Kurt wakes up the next morning feeling like someone has parked a truck full of stomping animals inside his head. His mouth tastes like sandpaper – not that he has ever tasted sandpaper, but he imagines it tastes this scratchy and dull and awful. He doesn't even want to lower the comforter from his face because no doubt the curtains will be open and his eyes will be assaulted by the sunlight the moment he opens them. But it's Tuesday morning, he has work to do, and he has to get up. He's wearing yesterday's clothes, for god's sake, so he really needs to get up.

Kurt groans and slowly pulls the comforter down. He peeks just one of his eyes open first, ready to shut it immediately if the light feels too much.

The room is dark around him.

... Wait. How did that happen?

Kurt raises his head slowly and looks around his bedroom. The curtains are closed tightly, leaving the room in blessed darkness, and there are some painkillers and a glass of water on his bedside table. Exactly what he needs right now, and it's starting to feel a bit scary how everything is exactly how he wants it to be and at the same time exactly how he knows it shouldn't be.

He reaches for the glass nonetheless and only then realizes that he's actually lying across the bed, his pillow placed carefully where his head was resting a few moments ago and his legs dangling from the side of his bed. The bed still feels oddly empty, like there's something missing. Something or someone.

That's the thought that brings back everything from last night: the bar and singing with Rachel and Blaine singing – and god, his voice was unbelievable – and then getting even more and more drunk and Blaine dragging him home and helping him to bed and...

Oh god.

Oh god oh god oh god. Kurt practically cuddled with his bodyguard while being horribly drunk. How is he supposed to face Blaine after that? He doesn't even remember what he said to Blaine last night, but it must have been something completely out of line. The last time he was that drunk he said some pretty weird things to Rachel and Mercedes, which is exactly the reason he doesn't usually get this drunk.

Well, at least the unpleasant coldness and fear from last morning is now replaced with complete and utter mortification.

Kurt groans and lets his head sink back down. When his throbbing forehead is pressed against the gloriously soft pillow he realizes that it must've been Blaine who drew the curtains and left him a glass of water, once again taking care of him in a way that probably isn't a part of a bodyguard's job description. Kurt sincerely hopes he hasn't given Blaine any lasting traumas with his drunken cuddling. He does like Blaine and he'd like him even more if he wasn't so damn distant and professional, but he remembers how Blaine acted around Wes and Sarah last night, how he blushed adorably when Wes teased him – and how amazing he was on that stage, singing Coldplay like he was born to do it and jumping around like an excited five-year-old.

When Kurt was watching Blaine lose himself in the music in such a complete way, watching him make everyone else feel the beat and emotions as well, he could imagine Blaine as a teacher so clearly that his mouth had dropped open. He could imagine Blaine trying to get kids excited about music, trying to make them laugh and trying to help them deal with the sometimes cruel school world. But then Blaine's eyes had met his across the room and the curtain had fallen back into place, the real Blaine disappearing behind the bodyguard once again. Kurt had drunk some more after that, the evening had spiraled, and here he was now, completely hung-over and mortified.

They could be friends, Kurt muses, he and Blaine, if the situation was different. But things are as they are, and there's nothing Kurt can do to change them, not unless his anonymous fan decides to disappear and Blaine himself decides that they could have a shot at being friends, instead of a bodyguard and a client.

A shrill noise breaks through Kurt's thoughts, and he groans again. It takes him a moment to realize that it's his phone ringing, and a few moments more to finally get the offensive gadget out of his jeans' pocket and to answer the damn thing. He doesn't really have the energy to talk to anyone right now – he's way too busy wallowing in misery, thank you very much – but at least answering makes the annoying noise stop.

"'llo?" he grumbles into the phone and hopes that it isn't completely hung-over-less Rachel calling to taunt him about last night.

"Woah, kiddo, you don't sound too good."

"Dad?" Kurt lifts his head from the pillow, blinking his eyes open. "Why are you calling me this early? Is everything alright?"

"Early? Kurt, it's fifteen minutes over noon. I'm having a lunch break and decided to ask you how you and your bodyguard are doing."

Kurt buries his face back into the pillow with a sigh. "We're fine."

"What'd you say? I can't make any sense with you mumbling like that."

Kurt turns over on his back and rubs his eyes. "We're fine. I'm just hung-over and Blaine probably thinks I'm a complete freak after last night, but otherwise everything's just peachy."

"Hung-over? But it's Tuesday!" His dad sounds surprised, and Kurt cringes at his loud voice. He debates for a moment and then decides to just tell everything; he's never been good at lying to his dad, and he honestly needs someone to tell him he isn't a complete idiot right now.

So he tells it all, from the new anonymous letter to the cuddling with possibly involuntary Blaine. His dad doesn't say anything, just grunts here and there, and when Kurt finishes there's an awkwardly long silence on the other end of the line.

"Dad? Say something?" Kurt asks, rubbing his eyes again. He took the painkiller with the water in the middle of his explanation after his tongue had started to feel too dry, and he feels a bit better already – the stomping animals are just shuffling around right now – but loud noises and bright lights are still probably a bad idea. That doesn't mean he wants his dad to stay completely silent. "Are you... Are you disappointed in me or what?"

"No, Kurt, of course I'm not! Why would you think that? I was just trying to decide whether or not I should take the next flight to New York."

Kurt furrows his brows. He's already told his dad numerous times that the anonymous fan hasn't said anything dangerous. "Why would you want to come here?"

"You seem upset. Isn't that reason enough?" Burt says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and Kurt realizes how bad he must really sound. Or maybe his dad is just that observant.

"No, dad, it's fine, really." He sighs. "I'm just whining and hung-over. That detective did basically say that we shouldn't worry too much, and I need to figure things out with Blaine by myself. I don't even know why I went to the bar last night. I guess I was just feeling... bad. I fought with Blaine over the weekend, and then there's this new letter and –"

"Wait, you were fighting?" Burt interrupts. "Are you sure everything's okay with you and Blaine?"

Kurt closes his eyes for a moment. "I don't know yet. I did just wake up, so I haven't seen him after last night. But I'll work it out, dad. I know I seem to complain about him every time you call me, but he's honestly good at his job. He makes me feel safe and he's... nice."

Kurt can practically hear his dad smirking. "Nice, huh? He gay as well?"

"Dad, it's nothing like that," Kurt scolds, but can't help smiling a little to himself. Blaine is nice. Nice to look at, has nice manners, nice way of talking, nice smile, nice eyes – and that's as far as Kurt allows his thoughts to go, because yes, professional relationship. "Anyways, I don't want you to worry too much. Have you eaten healthily? Has Carole remembered to keep the bacon away from you?"

"Yes to both questions. I don't want you to worry about me." Burt chuckles. "You know, Kurt, I'm actually kinda glad that you have a bodyguard living with you, especially if he's nice. I know you have Rachel and Mercedes when she gets back from France and all your other friends, but you've seemed a bit... lonely. So I'm glad you have Blaine to keep you company and keep you safe."

Kurt feels his heart clench. His dad is way too observant.

"But if you need me to come there and teach that bodyguard of yours a lesson..." Burt continues.

Kurt laughs and then groans, rubbing his head. "Dad, don't make me do any sudden movements, please."

"Sorry. I forgot for a moment that my kid's hung-over," Burt quips. "But everything's fine, right? I can come visit if you need me or..."

"No, I'm fine, dad. Trust me." Kurt smiles.

"Okay. I'll continue my lunch break then. And you get out of bed, it's over noon already and you can't hide in your room for the rest of the day."

"Fine," Kurt huffs. "I love you, dad."

"Love you too, Kurt."

Kurt hangs up and stares at the ceiling for a while. His head does feel a little better, and he really needs to get some work done today. He can remember getting a thick letter from Andrea Gallagher yesterday but forgetting to open it in the middle of all the anonymous letters and visits from the police. Andrea is a young director Kurt met right before his big break when they were both a bit lost in the business and tried to help each other out. Andrea has hired both Kurt and Rachel for her projects in the past, so she must have sent him something important.

So yes, he's getting out of bed. Right now. Awkwardness be damned.

Kurt pushes himself up slowly, mindful of his head. Slow movements seem to work though, and his head doesn't protest too much. He changes his clothes quickly in the darkness of his closet and decides to shower later. Clean clothes have managed to make him feel fresh enough, and taking a shower would just be postponing the inevitable. He pads to the door, takes a deep breath and opens it, mentally preparing for the blinding lights in the hallway.

Except the hallway is dim as well. Kurt’s starting to see a pattern here.

He's just inching his way out of his bedroom, stretching his head here and there to see if Blaine's in the living room with his books or still sleeping in the guest room (unlikely, since Blaine seems to be an early riser), when he both hears and smells it. Low music is drifting from the kitchen, and something smells wonderful – like cheese and tomatoes and spices, and Kurt feels his mouth water instantly. He knows that most people can't tolerate even the smell of food when they're hung-over, but he himself practically craves food after a night at the bar.

He tiptoes to the kitchen, keeping his movements slow and careful. The music and smell grow stronger with every step, until he reaches the doorway and has to cover his mouth with his hand to muffle the sudden laughter trying to escape from his throat.

The small radio Kurt has in the kitchen is playing Hall & Oates' You Make My Dreams quietly, and Blaine is dancing in front of the stove, his feet stepping and hips swaying with the rhythm. He's wearing one of Kurt’s aprons over his own clothes, a dark green one with a picture of a bowtie on it. The apron was a Christmas gift from Finn years and years ago, and Kurt sniggers when he sees the fabric swaying around Blaine's thighs as he moves. For some reason he isn't surprised that Blaine decided to use the bowtie apron instead of the stylish chequered chef's apron that Kurt himself uses.

Blaine is stirring both the cheese sauce and the bubbling tomato sauce at the same time while he mouths along to the lyrics. He's being very quiet about everything, and it takes a moment for Kurt to realize that Blaine's probably trying not to wake him, even though it's already closer to one in the afternoon. That's just... endearing, and Kurt feels a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Blaine rolls his shoulders to the beat and then starts to actually shimmy his hips, and Kurt can't take it anymore – he dissolves into laughter even though it still kind of hurts his head, but he can't help it, not when the scene in front of him is so ridiculous.

Blaine startles and almost drops the spoons he's holding before he manages to collect himself and look over his shoulder to Kurt.

"Don't scare me like that, Mr. Hummel," he mutters. The curtain on his face is back the moment he sees Kurt, and the laughter dies in Kurt's throat.

"Sorry," he manages to choke out. The curtain seems thicker than it has for days, and Kurt feels something tighten painfully inside him. "I just... woke up and heard the music. What are you doing?"

Blaine turns to look at the stove and continues his stirring. "Lasagna. I was getting hungry, and I figured you might be as well. Whenever my brother's hung-over he has a ravenous appetite and wants me to make him some lasagna. I'm going to put it in the oven in a minute, so it's still going to take some time before it's ready, but..."

Kurt forces a smile and takes a seat at the table. "It smells great, Blaine."

Blaine's back stiffens at the mention of his name. "Just doing my share, Mr. Hummel. I assumed that it'd be okay to borrow one of your aprons.”

"Yeah, of course it's okay. You live here as well." Kurt waves his hand in the air even though Blaine can't see him.

Blaine doesn't say anything, and the atmosphere shifts even closer to awkward as the song fades out on the radio. Kurt looks at the tightness in Blaine's back, at his meticulous movements when he puts the lasagna together and at the way he avoids looking at Kurt, and wonders how he should bring up last night when Blaine looks so guarded and it's all Kurt’s fault. A part of him just wants to ignore everything, pretend nothing ever happened and go work on his sketches.

But the elephant in the room is too big to ignore, and Kurt doesn't want Blaine to act like this, so he clears his throat. "Look, Blaine, about last night..."

Blaine puts the lasagna in the oven and turns to face him, the bright bowtie on his apron a stark contrast against the distant look on his face. "What about it?"

Kurt wrings his hands nervously, looking everywhere except Blaine. "I'm –" He takes a deep breath. "I'm really sorry I got so drunk. I'm sorry you had to practically carry me home and listen to my drunken ramblings, and I'm sorry I... cuddled you." He has to force the last words out of his mouth with a wince, but he does get them out and mentally gives himself a pat on the shoulder for it.

Blaine slowly crosses his arms over his chest. Kurt has noticed that he does that whenever he seems uncomfortable, as if he's trying to make himself as small as possible, and he has no idea when he started to catalogue each and every one of Blaine's gestures like this.

"It's okay," Blaine says quietly, even though his expression makes Kurt think he's lying. Blaine seems to notice it, since he raises his head and looks Kurt in the eye. "I mean it. It's honestly okay."

Kurt frowns. "So I didn't cause you any lasting psychological traumas by forcing you to cuddle one drunken Kurt Hummel?"

Blaine's mouth twists like he's trying to suppress a smile, and he shakes his head. "No, not at all. It naturally wasn't very professional, but I understand why you needed it."

Kurt tilts his head. This isn't exactly how he imagined this conversation going. "You do?"

"Well, you kind of said it yourself last night." Blaine gestures with his hand. "You said you wanted to forget everything for a while, and I get it. I get that these notes and suddenly having a complete stranger living in your apartment isn't exactly ideal, so it's perfectly normal to need some outlet every once in a while."

"Blaine, I cuddled you," Kurt repeats. And he probably also said some embarrassing things but he doesn't actually want to know what, so he won't ask. "I practically forced you to hold me."

A faint blush appears on Blaine's cheeks, and he immediately turns to look into the oven. "You needed to feel safe, and that's what I'm here for. I just think it would be better to keep things... professional from now on."

Kurt nods. "Yes, of course. But I'm still sorry, Blaine. I don't usually drink that much. Honestly."

"It's okay. We're okay, Mr. Hummel."

Something in Blaine's eyes still seems weird, and Kurt doesn't believe for one second that everything is truly okay, but he doesn't want to press. He knows when to drop an issue, knows when he's walking on the edge, so he leans back in his chair and just watches Blaine fiddle with the dirty dishes for a moment. Eventually he sighs and gets up, comes up next to Blaine and nudges him aside gently. Blaine tenses for a moment, but then he moves out of the way and lets his shoulders drop back down.

"You made the food, it's only fair that I do the dishes," Kurt explains. "The lasagna really does smell delicious by the way," he adds and hands over the dish towel to Blaine.

"Thanks."

They work silently for a while, Kurt washing and Blaine drying, their hands brushing awkwardly every now and then. Kurt tries to once again ignore the small sparks that Blaine's touch seems to initiate in him, the gentle tickles under his skin, and concentrates extra hard on getting the pans clean.

"Just so you know, alcohol isn't usually my outlet,” he mentions lightly after some time.

Blaine gives a smile that somehow manages to be both teasing and shy at the same time, and the reaction almost takes Kurt's breath away. "So I figured."

Kurt grins, pleasantly surprised. "Usually it's cleaning. Or having an aggressive dance party in my office. What about you? What's your outlet?" he asks, trying to keep the conversation running.

Blaine stops, and his hand twitches again. Kurt suddenly remembers the day Blaine became his bodyguard, remembers Rachel saying something about Blaine being bullied and taking up boxing, and he wonders if the way Blaine's fingers sometimes flex is a sign of him missing boxing. Kurt doesn't know how often Blaine usually boxes or how long it's been since he last punched a bag with all of his strength, but he must miss it.

"Rachel said that you box," he ventures carefully when Blaine doesn't say anything.

Blaine gives a small nod. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. And I..." He pauses for a moment, and Kurt can see him thinking whether he should continue or not, whether it would be the professional thing to do. "I play guitar and piano and go running as well. But mostly I box."

Kurt blinks. No wonder Blaine has seemed so restless, so tightly wound. He hasn't had access to any of his usual outlets for several weeks, and Kurt isn't probably the only one who's stressed by this whole situation. He stares into the dish water, scrubbing the pan in his hands with concentration. He has no idea where the nearest gym is, and he doesn't own any instruments, but...

"I could go running with you," he suggests.

Blaine stares at him. "That’s really not necessary."

"No, it could be fun!" He gives the pan to Blaine with a cheerful wave that sends dishwater flying all over the table. "It's been ages since I went running. I used to go twice a week when I was in college, but somehow I just stopped when life got too busy. But it really isn't fair that I drag you everywhere and we never do anything you want to do."

Blaine shrugs. "I'm your bodyguard. You're not dragging me anywhere, I'm simply following you."

"Fine then." Kurt sniffs. "I'm going running tomorrow, and since you're my bodyguard, you'll just have to follow me. How unfortunate. Wear appropriate shoes."

Blaine ducks his head with a bashful smile. This isn't the way Kurt imagined the conversation going, but this is so much better. This is almost like... innocent flirting, and Kurt likes it. Someone on the radio is talking about taxes or something equally boring, the whole kitchen smells like delicious lasagna, and the awkwardness has completely disappeared from the room. Kurt scrubs the last pan clean and starts humming along to the next song on the radio. Blaine joins him after a while, and Kurt thinks that he could get used to this, to this level of domesticity even after an awkward night.

He sneaks a glance at Blaine, at his long eyelashes and small smile, at his kind eyes and the faint stubble on his cheeks.

Kurt could definitely get used to this.

-

Later that day Kurt finally opens Andrea's letter and finds a thick script with a small letter attached to it. Curious, he skims through the script first, noticing certain songs or character names, and then reads the letter. Apparently the script is Andrea's new project, a brand new musical that she wants Kurt to design the costumes for. Kurt is immediately excited; he doesn't get the chance to design costumes for any new musicals that often, and he likes working with Andrea. She always gives him a free hand and uses his costumes as an integral part of the play, not as just pretty clothes.

He sends Andrea a text, thanking her and letting her know that he has gotten the script. He then retreats to his office – Blaine's sitting in the living room with his laptop and books once again, his feet tapping to a rhythm only he can hear – and starts reading the script from the beginning. From the get-go Kurt notices that the play is a contemporary piece, something he also hasn't done that often before. He did a lot of contemporary costumes in college, but after getting his degree and designing the costumes for Cabaret he has mostly been hired for period pieces or plays set in fantasy worlds.

Kurt, if he may say so himself, has an impeccable sense of style and adores fashion – he follows it religiously, reads Vogue like it's the Bible and loves to spot new trends and incorporate some of them into his own daily clothes – but the trick with contemporary plays is that they can't usually have high fashion. The characters are often, as they seem to be in this play as well, ordinary people who have their own styles and their own way of wearing their clothes. They might need to wear something awful, something that Kurt would never personally approve of, if it fits their character. Of course the same goes for period pieces as well, and Kurt has designed some hideous costumes for whores and beggars, but somehow it's still different with contemporary plays. It's more difficult, designing clothes that could, if it suits the character, be the epitome of everything he hates in modern fashion.

But Kurt loves challenges. They make him want to work harder, and even in college the contemporary designs he made were some of his best. The play Andrea has sent him is written well, the songs are catchy, and Kurt finds himself humming the notes to himself. Even the subject is topical and surprisingly close to Kurt's own experiences – the play is about a teacher and the students he's teaching, about the different conflicts in school world and how the teacher struggles to help his students and keep his idealism even when everything goes wrong.

The play reminds Kurt of his own school memories, and he can recognize the personalities of the play's students, the popular kids and the bullied ones, the jocks and the geeks, but he doesn't really see anything of his own teachers in the main character. Sure, Mr. Schue was idealistic, but not as idealistic as the teacher in this play and definitely not as painstakingly dedicated to saving everyone.

Yes, Kurt's a little bit bitter, so sue him.

After reading forty pages Kurt has a feeling that this play will be one of the most important projects he'll ever do, something that could show everyone how versatile he can be. He does have to wonder though why his life is suddenly full of teachers or people who could and should be teachers.

-

Kurt keeps his promise and goes running with Blaine the next day. The weather is nice for once, but Kurt's still glad that he bought proper running clothes back when he was running regularly. The wind is biting even if the sun is shining from a cloudless sky, and the weather is definitely not suitable for thread-bare shorts and t-shirts.

The park near Kurt's apartment is full of other joggers, parents with their small children, dog owners with their pets and old people with their walkers, so Blaine stays close to Kurt, their shoulders almost brushing from time to time. Kurt had thought that they would have trouble falling into step, with him being taller than Blaine but also more out of practice, but Blaine fits his own steps with Kurt's effortlessly, their feet hitting the gravel in an even rhythm.

Kurt listens to the sound their shoes make when they connect with the ground, to their loud breaths, to the lonely birds singing in the trees and to the passers-by chatting with each other. His calves burn a little from the exertion, but Blaine keeps the pace calm and they did warm up before leaving, so Kurt just relishes the burn and keeps going. Sometimes Blaine grabs his arm and nudges him another way, away from a crowd or from a homeless person with a crazy glint in their eyes.

Even when they're running Blaine is working.

But when they get back to the apartment and all Kurt can think about is the drying sweat on his back and wanting to take a shower right now and immediately because he feels disgusting – he happens to look at Blaine's shoulders and notices that they don't look as tense as they did before the run. Blaine's smile is tired but satisfied, the curtain thinner than usually, almost gone completely, and Kurt gives him a radiating grin in return.