The large door was yanked open to reveal Blaine, just as Kurt had expected. He was early, a great help to Kurt, who had been running around like, well, a single parent for two hours. Santana had left for work hours before. Kurt never understood how she did it; leaving early, getting back late. She spent more time in the dance studio than she did at home. While, five minutes into the day, Kurt's bed is beckoning him to forget his toothbrush and go back to sleep. An hour later, he wants to agree with it. But, zombie Kurt has things to do; a child to wake up and dress, himself to dress, hair to quaff and skin to slough, a babysitter to greet, and eggs and a cup of coffee to prepare. Make that two cups. And from the look of Blaine, Kurt contemplated making the third cup that he had joked about.

Blaine's hair was damp to his head, a style only achieved post-shower. He was wearing a mint tee, old enough for Kurt to recognize it from high school, and pin stripped candy cane shorts.

"Oh, gosh, you look exhausted. Are you sure you're up for this?" Kurt checked, taking in the bags under droopy eyes on his doorstep.

Blaine held in a yawn, trying to look alive, "totally, I think I just need coffee and..." His words trailed off as the yawn over powered him. "Excuse me, and some I don't know. I'll be fine."

"Okay..." Reluctantly, Kurt extended an invitation for Blaine to come inside the loft. He was worried about Blaine watching after his previous night. Judging by how he sounded on the phone, sleep was something he didn't quite achieve, but desperately needed. As Kurt walked Blaine through everything, he mentally prepared himself to come home to a passed out Blaine on his couch. Probably with some of Toronto's finest work scribbled on his face in marker.

Kneeling down in front of his son, Kurt gave Toronto a kiss on his forehead. "I'll see you at six, okay?" The boy nodded. "And you be nice to Blaine." He warned.

"I will daddy." The small boy through his arms around his father's neck, clinging to the hug. Kurt had to stand up with the small boy still hanging from his neck, like a sloth.

He turned to Blaine, handing him his navy mug of warm coffee. Kurt's best attempt at a medium drip. "Thank you so much for doing this, Blaine."

"Anytime." The young man shrugged over his coffee steam. He helped pry Toronto off of his father, with the help of the tickle monster. With final goodbyes, Kurt left his tickled pink son with his ex boyfriend alone in the loft. He stepped into the hum and heat of Manhatten summer, Vouge bound.

As much as Kurt wanted to be a cliche with a stressful job, struggling to make it in New York, he was working for Isabelle. It's impossible to complain about Isabelle. She really was like a fairy godmother, at least to Kurt, and had become a mentor to him over the past years they'd spent together. However awesome his boss may be, writing for Vouge isn't exactly easy. The spontaneous deadlines, impossible demands of quality and length. It was like high school English class all over again. Except, with a bigger desk and more interviews with designers.

Kurt opened the door, ready to wake up Blaine and pay him, sending him on his way with whatever mustache or goofy glasses Toronto has deemed fit for his face. Then, do damage control for the tornado his son had let lose in the loft. When he opened the door, he didn't expect what he saw.

Accesorized with cardboard instruments and blanket robes, Blaine marched Toronto around the living room. He sang what Kurt recognized as Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, while the small boy struggled to keep up lyrically. The only mess was a small gathering of crayons and scribbled masterpieces on the coffee table and an unfinished picture book lay open on the couch.

"Hi boys," two pairs of brown eyes turned to Kurt. The smaller of the two began bounding towards Kurt. He managed to put his satchel by his feet just in time to catch his son.

"Daddy, I'm in a band!" Toronto squealed.

"Yeah, I saw that! Did you have fun?" Kurt asked, standing with the boy in his arms. The small boy nodded enthusiastically.

"Can Blaine come back again tomorrow?" He questioned.

"I don't know, we'll have to ask him. But, right now, you need to go find some place safe for your new guitar," Kurt spoke of the cardboard craft in his son's hands. "And figure out what you want for dinner."

"But what about Blaine?"

"Say goodbye for now, and I'll take to him." After the small child adorably said bye to his new friend, he disappeared behind the curtain to his room. And then Kurt and Blaine were alone, again.

"How was he?" Kurt checked. It was just a parental formality.

"Great! We had a lot of fun." Blaine told him. They colored and did crafts, watched Jake and the Neverland Pirates, played the piano and joined Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.

"Are you sure he wasn't too much? He can get to be quite the handful, especially when your tired. Or even worse, he's tired." Kurt rambled, "you know, temper tantrums."

"Don't worry, he was great." Blaine reassured the father.

"So, um, would you be up for another day?"

"Definelty, as long as your making more coffee."

"I will." Kurt smiled. "And how much do I owe you?" He checked on Blaine's way out.

"Oh, nothing. Don't worry about it." Kurt could tell Blaine was only saying this, because he remembered what Kurt said after the concert. He had left the apartment because he couldn't afford it. But, things were different. They've gotten better.

"I usually give Miss. Turner $13 an hour. It's really not a big deal." Kurt told him.

"You don't have to pay. Think of it as a favor."

"I don't need favors, Blaine. I need babysitters. And babysitters get paid $13 an hour."

"Not this one. You don't need to pay me, because I'm repaying you for the past five years." Blaine reasoned.

"Fine. That'll work for now. I guess."

"See you tomorrow?" Blaine checked. "Same time?"

"Yeah, 8AM, and I'll have coffee ready." Kurt agreed. He supposed it was like he was paying Blaine in coffee. He could live with that.