Notes: "Samson" is by Regina Spektor.

Edit, 9/12/2011: Added a few introspective bits to flesh things out more.

Molly laughed with her lips flat. "And what good is it to me that you're here now? Where were you twenty years ago, ten years ago? How dare you, how dare you come to me now, when I am this?" With a flap of her hand she summed herself up: Barren face, desert eyes, and yellowing heart. "I wish you had never come, why do you come now?" The tears began to slide down her nose.

Then:

Kyle stares at Blaine as he grips his coffee mug, even though the heat hurts. Maybe if it breaks in his hand and hurts even more, he'll wake up and things will be normal again, or at least this part won't have happened. "Motherfucking god, Blaine," is all he can hope to say.

Blaine rolls his eyes, and Kyle is this close to letting his mug crash onto the floor because holy fuck, he's serious. And he doesn't have a clue what he's done. "I'm not a little kid anymore."

"Why didn't you tell me before?" He pleads, and his loudness is mistaken for something else; Blaine's face turns angry and embarrassed.

He turns to leave the room, but Kyle cuts him off. Though he tries to squeeze past, Kyle won't budge and he knows Blaine won't try to shove past him. "Kyle, who asks their brother anything about sex?"

"People who don't want to make mistakes!" He forgot to put his coffee down before blocking the door. It's sloshed out of his mug, and he feels it steaming between skin and ceramic, but that's not important right now. "People who are still in high school! Blaine, you're sixteen!"

"It's the legal age!" Blaine protests, which does not help Kyle's urge to get something pointy and kill the guy who made Blaine think this was a good idea.

Now:

"Have you talked about it since? With either of your siblings?" Sarah asks Blaine in her office.

He smiles nervously, and fiddles with the strap of his bag. "They - they try to stay calm about it."

"What about your parents?" she continues, and he shakes his head.

"Well, they... Mom was fine since I didn't get forced or end up with STDs or anything." On his face is disappointment, and regret, which certainly means that he's feeling it.

But his mother's lack of care is worrisome, and she feels her lips press together. "What about Greg?"

"Nonono, I am not telling Greg." There it is; the unspoken promise that was missing with his actual parents. "He'd go insane."

Later:
"Okay, wow," Kurt says as they sit on a park bench. "Not something I expected to hear from you."

He smiles valiantly. "The Warblers keep making fun of me for being so nervous, and I figured I should tell you, at least."

Kurt turns to look at him, the bench creaking softly, and there is something gentle in his face. "Is that why you were so upset when I said I wouldn't stay?"

"Yeah." He looks anywhere but at Kurt, who is having none of that and grips his hand firmly. His long fingers are cool, despite the nice weather. "It... it was a really stupid mistake, anyway."

"No, it wasn't," Kurt tells him firmly. "He just didn't deserve you."

Then:

Blaine wavers near a chair, deciding whether to sit down or not. Kyle knows he won't, and surely enough he starts pacing nervously. "But wouldn't he have said something if he didn't -"

Kyle groans, more out of pain than annoyance, and runs his hand under the tap. "Fuck it, Blaine, you're expecting someone to say no to sleeping with you?" He takes a look at his brother: Big hazel puppy-dog eyes, smart, sweet, trusting. Yeah, people would be running from him.

"Wait, so what was all that stuff about -"

"Because if he actually cared about you, he wouldn't have let you fucking throw yourself at him!" Kyle regrets what he says the minute he sees Blaine's face, but at least he knows Blaine will accept his apology later.

Now:

He goes quiet, and curls his arms around his bag like he's anchoring himself. Sarah lets him start again when he wants to. "He wasn't my... It was complicated."

That means the situation will be more twisted than a Gordian knot, so Sarah turns to a new page. "I think I'm used to complications after a month of talking to you," she jokes, but his face closes off in dismay. That means he was hoping to be left alone, so she waits for him to talk. "Remember, I can't tell anyone what you say," she reassures, but Blaine's face is as impenetrable as a castle.

"I'm not good at explaining things," he says in defeat. "Unless it's with singing."

"Hmm," she thinks for a moment. "You play piano, right?"

He's surprised. "What does this have to do with it?"

"I'm not a licensed music therapist, but I do know that it helps people express things," she tells him. "Especially you."

"So... should I sing something now?" He starts running through songs in his head, but she stops him.

"No, let's save it for next week. If you're not going to talk, I'm not going to make you. Think of a song, and you can play it in the practice room after rehearsal."

"Sure, I just need to tell them I'm using the piano," Blaine says.

Later:

"And I'm guessing they all assumed I'm still a virgin with how uptight I am about you, but it's not like I'm that experienced..." Blaine stops when Kurt stands up and brushes himself off. "Where are you going?"

Kurt reaches out, more as a reassurance than to help him up. "You're starting to ramble. That means you're getting nervous."

"Huh. Where are we going, then?" He gets up and stretches before taking Kurt's hand - since most people are off at the mall on Fridays, there are no people around to see them and that means no stares.

Kurt shrugs. "Around the park. You need to blow off some steam." A pause before they start off towards the baseball field. "Is that what I sound like when I'm off about fashion?"

"A little bit," Blaine admits. Kurt's hand starts to warm in his own.

Then:

"You still have his number?" Kyle isn't sure whether to be mad or frightened when he spots a telltale name in his brother's contacts. "It's been weeks, Blaine!"

"Well, it's not like we severed ties or - what are you doing?" Blaine tries to see what button Kyle is pressing. "What are you doing?"

"Severing ties." He holds the phone to his ear, twisting around to make sure Blaine can't get it back. Three rings in, the phone is answered.

"Hey, Blaine." The voice is calm and friendly, like Blaine has called him recently, and it makes Kyle grip the phone too tight.

"No, it's Kyle."

"Just say hi or something and hang up, please." Blaine tries to pry Kyle's fingers off, but Kyle's got seven years of dealing with dorm-mates and the aftermaths of bad parties on him.

"Why are you calling from Blaine's phone? Something wrong?"

"Yeah. You," Kyle tells him. "You have a fucked-up idea of relationships, you know that?"

"Dude, what are you talking about?"

Now:

"Instruments can be quarter-steps off?" Sarah asks Blaine in the practice room, and even her moderate volume reaches the distant corners. She is sitting in a chair near the piano.

"Yeah, we take things pretty seriously," Blaine admits. "So - do I need to tell you the song first, or do I just... start?"

"Either way's fine."

"Okay." He lets the first chord ring into the room for four beats, then begins hesitantly: "You are my sweetest downfall..."

Sarah watches Blaine, who's clearly practiced it for months instead of the four days between sessions, and there is a weight in his hands that makes the music sound slower than it is. Sarah jots down the references to Samson and Delilah - no hidden meanings there - but she does wonder who Blaine is out of the two. The song is from Delilah's point of view, and the refrains of "I loved you first" are suspiciously heartfelt, but Blaine is too nice to betray people.

"Samson came to my bed, told me that my hair was red - told me I was beautiful, and came into my bed." His voice is as tender as a bruise, and he clips his words short in the way people do when they get hurt. "Oh, I cut his hair myself one night, a pair of dull scissors in the yellow light, and he told me that I'd done all right -"

Blaine is a mosaic of emotions; fragments of regret, sharp and stinging, are set in his face with each mournful verse. It might be the physical act of playing and singing that distracts him, or the psychological effect of music letting him express his emotions in a safe manner. It might be that he's too focused on the song to be worried about appearances, or just that he knows she won't tell anyone else.

"And he kissed me till the morning light, the morning light, and he kissed me till the morning light..." He picks out scaling notes carefully, as if the piano will break if he touches it too hard, but his voice is what crumbles as he sings the last chorus. She wonders if he's like this with the Warblers, though - as close as they are, they do need to perform in front of an audience.

The echoes grow cold, and Sarah waits until he looks like he's ready to talk again.

Later:

Blaine tries to find what to say, or whether to say it at all, and with the uncertainty comes the familiar dread. "I shouldn't have been so stupid," is all he can manage, because neither of them know what he's trying to say.

"It's not that much different from how you are now," Kurt teases, but his laughter dies when Blaine puts his hands in his pockets and shies away. He sighs and lays a hand on his shoulder. "Blaine, I'm not keeping score of how many people you dated."

"Yeah, well," Blaine says, "I keep thinking how it would have been different if I'd met you instead of him, and... it would have been better."

"You don't know that," Kurt argues, but Blaine shakes his head.

"Yes, I do." He kicks at a rock regretfully.

"You are awfully presumptive, Blaine Warbler," Kurt tells him with a shake of his finger - but he knows that Blaine's right, from his very own 'He didn't deserve you.' He's a bit crestfallen at how predictable he is. "Would it really have been better?"

"Well, it can't get much worse than what did happen."

Then:

Blaine's voice takes on a rare screeching note with whatever he's saying, but Kyle only winces and keeps moving through the living room. "If you want to break things off, that's fine, but don't lead him on like this again."

"The hell?"

"Oh, sorry," Kyle apologizes with a mocking laugh. "I forgot to mention that he's not over you yet!"

"What?" comes the other end, barely audible over Blaine's protests. "Holy shit, I never -"

"He's sixteen!" Kyle snaps. "The hell did you expect him to think when you still talk to him after breaking up?"

"He can handle breaking up by himself."

"Not right now," Kyle states. "Dude, he nearly passed out when I said I'd delete your number. And don't take this personally, but stay away from him from now on." He speaks softly; when he hears a queasy chuckle, his face heats up. "Do you understand what I said?"

"Okay, I get it." He laughs again, though it is still a bit nervous. "Big-brother responsibilities -"

"Stay the hell away from my brother," Kyle cuts him off through gritted teeth. "And if I find out you're still calling him or talking to him, doing anything to get his hopes up again, I will find where you live and I will torch you in your own fucking house!"

"Oh my god, Kyle, you can't say that!" Blaine's voice is a throat-ruining scream. Kyle knows that he was expected to say he'd call the police or beat him up; those things are vague and law-abiding, and they don't carry the destructive threat of love. But Blaine is the youngest and Kyle is the oldest, and it's not like their dad's going to do anything.

Kyle hangs up and deletes the number. Blaine is still yelling at him through angry, unintelligible tears, and Kyle hands him his phone back.

Now:

He shifts on the piano bench, and he doesn't know what to do with his hands anymore. "Kyle and Lydia think I'm just pretending I never met him. And I decided not - not to tell them, you know. If they found out that he was literally never my boyfriend..."

"Yeah, someone would be burned alive." She sits down next to him and rests her clipboard on her knees, clicking her pen. "So, why did you pick that song?"

He looks a bit cheated. "You said I wouldn't need to explain," he says, balking at the thought of piecing things together without music.

"No, I said music would help you explain," she reminds him. "All right, let's rephrase it; how did you feel when you were singing?"

Later:

They're sitting on Blaine's jacket now. Their backs are to a tree, their arms linked, and the grass comes up to their chests. Clouds are drifting across the sun, and everything goes gray for a moment. "I mean, everyone keeps saying it's this awesome, life-changing experience that they'll never forget, but... I kind of want to. It wasn't horrible, don't get me wrong, but - it wasn't really that special, either, and for some reason that makes me feel worse."

Kurt sifts through the extra words, and he feels bad when the meaning shakes itself free of explanations and justification. "It was okay, huh?"

"I wish I'd met you earlier." He tries to smile, because this is closer to what he wants to say, but his mouth ends up crooked and his eyes are a murky, sad brown. "Like, if I could - move things around so that the stupid mistakes never happened?"

"If you did that, you wouldn't have met me," Kurt tells him sharply. "You would have met an even lonelier, obsessive little boy who would do anything to get what he wants. And I mean anything, Blaine - I set up Dad and Carole so I could share a house with Finn. Who knows what I'd have done to get an actual gay guy?"

"Yeah, well..." His laugh rings plaintively. "I'd deal with that." He belatedly realizes that he means I don't care.

"Why am I not surprised?" Kurt asks.

Then she took a few steps onto the grass, held up a bridle bright as butter, and called, "Here, unicorn, here! Here, my pretty, here to me! Comecomecomecomecome!"

The prince snickered. "It's not your chickens you're calling, you know."

Then:

Kyle treads carefully into Blaine's room. He's doing his homework halfheartedly, but he's watching his phone and refuses to acknowledge Kyle's arrival. "Blaine, he's not going to call you again."

"You don't know that," Blaine argues, but they both do. Even though Blaine waits for the rest of the day, it is less out of hope and more to confirm his suspicions.

Now:

"Well, he did threaten to burn him alive in his house," Sarah says. "When threats start getting specific, most people want to play it safe."

"But that's arson. And murder," he adds quickly. "Kyle wouldn't actually do that."

"Do you really think he wouldn't?" Sarah asks. He twists his hands uneasily for a while, but at last he shakes his head.

Later:

"You know, most people would be happy to hear that about their family," Kurt tells him sadly, and with a hint of pity. He wonders where Blaine got the idea that love pays attention to legality or reason; maybe it's because Blaine is so law-abiding and reasonable himself. "And just so you know, that's on the low end of what Dad would do for me."

"How mad would someone be to even say that?"

Then:

Blaine's mother smiles gently and gives him a hug. "Well, now you know better, hmm?"

"...Yeah." It is barely audible against the disappointment in his throat. "Thanks, Mom."

She doesn't know that his disappointment is with her, and not himself.

Now:

"What are you going to do about Kurt?" Sarah inquires, writing the last of her notes.

Blaine's face is weary, with his eyes sunken as if in quicksand. "I don't know."

Later:

He curls an arm around Kurt's waist. "And then you said how you didn't even want to think about it, and that just..."

"Oh," Kurt breathes.

Then:

"You told Mom?" Lydia facepalms. "Blaine, the only thing Mom worries about is if anyone gets pregnant - you know how she is! God!"

She hugs him fiercely, and barely manages to rest her chin on his shoulder; for once in his life, he wishes he was shorter.

Now:

"I just don't want him to end up feeling how I did," he says helplessly.

"Are you waiting until Kurt's ready, or until you stop being scared?" Sarah asks.

Later:

Kurt leans into Blaine's chest, but it's only a few seconds before he complains about a kink forming in his neck. Blaine shifts to his left and ends up with bark in his hair; Kurt picks it out gently and sighs, then gets startled when Blaine's arms close around him like a net. "Whoa! Easy there - this jacket's homemade."

He swallows the lump in his throat and feels Kurt's arms circle his shoulders, but it's still an effort to get the words out and he's still not sure which of them to say.

I know better now. I know you better now. I wish my life was better; I wish your life was better than mine. I wish I hadn't screwed up my life - I wish I hadn't screwed up your life - I want you here with me, I want you making me better, I want you I want you I want you -

"Blaine?" Kurt is serious again, and his eyes seem the same hollow, sorrowful shade as the sky.

"I wish it was with you."