The week had been hell. Kurt had refused to be in Sebastian's presence, and with Sebastian trying to claim almost all of Blaine's time, he had barely talked to his husband in five days. Sebastian cooked dinner for three every night, and Blaine wasn't sure what to make of this; he knew Sebastian was fully aware of Kurt's resistance to a pseudo-family dinner. Kurt's portions were always secured in a tuppwerware container in the refrigerator, but they were stacking up quickly. Blaine was learning to count the days in leftovers. Lobster Bisque marked the first night that Kurt didn't want to sleep in the same bed as Blaine. On Beef Wellington night, Blaine had finally convinced Kurt to come back to the bedroom, but Chicken Cordon Bleu was a particularly painful one; Blaine had tried to make love to Kurt, and Kurt had slapped him. Sensing the heightened tension between the two, an exceptionally vindictive Sebastian had repeated the dish last night. Blaine refused dinner, leaving three perfectly-portioned reminders in the refrigerator. Before going to bed, Blaine had trashed the lot; he hadn't even bothered to keep the containers.
Despite the brutal week, there was some small part of Blaine that imagined this Saturday would be equivalent to its predecessors.
And it was, for a moment.
Kurt was still sound asleep, his breathing barely audible. He was clutching a decorative pillow in his arms. He was perfect. Blaine tried to find it in himself to continue their routine. He wanted to kiss every inch of Kurt's face to wake him up, to trace the edges of his cheeks with his fingers, to cuddle close and inhale the scent of Kurt's expensive shampoo. Blaine did nothing of the sort, however, hoping to retain the illusion of happiness.
And then Kurt's eyes opened.
Blaine silently begged him to remember the day, to recall the peaceful Saturday Morning affairs. If the telepathy was successful, Kurt didn't show it; he sat up slowly, and walked to the vanity to fuss over his hair before leaving the room without so much as a glance Blaine's way.
Good morning to you too, baby, thought Blaine sadly, and cuddled up to the decorative pillow Kurt had tossed aside carelessly.
Kurt was surprised to see Sebastian missing from his usual morning spot on the couch. He pondered his whereabouts momentarily before noticing something that made his jaw drop.
On the mantle, next to the framed picture of himself and Blaine on their wedding day, sat a new frame.
Kurt wasn't sure how the picture could possibly get any more tacky, but the tape that held the ripped pieces together proved him wrong. He stormed up to the fireplace and snatched the Vegas memory off the mantle angrily. A few minutes passed as Kurt surveyed the picture, taking note of every little detail: Blaine's smile, a little too happy; Sebastian's strong hold on Blaine's delicate hands; the horribly dressed chaplain behind them with the balding head of dark hair; the teardrops that were now splashing onto the glass, blurring the union that he still couldn't believe existed...
He jumped at the sound of the front door opening, startled. Sebastian marched in, grocery bags in hand, and approached Kurt with a smile on his face.
"Sorry I left without telling you... I noticed we were out of tupperware containers this morning," said Sebastian cheerfully.
"Welcome back, Smythe," said Kurt quietly, nodding towards Sebastian. "I hope you enjoyed your morning walk."
"Drive, actually," responded Sebastian, and pulled a set of keys out of his pocket. "I took your car, I hope you don't mind. Google maps said the nearest grocery store was ten miles." He tossed the keys back Kurt's way, but Kurt didn't bother to catch them. He didn't even flinch as the keys hit the ground with the fierce sound of metal and dragged across the tile loudly.
"I see," said Kurt plainly. "I hope you remembered to fill up the tank."
"Yeah, I hear you don't do that much anymore-"
"That's none of your business," spat Kurt angrily.
"Well, it's nice to hear that my married husband isn't cheating on me, at least," came Sebastian's retort. He took a few steps closer to Kurt and crossed his arms delicately. He smiled at the picture frame in Kurt's hands. "I see you've discovered my shoddy handiwork. I probably have another, somewhere, but I like this one better. The way you ripped it up and I taped it back together... it's kind of poetic, don't you think?"
"Go to hell."
"I wonder how long it will be before Blaine starts getting sick of you ignoring him," mused Sebastian, "and needs somebody else to fulfill... all... of his needs..."
"Shut up."
"Somebody to cook for him, you know. Somebody to be there for him. Somebody to study with him. Somebody who won't be so busy all the time..."
"Sebastian... I swear to God..."
"Did I ever tell you about our wedding night, Kurt? It was really magica-AAAAAAAAAHHH FUCK!"
Kurt barely recalled throwing the picture frame at Sebastian, but he certainly hadn't meant to hit his eye. Despite the incredible amount of animosity Kurt held for the boy, something told him he should probably help, probably call an ambulance... but he couldn't bring himself to move. He stood, shocked at the scene... Sebastian was doubled over, holding his hands over his face tightly... tiny drops of blood were seeping through his fingers... it wasn't really happening, was it? Had he... had he hurt him? Badly?
"What's going on? What's... SEBASTIAN?" Blaine rushed to the floor by Sebastian's side, pulling him into his lap. He glanced from Sebastian's bleeding face to the picture frame that now sat face down a few feet away. "Kurt, baby... what did you do?"
The words stung, yes, but not as much as the sight of Blaine holding Sebastian close, staring at him worriedly. The guilt, the anger, and the jealousy were flooding through him in powerful conflict. Blaine might have said something about calling an ambulance, but Kurt could barely hear him.
It was too much. This was too much.
Unsure of what else to do, Kurt turned around and spotted his tossed car keys a few feet behind him. He gripped them tightly, took one last look at his disgustingly concerned husband, and left.
He wasn't sure where he was going, but he had to get away.
Blaine looked up at the sound of the door slamming. "KURT? KURT! Where... what... shit!" He looked down at the hurt man in his arms. "Sebastian, hold on, okay? I'm just going to get the phone, alright?" He reached behind him and pulled a pillow off the couch, tucking it safely under Sebastian's head. He jumped up and rushed to the telephone. His hands were shaking, and it took him several seconds before he was able to accurately dial 9-1-1.
"Please... yes... I have a man here who's hurt... I don't know what happened... no, he's been hit... I think it's his eye... my address? Right..."
Blaine recited his address as calmly as he could; his voice was incredibly shaky and almost inaudible. The questions over the phone were difficult. He wasn't sure what had happened. He didn't know how to tell his annoyingly calm lady how confusing the situation was, how his delicate, sweet Kurt had seriously injured his... whatever Sebastian was to him.
Finally, the questions ceased, and Blaine slammed the phone down. He grabbed a clean washcloth from the kitchen and returned to Sebastian's side. "It's going to be okay, an ambulance is on its way. Can you tell me what happened?"
Sebastian didn't say anything at first. He sat up with great effort and pulled his hands away from his face. Blaine gasped at the sight. There was too much blood to tell where the injury was actually located. "Do... do you really need me to explain?"
His voice was almost unrecognizable at first. It was missing the manipulative flair of Sebastian's usual tone, and instead sounded... hurt, weak...
"I'm... I'm sorry, I don't know what..."
Blaine wasn't sure what else to say. He didn't know how to apologize for Kurt. He wasn't even really sure what Kurt's intentions were. Sebastian held the washcloth against his eye, and the two sat in silence until it was broken by the loud sirens a few minutes later.
Blaine opened the front door just seconds before they approached it, stretcher in tow. He ushered them in, pointing to the floor beside the couch where Sebastian sat, his washcloth stained a deep crimson. He watched as they helped him onto the stretcher, tossing the non-sterile washcloth aside and replacing it with a clean hospital towel. They wheeled him out quickly, and Blaine followed them outside.
"Can I... can I come?"
The taller of the medics turned around to face Blaine. "Family only. Are you related?"
Blaine swallowed deeply before answering. He felt his voice quiver.
"I'm... his husband."