"I meant to ask, how long were you at school yesterday?"

Blaine is digging in the refrigerator for food, pulling out anything that looks remotely appetizing. When he lifts a red lid off a plastic container and grimaces, he finally gives up and moves to the freezer, hoping Kurt isn't terribly hungry because it's not looking good.

"Until seven. I can't believe the shit that collects in people's lockers in only a few weeks. Can you imagine it by the end of the season?"

"I'd rather not, thanks. Want to grill up some burgers?"

"Sure, but you really don't have to feed me." Kurt's been slowly touring Blaine's kitchen, dragging his fingers across the high-end appliances, positively drooling over the perfection of it all. Cherry wood cabinetry, granite countertops, 5-burner stove – complete with indoor grill-top – stainless steel, of course – a full island with washing sink and freezer drawer. When he bites his bottom lip and moans in pure lust over the block of Wüstof knives on the counter, Blaine almost drops a bag of peas.

"I—I'm not doing all the work; you're helping me." Blaine slaps a package of patties onto the counter jolting Kurt from his coveting with a jump and a squeal. "Seems you sort of want to get your hands all over this kitchen."

"Am I that transparent?"

"At least at the moment."

Kurt blushes and sits on a bar stool, folding his hands in his lap. "I'm sorry – I've just always dreamed of a kitchen like this."

"Well, here it is. Now, figure out some good toppings."

Kurt grins and jumps up to the refrigerator, finding some bleu cheese and plucks through the vegetable drawer for zucchini and peppers to grill up. When he spins back around with an armload and happy smile, Blaine shakes his head. "Should I just sit this one out and let you cook?"

"N—No. I'm—oh my god, I'm being a presumptuous dick. These just looked good and fresh and they'd be really delicious grilled and—" He sits back on his stool and rests his chin on his hand, avoiding looking at Blaine. "Do you have onions to caramelize? That'd be divine with the bleu cheese."

Kurt's biting his lip again and fidgety and—

"That does sound amazing." Blaine tilts his head and pats at Kurt's knee to get his full attention, which he just can't quite grasp. "Hey. What's going on? I've never seen you nervous before. I'm the one that should be having aftershocks from the storm."

"I'm sorry. I'm sort of out of my element here. It's all so lush and elegant. And you're...just Maynard and...I'm all out of balance."

"That's funny because I'd imagine elegant surroundings to be exactly your element."

Kurt stops fussing with the stickers on the peppers and looks to Blaine who instantly flushes and turns to the pantry to dig for onions. "I—I mean, you're quite graceful and eleg—" He huffs and stands, adding the bag of onions to their growing pile of food. "Just—what do you need me to do? I'm starving."

Now he has Kurt's full attention – naturally now that his mouth has tumbled out more than his heart should allow. He's flushed and smiling like he caught Blaine in a secret. Because he sort of did.

When Kurt finally stands and bends to open a drawer to find pans, Blaine breathes again – thank goodness for the lure of a sexy kitchen to save the day. "You can...let's see. Oh, we might want to thaw the meat or I see huge dental bills in our future."

"Got it." He pulls a plate from the cabinet and nods when Kurt points to the knives for permission to use to cut the vegies.

As soon as the chef's knife slides into the flesh of the red pepper, a peace falls over the kitchen as though Kurt's ease is all it takes for the both of them. It's as though he belongs in this kitchen and Blaine can't stop staring, watching his bicep flex with each downward motion of the knife, the way his fingers grip the handle and base of the blade, how that infernal flip of hair bops around on his forehead like a dangling carrot tempting a hungry rabbit.

"Are you going to help or just stare at me?"

Without an answer to offer, Blaine turns and readies the beef to thaw in the microwave. He misses Kurt's smirk and busies himself with the onions, grateful that they've fallen into a companionable give-and-take in what proves to be a very delicious meal complete with hilarious conversation.

"I kid you not. The briefs and the panties were all tangled together – both dirty, mind – shoved into the back corner of the locker. There aren't enough latex gloves to have protected me from that mess."

"Was it a sousa, because I could so see Puck—"

"No! That's the thing, it was a clarinet locker! Who knew they were the kinky ones!?" Kurt runs his finger through the dregs of the melted cheese on his plate and sucks his finger into his mouth.

And Blaine gulps, standing so quickly Kurt has to reach out to make sure he doesn't fall over. He recovers and starts gathering their plates. "Well, I mean, underwear in and of itself isn't kinky. Unless—"

"Stop. Why would anyone need to have underwear in their band locker? I can see bringing extra clothes in a bag for changing – we all do it, but why does your—no. And tangled? What the fuck were they doing?"

"I—I have no idea. Last I checked, the tangling portion sort of works better once underwear isn't part of the picture."

"Rumor has it. So, you know, if you're looking for some extra clothes with all sorts of DNA all over it, you can check that box right outside the instrument room. The panties were turquoise." Kurt's eyes trail up and down Blaine's body in mock judgment. "Although that color might not work for you."

"Thanks, but," Blaine grabs the box of cookies Kurt brought with him, inhaling the cinnamon scent with a smile, "I'm thinking if any of my own clothes are in there, I'll just leave them to rot."

"Smart plan. The smell—oh my god. I went home and took the longest lavender bath of my life. I'm probably still pruned." Kurt looks at his fingertips and chuckles and Blaine has to shake his head out of the image of Kurt soaking in a tub. Lavender scented. Probably with bubbles. And candlelight.

Jesus.

"Here. Smell these – it'll cleanse your palate." Kurt breathes the cookies in and Blaine doesn't watch his eyes flutter closed. He does not. "I really should have stayed to help."

"Why? It was my punishment."

"Because of me."

"I'm completely responsible for my own actions, Maynard. I walked out of a rehearsal. At bandcamp. I'm lucky she didn't just yank the solo from me."

"I still feel partially responsible."

"You're not. That was all me." Kurt plucks a cookie from the box and before he can get it to his mouth, Blaine stops him.

"Do you—we can practice better if—wanna go up to my room? Take these up?" Blaine tries not to look too nervous or eager because he's not expecting anything other than rehearsal and laughter and The Power of Friendship and The Heart of the Cards and oh god he's in so much trouble, he's quoting Yu Gi Oh in his head. He really hopes inviting Kurt to his room isn't the dumbest thing he's done in the past 24 hours. His dumb quotient is pretty filled up as it is.

"Oh. Sure." Kurt pops the cookie in his mouth and grabs the box, and after a pit stop in the formal living room where Kurt catches a peek of a baby grand piano, asking if Blaine plays and smiling entirely too broadly when he answers in the affirmative, they are settled in Blaine's room. They bumble around trying to figure out who is going to sit where, horns occasionally clanking and mumbling apologies and finally Blaine puts his hands on Kurt's shoulders to make him sit at the foot of the bed.

He takes a seat at his desk and turns toward him, stealing a cookie, pulling it back to look at it again once he tastes it. "Almonds?"

"Yes. And cinnamon, ginger, cloves, nutmeg. I—I make up cookie recipes when I'm upset."

"Yeah, I can imagine seeing everyone's dirty underwear would be upsetting."

"Except I made them this weekend. After I gave up on my plot to permanently lodge your 10C in your left ear."

"Kiki..."

"I added almonds so Finn wouldn't eat them. Otherwise, they'd be gone already." Kurt finishes his cookie and hovers his hand over the box before deciding against taking another one.

"So, you hate-made the cookies, but you're still sharing them with the target of your hate?"

"All of my anger wasn't directed at you. Eventually. Besides if I eat the entire batch, my face will break out from all of the butter."

"So, it's really a complexion intervention that made you so generous?"

"Yes. And you seem like someone who would appreciate a mouthful of nuts."

Blaine snaps his head up and has to bite his lip to fight back a laugh – because Kurt is about to explode with effort not to crack a smile, a laugh, a giggle. But Kurt erupts with a very indelicate snerk anyway, and Blaine lets his pent-up laugh break free taking any leftover tension between them with it. It feels like a piñata breaking, rainbow-colored candies falling all around the room.

After laughing entirely too long at such an incredibly lame and juvenile joke, Blaine wipes the tears from the corner of his eyes. "You really wanted to play the straight man with that, didn't you?"

"You just called me the straight man?"

And the giggles start all over again, Kurt finally falling back onto Blaine's bed, trying to catch his breath. And Blaine tries not to think about the new view.

"Maynard, can I ask you a question? About—about last week?"

"Of course."

"Were—I mean, maybe it was just me, but weren't things going well? Between us? I thought we were finding a nice groove."

Kurt's still on his back staring at the ceiling and Blaine has to get up and move from his desk to sit at the head of the bed where he's not staring right into Kurt's laid out crotch. Of course, as he settles, Kurt's head is resting right next to his bare knees and he could reach down and run his fingers through that gorgeous, lush hair and there is simply nothing comfortable about this moment.

Except when he focuses and lets Kurt's words soak in – they feel like honey and cinnamon – smooth and sweet and a little spicy. It's the two of us all over again and Blaine's heart skips a beat before he finds words to answer, hoping his voice doesn't wobble when he speaks.

"We were. I felt it too." Blaine crawls to the foot of the bed, grabbing the box of cookies and bringing it onto the bed with them. Because his voice so totally wobbled.

Kurt rolls to his belly and shimmies up toward the pillows, tracing the sham's plaid design with a finger and Blaine wishes he was a painter so he could spend the entirety of a day painting each individual eyelash fanning out on Kurt's cheeks. "It is nice to have someone that gets it, isn't it?"

"Yeah. It is." Digging back into the box, Blaine pulls out two cookies and hands one to Kurt. "Acne, be damned."

Kurt takes it with a smile, talking around the bite he takes. "That makes me wonder even more – if you thought our friendship was so important, why didn't you at least talk to me about Show?"

When Kurt sits up, Blaine sighs in relief because the half-laying, half-sitting, all on a bed thing is about to do him in.

Kurt continues with a shrug. "I can't say I still wouldn't have been upset, but it wouldn't have been a public humiliation."

"I didn't mean—god. I didn't want to humiliate you. Or upset you. Or anyone. I just—it happened so fast and—"

"When did it happen? We had breaks, but there's just not a lot of free time for—"

"Wednesday. You played it in rehearsal that morning and just like in the audition, you took my breath away. But something was missing. Not with your part, but with the arrangement. It felt – hollow. In fact, the richness of your playing is what brought it out to me."

"Okay, stop. Now you're just getting sycophantic."

"No! I'm—no. That's not it. I just – I want you to understand that it really had nothing to do with you."

"I guess I'm saying maybe it should have."

Blaine stops picking crumbs off of his duvet and sighs. "Yes. My follow-through should have included you."

"So, what? You just went and volunteered to fill in the blanks? That's pretty arrogant, don't you think?"

"Yeah, that would have been arrogant, but that's not what happened. I started listening to the original again and the lead guitar jumped out at me. That's what was missing. That extra flair, you know? So, I went to Jonesy to see if we were going to be having a guitar player in pit once we got back to school rehearsals. It's Queen. It's a rock show. Guitar only makes sense."

"Except none of the guitar players at our school are any good, and the few that are have such shit attitudes that—"

"That's exactly what she said. You tried one a couple years ago?"

"Yeah. Freshman year - Beatles show. By the second competition, we were all trying to learn how to do a séance to bring George Harrison back from the dead."

"Okay, that? Would have been amazing."

"Except that Q's mom confiscated her Ouija board because it was of the devil, and Santana's cornet didn't work as a spirit trumpet – we think because the second valve had been stuck since 8th grade – and Finn's left eye and right kneecap would twitch whenever he'd get close to a trance. He looked like a handicapped dog chasing a drunk squirrel. Trances don't work when everyone's laughing."

Blaine blinks twice and finally busts out laughing again because he truly cannot tell if Kurt's serious or not. When Kurt grins and steals another cookie, taking a dramatic bite, Blaine flops over to his side, resting his head on his fist. "We never had that much fun at Wapak."

"That's because Wapak—"

"Sucks. I know. I know."

Kurt falls next to him, mirroring his position and even though it's not dark and the room doesn't smell of gym sock, it's reminiscent of bandcamp. Blaine wishes he could keep Kurt here forever. It would make the void in the house disappear.

"So, since bringing George back didn't work, we were stuck with Stoner Brett and the guy was—well, we called him Stoner Brett for a reason."

"Although, from what I gather, The Beatles weren't always running on all cylinders either."

"Yes, but they started with talent."

"Excellent point. So thanks to Stoner Brett, she told me that we probably wouldn't have guitar and asked why and one thing led to another and I'm playing for her what I think might work and then it's Thursday's rehearsal and you were there for the rest."

"So, you didn't know she was going to call on you to do it?"

"She said we might try it with the full band back-up and that was the end of our discussion. I honestly thought I'd never hear another word about it. She didn't seem impressed."

Blaine waits while Kurt considers the story. It's not that Kurt doesn't believe him, he doesn't think, it's just that spending days upon days angry at someone and then hearing their side of the story takes time to process. So Blaine waits. Because he wants more moments like these. With gut-busting laughter and fanned eyelashes and rainbow-candied giggles and almond spice cookies.

"You hit a really raw nerve."

"I know. Now I know – I didn't realize then."

"Snix talk to you?"

"Mike. He's—he's pretty observant. Soaks up people like a sponge."

"Yeah, he does. He probably knows me better than most, yet we've never been close."

"I'm sorry someone like Doc made you feel anything less than how amazing you are. And I'm even more sorry I added to that."

Kurt looks down and blinks back a few tears that Blaine decides not to point out. "He was awful. And I thought I was over it, but—"

"You do know you're amazing right? His awful – my awful – doesn't take any of that away."

Kurt looks up to Blaine and huffs in disbelief. "I treated you like shit."

"I came in with a really bad attitude. It doesn't change the fact that—"

"You're pretty amazing, too."

And with that, all the tension is back – a delicious tension that lingers between them while Blaine's brain scrambles to pick up the pieces of his normally very-put-together self. With a thick swallow, he chickens out and goes for the team play. "This is going to kick ass, this song. This show. Us, together.

Blaine thinks Kurt's expression falls a little, but he's not going to allow himself to believe it. Kurt's going for the team play, too – because it's the right thing to do. He's sure of it. "Not if we don't practice."

"Right. Practice. After one more cookie."

~~~**~~~

Blaine [08-18-11 3:11am]: I am the stupidest kind of idiot that ever stupided.

Mike [08-18-11 3:15am]: I could have told you that. What'd you do now? Rewrite the show so there's a Miles Davis feature in it too?

Blaine [08-18-11 3:16am]: I knew I should have held you under water longer the other day.

Mike [08-18-11 3:17am]: Then you'd have no one to talk to at 3am.

Blaine [08-18-11 3:18am]: I could always text Nini.

Mike [08-18-11 3:18am]: If you don't mind spending time describing The Shire in great detail when you could be sleeping.

Blaine [08-18-11 3:19am]: I'm sitting here, at 3am, with an open notebook contemplating writing poetry. I hate poetry, Mike.

Mike [08-18-11 3:20am]: Aw, if you want to tell me you love me, you could just text it to me.

Blaine [08-18-11 3:20am]: Yep. Should have drowned your ass.

Mike [08-18-11 3:21am]: I take it you and Kiki kissed and made up.

Blaine [08-18-11 3:22am]: No kissing. But, it was close.

Mike [08-18-11 3:22am]: I told you he was feeling it too.

Blaine [08-18-11 3:23am]: I don't know. I mean, I think he is, but. This would be bad. And dumb. And did you know his eyes aren't really completely blue? They have green in them and yellow flecks and they change color depending on the light and stuff.

Mike [08-18-11 3:24am]: Jesus, you're a mess. Poetry?

Blaine [08-18-11 3:25am]: Poetry. So far, I only have 'your eyes' down.

Mike [08-18-11 3:26am]: Go to bed, Maynard. Let your wet dreams take care of it.

Blaine [08-18-11 3:28am]: I don't even know what to say to that.

Mike [08-18-11 3:28am]: Say goodnight, Maynard.

Blaine [08-18-11 3:29]: Goodnight, Maynard.