26

Turn Off the Dark

Kurt said nothing the rest of the day. He sat on the end of the couch, touching the branches of the Christmas tree, a tiny ornament hidden away in his free hand. Blaine sat across from him, watching him, trying to be engaged in the decorating, appreciating what Finn, Burt and Carole were trying to do, but…but watching Kurt's eyes… His eyes were so far away. They were filled with tears constantly, nose pinked. Every now and again he'd squeeze the ornament, his lips would shake and he'd take a long breath and he'd hold it for such a long time until he had to let it out.

And still Blaine watched, ready to jump if Kurt needed him.

"You sure you don't wanna put up some ornaments, sweetie?" Carole said, her heartache obvious behind her smile. He smiled at her, or did what he could to smile through his gut-wrenching sadness.

"No thank you. Not really the greatest idea to let the blind kid decorate a tree," he chuckled ruefully. He shifted his grip on the figure in his palm again, voice coming out in a strained whisper. "I'd like to put this one up when you're all finished. Just this one." He swallowed, head drooping down to his hands, letting the carols playing softly fill the room again.

Burt gave her a nod to carry on. Kurt didn't care for that kind of attention, didn't want the room focused on him and his problems.

Blaine fought with everything he had not to scoop Kurt into his arms and hold and kiss him until it all went away. He wished with everything he had that a touch could do that. He wondered how things would have been if him and his mother would have never been in that crash. If Kurt and his mother were here with Burt, smiling and laughing. Kurt would be able to see the lights and the tree, know how his father has aged, how good he looked…how utterly beautiful he was, he'd be able to see that. And with his mother that Kurt had told him stories about, a sweet, beautiful woman kinder than anyone else he'd met…he'd be so happy.

Carole and Finn wouldn't be there. Carole wouldn't be able to be this happy with Burt. Finn wouldn't have a dad. As for him…he'd be dead now if not for this angel. But he'd be okay with that. He could give that up if Kurt got to be happy. He sighed softly, knowing that wishing wouldn't help him, nothing would.

Without saying a word, not one word, Kurt reached across the couch, taking Blaine's hand in his own, as if he'd heard his thoughts, or sensed his discomfort. Blaine looked at him, at the small smile he offered him. Still trying to keep him at ease when he was in pain. He squeezed his hand back before standing, fingers still laced together. "I'm gonna get something to drink. You want anything?" He asked. Kurt shook his head, still so miserable.

"No, I'm okay." Another false smile. No sparkle or glimpse of happiness behind his eyes. It nearly broke him.

"Okay, baby." He kissed his forehead before stepping out. He got around the corner, out of sight at the foot of the stairs and gripped the rail, suddenly overcome with emotions he'd been keeping secret. His eyes pinched closed, lips folded, tears streaking down his cheeks. His body shook with silent sobs, gripping the rail so hard it hurt his hands. He sniffed, not hearing Burt step in behind him.

The older man gently turned him around, prying his fingers from the wood, and hugged him close. Blaine buried his face in his shirt, crying hard, still quiet so Kurt wouldn't hear.

"I-I-" He stammered. Burt shook his head.

"Don't have to tell me. Just let it out, pal."

Kurt smiled his goodnights at everyone, his mind too dazed and worked up to grant him sleep. Burt patted his cheek, Carole his shoulder. Finn hollered a goodnight halfway up the stairs and Blaine…

Blaine stayed up as late as his body would allow before he stood. "Goodnight, baby," he said softly, watching his face for some sort of cue. Kurt smiled gently at him, reaching out to him with his free hand. Blaine took it graciously, bending to wrap his arms around him. Kurt hugged him back, resting his cheek against his shoulder. "Please, try to get some sleep."

"I will," he breathed. "Just something I have to do first. Alone." Blaine nodded his understanding, holding his face for a moment.

"Kurt…Kurt, do you feel any better?"

"I will be. Don't worry about me so much," he whispered. Blaine shook his head, chuckling ruefully.

"That's just it, honey, I have to worry about you." He placed a soft kiss to his forehead, stroking his cheek before stepping away.

Kurt took a slow breath when he was alone. He opened the hand holding the ornament, running his fingers over it, tracing it.

In the few pictures he had left in his mind, he saw the figure's faces: A mother with wings holding her child, the words "Baby's First Christmas" etched into the bottom her white dress. He saw the curls of her hair, the point of her face.

"What's wrong with you?" He hissed to himself. "What's the matter with you? She's gone. She's been gone. She can't help you." He sniffed, standing with it. He carefully put it on the tree, feeling for other ornaments around it before putting it into place. He took a breath, falling back on the couch. He let his head fall back, breathing slowly.

"NO! NOHOH, PLEASE, PLEASE!"

"You shut the fuck up right now, bitch. I'll fucking kill you."

He shook his head, breath trembling. White hot echoes decorated his body, sending shivers down his spine. He chewed his lip, anger welling in his stomach.

Why? Why did he do that to me? WHAT THE FUCK GAVE HIM THE RIGHT TO TOUCH ME? BECAUSE I'M GAY? BECAUSE HE IS AND I'M THE ONLY ONE AROUND TO TAKE IT OUT ON? WHAT DID I DO WRONG?!

He slammed his fist into the cushion before raking his hand over his face. "God damn it!" He spat. He didn't know what to do. He felt alone, ugly and stupid for everything. Blaine didn't need this from him. Blaine didn't need to worry about his mental issues. It's not like he actually…

He went up the stairs, not tired in the slightest, but needing something to keep him busy.

By the time he got to his room he still had no idea what to do with himself. He sighed, plopping onto the floor, tugging out a trunk from under his bed and flipping it open. He dug through the fabrics, knowing how badly they needed to be organized and started in on them.

However long he spent there he didn't know. He arranged the piles by size and texture, thinking venomously, Not like you can sort them by color, can you?

"Kurt?" A drowsy voice said from the doorway. "Babe, what are you doin' up so late?"

"I'm not tired," he said shortly, still busy. "Go to bed, Blaine."

"Kurt-"

"Go," he demanded. He came into the room instead, sitting down across from him.

"Kurt, this isn't going to get better if you keep it all in or take out your anger on sorting swatches," he said gently.

"Seems to be working at the moment," his voice was flat. "Now leave me alone. Go away."

"No," he said firmly. "Not until you talk about this. Talk about something. Your dad's worried sick-"

"Just because I can't see him doesn't mean I don't fucking know that!" Blaine straightened up, staring at him. "Get out of my room, Blaine."

"No."

He slammed the fabric down, eyes fiery. "Get out, Blaine."

"You don't want me to leave," he said. "I know you really don't."

"Then why am I telling you to?" He snarled. "Get the fuck out of my room."

"I'm not going anywhere, god damn it!" He took his hands, forcing him away from his work, making him listen for a moment. "Now listen to me, Kurt, let me help. Let me in."

Kurt jerked away from him, standing. "What are you gonna tell me, Blaine?" He whispered harshly. "You gonna tell me that it wasn't my fault? You gonna tell me that I shouldn't feel so stupid? That I shouldn't be angry with myself and David? That I shouldn't want to claw my own face off after I hurt him too? You gonna tell me that I shouldn't be scared every time I turn around because you're here to protect me?" His hands were balled into fists, cheeks hot.

"I can be whatever you need me to be, Kurt," he said truthfully, firm but vulnerable at the same time.

"I want you to leave me alone!"

"That is the one thing I can't do. You and I both know what'll happen if I let you handle this by yourself."

"You don't know me, Blaine!" He spat. "How long have we known each other? Huh? You don't know anything about me. Not nearly as much as you think you do. Get out of my room and leave me alone. If I wanted your help I would have asked for it!"

"You're pushing me away because you're scared," Blaine said quietly. "I know you're scared because your left eye twitches and you have to push your voice out to make any noise. I know you're mad at me too, 'cause your lips get tight and you jut your jaw out." He took a step toward him. "I know you sit and imagine yourself singing every song on your iPod because you know how big of a star you are. I know you dance in the shower. I know it makes you so mad sometimes that you can't see the clothes you're wearing because they just might not be as perfect as you want them to be. I know you're sensitive about your complexion and your weight because of a comment Coach Sylvester made last year. I know your favorite color is lavender. I know you secretly love The Titanic even though you give it so much flak. I know you hate anything lemon flavored. You stick your tongue out when you concentrate, you're spiteful when you're angry and when you fight, you fight to hurt."

He took a breath, holding Kurt's elbows in his hands. "You worry about being sad or upset around your dad because you don't want him to hurt because you are. You don't want him to worry because you're concerned about his heart. No matter what you're doing or what you want you will always do what's best for him. When you love, you love with everything you have. You have the kindest heart and you won't admit to it because you think you're too angry to be a good person.

"I know you won't drink tea in the morning. I know you don't like doughnuts or apple juice. When you're flirting your dimples show when you smile. I know you only wear sweats when you're sad." He looked down at the sweats on his waist. "I know you're pushing me away because you don't know what you'll do if you open up to me, and not being in control terrifies you. I know you just want to crawl in bed and cry yourself to sleep without me seeing or hearing because you think you're an ugly crier and you're being a baby about this." He gently touched his cheek.

"I know you, Kurt. And I know that if I let you cry yourself to sleep, if I let you sit and stew about this, if I let you make me mad and push me away that you'll regret it for the rest of your life. You know how I know that?" Kurt shook his head. "Because doing what you're doing, getting mad, wanting to hit things and scream at people to leave you alone so they'll forget how much pain you're in, because that's exactly what I did to get this way."

Kurt's lips trembled, tears streaking down his cheeks, his own hands clenching Blaine's shirt. "It is?"

"Yeah," he breathed. "I know you, Kurt. And I know what it looks like when someone hates themselves and they're trying to destroy themselves from the inside out. Let me help you like you helped me, baby."

Kurt leaned into Blaine's touch, kissing his open palm, breath shaking. He gently held Blaine's neck, pulling him closer, kissing him deeply. Blaine caught his lips, his arms snaking around his waist, just holding him in a protective embrace. "I love you."

"I love you too," Kurt whispered. "And I'm gonna be okay. Eventually."

"I know you will."