Chapter 4

Kurt ended up watching television, because "I better start catching up with what is going on in the world." Blaine didn't think bad TLC reality shows were the best option for current events, but he wasn't going to nag. Plus, he thought Kurt was using the television as a crutch to avoid forced conversation or awkward silence. Blaine had suggested it before for that very same reason.

A half hour ago, Blaine had retreated to the kitchen, where he had begun to cook dinner for the two of them. It was a good sort of distraction. He was doing something that was productive, that was necessary, thus he could minimize the guilt building in his chest in avoiding the living room, where Kurt sat, curled up with his knees under his chin, on their couch.

The meal was ready and the table set not fifteen minutes later. The reprieve was over.

Blaine went to stand in the doorless doorway between the kitchen/dining room and the living room, knocking on the wall to get Kurt's attention. "Dinner's ready whenever you are. It can wait until your show is done…"

"No, that's okay," Kurt said, lifting the remote and turning the television off. "I think I've seen this one before… Sorry, bad joke," Kurt tagged on when Blaine hadn't responded.

Blaine cleared his throat. "It's okay. You can joke about it all you want if it helps you cope." Blaine didn't want Kurt to joke about it really. It was too fresh a wound. They could joke about in a year's time, when this was nothing more than a crazy part of their lives, when (when, always when, never if) Kurt got his memory back.

"Oh, my God. Doctor Stein is already forcing me to go see a shrink. You don't need to speak like one too."

Blaine raised his hands in defeat, but if he wasn't saying the perfect words, he didn't know what he was going to say.

Dinner was quiet. Mostly chewing and clanking of utensils and Kurt making a few compliments about Blaine's stir-fry.

...

Kurt yawned and his eyes drooped. He had been watching television for too many hours now, but, really, what else could he do, but interrogate Blaine about his former life. After dinner he had taken an absurdly long shower to both reacquaint his skin and hair with some of the care it must have been missing during his coma days as well as reacquaint himself with his products. He some different brands now that he had to test out, although he mostly trusted his own judgment.

"Looks, like it's somebody's bed time," Blaine commented from where he sat, again on the opposite side of the couch.

Kurt shrugged. It was only eleven, but he was ready to fall asleep right here.

"Come on. Get up." There was a shift in the couch meaning Blaine had stood up.

Kurt groaned, but stood, then followed Blaine to the door to the only room of the apartment Kurt hadn't yet seen.

"The bedroom," Blaine announced mildly, opening the door, and standing back to let Kurt enter. If he weren't so zapped, he commented on the great red-white-black color scheme, his color scheme.

"Your pajamas are right here," Blaine said, as he pulled out the middle draw of a bureau that was tucked against the wall right next to the door.

Kurt trudged over and pulled out box-weave, long-sleeved shirt. "I would never wear this, even to sleep in."

"That's my pajamas," Blaine said, gently tugging the shirt from Kurt's hands. "Yours are on the left side of the drawer."

Kurt took a step to the left and pulled out a blue, button-down pajama top that felt like satin under his fingers. "Hmm, much better." He found the matching bottoms, and then looked over at Blaine, who was standing on the other side of the dresser, by the open door. Well, he certainly wasn't going to get changed with Blaine just standing there, looking at him. He was sure Blaine had seen it all— seen it all— before. But Kurt wasn't used to anyone seeing, well, anything.

But Blaine, who seemed to pick up on everything without Kurt having to vocalize, shifted his weight, "I'll just get my stuff and sleep on couch."

"No, I'll sleep out there. I don't want to kick you out of your room," Kurt quickly protested.

"It's your room too," Blaine said. "And you just got out of the hospital, I am not letting you sleep on the couch. It's comfortable, but not that comfortable…"

Kurt looked down at the carpet and clutched his pajamas tight to his chest. "Okay," he said in a whisper.

Blaine pulled a set of pjs out of the dresser drawer for himself and slowly closed the drawer. It was all so measured and precise. Not going too fast, but not taking up too much time. Meant to be calm, and, not to loud, and not show a hint of emotion.

His hand was on the doorknob and he was halfway out of the room, when he said, "Well, goodnight." Blaine then closed the door just as carefully as he had the drawer, and it clicked into place.

"Goodnight," Kurt said.

Kurt rolled over on the pillow, wide awake. The bed felt empty beside him. He had never shared a bed with someone in his life, and the bed felt empty. But he could only imagine how stiff and tense and still awake he would be if Blaine had been there, right next to him, resting his head on the other pillow.

God, Kurt didn't even know if he were on his side of the bed. Kurt laughed quite involuntarily. He turned his face into his pillow and pulled the comforter over his chin to muffle the noise. He had a side of the bed. Probably. His bed had always been all his, no sharing.

He was laughing again; they were the type of laughs that could turn into sobs, or already had, or maybe had been all along. As the slowed, he reached up and wiped away wetness from his cheeks.

Kurt had dealt with it all, because he had to. The evidence had been laid there before him, and he had lost ten years, truly and surely. So he dealt, because throwing a fit or breaking down or screaming at the insanity and the unfairness of it all wouldn't have done anything.

But now he would get up tomorrow and have to deal with it more. And the next day, and the next day, and the next, for some unforeseeable time until pieces of his memory would come back. Even then, it would be slow. Even then, not necessarily all of it. Even then, he would be left, struggling, now, feeling all lost and alone…and scared.

Kurt sniffled. He wanted is dad. It had been scratching at him, this knowledge, but he had kept quiet. He wanted his dad to hug him and tell him it would be all right. His dad who was apparently amazing with him being gay. His dad who was the only person he could remember putting real trust in (and Mercedes had only just begun edging her way in there).

But his dad wasn't here. Kurt didn't have a phone either and if he did, he wouldn't be sure if his father's phone number was even the same as it had been. To figure any of this out, Kurt would have to ask Blaine. But he was probably asleep and Kurt had already exiled him to the couch in true married couple form. And he didn't want Blaine to see that he had been (was) crying, because even if he tried to hide it, Blaine would know. He always knew. And Blaine would probably be all let's talk about it, but Kurt didn't want to talk about it. Not with him.

Kurt gasped and it all sort of made sense now, the unease that seemed natural with the whole forgetting almost everything thing. To the Kurt that remembered, Blaine was probably a lot to him, if not everything. But to him, now, Blaine was nothing, as desperately as the guy was trying to be perfect. Blaine was a guy he had known two days now, and was expected to recuperate with, was expected to trust.

Kurt sat up sharply, grabbed the undisturbed pillow next to him and hurled it at the wall. It made a rather unsatisfying thump and fell to the floor.

They were a sharp poke on his shoulder and Blaine groaned. There was another poke and he slit open his eyes. Kurt was squatted by the side of the couch.

"What time is it?" Blaine muttered.

"6:45," came Kurt's abrupt reply.

"Too early," Blaine moaned, and it really was. It had taken him awhile to fall asleep the night before. Ironically, it wasn't the couch that kept him up. Too much to think about. The night before he had been able to drop sleep because he had been awake almost 48 hours straight at Kurt's bedside. Now, Kurt was okay, but he also wasn't okay. Blaine didn't know how to fix this.

"I want to talk to my dad," Kurt said, but it was almost like a pronouncement, a demand.

Blaine rolled over, got his phone off the end table, and handed it to Kurt. "His number is saved."

Kurt took it, stood up, and started back to the bedroom. Blaine blinked at the ceiling. 6:45. "Time difference," Blaine called after Kurt.

"He won't care," Kurt said back, and the bedroom door shut loudly behind him. If Kurt didn't care about waking his dad up extremely early, it must have been serious.

"Kurt?" said the voice after a shaky hello. It was tired and worried and familiar. It was Dad.

"Hey," Kurt said and he was cradling the phone to his ear, like it would somehow bring him closer or give him comfort. Despite himself, he started getting weepy again.

"Are you okay?" It wasn't a rhetorical question, but it was something else than what it was, because Burt knew Kurt wasn't okay, and Kurt knew that ne knew. He was merely asking to give Kurt the leeway to say it.

"No," Kurt stuttered, wiping at his eyes. No one could see him and he was pretty sure his dad could hear everything in his voice, but he was almost embarrassed to be crying again. He wanted to be stronger than this. He had to be. That was why he hadn't indulged his emotions before, because he knew once he started letting himself feel miserable, it would be hard to stop.

"Hey, hey, buddy," Burt said because Kurt's breath already began to hitch. "Come on, just tell me what's wrong."

"I just…I just feel so lost, and— and confused," Kurt choked out.

"I know. I know."

"I want you to be here."

"Then I'll be there."


Aki- Here we are. Some more Burt coming up, because he is awesome. I do not know when my next update will be because I am currently working on an update for my other Glee story. So once you see that story updated, you will know I am working on the next chapter of this. Thanks for reading.

Also, to all my reviewers... I tend not to reply to all my reviews. I know some reviewers like that, some may not care. I usually only respond to ones that have questions or comments I want to address specifically. However, they are all read, appreciated, and cherished. Some, already, have been very helpful in my writing of the the story.

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