As soon as he left the lecture hall from his mini-confrontation with Kurt he went straight home and did everything he could think to distract himself. He threw himself into work, studying, everything, but time and again his mind kept wandering to Kurt's eyes, Kurt's hair, Kurt's smile. By 5 Blaine needed a drink desperately enough to head to The Roxy – a crappy little dive of a bar off the main street that Blaine used to frequent in his undergrad days.

By the time Kurt walked in at 10:30 Blaine was, to put it kindly, shitfaced. He was nursing his – God, he'd lost track at this point but probably at least his 7th drink, when the door swung open and Kurt, and his friends, walked in.

Kurt, for his part, was tipsy enough to be sloppy (they'd apparently been pre-gaming, Blaine's alcohol-addled brain noted).

"Are you fucking serious?" Blaine said, or tried to say, as his eyes landed once more on Kurt and his impossible perfection. Kurt stopped in his tracks and smiled wide as his eyes lit on Blaine.

"Uh-oh. Party's over," Kurt announced to his crew. "Or – wait. Mr. Anderson, are you drunk?" Kurt chuckled when he realized just how far gone Blaine was. Kurt quirked his eyebrow before brushing past Blaine and towards one of the booths in the back. The minutes ticked past, Blaine kept drinking, Kurt kept drinking, neither acknowledging the other.

When Kurt was drunk enough to be brave, or maybe it was drunk enough to not care anymore, he stumbled over to the bar and slid onto the empty barstool next to Blaine.

"Why were you staring at me today?" Kurt slurred.

"Why did you dump me?" Blaine deadpanned, keeping his gaze straight ahead.

"I asked first." At this, Blaine turned to glare at Kurt.

"I do believe I asked you two years ago," his voice was low, dangerous, but tinged with pain and desperation.

"I asked first recently," Kurt replied, rolling his eyes and waving off the statement.

Blaine sighed, pressed his eyes shut for a moment, and then turned his whole body towards Kurt. "For the same reason I always stare at you, Kurt." When Blaine opened his eyes they were glazed with drunkenness and honesty.

A look of shock came over Kurt for the extra second that it took his drunk self to regain composure. His face got serious and he gave a curt nod, mulling over this new information, his alcohol-hazed mind taking slightly longer to process. When Kurt said nothing for a moment Blaine spoke again. "Your turn," he said, gesturing towards Kurt and giving a sarcastic and impatient look. Kurt smirked and wagged a finger.

"Nope, sorry."

Blaine was pissed. He stood up from his bar stool so quickly that it knocked over, clanging to the floor, and he had to grab onto the bar, where his alcohol-heavy body wavered, knocking over a few drinks in the process.

"BULLSHIT!" he yelled, grabbing Kurt by the arm, "that's bullshit and you fucking know it!" Kurt, mostly out of reflex, smacked Blaine and jumped out of his own seat, sending it, too, crashing to the ground. The noise attracted the attention of the bar tender who quickly informed the two that it was time to leave before signaling the bouncer to escort them out – and escort them he did.

Once outside Blaine sat himself on the curb, placing his head in his hands and yelling. Kurt dropped next to him and gazed out into the night.

"You scare me," he said in barely more than a whisper.

"Perfect," Blaine muttered, assuming Kurt was referring to the incident that had literally just occurred.

"That's why I broke it off." Still Kurt looked straight ahead, off into the distance. Blaine, however, picked his head up off his hands and stared incredulously at his increasingly frustrating ex-boyfriend.

"Excuse me?" at this Kurt finally turned to Blaine. His eyes, the hazel, mischievous, goddamned eyes that Blaine hadn't been able to get out of his mind for near 2 years, were scared. Blaine hadn't seen Kurt his afraid since, god, since high school. Before either of them knew what was going on Kurt closed the gap between them and crashed his lips on to Blaine's. There was a hunger in the kiss, a longing and desire that were perhaps heightened by the alcohol in both their systems. Kurt pulled back and locked eyes with Blaine once more. "Don't ever think I stopped loving you," he whispered before rising from the curb and running in the general direction of his apartment as fast as his drunken legs could take him.

Blaine, now even more confused than earlier, let out a strangled cry of exasperation before once more placing his head in his hands and trying to let his alcohol-saturated mind puzzle out what the fuck was going on.

Friday was awkward. The next week was awkward. The week after that was awkward. It kept being awkward for nearly a month and a half. Kurt was always the last one into the class and the first one out; he never raised his hand (though Blaine was certain he knew all the answers) and he never asked Blaine for help, no matter what. He sat in the back and made himself as invisible as possible.