- - -

"Darling, I'm so sorry, but I don't think I'll make it home in time for dinner tonight," Kurt told Blaine over the phone two weeks later. "It's looking like recital intensives are going to run really late tonight. I'll grab a salad from the cafeteria or something on my way out."

Back at their Lower East Side apartment, Blaine was frowning at the screen as he stirred the boiling water for Kurt's favorite pasta—fettuccine alfredo with mushrooms. "But I'm making--no, you know what? Fine. I'll see you when you get back," he shouted into the speakerphone so as to be heard over the bubbling water.

Kurt could sense the edge in Blaine's voice, though, no matter how he tried to disguise it. "Don't get mad at me, Blaine. It isn't my fault this recital is so important."

Blaine sighed. "I know. I'll see you at home." Without another word, he disconnected the call, turning off the stove and flopping down onto the overstuffed couch. All of a sudden, he didn't feel like eating. 

Kurt's NYADA senior recital was weeks away, and he was freaking the fuck out about every little detail in his Kurt Hummel way. He was spending whole days on campus, and ordinarily, Blaine wouldn't mind Kurt missing one little meal at home. Ordinary circumstances these were not, however. He and Kurt hadn't eaten any kind of meal together in a full week. Blaine would go over to Finn and Rachel's or Santana and Brittany's most nights, while Kurt slaved away at school. Blaine missed Kurt almost more than ever--nothing could top the misery he'd felt during their year apart, but knowing he was mere blocks away hurt Blaine's heart in a different way.

- - -

Blaine ended up taking an accidental three-hour nap, and he woke up in bed with a jolt. 

"Shit," he mumbled. "Kurt? You home?"

Silence.

"Baby? I'm sorry I snapped. Where are you?"

Still no sound. Working himself into a panic, Blaine called Rachel.

"Rachel Berry!”

"Rachel, it's Blaine. Have you seen Kurt?"

"...No. Not since earlier tonight."

"How much earlier, Rach? He's not at home, and I'm freaking out."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Not helping, I know. Let me think...we grabbed a bite to eat in the cafeteria during a break from intensives, and he was bemoaning the fact that you yelled at him, and that was about...three hours ago. I left about two hours after that, but as far as I know, Kurt didn't."

"I did not yell at him!"

"That's what you got from all that, Blaine? Really?"

"Oh, fuck. Thank you. He's totally still at NYADA, and fuck the subway commute. I'm going to go get him."

"You go, Blaine Warbler. Bye!"

"See ya."

- - -

"God damn it, Kurt," Blaine swore under his breath as he entered the building where senior intensives were being held. "Why the fuck--"

Blaine's monologue was cut short by an official-looking man in a uniform.

"Are you a NYADA student?" he asked skeptically, giving Blaine a once-over. "Because you don't look like one."

Blaine had to chuckle; in his ratty black sweatpants, ancient Dalton shirt, and Adidas slides, he was remarkably underdressed--and he most certainly didn't look like he belonged. "No. My bo--my spouse is doing senior intensives, and he's definitely still here."

"Everyone went home, sweetheart," pouted the official-looking man. "I'm sorry, but your boyfriend is elsewhere." He cocked an eyebrow, having effectively cut through Blaine’s half-assed lie.

"Can I just..." Blaine had no choice but to turn on the puppy eyes.

That softened the guard up enough, and he sighed heavily. "Fine."

"Thank you," Blaine gushed, rushing down to the room he'd dropped Kurt off in a few days prior. He opened the door gingerly--it had no window, so he couldn't be sure he wasn't interrupting a meeting. When he peeked inside the nondescript rehearsal room, however, all he saw was an impeccably dressed, sticklike—he’s getting too thin, Blaine thought--figure slumped on top of the piano. Literally, he was on top of it.

Kurt.

"Holy shit," Blaine muttered, rushing over to rub Kurt's shoulders--his preferred method of awakening. His spritelike boyfriend's eyes fluttered open, blinking blearily at Blaine.

"Blaine," he breathed. "What are you doing at NYADA?"

Blaine laughed derisively. He couldn't find a smidgen of sympathy for Kurt within him right then. "Kurt fucking Hummel, it is 11:15 in the evening. You've been asleep for God knows how long."

Kurt didn't react to Blaine's words, instead rubbing his eyes and blinking again. "You look like shit," he muttered. "The hell are you wearing? Where is the sweater vest, babe? What happened to the loafers?"

Blaine couldn't believe that Kurt couldn't even tell how upset he was. "Kurt, we're going home."

Kurt nodded sleepily. "Okay, baby. Carry me? Piggyback?"

"No."

- - -

Blaine and Kurt stumbled back into their apartment thirty minutes later, and neither of them said a word.

“I’m mad at you, you know,” Blaine wanted to shout. He knew it would do nothing, though, so he kept his mouth shut.

“Maybe I should, uh, sleep on the couch,” Kurt suggested. “Since you’re mad.”

Blaine just shook his head in disbelief. He couldn’t understand how Kurt didn’t know what he’d done that had made Blaine mad. “Maybe you should.”

He knew it was awful to go to bed angry at Kurt, and it was the last thing he wanted to do. When he looked behind him, however, he saw that his frustrating, hardworking, misguided, beautiful boyfriend was already asleep, wrapped in a blanket and resting his head on a throw pillow. Either he gives absolutely zero shits, or he’s teetering on the edge of something scary.

Blaine tried not to cry himself to sleep. What was he even supposed to do to help Kurt? What did Kurt need? Blaine was struck with the thought that he didn’t know anything right before sleep dragged him under.

- - -

The next morning, Blaine woke up with a heavy heart and a splitting headache. He padded downstairs to start up the coffee machine, pausing to admire Kurt’s sleeping form. Blaine couldn’t even stop himself from shuffling over to the sage-green couch and kiss his boyfriend’s temple. When Kurt stirred, Blaine cursed himself for waking him up.

"Yeah," Blaine mumbled grumpily. "That's it. Drink hella coffee, Kurt Hummel, because we're discussing this. We are discussing this so hard."

Kurt chuckled. "Yeah, okay, honey."

"Don't you fucking 'honey' me," Blaine spat. "Don't you get that I'm mad at you? Do you even know how worried I was about you?" He shook his head. "I woke up from a very brief nap around 10:30 last night, and then freaked the hell out because I had no idea where you were. I finally thought to call Rachel, who told me she hadn't seen you leave. I was so fucking worried that I didn't even bother with real clothes. I just pulled on sweats and my Dalton shirt from ages ago, and that's why I looked like shit. Which, thanks for that, by the way." Blaine slumped down into a kitchen chair, watching Kurt's back as he continued to make the coffee. "Do you even get what you did wrong?"

That turned Kurt around, coffee pot in hand. "God, Blaine Anderson, I didn't mean it like that. You know I think you look beautiful all the time, even in sweats. You're unconditionally gorgeous."

Blaine let his mouth drop open. "You have got to be fucking taking me for a ride right now, Kurt, damn it."

Kurt cocked his head and furrowed his perfectly symmetrical eyebrows. "Blaine, tell me why you're angry with me." He took a seat on the chair opposite Blaine, staring at him intently.

Blaine rolled his eyes. "I'm worried," he said earnestly. "I'm scared that you're working yourself too hard."

Kurt nodded cooperatively, sitting down at the table with a steaming mug. "What makes you say that?"

Blaine scoffed, turning in his chair to face Kurt. "Okay, seriously? Did you miss the part where I dragged your dormant ass home from NYADA at midnight? You've run yourself so ragged that stressy Kurt thought it'd be a swell idea to fall asleep on top of the piano."

Kurt let out a heavy sigh, hanging his head. "I'm sorry, Blaine. This...I've had friends who've graduated from NYADA who've told me horror stories about recital preparation, and so I set myself up so I'd be prepared for any of those situations. Mainlining espresso, subsisting on those vegan Trio bars we buy in bulk--I guess I let it go too far."

Blaine made a duh face. "Uh, yeah," he deadpanned. 

Kurt winced. “Blaine,” he began, “can you just--can you not do that? The sarcastic thing? I’m so stressed, and I need you on my side, okay?” He looked up at Blaine, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I need you on my side because right now, I don’t feel like I can do this. I don’t. I’m not ready, I’m not good enough, I’m--”

Blaine cut Kurt off with his lips, kissing him fiercely before pulling away to grasp Kurt’s shoulders. “Kurt Hummel, you are the most inspiring person. You get shit done like no one I’ve ever seen. You’ve taken your dream so seriously, taken it so far, and I just can’t even understand how you manage to have any time at all to cuddle and have sex.  You are the most talented person I know. You have the most beautiful voice, and you’re going to rock this bitch of a recital. Okay? I’ll help you in whatever way you need, and if you don’t want help, I’ll give backrubs, cuddles, coffee, kisses, whatever else your tender heart desires. I’m sorry I wasn’t supportive, Kurt. I am always, always, always on your side.”

Kurt’s eyes were shiny and full. He smiled as Blaine wrapped him up tight. “Thank you, sweetheart. Thank you so much.”

Blaine nuzzled his face into Kurt’s neck. “I’ll be here for you forever."

- - -

Sure enough, Kurt's iPhone chirped mid-lecture. He checked it to find he'd gotten a new e-mail.

From: Blaine Anderson [the.man.with.the.gel@bmail.com]
To: Kurt Hummel [hummelk@nyada.edu]
Subj: Beliiieeeevvvveee

So I know this guy
(He's amazing.)
He's got the world's smoothest, most beautiful voice,
the cutest smile in all the land,
and the most courage of anyone I've ever met.
I know this guy
(He's so strong.)
He's been through so much,
and kept his head held high through all of it,
and never lost sight of who he is.
I know that this guy
(My soulmate)
can handle anything NYADA or life can throw at him,
can manage the stress better than anyone else could, least of all myself,
and will rock this recital.

I love you, Kurt. Let me know when you're done tonight, no matter what time, and I'll pick you up.