He knocked on the door for the third time, brow furrowing in confusion. Surely his boyfriend was home; they'd been planning this dinner-movie date for a week and a half. He rapped his knuckles against the wood halfheartedly, and then dug into his pocket to remove his key ring. He inserted one key into the lock and entered the house.

"Hello?"

No answer.

He moved slowly through the empty living room, listening for signs of life. A quiet crash to his left alerted him to a presence in the kitchen. He entered the room and paused in confusion. Pans, bowls, and whisks littered the flour-covered island. On the counter behind this island, every baking material imaginable, from butter to icing, completely eclipsed the surface. A highly disheveled boy, apron haphazardly tied behind his back and hair thoroughly mussed, shuffled about the kitchen, pouring, stirring, checking the oven.

"Kurt?"

Blaine was answered with a deep sniffle. He immediately crossed over to his boyfriend, gently tugging a batter-covered spatula from his hand and spinning him around slowly. The older boy's eyes were puffy and shining, and his nose was running slightly. His skin was dull and his eyes lifeless.

"Kurt..." Blaine gathered his boyfriend in his arms and ushered him over to the dining room table. He scooted his chair closer to Kurt's so their knees touched. He held the older boy's hands in his own. "Kurt? Love, talk to me. Why are you so upset?"

Kurt hung his head and sniffed. "I'm—I'm not, I just—" Blaine squeezed his hands, and Kurt finally met his eyes.

You can tell me anything.

"I'm so stupid!" Kurt burst out. "I'm such an idiot! I'm too dumb to get into NYADA, too dumb to leave this backward state, so idiotic that I thought I was good enough—"

"Hey!" Blaine's sharp interjection startled Kurt into silence. "Who are you and what have you done with Kurt Hummel? The Kurt Hummel I know, the Kurt Hummel I fell in love with—" Kurt ducked his head and blushed. "—would never allow anyone to speak about him like that—and nor will I.

"Kurt, getting rejected from NYADA is not the end of the world. I know it feels that way, I do, but what did I tell you at Christmas?" Kurt didn't answer. "You are perfectly imperfect, and I love you for it. Right? You believed me then. What's changed?"

Kurt sighed. "Rachel just got back in town, and of course her first order of business was to come here—avoiding Finn—and tell me about the splendor of New York and NYADA. She told me about her amazing roommate and hot boys and Broadway shows and—I don't understand why I don't get all of that."

"So...stress baking?"

"Stress baking."

"Hold on." Blaine walked back into the kitchen and filled a platter with dozens of cookies—chocolate chip, white macadamia nut, sugar, peanut butter, and Kurt's favorite, triple chocolate. He poured two glasses of milk and carried the lot into the living room. After depositing it onto the coffee table, he returned to Kurt and held out a hand. "Come on. We are going to watch trashy reality shows, and we are going to stuff ourselves with cookies, and I am going to keep up an annoying stream of comments about your perfection. Sound good?"

Kurt grinned, took Blaine's hand, and stood. "Sounds perfect."