Chapter 15

Friday, July 7th, 2023

Kurt's feet were pounding heavily on the treadmill belt, the dry cereal he'd eaten that morning heavy in his stomach, when his phone lit up with Rachel's picture.

"Hello?" he answered, not bothering to slow his pace. Without Lady Gaga's bass line pounding through his earbuds, his pulse sounded like a washing machine inside his head. He suddenly felt very tired.

"Kurt? What are you doing?"

"What does it sound like I'm doing?" he panted.

Her voice took on a scandalous tone. "Are you having sex?"

Kurt laughed for the first time in days. His legs turned to Jell-O with the lack of focus, and he almost fell off the treadmill in his haste to turn the speed down. He laughed harder.

"Kurt?"

"I'm fine," he said, walking briskly, knowing he needed a cool-down before he went to sit, even though his side was now aching and his lungs were burning. "Rachel, do you really think I'd answer the phone if I were in the middle of that?"

"If you saw it was me, you might." Kurt could hear her grin at the other end of the line.

"You know I love you, but not quite that much," he said, echoing her smile. "Actually, we're at the gym. I'm on the treadmill."

"Oh! I'm glad – I was worried that the two of you were holed up in your condo being sad."

Kurt was quiet. That was exactly how they'd been spending their time, up until he sensed that Blaine's need for a long session with a heavy bag had become too great. And it wasn't like just because they went to the gym they were magically healed of all sadness. That wasn't how it worked. They were just being sad someplace besides home.

"Yeah. Well." He was so tired. He turned the treadmill down to an even lower setting, leaned with one arm against the handle as he walked.

Rachel paused. "... It's good you got out, at least. You should feel a little better; you know running releases all sorts of endorphins. Are you eating?"

"Some."

"I was afraid of that."

"Well ..." Kurt wasn't sure what else to say; Rachel knew he couldn't eat when he was stressed.

"I cooked for you," she said proudly. "Can I bring it over this afternoon, maybe?"

Wonderful. Food that he wouldn't be able to eat, sitting, going bad in his fridge, being scraped into the trash. Making him feel guilty. He plastered on a smile, like he knew Blaine would. "Oh, Rach, you didn't have to do that –"

"I did. I had to do something, Kurt, I can't let my two best friends just wallow in misery with no food –"

"Okay, okay," he acquiesced. More than anything, he just wanted to get off the phone, off the treadmill. "You can come over. Be warned, though, the place is a disaster."

"Kurt, disaster to you is probably spick and span to the rest of the world. It'll be fine."

"No, seriously Rachel, it's a disaster." He stopped the treadmill and bent over the control panel, resting his head on his arms. He wanted to go home, but he didn't want to go home – they were living in squalor, and it disgusted him to think of the piles of dirty clothes, the dishes in the sink, Romeo's dirty pee pads on the floor. "I'll just – I'll try to clean some before you come, okay?"

Rachel's voice grew soft. "Oh, Kurt ... Alright, I'll be over around four. Will you be home by then, or are you spending the day out?"

"What do you think?" he snapped, frustrated that she even had to ask. "What would we even do, Rachel, go to Barney's and cry all over their baby department? We're going home."

"I'm sorry. Kurt, I – god, I just – I don't know what to say ..." Rachel trailed off, sounding lost.

Kurt sighed, scrubbing a hand through his sweaty hair. "I'm sorry, Rach. You don't have to say anything. I just – I kind of feel like the world is ending."

"Oh, sweetie ..." Rachel sighed. "I can't imagine. I – I'll see you at four, okay?"

"'Kay."

Kurt hung up the phone and stared down at his feet. He refused to cry in the middle of the gym. Instead, with his Jell-O legs and his broken heart, he turned the treadmill back on. He upped the speed, too fast, until he was running at a full-on sprint. He was so broken, but also so angry – at himself, for losing his uncanny ability to function through anything, at the world, for not stopping on its axis, and ultimately at Abby, who shattered their hearts and ended their dream of being parents.

He jabbed his earbuds into his ears and turned his Lady Gaga playlist back on shuffle. The music blared in his ears, and he turned the treadmill up one speed faster as the lyrics started.

I need somebody who calls my name

When clouds are smokin' up my way

You get me through these ch-changing skies

* * *

"Blaine, honey, are you in here? I'm ready to go home – I've run so hard I think my legs are going to –" Kurt stopped in mid-sentence. "Blaine?" He was hunched over on a bench in the empty locker room with his eyes closed. "Are you alright?"

"It wasn't working," Blaine said, his voice flat. "I couldn't punch hard enough."

"What?"

"I took my gloves off. And untaped my hands." Blaine finally opened his eyes. "Pretty stupid, huh?" he asked, lifting them up for Kurt to see. Kurt walked over to him and gasped when he saw his knuckles. They were bleeding and swollen, the beginnings of angry, purple bruises beginning to emerge.

"Where were the trainers? I thought you weren't allowed to do that ..."

Blaine shrugged. "They know me. Only one guy was working today. He had to go to the bathroom, asked if I'd be okay on my own for a few minutes. It doesn't take long, Kurt." He sighed. "I don't know what I was thinking. I just – I wanted to feel better."

Kurt sat beside him on the bench and hugged him, their sweat mingling together. He could understand what Blaine was thinking. It was why he pushed himself to the point of nearly throwing up on the treadmill just minutes earlier. He figured if he could make his body hurt badly enough, he wouldn't be able to feel his heart quite as much.

"Oh, honey," Kurt murmured, pressing a quick kiss to the side of Blaine's sweat-damp head.

"I still don't feel any better at all," Blaine sighed. "I just feel mad."

"I know. Me too." Kurt stood, bending over Blaine and holding onto his shoulders. "Let's get you home, okay? I'll see if I can fix your fingers."

* * *

Blaine hissed and yanked his hand back as Kurt gently pressed a warm, soapy cloth to his knuckles. "Jesus, that stings!"

"I know, but all we need is for you to get some crazy antibiotic-resistant bacteria from that stupid punching bag and land yourself in the ICU," Kurt said, not unkindly, as he tugged Blaine's hand back. "Hold still. It'll only hurt for a minute."

Blaine relented, wincing at the burn as the cloth dragged over his raw skin. It was his own fault, not Kurt's. He shouldn't have snapped at him.

"So, it looks like your middle knuckle might be jammed, but – can you move everything? Do you think anything's broken?" Kurt asked.

"No," he said, "nothing but my heart."

"Oh, Blaine," Kurt breathed, forgoing the washcloth and pulling him into an awkward hug.

Face smashed against Kurt's stomach, Blaine wiggled his fingers painfully. How could he have been so stupid? He knew better than to go at a heavy bag full-on with nothing protecting his hands. He sighed heavily. "I don't think I'm handling this as well as you are, Kurt," he said, looking at the floor when Kurt finally released him.

"Well they're your knuckles, not mine. I don't think –"

Blaine lifted his head, staring straight into Kurt's eyes. "You know that's not what I meant."

"I know," Kurt murmured, cupping Blaine's cheek in the palm of his hand. "I think you're doing fine, honey, considering the circumstances."

"Obviously I'm not," Blaine snapped, holding his injured hands up in front of Kurt's face. "What about this says 'healthy coping mechanism' to you, exactly?"

"It's not like I'm doing much better," Kurt said, and for some reason, the way he said it rubbed Blaine in exactly the wrong way. "When I was on the treadmill today –"

"I'm going to bed," Blaine said flatly, shoving his way past Kurt and falling forward onto their bed with a dull thud.

"Hey, I'm not done with you yet," came Kurt's gentle reply. Blaine felt the bed dip as Kurt sat down. "I'll buy you a cookie if you give me your hands," Kurt cajoled, and Blaine let him, extending his arms. He was listless, face pillowed in their duvet cover, as he felt Kurt smear antibiotic ointment on all the open places in his hands. "Does it hurt?"

"Little," Blaine grunted.

He shuddered slightly, tingles running up and down his arm as Kurt carefully rolled gauze around his hand, taped the end, then pressed a soft kiss to his palm. He lay still and quiet while Kurt tended to his other hand.

"I don't think I mentioned it, but Rachel called," Kurt said casually as he paid special attention to a particularly raw area. Blaine gritted his teeth against the pain. "She's coming over tonight."

Blaine let out a muffled groan into the fabric underneath him. He did not think that he could deal with Rachel Berry in any context right now, even as much as he loved her. She was a good friend, but at times a needy one, and while she'd grown up a lot since high school, she still liked to be flattered and pampered more than she liked to do the flattering and pampering. He wasn't prepared to be sent on a guilt trip just because he didn't feel like saying her hair looked pretty that day.

"I don't really want to see anybody either," Kurt agreed, petting his hair, "but she cooked some meals for us. I think she's worried."

Blaine sighed. Apparently he'd been wrong – Rachel was coming to do some pampering of her own, and the guilt he felt came from himself rather than from her. "Of course she's worried, Kurt," he finally said, turning his head sideways so he could see. "Look at us."

"I know." Kurt set the gauze and ointment on the nightstand and lay down next to Blaine. "We're a mess, aren't we?"

"Oh, god, we really are," Blaine groaned, rolling over to his back and throwing an arm across his face. He laid there for a few moments, not moving, the gauze on his hand scratchy against the side of his face. Inexplicably, he started to laugh.

"Blaine?"

"None of this is remotely funny, I know," he giggled, "but – I have mummy hands, Kurt." He held his hands up above their heads. "My haaahnds –" he said in a ghoulish voice, "they're going to fiiiiind you."

"So you're a Transylvanian mummy, then?" Kurt asked, his eyes twinkling as he ducked out of the way of Blaine's opening and closing pincer grasp. "Because you sound like Dracula. Are we getting our monsters confused?"

"I vaaant to saaahk your blaaahd," Blaine moaned. "Baaaht, zee crazy-ass Egyptians got ahold of me and vanted to make me a maaaahmy – I barely got avay!"

Kurt's beautiful laughter filled the room and made Blaine's heart swell in his chest. One moment of normal – they were playing; Blaine thought he'd never play again – and it was like the heavens opened up and gave them a rainbow in the midst of the worst storm they'd ever seen.

Blaine was still poking at Kurt's arms and belly with his gauze-covered hands, both of them giggling, when Kurt grabbed his wrists, stilling him.

"C'mere, you adorable vampire-mummy," he said, tugging him closer. Blaine scooted toward him and let himself be wrapped in Kurt's arms, tight and safe. "I love you. I missed playing with you like that."

"Me too," Blaine murmured. "I always imagined –" And just like that, the black cloud was back.

"Imagined what, honey?"

"Playing with Violet. With you. Like that. It was – I was really looking forward to it."

"Oh, Blaine ... so was I."

His heart, momentarily buoyed by Kurt's laughter, was sinking down, down, down to the dark place again, and he was suddenly overcome with exhaustion.

"I think I'm gonna take a nap, okay?"

Kurt nodded sadly. "I need to clean up around here before Rachel comes, anyway."

Blaine rolled over, away from the comfort of Kurt's arms, and just before he closed his eyes, he saw a flash of something dark and worried in Kurt's.

* * *

Five minutes 'til four o'clock, a loud knock echoed through the condo. Kurt propped his broom and dustpan against the wall, opened the front door, and found himself smothering in Rachel Berry. Her hug was more overpowering than normal – she forced herself up on her tiptoes and squeezed, and he felt like he couldn't get enough air. Her perfume was strong and one floral note too sweet and her hand came up to the back of his head, pressing his nose and mouth into her hair. It felt like he was trying to breathe through a curtain.

Ten long seconds later, she mercifully let go, set the bag she'd tossed aside on their kitchen counter and, in a very business-like and abrupt tone, asked, "Where's Blaine?"

"In bed, but –"

She didn't let him finish. He padded after her, curious exactly what she was going to do, and saw her fling herself onto the bed with Blaine and tug him into a hug as well.

Blaine's reaction was very different from his own. He pressed against her, the tips of his fingers digging into her back, and buried his face in her shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," she was whispering. "I'm so, so sorry, Blaine."

She let him cling for a while, and once when she looked up at Kurt, he gave her a quick, tight smile and mouthed, "Thank you." He felt helpless – he didn't know what to do with his hands anymore if he wasn't holding Blaine; lately they'd been no good for sketching and his blood sugar was running a little too low all the time to be able to hold a needle and thread steady. So he went to the kitchen, where there were things to do.

He unloaded Tupperware dish after Tupperware dish, most of them frozen, each one's contents labeled with little pink Post-it notes, each adorned with a gold star sticker. Kurt smiled – as tiresome as Rachel could be at times, she was his best friend for a reason.

Just as he finished stacking the dishes neatly in the freezer, Rachel and Blaine padded into the room, Blaine holding Rachel's hand like a small child. Rachel was wiping away tears, and she gave a forlorn glance into the nursery as they walked past.

"Thanks for the food," Kurt told her. He felt awkward with her, as if he hadn't spent the past twelve years competing with her, overhauling her closets, keeping her secrets and sharing his, living with her and then near her, buying pints and gallons of comfort ice cream when the boys she dated didn't work out. Losing Violet changed everything in his life, apparently.

"It was my pleasure. The least I could do," she said, her voice shaky. "Oh, I've been so worried about the two of you!" She flung herself at Kurt for the second time that evening, but he was slightly more prepared this time, petting her back until she pulled away.

"You need to be with people," she lectured, swiping more tears from her eyes. "You don't need to isolate yourselves. You need to get out – this place isn't making you feel any better."

"I know, we just –" Blaine started, but Rachel wasn't finished.

"I know when I'm stressed out, I find exercise to be very helpful – but you've already done that today, haven't you? Cleaning can be extremely cathartic – have you thought about clearing out her nursery?"

"That isn't a welcome topic right now, Rachel," Kurt said quietly as Blaine bristled visibly.

"We are not. Touching. Her things," he practically snarled.

Rachel recoiled. "Ohh-kay," she stammered. "Okay. I'm sorry. I'll just – food. You should eat. Are you eating?"

"We – will now," Kurt said, eyeing Rachel's empty tote bag sitting on the floor.

"Oh, Kurt," she said, stepping forward again, but Kurt held his hand up.

"No offense, Rach," he said, "but I think I've met my people-who-aren't-Blaine touching quota for the day."

"Oh ..." she trailed off, looking back and forth between Blaine and Kurt. "Of course. I'm sorry. I should've thought –"

"You know how I get when I'm stressed," he interrupted her. "I don't want to be touched. I can't eat. But – I know your food is good. I'll try."

"Good," she said, looking slightly more pleased. "Blaine, I –"

"I'm going back to bed." He cut her off, turning and retreating to the bedroom.

She stared after him.

"I'm sorry," Kurt explained after their bedroom door clicked shut, "he's – it's a bad day. It's – some days are harder than others, you know? This was a hard day."

"Kurt, you know you don't have to explain anything to me," she said, stopping herself before she touched his arm, but he saw her hand twitch towards him.

"I know."

"But, if you need to talk about anything –"

"I don't. He'll be fine. We're going to be fine," he said, telling himself as much as he was telling her.

"I know you are." A moment of awkward silence filled the room before Rachel gathered her tote bag into her arms and stammered, "I think – I might go now. I was hoping to stay and eat with you, but I don't think –"

"I'm sorry," Kurt said with a sigh, his arms hanging limp at his sides.

"No, no. It's – fine, really," she insisted, moving towards the door. "But Kurt?"

"Mmm?"

"Try to eat a little, okay? I'm afraid – I'm just – afraid. For both of you."

"Why's that?" he asked, folding his arms in front of his chest.

"Well – who's going to take care of you while you're taking care of him?"

"You know perfectly well that I can take care of myself," Kurt said, a little haughty.

"I know. But you shouldn't have to," Rachel said. "Call if you need anything, okay?"

Kurt stared at their front door, solid and wooden and a nice barrier to the world outside that no longer understood them at all. He wondered if either of them would ever figure out how to navigate contact with other people again.

* * *

Kurt's stomach rolled as the microwave beeped its signal, the smell of Rachel's curry already turning his stomach.

Normally, it was his favorite.

He took two bites before his throat felt like it was spasming, trying to force the food back up.

He scraped the food into a clean bowl, left the dirty one in the sink, and took the food into the bedroom to Blaine.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Blaine questioned, narrowing a pair of bloodshot eyes.

"I ate already. You know I like to sit at the table."

"I do too, but ..." Blaine gestured toward his form, curled up in the blankets. "I think there are times for exceptions."

Kurt felt his face change, and in a rare moment of incognizance, had no idea what expression he wore. Whatever it was, Blaine dropped the subject, patting the bed next to him for Kurt to sit down. Kurt watched as he slowly ate his curry, dabbing at his mouth neatly with his napkin. When he was done, he gave Kurt a tired look and collapsed on the bed again, his head buried under his pillow like an ostrich in the sand.

* * *

Saturday, July 8th, 2023

It was ten o'clock in the morning, and Kurt was going out of his mind.

Blaine had finally passed out in the bed after the hard day continued into being a hard night, during which he'd tossed and turned and paced the floors and opened and closed the refrigerator door 27 times (Kurt had counted) and kept Kurt up for all of it.

He was glad that Blaine was finally sleeping, but he couldn't.

He stood in the kitchen, staring at the bowl of cereal with which he was fighting a losing battle. Just two bites and his throat was rebelling again, fighting against the milk that felt so cool and pleasant on his tongue. Another bite, and he was retching into the sink.

He gave up on eating, sat in Violet's room and cried a little. But after a few minutes, he decided that his eyes hurt, and he was tired of crying.

So he left a note on his pillow beside Blaine, grabbed Romeo's leash, and called his dad.

"Kurt – are you okay? Is Blaine okay?"

"Hello to you, too, Dad," Kurt said. He squinted as he adjusted to the bright sunlight, and beads of sweat popped up on his forehead – it was already eighty-five degrees outside. He made a mental note to stop for water for himself and Romeo sometime before he came home.

"Well, you go five days without calling, I'm gonna worry, kiddo, geez. How are you guys holding up?"

"Blaine had a long night. He's sleeping now. I'm – hanging in there."

"Doesn't sound like it to me."

"Dad." He paused. Tired of crying, remember? "I feel crazy."

"You're not crazy, Kurt."

"I know I'm not crazy, but I feel crazy," he said, yanking on Romeo's leash as the puppy stopped in front of a food cart just down the block from their building. "You know what you said at the coffee shop that morning? About hating the way Blaine deals with this?"

"Mmmhmmm..."

"You may have been right. He's being ..."

"He's being what, Kurt?"

"Difficult? But that's not even the right word for it. He just – needs so much. Just like when his aunt died. But that was okay, because I wasn't grieving too, so I had a lot more to give. I – Dad, I sound awful for saying this, but I need some space."

Burt sighed into the phone. "Do you remember, for about a year after your mom died, when you'd go have tea parties with Mrs. Martin next door?"

Kurt's mind wandered back, and – yes, he could remember going next door, always dressed in slacks and a bowtie because it was proper to dress nicely when one was with ladies, especially nice, pretty ladies like Mrs. Martin, who reminded him of his mother, but a few years older.

"Yeah, I do."

"Do you know why you started going over there?"

"I don't think you ever mentioned it before."

"I needed time, Kurt. The Martins offered to do anything they could to help, especially Tracy, who was one of your mom's close friends. One day she found me in the backyard, just bawling my friggin' eyes out while I was watering flowers. Your mom's bleeding hearts started blooming a week after she died; how crazy is that?"

"Oh, Dad ..."

"Anyway, she asked me what was wrong, other than the obvious, and I said I was hiding. From you. From my own son. I was so ashamed – you were what kept me getting out of bed, you know? But that day you were asking so many questions and we'd watched The Sound of Music twice already ..."

"I'm sorry."

"Hey, no, don't you apologize, Kurt. You were just a kid. You were doing exactly what you were supposed to do."

Kurt sighed, guiding Romeo around a pack of tourists standing still in the middle of the sidewalk, their cameras all pointed to the sky. "So what happened with Mrs. Martin?"

"Well, she got this real resolute look in her eye, and she marched right into our house. And when she came out, she was holding your hand, and you told me you guys were going to have a tea party. And she did it once a week, for a year after that."

"Wow."

"Yeah, she was a real nice lady – I was sad to see them move away. I think you helped her during those tea parties as much as she helped me by taking you. But the point is, she knew I needed time for myself. You've gotta make time for you, Kurt, or you're not going to be able to get through this, okay?"

"Do you – god, I feel like an asshole for even suggesting this – do you think Blaine would hate me if I went back to work?"

Burt paused for a long time.

"That's – work, wow, bud. That's not exactly what I meant. There's a difference between a couple hours a week and eight hours a day, you know?"

"I can start slower than that. I just – Dad, I've got to have a creative outlet. I've got to have some alone time. I – I love Blaine, but I feel like he's suffocating me. Last night, it was all I could do not to take his head off. I can't sleep when he tosses and turns and paces – he opened and closed the refrigerator twenty-seven times last night. Twenty-seven times."

"What for?"

"I don't know – I guess he doesn't know what else to do. He walks around the kitchen, opens the fridge, walks out into the living room, walks back, opens the fridge – I have no idea."

"Huh."

"And I can't nap during the daytime like he does. I'm going on all caffeine and no sleep and I'm doing nothing during the day and it's starting to drive me crazy ..."

"Listen, Kurt, if going back to work is what you think you need, then go for it. But – have you guys started grief counseling yet?"

"No, not yet, we're still trying to decide between a couple of counselors," Kurt said, then stopped in his tracks, making Romeo yelp as the leash pulled hard on his collar. He'd just told his dad a blatant lie. They hadn't even discussed grief counseling.

"Okay. Well, make it a priority, Kurt. It's important, for both of you."

"I will."

"And, Kurt? Think about the work thing before you just go and do it, okay? I'm not saying don't do it, just – think about it first."

"I will, Dad. Thanks for letting me vent."

"Anytime. Love you."

"Love you, too."

* * *

The black cloud hadn't lifted when Blaine woke, stiff from the odd angle his arm had bent into during sleep. He saw the note Kurt left on the pillow beside him, and he wanted to crawl under the covers and never come out again. Kurt was gone.

He's coming back, he reminded himself, but the cloud got darker and the stone in his stomach got heavier.

Your fault your fault your fault his brain chanted at him, too much, not enough, your fault.

Blaine sat up, tried to think rationally, but the rational thoughts weren't coming. Instead, his mind swam with darkness, thoughts that he knew weren't true, but that he couldn't stop. His eyes prickled with tears and he hated himself in that moment, hated himself for being weak, for being so much less than Kurt needed and deserved.

* * *

Blaine jumped when he heard the door unlock, lost in his own world on the couch.

"Where've you been?" he asked, tossing the magazine he hadn't even been reading to the side.

"Hey, honey – Romeo and I took a walk, and I called my dad. I just needed a little time to recharge." Kurt unhooked Romeo's leash, his face serene and free of the worried wrinkles that creased his forehead the night before when Blaine felt like he was going crazy. It made him want to throw things.

"And how'd that work out for you?" Blaine picked up one of Romeo's tennis balls and began bouncing it angrily, creating his own percussion as floor-wall-hand beat out a staccato rhythm.

"Probably better than that ball is working out for you," Kurt quipped. "You're going to make a dent in the wall."

Blaine scowled and bounced the ball towards Kurt's feet.

"Will you talk to me, please?" Kurt picked up the ball and threw it to Romeo. "Are you mad at me for leaving this morning?"

Blaine looked up. "I'm mad at me for wanting you to stay," he admitted.

"Oh, honey, come here," Kurt sighed, grabbing Blaine's hand and tugging, but Blaine pulled away and ducked his head.

"It's just – all you all you had to do was take a walk and you look like you feel fantastic. I feel like I'm imploding and exploding at the same time, and I can't –" His face twisted with the effort not to cry. "I can't do it, Kurt. And I – I'm not being what you need, I know. I just – I'm miserable and I can hardly function and I haven't felt like this in years and I hate –"

"Shhh." Suddenly Kurt's face came into view as he squatted down before Blaine, his eyes wide and gentle. "This was never not going to be hell on earth, Blaine. You're doing the best you can, and I know that, okay? We can't both just fall apart at the same time, so I'm – I'm hanging in there. I don't want you to worry about me."

Blaine had never hated himself more. "I'm your husband, Kurt, and I love you – how can I not worry? I'm so sorry – I need to be better –"

"You need to give yourself a break."

"Did you eat today?" Blaine asked, purposely changing the subject.

"Yes."

"How much, Kurt?"

Kurt sighed, perching his perfect ass on their coffee table in front of him. "Some cereal this morning. And I got a coffee on my way home."

Blaine shut his eyes and rubbed hard on his forehead, trying to release the tension there. "Coffee doesn't count as lunch. You need to eat, baby – I know it's hard, but can you think of something that sounds good?"

"Cereal. And coffee."

"Kurt –"

"Come on," Kurt interrupted, "We can worry about me later. I feel fine. Let's worry about you for a minute – I got to recharge this morning; what do you need?"

"I need to stop worrying that you're going to starve to death."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to starve to death in the next hour, Blaine. What do you need right now? From me?"

Blaine couldn't think of anything in this world that he needed except his baby, and for his husband to be well. "Honestly? I don't have a clue."

"It's not your fault, you know," Kurt told him.

Blaine was caught off-guard. "What's not my fault?"

"Whatever you're sitting there blaming yourself for – I can see you doing it," Kurt said.

He never realized he was quite so transparent. And he didn't know exactly what Kurt was talking about – he wasn't really blaming himself, he was just stating a fact. It wasn't fair that Kurt was being forced to endure Blaine's lack of coping skills, staying up with him all night, listening to him cry. "But if I were just a little more –"

Suddenly Kurt wasn't on the coffee table anymore, but was in Blaine's lap, straddling him and pushing him into the couch cushions.

"Stop it," Kurt whispered, pressing his forehead hard against Blaine's. "You don't need to be a little more anything, do you hear me?"

Blaine nodded, and Kurt pressed a soft kiss to his lips, then another, then one more. Blaine let his eyelids slide shut as Kurt's hands came up to tip his head back. He whimpered softly, taking a deep, shaky breath in through his nose as Kurt's tongue opened his lips and slid slowly over his. He tightened his grip around Kurt's biceps, and Kurt pulled back just far enough to speak.

"Is this okay? Is this what you need?"

"I don't know," Blaine whispered. "I don't know what I need."

"Do you think that maybe you can just need me right now?" Kurt asked softly.

Blaine gave a slight nod of his head. It was so easy to need Kurt. He needed Kurt's wit and Kurt's sureness and Kurt's snark and Kurt's beauty and Kurt's love and god, the sex was good, too. On average, Blaine needed Kurt 380 days a year, and he knew the numbers didn't add up, but he didn't care. So yes, he could do what Kurt asked. He could just need Kurt right now, and maybe what Kurt didn't completely know was that needing Kurt right now would be no different than any of the other days since they'd met. Needing Kurt felt like a full-time occupation.

That little nod was all it took for Kurt to surge forward, capturing Blaine's lips in a heady kiss once again. Blaine surrendered to it immediately, letting Kurt explore his mouth, shuddering as Kurt's thumbs slid over his nipples.

That kind of needing Kurt turned out to be exactly what he needed, the relinquishing of control, having Kurt on him and over him, and Blaine had a sudden desire for Kurt to be in him as well.

"Kurt – god –" Blaine whined as Kurt's lips moved to his neck, sucking a purple mark in the dip between his shoulder and collarbone. But the second his hips bucked up, Kurt's hands were there, pressing him back down into the couch.

Blaine sucked in breath after breath of air as Kurt worked down his throat and into the neck of his t-shirt with his tongue. The short, prickly hairs on Kurt's face from an unusual three days of not shaving scratched deliciously irritated red patches into Blaine's skin, and he knew that later, he'd stare at them in the mirror, touch them with awe in his fingers.

He gasped as Kurt's thumbs drew circles around his nipples, but as he grew harder, guilt replaced need, curling in his stomach, tasting sour.

"Kurt, wait."

Kurt sat up straight. "What is it, honey?"

"Should we be doing this? I just feel guilty for feeling anything but awful, and there's no chance of this making me feel anything but good, and –"

"Blaine." Kurt sounded so hurt. "The whole point of this is to make you feel good. It's okay to feel good, honey, I don't understand –" he paused. "Do you remember the night Violet had to leave us? We made love then, and it wasn't terrible, was it? You didn't feel guilty then, did you?"

"No, but this –"

"This is happening because I love you and I want to be close to you," Kurt said. "It's happening because I want you to feel better. But if you don't want to ..."

Blaine's heart sank as Kurt closed off, shrinking even farther back from him. It was the last thing that he wanted to happen. "No, hey, wait. We can –"

"I'm not going to pressure you into doing anything with me, Blaine. If you don't want –"

"Okay, first, stop talking like we're teenagers," Blaine said, trying not to roll his eyes. Pressure me, really? "Second, I don't know what I want." It wasn't entirely true – he knew he didn't want Kurt to shut down, to leave. "I don't know, Kurt. I don't know what to think or feel anymore, and it all gets twisted, and this – I don't want this to get twisted along with everything else. This is ours, and it's so special, and – I just don't want to ruin it."

Kurt's face softened. "I love you so much," he said, bending to kiss his forehead. "This won't ever be ruined because it's us, Blaine. If we stop having sex because we want to protect it from feeling messy or scary or too much? I'm scared that we're the ones who will get ruined. Does that make sense?"

Blaine nodded slowly. It made – well, it made more sense than he'd have liked to admit. It made so much sense that he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it before, but he was thinking with his very broken heart instead of with his head, and Kurt was just better at it than he was.

"I just – I don't want to lose you." Kurt's voice wavered, and Blaine saw a single teardrop slip out of the corner of his eye when he blinked. "I don't want to lose any part of you – I can't do this without you."

Blaine's chest tightened and he took a shaky breath, wiping the tear carefully off Kurt's cheek with the pad of his thumb. "You're not going to lose me."

"I can't, Blaine, you – you're everything," Kurt breathed, falling forward, and Blaine caught him in a tight hug.

They clung to each other for a long time, then Blaine pressed his lips to Kurt's temple. "I think you can kiss me now," he murmured, the guilt washing away with the tides of Kurt's love.

And Kurt did, pressing kisses to Blaine's cheeks and lips and eyelids and the tender skin behind his ears. "I love you," he whispered, and Blaine sighed.

When Kurt worked his way back to Blaine's mouth, Blaine parted his lips and moaned as their tongues met, sliding back and forth, with delicious intention. He got lost in it, Kurt's hands in his hair and on his face, his hips pressing Blaine deeper and deeper into the couch.

"Kurt –"

"Hold on."

Blaine barely had time to register the words before the world tilted on its axis for a moment and he found himself on top of Kurt, straddling his lap. "Arms around my neck, legs around my waist," Kurt instructed darkly, and when Blaine complied, he wrapped a strong arm around Blaine's back, rose from the couch, and headed straight for the bedroom.

Blaine's stomach swooped down somewhere near his toes as he curled his face into Kurt's shoulder. He could feel Kurt's biceps against his sides, flexed and stretching against the sleeves of his soft t-shirt, and all the blood in his body seemed to rush to his groin from merely thinking about how strong Kurt really was.

"I love it when you carry me," he whispered as Kurt's free hand idly grazed back and forth over his ass.

"I know." Kurt eased Blaine to the bed, his hungry eyes never leaving Blaine's.

Every guilty, wrong feeling Blaine had, every doubt about sex with Kurt was washed away with the way Kurt was looking at him. Blaine lifted his arms, letting Kurt peel his shirt up his torso and over his head in one smooth motion.

"I promise we'll stop if this gets to be too much," Kurt said, shucking his own clothes as Blaine lay back. "Just let me know, okay?"

Blaine nodded, lifting his hips up as Kurt tugged his cut-off gray sweatpants down his legs, dragging his fingers over Blaine's calves.

"God, I'm glad I married you," Kurt murmured as Blaine was exposed, a pair of black briefs the only thing covering him.

"You only love me for my body," he quipped accusingly.

"Well, not only for your body," Kurt said with a grin, "but it certainly helps." He lowered himself over Blaine, hovering close. The miniscule space that separated their bodies was electrified – Blaine could feel him, though they weren't quite touching. His body jerked upward as their cocks brushed against each other through two thin layers of soft cotton, and Kurt closed the tiny gap between them, letting his weight rest on Blaine's chest.

"I love you," Kurt whispered against his lips, and Blaine moaned as Kurt rolled his hips more insistently, increasing the heat and friction. Kurt took Blaine's hands, still healing from the fight with the heavy bag, in his own. He lowered his head, kissing each of Blaine's knuckles softly, then turned Blaine's hands over and pressed kisses into his palms. Blaine felt like Kurt was trying to invoke some form of magic through his lips, to send some healing power into his skin and bones and nerves. It was so reverent, so intimate, that it sent chills through Blaine's body.

Hands tingling from the touch of Kurt's lips, Blaine brought his swollen hands to Kurt's face and pulled him close. They kissed, rubbing against each other for what seemed like an eternity, until Kurt finally let go of the back of Blaine's head to tug his underwear down to his ankles.

Blaine felt his cock flop against his stomach as Kurt gave him a searching look. "Still okay?"

"More than okay," he answered, kicking his briefs to the floor. "But it'll be better when these are gone too." He sat up, letting his hands ghost over Kurt's hips, and he drew his index finger over the long bulge in Kurt's tight navy boy shorts. Kurt's body quaked under his touch, and Blaine slid his fingers under the waistband, slowly sliding them down over Kurt's perfect ass and thighs.

"God, Blaine –" Kurt moaned, closing his eyes for a moment.

Then he dropped off the bed, his head nearly disappearing from view, and Blaine felt Kurt's hands clasp around his feet, pushing his legs up so that his knees bent close to his chest.

"Oh, Kurt," Blaine breathed, grabbing the backs of his legs and curling around them just as Kurt's tongue made contact with his skin. "Mmmm," he sighed as Kurt licked a path across one thigh, over his balls, and down until – "There."

Kurt mumbled a garbled reply, and Blaine felt him licking circles around his hole. He breathed steadily as his body and his heart seemed to bloom under Kurt's tongue. His skin buzzed to life, and he could feel his heart fluttering further open with each gentle arc.

Kurt laved at his skin as if it were a sacred, precious thing, ever so lightly running his hands up and down Blaine's thighs, until Blaine begged for more.

"Please," he panted, "Please ..." and sucked in a breath when the tip of Kurt's tongue pressed inside him.

"God, it's been a while since we've done this," Blaine moaned, pulling his knees back flush with his chest, ignoring the ache in his fingers, opening himself up to his husband.

"You're beautiful," Kurt whispered worshipfully, pulling backwards for a moment. Blaine's cock swelled as he felt Kurt's heavy stare, saw the lust in his eyes. "Hang on for me, honey."

Blaine's mouth dropped open when Kurt bent again, stiffened his tongue and began thrusting it in and out of Blaine's body.

He forced himself to open his eyes and watch the top of Kurt's head bob between his legs. "Kurt – Kurt – ahhhh –"

Suddenly Kurt's face came into view, a string of saliva dripping from his chin. "Shhh, just let me take care of you, Blaine."

Blaine's head hit the pillow again when Kurt started back, this time flattening his tongue and licking from Blaine's hole, over his balls and up his cock, following the trail back down again. Blaine's body shook as Kurt pushed inside him again. After a few shallow thrusts of his tongue, Kurt increased his efforts until sparks of pleasure lit Blaine up from the inside out.

"Ohmygod Kurt –" Blaine groaned, wanting desperately to jerk himself off, but kept his hands in place behind his knees, his feet dangling, ass exposed and pulled open. His eyes rolled back in his head; it was bliss and torture all at the same time. Desperate for friction, he was trying to curl up even more in attempts to rub his cock against his own stomach when Kurt stopped, pulling his face away from Blaine's body.

"I bet I could make you come, just from that," Kurt said thoughtfully.

"Fuck," Blaine grunted, secretly thinking that given enough time to stare and let his mind wander, he could come just from Kurt's completely debauched appearance, face red from exertion, wet with his own saliva.

"But I think I won't," Kurt continued, uncapping a bottle of lube he grabbed from the drawer on Blaine's side of the bed. He dribbled it over his hand and, with little warning, slid two fingers up inside of Blaine's body.

"Holy shit," Blaine swore, releasing his legs in surprise.

Kurt stopped. "Too much?"

"No, just move, Jesus –" Blaine grunted, rotating his hips, riding Kurt's fingers. Kurt curled his hand just so, and the pads of his fingers slid across Blaine's prostate.

In spite of already-aching thighs – they weren't as young as they used to be – Blaine held the angle and was soon letting out wanton moans.

Just as his body began to shake, Kurt withdrew his fingers. "Don't you dare come yet," he threatened. "I know it's been a while, but god, Blaine –"

Blaine opened his eyes, looking up sheepishly. "Sorry," he said, taking deep, shaky breaths in. "It's your fault, you know – the things you do to me – you'd almost come too if you could feel it."

"Shhhh," Kurt hushed him, placing his index finger over Blaine's lips. "I want to fuck you now."

He grinned. "Okay."

* * *

Blaine was trembling, moaning loudly as Kurt fucked him hard against their mirrored closet door. Pre-come from Blaine's cock had dripped down his leg and his fingers were squeaking against the glass as they grasped for something to hold onto.

"Fuck, Kurt, fuck me harder," he gasped, jutting his ass out, effectively pressing Kurt deeper inside him. "More, please –"

Kurt bit down hard on his neck as he wrenched Blaine's leg up higher from where it rested on the chair they'd dragged in from the kitchen. Blaine felt the burning stretch in his inner thigh and bent deep to let his head rest on the mirror, closing his eyes and surrendering to the pounding thrusts Kurt was now putting his back into.

He'd just encircled his cock in his own tight grip when Kurt pulled out of him with a jerk. He gasped, shocked at the sudden emptiness as his hole clenched around nothing, and his arms began to shake against the mirror. "What –"

"Blaine, honey, I'm sorry – hang on – bed –" Kurt grunted.

Blaine, desperate for the orgasm that had been purposefully delayed, threw their expensive linen comforter on the floor and perched on his hands and knees, his ass stuck high in the air.

"Will you turn over?" Kurt asked him.

"Anything, baby," he breathed as he flipped himself over. "As long as – wait, are you okay?" Kurt was shuddering above him on unsteady arms, and Blaine's hand flew to Kurt's side in an attempt to support him.

"I'm fine," Kurt gasped, but Blaine could see tears in his eyes.

"Kurt, baby, are you sure?" Kurt jerked his hips sharply against Blaine's in reply, and Blaine groaned. "Look, if you need to –"

"What I need, Blaine, is to come in your ass," Kurt said, his voice still shaking. Blaine watched him shut his eyes and take two long, deep breaths. "Now," he said with a well-recovered smile, "if you'd be so kind, put your legs on my shoulders and let me fuck you till you can't see straight, okay?"

Blaine was worried. Kurt looked about as strong as a baby bird, all his energy sapped from him. What Kurt wanted wasn't necessary – Blaine didn't need to be fucked to feel the love and care that Kurt clearly wanted to show him. He was perfectly content just to lie on the bed, touching lazily until both of them came. It was Kurt's heart that he felt so much while they were fucking, making love (which were two distinctive acts in Blaine's mind, but Kurt fucked so sweetly that even that felt like making love to him). That's all Blaine wanted to feel, and he'd felt so much of it already that day.

He softened his tone. "Baby, I can tell you're running on fumes. Just lie back and –"

"Legs, Blaine," Kurt ordered firmly.

Blaine sighed and obliged, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. The last thing he wanted was for what began as beautiful, perfect sex with his husband to turn into a nasty battle of wills. Kurt smiled smugly and uncapped the bottle of lube again. Blaine closed his eyes and breathed hard as Kurt's cool, coated fingers rubbed around his rim, then inside him. He heard Kurt slick himself up with a slurping noise of wet skin against wet skin, and Blaine's back arched a moment later as Kurt slid all the way inside him in one smooth movement. As much as he didn't want to push Kurt too hard, it was bliss to feel that full again.

"Now," Kurt said with a sly grin as Blaine's fingers twisted into the sheets underneath him. "Where were we?"

* * *

"Keep going keep going keep going," Kurt chanted silently to himself, legs and arms trembling as he pounded a hard rhythm into Blaine's ass. He'd started feeling like he might collapse twenty minutes prior, and it was all he could do to keep at it, but Blaine needed this more than he needed to stop.

Blaine was close – Kurt could tell by the way he was grunting, little uh-uh-uhs with each thrust in, his face twisted in pleasure.

"Come on, honey," Kurt encouraged breathlessly. "Come for me – I'm not even going to have to touch you, I can tell –"

"Please, Kurt," Blaine practically sobbed, the only coherent thing to come out of his mouth since Kurt started fucking him the second time.

"Come on," he repeated, his legs screaming at him as he tried to change his angle. "Come on, you can –"

"Kurt," Blaine moaned, interrupting him. "Kurt, fuck, god, fuck, Kurt –"

Kurt shifted so that he was leaning heavily on one arm, the other grasping firmly at Blaine's hip. He tucked his chin down and took one of Blaine's nipples between his teeth, nipping at it lightly, still driving a hard beat into Blaine's body with his cock.

Apparently Kurt's teeth on his nipple followed by a soothing lick of Kurt's tongue were all Blaine needed to push him over the edge, and he came with a shout, shooting thick streaks of come over his chest.

Kurt forgot his aching thighs and low blood sugar and lightheadedness for a moment as he watched Blaine's body spasm, and it was the clenching of Blaine's tight muscles around his cock that finally sent him over as well, pulsing violently into Blaine's body.

He nearly lost it again as he came down, a few tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes as he collapsed onto the bed beside Blaine, who was gasping, "Oh my god – oh my god – oh my god" to the beat of his still-twitching cock.

"Good?" Kurt asked, his heart beating like hummingbird wings in his chest.

"Oh my god," Blaine repeated, blinking sleepy eyes.

Kurt saw his out. "I love you, honey, but I can't stand to be this sweaty in bed – I'm going to go take a shower, if that's alright with you ..."

Blaine frowned. "No cuddles?" he asked.

"I'll cuddle with you when I'm clean, okay?" Kurt said, knowing full well that Blaine would be asleep in minutes.

"Okay," Blaine said with a pout. He rolled over and closed his eyes, hugging his pillow and looking sated and peaceful for the first time in days.

Kurt scrambled out of bed and into the bathroom and barely got the door closed before the tears started flowing. He turned the water as hot as he could stand it and stood under the stream, sobbing. He'd been running on sheer stubbornness for close to forty-eight hours (longer than that, if he was being honest), and stubbornness could only replace calories and sleep for so long. His conversation with his dad had revived him, but he'd given everything he got from that to Blaine, and he was all out of things to give.

Grief was exhausting.

After he'd finally cried enough to get it out of his system, he doused his loofah sponge with body wash and scrubbed the drying come from his stomach, quickly washed his hair, then slipped on his silk dressing gown. He tiptoed through the bedroom, where Blaine was out like a light, making occasional snuffling noises in his sleep, and perched in the large window seat they'd fashioned as a reading nook.

He tucked his knees under his chin and looked out over the city. It was mid-afternoon and the sun was shining brightly, reflecting off the windows of the building adjacent to them. It felt wrong. Kurt wanted it to be evening, wanted to ponder over what he was going to do as he watched the sun set. It was just another reminder to him that the rest of the world hadn't stopped moving just because their baby wasn't in her bed.

Think about the work thing before you just go and do it, his dad had said earlier.

But Kurt had thought enough in the twelve days prior. What he needed was to create.

(What he truly needed was a nap and a good meal, but sleep wouldn't come and his stomach was still rolling, so he settled for his sketchpad instead.)

And so, wearing nothing but a cobalt blue dressing gown, his hair still wet, Kurt sat on the couch and in a matter of hours churned out an entire line of women's mourning clothes on his sketchpad. They were to be made with raw silk and gossamer and lace, delicate and tragic in their beauty.

By the time he was done, he was out of breath, and he stared down at the page, not quite knowing what to think of it, until Blaine walked into the room, not a stitch of clothing on his body.

"I'm here to cash in on my post-coital cuddles," he said, still sleepy, folding his arms across his chest. "You never came back after your shower –"

"Blaine, I need to talk to you."

Blaine awoke fully then. "Ohh-kay," he said slowly. "Did I do something wrong? Are you mad?"

"No, honey, of course not." Kurt held up his sketchpad. "I just think it's time for me to go back to work."