likesboys | 'cause home is in your arms, and i don't know where you are

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'cause home is in your arms, and i don't know where you are

It took exactly three days after Puck's disappearance before Kurt caved to the inevitable. Life was full of patterns, most of which hadn't served Kurt very well in his years, as though everything had started out arranged beautifully and in an ordered fashion, before life decided to take it down, tile by tile. And with Santana disappearing first, then Wichita, Pierette, Lisbeth, Craig... even Puck now, sometimes it just feels like there aren't too many more steps before the island will take everything away, every single thing it's seen fit to give Kurt. Because so little in life gets to be eternal, so little gets to be permanent, aside from loss.

He's needed to fall into the arms of sleep while wrapped in Blaine's own, because otherwise he finds himself waking suddenly, never sure if the nightmares that plague him are yet another of many gifts that the island's been giving as of late, or if they're just natural. Born out of the one fear that Kurt's never been able to meaningfully stamp away— that of having yet another person slip through his fingers.

When the sun streams into the hut that morning and Kurt blinks blearily, his heart immediately races in concern, worry flooding his nerves to the end until the third blink brings the world into focus, Blaine's dark lashes fanning over his cheeks. Carefully keeping his breath shallow so as not to wake Blaine, Kurt exhales quietly, trying to lull himself back to sleep. By the time Kurt manages, his legs are all tangled in the sheets of the bed, one draped over the bend of Blaine's knee as his arm rests over Blaine's waist.

Maybe that way, some part of him figures, Blaine can't disappear without waking Kurt first.

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Blaine comes awake slowly, in increments of consciousness. At first, he's aware of the weight on waist, a warm and oddly comforting presence until he also realizes his knees are being held down by a similar weight. And then realizes he doesn't really recognize the room he's in or the sheets tangled around his middle or the identity of the person apparently pressed against him from behind.

Instinctively, Blaine goes tense all over, suddenly wide awake and a little bit terrified as he frantically tries to remember how he might have gotten into this situation. Was he at a party? Did someone slip him something?

God, has he... Has he been abducted?

Chest suddenly tight and heart hammering, Blaine finds he can't move. Or even speak as he curls his hands tight in the sheets beneath him.

Movement in the middle of sleep isn't anything new for the couple, and it doesn't disturb Kurt out of sleep at first, a soft sigh passing through his teeth as he shifts to try and better anchor himself against Blaine. Kurt's considered it fortunate that the both of them don't thrash much in sleep, that there aren't many surprises aside from whether they wake up facing one another or with their bodies pressed flush. But even with only several days' worth of sleeping together, Kurt can't remember ever waking up to Blaine being quite this tense.

When a few seconds pass and nothing changes, he lets out a small groan, yawning before pushing onto his elbow, tilting his head to try and get a better look at his boyfriend.

"What's wrong?" he murmurs, slowly drawing his hand back and brushing it over the line of Blaine's waist.

The person behind him brushes a hand over Blaine's waist, gentle and intimate in a way Blaine's never felt before. It doesn't help the panic rising, nor does the soft, gentle voice against his ear. He thinks the person is a boy, can't imagine why he'd be in a bed with a girl. Though, at the moment, he feels like anything must be as probable as anything else. He doesn't know what to think.

He tries to consider his options: whether the person behind him might have a gun or a knife or anything else within reach, or if he'd be better off playing along, or if he should just... if he could think hard enough to just remember how he got here.

In the end, he can settle on only one response, his voice wavering and muscles still drawn tight as he asks, "Where am I?"

The question is so unexpected, and it seems to come completely out of nowhere as Kurt stares down for a couple of seconds, eyes wide and head starting to shake in confusion. Is Blaine... sick? He wouldn't joke like this. He wouldn't joke about forgetting things, not when it's already been such a point of contention between the two of them, months upon months of experiences in Kurt that Blaine's lost access to, both of them more aware of that fact than is ever comfortable to Kurt. Has Blaine simply forgotten the island? Hypothetically, he could have disappeared, reappeared in a night, he could have had his memories wiped and Kurt wouldn't be any the wiser, he—

Kurt's heart skips a beat when the thought crosses his mind, why that explanation isn't enough: Blaine shouldn't be so afraid of him. Even if he forgot the island, Kurt should be familiar, enough that everything becomes at the most only awkward, not terrifying. Blaine shouldn't be frozen stiff in his arms and hardly daring to breathe. And it makes Kurt's blood run cold for reasons he can't quite place his finger on, so he does the only thing he can think of.

He lets go, sits up, slides a fair distance away and stares down still at Blaine's back.

"You're in the Green Arrow Estates, on the island of Tabula Rasa," Kurt says, words falling slightly rushed from his lips. "Do you— does any of that sound familiar?"

There's a brief spike of panic when the person behind him moves so abruptly and Blaine clenches his eyes tight, anticipating a blow as he keeps himself tightly curled.

But it doesn't come. Instead, the person - and Blaine is fairly sure it's a boy - only speaks to him. And, though there is a certain part of him that's immediately a little disappointed to find he hasn't mysteriously arrived back home, he's also relieved to know that he's at least somewhere that's become familiar. He's still on the island, this strange places he's made a home over the past couple months.

Tentatively, he opens his eyes again and lets himself relax just enough to slide close to the edge before sitting up to look at the person he's sharing the bed with. The visual confirmation doesn't really help anything; Blaine is positive he's never seen this boy before. And, unfamiliar though he is, Blaine can't deny that he's attractive. And young, at least. Not some older creep that drugged him and kept him hostage.

And he looks about as spooked as Blaine feels.

"Yes," he finally manages around a thick swallow. "That's... I've been here for a couple months now, but... I'm sorry, but I've never seen you before in my life."

Did he just say...?

...no. It's impossible. Absolutely and completely absurd. Unheard of. The island, for all its craziness, has a certain order about it. It plucks people out of their lives and drops them in a collective of similarly lost, but always generous residents. It never lets people choose when they leave, and sometimes it does crazy things, like switches bodies, sexes, changes the entire tropical atmosphere into rusty cogs and steam billowing through the air. It has dinosaurs, it's apparently even turned itself into candy before, it's given people powers that normally Kurt can only fathom of as being in books or movies. It does all that and more, and it's enough to drive anyone insane. It juxtaposes times and places in ways that don't make sense, and it takes people all too soon, all of the abruptness of death without any of the catharsis.

But what it doesn't do is just erase the existence of person still there— still sitting, watching, tangible— from another person's memories. It doesn't do that. Nothing can. Right?

Right?

Kurt thinks he might throw up. But that's just... that's just silly. This is just stress, this is just the weight of three months buckling for a moment, this is just a nightmare, a new fear, and Blaine isn't actually looking at Kurt like this. Like he doesn't remember anything. Like Kurt's a stranger.

He's talked Karofsky through this before, the visions, they can be realistic as all get out but they only ever last for so long, awareness can snap a person out of it. Blaine will reach out, grab Kurt by the shoulders, give a gentle shake, and they'll laugh it out and hold fast.

Right?

Face pale, Kurt doesn't realize that his hands are shaking until he notices the fabric bunching erratically in his hands.

"...what?"

"Oh god, did I get drunk last night?" Blaine groans, wiping a hand over his suddenly very red face. He actually... can't really remember if he's ever gotten drunk before and that's a strange feeling all on its own, but he thinks he must have. Despite the many rules at Dalton, most of the boys know exactly how to bend certain things and Blaine is certain he's seen Wes inebriated more than a time or two.

And there were parties there. Of course there were. So Blaine has definitely been drunk and he has definitely never reacted very well to it.

"Look, this is... really embarrassing," he says, meeting the guy's eyes again. "We didn't, uh... do anything, did we?"

"It's Kurt."

There were two questions just now, lowering the ratio of inquiries Kurt's responded to. One in three. He doesn't do that, he doesn't ignore people's questions so blatantly— well, unless they're stupid and ridiculous, but that doesn't apply here— and it's rude, it's not the way his dad raised him, it's impolite and dismissive. Both of these things, Kurt can occasionally be, but he tries hard with Blaine. He's learned to be more considerate just over the course of two months, learned to be nicer to wait staff, to be able to find patience even when it feels like it's wearing thin.

But this strange vision, or nightmare, or whatever it is, it's not going away. His fingers tighten around the fabric of the blanket, an involuntary jerk tugging it closer as a shiver passes down his spine. God, his eyes are burning. Nothing makes sense, and it doesn't help that he can't breathe.

So he just sticks with his name, holds to it like a lifeline, as though he might be able to tug out the rest from the recesses of Blaine's mind.

"Kurt Hummel. From McKinley High. I'm Kurt." His voice threatens to crack. "You really don't... you don't remember? Anything?"

The unease Blaine suddenly feels is different from earlier. He isn't scared like he was before, isn't afraid this boy has kidnapped him or intends to harm him in any way. Instead, he feels as though there's something very important in this whole situation that he's missing. Blaine has never thought of himself as the type of guy to have a random, drunken hookup, but even if he could be, he can't imagine that the awkward morning after conversation might go something like this, with both parties feeling so clearly lost and confused.

"McKinley," Blaine repeats, that much sparking a small flash of recognition. "Wait, from... Akron? No, no. Lima, right?" Relieved, Blaine breaks into a wide, hopeful smile. "You're from Ohio, too?"

It's getting worse. How carefully Kurt's been lifted from Blaine's memories, how elegantly all that they've shared over the past several months— no, years for Blaine— has been erased in a single sweep. His head's pounding suddenly, heart thudding in his ears, and Kurt can feel his cheeks blooming over with some kind of heat, and it feels inexplicably like humiliation. Blaine looks happy, kind of. Almost. Certainly more at ease with himself than he was when he first arrived on the island, and Kurt's mind is suddenly working on overtime, because how does this work, how is it possible, how is it... so easy?

There's a movie that goes something like this. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. (How did that go again?) Somewhere in the midst of all of the panic and nausea, of the tearing sensation he feels bright and raw in his chest, there's a flicker and a voice that tells Kurt to try and keep it together. Instead, it feels like he's grasping for anything, only to find his hands closing on air. Staring at eyes that look, for the first time, absolutely unfamiliar.

"You really don't remember." I think I'm going to be sick. "I, um." Or start crying. "I need to use the bathroom."

He rushes off without another word.

Edited 2012-07-03 06:46 (UTC)

"Oh," Blaine replies, surprised and oddly disappointed in equal amounts. He isn't about to argue though or insist on attempting to feel each other out. He still has absolutely no idea how he got here or what happened the night before, but he's beginning to wonder if he should really push the topic at all. "Okay, well... I can go if you want."

Frowning a little, he eases out of bed. A part of him is expecting to find his clothes strewn across the floor, flung over furniture or laying in a small pile. So he's both a little relieved and a little perplexed to find no such thing. After some rifling around, he does find a pair of pants in a dresser drawer that look about his size along with a simple striped polo. Keeping his boxers on, he changes into the newly found clothes and then takes another moment to try to assess his location.

And, the thing is... it does look familiar. He can't quite place why, but there's a certain sense of knowing this place, of having spent some time here aside from the few minutes he's been awake. And just what that's supposed to mean, he really isn't sure.

"Uhm," he says, tentatively stepping closer to the closed bathroom door. "I'm- I hope you don't mind if I borrow some of your clothes," he says, his voice pitched a little louder for the boy - Kurt, he reminds himself - to hear him through the wood.

He only breathes when the door finally closes behind him, not a single glance spared in Blaine's direction before he slides to the ground. As it turns out, breathing might be a mistake— all at once he feels the air wheezing between his teeth as he wraps his arms tightly around himself, hooking them over his shoulders, leaning forward until his head rests practically between his knees. Because as soon as he takes that first breath, that's when the sobs start to threaten him, shaking through his ribcage as he bites down on his knuckles to keep the sound from traveling, tears hot as they trail down his face. In the background, Kurt can hear the shifting of the heavy drawers of their dresser, and all too soon there are steps drawing closer to the bathroom. Kurt shifts until his eyes are pressed against the heels of his palms, breathing shakily through his nose, and he prays the door is thick enough to block the sound.

Swallowing thickly, Kurt leans back until his head rests lightly against the door. "They're all yours," he says. A second later, Kurt adds, "I'll be right out, sorry."

Running water is nothing short of a blessing in the middle of the jungle, yet Kurt's not sure he's ever learned to appreciate it until now, stumbling to his feet and turning on the tap. The toothbrush and toothpaste hauled over some time ago from the Compound find their way briefly under the water, and Kurt brushes vigorously for lack of anything better to do. The taste of mint against his tongue almost manages to stem the tears, and every thought continues to be a jumbled, tangled mess in his head, only boiling down to the thought that Blaine's taking everything so well, so calmly. What does that even say?

If nothing else, it proves that Kurt... he's not necessary. At all. And that passes over him in a fresh wave, searing.

By the time a couple more minutes pass, a splash of cold water against his face has Kurt alert, every detail clear in front of his eyes, but he still isn't sure what the right course of action is yet. Only that Blaine's waiting. Carefully, he eases open the door, eyes wavering between level and floor as he tries in vain for a slight smile.

They're all his?

Blaine glances down at the shirt he's now wearing, brow furrowed. Admittedly, it's certainly his style and fits perfectly, but why would he have any clothes here? That can't be right. Again, he takes a quick look around as though expecting something overwhelmingly familiar to pop out at him. But it still looks as ordinary as ever, only familiar in the vaguest sense, just a feeling as though he's been here before, however briefly.

Before he can protest however, Kurt's stepping back into the room, a small, almost pained looking smile curving his lips and Blaine politely does his best to return it.

(And, strange as this all is, Blaine can't help thinking the boy is really quite attractive. Pretty even with his fair skin and soft-looking lips and bright, wide eyes. It's not difficult to imagine himself falling into bed with him, however awkward as it all is now. If only he could remember it.)

"Hi," he manages, shaking that thought aside before he gives a half-hearted gesture behind his shoulder. "I should probably go anyway. This is... I mean, I don't want to intrude more than I already have and I know this is seriously awkward and embarrassing for the both of us. But maybe we can... I don't know. Hang out again? Later? Oh, I'm Blaine, by the way," he adds quickly, face flushing as he holds out his right hand. "Sorry, I'm really all over the place this morning."

Before Kurt can quite react, there's a hand being held in front of him. And that somehow manages to splinter something in Kurt's chest as well, hit with a sudden worry that he'll start forgetting the things he's started taking for granted, like the soft press of lips in a kiss, or the clasp of their hands as they pressed against one another, not a single layer to separate their bodies. He wants to push Blaine's hand aside, wants to say that he knows, he knows, that he's probably said Blaine's name more often these days than he says his own. Wants to kiss Blaine full on the lips, as though it might work as it does in fairy tales.

Instead, he offers his own hand in turn, careful not to let the touch linger for too long.

"Yeah, I know. Blaine Anderson, right?" murmurs Kurt, and there's a shock of pain that somehow hits him square in the stomach, bubbling over like acid. "You don't have to go, but I— I understand if you want to. Um. We didn't... really do anything last night—"

(—a lie. But the only thing worse than Blaine forgetting is—)

"—so you don't need to worry about regrets. I think you were just tired," Kurt adds, then finds himself struck with more questions still, a morbid edge to each. Wanting to know just how the island's filled in the gaps. "Do you know how to get back to your place from here? I could probably show you the way, since I've been on the island for over half a year now."

"Oh," Blaine replies, somehow intensely relieved and also a tiny bit disappointed at that revelation. The former because, even if he isn't a virgin, he is certainly not the type to sleep around and the latter because, well... if he were that type, he could certainly do a lot worse than Kurt. Far, far worse. "Well, in that case, I'm still sorry for taking up space. I promise you, I'm not usually so rude."

At the question, Blaine's smile falters even further and he finds he really has to think about how to answer. Whatever it is he drank last night must still be in his system, he figures. It's the only explanation for how confusing everything still is.

"I think, I..." he starts, brow furrowing as he concentrates, forcing his mind to fit together some of the pieces that are floating around before he glances up again. "I think I live in the Compound?" he says, like he's expecting this boy to know the answer for him. "In a suite. I'm... I'm pretty sure I know how to get there, thank you."

"Don't apologize," Kurt breathes on an exhale, feeling like the words are practically punched out of him. Never before has Blaine done anything like this, apologized so plainly, as though it goes without saying that he's being an imposition on the other boy. It's enough to turn Kurt's world in its side. He shakes his head, and he's dizzy, and he needs to sit down, and he just wants to bury himself under his covers and sleep until all of this goes away.

If it does. If it's even forgivable for Kurt to hope for such a thing.

With a slightly shuddering breath, Kurt shakes his head, a strained smile on his lips as he waves an arm in the direction of the kitchen to the opposite side of the room. "Compound suite on the third level? I think I— let me at least get some water and fruit for you to take with you," he says, stammering slightly. "You shouldn't be walking so far without either, especially not on an empty stomach."

Kurt is being incredibly kind, Blaine thinks and he quells the immediate impulse to protest for the sake of being polite and lets himself indulge for a moment, lips curving into a warm (if somewhat still embarrassed) smile.

"Thanks you, that's... really nice of you," he says, following Kurt's gesture out of the room.

Again he's struck by how familiar the place is. Well informed of the tricks the island can pull, Blaine wonders if he's been dosed with some kind of potion that's making everything kind of fuzzy around edges. Weird and indistinct. He wonders if Kurt is feeling it too and just has a better way of handling it.

"So you're from Lima," he says, eager to keep up a friendly conversation. "That's really cool. I'm from near there, though I'm..." He trails off again, his brain once again fuzzy with memory and he rubs a hand against his temple. "That's weird. Did I... do you know if I did anything besides drink last night?"

The smile's allowed to fade as soon as Kurt turns, carefully keeping himself half a step in front of Blaine so as not to show the other boy his face. Making his way into the kitchen, Kurt peeks inside the large clay pot that houses all the food they dare keep in the house, anything that needs a cooler climate to stay fresh for a few days longer. There are plenty of bananas, a couple coconuts that might be too impossible to enjoy on the trail. Going through the fruit inside becomes almost a salve to Kurt's nerves, anything to focus on other than the fact that Blaine's still speaking to Kurt like a stranger. Like someone he's hardly met. Kurt's not even sure that his spying at Dalton felt so distant; Blaine hadn't taken very long before serenading him with a song.

And he has absolutely no reason to do so, here. Even thinks that he's been drinking. Maybe Blaine really can have more fun, Kurt thinks, when he isn't strung down by a boyfriend who constantly falls hopelessly behind. He's not being nice, he wants to retort. He's stubbornly clinging on when all other signs tell him that he probably shouldn't.

"I didn't drug you, if that's what you mean," Kurt murmurs, tugging out a couple of cucumbers and bananas to tie up in one of his many washcloths, before then turning to grab one of the makeshift canteens that hangs over wooden pegs on the wall. "Why? What's weird?" There's a note of concern that weaves itself into Kurt's voice in spite of everything; of course he's scared. That Blaine thinks he's been hit with something— Kurt isn't sure whether to find that comforting or not.

Blaine doesn't miss the slightly defensive tone of Kurt's voice and, immediately, feels a stab of guilt as he shakes his head. "No, no. Sorry. That's not what I meant at all." And he hadn't. Honestly. However unfamiliar he is with this boy, there's something about him that doesn't strike Blaine as at all threatening or conniving. "I just... thought maybe I did something even more stupid than drinking.

And, again, he can't say he's really the type to do anything like that. He's never had much interest in drugs at all and, despite his sudden, abrupt relocation to the island, he hadn't thought would really change.

But then, at the moment, he feels like there's a whole lot he doesn't know about himself. It's all fuzzy and muted and unnatural. And wholly unnerving. "It's just... Everything is kind of... weird. Like, I can remember stuff, but it's all like scraps and pieces. I know my name, where I'm from, my family and stuff like that. I know I've been here for a couple months and I'm sure I could find my way pretty much anywhere without getting lost. But there's... I can feel that there are pieces missing. Like, you know when you wake up sometimes and there's a kind of half-remembered dream just lingering on the edges but you can't quite grab onto it. It's like that. Only weirder."

Quietly, Kurt continues about making sure that Blaine has enough to keep on his person, tempted already to offer to walk Blaine back to the Compound, make sure that he doesn't suddenly find himself accosted or lost out in the wilderness. The only fear, really, is that Blaine might suddenly grow suspicious over a boy paying that much attention. Caring so much. Especially after the rollercoaster of emotions he's already displayed to Blaine over such a short period of time. And there's an even greater pull in his chest, one that wants to lay out everything that Blaine's missing, try to explain it all from start to finish.

(Only he realizes, with a start, that he can't do even that. He hasn't pressed Blaine for all of the details at home, hasn't wanted to know about every single step Kurt Hummel took back home to make Blaine fall deeply and madly in love with him. Because it make shim insecure. Clearly, that's backfiring on him now. Listing everything he knows might only serve to unnerve Blaine, and certainly won't patch everything perfectly between them.)

"Maybe it's just the island pulling another forty-eight hour trick," murmurs Kurt, glancing up to stare at the familiar hue of Blaine's eyes. "You could... try and sketch out a timeline, maybe. Do you, um. Do you have anyone on the island you know from home?"

That sounds like it makes sense, the forty-eight hour or even twenty-four hour trick. He's heard about that happening too even if he hasn't ever experienced it himself. Until now, maybe. Though he can't help thinking that, if that were the case, it'd feel somehow even more pronounced or dramatic. As it is he just feels like he's walking around in half a daze.

Frowning, he considers Kurt's question, once again feeling like he's grasping at half-remembered scraps and pieces before finally shaking his head. "I- No. No, I don't think so. But there's a guy here who looks exactly like my brother. Victor Moreau. Do you know him?"

He nearly drops the canteen.

Staring resolutely down into the sink, just enough to hopefully block most of his expression from view, Kurt just isn't sure what to think. Can't begin to process it. Blaine has a brother, and not just that— a brother who has a doppelganger on the island. And Blaine hasn't bothered to tell Kurt any of it. His jaw tightens as he screws on the cap of the canteen, and that seed of doubt only starts to grow. Why would Blaine keep something like that from Kurt?

Kurt's only gained a brother in the past couple of years, but even that has been such a huge experience that he's told Blaine about it before, back while they were at Dalton. Nothing too deep, nothing too involved, but plenty of gripes about how Finn just didn't get it, wasn't always nearly sympathetic enough for Kurt's taste. He's told Blaine about his crush on the guy, before they became family.

So why?

"Y-yeah," he stammers, giving the dishcloth a firm tie before holding everything out for Blaine. "Yeah, I know him, actually. I had no idea you had a brother, though. Or that Victor looks exactly like him. I..." He runs his fingers through his hair, feeling his hand shake in the process. "I guess good looks must run in the family."

The compliment is so casual that Blaine nearly misses it, his fingers lightly brushing Kurt's as he takes the canteen and dishcloth of fruit from Kurt. He can feel his cheeks flushing a little and he gives a quick, almost nervous laugh and grateful nod. He doesn't think he's being hit on exactly but, while Blaine is a little accustomed to shy smiles and lingering looks, they largely tend to come from girls, and very, very rarely from other boys.

Certainly never from boys he's spent an evening in bed with.

"Yeah, I don't... really talk about him much," Blaine says. Oddly, he feels like apologizing and he's not entirely sure why. "He's a lot older than me and, as he would be sure to quickly point out, much smarter, more talented and better looking than me. And, while he may not be wrong, it gets kind of tiring after awhile."

The brush of skin almost feels like a lick of flame, and although Kurt manages to keep from pulling his hand back quick, still he eases his hand back until the heel of his palm presses down heavily against his chest, trying to ease the ache there. This is the side of Blaine that he never really saw until the both of them were in a relationship. The insecurities, the uncertainties, the idea that Blaine's anything less than perfect and amazing all on his own. So why can't he, as a boyfriend, ease that away? Why can't he be the one to soothe Blaine? Even beyond the sudden and sharp pain that comes from the lack of recognition in Blaine's eyes, this troubles him on a much more immediate level.

He's been open with Blaine, right? About how it's sometimes so hard to feel like he shines. Does he do that too much? Is it that Blaine doesn't feel like he can get a word in edgewise?

"He's wrong," Kurt says confidently, voice slightly quieter for how he feels shy again, feels like he doesn't have the right to tread in Blaine's life. But with no less confidence. "He's wrong on all fronts."

Despite knowing that Kurt has no way of actually drawing any kind of objective opinion on the matter, there's a part of him that's warmed by his assessment all the same. It's strange, maybe. Stranger still how comfortable he feels in this boy's presence. Comfortable enough to talk about Cooper when he usually does all he can to not ever bring him up. Maybe because here nobody knows him as the Free Credit Rating Today Dot Com guy from TV. Here there is no point of reference beyond one Victor Moreau.

"Sometimes I try to tell myself that," he confesses with a shrug, smile still in place because that's just the easiest way to get through this kind of thing. "I guess it doesn't matter here anyway. It's not like I'm ever going to see him again, right?"

"You don't know that," Kurt says, wrapping his arms even more tightly around himself, fingers digging into the already thin fabric of his tank; now that he pays attention to the setting around him, he feels strangely cold. That almost never happens in the island weather. Again, there's that impulse to burrow himself under sheets again, wherever he can sleep. "He could arrive on the island anytime. Or you could... you might end up heading home."

He shouldn't say that. He wants to take it back. But if Blaine doesn't have anyone on the island he knows from home, wouldn't he prefer to go back? Be part of the Warblers again. "No one's been here for more than six years. It may seem like a lot of time, but I get the feeling it actually... if you're happy, it actually passes pretty quickly."

The way Kurt's kind of... curling away from him doesn't go unnoticed and Blaine pulls away a little himself, feeling suddenly awkward for having revealed so much about his brother and his own stupid hang-ups. He's sure the other boy has no desire to hear this much about him; he's just trying to be kind in the wake of a seriously awkward morning.

"Yeah, maybe," he says, his smile wavering as he scratches the back of his neck and gives a shrug. "Anyway, I should... go. I've taken up way too much of your time as it is. Thank you for the food and the water, though," he adds, holding up the items in his hand. "And for being so understanding. You're a rockstar. Really."

Were Kurt really a stranger, he'd probably be agreeing with Blaine right now. That he should get home, he should work on sleeping off whatever's driving the confusion. He should see Blaine out with a smile. But god, every part of Kurt just wants to stop Blaine from going, and his hands tighten painfully around his arms as he holds back the words for fear of making himself look worse than he already must. And it's been only, what, a few minutes?

Even if this is a two-day thing, it's going to be torture.

But Kurt knows how these things work. If it's two days, it'll be over the weekend. If it starts on the first of the month...

"If you ever need anything," Kurt says, his words breaking slightly in the middle and into an exhale. "You only have to ask."

It's clear that Kurt's not getting any more comfortable with the whole thing, which makes his offer of assistance all the kinder. And Blaine can't feel anything but utterly appreciative even as he hurries to not spend a moment longer bothering him.

"That's... really very nice of you, thank you," he says as he approaches he door. "I'm still sorry about this whole thing. This really, really is embarrassing." Opening the door, Blaine steps out and looks back one last time. "I'll, uh... see you around, I guess. Thanks again, Kurt. For everything."

With one final smile and quick wave, Blaine heads out onto the path, squinting against the harsh light of the sun.

"Yeah, see you around," Kurt echoes as he stops at the entrance of the cottage, willing his eyes to stay dry and feeling stupidly, hopelessly thankful for the fact that the bright rays of the sun give him an excuse. He can squint without making it too obvious that it's the tears he's staving off more than anything else. But stubbornly, he keeps his feet planted on the top step, leaning lightly against the doorway and staring after Blaine as he disappears into the distance. He's headed in the right direction, there's no hesitation, he probably really does know his way around the island still, but Kurt doesn't budge until Blaine's entirely out of view.

And that's when he races back inside. Can't bring himself to properly lock the door. Doesn't bother wondering if Rachel's still out on her morning run or where Brittany's wandered off to. Doesn't bother getting a drink, or breakfast, or anything. He just races back into their room— his room, solely, now— and quickly burrows his way under the sheets, holding them tightly around himself and praying that it might stop the way his heart feels like it's tearing to shreds, but even a couple of seconds already have him noticing the way Blaine's scent lingers on the sheets and he just can't.

The worst thing is, at the rate he's starting to cry, it won't be long before he's forced to wash the sheets.

Then he won't even have that to cling to.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

'cause home is in your arms, and i don't know where you are

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