It's been more than a week, and Blaine knows that he's slipping already – he slipped when he covered Kurt with a quilt the other night after several minutes of hesitation, he slipped when his mouth turned into a reassuring smile the next morning when there was no new letter in the mail, he slipped when he sent an e-mail to Cooper and talked about Kurt so much that Cooper's answer was nothing but sexual innuendoes. He slipped when they were watching a movie one evening (Kurt said he was bored, and Blaine had nothing else to do) and he sat too close to Kurt on the sofa. He keeps slipping, no matter how hard he tries to be professional and distant, and it doesn't help that every time he does slip Kurt smiles at him like he's suddenly made everything better.

Whenever Blaine sees Kurt smile like that all he wants to do is to slip again, never mind the consequences. But he can't do that. He can't slip. He shouldn't do that. Blaine knows himself; he knows that whenever he starts to feel or care too much he screws up, he fails and everything crumbles to pieces. So he distances himself, bites his lip when he's about to smile at Kurt – at Mr. Hummel – and stops himself whenever Kurt looks sad and Blaine wants to reach out a comforting hand. Whenever Mr. Hummel looks sad, damn it.

He builds a cage around his feelings once again, tries to keep it up as much as he can. The bars protect him, protect everyone around him, but they still sometimes let his feelings reach out from behind them, like caged birds trying to see what's happening on the outside. Blaine keeps telling himself that that's all it is. Only a few slips, a few feathers peeking out. He just needs to try harder and not let it happen, try to keep his feelings locked up.

That's all. But then again it's not.

The days have been quiet. They both wake up early, Blaine because his thoughts are too loud and Kurt because of reasons Blaine doesn't know. They mostly stay in the apartment, Kurt working and Blaine reading or discreetly writing college assignments. He hasn't told anyone yet, not even Cooper or Wes, but a few weeks ago he started finishing his old assignments and essays even though he dropped out and still doesn't know if or when he's going back. At first the college stuff was just a distraction, something to occupy his mind with, but the more he does it, the more he starts to miss the chance of being a teacher. He doesn't return the essays to his old professors, just stores them on his laptop for future reference. For the day when he might go back.

Every once in a while he and Kurt go out shopping, meet Kurt's clients or just have coffee in one of the numerous coffee shops that Kurt Hummel seems to frequent. They talk a little, everyday things, nothing too personal from Blaine, and Blaine keeps Kurt away from thick crowds and shady passers-by. It's always Kurt who suggests these outings, and Blaine always agrees. Rachel also comes around a few times, and Blaine retreats to the guest room each time, deciding to give Kurt some sense of privacy with his friend. He knows that having a bodyguard must complicate Kurt's social life, and he doesn't want either one of them to go cabin crazy. Maybe with you keeping me safe I could continue living the way I want to, that's what Kurt had said, and Blaine is trying his best to make sure that Kurt does live his life.

Kurt has a fundraiser on Saturday, roughly a week and a half after Blaine became his bodyguard. It's a smallish event in a fancy restaurant, and Kurt has mentioned that he isn't going to spend his whole evening there. One of the people organizing the event is someone Kurt knows and it's for a good cause, so he still wants to go. Blaine feels almost relieved: events are something he has experience from, something familiar. Something he knows how to handle.

He takes out the suit he packed with him – it's very discreet, very professional – and puts it on over his dark blue button-up. He stands a few minutes in front of the bathroom sink, staring at his hair in the mirror and debating whether or not he should put some gel in it. It's a good thing the guest room has its own bathroom, since Kurt has completely taken over the main bathroom with his products and clothes. Eventually Blaine decides to gel his hair down a little, just to make it look less wild and more... professional.

He wanders out to the kitchen and drinks a glass of water while he waits for Kurt. The weather has actually been nice today, but it's already late and Blaine can only see the city lights of New York from the kitchen window. The fundraiser begins at seven and it's already a little over six, and Blaine is looking at his watch, wondering if they'll be late, when Kurt emerges from his bedroom, spring in his step and smiling widely.

He looks absolutely gorgeous. His dark grey suit is extremely fitting, the pants making his legs look even longer, and he's wearing a black sequined vest underneath his jacket, which could look weird, but somehow Kurt manages to pull it off. On his feet he has black ankle boots, and there's a brooch that looks like a big beetle pinned to his jacket lapel. His hair is styled elegantly, and it looks soft and natural, like there's not even a hint of product in it.

Blaine does know something about fashion – he reads Vogue and tries to keep up with the latest trends, but he doesn't always incorporate them into his own clothes. He likes cardigans and polo shirts, boat shoes and jeans, vests and quirky bowties, stripes and colors. College taught him to look a bit more grown-up, but other than that his style has stayed pretty much the same throughout the years. It's comfortable and reassuring, and if he put on something resembling the clothes Kurt is wearing right now, he would probably look completely ridiculous. But Kurt... Kurt looks amazing. Breath-taking, even. He looks original and proud and brave and stylish.

He looks gorgeous, and Blaine can't stop staring at him.

Kurt smiles and does a little spin, looking down at his outfit. "I have to admit, I'm proud of this suit. I had to make some changes to it after I bought it, but now it fits so well."

Blaine swallows. "It looks great."

"Thank you." Kurt raises his eyes and looks at Blaine's suit. "I like your suit as well. It has a good cut that works for you. And I love that you're wearing a bowtie." He grins.

Blaine straightens his simple bowtie, a little self-conscious in his discreet suit next to Kurt's amazing ensemble, but Kurt sounded genuine when he complimented Blaine's suit and Blaine does like his own style. He gives a small smile. "Thanks. I like bowties."

"I like them too, but I couldn't find a good match for this outfit." Kurt furrows his brow. "Anyways, I'm glad you have a nice suit! It would've probably been pretty weird if Kurt Hummel's assistant was wearing an awful suit." He looks uncertain. "You do remember that if anyone asks I'll introduce you as my assistant?"

Blaine nods. "Yeah, I remember."

Kurt sighs. "Good. I just don't want to spend the whole evening explaining to everyone why I have a bodyguard and listening to how brave of me it is to get out and oh, Kurt, you must be scared!" He rolls his eyes. "Okay?"

Blaine nods again. "Okay."

-

There's a small red carpet with a few photographers taking pictures of all the guests in front of the restaurant. Blaine stands back when the photographers snag pictures of Kurt Hummel, the new big name in costume design, and of his amazing outfit. There are a few enthusiastic Broadway fans screaming behind the photographers and journalists, and Blaine's eyes keep darting from one person to the next, noticing how their eyes travel over Kurt's clothes and body like he's just a mannequin, and Blaine suddenly feels awful for his own ogling earlier.

When the photographers start shouting completely stupid suggestions ("hey, Mr. Hummel, could you do your Rachel Berry pose?"), Blaine moves closer to Kurt and steers him away. Kurt doesn't resist, just looks a bit confused and throws a smile over his shoulder to the fans. When they get inside there are more people, more noises, and Blaine has to concentrate – that man looks like he's drunk already, stay away from him, that woman is going to bump into Kurt, dodge her, wait, that path is clearer, let's walk there. His hand is resting on the small of Kurt's back, a touch that could be intimate but just feels professional and necessary right now.

The fundraiser has just begun when they reach the main hall. There are people trying to find their tables all over the restaurant, and someone's giving an introductory speech on the stage, though the words get lost in the general cacophony of the room. Blaine doesn't relax, not even a little – there are no enthusiastic fans in here, but they don't know who Kurt's anonymous fan is, and if Blaine has learned anything from going to events with Cooper it's that too much free alcohol and too little space tends to make even nice people act in a threatening way.

Kurt waves to a few people, but he looks a little lost, until his face suddenly breaks into a huge grin and he shouts, "Chandler! There you are!"

A blond man with thick-framed glasses is standing next to the bar, waving at Kurt and bouncing on his feet. He looks completely harmless, almost like an excited puppy, and Kurt does seem to know him, but Blaine can't just turn his instincts off, especially in surroundings as familiar as these, and he grabs Kurt's arm to stop him. Cooper once went to talk to someone who looked as harmless as this blond man and almost had a wine glass thrown at him.

Kurt does stop, but he looks at Blaine like he's being crazy. "Blaine, Chandler is harmless. He's not a threat." He wrenches his arm free and makes his way to the blond man (Chandler, apparently), and Blaine has no other choice than to follow him. That's his job.

Chandler kisses the air next to Kurt's cheek and gives him a glass of red wine. Blaine stares at the glass, just waiting for it to be thrown through the air, but nothing happens.

"Oh god, I can't believe this night is finally here! How does it look like?" Chandler gushes.

"It looks great, Chandler. You've really outdone yourself." Kurt takes a sip of the wine, smiling, until he seems to notice Chandler eyeing Blaine curiously. "Oh, sorry – Chandler, this is Blaine Anderson, he's my... assistant. Blaine, this is Chandler Kiehl, the friend organizing this event I mentioned earlier."

Blaine holds out his hand, and Chandler shakes it excitedly. "Assistant? Kurt, I didn't know you were doing so well!"

Kurt's smile falters for a moment, but Chandler doesn't seem to notice. "Well, you're not the only one who's outdone themselves," he quips.

"Obviously." Chandler rolls his eyes, but then he sees someone gesturing at him near the stage. "Oh, got to go! Thank you so much for coming, Kurt – it means a lot to me." He pats Kurt’s shoulder, gives Blaine a polite nod, and then skips off towards the stage.

Kurt sighs as soon as Chandler can't hear them anymore. "Seriously, Blaine. Chandler's not a threat, so you can stop staring at him like he's a criminal. He's just my ex-boyfriend."

"Resentful ex-boyfriend?" Blaine asks, declining the glass of wine the bartender tries to give to him.

Kurt laughs, but he sounds annoyed. "Did he look resentful? Look, our break-up was a long time ago. It was all very mature and we remained friends. That's all. He's not my anonymous fan, okay?" He takes another sip of his wine, not looking at Blaine.

Blaine is silent for a moment, but then his mind finally catches up with Kurt's words, and he tries very hard not to scream internally. After all, it's not like anything is ever going to happen between him and Kurt. Ever.

He clears his throat softly. "So... you're gay?"

Now Kurt does look at him, his eyebrows raised and looking confused. "Of course I am. Isn't it obvious?" he gestures towards his chest, as if he looks stereotypically gay, but his voice holds a tinge of bitterness.

Blaine wants to reach out and take Kurt's hand, make that bitterness disappear from his voice with the tactile gestures Blaine has always been prone to, but he can't slip, not now. So he just shrugs. "I try not to assume anything."

"Really?" Kurt says, sounding disbelieving, but when Blaine nods his face softens. "That's actually quite... nice." He bites his lip. "Rachel mentioned that you're..."

"I'm gay too," Blaine says before Kurt can finish his sentence.

There's a slender man walking towards the bar and he looks sort of shady, so Blaine grabs Kurt's hand again and guides him a few feet to the left. Kurt looks like he wants to say something more, but Blaine resolutely keeps his eyes on the crowd, focuses on seeing potential threats – the evening's still young and people aren't that drunk or tired yet, but there are a lot people, a lot of strangers, and he can't talk about his personal life with Kurt right now, he can't, not when Kurt looks so gorgeous and the wine has painted his lips a little red. Blaine needs to focus on working, on being professional.

-

Blaine closes the door behind him and can practically feel the tension flowing out of his body. The adrenaline is still running through his veins and his mind is still noticing every little detail, but just the simple act of closing the door to Kurt's apartment, closing the world outside, seems to ease the tension in his shoulders. There weren't any bad situations during this event – just a few drunken people and too tight crowds – and Kurt is safe, his gorgeous outfit is still gorgeous, and everything is fine.

Except apparently it isn't, because Kurt is sulking and stomps off into the living room before Blaine even has the chance to ask what's wrong. He sighs, massages the back of his neck tiredly, and then follows Kurt. He wants to go to bed, to another night in an unfamiliar bed and listening to the sounds of the apartment for any disturbances, but he can't just ignore the way Kurt is practically fuming. It's not slipping, he tells himself, if Kurt's angry and he tries to help.

Kurt is standing in the middle of the living room, his fists clenched on his sides and his eyes staring at Blaine, and Blaine literally flinches when he sees the way Kurt's gaze is burning.

"Why were you so rude to everyone?" Kurt grits out.

"What are you talking about?" Blaine asks, genuinely confused.

Kurt scoffs. "What am I talking about? You're unbelievable!" He throws his arms up exasperatedly. "You spent the whole evening steering me here and there, dragging me away from everyone, not saying anything and practically glaring at Chandler! What did he do to offend you? You could've said something, anything, to him when we were leaving, but no, you just had to stand there and act like a... Like a... Like a bodyguard!"

"That's because I am a bodyguard. Your bodyguard," Blaine tries to reason.

"I know! I'm not stupid!" Kurt's actually yelling right now, waving his hands in the air in wild gestures.

Blaine sighs. He really wants to go to bed. This fundraiser was calmer and easier than some of the events he went to in LA, but he's still tired. He was alert for hours, not resting for one second, watching and calculating all the time, and it's intense, it's tiring, especially after the half-sleepless nights he's had. He might logically know that the apartment is safe, but he can't stop imagining worst case scenarios, and his imagination isn't exactly helping him sleep.

"I know you're my bodyguard," Kurt continues, "but I thought that because you aren't a professional you wouldn't be so... so rude!"

"Rude?" Blaine asks, keeping his voice deliberately calm. He might not have professional training, but he can at least act professional.

"Yes! You treated Chandler like crap for no reason, and you – I'm not just some prop you can move from one place to another, Blaine! I didn't see anything remotely threatening, but there you go, dragging me to the other side of the room! For no reason!"

Blaine drags his fingers through his hair, loosening them from the gel's hold. "I was just doing my job, Mr. Hummel."

Kurt puffs his cheeks. "Well you could at least tell me what you're doing and not just drag me everywhere! And you still haven't told me why you were so rude to Chandler!"

Kurt is pointing his finger at Blaine, and somewhere in the back of his mind Blaine can hear Cooper saying when people are really emotional they point their fingers a lot, and huh, that's surprisingly accurate. And wow, he's definitely tired.

"I wasn't being rude," he tries to explain. "I was just... Look, I understand that you don't like my methods and I can try to change, I can tell you what I'm doing the next time, but I was honestly just trying to keep you safe. Evaluating risks and threats, trying to steer you away from anything possibly harmful, whether that was obnoxious photographers or drunken guests. So I wasn't being rude to Chandler, my mind was just occupied."

"Why do you have to take this so seriously? I'm trying very hard to live my life the same way as I always have, but I can't, not with you acting like that," Kurt mutters.

That's the whole point, Blaine supposes – Kurt doesn't want to take this situation seriously. He's still in denial, and Blaine can understand why. The fan hasn't said anything dangerous yet, just sent one letter to Kurt's home address and four to Wes' office, and Kurt can pretend that maybe this is it, maybe the fan won't go any further than this. It's a real possibility, and Blaine sincerely hopes that the whole thing works out like that, with no one getting hurt.

But at the same time he needs to take into account the other possibilities, the worse options, and he can't just close his eyes. He was hired to do a job, and Blaine doesn't want to give up, doesn't want to fail this time.

"I get it," he says softly. "My brother and his friends just let me do what I needed to do, but I can try to let you know what I'm doing and why I'm doing it. I want you to live your life as well and I've been doing my best to make that happen. But I can't..." He takes a deep breath before continuing. "I have to take this seriously, Mr. Hummel. I know there's a real possibility that the anonymous fan won't try to hurt you, but there's also a possibility that he will, and I have to be prepared for both of those possibilities."

Kurt stands still, but his shoulders are down, his whole posture defeated. Blaine sighs and drags his hand down his face, unties his bowtie and opens the top buttons of his shirt. Kurt looks up, and god, he looks so young, so lost, and Blaine just wants to hold him in his arms and never let anything bad happen to him.

"You look really tired," Kurt points out. His voice is calmer, no longer full of venom and anger.

"Thanks," Blaine murmurs.

Kurt bites his lip. "I'm sorry for yelling at you, Blaine. I was... frustrated, and not just at you, but at this whole situation."

"I know." Blaine smiles a little, not caring if this counts as slipping or not. "It's okay. I should've explained to you how I work before we left. I guess I forgot how new this is to you."

"It's new for you as well, and I'm sorry," Kurt insists, stubborn in everything he does, and Blaine feels his heart beat a little faster. He's too tired to ignore it, so he smiles a little wider.

"Like I said, it's okay. Can I go to bed now, or did you need anything?"

"No, I'm fine," Kurt assures, even though there's still a sad look in his eyes that Blaine wants to erase. "Go to bed, you look like you're about to collapse."

"Okay. Goodnight, Mr. Hummel."

"Goodnight, Blaine."

When Blaine reaches the guest room he closes the door quietly behind him and then rests his forehead against it. If the situation was different, if he wasn't a bodyguard and Kurt wasn't his client, he would go back to the living room, talk to Kurt and ask him to tell Blaine what's wrong. He would go back to the living room and be a friend, lend an ear, help. Blaine loves to help people, but helping Kurt deal with emotional things feels too much like slipping.

Blaine knows himself. He really does. He knows he's slipping, he knows he's falling for Kurt no matter how hard he tries to stop it. Kurt is gorgeous and witty and amazing and brave, he has a smile that can light up the whole world, and if Blaine wants Kurt to keep smiling, he needs to stop slipping.

It's that simple, but then again it really isn't.

Blaine takes a deep breath and pushes himself off the door. He can hear faint footsteps outside the door as Kurt walks to his own bedroom even though he said earlier that he was going to go through some sketches after the fundraiser. Blaine feels awful – he knows it was his behavior that made Kurt angry, made him realize that the optimistic possibility isn't the only one. He should be the one apologizing, not Kurt.

Muffled voices from the other side of the wall reach his ears. Kurt must be talking on the phone with someone (Rachel? His dad who he has mentioned earlier?), but Blaine ignores the barely-understandable words. He changes into his pajamas and falls on the bed, burrowing his face into the pillows. He feels tired, but he has a feeling that tonight will be just another half-slept night.

-

The rest of the weekend is awkward. Kurt can feel it in the apartment's air and in the way he and Blaine are almost dancing around each other in the confined space. They don't talk much, just obligatory greetings and do you mind and no, not at all. Blaine reads his books, but he seems itchy, his hands clenching – not in a violent way, god no; just like he's looking for release, some outlet that isn't there. The curtain over Blaine's face looks darker than it has for days, his face tight and emotionless, his eyes almost resembling the eyes of one of the plastic mannequins Kurt worked with in college. If it wasn't for his twitching hands, Kurt would think he wasn't feeling anything at all.

Kurt had called Rachel last night, after the argument, and talked about everything and nothing at the same time, about Rachel's show, about his own sketches and about good old high school memories, until Rachel had innocently asked how Blaine was doing and if Kurt had gotten any new letters, all in one breath, and Kurt had faked being tired and hung up. He didn't want to talk about Blaine's smile and how scared Kurt is sometimes, scared of his anonymous fan and of his own alarmingly growing feelings for Blaine.

Blaine is always somewhere near, safe and solid, and Kurt has found himself staring at Blaine's jawline too many times already. It's... frightening, how fast those feelings have appeared.

So Kurt decides to escape the suffocating atmosphere and his own fears, and spends hours in his office, finishing the preliminary sketches and organizing his notes and books until they're all alphabetized on the shelves. The office is his favorite room in the apartment, his safe haven now that he finally has a space for his work and his work alone. He first spent years sharing a house with his dad and Carole and Finn, then a flat with Rachel, and finally a miserable office space with other interns before succeeding on his own. He always tried to take good care of his sketches and plans, but somehow they still ended up floating through his previous apartment and his home in Lima and his friends' dorm rooms and the flats of his previous boyfriends. Now he finally has a place to call his own, a space for everything work related, and he loves to have everything in order, everything in its place and a place for everything.

He always feels better after cleaning up. It's like therapy for him.

His thought process and the calmness of his office is broken abruptly when he hears a thud and a soft curse from the living room – well, if you can call geez dammit a curse. He leaves the room and wanders out to the living room, trying to look nonchalant. He wants to know what made Blaine curse but with the awkward atmosphere he doesn't want it to be obvious.

Blaine is crouching next to the sofa, his brows furrowed a little. Three of his books are lying on the floor and he's picking them up, checking that none of the pages are torn or bent. Kurt thinks it's sort of endearing, the careful way Blaine handles works of art, his touch gentle and reverent. A few days ago they had watched a movie and Blaine had been extra careful with the DVD as well. It reminds Kurt of the way he himself handles fabrics and sketches.

"Is everything okay?" Kurt asks, and Blaine's head shoots up.

"Oh, yeah, sorry – I was trying to balance too many things on my lap and my books fell," he explains, gesturing towards the sofa where his laptop is still sitting. "And of course I now completely lost my place..." he mutters, picking up the last book and smoothing its cover.

Kurt still remembers Blaine's small smile from last night, right before they'd escaped to their rooms, and he wishes he could see even a ghost of that smile on Blaine's face right now. Blaine has a smile that makes Kurt feel better about everything, about stupid anonymous letters and about feeling like an outsider at the fundraiser last night. But Blaine isn't smiling, he's only frowning at his books or at himself. The atmosphere doesn't feel horribly awkward right now, as if everything that happened last night is forgotten for a moment, but it could only take one wrong word or gesture from either of them to shove the mood back into its previous state.

Blaine stands up and dusts his hands on his pants (yes, Kurt knows he should clean his whole apartment soon as well, but he's had other things on his mind), and looks over his shoulder to Kurt. They both startle a little as their eyes meet, and Kurt wants to curse when the atmosphere immediately shifts closer to awkward.

"Well, I was just going to..." Kurt gestures back towards the office, even though he just came from there.

Blaine turns away, curtain staying in place. "Sure. Let me know if you need anything."

-

By Monday morning some of the awkwardness has melted away, and Kurt is humming and making coffee in the kitchen when Blaine walks in with the mail. It's already become a routine: they both wake up early (Kurt has trouble sleeping, but he doesn't know if Blaine's just a natural early bird or if it's something else), and Blaine picks up the mail while Kurt makes coffee. There hasn't been a new letter in several days, not since Blaine became his bodyguard, and Kurt tries to stay optimistic and think that maybe this is it, maybe this is all that's going to happen. Maybe he won't even need a bodyguard anymore and he can leave the awkwardness behind.

"There's the newest edition of Vogue," Blaine lists, flipping through the mail pile, "a postcard from France from someone called Mercedes, a letter from Backstage Talent Association, a thick letter from Andrea Gallagher..."

Blaine stops, and Kurt turns around, two cups of coffee in hand. "Was that all?"

Blaine is staring at the mail, and something in his expression makes Kurt's insides turn cold. The curtain is suddenly gone, and Blaine's face is a mix of sadness, anger and fear, all of it knit tightly around his eyebrows and mouth. He looks up slowly and then raises the last letter for Kurt to see.

It's a plain white envelope with just Kurt's name and address on it, without any mention of who sent it.

Kurt swallows loudly and puts the coffee cups down. "It could be anything, right? It might not even be from him." He tries to smile, but he knows it looks wrong and ridiculous.

"It could be," Blaine agrees, but his eyes say otherwise. Kurt leans against the kitchen counter and crosses his arms over his chest, trying to hide his suddenly shaking fingers underneath his arms.

"Can you... Could you open it for me?" he asks, immensely proud of himself when his voice only shakes a little.

Blaine nods and tears the envelope open carefully. It seems to take forever until he finally folds open the piece of paper inside it, and Kurt's heart is beating loudly against his ribcage the whole time. Blaine looks at the letter – and his face falls.

"Dear Mr. Kurt Hummel," he reads, his voice monotonous, "I saw your outfit at the fundraiser last Saturday night and was once again blown away by your talent. You are truly a gift for this world of bleak clothes and uninspired outfits, and I can only wish to someday wear something as inspiring as one of your designs..."

His voice fades away when Kurt moves towards the table and sits down heavily. Kurt doesn't trust his feet anymore, not right now.

"He was... He was at the fundraiser?" he asks, the cold feeling inside him turning even worse.

"Or he could have just seen pictures of it online," Blaine suggests, keeping his voice calm and sitting down as well. Kurt can see Blaine's hands twitching on the table, but not looking for release this time – they're twitching towards Kurt, trying to reach for him but for some reason stopping before they do. Kurt looks up and sees that Blaine has left the letter on the counter, as far away from Kurt as possible in the kitchen's confined space. It's a small gesture of comfort, and Kurt's willing to take what he can right now.

"But... But the fundraiser was on Saturday. How did that letter arrive today?" he wonders out loud. He feels violated, the same way he felt when he got the previous letter, but this time it's even worse. He had been naïve and thought that with a bodyguard watching his every move the letters would miraculously stop, the anonymous fan would disappear and stop teasing him with innocent-sounding words. He feels stupid for making things up in his head.

Kurt is a realist, but sometimes he seems to forget it. Or maybe his realism comes with rose-tinted glasses.

Blaine reaches for the envelope and looks at the stamp. "It's an express letter."

"Oh, so he just couldn't wait to tell me how talented I am by violating my privacy once again and making me feel like crap and..." Kurt covers his mouth with his hand, feeling the tears that are threatening to fall out pooling in his eyes. He feels so tired of this already. He puts on a brave face and tries to hide it, but he hasn't slept well for over a week and Blaine is still distant even though Kurt wants Blaine to tell him it's alright, needs him to be kind and understanding like he was that first day in Kurt's kitchen.

Blaine finally reaches across the table. He wraps his fingers around Kurt's, giving them a small, reassuring squeeze – and then his hand is gone again, leaving Kurt's fingers tingling and aching for more contact, more reassurance.

"I'll call Wes," Blaine simply says and leaves the kitchen.