"You're a Page Six blind item."

The magazine slaps down onto Kurt's desk, and he blinks through his early-morning stupor. He looks up at Isabelle, then at the magazine on the desk, with befuddlement. The words don't quite register yet. "Uh, what?" It's perhaps not his most eloquent moment in front of his boss, even including when she found out that he and Blaine were dating, but he's still on his first overpriced Starbucks mocha—he needs time.

Isabelle smiles and pushes her hair over one shoulder. Her Chanel-manicured hands pick up the New York Post and flip efficiently through the crisp pages until she stops, placing her finger at the "Just asking" blurb. She drops the magazine back down, a jumble of heavy bangles falling noisily toward her bony wrist. "Here."

Kurt picks up the magazine and reads.

Just asking:

Which model mogul was seen in Hawaii over the weekend with his baby-faced boytoy? Reports say that the temperature on the beach wasn't the only thing getting steamy.

"They really know how to make blind items not very blind, don't they?" Kurt says dryly as he sets the magazine down and pushes it away, watching it go with something like a mild distaste rising in the back of his throat. Being called a boytoy, even if it is just in the catty gossip section of the Post, still stings, and Kurt doesn't want to look at that word any longer than he has to. He's still riding the high of his weekend with Blaine—he doesn't need anything getting him down on his first day back at the office.

"I think they think they're being witty and clever," Isabelle says, picking the magazine up and tossing it into the trashcan by Kurt's desk. Her voice is softer when she adds, "You don't let that get to you, do you?"

Kurt looks up from the reminder he's typing up for someone else in the office, lips parted as he tries to process Isabelle's question. Does he let it get to him? That's a good question. Kurt's spent his entire life trying not to let things get to him, and dating one of the most attractive men he's ever seen surprisingly does little to help that nagging voice that's always telling him he's not good enough. If anything, it makes it worse, and though Kurt tries so hard not to be he sometimes feels like he's on eggshells around Blaine, like he's going to wake up or blink and this is all going to be some very elaborate fever dream.

He'd been well aware of the kind of world he was immersing himself in when he accepted Blaine's offer for dinner, then the offer to be his boyfriend—and now, with Blaine's offer of moving in together hanging over his head, Kurt's afraid he just might drown in it all.

But, still, at the end of the day Kurt Hummel is nothing if not untouchable, and when he shakes his head, says no, he's not lying. Not really.

"It's gonna take a lot more than a few sentences to get me down," he replies wryly, smiling up at Isabelle. "They can't touch us, or what we have."

She smiles back and curves an arm around his shoulder, tugging him close so that his head brushes against her bony hip and the soft cashmere of her dress. "That's my boy. Now, what do you say to heading out for a coffee run together to catch up? I can have Chrissie handle the office while we're gone. She needs the experience. And I desperately need the caffeine."

Kurt's phone vibrates on the desk before he can answer, but he doesn't catch who it is before the screen goes black again. He finishes up the memo, emails it, and gives Isabelle an affirmative answer before scooting back from his desk and sitting up, swiping his coffee cup into the trashcan and watching it satisfaction as rich, dark mocha slops over onto the magazine.

Isabelle disappears into her office in the back to grab her coat, and Kurt picks up his scarf, artfully draping it back around his neck, before grabbing his jacket and slipping it on. He finishes doing up the fastens, then picks up his phone and swipes it across the screen.

To Kurt (9:24AM):
I think I caught something on the plane ride home. I feel awful :(

To Kurt (9:25AM):
But I'm totally fine, don't worry. I just wanted to let you know so you didn't wonder why I won't kiss you tonight when you come over. Love you.

The immediacy of the tugging in his heart doesn't surprise Kurt as much as h thinks it maybe should have, or he thinks it should have. He already knows how desperately in love with Blaine he is, knows that he'd do pretty much anything for him. And now Blaine is sick and Kurt wants to take care of him. He taps out a quick reply, hits send, and meets Isabelle by the elevators.

To Blaine (9:28AM):
Aww, feel better, sweetie. I'll bring some soup over tonight, too.

Kurt gets the feeling that she knows a lot more about their relationship than she lets on, even though after Kenny's prying nature Kurt's tried to keep as much of it out of the office as possible. He doesn't get gifts from Blaine at work anymore, much to Kenny's chagrin, and he rarely speaks about Blaine, especially when he's mentioned in passing by other people. It's a strange sensation, to hear people talking about your boyfriend while not even knowing that he is your boyfriend.

Isabelle doesn't say anything while they stand there, and when the doors ding open she and Kurt step in. Kurt unlocks his phone once they begin their descent and sends Blaine another text, smiling to himself as he does.

To Blaine (9:31AM):
But don't think that you won't be making up those missed kisses later on.

——

"Blaine?" Kurt closes the door to Blaine's apartment and pockets the spare key Blaine had had made for him when they'd gotten home ("And no rush about deciding," he'd said quickly when Kurt had taken it) and looks around. It's silent, the TV and the fireplace off, the kitchen Architectural Digest clean. There's no music, not even an answering hello.

He adjusts the rustling plastic bag handle in his grip, floundering for a moment before just setting it onto the rich cherry wood floors. He shrugs off his coat, his scarf, and hangs them up in the walk-in foyer closet. He picks the bag back up, checks it to make sure that the black plastic spoon he'd picked up is in there, as well as napkins and the steaming take-home container of chicken noodle soup he'd gotten from the deli near his loft. He hopes it hasn't gotten too cold on the trip over.

He takes the stairs slowly, hand on the highly-polished and slick railing. It feels odd to not have Blaine with him, but at the same time it feels...comfortable, he'd guess at. He feels sort of at home here, and as he walks across the hallway and opens Blaine's door, he keeps running Blaine's offer over and over like his mind is a tumbler and the idea is the rock.

"Blaine—?" Kurt asks, slowly pushing open the door and stepping in.

There's a huddled, 1,500-thread-count lump in the middle of Blaine's bed. It stirs when the door opens, and after some rustling and unintelligible mumbles Blaine's head is poking above the thick edge of the sheets. Kurt's eyes widen.

Blaine looks...well, awful would be putting it mildly. He looks terrible: his eyes are bleary and unfocused, the edges rimmed in red; his hair is in disarray, more than Kurt's ever seen it, and free from gel like this Kurt sees that Blaine's a little grayer than he'd originally guessed. The wrinkles around his eyes and mouth are more prominent, and he croaks out, "Kurt...you can go home. I don't want you to"—he stops, lets out a chest-rattling cough that has Kurt wincing in sympathy—"catch anything."

"Nope." Kurt sets the bag down to toe off his boots and then picks it up again. Pathogens and viruses are the very last things on Kurt's mind as Blaine sniffs and then coughs again, his body shaking with it. He has no intention of leaving until Blaine feels at least some semblance of okay. "My boyfriend is sick and I'm staying right here."

Blaine smiles—or, tries to; seconds later he grimaces, looking like he's going to be sick. Kurt doesn't miss this, and he pauses in unpacking the food to sit on the edge of the bed, running his hand over Blaine's clammy forehead. He isn't surprised to find a fever, and he looks for the trashcan just in case. "Oh, sweetie, you're burning up."

Blaine shakes his head adamantly, tugging the covers back up to his chin. He blinks, looks at Kurt with slitted eyes, and Kurt smiles. "Nuh-uh. 'M cold."

"That's the fever," Kurt says gently. He takes the lid off the soup, steam coiling and twisting in lazy spirals. He checks the glowing numbers on Blaine's alarm clock. "How long have you been like this?"

"Just...today. I felt sort of sick last night but didn't think anything of it."

Kurt tsks, running his hand through Blaine's hair. "Do you think you could sit up for me, baby, and eat some soup? I bet you haven't eaten at all today, have you?"

Blain gives Kurt a tired smile that's only a faint imitation of his usual one. It's a struggle to get himself pushed upright as his arms tremble, but it isn't long before Blaine's sitting up, his silk pajama top slightly askew so the collar gapes and exposes hints of gray-and-black chest hair. Kurt fixes it, running his palm over the firm muscle of Blaine's chest as he goes. "I held off all day just so my beautiful boyfriend could come home and spoon-feed me," Blaine jokes.

They both don't miss the way Blaine has just said home. Not my place but home.

Electric shivers run down Kurt's spine, and he has to swallow back the rising lump of emotion, of want. He leans in, presses a kiss to Blaine's forehead, and smoothes his hand down the prickly skin of Blaine's cheek. "I'm here now."

Kurt slowly feeds Blaine little spoonfuls, feeling his cheeks heat up as Blaine never breaks eye contact. They go until Blaine has him stop, which equals only a third of the carton gone, but Blaine looks a little less dead now and a lot more content.

"Are you okay?" Kurt asks as he packs away the soup and tosses the spoon into the bag. "Do you need me to get the trashcan just in case?"

Blaine shakes his head, then groans, pressing a palm to his temple. "No, but..." he looks up at Kurt with pained eyes, and Kurt gets the wild urge to say fuck it to every responsibility he has right now just to stay in bed with Blaine until he feels better. "...Will you get me some Tylenol? My head hurts."

"Of course." Kurt drops another kiss to the top of Blaine's head before getting up.

Blaine's en suite is probably the nicest Kurt's seen off of HGTV: it's open, with travertine floors, a slate backsplash and a glass-walled shower (Kurt blushes at the memories there). There's a separate bathtub next to it bordered in the same slate with two steps leading up into it, and at the far end is the vanity with a wall-to-wall mirror and two white vessel sinks.

Kurt grabs the bottle of Tylenol and heads back into the bedroom. Blaine declines a glass of water and takes two pills, popping them into his mouth and grimacing as he swallows. He falls to the pillows, arms splayed out, and groans. "I feel like death."

"You don't look so hot, either," Kurt teases. He stands there, unsure what to do, until Blaine reaches out for him.

Kurt goes to the bed easily, staying above the covers as Blaine cuddles close. He's radiating heat, and Kurt, surprisingly, finds himself not worried about the probability of coming down with whatever Blaine has—he's comfortable here, and completely content.

"Thanks for still coming over," Blaine murmurs. His voice is muffled, and he sounds almost half asleep, like the medicine is slowly beginning to kick in. "I was gonna call but forgot."

"I still would have even if you'd called me. I'll always be here if you need me," Kurt says, twisting his fingers idly through Blaine's curls. The truth of the words hits him hard, and he almost physically reels from it. He stares around the room, this extravagant room the likes of which Kurt had thought he'd never set foot in, and then looks down at the man curled, so small and yet still so able, at his side. Blaine is beautiful, gorgeous, and Kurt's dream guy. The guy he's fallen so, so in love with. The guy he's let be his first at so many things. The guy he's turned to so many times over the past few months, who has made him feel special and loved and so wanted.

"Mmm, you're the best," Blaine says, tilting his head back to smile up at Kurt. "Best boyfriend ever. I love you so much."

Kurt's heart make a grand leap into his throat, and he swallows thickly around it, says, "I love you, too, Blaine. How are you feeling?"

"So much better now that you're here," Blaine says with a little groan. "And now that the Tylenol is kicking in, I think."

Kurt laughs, grabs the remote for the flat screen mounted into the wall across from them. "I heard there's a Jersey Shore marathon on tonight," he says when Blaine lifts his head. He begins carding his fingers through Blaine's hair again. "It'll take your mind off stuff."

"But you need to get home soon, don't you?" Blaine protests, sound equal parts desperate and hopeful. "You have work tomorrow, and—"

"Shh," Kurt says. "I can get ready for work from here. And borrow some clothes, if you don't mind."

Kurt watches Blaine's cheek bulge out in a smile. He sounds a little sleepier when he says, "I love it when you wear my clothes."

It's so domestic, so...casual, and Kurt's struck with it, then, sudden and sharp as he holds Blaine close and watches mindless reality TV: he does. He wants to move in with Blaine.

——

"So you'll never guess who I ran into—"

"I haven't been completely honest with you," Kurt breaks in when Rachel comes into the loft the next evening. Blaine had called during Kurt's lunch break to say that he'd felt better ("Must've been the twenty-four-hour flu," he'd said brightly. "I feel fit as a fiddle right now. You left that chicken noodle soup in the fridge, didn't you?") and that he just needed a little time to recoup, so Kurt was staying at home tonight to catch up on some things.

Rachel pauses in opening the fridge and looks towards the living area, an eyebrow raised, and she amazingly doesn't look pissed that Kurt had interrupted her mid-sentence. She lets the door swing shut, then walks over to the couch, where she sits down carefully, like Kurt's going to jump on her. "Okay? And...?"

Kurt twists the corner of the afghan between his fingers and looks down, memorizes its pattern. He hadn't told Rachel about Blaine's proposal when he'd gotten back from Hawaii for two reasons: one, he knew she'd probably be way too excited and therefore somehow make it about her; and two, he'd been scared. He's still scared, honestly, and the twisting and uncomfortably coiling of his stomach only heightens it.

He wants to move in with Blaine, he does and has since Blaine had offered, but he also doesn't want to leave Rachel alone. The only reason they'd gotten the loft had been because they'd been splitting the rent between each other. He'd be leaving Rachel alone with the whole weight of the rent on her shoulders, and as much as they butt heads sometimes Kurt would never wish that upon her.

"Kurt?" Rachel's voice breaks through his thoughts. Her hands are soft and cool when she touches his, and when Kurt looks up her brown eyes are warm and understanding. She smiles, and Kurt finds himself suddenly blurting it out.

"Blaine asked me to move in with him. What do I do, Rach? I can't just leave you alone."

His cheeks slowly bloom red, the heat creeping up the back of his neck, and he takes his hands from Rachel's, rubs the back of his neck and looks down at the wood floors beneath his feet. This is exactly why he didn't want to tell her yet, this horrible insecurity, this fear that he's going to upset her, that he's going to ruin everything.

Rachel is silent for longer than Kurt thought possible, and his heart rises higher and higher up in his throat until her hands are suddenly on his cheeks, forcing him to look at her. She's grinning widely, and Kurt gets a tickling sense of unease. He's seen this look before, had become rather well-acquainted with it in high school. It means Rachel has some big news...or that she's up to something.

"Kurt!" Her voice slides up higher in excitement, and Kurt shrinks back, narrowing his eyes. "Oh my god, I'm so happy for you! Seriously! I told you he was going to be perfect didn't I? And of course I'm always right...I just know them when I see them..."

Kurt raises an eyebrow. "Like Brody and Finn?" he replies dismissively, gently easing Rachel's hands off his cheeks.

She ignores it, or doesn't hear it; either way, she powers on. "It just works out so perfectly! You know how I was saying that I ran into somebody today? Well, it was Santana and she's looking for somewhere to stay. There's more than enough room here, and I was going to run it by you first before I said yes, but now that you're moving in with Blaine I can call her right now!"

"Santana," Kurt says slowly. The words don't quite register. "You ran into Santana...Lopez."

Rachel nods enthusiastically, jumping up off the couch and running to her room. She returns seconds later with her phone. "She said that college didn't work out so she's going to try to discover herself here, and as a fellow newcomer myself I said I'd be more than happy to help her out."

"Where is she staying tonight?" Kurt asks, more out of curiosity than anything. He thought for sure he'd never see Santana again, much less than she'd be living...well, not with him, but near him.

Rachel frowns, pursing her lips. "Uh, that I don't actually know. Hopefully somewhere safe."

"Probably not," Kurt says under his breath. Then, louder, "So you're okay with me moving out?"

"I said hold on to Blaine, didn't I?" Rachel winks. "It's kind of cute how he's obviously head over heels for you. And you know that him offering to share his place with you is a huge deal—most people his age aren't quite as spontaneous."

Kurt begs to differ, but he doesn't say anything. He feels love and warmth towards his best friend rise, slowly, to engulf him, and before he knows it he's standing up, tossing the afghan onto the end of the couch, and enveloping Rachel in a tight hug.

She returns it, patting his back awkwardly, and her voice is strainer when she asks, "Kurt?"

"I love you," Kurt says, feeling tears well up in his eyes. He's scared, more than he's ever been, but he's also so glad to have someone as understanding and supportive (when she wants to be) as Rachel is. His life is changing so rapidly, and he almost can't keep up, but Rachel has been there for him through so much of it that he knows he owes her more than he could ever articulate.

"I love you, too, Kurt," Rachel says after a long silence, and Kurt's almost glad to find that her voice is thick with emotion, too.

——

While Rachel calls Santana Kurt heads into his own room, pulling the curtain shut and flopping down onto the bed. He lays there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. He won't be staring at this unfinished ceiling more much longer, and he almost feels bad for upgrading when Rachel's stuck here. But then he remembers how happy Rachel had been for him, how supportive she's been this entire time while she's had to deal with the Brody and Finn fiascoes and Kurt's had steady, constant Blaine.

He listens to Rachel's voice, thinks of all the mornings they've fought over the shower, over the last bagel, over coffee and tea and cookies and began food. He thinks of all the takeout they've gotten together, all the movies they'd watched and cried to while curled under a blanket. He thinks of unloading after their days, Rachel about Cassandra July and Kurt about Kenny the mail guy. Finding such a good friend in Rachel had been surprising, but Kurt's so glad that he did.

It isn't until long after Rachel's stopped talking that Kurt pulls out his phone. He doesn't check the time as he unlocks it, doesn't let himself think it over as he finds Blaine's number in his recent calls list. He presses it, brings the phone to his ear as it rings.

"Kurt?" Blaine sounds worried. "It's really late, baby, I was just about to turn off my iPad and go to sleep, what's—?"

"I'm saying yes," Kurt says, cutting Blaine off. His heart pounds, fast and fluttering, and he presses his phone tighter to his ear, swallows the heavy lump in his throat. "I want to move in with you. I want to become an us. I want to wake up every morning to see you next to me. I want to have breakfast together and get ready together. I want to...I want to always be there for you whenever you need me." He closes his eyes, feels a strong wave of emotion surge up, encapsulate and drag him under.

"Oh, Kurt." Blaine's voice sounds just as thick. It's tender, sweet, and so, so loving. "I love you so much. I'm...god, I'm so lucky to have you. I want all of that, too, and you have no idea how happy this makes me."

"I think I have an idea," Kurt teases.

When they hang up Kurt rolls over, unwilling to get up and get ready for bed just yet. His keys are on the table by the bed, and as he stares at them he gets a sudden, sharp jolt in his stomach because he's staring at the spare key Blaine had had made for him—only, it's not a spare key anymore.