"Blaine, are you dru-"
"I didn't mean it, Kurt!" The voice Kurt hears is hardly Blaine's, his sobs so violent and strained. It must be hurting like hell. Kurt's only heard it so broken maybe three times in their entire relationship and the friendship before it, so wrought with tears in his throat. "I miss you so much, I just miss you so much," he repeats, again and again, words ending on broken whines as his voice gives out with another sob he can't stop.
Kurt tries to take a deep breath, tries to keep his own eyes dry, but the inhale is sharp and shallow and the tears are already spilling, hot and heavy. "You cheated on me."
"Because I miss you!" Blaine cries. "I miss you so much because we never get to talk, and now we talk even less and I miss you even more!"
He's wrecked at this point, and it might be obnoxious if Kurt isn't still so surprised that Blaine can even sound so utterly destroyed. It's no secret that Blaine has had his share of pain, and does a pretty nasty job at keeping it sealed up, at smiling and moving past it with grace. And sure, there have been a few times when Blaine has broken down and let himself cry, let Kurt hold him through it (the rock-salt incident, his father and Cooper arguing for the first time in ten years, the Chandler incident), but never has his voice sounded so drenched in pure agony. Kurt isn't sure if it's because of the alcohol, or the guilt.
All that anguish in Blaine's voice is why Kurt doesn't say it, doesn't harshly point out why they're talking less, like he would if they were really yelling at each other. For a minute he forgets. For a minute he hates himself for moving to New York at all. Another painful, shuddering sob from the boy he's desperately in love with, and for a minute, Kurt blames himself for this mess.
Then he remembers the anguish that Rachel had the pleasure of seeing after both of their guests had left, and Kurt finally came home from filling his day up with work, and one wrongly timed question with too much pity had Kurt falling apart- no, not falling- ripping open and crumbling as if being torn. Because Rachel asked about Blaine with pity.
Blaine was the one person who had never made him feel pitiful.
"I don't know what to tell you," Kurt says, and he meant to sound firm, to sound dismissive, but it's really more of a hopeless whisper than anything.
Blaine takes a breath on the other line, voice muffled for a moment. "It's so fucked up, I miss you so much and I- all I wanted was to have you back and now you don't-"
The words tighten before he can finish the sentence, more and more until he breaks again into a fresh wave of sobs. Kurt doesn't think he should have to deal with this, given the position Blaine put him in, but then again Kurt never thought he'd be in this position because of Blaine.
Yet again, Kurt finds himself feeling more lost than he ever has. His entire world is upside down, flipped and making no sense.
"I love you so much," Blaine cries, his voice raw in a way that makes Kurt's heart twist painfully.
Kurt can't stop his own tears, the way his own voice cracks on the quiet reply he can't help, "I love you."
Blaine breathes in deeply at that, and for a moment Kurt thinks he might calm down, but he can still hear the muffled whines in the back of Blaine's throat; Immediately the image of Blaine comes to mind, his lips pressed together, eyes clenched tight, clearly fighting to control himself and to keep quiet.
But the soft whines are still heard, because Kurt can't tune away from the sound anymore than he can get the image out of his head.
"Kurt," Blaine manages, shaky and thick with another cry that Kurt knows is coming, and Kurt feels a throb of his heart trying to reject the pain that it will bring.
"Call me tomorrow," He says quickly, licking his lips and pressing his eyes shut as calmly as he can, trying to put his wall up, to keep his voice steady for just a few more moments. "Call me tomorrow when you're sober."
"Kurt," Blaine whines again, and it sounds so much like 'no, don't leave' that Kurt nearly breaks himself.
"Tomorrow, Blaine," He says firmly, ignoring the sharp gasps on the other line, the panic in the whimpers beginning. "Tomorrow. Goodbye."
"Kurt-"
Blaine's voice cuts off. The cell phone clatters loudly to the hardwood floor, and Kurt startles even though he's the one who dropped it.
For a minute, Kurt doesn't move, doesn't blink, hardly breathes. Then, slowly, he begins to take a deep breath.
The voice Kurt hears is hardly his own, his sobs so violent and strained.
It hurts like hell.