* * * * *

Great.

Just fan-fucking-tastic.

Blaine wants to cry, scream, hurl something at the wall and jump out of the window. Preferably all at once.

He's succeeded in pushing away feelings and thoughts, has closed himself off from the scary truth that maybe, just maybe he has feelings for his best friend. Who thinks he's straight. Fuck.

And now he's being forced to spend an entire night with said best friend. Not that they haven't had tons of secret sleepovers before – whenever Burt and Carole were out of the house and Kurt felt lonely they usually ended up together anyway – but this is different. This is them pretending to be a couple and having to share a bed. And Blaine just really needs some time to think. Alone.

“Are you okay?” Kurt sounds genuinely worried. He comes over and grabs Blaine's shoulders, peering closely at him with sharp blue eyes. Fuck, his eyes are pretty. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I'm good,” he answers shakily.

“One more night of pretending. After that we're back to best friends, I promise.”

“But we'll have to meet at least once a week. Otherwise your parents will catch on.”

Kurt drops his hands to his sides and sighs. “You're right, I didn't think of that. I'm sorry I dragged you into all this.”

Blaine's head snaps up. “You dragged me into this? Kurt, please. I'm the one who came up with this whole idea.”

“Is that pride I detect?” Humor. It's clear in his voice and the twinkle of his eyes.

“Not pride... just... I don't know, I'm tired.”

“Right, of course!” Kurt darts to his bed and arranges pillows and blankets. “We can watch a movie if you want to. Something that's easy to fall asleep to.”

Blaine yawns. “Thanks.”

They change into their pajamas – Blaine wearing one of Kurt's t-shirts – and throw themselves on the bed. Blaine begins to relax. This isn't any different than before. They'll watch a movie and hang and fall asleep together and what's weird about that? Friends do it all the time; they do this all the time.

At least that's what Blaine is trying to tell himself, until Kurt falls asleep before him and he's left in bed with a beautiful boy whose lashes flutter softly against his cheeks – and of course he can't sleep because who needs sleep when you can stay up all night staring at lashes and cheeks.

* * * * *

It's about 2 AM when Blaine hears the familiar creak of stairs. He momentarily has to fight the urge to dive off the bed and hurl himself out the window. Old habits die hard.

Blaine slips an arm ever so carefully around Kurt's neck and he pulls his best friend closer, almost all the way to his chest. This is what boyfriends do, he reminds himself. They protect each other, even in their sleep. Kurt's shoulders rise and fall softly. His frame looks so small and his body so vulnerable, Blaine has to resist wrapping both arms around him.

The door opens and Blaine shuts his eyes. He doesn't know if it's Burt or Carole, or heck, maybe even Finn. Okay, maybe not Finn.

Cold air floods into the room and Kurt shivers. Blaine shifts closer and wishes that their visitor would finally close the fucking door, but nothing happens. Kurt shivers again and snuggles into Blaine's chest, murmuring something incomprehensible.

Blaine's heart speeds up considerably. His insides seem to flutter alive and lift with sheer unimaginable warmth and pleasure. He wants to lean down and kiss Kurt's forehead, stare into that peaceful, cherubic smile and brush strands of hair out of his eyes, but his fantasies are interrupted by the shutting door and quickly retreating steps.

This is the point where he should let go of Kurt. They're playing a game and Blaine has played his part.

But nothing happens.

Kurt stays in his arms and Blaine holds onto him. Unmoving. Peaceful.

* * * * *

Kurt wakes up feeling revitalized and fresh. Blaine's still huddled into blankets beside him, so he simply leaves him there and goes into the bathroom to wash up and brush his teeth.

He loves mornings, especially the bright blue ones, when the birds are chirping and the air still tastes like dew. He opens the window and cold air drifts in. Behind him, Blaine rolls around and complains in his sleep, his face scrunching up adorably as the breeze hits him.

“Uhhh. Go 'way.”

Kurt laughs and grabs a pillow, whacking it repeatedly against Blaine's chest. “There is no sleeping past 8 in the Hummel household!”

“Go 'way.” He rolls away from Kurt and tangles up in the blankets. His eyes are still pressed close as he tries to yank himself free and with a loud thump! falls off the bed. “Ow,” comes the muffled from below.

“You okay?” Kurt skips around the bed and pulls Blaine up. “You are not a morning person.”

Blaine rubs his eyes and groans, holding on to Kurt's shoulder for support. “Mhh... brush teeth.” He stumbles into the bathroom and Kurt watches him affectionately, noticing the gray Hollister shirt and how well it fits him. It really does look like Blaine is his boyfriend, especially with the t-shirt.

Shaking his head, Kurt starts cleaning up the sheets. He dimly remembers the surprise-kiss and how weird Blaine looked afterwards... maybe this whole pretending business is wearing him down.

But it's not like we can just stop in the middle of it.

Kurt decides to lock the matter away for now. “Hey, B?”

“Mhhm?”

“We should do something together tomorrow. Something friend-like. To put all this craziness out of our heads.”

The sound of teeth-brushing stops and Kurt briefly worries that Blaine choked. A curly head pokes around the door frame. “Like what?”

Kurt stifles a chuckle at his friend's bed head. “I dunno.”

The rest of Blaine's body follows until he's leaning against the frame, absently stroking his arm and looking at the ground. “We could go eating.”

“Sure! That sounds great.”

Blaine nods quietly and disappears again. He doesn't look as edgy as yesterday, Kurt thinks, but something is still wrong.

* * * * *

Kurt's leaning out of his window, enjoying the breeze. It truly is a beautiful day. Blaine is home now, after last night's dinner and an equally awkward breakfast Kurt wouldn't be surprised if his best friend never wanted anything to do with his family again. Ever.

But it's not like it matters; he still has Blaine all to himself.

Smiling, Kurt taps a number on his phone and patiently waits through the ringing. “Breadstix, how may we serve you?”

“I'm Kurt Hummel, I wanted to ask if there are still some tables left tomorrow evening?”

“Excuse me, what is your name again?”

“Kurt Hummel.”

“There is a reserved table scheduled for 7 PM, Sunday night. It was booked for Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson.”

“Oh! That's...well... okay,” Kurt stammers. He thanks the lady and hangs up, thoughts whirring through his head.

“'Ey Kurt! Come down here for a sec, you gotta help me with these pastries,” his dad yells up the stairs.

“In a minute! I'm calling Blaine.” Kurt taps the number wildly and paces through the room. Nobody picks up. He calls again, and again, and again. Nothing.

Why didn't he tell me? What's going on?

“Kurt! Get down here!”

“Yes, dad! Jesus!”

He stuffs the phone in his pocket and flies down the stairs, coughing as the smell of smoke fills his nostrils.

“You suck, dad,” he says plainly as he tries to save the pastries. His father shrugs and tries to explain, but Kurt's thought are at Breadstix and Blaine and what the hell is going on. He just wants a normal night out with his bestie; why did Blaine have to change it into this whole official evening... thing. Like a... a...

Kurt drops the pastries.

A date.

* * * * *

Of course Kurt still decides to show up. This uneasy feeling in his stomach doesn't mean he can ditch his best friend. He calls for the twentieth time today (and the thirtieth time in total) and doesn't even sigh when Blaine doesn't pick up.

He strolls towards the warm and inviting lights of the Breastix building, not even paying attention when a hand suddenly taps his shoulder. He whirs around and comes face to face with Blaine.

“Whoa.” He takes a step back. “You look amazing.”

Blaine's lush, dark curls were styled to perfection – not plastered to his head but not as messy and unruly as they usually are. He's wearing a simple brown jacket, along with dark blue jeans and black Oxfords. He nervously brushes back a curl and gazes at Kurt.

“Sorry about not answering your calls. I kinda wanted this to be a surprise.”

“Yeah, about that... what's going on here?”

Blaine sighs and his hand lands on Kurt's shoulder, turning him toward the doors. “Why don't we talk about this inside?”

But Kurt shakes off his hand, a tiny flame of fire igniting in the back of his mind. “Blaine, just tell me what's wrong. I've had it with this.”

“It's a... surprise.”

“Yes, I got that.” The flame grows bigger, louder, and so does Kurt's voice. “Why the fuck are you acting like this?!”

“I-”

“Ever since yesterday you've been nothing but weird. Come on, B! We're supposed to be best friends, you can just tell me.”

“Just come inside, please...” The pleading in Blaine's voice reaches his eyes and he's literally screwing up his face in anguish and desperation.

“I'm done, Blaine.” Kurt knows it's harsh and he can see himself staying awake all night feeling guilty, but he's spent two days thinking his best friend was either ignoring him or got run over by a car. “Come back once you've figured out what's making you act like this, and I'll happily sit and listen. But I've had it with the glancing and mumbling and I want my best friend back.” Kurt thinks he should say more, but the expression on Blaine's face makes him want to punch himself.

With a terrible heart-wrenching feeling and a voice screaming inside his head to go back you idiot, go back, he stomps away from the parking lot. He tries not to think about the look on Blaine's face, the widening of his eyes and that little choke after Kurt uttered the words I want my best friend back.

He just kicks the pedal and drives. He hates himself. He's completely and utterly revolted, but he doesn't understand his best friend anymore. And when he doesn't understand something, he tends to just walk away.

* * * * *

It takes three minutes for Blaine to unfreeze. One minute to drag himself to the door. A few seconds to open it and stare hollowly at the group of people waiting inside.

They're arranged in three rows, each person holding up a card with a letter. Their faces light up, then fall as they realize that Blaine is alone. The owner of Breadstix comes over and pats him on the shoulder. “I'm really sorry,” he says, but the words don't reach Blaine's ear.

“Thanks anyway, guys.” He chokes on his own words and turns around quickly. These people don't need to see his tears; these lovely people who had ever so enthusiastically accepted his silly plan, swooned and said that it's oh-so-romantic.

He throws one more look over his shoulder. They're still holding up the cards, like some big joke. And Blaine doesn't know why, but he lingers there for a second and pretends that Kurt is next to him, gasping and clamping a hand over his mouth as he reads the letters.

Will you go out with me?