The next time Kurt sees Blaine, it's after weeks of careful avoidance of the Anderson house. Cooper still comes over to get high and watch Toddlers & Tiaras, and he has his monthly Golden Girls weekend with Tess and Miss Kitty after assurances of Blaine staying in the dorms, but it's all different now. Kurt's sure he's welcomed by every Anderson but Blaine, but he has not the slightest clue where he stands with Blaine. It makes his choices feel awkward and stilted, having to navigate around Blaine's lingering presence while Blaine gets to hide away at school.

Kurt moped the first week. Until Puck came by with beer and porn at sunrise, saying “Dude, saw the news on Facebook. That's rough.” He's handed Kurt a DVD – which has curiosities about, but no desire to confirm, exactly how Puck came by having – that they most definitely did not fucking watch together, but Kurt appreciated the gesture. He also appreciated six a.m. beer and the incredible opportunity Puck handed him to absolutely ream him on every form of social media they share with friends. Not a gesture Puck appreciated, but he let it slide, probably just because Kurt stopped moping for a bit.

Quinn's master plan was to give Kurt his own hideaway at her house, surrounded by his girls from the cheerleading squad. No one asked about Blaine or told him to cheer up when he soured and kicked around by himself on his friend, the inflatable dolphin. No one to console him, to fix him like a broken thing, for which he was certainly more grateful than for the horrendous porn Puck bestowed upon him. Sometimes there's nothing to be done but to feel the hurt coursing through your veins ‘til it's finished its laps and run off. Quinn's become a queen of reinvention over the years; she's good at spotting flaws in the masks others wear, good at hearing “I'm drowning” when Kurt says, “I'm fine.” That night, he slept like a baby, resolute in his reconfirmation that life goes on regardless of loss. So he doesn't belong to Blaine anymore – he still belongs to Quinn and Santana and the rest of the Cheerios whom he's held onto since his wayward days on the squad. He matters.

It's Cooper who has bridged the gaps between Kurt-before-Blaine, Kurt-and-Blaine, and the mess Kurt's been left with. Sweet, dumb, hella handsome Cooper who thinks offering a hand job will help Kurt feel better. In Cooper's defense, his hand jobs are quite divine – with no small thanks to Kurt's guidance. But as idiotic and inappropriate as it may be to consider sex with his brother's ex – ‘it's just bros helping bros, amigo' – there's a certain method to Cooper's madness. Cooper doesn't simply pull focus, he knocks it over the head and binds its wrists and ankles so it can't run away before the show is over. He's ridiculous, honestly. But earnestly so. And it's impossible not to love the dipshit. Especially when Coop shows up one morning with coffee and the keys to his grandfather's Aston Martin. Yet another question with a likely dubious answer at best, but thankfully Richard “Big Dick” Anderson is every bit the pretentious jackass Kurt swore he sounded like to Blaine because the car handles like a dream and it's an extra special treat that he gets to rub his queer hands all over it.

When Blaine comes home for summer, Kurt is almost ready for it. Almost at ease with the idea that he's still in love with someone who maybe doesn't deserve it and who lives a thirty second walk away from him. It's more than likely to become a mess, but maybe his magical “fuck it” powers will make a comeback.

Kurt braids Quinn's hair, sitting in the grass on his front lawn while Puck and Finn and their meathead friends toss around a football. He knows Blaine is coming home today, he had breakfast with the Andersons before they headed off in separate cars to retrieve Blaine and all his things. He'd wanted to stay inside, give Blaine space, but Quinn kindly suggested he grow a pair and deal with the fact that their quarters are too damn close to pretend they can avoid each other all summer.

Blaine ignores him from the second he steps out of his mother's car. Not that Kurt is trying to get his attention or anything, but if this is any indication of the coming months, New York City – with its skyscrapers and its population: eight million – is going to be like running naked through an boundless meadow for how claustrophobic he feels at the moment.

It's unfinished between them. He walked away from the chance for clarification, mind too fuzzy with ache, and now he's feeling the jagged edges, the splintered crack of their separation.

Cooper's come and sat by Quinn, turning on the charm and failing miserably at impressing her. Blaine and all his bags and boxes have disappeared inside with his parents. Kurt's wondering if it would be too much of an ambush if he just popped in for a little chat. Just to set things straight. Get the awkward out of the way all at once, so it doesn't drag down the rest of summer.

It's probably a bad idea, and the universe seems to think so too, because when he's stepping off the curb to cross the street, a body slams into him, followed by a sickening snap in the ensuing silence. It's Puck. Full weight falling on Kurt's leg and jamming it between him and the curb. And yeah. This summer is shaping up to be just fucking perfect.