A/N: Another thanks to everyone who continues to read and review every week! Don't forget to read Blaine's POV (Stained Glass) written by the lovely kurtsontop. This chapter's song comes from Sober by P!nk, which I have been simply itching to use. We update every Sunday!
Chapter Seven:
I'm safe up high, nothing can touch me
But why do I feel this party's over?
No pain inside, you're my protection
But how do I feel this good sober?
I'm so glad we're talking again. Kurt's fingers trembled as he tapped out the text message, then hovered, frozen, above the send button. It had been nearly eight hours since he had last seen Blaine; eight agonizing hours spent laying curled up under his blankets while a constant stream of tears poured down his cheeks. Santana had been just as awestruck as he had been, staring into space with snow-white features and knuckles clenched so tightly around the subway armrest that Kurt was sure she was going to pass out. Once they had returned to their apartment building, Santana had departed into her room without so much as another word.
Kurt had expected alcohol, and a snarky attitude and painful remarks about their past, that was a given. But he had not expected the cuts that ran in neat, symmetric lines over the frail flesh of Blaine's wrist. Kurt had been the cause of that. He was the reason Blaine had hurt himself.
Kurt twisted in on himself, the phone huddled between his clammy hands. Maybe if he wished hard enough, he could simply disappear. Poof.
The text was too plain. It sounded like casual conversation between normal ex-boyfriends; Blaine and Kurt were not normal ex-boyfriends. Frustrated, Kurt started at the dappled rays of honey golden sunlight that spilled through his window blinds, spraying in webbed patterns over his comforter as if it might hold the answer.
"Kurt?" The call was followed by the slam of the front door and the rustle of a coat. Kurt rolled over and hefted the blanket over his head. Not today, please. Go away, Aaron. There was a tentative knock at the door. GO AWAY, AARON.
"Are you asleep?"
He sighed heavily and sat up, peeking his head out to peer at his fiancé. Aaron grinned crookedly at him, stepping over and perching on the edge of his bed. "Feeling any better?" he asked.
Plagued by thoughts of finding Blaine, Kurt had faked sick for the past two days and taken a mini vacation from Vogue, NYADA, and the diner. Kurt nodded, flopping back down and staring up at the ceiling. The phone was deadweight in his palm.
Aaron laid down beside him, his lanky arm curving over Kurt's form as he pressed a soft kiss to the nape of his neck. "I missed you today. The piles of paperwork at my desk don't seem so large when I get to take lunch breaks with you," he chuckled. "Do you think you'll be back to normal by Monday?"
His reply stuck like wet cotton in the back of his throat. Kurt wanted nothing more than to pretend he was sick for the rest of his life just so he could lay in bed and let all the problems around him sort themselves out. "I'm sure I will be," he said in monotone.
"Good." Aaron kissed the line of his jaw, the tip of his tongue flitting out to nip at his skin. Kurt shifted uncomfortably, squirming until he could face him. Aaron's blond tendrils were still streaked with snowflakes and his eyes were startlingly blue, filled with only admiration and adoration. He was a wonderful person, Kurt knew that much, but he wasn't Kurt's wonderful person.
"Not tonight," Kurt whispered, reaching his hand up to stroke Aaron's hair back. "Can we just…Can we just cuddle?"
Aaron nodded with an understanding smile, pressing Kurt against his chest with secure and strong, thin arms. He smelled like pine cologne and blue stamp ink and laundry detergent. He smelled like familiarity and Kurt found himself sinking into his touch. He didn't feel like Blaine, or smell like Blaine, or act like Blaine in any way. But for what wasn't the first time in his life, Kurt needed to get his thoughts away from him.
His fingers fumbled with the keypad on his phone, until he found the round send button. Inhaling shakily, Kurt pressed send and nestled closer to Aaron. Maybe he didn't love Aaron, but Aaron loved him and that was good enough for now.
"Hello and welcome to the Spotlight Diner. I'm Rachel Berry and I'll be your server tonight. What can I get you?" Rachel displayed one of her signature superstar smiles, cocking her hip out and flipping her mahogany hair over her shoulder.
The customer in front of her, who happened to be the only current inhabitant of the diner who wasn't slumped over at the bar with a margarita in hand, was a cute man who looked to be in his mid-twenties. He had shaggy dark brown hair and lines of exhaustion etched into his face. His eyes were brown and filled with charisma.
It was five after twelve in the morning on a Saturday and if Rachel was going to be stuck with the only midnight shift in the entire diner, by God she was going to flirt with the attractive customers that happened to come in.
"Good evening, Rachel," the man said with a flitting and somewhat sad smile. "Just a slice of cheesecake, if you could. Something expensive and filled with way too many empty calories."
Rachel grinned. "Coming right up," she replied musically, slipping behind the bar and retrieving the cake from the fridge. "You remind me of one of my friends. He'd do anything for a slice of cheesecake."
The man laughed quietly, staring down at his clasped hands. "He sounds like a great guy already."
"Oh, he is. He works here with me actually. Well, not lately, because he's been sick. Or 'sick', he's really just trying to get over his ex-boyfriend from a couple years ago." Rachel cut a piece of the dessert and placed it daintily on one of their Lion King: The Musical plates, sucking the sweet remains off the tips of her fingers.
Rachel carried the plate over to him and sat down in the booth. "I'm having the same problem, actually. My roommate is doing the same, trying to get over his…I'm not sure how long it's been, maybe four years? But he's moping a lot more than usual as of late."
"I'm taking an intermission!" Rachel announced loudly, though she knew Frank was no doubt asleep in the back room. That, or masturbating to some Broadway play. "Sorry, we have to say that every time we take a break. Your roommate sounds like a handful."
"Oh he is, he's a complete nightmare. Apparently he had a run in with said ex and he's all shaken up again. I tried to help him the other night and called his father—" he broke off here, with a nervous cough, "—which turned out to be the worst idea in the entire world and he's even more brutal than usual."
Rachel frowned as the man roughly stabbed the cheesecake with his fork. "Ah, daddy issues," she remarked coldly. "I'm sorry about your roommate…"
"Christian," he supplied. "It's okay. Blaine is just about one part jackass and three parts stubborn. I can't imagine he's always been this way."
Rachel froze, half-convinced she had fallen asleep some point during their conversation because she certainly couldn't have just heard that name come out of sweet Christian's mouth. "Blaine?" she repeated. "I'm sorry, Blaine Anderson?"
He glanced up at her from his plate, raising a dubious eyebrow. "That's him."
"Holy shit," she muttered. "Holy shit. And you said he's your roommate? He lives with you?"
Christian cocked his head at her. "Uh…yeah? For two years and a bit, now."
Rachel jumped up out of the booth, yanking her waitress notepad and singing pen out of her apron pocket. "Look, I know this might sound a little abrupt, but can I have your number? There's someone I know who needs to get in contact with your…roommate."
He looked up at the girl, mouth gaping open where he closed it a few times and took the pad from her to write down his number. "Don't let this... friend of yours fuck him up anymore, please. He's already messed up enough."
Rachel nodded hurriedly, stuffing the paper back into her pocket and glancing at the rotating Wicked clock on the wall. "Damn, I don't get off until three." She sat down again in the seat, shoulders slumping in defeat. She debated calling Kurt to tell him about Christian, but knew she'd rather tell him about it in person. Her heart was still thumping deafeningly in her ears when she glanced back up at him through her long lashes.
Clearing his throat uncomfortably and looking down at his hardly touched cheesecake, Christian said, "I could keep you company until then and we could uh.. Go.. out.. or something? I just know how lonely and boring the graveyard shift is."
Rachel couldn't help the broad smile that graced over her lips as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I'd like that," she replied. "I'd like that a lot."
When Kurt first heard the scream split through the silent air, he had thought it was a burglar. Aaron had jolted out of bed, fumbling for the light beside the door while Kurt snatched his cell off the bedside table and readied to call 911.
The flashing green numbers of his alarm clock read 3:18. Kurt stumbled out of the tangle of blankets and hurried over to Aaron, who was cracking the bedroom door open. "Oh, my god, I knew this would happen. That homeless man on the street corner swore he would break into our apartment and steal all of my silk pajamas—"
"Kurt!" Rachel came racing through the door, pushing them aside and running wildly with her coat swinging from her arms and her hair half-frozen in the faint hallway lighting.
"Rachel!" Kurt exclaimed. She paused, hands on her knees and she inhaled the warm air. Her cheeks were flushed and she was still dressed in the bright red uniform from the Spotlight Diner. "What happened?"
"I was working the midnight shift at the diner," she panted, chest heaving and cheeks flushed with urgency. "And this guy came in. He was super handsome and charming and he ordered cheesecake which reminded me of you and I told him that and then he started talking about his roommate who is trying to get over his ex-boyfriend and well, I really didn't listen to that part because I was too busy staring into his eyes, which kind of look like spring fields in May—"
"Rachel, I swear to god, if you barged into my apartment at three in the morning to tell me about some guy—"
"No, no, just listen! That guy is Blaine's roommate." Kurt's eyes widened at his. "I got Christian's number so maybe you could try and contact Blaine—"
Kurt's gaze flickered to Aaron, who was watching the fiasco with a deer-in-the-headlights expression. He shoved Rachel out into the hall, ignoring her protest and closed the door behind them. "Rachel, I saw Blaine today."
"What? When? Where?" she cried.
"Santana and I—" The buzzing of his phone in his hand silenced them both and they looked down to the illuminated screen. It blinked with a text from Blaine.
Kurt's breath hitched as he opened the message, his hands shaking so hard he could barely read the words.
Me too.
