"Kurt, your phone buzzed!" Finn lobbed the fragile iPhone at his now-squawking brother who moved the pan off the heat of the stove and scuttled to catch it.

"Dude. I know how to aim. I'm the – "

" – quarterback, yes, I know. However, if you throw my phone again I will eviscerate you. Are we clear?" Finn saluted in a manner that would've had Kurt suspicious had he been a year and a half younger. "Where did you learn to move your hand like that?" he asked, tapping out his password. Glancing up, he saw Finn raising his eyebrows.

My parents left town on business and the house is too empty.

"Where do you think?"

Without deigning to respond, Kurt pointed to the pan for Finn to supervise and slipped into the living room, where Burt and Carole were sitting and talking quietly. A sitcom about an over-privileged family with a disproportionate amount of drama whirred in the background.

I don't mind sleeping on the couch.

"Can Blaine come over?"

"Sure."

"For how long?" Carole glanced reprovingly at her husband.

Please?

Kurt pressed his lips together before answering. A belligerent response bubbled up out of sheer habit, but he swallowed it. Blaine had been doing well, surprisingly well, but he had done so by surrounding himself with people who loved him. Kurt didn't want to leave him alone in his too-big house with nothing but memories of the previous week.

"For the night. His parents are out and he doesn't want to be alone." The lines around his father's eyes softened, and he nodded twice. Kurt felt the familiar pull of gratitude so very often directed at his father.

"Of course, but you know the rules." Kurt smiled wanly. Not that he would have tried to ask if Blaine could spend the night with him instead of downstairs. But if they had accidentally fallen asleep on his bed while watching a cheesy movie, then so be it. From Burt's face, though, it seemed like even that wasn't an option.

"I do. Thanks, Dad." Maybe it would work if they were both on the couch.

Should I come get you?

Wary of leaving his phone on a surface, Kurt tucked it into his sleeve – there was no way it would fit into his pocket – and went back to preparing dinner for his family. The stir-fry, a late dinner for Burt and Carole, hadn't suffered too terribly under Finn's supervision. But that was mostly because his brother had opted to watch it rather than attempting anything that could be a potential explosion.

"Kurt, what's with the green BMW? Isn't that Blaine's car?"

The doorbell rang.

Um. Not strictly necessary.

Smiling wryly, Kurt gestured for Finn to open the door. Groaning, Finn lumbered out of his chair and opened the door to Blaine and his decidedly far too well coordinated blue-with-red-piping duffel bag.

"You shouldn't text while driving, Blaine," Kurt called from the kitchen, stirring the contents of the pan as it fizzled pleasantly. Blaine moved into Kurt's line of sight, looking worn. A shirt advertising Dalton's fencing team hung awkwardly, half tucked into well-worn sweatpants.

"I wasn't."

"Here, sweetie, why don't I take over for you?" Carole murmured on his other side, taking hold of the pan. Kurt offered her a quick smile as thanks before crossing the tile floor in three long strides to take Blaine into his arms. Blaine was cold, Kurt noticed, like he'd turned to the air conditioning on full blast. Odd, Kurt conceded, but nothing to begin to worry about. He felt Blaine sigh against his shoulder and the corresponding toe-curl flutter in his stomach that he still hadn't managed to get used to.

"Hi. You're warm."

"You're not. Come on." Kurt let his hand skim down Blaine's unencumbered arm to take his hand, tugging him gently through the kitchen and up the stairs.

"Door open!"

"Bien s�r!" They're almost to the top of the stairs when Kurt begins muttering obstinately to himself. "Really? Like I could possibly forget the way you beat it into my brain after last time. Or the fact that you remind Finn twice as much as me when Rachel's over. I'm going to suddenly forget – "

Kurt suddenly felt the cool press of the wall against his shoulder blades, and he looked up in surprise. Vaguely, he heard the ugly duffel bag hit to floor, Blaine's hands resting lightly at his waist before tugging and wrapping around. All of this was dimly recorded in another part of his mind. The part not focused on the way Blaine's tongue was skimming and slipping between his lips, the way Blaine was breathing against him, the way the corresponding friction he caused between their mouths made both of them sigh.

"Hi," Blaine whispered. "You're warm." Kurt smiled against his boyfriend, one palm against the center of Blaine's back, the other lightly massaging the back of his neck.

"Patience is not your forte, is it?"

"What tipped you off?" Blaine replied before leaning in again and kissing him soundly.

"No basis. None at all."

"You're rather brash in judgment like that. Maybe you need more tests to make sure your conclusions are more conclusive."

"Maybe we should make it to my room before Finn decides it's video game time."

"But there are all those pesky stairs."

"I know. All four that are left. Whatever shall we do?" Blaine smiled, slow and conspiratorial, causing Kurt's gaze to flatten. "You are fully capable of climbing the rest of the stairs by yourself." His smile slowly morphed into the most effective kicked-puppy face that Kurt had ever had the misfortune to come into contact with. A short staring contest ensued until Kurt caved. He bent down, swinging one arm under Blaine's knees and the other across his back. "You are a child," he stated, dipping so Blaine could settle his bag across his stomach.

Blaine slapped a sloppy kiss on Kurt's cheek. "You love me, though."

Kurt began climbing steadily. "I'm wondering if you just accused me of pedophilia or if you just want me to confirm that I do, in fact, love you."

"I feel like if I could be here all the time, life would just be wonderful."

Kurt shifted to open his door, walking in and sitting down on his bed. Blaine let his bag fall to floor, and nuzzled into Kurt's chest, humming against his ribcage, eyelids drifting closed. Kurt wove his fingers through Blaine's cold, ungelled hair. He seemed alright. Except for being freezing. And arriving before asking if he could come over.

"Are you okay, Blaine?"

"Am now. Mom and Dad left. Tried sleeping. Couldn't. Nightmares. Thought you could make them go away." Kurt bit his lip, wrapping his arms more securely around the rapidly crashing boy on his lap. Still chill to the touch, Kurt asked,

"It's not cold outside. Why are you so cold?"

Blaine yawned before answering. "Tried to stay awake while driving. Tired, so put on A/C. Sixty degrees in car." He shifted against Kurt, one hand gripping his shoulder to pull him closer. Kurt felt something icy shoot through him, something completely unrelated to Blaine.

"How long have you been having nightmares?"

"S'ok. You make them go away. Too warm for them."

"Blaine?"

"Tired. Sleep now."

He'd been suffering since the incident, and Kurt hadn't noticed. Even the knowledge that Blaine had a well-cultivated veneer of happy and charming didn't do much to soothe the uneasiness pooling in his stomach.

"Blaine, I need to get up so I can set up the bed for you." Blaine's eyes snapped open. He looked up at Kurt, so hopeful that he actually felt an almost-uncomfortable tug in his chest.

"You'll stay with me?" It hurt to shake his head, really physically hurt, but Kurt knew the rules, and so did Blaine.

"No. But you can have the bed. It's the least I can do for – for not noticing you weren't okay." Kurt took in a shuddering breath, trying to reign in unhelpful emotions.

"You're shaking. Wait. Wait. What? Kurt." Blaine took Kurt's face between his hands and stared at him like he was trying to get across the most important thing in the universe, the most important thing ever. "I'm just. I – I couldn't sleep 'cause of nightmares. 'Cause I was beaten up. You didn't do that to me."

"I should've known, would've been around more – "

"No. You're here now. You're around when I... When..." The small boy's eyelids drooped, lines wrinkling his forehead as he tried to work through the sleepy cotton wool in his head. "You're everything I need. I trust you most. And when I – um – when I need you, I'll ask, 'kay? I asked. I'm here." Kurt nodded, and Blaine smiled satisfactorily, his head taking its previous place against Kurt.

"I'm still going to need to set up the bed for you."

"Oh." The other boy didn't move for a bit, until he hooked his chin over Kurt's shoulder and his legs around Kurt's waist. "I would make a great koala bear in a past life."

Huffing out a laugh, Kurt stood, rearranging pillows and pulling back the blankets so Blaine could slip in.

"Did you bring pajamas?"

"Mm. Wore soft clothes because knew I'd forget," Blaine said as Kurt lowered him into the bed, keeping one hand on the side of Kurt's neck.

"Clever," Kurt mused, pressing a kiss to Blaine's forehead and gracing a hand over his curls. He surveyed his own attire, wondering about leaving the pajamas just for tonight. He was dressed similarly, with admittedly more layers, so Kurt figured it couldn't hurt. His drawers squeaked something fearful and he didn't want to disturb his near-unconscious boyfriend.

Hearing the door click closed, Kurt glanced up, listening furiously. The steps retreating weren't those of Finn's or Carole's, but of his father's. Kurt felt his heart swell with affection and made a mental note to make extra special pancakes with just a little bit of fat for Burt in the morning.

"What's that?" a bleary Blaine muttered, curling into a pillow.

"Dad wants me to keep the nightmares away. Scoot over," he explained, crawling in next to Blaine and pulling up the duvet.

"I love your Dad."

"I love my Dad, too."

"Love you more, though."

"Go to sleep, Blaine."

"Mmkay."

Kurt wasn't quite sure how long he held Blaine before drifting off himself. Sometimes he made a concerted effort to close his eyes and breathe deeply, but other times he'd be more concerned with rocking their bodies, humming snippets of songs he couldn't remember the lyrics to, doing what he could to make Blaine more comfortable, to keep the nightmares.

It hit him once right before he fell into sleep, that he hadn't felt like this about anyone since his father had fallen ill. The worst part was the coma, the not knowing, and the not being able to help. The immense relief that he could finally take care of the person he loved most in the world. Maybe, he hoped, he and Blaine would last if not forever, then for a long, long time. Maybe he didn't love Blaine as much as he loved his father, but he couldn't help feeling the beginnings o f a shift, the expansion of his heart to fit both of them equally in time.

"I love you. I believe in you, Blaine."