‘You shouldn't have punched him, Elliott.'

Elliott frowns and looks between the two men seated across the kitchen table from him.  Kurt's hair is dishevelled, his eyes red-rimmed and slightly puffy, cheeks dotted with colour.  The other man looks no better.

            ‘I know.  I know.  I just… when I got the call to say she was in the hospital, Kurt – I just…'

            ‘I get it – believe me… but you don't go around punching people, even if I am really glad that you did; he's a terrible example of a human being, but he's also a very well connected one.'

            ‘He won't sue me, Kurt.'

            ‘Elliot's right,' the lighter haired man added – his voice tight and tired.  ‘Benedict Charles will not want his name attached to a drugs scandal.  It wouldn't do for his reputation.'

            ‘I feel so selfish – I'm so beyond glad it wasn't Blaine – but I feel awful for Miss D.'  Kurt runs a hand through his hair again and Elliot drops his eyes to the table, exhaustion sweeping over him.

            ‘It's not selfish, Kurt.  From what Sebastian was saying Charlie gave the same stuff to Blaine so it could easily have ended up the same way for him.  I'm just grateful that Felix didn't abandon her like Charlie did, and I'm grateful that Blaine had the sense to get to Sebastian.'

Kurt nods slightly, his fist tightens in his hair.  Sebastian's fingers twitch from where they lie in front of him on the cold table top as if he wants nothing more than to comfort the man beside him, but he resists.

            ‘You can't go over there, Kurt.  It won't help anything.  Rachel is there…  If Blaine had any adverse side effects she'd let you know.  Hell – it's…'  He glances at his phone before letting out a small huff of air.  ‘…eight in the morning and he took the stuff the previous evening.  It's well over 24 hours now.'  Elliot stands gingerly, stretching tense muscles as he does so.  ‘I'm going to head back to the hospital.  See how she's doing.'

            ‘She'll be alright, Elliot.'  Sebastian's voice is firm – as if he can make it the truth by willpower alone.  Elliot appreciates the gesture for what it is and dips his head.

            ‘Kurt – I don't know what to suggest about Blaine.  I think Sebastian's right…he needs friends right now more than anything else.  I know that hurts.  Truly.'  A sigh escapes unbidden and Elliott feels exhaustion settle in his bones.  ‘Thanks for calming me down.  I…  I was so angry with her for being so stupid, you know?'

            ‘Charlie was the obvious punching bag – literally.  I get it.  I felt the same way when I was nursing Blaine.'  Sebastian's eyes are soft as he forces himself to his feet.  Kurt remains seated staring at the small collection of cold, empty mugs in front of him.  Sebastian gestures subtly towards the door to Elliot, leading the other man away from their friend.      ‘Has Miss D. got medical?'  His voice is low.

            ‘I don't know…I doubt it.'

            ‘Alright – give me your cell.  I'm going to give you the number for a doctor I know.  He'll be able to help.' 

Elliot raises a pierced eyebrow, but complies – he recognises something in the tired green eyes that he respects.

            ‘I'm glad you're here with Kurt.  Man, this whole thing is one huge mess.'

Over the other man's shoulder, Elliot watches as Kurt lines up the handles of the three mugs so that all are equidistant, handles uniformly arranged.  His eyes flick back to meet Sebastian's as the taller man returns the cell phone to Elliot.

            ‘That's one way of describing it.'  Sebastian quirks a half smile, and Elliot tries to reciprocate.   ‘I don't know what to suggest.  I feel utterly useless.'

            ‘There's not much to do.'

            ‘I know.'

            ‘Just don't let Kurt do anything stupid – there's been enough of that already.'  Sebastian nods, but his gaze had already turned to rest upon Kurt.  Elliot lifts a hand in a pseudo wave but Kurt's attention is elsewhere.  ‘Get some sleep.'  His words reverberate around Sebastian's head long after the warmth of the raven haired man's hand has faded from his shoulder.

-+-

            Douglas' hands are numb and he prays once more for the inevitable snow to stay away for just a while longer – the last thing he wants is to have to stay a minute more in the Summer Palace than he has to.  He catches a blur of russet from the corner of his eye as Rufus streaks past him towards the edge of the rose garden.  For a moment he is a boy again; hiding from world, protected by thorns, the air thick and heady with perfume.  He breathes deep – but the air is cold, and ice crystals cling to the last remaining leaves; blackened and curled into gnarled fists.  The world has been drained of colour and he knows suddenly that he will never again see the rose garden in bloom as certainly as he knows that the area of a circle is pi multiplied by the square of the radius.  The knot in his chest feels like a hard bud: frozen, stunted, and unable to flower. 

The dog's exercise had been the perfect excuse to escape for a while – even though he had had to insist forcefully (it was, after all, one of Oliver's jobs).  He whistles sharply and the Irish Setter reappears, tail wagging furiously, from a gap in between the bordering hedges that encircle the hibernating rose garden.  Rufus makes his way towards Douglas and presses his muzzle against a stiff hand.  The dog's breath comes in pants of steam, and Douglas fondles a floppy ear in response. 

The harsh sound of his cell vibrating in his pants pocket makes him jump, and Rufus takes it as an invitation to charge off again.  Douglas retrieves the device as he watches the sleek animal run out of the rose garden towards the sunken garden and the (now ice-solid) bathing pool within.

The message is from Adrian and Douglas wonders, not for the first time, at how different things have become in such a short amount of time.  Keeping in contact is too easy with cell phones and the internet.  Would things have been different now had they existed back then?  Or would Adrian's need to know where Douglas was and where he had been have become even more of a serpent between them - another weapon in a venomous arsenal?  Would texting have helped them to communicate better – little messages to let the other know they were thought of? 

            I'll be back late – a potential client wants to meet.

            I miss you. 

            Thinking of you. 

            What do you want for dinner?

Fragments of information in digital space all open to interpretation.

            I'll be back late – a potential client wants to meet.  

No – you are just prioritising work over us again.  It is no one-off.  It is the norm.

            I miss you. 

Do you?  I did not exactly go anywhere.  I'm right here.  Where you left me.

            Thinking of you. 

What are you thinking?  Tell me.  This cryptic word game is clichéd.

            What do you want for dinner?

 Will you be joining me or will I be eating alone again?  Do you actually care or is this your way of telling me to cook for two tonight?

Rufus' sharp bark brings him back, and he forces frozen fingers to operate the device.  He muses that it is simply the environment and lack of sleep that have made him so introspectively nostalgic, and dismisses the train of thought before it derails him more than it already had.

Adrian's message invites him to dinner.

It causes him to pause.  It causes him to wonder what the game was, when it changed, and who held the rule book. 

He stares at the small screen with its pixelated message, formulating a response that would simultaneously reiterate that he had a fiancé, but that he was interested in reforming a friendship without slamming a metaphorical door firmly in Adrian's face.  Even if the smallest part of him really still wants to wound the doctor, a larger part wants the easy friendship they once had back.  He considers that progress.

The cell vibrates and Douglas answers it habitually before he is able to finish re-reading the draft of his reply to Adrian.

Penny's voice is too bright and too bubbly, but Douglas' mind automatically sharpens down to focus on work with an ease that is a little frightening.  All other thoughts are pushed ruthlessly aside as he mentally takes note of the schedule his assistant outlines.  With every date, time, and place the orderly agenda helps to reorder his mind – it helps him to refocus on the things that are actually important to him.

·         Darrel will be back from China to debrief Douglas on the 8th January.  All crises had been averted.  Douglas makes a mental note to add extra to the bonus in Darrel's December pay check.

·         Tickets had been booked for Blaine and himself for London.  They are to leave on the 23rd December and will be returning on the 6th January in time for the China debrief.  Fosker had arranged a suite at the Dorchester, where the contract negotiation will also occur.

·         Penny had scheduled interviews and campus tours at both RADA and Goldsmiths for Blaine – something she was particularly proud of as it was “smack-bang” in the middle of the holiday season.  As he had for Darrel, Douglas mentally adds to Penny's Christmas Bonus and tries not to reduce it by 1% for each time she brings up how well she had done to get the appointments during the rest of their conversation.

·         Grooming appointments at Trumpers for both himself and Blaine had also been arranged, together with collection of new shoes at Edward Green for Blaine, and John Lobb for himself.  There would also be fittings for spring and summer weight suits, and shirts at Douglas' tailors Huntsman, and at both Kilgour (ultra-modern suiting) and Henry Poole (classic eveningwear) for Blaine.

Douglas mentally scrambled to file away all of the dates and times Penny was firing at him – he had yet to tell Blaine, but he thought that a visit to the tailors and shoemakers from which he had been ordering their wardrobe would be a nice treat.  There was always something magical to him about visiting London  – whether it was the way the doorman would greet him by name with the offer of champagne at his tailor's, or it was the rich smell of tanned calf leather at John Lobb, he could not be certain.  There was, to him, a wonder about the city that had briefly been home to him that he would forever love.  (He suspected a large percentage of this was due to the sheer amount of history – both his own, and that which was embedded in the very stones of the ancient buildings of the city.  It was an architect's dream, boasting an eclectic mix of every known European style of the last four hundred years arranged along a higgledy-piggledy archaic street system pre-dating the existing buildings due to the Great Fire of 1666).  He deeply hoped that Blaine felt similarly after their initial visit.  Perhaps these excursions would help - once you had experienced being greeted by name and fitted for a bespoke suit in person (rather than sending measurements by e-mail) it was definitely something you wanted to repeat in Douglas' experience.  It certainly would not hurt to see a musical or two on the West End while they were there; perhaps even an Opera at the ENO or Royal Opera House…  Maybe something edgy at the New Vic?  No – there would be plenty of time for that when they moved more permanently.  Better to stick to the spectacular for now.

He felt terrible about interrupting Penny, who had been giving him more information about the plans for meeting with Mr. Fosker, but inspiration had struck and would not wait – he rattled off his request for tickets (a box preferred, stalls acceptable) to at least two West End shows and then rang off.  Excitement tingled his bones at the thought of Blaine being as enamoured with London as he was.  They would start again there – the two of them, together.  Perhaps they would even get a dog of their own to walk in the parks – a gun dog perhaps? – Hyde, Green, and St. James' were all within easy walking distance to Jermyn Street and the office… 

A whistle escaped his numb, chapped lips and Rufus returned - copper fur snarled with fragments of browned, skeletal leaves - and man and dog made their way back through the formal garden rooms to the main house to warm up.  Footfall muted to the soft crunch of the frozen grass and solid gravelled paths beneath their unfeeling feet.

-+-

Blaine glanced over to Douglas from his perch on one of the sofas beside Doug and Rachel – the other man seemed completely relaxed and it was concerning; especially considering the circumstances of the previous evening.  To watch Douglas now one would never suspect anything could be the matter: he was joking and laughing with cousins and family friends as if he was having a wonderful time.  The fact that Roger looked as if he had swallowed a pin, however, was more than evidence enough for Blaine to believe that he had not imagined it and that it was in fact not some drug-induced nightmare.  Blaine took another swig of bourbon from the almost empty, yet heavy, lead crystal in his hand; fingertips idly tracing the deep etching.

Beside him, Doug was thoroughly engrossed listening to Rachel – from what Blaine could make out, she was telling him all about Funny Girl and the various exploits of herself and Santana at the Spotlight Diner.  Blaine could not help but notice the Kurt-shaped holes in all of her stories, but he was not sure whether it was for his punishment or benefit so he remained silent.

His eyes flickered again over the gathered faces (fewer than the previous evening but still north of twenty) towards the marble and gilt mantle clock – it was still far too early to retire for the evening, regardless of how little sleep he had had the previous night, or the one before that.  Blaine took another sip of the warm amber liquid, enjoying the smoky notes that caressed his tongue and throat, as the pair beside him laughed loudly.

            ‘Blaine, come.'  June's voice cut through the background noise with the precision of a master chef dissecting a songbird, and he found himself mumbling an apology to Rachel and Doug before heading towards the older woman.  He sincerely doubted that the couple had even noticed his departure.

As before, this evening June was dressed immaculately in a beautifully tailored pant suit and Blaine found himself bending to kiss her soft, papery hand automatically.  His reward was a glowing smile; it glittered.

-+-

            ‘I have to go, Douglas.'  His bowtie hangs loose around his neck from where Douglas had been in the process of untying it.  Blaine's limbs and tongue feel thick and heavy from the alcohol – he is warm for once, the liquor inducing a relaxed state that would be conducive (he hoped) to getting a decent night's sleep.  

            ‘There will be plenty of Charity Dinners, Blaine.  June's known for them – she uses them to occupy her time since her third husband died.'  Douglas' deft fingers remove cufflinks and shirt studs with practiced motions that emphasises his sobriety and Blaine's compromised state.  For some reason it infuriates the younger man.

            ‘I promised June.'  It comes out a little petulant, and Blaine punctuates the statement by yanking his bowtie free from his collar with more force than was probably necessary.

            ‘I know, and I understand, but we discussed this – '

            ‘No.'  Blaine interrupts.  ‘We discussed heading to London, we didn't discuss when, or for how long exactly.  You said months -'

            ‘Exactly – and it's only for two weeks.'

            ‘Yes, two weeks!  Two weeks and then we'll be back in New York anyway!  I don't see what the big deal is.  I'll stay at home, and accompany June to the Dinner while you do the contracts in London - I know we'll miss Christmas together, but there'll be another one next year, right?  And this time next year we'll be living in London, so there will be plenty of time to –'

            ‘Fine.'  The finality of the word feels like a defeat, not a victory, and Blaine is not wholly sure why.  ‘I'll call Penny with the change of plan.'

For the first time Douglas looks his age to Blaine – battle weary and bone tired.  Blaine wants nothing more than to take back his words; to have noticed the spark of excitement in the other man's chocolate eyes for what it was before he smothered it so carelessly.  But his words escape him and he cannot find any to make Douglas stay in the room with him. 

-+-

            Although she waits as long as she feels she can with Doug's mother and the grandmother watching and judging, Rachel does not see Blaine again before she takes her leave of the Chambers' estate.  Doug sends her off with a small peck on the cheek and the swooping feeling in her stomach accompanies her all the way to Bushwick.

Kurt is not in and for that Rachel is supremely grateful, but Santana is waiting like a mantis for all of the news; the other woman barely lets Rachel unpack before settling her down on the sofa with hot lemon tea and hungry, concerned eyes.

-+-

            June's praise and the constant stream of people she introduces Blaine to through one event or another keep him so busy he barely knows where he is from one day to the next.  He does not notice the absence of Douglas' calls – a signature of every previous trip or time spent apart.  He does not have time to even register their loss between early morning coffees where June endeavours to get to know everything about him, their social lunches with the “1% of 1%” Blaine must be friends with, and the ever lengthening string of Dinners and Events Blaine performs at as June's latest find.

He is not in when Douglas arrives back from London on the 6th of January after two long and lonely weeks away. 

When he eventually does return to the penthouse, Blaine is bone-weary but every fibre of his being is buzzing with energy from the applause and the seemingly endless compliments.  He turns on the bedroom light without thinking and the sight of a tousled head and naked broad shoulders poking out from beneath the thick winter covers of the bed genuinely shocks him for a moment.  Hurriedly he switches the light back off, but it is too late as the other man is already starting to sit up.

            ‘Blaine?'

            ‘You're back!  Sorry – I didn't mean to wake you!'  His voice vibrates with the energy buzzing in his core and he struggles to keep the volume low – he can barely hear over the ringing in his ears.  ‘I should have been at the airport, shit!  I'm so sorry.  I'm a terrible fiancé.  I thought it was the 3rd…?  Or the 4th?  I'm so glad you're back.  I've so much to tell you!'

            ‘C'me 'ere.'  The voice is gruff with sleep, and Blaine has too much energy thanks to the caffeine tablets he had taken earlier, but he strips regardless and slips between the covers.  His embrace is met with a huffed ‘Cold!' but the other man does not pull away.  The sweet warmth of bodily contact soothes some of the restlessness in Blaine, but he feels like he is about to explode with the need to tell Douglas about everything that had happened to him.  A soft snore is his reward, and Blaine swallows his frustration dry, together with a couple of Ambien he manages to retrieve from his bedside drawer, without waking Douglas again.  It feels like hours before the chemicals claim him.

-+-

            The weeks pass by in a blur to Kurt – he spends the holiday in Lima with his Dad and Carole in a bid to make the absence of Finn that little bit less painful (completely unsuccessfully) and ends up watching White Christmas and balling his eyes out for no reason he can fathom.  He returns to New York with a terrible cold he blames on his father's insistence that they spend New Year's Eve watching the fireworks in the freezing outdoors, and instantly finds himself quarantined like a leper by a Rachel who is, once again, rapidly descending into Diva Town on the Funny Girl express. 

Every phone call he makes goes straight to voicemail.  Every text message elicits no response.  Kurt eventually summons the courage to call via the penthouse on 5th Avenue only to be informed that Mr Chambers is away on business. 

Sebastian calls Blaine a coward.  Elliott's choice of words is a little more colourful, and Santana's is a proverbial rainbow.

Rachel spends most evenings chatting to Doug via text message – she is protecting her voice the closer opening night creeps like a strangling vine – and Kurt finds the silence oddly comforting.  He picks up the brunette's extra hours at the diner, and spends all of his excess energy on his classes once they recommence.  His grades soar through the roof (he suspects it is in part due to his performance at the Winter Showcase), and he finds himself fitting in; becoming accepted.  He feels better.  He feels stronger.  He feels brave, and he loves it.

So, when he is called into Carmen Tibideaux's office he is nervous – his palms sweat almost as much as they had the day he had called on the intimidating dean to see whether she had received and reviewed his audition tape.  The news that he had been selected to perform at the ribbon cutting ceremony for the dedication of the dance studio as one of the cream of NYADA comes as a wonderful surprise, and he positively floats through the rest of the week.  He cannot help but boast to anyone who will listen including (but not limited to) his dad, Carole, Rachel, Santana, Elliott, Dani, and Sebastian that, not only will he be performing; he will also get to meet the illustrious socialite June Dalloway.

His friends allow Kurt's crows – though it goes unspoken, all know that he both needs and deserves it.  Kurt's good mood even bolsters him and elevates him enough that he does not get involved or tangled up within Rachel and Santana's latest spat (unlike Elliott and Dani) over Santana's position as Rachel's understudy for Funny Girl. 

It is only when he enters the rehearsal room three weeks before the performance to meet the man who will be opening the evening that Kurt's bubble pops spectacularly.

-+-

            ‘Now, Blaine, I want you to cast your expert eye over the performers for me.  Carmen is a dear friend of mine and she's chosen her best, but I'm curious for your thoughts.'

            ‘I'm sure at least one will be up to your exacting standards – so long as you don't prefer them to me that is.'  He smiles wryly as she laughs and bats his shoulder.

            ‘Let me tell you something, my boy: success depends on three things.  It depends on talent, hard work, and luck and if you have the first two you dont have to worry about the third.  Now, hurry up and finish your baby cake like a good boy before the first one gets here.' 

Blaine brushes an imaginary crumb from his pants leg before taking his seat at the piano.  Practicing with the performers had been Blaine's suggestion and June had thought it a wonderful idea.  She had countered with the recommendation that he choose one to duet with in such a way that he had found it impossible to refuse her.  He smiled lightly as he warmed up his voice and fingers while the fiery woman made her excuses to Carmen – June was testing him, Blaine knew, and would not remain for the rehearsal.  The duet would be Blaine's final hurdle; if he passed June would give him his own showcase.  He needed that showcase like he needed air to breathe.  A showcase meant staying longer in New York.  A showcase meant delaying London again.  A showcase meant delaying the wedding again.

A few months ago, Blaine would have been nervous about performing in front of the NYADA dean – especially after his last “performance” had been both unofficial, and had inadvertently led to Rachel quitting the school.  However, June's tutelage and companionship had been near absolute and constant since their introduction at the Summer Palace, and the effect on Blaine had been rather profound.

He shot what he knew to be a winning smile in the dean's direction as she settled in the seat June had vacated.  The look he got back was a mixture of curious and amused.  Blaine felt a tendril of unease stir within him, but, the consummate professional, he shook it off as the first of the potential duet partners entered the studio.

The girl, Naomi, was tall, but that could not be helped.  Her voice was good – a little nasal perhaps – but definitely something he could work with.  However, he soon discovered the reason she had been chosen; Naomi was a dancer.  Blaine knew immediately she would be better placed towards the middle of the event – a penultimate performance before the intermission (read: “mingle session”).  Give her a spotlight and let her dance Blaine scrawled on his notepad next to Naomi's music selection, before thanking her and asking her to send the next one in.

The young man is nervous and it surprises Blaine slightly – what is there to be nervous of?  Him?  He takes command of the situation by giving the man clear, firm direction, and tries not to notice the dean watching his every move, cat-like.

-+-

            Kurt recognises the student who holds the door open for him as Jacques from his mime class and smiles slightly – he can out sing the Canadian any day. 

            ‘You've got this Hummel,' he speaks under his breath in an effort to psych himself up as he enters the rehearsal room.  The room already feels like home territory to him – a known, a room he spends hours of every week in – there is nothing that can knock him down there.

But he is wrong.

He is so catastrophically wrong.

The man writing something in a small notebook at the piano is Blaine.  Unmistakably, even though his back is to Kurt he could pick that profile out of a line up anywhere. 

Kurt does not notice the dean in the room but she watches the inner battle war within Kurt as if it were the single most interesting thing she had ever seen.  Run or Fight?  Blaine had yet to see him – Kurt could still leave.  But why should he?  He is the best NYADA has to offer.  Blaine is not a NYADA student – Kurt has every right to be there.  This is his turf.

He squares his shoulders and clears his throat.

            ‘I'm Kurt Hummel and I'll be singing “The Story of My Life”.'

-+-

            He had known there would be the possibility that Kurt would be at NYADA - he was not stupid – but it catches him off-guard anyway.  Somehow he manages not to spin around immediately at the sound of Kurt's voice.  Somehow he manages to calmly place his pencil down beside his notebook without it rolling away from him.  Somehow his voice is strong and clear.

            ‘That's a good song, but that's sung by five different people.  How're you going to sing all those layers as just one person?'

He turns slowly and walks towards the other man exactly as he had done for the previous two NYADA students.  He focuses on the job before him; choosing the perfect duet partner.  He already knows that their voices are the perfect compliment.  He knows.

            ‘Is there a problem, Mr. Anderson?'

The dean's voice seems to boom across the room, tinkling with amusement.  Blaine simply shoots her a winning smile – he is better than this game.

            ‘Not at all, Carmen.  I have no doubt that Kurt knows exactly what he is doing.'  Blaine stops before he reaches the other man and gestures for him to stand where Blaine signals.  He will not pretend they do not know each other; he will not play puppet to whatever this is; be it revenge, test, sick amusement, or genuine accident.  He will be professional.  He will be everything June knows him to be.  ‘Just a step further.  Perfect.  Thank you.  Alright, so do you have music?'

            ‘I'm sure you know it by heart.'

Blaine's eyes flicker up then to meet Kurt's for the first time since he tore himself away.  Away from Kurt's couch, Kurt's kisses, Kurt's embrace.

There is an ice-cold fury that reminds Blaine of Princess Elsa and sends a shiver straight through his core, heart, and soul.

-+-

            Madame Tibideaux called him “Mr. Anderson” – maybe he kept his name?  Kurt's mind is working overtime cataloguing; desperately trying to regain the upper hand; self-defence.  Every time Blaine moves his hand that damned ring (third finger, left hand) catches the light and glints at Kurt – winks at him - and he can barely breathe. 

He takes a deep breath in, two, three.  Slowly out through his nose, two three.  Another: in - two - three, out – two - three.  Another: in - two - three, out - two - three.

When Blaine's eyes catch his Kurt's breath catches with it.

-+-

            Douglas barely concentrates on Darrel's enthusiastic and nauseating display.  It is almost as if he is a dog – wagging his tail and performing every trick he knows so his master will say “Good boy!”  It makes him feel sick.

It does not matter.

None of it matters.

Douglas clears his throat.  Darrel pauses – questioning – but Douglas has no intention of talking and when that becomes clear Darrel continues where he left off.

London had been as awe-inspiring and magical as Douglas had remembered, but it had felt empty.  He could not fathom why – he had been alone the last time he had been in England as well.  Returning to New York in contrast should have felt like going home, but it too felt empty. 

He was not sure that there was anything for him anymore – here or there.

Perhaps he should do as his father had done: hand the business over to someone younger and more energetic (Darrel being the obvious choice).

Adrian had laughed at him when he had suggested it and the sound had both infuriated and refreshed him.  He had no idea when or how, but somehow Adrian had sidled back into his life – filling his evenings while Blaine was monopolised by June.  The woman was like a snake charmer, but he understood the allure.  Blaine was made for the spotlight.  June was merely shining it on him.

Douglas was at a loss as to where he had gone wrong.

Adrian told him to be patient – Blaine was just doing what all young men do – “finding himself”.  Part of Douglas knew that Adrian was right.  Had he not done precisely the same thing at Blaine's age?

The problem was (something he could never admit to Adrian): Douglas was not sure he had the energy to watch.

-+-

            ‘I'm going to sing the duet with Kurt.'

            ‘Carmen said you would.  Funny.'  There is no amusement sparking in June's expressive eyes, and Blaine swallows against his suddenly parched throat: he knows Danger when he sees it.  ‘You're sure?'

It is a Get Out Of Jail Free card – they both know it.  Was June in on this?  Is this sport to them?  A bored socialite and the dean of a prestigious school, both playing god with the lives entrusted to them? 

The thought angers him and turns his mind to steel.

            ‘I'm sure.'

-+-