"That promotion idea of yours? Excellent; she fell right for it," Kurt says as soon as we're on the street.

            I stop and turn around. "I was serious Kurt; I'm getting a promotion," I say, which wipes the smirk right off his face.

            "You're kidding," he deadpans. When I only stare determinedly back at him Kurt scowls, hands on his hips. "Why should I promote you to design partner? I'm already using your designs."

            "That's precisely the reason! You've been using my designs more and more, making only the slightest adjustments here and there, so why shouldn't I be able to take credit where credit is due and actually become a partner? You know I deserve this Kurt!"

            "Without becoming just a regular designer for the company first?"

            I snort. "Right. I see the way you treat Jesse - not that I blame you; he's an asshole - but he rarely gets a say in anything and during the two years I've been here never once have I seen any of his designs used."

            "Because they're gaudy pieces of shit -"

            "Exactly! I've been working my ass off, and you and Lynn seem more than happy with what I've done, but... but if you don't promote me this deal is off and you can get shipped back to France for all I fucking care."

            Kurt stands there shocked at my outburst, mouth agape before he regains his composure and replacing it with his usual "bitch please" expression. "You can't be serious."

            "Does it look like I'm fucking joking?" I demand, voice dangerously quiet now.

            He considers it for a moment before relenting. "Alright deal," he says grudgingly.

            "Oh no," I say with an evil smirk, "we don't have a deal until you propose to me properly."

            "Excuse me?"

            "C'mon, down on one knee; we don't have all day."

            Kurt grumbles about the dirty ground and his designer jeans as he takes a knee in front of me.

            "Blaine Anderson," he says in a sickly sweet voice, "will you do me the honor of marrying me?"

            "Hmm..." I contemplate, forefinger and thumb stroking my stubbly jaw, letting him squirm a bit. "Sure, why not."

            Kurt mutters vague threats as he pulls himself up, ignoring the gentlemanly hand I couldn't help but offer him.

            I lean forward so my mouth is right next to his ear. "You might want to keep the threats to a minimum in front of my family if you want to keep up this façade."

            He turns his head slightly so his mouth is right next to my own ear, his breath stirring something deep and unwanted inside me. "And you may want to keep the bossing to a minimum or you will be very sorry."

            "Oh really? Why would that be?" I challenge.

            Kurt's voice gets noticeably, and very sexily, deeper. "If you keep this up you'll find out soon enough." Is it just me or did he just sound like he was purring in my ear?

            I take a quick, stumbling step back, shaking my head to clear it. When I open my eyes - when did I close them? - Kurt has a triumphant, smug smirk on his face.

            "I - I'll see you tomorrow." Damn him! "We can go over the details for the trip then." And before he has the chance to say another word I hurry off home needing to deal with this more than unwanted problem I seem to be developing.

            If I didn't know any better I would say I'm starting to become attracted to Kurt Hummel.

            "Alright so our flight is tomorrow evening at 7:30 from JFK," I say the next morning in Kurt's office.

            "Yeah sounds good," Kurt says.

            I look down at the packet in my hand, glancing at the various questions I answered last night. "I printed off a list of questions Brolden will ask us when we get back and took the liberty to answer them for you, so just take a look -"

            "Wait," he says, finally turning around and looking at me, "if she's gonna ask us both these questions, then why'd you print off only one set and write on it? Shouldn't I answer them for you too?"

            "Oh that's not necessary; I already know all the answers."

            "And how's that?"

            This time I'm the one that snorts derisively (though much less cogently, but that's beside the point). "Please. I've worked for you two years, not to mention my internship, and we have spent many a long nights and weekends together. Plus the fact I need to know all your crazy shit so you don't snap my head off for some inane reason."

            Kurt takes his trademark stance and raises a brow skeptically. "Prove it then."

            I take a deep breath to steady and prepare myself. "Your mother, Elizabeth, died of cancer when you were eight, followed by your father, Burt, when you were seventeen of a heart attack. After secondary school you moved to the States on a scholarship to NYU in fashion design, leaving behind your one and only friend, Mercedes Jones, who you haven't spoken to since."

            He laughs dismissively. "That's not at all impressive; you can find most of that out with little difficulty."  

            "Yes but what you can't find out from public record is that, during the whole month of May, you go on a baking kick to honor your mother but don't eat any of it yourself; you take the goods around to different shelters and kids' homes - which is shocking considering you're the Ice Queen. Then, on October 5th, you take the day off - no matter if you're working on a big project - and binge on junk food and work on cars at the local family-owned shop."

            His arms drop to his sides and I smirk, knowing I have him, and step closer. "Don't feel too bad about having those couple little secrets - that even Lynn didn't know - discovered sweetie; I am very attuned to what's happening around me - a skill I developed at a young age, though no one would expect it of little old Blainers."

            Kurt blinks his rapidly a few times and shakes his head slightly before asking a question I hadn't been expecting yet: "How and why is it that you can do that? Why did you have to develop the skills to notice such things - emotions and such that people are usually quite good at hiding?"

            I shrug. "Just a random skill, no biggie."

            He snorts. "Oh come on Blaine, don't think that I haven't noticed that you're so good at helping and consoling others; that you're nice to me when I'm in a foul mood, even though I treat everyone like shit. I'm not blind Blaine! So come on - why do you have these skills? Why do you feel it necessary to help others? Are you trying to feel better about yourself or -"

            "Can you just drop it Kurt?!" I shout without even realizing it. "Here are the questions with my answers." I throw the packet on his desk. "I'll see you tomorrow night; I'm taking the day off." With that I grab my coat and satchel and storm out the office, ignoring all the shocked looks everyone is giving me as I pass.

            I make it all the way to my apartment, slamming my door shut before the attack hits. I slide down to the floor, back against the door, hands clutching my hair through the gel, tears streaming down my face as I start hyperventilating.

            Oh god, I think, this is not a good sign. I really don't need this happening again; not when I'm heading home!

            I'm just starting to calm down, the shallow gulping breaths turned to sniffles, tears falling more slowly, when I feel the banging on the other side of my door.

            "Blaine Anderson!" a voice shouts. "You will open this goddamn door!"

            "Fuck," I groan, scrambling up and swiping at the drying tears before opening the door.

            Instead of a hello or some other proper greeting, Kurt immediately demands, "What the hell was that Anderson?"

            I scowl, not in the mood for this right now. "It was nothing; don't worry about it." I try shutting the door but Kurt shoves through into my apartment, slamming the door shut behind him.

            "Oh no, I don't think so. If you know so much about me - things that definitely aren't on this packet," he holds said packet up, "it's only fair I get to know more about you."

            "There's no need to go off the packet Kurt, so just forget about it; it has absolutely nothing to do with you. Just get the fuck out Kurt; I can't deal with you right now."

            He starts to open his mouth to argue more but he stops, seemingly noticing the tears still working steadily down my face and my disheveled hair, and sighs resignedly. "Fine... but you're gonna have to tell me sometime because this is clearly something major, so you know Brolden's going to ask about it."

            "I really couldn't fucking care less right now Kurt..." I mumble, turning my back to him, my hands buried in my hair again, trying to stave off more panic. "Just - just leave. Please," I add somewhat desperately.

            He hesitates before sighing again - this sigh sounding sad this time - before turning and opening the door. I think he's left but then I hear him take a breath and say, "You know, I may not be from smalltown Ohio, but I do know how it feels to grow up gay without a parent or friends there who understand and help and support you... Just know that -" He stops himself, seeming to change his mind. "Never mind... see you tomorrow Blaine..."

            With that he's gone.

            "Fuck..." I say aloud to my empty apartment. "He really needs to stop showing redeeming qualities like that..." It makes it all the harder to ignore these strange, growing emotions.