Chapter Seventeen:

"Blaine! Blaine! We won!"

Blaine turned his head back over his shoulder, alerted by Brittany's now overly familiar and perky voice. She was pressing in between two disgruntled customers, bouncing on the balls of her feet with a smile wide enough that it looked as if it had been drawn from ear to ear. His own curled a little at the corners, the expression making his cheeks ache with the effort.

Blaine wasn't smiling very much these days.

As Blaine twisted the steamer off and slid the wand carefully out of he milk he'd frothed for disgruntled customer number one's cappuccino he said, "I know Brittany, I saw. You were brilliant." And then he mentally kicked himself for admitting to this, watching as her lips stretched into a wide O if surprise. Leaning with her hands against the faux marble counter, she literally bounced up and down like an infant trying to get a better view.

Blaine banged the jug three times before pouring the smooth white milk into the now twitching ladies cup, casting the customer an apologetic smile before trying to convince Brittany to go sit down and wait for him. But Brittany was already there, interrupting before he had a chance to open his mouth, blurting out a barrage of questions:

"What do you mean you saw? You came? But you said there was absolutely no way you'd come watch. Blaine, did you lie? Wait did you see Kurt? Did he-"

"Britt!" Blaine cut in sharply, his throat tightening at the sound of his friend's (could he even still call him that?) name. Resting the near empty jug next to him on the counter with a hollow clatter, he asked Brittany with wide pleading eyes, "If you go sit down, I'll bring you a hot chocolate... and I promise I'll explain – okay?"

Brittany went as still as a statue, only her nose twitching slightly as she appeared to ponder Blaine's proposition. After a while her eyes wandered over to the glass fronted cake counter, filling with the all too familiar look of longing before skittering back to Blaine's own with what really could only be described as puppy eyes. Blaine sighed, smiling a little despite himself, "Aaaand I'll bring you a cupcake. Deal?"

Brittany squealed, jumping up over the counter to peck Blaine on the cheek and declaring, "Deal!" In her excitement she knocked over the nearly, but unfortunately not quite empty jug onto the floor (and Blaine's shoes) before turning on her heels and bolting for one of the booths in the back.

Blaine exhaled, turning his attention back to his customer as he dusted a light layer of chocolate over her coffee. Shrugging sheepishly as he slid over her cup he tried to explain, "Sorry about that, she just gets a little… over excited."

The woman's expression seemed to soften at his apology (or possibly the sweet heady steam rising off her cup and curling into her nostrils). She lent forward with an almost conspiratorial smile that Blaine didn't quite understand until she patted his hand and spoke softly, gesturing behind her to Brittany who was now climbing cross legged into the booth. "It's OK dear. My cousin was one of those retardees too."

Blaine blanched at her remark, "She's not-"

But Puck clapped a heavy hand on Blaine's shoulder making him start and loose track of what he was saying, "Dude, the customer's always right." Blaine gave him a scornful look as he grinned back with a mouth full of teeth like a shark.

"Your manager is quite right young man! You could learn a lot about customer service from him if you'd stop mooning after your girlfriend," disgruntled customer number two muttered through a thick moustache as he took the spot of the departing woman.

"That's what I keep trying to tell him, but will he listen?" he said shaking his head, "What can I get you sir?" Blaine turned his back on both of them, reaching for the switch on the coffee grinder and used it's ear splitting noise as a cover to mutter a few choice phrases about Puck's idea of customer service.

...

When there was a lull in customer's Blaine took his break, walking gingerly over to the table Brittany had taken over with a tray

laden with: one hot chocolate (naturally floating with marshmallows), one medium drip for himself and the Lima Bean's most decadent cupcake; the cherry bomb.

As Blaine carefully placed the tray down in front of Brittany, she immediately began a rapid fire of questions:

"So What changed your mind about going?

When did you get there?

Did you see me slide down the ribbon?

Does this have three marshmallows or four marshmallows?"

"Brittany slow down!" Blaine raised his hands before reaching down for his cup and grasping it between both palms, letting the warmth leech into his hands which of late seemed to feel perpetually cold. Brittany followed suit, picking up her own cup delicately and took a loud slurp. The expression monkey see monkey do popped into Blaine's head.

"Firstly, there are four marshmallows, all pink, obviously," he smiled over the rim of his cup as he thought of the reasons for this:

a.) Brittany was more comfortable with even numbers, and-

b.) Pink and white marshmallows can never agree on anything, which leads to bickering and then the drink makes it worse because it gives them a sugar high which makes them fight and then hot chocolate gets everywhere and the mini marshmallow babies are orphans … and maybe Blaine was spending a little too much time with Ms Brittany Pierce.

Blaine took a long drag of the coffee, like it contained liquid courage, "Ok so I've started answering those questions backwards so I'll stick with that direction."

Brittany furrowed her brows in response, asking in a confused tone "Don't you have to be sitting the other way around for that to work?"

For just a moment Blaine found his lips involuntarily curl upwards. Despite his sombre mood he couldn't help but smile at the sheer Brittanyness of Brittany. Honestly, he didn't know where he'd have been without her this week. Or Jeremiah for that matter.

"No Britt," he smiled shaking his head and continued. "I arrived just in time to see you slide down the ribbon, which -just wow! Ok, that was, spectacular, well everything Britt, you were... amazing," he finished in awe and Brittany positively beamed with pride.

Biting his lip and sliding a long finger around the edge of his cup, Blaine pondered how to answer her final question.

It wasn't a surprising question at all, given how ardent he'd been about not going to the tournament. Brittany had desperately wanted to have Blaine there, begging and pleading with him to reconsider. Eventually though she'd seen the way his eyes gleamed with sadness, his lip twitching as he'd fought desperately not to cry. Blaine was done crying for Kurt Hummel.

After Blaine had torn out of Kurt's bedroom a little over a week ago he'd been a mess, utterly distraught and broken hearted so much worse than he had been after their first kiss, when Kurt had confused him with... (Blaine couldn't even think of his name without getting angry.)

Reconciled with Brittany, she'd come over after he hadn't replied to her calls or texts and crawled under the covers with him, despite his feeble and tearful protests. She'd stroked his hair and sung nursery rhymes, using all the wrong words until eventually exhausted he'd fallen asleep in her arms.

When he'd woken, curled up like a kitten in her arms he'd explained in the barest details he could, wanting to close the book on the whole experience. The one thing he did do was to make her promise to watch out for Sebastian, telling her that he was bad news.

Blaine was at a loss, what more could he do if Kurt was going to be so pig headed about the whole thing? Brittany had pursed her lips, her eyes focussed but flitting as if she was thinking hard. But she didn't say a word, just nodded stoically.

Over the course of the week he'd thankfully had studying to keep himself occupied, spending every available minute trying to cram as much as he could into Brittany's head and telling her over and over that she could do this, about how much faith he had in her. He skipped glee club and classes he shared with Kurt under the guise of tutoring Brittany, when really he just couldn't face seeing him.

It had been close in the hallway on the day of her test. Like Kurt was haunting him he could feel the hairs raise on the back of his neck, the sound of his voice and Brittany saying his name in his ear making him go rigid in her arms and he'd bolted away without even a goodbye.

He'd sat in his car for some time, trying his level best to control his breathing, gasping a little like a fish out of water. And maybe a small part of him had hoped that Kurt would run after him, would tell him how sorry he was, how utterly stupid he'd been.

But of course he hadn't. He hadn't sent Kurt a single text, phone call, message, hadn't tried to find him at all. And that's when it hit Blaine, why what Kurt had done had hurt so much. Because while he'd known there was no chance for them to be anything more than friends, he knew at least that he had Kurt's friendship. Even if it meant he couldn't have the one thing he'd wanted for so long.

But Kurt telling Blaine he didn't know him any more? Choosing him over a decade long friendship? And now acting like Blaine didn't even exist? Well Blaine had come to the realization that maybe they couldn't even have that any more.

The text had startled him, loud in the quiet car that only contained the sound of his breathing:

Jeremiah: Coffee?

It wasn't the first text he'd received from Jeremiah following the night he'd saved both him and Kurt from the clutches of Sebastian. But it was the first that had suggested a meeting.

He told Jeremiah everything, including all he'd left out for Brittany and he'd listened patiently, draining cup after cup of coffee his frown growing. "Maybe it's time you really let him go," he'd said at last when Blaine was exhausted from talking, reaching out to lay a hand on Blaine's.

Jeremiah had looked as if he wanted to say more but Brittany had bounded in, a broad smile on her face and ecstatically waving the B graded paper in his face. It was his first real smile all week.

Blaine hadn't seen him since but his words had played on his mind ever since. It seemed simple enough but also impossible. How on earth was he going to just let go when he knew there would always be a part of him that still belonged to Kurt Hummel?

"I don't like your face."

Brittany's harsh statement seemed to jolt Blaine out of his train of thought and he looked up at her, eyes showing their betrayal. Ouch. Way to kick a boy when he's down.

"When it's all sad like that," she explained, resting a soft hand against his. "It makes you look like a deflated birthday balloon."

Blinking Blaine stared forward at Brittany, noticing the thin moustache of chocolate coating her upper lip. Even that image couldn't seem to rouse a genuine smile. Everything in Blaine's world just seemed… hopeless. He shrugged, unable to articulate more than that simple gesture.

Brittany's nose twitched as she frowned at Blaine, her expression serious. It was oddly foreign to her usual spacey smile. "So you didn't answer my question. You just kind of went all, far away. What changed your mind about going? You said there was absolutely no way you'd go."

In the end though it had been the words of a younger Blaine to a younger Kurt that had been loudest in his head and heart.

'I promise I will never leave you.'

Blaine smiled ruefully at Brittany and told her, "I made a promise."

...

Puck had interrupted Blaine's break, begging him to watch the counter, 'just five minute's I swear Blaine – just gotta call my bookie' and had promptly put at end to his and Brittany's talk. She'd needed to go home anyway, wanting to check in on her cat to make sure he wasn't huffing the chemicals they kept under the sink because she hid his stash.

Of course Puck's idea of just five minutes had stretched to over an hour with no sign of him returning. It wasn't the first time (or the last he'd wage with Puck's bookie) that Puck had vanished mid shift. Once he'd left for ten minutes to go get more milk and hadn't turned up until a week later: reeking of tequila, wearing sombrero, and sporting a rather infected looking tattoo of a donkey on his ass (which he'd flashed Blaine despite his protests.)

Usually Puck's absence wasn't too much of a problem, because Blaine was good at his job and organized enough to keep on top of things. However what he hadn't been aware of (and what Puck obviously had been) was that Quinn had invited her old crowd; The Unwed Teenage Mothers Collective, for their monthly meeting. It figured he wouldn't want to be here, seeing as he was probably responsible for about half of these pregnancies.

By the surge of pregnant teens coming through the door it seemed clear that Ohio was still neglecting to properly teach sex education in schools. And with the 50% discount Quinn had authorised for the group, combined with their sugary cravings that would be too sweet for even Brittany's taste, Blaine was floored.

Rushing between the milk frother, blender, cake cabinet and counter, Blaine did his best imitation of Ganesha whilst trying to hold the contents of his stomach in as he overheard snippets of conversation including such lovely phrases as: vaginal prolapse and cervical mucus.

By the time Blaine had cleared the last table, the shop was nearly deserted and Puck still hadn't returned. They were out completely out of beans so Blaine made sure the till was securely locked before walking to the storeroom to retrieve a new bag.

It was a struggle to carry the bag to the counter, his tired, aching body slumping forward under the weight and his glasses slipping slowly down the bridge of his nose. With his arms holding tight around the bag he couldn't manoeuvre himself to push them back up and the world was millimetre by millimetre shifting out of focus.

Weaving through the shop he heard a familiar voice say his name and he looked up at the blurry shape of Jeremiah striding up to him. Blaine beamed at him, happy to see a friendly face (and thankfully no baby bump.) He plucked the bag like it was nothing out of his arms and dumped it on the counter and slide his glasses into place, shifting the world back into focus.

Blaine was about to open his mouth, his lips parted with word hanging on his tongue when Jeremiah did something entirely unexpected. Winding his arms snugly around Blaine's waist he drew Blaine towards him, inclined his head and kissed him softly. The pressure was so light that if Blaine hadn't had his eyes widened in surprise he might not have realised it had happened. But there he was, pressed up tenderly against his face for one missisipi, two missisipi, th- and it was over.

Despite the shock of it, Blaine couldn't help but smile, his fingertips touching the surface of his lips which still held the barest impression of Jeremiah's warmth. For just a moment Blaine listened to the steady beat of his heart inside his chest.

A flash of white and red in the window dispelled his calm, making his heart skip heavily in his chest. But all he could see in the window was a perfectly drawn heart in the mist, condensation fracturing the shape and making it look broken. And once again Blaine was reminded of just how broken he was.

Jeremiah was there though, pulling him into a warm embrace that had Blaine resting his cheek on his shoulder, his eyes sliding shut tiredly as a warm wide hand pressed into the small of his back.

Blaine could feel... something, but he didn't know what.

"Brittany text me, she told me you went," Jeremiah said at last, his voice low and close to Blaine's ear. "You okay?" he asked softly and Blaine nodded against his shoulder, pulling away slowly and standing up as straight as he could, despite the ache in his spine. "Y-yeah, I'm ok."

"Sorry," Jeremiah flushed a little, seeming suddenly nervous. It was odd for Blaine to see it, baring in mind how collected he always seemed to be and he cocked his head in confusion. "The uh, kiss?" he chuckled, squeezing Blaine's arm and Blaine face turned fifty shades darker than Jeremiah's.

"It's not that I haven't thought about doing it before," Jeremiah admitted his hand sliding down Blaine's arm to hold his hand, his warm fingers lacing with Blaine's cold ones. Blaine remained still.

"I just told myself I'd wait. But then you looked so sad and I just..." he shrugged, trailing off as he gazed down at Blaine who remained bright cheeked and stock still. It was a lot for him to take in.

"Jeremiah..." Blaine began but was cut off by a tight squeeze of his hand before it broke away. "Don't say anything just yet... think about it first, okay?" he asked, cupping Blaine's hot cheek with his hand. Blaine nodded and Jeremiah smiled before pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek before he left leaving Blaine alone.

Blaine realised for the first time that his hands felt warmer than they had in days.

But the skin didn't tingle.

...

"Sebasatard!" Kurt heard Mercedes swear down the phone as he stormed into his bedroom. Flopping dramatically onto his bed he shoved a lumpy pillow out of the way, like its very existence had personally offended him.

After arriving home with his father an hour ago he walked around the house agitatedly retelling Mercedes more or less the entire story. From the night of the party, to his fight with Blaine and finally to Kurt and his father's fruitless excursion to the police station. As Kurt had feared, without a drug test or reliable witness it was pretty much his word against Sebastian's. Sebastian and his State's Attorney father.

Burt had valiantly fought Kurt's corner but even he knew the evidence was weak. Driving home his father had asked him why he didn't just go to the damn hospital when he had a chance. Kurt hadn't responded, but he hadn't needed to, Burt knew his aversion to the place after what had happened to him and his mother.

"I know, 'Cedes I know! It just… it kills me that he's just going to get away with this!" Kurt groaned loudly, punching the pillow off his bed with a mean left hook. Looking down at the feather leaking pile he imagined in graphic detail that it was Sebastian's decapitated head.

"What about Blaine or Brittany? Why shouldn't their testimonies count?" Mercedes' asked infuriated on her boy's behalf as Kurt stared at the clock on his night stand. The vivid red numbers indicated it was 11:05, meaning he'd now been on his phone for two hours and his father would probably be in bed by now.

Despite being grounded with the usual restrictions: no TV (whatever, ANTM was on hiatus anyway) and no phone, Burt had been gracious enough to let Kurt talk to his friend. He'd accurately established that Kurt had a lot he'd needed to vent, given the disappointing results of their trip.

Of course he still wasn't allowed to leave the house and if he hadn't already taken his car away that would be gone to. Looking forlornly out of the window Kurt sighed into the silence on the other end of the as Mercedes finished her epic rant in flawless divatude dialect.

"'Cedes… that's not even the whole story," Kurt breathed slowly, imagining his friends eyebrow raising. Beginning with his realisation at the meet he retold the Nicholas Sparks worthy tale of love and heartbreak. From realising his feelings for Blaine right up to discovering the Jeremiah factor and his fathers advice.

Timing Kurt.

As Kurt remembered the vague words of his father he sat up reaching for his pocket watch, a long ago birthday gift from Blaine that was lying on his night stand. Kurt ran his thumb over the old polished pocket watched, carefully tracing the engraved design of the bird in a cage and flipped it open frowning to see that it had stopped ticking.

"I'm buying us coffee and bagels tomorrow," Mercedes finally announced gleefully as Kurt caught his own scowl in the glass reflection.

"That's all you have to say?" Kurt snorted derisively, "What kind of gal pal listens to their best gay tell them a story of more woe since Juliet and her Romeo… and then talks about bagels for crying out loud?"

"I'm going to be loaded tomorrow when Santana pays me that $50. I knew you'd admit this before graduation," she retorted in a tone of voice all matter of fact.

"Well I'm glad my misery has been fruitful for you. I'm hanging up now and going to find better friends," he said tempted on hitting the end button on his phone.

"Oh please, like you'd find other friends willing to put up with your brand of crazy. Anyway forget that and tell me, how are you going to steal your man back?"

With a sigh Kurt snapped the lid shut, "I'm not going to steal him 'Cedes…he looked happy. After everything I did, letting him be happy is the least I can do. And besides…" he thought again of Blaine in Jeremiah's arms, leaning down to kiss him. "I don't even know if he'd want me… not like that anyway," he finished, his voice tired and resigned.

Kurt missed Mercedes' soft snort of derision down the line as he focused on the now warm circlet of metal in his palm, wrapping his fingers around and gripping it firmly. It didn't feel right not to feel the soft and constant vibration of it ticking inside the case and it reminded him a little too much of his own still and broken heart.

"Kurt…You deserve to be happy as well. One stupid fight shouldn't stop you from-"

"Cedes'… I'm tired. Can we talk about this tomorrow?" he pleaded, rubbing the spot where he could feel a ache beginning in his skull. It had been a really, really long day.

Sighing down the phone she agreed and they hung up dropping the room into an unearthly silence. All that Kurt could hear were the twin snores of his brother and louder father as they slept. Looking at his clock again it was almost midnight and Kurt really did need to get some sleep.

But Burt's words kept chiming in his head, over and over.

Timing… Timing… Timing

Maybe his father was right. Now wasn't their right time.

But as Kurt got off his bed, pulled on a thick sweater and slid out his open window into the cool night air; he knew that it was definitely about time that he talk to Blaine.