“Kurt…” Blaine started soothingly, but he had nothing to follow it up with. He had hoped that just by saying Kurt's name, he might keep things calm, because from here, this situation could only go one of three ways:

1)      They could rationally talk thinks over, realize that last night was a mistake, and continue from here on out as friends as if it had never happened. (Not Blaine's preferred choice, but not the worst one.)

2)     They could rationally talk things over, realize how much in love they still were, that last night was a blessing for driving that point home (so to speak), and try to work things out. They'd mark said decision with a celebratory roll in the hay, which would eventually lead to a whirlwind engagement, an epic wedding, kids, a life of adventure with his one true love, then retirement in Provincetown, buying a lighthouse, and starting that artist colony they'd always talked about. (A long shot, but definitely the way Blaine hoped things would go.)

3)     They wouldn't get past the word, “Kurt,” they wouldn't talk anything over, Kurt would freak out, and everything would go downhill from there.

From the look in Kurt's eyes, Blaine was certain that he was about to choose option number three.

And then, he did.

“Kurt!” Blaine exclaimed as Kurt shoved out of Blaine's arms and bolted off the bed. “Kurt! Please! Just…”

Kurt sprinted from the room before Blaine could finish, gathering up abandoned articles of clothing along the way and shielding himself behind them, trying to hide the rapidly growing rush of humiliation that was spreading like a virus over his whole body. Kurt cringed as he bent stiffly at the knees (to avoid bending over and putting himself on display) to rescue one of his favorite McQueen sweaters from a heap on the floor. He must have been really drunk, or just plain out of his mind, if he left his McQueen sweater bunched up like that.

A sudden flashback of Blaine tearing that same sweater up over Kurt's head and throwing it carelessly to the ground while he kissed down his chest filled Kurt's memory.

Kurt was pissed to discover what an amazing memory it was.

With alcohol flowing through his body, lowering his inhibitions, every emotion he had suppressed rose to the surface. That undeniable pull Blaine seemed to have on him returned, and Kurt couldn't fight it. He felt like a slave to it.

A willing slave.

It had started when Blaine left Kurt at the bar to return to his “date”. Instead of heading home the way he had planned, Kurt called a cab. Why not? He'd been preyed upon, insulted, embarrassed, and was going to be forced, by effect of his own asinine plan, to walk home alone.

He deserved a God dammed taxi.

But while he was dialing the number, Kurt had watched a freakishly flamboyant man toss his drink in Blaine's face. He saw Blaine's shoulders slump, and Kurt's heart broke for the tenth time that night. Kurt had done this. He had convinced Blaine to go to the bar, and pushed him to hook up with someone. But in the end, Kurt realized with chagrin that it was to further his own agenda more than to help Blaine. Seeing Blaine in the loft every day, sometimes half-dressed and sweaty after working out, or fresh from the shower, innocently not knowing the effect it had on Kurt, was becoming torture. Hearing him sing around the loft, coming home to dinner on the table, spending their evenings on the sofa watching television together – it was too much like old times. Even with remnants of a banana daiquiri dripping down his face, Blaine was still the charming schoolboy Kurt had fallen in love with.

Incidentally, he was also the person who had shattered Kurt's heart.

Kurt recognized that he was partly to blame for their break up, but he couldn't think about that, or he'd be in danger of falling into bed with Blaine again.

“Kurt! I really think we should…”

“Should what?” Kurt bellowed in a wobbly voice. “What should we do, Blaine? You think we should talk about this?” Kurt's voice echoed in his own head like a gong, but he was beyond caring about the intense throbbing in his skull, or the ringing in his ears. Instead, he spoke louder, hoping that Blaine's head ached half as much during his high-pitched rant as Kurt's did. “That is exactly what I don't want to do!”

Kurt hurried to his room, his bare feet pattering across the ice cold floor making him wish he'd fallen asleep in his own bed so that he could have stayed there and slept in, hoarding his body heat until he absolutely had to come out. But he couldn't do that. He couldn't do any of that because he'd slept with Blaine – the one thing he swore that under no circumstances whatsoever would he do.

Now he just wished it would go away.

Kurt stepped through his bedroom door and slammed it with unnecessary force, praying that the nausea-inducing clamor would make Blaine back off.

“Still,” Blaine persisted, putting a hand to his head and wishing the room would stop spinning, “I think talking is a…”

“Good idea?” Kurt finished, grimacing at the amount of times during this conversation that he'd finished Blaine's sentences – the same way he used to when they were a couple. It's just force of habit, he consoled himself. It doesn't mean anything. A lot of people do it – with family, with friends. It doesn't mean they're made for one another or something.

Kurt emerged from his room wrapped in a white terry robe and carrying his toiletry bag. “No! That's a terrible idea! A horrible idea! The worst idea ever in the history of all bad ideas on this planet…”

“Kurt, wait.” Blaine blocked Kurt's path with his arms stretched out in front of him, hands poised to grab Kurt if he didn't stop. Kurt took a good look at Blaine for the first time and noticed that he was still naked, and God, he was just as gorgeous as Kurt remembered. Maybe even more so since time he didn't spend at school or tutoring, he mostly spent working out…and it showed. Those well-defined muscles cutting paths beneath his smooth, tan skin made Kurt's mouth water. But Blaine wasn't his boyfriend anymore, so Kurt didn't get the luxury of salivating. He averted his eyes and headed for the bathroom.

“Kurt…” Blaine needed Kurt to settle down long enough to talk this through with him, to see that this wasn't the catastrophe that Kurt was making it out to be, but Kurt couldn't seem to stop.

“People always think that talking things out is the ultimate solution, but it's not,” Kurt said. “It's really just dredging up old heartaches and reliving old mistakes…”

The word ‘mistakes' stopped both men in their tracks. Shame colored Blaine's face. A mistake. Kurt thought last night was a mistake. Blaine had already suspected that, what with the ranting, but Blaine thought that Kurt might mean something else by it, too. Something to do with their former relationship. Or dating Blaine in general, knowing how it would end up. But to hear Kurt say it out loud, blurt it out like that, seemed meaner than necessary.

Kurt felt a thousand apologies crowd his chest, desperately trying to find a way out, but he didn't dare say sorry. If Blaine thought for a second that Kurt approved of them sleeping together, he might get false hope.

“I just finished getting over you,” Kurt said softly. “I finally got to a place where thinking about you didn't make me want to crawl into a hole and die. A place where we could be friends…where we could still go ahead with our plans together without being together…” Kurt couldn't look into Blaine's eyes – his intoxicating, caramel-colored eyes that had most likely gone puppy-dog wide, imploring Kurt to change his mind.

But Blaine knew that Kurt had his mind made up. The firm set of Kurt's jaw, and the way he held his head, nose slightly raised, meant that he had no intention of being swayed. His decision was final.

Any argument Blaine brought up after this would only tarnish the friendship they had built. Blaine didn't want to take a chance that Kurt would cut him out of his life completely.

“Okay,” Blaine said, backing down. “Okay. I understand.”

Kurt heard the defeat in Blaine's voice and a piece of him tore away, but he couldn't backpedal. It was what was best for both of them. Kurt hurried into the bathroom and shut the door, immediately turning on the shower before he even got in so Blaine wouldn't hear him cry.

Blaine dragged himself back to his room and shut the door. He had to put things back in order and forget about his night with Kurt. He picked up his clothes, shook out the wrinkles, and hung them up in his closet. A white business card fell from the pocket of his jeans and fluttered to the floor. Blaine bent down to pick it up, finally remembering the name of the gentleman he thought he might have woken up to.

DeLeon - the man with the incredible body and the infectious smile. The one who had invited Blaine out if he ever made up his mind.

When he decided to move on.

With Kurt locked in the bathroom, mourning their recent night together, now seemed like that time.

Blaine grabbed his cell phone off his nightstand and dialed the number, sitting down as he did or else he might fall down. It was too early in the morning for this angst with Kurt, especially while Blaine was hung over. His heart raced as he listened to the phone ring, and for a second, Blaine questioned if this was a good idea.

“Mmm…hello?” a sleepy voice answered.

“Hello? DeLeon?” Blaine hoped he wasn't making a fool out of himself by calling this man at…shoot! Blaine had no clue what time it was. He'd woken up after very little sleep to a tremendously dry mouth and a severe headache, but the arms wrapped around him were so worth it at the time. Blaine scanned his dresser for his clock and saw that it was seven twenty-five in the morning? What the fuck, Blaine?? Jesus fucking Christ! He woke this poor man up, and not at a reasonable hour, either. What are the odds this guy even remembered who Blaine was? Blaine had had a difficult time remembering him. He had probably gone home with another guy and forgotten all about Blaine. Man, he was screwing up all over the place. “My name's Blaine,” he continued because what did he really have to lose. “I don't know if you remember me. We met at Club Amnesia last night…”

Ironic, Blaine thought.

“I remember you,” DeLeon said after a yawn. Blaine detected a smile in the man's velvety voice, along with a hint of an accent that Blaine hadn't noticed over the ear-splitting music of the club. “How may I help you, Blaine?”

“I was just wondering…uh…would you still like to go out…with me?”

“Hmmm,” DeLeon murmured. “Sounds interesting. What did you have in mind?”

Blaine stood and started pacing while he spoke, too anxious to stay seated despite the overwhelming threat of puking ever present.

“I was thinking I could take you out to dinner. Tonight, if possible.” Blaine kept an ear peeled for the sound of the shower water. He didn't want to risk Kurt walking in and taking him by surprise in the middle of asking another guy out on a date.

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” DeLeon said. Then, after a beat, “Just you and me, right?”

Blaine laughed in spite of himself considering everything that had happened a few minutes ago. He figured his days of barhopping with Kurt had come to an end. They probably wouldn't be doing anything together for a long time.

“Yes, of course,” Blaine said. “Just you and me.”

DeLeon chuckled. “Great. It's a date then. But why don't you come to my place and let me make you something. I eat at too many restaurants. It would be nice to eat in. Is that alright?”

Blaine's heart skipped for a few seconds before he realized he hadn't answered. “Yes. Yes, that's fine.”

Another amused chuckle. “I'm at the Marriott downtown. Room 1218. I'll see you at 8.”

“Eight is great,” Blaine said, groaning internally at his unintended rhyme.

“Then I'll see you, and just you, at eight o'clock.”

“Sh-should I bring anything?” Blaine asked, hating that he stuttered when he got nervous.

The funny thing was, he never stuttered around Kurt. He was usually the surest version of himself when he was with Kurt.

And he liked the way that felt.

“Mmmm, maybe some wine? I only have the shit they stock in the mini bar. Try to find something good, hmm?”

“I will,” Blaine promised, even though he knew very little about buying wine. Kurt always bought the wine they drank with dinner (thanks, in part, to Blaine's brother Cooper replacing those horrible fake IDs that Sebastian Smythe gave them). He seemed to have a sixth sense about which wine paired well with whatever meal before he even opened the bottle. But Blaine wasn't about to ask Kurt for advice on what wine he should bring with him tonight, no matter how much he seemed in favor of Blaine dating.

“Goodbye, Blaine.”

“Bye.” Blaine ended the call and tossed his phone on the bed, cursing himself out in his head.

Blaine had a date.

A date with someone who wasn't Kurt.

A date with someone who wasn't Kurt in a hotel room downtown.

And now he had to go out and buy some wine.

Great.

***

“To tell you the truth, I'm really surprised you called, Blaine.” DeLeon smiled, handing Blaine a glass of the cabernet he had brought. Blaine had to resort to asking the associate at BevMo for help picking out a good all-around wine since he had neglected to ask DeLeon what he was making for dinner, and thought that calling back to check would seem tacky. Also, Blaine might be tempted to cancel if he called back, so his only hope of not picking out something that completely sucked lay in the hands of Carl, the BevMo guy. It wasn't the same as wine shopping with Kurt. Kurt had a bizarre, adorable ritual for buying wine. He'd read every word written on the label, front and back. He'd hold the bottle up to the light to check the color, give it a little shake to see what had settled on the bottom. Then he'd bring it up to his ear and listen to it. Blaine was pretty certain Kurt just did that as a way to make fun of him, though, for his wine picking ignorance.  “Did you get things sorted out with your ex?”

Blaine took the glass and smiled back, hoping that he looked suave instead of sick to his stomach. “Yeah, we sort of did,” Blaine replied, taking a quick sip of the wine so he wouldn't slip and spill the whole sordid story of how they had gotten drunk, had sex, and then Kurt flipped his shit.

DeLeon raised a skeptical eyebrow at Blaine's response, but decided to let it go. Calling him out wouldn't be the best way to get the night started, and besides, he didn't invite the man over to talk about his ex.

Blaine's gaze left DeLeon's suspicious expression, and he scanned the room from behind the rim of his glass.

“This is a fantastic suite,” Blaine said, indicating the space. “I didn't know flight attendants made this much money.”

“Most don't,” DeLeon explained, leading Blaine to the dinner table. It was already set minus plates, but otherwise to the nines – gold linen tablecloth and complimenting burgundy napkins, a gold charger for the dinner plates to sit on, gleaming gold flatware, wine glasses, candlelight, flowers…DeLeon had gone all out.

Exactly the way Kurt would have.

“I work for an independent airline,” DeLeon continued, making Blaine realize that he might have missed a bit of the conversation. He'd have to stop thinking about Kurt if this night was going to be anything other than a disaster. Maybe Blaine deserved to stew in his guilt, but DeLeon didn't deserve to have his night ruined, not when he had gone to so much trouble. “Mainly international flights, very exclusive - celebrities, millionaires, private parties, that sort of thing.”

“I see,” Blaine said. “That sounds fascinating.”

DeLeon rushed a step ahead to pull out Blaine's chair for him, and Blaine said a quiet, “Thank you,” as he settled into it. He watched DeLeon walk into the kitchen, returning moments later holding two plates. He had this way of carrying himself that mesmerized Blaine. He wondered if it was a side effect of working as a flight attendant – his back rod straight, his shoulders squared, his head held high. He walked with exquisite balance and grace; the way he maneuvered Blaine's plate to set it down on the charger reminiscent of ballet.

Kind of the way…

“I hope you don't mind pasta,” DeLeon said. He went to his side of the table and sat down. “I know it might seem like cheating, not bringing out my most complicated dish on a first date to impress you, but the last layover I had was in Morocco, and I kind of miss having a hardy plate of Fettucine Alfredo.”

“Not at all,” Blaine said. “Fettucine Alfredo happens to be one of my favorites.”

DeLeon saw Blaine waiting for him to eat before he tucked into his meal. It was so sweet, so old-fashioned. It almost made him blush.

“Well, dig in,” he said, waving his fork. “I don't stand on ceremony here.”

Blaine carefully twirled a bit of fettucine on to his fork and popped it into his mouth. DeLeon stopped loading up his fork, pausing to watch Blaine's mouth work. Blaine moaned the moment the sauce hit his tongue. DeLeon hadn't just made Fettucine Alfredo; he'd made the sauce, and the noodles, from scratch. But there was something else in there, something slightly unfamiliar underneath. A savory flavor – a mild sensation of heat, and something exotic that Blaine couldn't quite place. He personally would have never thought to put it together that way, but, “Oh my God!” he exclaimed. “This is incredible!”

“Thank you.” DeLeon twirled his fork in his pasta. “I picked up the recipe during a layover in Sicily, but I added a few touches of my own. I'm always on the lookout for new flavors to tempt my palate. Keeps life from getting dull. ”

Blaine shook his head in awe, not picking up on DeLeon's subtle cues.

“It must be unreal,” he remarked, winding more noodles around the tines of his fork. “Traveling the world, seeing new things, learning about different cultures first hand. And the food. It sounds like a non-stop vacation.”

“It is.” DeLeon took a bite of his pasta and chewed. Then he took a sip of wine, putting Blaine's comment off until he felt fully prepared to answer. “At least, at first. It takes time to get into the swing of things – departures, hotel arrangements, constantly being a strange face in a strange land. It can get stressful. It can be intimidating. For the first year, you barely enjoy it, and you start to wonder why they hell you wanted to do it to begin with. But after a while, when the excitement dies down and you find your groove, things sort of bleed together – airports, cities, people, food.”

DeLeon put a teasing emphasis on that word since food seemed to be a passion of Blaine's, if the way he was enthusiastically, albeit genteelly, devouring his meal gave any indication.

Blaine, mouth full, snorted at DeLeon's joke.

DeLeon found it endearing.

“After you've done all the touristy stuff, gone to all the places only the locals know about, then done it all again, everything just sort of feels the same…and it gets a little lonely.”

Blaine swallowed down his mouthful of noodles hard when the tone of DeLeon's voice changed from conversational to solemn.

“A lot of the guys and gals I work with, they have homes and families, people who miss them and text them lovely messages while they're away. They have places to go over the holidays…”

“I'm sorry,” Blaine said. Blaine never would have guessed that DeLeon was lonely. The few times Blaine had spoken to him, he seemed so upbeat. Blaine guessed that traveling as often as DeLeon did was a lifestyle he would have to be committed too, but Blaine figured he was where he wanted to be, doing what he wanted.

But Blaine could see how spending your life catering to people's needs when you don't have a special someone of your own could amplify your own loneliness.

DeLeon sighed. “Don't mind me,” he said in a chipper tone. “It's just been a while, that's all. In fact, this is the first date I've been on since...I can't even tell you when.”

Blaine's eyes flicked up to meet DeLeon's, but the man's gaze had drifted to his plate, his mind sifting through thoughts he didn't feel the need to divulge. They had stumbled into an unforeseen silence. Blaine felt that he might have unintentionally set the tone with the way his thoughts constantly strayed to Kurt. But DeLeon was too nice a guy to be stuck in the doldrums, so Blaine filled the silence with anecdotes and stories about high school and his time in New York. He was initially worried that he wouldn't have much to say since he censored any mention of Kurt, and Kurt had been a big part of his world for so long. But soon DeLeon was laughing so much he could barely eat and sharing stories of his own – the first flight he ever went on as a flight attendant, a fifteen hour trip from Los Angeles to Hong Kong, when he became extremely nauseous and vomited in the silver ice bucket they used to chill the champagne in; the time he wanted to become a trapeze artist even though he's deathly afraid of heights (despite spending the majority of his adult life in an airplane); or the time when he first tried to learn to cook and set the kitchen of a world famous restaurant on fire.

Two hours later, the laughter petered off, the bottle of wine was mostly gone, and the dregs of the pasta were ice cold.

“Why don't we move into the living room and watch some TV?” DeLeon suggested.

“Sounds like a plan,” Blaine said, wiping his mouth on his napkin and getting up from his seat.

Blaine followed DeLeon into the living room and sat beside him on the leather couch. DeLeon picked up a remote from the coffee table and switched on the flat screen.

“I've spent the last three months in and out of the air,” DeLeon said, switching to the guide screen. “Has anything interesting come out since then?”

“They don't do inflight movies on your airline?” Blaine joked.

“Not usually,” DeLeon said. “Although, flying with Gwyneth Paltrow's daughter Apple over the Atlantic I got to watch Frozen about seventeen times.”

“Lucky you,” Blaine said with a snicker. “Darn, well, I guess that's out then.”

“I guess.” DeLeon bumped Blaine's shoulder.

Blaine caught his breath.

“Alright, well, there's a few things out now – Orange is the New Black, House of Cards, Breaking Bad, Game of Thrones. I guess it depends on what you're into.” Blaine reached for the remote, fingertips brushing lightly over DeLeon's skin as he took it from him. DeLeon licked his lips when Blaine slid the remote out of his hand, Blaine's palm gliding over the backs of DeLeon's fingers sending tingles up the man's spine.

“Pretend it's a typical evening at home for you,” DeLeon said, subconsciously covering his hand to hold on to that feeling. “What would you watch?”

“Well…” Blaine flipped to the guide for the cable stations “We…uh…” Blaine stopped scrolling through the channels, eyes glued to the screen, pretending to read over the selections. It was such an easy slip. He spent most of his evenings watching television with Kurt. There wasn't a single show programmed into their DVR recording schedule that they hadn't chosen together. But he wasn't part of a we anymore. Not really. He cleared his throat and backed out of the primetime menu, switching to movies instead. “You know, I think I know something you might like.”

“As long as it has nothing to do with planes or airlines, I'm sure I'll love it.” DeLeon knew what was going on, but he didn't say anything. He watched Blaine fix the smile back on his face and choose a movie from the pulldown menu. It wasn't as bright a smile as before, it didn't exactly touch his eyes, but it did the job. Blaine was good at that apparently – masking his feelings. DeLeon understood the technique. He wasn't a performer like Blaine, but being a flight attendant, responsible for making people feel comfortable in an uncomfortable space for a prolonged period of time, left no room for him to dwell over personal problems. He had to leave them on the tarmac and forget about them since he rarely went back to the same place to pick them up again.

Eventually, he stopped getting serious over anyone. He mostly hung out with other people like him – flight attendants, traveling businessmen. People unlikely to get attached since they always had somewhere else they needed to be, and with someone more important.

Blaine was different from his other “layover stands” as DeLeon called them. He was a little more sheltered, a little less experienced, and one hundred percent from his curly hair to the soles of his boat shoes a hopeless romantic. Blaine may have cheated on his ex, but he wasn't looking for a one night stand. DeLeon could tell. Blaine wanted the whole package – an honest-to-God courtship with the promise of something more in the future.

It had been a long while since DeLeon had one of those – someone to woo who might want to devote a considerable amount of time to him.

Plus, Blaine was beautiful.

DeLeon's breath hitched in his throat watching the dapper young man on his couch move – the way he chewed his lower lip while he read the screen, or the tiny sound of triumph he made when he figured out how the satellite remote worked. His face was so expressive. He must have cycled through a dozen different expressions choosing a movie alone.

How could he feel so many different emotions one after the other like that without getting thoroughly exhausted? On any given day, smiling for longer than five hours got on DeLeon's patience.

“Alright,” Blaine said, returning the remote to the coffee table. “Here we go. Get ready to be amazed.”

“Oh,” DeLeon said, “I will.”

Blaine settled against the arm of the couch, and DeLeon slid down the cushion to sit closer beside him. Blaine put an arm around him, and they melded together - not perfect, but close enough.

Over the course of the movie, Blaine's arm around DeLeon's shoulder was matched with DeLeon's hand on Blaine's knee…and then a few innocent kisses on the cheek, followed by one on the neck, a hand up his shirt, then a kiss on the mouth that became longer and more heated, until, by the time the credits rolled, DeLeon sat straddling Blaine's lap, sucking a mark below his jaw, while Blaine's hands clawed lightly over his back.

“So,” DeLeon whispered against Blaine's skin, “do you really need to go home tonight?”

Blaine bit his lip. He didn't know how to answer, so he didn't. Not right away. He kissed DeLeon again while he stalled. In all respects, DeLeon was a great guy, a terrific guy – handsome, intelligent, witty…but he wasn't Kurt. Where DeLeon's muscles bulged in his arms and legs, Kurt was lithe and lean. DeLeon's cologne smelled spicy, and a little overpowering, but Kurt always smelled understatedly floral, like the scent of jasmine floating on a spring breeze. Watching DeLeon's dark skin shift as he moved to loop his arms around Blaine's neck, Blaine couldn't help but think of the contrast to Kurt's alabaster skin, sprinkled with light freckles that grew darker when he became aroused.

Blaine loved licking over those freckles, watching them darken underneath his tongue, especially the ones on his hips and inner thighs…

Blaine focused hard on kissing DeLeon, trying to will his thoughts of Kurt away.

It would have been easier to carve out his frontal lobe.

Regardless, he had to give this a shot. He had to move on. It was what Kurt wanted. Blaine wanted it, too.

“I…I guess I don't…” Blaine said when he came up for air.

DeLeon smiled. “Good. I was hoping you'd say that…” He undid the buckle to Blaine's belt and pulled it away. “Because I've been thinking of you…” He slowly unzipped Blaine's jeans “…ever since you called…” Blaine closed his eyes when DeLeon's lips connected with his neck again. He felt DeLeon travel down his body, lips grazing his shirt as he went, and wondered if he would ever be able to look Kurt in the eyes again.

***

It was after six in the morning when Blaine made it back to the loft. He prayed that Kurt had decided to sleep in. He usually didn't wake up for yoga until around 6:15, so maybe Blaine would just make it, sneak into his room, and hide out like he'd gotten in at a reasonable hour and been home for most of the morning.

He only hoped that Kurt wouldn't be too interested in knowing how his night had gone. He didn't seem too thrilled when Blaine left, but Blaine didn't know if that was because he had a date, or because of what had happened between them the night before.

He pulled the door open slowly in an attempt to avoid the creaking of the rollers on the track, but they seemed to squeak louder since he was making the extra effort to keep them quiet. The door shuddered noisily, and Blaine bargained in his head. “Please, don't wake him up. Please, omnipotent beings of the universe. Please oh please delay any and all executions until after I get a few hours of sleep.”

But Blaine knew the second he had the door opened that he would have no such luck.

He saw Kurt sitting on the couch, wrapped loosely in the throw off his bed, blood-shot eyes trained on the door. One look told Blaine that Kurt hadn't slept all night.

“Uh, hey,” Blaine started awkwardly. “Why are you…why didn't you…?”

“So, did you do it?” Kurt slurred. He tossed off the throw and stood from his seat on the couch, a bottle clutched in his fist. He swayed slightly as he tried to make his way towards Blaine. “Did you sleep with your little friend?”

Blaine's jaw dropped. “I…”

Kurt wasn't listening. He tsk-tsked over Blaine as he examined him, walking around his body and peering at him in a way that unnerved Blaine. Kurt's eyes fixed on Blaine's neck and went wide.

“Oh ho ho!” he crowed, pointing at Blaine's neck. “Lookey, lookey! Blaine's got a hickey!”

Blaine didn't know what to make of Kurt's reaction. His eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, red lines webbed over the whites of his eyes as if he had spent the night crying. He reeked of tequila from the half-empty bottle clutched in his grasp. Blaine was confused. He didn't understand why going out on a date would hurt Kurt's feelings. They had talked about it at length. They had both decided.

Wasn't that what Kurt wanted?

“So, tell me, Blaine,” Kurt chuckled. “I mean, you might as well fess up. The truth's written all over your face. Did Little Blainers do the deed? Did'ya seal the deal?”

Kurt hiccupped over his words, and what could have been tears lumped in his throat. Blaine watched Kurt continue to devolve and knew he had to end it. He hated seeing Kurt in pain. He couldn't help picturing Kurt in the park over a year ago, right after Blaine had told him that he'd been with someone else.

He superimposed that image over this one. He couldn't decide which one was worse.

“Yeah,” Blaine answered quietly. “Yeah, I did.”

Kurt's sloppy smile slipped. His lips quivered. He wasn't prepared for that. He thought he'd hear that they'd had a heated make-out session; that maybe, maybe, one of them had given the other a blowjob (for which Kurt was already planning on buying another bottle of tequila). But Kurt didn't actually think they'd have sex together. Not on the first date. That wasn't like Blaine.

Wait, Kurt reminded himself with a jeer inside his own head. Yeah, it kinda was.

Kurt felt tears prick behind his eyes, but he recovered quickly, smiling again, this time too brightly.

“Great!” He clapped Blaine on the back. “That's just…that is so great! Good for you, tiger!”

Blaine flinched. Sebastian used to call Blaine tiger when he flirted with him back in high school, trying to split Blaine and Kurt apart. As far as Blaine knew, Kurt loathed that nickname. Hearing him use it, with the amount of venom he put behind it, felt like a slap in the face.

“Good…good for you, Blaine. Good for you…” Kurt muttered under his breath, turning his head away. He spun in a lopsided, tilt-a-whirl circle, and headed for his room, dropping the bottle of tequila along the way. He tripped over the threshold and slammed the door shut behind him, leaving Blaine to stare at the closed door and wonder what exactly had happened with Kurt while he was gone.