Thanks to my beta Arya Cole for reviewing and not killing me for this XD

I've been in the mood to write angst lately... this started out as a daydream I had listening to Kate Bush "Under Ice" and then "Stolen" by Dashboard Confessional (The Juli Version)

Disclaimer: I own nothing. The characters and Glee belong to Ryan Murphy. I'm just messing with them ;D

Warnings: Dark. One mention of selfharm. Hurt!Blaine and Hurt!Kurt

Hope you like it! R&R? 3


There is only silence.

They're already past the yelling, the blaming. And all that remains are shallow breaths and choked back sobs as they struggle to remain composed in front of the other.

A sign of weakness is a cue to a breakdown. And neither will succumb to it willingly.

Blaine sits at the piano, his eyes averted, staring at the white and black ivory keys that produce the soundtracks of his life on so many occasions when he simply needs some space and comes to this room, just to play, to sing, to forget. His usually composed posture has slumped down to reveal the broken man no one knows exists within him. The man Blaine had thought he had left behind, with the pain and the horror of the memories that only remain in his dreams, hauntingly surreal and tenacious. He fails to even register the warm drafts that flow through the room from the radiator. His skin is frozen, not with temperature, but emotion. He knows the feeling, knows its capability to destroy, to slowly dissolve him from the inside. But his cold heart refuses to beat any faster, its speed already hazardous to his health and he knows, he knows he should calm down, but the pain is just too much and yet his body doesn't want it to stop. Because he needs this pain, this pure, raw sensation that tells him this isn't a dream, defies his faith that soon, he will wake up, cold sweat making his shirt cling to his body and his hair sticking to his forehead, but with a warm body beside him, chest rising slowly and steadily and the sheer, beatific sight lulling him back into a serene slumber.

This place is a sanctuary to the boy. So empty save for the silent, welcoming grand piano that stands in the middle of the round, tall room, the seat adjacent to it in a way that makes it so alluring to simply sit and stare at it, stroke ones fingers across the smooth surface of each key with fervour and a sudden wish for the ability to know them as intimately as a master pianist. A sanctuary broken by the figure that stands at the large, bay window, with its baroque touch, large enough to provide the light for the entire room, so that the chandelier hanging sombrely from the ceiling like a weeping willow, has been rendered to being simple decoration, with a stony expression on his face as his hand settles on the cool glass, not searching nor tracing a pattern on it, laying there completely still. And Blaine sees the frustration in his eyes, the pain and the anger and he knows he can't do anything to alleviate it because the feelings are mirrored in him, slowly squeezing the glimmer of life out of him with every aching glance he dares shoot at the boy.

It hurts like a knife slowly piercing their hearts, painfully gently, but they try not to show it, setting their expressions into the bold defiance they have got to know in one another, as intricately as their knowledge of each other's mutual dislike of garlic or the colour orange.

"Ever since this started, I-I just… When did things become so complicated? When did we become so co-dependant that every moment not spent with each other is reason to suspect betrayal?"

And Kurt stares at him, daring, asking him to respond. Just stares with those impenetrable green blue eyes of his that Blaine had thought he'd broken, deciphered like the hieroglyphs in his history textbook that lies closed, forgotten at the back of his wardrobe. The eyes that, so many times, have caught him off-guard and made him shiver all over. And yet what runs over his skin this time, like an electric current, is not in any way accompanying a fluttering in his abdomen, like a torrent of brilliant fireflies. There's something different in the way Kurt looks at him this time. This glance is so foreign he can't figure out what to make of it.

"I don't know" Blaine whispers and the sound is so quiet it fails to echo even through the hall that otherwise projects even the quietest singer's voice to an audible amplitude.

"What happened to us?"

The question lingers in the air heavily as silence falls, and neither boy speaks because the answer both scares and infuriates them. They've discussed what needed discussing, words are irrelevant now to the situation. They can no longer fix this and their thoughts land, like a dark blanket of serenity, shutting out the sounds, the sights, the world.

And it would be so easy to play right now. He's played it plenty times before; the notes are right before him on the piano. The notes that refuse to speak to him like they usually do, the words that refuse to urge him to awaken them from tranquillity. They stand there almost like a blank sheet of paper, meaningless.

So he tries to suppress his tears as his lips tremble slightly and sings instead, his voice soft and hoarse.

We watch the season pull up its own stakes

And catch the last weekend

Of the last week

His voice drifts almost effortlessly across the room because he really means what he's saying and his eyes seem to plead Kurt to respond as his voice falters, unable to sing the next verse, letting a pervasive silence settle in between them again before Kurt turns away from the window and looks at the piano. Not at Blaine. Never at Blaine. His eyes stay fixed at the black surface that gleams in the cold winter light.

Before the gold and the glimmer have been replaced

Another sun soaked season

Fades away

Even though Kurt's voice succumbs to a mere, weak whisper through the last word, Blaine almost allows himself to smile. He wants to grin like a complete idiot again, like he always did when Kurt came bounding toward him and kissed him tenderly or simply when he saw a smile on the boy's face. A showing of happiness. Anything. Something he's seen in the boy's face so many times before he even let himself feel differently about him than a friend, a shoulder to lean on when life turned upside down. And when he finally changed their relationship, when he finally took that step to cross the thin line that had been slowly beginning to fray at the edges, between friend and lover, Blaine couldn't have been happier. His smiles became a constant even in the darkest nights and nightmares dissolve into the steam of every coffee cup he and Kurt share every morning, oblivious to the world and encased in their own bubble of happiness that seems strong enough to sustain even the sharpest needle.

Of course that had to be proved wrong.

But there is no elation on Kurt's expression. It seems to almost consider him, his position, the cost it would be to stay. And with a last, sorrowful glance, Kurt leaves him behind. His feet slide over the polished wooden floor carefully as he approaches the large oak door, footsteps resounding only just loudly enough for Blaine to hear them, every tap hurting more as he watches the love of his life leave the room. And this time, it's without the promise of return or reconciliation.

You have stolen my heart

It doesn't matter that Kurt no longer listens to him; that he's far out of hearing range by now and Blaine sees the front door open almost with a struggle and a figure stride through, stumbling and falling over his feet as he makes to escape. Blaine manages to stand, his legs shaking slightly as he makes his way over to the window, pressing his hand to the exact spot where the perspiration has remained from Kurt's handprint, a delicate hand engulfed in the icy surface.

You have stolen my heart

It only takes a split second, a rash, emotional tear in his heart for him to wrench open the window, ignoring the cold gust of wind that makes his eyes water and body freeze all over. But he doesn't care. When he hears Kurt respond, it's not the cold that drives shivers down his spine and pushes him down with pain so that the only way he can keep upright, is to steady himself on the whitewashed windowsill.

Invitation only, grand farewells

Crash the best one, of the best ones

And Blaine feels the words. The way Kurt sings 'farewell', with such conviction of its truth that it brings Blaine up and his voice takes over again as he sees Kurt take a breath too deep to be of intent of being used to go on singing.

Clear liquor and cloudy-eyed, too early to say goodnight

When Kurt regains his strength enough to sing the next words, it's all Blaine needs. His boy's eyes as they bore into Blaine, asking for an explanation, asking for help and yet, so shut off that the world itself cannot find a place within them, leaving them empty and darker than usual. But Blaine needs no more strength, needs no more persuasion about what he knows he needs to do.

You have stolen my heart

It's cold outside, but he doesn't even notice the piercing icy blast that thrashes against his body, clad in jeans and a t-shirt with only a grey cardigan to conceal the skin from indoor cold.

You have stolen my heart

By the time he throws open the front door, Kurt is gone, his soft footsteps etched into the snow are fading as the silver flakes attempt to cover them up for him, to hide him from Blaine. The consternation that spreads through him makes him tremble as he races through the winter, his footsteps falling in perfect synchrony to his heartbeat that steadily increases, pulsing adrenaline through his tired veins.

They are far apart enough not to hear their voices join together again, in melancholy forte as they pierce through the veil of blast from the wind and the leaves that persist on ridding themselves of the trees that harboured them all summer.

And from the ballroom floor we are in celebration

One good stretch before our hibernation

The leaves fall with the lithe grace of a dancer, swaying in the gentle breeze that brings them to the ground with gentle persistence.

And Kurt seems to fall with them, into an abyss.

Our dreams assured and we all, will sleep well

He barely tries to think about where he is. The campus grounds extend over an area too large to run away from in the amount of time he's been trying. The snow covered scenery does nothing to assure him of a possible location, but he's fine. As long as the snow remains, covering up everything in sight, he is fine.

Sleep well

It's only a matter of time, a fraction in his life, he knows. Blaine will find him. He always does. He did when Kurt called him in tears about Karofsky, he did when Kurt couldn't think of a way to save himself other than to just run away from McKinley. In his own way, Blaine was there always. He will never know or comprehend just how much his simple, one-word texts have saved Kurt's life, over and over.

Sleep well

What Kurt will never know, is that without him, Blaine would be long gone. He knows fragments of the older boy's life, of what caused his transfer to Dalton. Never all of it. Kurt will never know that every holiday that Blaine goes home, the jocks of his old school find him in a park or the supermarket and do their best to renew the scars, the cuts, the bruises on Blaine's arms. There is a reason he wears his cardigans and long jumpers so protectively. A reason he has a permission slip that withdraws him from Gym class.

Sleep well

But now, those things seem to matter so little. The truth is that they are both here because of each other. And their co-dependency saved their lives on more than only one occasion. Abandoned bottles of pills and razors are forgotten in each other's presence, like a repressed memory that recovers in the loneliness of the other's absence.

Sleep well

Kurt can easily make out the grey cardigan that he bought Blaine for his last birthday, because his old one got torn and ruined for reasons Kurt will never know. Blaine says it was an accident when he was preparing a meal at home. The trust they have developed keeps Kurt from questioning.

The two figures stand apart, their eyes locking in a way that a blizzard could not interfere, if it tried. Dark hazel meets clear sea blue and electricity sparks up in Blaine's body, the way it did when they first met, when Blaine grabbed Kurt's hand with no idea of how badly emotionally scarred the boy was, when the boy finally spoke and Blaine felt his heart leap in sympathy and understanding, the spark flares through his body and makes his breath hitch as he tries not to cry. But Kurt's eyes betray him. He may be composed and standing upright, but his eyes will always be his weakness. As one hot tear escapes the prison hold he built up, it trails over his cheek slowly, like a caress and Blaine instinctively moves forward as if to wipe it again. When Kurt moves backward and slips, he stops. Neither noticed that they had reached the frozen lake. Kurt holds himself still on the ice, his eyes never leaving Blaine's as the older boy raises his voice again.

You have stolen my

You have stolen my

You have stolen my

You have stolen my heart

When their voices blend together at the last word, they barely notice that they are moving towards each other. Blaine stops at the edge of the lake and Kurt is only a few steps away, his feet moving carefully, calculated, over the ice.

The smiles that grace their lips are faint, the lyrics conveying more emotions than words could ever do, forgiveness stinging their voices and most of all the love they know will bring them back together no matter what, their pure addiction to each other.

I watch you spin around in your highest heels

You are the best one, of the best ones

We all look like we feel

As they remain standing still their voices ringing through the air, Blaine takes over for the last verse again as Kurt's eyes shine with fresh tears that roll down his rosy cheeks and fall gently to the ground.

You have stolen my

Their eyes remain locked, blissful ignorance of the world around them keeping them together, unable to move.

You have stolen my

The snow fall, the drizzling rain, the howling wind, it all stops. Of their winter wonderland remains nothing but ice.

You have stolen my

And when the ice cracks underneath his feet, neither boy seems to notice.

You have stolen my