A/N: Trigger warnings for past mentions of rape, self-harm and panic attacks. Well, it's the twenty-first chapter and because this is such a significant number for Klainers, my amazing co-author and I decided to give you a treat. And in honor of the recent spoilers about someone singing a certain special song, we used All of Me by John Legend in this chapter. Thoughts, suggestions and constructive criticisms are always welcome! You can message me on fanfiction (TheyCantTouchUsOrWhatWeHave), scarvesandcoffee (coffeebeanklaine) or Tumblr (coffeebeanklaine). Enjoy!

Chapter Twenty-One:

Give your all to me,
I'll give my all to you.
You're my end and my beginning,
Even when I lose I'm winning,
Cause I give you all of me,
And you give me all of you.

Kurt didn't sleep. He knew that the nightmares would just return, shaking him awake and reminding him of the cold harshness that was his new reality. So, he curled up on the couch in a pile of blankets and watched Breakfast at Tiffany's exactly seven times; pausing it to brew a fresh pot of coffee or go to the bathroom occasionally. Only the thought of Blaine soothed his nerves when Cecil's face flashed through his mind, and kept his spirits up when his sobs drowned out the television.

Around four thirty in the afternoon, Kurt dragged himself off the sofa and into the bathroom. He scrutinized his reflection, frowning at the dark circles that hung underneath his empty eyes like a raccoon's and the dried sores that scarred his bottom lip. The bruises on his neck and wrists had turned a sickly indigo color—he would have to cover those up somehow—and his hair was so knotted it looked like a rat's nest. He was a wreck. But he was going to see Blaine.

The scalding streams of his shower did little to calm the burn of his aching muscles. He scrubbed almost mindlessly at his skin, blasting Lady Gaga to quiet the thoughts that would not stop racing through his head. When Kurt got out of the shower, he took his time picking the perfect outfit. In the end, he decided on a gold button-down and a pair of black jeans that didn't hug his tender ass too hard. He threw on a matching scarf to hide the marks and combed his hair to the side.

Blaine texted him an hour through his vigorous skin routine, the vibrations of his phone causing him to jump and spill half a bottle of toner all over the tile. Hey, what time are we meeting? –B

Kurt dried his hands on a towel before tapping out his reply. 10:30?-K

Sounds great. See you then. –B. Kurt grinned happily down at his phone. Blaine was excited to see him.

See you then. –K.

Kurt paced back and forth anxiously outside of Rachel and Santana's apartment. He hadn't spoken to them since the night at the club, and ignored Santana's concerned text messages and Rachel's heart-shaped notes left at his doorstep. Once again, he'd been selfish and a horrible friend to the two people who'd been his anchor. He only called on them when he needed them—and he needed their help now.

He knocked gently and held his breath. Part of him wanted to ask them to come with him. The annoying voice in the back of his mind would not shut up—people are going to touch you. They're going to trap you and touch you and you won't be able to escape. Cecil will be there. He's looking for you. He wants to finish what he started. But he knew he wouldn't be able to explain why.

Santana opened the door. Immediately, her nose scrunched up at the sight of him and she crossed her arms over her cleavage, turning around and striding back into the living room. "Rachel, Princess Ice has arrived."

Kurt sighed and closed the door behind him. Santana plopped down on the couch, tossing her hair over her shoulder dramatically and fixating him with a hard glare. Rachel walked out of the hallway, just as angry as Santana. She plopped down next to her and motioned to Kurt. "Well, go ahead. We've got five minutes until we have to catch the A Train to Times Square, so make your apology speech quick."

Kurt cleared his throat. It was like he was back in his sophomore debate class. "I'm really sorry. A lot of things have happened since t-that night and I've been…preoccupied," he said slowly, choosing his words with care.

Rachel leaned forward, her gaze morphing from rage to sympathy. "What exactly happened? One minute you were flirting with some guy and the next you were grinding all over him." Kurt's stomach churned sickeningly. "And then you called me at four in the morning crying and wouldn't say a word!"

Kurt felt the familiar sting of panic settling over him and he squeezed his eyes shut, taking several long breaths through his nose. "I got really drunk and fell asleep in some back room," he answered shakily.

"We're your best friends, Kurt, you can tell us anything." Rachel reached for his wrist and Kurt flinched away.

He plastered a smile on his face and shook his head a bit too enthusiastically. "Everything's fine. Can I borrow some concealer, please? I have a date with Blaine a half hour and I don't want to be late."

Santana scoffed loudly. "You have got to be kidding me! Blaine? Again? I thought you were done with him," she cried, standing up and nearly towering over him.

"I love him," Kurt protested.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, you 'love' him? Are you really in love with him or do you just love the idea of fixing someone since you're clearly unable to fix yourself?"

Santana's words stung more than they should've and Kurt furiously blinked back hot tears. She sighed, her shoulders slumping and her eyes turning from liquid fire to pity. "I'm sorry, okay? But it's the cold ass truth and someone had to say it. For months you've been chasing after him and it's gotten you nowhere. You gave up everything for this guy—someone you haven't seen in god knows how many years—and did you ever stop to think about what he gave up for you? Because if I can recall correctly, you've given up your fiancé, your perfect fairytale life, your career, your peace of mind, your friendships and Blaine hasn't sacrificed a single damn thing." She stretched out her arm to comfort him but Kurt jerked away, stumbling backward and jamming his elbow into a nearby bookshelf.

Santana squinted, gaze raking over his features as if searching for a crack in his porcelain shell. "What happened to you?" she asked in a tone so soft it startled him.

He swallowed uncomfortably, massaging his injured elbow. "I really have to go," he murmured, barely audible over his own labored breathing.

"I'll get the makeup," Rachel announced, shattering the tension that hung throughout the room as she hurried away.

Kurt's cheeks began to burn when Santana's stare did not lift, her lips pursing and eyebrows furrowed. He said a quick thank you to Rachel when she returned and bid them a happy New Year before going back to his own apartment.

Deep down, despite his heart's refusals, Kurt knew that part of what Santana had said was true. Kurt had given up a lot just to help Blaine and now he was at the worst place he'd ever been in his life. He couldn't help but wonder what he would've been like if he'd simply accepted the stupid proposal in the first place. Certainly not dabbing concealer on his cheeks in the dim lighting of his freezing entryway, that was for sure.

Kurt eliminated any doubts he had with a determined clench of his fists. There was no undoing the past; he'd learned that the hard way. So he was going to count his blessings, no matter how small, and go meet Blaine, even if it killed him. And it just might.

Kurt hailed a taxi and arrived at the piano bar on 49th street at exactly 10:29pm. He did a quick sweep over the heads of the bar's occupants before settling into a stool along the bar. The sight of people dancing along with the strong scent of alcohol and flashing lights made his stomach knot and bile rise in the back of his throat. He was here for Blaine, he kept reminding himself as he pressed further away from anyone who came near him. Blaine.

10:40 rolled along and Kurt started to get worried. Blaine wasn't here because Kurt had fucked up once again, somehow, and scared him away. He was a fuck-up, that was all he was good for. Kurt put his head in his hands and groaned.

At 10:53, Kurt got up to leave. He inched past the group of dancers and made a beeline for the door. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

Blaine burst through the door barely a second before Kurt pushed it open. He was flushed, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead, and his hair a disheveled mess atop his head. Kurt grinned sheepishly. "You came." The words were out before he could stop them, sounding entirely too needy and desperate, but Blaine's lips twitched up into a matching smile.

"Yeah, I did," he breathed out.

"I-I'm glad you did."

"Me too." Blaine took a step forward and for the first time, Kurt didn't take a mirroring step backward. "You, uh…you look good. Can we go get a drink or dance or something?" he wanted to know, hazel eyes bright as they flickered over his body.

Kurt nervously gnawed at the inside of his cheek. "Yes. That sounds great."

Hesitantly, Blaine held out his hand in a silent offering. Kurt froze, staring down at the hand he had held so many times before; the hand that had been interlocked with his own, the hand that had held his head in place while their lips met, the hand that had fumbled with the buttons on his shirt before skimming, light and graceful, over the skin of his abdomen. Kurt grabbed it. It felt so familiar and natural—immensely different from any way Aaron had ever felt. Yes, this was right.

They made their way towards the bar. Kurt took a deep breath, glancing over at Blaine out of the corner of his eye. "I—can I just get a nonalcoholic Shirley Temple, please?" he asked the bartender. I'm such an idiot. Blaine is going to know something is up. Stupid, fucking twat.

"Just a plain daiquiri, please."

They sat down, fingers still intertwined across the smeared and somewhat sticky surface of the counter. Should I let go of his hand? God, I'm probably so sweaty and gross. Shit, shit, he's staring. Say something. "How've you been?" Kurt blurted out.

"Hmm?" Blaine turned toward him abruptly, lost in his own thoughts. "Oh, uh. Good. Good. I've been good. You?"

Kurt took a slow sip of his drink before nodding. "I'm good…I'm good." He motioned towards the dance floor. "Do you…You wouldn't want to dance, would you?" It was bold and most likely an unwise decision, but they needed to loosen up if they hoped to get anywhere tonight.

"I'd love to."

Kurt grabbed Blaine by the wrist, smirking coyly as he dragged him back to their awaiting drinks a mere thirty minutes later. For the first time since before Chaos, Kurt's body ached in a way that he welcomed. The energetic beat of the music still pumped through his veins, causing elation to explode in his chest like fireworks. "It's 11:35," he declared after checking the time on his phone. "We still have a bit until midnight."

Blaine chuckled fondly at him. "You always get so excited on New Year's."

"How could anyone not get excited about New Year's? It's saying goodbye to the mistakes of last year and welcoming the next. It's like a fresh start." And he really needed a fresh start.

"You're ridiculous," Blaine remarked, once again offering Kurt his arm.

Kurt lifted to meet Blaine when he saw them; neat, red gashes that split the tender skin of his forearm and crisscrossed their way up into Blaine's sleeve. He could hardly process what he was seeing. Cuts. He had known that Blaine self-harmed but he hadn't known just how bad it really looked. Before he could stop himself, he was pulling up the sleeve of Blaine's right arm and further exposing the cuts. "You weren't supposed to see those."

Kurt choked, leaning in and stopping when Blaine pointedly moved away. "Why would you do this? I thought…things were getting better," he said, his voice wavering with every word.

"They were. They were getting better and then they weren't and I did some really stupid things and this was one of them," Blaine rambled, looking anywhere but at Kurt.

Kurt felt his heart break. He had to help, to fix. "That's okay—it's okay—I can make it all better—"

"No, Kurt!" Blaine shouted, alarming several of the people around them. "You can't make it all better. Some things just don't go away. You were a part of the problem this time; you left me there like I was nothing and ran back to that stupid guy and sure I know that you don't care about him now but I didn't know that then and it hurt me, Kurt. It hurt a lot."

No, no he couldn't deal with this. Not today. Not now. Blaine was broken, yes, but Kurt was too and Blaine needed realize everything Kurt had done in order to be with him. "I told you, that was an emergency. Aaron drove his fucking car into a semi truck because of us! I ruined him and I ruined you and I'm sorry if you wanted my undivided attention, but you're just going to have to wait in line behind all the other people I've ruined."

"I didn't want your undivided attention for God's sake, I wanted—needed you to tell me that you still wanted me and that I wasn't just…cold coffee!"

Kurt almost laughed at the situation. He'd assured himself over a dozen times that this night would be perfect and yet here they were, arguing in the middle of a piano bar less than forty minutes away from midnight on New Year's Eve. He threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. "How many times do I have to say it? I tracked you down to try and help you, I broke up with my fiancé so I could visit you in the hospital, I respected your space and left you alone for weeks when you asked me to, I took away your self-harm tools so you couldn't hurt yourself, I waited at a coffee shop for four hours and I showed up tonight—after everything's that's happened to me—and you still don't think I love you?"

"I have been trying to get better for you! Believe it or not, I sacrificed a lot, too." Santana's words rang through his ears on nonstop repeat. "Maybe you shouldn't have tracked me down or took away my things; my personal belongings. Maybe you should never have even come and helped me up off the floor of the bar that night in the bar because then none of this would have happened. I stopped doing drugs for you, I tried so hard to stop self-harming over you and I did it, I managed. This time it was because of myself. God, I slept with Sebastian of all people just because I thought you didn't want me."

The oxygen was sucked out of Kurt's lungs at that name—that fucking name. "Sebastian? You slept with Sebastian? Sebastian Smythe?" He collapsed onto one of the stools. How was that even possible? Sebastian was like the universe's sick joke on them.

Blaine ran his hands over his face and exhaled. "You barely even gave me a second chance. You just leapt out of your chair and ran out the door and said something about the man I saw as your fiancé and you were gone." It was sounding more and more like an excuse with everything he uttered.

"I said I was sorry. And I'm fucking tired of saying I'm sorry. While you were off sleeping with Sebastian, I was—I—" Kurt shut his mouth and shook his head. Idiot. He'll never love you if he knows. "You know what? It doesn't matter. It's not like we're dating. We don't have some stupid obligation to each other. Why'd you even show up tonight, huh? To make me feel even worse about myself? Because I'm pretty sure there's no way to make me feel lower than I feel now," Kurt practically spat. Sebastian was the last goddamn straw and Kurt was done; he was done.

"Fine. Just fine. If that's the way you think I make you feel, take a look at me because I promise I'm not any better off." Blaine gnashed his teeth together, gathering his bearings before turning on his heel and heading towards the exit. "I hope you enjoy the rest of your night. Next time, don't try to play the knight in shining armor if you don't have the sword to slay the dragon."

Kurt dug his nails into his palm and hissed. This was all so stupid and it was his fault and why didn't he have the balls to fix this? Blaine was getting farther and farther away and pretty soon Kurt knew he would lose him entirely. He had lost so much already and he wasn't about to give up the one thing that grounded him to this godforsaken earth, even if it meant the loss of his dignity.

But this wasn't about who had lost more or who had gained the most; this was about two people finding themselves in the city of romance and Kurt be damned if he let his one shot at romance slip through his fingers.

Kurt was up and running towards the mini stage at the front of the crowd before he knew what was happening, pushing the frazzled DJ aside and gripping the mic with trembling hands. He stopped the music, turning the attention of angry people. "H-Hi. Hi, I'm Kurt Hummel and I'll be singing a song for you tonight. This is dedicated to a very special person in my life…he was my knight in shining armor when I was in high school and he still is today. He always will be. I hope…I just hope he knows that." He cleared his throat.

His fingers found the keys he knew by heart, weaving together to create the song that always seemed to be stuck in his head. "You think I'm pretty, without any makeup on. You think I'm funny, when I tell the punch line wrong. I know you get me, so I let my walls come down…Down."

Kurt ended the song with dried tears on his cheeks and his gaze locked on Blaine. "I love you," he whispered into the microphone and at the crumbled expression on Blaine's face and the hand that snapped up to cover his mouth, he knew he'd done the right thing.

"Get off the stage!" someone yelled. Fumbling and blushing like an idiot, Kurt got down and raced over to Blaine. The loud thump of hip hop music resumed, the rhythm blasting through him and eliciting his excitement.

"I had to stop you," Kurt said. "You really are my teenage dream."

For a moment, everything was still. Then Blaine launched himself into Kurt's arms, tucking his nose into Kurt's neck as Kurt gripped him tightly.

The next couple minutes were a blur. Kurt felt only the buzz of Blaine's skin on his own and rise and fall of Blaine's steady breathing. They found an unoccupied booth to curl up in, not talking but simply staring at each other.

"Did you want to go watch the ball drop? We can walk," Blaine had wanted to know and Kurt had agreed without hesitation.

The walk to Times Square was lazy and languid. They took their time moving in and out of the crowds of people and marveling at the glittering lights that decorated every rooftop within sight. They found a spot in view of the giant ball that dangled above the city, vibrant and luminescent against the dark sky.

"Ready for 2017?"

Kurt looked up at Blaine, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. "I am if you are."

Blaine bumped his hip against Kurt's playfully. They had barely a minute left; a minute left in what had been interchangeably the best and worst year of his life. "So ready."

"You know…You didn't say that you loved me back," Kurt pointed out quietly, glaring hard at the dirty snow beneath their feet. Fucking idiot, of course Blaine doesn't love you.

Blaine twisted to stare at him, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "I do. I do love you, too. I thought you'd gathered that," he responded with a soft laugh.

Kurt sighed happily. Everything, all the pain of the last couple months was lifted from his chest. Blaine loved him. Kurt leaned his head into Blaine's shoulder. It was all worth it. "I wanted to make sure." Twenty seconds.

Blaine hummed in acknowledgement. Kurt nestled closer so Blaine's warmth heated the cold tip of his ear. Ten seconds. It was so close—they were so close to a new year, a new beginning to mend everything they'd broken. Nine.

Blaine's face sparkled in the faint glow as he chimed in with the countdown."Eight."

The scream of people was deafening, shaking the ground and vibrating through the air. Kurt turned to face Blaine, grabbing his other hand and exclaiming loudly, "Seven."

Blaine bounced on his toes. "Six."

Kurt leaned in. He could feel Blaine's breath beating against his cheek, and see the flecks of gold glimmering in his hazel eyes. Five. So close, so close, so close. Four. Kurt wanted nothing more than to feel Blaine's lips against his own, to explore his mouth in the ways he used to. Three.

Blaine pressed their foreheads together, his hands moving to lightly grip Kurt's waist. Two. They were going to do it. After years and years of waiting, it was going to happen. One.

Zero.

They were kissing, mouths pressed together was the rest of the world disappeared. Blaine tasted like mint and daiquiris and home. Kurt wrapped his arms around his neck, his fingers tangling into the soft curls at the base of his neck. Their chests pressed together, their hips aligning. There were only the two of them in the entire world.

Kurt felt Blaine smile against his lips as he couldn't help the giggle that bubbled out of him as they broke apart and noses bumping, stared up at each other. "Happy New Year," Kurt said, pressing another quick kiss to Blaine's swollen lips.

"Happy New Year," he replied, pecking him back lightly before pulling away.

Kurt couldn't erase the grin from his face, looking up in awe at the buildings that stretched into the midnight sky. Confetti rained down, dousing the crowd in a shower of glimmering colors. Crowd.

There were so many people, surrounding Kurt in every direction. He could he not have noticed this? They were going to touch him—they were touching him, everyone was so close and—oh, god, he couldn't breathe. Not here, not here. Please not here. Not in front of Blaine.

"Kurt? Kurt, are you okay? What's wrong?"

Kurt didn't answer. There were so many people and it was so loud and he couldn't breathe. He couldn't fucking breathe. He had to get out. Frantically, Kurt spun around, desperate for a gap in the wall of people. "Move-please, move—" he gasped, clutching his stomach in the hopes it would steady his heaving chest.

"Kurt!"

He screamed between his teeth, half-jumping and half-tripping away from a girl who bumped into him. He fell onto the trampled snow, steadying himself on all fours and panting heavily. Blaine bent down next to him, but he inched away weakly. "Don't touch me, don't touch me. Get away, oh, god, don't."

He was drowning.