Author's Note: So I may have been a little late on my promise to add to this, but I've been going back and forth all summer trying to decide if this is something I want to get into again and I've finally decided yes! I miss writing, this community, and all that it meant to me five years ago. I hope you guys will enjoy this new chapter, even if it is about five years late :)

CHAPTER 8

Blaine swallowed nervously as he locked his car and made his way over the entrance of the Lima Bean. It was 3:00 on the dot, their usual meeting time, and Blaine couldn't help but wonder if Kurt would actually show. He pictured walking in, sitting down, and once again waiting another hour for someone who clearly didn't consider Blaine worth his time. It was painful enough the first time it happened, and Blaine wasn't sure if he could go through it again. He would be lying to himself if he didn't admit that he liked Kurt, that every time Kurt ignored one of his calls or texts a little bit of hurt and rejection mixed in with the worry. At the same time, he didn't want to push him. Whatever was going on with Kurt, and it was clear there was something going on, he didn't need Blaine complicating things- didn't need Blaine holding his hand, running his fingers through that soft, brown hair, kissing him- Blaine shook his head and pushed down the images flashing through his mind. Kurt needed a friend right now, not a boyfriend, and whatever Kurt needed, that's what Blaine would be.

Kurt sat rigid in the sturdy Lima Bean chair. In front of him lay a mocha for him and a medium drip for Blaine, both untouched. After Blaine's anorexia accusations he had toyed with the idea of getting a something to eat, but he was so anxious about seeing him that his stomach churned at the thought of food. In hindsight, he understood why Blaine had come to that conclusion; Kurt had been losing weight, but it wasn't that he was purposefully avoiding eating, he just couldn't stomach it most days. He used to love to cook- he had been in charge of making dinner for him and Burt before Carole came into their lives, and his favorite part of the night had been tying his apron around his waist and trying some new, inventive recipe. Since the nightmares however, he just didn't have the energy. Food didn't taste the same either- like most things nowadays, things that he had used to find vibrant and joyful had turned dull, gray, even lifeless.

He was so tired all the time; the most he could do was complete the bare minimum of work required by his teachers before reaching for the box containing his supplies. His mouth tugged into a wry smile at the thought. His box of "supplies" made it sound like arts and crafts, and he guessed what he was doing was sort of like art- cutting the pieces that didn't fit with precision and care. The lines on his wrist made a lovely palette, crimson next to pink next to white. His humorless smile dropped at the thought. Some of his scars were healing, their thin white lines almost indistinguishable next to his already alabaster skin. It made him feel like a farce, as if his scars healing meant he was now fine as well, when that was the furthest thing from the truth. He resisted the urge to flee the coffee shop and remedy this problem; he knew he had already stood Blaine up once and he was lucky that he had agreed to another meeting.

His tugged his attention away from these thoughts at the sound of the tinkling bell above the entrance. Kurt's breath hitched as he locked eyes with Blaine and he had to remind himself to keep breathing as Blaine's familiar dark brown eyes crinkled and he smiled at him. He would never get over the effect Blaine had on him- even now, at his lowest point, there was still a moment when Blaine first walked in that Kurt forgot everything that had happened the past few days. He wasn't fucked up, he was just a normal teenager meeting a cute boy for coffee. Blaine raised his hand at him in greeting, the look of relief on his face so open and honest that Kurt's stomach twisted. Of course he hadn't expected Kurt to come, he even surprised himself last night when he finally texted Blaine back, but Kurt hadn't thought Blaine would care that much. The knot in his stomach curled even tighter at the thought of Blaine- kind, intelligent, funny, handsome Blaine- caring about him. He knew it was too good to be true, but for just a moment, it was a nice thought to have.

Blaine quickly strode over to Kurt's table and sat in the chair opposite from him. He lifted the strap of his messanger bag over his shoulder and placed it on the back of the chair, twisting slightly to make sure the strap was resting secure before turning back around to face Kurt. It was at that moment that Blaine saw what he hadn't seen when he first walked in, and the words tumbled out of his mouth before he stop them.
"God Kurt, you look terrible, are you feeling okay?"

Kurt blushed, knowing that Blaine wasn't wrong. He had seen how pale he had become, and his new color only further accentuated the dark circles under his eyes. Blaine sucked in a sharp breath, realizing too late what he'd said.

"Kurt, I-"

"No, no, you're okay. I know I'm not up to my usual standard of poise and elegance."

The response, saracastic, biting, and so entirely Kurt, hit Blaine like a blow. It was the first sign he'd seen in weeks of the boy he used to know beneath this ghost, and he wasn't about to just let it go.

"I don't know, most of the fashion week models I've seen are also sporting the 'near death' look."

Kurt's mouth dropped into an "O" and he let out a noise of surprise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. They locked eyes for a brief moment before dissolving into true laughter, more out of relief than of finding anything that funny. For a second, they weren't this strange, fractured thing that they'd somehow become. They were best friends, laughing in a coffee shop in western Ohio. They were Kurt and Blaine, two people who needed each other more than anything.

Kurt's eyes finally held some of the sparkle they'd lost over the last few weeks. He tugged unconsciously at his sleeve as he readied himself to make a witty retort, but his response died in his throat at the look on Blaine's face.

His honey brown eyes were wide and fixed not on Kurt's face, but on his hand that lay on the table between them. Following his gaze down, his eyes finally rested on his left hand, the sleeve of his navy blue henley, and small expanse of white wrist that existed between the two borders. A small, whitish-blue strip of skin, marred by neat red lines, which Blaine could not pry his eyes away from. He reached out a tentative hand, and every muscle, every nerve in Kurt's body froze solid.

"Kurt?" Blaine said softly, something between a question and a prayer. But Kurt couldn't look at him, couldn't see anything but those angry red scars, couldn't think anything but careless, stupid, thoughtless, how-?

His brain juxtaposed his body, working overtime as everything around it stayed completely still. And then Blaine's hand came to rest on Kurt's arm, and with a slow extension of fingers, he pushed Kurt's sleeve further up his arm, revealing an endless valley of red.

In history class once, Blaine had learned about how in medieval villages, people would get whipped in the town square for their wrongs. Many people, especially those with families or those without jobs, had to resort to stealing to stay alive, and were therefore whipped often. The description in his book had made his stomach turn- like raw meat, old scars being reopened again and again, valiantly trying to heal even as new ones were inflicted. Kurt's arm was nowhere near the likes of raw meat, but the idea was the same. Old, white scars, reopened again and again. Except this time, there was no medieval peacekeeper doling out the punishment. This was Kurt, doing this to himself. He was his own tormentor.

Blaine heard a noise akin to choking and realized it was coming from his own mouth. He felt Kurt's arm tense under the weight of his hand, and he locked eyes with his best friend. Before he could say a word, Kurt's wrist slipped out from beneath his fingers and he heard the scrape of a chair and the chime of the bell above the front entrance. He closed his eyes and opened them slowly again, but was still unable to see anything but the image of Kurt's wrist, and his face when he realized Blaine knew.

Blaine had seen darkness before. The look of loss in father's eyes as he told him that building a car together would never make him any less gay. The barely contained anger boiling up over the surface in the eyes of the boys who had beaten him up outside the Sadies Hawkins dance. And in his own eyes, in the mirror at night after the first week of Kurt not speaking to him, full of confusion and loneliness.

But never had he seen such hopelessness.

Blaine blinked again.

Kurt was gone.

Kurt's legs carried him as far as the car before buckling beneath him. He clutched the handle and wrenched the door open, collapsing into the driver's seat. He was taking shallow, shaky breaths, but it seemed like no matter what he did, he couldn't fill his lungs enough. His stomach felt like it was tied to a stone, slowly sinking further and further down as he gasped for air. Blaine's face swam in his vision before him- the look of utter disgust and the sound he made, like gagging. It played on repeat in his brain and it wasn't doing anything to help his pounding heart. So careless, Kurt thought to himself. He had allowed himself one single moment of thoughtlessness, and within that moment all his carefully crafted walls had come tumbling down.

Blaine had always been the chink in Kurt's armour- Kurt knew that. No other person, save maybe his father, got under Kurt's skin like Blaine did. Mercedes, Tina, Rachel, even Finn- they were all good friends and good people, but they had been too willing to accept Kurt's excuses. Kurt didn't blame them. He understood that it was much easier to pretend everything was fine rather than dig deeper into what was going on.

But now Blaine had seen, and Kurt was sure he would never speak to him ever again. The thought of life without Blaine- Kurt inhaled sharply and realized nothing was coming in. He felt as if all the air had been sucked out of his car. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white as he tried to calm himself and failed. He wanted nothing more than to curl up and give into the blackness that was starting to encroach on the edge of his vision. The car suddenly felt so small and suffocating, and Kurt was becoming increasingly dizzy, the nausea rose inside him-

There was a quick rap of knuckles at the window. The sound startled Kurt and broke him out of his spiral long enough for him to draw a few quick breaths. He looked out the window for the source of the noise and came face to face with panicked hazel eyes that were seeking him out desperately. Blaine dashed to the other side of car and pulled himself into the passenger seat. He was soaking wet. It must've started raining, Kurt thought numbly. He hadn't noticed it. His hands were still gripping the wheel tightly, and he willed himself to let go, to maintain some aura of normalcy, but his body wouldn't cooperate. Then he felt warm, strong fingers circling his wrist, and he allowed Blaine to take his hands and pull them into his lap. Blaine's fingers stroked the back of his hand soothingly, and Kurt tried not to read too far into things. Just because Blaine had followed him out here didn't mean he cared. He probably just didn't trust Kurt to drive and didn't want a death on his hands. Kurt thought that the worst things Blaine could do to him was hate him, but he never even considered how painful it would be to watch his best friend pity him.

"Why did you run away?" Blaine's too loud voice broke the silence that had settled in Kurt's car.

"I… I-" Kurt stuttered. His breath was picking up again and he pulled his hands away from Blaine in favor of wrapping his arms around himself. He sank further into the seat, trying to make himself as small as possible, and Blaine's eyes went wide as he watched the boy in front of him try to disappear.

"Kurt," he whispered, his voice much softer now, but still filled with the same urgency. "You're having a panic attack. I need you to breathe for me, please?"

Kurt would've laughed if he could. He would do nearly anything for Blaine, but this was something he couldn't control. He felt Blaine's hand gently grab his jaw and turn it towards him.

"Look at me, just at me. And breathe." He could see Kurt was trying to calm himself but that he needed more, something to distract him from his breathing. Blaine swallowed nervously and pried one of Kurt's hands off his arm, opening it palm up in his lap. He traced the lines on Kurt's palm slowly, and started to speak, looking out the front window shield.

"The first time I had a panic attack was my first night at home. After.. After the dance."

Kurt's eyes widened. Blaine didn't like to talk about what had happened that night; they had only spoken of it once, when Blaine first had told him the story, and every time after when Kurt tried to talk about it, Blaine would just grimace and change the subject.

"My arms was still in a sling, and I had bruises everywhere. Even just breathing hurt, because of my ribs. I remember I was upstairs, trying to take a nap, but I couldn't fall asleep. Eventually I just decided to go downstairs and grab some water or something, but I stopped on the stairs because I could hear my parents arguing."

Kurt's breathing was gradually slowing, thanks to Blaine's gentle ministrations and lulling tones of his voice. It was now Blaine who looked agitated, and Kurt almost wanted to stop him, to tell him that it was okay. But something in Blaine's face told Kurt that this was something Blaine had been holding on to for a long time, and it was now something he needed to get out.

"They thought I was asleep, but I could hear them talking about me. It was my dad, mostly, as always, but my mom wasn't doing much to defend me… My dad had always made it clear that he disapproved of my 'decisions' but I'd never heard him talk like this." When he said the word decisions, he made air quotes, and the corners of his mouth perked up in a humourless smile. Kurt didn't feel much like smiling, but he understood the impulse behind it. His whole life he had heard from bigots and the overly zealous church goers that being gay was a choice and his 'decision' would lead him straight to an afterlife spent in hell. After hearing, day after day, hate speech from people who were supposed to love thy neighbor, the only thing left to do was laugh. Laugh, or give up entirely. But wasn't that what he was doing- giving up?

"He wanted to send me away." Blaine's voice brought him back to reality. Even as his hands shook and his eyes closed tighter and tighter, his voice still did not waver. "I don't think he really cared where, to be honest. His first choice was probably a 'pray away the gay' camp, but my mom brought up Dalton. My cousin had gone there and he's now running for a House seat in Missouri, so basically my parent's dream. I think they thought that if they sent me there, I would end up like him. Maybe still gay, but at least smart enough to hide it."

Blaine curled Kurt's hand closed and shifted towards him, finally prying his gaze away from the window. He still didn't look at Kurt, just followed his fingers as they ran in between the grooves in Kurt's knuckles.

"But I think what they really cared about was getting rid of me. As long as I was gone, who cared if I was gay? Without me, they could just pretend I had never existed. They could tell people anything they wanted about me and no one would know the difference- I would finally be the perfect, straight son they always wanted. My disappearing would make their lives so much easier."

Blaine was crying now, so quietly that if he hadn't been looking, Kurt wouldn't have noticed. But he saw as the tears piled up and finally broke over, and it took everything in him not to throw himself over the console and into Blaine's arms. How could anyone have ever looked at this boy and not seen perfection? It was a mystery to him, and he wanted nothing more than to reassure Blaine of that. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when Blaine finally caught his eyes.

"I left because I thought I wasn't wanted, Kurt. And I wasn't. I think they loved me, in their own way, but it's just better for us now. I can be who I truly am without fear of disappointing them and they can project out whatever view of me they'd like, I'm not there to be hurt by it. It may not be normal or even healthy but it's the best option I've got right now. It's the only option."

The hand that had been resting atop Kurt's reached up and curled a finger into a soft piece of hair at the back of his Kurt's neck. Blaine's nails lightly scratched the soft area behind his ear and Kurt's eyes slid closed. He didn't bother to think of the repercussions, he just wanted to feel, and at this moment, it seemed like the world outside his car had never existed, and would never again.

"These past few weeks.. it feels like you've been leaving me." Kurt's eyes blinked open, meeting Blaine's. The look on his face was open and honest in a way that Kurt had never seen before. "And if you really want to leave me, if… if that's what you want, then you have to go. You have to do what's right for you, Kurt."

Kurt reached up and placed his hand over Blaine's, now resting at nape of his neck. He started to respond, but Blaine's fingers curled around his and squeezed tight. Blaine took a deep breath, cupped Kurt's chin with a warm, shaky hand and continued, "And I'll respect that, if that's what you decide. But… but if that's not what you want, then I'm here, okay? I'm here now and I'm going to be here when you need me, and even when you don't. I want to be near you, to be with you, and it's just important to me that you know that- that you are wanted."

The silence in the car was thick and punctured by shaky breaths from both boys. Kurt hadn't realized how much they had moved while Blaine was speaking, but he was now aware, painfully so, that their bodies were pressed up around either side of the console, and their faces only inches away. Their hands still rested intertwined on Kurt's shoulder, with Blaine's other hand stroking his cheek softly. For the first time since the locker room, Kurt felt content.

The reminder hit him so suddenly- the locker room, the nightmares, Blaine seeing his wrist- and he pulled back quickly from the other boy. He wanted nothing more than to run from it all, but he knew he couldn't. He had been naive to think he could hide from Blaine these past few weeks, and he wouldn't make the same mistake, no matter how loudly his pounding heart was screaming at him. He settled back in the driver's seat and shut his eyes, wrapping his arms around himself. He needed to tell Blaine, and he couldn't do it if their hands were tangled together or if he was searching for the look of fear in Blaine's eyes when he described it.

"I need you," he began, and he could feel the slip of tension from Blaine's body even as he isolated himself, "These past few weeks have been hell without you, and I shouldn't have ran away from you when you were trying to help. But Blaine, something… something happened. And I can't stop thinking about it, it's like it's stuck on a loop in my head. I can't even sleep without it making its way into my dreams, it's- it's making me crazy."

Kurt ran his fingers through his hair, resisting the urge to twist tight and pull up on the light brown strands. He hadn't meant to tell Blaine about this, but he felt as if he were in a sort of trance. The scene that had plagued his every waking moment these past few weeks was now playing on repeat behind his eyelids; there was no escape from it.

"A few weeks ago, Karofsky had pushed me into my locker again. It happens all the time, and normally I would just let it go, but I kept thinking about what you said. About 'Courage' and not letting yourself be a victim and— I don't know, I just couldn't let it go anymore. I was sick of being tossed around and I just… I didn't want to be scared anymore." Kurt's mouth had gone completely dry, and he swallowed quickly, the scene still running past him. "So I got up. I followed him into the locker room and started yelling— I don't really remember what I said but it felt good, and he had his back to lockers, and just for once, I wasn't the one who was afraid. And then he—"

Kurt's eyes screwed shut, his mouth trying to wrap around the words that were trying to come out, that he needed to get out. He lifted his knees up and wrapped his arms around himself, pressing his eyes into the cool denim. He could hear Blaine breathing next to him, and out the corner of his eye, could see his hand resting uneasily on his own leg, clearly wanting to reach out to Kurt. The revulsion was thick in his throat; he felt as if he was tearing something out of himself, something that had grown, latched on and filled the spaces between his ribs so no light could possibly get through. His insides were coated with shame, and he knew he would never be able to breathe if he kept letting it fill him. He felt a hand on his shoulder, tentative and warm, and for a brief moment, there was a crack in the fear that had kept him silent. He lifted his head, turned towards Blaine, and looked him in the eyes.

"And then he kissed me."