Something is twisted around Kurt's ankle, pulling him down and not letting him go no matter how hard he kicks against it. Some rational part of his mind is telling him to just calm down, everything is alright – he has Blaine and he's not going back to prison, there are no guns pressed against his head and he doesn't have to make escape plans or run anymore – but another part, the old con-man instinct, is yelling at him because he's trapped, he's relying too much on other people instead of himself, and he kicks again, trying to free his ankle, feeling his heart beating inside his chest in anxiety.

His foot bumps against the mattress, and Kurt startles awake, blinking his eyes until the shadows around him start to resemble his loft once again. His comforter is twisted around his left ankle, the thick fabric caught on his monitoring anklet, and he wriggles his leg free with a huff until he can kick the covers away. He shivers when the cold air hits his skin, his hand automatically reaching towards the other side of the bed but meeting only more air.

Blaine's not there.

It takes a moment for Kurt's sleep-muddled mind to come back to its senses, but then he remembers Blaine telling him about another late-night stake-out earlier today, sounding genuinely sorry and patting Kurt's back when they left the office, the gesture feeling strangely distant against Kurt's body.

Kurt pulls his hand back and slowly sits up, glancing at the alarm clock on his bedside table. It's almost five in the morning. Blaine is probably back from his stake-out already, huddled under the covers of his own bed while Perry sleeps on the floor with her legs spread out next to her. Kurt fumbles for his phone, the screen lighting up when he touches it, and yep, he was right – he has a text from Blaine, sent a few hours ago.

From Blaine:
Got home safely. See you in the morning.

Kurt sighs and puts his phone away. He's not getting any more sleep, and he usually wakes up this early anyway, so he might as well get up and make some coffee. He stumbles out of bed, running his hand through his messy hair. The loft feels empty and unfamiliar around him – he has gotten so used to sleeping at Blaine's apartment or at least with Blaine that it feels unexpectedly odd to wake up alone at his own place. It's... disconcerting. He's slept alone for years, in hotel rooms and temporary hide-outs, so he should be used to it, to this sense of hollowness and silence, but somehow during the six months he has been with Blaine he has managed to grow out of it already.

He makes the coffee slowly because he has time, savoring the smell of the fresh beans he bought only a few days ago and humming a quiet tune under his breath. The beans are imported and quite expensive, but they are worth every cent. The FBI's CI salary isn't that good, but he has some savings left, and on some mornings he just wants to be slow and make his own coffee. Sometimes life's little luxuries are better than priceless paintings or expensive artifacts.

He only wishes he could make two cups instead of one and have someone to share his morning coffee with.

Kurt goes to sit in the living room with his coffee when he's done, sipping the drink slowly. He still feels a little disoriented after the dream; he doesn't have nightmares often, but he has basically been waiting for this one. It's been only a little over a week since the Caine case and its aftermath, and he's still haunted by how close to ruining everything they were, how he was so sure that he was going to lose Blaine and his freedom at the same time, end up back in prison and never get the chance to see Blaine again – and then they practically got off the hook with no repercussions or questions asked. Kurt still can't quite believe it.

They talked about it afterwards, of course they did, and they decided to keep their distance at the office. It was Blaine's idea, actually, and Kurt agreed to it immediately. Kurt knows that the team has given them their support, their figurative blessing, but if he's learned anything during his life of crime, it's that people's support can be a surprisingly fickle thing. He doesn't want to rub his and Blaine's relationship in or give the other agents any reason to suddenly change their minds. On top of that there are still agents who don't know about them at the Bureau, people who should never find out about them, so they're keeping their distance even more carefully than they did before. No more making out in the restroom, no more holding hands under the conference room table or making frequent trips to the records floor. Just friendly interaction between two colleagues, even if Kurt still sometimes catches Blaine looking at him across the room with such fondness in his eyes that it's not exactly just friendly.

Except...

Kurt leans his head against the backrest of the couch, looking up at the ceiling and listening to the distant hum of the city outside his windows. Except now it's starting to feel like the polite distance is seeping into their personal lives as well. This is the fourth time this week he and Blaine haven't spent the night together, and though Blaine has always had a reason for it, Kurt is starting to think something's wrong. Perhaps Blaine thinks that the roles they have to play around the office will be easier if they don't spend every minute of their spare time with each other, but it's still weird. Kurt thought that the whole point of being extra careful at work was that they could still be themselves when it's just them and no one else.

The skin under his anklet starts itching again, and he leans down to scratch it. As much good as the deal has brought into his life, he still sometimes hates the way the anklet is keeping him from doing the things he really wants to do – holding Blaine's hand when they walk down the street, kissing him goodnight and good morning every day, maybe taking Blaine out on a date somewhere outside his radius. Or perhaps even going back to visit Ohio on his own, or with Rachel and Santana. Or with Blaine. He knows Blaine is from Ohio as well, so they could make a road-trip out of it, if it wasn't for the specific terms of the work-release deal that make trips out of state practically impossible.

Then again, before the anklet and the deal Kurt didn't even want any of those things. He didn't want anything like that, didn't care about anything outside the next con and definitely not about being happy. Now he wants it more than anything.

He still has his freedom, but recently he has started to notice its boundaries as well.

---

"I think you're going to like our next case," Blaine says airily when he stops in front of Kurt's desk later that morning.

Kurt looks up from his papers. Blaine is smiling at him, but there's something off, a barely noticeable tightness around his eyes or a strain over his mouth, something resigned lingering in the lines on his face. No one else has probably even noticed it, but Kurt knows these things about Blaine, thanks to years of studying him, and he wants to corner him and ask him what's wrong, even though he also knows that cornering Blaine won't get him anymore. Cornering Blaine when he's like this would probably only make him close up even more, but Kurt still wants to do it. Desperately.

But they are at work now, surrounded by people who know about them and support them but who could still change their minds, and like Blaine himself said after the Caine case, there are no second chances anymore. So Kurt smiles back, hoping to convey some wordless reassurance with his facial expression alone.

"Do tell," he says, leaning his elbows against the desk and resting his chin in his hands.

Blaine's smile widens, the tightness loosening a little. "One word: Fashion."

As worried as he is about Blaine, Kurt can't help the excited shiver that runs up his spine at the word. "Oh god, don't tell me that someone has stolen an original Alexander McQueen and it's our job to find it?" he gasps out.

"Nothing like that, I'm afraid," Blaine laughs. Kurt can feel his own smile widening at the sound of it. "But someone did break into the Vogue offices and steal a very expensive diamond necklace the magazine was going to showcase in its upcoming issue."

"Oh my god." Kurt sucks in a breath. "Someone stole the canary diamond?" he exclaims, his voice getting higher and the agents sitting closest to them startling in surprise.

Blaine hushes him. "Yes, someone stole the canary diamond," he repeats, giving one of the files he has been holding to Kurt. "And we need to find out who it was. So go through that file before your lunch break and then meet me in the conference room afterwards. The techs are still working on the crime scene, and Vogue is sending someone here to give us more details."

"Is it bad that I'm kind of excited?" Kurt asks as he takes the file and starts flipping through it. "I mean, it's Vogue! I've basically been waiting for a case like this. Ooh, there are crime scene photos," he adds, holding the file a little more carefully and drinking in the attached photographs.

"It's not bad," Blaine says, the tone of his voice sounding softer than it has all morning, and Kurt calls that a success. He starts to turn away from Kurt's desk, shifting the rest of the files he still has on his hands, and Kurt tears his gaze away from the description of the diamond before he can get too far.

"Blaine?" he calls out. Blaine stops and turns around, his eyebrows raised in question. Kurt hesitates. "I'm... I'm having lunch with Rachel today, and she said that you're welcome to join us as well. If you'd like to?"

It only takes a second, and then the resigned strain is back over Blaine's face, his jaw tightening almost unconsciously and his eyes dimming. "That's... very kind of her," Blaine says slowly, the corners of his mouth turning down, and Kurt notices the way he glances around the office before continuing, "but I'm going to have to eat here today. I have to brief my bosses about this case, so..."

"Oh." Kurt blinks, disappointed but trying to school his face back to neutral. "That's alright. I get it."

"Tell her I said hi?" Blaine ventures. He does look genuinely sorry, but Kurt knows he has no reason to brief the higher-ups yet, not when they haven't even come up with a plan for this case. He swallows against the bitter taste in his mouth and just nods at Blaine.

"Sure. I'll tell her," he replies, and if it comes out a little colder than usual, well, what can he do.

Blaine's face falls for a quick moment, but then he schools his expression as well and gives Kurt a polite smile, something sad and disappointed and regretful shimmering behind it. Kurt watches as he hugs the files closer to his chest and then walks away, only nodding a brisk greeting to Sam when they pass each other on the stairs. Blaine closes the door of his office behind him, something he doesn't usually do, and the last thing Kurt sees through the glass walls before he turns his gaze away is the way Blaine's shoulders seem to shake when he takes a deep breath and starts sorting his files over his desk.

Kurt trusts Blaine, always has to some degree and always will – he trusts him when he whispers I love you against Kurt's collarbone when they make love, trusts him with some of the darkest secrets from his past, trusts and knows him to do his best, no matter what – but ever since their scare during the Caine case something has been wrong, and the way Blaine keeps acting is a sure indication of it.

Kurt frowns down worriedly at the case file in his hands. Perhaps even things at the office aren't as fine as he thought they were.

He is still turning everything over and over in his head an hour later when he's sitting in a coffee shop near the FBI building, pushing his chicken salad around his plate and absent-mindedly listening to Rachel's story about her horrible dance instructor. He knows he agreed to keeping their distance, but Blaine is keeping it almost too well, and he can't help but wonder if Blaine has suddenly realized that his job is more important to him than Kurt, that what they are or were could never –

"Kurt? Are you still listening?"

Kurt startles at the tentative touch to his wrist, blinking his eyes until he's back in the here and now. Rachel's fingers are resting over his hand, and she's staring at him over the small table, her eyes worried and her fork hovering nervously over her own salad.

"I'm hogging the conversation again, aren't I?" she asks with a small smile, tilting her head and pulling her hand away.

"You kind of were, Rachel, but it's okay." Kurt rolls his eyes and puts down his utensils. "I just have a lot on my mind, so I wasn't really paying attention. Sorry."

"Oh?" Rachel leans closer, an excited gleam in her eyes. "Is it a difficult case for the FBI? You have to go undercover as a rich playboy who likes fast cars and easy lovers so you can catch a black widow who has already murdered four of her – or his! – husbands? And now you're worried that perhaps this black widow is out to get you as well?"

"No!" Kurt stresses, lifting his eyebrows. "How did you even come up with that?"

Rachel leans back away, her expression turning sheepish. "I might have read a few trashy crime novels when I was trying to figure out how to get in contact with you. You know, for future reference. But," she interrupts before Kurt can say anything, "in my defense, most of them were Santana's."

Kurt laughs, forgetting all of his problems for a moment. God, he has missed this. He has missed Rachel and her particular brand of insanity. "I don't think those novels paint a very accurate picture of the life of a criminal, Rachel," he comments when his laughter finally dies down. "It's not that glorious."

"So I figured." Rachel frowns, most likely mentally removing the books from her list of possible character references. Kurt hides his smile behind his hand. After a moment she shakes her head and then fixes Kurt with a gaze. "Honestly though – is everything alright? You're not usually this distracted."

Kurt can feel his own smile falter before he manages to stop it. He forces his mouth to turn back into a smile and shrugs his shoulders. "It's nothing, Rachel. Just a new case that seems interesting."

"Actually..." Rachel bites her lip. "I've been meaning to ask you something about that and I don't want you to take it the wrong way because I don't mean anything... weird by it." She waves her hand through the air in a so-and-so gesture.

"What?" Kurt asks, finally picking up his fork again and spearing a piece of lettuce.

Rachel hesitates, a sure sign that she's going to ask something they usually avoid talking about. "I've been getting the feeling that you're not going to continue being a con-man anymore, so I was just wondering if you've given any thought to your future? To what you're going to do in the future, I mean?"

Kurt pauses, swallowing his food before he answers. "I still have three years left on my deal. So that's what I'm going to do," he evades.

"No, but –" Rachel starts, stops and then starts again. "Three years isn't that long a time, Kurt. Do you remember how in high school you had a very detailed plan about what your life was going to be like for the next twenty years? You must have some kind of an idea about what you're going to do when your deal is over."

"Plans change, Rachel." Kurt keeps his voice even. "We both know that."

Rachel nods quickly. "We do, and like I said, I'm not trying to be pushy or weird, but I just... I don't want you to end up with nothing when that tracking anklet is gone." She nudges his foot under the table. "We're not that young anymore, Kurt, and we need to plan things ahead, even if those plans won't work out in the end. You've always been one of the most talented people I know, and..."

She trails off, and Kurt looks up from his salad, lifting his eyebrow. "Yes?"

"And I'd love to see you use that talent again, now that your life is more socially acceptable," Rachel finishes, looking Kurt straight in the eye, the expression on her face almost a little desperate.

Kurt sighs. "I'm not the same person I was in high school, Rachel. I don't think I ever will be that person again, at least not completely." He glances at her, feeling some of the old anger resurfacing. "So if you're hoping that I will just magically apply to NYADA again and become your roommate –"

"That's not what I meant," Rachel rushes to say, shaking hear head with her eyes wide open. "I don't expect that to happen, I promise. We're both different people than we were in high school." Her expressions turns suggestive. "Besides, I know you'd much rather become Blaine's roommate than mine, so..." She waggles her eyebrows, something that always manages to look kind of ridiculous when she does it.

Kurt averts his gaze. A week ago her comment would've made him laugh and blush, but now it hits a bit too close to home. He has probably known it for a while already, has had an inkling of the magnitude of his own feelings ever since the first time he noticed Blaine looking at him the way he usually does, soft and amazed and like Kurt's more than just worth it, like he's the most wonderful thing Blaine has ever seen. Or perhaps he even realized it all those years ago when Blaine caught him for the first time and shook his hand with a lot more kindness than he expected from a federal agent.

Whatever it is, Rachel's words make it all seem so much more concrete. He does want that, just like he wants a lot of things these days; he wants to move in with Blaine and call Perry their dog, wants to be something more than just an ex-con-man. He wants to have Blaine in his life as long as possible.

He would've thought it was something Blaine wanted as well, but after the last week, he's not so sure anymore.

Rachel is still looking at him, so he shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know what my life is going to be like in three years, Rachel," he points out, "but I promise I'll give it some thought, if it makes you feel any better."

"That's all I want," Rachel trills, smiling again and flicking her hair behind her ears. "Oh, that reminds me! I meant to ask – how's Blaine? You did tell him that he could join us for lunch?"

Kurt looks down at his salad again, uncertainty about him and Blaine, about his future, about everything, swirling around his body. "He was busy," he says simply, giving a small shrug. "New case, like I said."

Rachel from nine years ago would've pestered him for details, annoyed him with questions until he gave up; but their relationship still isn't what it used to be, so she just gives him a small, understanding smile and asks him if he read the reviews they talked about on the phone the other night.

---

When Kurt steps out of the elevator on the 21st floor after his lunch break, he almost bumps into Tina, who has obviously been waiting for the elevator for a long while, judging by her expression. Kurt quickly changes his movement and steps aside, letting her pass and flashing a quick smile in apology.

"Blaine was looking for you," Tina mentions in response, keeping her hand between the elevator doors so they won't close too soon. "He's in his office with that woman from Vogue."

"Oh, okay. Thanks," Kurt says, giving her another smile before the doors close between them. He quickly checks his reflection in the steely surface of the elevator doors and straightens his bowtie. He knows it's a little ridiculous, but everyone in the white collar world judges people by their appearance and their clothes – god knows he does it himself all the time. But this is Vogue, a special case that trumps all the others. It's practically his bible. He has to look his best for them.

When he's satisfied with his appearance he crosses the bullpen, walks up the stairs to the upper level and knocks on the halfway-closed door of Blaine's office, trying to quell his excitement. He can hear voices coming from inside, and they pause at his knock until Blaine calls out, "Come in!"

Kurt pushes the door all the way open and steps inside. There's an older woman sitting opposite Blaine on the other side of his desk, her expression curious but friendly, and both she and Blaine turn to look at him when he closes the door behind him.

"Hi," he greets awkwardly. "I'm sorry I'm late."

"No, not at all," Blaine says with the smile Kurt likes to call his working smile – polite but efficient. He doesn't usually see it aimed at himself, though. Blaine gestures at the woman with his hand. "Kurt, this is Isabelle Wright. She's in charge of the diamond article," he introduces. "Ms. Wright, this is Kurt Hummel, our informant who helps us with cases like this one."

"Oh, so you're the person behind that gorgeous sketch?" Isabelle asks, her smile widening as she takes Kurt's offered hand and gives it a firm shake. The bracelets she's wearing jingle with the movement.

Kurt frowns, looking confusedly between Blaine and Isabelle. "What sketch?"

Blaine looks away, a small blush spreading over his cheeks, and points at the left-hand wall of his office. The expression on Blaine's face is so much more present than it was before lunch that it takes Kurt a moment to move his eyes away from him, but eventually he manages to follow the gesture. There's a framed picture on the wall right under Blaine's bookshelf, next to two official certificates. Kurt can't remember seeing the picture there before, so it must be new, and when he looks at it more closely he recognizes it as one of his own sketches.

It's just a rough sketch of a suit with minimal shadowing, something he doodled during one of their longer meetings in the conference room and apparently forgot to throw away – but he had no idea that Blaine had held onto it, let alone framed it and put it on his wall.

He turns back to look at Blaine, something warm and surprised spreading through his body. "You kept it?" he asks, hoping he doesn't sound as breathless as he feels.

Blaine shrugs, not meeting his eyes. "I liked it," he replies. "If you don't want me to have it, I can take it down and –"

"No, no, you can have it," Kurt rushes to promise. "I have dozens of sketches like that at home, so it's not that big a deal."

Blaine finally looks at him, something soft in his eyes, and oh, there he is – there's the Blaine Kurt knows, the one who somehow manages to convey more feelings with a simple look in his eyes than with elaborate words, the one who looks at Kurt like he wants to reach out and never let go. He has missed this Blaine during these last few days, has missed waking up next to him and feeling his warm body pressed against his own.

"So there are more of these sketches?" Isabelle says, interrupting the moment, and Kurt's heart aches when Blaine immediately looks away and clears his throat, that sense of resignation settling over his features again. Isabelle doesn't seem to notice it and just keeps looking at Kurt, her eyes shining with interest. "I'd love to see them one day. You're obviously very talented."

Kurt ducks his head, feeling his cheeks heat up. "Um, wow. Thank you." He takes a seat at the opposite end of the desk, suddenly not knowing what to do with his hands. Someone from Vogue just complimented his sketches, someone who probably wouldn't say it if they didn't mean it, and it's a lot, definitely. "Did I miss anything important about the case?" he changes the subject, glancing at the case files spread over Blaine's desk.

"No, not much," Blaine says, back to professional once again. "We were just discussing how the thief could've gotten through the security and inside the building. Ms. Wright was telling me about the protective measures their security team had taken to ensure the diamond's safety, but that's about it."

Kurt bites his lip. He should probably come clean now rather than later. "Well, this is weirdly convenient."

"What do you mean?" Blaine asks, turning to look at Kurt.

"It's just that..." Kurt glances at Isabelle. "Blaine – I mean, Agent Anderson," he corrects himself, "probably told you already that I'm a criminal informant, and... One of the first cons I ever allegedly ran was actually breaking into the Vogue offices after-hours," he confesses.

Isabelle's eyes widen. "What?" she exclaims.

Blaine smiles and shakes his head. "Let me guess: you didn't even steal anything?"

"I didn't," Kurt admits, pursing his lips in thought. "Allegedly. I just wanted to see if I could do it, and to see what the building looks like from the inside."

(If this was just him and Blaine and if the things between them were the way they were a week ago, he would probably add that in reality he had dreamed of working for Vogue if his Broadway dreams didn't pay off; that before things changed and his life took a turn for the worse he had been planning his job application and cataloguing all the sketches and outfits he could include in it. Breaking into the Vogue offices just to take a look of it all was his way of saying goodbye to his old dreams before he left New York to run an art gallery sting in Italy, and he both hated and admired himself for doing it. He only spent a few minutes inside the building before he started to feel like he couldn't breathe, like everything he used to be was suffocating him and he had to get out. But right now things are what they are, and he doesn't say any of those things.)

"You broke into the Vogue building, what, several years ago?" Isabelle repeats, still looking a bit shocked but not necessarily in a bad way. "How do we know you didn't steal the diamond?" she asks, staring at Kurt but clearly addressing his words to Blaine.

"He didn't," Blaine says immediately. "He's not a criminal, he's a consultant, and he wouldn't steal anything." He hesitates, suddenly seeming very interested in the files on his desk. "Besides, we track his... his every movement, so we know where he was at the time of the theft."

Kurt frowns, trying to read Blaine's facial expression, but Isabelle interrupts him again by clapping her hands on her thighs and smoothing down the fabric of her skirt.

"Well," she says, her voice determined, "I guess we have the best expert and the best agent working on this case, then. Hopefully that means we can get the diamond back before I get sacked."

"We'll do our best," Blaine promises. "We are on a deadline here, in a way, because with every moment we're giving the culprit more time to transport the diamond out of the country or get it cut into smaller gems. Finding it will be a lot more difficult if either of those happens before we catch the person or people responsible."

Kurt leans closer to the desk, straightening his back in confidence. "Then you need me. I know how to get into that building." He shrugs his other shoulder. "And how to get out."

Isabelle's smile widens. "Don't tell my boss, but this is kind of exciting," she stage-whispers.

Kurt hides his own smile. He's starting to like her already. If things had gone differently, she could've been his boss or colleague – he could be the one worried about getting fired right now, not her, and thinking about all the possibilities is making his head spin. He grabs the nearest file and drags it to his side of the desk, just for distraction, trying to ignore the rushing thoughts inside his head.

"Alright," Blaine says, glancing at Kurt, but Kurt ignores him. If he starts to think about Blaine's motives right now as well, he won't be able to concentrate on the case. "W-well, we already know from the witness reports and crime scene photos what has happened," Blaine continues, looking back to Isabelle, "but could you walk us through everything one more time, Ms. Wright? Perhaps Ku– Mr. Hummel will be able to give us some insight into the thief's possible movements and then we can gather the team and go from there?"

---

The case doesn't turn out to be that difficult after all. The only impressive parts about the theft are the way the culprit got in and out of the building, and Kurt easily traces his steps from the information he gets from Isabelle. When they figure out the thief's exit plan, all they have to do is check a few security and traffic cameras for anything suspicious. Blaine immediately recognizes one of the people walking away from the Vogue building at the time of the theft as one of FBI's old acquaintances, a jewel thief who has managed to avoid prison so far and whose most used alias pops up on their radar. From there on the case moves swiftly, and only two days later they have the diamond back in the Vogue offices and the culprit in custody.

It's a neat resolution for a stressful week. Isabelle thanks them profusely and compliments Kurt's sketches one more time, asking him to contact her if he ever needs a life-long subscription of Vogue (he might just take her up on that offer), and then practically skips out of the office, happy to keep her job, her high heels clicking against the floor.

Blaine drives Kurt home in the evening, both of them smiling to themselves after a job well done and quietly humming along to the radio, and Kurt thinks that maybe, maybe things are okay after all – perhaps Blaine has just been stressed after the Caine case, and now that they've successfully solved another bigger case in record time and showed everyone at the office that they can still work together despite their relationship, things can hopefully go back to the way they were.

Kurt has missed Blaine. He really has. He has missed even the little things, the way Blaine always squeezes his hand, the way he smiles at Perry and puts too much sugar in his coffee. He just wants to hold him and kiss him and wake up next to him again. Isabelle's comments about his sketches and Rachel's questions about his future are still echoing around his head, making his thoughts feel like a confused mess. He really does have no idea what he will do if and when the deal is over, but at least right now, in this moment, things with Blaine seem more constant after the whirlwind of the last few days.

Blaine stops the car outside Kurt's building, killing the engine and turning the radio off. Kurt startles from his thoughts, looks out of the car window, and frowns.

"I thought we were going to your apartment?" he wonders out loud, turning to look at Blaine over the center console.

Blaine doesn't meet Kurt's eyes, his fingers drumming slowly against the steering wheel.

"Are you coming inside then?" Kurt asks with a small smile, leaning closer and reaching out for Blaine's hand. "I have those coffee beans you like?"

Blaine swallows, his throat bobbing. His eyes seem conflicted. "I... I don't think that's such a good idea right now," he finally says in a low voice.

Kurt draws his hand back, stung and upset. So much for Blaine being a constant; so much for things being alright. "Right now?" he repeats. "Well, when will you think it's a good idea? Because the last time I checked we were still dating, but I feel like I haven't seen you outside the office for over a week."

Blaine lets go of the steering wheel, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Kurt..."

"Are we still dating?" Kurt can't help but ask.

"Of course we are, Kurt, but it's just –" Blaine trails off, huffing out a breath in frustration.

"It's just what?" Kurt snaps. He has been dealing with this for over a week, second-guessing everything and trying to figure out what's going on, and he can't take it anymore. They just solved a big case, with team effort at that, but Blaine is still distant, still pulling back, and it's so out of the ordinary that Kurt has to know what's causing it.

"I said we should keep our distance, and you agreed with me," Blaine reminds him, that same horrible sense of resignation in his voice. Kurt doesn't even know what he's resigning himself to.

"I thought you meant at the office," Kurt counters, turning on his seat so he can face Blaine. "I didn't think we would give up on our personal lives just to be careful." He blinks away the sudden tears in his eyes. "We almost lost everything during that Caine case, Blaine."

Blaine shivers and looks away. "You don't have to remind me," he mumbles.

"We almost lost everything," Kurt repeats in a slightly louder voice, "and now I feel like I'm losing you anyway."

Blaine turns to look at him, his eyes desperate, as if he's trying to make Kurt understand. "You're not losing me." He drags his fingers through his hair, messing up the gel. "I'm the one who could be losing you. Don't you see it, Kurt? We don't have personal lives."

Kurt flinches, his heart stuttering inside his chest. He turns away quickly and releases his seat belt. This was a bad idea. He needs his space right now, needs to clear his head after the confusing weeks he's had, and Blaine is not making anything any better right now, not the way he usually does. It's like Kurt was thrown straight from his straining undercover assignment with Caine to this equally straining weirdness between him and Blaine, and he wishes that there weren't any doubts, that trusting Blaine would be enough, but apparently he can't let go of his skeptical con-man instincts, not when he can't seem to grasp Blaine or his own future or their future together. He thought he had three years left until he would have to worry about these things, but apparently he was wrong.

Kurt reaches for the door handle and spits out, "Maybe you shouldn't come up tonight then. I have an idea for a new painting and I don't want any distractions from my so-called personal life."

The words taste sour when they come out of his mouth, and from the corner of his eyes he can see Blaine reaching out towards him.

"No, Kurt, I didn't mean it like that," he pleads. "If someone finds out about... You have to understand, it's only because my bosses have access to –"

Kurt gets out of the car before Blaine can finish his sentence or reach him. He stops on the sidewalk, takes a deep breath and only then turns around to look at Blaine, the car door still open between them. Blaine is staring at him from the driver's seat, his hand hovering over the parking brake and his eyes sad and confused and frustrated, so many conflicting emotions shining from them. Kurt takes another breath, his fingers gripping the car window tightly. He has been doing this ever since he can remember, reeling his true feelings back in, but when he's with Blaine he can't seem to remember how to do it.

"I think both of us need some space right now," he eventually says in a steady voice. Blaine opens his mouth, but Kurt stops him with a shake of his head. "I just feel like I'm too... emotional right now, and I'm not used to being this emotional, and I'm probably – hopefully – misinterpreting everything you say, so can we just... go to our separate homes and talk about this tomorrow? Or will you still think that it's not a good idea?" he can't help but add, and god, the way Blaine flinches away from him makes his heart ache because he did that, he spit those words against Blaine's face and meant them.

Blaine's hand finally falls down. "Y-yeah, we should... We should probably do that," he sighs, looking tired all of a sudden. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?" He looks into Kurt's eyes. "I promise. We'll talk this through and figure out what's going on and where we've misinterpreted each other."

His eyes are so earnest that Kurt can't help but nod. "Okay. Just... Drive safely," he adds as a afterthought. He does still love Blaine, even if everything seems a little unsure right now. He closes the car door and turns around, walking quickly to his building and not looking back even though he can't hear the sound of Blaine's car starting again.

When he gets to his loft and looks out of the window, Blaine has driven away.

---

Kurt paints and draws, spreading everything on canvas and on the pages of his sketchbooks, but a few hours later he can't take the silence anymore, worry twisting itself up in knots inside his stomach. He texts Blaine, the answering message lighting up his screen only a moment later.

From Kurt:
At least tell me you did get home safely.

From Blaine:
I did.

There's nothing more; just those two words, and Kurt knows it means that Blaine is going to respect his request and wait until tomorrow so they both get the chance to calm down. He doesn't know how much he's actually going to calm down, though. When he finally goes to bed, much later than he usually does, flecks of paint and charcoal still smudging his fingers, he spends most of the night staring at the ceiling, too many thoughts chasing each other around in his mind.

The skin under his tracking anklet keeps itching.