The glass shattered, inches from his head, but he held back his wince. "Quit fucking throwing things, Kurt," he hissed. "I really don't feel like cleaning up fucking glass at three in the morning, again."
"FUCK YOU, I'm sick of this!"
Another glass, bigger, was launched at his head and he ducked, feeling the shards falling on his head and down his shirt. Slivers fell on his arms from where he covered the back of his neck with them. "What the fuck is the problem this time?"
Blue eyes, hard, angry and full of tears, glared at him. "You just don't get it, do you, Blaine? I'm sick of trying to explain it to you and I'm really fucking sick of you not listening to me!" He picked another glass and Blaine darted at him, grunting as it hit his shoulder, thankful that it didn't break. He grabbed Kurt's wrists as he moved to pick up something else.
"DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME!" he screamed, trying to pull away, but Blaine held him tightly as the tears overflowed.
"No, not until you promise to stop throwing things at me." He grunted as Kurt managed to shove him, his bare feet skidding as he fell backwards into the wall of their tiny kitchen. He didn't acknowledge the pieces of glass digging into the soft flesh of his feet, only stared at Kurt, his Kurt, standing in the middle of the broken shards of glass, his face red and splotchy from crying. Anger, normally kept so well contained, burst forth and he turned, punching the refrigerator. He ignored the pain in his hand, even as blood welled from two of his split knuckles.
He slid to the floor, not caring about all the broken glass, and buried his head in his hands. He heard Kurt sit next to him, not touching, not close enough.