Author's note: okay guys, getting in to fanfiction writing is so damn difficult! This will still sound a bit weird because I'm trying to connect with Kurt (from his perspective, I guess) to write, but it's not really working out. I'll get there, I will!
I'd also like to say... whoa. Just, wow. The response I got from the first chapter was phenomenal- all of the reviews and alerts, sweet jesus! Thank you so much, it means as much to me as you guys probably know yourselves. 3 Here's a quick update as a genuine thank you! Happy reading!
Also, does anyone else use the half-page view option here? I almost cried at how much shorter every single fanfiction is on full-screen mode. I'll be sticking to my half-page display, thank you very much!

Kurt pulled his coat closer around him, rubbing his knees together to warm himself up. The air in front of him was coming out in little puffs in the cold night air, most of the lights of the hotel behind him switched off. With the way he was aching, which lights were on and which were off mattered very little to him.

It was pathetic, and stupid, and he shouldn't have ever done it. In one momentary lapse of judgment, Kurt felt as though he'd lost so much more than he'd even lost in the beginning. In retrospect, his falling out with Blaine had been insignificant compared to how he felt right now. Picking up his cell phone and calling Blaine to ask him to pick him up had been easy when he was in trouble. It should be that easy in the first place, because Blaine was his friend and they shouldn't be falling out over unimportant things like… being bi-curious for a week. Oh, the memory made Kurt miserable, and he went back to tucking his chin in to his collar and trying to warm himself up.

The drying tear-tracks on his face were sticky, and oh Gaga, he had to look a mess. He hadn't even stopped to look in a mirror before rushing out of the hotel, and right now Kurt was regretting that. Unfolding his arms, he brought up his iPhone and tried to observe his reflection in the screen, a frustrated sound leaving his lips at his unclear reflection. His eyes were red-rimmed from the crying he'd done and his hair was… a mess. He didn't even know what he was wearing under his coat and he didn't particularly want to know. All he knew was that it was too tight, too cold, and that he would be glad to get back to Dalton and crawl in to his warm, soft bed.

With an exasperated sigh, he pulled his hand away from his hair. He had no chance of fixing it until he got home. For a few good moments, he watched his reflection stare back at him, mapping out "Hummel, what are you doing to yourself?" He tipped his iPhone when he noticed something alarming in his examination, his hand covering his mouth in shock. There, on his neck, a patch of dark skin. He didn't need to have a real mirror to know that it was a shade of red. Now that he'd had an hour to compose himself and accept what had happened, all he could do in response was snap his collar up and shove his iPhone in to his pocket, wrapping himself back up in his arms.

No one could deny that Kurt Hummel was a fighter. The tears that slid down his cheeks displayed everything but weakness.

Blaine never took a long time. Even when he'd lived in Lima and had to wait, theoretically, two hours for the older boy to reach him, it always felt shorter. So when he saw a familiar car pulling up by the road, he wasn't surprised that it had only felt like ten minutes since he'd called him. He couldn't even make it three steps from the wall he'd been hiding behind before a pair of strong arms wrapped him up in a tight, desperate hug. That distinct scent of Blaine wafted against him and Kurt melted against the shorter boy, pulling his arms from his body to wrap them around Blaine in return. The sudden movements made him wince, and Blaine seemed to notice, because he stiffened.

"Kurt." His voice was harsh, a little wobbly. He was scared. "God, Kurt. What the hell are you doing in Columbus?" Kurt could feel Blaine swaying him on the spot softly, and despite himself, he let himself be rocked in those sturdy arms.

"I didn't even know I was in Columbus, Blaine," he muttered against the others neck, a warm scarf meeting his chilled cheek. His fingers curled in the back of Blaine's coat, finding all the warmth he could. "I woke up here."

Blaine pulled away from him and placed his hands on Kurt's shoulders, looking at him with those expressive eyes. Kurt tried to look away, but Blaine gently, firmly, took his chin and tipped his head back towards him. Any other day, Kurt would have been tingling in his stomach and thinking this is the moment, completely incapable of rational thought, but right there, right then, he knew it wasn't. Right now, Blaine was playing mentor and Kurt felt like a young child being scolded.

"Where were you last night?"

A pause. Kurt looked ridiculously guilty, and he didn't even know why.

"Kurt."

"Jayson took me to a house party," the countertenor sighed, eyes dropping to the pavement. It was cold. It kind of hurt to stand. Why wasn't Blaine letting them get in the car? "He told me it would take my mind off of things…"

Kurt didn't usually drink. While he was usually willingly designated driver, he didn't express a huge desire to consume alcohol otherwise. But Blaine was starting to see where this was going. Kurt was taken to a house party, Kurt didn't have to drive, he drank, someone booked him in at a hotel… okay, that was a little bit of a farfetched idea. The hotel was expensive. Kurt seemed to have the same thought at the same time, because both sets of eyes glanced at the four-star building. It was a little bit suspicious. Kurt realized that Blaine was going to start making up scenarios in his mind soon, and he was desperate to keep that from happening.

Alas, Blaine understood that something wasn't right, and there was something Kurt wasn't telling him. Blaine didn't like it, that protective tendency in him wanting to reach out and shake Kurt in to telling him what it was. His lips parted and he was about to speak, but Kurt purposely beat him to it.

"No," he whispered. A hand lifted and he placed a gloved finger over Blaine's lips. They didn't look as flushed as they usually did when his cheeks were bitten by the cold. Shifting on his feet—the sound of his heeled boot making a clop against the pavement—Kurt tipped his head towards the car. "Blaine, can we—please? I don't feel too good." And there was the trump card. No matter what, Blaine wouldn't refuse him if he brought his health in to it. Blaine didn't know enough details to realize that they were effectively dodging the topic of Kurt's health if they dropped it.

Kurt didn't wait for an answer. He gave Blaine a little smile and slipped from his friend to walk around to the other side of the car, clearly unsteady on his feet with the lasting effects of alcohol. Kurt was probably still tipsy. Maybe a lot tipsy, because when he grabbed the door handle to Blaine's ride, he missed about three times before he could finally get it open, seeing Blaine already fastened in at the driver's side. Slipping in, Kurt couldn't hold back the sharp gasp of pain when he sat down.

When he sat down.

He ignored Blaine's eyes. His hands worked on fumbling messily around for his phone, or his wallet, or god knows, just doing anything to get the feeling of those eyes off of him. He withdrew his iPod and handed it over to Blaine with a hopeful smile, and he could see how difficult it was for Blaine to take it, accept it, and not ask about what he'd just witnessed. Kurt appreciated his soft-eyed friend more than ever for it. In the back of his mind, he knew he was meant to be angry with him right now, but he couldn't bring himself to feel that way when Blaine was linking his iPod up to the auxiliary cable so that they could (quietly) blast Wicked on the short drive home.

It only took five minutes for Kurt to fall asleep.

"Blaine, I don't think he's going to wake up. The kid's flat out."

"He's been asleep for thirteen hours, Wes. If I don't wake him up now, he'll be screwed over for classes tomorrow."

"It's already six in the evening. You might as well let him get up on his own , and maybe he can sleep early tomorrow or something."

"David, this is Kurt. He'll kill something if he doesn't have some kind of a routine."

"Oh, right. Remember that time he got up a half hour late and he turned up to breakfast with a cap on? He went furious when Mr. Hicket tried to take it off of him."

"Wasn't that the day he threw his coffee over Jeff for trying to take it, too?"

"Yeah! He's still won't sit with Kurt during coffee break in case—"

"Guys! Guys, shut up! Wait, what are you even doing here? You're probably the reason he doesn't want to wake up."

Sound didn't sound too good. Kurt groaned and rolled over, pushing his face in to his mountain of fluffy pillows and hiding himself away. Breathing in deeply, he noticed that they didn't smell like his sheets. They did smell vaguely familiar, though… they smelled good. A tiny dreamy smile fell across his face and he curled up, hugging the sheets in his arms.

His attention to the sounds—he faintly heard some kind of door shutting or opening— disappeared in favor of the sense of touch, which was so much better, and it wasn't until Kurt felt the bed dip down that he decided that he was actually awake and couldn't fall back asleep immediately. Well, damn.

"Hey, Kurt?"

Kurt made a sound of acknowledgement to prove he was listening.

Behind him, Blaine smiled happily and he reached out to pull the covers up Kurt's body, covering his shoulders.

"I brought you some coffee from the cafeteria. You should probably try eating, too. It's been a while."

At the mention of coffee, Kurt seemed to perk up enough to take interest. He rolled over and faced the brighter side of the room, eyes scrunching up in discomfort. Immediately, Blaine stood up and flicked the light off, leaving just the bed-side lamp on. It was still early enough in the year that six pm meant that it was already pitch black outside.

Kurt tried to sit up, but a dull ache made it difficult. Playing it as smoothly as he could, he used the pillows as a backrest and half-lay, half-sat, reaching out for the coffee Blaine had spoken of. It was still warm, but not piping hot. The perfect drinking temperature. Just the feeling of the liquid sliding down his throat made him feel amazing, his head tipping back in bliss. Those blue-green eyes of his opened and he glanced at Blaine from his position, regarding him with nothing short of defense. He had known Blaine enough to know that he was playing mother hen right now, and he had his memory from four am that morning. Blaine had questions and Blaine wanted answers, but Kurt wasn't willing to give them.

"Thank you for the coffee," he eventually said, voice raspy as he spoke quietly. "And for all of your help. But you can leave now."

The words felt bitter in his own mouth. Kurt was aware of how effective his bitchface was. But he wasn't prepared to talk about this. Not even if Blaine was going to give him those hurt looks for hours—which was why he was working on getting the boy out of his room before he could do just that.

"Kurt, what am I supposed to do?" Oh, sweet Gaga, he was going for the sentimental approach. Kurt had to whip up about ten mental walls the moment he heard the tone in Blaine's voice, pointedly keeping his head held high while his eyes landed on the opposite side of the bed, at the bed covers crumpled at the wall. They were Harry Potter covers. They were most certainly not his. Blaine had dressed his bed in Harry Potter covers. Kurt didn't even know how to begin processing that one. "You blew up in my face because of Rachel. I just wanted a little bit of support, you know. As my friend, I thought you could give that." Kurt hadn't quite realized how Photoshopped they made those promotional photos before. Daniel Radcliff's eyes were like… glowing orbs, or something. "But you've been ignoring me since. I tried texting you, I tried calling you. I even—I even left you that note and you completely ignored it. Then you call me up at four am in the middle of the night and ask me to drive out to pick you up and you're completely ignoring me again!"

"Blaine, I don't want to talk right now!" Kurt's eyes snapped up from the bedspread, brows furrowed and eyes focusing on Blaine. "I don't want to discuss this. Or anything to do with this. Or last night. Right now, I just want to be left alone."

The look of confused hurt in Blaine's soft eyes really stabbed at him. But Kurt knew, he just knew that they couldn't talk about this right now. He could already feel tears threatening to build up, and he needed the time to understand what had happened last night himself before he could confide in anyone else. He hated that Blaine had ideas in his head, and he hated that they were all wrong and that he was letting Blaine worry about the worst-case scenarios. He just wasn't ready to correct them yet. It would mean talking.

His friend didn't seem to need much more convincing. He stood up and he left the room quietly, leaving Kurt to place his coffee down and wipe at his eyes with his sleeves, the room feeling cold and lonely when the only sound bouncing off of the walls were his sniffles.