Blaine had eventually managed to talk Douglas down from the ledge, reassuring him that everything would be alright – Blaine had agreed to this after all, and yes it was sooner than they had anticipated but, as Douglas had pointed out bitterly, it was likely to just be his mother's way of controlling the situation.  After all – the announcement is a proof – who knows when (or if) Julia actually intends on sending it to print.

A couple of phone calls later and Douglas' PA, Penny, had again proven her worth by managing to set up a series of video-conferences, and organising for Darrel, Douglas' long-serving protégé, to head out in the boss' stead.  The knowledge comes with a peculiar mix of disappointment and relief for both of them, but neither know quite how to discuss it.

It is Douglas who suggests they purposefully delay heading out to the Summer Palace much to Blaine's surprise – it seems a little passive aggressive, but Blaine is in no mood to argue.  Exhausted, Douglas helps tidy away the newly erected jungle of clothing and the two of them fall like trees into bed. 

In the relative safety of darkness Blaine allows Douglas to take comfort in him, safe in the knowledge that his partner will be unable to make out Kurt's claim on Blaine's neck.  However, once Douglas is sated and fast asleep, the younger makes certain to set an alarm so that he will be up before Douglas in time to don another turtleneck sweater to cover his guilt like a cheap Band-Aid.  The other man must have noticed Blaine's new habit, but as usual, says nothing. 

-+-

            The next day is a barrage of phone calls – Douglas barely has time to breathe between them.  Blaine keeps his head down and simply does what he can for the other man – be that ensure he eats and drinks, or something as simple as staying out of the way.  He purposefully does not dwell on events and focuses entirely on the present – on helping Douglas – so when the shrill call of the house-phone echoes throughout the penthouse like a furious spirit summoning them, Blaine does not hesitate to answer the call.

The voice is not one he recognises – the accent is British.  He frowns a little but takes down the message, as well as the gentleman's name and number, before dialling off.  The man has mentioned his desire to finalise negotiations for a quote Douglas had allegedly given, but surely Blaine would have heard if Douglas had been quoting for a job in England?  Frowning slightly, he heads for Douglas' study, turning the message-bearing post-it in his fingers idly.  He pauses outside the door and waits until he is certain that Douglas has finished his latest call before nudging open the heavy door – he will be damned if he knocks in his own home.

The older man smiles wearily when he notices Blaine.

            ‘You just had a call from a Mr. Fosker – he left his number and requests you call back to finalise negotiations.'

            ‘Excellent.  That is fantastic news.  Thank you.'  There is a tired tilt to Douglas' voice that Blaine dislikes instantly.

            ‘It is?'

Douglas nods and gently takes the note from Blaine's outstretched hand, reads it, then reaches for his phone. 

            ‘Fosker invited me to submit a design for the new headquarters for his international engineering firm in Birmingham, England – he also wanted designs for new showrooms that will be rolled out globally…'

            ‘Oh.  A business makeover then?' 

            ‘Precisely.'  Douglas' eyes lighten with amusement and Blaine is uncertain what he did to have had such an effect - it rankles.

‘So – when exactly where you planning on telling me?'

The other man pauses mid-dial, frowning slightly.

            ‘I didn't want to start another argument before I knew whether or not it would be necessary.'

            ‘Why would there be an argument?' 

            ‘Because it would involve moving to the UK to set everything up for six months - maybe a year – operating from the London office.'

            ‘Oh.'  Blaine swallows thickly.  His mind is racing and he struggles to hold himself together.  The last thing he wants to do in that instant is fight and prove Douglas' fears justified.  He is so sick of fighting.  ‘Before you take that call could we maybe discuss this?'

            ‘Of course.'  Douglas hangs up to Blaine's relief - in that instant he is utterly determined to be adult and worthy.

            ‘I think it is an excellent opportunity for you and you should take it.  If he offers it to you – and he will because you are amazing at what you do – you should take it.  You don't need to worry about me.  I'm not going to go off the rails like I did with China –'  He's rambling, he knows he is, but Douglas saves him.

            ‘Actually, I was hoping you would join me.  You'd like London, I think – we could look into getting you into one of the performing arts universities there.  A fresh start so to speak.  That is…if you would like to, obviously.'

Dark eyes grip him tightly and Blaine finds himself nodding consent before he can process what this would mean for him.  Douglas' smile is brilliant in that instant – he looks younger then, but Blaine cannot trust himself to form words.  Instead he reaches over and places the phone back in Douglas' hand before leaving the room.  He does not wait for the result – he is not sure what he wants to hear – instead, he wanders blindly until he finds himself in the piano room.  He cannot bear to sit at the instrument; so instead, he heads over to a window and stares blankly out onto the street below.  He imagines he is his old-self, before New York, before all this.  He wonders what that Blaine would think of this mess he had become.  It used to be so simple – he knew exactly where his life would lead and he had been happy…

He makes a small bet with himself – if Douglas gets the job he will go with him to London.  A fresh start looks appealing.  He is exhausted to his bones – he is utterly conflicted (not by Charlie's utterly awful advice, however – he is not gone enough to think that that could be an answer, thank you very much), but what does it say about him that Benedict Charles is his only friend?  As much as he is loath to admit it – maybe Douglas had been right about Charlie…

Blaine gently rests his head against the ice-cold pane and sighs – his breath fogs the glass and he watches the slow spread-contract-spread-contract – a heartbeat of exhalation.  His thoughts drift back to blue eyes and impossibly soft lips.  Kurt loves him – at least, he said he did, and in that instant, back in Kurt's arms for a moment, Blaine had felt as if things were going to be alright.  He had glimpsed what his life would have been – the two of them making pancakes and coffee on lazy Sunday mornings together… but then Kurt had pulled away and that familiar hardness had crept back into the other man, and Blaine had lost him again.

Blaine ran a fingertip through the condensation on the windowpane and let his thoughts meander without the rosy hue of summer to the first signs of that stiffness in Kurt – when he had started to withdraw inch by torturous inch from Blaine.  From a distance Blaine can see it now and he understands, at least, he thinks he does.  Kurt had started to pull away from him back in the last weeks of his final year at McKinley – he had known that Blaine would not be joining him, and Blaine reasons that it was just the way Kurt dealt with emotional situations – he retracted out of self-preservation. 

He huffs out a laugh because Blaine wishes in that instant that he could do the same.  But he cannot – he has always worn his emotions for all to see – he has other defence mechanisms at his disposal.

~ Like running away ~

~ Like denial ~

~ Like cheating ~

He fists a hand into his un-styled hair and tugs lightly.  He desperately wants to escape – the penthouse is stifling.  Or perhaps it is Douglas, who had been certain that Blaine would bolt as soon as he had learnt of Julia's letter.  It had torn something within him to see the utter defeat in Douglas' eyes… 

How had everything gone so wrong?

He briefly considers calling Sebastian, but he instantly decides against it – he needs to work this out for himself.  He cannot dump his baggage at Sebastian's feet and beg him to help Blaine sort out the mess – not after they had parted last.

The shrill call of the landline interrupts Blaine's thoughts again, and he automatically heads to silence it, but the ping of the call being answered halts him where he stands.  Instead he pads his way through the cream hallways and curls, feline, in the red leather chair of the library.  The thick vanillin scent is a comforter and he allows it to bury him.  He dreams two lives in parallel – in London and New York – two very different cities, two very different men.  One new start, one restart.  He dreams of business functions in formal wear and ornate unveiling parties - imagining the thrill of discovering a new city's hidden secrets and making them his own.  He dreams of the loft and NYDADA; of performing duets in sweet bohemian domesticity.  Of fractured blue eyes and of swirling brown; of betrayal and tears and hurt and angry words spat like cobra venom; of pillars of ice weeping molten chocolate. 

When he wakes he is none the wiser – Guilt and Unease settle deep in the cage of his bones; gnashing and gnawing as two mangy and starving mutts on the feast of Blaine's insides.  He is powerless to sooth them for he opened the doors and let them in - now they are free to feast on him.

-+-

             Douglas had purposefully left his cell behind when he had dragged Blaine out for dinner – back to the Lebanese restaurant of their first “date” together.  There is something cathartic about sharing a meal – it is social and animal and utterly human.  They begin to talk again – not about Douglas' work, not about China or London, not about Engagements or Julia or being summoned – but about little things.  It is the smallest stitches, Blaine muses, that make the bond between two different fabrics all the stronger in the end. 

Perhaps it is the effect of the wine; Blaine slowly becomes aware that Douglas' breathing is a little off, and as the hours trickle by Blaine notices that Douglas seems a little stiff - as if something is on his mind.  Blaine frowns a little, and Douglas responds with a small smile.  The other man's eyes are dark in the half-light of the restaurant, and Blaine recognises the hunger there – but there is something else too – a vulnerability and uncertainty that Blaine wants to take from him and burn.

            ‘Blaine – I wanted to thank you.'  Douglas' voice reflects the uncertainty in his eyes, and Blaine's expression softens in concern.  Something is different between them – the dynamic shifted at some point and Blaine kicks himself mentally for missing it because he feels adrift now with no clue to guide him.  His pulse revs in response and he does his best to regulate his breathing, but instead of slowing and calming, his breathing synchs with that of the man across from him.  The increase in the frequency of Douglas' breathing serves to amplify Blaine's own like they are nothing but two harmonies in a confined space – echoes and reverberations – notes of the same constructive chord.

            ‘What for?'  The sound is hollow in his ringing ears.  His palms are sweating.

            ‘For being so supportive of me.'  The man across from him glances down before sweeping his eyes back up to rest upon Blaine.  He reaches and gently takes one of Blaine's hands in his own.  ‘I know I can be an ass – I allowed myself to get bogged down in work and I froze you out, and I cannot promise that it will never happen again…  But I can promise to always treasure you.  I can promise to listen to you and to respect you.  I would have continued to sleepwalk through life without you - you were the wakeup call I never knew I needed, Blaine.  I know that I can be difficult, hell, I can be downright intolerable, and I know you're miserable here…  I want nothing more than to make you happy, Blaine, but I need you to talk to me.  I need you to call me out some times - to stand by my side as my partner if you'll have me.  I know we talked about this before – but things change, and these past few months have not been easy – but I have never been more certain about anyone or anything in my life than I have been about you.  This is not about mother's note, and it is not about London or China or New York – this is about you and I, Blaine, and I want you to be sure… but I'd like you to have something, and I'd like you to wear it if you'd like to…. I've had it for quite a while now, actually.'   

The something is red Moroccan leather and brass; it finds its own way into Blaine's hand.  Nimble fingers move, and the box is opened where it rests in his palm.  The ring is platinum – twin bands bracket an impossibly intricate motif of vines, the leaves of which are rose gold, but nestled within and almost completely hidden is a tiny bird. 

‘I had it made after you asked me.  I – you said you liked the mechanical bird I had drawn – the one on the mantle in our sitting room…  It's a warbler.'

            ‘It's the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.'

Tiny platinum wings delicately frame the yellow diamond of its body; its beak rests open as if caught in mid-song. 

Blaine sees a Burberry-esque canary cage cover and a bejewelled casket.

He forces himself to keep breathing and considers it a success.

Blow the candles out – looks like a solo tonight…

-+-

            Kurt fiddles with sugar packets as Rachel stirs honey into her lemon tea.  The brunette is wrapped, as always these days, in a scarf to protect her voice.  Kurt fears for himself as the Funny Girl opening night draws closer the last thing he needs right now is a return of Diva Rachel.  He clears his throat in a physical attempt to also clear his mind.  He is not here for that.  He is here to be the friend Rachel needs.

It has nothing to do with Blaine, of course.

            ‘So…When were you going to tell me about Doug?'

Rachel's eyes widen and she drops the spoon – it pings to the floor in a clatter.  Kurt watches as the woman bends to retrieve it, placing it bowl-up on the table.  It rocks slightly; presenting a skewed version of the world before coming to rest. 

            ‘He's a nice guy.'

            ‘I'm not saying that he isn't.'  She nods at that, pausing as if considering what she should say – it feels like a slap to Kurt; Rachel is his friend, she should not have to be delicate around him.  He squares his shoulders.             ‘Rach – you don't have to keep things from me, I'm sorry you feel you do.  But I'm here, alright?  Come on – talk to me.'  She purses her lips but nods and Kurt sighs.        ‘I know I've been distant and difficult –'

            ‘Do you?  Kurt, I… God, I feel like I can't breathe sometimes.  I'm up to my ears with rehearsals – and I know how you feel about my quitting NYADA, but I just couldn't keep both going.  I was going to burn out and then I'd have had nothing, Kurt.  Nothing.  I…  You know I used to spend hours on the phone to Finn – even when we weren't…together.  He'd always listen, you know?  I miss that.  He was my best friend.'

A couple of years ago Rachel would have been sobbing by now – but this woman before him is stronger - she holds her head up and maintains eye contact.  This Rachel does not need his validation and he feels a fool for thinking that this is what their catch-up would be about.  Rachel takes a sip of her cooling tea and shoots Kurt a knowing glance over the top of her cup before placing it back on the table between them.

            ‘Listen, Kurt.  I know that it seems complicated, but Doug is just a really sweet guy and it's nice, you know, to have someone to talk to who is not so incestuously linked to the past…  I've not told him about what happened with you and Blaine if that's what you're worried about.  I wouldn't do that to you – to either of you, but you really need to sort it out, Kurt.  It doesn't just affect you there's a wider impact.' 

            ‘When did you get so old and wise, Ms. Berry?'

She laughs then, and Kurt stares a little at the adult he can glimpse beneath the surface of the shallow, driven surface of his friend.  Where was he when she grew up?  He feels adrift and left behind. 

            ‘You're coffee's going to get cold – now drink up.  We need to formulate a plan because you my friend are a mess, and I'm going to help you sort it all out.'

            ‘I love you.'

            ‘I know.  I am amazing.'

            ‘And so humble.'

His smile feels real in that moment as it reflects hers – there is a spark that Rachel has provided (he had not noticed it go out) and it feels like, if he can just find the right kindling, he may be able to find his way again through the darkness.  She reaches across the table and grasps his hand in solidarity, and Kurt marvels at the shift in their dynamic. 

-+-

            ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me, Douglas.  I know things have been a bit – strained – over the last couple of years…  I just wanted to let you know that I truly regret how it all turned out.'

            ‘It's…I have to admit – I was surprised by your call, Adrian.'  He shifts uncomfortably in the wooden chair – it is clear that it had been chosen for aesthetics over practicality and his back is starting to play up.  Perfect.

            ‘I just felt that it was time to try to start over – we were friends first, Diggs.'

-+-

            It ended suddenly for Douglas and, looking back, he sees suggestions and indicators that he had been blind to for months before – not that they mattered now.  Not that any of it mattered now, but it no longer surprises him when their friends – Adrian's friends – look at him with pity in their eyes.  Like the fickle summer sun, they fade out of his life again leaving no trace that they were ever there at all.

He is not really sure how five years had passed without him noticing – he supposes that when the usual markers of family events go (Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, Birthdays, Anniversaries) that it becomes harder to mark the months.  He had not really been paying attention. 

But knows that he had not expected that.

The Club had been his solace – the one place he could be that man again – the Dalton man, the fresh-faced idealist who had first headed to New York on the back of success at Harvard to read at Columbia.  Hiding who he really was – who he preferred – had been easier then, and Douglas had always been able to “pass” - but it had also been a necessity.  That was before Adrian, of course.  Not that there had not been others before him…but there had been none since.

The Club was the thing that was supposed to be constant – never changing, a safe place.  He would never forget the evening he had met Benedict Charles, draped, as the then-barely-17-year-old had been, over Adrian's shoulders in a very public display of affection…  Apparently the problem had not been Adrian's desire to keep his relationship and sexual status hush-hush for his career – it had been that Douglas had not been what Adrian had wanted to risk it all for.

Douglas had considered returning to the London office after Adrian had left him - he had spent a year there after finishing his study in Cambridge after all - but the New York office he had dreamt of, and had spent the better years of his life working towards had finally started to become a success.  So he had stayed.  He had stayed and squirrelled himself away deep within the building's walls to wait out the winter for a spring that seemed to never come. 

Back then it had simply been a tiny office with a divider to separate his desk from those of his small workforce, and his receptionist's.  He had been forced to use his apartment as a drawing office – Adrian had always complained that there were always blueprints and drawings cluttering up the place, but Douglas had really had nowhere else to put them.  In reality that office had been too small, too hot in the heights summer and beyond freezing in the depths winter, but it had been his. 

Adrian had been there throughout the arguments with Douglas' father – the senior Douglas had been adamant that his son should focus on the London office and not waste his time with New York.  Of course, by then, Senior had left the London office to a cousin to operate.  The senior Chambers had long-since given up trying to establish a branch in the US and had closed his own office in early 1977 while Douglas had still been boarding at Dalton Academy with his younger brother Roger.  Though neither son had been consulted, both had noticed that their father had seemed more than happy to live off his substantial inheritance since his own father's death in 1976.  But Senior did not like it when that little fact was pointed out to him. 

However, it had seemed natural to Douglas to want more though he had had it all – everything he had ever dreamed of by the time he was 30 – a loving partner who was successful in his own right (Adrian was a resident at the New York Methodist Hospital at the age of 26), as well as his own branch of the family business…  But the more he had thought about it the more it had rankled – an itch below the surface.

They had both lost friends in the AIDS epidemic, and by 1998 Douglas had been approaching the big 4-0 with alarming speed.  They had been together almost eight years, and Douglas had been tired of attending functions separately, of referring to Adrian as his friend in polite company…  The death of his one-time boyfriend, Mark, in 1997 had cemented in Douglas' mind the fragility of what he had – but he had missed the signs.  Adrian had been already lost to him by then.

The day Douglas had moved premises (to the much larger and purpose-designed present residence of the New York office of D.G. Chambers & Sons) was the day he had arrived back at the apartment he had shared with Adrian for over 5 years to find no trace of the other man remaining.

-+-

            Douglas was out – apparently something had come up and, as they were due to finally head to the Summer Palace early the next morning, Blaine had sent Douglas on his way with a smile and a kiss not wanting to get in the way or to be any bother.  The other man had seemed jittery and resigned, but Blaine could not be completely certain whether it was due to the meeting or due to the events of the previous evening.  Truth be told, Blaine felt trapped and he was actually looking forward to spending time by himself as he knew that whatever Julia's plan was – things were not going to go smoothly for them up in Southampton.

He stares at the ring again where it lies nestled in ivory silk while he fixes his hair – he does not want to get product anywhere near it.  He still was not sure what had triggered him to slip it onto his finger – after all, he acknowledged that his first reaction leading him to thoughts of dearly departed Pavarotti (and by extension - Kurt) was not exactly indicative of someone who was ready for that kind of thing – but he knows that the look Douglas had given him was the reason he had kept it on his finger. 

A small huff of resignation and frustration escapes him and he barely remembers to slip the ring back into place on his left hand before he heads out in the hunt for food.  Negotiating the frozen sidewalk is hazardous but he avoids most of the risk as Gerry has a car waiting for him by the time he makes it down to the lobby.  The older man shoots Blaine a peculiarly knowing smile before holding the door for him and Blaine cannot help but return it with his own confused variation.

-+-

            The vibrations of his cell phone wake him, and he squints through the appalling and offensive brightness of his screen to see who has the audacity to call at such an ungodly hour.  Sebastian's limbs take their time to follow his orders but he manages to answer the call as soon as the name and accompanying picture burn his retinas.

            ‘Long time, no speak, Killer.'

            ‘I know, I know, Bas.  I…god, I've been such a sh-shitty friend to you –'

He wants to be furious, but there is something in the tone of Blaine's voice that makes Sebastian's heart hammer louder than the shock of being woken in the first place.  His friend sounds on the verge of tears; his speech slow and slurring.

            ‘What's wrong?  Where are you?'

            ‘I'm…I'm not re'lly sure…I was out with Charlie.  I think…I think he gave me som'thing, but I can't rem'mber.'

            ‘Blaine, get in a cab and come here, please?  Can you do that?'

            ‘Alright.'

The disembodied voice rings every alarm bell Sebastian possesses, and the easy, resigned way that Blaine acquiesces does nothing to erase the unease that grips him fiercely like a vice around his lungs.  Blaine hangs up, and Sebastian practically falls out of bed before he has fully managed to untangle his legs from the sheets, but he lands without injury and hurriedly pulls on sweatpants over his pyjama bottoms, and a hoodie too in a bid to battle the freezing ambient.  He kicks the radiator as he passes with the heel of his foot in an attempt to coax it into life, and makes his way quickly to his small kitchen.  His fingers itch to pour himself something to calm his rapidly fraying nerves, but he resists.  Blaine had said Charlie had given him something!  Sebastian makes coffee, and tries to recall everything he ever learnt about drugs, their side effects, and how to make someone throw up.

His hands are shaking by the time he opens his door.  He does not hesitate before pulling the smaller man against him and holds him tightly to his chest.  Blaine is freezing cold and shaking, but he had made it to Sebastian's so he chalks that up to a win.  He leads his friend to the couch and makes Blaine sit, before swaddling him in as many blankets as he can find, and thrusting a large thermos of coffee at him.

He is contemplating whether the blankets are enough or whether he should add towels to the pile, when Blaine finally speaks to him.

            ‘Thank you, B-Bas.'

Blaine's pupils are dilated, but he clearly knows where he is and who he is with so he is not completely out of it.  Sebastian presses the back of his hand to Blaine's forehead and cheeks, and once he is satisfied that his friend is warming up, he gently settles beside him on the sofa without jostling him.  He notices Blaine's hands then – wrapped as they are around the thermos, and for a second Sebastian regrets not giving his friend a mug so as to warm his hands – but he is distracted by something very shiny.

            ‘What's that?'

The smaller man looks confused for a moment before he slowly follows Sebastian's gaze to where it rests on the ring.

            ‘You k-know wha' “that” is, Bas.'

Sebastian is not sure whether he should be happy that Blaine seems better now he is warming up, or whether he should shake his friend until he gets answers.  He grits his teeth and attempts to exercise patience.

            ‘Yes, it's a ring, Blaine.  I'm guessing it's Douglas'?'  To Blaine's credit he gives nothing away and Sebastian finds himself edging uncontrollably closer to Option 2: shaking sense into his dark haired friend.  He takes a deep breath and counts backwards from ten before deciding to change tactic.  ‘Why were you out with Charlie?'

            ‘I saw him, Bas.'

            ‘Who?  Kurt?  Charlie?'

            ‘No - Douglas.'

            ‘I'd expect that's going to be a theme in your life seeing as you are wearing the man's ring.'

The look Blaine throws him is murderous and hurt-puppy all at once and it makes Sebastian's head spin – he has no idea what to do with that reaction.  Does he square his shoulders and argue or does he hug and comfort him?  Thankfully Blaine mutters out a response before Sebastian reaches a decision for an appropriate reaction.

            ‘I saw him having dinner with his ex., Bas.'

            ‘And that's unusual for Douglas?'

Blaine nods and Sebastian watches as all the anger and energy drains from Blaine's dark eyes, before his friend's gaze falls to his own lap.

            ‘He…He gave me this over dinner yesterday, Bas, and tonight he's seeing Adrian for dinner - just the two of them; and there were candles, and wine, and… what does that mean?'

He is at a loss.  Adrian and Douglas having dinner together could mean anything and nothing, but Sebastian has a feeling that this could definitely be in large-part his fault – he is the one that called Adrian after all.  He swallows, and tries to catch Blaine's eyes – he will deal with that particular shit-storm later, first things first he needs to find out what Blaine took, and he needs to make sure his friend is going to be alright.

            ‘Why were you with Charlie?'

            ‘I…uh…I didn't mean to see them – Douglas and… - I wasn't spying or anything.  Douglas has never given me cause to think he'd… he'd do that.  He's better than that…better than me.  But…I saw.  And I should have gone in there, I mean – I know I should have said something, right?  Like when I saw K-Kurt and Elliot…  But…I'm so confused, Bas.  Charlie told me it's normal.  That I should accept it and that I should be happy to be “looked after”…  I kissed Kurt, Bas.  I cheated on Douglas, like I cheated on Kurt…but with Kurt...  I miss Kurt.'

            ‘Okay, okay, let's try to stay on track here – you're jumping all over the rails.  I'll ask questions you answer, got it?'

Blaine nods, and Sebastian feels a headache coming on.

            ‘You went to Charlie after seeing Douglas with Adrian?'

            ‘Yes.'

            ‘Right, that makes sense I guess.'  He pauses and tries not to feel the bitter swell of pride in the knowledge that it looks like he had been right about Charlie after all, and that Blaine should have listened.  It should have been him that Blaine confessed to – him that Blaine ran to…not Charlie.  Sebastian swallows the fact that Blaine is with him now and not the obnoxious blonde, and continues.  ‘So, Douglas gave you that ring last night?'

Blaine nods, and Sebastian leans toward his friend a little.

            ‘So, you said “yes” then?  After you and Kurt... even after the knowledge that Kurt still loves you - you accept Douglas?'

            ‘How do you know Kurt still loves me?'  There is a light in Blaine's eyes and Sebastian realises his mistake a little late.  It is instinct that tells him to come clean.

            ‘He was here, Blaine.  He came to talk to me.  I think he thought I could still talk sense into you or something – some people never learn, I guess.' 

            ‘So you and Kurt -?'

            ‘Are friends, Blaine.  Kurt and I are, and I never thought I'd ever say this out-loud, but Kurt and I are friends.'

            ‘Wow.'

            ‘You're telling me.  So, back to Q&A: You chose Douglas?'

            ‘Yes.  I mean…no.  Yes?  I think so?'

            ‘We'll file that away under “Blaine is a fricking idiot” and come back to that later.'  Sebastian cannot help it; he rolls his eyes in frustration.  ‘If I see that Charlie again I am going to kick his scrawny ass, Blaine.  What in the hell were you thinking?'

            ‘I don't know how to answer that, Bas.'

            ‘How about you try this one: why on Earth would you take something Charlie gave you, huh?  What were you trying to do?  Self-destruct?'

            ‘He said it would loosen me up.'

            ‘So if I said, “Hey, Blaine – take this it'll take all the pain away” would you take whatever I gave you?  Wait – on second thoughts, don't answer that.  It's not important why you did something so utterly stupid.  All that matters is that you're alright.  And you have yet to convince me of that.'

It is that moment that Blaine chooses to throw off the blankets and dash for the bathroom.  Sebastian follows closely and gently rubs his friend's sweat-soaked back as the man empties his stomach.

-+-