Blaine didn't normally have an attachment to his phone, but tonight he couldn't let go. He flipped it over in his hand. He tapped it against his thigh. Blaine tried to play Candy Crush to pass the time, but he kept closing the app in case he missed a message. He constantly illuminated the screen, constantly opened his texts, and constantly checked the volume; Blaine couldn't afford to miss a thing. Kurt was never late. Never. If he was, he always called. Always.

At first, Blaine hadn't panicked. 10 minutes was fashionably late. If traffic was bad, it would cause Kurt to be slightly behind. Maybe he had run into a friend, co-worker, student, anything. They could have held him up. Blaine was sure he'd get a message shortly.

He began to fidget after half an hour, nervously looking out the window at every chance he could. At one point, he thought he spotted Kurt, but it must have just been his imagination. By 45 minutes, Blaine plopped himself on the couch, his leg bouncing. At the hour mark, Blaine had the phone in his hands. He had messaged Kurt. He had called. No answer.

It wasn't just one message, it was dozens. Starting off as sweet and teasing ("what's this? Mr Hummel is late?") to slightly worried ("Kurt? Are you coming?") to desperate ("Please call me right away. Please."). Still no answer.

Blaine's mind began to steer away from logic and into the realm of pure emotions. Kurt was mad at him. He was mad Blaine hadn't cleaned up his laundry like he'd been asked to. He was mad about their squabble last night over what to watch on TV. Or… or he was upset. Upset with Blaine for not telling him he was spending Saturday with Sam until right before he left. Upset that Blaine didn't want Kurt to give him a blow job this morning. Upset that Blaine had cheated.

No. No, they were past that. They talked about their problems and they healed them. They patched the wounds with band-aids before they became scars. They had talked about all those things, discussed them, cried over them, yelled over them, fixed them. It's what they did, now and forever.

The world was grey, bleak, dripping down the walls. Blaine's eyes stayed unblinking on his phone.

After 83 minutes, Blaine threw on his coat and left. Maybe he was overreacting, but his stomach felt sick. He walked briskly along the streets Kurt would normally take on his way home. It was dark, but the streetlights lit up more than enough to see. Blaine peered into every store, around every corner, down every alley way. For not even one second did Blaine's phone leave his hand.

Blaine's pace increased as the minutes dripped by. He was walking so quickly the street signs began to blur. Blaine was near hysterics, trying to keep calm as fear pressed down on his chest. He had just passed another alley when he suddenly stopped.

No. No. Oh God, no.

His heart knew Kurt wasn't dead but his heart ran with his feet towards the worst. A hand flew to Blaine's mouth, his eyes wide. Slowly, he swallowed and crouched down, letting the fighter in him take over. Blaine placed a hand on Kurt's back, choking back a sob when he felt the small body move underneath it.

"Kurt. Baby, it's me."

Kurt didn't say anything. His eyes didn't open. But Blaine heard a whimper pass through his lips.

"I need you to look at me. Can you do that for me?" Blaine got closer to the ground, gently stroking Kurt's hair back. He flinched upon see the cuts and bruises on his angel's face.

The bright blue of Kurt's eyes had never been so beautiful nor terrifying before.

Blaine gave a sad smile, his eyes filling with unwanted tears. "That's it. That's my baby. I'm going to help you up now. You're safe, okay?"

Kurt gave a small smile in return. "Didn't think you'd get rid of me that easily, did you?"

Blaine's tears choked on his laugh as he began to slowly get Kurt up. Kurt was strong, so strong, but that didn't stop Blaine from feeling the weak shake of his body and the hurt in his eyes. Kurt finally stood, leaning onto Blaine, who was holding him much tighter than normal.

"I'm okay, Blaine," Kurt's voice was soft, but nowhere near broken, "I—I did the right thing. I'm okay." Blaine looked into Kurt's eyes and knew he meant every word he said. "I'm s-so sorry, I—"

Blaine cut Kurt off with a "shh" and a press of his lips to Kurt's. "You can tell me later. We have all night."

Kurt nodded and they began to slow and steady walk back home. Kurt leaned against Blaine, and Blaine leaned against Kurt; it was hard to tell who was more dependent on whom. Blaine held Kurt safe, and Kurt held Blaine reassuringly. They had gone through worst, and they could go through it again, that much they knew. They would talk about what happened through the darkness of their night. They would talk about what happened, what they can do, how they can prevent it from happening again. How they can help fix each other. They would hold each other, whisper secrets of love, never letting go. They would talk until the sun finally shone through.

Because no matter how dark and long the night, the sun always awaited Kurt and Blaine, bringing its warm, loving light.