and his fist slammed into skin. The unwanted contact broke away and he was rewarded with a blinding blow to his face. More blood entered his mouth and he heard himself retching, felt the nausea forcing itself to be addressed, felt his body flinching. The weight on his chest disappeared abruptly.

"For fuck's sake! Aw, gross..."

"I told you he was too god damn drunk, Mac!"

He wasn't sure what his name was anymore. All he knew was the horrible sensation rolling over him, the betrayal his body had committed, it's rejection of his control. He couldn't breathe. The unspeakable mixture of food and alcohol that was clogging his nose and mouth made him choke, gasp, choke, heave, shudder... Through the grey mist that had settled over him he heard the voices continuing, as if a disagreement over the choice of meat for dinner had been encountered.

"... not okay! They've seen our faces, Mac, they know us here! You fucking-"

"Fine! We'll go! Fucking waste!"

"You've ruined... thick dickhead..."

"... leave... New Street... off..."

Their voices were echoing and growing distant, but he wasn't sure if they were leaving or if he was. Pain snapped at his head and jolted through his veins like electricity. He realised dimly that he needed to get up and wash himself off, at least spit out the horrific contents of his mouth. He felt his head rolling to one side, tried to lift his arm. His eyelids fluttered and granted him a few brief glimpses of the buzzing orange light of the lamp post... And for some reason, he found himself thinking about that morning. He had opened his eyes to bright, silvery sunlight, and he had looked at the smooth, pale back in front of him for a short eternity. He had reached out and run a hand over that perfect alabaster skin, he had taken deep lungfuls of that scent. And at last, the body he was wrapped around had rolled over and clear blue eyes had focussed on his own, lazy with sleep, blinking against the light. He had watched those rosebud lips part, take a breath, speak.

"Hey."

And he had felt so, so happy. So happy... The pain was in his lungs now and in his temples and his body was shaking. It didn't feel much like his body anymore. The orange light was giving way to darkness, folding away like an origami lotus flower. The blackness spread across his vision relentlessly, and he felt the cold, wet ground beneath him melt away with its arrival. For some reason, it didn't seem so important that he couldn't breathe anymore.

"I've won."

Kurt looked up, his eyebrows slanting comically upwards in surprise. He looked from Elliott to the pool table and back again. "What do you mean?"

Elliott pointed at the table with his cue, a smile quirking at the corners of his mouth. "I potted the black."

"You whatted the which?"

"The black ball, Kurt, I potted it. So I win."

Kurt blinked at the table. "No, no way. If you pot the black ball you lose, right?"

"Not if you've already done all your other balls."

A pause stretched between them in which both boys stared at the pool table. Elliott eventually broke it by laying down his pool cue, shaking his head.

"Okay, let's just admit that neither of us know how to play this."

For once, Kurt couldn't help but laugh. He let his pool cue drop onto the table and stepped back, lifting his hands in defeat. "I have no idea, I don't. Ever since Artie left I've been clueless."

Finally giving up on any hope of finishing their game, Kurt reached for his coat and glanced at his mobile. It was late, and to his relief when he glanced across the bar he caught sight of Rachel stifling a yawn. Although he had to admit that the past couple of hours hadn't been as bad as he had imagined, particularly when Elliott had arrived to rescue him from the lonely position of being the only sober member of the group. Still, the thought of his bed waiting for him back at the apartment was like a heavenly oasis at that moment, and all he wanted was to drop down on it and never get up. Even though the time on his mobile informed him that he would only be able to enjoy it for a few hours before he would be expected at a NYADA tango masterclass. Before attending NYADA, Kurt had considered himself a good dancer. Now he had stopped bragging and was desperately trying to catch up.

He glanced around the room, searching for the others. Rachel and Sam were still talking on their sofa, now alone, and Mercedes and Artie were talking to a girl with colourful hair near the toilets. Blaine, meanwhile, was nowhere to be seen, and Kurt's eyes rolled skywards in frustration. Blaine had a habit of wandering off on nights out in order to collect souvenirs - cups, road signs, traffic cones, plant pots - their apartment had become a museum of the places they had visited.

"We should probably call a cab," Elliott said, moving around the pool table to stand beside Kurt. "I reckon the others would appreciate a lift."

"Sounds good." Kurt pulled on his coat, tugging his collar straight. "Did you see where Blaine went?"

Elliott looked around the bar, at an advantage due to the few inches of height he had over Kurt. He looked first one way, then the other, and then shrugged and headed over to Mercedes and Artie. Following his lead, Kurt crossed the bar and stood before Rachel and Sam, who were sniggering at something together.

"... biggest pork chop and gravy I'd ever seen, all over him, like-"

"Hey, guys?"

Rachel glanced up as Sam broke off, squealed, and leapt up to throw her arms around Kurt. He gently detached her arms and sat her down again, smiling at her constant hyperbole.

"Where's Blaine gone off to? Elliott's going to call a cab."

"Blaine? He's here," Sam said, pointing at Rachel. "Look, you can see his man-brows- ow!"

Rachel slapped him in the chest and he burst out laughing. She looked around, rubbing her forehead in thought. "Ahh... He was here. Oh yeah, he went to the toilet, the guys took him."

"What guys?"

"Our two new buddies," Sam explained happily. "They're called... actually, I have no idea what they're called. But they were real nice."

"And Blaine needed both of them to show him the toilet?" Kurt repeated, his eyebrow arching slowly. "How long ago did he leave?"

Rachel shrugged. "Like... Like... a while?"

Kurt's frown deepened. He straightened up and turned, looking for the toilets. He could see a glowing sign just across the room in the shape of a man and made for it, passing by Mercedes, Artie and Elliott on the way.

"D'you find him?" Elliott called after him.

"No, keep the others together," Kurt threw over his shoulder.

He pushed his way into the bathroom and wrinkled his nose at the smell. The floor was scummy and the lights flickering, and he was sure that the sinks had once been cream instead of brown. Something questionable was sitting in the bin in the corner, smelling extremely unpleasant. Kurt ducked a head into each stall one after the other, greeting with nothing but cracked toilet seats and grease, and then hastily retreated back into the main bar. Again he scrutinised the room, and once again he found himself disappointed. He returned to the others, now gathered around the sofa, and pulled out his phone to check his texts. Nothing. He dialled Blaine's number and pressed the phone to his ear, listening as the tinny rings rang on.

"No sign?" asked Elliott.

The phone clicked and Kurt could hear the distant sound of Blaine's chirpy answering machine. He hung up and dialled again, shaking his head.

"No, he's probably gone off on his own to get chips or something." Again the phone rang out. Kurt strained his ears against the music, and then cocked his head at the door. "I need to go outside," he called. "Can't hear a thing."

"I'll come with you."

Kurt nodded and crossed the room to the main entrance, followed by Elliott. It hadn't been all that long since he had been mugged, although he barely had any physical scars left, and he was not afraid to walk the streets alone, but he now understood the importance of having company when out at night. And Elliott's tall, athletic frame and Greek-like face would fend off any approacher far better than Kurt's more slender appearance.

They stepped outside and the thump of the music was instantly replaced with the distant roar of cars and the soft patter of rainfall. Kurt breathed the air in for a few moments before re-dialling and holding his mobile to his ear. The phone rang on endlessly, and Kurt met Elliott's expectant eyes with a sigh and a small shake of his head.

"He can't have gone far," Elliott said, reaching out to pat Kurt's shoulder. "He'll turn up in no time. Maybe you should leave a message?"

"Maybe. I'd be better off sending him a text, he never checks his voicemails."

Kurt lowered his phone and lifted his thumb to end the call, but Elliott held out his hand suddenly. His eyebrows were pulled tightly together and his mouth was fixed in a stern line, his shoulders suddenly straight as if ready for action. Kurt looked at him uncertainly, hesitating.

"What?"

"Can you hear that?"

Kurt listened, but heard nothing. Elliott gestured to his phone, which had once more reached Blaine's answering machine. Obliging, Kurt rang once more but this time did not put the phone to his ear, instead covering it with his hand to drown out its shrill tone. And yet, somehow, the rings continued distantly and steadily. He met Elliott's gaze, alarmed.

"Blaine?"

He received no response. Elliott waved a hand, starting forwards. "This way."

They moved alongside the bar, past a dim alleyway, past a corner shop... the ringing was beginning to die away. Kurt stopped, listening hard, and then began to slowly walk backwards. He held his phone in front of him, like a sensor, as if expecting it to beep happily when he reached his goal. He stopped before the alleyway, frowning into the darkness. The only light in there was a faulty orange street-lamp that flickered and stuttered unevenly. He didn't trust that alleyway, but he was sure that the distant ringing was closer now... Elliott, further ahead of him near the corner shop, was shouting for Blaine with his hands cupped around his mouth. Kurt glanced from him to the alleyway, and then with a deep breath took a small step inside. The floor was dotted with puddles and he could make out a the fluorescent green sign of a fire escape door which led back inside the bar. To his left was a large skip, overflowing with torn bin bags. And just past the skip, there was something on the ground.

Kurt didn't notice the phone slip from his fingers. His heart tore as he ran towards the shape on the floor, adrenaline surging through his veins. He recognised the chinos first, those stupid yellow chinos that were way too short. He dropped down beside Blaine and reached out with numb hands as his eyes met with blood, more blood, vomit... he could hear himself shrieking for Elliott, his voice alien to his own ears. Blaine's eyes were firmly closed and blood mixed with bile was hanging from his parted lips. Lips that were tinged blue. Kurt took in a larger puddle of sick nearby and his stomach lurched. He bent forwards, his ear hovering above Blaine's face. And then the panic hit.

"Elliott! He's - Elliott, he's not breathing!"

As Elliott reached them Kurt was rolling Blaine's heavy body over onto its side, using his sleeve to wipe desperately at his face. Elliott darted around to Kurt's right and crouched down, peering up-side down into Blaine's face. Without a second's hesitation he pulled down Blaine's chin and stuck two fingers into his mouth, scooping out a handful of vomit. Kurt's eyes dropped to the back of Blaine's head where his dark, glossy curls were matted with half-dried blood. He felt dizzy.

"Kurt."

He looked up sharply, found Elliott's eyes trained on his own. Elliott's gaze was steady, even though his voice shook a little as he spoke. His hand was pressed against Blaine's neck.

"His got a pulse, but it's real faint."

Kurt snatched for Blaine's limp hand, squeezed it until he could feel the weak, uneven flutters against his fingertips. "What d'we do?"

Elliott shook his head, his lips pressed tightly together. "Ambulance. CPR. Do you know how to do CPR?"

Kurt did. Since his father's illness, he had prepared himself for emergencies at home. He just never expected to be sitting in an alleyway about to try out his skills on his lifeless fiancé. He helped Elliott roll Blaine onto his back again, shuffled forwards on his knees. He began chest compressions and then swore through a sob as he realised he'd forgotten to tilt the head back first. He did so, getting a full, good look at Blaine's face for the first time. His lip was split and blood had carved a dark path over his cheek from his nose. His temple was grazed. And his skin was so pale, so grey... Kurt planted a quick kiss on his forehead, realising for the first time that he was crying. Forcing himself into action, he began chest compressions.

Elliott made the call beside him, gabbling into the phone so fast that Kurt could barely understand him. He completed the first set of compressions and shuffled upwards to breathe into Blaine's mouth. His lips tasted of sickness and blood, so much the opposite of his Blaine that he had to open his eyes to be sure it was really him. Blaine was always so well-dressed, so clean, so neat. Even his fingernails were filed to perfection. God, he had nearly had a meltdown about not wearing hair gel to prom... Kurt lifted his head, about to move down to restart the chest compressions again, but Elliott was already there. His phone cast aside on the floor, he inter-linked his fingers and began pumping.

"They're on their way," he said through clenched teeth. "Be here soon."

"How soon?"

"Twenty minutes."

Kurt stared at him. Twenty minutes was too long. Who even knew how long Blaine had already been lying here? Kurt hadn't seen him leave, but Rachel and Sam had said it had been a while. Biting back tears, he waited for Elliott's signal before pinching Blaine's nose and breathing into his mouth again, his hands trembling fiercely. He kept up a rambling mantra in his head, begging, praying, pleading for Blaine to wake up. Already he had lost his mother, and then just recently Finn. He couldn't bear to lose anyone else. Not Blaine. Please, not Blaine... Not after everything...

Time dragged past. Elliott appeared more frantic with each passing second, and Kurt's heart was scrunching itself into a ball the size of a peanut. His hands constantly searched for Blaine's pulse, each time expecting it to be gone. He kissed Blaine's face and mumbled desperate pleas into his ears between breaths. Elliott kept looking at his watch, counting the minutes. Kurt didn't want to know how long it had been. And then, as Kurt drew back from supplying breaths and Elliott began to start compressions again, Blaine's body abruptly convulsed and vomit spilled out of his mouth. Kurt sprang forwards, pulling him onto his side and rubbing his back, whispering encouragement and comfort as Blaine's eyelids fluttered, revealing only the whites of his eyes. The sickness passed quickly - apparently he didn't have much left to throw up - and Kurt checked his mouth was clear before allowing Elliott to ease Blaine's trembling body onto his back again.

"Is he breathing?"

Kurt leant closer, stroking Blaine's forehead with his thumb, listening. To his relief he felt hoarse, rasping breaths whispering against his cheek, too shallow to be healthy but still the most beautiful thing Kurt had ever heard in his life. He met Elliott's gaze and nodded weakly, his head dizzy with relief. Elliott dropped back onto the ground, letting out the breath he had been holding, pressing both hands over his face. Noticing that Blaine's shaking wasn't going away, Kurt shrugged off his coat and threw it over his boyfriend, tucked it in. He retrieved a pack of tissues from his pocket and dabbed at the smudged blood drenching Blaine's upper lip.

"You're okay, you're okay," he murmured, brushing quickly at his own cheeks, scattering his tears. "You're going to be fine."

"He wasn't this bad when I got here."

Kurt glanced up. Elliott had risen to his knees, looking a little calmer at last, his eyes narrowed.

"What?"

"He was drunk, yeah, but he was aware. He was joking with the others."

"What are you saying?" Kurt reached beneath his coat, seeking out Blaine's cold fingers. Blaine's eyelids flickered once more, but he made no sign of acknowledging Kurt's presence.

"I don't know. Just... I'm gonna go wait for the ambulance, you call me if you need me?"

Kurt nodded. He heard the creak of Elliott's boots as the other boy rose to his feet and headed to the end of the alleyway, looking out into the road. Kurt kept his eyes on Blaine, trailing his fingers over the darkening bruise on his cheek. He was sure that his heart had never beat so quickly in his life.

Blaine retched a few more times before the ambulance arrived, but all that came out was a thin trickle of bile and blood. Kurt wiped it away diligently and mumbled words he didn't even keep track of until the alleyway was filled with flashing blue lights. Within seconds Blaine was being lifted onto a stretcher with an oxygen mask secured over his face, and the paramedics were taking him away, and they were asking questions, and one of them was telling him he couldn't come and the ambulance was leaving and he was left standing in the road watching it speed away. Without Elliott, he was sure he would have stayed there all night, his mind numb and his heart in pieces. But instead, Elliott hailed him a cab and stuffed him into it, telling him that he would follow soon, telling him not to worry. His words echoed in Kurt's head as the cab drove off, leaving the bar and the alleyway and the darkness behind.

There were all manner of people in the emergency room of the hospital Kurt had ended up in. There were people with blood on them and people with vomit on them and a surprising number of people covered in paint or wearing odd fancy dress outfits. Kurt was somewhat grateful for the 40+ man with a bloody leg who was dressed like Tinkerbell, who looked extremely embarrassed - the sight almost made Kurt smile, even though his face had forgotten how to pull that expression. He sat on the hard plastic chair and he stared at the wall. He couldn't stop crying, but it didn't matter because he was crying so quietly that even he barely noticed, and he didn't seem to be bothering anyone. When he remembered he wiped at his eyes. When he didn't he leant his elbows on his knees and kept his hands over his face. The white plastic clock on the wall told him that it was almost 3:30am.

He'd contemplated ringing his father, but had dismissed the idea. Yes, he wanted comfort, but he didn't need any more panic. He resolved instead to ring his father tomorrow, when things were clearer. When he knew something. So far, over an hour had passed since he had arrived and he had received no news. He had wandered over to the information desk several times, only to be greeted with a repetitive, sympathetic shake of the head from the nurse on call. He had several missed calls from the others, but he had turned his phone on silent and left it deep in his pocket. He knew that they were all still drunk, and he didn't have the energy to explain what had happened to their addled brains. Addled brains. If the brain is deprived of oxygen for too long, brain damage may occur... He felt hot tears filling his eyes and blinked them away as hard as he could. Blaine would be alright. Blaine was breathing, wherever he was. He had to be. Feeling his phone vibrate with yet another missed call, Kurt found himself wondering dimly if the hospital had been able to contact Blaine's parents. Kurt had never met them, and Blaine never really mentioned them. Somehow, Kurt doubted he would encounter them tonight.

It took him a while to realise that there was someone crouched in front of him. The person had a hand on his shoulder and was saying his name quietly. Kurt flinched upright, expecting a doctor or a nurse, but instead was greeted with Elliott's face. The other boy looked tired and his hair was flatter than usual, but he smiled at Kurt's recognition and took a seat next to him, sighing heavily.

"There you are. Any news?"

Kurt shook his head. "They're not telling me anything. I'm just... just waiting."

Elliott glanced at his watch and then around the room. "It'll be soon, I'm sure. I took the others home. Told them you and Blaine went for some alone time. Thought it would be easier than explaining..." he gestured awkwardly at the hospital waiting room, trying to find the words. "You know."

Kurt nodded. "Thank you."

"I think Rachel suspected something. She tried to ring you, I think... but I'm pretty sure she's gone to bed now. Artie's staying over with her tonight, saved us the extra taxi trip. And Mercedes said she'd give you an earful for leaving early, but I told her to just wait until you called..."

Kurt realised he was crying again, and it wasn't long before Elliott noticed too. The other boy broke off quickly and rose to his feet, moving out of sight. When he returned he had procured a plastic cup of cold water and a handful of tissues, and Kurt let out a heavy sob.

"I'm sorry, Kurt, I didn't mean to upset you, it doesn't matter. We'll handle it as it comes, yeah?"

"S'not that," Kurt gulped out, taking the tissues and cup and desperately trying to pull himself together. "S'just... you're so nice. If you hadn't been there... I don't... I wouldn't have..."

His mouth had stopped forming words and he dropped his head into his hands once more, crushing the cup in the process. Elliot sat down next to him slowly, clearly uncertain about how to continue. Kurt felt him put a hand on his back, which set him off into a new bout of sobbing. Once he had drenched all the tissues he forced himself to take a few deep breaths and lifted his head, wiping at his nose.

"I just... I love him so much and... and if you weren't there, I don't think I could've... could've helped him on my own and... and I'm so grateful."

He took a shuddering breath through his nose, relieved that he had finally managed to finish a coherent sentence, and fixed his eyes on his shaking hands. He had spilled most of the water on his leg. Elliott squeezed his shoulder slightly, his own grip a little unstable. A long pause passed before he spoke, and his voice was slightly gruff.

"S'ok," he said softly.

Kurt tried to regulate his breathing. Now that it was over, he almost felt embarrassed for getting so emotional. He had only know Elliot for a few short months, and yet already Starchild had seen more of his neatly concealed emotions than most of the people in Glee Club. And now he had lumbered the other boy with looking after all of his friends and saving Blaine's life within one evening. And for some reason, Elliott had come back and was sitting with him now, in the early hours of the morning, in a hospital that smelled of vomit. For some reason, when Kurt had so rudely dismissed Starchild from his band, Elliott had come back. He had come back oozing sanity and an infectious easy-going smile. Kurt owed him more than a thank you.

They sat quietly for a few minutes longer before a nurse finally appeared in front of them and called them over to a doctor standing near the double doors that led through to the hospital's trauma room. The doctor looked tired and irritable, and glanced up briefly from the chart he was looking at to stare Kurt up and down over his glasses. He sighed through his nose and removed his glasses, lowering the chart.

"Friends of Blaine Anderson?"

Kurt could only nod.

"We're having trouble reaching his family, do either of you have another contact number for them?"

"I gave all the information I had to the receptionist," Kurt said, his voice wobbling still. "I don't have anything else."

The doctor sighed again, and Kurt felt a rush of frustration. He wanted answers. He had been waiting too long to have enough patience to cope with this man.

"Is he alright? Is he going to be ok?"

"He's in recovery now, we've given him activated charcoal to absorb any more of the drug in his digestive system. We're not able to give him any sedatives until the test results come back and tell us what kind of drug he's been doped with, but he's not going to be anywhere near conscious for at least another ten hours considering how much the dose seemed to be-"

"Drug?" That was the only word that had remained in Kurt's mind, and it had made his heart stop in his chest. "What do you mean, what drug?"

The doctor's eyebrows climbed up his forehead. "I mean the roofie he was given, obviously. From his reaction I'd suspect GHD, but it could be some kind of unclean Rohypnol. Even Ketamine."

"R-Roofie?"

The floor felt as though it was spinning. Kurt was dimly aware of Elliott's hand on his shoulder, steadying him. He remembered crouching in that alleyway over Blaine's bruised, bloody face, remember Elliott saying that he hadn't been drunk enough for a reaction like that... Roofied? By who? When?

"I need to see him."

The doctor, who had been continuing his description of possible date-rape drugs broke off, huffing almost contemptuously. "Weren't you listening? Mr. Anderson won't even be conscious until tomorrow evening. The combination of tranquilliser and alcohol usually puts the average teenager out for twenty-four hours. He's lucky he threw up so much, he might have stopped his system from absorbing it all."

Lucky? Kurt saw again the stringy strands of scarlet and yellow hanging from Blaine's lips and couldn't imagine the word 'lucky' pinned onto that memory. But the word 'roofie' was still ringing in his ears like a fire bell and all he could see were shapeless forms bending over Blaine's unconscious body and...

"I need to see him, now," he repeated, his voice shaking violently with the threat of tears. "What did they do? What did they do to him? Oh god... Oh fuck..."

Elliott's grip had tightened on his arm, and Kurt realised that he was swaying.

"You'll have to come back during visiting hours, family only," the doctor replied flippantly, his attention devoted to his chart. "And as for what 'they did', there was no indication of sexual assault on Mr. Anderson's body, although we'll be conducting full tests to confirm that. I suggest you two go home and come and visit him when he gets discharged."

"Visit when he...? No, you don't understand." Kurt shook Elliott's hand off, stepping forwards so that he was nose to nose with the doctor. Thanks to the recent introduction of puberty to his body, he had grown a good few inches and he and the doctor were eye to eye. He was shaking so hard that he could barely get the words out, but he kept them coming. "I'm not going anywhere until I see him. I'm his fiancé, do you hear me, his fiancé. He asked me to marry him barely a few months ago and I'm not leaving until he knows that I'm here, I'm not leaving him alone in some strange hospital with you as his only company. I won't."

The doctor's eyes narrowed. "Well, that's lovely, but I don't know that you're his fiancé, and being his boyfriend doesn't make you family. How do I know you didn't slip him that roofie yourself, that you even know him? I recommend you go home, since I've had a very long night and the last thing I need is you throwing a hissy fit in my waiting room. Take it to Oprah, why don't you?"

"Problem?"

Kurt had just opened his mouth to send a furious retort back at the doctor, but the voice cut him off. A policewoman had approached them at some point during their conversation and was now standing patiently between the doctor and the two students. Her hair was tied back in a neat bun at the nape of her neck and she held her hat in both hands before her, giving off a clear sense of order and authority. The doctor looked her up and down before snorting and tucking his chart under his arm, shaking his head.

"Ask them," he muttered, pushing his way back into the trauma room.

Kurt watched him go with wide eyes, barely holding back tears. His mind was over-run with horrific images. He couldn't even remember how bad Blaine's injuries had been - had he even been aware of all of them? Blaine had clearly been assaulted at some point, and the doctor hadn't mentioned anything about it. He'd just casually thrown the word 'roofie' into Kurt's life and stalked off. It took him a while to realise that the policewoman was attempting to get his attention.

"Mr. Hummel, is it? The nurse said you've been waiting here for a few hours. Do you boys have a statement you'd like to make about your friend? Sorry, your fiancé, was it?"

Time seemed to bend somehow. One moment, Kurt was staring at the blocked out windows of the trauma room, imagining storming through them and demanding to see Blaine. The next the policewoman had somehow commandeered a small staff room and sat them down in a corner, pulling out her notepad. Elliott was speaking quietly and Kurt realised that he was holding a cup of something hot that someone had given him. He didn't drink it. The policewoman asked them simple, gentle questions about the events of the night and Elliott answered most, turning to Kurt for short confirmations of his responses. Kurt watched the woman jot notes down as they spoke and then allowed her to take his name and his number. They gave her Rachel's too, seeing as she had been the closest person to Blaine at the time. He only became really aware of the conversation going on in front of him when the policewoman offered them a lift back home and Elliott accepted.

"No," he said, his voice hoarse from crying. "I'm not going. I'm not going until I see him."

"Mr. Hummel," the policewoman said, leaning forwards to meet his gaze, "I very much doubt they'll let any visitors in before morning. It's..." - she paused as she checked her watch - "Four fifteen now. In four hours or so you will be very welcome to visit. You may as well go home and get a few hours sleep."

He shook his head again, but he was becoming more familiar with the attitude in this hospital. No one was letting him through. The policewoman left for a moment and Elliott nudged him.

"Go home, Kurt, have a shower, get some sleep, and then come back. He won't be awake. You won't be any use to him like this, man, you're exhausted."

Kurt sniffed and rubbed both hands over his face. His skin felt like old leather.

The policewoman returned and led them out through the waiting room and into her car. Kurt got in stiffly and leant against the window, pressing his hand over his eyes. The grey light of dawn was prickling over the sky in a cold, damp sheen. He could feel the policewoman's eyes on him in the rear-view mirror as she drove.

"I popped over to ask the nurse about Mr. Anderson before we left. She said he was in a stable condition, and that he's suffered no critical injuries. He might have a little concussion from the head wound, but that's nothing that won't heal."

Kurt lifted his hand and met her eyes. "Was he still throwing up?"

"I don't think so. Date-rape drugs tend to put people out for a long time, and the alcohol will only add to that. She said he should recover fine."

Kurt nodded slowly. Her tone was comforting and he appreciated her help, but he didn't have the energy to show it. He made a mental note to thank her somehow. Her and Elliott.

She dropped him off at his apartments and Elliott scooted across the back seat to say goodbye, stopping the door as Kurt tried to close it.

"Get some sleep, ok?" he said softly, his own face worn with tiredness. "I'll come by tomorrow if you want."

"Thank you."

Elliott nodded and with a last look at Kurt let the door shut. Kurt turned away and made his way upstairs as the police car sped off into the brightening day. The stairs made his knees weak and by the time he reached their flat his muscles were aching and his head was pounding. He pushed his way wearily into his apartment and closed the door, dropping his coat on a chair nearby. His eyes shifted to the curtain that hid their bedroom and he instantly felt sick. He couldn't go there with Blaine lying broken in some hospital bed. Instead, he crossed slowly to the sofa and sat down. The sofa sank around him like an embrace and he clenched both hands in his hair. The tears were starting once more, and now there was no one around to hide them from. Their little flat was so quiet, barely any traffic outside, barely anything to break the roaring in his ears. All he could see were scenes from ER and House, images of people being hacked open by scalpels and pricked with needles and tubes being stuffed down throats... He held his breath until the images went away.

He sat still for a long time until birdsong began to creep through his windows and the bright, early morning sunlight was streaking across the floor of the apartment. He imagined Blaine's voice singing songs while he made breakfast. He imagined it echoing out of the bathroom and through the living room. Shaking his head to clear it of the fog clouding his senses, he pushed himself to his feet and took a deep breath, lifting his chin. He couldn't find any more tears to cry, and he didn't want to cry anymore. A deep, clinging numbness had spread through his stomach and he drew strength from it. His feet carried him to the shower, where he couldn't remember which bottle was shampoo and which was conditioner, and then to the wardrobe. By the time he was dressed and his hair was fixed it was nearly 6:00am. He made some toast and sliced up a banana, but when he tried to take a bite his throat closed up and the food turned to a gross, sticky mush heavy on his tongue. He spat it out and threw away the rest. He retrieved his mobile and assessed the damage. Lot's of missed calls, mostly from Rachel. He scrolled down his contacts to 'Dad' and hesitated. Then he turned his phone off and put it in his pocket. His father would be in bed. He would ring later.

He retrieved a coat and then packed a small bag for Blaine - a few copies of vogue, his favourite hoodie, a pair of lounge pants, his hair gel, some boxers. He stared blankly at the collection of items, all folded neatly, completely unaware of whether he had everything or not. Then, throwing caution to the winds and deciding he couldn't wait any longer, he left the apartment and hoisted the bag over his shoulder as he trotted down the stairs. His step was brisk as he headed for the subway, even though the bags around his eyes showed every time he passed a shop window. The subway itself was quiet, only a few people in neatly pressed suits and drinking black coffee already on their way to work. He reached the hospital at 7:00am and took a deep breath before entering and crossing to the reception, his chin held high. The nurse there was different to the one who had been on the night before, and she smiled as he approached.

"Hello, Sir, how may I help you?"

"My name is Kurt Hummel. My fiancé Blaine Anderson was admitted last night after being assaulted. I'm here to see him."

The nurse, who had typed Blaine's name into her computer as soon as Kurt mentioned it, hesitated and glanced up. He stared back at her rigidly, aware that his words had come out fast and somewhat shaky, even though he had done his best to sound in control and alert. She looked from her computer screen to him and back again.

"Mr. Hummel," she said gently, leaning across the desk, "I'm afraid visiting hours don't start until 9:00am, and even then Mr. Anderson will only be allowed visitors for twenty minutes at a time. Since you're not family-"

"I've already had this discussion," Kurt replied tightly, his hand closing hard around the strap of his bag. "I had it last night, when one of the doctors here informed me that I was not allowed to see the man I'm marrying, nor even hear his condition explained. He asked me to come back in the morning, and I have. And I'm not leaving until someone takes me to see Blaine, I don't care how long it takes, I don't care who I have to speak to, I'm not - I'm not -"

She was holding up her hands, her eyebrows raised slightly. He broke off, slightly out of breath, his lungs suddenly too small for him. He didn't want to cry anymore. He wanted to scream. The nurse was craning her neck, apparently trying to see into one of the staff rooms nearby. She hesitated a moment longer and then nodded to him.

"Wait here a moment, please?"

It was more of a question than a direction, but he accepted and she disappeared past him into a staff room. He waited, staring blindly at a pen on the counter. His breathing was coming hard and fast through his nose. His fingers brushed his mobile in his pocket and he considered trying to call Blaine's parents again. If they would just give him permission, if they would just make these people see... He imagined a worried wife coming in to ask about her husband, or a husband looking for his wife, and couldn't see any of the staff telling them that it wasn't possible. Had he really thought that anyone anywhere in the world would look at him when he said 'fiancé' and see anything other than the word 'fag'? He could feel his bottom lip trembling threateningly, but before he could take another breath a hand landed on his arm and he turned to see the nurse from reception standing in front of him, smiling calmly.

"Thank you for waiting, Mr. Hummel. Would you like to follow Louise?"

He gaped at her, and then at Louise, who wore pink scrubs rather than blue and was waiting a few metres away with her hands folded neatly in front of her. He nodded dumbly, unable to find any words that his tongue could manage to form, and crossed the room to Louise.

"Good morning, Mr. Hummel, please come with me. It's just over here."

He nodded again. That seemed to be the only thing he knew how to do anymore. Louise led the way down a small corridor to a lift and pressed the button for the third floor. He watched the numbers above the doors slip by until, with a soft 'ding', the lift halted and the doors opened. Louise showed him through a few more corridors to a ward not unlike the one his father had been kept in during his illness. She crossed to the front desk there and cheerily greeted the nurse, introduced him as 'the cute one's fiancé,' and was gone. The new nurse, whose name Kurt hadn't even caught, chattered softly as she waved him past curtained off beds, empty beds, neatly made beds, machines... Kurt's heart was beginning to beat hard in his chest once more. They turned a corner and reached a new section of the room that was mostly unoccupied apart from one bed in the far corner. Kurt's gut twisted. He didn't notice the nurse go, but she must have because after a few seconds he realised that he was alone. He made his way through the room to the end and stopped, letting his bag drop to the floor at the end of the bed.

"Hey, songbird," he murmured, his voice thick.

Blaine looked different. His hair was fluffier, free of gel, but somewhat contained by the thin bandage that was wrapped around his head. Kurt could see the top of a small pad at the back and a dark bruise emerging from beneath the bandage at the front, marring the smooth skin of Blaine's left temple. A few thin cuts and bruises had found their way onto the bridge of his nose, his cheek, and even the side of his neck. His mouth was covered by a clear plastic oxygen mask but his split lip showed through. His skin still had an unhealthy, greyish tinge to it. But worst of all, his eyes were closed and showed no signs of opening. Kurt glanced around before reaching out to pull the thin, blue curtain closed, giving them some privacy. He moved towards the padded chair near the wall and pulled it over to the bed. He was about to sit down when he noticed more bruising on Blaine's stomach. The hospital gown he was wearing was open to his waist where the blanket began, and Kurt could make out dark, reddish-blue marks reaching across Blaine's flawless skin. Holding back the lump in his throat, he leant forwards and pressed a careful kiss to Blaine's forehead. Somehow, beneath the antiseptic and the bandages and the oxygen, Blaine still smelled like Blaine. Kurt breathed him in and felt something inside him ease slightly, an taught elastic band released.

He sat down heavily on the chair, pressing his fingers into his eyes. When he lowered them the first thing he saw was Blaine's hand, outstretched on top of the blanket in order to allow the IV line to enter a vein in his arm. His knuckles, Kurt realised, were bruised and skinned. Blaine had apparently fought back against his attacker. Kurt reached out and curled his fingers over Blaine's, relieved to find that his skin was warm.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly. "I missed you. I'm sorry I didn't get here earlier, I just... they wouldn't let me in. But I'm here now."

Blaine's fingers were limp beneath Kurt's. Kurt watched his breath cloud the oxygen mask and tried to count them. Blaine still seemed to be breathing shallowly. Kurt traced his thumb along the hospital band, read and re-read the name typed onto the label. Blaine Devon Anderson. For some reason, when he saw those letters stamped out here like an identity tag, they didn't seem like Blaine's name anymore. Kurt shifted his eyes away from it, away from Blaine's torn skin and stared at the blue matt weave of the blanket until the threads began to shift in front of his eyes.

"Good morning."

Kurt flinched, gripping Blaine's hand tightly. A woman with long, dark hair and a white coat, which instantly identified her as a doctor, accompanied by the nurse from the ward's reception desk had pulled the curtain back and was looking at him with raised eyebrows. He shifted as if to get up, but then realised that if he did he wouldn't be able to keep hold of Blaine's hand, and so froze where he was. He wet his lips and gathered the nerve to speak, terrified that he was about to be told to leave.

"Hi. I'm Kurt Hummel, they told me I could come up here-"

"He's Mr. Anderson's fiancé, Dr. Lawrence," the nurse broke in, shooting Kurt a wink.

The woman - Dr. Lawrence, according to the nurse - seemed satisfied by this input: she nodded and collected the chart from the bottom of Blaine's bed. She trailed a finger down it before returning her gaze to Blaine, and then to Kurt.

"Very well. They should've let you up last night, Mr. Hummel, you're actually listed as Mr. Anderson's emergency contact."

"Someone didn't get that memo," Kurt replied, smiling bitterly.

"Apparently not." Dr. Lawrence glanced at the bag on the floor and then at the nurse. "Would you mind getting Mr. Anderson's personal possessions? I'm sure Mr. Hummel here will take care of them."

As the nurse disappeared, Dr. Lawrence folded her arms over the chart and moved over to stand on the other side of Blaine's bed, opposite Kurt. She studied a few of the machines and then met Kurt's gaze as he spoke up, unable to hold back the questions any longer.

"Is he ok?"

"He's much better, although the GHB won't be out of his system for a few days."

"That's what the drug was?"

She glanced down at her chart. "The tests reported a mixture of substances, GHB being the most prominent. Although we found traces of ketamine, too. Would you like me to explain?"

Kurt nodded, loosening his grip on Blaine's hand a little. He instantly preferred Dr. Lawrence to the on-call doctor from the night before. Although stern-faced, she seemed more approachable and readier to give him answers. And she was wearing a black high-waisted long skirt with a dark green silk shirt, which Kurt approved of due to the way it complimented her skin tone. She tucked her hair behind her ear and cocked her head to one side, quickly summarising the information on her chart.

"GHB stands for Gamma Hydroxybutyrate, it's a central nervous system depressant and it's extremely fast-acting. It takes effect around ten minutes after ingestion and it can put the victim out for up to eight hours, potentially much longer when alcohol gets involved, as in the case of Mr. Anderson here. It slows the heart rate and respiration and interferes with motor control and balance. I assume it was the mixture of GHB and alcohol, not to mention the amount of other drugs mixed in to the GHB dose, that led to the vomiting, respiratory distress and seizures-"

"Seizures?"

Dr. Lawrence looked up at Kurt's panicked tone. Her face softened slightly.

"He suffered a seizure on arrival and another shortly after. They were very short. And if it makes you feel any better, he'll have no memory of his experiences directly after his ingestion of the drug."

Kurt nodded, pressing his lips together tightly. He remembered the taste of Blaine's blood and vomit as he forced air into his lungs, remembered the whites of his eyes flickering beneath his eyelashes. Blaine might not remember the night, but Kurt wasn't about to forget it any time soon. He realised that Dr. Lawrence was watching him cautiously, waiting for an indication to continue, and he pulled his mind away from the night before and into the present.

"What about... What about the assault? Will he be alright?"

"He'll be fine in a few weeks. The worst of it was the concussion and the abdominal trauma. One of his lower ribs is bruised, too - that'll take longer than the rest to heal."

"That's everything?"

"Yes." She held his gaze pointedly. "All our tests for sexual attacks came back negative."

Kurt felt like someone had just filled his head with helium. He pressed his lips against his interlinked fingers, begging his emotions to remain under control. Negative. All negative. They - whoever they were - hadn't touched him. Memories or not, he wouldn't let Blaine go through something like that. Dr. Lawrence was still talking, and he desperately tried to pay attention despite the fact that his head was still spinning.

"... much sense. But perhaps he can help the police piece together exactly what happened after he wakes up. It might take a while for him to recover, maybe until the end of the week."

"When's he going to wake up?"

She shook her head. "Sometime later today, I expect. It all depends on how much he had to drink and how much GHD entered his system."

She was looking at her watch, and Kurt got the impression she had places to be and things to do. Hurriedly standing up, he finally released his grip on Blaine's hand and instead offered his hand to her, managing a smile.

"Thank you. Thanks for your time and for... thanks."

She looked bemused, but shook the hand he held out and the next moment the only trace that she had been there at all was the swinging curtain. Kurt dropped slowly back onto his seat and let his eyes close. For the first time since he night before, he actually felt like he could sleep. But he didn't want to miss Blaine's return to the land of the living, he had to be there. So, making up his mind, he kissed Blaine one last time on the cheek before retrieving his phone and wallet and making his way down to the hospital cafe. He found himself a coffee and took a seat in the corner, deciding that it was finally late enough. He scrolled through his contacts to 'Dad' and lifted the phone to his ear. He told himself that he would be brave, that he wouldn't fall apart on the phone, that he would show his father that he could look after himself.

It rang four times before Burt answered, gruff-voiced and mumbling.

"Kurt? I've only just got up, kid, what time d'you call this?"

"Hi Dad," Kurt replied. Even the sound of his father's voice seemed to shake some of his composure. He sniffed, took a sip of coffee. "I'm at the hospital."

"The hospital?" Burt's tone changed at once, and Kurt hastily corrected his fears.

"Not for me. Blaine... Blaine got roofied last night..."

The silence at the end of the phone spoke volumes. And the single, shuddering sigh that Kurt couldn't hold back any longer screamed even louder.

When Blaine reached awareness the first thing he was aware of was the dull, persistent throbbing at the back of his head. He kept his eyes tightly shut, dreading the hangover that was apparently already in full swing. His muffled conscience had been right when he had downed that last drink in Mr. Lynch's - he did indeed regret it now that morning had come. Although, despite the fact that the drinks had been flowing for most of the evening, he hadn't realised he had drunk enough to make himself feel this ill... he couldn't even remember getting home. Ah, man, Kurt is gonna be so pissed with me today... He suddenly remembered that he was meant to be at NYADA by 9:00am, and that he had no idea what time it was now. But surely Kurt wouldn't have let him sleep in, let him miss his classes just because their night out had got a little out of hand? He raked his brains for information on what state he had been in when they arrived home, and came up with nothing. Which was strange. Because, although he was a lightweight, he didn't tend to forget whole chunks of the night. How many drinks had he bought? He wasn't sure. But sooner or later he was going to have to get up and find out.

Jesus, I feel sick...

His stomach felt as if it had turned itself inside out during the night. He took a few deep breaths, preparing himself for the agony of facing the light of day, and then gingerly cracked open his eyes.

The world was unexpectedly bright, and he had to blink several times before it shifted into focus. When it did several things surprised him: a) he was not in the small, cosy apartment he shared with Kurt, but in a strange bed surrounded by softly bleeping machines and a blue, clinical curtain, b) the light shafting through the window at the end of the room was the dim glow of evening rather than morning and c) his body had somehow transformed into a leaden statue that refused to obey his commands to get up.

Unexpected...

He lay there for a few long moments, doing his best not to panic, wondering if he had entered some kind of lucid dream. He managed to lift his head and couldn't smother a groan as pain jolted through his skull. There was something on his face. Some kind of clear mask fitting over his nose and mouth. He wanted to lift his hand and take it off, but his trembling fingers barely lifted three inches off the mattress before he had to let them fall. He tried the other hand, but something was physically weighing it down. With a mammoth effort, he managed to roll his head to one side. Blinking through the pain, he made out pale, slender fingers intertwined with his own and followed the arm over to its owner.

Kurt was slumped forwards on the mattress, his head pillowed on his other arm, his hair drooping out of its matt-perfect style. His coat was lying abandoned on the back of the chair he was in and he was wearing one of his extremely casual grey jumpers. So casual, in fact, that Blaine doubted that they could be in public at all. The sight of him made Blaine smile, despite his confusion. He squeezed his boyfriend's fingers lightly, but Kurt only shifted into a more comfortable position, maintaining his loose grip on Blaine's hand, and let his mouth fall open in his sleep. Blaine tried to chuckle but ended up wincing - his stomach burned as if he was being stabbed by a red hot poker. He struggled to slow his breathing, closing his eyes tightly against the pain. Even Kurt's adorable sleep-face wasn't enough to distract him from the fact that something appeared to be very wrong. He tried to clear his throat, attempted to speak.

"Kur... 'urt..."

His voice was so hoarse, and his throat was stinging, and the mask ate up his words. The word shuddered before his eyes and black dots were dancing at the edges of his vision, but he refused to fall asleep again. He needed to know what was going on. He tried to lift his free hand once more and managed to get it to his chest, pulling at the chords attached to the mask - and Kurt's eyes opened sharply. They fixed on Blaine's face for one, shimmering moment, clear blue and wide with something between fear and relief. And then he was sitting up and snatching at Blaine's arm, and Blaine felt the overwhelming security that it was all going to be alright.

"Blaine! Are you ok?"

"Got no... idea," he replied, his voice still grating. "You?"

"What?"

Rolling his eyes, Blaine gestured with a finger to the mask. Kurt hesitated, but then stood up and cautiously pulled it down so that Blaine could keep it out of the way. Breathing instantly became a little harder, although Blaine was beginning to put together that he had been wearing an oxygen mask with especially thin, breathable air. He closed his hand over the cool, smooth plastic and squinted around at the room they were in again, which was no more familiar than before. Kurt's hand was smoothing back the hair on his head with a feather-light touch and Blaine glanced up to find his fiancé staring at him with a desperately tender glimmer in his eyes, his eyebrows pulled tightly together.

"I was so scared," Kurt said softly. Closer up, Blaine could see that his eyes were bloodshot, as if he had been crying. His stomach gave a dizzying lurch.

"Wha... What's-"

He stopped, furious with the pathetic whisper he had been granted instead of a voice, and Kurt squeezed his shoulder.

"I'll get you some water, ok?"

Blaine nodded gratefully, and then changed his mind as Kurt turned and rapidly disappeared past the blue curtain. If getting water meant Kurt leaving, he didn't want it. He didn't know where he was or what was going on, everything hurt, he felt sick and empty at the same time, he couldn't get up - fuck. Shutting down his panicking mind, he pushed the oxygen mask up with fumbling fingers and took a few deep breaths, which helped to calm his nerves. As he did so he felt something pulling on his other arm and looked down to find an IV drip inserted into his skin, which promptly sent a shudder through him. Blaine hated needles. Now that he knew it was there, he could feel it pulling and twitching as he moved. He shut his eyes quickly, trying to focus on anything but his churning stomach.

The rapid tap of approaching footsteps filled him with dizzy joy and he opened his eyes to see Kurt slipping through the curtain again, now armed with a large glass of water and a straw. He offered it to Blaine, and the ice coolness of it against his throat filled him with relief. He took a few big gulps before moving his head away. Kurt remained beside him, once more reaching for his hand.

"'Re we n'hospital?" Blaine managed at last, the words still a little hoarse but at last coherent.

"Yeah. How much do you remember?"

Blaine studied him carefully. Kurt's voice was quiet, neutral, a little too calm. His blue eyes were searching Blaine's face like x-ray beams, apparently trying to draw something out. His lips were quivering slightly, although he was clearly making an effort to appear stoic.

"From last night? Like... Nothing, I don't..." He stopped, and Kurt offered him the straw again. He accepted it, clawing through his memories for something that would explain their current position. "We were at some bar... Was raining... Um..."

His brain came up blank every time. For some reason, the main thing he could think of was a buzzing, orange light filling his vision like a firework. His mind had become a bottomless pit of nothingness, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't find any answers. He met Kurt's gaze and shook his head, then winced as pain shot through his skull. He lifted a hand to feel for the cause, but Kurt snatched at his fingers and gently pushed them down again. Blaine glanced down and with a jolt realised that his knuckles were bruised. Had he got into a fight? He stared in surprise and then looked quickly at Kurt. His heart was beginning to pound fast in his throat again and his hands were turning clammy, and the sickly smell of antiseptic was making his stomach quiver. Kurt seemed to notice his distress and perched on the edge of his bed, rubbing his thumb across Blaine's wrist.

"It was kind of a long night," he said steadily, holding Blaine's gaze. "The doctors told me that they think someone put something in your drink. You got roofied at the bar last night."

Blaine took a moment to stare Kurt out, trying to figure out if he was joking. But there were huge bags beneath Kurt's eyes as if he had been awake all night and his jumper was creased and his hair was a mess. And the words 'Kurt' and 'mess' didn't belong in the same sentence. Kurt glanced at his mobile and then held it out to Blaine, who gazed at the little white numbers on the screen that read 19:17pm. The last thing he had known, it had been one or two in the morning. Again he searched his brain and again all he encountered was nothingness.

"So... So what, I fell asleep at the bar?"

He had spoken too quickly and his throat began to sting again, turning his words into a squeak. Kurt held out the water for him and he took it shakily, holding it with both hands. Kurt's hand dropped instead to his leg, settling comfortingly on his knee.

"No, no not exactly. We realised you were gone and uh... and me and Elliott found you in the alleyway by the bar-"

Blaine's ears abruptly filled with a dull, heady roar. He felt his grip falter on the cup and his heart began to hammer in his chest like a tribal drum. His throat was starting to close up. He observed his body panicking numbly, as if he had been cut off from it, a balloon with its string cut. Blinking hard, he found Kurt's face in front of his and the oxygen mask being replaced, Kurt's hands in his hair and on his cheek. He tried to focus on what he was saying.

"...ok. I promise you, you're fine, you're ok. Blaine? Blaine, nothing like that happened, they did tests, nothing happened to you..."

He held Kurt's gaze, fixing himself on those clear blue eyes. Nothing like that happened. He waited for his breathing to come back and for the roaring in his ears to disappear, aware that he was trembling hard. Kurt had scooted closer on the bed and had one hand on the cup on Blaine's lap, gripping it over Blaine's own loose fingers. With his other hand he was stroking Blaine's cheek. His touch seemed to sweep warmth back into Blaine's skin, light as a butterfly and hot as fire embers.

"Blaine?"

He nodded. His head ached with a hard, persistent throb and that strange sick-but-not-sick feeling was still lingering over him. He closed his eyes against the evening light and focused on breathing.

Kurt was the first to break the silence, his voice soft.

"Blaine, listen... They didn't do that to you, but they did... they beat you up a little."

Blaine opened his eyes again. They felt heavier this time, like two large coins rather than eyelids. Kurt was lifting his phone, switching the camera to selfie mode. He held it out, taking the cup from Blaine's grip. Blaine realised what he was offering and hesitated, holding the phone face-down on the blanket.

"Is it… Am I-"

"You're beautiful," Kurt broke in sharply. "As always. You're just going to have a few tiny bruises for a while. You'll be back to your flawless, skin-ad complexion in, like, two weeks. Tops."

Blaine counted to five. And then to ten. And then counted down from three and, before he could change his mind, turned over the phone. He tried to hold it steady in front of him, managing long enough to take in the dark red and blue blotches on his face. A flash of white drew his eyes upwards and presented him with a bandage wrapped around his head. He looked like he was wearing a zombie costume, only it wasn't Halloween and these marks weren't going to wash off. As he lowered the phone he caught sight of purple-blue marks emerging from beneath the blanket over his ribcage. He blinked, stunned. Had someone… stamped on him? He realised suddenly that Kurt was watching him, clearly concerned, and searched for a response to the impossible circumstances he had woken up to.

"Ok… so… so does this mean that I don't have to do the diet anymore?"

For the first time, an actual, real smile spread over Kurt's face and his eyes shone with something other than concern. His shoulders dropped with relief and he leant forwards to press a careful but fierce kiss against Blaine's lips, and Blaine felt his body tingle pleasantly.

"I thought I was going to lose you," Kurt whispered against his cheek. "You have no idea how happy I am to see you."

Blaine wrapped an arm around him for as long as he could. He felt Kurt pressing kisses against his good cheek and felt that, if he closed his eyes right now, he would tumble into sleep and wake up in their cosy bed in their apartment, cocooned around Kurt's small body, nose buried in his hair, breathing him in. And their thin curtains wouldn't be quite enough to block out the early morning sunlight, but he wouldn't mind because the stripes would make patterns on their skin and turn them golden and brown…

He didn't remember falling asleep, or Kurt moving away, but the next thing he knew someone was calling him awake and there was a tall, dark haired woman standing beside his bed reeling off complicated words. Kurt was sitting in the chair again, making notes on his phone and nodding in response to what the woman was saying. He was relieved that Kurt seemed to know what was going on, because everything the woman said ran out of his head like sand by the time she had finisher her sentence. The only things he really remembered was her telling him that he'd had his stomach pumped, which was apparently why his throat hurt, and something about the bruises healing in a couple of weeks, and that he would most likely leave tomorrow… everything else just seemed to escape him. When she left, Kurt gave him another glass of water and talked for a while about Elliott or Rachel or something…

Orange buzzing lights and a suffocating weight on his chest and he couldn't breathe… no matter how hard he tried, his lungs were curling into tight balls and he couldn't move, couldn't scream… Teeth fastening on his lip and biting too hard and fuck, he knew he was going to be sick…

He opened his eyes to find himself shaking and sweating and choking on something that wasn't there. What was there was Kurt, as he always was, Blaine's white porcelain knight. The other boy had clearly just leapt out of his chair and was pulling away the oxygen mask so that Blaine could speak, inching as close as he could on the mattress. Before he even understood where he was, Blaine was holding onto him so tightly he thought his fists would break. He knew he was crying and getting snot and tears all over Kurt's jumper, but he couldn't bear to let go. Kurt didn't seem to mind anyway - he was kissing him on the forehead, on the cheek, on the neck.

"Shh... You ok?"

Blaine kept his eyes shut. "Please don't go."

"I'm not going anywhere."

He heard a shuffle and when he opened his eyes he could see the smooth, pale skin of Kurt's neck in the darkness. Curled on the edge of the bed, careful not to touch any bruises, Kurt wrapped him up in his embrace and Blaine felt himself fall into his smell, his hands, his protective body. Right now, Kurt seemed like a tower, a lighthouse in a storm.

"I'm sorry…"

"Don't you dare."

Kurt's hand trailed in circles over his back. Blaine let his hand clench in Kurt's jumper again, holding on. Just in case the tide tried to drag him away. He listened to Kurt breathing, felt his hair stir with each exhale. He wanted more than anything to be home, wished that they had never even left the apartment the night before. Kurt hadn't wanted to, he had been ready to relax for the evening. How Blaine wished now that they had stayed put, just like this, the whole night long, and he felt the despair welling up in his throat. Kurt took a breath above him.

"You lift my heart up when the rest of me is down. You, you enchant me, even when you're not around…"

Blaine didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Kurt was singing slowly and quietly, barely above a whisper to avoid disturbing the other patients on the ward, but it was enough for his voice to fill Blaine's mind and push away everything else. He felt his eyelids growing heavy and his grip relaxing slightly. He hated being so groggy – usually Kurt fell asleep first, and Blaine was able to watch the steady rise and fall of his shoulders and tuck in around him until he dropped off. But maybe this was better.

"Now I've got you in my space, I won't let go of you… Got you shackled in my embrace, I'm latching on to you…"

He wanted to tell Kurt that he loved him and that he was so grateful for everything, not just the chaos of the night before, but for every moment since they had met. But his eyes were closed now and he couldn't open them, so he stopped struggling and let himself melt into Kurt's voice.

Kurt had never felt so tired in his life.

He didn't sleep much during the night. He'd nodded off at the very start, but after Blaine's nightmare he hadn't been able to relax. He'd never seen Blaine like that before. Of course Blaine had cried in front of him before - Blaine cried every time at the ending to Titanic and even during some of his favourite songs - but not like that. Not fuelled by terror. Usually Blaine was the strong one, the fixer, but that night it had been Kurt who played the big spoon. Blaine kept his hand fisted in Kurt's jumper until morning when Kurt finally slipped away for a coffee, unable to lie there and pretend to sleep any longer. The hospital bed was really made for one, and even though neither of them were large people it was still a squeeze, especially since he had to be extra careful not to lean on Blaine's bruises. He studied Blaine's face carefully before leaving - his lip was much less swollen, although his eyebrows were slanted slightly, as if he was thinking hard. His body was turned towards the area Kurt had been. Deciding to play it safe, Kurt retrieved the crumpled remains of a shopping list from his coat pocket and scribbled a quick note, leaving it tucked under Blaine's hand.

Gone to get CAFINE. Don't go anywhere ;) xxx

Downstairs, he purchased what felt like the millionth coffee he had consumed in the past twenty four hours and opted to drink it outside on one of the benches in front of the hospital. The early morning sunlight sent streaks of pastel yellow and orange across the sky, and he revelled in the fresh air. Pigeons were squabbling and leaping near his feet and he watched them through slitted eyelids, trying to organise his thoughts. He had completely neglected to call NYADA the day before and excuse his absence, something which would earn him a black mark next to his name for most of his teachers. He would definitely ring in today, since he planned on spending the day catching up on sleep rather than practising his scales and arpeggios. He switched his phone back on briefly as he sipped his coffee, finally deciding to address the many missed calls and texts. He'd had very little contact with the others yesterday - Elliott had dropped by for a visit but Blaine had been asleep, so he had left after only a few minutes for fear of disturbing him. He'd explained the situation to the others, determining that a sober Glee club would understand better than a drunken one. As a result, Kurt had an onslaught of questions waiting for him. He'd hadn't ignored them out of pettiness - he was just so tired, and so worried for Blaine that he hadn't had the energy. He scrolled through the texts slowly, squinting against the sun.

Dad: Hey kiddo, how are you? Hope Blaine's doing better. Call me. Love from Dad and Carole x

Mercedes .J: Answer my CALLS! Kurt, I'm so worried about you. How am I supposed to attend parties without my gays? Let me know how you two are.

Rachel .B: Elliott just told us. I'm so, so sorry. Please pick up the phone. It's all my fault, I should have stopped him. Are you ok? Please be ok xxx

Artie .A: Yo :( Hope you guys are OK, Hummel. Get in touch.

Elliott .G: Are you home?

Rachel .B: Kurt, please, please just give me something. Elliott said he came by and things were looking good. Please don't be mad at me xxx

Sam .E: Kurt, shit news. Get better soon, Nightbird!

Mercedes .J: What, I know you have not ditched me. Call me back!

Rachel .B: Any news? The police rang me, I told them everything I could. Will you tell him I'm sorry? xxx

There were more, so many more. Kurt pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily. He couldn't face replying to each individually. Instead, he finished his coffee and then typed out a quick group response, hoping that it didn't sound too irritable.

To: Mercedes .J; Rachel .B; Artie .A; Elliott .G; Sam .E: Hi guys. Sorry, hospital doesn't allow phones and it's been rough. Blaine's doing much better, we're coming home today. Doctor says he'll be fine in a few days. Thanks for the concern x

He sent it before he could change his mind and sat still for a few moments, enjoying the cool morning breeze, before lifting his phone once more.

To: Dad: He's going to be fine, we're going home today. I'll ring soon. Love you too x

His job done, he entertained the futile plan of getting more coffee out of his empty cardboard cup before giving up and making his way back inside, feeling slightly more refreshed. He stopped off at the bathroom on his way back to Blaine's ward to wash his face off and try to fix his hair, admittedly a difficult task. Honestly, he was more concerned about the number of moisturising rituals he had missed. He managed to make himself half-presentable and returned to the lift.

When he arrived back it was getting close to 9:00am and the ward was beginning to wake up. Kurt waved to the nurse on the main desk and she nodded back, busy talking on the phone. Kurt made his way to Blaine's ward and inched his way around the curtain. Blaine was still asleep, although he had shifted position. Kurt dropped into his chair and stifled a yawn, screwing his thumbs into his aching eyes. His mouth tasted stale from the mixture of the morning and coffee. He was sure he had some gum somewhere... he patted down his pockets and then began to search through his coat, fumbling over old receipts and tickets. His phone vibrated violently and he reached for it, frowned at the screen.

Rachel .B: It's fine, are you ok? I've been so worried :( Told NYADA what happened, they said to get a doctor's note so you can get some extra time for your assignments. Everyone's asking where you are. I'm so sorry Kurt, this is all my fault xxx

The mixture of frustration and gratitude he felt was odd. He hadn't expected her to do so much for them - to talk to NYADA and explain everything - but he was fed up with her insistence that this mess was somehow all down to her. No one had been watching Blaine's back. And if it was anyone's job to do so, it was surely his. He tried to type out a response but everything he said sounded impatient, and so eventually he simply put his phone away and closed his eyes.

Half an hour later Blaine began to stir. Kurt greeted him with a smile as he blinked slowly, his gaze decidedly more focussed than the day before.

"Morning."

"Hey..."

Blaine pushed himself upright, wincing as he moved. Kurt's heart shook for him. For some reason, all he could think about was that calm, sure, dapper boy he had sat across the table from at Dalton Academy, the boy whose suit was immaculate and whose every word rang with confidence. Blaine hadn't changed on the inside, but the sight of him sitting in a hospital bed, hardly able to even sit up straight, his face battered, made it hard to put those two people together. Blaine sat quietly for a few moments, staring into IV bag beside him, before blinking and glancing over at Kurt.

"We going home?"

"If you feel up to it. Do you want me to get the nurse?"

Blaine nodded.

The nurse got the doctor - not Dr. Lawrence, but thankfully not the emergency room doctor - who poked and prodded at the machines, took off the bandages on Blaine's head to scowl at the stitched-up wound beneath, and then ticked something off on his chart and shrugged wearily.

"Feel free to go. You'll need to pick up some medication for the pain - no more than two tables every four hours. No driving, no operating heavy machinery, no strenuous exercise. Make sure you eat something. You shouldn't notice any after effects of the GHD by tomorrow; if you do, ring this number."

He passed prescriptions, cards, and a leaflet on drug awareness to Blaine. Kurt was sure that he hadn't made eye contact with either of them since his arrival. He paused, clicking his pen rapidly in one hand, and then gave a short nod.

"Discharge at the ward reception, get well soon."

And with that, he was gone. The nurse moved over to remove the IV drip, something that made Blaine's whole body stiffen. His face contorted in a grimace as the nurse pulled the needle free and covered the small hole with a thick plaster. She coiled up the IV line and wheeled the drip in front of her as she left, shooting him a sympathetic smile. Blaine picked up the handful of papers, moving his arm cautiously, and flicked through them. "I don't even understand which is which... Look, is this a prescription or a blood bank application?"

"That's a leaflet about date-rapes," Kurt explained, reaching out to take the pile from Blaine's hands. "The green one is the prescription. I'll do it."

Blaine shot him one of his charming smiles, the one he knew made Kurt's knees turn to jelly. Trying to hide his blush, Kurt fussed over tucking the papers away into a pocket of his coat and then retrieved the bag he had packed the day before and the plastic bag containing Blaine's things. The sight of faded blood on the clothes made him push the bag under his coat instead of opening it, determining to deal with it later. Instead, he opened the other bag and retrieved the few items he had brought along.

"There's only these, but I promise we won't see anyone we know. Do you want some help?"

Blaine swung his legs gingerly over the side of the bed, his gown crackling. He reached for the boxers and smirked as he shook them out. "You got the robot ones."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "I got whatever ones, I wasn't picking out my top ten."

"These are your favourite though, right?"

Blaine tried to reach downwards and hissed in pain, clutching his stomach with one hand. Kurt darted forwards at once, reaching for his shoulders to steady him. Blaine's face had gone worryingly grey. He waited for Blaine's breathing to even out before moving again, taking the boxers from him and kneeling down to slide them over his ankles. He planted a kiss on his knee as he passed and Blaine huffed, reaching out to take over.

"I would've got there... eventually..."

"Mmm-hmm."

He followed suit with the grey lounge pants and then straightened up to help Blaine to stand. Blaine weight leaned heavily on Kurt's arms as he inched off the bed, head bent, and even though he kept his teeth clenched Kurt heard the whimper he made as he stood upright. He pulled the boxers and lounge pants up to his fiancé's waist and stayed still for a while, enjoying the feeling of Blaine's head on his shoulder, trying to gauge his steadiness. Blaine didn't seem to want to move, perhaps regretting his decision to get on with leaving so quickly.

"Almost done," Kurt murmured. "Do you want a break?"

Blaine replied with a negative grunt that was muffled by Kurt's neck. Allowing him to keep his grip on his jumper, Kurt reached over and retrieved the hoodie. He had felt stupid earlier for forgetting a t-shirt - now he was relieved. He couldn't see Blaine lifting his arms high enough to get anything on over his head any time soon. He shook out the hoodie, his arms still acting as a bar for Blaine to lean on, and guided him into it, zipped it up to the top. Blaine's face looked strained by the time they had put his shoes on, his mouth pinched in a hard line and his hands trembling slightly as he reached for the hair gel lying at the bottom of the bag. Kurt held up his phone for him to use as a mirror.

"We could sit for a while before we go?"

Blaine shook his head, consumed with daubing his hair with the clear goop. "Nah. Home time."

Kurt hesitated, but then decided he didn't have the energy to argue. A nurse was waiting with a wheelchair outside the curtain, which would give Blaine a chance to sit for a while before they headed back. Kurt collected the last of their things and stuffed them into his bag, pulled on his coat, conducted a final check, and then finally stepped out of the tiny alcove his life had become for the past day. He made a mental note to send a thank-you card to the nurses on the ward who had put up with them, singing and all. The nurse wheeled Blaine down the corridor to the lift. Kurt kept a cautious eye on his fiancé. Usually Blaine would be chatting to the nurse or to Kurt by now, showing off his charms, flexing his dimples, but now he just sat quietly in the wheelchair with his arms folded gingerly over his midriff. Kurt reached out to squeeze his shoulder gently as they stepped into the lift.

"Rachel's been texting me for the past twenty four hours straight. She's convinced this is all her fault."

Blaine snorted. "She didn't make me drink it, did she? I should've been using my big-boy brain."

"Well," Kurt said softly, "I probably could've kept an eye on you..."

"Hey!" Blaine turned as much as he could in his wheelchair, reaching out to catch at Kurt's sleeve. "Don't do that. This wasn't anyone's fault, no one was expecting this. You're my guardian angel, Kurt, but even you don't have eyes in the back of your head. Though sometimes I have my suspicions..."

Kurt smiled at the thin joke for Blaine's sake, nodding. They reached the ground floor and Blaine sat lightly fingering the graze on his temple while Kurt sped them through the discharge process, picked up the prescription, filled out the forms. Despite the fact that he had done nothing but sleep for the past day, Blaine still looked tired somehow and the cuts and bruises painting his face stood out even more in the harsh lights of the reception. Kurt tried to concentrate on the forms and signatures but he couldn't help glancing over every now and again, horribly aware of Blaine's discomfort. He considered suggesting they stop off at a coffee shop for a breather before going back, but then thought better of it. The best thing would be to get home, fast.

"You ok?" he said, passing the last of the forms over to the receptionist and stashing his handfuls of prescriptions and papers into his bag.

Blaine had closed his eyes, his finger and thumb resting lightly on his eyelids. He didn't move, but his voice when he spoke was steady. "Fine."

The morning air, tinged with the smell of car tyres and city fumes, was like a bucket of cool water to the face. Blaine blinked against the brightness, the steady throbbing in his head spiking with the glare. The nurse stopped the wheelchair and Kurt appeared in front of him, leaning forwards to reach for him. Blaine threw a quick glance around - the main entrance of the hospital was quiet, only in use by a few smokers in dressing gowns and a couple of visitors beginning to arrive. He braced himself for the pain, holding tightly to the arms of the wheelchair, and then slowly levered himself out of it. He felt Kurt's hands on his arms, once more acting as his crutch, his safety net. His head span a little and when he tried to straighten up his stomach seared, but as long as he moved slowly he was alright. He turned to smile and wave at the nurse, who was retreating with the wheelchair. The smokers' eyes shifted onto him, trailing over his face, and he quickly turned back to Kurt. He'd almost forgotten what a mess he looked. He lifted his arm to block himself from them, pretending to be fussing with his hair.

"Here, take these."

Kurt was rooting in his coat pockets. He eventually pulled out a pair of large sunglasses and held them out. Blaine shot him a grateful smile, taking them. He had to set them a little lower than usual due to his bruised nose, but at least they obscured some of the damage.

"Thanks, Gorgeous."

Kurt shook his head, trying to hide his smile, and Blaine felt the tension in his chest ease a little. He would never get bored of making Kurt blush. His fiancé moved to his side, holding out his arm for Blaine to hold, and began to steer them towards the line of taxis parked near the main entrance.

"What, we're not getting the subway?" Kurt narrowed his eyes in reply, and Blaine felt a slight flicker of annoyance. "Why not? Kurt, I can handle the subway."

"You couldn't even handle dressing yourself."

Blaine dug his heels in, forcing Kurt to stop to avoid hurting him. He was in pain, yes, but if he was well enough to leave hospital he was well enough to ride the subway. Kurt was the porcelain figurine, not him, and he was finished with being babied. He met Kurt's warning glare unwaveringly, determined to win at least one battle that morning.

"Do you have enough money to throw away on some over-priced, sticky, germy box that makes our journey twice as long? Kurt, come on. It's so close."

"Blaine-"

"It'll take, like, fifteen minutes. And besides, you're with me, right?"

Kurt's lips had turned firmly downwards. He looked from the taxi line to Blaine and back again, his nostrils flaring with a heavy sigh. Sensing that he had won, Blaine tugged on his arm and Kurt allowed him to lead the way towards the subway station. He knew Kurt wouldn't force him into the taxi - the other boy was handling him as if he were made of glass, every movement studied and planned for. However, Kurt's silence told Blaine that he was not happy with their decision.

After a while, neither was Blaine.

They took the walk down the street slow, keeping far to one side to avoid the increasing flow of people passing them by. Blaine kept his head down, but he still noticed the odd look he drew from the other pedestrians, the raised eyebrows. He contemplated putting his hood up, and then decided that he would look even more strange then. At least his gelled hair offered some small measure of self-respect. He tried to ignore them and focus on not breathing too deeply. By the time they reached the steps of the subway the dull ache in his head was becoming impossible to ignore, sending shards of pain through the back of his skull every other second. His abdominals were hurting too, protesting loudly against the movement. He contemplated taking some of the pills he had been given, but he knew that if he did he would get sleepy and, worse, Kurt would know that he was struggling. So, squeezing his eyes closed behind the dark sunglasses, he leant against the wall while Kurt sorted their tickets out and tried to think about something else.

"Ok, now give me... sultry... Kurt, they're all sort of looking the same."

"That's because the expression I'm really doing is uncomfortable!"

He was trying to avoid the jerking movement of laughter, but he couldn't help but smile at the memory. He felt Kurt gently pulling his arm and forced his eyes open. Ahead of them a tall man in a suit was pushing his way through the ticket barriers, briefcase held aloft, shoving past the people in his way. An irrational jealousy caught at him - barely twenty four hours ago, he had been able to do that. Now it would be weeks before he could even run. Kurt led him forwards and, to Blaine's gratitude, stood back so that he could go first, preventing anyone from pushing through behind him. On the other side he reached for Kurt's arm again, furious to see that his hand was shaking. If Kurt noticed he pretended not to, simply squeezing Blaine's hand a little as they headed down to the platform. A train was just pulling in as they approached and they stepped on. Blaine looked around for a seat but the train was busy - they were nearing the end of the morning rush hour. Kurt pulled him into the small space near the door, which at least allowed him to lean against the wall.

"I think Rachel wants to apologise for last night. Maybe you could call her or something? I'm getting all the grief."

"Sure, I'll ring her when we get in."

The train shuddered into motion. The pounding pain in Blaine's head grew infinitely worse with the whistle of the wheels, the screech of the tracks. He felt his stomach twist slightly and desperately tried to think about anything other than being sick. The smell didn't help - oil and grease and mugginess from the night before. He kept his head bent forwards, trying to shut out the clanging and the buzzing white lights. Through the chaos, Kurt's hand closed over his, an anchor in the storm.

"I wish I could remember."

"What?"

He shook his head mutely. He hadn't meant to speak at all, the words had just run out of his mouth. He hadn't even been thinking about that, had he? Unsure if Kurt had heard him or not, Blaine reached out to hold on to one of the bars near the door with his free hand, keeping his head ducked. The doors opened and closed, opened and closed. Each time he was rewarded with a rush of recycled subway air, fresh against his skin, sending goosebumps down his back. He counted the stops, his heart soaring as they drew closer. He would be able to make it. Of course he could handle a stupid subway ride. He closed his eyes against the brightness and let himself breathe slowly, relieved to find that the thumping pain was almost ignorable, almost distant-

"Move over, would'you?"

He'd forgotten to listen for the ding of the doors opening, and before he could even look up something had pushed past him. Caught off guard, he lost his balance and fell hard against a bar in front of him. Instantly his stomach exploded, as if someone had put a grenade inside him, and he saw stars. He had never been sure what that expression meant before but now he felt he understood - the world was blocked out with darkness and white dots sparked across his vision like fireworks. He was vaguely aware that he was on his knees and had one arm pressed tightly against his side. And then he realised... God, it couldn't be him making that noise, could it? That strangled moan pushing through clenched teeth like a dying scream. He could hear Kurt's voice, too, high with barely-maintained fear beside his ear.

"Blaine? Blaine, please answer me, please, just... just c'mon, please, Blaine-"

"M'okay," he managed. His voice thick and distant and his head hurt so much... He thought of Kurt kneeling beside him, panicking, terrified, and tried to pull himself together. "S'ry... Just a... little twinge..."

"No, Blaine, that asshole pushed you!" Kurt's body shifted beside his and Blaine heard him yelling to someone else over the woosh of the doors closing. "Yeah, you, you neanderthal! He's just got out of hospital!"

"Kurt, Kurt, s'okay," Blaine mumbled.

The more he blinked, the more the black dots retreated to the corners of his vision, although the pain remained very much present. Using the bar as leverage, he tried to haul himself up to his feet. Kurt was there, arms around Blaine's waist to support him as the subway carriage shuddered into movement once more. Blaine held his arms tightly over his bruised stomach, wishing his head would stop spinning, just for a second, just so that he could think clearly or even look where he was going. Kurt was talking and someone was answering, and then Blaine found himself being guided down into a chair. Which was strange because there hadn't been any seats available a second ago. Someone must have stood up for him.

"Thanks," he said. He wasn't sure if anyone heard.

He couldn't sit up straight due to the stabbing pain, and so he stayed doubled over with his arms locked over his stomach and his head bent. He stared at the chewing gum trodden into the ground beneath his feet, tried to stop his head from feeling like an electric drill. Kurt's hand ghosted over the skin on the back of his neck and he leant into the touch, wishing he could just stay there forever... but then Kurt was pulling him gently upright and the train was coming to a halt. He listened to Kurt's voice thanking someone and wished he could do the same, but it was taking all his efforts to put one foot in front of the other. By the time they had stopped on the platform the pain was beginning to die away to a dull roar again and he could focus on the back of Kurt's head as he was led over to a bench against the wall. Kurt deposited him on the bench and then trotted over to a nearby kiosk, rummaging for his wallet. Blaine watched the hem of his coat swinging with his movements and suddenly felt horribly guilty. What had he been trying to prove? That he could survive the subway ride home? Well, that had gone perfectly... He watched Kurt's face as his fiancé returned, a bottle of water in one hand, pawing through his bag with the other.

"Take these."

Kurt's voice rejected any arguments Blaine might have had as he retrieved two pills from his bag and held them out. Blaine took them silently and swallowed them down with the water Kurt put in front of him, then sat back against the wall and let his eyes drop closed. The pills worked fast and within a few minutes his head was getting light and airy, and the agony in his abdomen was just a dull ache, and the one thing he could really feel was Kurt's thumb rubbing slowly against his hand. He felt Kurt's cool hand against his cheek and then the sunglasses slid off his face, pulling away from him. He opened his eyes and found Kurt's blue gaze right in front of him, peering into his soul once more. He swallowed, trying to help his voice.

"M'sorry."

Kurt's eyebrow quirked. Blaine sighed as heavily as his bruises would let him and leant forwards until his forehead could rest against Kurt's, imagined he could feel their heart beats synchronising like the clicks of a metronome.

"We should've got the cab... You were right..."

"Of course I was right, you idiot. I'm always right, and yet everyone always seems so surprised."

There was a slight wobble to Kurt's sarcastic tone that betrayed his anxiety. Blaine lifted his head a little and kissed him, tasting his lips and wishing they didn't have to move. Kurt broke the contact first but stayed close, sniffing slightly.

"Look, it's not your fault, is it? If that dickhead had just watched where he was going... Doesn't even matter." He drew back, looking Blaine in the eye. "Are you ready to go home?"

Blaine hesitated. He held Kurt's gaze, wondering whether to let the question teetering on his lips fall. Eventually, whether due to the dizzying effects of the medication or just plain desperation to know, he spoke.

"Was... Was it bad when you found me? By Mr. Lynch's?"

Kurt stared at him for a few long seconds, his face set in stone. His head jerked slightly in what might have been a nod or a shake. When he spoke his voice was a monotone.

"It was the scariest moment of my life." He stood up, hefting the bag on his shoulder, taking the bottle of water from Blaine's grip. "Let's go."

Blaine picked up the sunglasses Kurt had left on his lap and straightened them on his nose. He took Kurt's offered hand and together they moved slowly towards the escalator.

The medication made the short walk back to their apartment foggy, and once they had climbed the stairs Kurt steered him towards their bed with a grip of steel. Blaine let the world pull away and sleep settle over him like a sheet over a corpse, relieved to let the pain in his head disappear at last. He dropped off to the sound of Kurt moving about in the kitchen, to the bangs and clangs of chairs moving and things being placed on the table. When he woke up, the light filtering through the window was a dark pink and Kurt was curled next to him, one hand resting on his chest as if to make sure that Blaine wasn't going anywhere. His hair was dishevelled and he was still wearing his clothes. Lifting his head slightly, Blaine saw that Kurt had thrown a blanket over him, since they had both fallen asleep on top of the duvet. Blaine let his head drop and took Kurt in, watching the soft evening light reflect of his face and neck, revelling in the sight of him. During that time at the hospital, it was this image that had kept him going. Bracing himself for the pain, Blaine rolled slowly onto his side long enough to press a kiss against Kurt's forehead and breathe in his scent. The hand on his chest twitched, but to his relief Kurt didn't wake. Blaine traced the thin, inky blue veins that criss-crossed over his pale eyelids, smiled at the smattering of stubble that was glittering on his jaw. Kurt still couldn't grow proper stubble, blessed instead with thin, sparse patches of hair over his chin. It worked for Blaine. He couldn't picture Kurt with a beard.

He enjoyed the moment of happiness for as long as he could, but the longer he lay there the more he was aware of the greasiness of his hair and the way the smell of the day-old hospital sheets lingered on his skin. He was itching to change, to take a shower, to crawl into one of his cardigans and stay in it until he died. His stomach seemed to have relaxed slightly, which meant that even food was a possibility. He cautiously disentangled himself from Kurt's grip and used the wall to drag himself upright, suppressing a groan. Kurt remained steadfastly asleep, and Blaine found himself wondering just how much Kurt had slept in the last few days. He was willing to bet not much.

He crossed the room slowly, carefully, pleasantly surprised to find that he could walk without limping. Their flat was shadowed and he flicked the lights on as he passed, watching the dark corners of their home light up. He didn't think he would ever be so happy to see it. The sofa was still half-covered with his jeans and suit trousers, which he had scooped out of the dryer and neglected to put away. Near the front door Kurt's shoes were lined up neatly in order from smallest to largest. Their tie rack was a medley of colours and stripes and shapes. Their hazy, cozy apartment filled him with strength down to his core, and he reached the bathroom feeling almost powerful. He left the door ajar, having learned his lesson from the subway journey about taking the lone road, and stiffly stripped off his hoodie and lounge pants.

The large mirror above the sink showed him a body that was hunched and battered, something that had been dragged to the bottom of the sea and back. His eye was constantly drawn back to the massive, ugly bruises covering his abdomen, a gross mixture of black and blue. He pressed lightly against his left side and held back a whimper, determining quickly that he had found his injured rib. The plaster from the IV drip glowed in the half-light like a beacon and he reached over to peel it off, wincing at the faint bruise beneath it. Turning to one side, he could almost make out a darker, footprint-shaped mark on his stomach... He shuddered and hurriedly turned his attention to his face instead. He could see better here than earlier when he had taken a quick look via Kurt's phone. The graze on his temple was unveiled now and he grimaced at the yellow-purpled blotch around it - he looked as if someone had hit him in the face with a blackberry pie. As he turned his head he took in his cut lip and the dark marks spreading across his cheekbone and scattering over his nose. When he turned the other way he could see a lighter, blueish mark stretching across his throat. He stared at each smattering of blood and all he could see was the black hole in his mind. No matter how hard he tried, his memory was empty.

He looked at the patterns on his skin and tried to piece a story together. Had they kicked him and then punched him? He pushed his fingers through his hair and felt the small cut on his skull, felt the couple of stitches. Did he fall? Had they hit him with a bottle? He ran his fingers over the skinned knuckles of his hand and wondered if he had fought back, if he had managed to do any damage to the other side. The vast stream of nothingness in his memory was terrifying. All he could do was imagine invisible hands on his body.

We realised you were gone and uh... and me and Elliott found you in the alleyway by the bar... It was the scariest moment of my life...

Kurt hadn't explained what kind of state Blaine had been in when they'd found him.

Nothing like that happened, they did tests, nothing happened to you...

How could anyone know? Just because there were no traces... Blaine turned on the shower. His nightmare from the night before clung to his head as he stepped under the rush of water. Orange lights and a hot mouth that tasted like cigarettes. He didn't know whether it was real or not, and there was no way of finding out. He let the water beat over his face and combed his fingers carefully through his hair, trying to avoid getting the cut at the back wet. The water was warm and he braced both hands against the tiled wall, tasting the drips that ran into his mouth. His head stung but he didn't mind - he was enjoying the enveloping heat. He let the niggling thorns in his mind wash away with the water.

The creak of the door foreshadowed Kurt's appearance before he felt smooth hands on his back. He lifted his head.

"Did I wake you?"

Kurt grunted a 'no' and Blaine caught a whiff of Kurt's lavender body wash before it touched his skin. He sank into the feeling of Kurt rubbing the gel into his back, his shoulders, his arms, felt teeth pull at his ear briefly before his fiancé drew back. He moaned in frustration, turning to pull Kurt into his arms and bury his face in his neck. He kissed Kurt's damp skin, grazing it with his teeth, and felt goosebumps rise beneath his touch.

"I love you, Kurt," he whispered into his shoulder. "I love you so much."

"I love you too."

Kurt leaned closer, his hands drawing lines over Blaine's shoulder blades. Blaine could feel his heart thumping with expectation, feel his skin shivering around him. Kurt's lips began to trail down to his neck and he let his head fall back - and collided hard with the shower head. Instantly whiteness flashed across his vision and he heard himself swear shakily, felt Kurt freeze.

"Are you ok?"

Blaine couldn't help but laugh wearily. "Fine, just stupid... Ow..."

He felt the back of his head, but his fingers came away blood free. Grinning, he tried to catch Kurt's lips again but the other boy moved backwards out of reach, raising his eyebrows. Knowing he was right but hating it, Blaine kissed his cheek once more before reaching for the wall and climbing unsteadily out of the tub. He could feel Kurt's eyes on him as he retrieved a towel from the rail and dried himself off carefully, avoiding bending forwards too much.

"So what, you gonna look and not touch?" he shot his fiancé a smirk. "You pervert."

Kurt tried to scowl at him but it came out as a smile. He pulled the curtain closed and Blaine heard the squelch of the shampoo bottle. He pushed his way out into the living room, leaving Kurt to his conditioning rituals.

He took some more pills before attempting to get dressed, certain that if he didn't he would never be able to manage it alone. Slowly, pausing every so often to swear into his fist, taking each movement millimetre by millimetre, he managed to pull on a loose t-shirt and one of his plainer, warmer cardigans. The trousers took longer but he persisted, and eventually managed to get into a baggier - how could that word even exist in regards to his wardrobe - grey pair. He cleared away the laundry from the sofa before Kurt could emerge from the bathroom, tucking them into a pile in the bedroom instead, and then for the first time in what felt like months retrieved his phone from Kurt's bag and let himself slump down on the sofa. The pounding in his head never really went away, but right now he felt like he could handle it. Someone had switched his phone off and there was a hairline crack running across one corner of the screen. As he switched it on he was greeted by a barrage of texts from the others, most wishing him well, some asking where he was, some begging him to call and talk to them... He remembered his promise to ring Rachel back and was about to start a new text when his phone began to ring in his hand, Rachel's name flashing across the screen. Smirking, he swept his thumb across the screen and held the phone to his ear.

"Rachel?"

"Blaine!" He had to hold the phone away from his head a little. Her shriek sounded clogged with tears. "Blaine, oh-my-god, are you ok? Listen, you have to listen to me, I'm so, so sorry. I should've known those guys were dodgy, my Dads always told me to never trust men with tattoos and they were right, and I wasn't there for you and-"

"Rach, Rach, breathe," Blaine broke in, wincing at her high-pitched wails. "It's fine, I'm fine. It wasn't your fault. I should've known better, right?"

"I just can't believe it, I can't believe I just sat by and watched."

"Well, I forgive you. It was my mistake, not yours, ok?"

"How are you?"

Blaine hesitated, not sure how much she already knew. "I'm... a little more ruggedly handsome than usual. But I'm fine, no real damage done. Just tired. They said I'll be sleepy for a few days..."

"God it's, like, some kind of mega-hangover," Rachel said sympathetically. "They didn't damage your face, did they? Your face is your canvas, Blaine."

"My face will recover," he said, grinning at her concern for his career. "If I'm lucky, I might even get a sexy scar out of it."

"Blaine Anderson, that is not a laughing matter. I've been so worried, the police came by earlier today and were asking about it all, and I said everything I could remember, but I just feel so helpless... you're really alright?"

"Right as rain."

He glanced up as Kurt emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. His fiancé stopped and looked Blaine up and down, clearly startled that he'd managed to get dressed alone, and Blaine's smile widened. Kurt pointed at the mobile and Blaine mouthed 'Rachel' back at him.

"Blaine, do you think we could come see you, me and the others? Mercedes said we could get a takeaway, you know, dinner on us, and we could watch a movie? Your choice, of course. Just so we could see that you're ok?"

"Ah..." Blaine put his hand over the receiver, Kurt coming closer at the sign of plans developing. "The others are saying take-out and a movie over here."

Kurt frowned slightly. "Do you feel up to it?"

Blaine hesitated, running his tongue slowly across his teeth. "Do... Do you have any concealer?"

Kurt's face softened and he reached out to push Blaine's damp hair back, offering him a slow nod in reply. Blaine returned his attention to the phone.

"Hey, Rach? Yeah, round them up and bring 'em over. We'll pick out a film."

"You don't have to hide anything," Kurt said as he hung up and tossed the mobile away. "They won't think any less of you."

"I just... I don't like this look," Blaine replied, trying to smile at him. "Especially since I don't even know how I got it..."

He shrugged, letting his words trail off. Kurt bent down to kiss him lightly, lingering for a moment as if to allow comfort to drain into Blaine's heart like golden rain. Then he straightened and left to change, and Blaine used the arm of the sofa to help himself up. He checked his clothes, making sure that no one would be able to catch sight of the bruising across his midriff. Although it was more his face that he was worried about. Whenever he caught sight of himself in a window pane or mirror, all he saw were bruises. He headed for the bathroom to search for Kurt's concealer, his progress slowed by the time it took to kneel down and look in the cupboards. He found a tub of skin-coloured paste and, assuming he had struck gold, faced his reflection in the mirror once more, fingers now armed with pink gel. He dabbed it on where he could but it looked too orange, too obvious. He wiped it off, defeated, and then sat down on the edge of the bath tub as a sudden wave of dizziness made his legs tremble and his head burn. That leaden, exhausting feeling was always right around the corner, ready to pounce on him and knock him out. He forced himself to keep his eyes open, glaring at the treacherous glass container of fleshy liquid sitting in the sink.

A knock on the door drew his gaze and he found himself looking up at a fully-dressed, perfectly presented Kurt. He was wearing black skinny jeans and a patterned shirt with a neat waistcoat buttoned over the top, looking, as always, as if he had just stepped out of a Vogue issue.

"Need a hand?"

"Is it that obvious?"

Kurt took the concealer and knelt down between Blaine's knees, dipping his fingertips in and getting to work with light, fast touches. Blaine watched his eyes skate critically over his face, narrowing in concentration.

"Let me know if it hurts."

It did hurt, but Kurt was being as gentle as he could and Blaine would rather have the cover up than the marks. He turned his head where Kurt guided it, closing his eyes as fingers pattered softly against his skin. Kurt was far better at covering up bruises, most likely due to his frequent run ins with the football team at McKinley. Blaine had endured his own share of beatings, but back in those days he hadn't even thought that make-up might help. He had stayed home until the bruises faded instead. Even now, and even though this hadn't been the work of some school yard jock, he still felt too embarrassed to go out to meet his friends with his face in its current state. He looked like a victim.

Kurt finished quickly and Blaine studied his face in the mirror, smiling approvingly. The concealer wasn't think enough to cover the bruises completely but at least now they didn't look so severe. He reached up to poke his cheek but Kurt slapped his hand away.

"Hey! Don't touch it, you'll rub it off."

"Thanks," Blaine said, trying to sound more alert than he felt. "You're magic."

Kurt leant his chin on Blaine's shoulder, wrapping his arms around his waist loosely. "Don't push yourself tonight, ok?" he said, his words tickling Blaine's neck. "If you've had enough, just say."

Blaine nodded, leaning on the sink slightly. Kurt's breath was murmuring against his neck and he could feel butterflies beginning to flicker in his gut. He was about to turn his head and give in to the magnetic pull, but before he could do so a knock on the door had Kurt straightening up. He held Kurt's gaze in the mirror for a few long seconds, drawing strength out of it, trying to remember what his casual face was. Kurt's hand slipped over his and pulled him gently out into the living room. They paused near the sofa, Kurt turning to fix him with one of those burning blue stares.

"Ready?"

No. His head hurt a lot now, as if the pain medication he had just taken had been switched for smarties instead. His eyes ached and his heart was beating a little too fast - was he really nervous about seeing his own friends? His brain was overflowing with memories of trudging into his 9:00am class, his collar pulled up to try to hide his face, his ears ringing with the jeers of the other students as they noticed one by one... But he wasn't at high school now, he was home, and he was about to see Sam and Rachel and Mercedes and everyone, and no one would laugh... Please let no one laugh... He gave Kurt a short nod and pulled his cardigan straight, made sure his t-shirt was tugged down. The knocking came again, more insistent this time, and Kurt pulled away from him. He crossed to the door and mirrored Rachel's high-pitched shriek, returning the hug she gave him.

"There you are! Kurt, don't ever leave me hanging like that again, I thought you were both dead! Now where's- Blaine!"

She had moved past Kurt into the room and caught sight of him at once, her face lighting up. She sprang towards him and threw her arms around his neck briefly before pulling back and studying his face, her eyes serious.

"Oh, Blaine, look! And your lip..."

"I know, I'm a sorry sight," Blaine grinned back at her, trying not to show how the volume of her voice made his head sear with pain. "Do you think I'll still make it in show business, Rachel?"

"Well, I know you'll be the topic of conversation at NYADA for weeks to come. It's so... dramatic!" She hesitated, her smile fading a little. "Blaine, I promise I'll be a better friend in the future. Next time I won't take my eyes off you, not for one second, I promise."

He shook his head, smiling at her melodramatic tone. "I appreciate you being my own personal bodyguard, Miss. Berry. Thanks."

As she moved aside, apparently satisfied, Blaine found himself faced with a giant, blonde-topped tower that threw its arms around him and lifted him off the floor in a bear hug. He managed to clench his jaw to hold back a yelp, knowing that Sam was simply engaging in their usual rough-and-tumble greetings. The other boy set him down and clapped him on the shoulder, and he was relieved that the sofa was close enough to hold onto for support as his abdomen burned with agony. Through the dark dots dancing before his eyes he saw Sam grinning at him.

"Dude! It's so good to see you nightbird, you ok?"

"Yeah," he ground out, resisting the urge to clutch at his side. "I'm good, man. Still a little sleepy, just."

"Star Wars Fanfiction," Sam said, stabbing a finger at him meaningfully. "We'll get you fixed up, don't you worry."

Artie was wheeling up too, a stack of pizza boxes piled on his knees, holding out his hand for Blaine to fist-bump. And Mercedes was just behind him, reaching out to squeeze his arm gently, her brown eyes filled with sympathy.

"How are you, Blaine? That looks like it hurts."

She was looking at the bruise on his temple, the one that had been hardest to cover up. He pasted a bright smile over his face, reached out to squeeze her hand briefly.

"I'm fine, really. Looks worse than it feels."

"Did Sam hurt you?"

"Hmm?" He blinked at her, his composure faltering slightly. How had she known? He realised that, without noticing, he had hunched over in an attempt to relieve the throbbing in his stomach. He felt a sudden, desperate urge to call for Kurt, like a child lost in a supermarket. But the flicker in Mercedes' face was concerned and not malicious, and he was so tired of needing help. Attempting to straighten, forcing deep breaths through his nose, he kept the smile on his face. "Only a little, I'm ok. Really, Mercedes."

She kept her eyes on him for a moment too long, and for a second he thought he had ruined everything... But then she had nodded and given his hand one last squeeze before moving past him to the kitchen. Kurt was setting out the pizzas with Artie, searching for something to cut them up with. Blaine gingerly lowered himself onto the sofa, relieved to have a few moments to breathe, wishing that the meds would kick in. At least he didn't feel as bad as he had on the subway. He realised that Sam was looking at him, head cocked.

"Dude, I didn't realise you got mashed up."

He shook his head. "Neither did I, poor Kurt had to tell me all about it."

"You don't remember?"

"Not a thing. It's just one big blank between sitting with you guys on the sofa and then waking up in the hospital. I was a little confused."

"Do you remember the guy?"

Blaine's stomach lurched slightly. Rachel had perched on the edge of the coffee table in front of him, a selection of DVDs spread out on her lap. She nodded understandingly at his questioning gaze, flicking her hair back over her shoulder as she continued.

"He came over and bumped into you and you spilled your drink, so he bought you like... like three more. He had blonde hair and this gross tattoo, like a snake going round a cross, and it was all over his arm."

The more she spoke, the more he could feel bile rising in his throat. He could see that snake wriggling and slithering as muscles flexed beneath it, and all at once he felt dizzy again. He forced himself to focus on the image, trying to put a face with it, but it was no good. All he could remember was staring at his own knee, watching an alien hand reach towards it with a strange, deliberate possessiveness.

"I should have known at once," Rachel was saying. "Because, you know, it was just you. He wasn't interested in us, right Sam?"

Sam agreed. "We used to get this all the time back when I was strip... ah, dancing. We couldn't drink anything any of the customers gave us, just in case one of us ended up in the back of a truck with his pants down and his tackle all over youtube."

Blaine wet his lips, shrugging. "I just don't know. It's like the curtain went down on everything. One second we were chatting, the next..." he waved a hand. "But hey, I've lived to tell the tale."

"You should write a song," Rachel said, jerking a copy of Sweeney Todd in his direction. "You could call it 'Blackout' or... or 'Betrayal'..."

He couldn't help but laugh at that, and to his relief the conversation moved on to what movie they would be watching. Sam was pushing for Transformers, although Blaine seriously doubted that any of the movies in Rachel's lap had even a pea-sized explosion in them. Action, surely, would be off the menu. By the time Mercedes, Artie and Kurt returned, laden down with pizza, Rachel was holding My Fair Lady aloft and Sam was pouting furiously.

"Come on, giant robots!"

"What possible inspiration could I draw from a giant robot?"

"They're noble."

Blaine scooted up slightly so that Kurt could sit beside him, but Kurt waved Mercedes into the space instead and perched on the arm of the sofa on Blaine's other side. Doing his best not to look disappointed, Blaine settled for resting a hand on Kurt's leg. The smell of pizza combined with his recent conversation with Rachel was beginning to make him feel sick again, despite the fact he couldn't remember the last solid meal he had eaten. He listened dimly to the others argue over the film choice, trying to find something else to focus on other than his churning stomach. He assumed it was the last effects of the roofie rather than anxiety - the doctors had told him he would be out of sorts for a few days. He just wanted it to be over, he wanted to be able to sit down to a meal with his friends without feeling like dashing to the sink.

After much deliberation and a group vote, they settled on The Wizard of Oz, on the basis that when in doubt it made the most sense to return to the classics. Sam and Rachel moved the table aside a little and got comfy on the floor with a few cushions and one of the blankets from the bed, and then Sam got un-comfy as they realised they'd forgotten to turn off the lights and nominated him. They left the glare of the kitchen lights on as well as a couple near the door, plunging them into a strange half-light. Blaine watched the opening credits light up the faces of the others in shades of grey and held on to Kurt, who was still sprawled somewhat awkwardly across the arm of the sofa. The front door constantly drew his gaze and he had to make a conscious effort to pay attention to the film. But no matter how sweetly Judy Garland sang 'Over the Rainbow', Blaine couldn't make himself relax.

When the knock he had been waiting for finally rapped against the door, Blaine's arm shot out like a released spring to stop Kurt from getting up.

"I'll get it."

"No, you-"

"I want to."

He rose, quickly if a little unsteadily, and picked his way cautiously over Rachel. He could feel Kurt's eyes on the back of his head, his heart thumping once more. Now he really felt nervous. It was one thing facing the others, but now he was going to face the man he had recently accused of 'stealing Kurt away' with his 'glitter-rock vampire' charm. And the man who had just helped save his life.

Elliott's face was, as usual, a pool of tranquility. It creased into an easy smile as he met Blaine's gaze and stepped inside. If he felt any awkwardness, he was damn good at hiding it.

"Hey, man," he said. "Sorry I'm late, I stopped off for a couple of cold ones. Hi, guys!"

The others mumbled their hello's, focussed on the movie. Blaine gestured towards the kitchen, kicking the door shut as he did so. "Shall we crack a couple open? Celebrate?"

Elliott nodded and followed him over to the kitchen area, putting down the crate on the table. It took a few long seconds for Blaine to remember that he was supposed to be retrieving the bottle-opener, and he opened two wrong drawers before finally hitting the right one. He wanted to speak, but his tongue had suddenly gone dry. He knew that now was his moment, now, while the others were engrossed in the film. He passed the bottle-opener to Elliott's waiting hand, wetting his lips.

"Good to see you up and around," Elliott said, his voice low enough to fall beneath the sound of the munchkins welcoming Dorothy to Oz.

"Thanks to you." Blaine had finally managed to speak. He leant against the kitchen counter, watching as Elliott began to open a few of the beers. "Kurt said you pretty much saved my life. I guess I owe you."

He tried to laugh but it came out flat and empty. Elliott glanced up briefly, something flickering in his eyes, but it was a few seconds before he spoke.

"Honestly, Kurt's your lifesaver. But you're welcome."

He picked up the beers, clearly about to head over to the television, and Blaine made a small sound in the back of his throat. He was still struggling to put together the right question, and he felt his nerves tremble slightly as Elliott paused. The other boy's face was calm, relaxed, but something about the way he returned Blaine's hesitant gaze made Blaine suspect that he knew what was coming. He waited, still poised to drop the conversation, watching Blaine. Blaine looked at the crate on the table, forcing himself to break the lengthening silence.

"I... I just wanted to say thanks, you know, for the other night."

"No problem."

"And I was wondering... Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

He heard a soft clink as Elliott set the beers down again, retaining one to take a sip from. He glanced up, finally meeting Elliott's tranquil stare.

"When..." he steeled himself to ask, tightening his grip on the kitchen counter. "I tried to ask Kurt about... about when you two found me. But I think it upsets him too much. And I just have to know... Was I... Was it..."

He couldn't say it. All he could see was the look in Kurt's eyes when he'd asked him in the subway, that brief flash of horror quickly replaced by nothingness.

It was the scariest moment of my life.

Elliott was still looking at him, allowing the pause to stretch between them like a desert. He took a long sip from his beer, let out a quiet sigh. Blaine was about to tell him to forget about it and apologise profusely when he suddenly spoke, keeping his voice quiet so as not to disturb the others.

"How much did Kurt tell you?"

"Just that you and him found me in the alleyway by the bar. And that... that the tests showed that nothing..."

He finished in an awkward shrug, furiously aware that his voice was shaking a little. He needed someone to fill in the blanks, and he couldn't cause Kurt the pain it would take to relive it all. But he'd thought that maybe Elliott would be able to shed a little light, would explain something... Elliott nodded slightly, still calm, as if he was discussing an unexpected turn in the weather.

"You were fully clothed, if that's what you're worried about. I didn't see any signs of... of that."

Blaine instantly felt relief flooding through his veins like a drug. Fully clothed. He hadn't been left lying in the dark like some kind of deflated sex doll. Elliott continued softly, his gaze directed at his beer rather than Blaine.

"You must have thrown up while you were out," he said, his voice carefully level. "Your windpipe was blocked and Kurt said that you weren't breathing. Your face was all bloody. We checked and you still had a pulse, so I called an ambulance and Kurt and I carried out CPR until you started breathing again. We got your throat unblocked and you were still... still unwell, but I was just so happy that you were breathing again."

Blaine was still trying to process the horrifying image of his own body covered in vomit and blood, malfunctioning, crumbling... Kurt had kindly decided to leave that part out back in the hospital. His mind snagged on that orange buzzing light once more and he felt something deep in his chest shudder. Elliott took a deep breath and his voice shook a little as he continued.

"Kurt covered you up with his coat and cleaned you up a bit. Not long after that the ambulance arrived and... and that's all we knew, they just took you away. Honestly, when I saw you there, I thought you were... But you weren't. And I've never been so happy to be proved wrong. You were in a bad way, Blaine, but it wasn't your fault." He stared into his beer for a while. Then he looked up, abruptly catching Blaine's eye, and smiled. "But how're you doing, man?"

The images rolled through Blaine's head like a film reel. He could only imagine it like some kind of melodramatic scene the glee club was acting out. He couldn't imagine it happening in the real world, couldn't picture Kurt trying to force vomit out of his airway and wiping blood off his face. He nodded numbly, trying to pull himself back into the present.

"I'm ok," he replied softly. "I'm good. Just... Kurt didn't say how bad it was, you know? And it's so weird not knowing. I keep trying to remember but I keep coming up with nothing."

They watched Kurt dishing out pizza, laughing at something Rachel was saying, insisting that he would make a far better Dorothy than she, completely oblivious to the heart-tearing conversation occurring just steps away from him. It hurt Blaine to imagine him having to cope with all that fear, all that panic, and he suddenly felt an overwhelming throb of gratitude towards Elliott. Glitter-rock vampire, who had been there to help Kurt through it. He realised that his eyes were growing blurry and wiped at them, grateful that Elliott was still watching the others.

"He was pretty torn up," he said, referring to Kurt. "I saw him in the ER an hour later and... it was like someone had ripped part of him out. He was so desperate for you to be alright. If we'd lost you, we would've lost him too. Package deal, right?"

He glanced over, smiling, trying to lighten the mood. Blaine hoped that his eyes weren't red and smiled back.

"Elliott, thank you. For taking care of him, and-"

Elliott was waving away his words, shaking his head. "Enough, enough. I'm just glad you're ok." He picked up the beers again, jerking a head at the television. "Come on, let's go watch the flying monkeys."

Blaine helped him carry the beers and followed him over, his heart still shivering. Elliott sat down with Rachel and Sam, and Blaine made his way back to Kurt's side, ducking forwards to give him a quick, hard kiss despite the complaints from his bruises. Kurt blinked at him, clearly caught off guard, but Blaine kept his eyes on the television as he sat down again. He knew that if he looked at Kurt now, his composure would shatter. He settled for grabbing the slender hand beside him and holding on tight as they watched the Cowardly Lion wave his tail and snuff at the other characters.

"I haven't any courage at all," he proclaimed. "I even scare myself!"

Courage.

Blaine squeezed Kurt's hand, and the answering flex sent warmth pulsing through his arm.

He watched Dorothy, the Cowardly Lion, the Tin Man and the Scarecrow dancing through the Land of Oz and actually enjoyed it for a while. But the pain in his head that had begun to climb when the others had arrived had never really gone away, and the high-pitched shrieking of the Wicked Witch wasn't helping. To make matters worse his midriff was hurting too with great, dull throbs that made him clench his hand on his trousers. The slow hands of the clock told him that it had only been a couple of hours since he had last taken some medication, too early to take more, but the relentless onslaught eventually drove him to shove the doctor's prescribed doses out of his head, and he shakily excused himself. He headed for the bedroom and stared at the blurry words on the back of the white box for a while, trying to read and failing miserably. He eventually decided to just take one rather than two, hoping it would speed up the effects of the last dose, and sat down on the end of the bed. His body felt old and withered, like a dried out fruit, stale. He waited until the pain seemed to subside a little before returning to the other room, his pace slow.

He returned to find that Mercedes had joined Sam and the others on the floor, leaning against her boyfriend's chest and leaving Kurt alone on the sofa. His fiancé looked up as he approached, his eyes flitting over Blaine's face. The curve of his lips and the single, half-raised eyebrow asked 'Are you alright?' so clearly that he may as well have been holding a giant painted sign. Blaine nodded and sat down next to him. Kurt's hands landed on him and he let them guide his body downwards so that he could rest his head on Kurt's lap and dangle his legs off the side of the sofa. The felt tension he hadn't even noticed trickle out of his limbs and he wove his fingers between Kurt's, their hands tangled on his chest. On the glaring screen Dorothy was being carried off by the screeching monkeys, although their cries sounded a little more distant now.

Finally, the medication seemed to be working. The pain in his head had reduced to a light pulse and the lingering sensation of sickness began to retreat. The movie faded out of his attention, his mind instead consumed with the feeling of Kurt's skin against his. The security and safety of being surrounded by Kurt was a million miles away from the anxiety and discomfort he had felt just a few minutes ago. Now, with Kurt there, he felt peaceful again. By the time he noticed that his eyes were closed he already had one foot in sleep, the distant swelling music carrying him off into darkness.

Blaine's head lolled to one side on Kurt's lap heavily, and it took a conscious effort for Kurt to keep his heart from leaping into his mouth. After the almost constant fear of the last few days, it was difficult for Kurt not to expect the worst. Still, when he glanced down it looked to all intents and purposes as if Blaine had simply fallen asleep, and all Kurt saw were Blaine's closed eyes, the dark crescent-moon of his eyelashes, his slightly parted lips. The sight was a relief even if it was out of character - over the past couple of hours he had watched Blaine's face grow steadily taught, steadily greyer with pain, had watched his fiancé struggle to keep up with the film and the chatter of their friends. He assumed Blaine had gone to get more painkillers, since he had been a little less stiff since emerging from their bedroom. Now, Kurt let his fingers trace a weaving path through Blaine's thick, dark hair, watching his fiancé's eyelids flicker blindly in sleep. He wondered what he was dreaming and prayed that there would be no nightmares tonight.

He decided against shutting the film off, since they still had the finale to go and the rest of the group were still enjoying it. Instead, he waited out the half hour or so more until the credits began to roll and the others began to stir and sit up, searching for their almost-empty beer bottles and stretching. Artie, who apparently had also nodded off, fell unceremoniously off his own arm and sat bolt upright, wiping at the drool across his cheek. Rachel opened her mouth, about to announce something loud and quite possibly regarding how she herself would have carried off the ending of the film differently, but Kurt managed to catch her eye and put a finger to his lips before she did so. She followed his gaze downwards.

"Is he ok?" she whispered.

He nodded, keeping his voice low as he answered. "He's on heavy pain medication and they said the effects of the roofie wouldn't wear off for a few days. That's all."

He felt like bursting out laughing after adding those final words. As if all Blaine had been through in the past couple of days could simply be brushed off with 'that's all'. He noted the others glancing over and felt a little sorry for Blaine, who was always so careful of his appearance, who hated falling asleep in public due to the danger of dribbling on his top or sleeping on his hair from a strange angle. He also couldn't help but notice that over the course of the evening the concealer had rubbed away slightly, revealing the extent of the damage to Blaine's face. He could almost feel the stares of the others like burning lasers, and cleared his throat softly in an attempt to distract them.

"So, when are you going back to NYADA?" Mercedes asked, taking the hint and coming to his rescue.

"Not sure. Tomorrow's Saturday anyway. I guess Monday, depending on how things are."

"You'll have so much to catch up on," Rachel said. "I remember I was off that one day with the flu, and I was rushing around all week trying to make up for it."

"I'm hoping they'll give me some extra time or something."

"They will," Elliott put in, sitting up slowly. "They'll understand."

"I still don't even get it," Sam spoke up suddenly. "Were all the munchkins and everything just imaginary?"

Kurt shared a grin with Mercedes as Rachel plunged into a discussion over how it was widely argued that each part of the Land of Oz was a manifestation of Dorothy's unconscious, a topic she had clearly been desperate to bring up since choosing the film. But his smile faded quickly - Blaine's forehead was lined and his eyes were beginning to flit around beneath their lids. Kurt ran a hand over his chest, trying to reassure him, and then decided to take action now. He knew Blaine was already feeling a little vulnerable in front of the others; the last thing he needed was for them to witness one of those terrible, gut-wrenching nightmares. He sat up a little, stroking Blaine's uninjured cheek gently but firmly. Thankfully Blaine's eyes opened fairly soon, even if his gaze was unfocussed and glazed.

"S'orange 'gain," he mumbled, which Kurt could only take as some incoherent dream reference. He leant closer, keeping his voice quiet, trying to hold Blaine's uneven stare.

"Shall we go to bed?"

Blaine blinked dazedly. Apparently the painkillers had kicked in. Kurt shifted a little and Blaine seemed to get the idea, pushing himself suddenly upright. He moved faster than he should have and Kurt jerked forwards, already too late, expecting the strangled moan that spilled from Blaine's lips. He managed to get behind him in time to act as a support and stop him from falling back, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead, trying to ignore the way the others had fallen silent. He spoke quickly and calmly, ignoring the way his heart had leapt into his throat.

"It's ok, just breathe. Can you hear me, baby?"

Blaine's eyes didn't open and he had his arms wrapped around his stomach, his breathing jagged. His head dropped against Kurt's shoulder.

"Forgot," he muttered.

Kurt could see Rachel waving out of the corner of his eye and glanced up. She was trying to mime helping to him. He shook his head quickly, glad that the others were staying quiet. Blaine seemed sleepy enough not to really notice their presence, saving him any embarrassment. Kurt put an arm around his waist.

"I know. Come on, we'll go to bed."

Still Blaine didn't move, his head buried in the crook of Kurt's neck. Kurt reluctantly contemplated asking Sam or Elliott for help, but then at last Blaine shifted forwards and rose unsteadily to his feet, swaying slightly, bent over a little to relieve the pain. Kurt moved with him and led him carefully around the sofa and over to their bedroom, walking at Blaine's pace, keeping his arms around him. It seemed to take them an age to reach the bedroom and duck through the curtain. Blaine's eyes didn't open once the entire time, not even when Kurt stopped him and stripped off his cardigan as carefully as he could. He undid the fly of Blaine's trousers and pulled them down, helping him step out of them one leg at a time. He decided against trying to take off the t-shirt. Instead he pulled the duvet back and guided Blaine down onto their bed. Before he could get him to lie down a hand pressed against his cheek and Blaine pulled him forwards, kissing him sloppily.

"I'm so s'rry," he slurred. "I love you. 'M s'rry."

"Don't be," Kurt whispered back, running a hand through his hair. "Never be sorry, nothing's wrong. It's all alright."

Blaine gave a small shake of his head, but he let Kurt ease him down onto his back and cover him with the duvet. Kurt snatched up the clothes they had left on the floor and slung them over the arm of a chair before returning to kneel beside the bed. He kissed Blaine's nose, his forehead, his cheeks, spent a few seconds enjoying his scent and the soft sound of his breathing.

"Goodnight."

He didn't think Blaine could hear him, but he let himself believe that the other boy's face relaxed slightly at his words. Offering a silent promise to return shortly, he pushed himself up to his feet and crossed the room to the curtain.

In the living room the others were gathering their things, clearly taking the hint to go. Kurt approached them slowly, his own brain foggy and tired. Their faces shone with something between sadness and pity and he wondered if he should be trying to explain everything more, telling them that there was no need to worry and that Blaine would be fine. But now that Blaine was asleep and out of sight, he could feel himself starting to lose his grip. Acting as Blaine's carer was exhausting, mentally and physically, and he was ready for a decent night's sleep. He smiled wearily as he saw that Elliott was clearing up the pizza boxes and Sam was packing the empty beer bottles into the crate.

"Thanks for coming, guys..."

"Don't worry, don't worry," Rachel mumbled, pulling him into a tight hug. "We'll come visit again soon."

"Let us know if you need anything," Mercedes added, joining their embrace. "I hope you're ok, Kurt."

Their words almost made him want to cry. Having endured hell over the past couple of days, it was a relief to know that they cared, that they understood. They left quietly, Elliott wrapping an arm around him briefly before drawing away to help Artie with the leftover pizza boxes. Mercedes hung back, clearly still concerned about him. She fussed with the collar of her coat as the others stepped out into the corridor.

"You know you can always call me," she said, catching his eye. "Day or night."

"I know." He hugged her again, felt her clutching tightly at his shirt. "Thanks, 'cedes."

With a final look back at him, she slipped out of the door and he locked it slowly, listening to their fading footsteps and murmuring voices disappearing down the corridor. He remained by the door for a few long seconds, his limbs aching with tiredness. The long nap he'd had earlier had kept him going until now, but after keeping one eye on Blaine all night he was ready to drop. He turned and ran a critical eye slowly across the room - the pizza boxes were stacked neatly near the recycling bin, the empty beers in the crate beside them, ready to be taken out in the morning. Someone - Rachel or Mercedes, presumably - had replaced the cushions on the sofa and folded the blanket. He crossed the room slowly and pushed the table back into place with his knee, switched off the television. He turned out the lights one by one, watching the islands of light around the room blink away into darkness.

When he returned to the bedroom, Blaine had stretched one arm across his side of the bed, as if feeling around for him in his sleep, his body twisted slightly towards the gap Kurt usually crawled in to. He pulled off his clothes and climbed into their bed, sinking into the mattress with a quiet sigh, happy to let the day end. As he stretched to turn off their large bedside lamp, he heard Blaine make a small noise and felt a hand brush his arm. He wriggled closer in the sudden darkness, listening to Blaine mumbling under his breath, his voice humming just above Kurt's nose.

"Ngh... Kur..."

He snaked an arm carefully around Blaine's waist, remembering to avoid leaning on his ribcage, and pushed his other hand through unruly, ungelled hair. Blaine had forgotten to slick it back earlier, and instead it was soft and downy. He pressed his forehead against his fiancé's and let his eyes close, revelling in the moment, feeling Blaine's body quieten and relax beneath his touch. He didn't even care if he got woken up by snoring, or if the position he was lying in gave him aches the next day. He just wanted to be there, close enough to feel Blaine's heart beat thumping steadily against his skin. If he cracked his eyes open, he could just see the curve of Blaine's neck and shoulder against the dim street-lighting shafting through the window.

I love you, Blaine Devon Anderson... I love you...

He listened to the soft noises of their breathing and imagined the world passing them by forever, and the two of them just staying there in the bed, flesh against flesh. He hummed under his breath, unable to let the moment go by without a soundtrack... Midnights in winter... The glowing fire lights up your face in orange and gold... I see your sweet smile shine through the darkness... It's line is etched in my memory... So I know you by heart... He listened and breathed and felt Blaine until sleep crept up on him.

The morning came lazily, and Kurt opened his eyes to find both Blaine and himself in the exact same position they had fallen asleep in. He watched the pale morning light creep gently across Blaine's shoulder and enjoyed the haziness for a few minutes. It took him a while to realise that he had woken up naturally and not to the sound of Blaine sobbing and screaming. Instead, their room was surprisingly peaceful and still. He lay there for a while longer before disentangling himself from Blaine's limbs and sliding off the bed as quietly as he could. He scooped up his dressing gown from the railing against the wall and inched out into the living room, clawing a hand through his ruffled hair. It was early, but an idea had popped into his mind and he was planning on following it through. It took him a while to seek out his mobile, which he had abandoned on the sofa the night before in favour of Blaine. He checked the few texts he had - Elliott and Mercedes thanking him for having them over, Rachel offering to come by after rehearsals that night, his father asking how things were. He sent his Dad a quick update as he headed for the bathroom, his mind already focussed on what outfit he would wear that day and what would need to be done to his hair.

To: Dad: Things looking much better here, Blaine doing well. Will call later x

He got ready quickly, sneaking back into the bedroom only to pull on his clothes and check on Blaine before leaving the house. He jogged lightly down the stairs and emerged into the golden sunlight, feeling energetic for the first time in days. He almost decided to run to the café a few blocks away, but dismissed the idea on the grounds of his hair getting ruined. But he kept his stride fast, one hand buried in his pocket and curled around his phone in case Blaine rang. On impulse, he stopped the hippie-dressed woman who lingered on the same corner every day and bought a couple of her delicate violet flowers, tucking them carefully into the inside pocket of his coat. He reached the shop in only a few minutes, enjoying the bustle of New York city passing him by along the way, his eyes skimming over the crowds of people already gathering at the traffic lights. Even on a Saturday, the city was thriving.

The girl at the café seemed to recognise him, already reaching for a brown paper bag as he approached the counter. He returned her smile as he ordered a couple of coffees to go with the treat, the words rolling off his tongue like the lyrics of a song - one medium drip, one grande non-fat mocha - and had only just handed over his money when his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He juggled his change and the mobile, glancing at the screen. An unknown number. He hesitated before answering, dreading more cold callers reminding him about dodgy debt schemes.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mr. Hummel?"

"Yes?"

"This is the New York City Police Department. We understand you recently reported a date-rape attempt on your partner, a Mr. Anderson."

Kurt, who had been attempting to balance the coffees and the brown paper bag in one hand, froze. His mind whirled through the reasons for their calling him, returning always to the clinical, professional 'Mr. Anderson' they had mentioned. Realising that he was blocking the queue, he managed to get his coffees and the bag to a nearby table and sat down, turning towards the wall for some privacy.

"Yes, that's correct."

"Since your report one of our officers has been addressing the case. As you may or may not know, we strongly suspect that the assault on your partner is one of several incidents in the past few months that we believe are connected. Following the interview with your friend, a Miss. Berry, we put together a clear description that matches previous identifications of the responsible party and have apprehended a suspect."

The words were gibberish. Kurt sifted through them, searching for something that made sense. "So... Are you saying you've found..."

"The suspect regularly attended the bar you were at and was recognised by the staff. Of course, due to the circumstances of your partner's assault, we do not expect Mr. Anderson to be able to identify him. However, other victims and parties have come forward. It is highly likely the suspect will be convicted of attempted - and in some cases, successful - rape."

That word burned in Kurt's head and brought with it a torrent of horrifying imagery. He struggled to keep his attention on the officer's voice, slowly understanding what the man was telling him.

"You've found the guy who attacked Blaine?"

"That's correct. Of course, yourself and Mr. Anderson have no obligation to become involved in the court case, there are several victims who are supplying more substantial evidence and we expect the suspect to plead guilty. But it was a matter of principle that you should be notified."

Kurt was speechless. He hadn't even considered that Blaine might not have been this guy's only victim, that there could have been other instances... And it had been so fast, he felt like he had only just stepped out of Mr. Lynch's, and already he was being informed that everything was back in place, the world had been re-ordered around him like a carefully reviewed jigsaw. He felt like he should be asking more questions, but his mind was blank. He numbly thanked the officer and hung up, staring at his phone as the screen dimmed to black. It was over. It was done.

After a few minutes of stunned silence, he realised that the coffee would be going cold. He stood up hurriedly, gathering his order, and headed out of the café at a brisk pace. He knew he should feel excited, but instead he just felt... surprised. He honestly hadn't expected any justice to come out of this situation. He had expected it all to be like a larger scale of McKinley - lots of 'sorry, wish I could help's and 'wow, that's such a shame's. He mulled the officer's words over in his head and slowly began to realise how lucky Blaine had been. Despite the horror of the situation, it seemed that Blaine had emerged largely in one piece. And now that Kurt imagined how much worse it could have been... he felt his chest growing tight.

By the time he made it back to the apartment the sun was high in the sky and the initial shock of the phone call had retreated. He took the stairs two at a time, remembering the purpose of his trip, and found their flat quiet as he'd left it. Tossing his keys and wallet on the kitchen table, he poked his head through the curtain of their bedroom and found Blaine still asleep, his arms wrapped around Kurt's pillow and his face buried in the material. Letting out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, Kurt headed for the kitchen and laid a tray out on the table. He whipped up an omelette in record timing, mixing together egg, cheese and tomato in the frying pan and hoping the smell didn't give his surprise away early. While the omelette cooked through he poured their coffees into two mugs, added two glasses of orange juice and retrieved a plate, upon which he set the brown paper bag. The hands of the clock were inching towards ten as he shimmied the omelette out of the pan and onto another plate. To top the arrangement off, he retrieved the violet flowers from his coat pocket and laid them neatly beside the brown bag, standing back for a moment to admire his handiwork. As much as he wanted to rearrange the plates, he knew the coffee would be losing heat and forced himself to pick up the tray and head for the bedroom without nit-picking. He pushed his way through the curtain with his shoulder, clearing his throat loudly.

Blaine lifted his head, blinking owlishly, taking in Kurt and the tray. The bruises on his face cast dark shadows over him, despite the sunlight. His eyebrows jumped up his forehead and he sat up slowly, holding his stomach with one arm.

"Kurt, you're up... did you make me breakfast?"

Kurt smiled proudly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He balanced the tray on his knee, reaching out with his other hand to push a pillow behind Blaine.

"Maybe. I know it won't be as good as yours but... I did get you a treat."

Blaine took the tray and held it steady on his lap as Kurt scooted in beside him. He was drawing breath to speak when he noticed the brown paper bag and choked on his words, his eyes widening. He shot Kurt a hopeful look, like a child who had just been told Christmas was coming early.

"No, no way..." he scrabbled at the bag, plunging his hand inside and drawing out the round, frosted pastry inside. "You got cronuts?"

Kurt felt his smile growing wider. Blaine reached for him and Kurt let himself be pulled forwards so that Blaine could land a large, sloppy kiss on him.

"Oh my god, no way, no way... So the diet's off?"

"It's... paused," Kurt replied, reaching for his coffee as Blaine sank his teeth into the slice of heaven he had been presented with. "Just for today, and just because I missed your cute little smile too much."

Blaine glanced at him, and Kurt saw with a pleasant lurch that he was almost blushing. He reached out with a sugar-coated hand and pushed his fingers between Kurt's.

"Hank 'oo," he said through a mouthful of cronut.

Kurt winked at him playfully, sipping at his coffee. He watched Blaine tuck into the breakfast, dithering over where to begin like a child in a sweet shop. The topic of the phone call teetered on the tip of his tongue but he held it back, enjoying watching Blaine relax. He let his fiancé feed him a few fork-fulls of omelette and even accepted a bite of cronut, washing the sugary flakiness down with orange juice immediately after. When Blaine had finished he gestured for him to take his coffee and moved the tray out of the way, positioning it further down the bed. He smirked at the complaining noises Blaine made as he reached for the bedside table before returning to his side, picking up the box of painkillers. He placed them on Blaine's lap as he settled down again, fine-tuned to Blaine's every movement, every line on his face that betrayed any flicker of pain. The intrusion of the little white box on their morning dampened Blaine's smile a little but he thanked Kurt and popped a couple of pills out. Kurt waited for him to wash them down before speaking, his tone cautious.

"I got a call from the police just now."

Blaine glanced at him quickly, lowering his coffee. His eyebrow twitched slightly and Kurt reached out to rub his knee encouragingly.

"They think they caught the guy who spiked your drink. Apparently there were... there were other people he roofied."

"Seriously?" Blaine turned his gaze to his coffee, frowning slightly. "How many others were there?"

"They didn't say. They said they had enough evidence to make a case and we don't have to have anything more to do with it." Kurt shrugged slightly, trying to keep his tone light. "It's crazy, right?"

He couldn't read Blaine's face. His fiancé was staring straight through his mug and into space, his smile wavering. Kurt watched him silently, watching the shadows of emotions flickering across his face. The graze on his temple was starting to heal over and his lip looked almost back to normal, the delicate skin already knitting back together. The bruises seemed a little more faded, a little less pronounced. But it would be a long time before Kurt would look at him and not see the mottled blue-grey stains of that night in the alleyway.

"I'm sorry," Blaine said at last, blinking himself out of his thoughts. "I should be happier, I just... It's all so disjointed. I feel like I never even met this guy, I keep trying to picture him or remember what we talked about, if I ever... I don't know, invited it somehow..."

"No." Kurt squeezed his hand until Blaine looked him in eye, hesitant and downcast. "There is no way that this was your fault, Blaine. Some people just... they're just sick. And you were in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"It's just that this person, this man, he just walked up to me and he took something away from me. And I don't even know what it was."

The expression on Blaine's face was clawing deep chunks out of Kurt's heart. He looked so lost, so sad, and for once this wasn't something Kurt could fix with a quick duet or a kiss. This was something that was going to be slow. He shuffled closer, putting his coffee down on the bedside table so that he could wrap his arms around his fiancé and pull him closer.

"When I..." he had to swallow hard before he could start again. "When I saw you lying in that alleyway, I was so scared. For so long you weren't breathing, for so long, and I kept begging you to but it was as if you'd gone somewhere you couldn't hear me. I thought you'd stepped out of my life and I'd been too distracted or too frustrated to notice. But then when I was waiting in the hospital I remember staring at my hands, and I could still see your blood under my nails, and... And I realised that I should've been looking after you, like we promised each other we always would." He turned his head to press his face against Blaine's dark hair, aware of the other boy's hand closing tightly over his arm. "I will never let anything like this happen again, Blaine. That night I was stupid and I let you down. But I swear, no matter what happens, no matter what silly argument we've had or where we are, I will always be here for you. Right here."

"Wasn't your fault," Blaine mumbled into his arm, his voice thick. "I took the drinks, I-"

"Maybe it wasn't my fault," Kurt interrupted sternly, "but anything that happens to you happens to me too. And I don't care how long it takes, I'm going to get you through this."

Blaine sniffed, shuddering slightly, and Kurt drew back. He sat on his heels and turned Blaine's face towards him, wiped the small tears off his cheeks, held his gaze as if it were something infinitely delicate. He leaned forwards to press his lips lightly against his fiancé's, tasting the salt of his tears, and he felt butterflies setting flight in his stomach just like the first time, just like every time.

"I love you, Blaine," he murmured. "And you're going to be fine. I promise."

Blaine nodded against him, holding onto him like a lifeline. For a long time they stayed still in the soft morning blaze, neither one willing to break the contact, knowing that they were safe as long as they maintained that connection. Eventually Blaine lifted his head, sniffing hard, and a smile broke across his face as he reached for the violet flowers on the tray. He touched them to Kurt's nose, his eyes bright.

"Thank you for breakfast."

Kurt smiled at him, leaning back against the headboard of the bed once more. He caught Blaine's hand in his own, running his thumb gently across his red knuckles. When he spoke at last his voice was quiet but trembling, and he was just happy he managed to hold his composure in place as the words slipped out.

"Thank you for breathing."

Fin.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed the ride. Reviews are extremely welcome, good or bad.

Regards,

SUPRNTRAL LVR.