But somehow, it isn’t. Inexplicably, things manage to get worse; intangibly worse in a way that leaves both men confused and a little lost. They start the year with the best intentions, holding fast to promises they’ve made; to one another and themselves. But then once again, things begin to unravel.  The way things begin to fall apart this time, they can’t pinpoint. It isn’t a moment of anger really, or a fight. It’s moments, strung together like beads on a wire, dropping down the line and clinking into one another as they fall, weighing and weighing and weighing them down until something has to shatter, somewhere something must snap. Nothing is meant to carry this weight.

January is cold in New York, air brittle and cracking against any skin left neglectfully exposed. They come home laughing, dropping bags in the doorway, recounting the horrors of their flight and god, that taxi driver, before Blaine drags Kurt into their bed. The sheets are cold, smelling faintly of the fabric softener Kurt buys, and Blaine has to kiss Kurt. He loves that Kurt always changes the sheets before they go on a trip. Coming home to a fresh bed is the best kind of heaven.

They tumble into the bed and then sleep together, thrumming and happy, replete and connected after a wonderful week spent with family.  It’s a Sunday night; classes start back up for both of them the next day.

In January, riding on a high built of hopes and affirmation, Kurt pulls the magazines out. Blaine finds dog eared pages with Kurt’s handwritten notes all over the pages, sharpie marks smudged by his impatience. There are post it notes with random idea’s stuck into his lunches-

Are we sure we can’t feed doves glitter?

Blaine smiles when he finds them, stacking them carefully inside his wallet, until they begin to press outward, too many for such a small space.  He finally moves the small pile to his nightstand drawer; every time he opens it he feels a rush of love and affection for Kurt.

Two weeks into the school year, he’s still saving notes, but they come less frequently.  When Kurt comes home later than usual on a Tuesday, he’s surprised to find Blaine in the apartment, studying at their table.

“No study group?”
“Not today.” Blaine’s voice is just a little cold, just this side of unfriendly, which makes Kurt tense up.

“Blaine, what’s wrong?”  Kurt set’s his bag down carefully, unwinding his scarf slowly as Blaine turns a page in his text with a little too much interest.

“Why would anything be wrong? Why should I care where you’ve been when you normally would be home?” Blaine still isn’t looking at him, but Kurt can see the way the tip of his nose and ears are red, a sure sign of anger, and he’s baffled and aggravated and tired because it’s been a long day.

“I had to go see Professor Lingler during his office hours about my term paper, and I’m not…I don’t..” He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence. Kurt clearly wants to snap at Blaine,  sharp words sticking to his tongue, an ugly mass of resentment he hates to swallow. He wants to say, what the fuck is your problem? And he aches to let his frustration and confusion out and ask where the hell Blaine thinks he’s been. But mostly, he wants to know why Blaine is doing this when things have been going so well.

But he doesn’t do any of that. Instead he clenches his fists and breathes through his nose. Posture ruler straight, he looks down at Blaine, voice cold but not angry, which is a feat.

“If you have something you want to talk to me about, please, talk. But can we not make assumptions and get angry based on them?” His eyebrow is doing that thing, that fuck you thing, and he can’t help it because he’s literally seeing red as Blaine shrugs and keeps reading his text, as if this conversation isn’t even worth his time.

“Blaine.” There’s an edge to his voice now, a warning which Blaine hears because he finally looks up.

“I don’t want to talk. I’m sorry I made an assumption. Just-“ Blaine sighs, eyes traveling the apartment slowly, looking anywhere but at Kurt, “Let’s just let it go ok?”

Blaine turns back to his book and it is clear to Kurt that he’s done talking. For a moment Kurt stands, baffled and angry and helpless, hoping that Blaine might change his mind, open his mouth, anything. But that doesn’t happen, the silence deepens around them, until he cannot take it any more and goes to hang up his scarf.  They work around each other for the rest of the night, Kurt stewing and unsettled, Blaine calmly ignoring the tension and frustration that is absolutely shimmering off of Kurt’s body in palpable waves. They go to bed in silence, they wake up with few words and fewer touches.

After a day though, they’ve both softened toward one another; they don’t speak about it; Kurt because he’s learning that it’s a lesson in futility, Blaine because he just wants to move on and forget about all of this, wants to stop punishing Kurt. He’s impatient for the day when they can just be, back to normal. What happened wasn’t even a fight, and at first it doesn’t strike Blaine as being a big deal. Really, it feels more like a small bump in the road, and he’s sure he’ll manage to just move past the whole thing and go back to the way they were, find that feeling of potential and right they’d brought home from Ohio.

But even with this softening, even with a concerted effort on his part to just skim over the whole thing, everything starts to feel wrong. Just a little off. Then a little more off until Blaine finds himself making an effort, every day, to remind himself that he wants this. That he wants to be with Kurt. Wants that trust and familiarity back. He’s so busy telling himself what he wants, he doesn’t see what he does. He doesn’t feel, like Kurt does, how much farther away he’s becoming, how wide and deep this break between them is getting.  He doesn’t see the dozens of things, the tiny things he does that show just how not right everything really is.

Unsure, he pretends for a week that everything is fine. Kurt does as well, biting his tongue as Blaine pushes them further apart. Blaine has made it clear he isn’t going to talk about anything, stubbornly insisting that everything is fine, even as the line between his eyebrows indicates that he knows otherwise. And Kurt, Kurt is so lost; his hands are tied. Pushing Blaine to talk only seems to exacerbate things, but this not talking is only pushing a wedge deeper and deeper between them. Not saying anything is killing him, and the farther Blaine pushes him, the harder he has to work to bite his tongue, to tamp down on that self-presvatory instinct to fight. To fight for what he wants, because god knows that Kurt has always had to fight for everything good he’s ever had in his life.

Sunday morning has always been a day for laying in bed, for crossword puzzles done over breakfast. Early afternoons curled too warm on the couch together, reading or watching tv, studying and just being close. So when Kurt wakes before Blaine this Sunday, he wakes slowly. Blaine is heavy in sleep beside him. Cinnamon rolls, he thinks. Blaine loves homemade cinnamon rolls, and Kurt loves making the foods that Blaine loves. He enjoys pampering Blaine, taking care of small things that make Blaine’s day smoother, better.

Kurt is humming quietly, hands in the batter, eyeing the crossword puzzle and wondering if Blaine might have some clue about 58 down, when he hears the bedroom door creak open. Blaine shuffles in, sleepy and half dressed, pressing an absent kiss to Kurt’s shoulder before reaching for coffee. Kurt watches, amused, as Blaine stumbles back into the bedroom, coffee in hand.

When he emerges a few minutes later, alert and dressed, Kurt has to frown. Blaine is in jeans and a Henley, school bag in hand.

“Going somewhere?” he calls singingly, hands still busy with the cinnamon rolls.

“Mm, yeah, study thing at the library.”  Blaine looks up from his phone, which he has been fiddling with, at the clatter. Kurt has dropped the spoon he was using, his face looks…hurt? Shocked?

“Kurt, is everything ok?”

“It’s Sunday, Blaine.” Kurt says this with a sureness, and Blaine struggles to figure out why Kurt feels the need to tell him what day it is.

“Yes, it is. I find that it usually comes after Saturday.” Blaine tries for a joke, but his voice trails off a bit when he sees Kurt’s face whiten, lips trembling a bit. “Kurt, what’s wrong? Did we have plans?”  He can see the way Kurt pulls himself together, deep breath in and his body is still, a smile on his face that doesn’t seem quite right.

“No, no we didn’t. When will you be home?” Kurt struggles to keep his voice even, reminding himself that he’s an actor, damnit. The fact is that Blaine isn’t trying to hurt him, that he honestly seems to have no idea what he’s doing is the only thing keeping Kurt together right now. He tells himself it doesn’t matter. They’d never said anything about Sunday’s being off limits for other plans, they just always have been.

Blaine pauses, filling his portable thermos with coffee. He’s frowning but not sure of his ground, so he settles for laying a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. There it is again, he thinks. That something off feeling, but he’s not sure what it is, so he doesn’t press.

“Just a couple of hours. Save some rolls for me?” Kurt nods- Blaine can’t see his face any more, standing behind Kurt, but he smiles when Kurt kisses the top of his hand.   He leaves the apartment nagged by the feeling that he’s misstepped somehow, but not clear on just where. By the time he’s reached the library, the thought is forgotten.