Chapter 24, Pt. 1

"You were fine this morning," Kurt whined out to the empty hallway as he stared gloomily at the 'Out of Order' sign hanging on the front of the elevator. He shifted the box in his arms up higher against his chest and rolled his shoulder beneath his too heavy bag as he turned toward the stairs.

Two back-to-back power lectures starting at seven thirty followed by work until six had turned Thursdays into one of Kurt's least favorite days of the week, and now this. He muttered angrily to himself for the entire three flights of stairs—swearing to get their landlord sued for failing to make building repairs; cursing Alina and her ugly shoes and overdone hair for breaking that ceramic pot and causing Darcy to send them all home with massive projects. Mostly he just cursed random profanities under his breath until he stepped out of the stairwell and into the hall of the third floor. He dropped the box of papers down on the ground in front of the door as he pulled his keys out.

He shoved the door open and kicked the box into the apartment ahead of him rather than lifting it again. The lights were on and the smell of food made his stomach turn at the sudden memory of how long it had been since his last meal, "Lets boycott paying rent because of that goddamn elevator!"

Nobody answered.

Kurt stepped over his box and pulled the door closed behind him, "If you ignoring me is your way of saying I'm being dramatic, you're wrong. I just walked three billion stairs with a—Oh! Mr. Karofsky, I didn't realize you were here."

David and his father were seated on one of the couches, both looking at Kurt in mild surprise.

Kurt glanced at David's face—his eyes were red, but when they met Kurt's, he smiled a little, "Long day?"

"Very, very long." Kurt agreed. He slid his bag down off of his arm as he stepped closer to them; his gaze still darting between David and Paul, "I'm sorry, am I intruding on something? I can—"

"No, no, Kurt, you're fine," Paul smiled reassuringly, "I just stopped by to chat with David; I was about to leave when you came in."

Kurt nodded slowly; still anxious, "Are you sure? I can disappear for awhile."

"Positive; I've got to get home," Paul pushed himself up off the couch; slipping his coat over his arms as he moved toward the door.

David remained sitting; his gaze following his father carefully.

Paul turned to smile at him, "Not gonna give your old man a hug goodbye?"

David smiled and pushed himself upright and allowed his father to wrap him in a hug, "I'll…I'll see you Saturday?"

"Of course," Paul clapped David on the arm, "Love you, Dave."

"Love you, too, Dad." David blinked hard; cleared his throat.

Paul turned to smile at Kurt, "I brought you boys a couple pizzas; they're in the kitchen."

"Thank you, Mr. Karofsky." Kurt smiled quickly.

"Paul," he reminded him with a smile. He looked between both of them for a moment, "You two take good care of yourselves, alright?"

They both nodded mutely.

Paul nodded, "Right, then. David, I'll see you in a couple days; call if you need anything."

"I will. See you."

Kurt waited until the door closed and he heard the muted open and close of the door leading to the stairwell before he turned to face David, "I'd hate to make assumptions and then feel like an ass, so I'm going to just casually ask what happened."

David smiled weakly, "You hungry?"

"For information." Kurt nodded, but his stomach gave a loud growl.

David snorted, "Lets grab some pizza first."

They stuck two plates of pizza into the microwave before moving to the kitchen table. Kurt shifted Bocelli's cage to the side so he could watch David's face, "Well?"

David took a bite of his pizza and chewed slowly.

Kurt let out an exasperated sigh, "Dave, it's been like three weeks since you last saw your dad. How can you be more focused on eating than that right now?"

He swallowed and spoke quietly, "It's been twenty four days… I'm still trying to let it sink in, I think."

Kurt quieted; took a bite of his own pizza, but his eyes never left David.

David turned his gaze down toward his plate, "He just… showed up. He handed off the pizzas and asked if we could talk."

"When was that?" Kurt asked quietly.

David glanced up at the clock on their wall, "Like three hours ago."

They fell silent again; the quiet sound of Bocelli twittering and moving around his cage filling their quiet.

"He was worried you were cheating on Blaine with me."

Kurt nearly choked on his food, "Excuse me?"

The smallest hint of a smile pulled at David's mouth, "It was the first thing he asked about when we sat down."

"Oh my god."

David laughed a little, "…yeah… we talked stuff out, and we're… we're okay."

Kurt managed to subdue some of his initial shock and smiled, "That's wonderful, David."

David nodded; his eyes drifting back to his food, "It… it's kind of a relief, ya know? I'm going with him to some business luncheon thing on Saturday."

Kurt nodded his approval and dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his napkin, "So after you managed to convince him we'd get together only if hell froze over, did you opt to mention anyone else who's captured your attention?"

David blushed furiously and stared down at his plate, "I don't think he's ready to hear that kind of stuff."

"So there is someone you'd mention if he asked," Kurt raised an eyebrow, "How interesting."

"Look, Trip and I… we're just… making out sometimes. That's it."

"Mhm, that's why I catch him sneaking out of here five times a week when I'm coming home from class."

"I'm serious, Hummel." David finally looked up from his plate, "You've been around when he's around; we're not lovey dovey and holding hands and all that shit—we're not you and Blaine."

"So you're a couple but not with the same dynamic as Blaine and I."

"No, that's not—" David grunted his frustration and sat back in his chair. His eyes drifted to the birdcage.

"So he comes over and all you two do is make out?" Kurt plucked his and David's empty plates from the table and moved back into the kitchen.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"You don't talk about anything?" Kurt leaned his elbows on the breakfast bar; his gaze cynical.

"No," David hesitated, "…well, I talk sometimes. He listens."

"What do you talk about?"

"Whatever he asks about," David shrugged, "Why does it matter?"

"Just trying to get a feel for your dynamic." Kurt mirrored David's shrug.

David fell quiet for a moment, "…what kind of dynamic do you think we have?"

"A weird one wrought with sexual tension." Kurt stooped to lift his box from the ground.

David flushed red yet again.

"You should call him; tell him the good news about your dad," Kurt dropped his box down on the table and slid open the flaps, "But in the mean time, look at the wonderfully fun project I brought home for us."

David peered down into the box, "A million little pieces of paper?"

"They're going to be this," Kurt held up a small chain of linked paper wrings; the outsides shimmering with a thin layer of either maroon, brown, orange, or gold paint.

"No way, I'm not getting sucked into your work stuff." David shook his head adamantly.

Kurt pouted, "Fine, I'll get Blaine to do it with me. He's sick and he still likes to be helpful."

David barked out a short laugh, "Don't give me that; Blaine loves this kind of shit—he's been painting you those stupid stick figure things for weeks."

Kurt rested a hand on his hip and glared, "He does that for fine motor therapy, idiot."

David only smiled in return, "Stop trying to make me feel bad. He loves it and you know it."

Kurt let out an exasperated sigh and lifted the box back off of the table, "Regression to the mean."

"Gesundheit." David leaned back in his chair and watched Kurt stalk toward his bedroom.

Kurt turned to glare at him, "Regression to the mean is the tendency for two people who spend a lot of time together to start acting more and more like one another so you both end up at a sort of middle ground. And you, David, are slowly but surely turning into Trip Morgan."

"I am not." David scowled.

"Your sense of humor and the smirk you just had on your face beg to differ," Kurt quirked an eyebrow before stepping into his bedroom.

"Where are you going?" David frowned, "It's not even eight yet; you can't be going to sleep."

"I am giving you the cold shoulder for your lack of helpfulness," Kurt put the box down on the floor beside his bed.

"You're joking, right?" David stared at Kurt dubiously.

"On the contrary, I'm quite serious. I'm going to shut my door, turn on good music, and work on my incredibly fun and stimulating project while you sit out here wallowing in the fact that you don't get to be in my presence," Kurt looked David over coolly, "I hope you're happy."

David laughed, "You're ridiculous."

"And you're about to be very lonely." Kurt smirked before pivoting on his heel and closing his door.

He smiled in satisfaction when he heard David grumbling on the other side of the door before moving to turn on his Ipod and settling down on his bed. He hauled the box up beside him with a grunt and began the slow process of cutting the paper into different sized strips.

He'd bring them over to Blaine's on Saturday, he decided, so they could paint them together. The cutting process could be potentially frustrating and Kurt was desperately hoping for one whole week in his calendar that would be free of any red dots indicating a particularly nasty episode with Blaine.

"Kurt, come on." David groaned outside his door.

"Unless you're desperately hoping you can help—"

"I'm not."

"Then kindly step away from my bedroom; you breathe so loudly that I can hear you from my bed." Kurt smiled to himself as he settled a finished strip on the bed beside him.

David mumbled something, but then Kurt could hear him moving; the wood of the floor groaning slightly beneath his feet as he retreated to somewhere else in the apartment.

Kurt put the scissors down and pulled out the finished links to inspect. He smoothed an invisible crease in one of the rings and sighed, "Only ten million more to go."

Goals. He needed a goal for how many he would finish tonight. It had taken him twenty seconds to cut one with a wavy edge… he could work for two hours and finish about three hundred, give or take a few given the detail he put into the cutting, and then maybe he could do a little reading for school before calling it a night. He nodded to himself; satisfied with the plan.

He listened to the quiet sound of Adele playing through his Ipod dock and settled himself lower against his pillows as he set to work on cutting link number two. He'd barely finished it when he felt his eyes getting heavy; his thoughts soft and fuzzy around the edges. Maybe only one hour of paper chain making tonight… I can always have Blaine start painting on Saturday while I keep cutting to make up for the lost time… Kurt stifled a yawn as he reasoned with himself. He could at least make it through sixty links and the first few pages of his assigned readings…

'—take my hand and take my whole life too because I can't help falling in love with you—"

Kurt jolted awake and looked around his room wildly in an attempt to orient himself.

His phone. His phone was ringing.

He found it half-buried under his pillow. That was Blaine's ringtone, and, judging by the almost nonexistent light coming through the window, he was either calling Kurt very early or very late.

"Blaine, are you okay?" Kurt sat up so fast his head spun a little; he blinked hard to make the white haze over his vision dissipate.

"Huh? Yeah, of course; are you?"

"Yeah…" Kurt glanced at the clock on his nightstand, "Blaine, it's not even six thirty in the morning yet."

"I couldn't sleep…" Blaine's voice was quiet, "know what I wanted to do?"

Kurt looked down at the links he'd completed before apparently drifting off mid-cut. Five. He'd fallen asleep by eight last night with five haphazardly cut paper links finished and not woken once. He wrinkled his nose at the half-crushed strips of paper, "What?"

"I wanted to bring you coffee—remember when we'd meet up for coffee on Friday mornings before school?"

"Of course I do," Kurt smiled and stifled a yawn, "Did you have a bad dream?"

"If I did, I don't remember," Blaine echoed Kurt's yawn, "My sleeping schedule's just been off."

"Mm, you and me both—I fell asleep at eight last night and I have no idea when I'd have gotten up if you didn't call."

"I woke you up?" Blaine suddenly sounded remorseful, "Sorry; in my head, you're always up before me, so I just kind of figured if I was awake, you would be, too."

"Mm, well I'm up now and I just got almost ten hours of sleep," Kurt stretched his free arm above his head; enjoying the pull on his tight muscles, "And I just so happen to have no work today and a power lecture I would absolutely love to skip—want to help me play hooky?"

"I'd love to."

"Good," Kurt slid his feet off the bed and rolled a shoulder absently; still trying to work out the kinks in his back from sleeping half-sitting up, "Give me a couple hours to get gorgeous for you and I'll be over, okay?"

"You could come as you are and you'd still make me swoon."

Kurt snorted, "Clearly you have no idea what I look like right now. I didn't wash my face, I slept in my clothes, and I didn't even brush my teeth last night, Blaine."

"And yet you make me melt." Blaine sighed loudly.

"Watch out, your tumor's talking," Kurt laughed quietly, "Give me a little time, go put on something cute, and get your paintbrushes out; I have a project for us."

"Fine; any outfit requests?" Kurt could hear Blaine pushing himself up off his bed.

"Anything but that awful green polo," Kurt blanched as he padded toward the bathroom, "It makes you look like a deranged leprechaun."

Blaine gasped indignantly, "It does not."

"You could lie down on the putting green at a golf course in that shirt and no one would know you were there." Kurt reached into the shower and turned the water on, opting to avoid looking into the mirror in his current state.

Blaine huffed again, "I'm going to wear it just to be spiteful."

"You don't have a spiteful bone in your body," Kurt smiled, "The longer you keep me engaged in this argument, the longer it's going to take me to get to your house."

"Fine; I'll surprise you with my shirt choice; I'll see you in a bit."

Kurt dropped his phone down on the counter and stripped off his clothes, sure that he'd never been happier to take an outfit off.

He took his time getting ready; he shampooed his hair twice and gave his skin extra attention to make up for the routine breach the previous night before moving back into his bedroom to put together an outfit.

His phone buzzed on his nightstand with a new text.

Tick tock tick tock tick tock….. –Blaine

Kurt rolled his eyes but couldn't force down a smile. Blaine had seemed happy the past few weeks; almost alarmingly so. He was doing better at work with his father, apparently having fun with some of his practice activities provided by his therapists, and—most importantly—he hadn't had any sort of angry outburst in nearly nine days. Kurt checked his sweater in the mirror and applied one more spritz of hairspray before typing out a response.

Practically, almost, sort of, basically on my way there. XOXOXO –K

He yawned for what felt like the millionth time that morning and decided making coffee was a necessity before leaving.

He stepped out of his bedroom; careful to avoid the floorboards he knew creaked as he crept toward the kitchen.

He worked through the steps of getting the coffee brewing with quick fingers and then stood idly, watching the pot steam and hiss. He drummed his fingers on the counter impatiently and finally decided to make himself toast before he left, too, if only to keep his hands busy.

By the time he'd pulled his breakfast out of the toaster and dropped it on a plate, the pot still wasn't done filling. Kurt glared at it, cursed his own stupidity for not investing in a more high quality product, and finally pulled the pot out without waiting for it to finish brewing.

He dumped the coffee into a thermos and took a sip, which ended up being his second coffee-related regret of the morning. He resisted the urge to simultaneously swear when he burned his tongue and gag when he realized he'd made the coffee too strong. He put his mug down on the counter and wished it were as intimidated by his icy glare as some of his peers were.

With a noisy sigh, Kurt stuck his head in the fridge and peered around. He heard the soft click of a door opening somewhere behind him. Strange. David was never up before nine on Fridays now that his hours had shifted, let alone before eight, "You're up early—hey, did you buy creamer when you went to the store?"

"No, dear, and it's too bad you don't take sugar in your coffee because if you poured a bit of that sweet ass in your cup, I'm sure it would be absolutely divine."

Kurt hit his head a shelf before managing to pivot around to look at the room's other occupant.

Trip was grinning at him from the other side of the breakfast bar. His hair was disheveled and his shirt wrinkled. He appraised Kurt as he shrugged on his Dalton blazer, "You look nice."

Kurt gaped at him, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm not here," Trip pressed a finger to his lips, still grinning at the look on Kurt's face, "You never saw me."

"Trip, did you—did you sleep with Dav—"

"I'd love to stay and chat, but I'm late for school, and Jesus fucking knows I'll get my ass handed to me by those damn Warblers if I don't make it to morning practice," Trip snagged a piece of toast from Kurt's plate and talked around a mouthful of food as he made for the door, "Have a fantastic day, darling!"

"Trip, I—" The door was already closed.

Kurt blinked at it for a minute and considered going into David's room to demand an explanation. He'd barely taken three steps forward when he thought better of it. He wasn't sure if he wanted to be in David's room right now. He opted to scribble out a note instead.

Dave—

Playing hooky for the day; went to Blaine's. When I get home can we talk about something? Please and thank you.

-Kurt

P.S. BUY COFFEE CREAMER!

Kurt looked toward David's door one more time and wrinkled his nose in distaste before jogging out to the parking lot and getting in his car.

With the traffic all coming from the opposite direction, Kurt made the drive from his place to Blaine's in record time. He checked his hair in the rearview mirror, pinched his cheeks for a little color, hefted his box of work supplies into his arms, and finally got out of his car to ring the bell.

Blaine answered the door with a grin, "Hi."

Kurt was nearly bursting with his news (and simultaneously ready to fall over with the weight of the stupid box in his arms), "Guess who was in my apartment this morning?"

Blaine looked down at the box in Kurt's arms then back to his face in confusion, "Uh… Dave?"

"Close; he spent the night in David's room." Kurt hinted as he made his way toward the kitchen.

Blaine's eyes went wide, "No."

"Yes." Kurt laughed and dropped the box down on the table.

"He was there to see Karofsky…" Blaine frowned, "You're sure?"

"Unless he broke in to see Bocelli at five in the morning, mussed up his hair a bit, then slammed a door for fun, then, yes, I'm sure," Kurt studied Blaine's solemn expression, "Why do you look so mad?"

"I'm not mad…" Blaine sighed; rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, "I'm… concerned."

"David blushes at the mention of kissing him, so I doubt too much actually happened, Blaine." Kurt rolled his eyes as he unbuttoned his jacket.

Blaine stepped behind him and helped pull the jacket off his arms, "David might have some reservations, but Trip hasn't always been one to… hold back."

"Really? How shocking," Kurt glanced over his shoulder at Blaine with an eyebrow raised.

"I'm not just talking about the things he says… he went through a bit of a, um… promiscuous phase before I met him," Blaine draped Kurt's coat over the back of a chair; his expression still anxious, "He's been doing well here; I just don't want to see him get triggered back into any bad habits."

"I'm going to tell you one more time," Kurt stepped in closer to Blaine and squeezed his hands gently, "David isn't that bad. I think you just dislike him out of habit at this point."

Blaine smiled faintly, "Like how you claim to despise Trip?"

"I don't despise Trip," Kurt sighed; let go of Blaine's wrists, "I just have an unshakable desire to punch him in the face."

"Fair enough," Blaine's eyes drifted over Kurt's face, "You look tired."

"You know 'you look tired' is usually code for 'you look like shit', right?" Kurt pouted.

"You look gorgeous, just a very sleepy gorgeous," Blaine nodded toward the coffee pot, "My mom just made that like fifteen minutes ago; you want some?"

Kurt eyed the pot longingly, "…you're sure she won't mind?"

"She left to go to the bank or something after I told her you were on your way over; she's done with it." Blaine moved to a cabinet and pulled down two mugs.

Kurt leaned his elbows into the island and yawned, "I thought coffee tasted wrong for you or upset your stomach or something."

"It does—I'm having tea." Blaine nodded toward the sink, "I finally have a use for that hot water spout thing outside of making instant Ramen."

"Instant Ramen is probably what gave you cancer in the first place." Kurt made a face.

"Instant Ramen is delicious," Blaine shot back. He set Kurt's mug down on the island in front of him, "Cream?"

"Yes, please," Kurt wrapped his hands around the mug and inhaled deeply, "Mm, it smells like you."

"I haven't had a cup of coffee in months." Blaine pulled open the fridge and scanned the contents in the door before pulling a bottle of creamer out from beside the milk.

"I know, but I associate the smell with you, therefore, this soon-to-be amazing cup of coffee smells like—"

The carton of creamer slipped from Blaine's hand and hit the floor with a dull thwack and then a sudden rush of white pooled out over the floor; splattered the front of the refrigerator. Kurt looked up at Blaine; watched his face for a sudden flash of anger. Please don't get upset with yourself, please don't get upset with yourself, please don't—

Blaine stood still for a moment, his expression stormy. He looked back up at Kurt with a small smile, but his voice was tense, "No use crying over spilt milk, right?"

Kurt laughed in relief, "Yeah…well, it's creamer, but still the same concept."

Blaine raised an eyebrow as he moved to wet a dishcloth beneath the tap, "No snide remarks about my terrible jokes?"

"No, that was actually mildly endearing this time," Kurt slipped out of his chair, "Do you want some help?"

Blaine waved him away with his free hand, "I've got it."

Kurt lowered himself back down and watched Blaine wipe up the mess, "You're unusually energetic."

Blaine finished wiping up the last of the cream and looked up at Kurt, his expression flat, "This is about a tenth of my old energy level."

Kurt mentally kicked himself, "Compared to recently though, this is a nice change."

"Nice to have a few days away from the office so I could put my energy into something other than paperwork," Blaine shrugged.

Kurt took a sip of his coffee. It was a little bitter but not totally unbearable.

"Do you want milk instead?" Blaine opened the fridge again and motioned in.

Kurt looked down into his coffee cup; debated whether or not to take the chance of a second drop with a much less genial reaction from Blaine.

Blaine didn't wait for his reply. He pulled the milk out of the fridge and crouched down.

Kurt frowned at him, "Blaine, what are you—Oh my God."

Blaine moved across the floor on his knees, pushing the milk ahead of him. He offered a smile when he arrived at Kurt's feet, "Avoiding a second accident."

"If you were also hoping to avoid a loss of dignity, I'm sorry to say you failed." Kurt laughed and picked up the milk carton from the floor.

"Not at all; the other goal was to make your laugh," Blaine brushed his knees off as he got to his feet and returned to the island to tend to his own mug, "So my mission was a complete…a complete…"

"Success." Kurt offered.

Blaine took the seat beside him and sighed, "Exactly."

Kurt reached across the small space between them and squeezed Blaine's wrist, "It's early; it was a little mistake."

Blaine met his eyes, a shadow of a smile on his mouth, but his gaze quickly dropped back to his mug.

Kurt watched Blaine prod at the teabag in his mug, "You seem…happy today, or optimistic or something."

Blaine looked up, "Am I usually a total curmudgeon?"

"No, but you've been so much more serious lately," Kurt brushed his foot against Blaine's ankle underneath the table, "I take it chemo hasn't been hitting you quite so hard this week?"

Blaine shrugged, "Bumblebee flies anyway."

"Excuse me?"

Blaine toyed with the string hanging out of his mug, "Bees… they shouldn't be able to fly—something about wing size and body mass—but they can."

Kurt nodded, though he was at a complete loss, "Okay…"

"So, the idea is maybe since they don't know that they shouldn't be able to fly, they still can." Blaine fished his teabag out of his cup and dropped it down onto a napkin.

Kurt frowned, "Not sure I'm following, Blaine."

Blaine kept his eyes on his cup, "So I'm following the same logic. Well, sort of."

"Still lost over here." Kurt took a drink from his mug but kept his eyes on Blaine.

"Force enough optimism and hopefully it'll turn real... I guess not quite the same thing…more like self-inflicted brainwashing." Blaine pulled the teabag out of his cup and dropped it down on a napkin.

Kurt put his cup down quietly, "You're trying to suppress the idea that you're unhappy?"

Blaine lifted his cup and took a drink; his eyes on the far wall.

Kurt spoke again when Blaine didn't, "Blaine, are you unhappy?"

"I…no, I just—trying something new, that's all," Blaine's eyes flickered from his mug to the other side of the table, "What's in the box?"

Kurt contemplated forcing the topic of Blaine's mental state longer, but Blaine wouldn't meet his eyes. After a moment, he tore his gaze from Blaine and looked toward the box resting on the other side of the table, "I need some help with a project—you in the mood to do a little painting?"

Blaine stood and peered into the box, "Sure, what're we painting?"

"A paper chain; not all of the pieces need to be painted; but I need watercolors on most of them," Kurt sipped at his coffee, "I meant to get a bunch done last night, but I fell asleep."

Blaine nodded, "Sounds easy enough."

"It's a bit on the monotonous side." Kurt watched as Blaine pulled out a few strips of paper and turned them over in his hands.

"We'll make it fun," Blaine finally looked at Kurt to smile, "We can refill your coffee cup; put on some music—it'll be nice."

Kurt studied Blaine's face, "…yeah; sure… do you want to do it here or in your room?"

Blaine smirked, "Call me traditional, but I prefer the bedroom."

Kurt rolled his eyes, "Oh my God, grow up."

Blaine laughed, "Seriously though, lets take this upstairs—the stereo's in the family room and the sound won't carry out to the kitchen very well."

Kurt gathered up his box—balancing his coffee cup precariously on top—and made for the stairs. Blaine trailed behind with his own mug cradled between both hands, "When does your dad get back into town?"

Blaine set his mug down on his desk before dropping down onto his stomach on the floor, "Today sometime, I think, him and my mom have that gala thing tomorrow—are you coming here or am I going to your place?"

"I'm coming here," Kurt sat down in Blaine's desk chair with the box in his lap and watched as Blaine wormed his way half-under his bed, "And I'm spending the night—your parents have a hotel room downtown."

Blaine emerged out from under the bed with a faded sheet in his hands. He made a face, "There's something profoundly awkward about the idea of my parents getting too drunk to drive and needing to stay at a hotel."

"Are you complaining that you're being given permission to have a sleepover with me?" Kurt set the box down on the desk and helped Blaine to spread the sheet out across the carpet.

"Never," Blaine moved to his closet to pull down a shoebox filled with paints from the top shelf, "You sure you want to come over tomorrow, though?"

"Call me crazy, but my list of things to do not including you is fairly small." Kurt laughed as he began unpacking sheets of paper from his box.

"Yeah, but tomorrow's Halloween," Blaine sat down beside Kurt; his expression suddenly concerned.

"So we'll be sitting by the front door handing out candy," Kurt shrugged, "We can judge the shit out of the kids' costumes."

Blaine didn't smile, "Puck and Finn didn't invite you to any parties on campus?"

"Yes, but do you honestly think I want to spend my night comforting a drunk Finn because he misses Rachel and watching Puck hit on girls dressed like slutty Dorothy's while he's dressed up as Michael Phelps or something equally douchey?"

Blaine's frown intensified, "So you're going to sit at home with me and hand out candy instead of going out?"

"It's not like I ever go out and party, Blaine." Kurt set to work cutting out a strip of paper.

Blaine toyed with his paintbrush, "You could, you know—go out I mean. You don't have to come hang out with me every Friday and Saturday night."

"I could if that's what I wanted to do," Kurt leaned toward Blaine and kissed his cheek, "But it isn't."

"But if you ever wanted to, you—"

"Blaine, I am fully aware of my ability to make my own decisions, but thank you for the reminder," Kurt turned his attention back to his project, "Excuse me but why is there no music playing?"

Kurt looked up when Blaine didn't answer right away to find him staring down at his paints; his expression drawn.

Kurt reached over and touched the worry line between Blaine's eyebrows, "You're going to give yourself premature wrinkles frowning like that. If you're still fretting over Halloween, stop. I am doing exactly what I want to do and that's being with you."

Blaine sighed, "Fine… what'd you say before?"

"I asked why you haven't picked out any music for us to listen to."

"You're letting me pick?" Blaine's eyebrows shot up, "You never let me pick."

Kurt leaned in and touched another kiss to Blaine's mouth, "Well I'm letting you pick now. Choose wisely."

Blaine hummed happily and got up to turn on his Ipod.

"Nothing off of either one of our bedtime playlists, though; I think I'm conditioned to fall asleep to those songs now." Kurt set to work cutting a wavy pattern around the edges of one of the pieces of paper.

Blaine picked out a playlist before settling back down beside him.

They worked in compatible silence; Kurt humming along to the music and Blaine dedicating all of his attention to painting the pieces of paper Kurt handed off to him. After nearly two hours, Kurt nudged Blaine's foot with his, "Are you sick of this yet?"

"Getting there," Blaine put down his paintbrush and massaged his palm, "How many did we get done?"

"I cut like two hundred and something…" Kurt scanned the line of finished links spread out across the sheet, still glistening with wet paint, "And we have about thirty or forty painted."

Blaine laid his most recent strip of paper in line with the rest, "Sorry I'm not very fast at this."

"Your part takes longer," Kurt kissed Blaine's cheek, "Thank you for helping me do this; you're a lifesaver."

"What're you gonna do with them when they're finished?"

"We're doing a big, elaborate paper chain display thing," Kurt pulled the set of eight he'd already stapled together out from inside the box, "It'll be like these but much, much bigger."

"We had a paper chain in my third grade classroom," Blaine said carefully.

"It's not going to look like a classroom," Kurt made a face at Blaine, "Just wait and see; it'll be great."

"I'll take your word for it," Blaine stepped carefully around the wet paper links on the floor toward the bathroom, "My turn to suggest an activity?"

"As long as I can reserve the right to shoot down your suggestion," Kurt glanced up from the strips of paper he was packing back into the box for Blaine's confirmation. When Blaine nodded, he waved a hand at him, "Suggest away."

"Lets go rake the yard." Blaine grinned at Kurt from where he was washing out the paintbrushes in the sink.

"Denied."

"Come on, it's fun—I want to make a leaf pile," Blaine pouted.

Kurt rolled his eyes, "Blaine, we're not seven."

"The raking part makes it an adult activity."

"I'll get blisters and calluses on my hands, and I just gave myself a manicure."

"You will not."

"Will, too."

"Please?" Blaine batted his eyes at Kurt, "Pretty please?"

Kurt groaned, "God, fine."

"Yes!" Blaine abandoned the paintbrushes in the sink in favor of crossing the room to pull a hat on.

Kurt eyed Blaine's thin Henley warily. He himself had been chilled walking from his car to the front door in a light jacket, and he was perfectly healthy… he glanced toward Blaine's closet, "Can I play Barbie with you?"

"I'm already dressed," Blaine looked down at his shirt, "I didn't even wear the green polo."

"I know, but it's freezing out." Kurt moved toward the closet and began pushing through hangers in search of the heaviest shirt he could find.

"Is not; it's sunny," Blaine motioned a hand toward the window.

"You get cold just sitting in my apartment." Kurt rubbed his thumb and forefinger over the sleeve of a burgundy colored cardigan.

"Your apartment's freezing," Blaine moved to stand beside Kurt.

Satisfied with its thickness, Kurt pulled the cardigan off of its hanger and held it out to Blaine, "My apartment is seventy degrees and it's definitely at least fifteen degrees colder than that outside."

Blaine stared down at the sweater for a moment before sighing and slipping it over his shoulders, "Satisfied?"

"No," Kurt moved out of Blaine's room and down the stairs toward the front hall closet.

When Kurt offered a scarf, fall jacket, and mittens, Blaine took a step back, "It's October."

"It's almost November." Kurt replied pointedly.

"You're dressing me for a blizzard." Blaine folded his arms across his chest.

"I am not; look, I have a hat, jacket, and scarf, too," Kurt nodded toward where his own clothes were hanging.

Blaine worked his tongue in his mouth as he looked between Kurt's things and his own.

"Leave that thing in your mouth alone; you'll make it worse," Kurt spoke gently, "Do you want to go outside or not?"

Blaine took the pile of offered clothing items, but looked pointedly at Kurt, "I don't want the mittens."

"Oh my God, you are so painfully stubborn sometimes, I sweat—okay, fine; whatever." Kurt slid on his own things and waited patiently for Blaine to ready himself.

When he was finally dressed—and Kurt had fussed over his scarf and pulled his hat down lower over his ears—they set off to explore the garage for rakes.

Once the rakes had been found and they'd set to work in the yard, Blaine worked happily while Kurt muttered irritably under his breath.

"This is my favorite time of year," Blaine announced, "Remember when I put those pretty leaves in your backpack before school last year one time?"

Kurt looked up from the leaves he was kicking into their steadily growing pile to glare at Blaine, "Yes, I do."

"They were pretty and I wrote nice notes on them for you," Blaine paused too; panting for breath, "I thought you liked them."

Kurt smiled despite himself, "The intent was well appreciated; the mess those things made in my backpack when they got crushed was, however, not so desirable."

"I cleaned it all out for you," Blaine pouted but then turned his attention to the street, "Isn't that Trip's car?"

Kurt looked up to see a car pulling up along the curb. He sighed, "Yes, it is."

Trip climbed out and crossed the lawn to them, "Well, well, well; look at you two little worker bees."

Blaine frowned, "You're supposed to be in class, Trip."

"Relax, I'm not cutting," Trip rolled his eyes and kicked idly at the leaf pile, "You know what the best part is of going to a school where the buildings are old as shit?"

"No, but I'm sure you'll tell us." Kurt knocked Trip's foot away from the leaves with his rake.

"Asbestos scare; they cancelled classes for the day, and since the Warblers aren't allowed to practice in the dorm study rooms, and there isn't a dorm room big enough to hold all of them touch stepping at once, I have the day off." Trip grinned victoriously, "And I decided it was my Christian duty to come check in on Blaine."

"I'm surprised you didn't feel like dropping in on David." Kurt smirked.

Much to Kurt's disappointment, Trip looked unfettered by the comment, "He's at work."

"So are you two an item now? Boyfriends? What?" Kurt frowned.

"If we're going to get picky about semantics, I prefer the term fuck buddies." Trip sat down on the bottom step of the porch and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket.

"Trip." Blaine frowned at him.

"Don't 'Trip' me, pal, I can do as I please with who I please," Trip lit his cigarette and stared coolly at Blaine, "I'm not the same guy that I was last year and I'm definitely not the guy I was two years ago. I can handle myself. And before you can ask, yes, I remember the intimacy issues chat we had."

Blaine leaned against the handle of his rake; still frowning, "Just be—"

Trip blew a smoke ring and watched it fade in the cold October air, "If you finish that sentence, I'm going to throw my cigarette in your leaf pile."

"Don't you dare," Blaine scowled and turned his attention back to raking leaves into the pile.

Kurt, however, was still gaping at Trip, "You two actually— But David's a—just like that? You go from zero to sixty in like a month?"

Trip leaned his elbows back on the step behind him and smirked, "Has David been divulging all the details of our set up?"

"Well, no, not exactly but he said you guys were just—you've just been making out," Kurt frowned nervously at Trip, "… right?"

Trip's smirk blossomed into a grin, "Yeah, sure, making out with my—"

"Stop! Oh my God, don't!" Kurt let go of his rake and clamped his hands over his ears, "Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew."

Trip laughed, "Aw, come on, you and Blaine aren't exactly the world's most PG couple."

Kurt and Blaine exchanged a look before Kurt crouched down to pick up his rake again.

Trip looked between them with raised eyebrows, "Uh oh, who's not putting out?"

"Hush," Kurt kicked a stick toward Trip, and shot him a warning look.

Trip glanced down at the stick by his feet before looking back at them with a frown, "You two are like an old married couple."

Kurt glanced toward Blaine, but Blaine was staring down at the ground as he raked up more leaves into the pile.

Either not caring if he got a response or simply not noticing the sudden silence, Trip yawned loudly and tipped his head back toward the sky, "Nice day."

Blaine finally looked up from his work to peer up at the sky, "Yeah, it is."

Kurt noted Blaine's flushed cheeks and shaky hands, "I think our leaf pile is big enough for now."

Blaine looked back down at the pile and walked around it, inspecting each side critically before looking out at the rest of the front lawn, "There's a lot more leaves in the yard still…"

"I vote we take a break and enjoy our current handiwork." And you're clearly exhausted and I don't want you to be hurting tomorrow.

Blaine stared down at the pile in silence for another minute before suddenly dropping down into it with a grin. He held out his arms toward Kurt, "Come here."

Kurt sat down primly; careful to keep his back straight and his head well away from the leaves.

Blaine laughed, "That's not how you get into a leaf pile. Weren't you ever a kid?"

"Yes, but unlike you, I wasn't also half-puppy." Kurt folded his hands neatly in his lap.

Blaine sat up, paying no mind to the leaves stuck to his hat, "Trip, tell him he's doing this all wrong."

Trip's gaze was still on the sky, "You're doing it all wrong."

"Lot of help you are," Blaine huffed and turned his attention back to Kurt, "You have to jump in."

"I'm not jumping in." Kurt reached up and plucked a leaf off of Blaine's hat.

"Please?"

"No."

"Will you at least lay back?" Blaine smiled hopefully.

"Why can't you just be content to have me sit here beside you?"

"Because you are missing out on eighty percent of the experience if you don't lay down," Blaine patted the leaves between them, "You're already missing out on fifteen percent by refusing to jump."

"Oh my God, if you'll stop nagging, I'll do it." Kurt let out an aggravated sigh.

Blaine watched him eagerly as he eased himself back on his elbows until leaves were crackling around his ears and his vision was filled with sky and tree branches above them. Blaine flopped down beside him gracelessly.

Kurt turned to glare at Blaine, "Happy?"

"Yes," Blaine kissed the tip of Kurt's nose, "I am."

Kurt laughed quietly, "I'm glad."

"It's nice, right?" Blaine motioned a hand at their bodies.

"Yes, it is." Kurt admitted. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the warmth of the sun on his face.

They stared up at the sky in silence until Blaine laced a hand behind Kurt's head and leaned his face in close to his neck.

"What are you doing?" Kurt tried to turn his head toward him, but Blaine held it steady; his nose nuzzled behind his ear.

He inhaled deeply and exhaled in a sigh, "Smelling you."

"Smelling me?" Kurt lifted a hand to his nose and sniffed.

"Mhm," Blaine inhaled again, "You smell like October."

"October's not a scent," Kurt smiled and plucked a crumpled leaf from the wool of his scarf.

"Yes it is; here," Blaine tilted his head and motioned at his neck, "Smell."

Kurt gave him a dubious look but humored him anyway, tilting his nose in close to the small, exposed patch of skin between Blaine's hat and scarf. His nose tickled with the earthy sweet scent of fallen leaves and cold air and something else warm… did sunshine and cloudless skies have a smell?

When he pulled back, Blaine was smiling at him hopefully, "Well?"

Kurt laughed, "You smell like October."

"Told you," Blaine grinned triumphantly. He leaned in closer; leaves rustling and crackling beneath both of their bodies as he pressed a kiss to Kurt's lips.

"Do I taste like October, too?" Kurt teased.

"No," Blaine touched another kiss to his mouth, "You taste like Kurt."

"I might actually be dry heaving over here," Trip groaned.

Kurt barely heard him. He smiled at Blaine and laced their fingers together, selfishly grateful that Blaine had protested the mittens when he felt the soft coldness of his palm flush with his own, "Love you."

"Love you more." Blaine murmured.

The muffled sound of his phone ringing brought Kurt out of his bliss. He sighed and pulled it from his pocket, "Hello?"

"Kurt, it's Darcy. Where are you?"

"I don't work Fridays," Kurt spoke as patiently as he could, "I did extra hours on Monday and Tuesday to make up for not being there tomorrow afternoon and evening, too."

Darcy didn't seem to hear him, "Do you still have that box of paper I gave you yesterday?"

"Of course."

"Was there fifteen rolls of scarlet, orange, and eggplant colored two inch ribbon in the bottom of the box?"

Kurt closed his eyes and tried to remember, "…yes?"

"Thank God; I've been looking for them everywhere. Bring them in. You can mark it as an entire hour paid."

"Darcy I'm not—"

"I need them within the next forty six to fifty two minutes. If I'm not in, drop it off with one of the other interns."

"Darcy, I—" The line went dead.

Kurt groaned and sat up, "I have to go drop something off at Anthro."

"You're leaving me?" Blaine looked up at Kurt sadly.

"Afraid so… unless you want to come with me," Kurt smiled at Blaine hopefully.

"Go with you to work?"

"Yeah! I'm just dropping some things off and having you there is the perfect excuse if Darcy tries to drag me into doing a project," Kurt nodded; suddenly excited over the idea, "And you can see all my work!"

Blaine nodded slowly, "Yeah, okay. Why not?"

Kurt clapped his hands together; suddenly happy to be going into the store so he could show off his projects to Blaine and show off Blaine to his co-workers, "Perfect. Lets go!"

"I'm going to call that my cue to leave," Trip ground his cigarette out on the step, "This has been fun, but I don't think I can tolerate you two saps on an outing right this minute."

"Suit yourself," Kurt shrugged and fished through his pocket until he found his keys, "Blaine, you can wait in the car. I just have to run grab some things from upstairs and I'll be right back down."

Kurt gathered up the rolls of ribbon (thankfully, there were exactly fifteen), dumped them on Blaine's lap once he was seated in the car, and pulled out of the driveway. He talked animatedly at Blaine for the entirety of the drive—describing the projects that were his and giving a short run through of all of his co-workers.

When they pulled into the parking lot, Kurt twisted sideways in his seat to face Blaine, "So remember, look unimpressed with the quilt display, but act completely awed by the kitchenware area, okay?"

Blaine laughed, "And compliment the bedazzled pumpkins if they're still there. I remember."

"Perfect." Kurt clapped his hands together before gathering up the ribbon in his arms, "Lets—"

"Wait," Blaine leaned over and pulled a leaf out of Kurt's scarf. He tucked it into his pocket and smiled, "Now you're perfect. Lets go."

Kurt paraded into the store happily, not minding at all that he smelled like fallen leaves and that his cheeks were still flushed pink.

Blaine whistled, "Wow, look at that kitchenware section."

Kurt laughed, "Don't tease. Actually go look at it while I drop these things off in the back room."

Kurt watched Blaine wander over toward the displays of plates and dinnerware before hurrying toward the back. He elbowed his way through the EMPLOYEES ONLY door and dropped down his load with a relieved sigh. He glanced at the schedule posted on the wall to ensure he'd gotten his Saturday off as promised before turning and moving back to the main showroom. He made his way up to kitchenware but frowned when he couldn't find Blaine.

"Did you miss me so much that you just had to come in today?"

Kurt jumped at the sudden sound of a voice behind him. But he smiled when he turned around, "Forty eight hours was just too long."

Reese grinned, "I know the feeling. That awful twenty four hours between noon on Wednesdays and Thursdays is an absolute killer for me."

"Just imagine how you're going to feel when the internship is over." Kurt smiled good-naturedly, but he continued to scan over the room for Blaine.

"I'd rather not think about that just yet," Reese chuckled, "So what actually brings you here today? Shopping with that employee discount?"

"Yes, I just had to have a ninety-five dollar lamp made out of seashells," Kurt rolled his eyes, "Darcy called. She needed ribbon that, for God only knows what reason, made its way into my box of paper chain material."

"Thank Jesus, she was in a rage looking for that stuff. You're my hero for bringing it in."

"Right," Kurt snorted but then lit up when he saw Blaine appear from around the side of a display, "Blaine! Come here."

Blaine looked between Kurt and Reese for a moment before approaching.

"I was looking for you," Kurt smiled, "Where'd you run off to?"

"Admiring everything; trying to guess which projects are yours." Blaine shrugged and smiled.

"Well that's easy enough," Reese clapped Kurt on the shoulder with a grin, "Whatever pieces look the most awe-inspiring tend to belong to Kurt."

Kurt rolled his eyes, "If you can call arranging throw pillows and scented soaps awe-inspiring, then yes, that's exactly how you can tell."

Reese smiled at Kurt for a moment longer before turning his gaze to Blaine, "You must be the famous boyfriend, then."

Blaine held out a hand, "My name's Blaine."

Reese looked him over subtly as he shook his hand, "So I've heard. I'm Reese."

"Reese." Blaine echoed; nodding as though suddenly understanding something.

"How far are you on your part of that paper chain nightmare?" Reese turned his attention back to Kurt.

Kurt made a face, "Not far enough. Blaine helped me get some of it done today, but I'm going to have to forgo sleep for the next three days if I want to finish on time."

"Wanna get together and work on it? Say Saturday?" Reese made a scissor motion with two of his fingers, "I'll cut if you paint."

"That's Halloween; don't you have plans with that personal trainer guy to go to a party?"

Reese sighed, "Not actually a personal trainer it turns out. The shirt wasn't his."

Kurt gasped, "He's a liar! He told you he worked at the new gym!"

Blaine muffled a cough at Kurt's side.

"He does," Reese laughed, "He mans the front desk."

"Deceitful; even worse," Kurt smiled sympathetically, "He could at least be a trainer for Halloween, couldn't he?"

Reese shrugged, "I guess, but I already cancelled on him. You in for being totally lame with me? We can put in a bad horror movie; tell scary stories about Alina and Dar—hey, man, you okay?"

Blaine tried to nod, but the gesture was almost invisible with the coughs that were still racking his body.

Kurt rubbed a hand over Blaine's back and glanced up at Reese, "It's just the remnants of a cold."

Reese nodded but looked unconvinced, "I'll go grab him a water bottle out of the back."

Kurt turned his attention back to Blaine, "Hey, you wanna sit down?"

Blaine shook his head, still coughing.

Kurt kept rubbing Blaine's back and shot cold glares to the few customers who paused to glance at them.

Finally, the cough faded and Blaine dropped his arm; his voice was hoarse, "Jesus, I thought this stupid cold was gone."

Kurt laughed quietly; his hand still smoothing over Blaine's jacket, "I blame the leaves. You probably got them in your lungs."

Blaine rubbed at his watery eyes, "Maybe."

"Hey, sounding better," Reese returned; a water bottle held out toward Blaine, "You can have this anyway. We've got a whole fridge full in the back. Save it for another coughing fit."

"Thanks." Blaine mumbled and took the offered bottle.

"Not a problem," Reese clapped Blaine on the arm and turned his gaze back to Kurt, "Do I need to repeat my Halloween proposal?"

"No, I heard it, and, A, You're horrible—Alina is obnoxious but not at all terrifying," Kurt laughed, "And, B, Blaine and I have big plans to hand out candy tomorrow night, don't we?"

"Sorry, what?" Blaine tore his eyes away from Reese to look at Kurt.

"I said we're sugaring up little kids an hour before their bedtimes so parents will have no hopes of getting any sleep. I should fashion us some devil costumes—I'm sure we have enough scraps in the back for me to whip something together."

"Well if anyone can throw together an amazing last minute costume, I'm sure it's you," Reese smiled, "And you'd make a very cute devil."

"Another day, maybe, when I'm feeling more ambitious. Right now I'm dying for a nap. Blaine, you ready to go?"

Blaine nodded; his eyes moving back to Reese, "…Nice meeting you."

"You too, man, and hey, good luck with everything." Reese smiled sympathetically.

"I'll see you Monday—if you wanted to accidentally make about two hundred extra links for our paper chain so I could do less, I wouldn't complain." Kurt slipped his hand into Blaine's.

"I'll consider it. See ya around; Happy Halloween."

"You, too," Kurt waved over his shoulder. He nudged Blaine's shoulder as he pulled him back toward the front, "Did you go look at the bathroom area? Were you blown away by the talent and creativity of your boyfriend?"

"Uh huh."

Kurt glanced at Blaine's suddenly tired face. He tucked their joint hands in his pocket, "Come on; there's a bed at your house with our names written all over it."

Even after they took a nearly two-hour nap, Blaine was quiet. When they went downstairs, Blaine allowed Elizabeth to kiss him hello and answered her questions about their morning, but was otherwise silent. Unsure of what else to do with a suddenly sullen Blaine, Kurt coaxed him into going back outside, but Blaine lay on his back amidst the leaves quietly; his gaze far off.

By the time the sun had set and Elizabeth was working in the kitchen, Blaine was still quiet. He sat next to Kurt on the couch and listened to his commentary on the Sex and the City movie without offering any of his own.

When Elizabeth asked Kurt to stay for dinner, he was tempted to say no for a fleeting moment, but he agreed with a smile.

"It wasn't that long ago that you had to practically pull teeth to get them to let me eat over." Kurt murmured in Blaine's ear.

Blaine nodded; his eyes still on the television screen.

When John finally arrived home, they sat down at the table to eat.

Blaine pushed his food around his plate in silence.

"How was your couple of days off, sport?" John motioned his fork at Blaine.

"Good; thanks." Blaine murmured, his eyes still on his plate.

John watched Blaine curiously, "What's you do to fill up your time?"

Blaine shrugged, "Nothing much."

John and Liz exchanged a look.

"We raked the lawn today and Blaine came in to Anthropologie with me when I had to drop some things off," Kurt nudged Blaine's foot gently under the table, "We had fun, didn't we?"

"Mhm."

Liz looked down at where Blaine was pushing pasta across his plate, "Are you feeling alright, honey? You haven't touched your dinner."

"Not hungry."

The table fell quiet for a beat.

John cleared his throat and looked at his wife, "Did you talk to Ryan Stanley's wife about tomorrow?"

"Yes; everything's ready to go," Elizabeth turned to smile at Blaine and Kurt, "I bought some candy at the store today—you wouldn't believe how picked over it was—if you and Blaine want to, you can hand it out tomorrow. The little girls down the street adore Blaine, so I'm sure they'll be by to show off their costumes, but if you'd prefer a quiet night, you can just put the bowl outside the door."

Kurt smiled, "You think kids are honest enough to not just dump the whole bowl in their bags if you do that?"

"Put a note on it that says they'll be cursed if they take more than one piece." John smiled.

"John, that's terrible!" Elizabeth laughed.

Blaine looked up abruptly, "Did you think about the fact that maybe it pisses me off that you called Kurt and asked him to come stay with me without saying anything about it to me first?"

Elizabeth's smile faded into a confused frown, "Honey, we thought you'd be excited that Kurt was going to—"

"That he was going to come over to babysit?" Blaine snapped, "And don't tell me that's not what it is. You're afraid to leave me alone in the house for more than a couple hours, and even when you do that, you call thirty times to check on me."

Liz reached out a placating hand toward Blaine, "Sweetheart, it's not like that, it's—"

"It is exactly like that!" The plates rattled when Blaine slammed a fist down on the table, "You treat me like I'm some sort of fucking invalid!"

Everyone fell quiet for a moment; shocked into silence by Blaine's sudden vindictive fury.

"It's for safety, Blaine, you know we don't think you're not capable of taking care of yourself." John finally spoke; his voice calm.

"I suppose you taking me into the office is your way of showing me you trust me, right?" Blaine sneered.

"Blaine," Kurt spoke his name quietly; tried to sound soothing, "Where is this all coming from?"

Elizabeth frowned at Kurt, "Kurt, he can't help—"

Blaine rounded on his mother; glaring hard, "Maybe I can help it! Maybe I'm just really fucking pissed off right now!"

Elizabeth opened and closed her mouth; her expression stricken.

"Okay, you're angry," Kurt nodded, though he wasn't sure if it was true or not, "What upset you?"

"What upset me?" Blaine echoed; he let out a humorless laugh, "You're wondering what upset me?"

Kurt nodded mutely.

"Oh, I don't know, Kurt. Maybe it was that day back in June when I turned into everyone's burden, or maybe it was yesterday at the doctor's office when they messed up my test results and gave me good news that wasn't mine, or maybe it was watching another guy climb all over you today. Take your pick." Blaine suddenly shoved his way out of his chair; the legs scraping loud against the wood floor.

"Other guy?" Kurt stared up at Blaine in alarm, "What other guy?"

"What other guy? What other guy?" Blaine was shouting; his voice tight and angry, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Kurt wracked his brain, "Blaine, the only guys we saw today were Trip and Reese."

Blaine threw his arms in the air as though the answer were wildly obvious.

Kurt felt near tears, "Blaine, I don't… Reese? He's my friend; we work together."

"Oh my God, Kurt, I'm the clueless one? Really?" Blaine tore his eyes away from Kurt's face and glared down at his nearly untouched dinner. He gripped the top of his chair so tightly, his knuckles turned a blotchy pink and white, "You can't be that fucking stupid."

"Blaine," Kurt tried to force a smile, "It's—I work with Reese, and it's me we're talking about. He'd never be interested in—"

"Of course he'd be interested!" Blaine's voice was so loud it made Kurt cringe, "Look at you! You're gorgeous and funny and talented and everything anyone could ever want! How could he not be?"

"Blaine, I—even if it was like that for him—I love you. Only you—all those things you said; you're all those things t-to me," Kurt tried to force a smile, "Y-you're Blaine. To meet you is to love you."

Blaine's eyes suddenly shone with tears, and for a moment, Kurt was sure he'd gotten through to him. He reached out a hand and grazed his fingers lightly over Blaine's where they were still gripping the chair too tight, but Blaine recoiled as though Kurt had burned him. He turned on his heel and disappeared toward the family room.

Kurt stared at the space Blaine had just occupied; tried to wrap his mind around the mood change.

Elizabeth pulled the napkin off her lap and dropped it on the table before meeting John's eyes, "I knew those test results were going to get to him."

"You didn't tell me about any botched—"

Kurt wasn't listening to the Andersons; he was focused on the sound of the piano drifting out from the family room. He followed the music until he was standing right beside Blaine.

It was the same song as always, but too fast; too choppy. Blaine's fingers were harsh and clumsy. With every flubbed note, Kurt could see the tension in Blaine growing; shifting into something darker; heavier.

"Blaine, hey, it's okay. You've got yourself worked up and you're not even playing properly," Kurt reached out a hand to Blaine's shoulder; hoping to ease some of the tension, "Just—"

"Don't touch me." Blaine flinched away from the contact.

Kurt withdrew his hand, but tried again; this time sitting down on the bench beside Blaine, "... what about the bumblebees, Blaine?"

Blaine stared down at the piano keys; his expression dark, "I think you should leave."

Kurt froze with his hand halfway to Blaine's knee, "You—you want me to go?"

Blaine was quiet for a moment before nodding.

Kurt didn't move. He stared down at his knees and swallowed hard to keep what felt like an imminent sob at bay, "Blaine, it's… it's me; it's us."

"I'm not breaking up with you," Blaine snapped, but then his tone was quieter, "I just… I need you to go."

Kurt clenched his hands so tightly, his nails bit into the soft skin of his palms, "That's really all you want from me right now? To leave?"

"Yes." Blaine's voice was whisper quiet; his eyes still cast down to the piano.

Kurt took a breath, counted to three, and, on the exhale, pushed himself to his feet, "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

Silence.

Kurt hesitated for only a moment before touching a soft kiss to the back of Blaine's head, "I love you."

He didn't want to wait and see if Blaine would respond. He fled the room, not even bothering to say goodbye to Blaine's parents. He needed to get out. Out of the room; out of the house; out of New Albany.

The drive back passed in a blur and suddenly he was stepping off of the elevator into the hall of the third floor; the smell of fresh paint thick in the air. He unlocked the door with numb fingers and stepped in.

David twisted around from his spot on the couch to smile at Kurt, "Hey, how's the boyfriend?"

Kurt let out a sharp, hollow sounding laugh, "Wonderful; just peachy. Blaine just happens to be trying to cover up the fact that he's coming apart at the seams, and then he decided today was a good day to tell me he hates me."

"He said he hated you?" Karofsky's eyes went wide.

"Not in so many words," Kurt threw his keys down on the table.

Bocelli put up a fuss—he hopped from one side of his cage to the other, chirping noisily.

"Shut up!" Kurt glared at the cage.

"Hey, don't take it out on the bird." David got up and threw a blanket over the cage. Almost immediately, the canary quieted.

Kurt stormed away toward his bedroom and slammed the door behind him as hard as he could. The walls rattled with the force and the picture on his nightstand clattered to the floor with a telltale crunch.

"Shit," Kurt crouched and lifted the frame. He turned it over in his hands and found Blaine's smiling face staring up at him from underneath a spidery web of cracked glass. He dropped the picture back down on the floor and shoved himself upright.

He paced his room—to the window, around the bed, almost into his closet—once, twice, three times… He let out a huff of frustration. He wanted to run; to move; to scream until he couldn't anymore.

Instead he pulled the calendar off of the wall and stormed back out to the family room.

David stood up from his place on the couch quickly.

"Sit. You're fine." Kurt snapped. He dropped down to the floor and hunched himself over the calendar; one hand flipped the months steadily from June to October; the other held an uncapped red pen.

Kurt heard the soft shift of the couch cushions as David slid back down into his spot, "…What're you doing?"

Kurt ignored him. He slid his fingers across the weeks; the indentation of the pen dipping beneath the pads of his fingers like sinkholes.

The week and a half leading up to October thirtieth were perfectly smooth. He sat with pen poised and closed his eyes.

"Bad day today?" David spoke quietly.

"No, the day was good… Really good." Kurt kept the pen uncapped, but drew his knees to his chest.

"Oh."

…

"Blaine got really upset at dinner," Kurt leaned his back into the front of the couch beside David's legs, "He made me leave."

"Ouch," David mumbled. He shifted awkwardly on the couch.

"Yeah… ouch," Kurt rubbed his temples.

David was quiet for another minute, "…Are you still crazy upset right now? Like you'll bite my head off if I say something?"

Kurt clenched his jaw for a moment, "No, David."

"…I know that feeling—the way you feel right now, I mean," David's voice was quiet, "That feeling like everything's fucked up and all you want to do is scream and run, but at the same time you just wanna lay down and never make another sound."

Kurt tore his eyes away from the calendar to look back at David, "…yeah…"

"It sucks… I'm sorry you feel like that," Karofsky blushed a little under Kurt's gaze and avoided his eyes, "… was Blaine's thing a—a cancer thing? Like when he got pissed with Trip a couple weeks ago when we went out to dinner?"

Kurt closed his eyes; replayed the past few hours in his head.

Blaine kissing him and smelling like fallen leaves.

Blaine singing in the car.

Blaine smiling politely at Reese while Reese smiled at Kurt.

Blaine looking distant.

Blaine listening to his parents talk about the gala.

Blaine yelling.

Blaine looking ready to cry.

Kurt opened his eyes and stared down at the calendar again. He recapped the red pen, "…I don't think so."

David allowed a small lapse of silence before he spoke again, "Are you still gonna go over there tomorrow?"

"If he'll let me," Kurt flipped back through the months in his calendar.

October through June were marked up with a slew of chemo reminders with a maze of arrows for changed days and swapped schedules; his exams marked in green ink under the blue that meant Blaine. He flipped back and back until color coded notes for doctor/exams/outbursts turned to Blaine/Glee/the girls/the family/school/the Warblers. Kurt felt a sudden ache in his chest, "I think I'm going to go call Rachel."

"Sorry I wasn't more helpful." David shrugged.

"No, Dave, you were great, I just… I need Rachel right now."

"It's cool; I get it," David shrugged again.

Kurt watched as David checked his phone and managed a small smile, "You're just trying to weasel your way out of talking about Trip staying over last night."

David looked up at him with a frown, but his cheeks were pink, "I thought you were calling Berry."

"I am," Kurt pushed himself up but turned to face David again when he got to his door, "We are going to talk about that, though."

"Whatever."

Kurt smiled a little before closing the door and lying down on his bed, his phone cradled against one ear.

The phone rang once…twice…three times…four…five times…six…

"—Hello?"

"Hi. I thought I was going to be sent to voicemail there for a second." Kurt stared down at the picture frame still on the floor.

"Sorry; busy, busy, busy, you know," Rachel spoke breathlessly, "Have you seen Blaine today?"

Kurt closed his eyes; swallowed, "Yes…why?"

"He missed our Skype date! He never misses!" Kurt jerked the phone away from his ear at the sound of Rachel's near-shout.

"He's in a bad mood."

"All the more reason for him to Skype with me!" Rachel huffed, "If he had taken even five minutes to just boot up his computer and talk to me, I'm sure I could have had him smiling. I sent him the same exercise and meal plan I sent you. A healthy lifestyle can be the first component of a happy outlook on—"

"He kicked me out of his house tonight."

"What? Why? Is he okay?"

Kurt swallowed and blinked hard, "I… I don't know what happened, Rach. He seemed like he was doing so well. We hang out, he goes to work, he's been going to some sort of new therapy thing that he says he likes, but then tonight at dinner he just—he snapped. It was like all of the sudden he was so angry about everything… he wouldn't even let me touch him."

Rachel was quiet.

"No sage advice from the queen of everything?" Kurt rolled onto his back and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"He's going to have his moments. He's sick and he's tired and he's—," Rachel paused, "he asked me not to say anything to you, but… he's always terrified he's holding you back. He's insecure, Kurt."

"Rachel, it's Blaine. He's a ball of charm and sunshine and talent wrapped up in a painfully attractive package of dreamy eyes and smiles," Kurt sighed, "He doesn't do insecure."

"He also doesn't have control of some of what he says, is fighting off cancer, and is losing his hair. Call me crazy, but even I would be a little insecure if all of that was happening to me."

"He's still… he's Blaine." Kurt repeated as though that somehow made up for it. It had to, didn't it? Skinnier and with less hair, yes, but… still Blaine.

Rachel laughed, but it sounded sad, "To you, yes. But what about to him? Can you imagine feeling like you didn't know yourself anymore?"

"You think that's what it is?" Kurt didn't need an answer from her. Of course that's what it was. Blaine had lost his grip on himself and the memory of laughing, smiling, everyone's-favorite-Warbler Blaine was growing dimmer and dimmer while Kurt idled in place beside him.

Rachel was talking, but Kurt could barely hear her.

"…Why didn't I think of that?" Kurt whispered, "I'm his boyfriend…I should have known. I should have figured it out."

"Kurt, you can't see it because you're his boyfriend," Kurt could almost see Rachel smiling, "You see him as the same person no matter what. Your job is to make him see that person, too."

Kurt sniffled and wiped at his eyes, "I think New York is doing something to you, Rachel. You never gave this good of advice when you were in Ohio."

"That's because New York has taught me a few too many lessons too fast," Rachel sighed, "It's a tougher crowd than I expected out here… Luckily, Quinn is my harshest critic, so the comments I get from casting directors feel a little nicer."

Kurt laughed feebly, "Still no luck with auditions?"

"None of them have been able to fit my particular brand of talent, that's all," Rachel sniffed, "You just wait, though, some brilliant producer is going to decide he needs the raw talent of an up and coming young star and once he finds me, everything will fall into place exactly the way it's supposed to."

"Until that dream part comes along, promise me you'll be willing to try for slightly less ambitious roles?"

Rachel sighed loudly, "I've done two shows already for a children's theatre. It's degrading."

"It's also paying part of your rent."

"I have an audition to prepare for and, judging by your sass, you're feeling better, so if you don't mind, I have to go." Rachel snapped.

"I promise to come see you the second you get a role as either headlining actress or Woman at Market Number Three, okay?" Kurt smiled weakly.

"I'll save you a spot front and center… or ask nicely if I can reserve you a spot somewhere in the theater if I don't have as much swing with the production." Rachel laughed.

Kurt sighed, "I miss you, Rachel."

"I miss you, too… New York isn't quite what I imagined it to be without you. Next year though, right? Are you still marking the countdown on your calendar?"

No. "Yeah."

"Good," Rachel hummed happily, "As for Blaine… when Finn got upset and tried to push me away, I always found that pushing back even harder usually got him to let me in. Don't give up on him."

"I wouldn't; I won't," Kurt's eyes drifted down to the frame on the floor again, "Thanks for talking to me, Rachel."

"Talking's what I'm best at. Call me tomorrow and let me know how things go?"

"Sure; good luck with the audition. I'll talk to you later." Kurt dropped the phone down on the bed and crossed the room to pick up the picture frame.

He lay back down and brushed a thumb over the picture. The nerves in the pad of his thumb complained when the skin snagged on the crushed glass, but Kurt ignored it.

He heard the quiet click of the front door opening and closing out in the main room of the apartment. He strained his ears and made out the faint low notes of a conversation—David's quiet laugh; the soft notes of someone else's voice; the floor creaking beneath feet that were attempting to be quiet—finally, he heard the soft creak of David's bedroom door closing and he felt the inexplicable and overwhelming need to cry.

He rested the picture on his nightstand and got up to turn off the lights. He didn't care that it was going to be another night of no hair or skin routines. He pulled the ratty Joe Boxer pajama pants out of his nightstand drawer and slid them on over his legs before climbing into his bed.

The apartment was silent—painfully so.

Kurt tossed and turned and finally pulled his phone out. He clicked through his contacts, and opened a blank text, not sure what he was going to say until it was done. When he replaced his phone on the nightstand, the MESSAGE SENT screen still bright in the dark of the room, he finally felt the soft pull of sleep on his eyes and mind. Tomorrow; he'd make things better tomorrow, but for now, a text would have to suffice.

'I don't want this moment to ever end.

Where everything's nothing without you.

I want you to know, with everything I won't let this go.

These words are my heart and soul,

I hold on to this moment you know.

Cause I'd bleed my heart out to show, and I won't let go.

… I know you probably don't want to talk tonight, but I can't sleep without saying something to you first. If cheesy song lyrics don't spell it out enough, I just wanted to say you take my breath away every single day. Sweet dreams. I love you.'