He can't even count the number of times he'd picked up the phone over the weekend. The number of times he'd pressed speed dial three and let it ring once, sometimes twice, only to hang up and hurl the phone away as though it had burned him. The number of poorly worded text messages he'd deleted before he could summon up the courage to send them. And now here he is, hovering awkwardly near his locker even though the late bell has already rung because he still hasn't seen Kurt today, and there's this horrid, metallic taste in his mouth and the heavy weight of fear refusing to let him accept that maybethat's because Kurt doesn't want to see him. "Hey, you're late," Puck informs him as he breezes by in the direction of the choir room. Blaine forces a smile and shoulders his bag, but God he doesn't want to do this.
"Hey...Puck?"
He shuffles back around the corner, looking vaguely concerned. "Yeah?"
"I actually don't think I'm coming to glee today."
For a second, it looks like Puck's going to ask him if everything's okay, but he swallows it back. "What do you want me to tell Schue?"
"Can you just tell him I'm in the auditorium, practicing for tonight?"
"Stage fright?" he asks, nodding sagely. "Got it."
Thing is, Blaine's not exactly sure that makes him feel any better. He mutters his thanks, somehow manages another half smile, and trudges off. He doesn't notice that Puck stays there watching him, brow furrowed in concern, until he's out of sight. The auditorium, as he'd expected (regardless of what his treacherous mind had hoped for), is empty, and his own sigh hangs in the air for a moment after he exhales. Now that he's here, he's not sure he wants to be; exasperated with himself, he tosses his bag against the wall and slowly ascends the stage stairs. He could probably do with a little practice, anyway.
He's halfway through "One Hand, One Heart," moving through it on autopilot, when he hears it (or maybe imagines it): someone opening the door. His voice falters and he's breaking, stepping forward and squinting into the darkness in the desperate hope that maybe, possibly—
"You do know you can't do that during the performance, don't you?"
Relief hits him in a wave, so strong that he has to take a moment to just close his eyes and breathe. "Kurt."
"You sound amazing though," his boyfriend continues, hovering just in front of the wings, a small smile that Blaine knows he doesn't deserve decorating his lips. "Not that you don't always."
"Kurt," he repeats helplessly, wavering slightly on his feet and bringing his hands up to cover his face. "Oh my God, I am so sorry."
No response, and Blaine peeks through his fingers. Kurt's still standing there, watching him solemnly; as Blaine continues looking uncertainly at him, he moves further into the light. "Look at me," is all he says, simply, and Blaine drops his hands immediately. There are bags under Kurt's eyes and he looks pale, as though he hadn't slept all night either, and in that moment, something inside Blaine breaks.
"I—I can't even begin to…Kurt…Jesus, I am so sorry. I meant to call you. I called you a thousand times, and I just…I didn't know what to say. I was afraid that I was just going to end up making things worse, and I was…I am terrified."
"Of what?" he asks, so softly that for a moment Blaine is convinced he'd imagined it.
"Of losing you," he whispers, his voice cracking. "Of you realizing that I'm not good enough for you, and leaving to find someone who really does deserve you."
"Blaine," Kurt murmurs, fingertips brushing lightly against his arm. "I need you to listen to me."
"Of course," he manages, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on Kurt's face.
"You made a mistake. And as upset as I was about how everything happened—"
"Please, please tell me you know I didn't mean to pressure you," he implores desperately, promptly forgetting that he is supposed to be listening rather than talking. "I can wait for you. However long it takes, I can wait for you as long as you want me to."
"I know," Kurt whispers. "I know. You were drunk."
"It's not an excuse—"
"No. It's not. But this is you and me, and I think maybe that's worth a little more than some stupid error in judgment, don't you?"
His eyes flutter closed and he's suddenly talking—rambling, actually, stupid little murmurs that don't even begin to describe how he feels. Little phrases like, "I love you" and "I'm sorry" and "thank you." But then, suddenly, it's colder, and he opens his eyes in alarm to find that Kurt is walking away. "Where are you going?" he blurts, not caring for an instant how vulnerable it makes him sound, because this is Kurt, and Kurt apparently loves him no matter what completely idiotic stunts he pulls, but dear God why is he walking away?
"I'm letting you practice," Kurt replies, and there's a gleam in his eye that doesn't extinguish hope completely, a gleam that certainly hadn't been there when he'd first come in.
"Wait," he says, the idea coming to him all of a sudden. "C'mere. Give me your hand."
Kurt closes the distance between them once more, hand outstretched, and Blaine intertwines their fingers immediately. "Hold it to your heart," he breathes, slowly guiding Kurt's hand toward his chest.
"Like the song?" His voice is low.
"Just like the song." He watches Kurt for a long moment. "It's our blocking. It's not very romantic, is it?"
Kurt shrugs, a tiny smile back on his face. "Not exactly."
And Blaine's maybe never been more in awe of this boy, this beautiful, perfect boy who for some reason sees something in him worth keeping. Slowly, he leans forward to touch his lips gently against Kurt's, and in that moment, as Kurt's arms come up to encircle Blaine's neck and pull him closer, he knows that everything is going to be okay.