Something Good

by BlossomOfSnow

Blaine loved him, there was never any question of that. But he had lost the way to express to Kurt how he felt as the alcohol occluded even his best intentions. Blaine overcoming addiction. Oneshot. Heed trigger warnings.

AN: Hi guys! I'm back. And in case you couldn't tell from the word count, this is a long ass one shot. It was supposed to be a couple of chapters long but the parts were too short and I didn't know where to cut. So yeah. Long one shot. I wrote this maybe two months ago but only got around to solidifying the story this week. It's not really my cup of tea writing this much angst, and I really adore Blaine and I hate writing him this way, but the thought didn't leave until I wrote it.

Anyway. THANK YOU to everyone to read and reviewed the last chapter of my last story. I got an overwhelming response for the story itself, and I'm really happy. I guess I can't say this is my first story anymore because it apparently isn't, but the disclaimer stands- English isn't my first language.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Alcohol and domestic violence

Thanks so much, guys!

---

In retrospect, there were signs he could've read, alarms going off in his head to warn him, but he had stubbornly refused to comprehend them. It started in high school, when he had fleetingly thought with amusement that Blaine always did crazy things when he was drunk. First the whole Rachel fiasco, and then the whole Sebastian gay bar thing that almost had them fucking in the parking lot of a shady gay bar in Lima. Those should have been a warning, a foreshadowing of sorts to what Blaine would become eventually, but he had refused to accept it then, and continued to ignore it until he couldn't. Until tonight, he was perfectly capable and willing to shrug everything under the carpet, to pretend that it didn't hurt and that there was nothing he could do to change things. Until tonight, he was fine with sucking it up and looking the other way, completely ignoring how their crumbling marriage was falling at an accelerated pace. And until tonight, he had never been scared of Blaine and what he could do and the force with which he could alter their lives forever.

Blaine's problem started that night he received a phone call informing him of his mother's death. Suddenly, the good-hearted, dapper Blaine slowly deteriorated, changing gradually to a man so different from the man Kurt married. Kurt believed the old Blaine was still in there, and he tried, dear God, he tried to get him away from the poison every night until Blaine snapped and yelled, telling Kurt he'd never understand. What Blaine overlooked though was that Kurt could understand. He could understand the pain of losing someone so dear. After all, he had lost his mother, too. But that night, he had been entirely frightened by the fire behind Blaine's eyes and the stench of alcohol in his breath that all he could do was watch Blaine break things in their apartment and rave drunkenly thereafter. The following morning, when Blaine had gotten back his senses and realized his mistake, he begged for Kurt's forgiveness and promised to be better. But it never did get better.

Kurt tried desperately to change him, but Blaine was stubborn. He had morphed so completely into a different man that not even Kurt, the love of his life, could pull him out of the self-destructive routine. Not even Kurt's pleading, and the hurt reflected constantly in his eyes could convince Blaine to change. He would snap and insist he didn't have a problem, and then come home drunk and lash out at Kurt verbally. Sure Kurt could have left—this was happening for way too long anyway. A year- longer than anyone should bear. But although he didn't fancy himself a martyr, he knew he couldn't just give up on his husband. They'd been together for so long, been through so much that it didn't feel right to abandon him when he knew he needed him the most.

So he stayed. Every night that Blaine came home drunk was a stab to his heart, leaving him hanging by a fraying thread to the hope that one day, Blaine would realize just how much he meant to Kurt, and how much Kurt meant to him. It was that ray of hope that got Kurt through every drunken fuck session, through every angry outburst, through every sober but empty promise Blaine made during his lucid moments. He needed to stay strong for the both of them.

It was moments when Blaine was sober that allowed Kurt to believe that one day, things would change. And as long as Blaine wasn't hurting him physically, he knew he'd be fine. Because when the good days came and Blaine was completely clear-headed, he was still the dorky Blaine Anderson Kurt married from what seemed like a lifetime ago. He couldn't give up. They had fought tooth and nail, and through hostile contention to get to where they were, and had made vows to each other in front of a multitude of family and friends. He loved this man despite his frequent shortcomings, and there was no way he could just let that go.

But tonight the tables were turned, and Kurt wondered whether any of this was worth it anymore. He was slowly growing tired and frustrated and so disappointed, the pain was starting to take over his heart and his patience wear thin. He wondered if his love would be enough to keep them together, to keep them standing despite the biggest curve ball life had thrown at them yet. It should have been. If his love for Blaine was enough to keep them together, he knew they would make it through anything. But it just wasn't anymore.

He had decided to confront Blaine tonight, sober or not, and give him an ultimatum. Get help, or get lost. It was a characteristic burst of strength from him, arising from many a night he spent staring at the ceiling while his husband snored beside him, making excuses and trying to justify just how pathetic their lives had become.

Unfortunately for him, as soon as he stepped into the apartment and started to explain the situation, started to explain how he couldn't carry the burden by himself, how Blaine's actions were hurting them and their marriage, Blaine's fists tightened at his side, his breathing becoming erratic, the faint smell of alcohol consuming the vicinity.

For a moment, Blaine said nothing as Kurt stood before him, looking conflicted, as if he were struggling to understand the gravity of the situation. And then Blaine's eyes darkened without warning and he started throwing things around the room— breaking everything within reach and tossing them to the side, all the while yelling that Kurt was a hypocrite. Self-righteous. Selfish.

His words cut Kurt's heart even though his mind kept telling him not to pay heed, to realize that this was the alcohol talking. But something inside of him snapped and he matched Blaine's fury with his own. Normally he wouldn't stoop down to this level, wouldn't match Blaine's temper with his own sharp words. But now, he passionately yelled about how Blaine was single-handedly destroying their marriage, that he was weak for not fighting against the torrents of addiction, that one day Blaine would find himself alone and dying because he was pushing the people who cared about him the most away.

And for the first time ever, like being played in slow motion, the heavy weight of Blaine's fist collided with Kurt's porcelain face, flinging him to the opposite wall with such force that a bruise immediately started forming on Kurt's shoulder. The stunned expression on Kurt's face quickly turned into one of horrid disappointment and betrayal, and he could only stare aghast as Blaine took one look at him and left the apartment in haste, slamming the door behind him in the process. Kurt missed the flash of horror in his hazel eyes entirely.

For a while, all Kurt could do was stare, dumbfounded and blindsided. And as the shock wore off, the pain, both physical and emotional, started saturating his being, filling him with despair he never knew existed. His silent tears soon turned into sobs of desperation and hopelessness, for the first time realizing that he wasn't what Blaine needed anymore. He wasn't the person who could help Blaine get better. He was afraid of his own husband—and that hurt more than the bruise under his eye and the countless sleepless nights he spent hurting over Blaine's alcoholism combined.

It was well past three in the morning when Kurt gathered his strength to shakily make his way into their bedroom, staring sadly at the home they had made, at the home that used to see so much more happiness than yelling matches day in and day out. He had come to the conclusion that there was nothing he could do now, or at least that there was only so much he could if Blaine wasn't willing to help himself. Blaine couldn't even acknowledge the problem, so how was he supposed to get better? It was the most painful feeling in the world— realizing that although he loved Blaine with everything that he had, he needed to love himself more, and know when to walk away.

And so it was with that thought, the thought of saving himself and eventually (hopefully) Blaine, that he packed his essential belongings and left the apartment he called home for almost a decade, heading out into the dark streets of New York to the only family he had in the state, his heart heavy.

Blaine on the other hand, well, Blaine was a different story. Deep down he knew how much pain he was causing Kurt. He knew that his choices were tearing his marriage apart. But he couldn't stop. Not because he didn't want to, but because he didn't know how. He had become increasingly dependent on the poison to clear his head of the shitty things he'd had to go through in his life. He should've realized he was pushing Kurt away. He should have. But he was too preoccupied with feeling sorry for himself that he failed to realize that Kurt was there—that everything he needed was Kurt, and that he was showing no indication of giving up. At least, not until tonight.

He didn't know how he ended up there, but he was sitting in an alley at well past two in the morning, his heart racing as he recalled his actions from earlier tonight. He was sobering up now, and he realized that as he slowly came down, his head was being saturated with flashbacks of the pain on Kurt's face, of the slow motion manner with which he saw rather than felt his hand flinging itself on Kurt's beautiful face, marring him forever. He felt like he was on the outside looking in, like he was being accompanied by the ghost of Christmas past as he watched himself, to his utter horror, hurt the only person who had not given up on him and loved him unconditionally. It made him feel sick.

He buried his face in his hands, not realizing that tears of frustration and self-anger were falling unabashedly down his cheeks, the enormity of the situation now sinking in. He had hit Kurt. He had physically wounded his strong, loving husband in a fit of blind, drunken rage. He had called Kurt selfish too—an adjective that described only himself. It all seemed incongruous with how he pictured his life would be, and the severity with which his life derailed from his visions was immensely alarming.

He couldn't believe it. Kurt had been trying to get him to see reason. Ironically, it would be his own hurtful actions that would make him snap out of the wallowing he had been doing since his mother's demise. He knew, then, that he had to make it right. It wasn't that he didn't know that he had to—he genuinely knew he needed to change all these months, but he neither had the strength nor the conviction to pull himself out of his self-inflicted misery.

He realized now that everything he was for the past year was a far cry from the man he used to be, and he was ashamed. He was ashamed of himself, of who he had become, and of the things he had done. And as his sobs racked his body in that dark New York alley, he knew what he had to do. He would work thrice as hard. He would see a therapist. He would get better. He would beg for Kurt's forgiveness and kneel and grovel if need be. Not only for him, but for Kurt most importantly. He would fix his marriage, and get his entire life, his Kurt, back.

Because right now, all that mattered was one Kurt Hummel, whose pain-filled eyes from that night would haunt him forever.

xxx

"You've got to eat something," Rachel pushed gently, her eyes flashing worriedly between Finn and Kurt.

Kurt had shown up at their doorstep close to four in the morning and had relayed all that happened. It took all of Finn's willpower not to hunt Blaine down and beat him up, especially seeing the big purple bruise just under his brother's left eye. He knew they were having trouble, that their marriage was on rocky ground and that Blaine had a drinking problem. But his desire to step in was countered vehemently by Kurt, insisting that he could handle it. But he couldn't, he could see that clearly. He wished he had pushed, even if it seemed like he was overstepping. Maybe then they'd have prevented the most horrific night of their lives.

Wincing slightly as he moved to a sitting position, Kurt shook his head and attempted to smile. It looked more like a grimace, the movement disturbing the sore bruise under his eyes, but he shrugged it off. "I'm fine Rachel. I'm really not in the mood."

Rachel frowned before sighing, running her slender fingers through her long brown hair and unconsciously search for Finn's hand. Finn took it and squeezed it, his own worries palpable.

"Do you want to go see a doctor?"

Kurt shook his head. "I'll be fine. I got some ice on it a couple of hours ago so it shouldn't be that bad."

"Do you want me to call Burt?" Finn asked quietly, his back stiff.

Kurt stared at his brother for a long moment before releasing a long, steady breath. "No, thank you. Let me handle this."

"God damn it Kurt!" Finn snapped suddenly, startling both Kurt and Rachel as he stood up and towered over his brother. "That's what you said when we offered to talk to Blaine, long before all of this happened. You said you'd handle it. Now look! Did you handle it Kurt? Did you? Because I swear to God, I am so angry here and all I want to do beat the living daylights out of your husband!"

"Finn..." Rachel warned quietly, watching Kurt's stunned expression slowly turn into one of agony.

But Finn shook his head, continuing his rant and gesticulating grandly. "I had to sit around and watch as Blaine missed every anniversary, every birthday because he was drunk. I had to sit around and watch him actually come to a party with you fussing over him, trying to get him to sober up. I had to sit around and watch him hurt you emotionally, and now, physically? And you still expect me to just sit around and watch? Tell me what the hell is wrong with this picture!"

Kurt bit his lip and closed his eyes, willing his tears to subside. He had cried enough. He needed to be strong. But he was starting to realize that he wasn't the only one Blaine was hurting with his actions. Even Kurt's friends and family were sitting around, watching Blaine hurt Kurt over and over, helpless because Kurt had warned them fiercely not to intervene. He was being stupid, yes, but he was also just trying to protect Blaine.

Finn watched as Kurt sat in silence before he sighed heavily and took a seat next to him. Tentatively, he reached towards him before pulling him fully, his embrace firm and fierce and passionate. Finn's sad expression was mirrored in the intensity of Kurt's sobs. He held his brother close, rubbing his back soothingly as he apologized for the outburst.

"I'm sorry man," he said, slightly sheepish. "I shouldn't have unloaded on you like that. You have enough on your plate as it is."

Kurt shook his head, his face still buried in the crook of Finn's neck. "No, you're right," he said, pulling away and sniffing. "I should have let you guys in. This was totally preventable."

Finn frowned. "Look, why don't you take the day off and think about things? I'll call Blaine to make sure he's okay—and don't give me that look. I know you're worried about him. I promise I won't yell at him. But take the day off to clear your head. I'll make sure Blaine's in one piece."

Kurt thought about it for a moment before he nodded and smiled in gratitude. "Thank you, Finn," he whispered, knowing full well he was being a burden but not in the right frame of mind to do anything about it.

Finn nodded before gesturing for Rachel to stand up. She did so and proceeded to the kitchen to make them breakfast. When it was just Finn and Kurt in the room, Finn crossed his arms over his chest a little self consciously.

"You have to tell Burt though. He's worried about you." Finn hated saying that, but it was necessary.

"He'll also kill Blaine," Kurt snorted despite himself. "And as much as I dislike my husband right now, I actually want him alive."

Finn nodded in assent. "Yeah, Burt would probably skin Blaine alive," he agreed. "Not that he doesn't deserve it—because he does. But tell him. He worries about you a lot, Kurt. He may not live in the same state but he knows you and Blaine are going through a tough time."

Kurt nodded slowly. "Give it a couple of days," he relented. "When the issue's died down a bit, I'll give him a call."

Finn looked skeptical, but Kurt's frown nearly begged him not to say a word. With a sigh, Finn nodded and then pulled Kurt into another quick hug. If his embrace could take all of Kurt's pains away, he would keep him in his arms for as long as needed, but Finn knew that the only person who could take all the pain away was Blaine. Finn didn't delude himself into thinking he understood why, considering how insufferable Blaine had been lately, but for his brother's sake, he would say nothing.

"I'm here for you, Kurt."

Kurt smiled appreciatively. "Thank you," he said, before he made his way to the kitchen, following the scent of the pancakes on the grill.

It was later in the day when Finn decided to hunt Blaine down. He used to always be on Blaine's side because he knew full well how overbearing Kurt could be sometimes. But now he was such a chore to be around with that he constantly wondered (and worried) why Kurt would put up with him. He knew Kurt loved Blaine, and on some level, Finn understood that Blaine felt just as passionately for Kurt. But the poison, the disease, had slowly destroyed whatever semblance of a healthy relationship they had, and had changed the whole dynamic of Kurt and Blaine. It was something they had tried to conceal at first, a problem they tried to keep to themselves. And then it escalated until it was no longer something they could keep in the dark.

Finn sighed, the frustration over the situation severely evident in the way he took the elevator up to Kurt and Blaine's apartment and knocked stiffly on the door. He honestly wasn't expecting anyone to be home, somehow coming to the conclusion that Blaine was spending the night on the streets... Or had gotten lost… or was dead (he didn't know which he preferred). But he was startled out of his thoughts when the door opened revealing a very disheveled, very lost looking Blaine.

Finn stared, and Blaine stared. Blaine looked like a wreck, but he was sober. He was clutching his phone in one hand, his eyes red from crying and looking, for all the world, defeated.

Blaine sighed and bit his lip. "Kurt isn't here," he said quietly as he stepped away from the door, allowing Finn to enter. He held his phone in his hand and started dialing again, but immediately got Kurt's voicemail. He'd been trying to contact him since he came home at around six, but so far, he had been unsuccessful. With a noise of hopelessness, he flopped down on the couch and stared at his phone dejectedly.

"I know," Finn answered stiffly, venturing deeper into the room and taking in the state of the apartment. It was a mess. A broken lamp was cast to the side, chairs scattered all over. It was obvious the fight was pretty intense.

"Is he with you guys?" Blaine asked, concealing the slight hope he had in his gut.

Finn shook his head. "I'm only here to make sure you're okay. Nothing more."

"Finn, please let me explain. I'm—"

"Save it," Finn half-snapped. "I don't want to hear it. I came to check if you're in one piece. Kurt doesn't need anything more on his plate. So now that I see you're still fucking alive, I should get going. Just let me grab some of Kurt's things." It was his job to protect his brother. Ever since his mother and Burt got married, he took on the big brother role far more than necessary, making it his responsibility to protect Kurt after he had failed him once before.

Blaine stood up from the couch, his expression pained and begging. "Please Finn."

Finn stopped in his tracks to glare at Blaine, but his expression softened when he saw the way the man was carrying himself. Blaine was just as much a mess as Kurt was. And even through all the anger, Finn knew that Blaine loved Kurt. He hadn't been showing it recently, but devotion like Blaine's didn't just go away. Groaning, he made his way to the couch and sat down tiredly, gesturing for Blaine to follow suit. A moment of thoughtful, awkward silence passed between them before Blaine startled them both out of their thoughts.

"I didn't mean to hurt him," Blaine said slowly, quietly. "I've never wanted to... I don't think I... I wasn't thinking," he finished lamely, his finger rubbing against the couch's upholstery in nervousness.

Finn snorted. "Damn right you weren't thinking."

Blaine ignored the comment, staring at his lap. "I was drunk and—"

"You're always drunk," Finn retorted. "It's one thing to hurt my brother emotionally, verbally, and an entirely different thing to lay a hand on him that way."

Blaine winced at the anger in Finn's tone. "I know. God, I know that. I don't know what came over me. It happened so quickly and I just… I regret it. I regret everything. And now I don't know what to do and I don't know how to fix it."

Finn didn't say anything, only waited for Blaine to continue. He knew there were some things that Blaine needed to get off his chest, and that no one else would be willing to listen to him. Finn owed it to Kurt to care. Even if he hated Blaine's guts right now, he promised Kurt he'd check to see that Blaine was okay—and that didn't just mean physically okay. Another thoughtful silence engulfed them before Blaine spoke again.

"How is he?" he asked in earnest, his voice hoarse and his words catching in his throat somewhat.

Finn scratched the back of his head warily. "What do you think?"

Blaine was silent, not needing to think about it. He knew the answer even before he asked. Instead, he said, "How do I fix this?"

Finn furrowed his brow. "I don't know, man," he said honestly, giving Blaine a sidelong glance. "I'm really angry at you, you know? You hurt my brother and he let you. But I'm angrier with myself because I let you. I just stood back and watched." In that respect, he had failed Kurt.

Blaine said nothing.

"I'm surprised you even remembered what happened last night," Finn continued, "considering you're always drunk. It means you were partly aware of things you were doing." He paused. "For what it's worth Blaine, I think you really didn't mean to hurt him, at least the old Blaine wouldn't have. I know you love him. I just wish you loved him more than the need to drink."

"I need to—"

"Change?" Finn cut him off. "You haven't even tried. He's begged you for months. He's been trying to help you. But you've never so much as shrugged it off because you don't think it's a problem."

"That's not true," Blaine said in an attempt to defend himself, although even to him, the argument sounded weak. Even Blaine knew Finn was right.

Finn stared. "Look man. Fix this. I don't know how, and I don't know if Kurt will let you... Or if me or Rachel will even let you within a hundred yards of him... But he loves you. So pick up the damn pieces and stop being sorry for yourself. Stop apologizing and start doing something about it. Get help, or better yet, help yourself. This isn't high school anymore Blaine. You're fucking married. This is real life."

Blaine nodded wordlessly, staring at the wall throughout Finn's tirade.

"Is he coming home?" he asked miserably, hating that he sounded so meek and pathetic and so, so small.

Finn shrugged. "That's up to him, but I'd rather he didn't until he's sure you're safe to be around with. This isn't you, Blaine. I don't know why you let this take over you so much, but this isn't you. I know the old Blaine is still there."

If he could have it his way, Kurt would never return to this apartment and divorce Blaine and find someone else to love. But Kurt was nothing if not completely stubborn and head over heels in love with Blaine, and he could do nothing about it.

With that, Finn stood up and headed to the bedroom, scratching the back of his head as he figured out the things Kurt might need. He sensed Blaine shift around the room behind him, setting a bag and some things on the bed before turning to look at him.

"His travel kit is there," Blaine explained quietly, his eyes cast to the floor. "The stuff for his moisturizing routine, his shampoo... And I know the make-up's there. He'll need the concealer, I think," he said with a wince, regretful and sullen and bleak.

Finn nodded and zipped the bag up, looking a little unsurely at Blaine. "Thank you."

Blaine could only sigh as he led Finn to the door. "You'll let him know that I'm sorry?"

Finn shrugged. "You guys should talk," he answered in dismissal. "All I'm telling him tonight is that you're alive and sober. Hopefully it stays that way."

xxx

Kurt wasn't sure what had woken him up. It was close to eight in the evening and he had taken a nap that afternoon. But he was now vaguely aware of harsh whispering from across the hall, rousing him from slumber he had yet to catch. He was still at Finn and Rachel's apartment, memories of last night suddenly washing over him and reminding him of why his neck was stiff and his face throbbing.

And then the whispers started to escalate into angry words, still spoken quietly, but forcefully. He could hear Rachel's foot stomp angrily on the wooden floor, her defiant nature coming to show as she argued with a more subdued voice. It was when Kurt heard Finn's warning tone that he realized there were three people outside, by the front door judging by how far their voices sounded, obviously disagreeing over something.

It took another second for Kurt to realize that Rachel was very adamantly telling the quiet voice that Kurt was asleep and "didn't need to be bothered by alcoholics who abused their partners". Kurt winced. Rachel had a canny knack for sounding both vehemently rude, but totally honest. But the quiet voice—definitely Blaine's, was persistent. He could hear things along the lines of "didn't mean to", "husband", "love him", and "won't hurt him" before Finn's voice bellowed over them.

"Stop arguing like a bunch of five year olds. We won't get anywhere."

Rachel frowned. "I'm trying to protect my friend."

"And I'm trying to fix things with my husband. The least you could do is to let me in, even if I don't get to see him."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "That's not gonna happen."

Finn sighed. "Look, all this bickering won't—"

"You all suck at being subtle," Kurt said matter-of-factly, startling all the three occupants of the foyer. Kurt was leaning on the hallway's doorframe, the bruise under his eyes big and angry. He decided to intervene before things got out of hand. He was already a burden to Finn and Rachel, and he didn't need them to fight his battles for him.

Finn stepped back and opened his mouth to say something, but Rachel cut him off.

"You should be sleeping," she said petulantly, as if she were talking to a five year old. She crossed her arms over her chest a little self-consciously and cast her eyes to the floor.

Kurt snorted. "That's pretty hard to do considering you're all so loud."

"Kurt…"

Kurt waved his hand and stood upright. "It's fine." He looked over Rachel's shoulder and saw Blaine— Blaine who was currently burning with shame as he stared unabashedly at the bruise on Kurt's face. Blaine who was slowly tearing up and unable to say a word as he realized how unprepared he was to see the man he loved hurt because of him. The angry bruise was a tangible reminder of how much he had fucked up.

Rachel licked her lips. "Blaine was just going," she said without turning away from Kurt, her voice even and conclusive, almost daring Blaine to defy her.

Kurt shook his head. "He doesn't have to," he said quietly, not meeting Blaine's pleading eyes. "I know you're only trying to protect me, but you can only take that so far. I'll have to talk to him eventually."

Rachel stepped forward. "But you aren't ready," she whispered harshly. "It's too soon. You both aren't thinking straight and—"

"Rachel, let's give them some privacy," Finn interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument.

For a moment it seemed that Rachel was going to ignore him completely and stand her ground, but she sighed reluctantly and allowed Finn to lead her to their bedroom, giving Kurt one last pleading glace before walking away and granting them their privacy.

The sound of the bedroom door clicking was what brought Kurt back from a quick space out. Without looking at Blaine, he gestured for him to come inside, shutting the door behind him.

Blaine stood in the middle of the room awkwardly, his hands buried in his pockets and looking like a mess. He was unsure, and that was reflected perfectly in the dark circles around his eyes, the unruly hair, the mismatched clothing, and the way his back was hunched like it always did when he was feeling meek.

Kurt stared at the Blaine before him, realizing not for the first time how different they were. He didn't know how they had gotten there, and he wished he could pinpoint the exact moment that they started morphing into this couple.

He didn't have much time to think about the situation. He tried to dwell on it, to ponder on it, to realize exactly how he felt about the situation. But it was a little too painful to stay in the memory for too long. The only things he had established were that Blaine was not Blaine, and that he had hurt him. The year they had spent in this routine of poison and alcohol, yelling matches and hurtful words and emotional pain, had all culminated in a passionate display of physicality. This wasn't the Blaine Kurt married. He hadn't been for the better half of the last year. And although he tried desperately to alleviate his pain, to be patient and understanding and to help, Blaine simply refused. That, more than the angry bruise Blaine had left the night prior, frustrated him immensely.

But despite that, despite the furious lashings and the pain of not being enough for Blaine, he loved him. Plain and simple. He loved him and he was willing to stick by him if it meant they'd be together. They had taken vows, vows that they had struggled to even make because of the nature of their marriage, but vows he was intending to keep forever. They had gone through so much together, and he knew that in a heartbeat, he would choose to stay with him for all those beautiful memories, and not leave him for the year of hell he had put him through. He honestly believed that behind this shadow was the old Blaine—sweet, charming, dapper and immensely caring Blaine.

But he didn't trust him. Kurt couldn't. He couldn't imagine just sweeping this issue under a rug and hope for best. He couldn't go back to his old life, unsure, with just the hope that one day Blaine would realize that the only thing he needed to be happy was right beside him all along. No. That hope had been close to shattered when Blaine, in his drunken stupor, crossed the thin line that divided the hurt Kurt could tolerate and hurt he wouldn't (because he could, if he wanted to. But he wasn't a martyr like that). They had been traipsing about that line for too long, and it was only a matter of time before they both succumbed to it. He didn't trust Blaine, and that fact would put a severe hamper on their relationship.

With an inward sigh, Kurt gestured to Blaine's hand, idle on his side. He didn't know why he wasn't more angry, or why he wasn't feeling the need to lash out. It bothered him to think that he was already resigned to their situation, that he was apathetic and simply didn't care.

"Did you put an ice pack on that hand?" he asked off-handedly. "You threw in quite a good punch." He didn't mean for it to sound so scathingly bitter, but nonchalantly so, but that's how it came out. He wasn't angry, not right now, but he was a little resentful.

Blaine winced, knowing he deserved it. "I don't know where to begin in my apologies," he said honestly, his eyes downcast. "I had this whole speech planned out in my head, but I wasn't prepared to see you... This way..."

Kurt frowned, taking a seat on the couch tiredly. "You can start by meaning it."

Actually, Blaine could start by explaining, but Kurt was well past that now. They were over the phase where explanations would mean anything. Kurt knew. Blaine didn't have to expound on it. Besides, Blaine had apologized countless times in the past. It was a cycle Kurt had come to know regretfully, a cycle of angry words and apologies and promises of a better future. Blaine just never meant the apologies enough to keep his promises.

A beat, and then, "I wish I could take it back."

"Don't we all?"

He shook his head. "You know I didn't meant to, right?" Blaine asked, desperation seeping into his voice as he knelt in front of Kurt, taking hands into his and pleading. He was desperate to know—he needed to know that Kurt knew him better than that. "Please, you have to know me enough to know that I would never…that I wouldn't… that if I were in my right mind, I wouldn't have. That's the last thing I want to do and I..." he trailed off, looking earnestly at Kurt. "Please, you have to know I never meant for this to happen."

Kurt bit his lip, contemplating Blaine's words and measuring his response with as much honesty as was necessary. "I know that the old Blaine would never have done that," he said carefully. "But this... You... Now? It's like I barely know you. You're a different person, Blaine. I'm not sure if I know you any more than some random stranger off the street."

"Kurt..."

"I mean... I know that if I look hard enough, I'd still be able to see you. But you've changed so much. You're so..."

"Unstable?" Blaine supplied meekly.

"No. Just… different," Kurt answered regretfully.

Blaine nodded, allowing Kurt's words to sink in before he spoke again. "I'm so sorry," he whispered finally. "There aren't any words to say how much I regret everything. If I could take the past year back, I would."

"But you couldn't."

Blaine shook his head. "I can't. But I can make it up to you."

Kurt stared at Blaine, long and hard and calculating, before he sighed. He didn't know where they would go from here. He didn't know how to move forward from such a traumatic experience. He didn't know if it was wise or if he was even remotely willing to move back home and see Blaine's recovery through. He just didn't know.

What was most frustrating was that he wanted more than needed to help Blaine—his husband, the love of his life. He needed him to get better. He believed full well that the man he fell in love with was somewhere, buried underneath the pretense of alcohol and now, more recently, violence. Except, there was a voice at the back of his head telling him that he'd been believing the same thing ever since the problem started. He had very naively thought that he could change him back, that if he was able to make Blaine realize that he was all he needed, that his love was all he needed, that he'd turn away from what was eating their marriage from the inside, corroding the very solid foundations they had built their relationship on since high school.

Kurt's silence reflected his apprehension, and Blaine's face fell. "You don't... Want to try?" Blaine asked, his voice small and quivering slightly.

For a moment, Kurt felt like he was looking at Blaine from high school, the one that clung to affection insatiably. For a moment, Kurt thought he was looking at the mild man he had come to love, unsure and vulnerable. The sight was heartbreaking, turning him wistful in a beat.

Kurt licked his lips and frowned. "No, I... Blaine, I'm not giving up, if that's what you're thinking. But I—"

"I know I hurt you," he cut off pleadingly, "And maybe you're right about being here, being away from me. I understand. I don't want you to be near me when I'm so unstable... When I can hurt you so easily."

"But then I wouldn't know how to help you if I'm not with you constantly," Kurt concluded, finishing Blaine's trail of thought.

It amazed Kurt how he was having a reasonable, lucid conversation with Blaine, something he hadn't had with him in too long a time. For once they weren't yelling at each other and throwing things, wanting to throttle each other's throats. They were calm, collected, and making more sense than they ever did in the past year.

This shouldn't have been something new, though. It was a saddening thought. Before Blaine's problem started, they were always able to talk things through, to put everything on the table without needing to lose their tempers or raise their voices. The first time they yelled at each other over Blaine's addiction had both shocked and angered Kurt that he vowed he'd try his best to keep his cool next time. But then of course, that backfired grandly because no matter how much he tried to be patient and understanding, the infuriation over Blaine's lack of consideration had taken him over all the time.

"I don't trust myself around you," Blaine said slowly, casting his eyes to the Kurt's hand clasped securely between his own. "I don't want to hurt you any more than I have."

Kurt stayed silent as he watched Blaine's conflicting emotions flash swiftly in his eyes.

"And I don't want to disappoint you anymore," he continued.

Kurt's eyes snapped to Blaine's defeated form, feeling the familiar burning behind his eyes.

"Oh, Blaine," he exclaimed. He withdrew his hand from Blaine's grasp and lowered himself, throwing his body over Blaine's and holding him tight. The burning in his eyes burst forth, and he started to cry as he felt Blaine shaking beneath him, his own sobs wracking his body wave upon wave.

He didn't know if things were going to be different, but he wanted to believe they would be. There was something sincere and unadulterated in the way Blaine was in that moment, and he allowed himself to hope that he would actually work for the change to come instead of go where the wind took him.

Blaine's sobs subsided slowly, and he sniffed as he remained in Kurt's comforting touch. Kurt kissed the top of his head, holding him closer to him, offering Blaine some sense of quasi-comfort, a bubble of pretending that everything was certainly going to be fine for them.

"Will you come home with me?" Blaine asked, knowing it was a long shot. He said it himself, he didn't trust himself not to hurt Kurt. But he also knew that the only way to get better was to have someone who was constantly there. And truthfully, Kurt was the only one he wanted to be there with him, not just because he knew Kurt wouldn't give up, but because he knew for himself that the only way he'd be motivated to get better was to have his husband by his side. He was afraid of being the way he was forever, of the possibility that he couldn't change. He needed something concrete and infallible to hold on to, and Kurt was just that. Kurt was his rock.

Pulling back, Kurt looked pitifully at Blaine and sighed. He ran his fingers across Blaine's cheek in affection, a sad expression still clear on his features.

"I will," Kurt whispered, wishing his voice didn't quiver unsurely, and that he felt as confident that things would work out as he would have had he been more naive. There was so much uncertainty, and he tried not to question his decision, knowing that if he did, he would be able to convince himself to walk away.

A sincere, grateful smile settled on Blaine's lips, and he vowed to himself he wouldn't ruin the chance.

xxx

Kurt examined the purple bruise marring his cheek, flinching slightly as he moved it experimentally. He was sitting on a stool in front of his vanity, noting how his bruise was ugly and angry and so repulsive, and he doubted his concealer would do the trick. It would be impossible to hide it—not just the bruise itself, but the pain the bruise had caused his heart.

Behind his reflection, he caught sight of Blaine tentatively entering their bedroom, holding an icepack in one hand and looking a little awkward. Kurt met his gaze curiously, sighing and turning his body around to face his husband completely.

"I brought you some ice," Blaine said softly, holding the icepack up for Kurt to see. "I don't know if it'll still be any good, though."

Kurt cracked a small, sad smile. "You're trying." At the very least, Blaine was trying.

Blaine nodded, kneeling in front of Kurt and gingerly taking the ice to Kurt's cheek. Before he had the cold substance come in contact with Kurt's porcelain skin, he studied the bruise and felt another wave of guilt course through his body. He felt sick, and reached out gently to touch the bruise with care, dropping the ice pack to the floor as he tried to fight the urge to throw up.

Kurt tried not to flinch at the contact. The pads of Blaine's fingers were warm and cold at the same time, inviting, and he reminded himself that Blaine was sober and taking care of him, that he wasn't dangerous in this moment. The gentleness behind the action allowed Kurt the reminder that this was still his Blaine, that underneath the screwed up alcohol and violence, his husband who he loved so dearly was still there.

Blaine's eyes were transfixed on the bruise, almost hypnotically. There was a perverse, masochistic sense in his gut, compelling him to stare at the way he had hurt the man who, for the better part of the last year, was struggling to show him that all he needed was his love. His eyes watered as he caressed the bruise, flashes of Kurt's face contorting in pain consuming his consciousness.

Slowly, Blaine leaned forward and chastely pressed his lips to the purple mar. His lips were dry and chapped, and Kurt tried not to flinch at the contact, instead forcing himself to appreciate the gesture. Kurt allowed himself a shiver, reveling in one of the few moments Blaine was sober. He wasn't sure for how long this resolution would last, but he held on to high hope that they would get through this in one piece.

Blaine withdrew his lips slightly, but kept the distance between his lips and Kurt's cheek at a minimal. He closed his eyes against the wave of emotion coursing through him, whispering words of quiet apology into the night.

"So sorry," he murmured softly. "So sorry, baby."

Kurt's lip quivered and he pulled away to look at Blaine in the eyes. "I know," he responded, lifting his hand and resting it gently on Blaine's cheek. "But we're going to get better. We're going to fight this together."

"What if I slip? What if it doesn't work?" Blaine protested weakly.

"You can't allow yourself to think like that. You have to be determined to get through this, and you can't doubt yourself. If I'm the only one fighting here, then we'll end up the same way we did last night. It'll be a vicious cycle." Kurt paused, running his thumb on Blaine's lip. "I need you to want this too, Blaine."

"I do want this," he insisted, his voice quiet but forceful. "I want to get better. For you."

Kurt shook his head resolutely. "You need to want it for yourself and not me, Blaine. It doesn't work that way."

Blaine bit the inside of his cheeks. "I'm so tired of disappointing you."

A big, fundamental part of Blaine was that he thrived on affection. The idea of not being enough, of disappointing the people he loved was so inconceivable that it was the only thing that could push him forward. He hated disappointing the people around him, and constantly needed approval. It wasn't something he'd tried to understand. He reckoned it had to do with all the bullying and his father's emotional distance from him. But at the end of the day, that was just how he was. He never wanted to upset the balance and see people look at him inadequately.

For a while, none of them said a word, almost afraid to break the sacredness between them. There was silence as thoughts consumed them both. Kurt wasn't stupid enough to think that getting Blaine to recover was easy. He knew that while the events of last night were fresh, Blaine would keep off the alcohol. But he wouldn't be so lucky soon enough. He knew Blaine would crave for it. He'd been so dependent on it that cutting out the poison cold turkey would only make him want it more. It scared Kurt, truthfully. Blame could be passionate and vicious. Who knew what he would be capable of in the future? Kurt was nothing if not determined. But he needed Blaine to want this just as passionately as he did, or at least more passionately than the inevitable urge to quell his thirst with alcohol.

"I love you," Kurt said, the conviction in his voice entirely apparent. "Do you hear me, Blaine? I love you. You may be in a rough patch now, but I know for sure you'll rise above this. And I'm right here. I'm right here and I'll stay for as long as I believe I can help you. I'll stay until you get better."

Blaine's eyes watered. "I love you so much, Kurt," he said, and then pulled his husband into a fierce embrace, burying his face in Kurt's shirt, his tears soaking the purple top that he vaguely registered was the one he gifted Kurt with on the last birthday he showed up sober. The icepack long forgotten on the ground, Kurt pulled Blaine closer, muttering tender encouragements in his ear.

"You're going to get better Blaine, even if it's the last thing I do. I'm right here and I love you."

Blaine could only nod, tightening his arms around Kurt's torso in desperation.

xxx

The only thing Blaine was aware of was the sweat trickling down his brow, and his body shaking against the tiled bathroom wall as he sat on the floor, knees pulled to his chest. It was three in the morning, and Kurt was slumbering peacefully on their bed, his gentle breathing barely reaching Blaine's ears from where he sat on the bathroom floor.

The door was only slightly ajar, and he could care less about the subtle light spilling into the bedroom, fearing the disturbance of Kurt's rest. Rest that, admittedly, Kurt didn't quite get a lot because he was constantly worrying about Blaine.

But it was three in the morning, an ungodly hour to be up, and an even more ungodly hour to be craving for alcohol. He was craving for it, and he was craving for it bad. His body was shaking, and he was sweating, the coldness filling his senses as he tried to stay on top of the episode. This wasn't the first time he'd craved, but this was one of the worst. Usually Kurt would occupy him with other things to keep his mind off of it, but Kurt needed his rest tonight. Blaine would grant him that, stubbornly telling himself he can do it without depending on Kurt to get him better.

It had been three days— three days since he had shamefully hit Kurt and begged him to come home. The determination to get better was stronger, but the effort was getting harder and harder. Every second he could feel himself slipping. Every second he could feel the urge to run to the store and buy a bottle, lash out at Kurt and spend the rest of his life damned. Because it was easy, easier than the misery he had to go through to get better. He was shivering as he pulled at the seams of his sweat-soaked pajama top, biting his lip and almost drawing blood.

"There's got to be an easier way," he muttered to himself, his breath short. He was too engrossed in trying to stay on top of his misery that he didn't sense the bathroom door open wider, or feel Kurt sink next to him. It wasn't until his husband's strong, comforting arms were wrapped around his vulnerable frame that he opened his eyes and allowed himself a glimpse of the white bathroom tiles while his body leaned unconsciously into Kurt's form.

He felt Kurt's warm hands rub against his arm, kissing the top of his head, then his temple, then his brow.

"It's so hard," Blaine choked, shutting his eyes again and leaning back into Kurt's embrace.

"I know," Kurt soothed, "but you're doing great. I'm proud of you."

Blaine shook his head as Kurt rested his forehead on Blaine's shoulder, tightening his arms around the smaller boy. "So hard," he said again, the frustration evident in his voice. Kurt's embrace grounded him, acting as his stronghold amid the tides of craving threatening to overtake him.

Kurt could only sigh at how broken Blaine sounded. He looked hopeless and miserable, and Kurt could only do so much to comfort him. He could hold him, yes, but he could never pretend to know how it really was to go through withdrawal. He could never pretend to fully understand the hardships a person went through when a recovering addict. He couldn't pretend to know the pain.

So he tried his best to offer the best possible comfort, his words measured and crafted, encouraging and conveying the tremendous amount of love he felt for Blaine. The bruise on his face was but a reminder of how hard he was going to fight for him, wishing with all that he had that Blaine would hold on and not lose hope. And that he would believe.

"How long have you been here?" Kurt asked quietly, ignoring how his own shirt was starting to feel soaked because of Blaine's sweat. He turned his head slightly to kiss the skin where Blaine's shoulder met his neck.

"I don't know."

Kurt sighed. "Blaine," he said, pleading with him to be honest.

Blaine licked his lips, keeping his eyes on the tiled floor, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. He was still shaking, but Kurt's embrace allowed him to believe in a brighter future for him and his husband.

"Blaine," Kurt repeated, sitting up straighter and pulling Blaine so that he was bracketed between Kurt's thighs. Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine's torso and Blaine leaned back, instinctively clutching at Kurt's arms.

"A while," Blaine whispered finally, his voice catching in his throat as a shiver ran up his body.

"Why didn't you wake me?" Kurt asked quietly, pulling Blaine closer to him and pressing his body so that there wasn't an inch of space between them.

"I didn't want to disturb your rest," he answered honestly, his teeth chattering. "You've been so tired these days," he stuttered, "You need to sleep."

"And you need to get better," Kurt countered resolutely. "I'm here to help, Blaine. I'll only be able to rest if I know you're alright."

"Kurt," he protested weakly. "I don't want to be a burden."

"And I don't want my husband struggling, especially if I know I can help. Let me help, Blaine. Don't shut me out."

Unexpectedly, tears started to form in his eyes, and he clutched at Kurt's arms tighter. He was well aware of how pathetic he was right now, and how weak he seemed to be.

"You're not a burden, Blaine," Kurt whispered, his chest tightening at seeing Blaine in such an acute sense of hardship. "Please believe that."

"I'm such a screw up," he said as he shook his head.

"No, you're my husband," Kurt insisted. "And I don't take too kindly to anyone putting you down, yourself included."

Despite himself, Blaine cracked a small smile. "I love you."

Kurt pressed his lips to Blaine's head. "I love you too. Let's get you to bed."

He stood up and pulled Blaine to his feet, leading him to the bed. Blaine sat down on the edge while Kurt took the glass of water on the nightstand and handed it to him, smiling encouragingly.

"Drink," Kurt instructed. "It'll help with the craving."

Blaine obediently took the glass of water, drinking even as his hands shook holding the glass. When he was finished, Kurt helped him lay down under the covers, tucking him in securely. Kurt set the glass of water aside and slid into the bed, spooning Blaine and inhaling his scent.

Blaine snuggled closer, and for a while, the only sound filling the room was the sound of their breathing. Kurt pressed a chaste kiss on Blaine's neck, lost in thought and feeling Blaine's heartbeat beneath his palm, a reminder of their life together.

"I want it so bad Kurt," Blaine whispered ashamedly. "I need just want one sip. God, I just want a sip so fucking bad."

Even in the dark, Kurt was hyper aware of the look of tired pain and confusion crossing Blaine's features. He pulled him tighter and tangled their legs together.

"What's stopping you?" Kurt asked, his chest tightening with pity.

"I keep thinking about you and how sad you are and it eats me up."

Kurt's eyes welled with tears as he nodded, feeling his heart contract with so much love for Blaine. "I won't let you slip, Blaine. You may fight me tooth and nail for this eventually, but I'm not giving you that sip. We'll sit this out and I'll chain you up if I have to. But you're not going back to that life, Blaine. Not if I can help it."

"Kurt..."

"You may hate me for this. And I know there'll be moments when you'll want to kill me and curse me, but I'm strong. We're strong."

"You've no idea how much I love you, Kurt."

"Then we'll be just fine," Kurt said with finality. "Try to get some sleep. I'm right here."

xxx

If there was anything that worried Burt Hummel constantly, it was the welfare of his son. Despite the years Kurt had spent away from home, despite the fact that he was a very capable adult, the innate urge to worry as a parent was ever present. But in Burt's case, it was ever amplified. Kurt being Kurt, he knew he'd go through significant crap in his life no matter where he went and what he did. His son was sassy and smart, quick witted and sarcastic, and all together different. People definitely didn't always take kindly to that, even in a place as progressive as New York.

So when his son met Blaine and eventually married him, the worry eased a bit because Kurt's brutal honesty was well complemented by Blaine's mild manner. The kid was perfect, perfect for Kurt, and he could see the mutual adoration in their eyes whenever they were in the same room. It wasn't hard to love the kid. Blaine was respectful and charming and immensely honorable, and took care of his son and made him happy. Burt loved him as his own.

But seeing Blaine start to battle with alcohol, and then seeing Kurt hurt over it in ways that were characteristic of him, putting up his defenses and hiding the pain behind scathing remarks and frankness, had hurt him, too. And slowly, the worry he had let go when Blaine promised to take care of his son started to come back, leaving him a ticking time bomb as he struggled against the strong urge to bring Kurt back home to Lima, where he would always be safe.

Kurt always argued over the phone that he need not worry, that he could fend for himself. Kurt only wanted to keep his father's health in tiptop shape. But as a parent, as a father who loved his son so fiercely, he couldn't help it. It was a part of him and a part of the devotion he had for the son who made him more of a man than he could ever be.

And so when Kurt called him one day, his voice agitated as it always was whenever he needed to drop a bomb, Burt did his best to reassure his nervous, anxious son that he would remain calm and reasonable. He didn't know what it was, but he knew that if he didn't swear he'd remain calm, Kurt wouldn't end up not telling him.

"Just say it, kid. Don't leave an old man in suspense."

Kurt sighed on the other end of the line. "It's not so simple."

Burt scratched the back of his head as he took a seat behind his large desk, his office at the garage quiet and homey. "It's about Blaine isn't it?"

"Yeah," he whispered. "We sort of... Got into a fight last week."

"And?" Burt prompted, knowing there was something more. Something big.

There was a pause, and then a breathy, whispered, tentative "He hit me."

For a moment there was only silence. Deafening silence that echoed across the line in trepidation. A million expletives were running through Burt's head, but he promised Kurt he would be calm. Kurt didn't need him to be angry, or to lecture him. He needed a support system, and that was what he was going to be. With formidable effort, he pushed down the rising anger and tried his best to think straight.

It pained him whenever he heard of his son getting hurt. But this pain? This pain was new. He could feel the betrayal Kurt felt, and the disappointment and the confusion, almost as if his heart was one and the same with Kurt's.

When he said nothing, Kurt continued. "He came home drunk, and I was tired of everything and we started yelling. I didn't back down even though I knew I was supposed to. He hit me on the face." He wanted say, so really it's kind of my fault too.

Burt remained quiet, trying to process the things Kurt was saying. He could really kill Blaine right now, but his son wouldn't appreciate that.

"He didn't mean to, though," Kurt said in defense, knowing the thoughts running through his father's head. He hated having this conversation just as much as Burt did. "I know he didn't. And god, that makes me sound like one of those battered wives who try to justify domestic violence by their abusive husbands, but I know Blaine," he insisted, as if he were trying to convince himself more than his father. "He didn't mean to."

Another pause, and then "Please say something, Dad."

Burt sighed heavily, running his free hand on his head in agitation. "I don't know what you want me to say here, kid."

Kurt nodded into the phone, shutting his eyes tight at the heaviness of the tension radiating from his father's silence.

"How bad is it?" Burt eventually asked, his heart in his throat.

Kurt shrugged. "There's a bruise, but it's healing. I got two weeks off from the production to get it back to normal, or at least to a shade I can hide with enough makeup."

"Kurt..."

"It doesn't hurt anymore," Kurt followed up hastily, feeling as if he were eight years old again and trying to convince his dad that his scraped knee wasn't a big deal. "Finn and Rachel made me put some ice on it so it's not too bad."

"I don't care, Kurt. Your husband hit you. Whether or not you have a bruise to prove it, he laid a heavy hand on you and that's not something you should tolerate."

"But Dad—"

"You have to know when to walk away, Kurt. You have to know the difference between staying and leaving, and loving yourself. You're walking a fine line here. Now I'm not saying you should leave him, but god damn it, this has been going on for too long. We all knew he had a problem. We all knew that. But you swore up and down you'd take care of it, and now you're hurt. Physically. There are some things that you should never tolerate, and this is one of them. You never let anybody walk over you before, why start now? And why let your husband do that?"

"I love him," Kurt said simply, the naïveté in his tone mixed with almost juvenile optimism.

"But is it worth it, Kurt?" he asked in frustration.

"Of course it's worth it. He's going to get better, Dad. He's already doing so well. We talked and he promised he'd try harder."

"You mean try at all? I'm not trying to put you down Kurt, or to antagonize the things you choose to believe, but sometimes when we love people, we let that love blind our judgments. It's only been a week. Of course he's doing okay for now. But what about next week? Or next month? What happens when the craving gets too strong and he forgets the promises he's made? I don't want you sticking around for that."

Kurt was stricken with an inexplicable desire to defend Blaine, but he swallowed his justifications and listened to his father, knowing at the back of his head he was right. He may be stubborn, but he knew his father loved him and only had his well-being in mind.

"I love you, kid," Burt continued. "And it hurts me to hear about these things. I'm glad Finn is there to help you out, because you can't do this alone. But you can't fix Blaine by yourself, no matter how much you love him."

"All his friends have given up on him," Kurt admitted quietly, as if he felt Blaine's shame in that fact. "He doesn't have anyone. I'm not about to walk away from him when he's so obviously hit rock bottom."

"And I'm proud of you for sticking around. But you gotta leave some for yourself. You can't let anyone walk all over you."

"But I can't walk away, dad. I can't and I won't. I may think about it, and I may threaten him with it, but at the end of the day, I don't have that kind of strength."

Burt sighed. "I could kill that son of a bitch," he muttered.

"Dad..." Kurt said warningly.

"Yeah, yeah. It's just...Do you need me to fly up there, Kurt? I can take a couple of days off from the garage. I'll have Pierre—"

"You don't have to," Kurt countered urgently.

"But I want to. No, I need to."

Kurt let out a frustrated groan. "I know you mean well, but you being here will only aggravate the situation. I'll handle this. But I promise, really promise this time, to call for help when I need it. I'll call Finn, or Rachel, or anybody. Just... You don't have to come up here."

Burt licked his lips but relented with a sigh, even if it was against his better judgment. "Fine, but if he pulls another one like that, I want you to give me your word. You're out of there."

"Dad..."

"I'm serious, Kurt. Don't be stupid. He hits you again and I won't be so understanding. Or forgiving. Maybe you can be, but that's you. I don't care if it lands me in jail, but if he lays a hand on you again, I'm going to kill him."

Kurt closed his eyes and let a couple of tears escape, sniffing into the phone and clutching it closer to his ear. "I love you, Dad."

"Love you too, kid. Take care of yourself. And promise me you'll call me if anything happens."

"I promise."

"Okay. Stay safe," he replied, his parting words some sort of plea.

Burt wondered if that was enough, if his little speech got through Kurt. He knew his son. He was as stubborn as a mule. It was a trait he admired and loathed at the same time. His convictions were strong, and he fought tooth and nail for them despite the crap he got in return. But he was resilient, too, and unfortunately so stupidly in love with one Blaine Anderson that he believed he would be enough to change him.

It concerned Burt that even though Kurt had been married a couple of years, he still possessed some degree of childlike innocence, believing fiercely that if he held on long enough, things would get better. They usually did, but it was a different story if he'd been hurt by a man he trusted not to hurt him at all. All Burt could do, of course, was to wait and pray that Kurt would pull through, with or without Blaine. And if Blaine wasn't in the picture at the end of all of this, it would be his duty, and his comfort, to help his son pick up the pieces and move forward to something more worthy of love he was so ready to give.

xxx

Blaine couldn't bring himself to be ashamed. Not yet anyway. Right now, all he could concentrate on was the immense relief that filled his veins as he brought the bottle to his lips again. He had slipped. The craving had been too intense and he skittishly bought a couple of bottles from the store and hid himself in the alley behind the apartment. Momentarily, he forgot about disappointing Kurt or about the alcohol destroying his life. All he could think of was how the shaking had stopped and his mind had shut away reality as the alcohol consumed him.

He'd done well for twenty days. Twenty days without the poison. But both he and Kurt had been foolish to think they would be able to do this with only minor struggles. Both he and Kurt had been stupid. They were young, still. Well, older and wiser compared to high school, but they were completely innocent to the workings of the world. But at the moment, Blaine didn't care.

He didn't care that this was putting a strain on their five-year marriage. He didn't care that he was ruining a relationship he had fought so fiercely for, and that he was making Kurt suffer through so many tainted, worldly hardships before he was even thirty years old. All he cared about now was the immense relief flooring him, and how he welcomed the alcohol like an old friend.

Friend. Friends. He'd lost his friends somewhere along the way. Along the path of alcoholism, he had found himself completely alone save for the man he called his husband. If his friends gave up on him or he shut them out, he wasn't sure. He was alone, and yet he couldn't bring himself to feel gratitude for the outstanding display of patience Kurt was showing his way. Not now at least. Now was about rekindling a fire he needed to extinguish.

He wasn't drunk. Good Lord, not yet. He had only finished two bottles of beer. The empty bottles were strewn carelessly to his right while his hand clutched a relatively full bottle of rum, the amber liquid tempting him.

His life was a mess. He contemplated all of this while finishing off his third helping. He had lost his friends. He had lost his job—a job he used to love and value before the disease. He used to be a teacher, the thought allowing a snort to escape him. He used to be a goddamn respectable teacher at that, one his students loved dearly. He used to love waking up in the morning to teach music, coming home to make a lesson plan and telling Kurt all about his students. But the alcohol became a problem and he was fired, the memory of that day still making him wince pathetically. He remembered losing his temper as the principal broke the news to him after he came to school drunk one day. He remembered yelling at him and being forcefully removed from the school premises, all the while shouting expletives as he was dragged along the corridors, his students looking at him frightfully. The memory made his heart ache, another reason to drink some more. God, he was a failure. He was such a fucking failure that he'd imagined taking his own life if only to stop disappointing the people he loved and loved him back. But he was too much of a coward to go through with that thought, just as he was a coward in hiding behind the alcohol and choosing it because it was easy and effortless.

He wasn't aware that he had finished off the bottle, and that it was almost ten in the evening and Kurt would probably be home, worrying about where he was. He didn't bring his phone with him, so there was no way to know if Kurt had sent out a search party to look for him.

He snorted. Kurt could be such a drama queen sometimes. He was perfectly fine, and apparently perfectly drunk as he struggled to stand up, his head spinning. He was only vaguely aware of his disheveled state, swaying as he made his way up the elevator. He struggled to get the key into the lock, missing the keyhole every time. Kurt must have heard the key jingling from behind the door because the next thing he knew, the door was open, revealing a worried and angry Kurt pulling him into the apartment roughly.

"Where the hell have you been?" Kurt demanded, giving him the once over and trying so hard to keep his temper in check.

"None of your business," Blaine slurred, sidestepping Kurt and staggering to the bedroom.

But Kurt was quick, and he stood in front of him, blocking his path. Kurt stared at him long and hard, his angry expression dissolving into one of sadness. "You've been drinking," he said matter-of-factly, the disapproval in his voice clear.

Blaine snorted in aggravation. "No shit, Sherlock."

Kurt shook his head. "Blaine, we talked about this. I thought we were making progress. I came home today and you weren't here and who knows how long you've been out? Who knows how long you've been drinking? I was so worried about you!"

Blaine rolled his eyes, moving aside to continue making his way to the bedroom. "God Kurt, you're so melodramatic. I'm fine. I'm in one piece."

Kurt's rational mind told him not to pick a fight with someone clearly intoxicated to function optimally. But he was worried, and he was disappointed, and god damn it, he was angry. Blaine had slipped. He understood that it might happen, but Blaine wasn't in the very least apologetic.

"You promised me, Blaine. We said no more alcohol. We said—"

"I know what we said!" Blaine snapped all of a sudden, turning to Kurt with fire in his eyes. "But you're not the one who has to go through it. You don't know what it's like. You don't know what it's like because your life is perfect."

"You think my life is—"

"You're not the one without a job, or without friends, or with an overbearing husband who nags him day in and day out. You have a perfect life with a perfect job with a perfect father. But oh, hello—you have a fucking, pathetic, poor excuse of a husband who has an addiction. Congratulations! But we're not all like you Kurt. We can't all be like you. Don't try to change me. You can't. Stop patronizing me. Stop being condescending. You have no idea how it is for me so don't you dare say you understand."

Kurt stared at him wide-eyed, his heart pounding in his chest as he listened to words Blaine was letting go—words that were hateful and spiteful, sarcastic and biting and just so totally screwed up.

"You know what? Why don't you just leave?" Blaine continued, his head pounding and losing filter. "Why don't you just pack your pretty little bags and leave? You walked away once before right? You walked away when you went to Finn's fucking house after I hit you. What's stopping you now? You can have all that perfection back if you leave behind the only thing destroying your perfect life."

"You're being unfair, Blaine," Kurt whispered, feeling his eyes water. He knew this was the alcohol talking, that Blaine didn't mean any of this. But the words were cutting him like a knife, hurting him so deeply that he could find no words to defend himself.

"Unfair?" Blaine roared, making Kurt take a step back in fear. For some reason, that angered Blaine more. "You want to know what's unfair? Unfair is you thinking you can change me, thinking you're better than me. But guess what Kurt? You're not better than me! Poor you because you're too in love with a screw up like me. You think you can come waltzing around my business, saying you can fix me when you're just as broken as I am?"

That seemed to make Kurt snap, allowed him to fight back, his voice steadily escalating. "If I'm broken now, it's not because of something I did. If I'm broken now, it's your fault. You and your stupid alcohol. You and your stupid, compulsive need to drink something to make the fucking pain go away when all you have to do and turn around and see that I'm still fucking here." Tears were now falling unabashedly down his cheeks as he struggled to form coherent thought. "You think I want to be here, watching you drink all day? You think I want to be fighting with you and yelling at you? You think I like the fact that you're addicted? Of course not! I would've walked away ages ago, but my stupid heart loves you. I love you. I don't know when that's going to go through that thick head of yours, but I love you. It's been the only thing stopping me from walking away, and it's been the only thing that made me fight for you so hard. But if I'm going to be faulted for loving you so much, then that's where I'm drawing the line. I love you Blaine, but I will not love you to death."

They stared at each other defiantly, Blaine forcing himself to sober up as he struggled to comprehend Kurt's words.

"I'm so tired, Blaine," Kurt said quietly, a stark contrast to the yelling match they had just participated in. "I'm tired of fighting. With you and for you."

Kurt bit his lip in an attempt to choke back a sob, wanting nothing more than to appear stronger than he actually felt. He stared at Blaine as realization finally took over, Kurt's declaration sinking in and pacifying him from his anger. He watched as his husband started to panic, his eyes looking at him frantically, almost pleadingly.

"You don't mean that, right?" Blaine said, his voice small and panicked. His mind was still struggling to catch up, but hearing Kurt imply that he was through with him, with their marriage, had snapped him back to reality and grounded him in an instant. "Kurt, you don't mean that right?" he asked again, more forcefully as he panicked. "I... Didn't mean it when I said you should just leave... Kurt..."

He took a step closer to Kurt and gripped at his arms, looking at his eyes pleadingly. Kurt looked away, swallowing down his sobs and refusing to meet the broken mess that was his husband.

"I can't do this anymore, Blaine," he whispered, his throat filled with words of regret that he tried to swallow down in a desperate attempt to stay strong.

"No, no!" Blaine said frantically, his own tears spilling as he begged for his husband to change his mind. "No, I—I'm so sorry, Kurt. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't... I didn't mean any of that. Please Kurt."

It took a Herculean effort for Kurt to shake out of Blaine's tight grip, striding to their bedroom where he had every intention of packing his belongings and leaving behind the man he so painfully loved. Burt's words rang in his mind as he started to realize that he couldn't fight for Blaine this way. He was so fucking tired of his life, so tired of hoping and praying that things would be easier for them. He couldn't keep naively wishing that Blaine would somehow find the motivation to pick up the pieces.

He sensed Blaine following him hysterically into the bedroom as he pulled the duffel bag from under the bed. His hands shook but he was determined. This very well may have been the hardest thing he ever had to do in his life, but he needed to save himself before Blaine destroyed him too. In a moment, he felt rather than saw Blaine grabbing the bag from his hands, flinging it to the other side of the room forcefully.

Blaine was frenzied now, desperate. He was bordering on crazy as he flung his arms around Kurt, holding on to him for dear life as he sobbed into Kurt's shoulder. His desperation was reflected in the way he held Kurt tighter, determined not to let him go.

"No. No, please, Kurt. Don't... Don't go, please. I'm begging you, don't go."

Kurt could say nothing. He was crying openly as Blaine clung to him, wishing with all his might that he had the strength to push Blaine away.

"Please, Kurt. Please, baby. I'm so sorry. I promise— I promise this is the last time. I promise things'll be different. I'll try harder, I swear. Just please...please don't go."

He continued to sob hard into Kurt's shoulder, feeling his heart ache with love for the man he was begging not to leave him. He loved him, there was never any question of that. But he had lost the way to express to him how he felt as the alcohol occluded even his best intentions. But now, faced with the very distinct possibility of losing the man he once swore to move mountains and cross oceans for, he was maddeningly desperate. He needed Kurt, needed him so much that he was so sure he'd die without him.

"Don't go, Kurt," he sobbed.

"I have nothing left to give, Blaine. There's no more fight left in me."

"Then let me fight for us. Let me. You've done all the fighting, it's my turn now. Let me fight for us."

"Blaine, please don't make this harder than it already is."

Blaine pulled back slightly and looked at Kurt, really looked at Kurt. For the first time, he noticed the bags under his eyes and how tired he looked, how he had lost weight and his hair a mess. The knowledge that he had played an upper hand in changing his usually spirited husband hurt him more than the idea of never getting better. He finally saw how much of himself Kurt was putting into getting their marriage back on track while all he did was be a burden.

He bit his lip before he sighed, burying his face in Kurt's chest. He couldn't look at him, not after the words he was about to say. This was going to be his final plea, his last chance to convince Kurt to stay. If this didn't work, not after pouring his heart out, then nothing could ever convince him otherwise.

"Please don't walk away, Kurt," he whispered, his voice raw with sincere emotion. "You're the only person who hasn't given up on me. And if you give up on me now... I... I don't have anyone else left. I would have nothing left. Please, Kurt. I know I've been selfish and difficult, but god damn it, I can't lose you. I love you so much. I love you. And oh god... It'll be different this time, Kurt. Just give me one last chance. If I screw up again, you can walk away and I won't stop you. But please, I'm asking you as your husband to please just give me one more chance to make this right. If you decide that this isn't worth it anymore, that we aren't worth the trouble and our marriage isn't worth the effort, then I won't stop you. But please... Let me make this right, Kurt. I need you."

He continued to sob into Kurt chest, his heart breaking as he noticed Kurt's stiff body unmoving even after his declaration. He needed Kurt. He needed him like breath, like water, like music. He needed him with every fiber of his being, knowing that without Kurt, he would be nothing.

It was a long , agonizing moment before he felt Kurt shrug out of his grasp and hug him back, the relief of the gesture nearly flooring Blaine as he sobbed some more. He felt Kurt bury his nose in his curly hair, inhaling his scent and committing it to memory.

They stayed that way for a long time, neither knowing how else to continue such an emotionally draining roller coaster. This was too much— too much that the small hope flickering in Kurt's heart amid the confusion and dark doubt seemed impossible to explain. Kurt inhaled heavily before he kissed the top of Blaine's head, pulling away to force Blaine to look at him.

"One chance, Blaine. Screw this up and I don't think I'll survive it."

Despite himself, Blaine smiled amid the tears, determined and hopeful and relieved and grateful all at once. "One chance. That's all I'm asking for." He paused, holding Kurt closer to him if at all possible. "Thank you."

Kurt cracked a small smile, trying his best to push the nagging voice in his head telling him this was a bad idea to some dark closet in his brain. He knew he was being stupid and foolish and so goddamn stubborn. But he knew he would forever live with the guilt and wondering if he walked away tonight and left Blaine to fend for himself when he needed him most.

The decision to stay was born out of the tremendous love he felt, love that allowed him to believe they could conquer anything and everything. Just the two of them against the world. And as impractical and unreasonable as it was, staying with Blaine and being destroyed from the inside was a more bearable thought than a life without him. The thought of abandoning him and then simply getting a phone call from the police to tell him Blaine was dead and was in some city morgue made him shudder and want to throw up.

Blaine was, regardless of his state, the love his life. He was his past, is his present, and he'd have it no other way than to have Blaine as his future. He needed Blaine just as much as Blaine needed him, if not more.

Because once upon a time, Blaine played hero and saved Kurt from imminent self-destruction. It was time Kurt returned the favor.

xxx

When Kurt had presented him with pamphlets for a therapist and an AA sponsor, Blaine was skeptical. But if he wanted things to work, he'd need to latch on to the help Kurt was extending. He was dubious about it, but there was truly nothing to lose, except maybe his pride. And quite honestly, his pride was easier to lose than his husband.

So it was with that thought that Blaine sat slightly begrudgingly in front of a therapist two days after his slip. The woman before him was young and kind and approachable. He was sweating slightly, craving, but he pushed it down and tried to channel the energy into speaking openly to the woman before him.

"Do you want to tell me why you're here, Blaine?"

Blaine suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, biting back a smart-ass comment in favor of a small, non-committal shrug.

The therapist wasn't deterred, though. "It seems your husband set this appointment up for you." When Blaine didn't respond, she continued. "Do you want to be here as much as your husband thinks you need to?"

Blaine sighed. "I don't want to be here," he said honestly. "But if being here will make my husband stay, then I'm willing to sit an hour a week with you. It's a small price to pay."

The therapist nodded thoughtfully. "I take it you love your husband a lot to be doing this for him."

He nodded, fumbling with the hem of his shirt as he sat back down on the plush chair. "I want to get better for him."

"But what about for yourself?" she asked carefully, glad that Blaine was talking. "Do you want to get better?"

Again, Blaine nodded. It was true. He wanted to get better. Maybe for now he wanted to get better for Kurt, but in his heart he wanted to get better for himself too. He was tired of disappointing Kurt, and their friends, and being an embarrassment, a burden.

"Why are you here, Blaine?" she asked again, sensing Blaine's emotions.

"I'm an alcoholic," Blaine said simply, ignoring the surge of shame bubbling in his gut at the mere mention of the word. He had only come into terms with the problem, and to voice it out to a woman he barely knew was nothing short of nerve-wracking. But he needed to be brave. He shouldn't be afraid to be judged based on his shortcomings by a woman trained to help him sort out his issues.

Courage.

"And do you believe that?" the therapist asked cautiously.

A beat, and then, a nod. Blaine was an alcoholic.

The therapist smiled. "Acknowledging the problem is the first step to getting better. You're doing well so far."

Blaine only shrugged, keeping his eyes on the ground as his fingers continued to fiddle with the hem of his shirt. He had thrown fashion out the window almost immediately after the phone call that informed him of his mother's demise. He supposed that the last time he looked remotely respectable was at the funeral, when Kurt had picked out a well-cut, tailored black suit for him for when he was to perform a song for his mother. He never did get to perform, though. He doesn't remember why, maybe because he was too distraught, crying too hard to even speak, or he was already drunk, a warning of the future to come.

Right now, though, he was a wearing a worn out grey shirt, a present from Finn, he vaguely remembered, and dark wash jeans that used to fit him perfectly but were now too loose on him. His hair was still a mess, but he was clean shaven for now.

"Do you want to tell me how it all started?" she asked, poising her pen to the side to indicate that she was listening. This didn't have to be clinical. She didn't need to take down notes in front of the patient, as if he was someone to be studied so meticulously. This was a person, with real emotions and real issues. Looking at Blaine, she realized his own problems stemmed far and beyond the death of a parent, and that those problems were slowly but surely destroying the strongest relationship he'd built with anyone, a relationship he clearly valued.

Again, Blaine shrugged. "My mom died," he started. "About a year ago, she... Died. My dad called me, told me she had a heart attack, and that plans for her funeral were underway. I didn't... I wasn't... Prepared."

The therapist nodded, a silent prodding for Blaine to continue.

"The last time I had spoken to her was two days before. She told me she was coming to visit Kurt and I in time for Kurt's opening night. I didn't... Know... That that would be the last time we'd talk."

"Nobody ever knows, Blaine," the therapist said sympathetically, her brow creasing in question.

"Yeah, but if I did... I would've..."

"You would've? What would you have done, Blaine, or said?"

Blaine licked his lips, thinking. He didn't realize he was nearing tears until a single drop made its way down his cheek. He remembered his mother, with her black hair and olive skin, black shining eyes that always reflected an acute sense of love and patience and understanding for her son. She was his guiding light, the only person who ever went out of her way to understand him, at least until he met Wes and David, and later on, Kurt.

He loved her with everything he had, with his whole heart. Every fiber of his being loved her, and her death meant his death as well. Maybe not physically, but she took with her such an enormous part of himself that not even Kurt could fill the gaping hole. Not that he ever let Kurt try, though. He was too busy hurting, too busy wallowing, and caught up with not wanting to replace her.

"That I love her. And how thankful I am that I had her. When things were... Difficult... In school and with my dad, I knew I'd always have her on my team, that she'd always be on my side." Sometimes it was the only comfort he could find.

The doctor nodded understandingly. "I'm sure she knows how much you love her, and how thankful you are."

Blaine shook his head. "I never got to verbalize that, though."

She pursed her lips. "I'm sure that you living your life, and being successful, is enough to let her know how much you appreciate all that she's done for you. You're giving the sacrifices she made much honor by making something out of yourself when the world seemed to think otherwise."

There was silence as Blaine mulled over her words, his tears now falling freely as he pictured his mother's encouraging smile, almost hearing her say how proud she was of him. And she was. She never failed to tell him that when she was alive. She always said she was proud of his strength and his resilience, his talent, and how happy she was that he had found Kurt.

"Am I disappointing her, too?" he asked softly, tearfully. "By being what I am now... Am I disappointing her too?"

When the therapist didn't answer, he knew. He knew he was. He was disappointing his mother—his mother who taught him to conquer every obstacle, to stand tall and survive even if nothing was going right. He was bastardizing her memory and the things she had painstakingly tried to teach him all through the difficult years growing up.

That was enough to make him crumble—the thought that he was disappointing the only person whose opinion mattered, even if she was gone. No, she would not be proud of the way he had handled her death, not after she had taught him to use every hardship as an avenue to be better, to use the hate the world threw at him as fuel to master himself.

He sobbed for it was worth, barely being ashamed at the amount of tears falling freely from his eyes at the realization that he was going against all the morals his mother had lovingly imparted to him whenever he'd come home upset, or crying, or bruised and beaten.

He doesn't remember how he got home that day, or how he had successfully dodged all of Kurt's worried, prying questions about what happened in session. All he could remember, and virtually comprehend, was the pain clenching at his heart. He had never thought of the situation that way. Sure he had thought that he was disappointing the people who loved him, mostly Kurt. Especially Kurt. But he never once thought what his mother might think of him, and the things he had done with his life.

Another wave of shame and guilt coursed through him all through the following week. He couldn't even think of the alcohol now, the mere thought of it almost sending him to a frenzy of tears and hurt and anger. He smothered all of the cravings with cold showers and loud singing and silent tears.

It came to a point when he couldn't even so much as look at Kurt without seeing the disappointment overpowered with worry swirling in his eyes, something he was sure he'd see reflected in his mother's eyes if she were standing before him now. He was repulsed, physically and emotionally, and the very idea of being anything other than the man his mother taught him to be ripped his heart to shreds.

The new perspective gave him some sort of strength to completely disregard the shaking and the craving in favor of putting his life back together. He vowed he would pick up the pieces, and let Kurt help him, or anyone really, just as long as he got as far away from this image of himself as possible.

He didn't want to be this person, which was why he found himself back in the therapist's office a week hence, still not telling Kurt his recent revelations, leaving him worried and teetering on the edge of panic and paranoia.

Kurt was worried, but he didn't want to push. Whatever was going through Blaine's head was keeping him off the alcohol, and at the very least, the thought comforted him. But Blaine knew Kurt was keeping a watchful eye at him, worried and hurting because Blaine had effectively built a wall around him, shutting Kurt out. Kurt wasn't sleeping well at night, if at all, staying up and trying to find answers in Blaine's subtle shaking, and the epiphanies sitting on the lines of his shoulders like concrete.

The therapist crossed her legs and offered Blaine a small smile. "How did your week go, Blaine?"

Blaine, still unable to meet the therapist's eyes, bit his lip and then sighed. "I didn't touch alcohol," he answered a little hopefully.

She nodded. "That's good Blaine. Take it a day at a time."

"It's hard," he admitted, "but I keep imagining what my mom might say to me and I just feel so ashamed."

"What would she say to you?"

Blaine frowned, his brow creasing. "That I'm ruining my life. That this isn't how she raised me."

"What about your father?"

Blaine's eyes snapped to the therapist, a little taken aback by the question. "What about him?" he countered, maybe a little defensively.

She shrugged, keeping her voice even and her stance confident. "You only ever mention your mom. Surely your father fits into the picture somewhere."

Blaine simply stared at her, trying to comprehend what she was asking. His father. How did his father fit into the picture? He wasn't sure. Oh, he had no doubt that his father loved him. But after he came out, and after the beating, they had simply drifted apart. He never spoke, never expressed anything related to Blaine's sexuality, but he cared in different ways.

Blaine supposed that was what hurt most when it came to his father. He needed both of his parents on his side. He needed his father's support. But after he came out, Mr. Anderson didn't know how to broach the topic, or how to act around him. To Blaine, the idea of fixing up an old car with him was a thinly veiled attempt at "straightening him out", although his father never explicitly said anything about his orientation. All the childhood repression of hurt and sadness were never really dealt with, and he burrowed himself in his mother's affections when he imagined the sadness in his father's eyes. Blaine always thought he was a disappointment, but his mother never let him believe that. She always said that his father loved him, but didn't know how exactly to show it. Blaine believed that. He held on to those words so tightly that he sometimes felt his heart ache physically, longing for his father's affections.

"I... Don't really know," Blaine said after a long moment.

"How did he take your—"

"Orientation?" Blaine supplied. Without waiting for an answer, Blaine shrugged. "We never talked about it. He loves me, and he cares. But I suppose he never knew how to show it. He's always been like that, even before I came out. We were never close."

"Even after your mother died?"

"More so after. He took it badly. Didn't speak to anyone for days."

"And do you resent that? Resent that you never had a more personal relationship with him?"

"Everyday," Blaine answered truthfully, the sadness lilting his voice unabashedly. "I mean, he'd make an effort to reach out sometimes. He'd ask me about Kurt and make small talk—they were the things I held on to because I knew he was trying. When I got beat up in school, he did all he could to legally sanction the guys that beat me up. And he suggested Dalton. I mean... He loved me. Loves me. We just aren't...showy, I guess. They're all awkward affection."

"Kurt tells me you have a pretty solid relationship with his father."

Blaine smiled wryly, fondness creeping up to his eyes. "Yeah. Burt is... Burt is a great dad. Treated me like his own. I'm not sure now though."

"Don't be discouraged. You're getting better," the therapist said reassuringly, sensing Blaine's train of thought. "If he loves like you say he does, he'll understand why all of this happened."

"Yeah, but I hurt his son. I can't... I can't even live with myself knowing I hurt Kurt. I'm sure Burt is just about ready to kill me." A pause, and then a quiet "I'd kill myself too." He wasn't a father, but he was pretty sure he'd kill anyone who hurt his children.

"You don't mean that," she said, her face falling as she observed how forlorn Blaine had gotten.

He sighed. "I wonder sometimes... What if I was a bit drunker that night? What if I didn't come to my senses? Would I have beaten Kurt up worse? I could have… I could have killed him and I wouldn't have been aware of it."

"But you didn't," she supplied, willing Blaine to have courage.

"I could have though. And the thought of hurting Kurt... Hurting him more than I already have... It's enough to make me think of killing myself. I'm such a horrible person."

"You're not horrible. You're here, and you're making an effort to get better. That's testament to what's inside your heart."

Blaine frowned, feeling tears welling in his eyes as he nodded. "God, I love him so much. I don't know why he puts up with me."

"Maybe because he loves you too, just as much if not more."

"I don't deserve him. He deserves more. He doesn't deserve a screwed up alcoholic husband."

xxx

"Kurt?"

Kurt looked up from his magazine, eyeing Blaine sitting next to him on the bed, his legs crossed Indian style and gazing at him nervously. He neatly put the magazine aside and smiled a little.

"Yeah?"

Blaine gestured for Kurt to sit up, so he did. He positioned himself right in front of Blaine, mirroring his posture, their knees bumping as they sat across each other on the bed.

Kurt stared at Blaine questioningly as the dark-haired man took his hands and cradled them between his own calloused ones.

It had been three days since Blaine's last appointment, talking about his father and Burt and Kurt. He wouldn't deny that the sessions were helping, and he was slowly allowing himself to believe that things would go back to the way they were. Kurt's encouraging, supportive, and loving presence was fuel to the slowly escalating fire driving Blaine to overcome the addiction.

When Blaine didn't say anything, simply stared at their clasped hands, warm and inviting, Kurt tilted his head in question. "Blaine?" he said quietly, earning the other man's attention.

Briefly, Blaine met his gaze before returning his gaze to the hands, squeezing Kurt's slightly. "What do you..." Blaine started, his voice scratchy and a little unsure. "What do you see... when you look at me?" he asked, his voice nothing more than a whisper.

The question startled Kurt. He wasn't expecting that. Not that he was expecting anything, really. Blaine had kept to himself for the most part, all his thoughts remaining unarticulated. For the past weeks, Blaine sought him out for physical affection— long nights of simply holding him, tender kisses and whispered reassurances. Blaine hadn't opened up yet, and Kurt was perfectly willing to wait until he was ready as long as he kept his hands off the alcohol.

Kurt pondered the strange query, frowning for a moment before he squeezed Blaine's hands and sat up a little straighter.

"I see you. I see Blaine. Happy, compassionate, patient, understanding Blaine with a big heart. I see the Blaine who helped me survive high school, who loved me despite my flaws, who held me when I was lonely and believed in me when I felt like the biggest loser." He paused, smiling a little and gathering some forward momentum. "I see the Blaine who sits in the corner with his guitar, writing songs and singing. I see the Blaine who painstakingly selects his bowties in the morning and gels his curls up in front of the mirror. I see the Blaine with an unhealthy attachment to drip coffee and biscotti. But mostly I see you with your kind heart, never seeing the wrong in others and always assuming the best. I see you seeing beauty around you, hopeful and optimistic, but strong and caring and brilliant."

Somewhere in the middle of Kurt's speech, Blaine started tearing up. It seemed that these days, it was all Blaine could do. Kurt's words touched him immensely, casting away his doubts and reassuring him in a way he didn't realize he needed. He was still baffled that Kurt loved him so passionately, but he was undeniably floored and humbled by it. Somehow, hearing what Kurt saw with his own two eyes was comforting, feeling like a burden was lifted from his shoulders.

"Kurt..." he whispered brokenly, unable to meet Kurt's intense gaze.

"I look at you and I see the man I fell in love with," Kurt said in earnest, willing Blaine to believe his every word. "I don't see your mistakes, or your flaws. No amount of hurting will ever make me see you otherwise."

Blaine sniffed, bringing Kurt's hands to his lips and kissing them softly, treating them reverently, sacredly. "I don't know what I did to deserve you, Kurt."

Kurt smiled a little, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Blaine's forehead. "Something good," he said simply, echoing the song from his and Blaine's favorite musical, one they used to watch when they needed a bit of comfort.

Blaine looked up, catching the reference, and grinning through his tears. "Something good," he repeated fondly.

"What about you, Blaine?" Kurt asked softly, his eyes inquiring as he stared at Blaine's hazel, soulful orbs. "What do you see when you look at me?"

Blaine tilted his head to the side, studying Kurt and his features. God, he was beautiful. With his porcelain skin and his blue eyes, his cheekbones and his soft, pink lips, Kurt was a vision. He always has been, but tonight, with the intensity of their emotions, Kurt popped out so beautifully it almost broke his heart. The bruise on Kurt's cheek had thankfully faded, the physical reminder of Blaine's failure now gone forever. He'd pick through the emotions and work hard to erase the emotional scarring that night brought about, but right now, he was thankful that Kurt's timelessness was restored, leaving him so much more radiant than he ever was.

"Strength," Blaine whispered proudly and honestly, his voice melodious and full and strong even in the quiet of the night. "I see strength. And courage. And every shade of beauty possible."

Kurt blushed, ducking his head to avoid the intensity of Blaine's gaze.

"I love you so much, Kurt," Blaine said passionately, a little choked up. "I love you so much it fucking scares me."

"Me too," Kurt whispered, feeling his throat constrict with emotion.

"Do you believe me, Kurt?" he asked a little desperately. "That I'm so, incredibly sorry about all of this? Not just for the bruise, but for everything I did and didn't do in the past year. God, I hate what I've become, Kurt. But you always see right through me, and I'm sorry for hurting you. You don't deserve any of that. I'm so sorry."

Kurt smiled, unclasping his hands from Blaine's and bringing to cup Blaine's face securely. "I know that, Blaine. And you're doing so well."

"Thank you for believing in me. And for being patient. I know I'm not exactly the easiest person to be around with now but god… thank you for being here."

Kurt shrugged, leaning forward and planting a chaste kiss on Blaine's lips. "There's absolutely no place I'd rather be, Blaine."

xxx

"Blaine, you better hurry up," Kurt called from the kitchen. "We're going to lose our reservation if you don't."

From the bedroom, Blaine rolled his eyes as he stood in front of the mirror, running the comb over this locks, gelled down in a way that was all Blaine Anderson. "Normally, the roles are reversed and I'm the one yelling for you to hurry," Blaine hollered, his retort playful.

Kurt scoffed as he set a glass into the sink, meaning to wash it after they got home from the play. It was opening night for a show starring one of Kurt's theater friends. This was the first time they would head out for a nice dinner before the show, the first time in more than a year. It was momentous, a milestone, which was one of the reasons Kurt had freaked out and fussed and in the end got ready way ahead of schedule. He knew what tonight meant. It meant Blaine reacquainting himself with the world, being more sociable. They had both been a hopeless recluse since Blaine started his recovery. He was doing better, that was for sure, and Kurt was excited and terrified at the prospect of seeing Blaine interact with people other than him and his therapist again.

"Yes, well," Kurt continued, "that's because I have impeccable taste in fashion and perfection takes time. I know you're just going to throw a pair of pants and a button down top if I'm lucky and—"

He stopped mid-sentence as Blaine stepped out of their bedroom, decked impeccably in gray dress pants, a button down top underneath a sweater vest and a deep purple bow tie, his hair slicked back, and his expression hopeful and waiting. Kurt was dumbfounded. No, he wasn't expecting Blaine to look so... Blaine. So dapper and handsome and polished. He hadn't seen his husband dress in this manner for the longest time, dressed so neatly in a way that reminded him of a simpler, happier time.

When Kurt said nothing, simply stared with his mouth slightly agape, Blaine fidgeted under the scrutiny. "Too much?" Blaine asked nervously. "I can change. Or am I underdressed? I have a suit in a dress bag I haven't used in..." he trailed off, watching Kurt's eyes water momentarily before the pale boy walked slowly towards him.

Kurt ran a light finger across the bow tie, smiling almost nostalgically before he cupped Blaine's cheek. "You look perfect," Kurt said, his voice slightly hoarse.

Blaine exhaled heavily, not knowing he had held in breath in anticipation of Kurt's opinion, grinning widely and leaning into Kurt's touch. "I take it you approve?"

Kurt giggled, kissing Blaine lightly on the lips. "Very much so," he replied, his tone light and happy.

"I thought you would."

"I love the bow tie," Kurt stated, taking a step back and removing his hand from Blaine's cheek, setting it on his bicep. "Looks like your collection is out for use again," he said, his tone hinting and hopeful.

Blaine grinned. "Actually, I bought this just for the occasion," he stated matter-of-factly. "It's been a while since I added anything to the collection. But you're right—they're all going to be used and abused again."

For some reason, the thought melted Kurt's heart. The very act of Blaine putting on a bow tie was reason enough to celebrate. Blaine had been doing better, gone a whole six months without any slips. Kurt was undeniably proud. But here, tonight, where Blaine was putting the pieces of his life back together in more ways than one, Kurt couldn't help but be even prouder. The bow tie, a simple and yet undoubtedly the most quintessential part of Blaine, was back, visible and glaring brightly as if to say "screw you" to everyone who didn't believe he could get better.

"I'm glad to hear it," Kurt said quietly, a small, sincere smile splayed on his lips.

Blaine simply stared into Kurt's eyes, happy and hopeful and filled with so much love and affection. "I love you."

Kurt cleared his throat, breaking the moment, but whispering a quick "I love you too," before "We need to get going. Our reservation is for 6:30, and it's already 6."

Blaine nodded, taking a step away from Kurt and offering his arm extravagantly. "Shall we, my Lord?" he gestured gallantly, exaggeratedly.

He shook his head and giggled before linking his arm through Blaine's, his heart filled with content. "We shall."

They made it to their dinner reservation, and then the show, Kurt keeping a close, indulgent eye at Blaine as he gesticulated and spoke so passionately, his eyes shining at the realization that his Blaine was back. The Blaine he lost was back and was so incredibly real and concrete. This was how he had imagined their life five years ago, when they had first gotten married, and even long before that, as a naive 17-year-old, completely and utterly in love with one Blaine Anderson.

All throughout the show, Blaine had kept their fingers entwined, his thumb brushing absently but affectionately over Kurt's hand. Kurt barely paid any attention to the musical on stage, his attention focused solely on the small gestures Blaine was making. His heart fluttered erratically in his chest, his head feeling so light, almost as if he was falling in love all over again. And maybe he was. He was completely besotted, and enchanted, and inspired by the changed man who was now holding on to his hand with much affection. A surge of love shot through his heart as Blaine raised his hand and brushed his lips against it softly, once, twice, and then thrice before setting them back on his lap, keeping their fingers locked.

The show ended, leaving Blaine and Kurt staggering out of the theater and into the cold night. Blaine looked expectant and nervous at the same time, his hand fidgeting in Kurt's.

"We don't have to if you aren't ready," Kurt said, noting Blaine's sudden distress. Every time they went to see a show, it was routine to walk to the stage door, through the back stage, and mingle with Kurt's friends from the business. It was something they had done all the time before things went south, a tradition they enjoyed indulgently. They would socialize and congratulate, sometimes grab a drink or two with Kurt's friends, mingling like a well-oiled, cohesive set of friends. But Blaine didn't know where he stood anymore. Logically he knew that Kurt's friends were very protective of him, and more or less hated his guts for doing what he did to Kurt. He knew that had he given a fuck then, he would've heard them express their displeasure openly to Kurt, telling him he was stupid to stay and that they were very much willing to disembowel Blaine for him. That, and there was the fact that this was the first time Blaine was going to see any friend outside of Finn and Rachel, that is, if he could still call them that. The fact of the matter was the he wasn't sure. He and Kurt hadn't talked about it, even if he knew Kurt pondered over it in the days leading up to opening night.

Blaine shook his head. "I... Don't know if—"

"They're still your friends," Kurt interrupted, rushing to assure him. Any friend of his was Blaine's friend by default, and if they weren't happy about that, then screw them. "But if you aren't comfortable, then we don't have to. We're taking this at your pace."

Blaine brought his eyes to the ground as they stood awkwardly by the stage door. "Lana really wanted to see you."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Lana will live. I can call her tonight and tell her we made it, but that we were too tired after."

He shook his head. "Her after party—"

"We don't have to go to the after party. We can drop in backstage and say a quick hello before leaving, or we can leave now and snuggle on the couch with popcorn and a movie. But we aren't going in there if you aren't ready."

Kurt wasn't about to force Blaine, to push him prematurely into a social gathering before Blaine was ready. He wasn't dumb. He knew what his friends thought of Blaine and the whole idea of staying with him. They had been considerate enough not to voice their opinions after Kurt decidedly told them to fuck off, but not voicing their opinions didn't mean they didn't have one. Blaine was fragile, walking on eggshells if you will, and he wouldn't knowingly put Blaine in a position that would make him retreat inside his shell. He was perfectly content to take small, slow, and measured steps instead of coercing Blaine into progress he wasn't ready to make.

Blaine was quiet, contemplating the situation as Kurt waited patiently for him to come to a decision. He sighed, biting his lip as he felt Kurt squeeze his hand in reassurance.

"Maybe," Blaine said finally, his voice meek, "we can say hello and then go home?" he asked hopefully, meeting Kurt's eyes. "I'm really not up for a party."

Kurt gave him a small, encouraging smile. "Of course. Whatever you want, baby."

Blaine returned the smile and stepped into Kurt's personal space and planting a small, chaste kiss to Kurt's lips. "Thank you."

With a nod, Kurt pulled Blaine towards the door, entering before they were met with a flurry of cast members bouncing excitedly in post-opening bliss. Blaine tightened his grip on Kurt's hand, feeling unsure and out place as his eyes scanned the place. He wasn't exactly a stranger to the setting. He'd been there often, visiting Kurt and being the sweet husband he was. But knowing what he knew, and doing the things he did, the place didn't seem so welcome anymore. This was Kurt's turf—Kurt's friends and not Kurt and Blaine's friends. They didn't know him the way the Warblers or the New Directions did.

Kurt expertly maneuvered them through the crowd before he spotted his friend, grinning widely as they made their way through, Blaine getting more anxious by the second.

"Kurt!" Lana greeted enthusiastically, bobbing up and down and Kurt neared. "I'm so glad you can make it!" she yelled through the crowd.

It was only when Kurt was near enough that she noticed him holding hands tightly with, well, his husband. She was surprised, to say the least. Surprised that Kurt was here in the first place, let alone with Blaine. They had been working through issues in the past year, issues she didn't really feel were fixable. But wary as she was, she was happy Kurt could make it, and that Blaine looked more presentable than ever.

Kurt squeezed Blaine hand before he let it go momentarily, just enough to give Lana a warm, congratulatory hug. "You were so great! I'm so proud of you," he gushed, standing right beside Blaine and taking his hand back.

Blaine latched on instinctively to Kurt's hand as he strained a smile. "Kurt and I really enjoyed the performance, Lana," Blaine said a little unsurely, straining a smile but forcing himself to remain sincere and pleasant.

Lana eyed him a little suspiciously before she smiled and nodded. "Thank you Blaine. It's good to see you. You look... Great," she finished a little lamely.

Blaine nodded, feeling small under Lana's thickly veiled disapproval. Kurt sighed, bringing his hand up to link his arms through Blaine's protectively, a gesture that was meant to convey a warning of sorts to people who had anything to say about Blaine being there.

"Thank you," Blaine replied politely.

"Yes, well," Lana cleared her throat, putting on a bright smile and turning to Kurt. "Did you like it?"

Kurt nodded, grinning back, "Thoroughly enjoyed myself!" he exclaimed excitedly. "You guys are sure to get hit reviews in the morning paper."

Before Lana could reply, a bunch of guys came up behind her, talking animatedly and crowding the trio.

"Kurt, my boy," a guy with beach blonde hair greeted. "You're here!"

Kurt rolled his eyes, but smiled good-naturedly. "Yes, I'm here Mark," he said.

"Hi Kurt," a smaller guy with red hair and a healthy scattering of freckles on his face said, smiling warmly.

"Hi, Pete," Kurt said. "You guys were great," he said, addressing Mark and Pete and the two other guys behind them. "The show's gonna be a hit."

"Well, hopefully it'll break your box office record," Lana said jokingly, referring to the production Kurt was currently in.

"Don't bet on it," Kurt replied cheekily.

Blaine felt more out of his element by the moment, watching Kurt interact with his theater friends. These guys used to be his friends too, and it was either they had not noticed him yet, or were completely ignoring him.

"There's an after party, Kurt," Mark informed, even though he knew Kurt knew. Kurt was no stranger to the ins and outs of show business. And on opening night, everyone waited up for the morning's papers, anticipating reviews on the show. "You should come."

"Yeah, you should," Pete piped in. "It's down at the usual. Everyone's gonna be there."

Kurt glanced at Blaine and smiled. "You know, I think Blaine and I are gonna sit this one out. We're living like an old couple these days."

It was the first time the group, other than Lana, noticed Blaine standing there, looking awkward and out of place. They were more than a little stunned to see him there, dressed impeccably and standing so close to Kurt.

Pete cleared his throat, smiling to ease the awkward tension sure to settle between them. "Oh hey Blaine! Didn't see you there," he said. "You're looking great."

Mark regarded Blaine with narrowed eyes as Blaine nodded meekly in appreciation. A quick look to Kurt giving him a death glare made him straighten his back and put on what he hoped was a friendly smile. "Yeah, looking great man."

"Thank you," Blaine whispered.

"You guys should come to the after party," Lana said. "You and Blaine are more than welcome."

Kurt shrugged, smiling in regret. "I know. But we're pretty beat. We'll come next time, I promise."

Mark rolled his eyes. "There isn't gonna be a next time until one of us leaves this show and gets into a new one. You know that's not gonna happen soon."

But still, Kurt insisted. "I'm really sorry, guys."

"No, I—" Blaine interjected, turning his head slightly to meet Kurt's questioning gaze. "If you wanna go, go ahead. I'll meet you back at the apartment."

Kurt shook his head. "Nonsense, Blaine," he said. He turned to his friends and gave a firm nod. "Blaine and I are headed home. We just wanted to say congratulations on a great show."

Lana nodded understandingly, sensing the anxiety radiating off of Blaine, and noting how Kurt was slowly morphing into a defiant, protective husband.

"Have fun though," Kurt added, his tone a little softer.

Lana smiled and opened her arms out, beckoning Kurt for a hug. Kurt disentangled his arm from Blaine's briefly and indulged Lana, her sleek arms coming around him comfortingly. Lana was his best friend at NYADA, not counting Rachel of course, and she understood perfectly the pain Kurt went through.

"He seems better," she whispered into his ear. "I'm proud of you."

Kurt buried his face in the crook of her neck and nodded appreciatively. "Thank you," he murmured back before he let her go.

Kurt stepped away and watched as Lana turned to Blaine and offered her arms out as well. Blaine looked unsurely before Lana flashed him a warm smile. Hesitantly, he stepped in and allowed the tiny girl to wrap her arms around him.

"Good to have you back, Blainers," she said, unknowingly lifting a heavy burden from Blaine's back. Blaine sagged slightly in relief, relaxing into Lana's embrace and rubbing her back a bit.

"Thank you." He pulled back and stepped away, watching Kurt hug Mark and Pete goodbye.

"Good to see you, Blaine," Pete said pleasantly, offering his hand to shake. Blaine took it and shook it firmly.

"You too," he replied, then nodded politely at Mark, who nodded back.

Later, as he and Kurt were walking hand in hand outside the theater to the subway, Kurt turned to him, smiling.

"That wasn't so bad now, was it?"

"No," Blaine agreed, a ghost of a smile on his lips. Honestly it went better than he expected, and for that, he was grateful.

"I'm proud of you, Blaine" Kurt said. "I keep saying that, and maybe it's losing its meaning, but I am. I'm proud of you."

Blaine stopped abruptly, facing a startled Kurt then resting his hands on his hips. "I don't think I'd be here now without you. If there's any reason for you to be proud, it was because you were patient with me. So thank you. I owe you... I practically owe you my life."

Kurt shook his head, dropping a kiss on Blaine's forehead. "You owe me nothing but the promise that you'll keep working to be happy."

"I am happy," Blaine whispered earnestly. "I have everything I'll ever need right here, in my arms. I love you, and for some insane reason I can't comprehend, you love me too. You make so happy Kurt."

"The feeling is mutual."

A pause, and then, with a small smile, "Good," Blaine whispered, kissing Kurt soundly on the lips.

xxx

Blaine padded silently through the apartment, setting the table for a romantic dinner. Kurt would be home in less than an hour. The lasagna was keeping warm in the oven, the salad ready to be tossed, and the sparkling grape juice chilling in the fridge. Kurt probably didn't remember what today was, but he did, and he felt like it was cause to celebrate.

Today was a year since he took Kurt home from Finn and Rachel's apartment, his eye bruised and his heart hurt over the things Blaine had said and done. It was a year since Kurt took a leap of faith, one that everyone around them told him wasn't worth it. It was in moments when Blaine remembered Kurt's devotion and patience that he felt such immense love for his husband. Kurt loved him, saw through the alcohol despite the horrible things Blaine had done to their marriage. He believed, and Blaine loved him all the more for it, grateful that he didn't give up and remained entirely steadfast.

He still gets cravings sometimes, but he's risen above it. He's been clean almost a year now, and he's learned how to trample on the voice at the back of his head urging him to grab a drink. He learned to constantly remind himself of the life he wanted, the life he and Kurt dreamt, and the affectionate way he sometimes caught Kurt staring at him, as if he were the sun and stars despite everything. He sometimes felt his heart physically contract with much adoration for Kurt, adoration that was mutual.

In the time it took for Blaine to put his life back together, he had reconnected with his friends, found a stable, decent job as a choir director at the juvenile center—a job he found fulfilling and meaningful and worth every effort, and put together a whole new image of Blaine Anderson. He was still essentially Blaine, with the bow ties and the dapper personality and the compulsive need to gel his hair down and drink drip coffee. But he had grown too. He had grown and matured and learned more about the world that it reflected in the way he dealt with everyday things. The past two years were quite a learning experience, and he wasn't about to pretend they didn't happen no matter how horrible or difficult those years had been. It helped in the way he empathized with his students, and allowed him to value his relationships more, his marriage most especially.

So even if on the outside, he was the same Blaine everyone knew from before the alcohol, in his heart, he was a changed man. He loved Kurt so much more, making every effort to make him happy in a way that was so much stronger than before. Yes, he had always wanted to make Kurt happy. He had always felt very strongly about that. But now, after everything, after realizing all the sacrifices Kurt made for him and after putting his mother and their relationship and his pain over her demise in the right perspective, he knew to put much fierce passion into giving Kurt everything he could possibly give. He had even reached out and called his father at one point, a load lifted from his chest at hearing his father's comforting voice, despite how estranged they'd been in the past years.

Yes, things were looking up for him. And as he put the finishing touches on the flowers on the table, he had to smile at how happy he was now. Happy and blessed—even if he didn't deserve it.

As he was pulling the lasagna out of the oven, he heard the door open and shut, followed by the sound of rustling clothes and the unmistakable voice of his husband.

"Blaine?" he heard him say, scuffling in the living room. "Have you been cooking? It smells so good in here."

Blaine turned around just in time to see Kurt arrive in the small kitchen, nose pink from the cold, and a cheery smile on his face.

Blaine grinned, setting the lasagna on the counter and stepping to wrap his arms around Kurt, nuzzling his neck. Kurt giggled, breathy and startled by the display of affection.

He pulled back a little, pecking Kurt on the cheek and grinning. "Hi."

Kurt chuckled, rubbing Blaine's back warmly. "Hi," he said back, looking past Blaine and eyeing the lasagna before he noticed the dining table set-up, with flowers and a few candles. "It's not my birthday, is it?" Kurt asked confused, but smiling the nonetheless.

Blaine kissed him on the cheek again and pulled away. "No, it's our anniversary."

Kurt's brow furrowed, a slow panic gripping him as he tried to wrack his brain up for the date. Surely he wasn't busy enough to completely forget what day it was. Their anniversary wasn't exactly a date he'd overlook. He paled considerably, bringing his hand up to run through his hair, flustered. "Oh, god. I didn't even... I'm so sorry I've been so busy and—"

He was cut off by a rough kiss, Kurt feeling Blaine smile against his lips. "You're adorable when you panic," he said breathlessly. "But relax. It isn't our wedding anniversary."

This confused Kurt even more. "I don't... Follow, exactly. We just celebrated our other anniversary three weeks ago."

The other anniversary he was referring to was the day he and Blaine got together, kissing whilst he decorated a casket for a dead bird in the middle of a common room. They usually went out for dinner, Blaine giving a short version of the you move me speech that always left Kurt feeling a bit woozy. Love sick.

"I know," Blaine said, leading Kurt to the dining room and pulling out a chair for him to sit. Kurt obliged and eyed him as Blaine tossed the salad and brought it to the table, placing a serving on Kurt's plate.

"Then what is this about?"

Blaine winked, taking the sparkling grape juice from the fridge and unscrewing the top. Sensing Kurt's wary expression, Blaine set the bottle down and smiled. "Relax, baby. It has zero alcohol."

Kurt nodded sheepishly. Blaine couldn't really blame him for being cautious and paranoid. Even though Blaine was doing significantly better and there were days Kurt forgot they were even in the mess in the first place, he was always agitated when it came celebrations that included a healthy amount of alcohol. It was why he had to decline every invitation to a party, especially if he knew there was the slightest chance for booze. He couldn't risk it. Blaine was honest with him and admitted he sometimes still craved for it. Kurt wasn't about to throw him into a position that would deliberately test his self-control. It wasn't worth it.

Pouring them each a glass, he set one in front of Kurt before he slid into the seat adjacent to him, taking Kurt's hand in his.

"You still haven't answered me," Kurt said, relaxing at Blaine's touch. "What are we celebrating?"

Silence, and then, reverently, Blaine let go of Kurt's hand to trace Kurt's jaw, then his cheek, his thumb ghosting over the spot below Kurt's eye where the bruise used to sit. A sad expression covered Blaine's features as he stared wistfully at the spot, the guilt and the sadness of the memory still as strong as the day it happened.

Kurt finally caught up, realization hitting him as he studied the sudden shift in mood. He watched Blaine's eyes flicker with regret, shivering involuntarily at Blaine's light touch.

Bringing his hand up to cup the dorsum of Blaine's hand against his cheek, he whispered, "Hey, none of that."

Blaine's eyes remained transfixed on the spot, shaking his head slightly. "I was so stupid then, Kurt," he said softly. "I don't know why you put up with me like that."

"Because you're my husband and I love you," Kurt said firmly, ignoring the memories flashing through his head of that night. He ignored the way his chest tightened at the memory of being frightened, of scampering to gather his things and crying relentlessly into Rachel's shoulder. He ignored the memory of the way Blaine looked then: hollow and haunted, tired and angry. He pushed the memories aside, wanting to immerse himself in the way things had turned out for the both them.

Another moment passed before Blaine straightened up, offering Kurt a confident, hopeful smile. "We're celebrating you tonight, Kurt," he explained, removing his hand from Kurt's face, taking Kurt's hand with it. He squeezed it lightly across the table before lacing their fingers together.

"Me?" he asked, smirking.

Blaine nodded with enthusiasm. "Yes, you. Your love and your patience... You believing in me. Just... You."

"Blaine—"

"You're amazing, Kurt. Everyday you leave me in awe, and everyday I wonder if I can ever be half the man you are, or if I can ever be enough for you. You're... Amazing. You... Move me Kurt. All the time. You push me to be a better person, and I'm fucking thankful you didn't give up on me. I know we 're not religious but there really must be some higher being out there who sent you to me. He knew I needed you."

Kurt continued to stare, his eyes watering at Blaine's words.

"Thank you, Kurt," Blaine said, his voice softer but not losing conviction. "Thank you for not giving up on me... And for saving me."

"We saved each other, Blaine," Kurt smiled. Blaine looked at Kurt skeptically, opening his mouth to protest before Kurt stopped him. "Before we met... You don't know how many times I was on the verge of... Ending it... " Kurt said, a hint of hesitation seeping in his voice. "You came at a time in my life when I needed someone who understood me most. And with the stuff happening with my dad, the hospital... And then the bullying... Your friendship... Your kindness that first day... It made me pause to look at my life. I think about it now, and think of the life we've had, and I'm glad I didn't end it then. I would have missed out on so much happiness had I taken the easy way out."

Blaine jaw fell at the admission, not just that Kurt was on the verge of suicide when they had met, but at the realization, and the understanding, of why Kurt was so adamant at fixing Blaine. On some level, Kurt felt like it was giving back, so to speak, of repaying Blaine for the way he rescued him from himself. Kurt had never mentioned that fact to Blaine. Despite the long years they've spent together as a couple, Kurt never once showed any indication of giving up on anything, especially not his own life. The realization of Kurt's strength, of his perseverance, and the idea that Blaine had done something so enormously important for Kurt had blindsided him with awe.

With his body, Blaine pushed the chair back and hurried to Kurt's side. Kurt stood up to meet him halfway, embracing him fiercely without words. Not that they were required; the embrace said it all. That they loved each other. That the whole world could turn against them and they'd be okay as long as they had each other. That they didn't need anything but each other.

The embrace's ferocity eventually died down, with Kurt's face buried in the crook of Blaine's neck as Blaine held him snugly. Their breathing was shallow and in sync, the silence engulfing them comfortable and thoughtful.

After a moment, Blaine buried his face in Kurt hair, kissing the tip of his head as he murmured, "You never told me about that."

"It's a self-destructive thought," Kurt replied, his voice muffled as he kept his face buried in Blaine's neck.

Rubbing his palm against Kurt's back, Blaine nodded thoughtfully. "So why tell me now?"

With a shrug, Kurt lifted his head from it's position and cast his gaze at the neckline of Blaine's shirt, bringing his fingers to toy with hem a little unsurely. "I don't know. I guess... I guess I wanted you to know you've done so much for me. Without you knowing it, you literally saved me. It's the reason why I believed in you so much. There's so much good inside of you Blaine. You're unaware of it most of the time, but you're the most amazing person I've met in my life. And I love you so much for it."

"Kurt..."

"Thank you, Blaine," Kurt said quietly but with conviction, finally looking up to meet Blaine's eyes. "Thank you."

A slow smile spread across Blaine's face as he tightened his hold on Kurt. He wasn't sure, but he didn't think he loved Kurt any more than he did at that moment. He felt as much fierce emotion for Kurt, first when they first made love, next when they were reunited in New York after Blaine's graduation, then on the day he proposed, then on their wedding day, then on the day Blaine took him home from Rachel's, and now, today, at this very moment. He loved Kurt so much that he wondered how he could ever call himself a man, or complete, or worth anything, without him. Kurt was such a quintessential part of him, starting on the day Kurt stopped him on the staircase, up to the moment either of them succumbed to inevitable death.

But that feeling, that strong, immense emotion, was entirely mutual. Kurt was brimming with so much love as the feeling of security engulfed him in the form of Blaine's arms wrapped securely around his frame. The idea that he wasn't enough for Blaine had hurt him deeply, more than the physical bruise on his eye a year prior. But now, in this moment, he could define exactly why he was so pained over it. It was because his entire life revolved and evolved around one Blaine Anderson. He had built his entire life around him, showering him with much adoration, almost worshipping him, needing him. He loved him, maybe almost to a self-destructive extent, willing to be a martyr all for love. He hated how that made him sound so weak and clingy, but it was true. Blaine was his life, and he could scarcely imagine his future without him.

Slowly, Blaine pressed his lips against Kurt, light and almost imperceptible. It was barely touching at first, gentle and reassuring, before he deepened it slowly, running his tongue lightly over Kurt's bottom lip. Kurt whimpered, blushing, before Blaine pulled away, breathing heavily even though the contact was light.

Resting his forehead affectionately against Kurt's, he grinned. "I love you."

"Mmm," Kurt smiled, not noticing how much they've exchanged those words in the course of that night alone.

Because at the end of the day, it was just that. It was always going to be the two of them, the two of them against the world and Blaine was more than blessed for the fact. They loved each other so passionately that there was no question of the future. Looking at where they were now, and the obstacles they've managed to survive, Blaine couldn't help but think he wouldn't trade this for the world. The security and the immeasurable amount of affection he felt for Kurt wasn't something he wanted to ever live without. Kurt's love, and his patience, and the way he struggled to get them full circle, allowed Blaine to realize that somewhere along the way, somewhere between the screw ups and the hurt and the healing, he must have done something right. Something good.

---

Okay. A couple of things.

1. I know not a lot of people appreciate alcoholic!Blaine or abusive!Blaine, but this idea occurred to me when I realized how stupid he gets when drunk. So yeah. If it's not your cup of tea, don't read it. That said, Blaine will be out of character for a bit because of the alcohol so that shouldn't be a surprise.

2. I'm big on redemption so this is basically where the story picks up from. I wanted Blaine to be able to pick himself back up and demonstrate how strong his and Kurt's relationship is. I know that the whole dynamic of their relationship is mature and stable so I thought it would be a good idea to reflect that.

3. I'm also big on parent issues. This, my first story, and the story I'm writing now kind of reflect that inclination but yeah. :)) It's a recurring theme oh my god.

Anyway. Goodness. Thank you for reading. I know you had to put in a lot of effort to get to the very end of this (because this is LONG, goodness), so really. I applaud you.