Maybe it's because Kurt begun to trust that Blaine is no longer a variable but a constant that he has to go back and question if he's done his math correctly.

In the weeks that have turned into months – sweet, slow-burning, blistering months that warm him up as the weather grows cold – Blaine's been breaking down Kurt's walls with the all the delicacy of a sledgehammer to a house of cards. Kurt's mind demands he deny the loose flowing warmth blooming inside him to roam freely along lax limbs. It demands he resist the urge to put faith in the feeling, to accept it without first checking for a list of attached conditions.

Blaine comes over on Tuesdays and Thursdays, free days that he chooses to spend with Kurt. He comes, and he picks at the cracks in Kurt's faulty foundation. A voice so soft it should have the same effect  as fists banging on soundproof glass, but  instead, a whisper from Blaine and it shatters completely, the shards imbedding themselves in Kurt's careful projections and rendering them useless. Blaine comes and he sees Kurt. The caged Kurt hunched and whimpering, finding now what it is to stand, how it feels to scream. Blaine comes and offers Kurt kindness in exchange for nothing, and Kurt thinks he may be remembering pieces of himself he's long-abandoned.

Blaine mentions his recent discovery of a kitschy, hole-in-the-wall coffee shop whose coffee is somehow the finest he's ever tasted and the place's name triggers old memories of Kurt's college days, of endless exploration and quests for caffeine. Kurt's hands tingle with the urge to emphasize his excitement, distant muscle memory not so far away as it was minutes before. Blaine winks, cheeky punctuation on a terrible pun, and something low in Kurt's belly fiddles with strings he'd deemed broken for their lack of use; Kurt feels sparks of desire that cradle lust, a forgotten feeling reborn and flourishing fast from its infancy.

Blaine hums along to melodies that play in his head. He dances, tiny motions from hips unaware of their rhythmic swaying. Music extends itself from Blaine and leads Kurt wanting to join that world so alive and inviting.

Blaine is good at neutral topics and better at using them to draw out pieces of Kurt that even Kurt forgets exist, at starting with “Have you heard Queen Bey's new album yet?” and getting Kurt to spontaneously admit that he learned the “Single Ladies” choreography, alone in his bedroom when he was sixteen.

Blaine puts Kurt at ease, and that alone unsettles him. He feels raw and exposed and tender under Blaine's gaze, feels his own inward gaze like a spider across the room has every tingle under skin feeling like they're crawling all over. His whole body is waking up to the discomfort of his trappings.

Kurt knows by now that Blaine has clued in to the severity of Kurts lifestyle, but he looks at Kurt like his flaws don't matter, like they can't scare him away. He waits patiently for Kurt to break out of his nervous stuttering, passes on his calm acceptance while Kurt takes a breath and untangles the words that sat jumbled on his tongue. He braves the silences Kurt can't control, fills them with rambled tales and jokes and things Kurt just has to see, music he just has to hear. He puts a smile on Kurt face and leaves him with it, saying goodbye and promising later. He waits on the other side of an unanswered door, knocking once more and then giving up, but not before telling Kurt he'll come back the next day and adding, “If you're up for it,” free of judgment.

It's nice. Kurt feels cared for and wanted in that way he can't get from Puck and Quinn and Beth and his dad. Though they'd all do the same – have done the same – he doesn't want to thank them the same way: with whispers from barely parted lips and kisses that follow.

Kurt's not in love with any of them. He's in love with Blaine.

But Kurt's mind, riddled with doubt, can't comprehend how Blaine seems to love him in return.

The question stews while Kurt bundles up in thick sweaters and warm scarves, learning new crafts to fill his new abundance of free time. It presses forward from the back of his mind, unwilling to be ignored in the hours Kurt spends scrolling through websites for news and music and celebrity gossip and all the rest he wants to be on par with Blaine about, reacquainting himself with the speed at which the world moves. It's dizzying, so he breaks it up with tiny tasks, with reading a few chapters of a favorite book, watching Netflix, or adding to the art that litters his walls.

Knitting helps best, he's found. His hands have taken to it like old habit. He knits hats and mittens until he gets the hang of it, then advances to replicating designs he finds online, until he graduates to experimenting with his own ideas – things that keep him up all hours because this has become his new obsession. When Kurt knits, he enjoys the blissful quiet of his own mind. He turns on the radio, keeps it low, and thinks of little but the needle and fabric as he hums along to the music.

In the months since school has been in session, Blaine hasnt been around as often to lend his music as company. Blaine's ideal is to make it as a performer. He plays in bars downtown, he's even extended Kurt an open invitation to any show if ever Kurt feels so inclined. In the meantime, Blaine teaches part-time at his old high school. He downplays the whole thing, but it's a big deal. The school is nothing less than grandiose, from what Kurt's seen of his internet snooping. A private school set off the beaten track and populated by smart boys in smart blazers. Blaine loves his job, loves helping people – and that's a realization that sets off alarms in a rusty heart not used to thumping in adoration.

Blaine loves helping people. Kurt is in desperate need of help, and he thinks he's getting better that he even recognizes and accepts that truth, but Blaine can't be a solution to Kurt's problems. He'll never be the stitching that holds Kurt together. At most, he can offer hope, supply Kurt with reasons to pick up needle and thread and repair his own seams. Kurt's independent – not always dreadfully good at it, but he hates to be reliant on others. If love were the sole solution, Kurt would have spared his father the heartbreak of watching helplessly as his son fell apart.

Wanting Blaine and letting Blaine want him opens Kurt's eyes to the barriers he holds up between himself and those closest to him. It gives him pause to question long and hard if this is the life he needs anymore.

:: ::

Blaine cancels on their weekly date-but-not-date the week of Christmas; he has to pack for an early-morning flight the next day and he hasn't even started yet. Apparently, Blaine's extended family is large and wealthy, so they all hop flights from wherever they are and vacation in European countries for a few weeks at the turn of each year.

Kurt smiles wryly at the casual delivery of details from Blaine, at the reminder of how far outside of Blaine's circles he stands. But Blaine is cute when he's frazzled, and he's smiling his happy, so glad to see you, Kurt smile, so Kurt just accepts the arms that encircle his waist and wishes Blaine safe travels.

He watches Blaine cross the hall and disappear into his own apartment before he closes his own door. He knits, then, as furiously as one can knit without hurting oneself. He knits until he can manipulate his feelings into something more pleasant. Until he forgets the tugging hurt and remembers the hug sending shivers down his spine and the heavy warmth of Blaine's cheek pressed into his neck.

Blaine knocks on the door hours later using a “secret” pattern he came up with. It's utterly irrelevant because Kurt always knows who's knocking, but adorable all the same. Blaine leans in the doorway, holding a long, wrapped box and looking in need of a vacation. Kurt thinks of him coming back well-rested, thinks of how it could possibly be that easy. Wishes getting away had worked for him as planned.

“I brought you something,” Blaine says, sleep creeping into his voice. “A present. For Christmas. I know you're not religious, but –”

“Well, you certainly don't have to be religious to like gifts,” Kurt interrupts, eyeing the delicately wrapped box in Blaine's hands. He wiggles his fingers at sleepy, slow-moving Blaine, who turns it over happily. “What is it, delivery boy?” Kurt shakes the box a bit.

Blaine chuckles tiredly. “Nothing breakable, youd better hope.”

Kurt heads over to his kitchen table, leaving Blaine in the doorway, assuming he'll follow. He does, coming up behind Kurt and setting off a new round of shivers as Kurt pulls away the wrapping.

“What on earth…”

“It's a Blaine Anderson original.” Blaine smiles delightedly at Kurts untamable blush, smirking when Kurt starts laughing.

“You made me a puppet.”

“Indeed.”

Kurt fingers at the fabric, admiring the clean stitching and the detail. “Is this supposed to be me?”

Blaine nods.

“I – I don't..." Kurt bites his lip and ducks his head. "I absolutely was not expecting this.”

“You like it though.”

“I love it.”

“You're always making me stuff, I thought…”

“I love it, Blaine.”

There's a moment then when Blaine's eyes flick down to Kurt's lips, when Kurt thinks of relenting to the pull low in his gut. But he has a present for Blaine, too. So he postpones the urge and holds up a finger and calls, “Hold on.”

Kurt comes back and tells Blaine to close his eyes, which he does instantly, a sign of trust that sets off the warm fuzzies throughout Kurts body. Kurt leads Blaine across the loft and stops him in the middle of the room. He hasn't had time to wrap – he'd have chickened out if given time to think about it. No chance for that now. He steps behind Blaine, avoiding having to see his reaction and tells him to look.

“Holy hell,” comes Blaine's whispered awe.

They've talked about Nightbird before. About Blaine's friend Sam and their mutual worship of superheroes. About the name and powers Blaine would take on if he could be a superhero himself. This painting, this gift to Blaine, is the next best thing to the costume Blaine's always begging for when he teases about slipping Kurt his measurements.

The image is simple, one of Blaine ready to fly off the canvas, knees bent and cape flowing like feathered wings behind him. It's dark all around him, but Blaine – Nightbird – shines.

Blaine – three-dimensional, hard-bodied, sweet-smelling Blaine – turns to Kurt and throws them into a hug. Kurt's arms loop around Blaine's neck and hold him close.

“You're amazing, Kurt,” Blaine says into Kurt's ear.

He should say something, say thank you maybe, but he can't form words this close to Blaine. He can't do much else but try to control his rapid heartbeat, the trembling when Blaine pulls back and stares questioningly into Kurt's eyes.

“You're amazing.”

Kurt thanks him then, in the way he's been yearning to: with whispers from barely parted lips and kisses that follow.

It's only when Blaine is stifling yawns and Kurt's forced him back across the hall, that the euphoria starts to wear. Kurt's mind, which doubts the sincerity of anything good, reminds him that Blaine won't be back for weeks. Convinces him that when Blaine comes home he'll be rested and alert, and expect more from Kurt. Will expect happiness and kisses and Kurt to be fixed. Convinces him that maybe it will be the opposite: Blaine will want nothing. That he has gotten his fill tonight; that it's a job well done on curing Kurts loneliness and hes not needed anymore. That he'll spend weeks surrounded by dozens of people and realize Kurt cant compare to the company he could be keeping.

Blaine leaves and Kurt stews. He sits on unpleasant thoughts he can't bat away easily without anyone around to convince him he's insane to consider them. He sits with his private heartbreak, a fault of his own consequence, and revisits his habit of holding on too tightly to the feelings that destroy him.