Kurt counts the small dots on his ceiling: one, two, three, four . . .
"Kurt?" Rachel calls from outside his door. She’s worried, but Kurt can't bring himself to care. He feels—numb. Empty. "Kurt, are you okay?"
No, Kurt wants to say. The boy I've loved for the past two years just admitted that he cheated on me—and it only took him, what, three weeks? And what's even worse is that I feel guilty about it, because I'm the one who left him there alone, knowing that he has no one but me, that his family life is in ruins, that all of his friends came through me first. And I hate myself for that and him for making me feel guilty for his choices, what he decided to do.
Kurt can’t say any of those things aloud, so he stays quiet. He hears Rachel sigh.
"I have ice cream," she says, coaxing. "And Moulin Rouge! and Funny Girl. Come out and we can wallow together." She raps against the door, the rasp of her knuckles pleading. "Please, Kurt. I know you're hurting right now, but so am I—we can help each other through this. Isn't that what best friends are for?"
Kurt considers it. He sits up, slow and tired. Ever since Blaine's visit, he moves like an old man—his bones ache, his body feel stretched and useless.
"I just want to be alone, Rachel," he says. His voice sounds cracked, ragged at the edges—it's the first time he's spoken aloud since Finn left.
There's a pause outside the door. "Kurt, I want to help you. I want us to help each other," Rachel whispers. "Please come out."
Kurt considers the door, then looks back at the bed. Looking at it hurts—every time he sees Blaine's face, the anguish in his eyes as they laid down to sleep, not speaking to each other. He keeps hearing Blaine say I'm sorry over and over, can't get Teenage Dream out of his head.
"Yeah," Kurt says, standing. "Okay. Give me a minute to tidy up?"
"Yes!" Rachel says, overjoyed now. "Yes, of course! I'll get the movies started. And the popcorn!" Kurt hears her hurried footsteps as she moves away from the door.
He takes a deep breath, then looks in his mirror. He looks like a walking corpse—his face is the palest it's been since his junior year of high school, he has dark circles under his eyes, his mouth is dry, chapped. He runs a hand through his hair and grimaces—oily and unkempt, disgusting. He needs a shower, and badly.
Kurt opens his door and peers out, strangely cautious. Rachel is in the kitchen, quietly making popcorn. Kurt's laptop is on their coffee table, movies next to it—he and Rachel have yet to invest in a T.V. Kurt sneaks into the bathroom and starts his shower.
He tries not to think of all the times he and Blaine had in showers—both at McKinley (which he was never going to tell Finn, ever ) and at their houses, when their parents were away. Kurt liked messing around in the shower—it made cleaning up the mess easier and Blaine was incredibly hot with water pouring off of him—
Kurt takes a deep breath. No thoughts of Blaine, not tonight. He doesn't want to think about Blaine's lips against his own, the way Blaine was so easy to hold, the way Blaine had supported and loved him at his worst. He doesn't want to wonder about Blaine's hook-up—if he's better looking than Kurt, better in bed than Kurt. If he's worth everything Blaine threw away.
He steps out of the shower feeling more like himself and wraps a towel around his hips. In the living room, Rachel settles down, setting out candles. She glances up when Kurt exits and her eyes soften.
"Feel better?" she asks.
Kurt tries to smile, but his muscles stopped working that way the moment Blaine said I was with someone . "Much," he rasps. "What're we watching first?"
"Moulin Rouge!” Rachel says. "Then Funny Girl. Maybe Breakfast at Tiffany's, if we can fit it in?"
"Or Roman Holiday," Kurt says. "I always liked that one."
Rachel smiles. "Me too," she admits. "Finn—" her voice catches and she coughs before trying again. "Finn always thought it was too sad."
"So did—" Kurt stops, mouth thinning.
Rachel shakes her head. "Come on," she says. "Go get dressed and we can start. Not that the thought of watching movies with you in a towel isn't one of my dearest fantasies . . . ." She smiles again, waggles her eyebrows.
Kurt rolls his eyes. "I'll be right back," he says and slips into his bedroom.
He pulls on comfortable yoga pants and a simple, clean shirt and runs through a shortened version of his nightly routine, trying not to wonder if Blaine still does his, if he's doing it right now back in Ohio. He runs a comb through his hair and goes back into the living room, which is dark except for the candles and the glow of the screen. Rachel sits on their couch, legs pulled up to her chest, chewing on popcorn.
Kurt slides next to her and Rachel immediately curls into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. He sighs against her hair and wraps an arm around her shoulder as he reaches out with his free hand to start the movie.
"There was a boy, a very strange enchanted boy . . . ."
"We're going to be okay, right?" Rachel asks, sounding very small.
Kurt remembers her return to New York when she went after Finn. He had almost been tempted to go with her, but the thought of seeing Blaine again, knowing what he'd done, hurt too much and he'd stayed home. Rachel had come back with tear stains on her face, eyes hurt and angry, on the edge of collapse, and said that she and Finn were done, officially over. Kurt had envied her certainty. Now he only feels sad for her, for himself—and even for Finn and Blaine, in a way. They'd been so in love and now it was all broken.
Kurt kisses Rachel's head. "We're going to be okay," he promises, and hopes it will come true.