A/N: Please, heed the warnings on the first chapter.

Chapter Seventeen: The Boy Who Lived and Breathed

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Side to side, swaying like a metronome inside his skull, banging against his bones. A shrill ringing filled his ears, and he gripped the sides of his head, tears streaming down his cheeks as he struggled to breathe. I'm dying, he thought. This is it, after everything.

Sweat matted his shirt to his skin, and his heartbeat pounded like a plane's sputtering engine before it crashed to the ground. His body trembled as his breath constricted, panic clogging his throat. I'm going to die.

"You're not going to die." The voice was close, but he could barely hear it over a whisper. "Open your eyes, sweetie."

Were his eyes closed? He didn't remember closing them. He tried to pry them open, but they wouldn't budge. A whine escaped his lips, like a whisp of steam out of a broken kettle as it tried in vain to boil a pot of water.

"Kurt." He recognized the voice this time – his stepmother, Carole, saying his name. "You're having a panic attack. Can you hear me?"

Shuddering, he nodded, eyelids still squeezed shut.

Oh.

Panic attack?

"Do you know where we are, Kurt?" she asked, her presence close but not in his space. Somewhere in the back of his mind reminded him that she was a nurse who knew how to deal with things like this. Things like… him.

Right, her question. Where were they? He tried again to open his eyes, driving them open with enough force to make his temples ache. Hazy, unfocused eyes took in the room – eclectic furniture, a taste for light wood, a familiar olive-green sofa that was pressed against his back. He squeezed them shut again, sobs pouring from his lips as it all came flooding back.

"What's wrong with him?" asked the desperate, gruff voice of his father. "Why is he crying? He was fine this morning when we left the hospital!"

Carole's shaky words explained carefully, "I was concerned that this would happen. Burt, I think he's been compartmentalizing everything. I can't imagine what's going through his head right now."

"But why here?" the mechanic boomed, making his son flinch away. He continued at a lower volume, "That hospital has all the bad memories, right? He was there when… I thought he only had good memories here, in his own home."

"I don't know that that's true," Carole cried. "The doctors said he had previous injuries before he was brought in. Like that one in his hand… I don't know how many times he's come home hurt."

"He wouldn't cook dinner with you, mom." Finn's voice appeared suddenly, growing louder as he approached from somewhere… the kitchen? There was a heaviness to it that had seemed to reside there. "He always cooked with you, but not…"

I'm right here, Kurt screamed in his mind. Please, I'm right here. Unconsciously, his fingers clawed at his throat, trying to open it up.

A hand came up over his, pulling it away. It stung. "He's got scratches all down his neck," Carole breathed, a wet sound. "Kurt, you're going to be just fine. Listen to me. Breathe, okay? Count with me. One, two, three…"

The boy wrestled air into his lungs, but the pounding in his chest wouldn't relent. His breaths quickened suddenly and dramatically, and then he was gasping and trashing and crying all at once. Sobs filled the room, and he wondered detachedly if they were all his.

"I've never seen one this bad," Carole wept, clutching at the sleeves of her blouse. "He's hyperventilating."

"I'm calling Dr. Anderson," Finn barked, an edge of fear in his tone. His mother agreed, kneeling in front of Kurt and taking one of his hands to place a glass of water in it. He flinched away violently, curling into himself as the cup crashing to the carpeted floor and soaking through it, and Carole cursed under her breath, one of the few times she had done so in her life.

"What's he saying?" Burt spat, pacing holes into the floor of the living room.

"He's not picking up," Finn cried frustratedly. "What do we do now?"

As she stood, knees crackling like a fireplace, Carole's sniffles faded away for a second. "What if…?"

"What if what?" Burt implored, hands landing firmly on either of her shoulders. "I'll do anything."

She turned to her son. "Call Blaine."

Finn's gaze flitted to Burt questioningly. "But…"

"Do it," Burt replied without hesitation. "Do it, Finn!"

"Okay!" The boy shuffled across the room to park himself next to his brother, squatting with the phone to his ear after pressing the familiar name in his contacts. It rang once, twice, thrice, and Finn thought he might not pick up, but suddenly the line clicked into place.

"Finn?" Blaine's voice spilled through the phone, already sounding anxious. "What's wrong? Is it Kurt?"

He nodded despite knowing he couldn't see him. "Mom says he's having a panic attack. It started right as he came inside the house. When he got to the living room, he fell down and started crying and shaking and saying he was going to… um, die."

"Shit, shit, shit… And my brother-"

"Didn't pick up," Finn explained.

"Oh, crap," Blaine cursed. "He's in surgery all morning."

"But you can help, right?"

A pause hung in the air, and when he finally spoke, it was thick with guilt. "Finn, I don't know if I can."

"Why not?" the teenager pressed, anger rising in his chest. "Do you not care enough?"

"You fucking know I do," Blaine snapped, shaky breaths caught by the phone speaker.

"Then why?"

Blaine's voice broke. "I've never… I don't know… I wouldn't be much help. I'm sorry."

Pressing his back against the sofa, Finn lowered himself to the ground, dread pooling in his stomach. "What do we do?" he whispered.

Carole placed a hand on his shoulder. "Finn, put him on speaker. I didn't ask you to call him for medical advice."

Finn stared at her for a moment, confusion clouding his features, before it dawned on him. "Oh."

She gave him a meaningful look, gesturing towards the phone. "Speaker."

"I'm putting you on speaker," Finn rushed, pulling the device away from his ear and pressing the button with his thumb. He held it up between him and his brother. "Done."

"Is he… Are you there, Kurt?" Blaine's honey baritone pierced through the room, and Kurt's eyes flew open despite his trembling continuing with force. His chapped lips parted as his cloudy eyes zeroed onto the phone, enlarging.

The boy made a weak sound of confirmation, and Finn said enthusiastically, "Did you hear that? He's here."

"I did," Blaine replied, significantly calmer than he had been. "I'm here, Kurt, and I'm so proud of you."

"F-f-f-f-f-for," he stuttered between choking breaths, jaw clacking together. "Wh-wh-wh…"

"For everything," Blaine said softly, reverently. "Remember when we sang together, Kurt? I was so proud of you that day, so proud. I knew you would be talented, but I never could have imagined…"

Burt and Carole exchanged shocked looks, and Finn looked at the phone with wide eyes. No one had mentioned to them that Kurt had started singing again. Hope welled in their hearts as the boy's breathing slowed gradually with Blaine's gentle words. "…and last night before you went to sleep, we talked about how you felt about coming home. You said you were excited but nervous, remember? You said that up until now, you'd been able to separate what had happened to you from who you used to be, because they were two different people. You said you were worried that coming home would bring back all the things they did to you, because there was no buffer between those two people anymore."

The boy's father tucked his head into his wife's shoulder, soaking her shirt with his tears. Blaine soldiered on, trying to ignore the sounds of low and muffled sobs. "I want you to remember the things you felt, Kurt. You won't be able to get better unless you know what's making you upset. I know it hurts right now, but you've always made it through, and this time won't be different."

Kurt let his eyes blink lazily as his chest evened out, head lolling back to rest against the couch. "I remember," he breathed, calm washing over him as his trembling subsided. "I… I'm not okay, Blaine."

"I know," Blaine reassured him. "I know you're not. You don't have to be, not right now."

"I thought I was," Kurt insisted, voice smoother than it had been in weeks. Maybe all he'd really needed was to admit that to himself. "I wanted to be. I was trying to be."

Blaine sighed into the speaker. "You were ignoring it. It was never going to get better that way. You have to let yourself be in pain, Kurt."

"I know you're right," he confessed, "but I wasn't in pain the whole time. Not… always."

A startled laugh escaped Blaine. "I'm glad to hear that."

Carole draped a blanket over Kurt's shoulders, careful not to touch him as she remembered the way he'd reacted before. "Thank you, Blaine," she said as she withdrew. "We didn't know what to do other than take him back to the hospital."

"It's good you didn't," Blaine replied. "I don't think Kurt would have loved that. Am I right?"

"I wouldn't have minded seeing you again," Kurt muttered, the pink already in his cheeks from his episode darkening into a crimson red.

Blaine exclaimed, "There are better ways to do that!"

"Like tonight at dinner," Carole reminded the two, heartbeat still quick in her ears. "You're still coming?"

"Of course," Blaine said. "I wouldn't miss it."

At the reminder, Kurt hid his face in his hands. "Damn it, I ruined Christmas Eve."

"You did not," Burt interrupted, marching over to his son and sitting on the couch beside his head. "I will not have you say that again. I'm so sorry we missed this, Kurt. We thought… well, since you were acting happier…"

"It's fine, dad," Kurt acknowledged, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have tried to ignore it."

"I do think you should speak with my brother," Blaine interjected, a hint of apprehension in his tone. "Just in case it happens again. It's best that he knows."

"I'll leave a message for him," Burt agreed. He hesitated before speaking. "Thanks, kid, for being there for Kurt."

"Always," Blaine said, smile in his voice.

"We should let Blaine get back to his… things," Kurt insisted, pressing his lips together. "And we have to get ready for dinner."

"It's in eight hours, Kurt," his father asserted. "That seems unnecessary."

"But you haven't even seen the recipe for-"

"I'll get things started," Carole said, giving him a pointed look. "You are going to take a nap."

Kurt huffed indignantly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine."

"That sounds like a good idea," Blaine agreed softly. "You need your rest. Besides, I do have to get back to my things."

After an eyeroll from Kurt and the promise to call if anything were to happen, the Hudson-Hummels hung up the phone, and silence fell onto the house. Carole and Finn went upstairs to grab the box in their laundry room where they'd put Kurt's pillows and duvet when Santana had moved into his room, running it down and making him a bed on the sofa. "I know it's not ideal," Carole apologized, "but we don't want you going up and down the stairs for at least another week."

"It's fine," he dismissed. "It's a comfortable couch. Besides, Santana's in my room."

"She's at Brittany's tonight, and she's moving home tomorrow," Finn reminded him as Kurt lifted his head so Finn could place the pillow under.

Kurt shrugged. "I don't like it. Her parents kicked her out. They don't deserve her back."

"Maybe not," he decided, "but she's too young to not have parents, Kurt. Besides, they apologized, and we're going to keep a close eye on her when she moves back in with them."

"I guess."

With that, Finn covered him in his blanket before leaving him alone to go help Carole with dinner – by that, Kurt prayed he meant sit on the counter and eat the ingredients when she wasn't looking, because any other degree of involvement would end in a tragic tarnishing of his beautiful recipes. He closed his eyes as he let his head rest against the soft pillow, listening to the sounds of chopping vegetables and the roaring of the stove. Laughter echoed from the kitchen, and music played quietly from Finn's speaker as they tried not to disturb him.

Kurt fell asleep without a smile on his lips, but with the knowledge that everything was going to be fine, even if it wasn't right now, even if he wasn't right now. And if he tossed and turned in his sleep, that was alright, because it meant that the weight on his chest wasn't so heavy that it held him down anymore.

Straightening his bowtie in the mirror, Blaine smiled at his reflection, his wild curls tamed into a clean look that retained their shape. He'd popped in his clear contacts and trimmed his beard down to a light stubble, and he couldn't help but appreciate how well he cleaned up compared to the 5 am just-rolled-out-of-bed look he usually sported for rounds.

Blaine had elected for a semi-formal outfit, given that it was a family Christmas Eve dinner he was crashing – a white button-up paired with red pants and a beige belt, not to mention this adorable black bowtie from his collection that he was sure Kurt would adore for its balance between niche and elegant. His smile widened as he imagined the boy's face. What would Kurt wear tonight? Whatever it was, he was sure it would be magnificent.

A sharp knock on the bathroom door broke him out of his reverie. "Blaine, good god, what is taking you so long? I swear if you come out with gelled hair, I will hold an intervention," called Wes from the living room.

He rolled his eyes, cracking open the door and stepping out. "No gel, see? Totally au naturel. Well, maybe not totally, but I don't think an intervention is necessary."

Marley lifted her gaze from her phone, whistling low when she saw him emerge. "Damn, Blaine! If you played for my team, I would be all over that."

Wes raised an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure he's taken, Marley."

"Shut up," Blaine snapped, mood souring instantly. "I am not taken."

The teacher held his hands up in defense. "No need to get nasty. I didn't mean anything by it."

"Jesus, just talk to Kurt," Marley groaned, tucking her phone into her purse. Her legs were resting on the suitcase she was bringing to visit her parents in Columbus over the weekend. "You two are more elusive than the Bermuda Triangle."

"He is not in the right headspace for something that big," Blaine replied, sighing. "Besides, I promised Coop that I wouldn't."

"Something that big? What have you been hiding in those slim-fits?" Marley teased, wiggling her eyebrows. At his glare, she frowned back. "It was a joke, Blaine. Why are you acting so weird?"

"I can't even…" His lips quivered, but he composed himself quickly, running a hand over his face. "Please, don't make those jokes about me and Kurt. It's really, really not like that. I don't… I don't want it to be like that."

Marley's mouth opened. "Are you not… attracted to him?"

"Of course I am," Blaine disputed, taking a deep breath. "I just don't think either of us would be ready for something like that. Not now, and maybe not ever, okay? I don't even know if he wants… a relationship. Or one with me."

"He does," Marley argued. "I've seen the way he looks at you."

"That's not what I meant. I've… I've seen it too."

"Then what? If you both want it, why not? I know you're obsessing over this age difference thing, Blaine, but it's really not that much. You're only twenty-four."

"It's more complicated than that," Blaine admitted, feeling a headache come on. As he rubbed his temples, Wes appeared with two pills in his palm and a glass of water that he offered wordlessly. Blaine thanked him, wondering how he'd gotten lucky enough to have friends like them. "I promise I'll talk to you guys if I need to, but I think I just have to stop thinking for now, okay? I just… need to."

"Yeah, okay." Marley nodded, standing up and grabbing her suitcase. "Are we ready to go?"

"I think so," Wes confirmed, tossing her the keys. "Are we all clear on the plan?"

"You two drop me off at Kurt's, Marley drops you off in Westerville and drives to Columbus," Blaine explains. "I'll take the bus home tonight, but she'll pick you up Sunday evening and you two will drive home together. Sounds great."

"Overachiever," Marley teased, knocking his shoulder.

"It pays to know the whole thing," he laughed. "That's why I had the highest average from our class last year."

"That's also why you're the most boring," she muttered, shoving the two boys out the front door. They piled into Wes' car, Blaine in the backseat as he would be the first one out. The drive to Kurt's was short and quiet, as his roommates knew not to tease him anymore about whatever was going on there, and he pressed a kiss to each of their cheeks before climbing out of the car.

"Thanks for the ride," he said, leaning into the open window on the driver's side. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," Marley echoed back with shimmering eyes that screamed 'don't be an idiot' without her speaking a word. She started the engine back up, waving goodbye before the two took off to the east. Blaine took a deep breath, staring ahead at the ordinary looking house, the habitants of which were entirely too enigmatic. He hadn't even known Kurt that last time the boy had been inside this house. They'd led two separate lives. He could have walked past the house with its white picket fence and grey roof without a second thought to the boy who lived and breathed inside it.

Blaine made his way up the stairs and rang the doorbell, one finger pressed against the pulse point in his wrist. He allowed that hand to drop to his side as the door opened and he was face-to-face with that very boy, living and breathing. "Hi," he said unintelligently.

"Hi," Kurt replied, a gentle grin on his face. He looked tired, not that Blaine was surprised, but he didn't look unhappy – no, he looked better than he had in a while. He looked relieved, free, easy. He looked like he wasn't trying to keep everything inside, like if he needed to, he could burst into tears right now and not feel sorry for it.

"They making you open doors now?" Blaine teased, scrunching his nose.

Kurt brought one finger to his lips, eyes darting around conspiratorially. "Shhh, they'll hear you. I'm supposed to be on the couch."

Blaine made a scandalized expression. "This looks like the front door. How rebellious."

His grin reached his eyes. "I'm glad you came," he said softly. "Thank you for earlier. I don't know what I would have…"

Blaine shook his head gently to tell him to stop going down that path. "It doesn't matter. What's important is that it happened, and we worked through it. And I'm glad I came too."

Kurt's gaze moved then, from Blaine's face to roaming across the expanse of his body. "Wow," he breathed, lingering on the rough allure of his light stubble. "You clean up nicely."

"So do you," Blaine murmured, taking in his appearance. Kurt wore a navy coat over a long-sleeved maroon shirt, and his jeans were distressed, but not ripped. Blaine's breath caught in his throat at the way the clothes clung to his form, but what really caught his attention was the elegant coif of his hair and the dewiness of his skin. It was a far cry from the sickly boy he was used to seeing in that hospital room, but somehow equally beautiful.

Kurt frowned. "I lost a lot of muscle during bedrest," he muttered, self-consciously crossing his arms. "I look ill."

"You look flawless," Blaine corrected, honesty shining in every inch of his portrayal.

Heat rose to Kurt's cheeks, and they just looked at one another for a moment, not anywhere but the eyes. How long would it go on for? Kurt refused to break this gaze, and it seemed that Blaine shared the sentiment. Maybe it would never end. Somehow, he was okay with that. Come what may.

"Kurt? Was that Blaine at the door?" Carole's voice echoed through the hall, and they were forced to break apart.

"Yeah, we're coming," Kurt called back. He turned to Blaine, rolling his eyes amusedly. "Who else would it be?"

"I don't know, but I think you've been busted for answering the door," Blaine pointed out, giggling.

As their laughter died down, Kurt gasped. "I've been keeping you outside in the cold this whole time! Please, come in."

Kicking the snow off his shoes, Blaine stepped inside, taking in the interior of the house. The walls were a pale blue, and the furniture was cozy and antiquated. Kurt led him through the hallway, decorated with family photos from the Hudsons, the Hummels, and the Hudson-Hummels alike. His gaze caught on a photograph of a young Burt Hummel and a gorgeous woman holding a baby, but Kurt dragged him along before he could get a closer look.

They stepped together into the kitchen, and the smell of roasted chicken and stuffing wafted through the air. The warmth of cooking immediately brought some feeling back into Blaine's frozen cheeks, and he unwrapped the scarf from his neck, letting it hang over his arm. "Oh my, it smells divine," he commented, protesting lightly as Carole insisted on taking his scarf and hanging it up. He gave in, turning to Kurt as his stepmother disappeared into the hallway.

Kurt gravitated towards the oven, cranking on the light to check on the dish. He winced as he bended over, hands flying towards his abdomen. Alarmed, Blaine rushed to his side, and Kurt shook his head. "Don't worry, just a little sore. Nothing to enter doctor mode for."

"Doctor mode?" he repeated, a mix between amused and concerned.

"Y'know, when your brain starts going a mile a minute to figure out what's wrong with me," Kurt explained, leaning back against the counter. "I prefer you like this. Relaxed, enjoying yourself. I'm tempted to ban doctor mode from this house."

"Would that make it easier for you to be here?" Blaine asked, taking a step closer towards Kurt so the boy was bracketed against the marble top with a few inches of space between them. Somewhere in the back of his mind warned him against stepping any closer, and he just barely listened to it.

"It would," he whispered, looking up at Blaine through his eyelashes. Leaning back had made him shorter than Blaine, it seemed. "Much easier. Because I'm getting better, and you're not… you're not my doctor anymore, if you ever were."

"I'm not, am I?" Blaine echoed, as if they both had just realized that fact. Tension filled the air, uncomfortable but not unfamiliar, an almost pleasant kind of uncomfortable that had Kurt shifting nervously against the counter.

"Come to the dining room, boys." The booming voice of Burt Hummel filled the kitchen, and they turned in unison to see him standing at the threshold, a hard look on his face. He nodded at Blaine in greeting.

"We'll be right there," Kurt agreed easily, not wishing to worsen the situation, and Burt gave them one last look before turning and disappearing into the hallway. Taking a calming breath, Kurt tugged on Blaine's sleeve, pulling them both towards the dining room.

Blaine slid into the seat between Kurt and Finn, shifting awkwardly as he placed his napkin in his nap the way he'd been taught as a child. Finn raised an eyebrow at his table manners but said nothing, electing to bounce excitedly in his seat as he waited for Burt and Carole to appear with the food. It was generally Kurt and Carole who presented it, but they'd decided together that he would take it easy this year (meaning his parents had decided while he'd pouted petulantly in the corner, but he was actually quite content sitting next to Blaine, so he decided not to be bitter about it).

Carole emerged from the kitchen then, carrying a few dishes at once, followed by Burt who was doing the same. Soon enough, there wasn't an inch of empty space, and they were all seated at the table, hearty portions dolled out onto their plates. Blaine's presence didn't seem to interrupt the easy dynamic of the family, and he took a backseat at first, letting them chat about their days and their excitement for the holidays.

"Blaine, you said your brother is in Westerville with your mother, right?" Carole asked, determined to engage him in their conversation.

He nodded politely. "Yes, with my mother and my niece, Lily."

She brightened immediately at the mention of the little girl. "Oh, how wonderful! How old is she?"

"She turned six in May," he said simply. He'd flown out to Los Angeles for her birthday party. That had been the last time he'd seen her mother before she'd passed. He swallowed harshly, turning his gaze onto his plate.

"What's wrong?" Kurt whispered as Carole took pity on him and asked Finn about his tutoring with Marley. Kurt placed a hand on Blaine's knee under the table, forcing him to meet his gaze, and gasped softly at the tears in his eyes.

"No, it's nothing," he protested, wiping a single stray away. He blinked a few times, and the tears vanished. "I was just thinking about the last time I saw Lily's mom. Can we drop it? I don't want to bring the mood down."

"Okay," Kurt breathed, heart clenching at the sight, "Okay, sorry."

Blaine gave him a watery smile. "Don't be."

They tuned back into what Finn was saying right as he began to explain the human digestive tract. "So, Marley says that the small intestine is, like, twenty feet long. Apparently that's how tall giraffes are. It's gotta be that long so all these enzymes and stuff can digest our food. Isn't that weird?"

Burt paused, fork halfway into his mouth. He lowered the utensil, looking a tad sick. Carole patted her son's arm encouragingly. "That's great, sweetie, but maybe try not to talk about this stuff at dinner? You're making your stepdad green."

Blaine chuckled. "Mr. Hummel, you should never have dinner with some of my classmates. They have no filter, I swear, and with some of the stuff we see…" He trailed off, realizing he probably wasn't helping the whole 'green' thing. "Um, actually, forget about that."

"You're not helping," Kurt whispered.

"I got that," Blaine replied, apprehension crossing his face.

Kurt shook his head, smiling. "Don't look so scared. My dad won't shoot you. Probably. And if he did, Carole's a nurse. I'm sure she'd patch you up."

"You are the worst," Blaine groaned, pouting as Kurt laughed at him. "Ugh."

The rest of dinner passed without incident. Blaine complimented Carole on her cooking, and she insisted it was all Kurt and his recipes, which Kurt vehemently fought. He did, however, accept the compliment for his lemon meringue pie, which was absolutely stunning, not to mention delicious.

"You should have seen the first one I tried to make," he groaned, covering his face with his hands. "Dad, you have to remember. I was six years old, and mom let me do the crust because she figured it would be hard to mess up because it was pre-made, but guess who messed it up?"

"You were six! If it makes you feel better, I'm twenty-four, and I still can't cook for the life of me," Blaine piped up. "Wes keeps me alive. I don't know what I'd do without him."

"Probably live off of take out," Kurt mused, poking him in the arm teasingly. Burt and Carole exchanged looks again, this time over the fact that Kurt hadn't touched anyone else since his panic attack. In fact, he'd flinched at every accidental touch, even with Carole in the kitchen.

After dinner, Blaine insisted on helping with the dishes, but Carole waved him off. "It's called a dishwater, Blaine," she kidded, shaking her head. "You college kids and your ways of living."

"Hey!" he protested as he helped her carry them to the kitchen anyway. "I am not a college kid, I'm post-grad! The distinction is important."

"Is it?" Kurt interrupted, dodging when Blaine flicked water at him. Laughter peeled from the two boys as they proceeded to get into a water fight, Blaine careful not to injure Kurt. Carole snuck out of the kitchen as she saw it begin, curling into Burt's side as he watched some sport on the television, sounds of distant squeals from the kitchen flooding into the living room. Burt gave her a look, but she just shook her head, smiling.

The sounds died out after a few minutes, and another few later, the two emerged, Blaine holding a tray of identical white mugs. Steam escaped from the tops as he set it onto the table. Kurt produced a can of whipped cream from behind his back, and Finn yelped excitedly.

"Hot chocolate!" he screeched, snatching the can from his brother and piping it onto one of the cups until it was spilling over the sides. Carole slapped his hand, taking the can and offering it to Blaine with a polite, "guests first," which Blaine accepted, squeezing a little dollop onto his drink and bringing it to his lips. He sighed in contentment, turning to Kurt to say something that he forgot the second he saw the glorious smile on his lips that could have been worth more than a thousand diamonds.

"What is it?" Blaine asked self-consciously, patting at his hair and clothes. Kurt shook his head, pointing at his mouth, and Blaine groaned, knowing immediately what it was that was so amusing to Kurt. "No, don't tell me I have a whipped cream mustache. That's so cliché!"

"Cliché things have to come from somewhere," Kurt mocked, leaning over and wiping the whipped cream away with his thumb. He lingered for a moment, tracing the spiky stubble that he'd been wanting to reach out and touch all night. In fact, he even thought he felt Blaine lean into his touch, until Burt cleared his throat loudly and the two broke apart again.

Kurt pulled back, cheeks burning, and Blaine stammered, "Oh, uh, I just remembered I was supposed to send an email to one of my professors tonight. I'm just going to…" He trailed off, standing abruptly.

A moment later, they heard the soft but distinct click of the front door. Finn snorted. "He knows the wifi doesn't work on the porch, right?"

"Shut up," Kurt growled. They dropped the topic then, but after fifteen minutes when Blaine had yet to return, Kurt stood and made his way to the kitchen with the empty mugs before gesturing to Carole that he was going outside to check on him. She nodded, jerking her head towards Burt who was too engrossed in his match to notice.

Slipping on his boots, Kurt opened the front door quietly, sneaking out into the cold. Right away, he noticed Blaine sat on their patio sofa and made his way over to him. "That must be one hell of an email you're writing," he said, announcing his presence to Blaine, whose gaze had been focused on the houses across the street.

"Kurt," Blaine started, the cool air of the night making his cheeks flush. The porch lights casted shadows of his eyelashes onto those cheeks like a romantic portrait. "We shouldn't be out here alone. Your dad-"

"Is technically here, so we're not alone," Kurt teased, leaning against the front door. He exhaled, rubbing his frozen hands together and blowing on them.

Blaine watched the movement. "It's cold," he said, extending his stole by opening his arms. "Come warm yourself?" It was a question, clearly, but neither of them thought there was more than one possible answer.

Kurt scooted into his embrace, immediately warmed by the fabric. He nuzzled his nose into Blaine's upper arm, taking in the musk of hot chocolate and citrusy soap that awakened his senses. "The stars are bright tonight."

"Are they?" Blaine asked, gaze not straying from Kurt's shimmering eyes. "I didn't notice."

Kurt's tongue pressed against his teeth as he tried to reign in his beaming. "You should notice, otherwise you might miss out on a lot of beautiful things."

"I think I'm good," he replied cheekily as Kurt settled back against him. "I've seen enough beautiful things to last a lifetime. In fact, I'm not sure I deserve to have seen all the beautiful things that I have."

"Well, I'm sure that you do," Kurt retaliated. "You must have seen a lot of ugly things, too."

"I've tried to think of another way to put it, but I can't." Blaine sighed, finally turning his gaze to the stars. They really were beautiful.

"How about this?" Kurt asked, capturing his attention again. "I have a lot of scars, which I'm sure you can imagine. I don't love the way they look, but I don't think they're ugly. The ugly part was the pain, the suffering, the moment they were inflicted to the moment they became scars, but after that, they're just… nothing. They're not beautiful, but they're not ugly, either. Not anymore. They're just skin."

"I know what you mean," Blaine said, melancholy on his tongue. "I had one, too. A surgical scar after I was attacked at the dance."

Kurt tilted his head. "You had one? Did you get it removed?"

"I wanted to, at first. I hated it, thought it was just a horrible reminder of what had happened, thought no one would ever want to… touch me, after seeing it. Which wasn't true, of course, but I was young, and I didn't know."

"So what did you do?"

That part made Blaine smile again. "On my eighteenth birthday, all the Warblers took me to a tattoo parlour, and I got it covered up."

Kurt's mouth dried up. "You… have a tattoo?"

"Yes."

"Where is it?"

"Right here." Blaine took one of Kurt's hands, placing it just above his pelvic bone where the ink was hidden beneath layers of clothing. Kurt's breathing changed, and he kept his eyes away from Blaine's, hiding whatever truth was in them from the man. Blaine wished to the stars that he could see what was in them.

Kurt pressed his hand in further, whispering, "What is it? Your tattoo?"

"Do you want to see it?" Blaine asked, against his better judgement. When Kurt nodded and withdrew his hand, Blaine untucked his button-up, shucking it up just far enough that the ink was visible under the soft glow of the porch light and the stars.

A thin, black EKG line stretched over his skin. It was a simple, small tattoo, efficient at covering the bump of raised skin where he'd been opened up on a table. What stole Kurt's breath was the colour – exploding from under the heartbeat, every colour of the rainbow, like a watercolour painting, was etched into his skin. Kurt looked up, in awe.

"I wasn't going to let them win," Blaine explained. "I wasn't going to let them force me back into the closet. I wasn't going to let them make me ashamed of who I am. I wanted to show them I was proud."

"It's so lovely," Kurt murmured, aching to press his fingers against it but holding them back. That was too far, and even he knew that. Blaine let go of his shirt and it fell against his skin, hiding the image from sight once again. A minute or two passed before he tucked the button-up back into his pants, and Kurt averted his gaze while he did.

They sat together in silence for a while. Neither made any effort to know how long it had been. This time, Blaine tucked his head into Kurt's neck – it fit just as perfectly as the other way around. They were content to sit that way, watching the stars in silence, one or the other speaking every now and then to comment on a constellation they noticed until they ran out and began making up their own.

"That one looks like your lemon meringue pie," Blaine said, pointing at the sky.

Kurt giggled, swatting his hand down. "You realize that pointing at the sky is entirely unhelpful, right?"

"Fine," the man huffed. "The one above the third house from the left. They make a little triangle, you see?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I see the triangle, but the pie is a bit of a stretch."

"Is not!" Blaine defended, breath coming out as white fog. "Okay, maybe your pie was just so good that I can only think of it whenever I see triangles now."

"I should try to ruin other shapes for you, too," Kurt yelled excitedly. "How about circles? I can make you some crème brûlée."

"I like where this is going," Blaine joked, turning his face into Kurt's shirt. He listened to Kurt rattle on more shapes and what he was going to bake for Blaine, a pleasant feeling building in his chest that made him hum in contentment.

Another half hour might have passed before the front door cracked open, and Carole ducked her head out. "Just a warning, boys," she said, "Burt is planning on checking on you two soon, so I would… disentangle."

"I'm surprised it took him so long," Kurt grumbled, seeming to have gotten over his embarrassment at getting caught in embraces with Blaine, as his cheeks didn't even tinge red. Blaine had to admit that as glad as he was that Kurt was becoming more comfortable, he would miss that lovely rouge. Perhaps he could find other ways…

Blaine glanced at his phone, his jaw dropping as he realized the time. "Oh, it's three minutes to midnight," he gasped. "I should be heading home so you can celebrate your Christmas together. I hope the buses are still running – I should have checked the holiday hours."

"Don't be ridiculous," Carole waved him off. "Come inside, and once we celebrate, we can give you a ride home."

Blaine protested, but at one pleading look from Kurt, he was helpless. "Okay, but I won't stay long. I don't want to intrude."

The five were together once again in the coziness of the Hudson-Hummel home – and that was what it was, a home unlike Blaine had ever known – starting up the fireplace and watching the family exchange gifts and smiles and happiness. He felt like a part of it, a part of something he'd never really had, and he thought for a moment that maybe he'd never been happier in his short life, not during those stuffy Christmases where his father wouldn't speak to him and his brother was off in California, not during those lonely Christmases he spent in his dorm room as his friends flew off to be with their families, not during those empty Christmases he'd spent in the aftermath of one funeral or another. Maybe he'd never had the chance to be happier.

Until, of course, Kurt tugged at his sleeve and pressed a small box into his hand. "Open it."

Blaine blinked at him, confused. "What?"

"Open it," Kurt repeated, using both hands to close his fingers around the box. "It's your present."

"When did you-"

"Just open it, Blaine," Kurt said a third time, shaking his head fondly. "Please."

"Yeah, okay." The man's nimble fingers tugged the ribbon away. As he gently peeled open the box, Blaine gasped. He traced the fabric of the bowtie, a carbon copy of the one from the Vogue article they'd read together the night they made up. He glanced at Kurt, trying to hold back tears. "How?"

"I asked Santana to bring me the materials," Kurt explained, and if possible, Blaine was even more shocked. Kurt had made him a bowtie, the one that practically signified a turning point in their friendship, the one where Kurt had decided to give them another chance. "Harry said it was good for me to practice my dexterity, and I had so much time, and they're pretty easy to make by hand…"

There was no mistaking it anymore, no denying it. The only thing Blaine wanted in that moment was to pull Kurt close and kiss him. But he couldn't, not now, not here, not without breaking a promise. Instead, he settled for saying, "Thank you, Kurt. It's perfect. It's really, really perfect."

Fuck.

"It's not, but I'm glad you like it," Kurt answered.

"It is, and I do." That was when Blaine remembered. He dug into his own pocket, producing a box of similar size. He smiled sheepishly when Kurt fixed a disbelieving look onto him, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, I forgot I brought it with me! I just didn't think you would…"

"Blaine, you really didn't have to-"

The man clicked his tongue. "Nope, you don't get to use that line when you did the exact same thing and even more impressively. Now take it." He passed the box to Kurt, delighting in the way he surveyed it, trying to figure out what it was.

Hesitantly, Kurt picked off the wrapping paper, gasping quietly when he unveiled a small jewelry box. "Blaine, whatever's in here is-"

"Please, just take it, Kurt," Blaine implored, pouting endearingly so Kurt had no other option but to accept. He opened the box with trembling fingers, and his jaw dropped when he looked inside. It was a simple, silver bracelet chain with an engraving on the plate. He squinted, trying to understand what it said, when he realized that it didn't say anything – it was a shape, two circles joined by two parallel lines and surrounded with pairs of dots.

"Oh," he breathed, a sharp feeling in his chest reminding him that he was alive as his mind threatened to float away from his body. "Blaine, it's…"

"Oxygen," Blaine finished. "The Lewis structure of the molecule. To remind you to breathe."

"You had to have gotten this before my panic attack," Kurt mused, tracing the engraving and wanting to cry over how beautiful and thoughtful it was. "How did you know?"

"It wasn't about that, not really," Blaine explained. "Firstly, it was about your singing. You have the most wonderful voice I've ever heard, and I wanted you to have something that could remind you of that talent. And in part, I wanted to remind you of when we sang together, and I'm a scientist of sorts, so…"

"I love it," Kurt blurted out, shaking his head in disbelief. "But, Blaine, it must have been expensive."

Blaine choked out a surprised laugh. "Oh, god, Kurt, don't worry about that, please. I'll explain later, but seriously, don't worry about it at all." The boy bit his lip and nodded, deciding to let it go for once as Blaine clasped the bracelet around his wrist.

Burt stood suddenly, and the two seemed to just then remember that there were others in the room. He said, "Blaine, I think we should drop you off at your place now. It's getting late."

Blaine nodded in agreement. "You're right. I can take a bus, though, or a taxi…"

"Don't be stupid," Burt contested, pulling the keys off a hook by the door. "Let's go."

Kurt walked them to the door, apologizing for not being able to come as he was incredibly tired and shouldn't be putting too much strain on his body. Blaine shook his head, saying that his safety was the top priority before giving him a chaste hug and waving as he got into Burt's car. It was by the time that he was seated and strapped in that Blaine realized what he'd gotten himself into – a fifteen-minute car ride with Burt Hummel after having an epiphany about his feelings for his son.

The first few minutes went by in silence before Burt decided to get their chat over with. "I guess you know what this is going to be," Burt began, not missing the way Blaine flinched at the sound of his voice. "Or maybe you don't. I don't know your brain."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Hummel. I know you said you didn't want me and Kurt alone together, and tonight-"

"Forget about that," Burt dismissed.

Blaine stared at the side of his head as he drove. "What?"

"I said forget about that," he repeated. "It was a stupid rule. Kurt's an adult, and he can handle himself. I just got scared with everything that happened, and I didn't want to see that he's an adult, because then it's all real, you know? But after what happened today, with his panic attack and you helping him and all, I'm alright with you being his friend."

Blaine let out a huff of air. "Thank god, I was worried you were going to shoot me."

"I still might," Burt added, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. "Because, kid, I said I'm okay with you being his friend. But anything more, anything like what I saw tonight, and I don't know what I'll do."

"But-"

"You didn't see him this morning," the mechanic continued. "You didn't see the way he just crumpled onto the floor. That's what that boy did to him. That's what the world is capable of doing to him. You need to understand that I will do whatever I have to in order to never see my boy like that again, and the way I saw him looking at you tonight? That is capable of doing that to him again."

"Right," Blaine muttered, staring straight ahead at the road. He couldn't bring himself to look at the man who'd just shaken his entire world in one breath. "I understand."

The rest of the ride was spent in silence. Burt had said what he had to, and whether or not the man listened to him would be up to him. As Burt pulled into the parking lot of Blaine's building, the one where he would wake up in an empty apartment on Christmas morning, he fixed a smile on the man and patted him on the back. "Merry Christmas, kid," he said.

"Merry Christmas," Blaine muttered back, hurrying from the car as quickly as he could. He scrambled into the building and took the stairs to his room, too afraid of elevators at night. When he burst into his apartment and hustled into his room, Blaine fell onto his bed, still in his clothes, and tried desperately to erase that haunting smile from his mind. He felt like he had lost more than a potential… something in Kurt – he felt like he had lost the chance to be a part of a real family.

He didn't sleep that night, not a wink, not even as the memory of Kurt's elated expression floated around behind his eyelids.

A/N: Hello, reader!

I wanted to get two important things through with this chapter:

1) Kurt's not okay, and that's okay.

2) Blaine needs Kurt just as much as Kurt needs Blaine.

The whole "Blaine has a tattoo" thing just popped up randomly in my head and begged to be written, so here we are. I am definitely getting a pride tattoo someday!

As always, don't forget to review! Thanks for reading :)