seven for a secret (never to be told) - chapter 3 (4/7)
Pairing: Blaine/Kurt, OC/Kurt, eventual Puck/Kurt
Rating: R
Spoilers: none
Warnings: domestic abuse (physical, sexual, emotional), noncon, dubcon, eating disorder, violence, infidelity, homophobic language
Wordcount: 4,904
Summary: Rick and Kurt were perfect together. Now they're not, because Kurt isn't good enough anymore.
In this chapter: Blaine does what he can.
A/N: this is an ancient (almost) fill for this prompt over at the angst meme.
Chapter 3
The house was large, lively, lovely; the color of pale cream, colorful flowers surrounding the front porch, children’s play set half hidden behind a one-story wing with large glass windows. Blaine whistled, appreciating, at the sight of it.
It was a good house in a good neighborhood.
He wouldn’t have expected any less from Miss Mercedes Jones - no, Mrs. Rutherford. Blaine still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that the sassy woman had finally found her man after years of failed relationships and two children with no father.
Lifting a pair of sunglasses to his forehead Blaine walked to the front door, stopping to ring the bell. Laughter echoed through the white door. Mercedes had the perfect life. He’d had it, too, at least until the night before, until the call from Burt Hummel. Until the words that made him curse his own stupidity.
“My son is a battered wife," Burt had cried to the phone. “Please.”
Rick Alvaro. They’d gone to school together, Blaine and him, and Blaine had been happy when the latino asked Kurt out. They’d fit together like two pieces of the same puzzle, Kurt and Rick.
The jigsaw puzzle they belonged to hadn’t been good enough, though. The cardboard pieces bent and scrunched, one more than the other, forcing the weaker one to crumble completely.
And Blaine hadn’t known.
The door opening shook Blaine away from his thoughts. Mercedes appeared behind it, smiling brightly, wearing a red summer dress that looked amazing on her. She blinked at the newcomer and, realizing who it was, let out a joyous laugh.
Blaine couldn’t join her.
“Blaine Anderson!” Mercedes spoke, amazement lacing her words. “Well, can’t say I’ve seen you in a long time! What’re you doing here?”
“Well…” Blaine scuffed the floor with his shoe. “I was wondering if you had the time to pay Kurt a little visit.”
The reaction was immediate. Mercedes’ smile fell and her body hunched, fingernails painted with glittering crimson digging against the doorframe.
“You know that we don’t get along anymore, boy," she said, quiet.
Blaine pursed his lips. “Rick’s been abusing him. He’s pretty bad now.”
Mercedes took her time answering. “How bad?”
“Burt was crying when he called me.”
Mercedes clenched her jaws, thinking, pondering. Eventually she let out an irritated sigh and beckoned at Blaine to step in. He did, giving her a graceful nod as he passed her.
“Matt and the kids are… here somewhere," Mercedes said, waving her hand. “Go find them, boy. I’ll pack my things.”
“Right. Thanks a lot, Sadie.”
The door clicked shut and before Blaine could completely comprehend it, Mercedes had already disappeared on the staircase leading upstairs. The black-haired man shrugged and toed off his shoes, stepping further into the house.
“Well, that went easily enough…” he muttered to himself.
Finding Matt turned out to be even easier as the man walked into the large foyer, carrying a giggling girl on his legs. A smaller boy followed behind him with a bright red ball.
“Blaine, man!” Matt exclaimed. “Long time no see. What’re you doing here?”
“It’s been a long, yeah," Blaine laughed as he shook Matt’s hand. “Sorry, but I kind of came to kidnap your wife for a few days.”
Thankfully Matt had never been one for extreme reactions. He merely raised an eyebrow while gently untangling the girl from his waist.
“Oh? And why is that, if I may ask?”
“Gotta take her to Kurt," Blaine said, glancing at the kids.
Matt took the hint and quickly ushered the two back into the living room before pulling Blaine into the kitchen. The sound of Mercedes stomping her feet against the floorboards upstairs was loud and constant, as was the faint laughter coming from where Matt left the children.
“So? What’s with Kurt?”
Blaine bit his lip. “Got into a bad relationship. Apparently Rick fucking Alvaro wasn’t as nice a man as I thought he was.”
Matt whistled. “Shit. That doesn’t sound good.”
“Yeah. I got a call from Burt this morning, pleading for me to come and help… He didn’t say much but Kurt’s in a really bad shape. I mean… It‘s Burt Hummel. If Burt Hummel, the man who never lets anyone push him around, the strongest man on the face of Earth, doesn‘t know what to do, it has to be grave.”
Silence fell over the two men.
Finn was holding the door open before Blaine and Mercedes had even stepped out of the car. Even through the large front yard, the tall man looked horrible - his face was full of tired creases, mouth curled up in a line that was devoid of the hopeful innocence Finn had been so full of mere months ago when Blaine saw him the last time.
It really didn’t look good.
“Hi," both Blaine and Mercedes said as they stepped on the porch.
“Hi. Come on in. Dad’s in the kitchen.”
True to Finn’s words, Burt sat by the round kitchen table, cradling his head in his hands. The man looked up at the sound of nearing footsteps, expression turning to a visibly relieved one at the sight of Blaine.
“Thank God you’re here," he whispered, turning around in his chair. “You too, Mercedes. It’s been long.”
“Yeah. Uh, I don’t know it’s okay to say ‘good to see you again’ in this situation, but…” Mercedes trailed off, never finishing her sentence. “Well, here I am.”
Burt glanced at Blaine. “You told her?”
“Yeah.” Blaine nodded. “Sorry, I just thought--”
“No, no, it’s okay… Maybe, maybe you can figure something out. Together. I don’t know.” Burt shook his head. “I’m such a failure…”
Blaine’s heart ached at the sight. Similar to Finn, Burt looked tired, much older than he was in reality. Countless badly slept nights had caught in and turned the man into a nervous, fearing mess.
“Hey," Blaine said, stepping closer to lay a hand on Burt’s shoulder. “We’ll think of something. Kurt’s here. It’s a start, right? Eventually things will turn out alright. We’ll think of something.”
“Yeah, what he says," Mercedes smiled from the doorway. “We’ll do our best, Mr. Hummel.”
Burt gave a small smile. “Thanks. I don’t know what to do anymore…” he sighed. “Anyways. Carole’s downstairs trying to get Kurt to eat… he looks really bad but please, don’t mention it to him.”
“Okay," Blaine agreed. “I’m sure we can do that, right, Mercedes?”
“Sure.” Mercedes shrugged.
“Guys. By ‘bad’ I mean… well.” Burt sighed again. “He’s still covered in bruises and even thinner than when we went to get him. The docs say that if he won’t start eating it’s the psych ward for him…”
Blaine pursed his lips together and shared a look with Mercedes and Finn hovering nervously behind her. He’d known it was bad; there mere tone Burt spoke with when he called had been alarming. Still, the more he heard, the more he doubted his ability to help.
It wouldn’t stop him from trying, though. And he wouldn’t be alone, that much was sure; Mercedes looked even more intent.
“We’ll talk to Kurt, Mr. Hummel," she said, flashing the room a bright grin. “We’ll see what we can do.”
“Thank you," Burt breathed. “Thank you so much.”
“No problem, sir," Blaine smiled. “I really regret not staying in touch with him… but deep down, he’s still one of my friends. I’m sure Mercedes can say the same thing.”
“Damn sure I will, boy.”
They turned to leave but Burt’s voice stopped them dead in their tracks.
“Wait," the man yelped suddenly. “Wait - do you… Do you have anything sharp with you? Knives or scissors or, or, anything that can hurt…”
For a few seconds Blaine could only stare at Burt, unbelieving, wishing that he’d heard something wrong. But no, he hadn’t. Burt’s expression - the shame, the pain - told the truth. Blaine gulped and made a mental list of everything he had with him. He shook his head just as Mercedes dug a small pouch from her purse.
“Nail stuff," she said, shrugging, as she dropped it on the table next to Burt’s hand. “Files and other sharp things.”
When they got to the staircase leading into Kurt’s old bedroom, Blaine’s hand grabbed the railing hard enough for his knuckles to turn bright white from the strain. Because no matter what Burt had said, it hadn’t prepared him for this.
Kurt’s bed had been moved to one of the corners in the room and was the only furniture in there beside the low table and a sofa, on which Carole was seated. Kurt was curled up on his bed, back resting against the two joining walls. He had a small bowl on his lap, plastic like the soft-edged spoon in his hand.
Blaine couldn’t see what was in the bowl but before neither of the two noticed him or Mercedes, Kurt lifted the spoon multiple times to his lips only to drop it back down without touching the brownish goo.
(“Smashed bananas," Carole would say later. “He won’t eat anything heavier than that.”)
“Hey there.”
It was Mercedes who broke the silence. She stepped into the room, breaking the monotonous colors of white accented with black, but Blaine was still stuck on the stairs.
Kurt looked dead and it wasn’t just the physical side of things. His face was empty, void of everything, and even when he moved it was a mechanical twitch of his muscles, nothing more.
“Oh!” Carole gasped when she noticed the two standing by the stairs. “You’re already here.”
“Yeah. Long time no see, Mrs. Hummel," Blaine smiled. “You too, Kurt.”
Kurt looked up slowly, carefully turning his head to face the newcomers. Every move he made was minute, barely visible, so dawdling that if he hadn’t been watching meticulously, Blaine wouldn’t have noticed them. It took time for Kurt’s eyes to focus on Mercedes; as soon as he seemed to realize he was, the motions became that much faster. The brunet averted his gaze quickly and rested it on Blaine instead.
The expression on his face almost made Blaine wish he’d refused Burt’s plead for help.
“Kurt, sweetie," Carole spoke. Her voice was loud and clear when she walked up the brunet unhurriedly. “Blaine and Mercedes are here to visit you. Isn’t it wonderful?”
There was no reply. Kurt bit his lip and watched them like a hawk - no, not a hawk, Blaine had to correct himself; the brunet was like a wounded animal locked in a cage, backing away from the prying touches of everyone around him.
How someone could reduce Kurt Hummel, the confident, prideful, perfect man, into a soulless vessel, that was something Blaine couldn’t comprehend.
“Have you finished eating, Kurt?” Carole asked.
This time Kurt nodded. He never took his eyes off of the two standing behind Carole’s back, too wary of them, but at least he acknowledged their existence. Blaine couldn’t see Carole’s face in its entirety but the way the corner of her mouth drew into a tight line told more than a thousand words ever could.
“Oh, okay," she spoke. “I’ll take these then. Call us if you need something.”
Carole took the plastic utensils and stood up, marching into the direction of the stairs.
“I’ll bring him more food in an hour," she whispered once she reached Mercedes. “Also, the monitor is on - someone will be listening to you talk. Sorry. Don‘t leave him alone.”
Out of the corner of his eye Blaine saw Mercedes give Carole’s shoulder a quick squeeze before the tired-looking woman disappeared upstairs. The footsteps stopped before the doorway, listening, waiting, but when nothing happened she walked out.
Blaine and Mercedes were left alone with Kurt.
What next?
“Hi there, Kurt," Mercedes broke the silence, moving into action before Blaine even knew what to do. She sat down on the sofa and smiled at the brunet. “So… hi. It’s been a long time, huh?”
Blaine had no idea if it was the right thing to say or do but nevertheless, he picked up from where Mercedes left off.
“Yeah”, he said, flashing a wide smile. “A long time, yeah. So… uh. So.”
He was a lot worse at this than he’d thought. Blaine honestly had nothing to say. It wasn’t like he could just go and ask how the other was doing or what he’d been doing during the past years or anything because everything was somehow connected to Rick fucking Alvaro and that was the one thing they weren’t supposed to mention. At all.
Kurt was still silent as the grave though the distrustful expression had softened a bit. The brunet was nibbling on his lower lip, ripping off pieces of dry skin. Blaine could see a small drop of blood where the skin had been too fresh.
There was a look on Kurt’s face. One that made Blaine think. One that made him wonder if he could be right, if things had really been that bad - but they had because Kurt was covered in bruises, loose skin around bones, almost dead - and he had taken a few courses in psychology. He’d made research, even, on the plane to Mercedes’ place.
Blaine swallowed down the tightness in his throat and spoke.
“You can speak, Kurt.”
Mercedes’ head turned around so fast that it was a blur of chocolate skin and black curls. She gaped, first shocked, then understanding, then terrified, and Blaine felt a little bad for her because obviously he wasn’t the only one at lost there.
“Why are you here?”
Kurt’s voice was barely above a whisper but somehow it reached Blaine’s ears, raspy and underused as it was. The words weren’t blaming, nor were they telling Blaine and Mercedes to leave the room immediately. They questioned the two, their motives, their feelings.
Kurt could have said ‘you hate me’ as well because that’s what those words meant.
“Kurt…” Blaine spoke sadly, shaking his head. He walked up to the bed and sat down at the foot of it, as far from Kurt as he could. The brunet draw his knees up to his chest. “Why wouldn’t we be here? I know it’s been years since we spoke the last time, and I have no words for how much I regret that - but time hasn’t made you any less important to me, Blue Eyes.”
Blaine yearned to lean forward, to catch Kurt’s bony fingers in his hands, to pat the tangled, shineless hairs, anything. But if his presence was a threat big enough for the other to curl up in a ball, he wasn’t about to do it.
“Exactly what Blaine says, Kurt," Mercedes smiled. She, too, moved closer to sit on the floor next to the bed. “I never hated you. You’re still my boy.”
A split second was enough time for Blaine to realize that something wrong had been said. Kurt froze, his eyes widening into comical lengths, and then, just like that, he screamed. Two hands shot up to clutch the sides of his head, tearing at the disheveled locks, and Kurt just screamed, crying out, and once again Blaine didn’t know what to do.
He didn’t need to do much because in seconds both Burt and Carole were on the bed, pushing Blaine and Mercedes away, muttering soothing words. Finn hovered somewhere under the stairs, his mouth drawn into a thin line.
Once upstairs Mercedes burst out in tears. As she buried her face in Blaine’s neck the black-haired man had to use every ounce of willpower he had to keep from sobbing with her.
Blaine didn’t see Kurt until the next day. He’d slept the night on the sofa-bed in Finn’s room, restless and unable to sleep. It had boiled to the point where Finn of all people had to order him to ‘stop thinking - I can hear your brain working like, all the way over here’.
Telling Blaine to stop thinking was like telling a heart to stop beating: it wasn’t going to happen. Not now, not ever.
He didn’t really get much sleep over the night.
Blaine sighed and rubbed his palms over his eyes. Finn snored slightly on his bed and the gentle chirping of birds echoed through the windows but other than that, the house was silent. Too silent, maybe, and for a second Blaine was sure that there was something horribly wrong with Kurt - but it was only five in the morning and he was fairly sure he was the only one awake at that hour.
He laid awake until the alarm clock on Finn’s bedside table rang and woke up the taller man.
The breakfast was a silent affair. Everyone but Kurt and Burt were there, eating toast with bacon and eggs, and not a single one of them spoke until Burt returned from downstairs with a plate of orange mush that seemed almost untouched.
(The ‘orange mush’ came from the glass jars filled with baby food, apparently. Mercedes and Blaine helped Carole unpack the groceries later that day and those filled a small plastic bag to the point where it was about to break down.)
After the breakfast Finn left for work, stalling at the door. Mercedes was the one to all but shove him outside, saying that he had two more friends to help. Two more hearts wishing for Kurt’s wellbeing. Two extra pairs of hands to get him up.
Finn left after that.
Burt sat Mercedes and Blaine down at the kitchen table and spoke to them.
Dinnertime came slowly. Kurt and Carole weren’t in the kitchen when Mercedes pulled a large dish of lasagna out of the oven, or when Blaine set the table, or when Burt mixed few drops of liquid vitamins with a bowl of soup. They were there, however, when the three had sat down.
Kurt hovered at the doorway, eyes dancing between his old friends so fast that Blaine couldn’t keep up. When the brunet moved to the table, he never turned his back to anyone but Carole. When he sat down, it was quietly but quickly, hands jerking the chair out. It creaked loudly against the floorboards and Kurt cringed, breath hitching.
Blaine did his best to ignore that.
The dinner was, well - not normal, not in the way Blaine had come to associate with the Hummel-Hudson family, but it was similar enough to show him a ray of hope in the otherwise hopeless situation. Kurt didn’t speak a word when he ate but the others made an effort to include him in the talk - and they weren’t silent, not this time.
Kurt finished his bowl of lukewarm soup.
It was a week later when Blaine heard Kurt utter the next words. He knew that Mercedes had had a long tear-inducing talk with manicures and facials with the brunet before her departure (the kids were sick, Matt had work, she was needed and that was it) but Blaine, he’d never heard Kurt speak after the first day.
They were sitting in the living room, watching a movie when it happened. Disney’s Little Mermaid filled the room with singing marine animals that might not have been the best choice for two adult men of their ages but, well, Disney was known for the cute fluff. The darkest thing in the film was Ursula and she wasn’t enough to send Kurt back to his unresponsive state he escaped to when things got too bad.
So. Little Mermaid.
“Why are you here?”
It took Blaine a moment to place to question and to realize that no, it hadn’t been Sebastian asking the question. Kurt was staring at him, completely still save for the nervous twitching of his fingers.
“I told you before, Kurt," Blaine smiled. “I still care for you. I’m not going anywhere unless Burt kicks me out.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Kurt’s attention returned to the screen where Ariel had just began singing. Blaine thought that was it, that the brunet would stay quiet - but he didn’t.
“Don’t you have anywhere else to be?”
The question startled Blaine. “No," he replied, shrugging. “I work from home. I took my laptop with me so everything is just fine.”
“Oh.”
It was the truth. Unlike Mercedes with her family, there was no reason for Blaine to be back at LA. Everything he needed to do he could do from wherever he was at the moment; if he couldn’t, one or two phone calls to the right persons fixed the problem.
This time the fallen silence stayed until the end of the movie.
One morning Blaine woke up to an empty room. Finn was supposed to be there but he wasn’t, and for whatever reason the realization settled an uncomfortable feeling in Blaine’s gut. If he wasn’t awake before Finn’s alarm clock, he would be so when the ear-splitting screeches rang out.
Now, though, now - Blaine’s phone clearly told that it was already almost half past four in the morning and if Finn Hudson was up before the dawning of a new day, the world must have been coming to an end. Especially when it was Finn’s turn to stay at home while Burt left for work.
With no ideas of what to except Blaine dressed up and left downstairs.
He found a scene worthy of the best eyebrow-rise he could muster. Or so he thought - as soon as Finn turned around to face the newcomer, Blaine saw Kurt tending to what appeared to be a large, bloody bruise on Puck’s face.
Now, Blaine definitely didn’t know what Noah Puckerman was doing in the kitchen in the wee hours of the morning, looking like a train wreck survivor, but he didn’t really get the chance to wallow on that because the brunet wiping a drop of blood from Puck’s chin was the same one that had, not too many days ago, broken down at the mere mention of the red substance.
“He woke up to the doorbell," Burt’s voice suddenly muttered next to Blaine’s ear, effectively startling the black-haired man. “Honestly, I don’t know what the fuck happened to Kurt - or Mohawk for that matter - but he really freaked out when he saw Puckerman. In the mother hen way of doing it. And. Well.”
Puck looked just as confused as Blaine felt about the whole ordeal. Kurt shook like a leaf in a storm but when Finn tried to get him to leave the room the brunet snapped a biting comment. Finn left it at that.
“Think I can leave you guys alone?” Burt mumbled. “If both Finn and Mohawk are here, I really need to get to work…”
Blaine nodded his head. “Yeah, we’ll be fine. Carole’s upstairs. Just go.”
“Thanks.” Burt patted Blaine’s back. “Puckerman, take the day off. Kurt, I’m leaving.”
Kurt gave no signs of hearing his father’s words, too engrossed with cleaning Puck’s face with a wet rag. The mohawked man hissed quietly when the fabric hit a particularly sore spot but he made no move to avoid it.
Blaine assumed that Puck had realized what would happen if he startled Kurt. He was fairly sure they both had had a few first-hand encounters with a shotgun-wielding Burt in the past.
Burt left and a few minutes later Kurt took a step back, looking around frantically.
“You need to put ice on that," he muttered, scrambling into the direction of the freezer. “Ice, and, and, painkillers and…”
Kurt trailed off, whimpering, and Blaine stepped forward. He nodded at Finn, mouthing a quick ‘I’ve got this’ before kneeling next to Kurt.
“Kurt? Kurt, look at me. I need you to do that. Kurt. Look at me.”
Icy blue eyes as wide as a pair of plates Kurt did so. His lips trembled and then, before Blaine could even comprehend it, a pair of hands latched onto the front of his chest and Kurt flung his body against Blaine’s.
Careful and slow, Blaine embraced the man crying against his chest. Hot tears fell on his neck, sliding down in rapidly cooling trails, but he ignored those.
“Hey, it’s okay now," Blaine whispered, gently stroking Kurt’s hair. “It’s okay. Puck’s fine. Shh, Kurt, it’s okay.”
“What’s going on?”
Three heads whipped around to look at Carole who was now standing in the doorway. She took one look at Kurt, crying in Blaine’s arms, and Puck whose face was almost purple.
An angry shriek tore the air. Carole charged at Puck, poking his chest with her forefinger, seemingly enraged. Kurt’s sobs died down but Blaine thought nothing of it.
“You!” Carole screeched. “Noah Elijah Puckerman! What on earth did you do?”
“Wait, mom--” Finn tried to put in.
“You keep out of this, Finn! But you, mister, you--”
“Stop it!”
At Kurt’s yell, the whole room fell silent. The brunet looked at Carole, tear tracks fresh on his face, and tightened his hold on Blaine’s shit.
“Stop it," he whispered again. “Stop it, stop it, I don’t… Blaine?”
“Shh, I’m here, Kurt, I’m here.”
“I don’t, I don’t…”
The words died under strong, broken sobs and Kurt leaned forward, hiding his face in the crook of Blaine’s neck once more. The black-haired man turned to look at Carole.
“Puck didn’t do anything," he said, still rubbing circles on Kurt’s back. “Really.”
Carole looked between the men around her and gasped, horrified. Her hand rose to hide her mouth.
“God!” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, Noah, I’m so sorry, I thought - and dear Lord, is Kurt okay? Are you, sweetie?”
“He’s…” Blaine began, searching for the right word. There really wasn’t one. “Somewhat okay.”
“Oh. Okay. That’s… oh God, what have I done?” Carole kneeled on the floor next to Blaine and Kurt. “Kurt, sweetie? I’m sorry. Please look at me?”
Kurt didn’t let go of Blaine when he moved his head back enough to see the woman.
“I’m so sorry for scaring you like that, honey," Carole spoke. “I’m so sorry. Can you forgive me?”
Kurt nodded. “I wanna, I wanna…”
“Yes, sweetie?”
“I wanna… Blaine, I, I…” Kurt struggled with his words, clearly knowing what he wanted to say but not knowing how to phrase it. Or not having the courage to say it. Blaine didn’t know. “Talk. I, I want to talk, and, and, I--”
“Kurt," Blaine cut in. “It’s okay. We’ll talk. Should we, uh, should we go back to your room?”
In the end, Blaine had to half-carry, half-walk Kurt downstairs. It shouldn’t have been as easy as it was; Kurt weighted nothing and even if he carried most of his body mass, he also leaned against Blaine. A bony elbow dug into his ribs but the black-haired man didn’t complain about it.
Kurt laid on his bed sideways, curled up next to the wall with his back to the room. Blaine sat down next to him and carefully dropped his hand onto Kurt’s side, smiling to himself when the brunet didn’t flinch away.
Kurt was silent for a long time so Blaine took the reigns in his hands, asking the other a question.
“So… You wanted to speak about something?”
Blaine thought the other had changed his mind when there was no answer to be heard. Eventually, though, Kurt shifted a little and curled into a tighter ball.
“Why am I here?” the brunet whispered dreadfully. “I… I shouldn’t be here. I don’t belong here.”
Blaine bit back a heavy sigh. “Oh Kurt…” he muttered back. “This is your home. This is exactly where you belong.”
“But I don’t… I’m… married. And, and, Ri--” Kurt gasped a breath. “He isn’t here. I should be with him.” Another pause. “He loves me, you know.”
Blaine saw red.
“No, Kurt, no," he said, careful to not let his anger show. “You shouldn’t be with him. He’s… he hurt you, didn’t he? That’s why you’re here, remember? To be safe?”
Kurt took his time. “But I am safe with him," he said quietly. “I’m… He loves me. He really does, and, I’m, I’m… I need to go back.”
An invisible hand closed around Blaine’s throat. “No, Kurt, you don’t need to go back to him," he spoke. “You’ll never have to do that.”
“But… if I’m good this time, it’ll be okay, won’t it?”
Kurt wasn’t the only one in tears anymore. Hot droplets of water fell along the lines of Blaine’s face as he leaned forward, stroking Kurt’s side, and tried to think of what he was supposed to say in a situation like this.
“It won’t be okay," he said between cries. “Please, Kurt, please don’t say anything like that. He’s not good enough for you. Please, Kurt.”
“But he loves me," Kurt repeated once more. This time, though, it sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “He loves me, he really does, and I need to go back home…”
Whatever the next syllables were, they were muffled by Blaine’s shirt. The black-haired man grabbed Kurt, maybe a bit too roughly, and turned him around. While Blaine’s tears were silent, his sobs quiet sounds of choking and sniffing, Kurt all but wailed against the soft cotton shirt the other wore.
“It’ll be okay, Kurt," Blaine whispered. “It’ll be okay. One day it’ll all be fine and perfect and better than okay, Kurt.”
>>chapter 4