“Good Lord, Blaine!” Kurt cried when he entered Blaine’s room. “Did you steal those from Sarah?”

“No,” Blaine says, with just a hint of defiance in his voice. “They’re mine. I like them.” Blaine is not particularly comfortable in such tight pants, but he’s trying to dress a little trendier for Kurt. He’s trying to lunge some of the tightness out of the jeans and he’s starting to look an awful lot like Jonah Hill at the end of Superbad.

He misses his bow ties already.

“Blaine.”

“Kurt.”

“You really don’t have to do this. I see what you’re doing here.” Kurt says, knowingly.

Kurt is often berating Blaine for not being himself, for trying to be whoever Kurt wants him to be. But that’s Blaine’s thing. He craves acceptance, like Tinkerbell needs applause. He’s embarrassed that Kurt can see right through his charade.

“I just want … to look good for you. I want you to look at me and be, uh, attracted to me,” Blaine says, awkwardly to his bedroom carpet.

“Blaine.”

“Kurt.”

“Blaine. You know I love you no matter what you wear, or how you look, or if you do ridiculous lunges of the Jonah Hill variety in front of your bedroom mirror. I’m going to have this put on an index card and then laminate it and keep it in my wallet for when you act like a moron.”

Blaine makes a pouty face, but allows Kurt to slide the ridiculous jeans to the floor.