Blaine showed up at the Hummel house at about 12:15 the next day, a tall thermos of piping hot chicken noodle soup in his hand. He hopped up the steps and rang the doorbell, fidgeting a bit on the doorstep. He wasn't sure why, but he was shocked when Burt Hummel opened the door. He'd been expecting Kurt. "H-hi," he mumbled. "I-I'm here to see Kurt."
"So, you're the Blaine kid I've been hearing so much about," Burt said, holding the door open wider so Blaine could come inside. "It's nice to finally meet you."
"Nice to meet you." Blaine looked at the floor for a moment, hoping he could get out of this and move past the awkward. "Kurt said he's sick. What does he have?"
"He's heartsick."
"Excuse me?"
"Don't tell him I told you this," Burt said, taking a step closer to lower his voice. "I was walking by his bedroom last night on the way to the restroom, and I heard him on the phone. He sounded so mad, and at one point, I heard what sounded like Ryan's voice, his ex. Then, later, when he came down to get a drink, he had tear stains on his face. I don't know what the bastard did to him, but if I ever find out, I'm going to kick his ass."
Blaine was furious for Kurt and his father, but he tried to keep himself in check. "Thanks for letting me know," he said. "Where is he? Can I see him?"
"He ask you to come over?"
"...Yeah…"
"Good. That means it's working."
"What's working?"
"You are. You're like the antibiotic that's mending him, slowly and surely, back into the kid I knew before he left for New York. I thought it would be a good thing for him, and I still think he'll go back there someday. For now, he has to be here, and I think you're the key, kid."
"Me?"
"Yeah. You."
"Th-thanks?" Blaine wasn't sure what to say. He'd never been called an "antibiotic" before, but he could see a truth in Burt's words. He had noticed a difference in Kurt over the last week as they'd grown closer and bonded over the musical.
"He's upstairs. Bedroom's the first door on the left. Good luck."
Blaine didn't respond, taking the stairs two at a time and lightly rapping on Kurt's door. "Come in," he heard Kurt call softly, and he gently pushed the door open.
Kurt was sitting at his desk, a few books beside him and one open in front of him, full of pictures from his time touring with his show. Most of them had Ryan in them, his signature fake, too-big smile plastered there for everyone to see. That wasn't why Kurt was looking at the pictures. At least, not completely. Yes, he wanted to remind himself of how truly awful things had been with Ryan. He also wanted to remember how much he'd loved his life, how good New York had been for a while, and why he was glad to be home.
"Whatcha doin'?" Blaine asked. Holding up the thermos, he said, "I brought you soup. Nothing better when you're sick."
"I lied to you," Kurt said, his back still to Blaine. "I'm not really sick."
"Well, I can tell by your voice that you aren't well."
Kurt sighed deeply. "I've been crying," he admitted softly. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted Blaine to know. He didn't want him to see his face and the mess he was sure he looked. He wanted him to know, though, all the same.
"Do you wanna talk about it?"
The question hung in the air for a little bit before Kurt finally raised a hand and beckoned Blaine over. "Come here," he requested.
Blaine walked over, stopping just behind Kurt's chair and putting a hand on Kurt's shoulder.
The other man leaned into the touch, resting his cheek against his hand. "This is my photo album from when I was going on tour with my show. Every night, I would take a picture in front of the marquee. And that guy there," he pointed at the fake smiler, "is my ex-boyfriend, Ryan. He interjected himself a lot."
In response, Blaine squeezed Kurt's shoulder, keeping quiet.
"Last night, he called me."
A sigh escaped Blaine, and he slapped his other hand over his mouth.
"It's okay. That's how I'd react, too." Kurt cleared his throat. "He told me that he didn't break up with me for good, that he only broke up with me to give me a plot for my next script… He wanted me to come back to New York, date him again, and sign a new contact with my agent." The more he talked, the flatter and more emotionless his voice became.
"Oh, Kurt…"
"I told him off, that I have people who love me here, people who take care of me." I told him that I love you, and I think it's true. I think I might want to be more than friends with you, Blaine. I just don't know how to tell you. And I'm afraid you won't want me back. "And then… Then, he…" He couldn't get the words out, couldn't repeat the nickname he'd had all those years ago. "Then, he said I really was a-a Lima loser…"
"Kurt." Blaine moved this time, stepping around Kurt to kneel beside him, getting him to look him in the eye. "You are not that awful name. You are not that kid I saw in high school. You are something special, and Ryan doesn't deserve you if he thinks you haven't changed. You have. For the better. What Ryan thinks doesn't matter. He's playing games with you, and that means nothing. He means nothing." You mean something to me, though. You mean everything. I think I love you. I just don't know how to tell you. Maybe you won't even want me back.
"I think, in time, I can believe you," Kurt said. "I should be able to believe you right now; I'm just really struggling. He and I were together for years, Blaine, and he still didn't care about me enough not to use me or play with my emotions."
"You'll find someone who does. And it won't take them years." Maybe you already have.
I think I already have. "Thank you, Blaine." Kurt leaned down and pulled the other man into a hug, pressing him tightly against his body. "Thank you for coming. I just needed to talk to someone."
"I'm here any time," Blaine answered, squeezing just a bit tighter before pulling back. "Do you want me to stay while you eat your soup?"
"Do you mind? I think I'd like that..."
"Not at all."