Enosiophobia

Kurt pulled up into his driveway, breathing a couple of deep breaths before grabbing his bag and stumbling out. He mentally cursed himself, he had to at least look presentable, to make it to his room without any questions from his prying family members.

Kurt fumbled a bit with the door knob, eventually twisting it open with a final grunt. He had turned his phone off in the car, not wanting to talk to anyone. Which meant that he didn't get the text from his father saying that Finn went to Puck's house and that he and Carole decided to go visit her sister…

Kurt walked in the house without really looking up, shutting the door behind him. It took him only a second to realize something was wrong, the house was more enclosed then usual, and he could see light from the cracks in the door. Slowly, Kurt turned around and was greeted by complete darkness. Kurt screamed, digging his back into the wall, and covering his mouth with his hand.

His screams echoed throughout the house, proving it was empty. He forced his shaking hands to move to his bag, frantically trying to open it without any luck.

Come on! The last sane part of his brain screamed, get to the flashlight!

Memories were starting to flitter back, invading the back of Kurt's eyes, he closed them, trying to forget, but of course, that just made them worse.

"Look Mommy, I can fit in here too,"

Kurt ripped at the buckles on the bag, not caring for the sound of tearing fabric, as long as it made it stop…

"See? Now we can be here together. Sleeping side by side."

"NO!" Kurt thrust his hand in the backpack, waving it around his phone, pens, and notebooks until he finally found it, the silver flashlight. The flashlight he promised Blaine he would bedazzle, the one that was going to save his life.

Kurt slid down the wall, turning on the precious light. He took advice to a trick that his therapist taught him a while ago.

"Try closing your eyes and then shining the light on your lids. Then it looks like it is light."

Kurt did just that, waiting a few moments to calm his racing heart before standing up, guiding his blinded self to where he knew was the living room light. Once he did, he opened his swimming blue eyes, and ran to the kitchen. He hit the lights in there too, then proceeded to throw open every cupboard door open.

Space. He needed open space.

Once everything in the kitchen was opened, (excluding the refrigerator,) he ran back into the living room, snatching up the remote on the coffee table, he switched on the T.V., turning it up. He didn't care what was on, he just needed noise.

Noise, opened space, and light.

He did this to the rest of his house, turning on lights, music, and opening closet doors until nothing was left untouched.

He stood in the middle of his house, breathing heavily from all the running around. Once he felt slightly better with his surroundings, he walked up to his room, keeping the door opened as he fell on the bed.

He could care less about getting his clothes wrinkled at the moment, right now, he was to busy convincing himself not to cry.

Crying over Blaine was stupid, he told himself. Crying over what he said wasn't going to get him anywhere. They were just silly words, words that should mean nothing to Kurt.

But they had hurt. Not to mention scared him. Blaine really wasn't going to lock him in a closet if he didn't leave, right?

Kurt fell into a doze, trying to burn the image of the crazy caramel eyes out of his mind.

Blaine waited an hour before snapping his phone into action. He barely knew what he was doing, he hardly had a plan on how to apologize. He knew he couldn't do it over a text, or a call. All he did know though was that he had to see Kurt.

Kurt peeled his eyes open, not realizing he had fallen asleep. Turning his head, his clock told him that it was eight P.M. now, meaning he had slept for a couple of hours. He groaned, rolling over and sitting up, slightly wincing at the sudden head rush he received in return. He carefully laced off his shoes, gently placing them on the floor. He regretted sleeping in them, but for the most part they seemed fine. His clothes however, were not. Just by looking down at them, he could tell that they were going to be needing dry cleaning and possible ironing. He flung his legs off the side of the bed, walking over to his dresser. He shrugged out of his attire, laying them cautiously on the back of his chair. Kurt then pushed through his dresser, eventually deciding on grey sweatpants and a red football jersey from Orville that Finn had given Kurt when it got too small for him.

He was about to crawl back into bed when he remembered that he should probably call his dad, telling him that he had gotten home safely.

He trudged down the stairs, arms folded tightly across his chest. He turned off the T.V. when he got close enough, then shuffled the rest of his way to his bag. He dug through it a bit, pulling out his phone turning it on.

The first thing he noticed was that his cellular device needed charging. The second thing was that he had six new messages. He raised an eyebrow lazily, clicking the button to see them.

One was from his dad, explaining where everyone was.

"A little late for that, Dad." He mumbled to no one. He scrolled down, eyes widening when he saw whom the other five were from.

They were from Blaine.

Kurt bit his lip, debating on whether he should read them, or just call his father and go back to bed. With an exasperated sigh, he clicked them, wondering what Blaine had to say.

6:28pm
Kurt, I am so sorry. You don't even know. Please, let me explain.

7:05pm
OK, I get it. You probably hate me and I don't blame you. But please, just let me talk to you.

7:09pm
Kurt, please.

7:40pm
Kurt, you aren't responding. Are you okay?

7:58pm
If you don't respond in the next five minutes, I am driving down to your house personally to check on you. Don't think that I wont.

Kurt looked at the time on his phone. It was 8:02, meaning he had one minute left to respond. He deliberated on whether he should contact Blaine, telling him to not bother to come down, or if he should just drop the phone, and let Blaine worry about someone he obviously didn't care about. He sighed, the better side of him winning over, sending Blaine a quick text.

I'm fine. Just sleeping off the traumatic stress you gave me. –K

He swears he barely pressed the 'send' button before getting a reply.

Thank god. Kurt, I know you don't want to see me, hell, you probably hate me right now. I don't blame you, I would hate myself too. But please, I just want the chance to explain, apologize, and then you can ignore for the rest of forever if you wanted. –B

I don't think so, Blaine. You're right. I don't want to see you right now. –K

Kurt. –B

Blaine. –K

Please. –B

Kurt sighed, angry with himself. He really wished he could just forget about Blaine. Wished that he could hate him.

Fine. –K

Thank you. Meet me at Ellipses Park in ten minutes? –B

Blaine, that's five minutes away from my house, you can't get there in ten minutes. –K

… -B

Blaine Anderson you creeper. –K

Kurt went to the coat closet, grabbing a light green zip up jacket and a pair of beat up black converse. He slipped his phone in his pocket, knowing it would be useless in about twenty minutes. He creeped out of the house, not bothering to grab the keys to the car, deciding that he was going to take his time and walk.

By the time he touched the edge of the park, the sun had fully set and the stars started poking out. He glanced around the park, eyes finally setting on a head of dark curly hair, which was bowed as he sat on a swing, his elbows resting on his knees.

Blaine head shot up as Kurt's walking came closer. Kurt stuffed his hands in his pockets, doing his best to stare Blaine down, which was hard when all he wanted to do was look away.

"You came." Blaine whispered when Kurt had gotten close enough. His voice wasn't anything like earlier, this time it hoarse, and broken sounding.

"You wanted to talk." He tried to sound bored, or maybe angry. He didn't want to sound hurt, or broken himself, yet that was how his words came out. Blaine simply nodded, looking down at his shoes again.

"Will you sit?" He slightly gestured to the swing next to him, and Kurt, to tired to argue, obliged. Closer up he noticed how terrible Blaine really looked. His face was pale, the dried blood stains still resting on his lips. His hair was a mess, looking as if he had ran his hands through it many times before Kurt had gotten there. He was wearing red plaid pajama pants that had mud on the hem of them, and he was hunched over in a dark blue hoodie that read 'DALTON' in red letters on the front. His nails were still chipped and bitten, some of them bleeding at the corners.

"Kurt, I am so sorry," he closed his eyes, letting his head fall in his lap.

"Blaine, I don't want an apology-"

"No, but you deserve one." His head had shot up to look at Kurt. "Earlier, that wasn't even me. Some doctor my mom called said it was a depression spell hitting the same time as a panic attack. And who can blame that for happening? I was reading the ending of the most depressing book I've ever laid my hands on, mixed with not having my medicine that morning, and with me being all nervous for you coming over, I was just setting my self up." Blaine shook his head, closing his eyes again. "Cooper told me what happened. What I did to you. And Kurt, I wanted to shoot myself after all that. It wasn't me, and I don't remember any of it, but I just imagined what your face must've looked like when I told you what I did, and I imagined your ice blue eyes going wide in fear, imagined as your face must've paled and how you probably shook so hard I'm surprised an earthquake didn't start here in Ohio." Blaine paused, swallowing. "I was sick after that. Threw up everything in my system."

"Blaine-"

"But in a way, it was me. Because I truly do believe that I am sick, and I can't be cured. But to take all that out on you?" He clenched his fists, "I was, no, am an idiot. I don't deserve even the opportunity to be asking your forgiveness."

"Blaine, depression, anxiety attacks, they happen."

"Yeah, but do they happen like that?" Blaine looked at him, his eyes hard. "To the point where I tell my best friend I'm going to lock him up and then laugh about it?" Kurt was speechless. No, they usually didn't happen like that. And Kurt knew that he shouldn't be accepting Blaine's apology, that he should just walk away, forget about the boy with the panic attack in the hallway. But, for some reason, he wanted to forgive, to let him know that it was okay.

"And then you didn't respond to anything I sent you." Blaine continued, "and I got worried. What if something happened, and no one was there to help you? So without thinking, I stole the car, and drove here. I got to the park before I realized that maybe you really just didn't want to see me, and barging in your house would be a terrible idea, even worse if your family was there. So I sent you the last one, and thank everything holy that you responded." Blaine seemed to sigh a sigh of relieve, and Kurt resisted the urge to place his hand on Blaine's shoulder.

Blaine was silent, waiting for Kurt to say something. Kurt bit his lip, wishing that he could hate this boy, that he could be angry that he had said what he did. That he could just be rude and say, 'that was lovely. I don't accept, and don't talk to me ever again.' And then just leave the park, with Blaine choking at the dust that would be kicked up by his feet. But he couldn't. Kurt wanted to do all the opposite things, to hold Blaine and tell him that it was okay, that he was okay, and that Kurt forgave him.

"Blaine, I – I'm still angry, and honestly, scared. What you said hit me pretty hard," Blaine nodded once, acknowledging Kurt that he was listening and agreeing. "But, I forgive you. Because I know that you are still new to this whole thing, even if you've been dealing with it for over thirteen years. And I know that you are scared, and the mind can only think to protect itself when it's scared, and that's exactly what you did."

"W – wait, so you are forgiving me?" Kurt sighed, nodding his head.

"Yes Blaine, you are forgiven." Blaine exhaled loudly, placing his face in his hands, mumbling 'thank you's' into them. Kurt smiled weakly.

"So, um, did Augustus really die?" He felt Blaine tense up next to him.

"Yeah. In reality, the book is very inspiring, but it-" Blaine seemed to choke up a bit, and Kurt nodded in understandment. They sat in silence for a few moments, letting the chain of the swing support their weights.

"Hey Kurt?" Blaine whispered after a while, Kurt looked at Blaine, an eyebrow raised.

"Yeah?"

"I remember one thing," Blaine screwed up his face, as if the memory was already a difficult access. "Did you say something about traumatizing experiences?"

"I did." He nodded. "That's where most phobias come from. Some are genetic, but ones as bad as ours are from previous experiences." Blaine nodded.

"Right. Well, I thought about it, as I was laying on the bathroom tiles, and I remember thinking, 'if he ever forgives me, I'll tell him.'" Blaine lifted his head to look at Kurt. "I figured it out. Where this all started. Can I tell you?" Kurt wanted to roll his eyes, wanted to smile and say, 'Blaine, you can tell me anything you want.' But instead he said,

"I'm not going to stop you." Blaine took in a shaky breath, looking down at the ground again.

"For a while I convinced myself that I had a dream that a wire was swinging, it hit my head, and I died from electrocution from it. But I knew that was a lie. I told one of my friends about it, and he suggested that it was probably a hidden bug issue, like with the way spiders and critters moved." He paused. "But then I remembered."

"Remembered what?" Kurt whispered, afraid that any noise louder would ruin the moment. He was intrigued now, and it felt as though every inch of his skin was tingling from the suspense of the story.

"When I was five, my neighbors behind me had kids too. When we were building our house, they suggested that we didn't put up a fence so that we could interact with each other and play on each other's yard. They had a sandbox, a swing set, and a trampoline. They had two kids, a boy Coopers age, and a girl about a year older than me.
Anyways, we were all playing outside one day, and I remember that I wanted to swing. I wanted to pretend that I could fly, and that I was special. So I sat on the blue swing, it was old, so it creaked whenever you moved it, but for a five year old, it was a dream.
Their daughter, Jessie, came over right as I was about to push off. She was carrying this bear, about the size of my torso at the time. She handed me the bear and said, you can hold it for a bit. She said it as if she was privileging me, and that it was a favor for me.
Well, it wasn't. I was scared. I wanted to swing, but I didn't want to drop the bear. So I wrapped my arms around it, but then I thought that I was going to fall, so I wrapped my arms around the swing ropes too. For a five year olds arms, that a lot to hold. So, story short, my kinesiophobia comes from a swing and a bear, and the screaming I hear every time I'm about to have a panic attack is from the creaking from the set whenever you moved on it." Blaine's story ended with him slightly shaking and Kurt staring at him opened mouth and horrified.

"So go ahead," Blaine mumbled, "laugh at the stupid reason for being so afraid I had to move across the country."

"Blaine," Kurt cupped the side of Blaine's face, a spark of shock echoing in his caramel eyes. "I'm not laughing. That's horrible. Do, do we need to get off the swings?" Kurt looked around, realizing this was probably the worst spot for Blaine.

"No, this is my way of punishing myself for what I did to you." Kurt dropped his hand from Blaine, shaking his head.

"I forgave you. Stop making yourself uncomfortable."

"I'm fine," he pressed on, still looking at Kurt. Kurt was looking at him too, slightly tilting his head to the side.

"Can I share my story with you?" Blaine shot up, sitting up straight. "I'm kind of sick of my dad being the only person to know," he mumbled. Blaine was nodding his head.

"Yes, I want to hear your story. Well, I'm not glad that you have one, but-"

"Blaine," Kurt smiled at him. "It's fine. I get it." Kurt let a reasonable amount of oxygen into his lungs.

"When I was eight, my mom died," Blaine groaned. Kurt looked at him, surprised.

"Something wrong?"

"No, it's just that I also mentioned your mom, and ugh. It probably helped in scaring you."

"Actually," Kurt corrected, "it helped me remember. Stop beating yourself up for it." Kurt took Blaine's silence as him saying, 'no, I'm not going to stop, but please continue.'

"So she died, and we didn't burn her, we got her a casket that was black and-" Kurt moaned, hiding his face in his hands. "The whole story is really hard to say."

"Do you want to tell me the summarized version and then the whole story?" Blaine suggested helpfully. Kurt nodded.

"Alright, in short terms, I got locked in my mothers casket. While she was in there."

A/N: Muahaha! I shall just leave you with that cliff hanger now, shall I? :D Sorry it took so long to update, dreaded school started again along with restless nights and homework. But I will do better once I get a solid schedule again.
Also, in hope to prevent people complaining that Kurt and Blaine made up too early, come on guys. They're soul mates.

Please leave me a review of what you think!