Author's note: Figured I'd start posting this one here; hopefully the updates will still be quick, but there are no guarantees. It's yet another fill for a prompt on the glee_angst_meme (PM me if you'd like a link to the prompt). And hey, it's proof I can at least attempt to write Blaine as a decent guy. Enjoy.
Kurt wasn't answering his phone. It had happened before, (though Kurt was almost religious about making sure his phone was always on him) but this time felt different, like the bad taste left in one's mouth after a really long sleep. He knew it was late, but this just wasn't like Kurt. Blaine frowned at the recording of Kurt's sullen, almost bored voice as it told him through the tiny phone speakers that he wasn't available and to leave a message after the tone.
He listened to the quick chirp signaling the start of the recording for his message. He opened his mouth and then shut it again, lost for words. Something was wrong. Nothing felt quite right.
"Hey, Kurt. It's Blaine. If you get this, give me a call. Thanks," he spat out quickly before tapping the screen to end the call. He briefly entertained texting Kurt, but if he was ignoring calls, he might not have his phone around. It was a stupid idea; it was stupid to worry. Kurt was fine. The boy just wasn't answering his phone. Nothing to worry about. Blaine was getting upset over nothing. But the niggling feeling in the pit of his stomach would not let him be.
The more he thought about it, the more he realized that Kurt had been acting weird while they were still at school, before the break. Not overly strange, just more subdued, more distant as the school year dwindled to a close. And maybe he hadn't looked as clean and crisp as he normally did every day, but he'd be back to himself the next day if he slipped.
He'd also seemed kind of distracted—spacing out during Warblers practices, grades steadily falling (though not enough to overly worry Burt or Carole); he even wandered away in the middle of conversations every now and again, sometimes singing to himself under his breath. It was a bit unnerving now that he thought about it.
He'd also stopped caring properly for Pavarotti, to the point that Blaine had taken the bird in secret before finals; he was sitting on his perch in Blaine's room right now in fact, tilting his head to the side in that cute little way that he always did. No one knew he had him, and Blaine wouldn't tell. He couldn't do that to Kurt. But the bird had been in pretty bad condition when he'd taken him: kind of rumpled, cage lining piled with chalky white excrement and discarded grey and yellow feathers, food dish nearly empty with only the shells of seeds coating the bottom, water cloudy and dotted with something Blaine couldn't identify.
It had been a pretty sad sight, but Blaine had shrugged it off. Kurt was busy; he was tired; he was probably having trouble adjusting to the new environment he'd been thrust into; and he probably didn't know a thing about caring for a bird (Blaine vaguely remembered Kurt saying that his dad had been adamantly opposed to pets, and hey, it helped him keep things clean around the house, so who was he to complain?). Kurt had only asked after Pavarotti once after he'd been taken, when he'd been unable to find the cage in his room, though there were sunny little feathers still scattered across his desk. It was odd because Kurt was normally such a tidy person. It wasn't like him at all. The whole thing was even more unsettling now that he thought about it.
But that had been it. Nothing big or really out of the ordinary, just little things. Kurt was still mostly Kurt. There wasn't anything to worry about. But he still hadn't answered his phone, and that something in Blaine's gut, in the back of his brain, wouldn't leave him alone.
He'd try Kurt at home. Yeah, he was probably home. Maybe he had left his phone where he couldn't get to it, or he had walked out of the room with it set to silent, or perhaps he was taking a shower or something. It wasn't anything to worry about. Kurt was fine. He'd just call the house phone and verify.
If nothing else, Burt or Carole or even Finn could tell him where Kurt was and maybe just what in the heck was going on, if anything at all.
He turned his phone over in his hands once, twice, before looking at the screen. He sighed and scrolled through his contacts. He knew Kurt's cell number by heart, but his home number still escaped him. He needed the help of his trusty contact log.
He thumbed through the names. David. Frank. Jeff. There. Kurt. He hit send and waited. One ring. Two. Three. Four. Fi-Hello, you've reached Burt, Kurt, Carole and Finn. It looks like nobody's here right now, but if you leave your name and number at the beep—Blaine cut the connection. No one at home, even at this time of night. That was bad. Something was up.
He got up, his bare feet brushing comfortably against the soft carpet of his room. It was nice to be home, to get out of uniform, enjoy the nice cool breeze of the summer night as it wafted in through his window. He opened up Pavarotti's cage and plucked the bird up in his cupped hands. He chirped and hopped and was generally being cute, even if Blaine had just woken him up. Thank goodness he'd thought to clip the his wings—Blaine couldn't have him flying out the open window, even if it was night and the bird was likely too tired to think of escape.
"You think something's wrong with Kurt too, don't you, buddy?" He stroked a thumb over the soft feathers of Pavarotti's head. The canary closed his eyes in contentment. Then it hit him—Finn. Finn had a cell phone.
He placed Pavarotti on his bed and fumbled with his phone. Finn, Finn, Finn; he was sure Kurt or his dad or somebody somewhere had given Finn's number to him. Yes! There. He hastily pounded the number and waited. One ring. Two.
"Yeah?" He sounded tired and shaky, but yes, it was Finn. He needed answers.
"Finn? It's me, Blaine. You know, Kurt's friend?" Stupid. Of course Finn knew who he was.
Finn sighed. He sounded beat. "Yeah? What's up?"
"Well, I-I was trying to get in touch with Kurt, but he's not answering his phone."
"Yeah, I know."
"Oh. Well, I was wondering if something was up. He's usually really good about answering his phone, and you guys weren't picking up at home. I was just curious to know if something was up and where he might be. I was, uh, kind of worried." God, he sounded stupid.
"Um, look, Blaine. Why don't you come meet us here? I can't really explain everything over the phone and I think it might make Burt feel a little better to see you here. He knows Kurt trusts you." He paused. Blaine could almost feel Finn running a hand through his hair in that way he seemed to do when he was nervous or anxious about something. "We're at St. Rita's. Kurt was just admitted. I'll tell you everything when you get here."