Although no business meetings or anything of the like had been scheduled with any outside parties for the day, Blaine is not surprised when Kurt is hurriedly ushering him out of the condo with him around mid-day, mumbling something about an impromptu lunch date with a client, which sounds all to made-up and surely something that would have ran by Blaine first or also.

Kurt had been noticeably flustered and tense all morning starting off with skipping breakfast, not even taking Blaine up on the offer of running out to grab him some Greek yoghurt or an oat and raisin bar he likes so much. He'd barely drank his coffee, leaving it to go cold whilst barking demands into his cell phone and punching in keys of the keyboard of his computer or his tablet keypad.

Blaine had felt on edge just watching him, just by being in his presence, he feels heartily sorry for him, he does, he cant imagine what's running through his head, how he must be feeling, about his dad just turning up out of the blue and wanting to rekindle something long lost.  But he also can't blame Burt, and he can't say that he's not going step back and let Kurt push him away again.

But today Kurt doesn't need pushing or persuading, he doesn't need talking to or having questions and accusations aimed and fired at him, he just needs comfort, something that Blaine knows he can give him, something that Blaine knows he was made to do, be there for Kurt.

Kurt had not said or done anything harsh or uncalled for directly towards Blaine at all that morning, just tentatively tiptoed his way around in him in the small confines of their joint offices, giving the occasional glance whilst talking to him mechanically, in automatic work mode and completely brushing off any attempt from Blaine to try and break his icy wall he'd built that morning.

Burt on the other hand had spent the morning rather relaxed and happily, loudly watching every sports game available, completely taking over the living room and kitchen, and making pointless trips back and forth up to the guest room, whilst meandering aimlessly outside of the office door when ever he had the chance to do so. Something that certainly had not been missed by Kurt, who had never left the office all morning, not once, and had barely allowed Blaine the permission to leave to take a thirty second bathroom break.

Burt obviously had no intention of exploring the city, or making more use of his time here as Blaine had eagerly hoped for, no he was definitely making good on his promise of starting to re-connect with his son, which in this instance, meant annoying the ever loving hell out of him. Blaine still held on to his hope and faith, that Burt had only the right and kindest of intentions when it came to Kurt and making things better, so he kept his lips closed and his smile bright.

Though he can't say that he wasn't a little bit pleased and relieved when Kurt had finally cracked, standing from his desk abruptly and announcing that they were going out for lunch.

And so off they went, Blaine barely having the chance to relay to Burt that they had a lunch meeting to attend before he was running to catch up with Kurt who had steamed his way over to the elevator and down and out of the building. 

Blaine is not surprised when they get to the restaurant, their favourite family ran small steak house in a quiet district of the city, to find that the client they are supposed to be meeting in a wildly important last minute get together is no other than their very own Sam Evans. Sam who had just dropped them off at the entrance, drove around the block to find a parking space and then came back in to find them sitting at a corner booth waiting for him, looking both bored and like he just does not know what to do with himself. And then, to top it all off just as they're ordering their range of appetizers, and pointedly ignoring each other, only making relative small talk, Santana flawlessly breezes her way in, fingering through her long wavy hair and still dabbing on some lipstick.

“What the hell is this Hummel?” She says frantically, “What's the hurry? What did I miss, who died?” Sam doesn't even look up from perusing the menu, he obviously has dealt with one of these over-dramatised fiascos's more times than necessary before, either that or he's starved and taking advantage of Kurt's treat.

Santana slides into the booth on Kurt's right hand side already reaching for the wine glass that the waiter has just barely placed in front of Kurt, and gesturing at him to get his attention to bring over the whole bottle and leave it there. She gives Blaine her popular ‘what the hell' look, a look that is not new for Blaine, who is watching from the other side of Kurt, looking just as equally frazzled.

It's definitely all a little bit odd, that's for sure, the four of them rarely hang out like this, save for special one off occasions, definitely not midweek, during daylight working hours, but Kurt has obviously arranged this for a reason, he needs this, needs his friends, and as stiff, and flippant and plain difficult as Kurt can be at times, they would do anything for him, Blaine definitely, wholly and undoubtedly.   

Kurt snatches the glass out of Santana's grasp, takes two large mouthfuls and then hands it to her, swallowing with his eyes squeezed shut, as the dry bitter taste seeps down his throat, tickling his taste buds and warming him inside out.

“It's my dad, my freaking dad is here, in my freaking condo, trying to play nice and make friends with my- my, with Blaine.”  

Sam coughs a little bit, maybe his soda was too fizzy and Santana's eyes widen momentarily, as do Blaine's, who goes almost stiff beside Kurt. Kurt continues to rant, unfocused on his little whatever that was, maybe it was nothing.

“God, what is happening, why is he here? Is it you two, have either of you spoken to him?” Kurt is looking pointedly between Sam and Santana, his jaw squared, brows knitted and eyes piercing.  

Sam's head snaps up then, looking like he's been slapped, eye brow quirked and a rather hilarious bemused expression on his face, before he starts shaking his head rapidly back and forth.

Santana just scoffs, shrugging and flicking her hair back over her shoulder, smirking whilst she sips, leaving bright pink lip smudges along the thin rim of the glass.

“What? Are you kidding? No of course we haven't, why would he be here? What's he doing?”

“Well I don't freaking know do I, that's why I'm asking you, currently he's treating my house like a hotel and cooking artery clogging food in my kitchen, oh my god, I'm not ready for this, I can't do this with him right now, I just can't-” Kurt's voice rises with agitation, his hands trembling. Thankfully the small restaurant is quiet around them and there is no staff currently milling around, the waiter had returned to deposit their wine bottle and had left hastily, nobody close enough to watch Kurt's little breakdown. Still Blaine can't take it, can't take seeing him this way, so far from cool and calm, so distressed. 

“Hey stop this, come on, calm down-” Blaine reaches out mindlessly and grabs Kurt's hand over the dark table cloth in his own, he strokes a thumb reassuringly over the back of Kurt's hand, effectively trying to soothe him. His eyes are pinned on Kurt's, willing his own calm and comfortable demeanour to pour into Kurt through just their unwavering eye contact, and the gentle touch of their hands.

Kurt freezes, his flailing cut off abruptly, lips slack and eyes wide and bright, clear and careful. The glass that Santana is holding is left pressed to her open wide grinning mouth, slightly on a slant, wine threatening to over spill, and Sam clearly doesn't know where to look, so he just doesn't somehow.  

It's not an overly affectionate gesture, but it's one that the two have never performed in public before, not even in front of Sam and Santana, their closest friends, who have had their suspicions and voiced their very positive thoughts on the personal subject but never seen anything as ‘confirmed, maybe?' as this before.

The restaurant is just a small place with booths spread out evenly and it's quiet today, not a lot of people out to lunch, but Blaine has never touched him like this before, nor looked at him like he's watching the most beautiful sunset or spoke to him so softly, not in public. It's different and new, it's terrifying and strange and slightly exhilarating.  

Realizing what he's just done, Blaine quickly pulls back, dropping his hand under the table and reaching for his water glass with his other as his cheeks flame. Kurt's eyes never leave his, he only closes his mouth and swallows as Blaine takes a drink from his glass, as if imitating him. Sam carefully lifts up his menu to face and starts reading once more, and Santana starts slowly sipping from her glass, her dark eyes smiling as they switch between both pairs, bright glass like ocean pools to toffee smudged emeralds, still boring in to each others.  

Even in the sudden tense awkward silence, Kurt does in fact visibly relax, his shoulders sag as he exhales a soft breath through loose lips and reaches out to pick up his own wine glass which Santana has just kindly poured for him. His eyes catch with Blaine's once more and cling on to each other's over their glasses and there's a momentary flash, a silent passing of words, a reverent thanks and the loveliest of looks. Santana winks when Blaine dares to glance at her a beat later, and then she picks up her menu and starts loudly naming things, going down the list and vetoing, narrowing her choices to the most expensive and exquisite sounding.

The appetizers arrive, a range of sharing platters which they all tuck into appreciatively and when the waiter returns to take away their empties and dishes, they order some main courses, surprisingly enjoying their little soiree immensely. Sam enjoys a fillet steak with pepper sauce and onions and thick cut twice-fried fries, whilst Santana tries the chicken skewers and Kurt and Blaine decide to share, something that is not uncommon for them, a mixed grill barbequed skillet with vegetables and dipping sauces. Another bottle of wine on ice is ordered, along with refillable sodas and jugs of water, and the conversation ranges from the most random uncoordinated topics, easily, joyfully and happily.

Blaine has to admit that it's the most relaxed he's felt in a while, surrounded by company where he can be himself, not having to worry about what he's saying or doing, or how he's acting, he's just being himself, with people who get him, who like him and want him around. He loves this, he always wants this. It's also quite possibly the happiest he's seen Kurt for a while too, except for the times when it's just the two of them behind closed doors and able to get up to anything that their bodies can withstand. 

Santana really does try to keep her side-eyeing and comments to a lower pitched, bare minimum. Blaine can see how hard she's trying to keep from winding Kurt up the wrong way when he's clearly trying to calm himself in an already fragile mood. Though when their deserts arrive towards the end of their lunch four-way date, despite protests of feeling too full, Kurt and Blaine innocently feed each other bites of their own dishes, declaring that it's just too good and Santana can't roll her eyes hard enough at how blatantly oblivious they are being.

“Stop it Santana.” Kurt gently chides as he snaps his fingers at the nearby waiter so that they can pay and finish up. Blaine winces, watching Kurt slowly start to slide back into his anger-trapped, closed off alter ego, turning his nose up at the odd passing patron who shows a hint of recognition. Reality is slowly seeping back in and Kurt does not know how to deal with it, not right now.

Sam drops his desert spoon down into his empty ice cream bowl with a happy sigh and looks at Kurt carefully. He hasn't said much, only his little snippets of input to conversation and the odd joke and expression but that's just Sam, an easy talker and a good listener, a considerate communicator.

“Kurt, are you going to talk to us? Like are you going to tell us why you had us all come here, what's really on your mind?” His voice is so gentle, so quiet and steady, even Santana looks at him, patiently waiting with no quip or remark and Blaine just smiles helpfully, nodding slightly with the hope that Kurt will answer.

Kurt sighs, and rubs at the back of his neck. “I guess, I just needed the distraction, so thank you guys for coming, for doing this.” He looks around all of them, like a child lost and confused, desperately clinging to some form of hope, hope that it's enough.

“Kurt,” Sam leans forward in the booth, his voice dropping, “You never have to thank us for plying us with free food,” His lips quirk and they all laugh, even Kurt with a slight flash of his teeth. “But honestly dude, and don't take this the wrong way, but what you said earlier about your dad, he can never play nice, he just is nice, and you know it, and you know that you love him. And of course he's gonna want to meet Blaine, because Blaine is awesome,” Blaine blushes and Santana smirks, “Nobody knows why he's here really, just that he is, so be the good man that you are and go talk to him ok, hear him out, say what you need to, but don't freak out about it, he can always just go away again, ok, there's always that.”

Sam closes his mouth after an over exaggerated exhale and nods to himself lightly, as if reiterating his own words with a silent gesture, before standing up to go in search of a bathroom and go and pull the car around to the front. Kurt just watches him, mouth slightly parted and smiling, looking up from his delicate slump down in the booth, eyes shining fondly.

The waiter arrives with the bill and both Blaine and Santana lean forward to reach for it but back off immediately with the warning glare that Kurt sends their way. Santana stands, brushing stray crumbs from her dress and artfully climbs out of the booth, leaning down and pressing a kiss to Kurt's cheek and blowing a kiss to Blaine.

“Ok I gotta get back to the studio, I'm recording some back up vocals for an acoustic cover album for somebody no more famous than I am,” She readjusts her purse with pouted lips and slides out a compact mirror, checking her make-up, “But believe me there is nothing that I could have said better than the idiot-genius himself hasn't just said, you know me, you know my thoughts, and you know where I am if you need me. I wanna see big pops H before he leaves too.” And then she turns and leaves the table, striding away, all long legs and high heels and flowing hair.      

Kurt slides a credit card onto the little silver tray and nods as the waiter takes it away to verify and charge it. Blaine watches him carefully, lips twitching. Kurt turns in the seat to face him, their legs colliding, unusually close for a public establishment, but Kurt strangely doesn't seem to mind, his thoughts seemingly far off. “What? What do you want to say? Come on out with it, you may as well, everybody else has.” Blaine smiles at Kurt's playful tone and shakes his head.

“Nothing.” Kurt pokes him in the shoulder and he pretends to fall backwards on the seat. “Ok so maybe there is one thing that I'd like to say,” Kurt looks at him, eyebrows and lips quirked in curious anticipation and slight humour. “Just, you know that you've got to at least hear him out right, your dad? Like Sam said. You can't let him leave without talking to him-”

“He blanked me this morning Blaine in my own kitchen-”

“He's trying Kurt, he's here isn't here? He's trying in a way he knows how, and its working, I know it is because you're all in a kerfuffle with yourself about it now-”

“Kerfuffle?”

“Kurt, seriously, come on-”

“Ok,” Kurt holds his hands out, an obvious gesture of resignation, then fusses with the table cloth. “Ok, yes, I know.” Blaine nods at him, satisfied with that and no need to continue the matter further. At least he knows that he's not the only one trying to reconnect the two painfully awkward Hummel men, and he's glad of it.   

The waiter returns the card and they both stand, collecting their suit jackets, Kurt slips the small plastic card back into his wallet in his pants pocket and the two of them leave the table and head towards the main glass doors. Kurt holds the door open for him, gentlemanly so and Blaine preens inside before mentally kicking himself. Kurt waits for Blaine to pass gratefully and then tugs at his sleeve, pulling him up next to some decorative bushes and potted plants whilst they wait for Sam to arrive out on the front street.

“Hey um, I want to say thank you, but I honestly don't know how many times I can actually say thank you to you without you becoming tired of hearing it.”

Blaine shivers a little, the late afternoon breeze is picking up a little bit, and although the weather is warm and bright, his skin prickles through the thin material of his shirt. Kurt's standing just a breath away from him, standing sheltered within the outdoor patio of the restaurant walls, eyes overbearingly powerful and bright, washed with some unnamed raw emotion.

“I'll never tire of hearing you Kurt, I'll never tire of anything with you.” Kurt smiles, small and shy and glances away back out at the front street. Blaine ducks to catch his gaze again, “You know that you don't ever have to thank me, ever, but if you do feel like you must,” His grin breaks out, toothy and mischievous, eyes glinting in the sunlight, “then you could always thank me in other ways.” Kurt's eyes shimmer and flutter, cheeks flushing with colour and Blaine uses all of his restraint not to reach out and brush a thumb over his defined cheek bones and the exquisite arch of his brow bone.

A car horn honks out loud and abruptly, causing both men to pull apart with a start and glance over out to the street to find the Lexus pulled up to the curb, and Sam gesturing wildly to them through the open window.

Once they're both safely strapped in to the back cab of the car behind darkened windows, the privacy screen up between themselves and the front cab, and Sam has manoeuvred out onto the busy roads, Kurt slides closer to Blaine, wordlessly.

He settles himself, thigh to thigh, and slowly walks his fingers, achingly slow from Blaine's knee, up to the lower part of his strong thigh, smirking at the slight quiver he can feel under his finger tips.

He leans in, his lips just brushing a small unruly wave of dark hair that has broken formation and teasing the top outer shell of Blaine's ear, his voice hushed, breath warm and sweet, like wine and chocolate, enticing and addictive.

“Just so you know, I intend on thanking you in everyway possible, always.”

*

They arrive back at the condo a short while later, much to Kurt's dismay and refusal of his excuses to go anywhere but, with a pact made between them, a pact that Blaine had made Kurt promise to stick to before they left the car, and if that entailed a much too ridiculous and immature tickle fight causing Kurt to wail giggles of slight hysteria and submission, well then at least the car is blacked out and sound proof. 

Blaine had quickly ducked into the living room to tell Burt they were back and would be in the office for a little while, while Kurt immediately made his way from the elevator to the office with minus hesitation. It's late afternoon and there isn't a great deal of work left to be done for the day, it's Thursday, nearing the end of the working week, therefore the load usually lightens gradually bit by bit during the down-cline to the weekend.

Both Kurt and Blaine have been in the office for a short while now, sitting in comfortable peace and quiet, Blaine occasionally humming lightly as he goes to and from both offices and Kurt trying not to grin at how cute he is. They tidy up some loose ends that were left before they went out for lunch and send off a few pending emails and go over some requests and proposals.

There's a light knock on the office door and Blaine looks up at the sound, head tilted curiously as Kurt tries to pretend that he didn't hear it. The sounds comes again, harder and louder and before Blaine can find something to flick over the desk at Kurt, the door carefully cracks open and Burt's head appears between the door and the jamb, his face a little sheepish.

“This office is confidential and private.” Kurt exclaims quietly but clear and immediately, not even bothering to look away from his screen. Burt makes a disgruntled noise and before he can reply or disappear, Blaine is leaping out of his chair with a shake of his head and opening the door fully to expose Burt standing in the doorway with two cups of coffee.

“I uh I just thought that you two could use some-” He nods down to his hands, a little unsurely, “I uh, I'll just leave these here-” Burt fumbles, stepping forward quickly, heavy footed and setting the mugs down on the desk before hastily stumbling away and out of the room, trying not to look up from the floor.

Blaine bites his lip and sighs, pinning his hands against his hips in what he hopes to be an authoritative less than pleased stance, but probably looks more adorable than anything, with his fitted electric blue Capri pants and matching bowtie. Kurt doesn't look at him but smirks slightly, as if he can see him anyway. Blaine taps a foot.

“Kurt you promised.”

Kurt merely shrugs and continues typing away. “I'm working, I'm busy.”

Blaine sighs harder, harder than what would be deemed as normal, and then slumps back down into his chair at the desk, pulling both cups of coffee towards him and out of Kurt's reach.

“Too busy for this then.” He says a little too triumphantly mixed with petulance. He thoroughly enjoys the sharp tut which he is greeted with in return from across the desk.

*

“Could you stir the-oh you are, thanks-”

“No problem, hey don't forget to dice that up finely, I don't like-”

“Big chunks I know…have you already fed Jes tonight?”

“Yeah, before you came down, I just used the leftovers from-”

“Oh ok yeah, great, I was gonna do that too-” Kurt is interrupted by a gruff chuckle and faint foot steps as Burt saunters in to the kitchen, watching them with his arms folded across his chest.

“Carole sure was right, you two really are quite the pair.” Kurt doesn't look up from the chopping board where he's currently clinging to an onion with much too force and a knife suspended in his other hand which is too sharp for somebody as hot headed as he is right now. Blaine stops stirring the sauce in the pot on the stove momentarily as he looks up, but before he or Kurt can comment, Burt is already shrugging and walking away towards the bar, hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans.

Blaine lifts the spoon out of the thick rich red sauce, and patters it over the textured boiling surface a little, this is normally the part where Kurt would come over and test it, or Blaine would test it himself and Kurt would steal a taste from his lips and his tongue, but tonight that doesn't really seem appropriate. Kurt and Blaine have grown so incredibly and wonderfully domestic for two people who are supposedly not ‘domestic' that Blaine has to premeditate what he can and cannot do with Kurt, depending on mood and circumstance.

Sometimes on a Thursday night Santana is here and if she's not forcing them to get take out food or drink away their worries she'd be trying to take testers for herself and force herself between the two of them, both hilariously and annoyingly so. They're still very ‘not together' in front of Santana when she's around in the condo, even though she knows damn well what's going on between them, they're still yet to fully admit to her and let her actually see what she's been right about all along.

All in good time, Blaine supposes, he and Kurt are still yet to figure things out before Santana can start whooping and claim staking.

“Um Burt, we're making pasta bolognaise for dinner, hope you're hungry, there's always plenty.” Blaine smiles as Burt grins and nods back to him as he starts checking out the rows of glass bottles which line the length of the bar stand marble countertop. He just hears Kurt quietly mutter something behind him as Burt decides on an old bottle of rum and unscrews the cap to take a sniff.

“Oh that's a good one Burt, I'd personally recommend it.” Burt holds up the bottle and grins, reaching under the counter for some tumblers. “I have mine two fingers liquor and two fingers coke and Kurt-”

“Has his on the rocks, yeah I know.” Burt says quietly, matter of fact, nodding stiffly as he goes about fixing everybody a drink. Kurt appears by Blaine's side, and slides the freshly diced vegetables into the pot. Burt is heavily engaged in his task, bending at the waist to get the correct measurements and mixers.

Blaine curls two fingers of his free hand around Kurt's wrist and squeezes, securely, reassuringly. Kurt looks at him, a soft sigh escaping his lips, eyes bright and cloudy under the dim kitchen spot lights and chugs of fresh hot steam. Blaine points his wooden stirring spoon gently towards the freezer, careful not to drip and Kurt instantly knows what he's indicating. Wordlessly, Kurt strides over to the freezer, flips open the box drawer and takes a bag of ice cubes out, in a swirl of ice-cold dry steam.

Blaine stirs the new ingredients deeply into the pasta and sauce mix, eyes dancing and smiling, lips smirking as he watches Kurt take the ice to his father to add to the glasses. Burt startles and looks up at Kurt rather oddly, takes the small plastic bag out of his hand with a silent nod and starts plucking the cubes out into the three prepared glasses.

Kurt is walking back to the kitchen, pointedly ignoring Blaine's smug looking face when Burt sets the drinks along the top serving shelf of the bar and starts speaking, quietly, fondly.     

“I remember the year that I first gave Kurt a taste of this stuff, not long after his eighteenth birthday, Kurt was, is, a good kid, responsible, always was the dedicated driver, so one Saturday night we're having dinner at home, just me and him and Carole and Finn-” Kurt suddenly scoffs over at the freezer where he's putting the ice back, and turns around, face in his hands, bright eyes peeking out between his fingers.

“Oh my god, I can't believe that you're still telling this story-” He doesn't sound, annoyed or upset, he's humoured with gentle fond exasperation.  

“It's one of my favourites.” Burt grins, surprise and delight gently lacing his tone as he brings over everybody's glass, takes a seat at the breakfast island, pulls up a third stool and watches Blaine stir and prod at the bubbling sauce happily.

Kurt collects the plates and cutlery, sets out side dishes and condiments and slices up a baguette from the bread bin, as Burt continues to tell his story. Blaine giggles and gasps along and is just finishing serving up as Burt gets to the end of his tale, leaving Kurt blushing but smiling lightly also.

They eat to the tones of quiet, pleasant conversation, mostly instigated by Blaine with superb use of open ended questions, and Blaine doesn't miss the way that Burt's voice softens when retelling a tale from the past, their younger years. Or the way Kurt's eyes go that cloudy swirling shade, that they do whenever he's feeling something all too deeply and trying to hide it. Blaine can see, he can feel the broken love and the longing between these men, he can sense the tension and the unspoken words waiting to pour out, but he can also sense that it is not wanted or intentional, this is something that was never supposed to happen between these two and could be forgiven and forgotten all about, if only they would let it.

By the time their plates are empty with full, groaning bellies and the dishes are being cleaned away with every eager pair of free helpful hands, Kurt is tasked with his fair duty of preparing everyone their third round of drinks.

Burt drops himself down onto one living room couch, cradling his rum and ginger beer carefully whilst Kurt and Blaine seat them selves on the other with their drinks, distancing themselves what they deem to be appropriate but obviously close enough to prompt a shadow of a smirk from Burt and a not so subtle twinkle in his pale eyes.

The atmosphere is calm but as the conversation starts to slide, Blaine takes a sip from his glass and asks, “So Burt, how long are you planning on staying?”

This seems to take both Burt and Kurt surprise as they both funnily make the same expression, their glasses pausing before it reaches their mouths. “I uh, I don't actually know, I never really thought about it, honestly, but maybe I'll leave tomorrow night or-”

“You-you could stay for the weekend, if you wanted, you know, whatever.” Kurt's voice is so small, so fragile like, muffled behind the thin patterned edge of his glass, eyes fixated on something across the room.

Blaine feels his insides melt as Kurt settles back into the couch beside, the cushions dipping under the weight of both their bodies, making himself comfy or maybe trying to make himself seem small somehow.

He thinks about what he wants to say, there could be repercussions for this, Kurt could really nail into him, but the rum feels warm in his chest and loose in his throat, his stomach full and head light, he doesn't care. He turns to Kurt fractionally on the couch, careful not to rub his body alongside Kurt's too much, because Burt is just over there.

“You know that we could-um tomorrow is just-” Kurt's eyes widen a little, a beautiful shade of blue flecked with glassy green. “Well it's just that, we don't have a lot on tomorrow really, we could take your dad out around the city somewhere or-”

“O-oh I um, oh-” Burt starts throat clearing and fumbling, shifting on the couch, as Kurt straightens, ok so maybe Blaine shouldn't let his alcohol influenced head take over control of his tongue, it's not always a great idea, he should learn this by now. “Its ok guys, really, I don't want to put either of you out, you're both so busy and-”

“No.” It's neither a demand nor a command, more of a simple, gentle statement, a matter of fact, and soft and almost breathless, like it's taking Kurt all of his strength to speak such a small and simple yet weighted word.

Blaine looks at him incredulously, has to turn and face him more to make sure that's he's not just hearing things, and Burt sounds like he's almost choking on his drink.

Kurt lowers his glass, and slowly manoeuvres his gaze to Blaine, soft and gentle, before over to Burt, steady and sure.

“No, Blaine's right, we'll take tomorrow off, you can't come to New York for the first time in years and not experience it to the fullest.”

Burt's cheeks pink a little and his soft light eyes, go round and liquid like, he swallows and takes a drink from his glass, eyes darting around the room.

Blaine almost has to sit on his hands to keep from taking Kurt's and entwining their fingers, hell he almost has to leave the room to keep himself from squealing and bouncing. Yet again he has found happiness in something he didn't know that he would, didn't know that he could, he has found shelter within a heart that beats differently to his own, and with that heart has accepted many others connected to it.

“Ok, sure, sounds good kid, real good.”

“It sure the hell does.” All three men's head turn to see Santana striding over from the open elevator, a wide grin on her face. “Let's get this party started huh.” She laughs as Burt chuckles and stands, makes his way over and folds her into a warm hug. 

Kurt's jaw drops a little, humour dancing in his eyes and an expression of hard hitting truth and reality flooding his face, cheeks flaming with warmth. Burt and Santana are still wrapped up in each other, sharing fond greetings and jokes, Burt trying to recite some badly learnt Spanish.

Blaine taps Kurt on the knee lightly, nudges his shoulder and winks at him. Kurt just smiles, lightly shaking his head and leans in subtly as Burt ushers Santana over to the bar to start fixing a drink, his voice whisper soft and hushed.

“You best not tell your boss that you're planning on playing hooky tomorrow.” Blaine smirks, eyes sparkling.

“Oh no?” He tips his glass towards Kurt, who clinks his own glass against his lightly and drains whatever he had left in the bottom, with a slick gasp.

“No. Unless, that is, he can join you?” Kurt's eyes are shimmering dangerously, as if forgetting that his best friend and his dad are just over the other side of the room, no matter how loud they're chattering and not paying them any attention.

Blaine lowers his voice, deep and dark, lifts his foot so that it gently grazes along aside Kurt's ankle, deliciously teasing, before standing and taking Kurt's empty glass from him.

“Oh he can do more than that, I promise.”