Chapter Eleven: One Conversation

Squinting, Blaine turned the page of his textbook, angling it so it caught the overhead light instead of the wayward shadow of his hair. His back was pressed against the wall across from the window into the hospital room, satchel discarded somewhere close-by. "Like I'm actually going to remember any of this in the morning," he muttered, tracing his fingers along with the text as he read. The words began to blur beneath his fingertips, and he cringed, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. Head throbbing, he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, wondering if he was hung-over or still drunk.

There were less than five days left until his exam, and to be honest, Blaine was so far off the wagon that he had no way to get home.

By the time Blaine had pulled himself together long enough to stop drinking at the bar, he'd had a drunken kiss with the bartender and a missed chance to meet Kurt under his belt. Guilt swelled in his chest as he remembered the slew of disappointed texts from Finn, as well as the final one telling him – in his colourful tongue – that he was done waiting and was going home. That was when Blaine had finally pulled his lips away from the stranger's and called a cab to take him to the hospital.

Now he was here, where he always was at this time of night, looking after Kurt when he could barely look after himself.

The throbbing was so painful that Blaine thought he might be dying – but, thanks to Wes, he had painkillers in his bag. Grappling along the floor, he pulled the satchel towards him and rummaged through its contents, procuring the tiny bottle. He took two, dry, tipping his head back once the bitter pills assaulted his tongue. Swallowing, he sighed and returned to his textbook, when suddenly a crash startled him, and he banged his head against the solid wall. Scrambling to his feet, Blaine peered into the window where the ruckus came from, searching immediately for the sleeping boy's figure.

His gaze landed on Kurt, fast asleep, safe with a fallen book on the ground beside him, and he relaxed, reaching again for the textbook that he'd dropped with a soft thud.

The boy's eyes flew open and locked with his. Blaine's fingers froze in the air.

They were just how he remembered them, his eyes — a clear greyish blue, like fog drifting gently over the ocean, like a tall, sparkling glass of liquid diamonds. Kurt. Eyes that had drifted in and out of consciousness the last time they had locked with his were now wide and startled for reasons Blaine couldn't even begin to fathom.

Just one look into them confirmed that Finn had been telling the truth; Kurt did remember him. And it seemed that he wanted to meet Blaine just as badly as he did.

The boy moved quickly, struggling to pull himself out of bed, but Blaine caught his gaze and shook his head slowly, warning. That gaze turned pleading, desperate, incredulous and yet so aching that it was impossible to turn and walk away as he should have. Kurt begged with his eyes, and Blaine could almost hear it, but he was compromised and hurt and this was never the plan…

His feet carried him to the door, and his hands opened it, and before Blaine could convince himself not to, that it was the worst idea he'd ever had, that he would regret it in the morning when his mind wasn't a puddle in his mouth, he was at the foot of Kurt's bed and they were locked in a moment of remarkable disbelief.

Stillness. It was a strange feeling to know someone and never have met them before.

A moment of silence passed, like dipping your toes into a pool in the odd months between summer and winter when you wonder why there's no fifth season to offset the contrast.

"Hello," Kurt spoke finally. His voice was soft and quiet but with a certain vigour to it that hinted at passion and expertise. Blaine hadn't given much thought to how it would sound, but somehow it fit perfectly.

A puff of breath escaped Blaine's lips, and he whispered back, "Hi."

"I'm Kurt." They both knew that.

"I…" He didn't miss the way the boy's chest tightened in anticipation. "I'm Blaine. I don't know if you remember me…"

Kurt breathed out shakily, and a single tear fell down his cheek. He left it there, hoping the dark would conceal it. "I th-thought I dreamed you."

"I'm sorry I let you think that." Blaine stood awkwardly, eyeing the chair. Kurt shook his head, gesturing for him to sit on the bed. He did, the soft material cradling his legs unlike the harsh cement of the hospital floors.

"It's ok," Kurt replied, playing with his fingers that rested on his chest above the comforter. "You d-didn't know."

"Know what?"

"Th-That I was looking f-for you."

Blaine's heart tightened. He had known that – not entirely, not in as many words, but Finn had told him that Kurt remembered him, and he'd still stayed away. Now, looking back to just a minute ago, the decision felt awfully selfish. "I'm sorry, Kurt."

His face must have spoken for itself because the hurt that flashed across Kurt's face was enough to stab a knife into Blaine's chest. "Oh," the boy said, realization sweeping across his features. "Th-That's ok. You d-don't have to… stay."

"Kurt, no, I-" Of their own accord, his hands reached for Kurt's, which were wringing each other out painfully. He placed his own on top, carefully, hesitantly. "I promise, that's not why I didn't come. It was never because of you."

A hard shell had come down over those beautiful eyes. "You d-don't… know me."

"You're right. But I would like to get to know you if that's alright."

Kurt waited for a moment as though testing the air for poison. "Why?"

"A friend once told me we'd be good for each other."

His eyebrows furrowed. "Your f-friend knows me?"

The curly-haired man grinned toothily. "I think you know her, too. Santana Lopez?"

"T-Tana? How d-do you…"

"It's a long story."

"I…" A gentle blush covered Kurt's cheeks. "I have time."

Blaine gave himself a moment just to watch the wonder in the boy's eyes. "Look, Kurt, I have to be honest with you. Your step-brother approached me the other day."

"Finn?"

He nodded. "He was the one who told me about you."

Kurt's lip began to tremble. "W-W… W-What?" He told me…

"I overheard him and Santana talking in the hallway. He asked me about why I was in your room the day you woke up, and then he asked me to-"

"W-Why were you? In my room?" Kurt asked, trying to make sense of the new information.

Blaine stopped, confused. "I thought you remembered? The song?"

"I remember th-the song. I meant why were you th-there… in th-the f-first place?"

"Oh. I, uh- I came to see you, Kurt. To make sure you were okay."

"Why… d-did you never come back? After I woke up?" Kurt looked as though his mind was going a thousand miles an hour. "Why weren't you my d-doctor?"

His lips fell open, and he shook his head. "I'm not a doctor, Kurt. That's why you aren't mypatient. Well, not anymore. I only assisted in one surgery, so I have no connection to you anymore. Not in that way." Internally, Blaine kicked himself for adding the last part – it sounded awfully suggestive. Luckily for him, Kurt didn't seem to notice, preoccupied with other parts of the story.

"No, you… you are a doctor. You saved me! I remember you…"

"I'm a student. Third year of medical school." He stopped, breathing deeply as memories of the horrific yet incredible night flooded his mind. "The night they brought you in, there was… an incident on the road. A man, downtown, mowed down dozens of pedestrians with a truck. Another was an active shooter on foot. There still isn't much information, publicly at least, but I do know – first-hand – that there were casualties. Many. The hospital went from empty one second to standing room only the next."

Shock was written across Kurt's face. No one had told him the story, it seemed. "Th-That's horrible."

Blaine nodded. "It was at the beginning of my emergency medicine rotation. When they called the code, I was visiting my brother, Cooper Anderson, your current doctor."

Kurt bit down on his lip. Dr. Anderson's family… this was him. His gut clenched as it dawned on him how close he had been to Blaine this whole time, to knowing that he wasn't crazy or hallucinating or... alone. "Oh."

"That's why I kept checking on you, Kurt. I had to make sure you were okay. You were the first person I ever helped saved, and after all these years, well, that means something to me."

The boy's throat tightened. "And tonight?"

Blaine sighed. "I promise Finn I'd come and meet you tonight. 8 o'clock. But I lost one of the patients during rounds earlier, and…"

Kurt's hand stirred under Blaine's grip, and they maneuvered their hands so that they were side by side, despite not touching. Comfort. "I'm glad you're h-here now."

"Me too." Hazel eyes flickered with warmth and sobriety and little flecks of gold. "There are a lot of things we have to talk about, Kurt."

"Ok, but…" Kurt smiled, shy, hesitant. "Can th-they wait until morning?"

Blaine fought himself over it. What he needed to ask was important. But then again, now that they'd broken the barrier separating them, there was no reason he couldn't come back tomorrow. The thought hit him hard and fast, dizzying in its aptitude. "I suppose they can."

The way Kurt's face brightened told him all he needed to know about that decision.

For the first time since that fated day almost a month ago, neither of them noticed the passage of time with every breath, every tick of the clock, every beep or chime or ding that came with the territory of being locked up in a hospital. They talked about music, Blaine's long-lived glory as the lead soloist for the Dalton Warblers, the months between junior and senior year when he had to take three summer courses once he realized he wanted to apply to pre-med instead of performing arts.

"Why d-did you?" Kurt asked, chest light with laughter from Blaine's anecdote about the girl who sat behind him at the summer college class asking him out every day for a month. Blaine had had to come out to her before she backed off, and reluctantly so. Short bubbles of laughter sprang from Kurt's lips as he listened to the story, but his mind was reeling. Blaine was gay – which wouldn't be a big deal if he wasn't the only person even close to Kurt's age who was as open about it as he was.

"Why did I switch directions with my career?" At Kurt's nod, Blaine winced. He wanted to tell the story because it was important, both in understanding him and for someone like Kurt who looked so lonely, but he was worried that it would bring back memories for both of them that they couldn't handle. Blaine's hazel eyes stared off at the wall. "I… I would tell the story without hesitation if I thought you'd be okay afterwards."

Kurt's heart tightened. He really, really hoped it wasn't what he thought it was. "If you can try to tell it, I'll try to be okay."

Blaine closed his eyes as he deliberated. Yes, it was worth the risk for Kurt to know he wasn't alone. It was always worth the risk. "Okay, let's try."

He told the story of his sophomore year in high school. Despite him being a year younger than the rest of his year, he'd been desperate to attend the Sadie Hawkins dance at his old school for an attempt at some normalcy. Blaine had still been in the closet, but his secretive dalliance with the boy next door, his best friend at the time, had encouraged him to bring a date to the dance – a date he actually had feelings for.

Blaine sighed. "I want to say that it ended as well as I expected, but I can't bring myself to diminish what was one of the most horrible moments of my life to this day. I thought the snide remarks and the laughter was going to be the end of it, and I was relieved… but a group of boys stayed late and taught us that we were gross, an eye-sore, not worth the time it took to make fun of us and yet they still did it."

Kurt's hands had moved to cover his mouth as his eyes wettened. "Oh, Blaine."

Blaine's eyes sought his, full of passion and anger. "But the reason I'm telling you this story isn't to make you pity me because of some tragic backstory, Kurt, because we all have one. The reason is so you know that they were wrong about every single thing they said that day. I knew it, even then. But my date got the brunt of it – the insults, the kicks and punches, the pain. And after they left us alone, beaten, I felt so helpless waiting for the paramedics to arrive. So, I decided I was going to do something about it."

"And…" Kurt bit his lip anxiously. "Your d-date? Was he…"

"He was fine, for the most part. But he resented me for taking him to that dance, and it was the end of our relationship. Even our friendship was never the same. You know, of the entire incident, the part that stuck with me the most was feeling of having no power, no defence, no way to save him from the pain." Blaine shrugged. "Now, obviously my first thought wasn't medical school. I joined a boxing class first, actually, as soon as I was discharged. My father was quite happy about that."

The bitterness in Blaine's voice at the last sentence juxtaposed his words in a way that struck Kurt as odd, but he held back the questions that were burning inside him in lieu of listening to Blaine's story. "Boxing? H-How did th-that lead you here?"

He grinned. "That's where Coop comes in. The semester after I transferred to Dalton, junior year, my brother came home for Christmas for the first time in years."

"Came home? He d-didn't live with you?"

"No, Cooper hated Ohio. He's ten years older than me, so he moved out when I was eight – he went to L.A. to get a degree from Stanford, believe it or not. The last time I'd seen him was at his wedding."

"Dr. Anderson told me about her," Kurt interjected. "His wife."

Blaine's smile grew wistful. "Viv was amazing. I met her at the wedding, which was a little weird, but she won me over pretty fast, I must say. After the two of them had Lily, their daughter, they brought her to Ohio for her first Christmas – I can't even imagine that flight. Anyway, over a very awkward dinner which mainly consisted of my dad pretending I was straight and my brother getting angry over my parents not telling him about my stint at the hospital, Cooper asked me what I wanted to do with my life after graduating. Once, I would have known the answer right away – move to New York and make a living with my guitar and my voice."

"You h-have a beautiful voice," Kurt confessed. "Th-That's what I remember."

"Thank you," Blaine replied, resembling a puppy for a moment. Kurt could almost imagine ears on top of his head, wiggling with affection. He stifled a laugh. "You do too, Kurt. Even your speaking voice is like music."

"Most people d-dislike it," Kurt admitted. "Say it's… confusing."

"Well, I think it's exquisite."

"I'm glad."

There was more to say about it – they both knew. But neither were willing to broach the subject, and that was okay, for now. "I still moved to New York," Blaine said. "It's not a perfect city, but it was my home for four years, and I loved every minute of it."

"Why d-did you go if you… didn't want to perform anymore?"

"I always knew I wanted to live there, no matter what I was doing. Cooper inspired that Christmas – seeing how happy he was, hearing how he helped people, it was all so alluring. Of course, once I started studying, I realized how hard it would be, but I had always loved science. So, after filling the prerequisites by taking summer courses, I applied to pre-med at a bunch of schools in New York, and I got in."

Kurt's eyes were wide by then. He'd known that Blaine was older than him, but the years took on a whole new meaning when he realized how much more he'd lived. "Why… d-did you come back t-to Ohio?" I wouldn't.

"My father passed away three years after I moved away. I wasn't going to come back, but my mother was grieving and alone and I couldn't bear to leave her alone. She's always been the supportive one. Cooper had already bought a house in L.A. with his wife and daughter and was in the last year of his residency in emergency medicine. I couldn't make him leave, either."

"But he's here now?"

Blaine rubbed his temples. "He came back after Viv died, so mom could look after Lily for a while. He was a mess for months. We pretend he came back for dad, but it had been three years by the time he got here."

A moment passed before Kurt placed a comforting hand on Blaine's shoulder. He knew the same pain. He wanted it to go away. "My… mom d-died when I was… eight."

Blaine lifted his hand and placed on top of Kurt's. "She must have been amazing."

"She was amazing," Kurt agreed. "She was kind, strong, and beautiful. The world was a better place with her in it."

"Sounds like someone I know," Blaine pressed.

Kurt sighed. "You still d-don't know me, Blaine."

"No," he replied. "But I'm learning with every minute."

There was no disputing that – every moment spent together was one where they learned more, whether they were telling each other things or learning from how the other reacted. So Kurt told him, struggling with his words less and less as the minutes passed, about his dreams of moving to New York and performing for thousands of people and finally feeling the warmth of acceptance and respect. He needed it like he needed to breathe, and it had been gone from his life for as long as he could remember. He told him about McKinley and its stained walls and putrid smells of unwashed teenagers, about the Glee club and their well-meaning yet intense dynamic, about his first competition solo and how it was ripped away from him the second he got it.

"What would you sing if you got to do the solo tomorrow?" Blaine asked, watching the shimmer in Kurt's eye as he spoke about music. It was familiar – he'd seen it in many eyes in his long life, but somehow is shone brighter against the electric blue of Kurt's.

"Maybe D-Defying Gravity, just to prove that I could," he proposed.

Blaine frowned. "From what you've told me, I think everyone knows you can. Forget proving it to them. What do you want to sing?"

"I…" Kurt's throat tightened as he imagined himself on stage, the melody that would sprout from a single piano, the notes that would burst from his lips. "Being Alive, f-from Company," he admitted.

"Oh. That's… amazing, Kurt." The song choice was so mature, so raw and vulnerable yet strong and dignified that an onslaught of new information bombarded him about the boy in front of him. "I would have loved to hear it."

"Maybe someday." Kurt's sentence was punctuated by a loud and wide yawn. He tried to swallow it halfway through, and it turned into a sort-of mewl that made his cheeks pink with embarrassment. "S-Sorry."

"Don't be," Blaine excused, hiding a grin under his palm. "You should get some rest. I've kept you up long enough for one night."

"But… you'll be back, right?" Kurt winced internally at the vulnerability in his voice. He was strong, independent, had been his whole life, but a part of him really hoped Blaine would return the next night.

"If I have anything to say about it, I will."

They shared a tiny grin, a promise, before parting ways. Blaine was shutting the door behind him when Kurt's voice stopped him in the doorway. "Blaine?"

"Yes?"

He smirked, knowing. "Is your headache better?"

Blaine's lips fell open in wonder. "Infinitely."

"Good."

"Night, Kurt."

"Night, Blaine."

Maybe it should have been difficult to fall asleep that night after the eventful hours that preceded, but the two of them drifted off effortlessly, half an hour apart, Blaine in his own bed for the first time in weeks.

"He didn't fucking show up," Finn hissed into his cell phone, pacing imaginary tracks into the floor tiles. "No, Santana, I know. I thought… yeah… Are you serious? At the bar? What were you… seriously? Fuck. Can you come over now? No, I know it's Friday. I don't care if you have cheerios for breakfast – oh, practice. What? I am not an idiot…"

"Well," Kurt interrupted, startling Finn. The taller boy clenched his chest through his plain white tee, and Kurt raised his eyebrows. "I'm just saying."

Finn flipped him off. "He's awake, Tana. No, you won't piss of Coach Sylvester. Just get here."

"Breathing pisses her off," Kurt retorted as Finn hung up the phone. His brother handed him a glass of water, propping a pillow behind him.

"Fair enough." Finn shuddered. "She's scary."

Kurt sipped his water, wincing at the foul taste of his mouth. He wiped his lips. "Why d-does Santana need t-to come over?"

A look of apprehension crossed his brother's face. "Look, Kurt, we need to talk about something." Dragging the plastic chair over to the bedside, Finn sat himself down and took one of the boy's hands. "Remember when I told you that you were seeing – or, um, hearing things? After you said someone talked to you while you were in that coma?"

"You mean Blaine," Kurt replied matter-of-factly. "I remember."

"Well, I- you see, I didn't exactly…"

"F-Finn. Just spit it out."

"Okay, okay." He sighed. "He's real. I saw him leaving your room the night you woke up. I didn't say anything because I figured he was just a nurse or something who forgot his uniform but when you said what he looked like I figured out who he was but-"

"I know."

It took Finn a moment to reply – and what he came up with wasn't entirely coherent. "What?"

"We met last night. He came to see me."

Incredulous, Finn shot out of his seat. "He was supposed to come at eight! I waited for almost four hours!"

"It's a long story. He had… a good reason."

He scoffed. "Yeah, if a good reason is getting drunk off his ass. Santana saw him at Scandals last night when he was supposed to be here."

"He lost a patient d-during rounds," Kurt defended, crossing his arms over his chest. "Th-That must have been hard, Finn."

"Oh." He sat back down, pensive. "Sorry."

Kurt shrugged. "He should've texted."

"I can give him a pass this time." Finn groaned, running a hand through his messy hair. It flopped back in his face, and he groaned, cursing his cast. "So you guys met, huh? How anti-climactic."

Kurt smacked his arm. "Not f-for me. He's the same person I remember."

"The one you met like once," Finn muttered.

"Twice. F-First when he was saving my life. Second when he sang t-to me."

"Dude, that didn't actually happen. People don't just sing to strangers to wake them up from comas."

Oh, but he did. Kurt shook his head, smiling to himself. "You're right. I must've imagined it."

A few minutes of silence passed before Finn stood again and shrugged his letterman jacket back on. "It's not that far from her house to here… looks like Santana isn't coming. I should get to school."

Santana chose that moment to burst in through the doors with all the grace of a toppling house of cards. Her wild black hair was a mess on her shoulders, knotted as though she'd brushed it with her fingers, and her cheerleading uniform was wrinkled infuriatingly. "I'm here, blubber boy. What do you want?" she hissed with her trademark snark. Despite it, Kurt couldn't miss the deep red circles around her eyes or the pain that appeared sewn into her skin.

"Santana?" he said, voice light with caution, holding out a hand invitingly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Why would anything be wrong?" Her words were calm, but her face betrayed her – dark, heavy, full of emotion. One second past the moment when their gazes met, she broke. Dark, heavy, full of emotion. Sobs possessed her, and she shook violently, as though she could expel the vulnerability from her body.

"Oh, Tana," Kurt soothed as she hid her face in his neck. Her wet eyelashes tickled his skin, and his heart filled with unbridled affection. As far as he knew, no one had ever seen Santana cry, except maybe her girlfriend. "Whatever it is, we can get past it. D-Did you and Britt have a f-fight?"

"You could say that," she muttered spiritlessly. "She… We broke up."

"Is it because she didn't want to keep you guys a secret?" Finn asked awkwardly, standing aside and not knowing what to do with his gangly limbs.

Soothing, Kurt rubbed the girl's back and whispered encouragements in an attempt to get her to talk.

"No," she confessed. "It's because she didn't."

Kurt fell silent. He knew what that meant, and he really hoped he was wrong. "T-Tana, she d-didn't-"

"She fucking outed me, Kurt." Tears fell from her eyes again. "My parents kicked me out last night. I slept in my car in the parking lot of Scandals." Her voice broke. "I don't know what I'm going to do."

"Oh my god," he breathed. The air was afire the way it is when something life-changing happens. His heart hammered in his chest. "A-Alright, it's going to b-be a-alright."

A hand landed on his shoulder; he vaguely registered another on Santana's. Finn answered calmly, "You're staying at the Hudson/Hummels' tonight, if not indefinitely. Now, let's go. We're ditching school today."

"Ok," she mumbled weakly. All her energy was gone, and with it her stubbornness and quips. "Where are we going?"

"To our place so you can take a nap. And after that, probably out for some ice cream." Finn helped her out of Kurt's embrace, steadying her against his large form. He glanced at Kurt. "Will you be okay on your own?"

Kurt nodded. He wouldn't be much help in the state he was in, anyway. As the door shut behind them, he wiped the tears off his neck with the back of his hand. No one ever had to know whose tears they were.

To Kurt Hummel: Finn gave me your number. He said you might need to talk. Oh, this is Blaine.

Blaine checked his phone again at lunch, cursing the sign that read 'delivered.' He wasn't surprised Kurt hadn't seen his text, just disappointed. Worry lingered, messing with his stomach… or maybe that was just hunger. No, he was pretty sure it was both.

"Put your phone away, Anderson. We have, like, 96 hours to cram a month's worth of material." Marley's legs came into view as she stepped into the bench, plopping herself down across from him. She cracked open her packed lunch, taking a loud bite out of an apple.

"That's not what you were preaching last night at the bar," he muttered bitterly, taking a sip of coffee in an attempt to ease his pounding headache. Come to think of it, Blaine couldn't remember the last time he hadn't had a headache. "How are you not dying right now?"

She stared at him incredulously. "I barely had anything to drink. Who do you think dropped you off here last night? I seriously hope you crashed on you brother's office couch last night because I do not want to be responsible for you crashing something else."

"You're fine. I studied here for a bit and then took the bus home. Slept safe and sound in my own bed." He may have left out the part where he chatted with his ex-patient for hours when he was caught watching over his room, but that information was need-to-know.

"At least you didn't go home with that bartender from last night. The last time you did something like that, you were shame-binging for weeks."

He rolled his eyes. "It was college, and I was rebounding. And cut the judgmental crap, Marley. There's nothing wrong with casual sex."

"You're right, but it's not your thing. You're a romantic," she defended. "As your friend, I only want you to be happy. You know that, right?"

Blaine softened his glare, placing a hand over hers. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry."

She looked down, biting her lip. Hesitant. "Listen," she began gently. "You said something last night that… made me wonder."

"What?" He racked his brain trying to remember what he could've said, but most of the night was a haze, in and out of clarity, muddled by drinks and lips and adrenaline.

"You mentioned someone. Kurt."

"Oh."

She championed on, wary of his sudden reluctance. "You said you watched his heart stop beating, and that he was fine after. What were you talking about, Blaine?"

"I… I shouldn't have said anything. I can'ttalk about it with you. I'm sorry."

Her lips parted. "Was it the night of the accident? I know it was hard for you. You changed after."

He tensed, fiddling with his food. "Do you remember the story I told you about the Sadie Hawkins dance?"

Sebastian took that moment to sit down beside Blaine, setting his tray of food down. He wore a pair of dark sunglasses, which he pushed onto his head, groaning. "I am never drinking again," he swore, stuffing a sandwich into his mouth and chewing loudly.

The two stared at him, appalled. Marley shook her head and grasped Blaine's arm. "Do you want to talk somewhere else?"

Blaine cleared his throat. "It's okay. Sebastian knows the story."

"I do?" Sebastian asked, mouth half-full of turkey and lettuce. "What story?"

"Sophomore year, Sadie Hawkins. Before I transferred to Dalton, where we met."

"Oh." He nodded somberly. "I do."

"Well, the boy I took to the dance – my first boyfriend – he's back in town."

Sebastian frowned. "Elliott's back?"

Blaine sighed. "He's working a case from the code orange. My case. I haven't seen him since college."

Marley placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's going to be okay, Blaine. Is that why you've been different the last few weeks?"

"No, I-" Blaine paused. "No. I only just found out a few days ago."

"So what has it been?"

His phone vibrated against the table, and he picked it up.

From Kurt Hummel: Something bad happened. Come see me?

"Blaine?" Marley pressed.

He looked up distractedly. "Oh, it was nothing, really. Just the shock of the situation and everything. I'm fine now, see?"

To Kurt Hummel: Of course. When?

"He has been better recently," Sebastian commented to Marley as Blaine fiddled with his phone.

She sighed but nodded reluctantly. "I suppose."

From Kurt Hummel: Tonight. I'll text you when my parents leave.

Blaine couldn't help but frown at that. Why didn't Kurt want him to meet his parents?

From Kurt Hummel: And before you over-think that, it's just because they would ask too many questions.

He smiled to himself, shaking his head. Maybe one conversation was enough to get to know someone. His fingers typed out the response.

To Kurt Hummel: It's scary how you knew that. I'll wait in Coop's office. Text me :)

From Kurt Hummel: A smiley face? Really? Are you five and/or super old?

To Kurt Hummel: And/or? You realize that makes no sense, right?

From Kurt Hummel: Neither do hiccups, and yet no one questions them.

To Kurt Hummel: That has a perfectly scientific explanation. Hiccups are involuntary contractions of the diaphragm. Your five-year-old and simultaneously elderly theory defies all laws of human biology.

From Kurt Hummel: Boy, you must be fun at parties.

To Kurt Hummel: I'm a medical student. I don't go to parties.

From Kurt Hummel: That's great, neither do I. Except that one party, but I threw up on my guidance counsellor's shoes after that one. Never. Again.

To Kurt Hummel: I'm sensing a story.

From Kurt Hummel: Yep. I'll tell it to you… never.

To Kurt Hummel: You're no fun.

From Kurt Hummel: Are you kidding? I'm the life of the… not-party.

To Kurt Hummel: XD

From Kurt Hummel: That's it. You're no longer allowed to text.

To Kurt Hummel: XP

From Kurt Hummel: You are the worst.

Thank you.

To Kurt Hummel: For what?

From Kurt Hummel: For making me smile when everything is crap.

To Kurt Hummel: Oh, Kurt… you're welcome.

From Kurt Hummel: See you tonight, Blaine.

To Kurt Hummel: Tonight :)

When he looked up, his friends were watching him with twin curious and concerned expressions. Before they could say anything, he waved them off. "It's nothing. Just Wes texting about dinner."

Marley raised an eyebrow. "Then why are you smiling like that?"

He blinked. "Lasagna?"

"Sure," she replied, rolling her eyes. Grabbing her bag, she gestured for the others to follow. "Come on, let's try not to fail now. We're in the final leg."

As they passed through the halls of the hospital, Blaine caught a glimpse into one familiar room, camouflaged by his fellow students. Kurt was lying on the bed as usual, flanked by parents on either side. They were talking about something serious, it seemed by the lines etched into their foreheads, aging them each by years and years.

Blaine caught Kurt's eye. The faintest hint of a smile touched the boy's lips before it was quickly masked. That smile played on Blaine's mind for the rest of the day.

Kurt was enveloped in a hug the minute the door opened and Blaine stepped through. He relaxed against his chest, worries abandoning his mind for a sweet moment. "Thank you," Kurt whispered, revelling in the soft fabric of Blaine's shirt against his grated cheek.

"I got the sense from your messages that you needed one of these," Blaine replied delicately.

"I d-did." Kurt held out for a moment before releasing him, settling back into his bed. "My parents d-do hug me, you know," he teased.

Sitting on the mattress, Blaine blushed, wringing his fingers. "Yeah, well, it's different when it's a friend."

"I suppose it is."

He cleared his throat. "What happened earlier? You seemed pretty distraught."

"It's Santana. You two… are f-friends?"

"In a way. I ran into her last night at Scandals. She'd been in a fight with her girlfriend."

Kurt hesitated. "It was worse th-than that. Brittany outed her t-to her parents."

Blaine reeled back. "What? She was upset last night, but I never would have imagined…"

"She was probably d-drunk. Santana bottles th-things up."

"Why would her girlfriend do that to her?"

"It's… complicated," Kurt explained. "Britt is d-different."

"That's what Santana said," Blaine mused.

"I'm sure she d-didn't mean to hurt her. What th-they have is special."

"How did her parents react?"

Kurt folded his lips together, holding tears at bay. "They kicked her out. She's at my house right now. My room is empty, anyway."

"I… I'm so sorry." Blaine rested his hands in his lap, staring intently at them. His eyes prickled, but he forced it away. This was not his turn to cry. "Is that what you were talking to your parents about earlier?"

He nodded. "Th-They're okay with her staying with us."

"Good. That's the first step – getting her somewhere safe." Kurt hummed in agreement, and Blaine watched the shadows dance across his face, lit by the overhead lights in the hallway. The same question he'd had since that morning burned in his chest. "Why did you want to talk to me? I mean, we barely know each other. I'm sure you have closer friends."

"I f-figured you would understand," Kurt admitted. "You're th…the only other gay person I know. Other than Rachel's d-dads, and they don't count, because they're old."

"I'm old," Blaine pointed out. Kurt rolled his eyes, and Blaine smiled solemnly. "Who's Rachel?"

He brightened. "One of my best f-friends. She's a d-diva, but she has a good heart. And a beautiful voice." His smile was laced with admiration and fondness as he grabbed his cell phone and opened it up. "Santana d-does, too."

"Unsurprising, considering you're all in Glee club."

"Shush." Kurt pulled up a video on his phone, turning it sideways and offering it to Blaine. "It's f-from rehearsals for West Side Story." In the video, Santana's smooth skin was covered by a bright red dress, a matching flower adorning her hair, and Rachel was clad in a pure white dress. They watched the recording in silence as the two girls' voices lifted and fell, filled the empty air of the hospital room and turned it into gold.

"Wow," Blaine muttered as the video ended in a wide-shot of them, side-by-side, facing the audience. "I'm going to have to go see the live show."

Kurt grinned. "Maybe we can go t-together. Opening night is in th-the new year…"

"You'll be out of here by then, I'm sure of it," Blaine encouraged. "I would love to go see the show together. West Side Story is one of my favourites. I played Tony in Dalton's production my senior year."

"I'm not surprised. You remind me of him."

Blaine's nose crinkled. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"How could it not be?" Kurt exclaimed. He sighed. "I would have liked t-to audition in different... circumstances."

"You would have been amazing," Blaine replied earnestly. "I definitely would have come to that show. Maybe every night."

He shrugged. "You wouldn't know me, then."

"So?"

"It would be weird if you came t-to a high school production of West Side Story."

"Theatre is never weird." He paused, shaking his head. "Never mind, theatre can definitely be weird. But not in this case."

Kurt squinted at him. "You just th-thought of Rocky Horror, didn't you?"

"Of course I did." The squinting evolved into glaring, and Blaine held his hands up in surrender. "Okay, fine! It's not weird, just… eccentric."

"That's a synonym."

"It is not!"

"Look it up, right now." Kurt crossed his arms over his chest, firm, despite the disbelieving look Blaine was firing at him. "Go ahead."

"You're impossible," Blaine muttered, pulling out his cell phone. A few moments later, he slowly lowered the phone, moving to put it back in his pocket. "Nope, not true…"

"Show me the phone, Anderson." Fluttering his eyelashes innocently, Blaine held up his empty hands. Kurt glared harder, eyes falling to the bed where the item in question lay. He snatched it up, scanning the screen. "I t-told you! How dare you insult-" He cut himself off, startled by the fond look on Blaine's face. Kurt pinked at the cheeks, forgetting what he was going to say.

"Are you feeling better, now?" Blaine asked genuinely, concern etched into his features. Kurt wondered, off-hand, if he'd ever seen Blaine without that concern. If anyone had. It seemed like a big part of who he was, his concern for others. Maybe that was why they were together at that moment.

"Yeah, I am," he replied, a tiny smile playing on his lips. "Thank you. For everything."

"You should get to sleep, Kurt. It's been a long day." Blaine patted his hand before standing up and grabbing the satchel he'd discarded on the bedside chair.

"O-Ok," he agreed, waving softly. "I'll see you… when I see you."

"Tomorrow," Blaine replied. "My brother told me something earlier that we should really talk about. But don't worry, it's nothing bad. I promise."

Kurt nodded. "Tomorrow, th-then."

"Sweet dreams."

He didn't have sweet dreams, but the night was absent of nightmares. In Kurt's book, that was a success. He thanked Blaine gently as he fell asleep, the words carried off into the wind as no one was there to take them home.

A/N: Long chapter for us today! Hope it makes up for taking so long.

Thank you so much for reading, and feel free to let me know what you thought in the comments! Follow my Instagram nayawarbler to keep up with my process, polls about the story, and edits!