He lay on his back, head resting on his crossed forearms. The lilting echo of "Be back in a jiffy!" and a ghost of a kiss goodbye brought a soft smile to his lips. He closed his eyes and hummed a tune discerned from the rhythmic buzz of the ceiling fan.

A sudden, light tinkling below pulled him from his lazy daze and into a sitting position. Surely his boyfriend couldn't be back yet; he'd left less than five minutes ago, and the convenience store from which the two purchased their intimate items was a ways out (for obviously desirable reasons). He knew the rest of the family was working, so the noise couldn't have been made by any of them.

Before he was conscious of his actions, he was padding silently out of the bedroom, cell phone in hand. He crept down the stairs, avoiding the squeaky ones as months of practice had taught him to do. The sound of rummaging was evident now. He dialed three numbers into his phone, but didn't hit the talk button; instead, he kept the device in his hand and scurried down the final flight of stairs, grateful for his silent bare feet. He slipped down the hall and rounded the corner into the living room, the source of the racket.

The sight that greeted him caused him to freeze in his tracks. A man, at least a head taller than himself, crouched beside a tall bookcase, the upper shelves already bare, stuffing a vast collection of DVDs into a garbage bag. The man wore dark blue jeans, a black tee that revealed half a skull tattoo on his left bicep, and a black ski mask. Just behind him, a tower of unplugged electronics—DVD player, cable box, Xbox, Wii, PlayStation, stereo—waited precariously, cords tangled haphazardly. A trash bag identical to the one the man was filling—this one already bursting to the seams—leaned against the tower, and the horrified boy knew it was packed with CDs, judging by the empty bookcase on the opposite side of the entertainment center.

The teen stood shocked for another long moment, still unnoticed by the robber, before calmly pressing talk and lifting the phone to his ear.

"Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?"

"Yes, I'd like to report a robbery in progress."

The sound of his voice caused the man to jump up and whip around, sending DVDs cascading to the floor. "Who the hell are you?"

"Sir, are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. The thief is now aware of my presence. Doesn't seem too thrilled, to be honest."

"What's your name, sir?"

"Listen, you little punk ass kid—"

"Blaine. Blaine Anderson."

"Can you tell me where you are?"

As Blaine rattled off the Hudson-Hummels' address, his eyes locked with the burglar's. They were a dull, flat brown, lit only by what Blaine easily identified as fear.

"Thank you, Blaine. Tell me, are you in any immediate danger?"

Blaine sized up his frozen opponent for a moment. "No, he doesn't seem to have a weapon—at least he hasn't pulled one yet." Panic joined fear in the robber's eyes. "I don't think he planned this very well."

And then the burglar was gone, tearing out of the room and into the dining room, where he dove through a broken window, leaving his spoils behind.

Blaine sighed. "He ran out. Sorry. I should've stopped him."

"No, sweetie," the operator assured him. "You were right to let him go; he could have hurt you. Honestly, you've been so calm about this whole thing. Weren't you scared?"

Blaine shrugged, even though the woman couldn't see him. "At first. But then I realized the guy was a moron."

"How so?"

"Well, he wasn't wearing gloves, so his fingerprints are everywhere, and my car's still in the driveway."

He turned onto his street, ears burning. Honestly, it was just lube, no reason to get so embarrassed. Still, he was going to kill his boyfriend. "It's your turn to buy it," he muttered mockingly. "It'll be fine, no one'll care. The cashier most certainly won't stare at you like you've got eight heads." He continued to grumble mutinously as he drove down the lane.

Until flashing blue lights shoved all thoughts of lube and mortified check-out girls from his mind.

He screeched to a stop behind one of two parked police cruisers, barely remembering to shut off his Navigator before flying out of the vehicle. "BLAINE!" He ran up the front steps just as the door opened, and he collided with a tall, wide police officer.

"Whoa there!" the man laughed, steadying him with a hand on his shoulder. "You live here?"

"Yes, where's Blaine? BLAINE!" he shouted around the cop.

A gelled head poked into the hallway from the kitchen. "Kurt!"

Kurt bolted past the officer and into the kitchen, attacking his boyfriend with a hug. Squeezing tightly, he babbled, "Oh my god, are you okay? Are you hurt? Oh my god, did someone break in? Oh my god, were you attacked? Do you need a hospital, oh my god—"

"KURT!" Blaine, whose arms had automatically wrapped around Kurt to catch him, leaned back and placed soothing hands on his flushed porcelain cheeks. "Sh, baby, calm down. I'm okay. Your house was nearly robbed, but it's over now."

Kurt's screech of "WHAT?!" was interrupted by a female officer he'd failed to notice. "You must be the boyfriend."

Blaine turned to her and beamed, arms around Kurt once more. "Yep. Told you he'd flip. Wait 'til he hears the really bad news."

"Oh god, what?"

"You're going to have to completely redo your CD and DVD organizational system."

Kurt took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm going to freak out over that once I'm done freaking out over the fact that for a minute there, I thought you were dead."

Blaine pressed a long, reassuring kiss to Kurt's trembling lips. "I'm okay. Nothing got taken, no one got hurt—the only casualty was a dining room window. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Your dad's on the way," the brunette officer said. "He needs to sign some papers. Your boyfriend here provided a very precise description of the burglar. You should be proud." Blaine ducked his head into Kurt's shoulder, hiding a pleased grin.

"Aw," Kurt cooed. "Considering a career in law enforcement, Blaine?"

"And if I was?"

"I'd leave you before I ever got caught dead dating someone in government-issue polyester. No offense," he added to the woman—Officer Lucas, by her badge.

"None taken," she laughed. "These are not flattering at all."

"I told your dad you were out buying popcorn," Blaine mentioned suddenly.

Kurt flushed again. "Right. I'll tell him they only had generic brand." He tried to ignore Officer Lucas's knowing smirk. "Come on." He took Blaine's hand and gave it a tug. "If you're done here, we're going to go upstairs, where I will inform all of Facebook of my dashing boyfriend's heroics, and then we will watch After the Sunset and compare your robber to Pierce Brosnan." With a little wave, he dragged Blaine from the room, leaving an amused officer in his wake.