Author's Note: Another tumblr prompt.
"5, 6, 7, 8—no, Kurt step with your left—Puck, stop using the props to hit everyone—guys, focus!"
Blaine stood off to the side of the group as Mr. Schuester barked "constructive criticisms." Though his physical being may have been anchored down to Earth with the rest of his classmates, his mind was galaxies away. Slowly, Mr. Schue's voice, the sound of everyone thumping around on stage under the clever guise of "dancing" began to melt away until there was only Blaine and the one move he couldn't seem to perfect. He straightened himself up, sliding his right foot out as he extended both arms and positioned himself to jump and spin. No matter how many times he tried—at least three dozen in the past week alone— he just couldn't stick the landing. He kicked off of the ground with his right foot, spun once and landed sloppily—his knees buckled and he cursed under his breath before re-positioning himself to try again. On the second attempt his brain became fuzzy and the room began to resemble the view from the inside of a barrel rolling down a hill. Next thing he knew he was on his back with Kurt's blurred, worried face gradually coming into focus above him.
"Blaine, are you okay?" Kurt's lower lip trembled, his voice wavering.
"What happened?" Blaine croaked and tried to sit up. He did so too fast though and found himself leaning against Kurt in the next few seconds as spots danced before his eyes, teasing him wildly. Kurt didn't hesitate in wrapping an arm around him protectively.
"You just...went down," Puck piped up from somewhere amidst Blaine's blurred audience. "Mr. Schue left to go get the nurse."
"Must have made myself dizzy," Blaine mumbled, suddenly very aware of his embarrassment based on the heat exuding from his cheeks. "I'm fine, I don't need to see the nurse."
"Maybe you should, just to make sure?" Kurt offered tentatively, the look on his face both anxious and hopeful.
"I think I just want to go home," Blaine took to studying the wooden stage floor—was that oak? Oak was definitely very nice. Sturdy. No wonder it held the weight of clumsy students prancing around like elephants trying to pass themselves off as dancers.
"I'll take you, I don't want you driving just yet," Kurt stated, making it clear that he was leaving absolutely no room for debate. "Can you guys tell Mr. Schue when he gets back?"
"Yeah, of course, Kurt," Rachel's tone matched Kurt's not only in octave but in mutual concern. Blaine shifted uncomfortably in the presence of so much attention and gripped Kurt's arms tightly as his boyfriend helped him to his feet. He sent a silent thank you out into the universe when Kurt hadn't attempted to just lift him up and carry him out—he wasn't sure he'd have been able to handle it without having to concede to Death due to pure mortification.
"See you guys tomorrow," Blaine spoke softly as Kurt snaked an arm around his waist for support. As they made their way to the student parking lot his stomach churned violently and he became aware of the problem behind Kurt's insistence on driving him home—his "home" was right there in the parking lot. "Kurt," he began softly, afraid and uncertain, "You don't have to drive me home."
"Nonsense, I'm not going to let you drive after you just fainted. I can pick you up before school tomorrow and you can get your car then—"
"No, I mean," Blaine swallowed hard and discovered he'd started gripping the end of Kurt's shirt some time in the last few minutes. His knuckles matched his ashy pallor. "I mean..."
"Blaine, what is it...?" Kurt sounded just as frightened.
"Just go to my car, I can't say it," Blaine's voice came in choked, choppy fragments. Kurt furrowed his brows but silently obeyed and traveled with him in the direction of Blaine's head nod. When they were close enough Blaine dug his keys out of his pocket, clicked on the trunk release button and prepared himself for the impending storm.
"Are those all of your—why are there so many clothes in your car, Blaine?" Kurt stared at the messy assortment of cardigans, polo and button down shirts, pants, socks and shoes. He leaned forward, still keeping an arm around Blaine's waist, and sifted through the clothes to find some combs, a couple of containers of hair gel, and bowties. "Blaine, I don't—I don't..." Kurt closed the trunk and peered into the backseat through the rear windshield to discover two pillows and a few neatly folded flannel blankets, "understand."
"He kicked me out," Blaine pulled away from Kurt and leaned against his car. He pressed his palms to his eyes, digging them against his sore eyelids to stifle something far more painful than tiredness. "So I've been—I haven't really slept well—"
Kurt looked horrified. Not frightened, not upset—horrified. "When?"
"Kurt—"
"When?" An urgent desperation impregnated the single word that seemed to amplify every one of his other unspoken emotions.
"Three weeks ago," Blaine responded quietly, turning his gaze to the pavement.
"Jesus, Blaine, were you even planning on telling me?" Kurt exclaimed with what could only be perceived as anger, startling Blaine. He hadn't expected anger. Sympathy, sorrow, concern—but not anger.
"I—I didn't want to worry you," Blaine tried to defend himself.
"I'm your boyfriend, Blaine! I'm supposed to worry when things like this happen! And you're supposed to be able to come to me when they do!" Kurt's cheeks flushed and his enthusiasm spread to his hands which were now flailing about with every pronounced syllable.
"I'm sorry," Blaine tried to shrink himself away against the car, wondering if it was at all possible to decrypt his DNA and simply melt away into the metal of his car until they merged together as one fortified element.
Kurt's face softened as he watched his boyfriend crumble and realized that this was definitely not the right approach to be taking right now. He passed a hand through his perfectly styled hair—a gesture that was a true rarity in nature—and took a deep breath. "No, no I am. I shouldn't be...yelling at you right now. I'm not angry, just," he rested his doe eyes on Blaine, "really worried, Blaine." Blaine merely offered a humble smile in return.
"Do you...want to talk about it?" Blaine shook his head and was reciprocated with Kurt's warm embrace, gathering him up as though he was the only thing that could possibly matter in the universe right now. "Okay. Well, how about you come over to my house and we'll take a nap before dinner tonight?"
"I'd like that," Blaine decided not to mention the steady diet of fast food he'd been forced to adhere to over the past few weeks.
"And then afterwards we'll talk to my dad about letting you stay the night," Kurt stated matter-of-factly.
"You think he'll let me?" Blaine nervously wondered aloud. Burt Hummel was someone he never wanted to cross.
"Who says I'm giving him a choice?" Kurt scoffed and Blaine buried his face in the crook of Kurt's neck and shoulder, stifling the smallest of laughs. Kurt pressed a kiss into Blaine's gelled curls. "Come on, we'll take my car and then come pick yours up later tonight with Finn."
Blaine couldn't find the words to thank Kurt, to tell him how much this meant to him—especially at a time like this—so he summed it all up with a gentle kiss placed carefully on Kurt's neck. He figured he'd have a lifetime to discover all of the things he wanted to say to Kurt; for now, in the grand scheme of things, a simple kiss seemed like enough.
Yep, Klaine is still endgame. Get out of here, Ryan Murphy.