Time ticked by, and with every second Kurt grew tenser.

It was three hours until closing time, and he had been doggedly ignoring Blaine's texts, and even his calls when Blaine began to get worried. Kurt was normally not a petty man, but his behavior stemmed partially from his prolonged irritation and partially from his desire to see Blaine face to face. And he knew that if Blaine got worried enough, boyfriend or no boyfriend he would come to check up on him. In person.

The only thing was, Kurt couldn't figure out if the reason he wanted to see Blaine in person was because he wanted to kiss his face or explode angrily into it.

He had currently forgotten his task at hand, and his hands were still frozen on the strawberry cake mix. He began furiously stirring just as Gemma popped her head in.

"What's up, Gem?" Kurt asked stiffly. "Any problems out there?"

"No," she said softly. "Any problems in here?" she asked, and when Kurt only stirred the mix in icy silence, she added, "Heard anything more from Blaine?"

"Five texts, six calls. All ignored," he said, keeping his emotions in mechanical check.

Gemma grimaced. "I'll let you know when he drops by," she said, before ducking her head back out.

Kurt sighed heavily.

Half an hour had passed, and there was a slight commotion outside. He quirked an eyebrow, stepping forwards. He was about to step through the door when it burst open and Gemma began to push him back inside.

"I don't think you should go out there right now," she whispered urgently. "Molly's giving Blaine a piece of her mind."

"Fuck!" Kurt swore, brushing Gemma aside and rushing out. Molly, with her tiny height (she didn't even hit 5'0''), was poking an extremely bewildered Blaine in the chest.

"I don't even know how you have the BALLS to come around here, you Goddamn COWARD -"

"Molly!" Kurt shouted, eyes wide and nerves jumping. "Molly, shut up!"

Molly whipped her head around, her lips pursing. "I'll leave you two to deal with it. But not in the store."

"I have no idea what's going on," Blaine said plainly, his eyebrows raised heavily. "Kurt -"

"Outside, Blaine, come on," Kurt said tiredly, going ahead of Blaine and pushing open the glass door. "I don't want to make this any more dramatic than it has to be."

"Can we go to my apartment then?" Blaine asked timidly. "It sounds like this is a serious conversation."

Molly was about to protest but Kurt interrupted her once more. "That's fine. Farther the better."

The drive to Blaine's lofty apartment was held in stony silence. It was all Kurt could do to keep himself from shaking in anger, and anticipation, and nervousness and hurt and love-

"We're here," Blaine said in a low voice.

Kurt managed to keep his cool all the way up the stairs, through the lobby, the whole ride in the elevator, down the hall, and stepping through the door of Apartment 216.

The first words Blaine said immediately upon closing the door behind them came out in a low, cautious voice; a quiet demand more than a question: "What's going on, Kurt?"

Kurt glanced around the stylishly furnished living room, trying not to imagine his friend lounged on the different pieces of furniture, before staring daggers at Blaine.

"I don't know, Blaine, why don't you tell me? I knew that this thing between us was described as 'you and me,' but I have to admit I wasn't picturing a third party in the picture. "

"I don't - Kurt, what?" Blaine asked, his face screwed up. "What are you talking about?"

"I met him, Blaine. Weston. He came in to get some white chocolate cupcakes." Blaine's face fell, and Kurt scowled. "Yeah, THOSE white chocolate cupcakes."

Blaine was silent, his shoulders drawn up tightly, and he was looking at the ceiling abashed. "The thing about Weston..." he began slowly, and Kurt shook his head.

"Surprising thing is, Blaine, I really don't want to know what the thing about Weston is. I admit I was curious to know why you thought it was alright to string me along, though." He took a fortifying breath and folded his arms. "Honestly, it's like some sort of screwed-up game you play. It goes back to high school, Blaine, and I'm sick of it," he snapped. He balled his fists and just glared straight-on at Blaine. "So pray tell, what is it?"

"I didn't think you'd find out about him," Blaine said lowly. Kurt's eyes widened, his eyebrow twitching.

"What... what the FUCK is that supposed to mean?" Kurt screeched. "You didn't think I'd FIND OUT about him? Am I just some... side-dish? We haven't even had sex, so am I just some... some ego-test to see if you can get some gay kid to fall in love with you?"

"You're in love with me," Blaine repeated dazedly. Kurt groaned, stomping his foot. This shook Blaine from his reverie. "No, no, Kurt, really, that's not what I meant, Weston and I haven't been together for a while..."

"You know, that's another thing, because I already knew that. Through WESTON. He said you hadn't seen each other in a while," Kurt babbled angrily, feeling furious tears jump to his eyes. He wiped them away in fervor. Blaine looked positively torn, as if he was simply itching to hold Kurt and wipe away his tears himself.

"No, we'd been broken up. But last night..."

"Fuck you, Blaine!" Kurt interrupted once more. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! You know, fucking you is going to be the LAST thing on my mind from now on. So just go... find Weston and... laugh about how hilarious it was to lead me on, and I'll find a man who will be honest, and will commit with me, you fucking tool."

"That's a lot of profanity..." Blaine commented quietly, sounding rather broken. Kurt felt his shoulders vibrate with pure, unadulterated fury, but he simply pivoted on his heel and strode from Blaine's apartment without another word.

Kurt didn't even mind that he practically ran right into Weston himself on his way down the hall to the elevator. He was still in such a fury that he didn't even hear half of the words that came bubbling out of his mouth.

"Please," he shot, gesturing in false kindness to make way for his path. "You first. Go have fun with your boyfriend, don't let me stop you!"

Weston peered at him skeptically for a moment before turning on his heel to enter Blaine's apartment. Kurt watched him go, and as soon as the door shut he felt himself crumble, the solid block of rage that had kept him standing collapsed along with Kurt as he fell into the nearest wall and sank his shaking back against the wall. He propped his elbows against unsteady knees, face in his hands, and wept; not caring if the owner of the adjacent apartment from where he was sitting came out to find a pathetic weeping little boy outside their home. Because that's what Kurt felt like. A pathetic little boy. That was what Blaine had reduced him to. A hopelessly romantic teenage boy. Where was all of the progress that Kurt had made? God, or whoever was up there, only knew.

But a loud bang and a yell loud enough to be heard from down the hall jerked Kurt out of his self pity.

Kurt hesitated. It could have been any apartment. It didn't necessarily have to have been Blaine and Weston.

He just stared at his knees a moment, gathering all the courage he had for what he was about to do. He took a deep breath and stood, feeling electrical anxiety course through his veins.

He hadn't listened to a word Blaine was saying.

What a fool he was. He was still at the beck and call of Blaine, even when he wasn't exactly asking for it.

Well, that was reality. So he went to the apartment door, and knocked on it sharply. He smoothed his jacket's shoulders carefully. The door swung open.

Weston stood there, in all his glory, glaring at Kurt. Upon seeing it be Kurt, a huge fake smile plastered itself upon his face.

"You're from the cupcake shop! I thought I recognized you when you were leaving," Weston said genially. "What do you need?"

"I'm a friend of Blaine's, and I heard a loud noise coming from his apartment as I was leaving, so... is everything OK?" Kurt asked shakily. Weston's smile twitched for a moment, then grew wider.

"Everything is perfect, now that I'm back with Blaine," he responded smoothly. "But he's a bit tired right now, so you can come back later to talk with him."

"I was just talking with him," Kurt said, shocking himself with his bravery. "He didn't seem tired at all." The smile on Weston's face slid completely off, leaving only apathy.

"Listen, you're a nice guy, Kurt," Weston said lowly. "I think you should just get out of here. Forget about Blaine. Forget about everything that you heard. That you THINK you heard," he amended. "Just go to that elevator, and go back to your cupcake shop. You really are very good at that."

Kurt normally prided himself on being a cool-headed sort of guy. He sorted things out with reason, and words, and patience, and all of those other diplomatic things. But Kurt wasn't an idiot. He knew instantly, judging from what he had just seen and heard, what was going on here. And that rage he had just been harboring a few minutes ago conveniently came surging up again to his aid.

Kurt had never thrown a punch in his life, but the blow he struck to Weston's jaw startled him just enough to give Kurt time to throw another jab into his ribs, knocking the wind out of him and sending him to the floor.

Before the little time he had ran out, Kurt ran into the apartment in a frenzy. He would deal with Weston later (which was about to be soon, because Weston was struggling as Kurt scanned the apartment), but right now all that mattered to Kurt was-

"Blaine!" Kurt shouted, upon catching sight of him.

Blaine was woozily getting up, holding the side of his head. A large cut was steadily seeping blood, and the edge of the glass coffee table had shattered. The blood ran down Blaine's arm, dripping from his elbow.

"I should have told you," Blaine slurred, and Kurt rushed forward to put an arm beneath him to support him.

"No, that's fine, let's get out of here, right now," Kurt prattled, feeling jumpy.

Weston had since gotten up, walking forward with intent glinting in his eyes. Kurt groaned and quickly thought of something, anything.

"I'll call the police," he shouted suddenly. Weston froze, and Kurt nodded frantically. "Just let us go. Let us go and it will be infinitely better for you. My brother won't have to beat the ever-living shit out of you. And he will, you know, he's 6'4'' and just enormous."

Weston didn't say a word, but came forward. "I don't give a shit," he growled, and he grabbed Kurt by the throat. Kurt choked at the sudden loss of air, Blaine falling to the ground beside him. Weston pushed Kurt up against the wall. "You're not going to call anybody. You're going to leave here. And when Blaine gets stitches for his clumsy fall onto the table, you're not going to question it."

Kurt flailed his arms pathetically, and swung his knee upwards in the only self-defense move that he could think of. Weston crumbled, clutching at his groin, and Kurt bent to get Blaine, panting madly for air.

"Let's go, let's go," he said, feeling high on adrenaline, whisking Blaine upwards and dashing from the apartment. "We have to go to the hospital, Blaine, and you have to stay awake for it, OK?"

"Thank you, I really, really owe you..." Blaine groaned. Kurt shook his head.

"No, I'm sorry, but we don't have time for that right now."

Kurt had no idea how long Weston was going to stay down, and panic drove him madly from the apartment as fast as he could while supporting Blaine's weight. If he could just get to the elevator in time...

He hushed Blaine's continual mutterings of apologies and curse words as he lunged down the hallway, pressing the elevator button frantically. He heard an apartment door slam open, but he didn't need to turn to see who made the noise.

The doors opening to sanctuary slid slowly open, and Kurt practically leaped into it, frantically slamming the button. The last thing he saw before the doors shut were a pair of gleaming, furious, murderous eyes.

Kurt collapsed to the floor, holding Blaine tightly and hyperventilating into his hair.

"Blaine, I have to call 911, you're losing too much blood-"

"No," Blaine breathed. "No time, he'll get us. We can drive."

"Blaine don't be-"

But realization spread across Blaine's face. "The stairs..." he managed. "He'll take the stairs..."

"Okay we'll drive-"

But the same thought occured to them as they exchanged frightened glances.

"Your car keys..." Kurt whispered.

"Fuck!" Blaine shouted, the effect rather ruined by the coughing fit that occurred afterwards. Kurt shook his head, eyes wide, frantic to think of a decision.

"Wait, Blaine," Kurt said slowly. "Wait a hot second. I'm the son of the owner of a car repair shop. What the fuck have we been thinking?"

They ran to Blaine's car, Kurt quickly grabbing his boot and breaking the window of the car. Blaine's eyes widened.

"Kurt, my car -"

"I'll fix it, you dumbass, just get in the car!" Kurt screeched, unlocking the car hastily.

Blaine nodded, running to get into the shotgun side. Kurt grabbed at his purse, pulling out his emergency kit. He threw gauze at Blaine. "Press it tightly!" he commanded, Blaine nodding once more. He shuffled through the kit, finding his screwdriver. "Thank fucking god!"

Kurt quickly drilled inwards with the screwdriver, destroying the car's lock pins. He then twisted the screwdriver into the key latch and turned.

"I'm sorry, Blaine, but your car is now destroyed. I shall replace any parts you need, but later," Kurt said quickly. Blaine looked alarmed, but Kurt had already stepped on the gas. At that moment, Weston had burst from the stairs, looking murderous, but they were already speeding from the place.

"What do you mean my car is destroyed?" Blaine said, beginning to hyperventilate.

"Well, the key switch is broken. So anyone with a screwdriver can now steal your car," Kurt said distractedly. "My dad knows how to fix it. I had to do this to my car once."

"Why in the world -"

"Not everyone is as nice as Dalton is to gay kids, Blaine," he said sharply. He had his phone out, already having dialed the number to the Olympia Medical Center. "Hello, I have an emergency..."

Luckily, Blaine's injury wasn't as bad as the copious amounts of blood lost suggested. After the glass and blood had been cleared away by the nurses, Doctor Greyson (a pretty brunette woman of about thirty) announced the verdict.

"You're going to be just fine, Mr. Anderson. You'll need several stitches, but you'll be put right back to order."

Kurt sighed the enormous breath he had been holding in.

"Thanks, doctor," Blaine said, smiling weakly. He was still recovering from his low blood levels.

"However, I'm going to have to require to spend at least a night at the hospital, so we can monitor you to make sure you don't succumb to shock, and that you recover properly from your blood loss."

When Blaine had been sewn up and put right (Kurt courteously and silently grasping his hand the whole way), he got settled into the bed of his room. Doctor Greyson bid them farewell.

"I'll check in on you in a few hours. Visiting hours end at ten, Mr. Hummel."

Kurt, sitting on a stool beside Blaine's bed, glanced at his phone which read 9:30 pm. He looked desperately up at her, and she smiled amiably.

"We can make an exception," she said softly before exiting the room, closing the door behind her.

Kurt turned to Blaine, who lolled his head lazily to meet his gaze.

"Hey," he said, voice croaky and low.

"Hey," Kurt replied, hating the way his voice sounded silky compared to Blaine's, trying to loosen the growing knot in his throat.


Kurt was the one to break it. "I don't want to pry but... I think we need to talk. Or," he shrugged, "You talk minus me screaming."

Blaine pondered Kurt's vulnerable blue eyes searchingly.

And that's the end. That's where we left off. Imagine what you like, hate me if you want, but I warned you it wasn't finished. Hope you enjoyed what we had though? (Insert hopeful smile here)