Blaine was having a hard time waiting until Monday. The weekend was just ticking by way too slowly. Then it was Monday, and the school day was almost painful. Everything was going by at a snail's pace.

"Is something the matter?" Kurt asked the inside of his locker, but looked sideways at Blaine. The last bell rang and they were headed to Glee Club. Good.

"Huh?" Blaine snapped out of daze. "Oh, yeah, I just have to talk to Santana about some stuff. Angel stuff – nothing that concerns you."

Kurt's eyes narrowed as he pushed his locker shut, folding a coat over his arm. They walked side-by-side, not saying anything. When Blaine saw the choir room, he started to pick up speed.

Santana was laying on her stomach across the piano, staring deadpan at Brad, the pianist, their faces a foot or so apart.

"I'll be over here," Blaine mumbled, scampering away from Kurt, whose eyebrows rose.

"I know you see me," Santana cooed, reaching forward, almost touching Brad's face.

"Dilemma," Blaine said immediately, pulling himself up to sit cross-legged on top of the piano beside her.

Sighing, Santana picked herself up, and sat with her legs folded beside her and stared at the other angel.

"What is it now, Curly?" she asked. "I see your wings are getting darker, which means you are being naughty," and then she clapped.

"Okay, so something's happening to me," Blaine said in all seriousness. "Something's wrong."

Her face changed to something softer. "What's up, Blaine?"

She never used his real name, and sometimes Blaine thought she actually didn't know it, so hearing her say it caught him off guard. He talked, nonetheless, all the while staring at Kurt, who was still staring at him.

"On Friday night, Kurt was sleeping. Usually, he has me lay next to him, which is normal; I mean, I don't mind it. And sometimes, we hold hands – you know, until Kurt starts fussing around in his sleep and lets go."

"Okay," Santana interjected, egging Blaine on.

"Well, on Friday, instead of all that, he moved in closer and was clinging to me. His arms were around my torso, his legs were tangled in mine. And I didn't move. I-I couldn't move; I could only watch him.

"And then he said, 'I can hear your heart beating,' in the softest, most unbelieving whisper. I thought he was sleeping – talking in his sleep, like he used to do when he was younger. So, I brushed it off, maybe ran my fingers through his hair once, or something.

"But then he whispered again, 'How is this possible?'

"My heart literally stopped, and Kurt probably heard it because he tilted his head up and smiled at me. Santana, his eyes were so blue in the moonlight. They twinkled and his breath was on my face, and I don't know how I was able to speak, but I somehow managed to ask him what he meant. And then Kurt replied, 'You're the most real thing in my life, but you're not even real,' and his voice was sad, and my chest physically hurt, like a bookshelf collapsing against me.

"'When did I stop being real? I feel pretty real,' I replied. I don't know where I got the voice or the courage.

"He leaned up, bending his back slightly, pressing his weight through his arms into my torso. He just stared – for at least half a minute.

"Then he said, 'Every night I get scared that when I wake up, you'll be gone – like when we were kids. And that all of this was a dream, that all of this was a sick figment of my imagination. That this isn't real.'

"And then I looked at him, collecting my thoughts, even though I didn't have a single one. I heard the words before I thought them: 'This feels real.'

"To which he answered, 'It is,' and then he set his head back over my heart and fell asleep."

Santana was staring, one of her eyebrows raised. "So...?"

Blaine's face crumbled in discomfort. "I thought you'd know."

"I don't understand what you're so confused about."

Rachel started to sing a solo, so Blaine had to lean into Santana when he whispered, "Something changed. In me. I changed."

"What? You get a hard-on, or something?" Santana asked bluntly.

"Wha- no! That's...seriously, Santana?" Blaine's face blushed crimson, and Santana reached forward, pinching his cheek.

"Sorry," she muttered lightly. "You changed, huh? Like, feelings, I'm assuming?" Blaine nodded, shortly. "So, what's the problem?"

"I don't- I don't really understand it. I didn't think it was possible."

"I don't see how it's not possible."

"What do you mean?" Blaine questioned.

"We spend every waking moment with them, Blaine. We know them. We make their mistakes with them and feel their successes. They're our everything."

"That part I already understood."

"Then there are angels like us: stupid enough to care too much. And somewhere in the mess we make for ourselves, we fall in love."

Blaine's body went still.

"Love?" Blaine echoed numbly.

Santana searching his face. "Isn't that what you're feeling?"

Blaine looked away, maybe towards the back windows, maybe towards Mr. Schuester, who was talking – he wasn't entirely sure. But he shrugged.

"I don't know what that's supposed to feel like."

Santana nodded, patting Blaine's shoulder. "Well, then that's not what you're feeling, my little Blainey. When you fall in love, you will know."

Blaine hesitated for a second then asked, "You and Brittany?"

"Yeah, that's love. I love her more than I'll ever love anyone else in this stupid, cruel world."

And then Santana looked over at Brittany, and Blaine finally connected that look Santana had in her eyes whenever she stared off at her.

Love.

It made sense.

Ever since Santana's talk, Blaine couldn't be around Kurt without feeling dizzy. When Kurt was around, he quickly developed tunnel-vision.

And Kurt was always around.

"You are acting strange," Kurt said in a sing-song voice.

Blaine, who was leaning against the island in the Hummel's kitchen with his face buried in his hands, picked up his head.

"What are you talking about?" he said softly.

Kurt turned his back to the saucer, reaching sideways to grab a jar off the spice rack, while still managing to glance at Blaine.

"You're all quiet and have looked like you've been in pain since Glee Club today. I don't get it. What's changed?"

Blaine's stomach twisted. Gulping a mouthful of air, he answered, "Nothing. I just have a lot on my mind."

Kurt's eyebrows shot up. "Do tell."

Before Blaine could answer, Kurt added a handful of spices to his pan. Somehow, while twisting his body, Kurt weaved the scarf he had loosely around his neck around the pan handle. It didn't even take a second for the cloth to hit the burner and ignite.

A quick, orange flame rose in front of Kurt.

Blaine wasn't sure who screamed louder.

Teaser for Next Chapter:

"This is where I met you. Just like this." Blaine felt himself soften. "I was crying and you were here, telling me you didn't live far and weren't cold in November – you didn't make much sense then – but I was tired and sad...and thought you wanted to steal my tree house."

Blaine laughed once, leaning forward slightly. "Really?"

Kurt bit on his lips as he smiled and nodded. They sat in silence for a while, watching the sun ebb in and out of the leaves on the tree's branches above.