Kurt sighs happily, snuggling up next to Chandler, smiling sleepily as Chandler makes a contented noise. Chandler murmurs something in his sleepy stupor, and then shifts, pulling Kurt in closer to his body and up against his chest, his silky golden hair falling down over his flawlessly pale face over surprisingly dark and full eyelashes and eyebrows. His arms wrap around Kurt's bare torso, fingers ghosting over Kurt's navel, and as Kurt feels his back pressed next to Chandler's lean and wiry chest, he smiles in satisfaction, gently bringing up one of Chandler's arms more tightly around him and kissing one of Chandler's hands.

Kurt feels the steady beat of Chandler's heart against his back, in a way that is surprisingly appealing to him because of its consistency and dependency. His mind drifting, he wonders how he got so lucky. If there is such a thing as a perfect guy, Chandler is him. Attractive, intelligent, supportive, openly affectionate, compassionate, and most importantly and best of all, Chandler is unabashedly, openly crazy about Kurt. Kurt's legs are already tangled in his boyfriend's, Kurt's toes grazing Chandler's muscular legs, and Kurt links his fingers through Chandler's long fingers, lulling himself in the comforting sound of Chandler's deep breathing.

Kurt kisses Chandler's hand once more before drifting off into a blissful sleep, rocked by the stillness and tranquility of their room, feeling like this is the place he belongs.

oOo

"Sweetheart, are we out of milk?" Chandler asks, from where he's foraging through their apartment's refrigerator. His forehead creases slightly, and he absently runs his hands through his golden-spun hair as he taps his fingers on the refrigerator door. He sighs, closes the fridge's door, and sets the box of Honey Nut Cheerios he's holding down in his free hand onto the counter. "Kurt?"

"Mmm?" Kurt asks absentmindedly. He's engrossed in the latest issue of Vogue, which arrived in the mail yesterday and features a stunning Valentino collection, and it's only when Chandler sits down at the kitchen table across from him that he looks up. "Yes, honey?"

"Milk," Chandler says, flipping his thin waves of hair, his face slightly pouty in a way that Kurt can only describe as absolutely adorable, "I want it."

"Oh!" Kurt flushes a light shade of pink, placing the magazine down instantly. "I'm so sorry—I finished it yesterday when I was making coffee. We were out of cream so-"

"It's okay," Chandler replies, reaching over and stroking Kurt's cheek affectionately, his crystal blue eyes softening from behind his thick, dark brown-framed glasses, "I'll go to the store and get some more. We need to go grocery shopping anyways."

"No, I'll do it," Kurt replies hastily, placing his hands on Chandler's cheeks, "after all, I used it up."

"You're the best," Chandler smiles, leaning over the table to press a chaste kiss on Kurt's lips, "thank you, baby." He shifts, his tone suddenly commanding authority and his hands waving dramatically, "My love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, both are infinite." Chandler breaks the theatrical stance and grins sheepishly at Kurt. "William-"

"Shakespeare," Kurt finishes, as he stands up and grabs his satchel. "You're a corny fellow, Chandler Kiehl, although I have to admit, your love poems and sonnets and song lyrics are also wonderfully romantic."

"But you love my cheesiness," Chandler protests, his tone flirty. He juts his bottom lip out and Kurt leans over and kisses him.

"Oh, the things I do for you," he smirks, ruffling Chandler's hair. The golden wisps fall back into place, and Chandler adjusts his glasses to give Kurt a full smile. "I'll be right back."

"Love you," Chandler whispers in reply, instead.

"Love you too."

oOo

The good thing, Kurt notes absently as he picks up a carton of fat free milk from the aisle, about going to a supermarket in the morning is that it's not too crowded. Walking the streets of New York is always crowded enough during the day, with the hustle and bustle of people, and the morning is a nice relief from every day chaos. If he had gone later, at noon, for example, he probably would wait in line for fifteen minutes, rather than just getting in and getting out. And he wants to get out—he promised Chandler a long day on the couch, eating Chandler's homemade croissants (in spite of their high butter and fat content—Kurt can start the diet tomorrow) and drinking his favorite blend of coffee. And sex. There will probably be sex.

Glancing at the carton of milk, he thinks again, and gets 2% milk. Though Kurt watches what he eats, Chandler has an incredibly fast metabolism (plus he'll complain about the watery taste), maintaining his thin frame in spite of whatever he puts in his mouth. Kurt places some coffee creamer, yogurt, cheese into his shopping cart, his forehead scrunching as he tries to remember what he and his boyfriend are missing in their apartment.

Oh. Chandler has been begging him for Nutella.

On his search for hazelnut spread, Kurt starts heading toward the aisle, looking to the side as he studies other items in the grocery store in case there's something he's missing. He throws in a packet of spinach and another one of whole wheat crackers, and it's because of this distraction and lack of focus that he doesn't realize he's hit someone until he hears a loud whimper and his shopping cart bounces back, hitting him hard in the chest.

"Oof!" Kurt makes a winded noise and then glances up immediately to see a fallen figure crouched on the floor. "Oh my God!" he stammers instantly, "I'm so sorry! Are you alright?"

He runs to the front of his shopping cart where a man with dark, curly brown hair lies awkwardly on his side, his body pressed against the tiled floor of the supermarket, holding his arm close to his chest.

Kurt crouches to the ground next to the man. "Oh my God, are you okay? I'm sorry—I just wasn't paying attention and-" He's babbling senselessly, as he reaches out his hand to feel the other man's wrist.

It's then that the man jerks back his arm with a pained cry, and the man meets Kurt's eyes for the first time.

"Kurt? Is that you?" The man's voice is hesitant and soft, but smooth like a brick of dark chocolate.

"Blaine?" Kurt recognizes the voice almost instantly, and after looking at the man, there's no mistaking him. Blaine looks almost exactly the same. His face is more drawn and thin and more pale, and his hair a little longer and not clumped and styled so fiercely with hair gel—lying in soft curls instead, but his clear hazel eyes haven't changed. Kurt feels himself flushing and his body tensing almost immediately as he stands up, trying not to make it seem like he's bothered in the slightest when Blaine's face falls.

"Yes. It-it's me," Blaine answers hesitantly, with a small chuckle. He struggles to stand up, but manages to get up to his feet. "How... have you been, Kurt?"

"Good," Kurt says, his voice a little clipped and hard. He observes Blaine coldly, "I've been good."

"You, uh," Blaine stammers, running his uninjured hand weakly through his hair and gesturing senselessly, "are you still with-"

"Yes, I'm still with Chandler," Kurt replies sharply, crossing his arms over his chest. "As a matter of fact, I'm going back to our apartment now."

"Look Kurt," Blaine says, his voice sounding strained and slightly exasperated. His eyes are pained and Kurt wills himself not to look into them. "Kurt, I know it didn't work out between us but-"

"How's your arm?" Kurt sniffs abruptly and disinterestedly, changing the subject before Blaine can finish.

"It's fine," Blaine responds rather heatedly, pulling his arm back towards his chest. The look of pain that crosses his face, however, says otherwise.

"Let me see," Kurt orders, moving in towards his ex-boyfriend. He extends his hand, about to touch Blaine's arm, when Blaine hurriedly pulls it back.

"No, Kurt, I said it's fine," he says defensively. He pulls up his long, maroon-colored sleeve over his pale arm, "I'm fine."

"Okay," Kurt mutters defeatedly. If Blaine is going to be like this, Kurt will leave. If he's going to deflect all of Kurt's attempts at concern, Kurt doesn't see the need to help him. He doesn't need to see his insensitive, pig-headed ex-boyfriend anyways. He turns around, hands wrapped around his shopping cart handle, and starts walking away, his boots clipping the tile underneath them.

"Kurt, wait." Kurt hears Blaine's voice behind him, and stops, feigning nonchalance and stoicism as Blaine places his uninjured hand on Kurt's shoulder. Kurt can feel his heart speed up in his chest against his will and his shoulder tingles from the sensation of Blaine's fingers wrapped around it.

"What is it, Blaine?" Kurt snaps impatiently, turning to face Blaine. "I have things to do. Chandler's waiting for me."

"I... I... just," Blaine stutters, his expressive eyebrows knitting in the middle of his forehead, "I... never mind." He lets go of Kurt's shoulder, raising his arms in defeat, the sleeves of his long-sleeved shirt sliding down in the process.

Kurt freezes, immediately concerned.

There's a ring of dark purple bruises on the underside of Blaine's injured arm.

Oh my freaking God, Kurt thinks, Did I do that? How the hell did I do that by hitting him with a shopping cart?

His mind immediately races to thoughts of forcing his ex-boyfriend into the car and driving him to the hospital. Forget how stupid Blaine is, Kurt Hummel is stubborn and more importantly, he's not going to fight fire with fire. Blaine may be an asshole but Kurt doesn't have to be one.

"Blaine," the name sounds unsteady and unused in his mouth. His mouth feels suddenly dry and Kurt swallows before he can continue. "What happened?" His voice is aghast and there's a rising panic in his voice. "Oh God, did I do this to you? I'm so sorry," and he is, in spite of everything.

Blaine looks momentarily confused, and then he follows Kurt's gaze to his arm. Muttering something to himself, he hurriedly pulls his sleeve up, hiding the bruises.

"It's nothing," Blaine answers, but he won't meet Kurt's eyes. Instead he keeps them downcast, dark lashes prominent against creamy skin, and Kurt really takes in how thin and drawn Blaine's face is.

"Bullshit," Kurt responds heatedly, cutting through the tension in the air, "you said I didn't hurt you and look at your arm." He walks up to Blaine and grabs his arm, pulling down Blaine's sleeve. It doesn't escape him that Blaine's face crumples in pain, mouth pulled in a tight line of agony. The large, purple bruises are there, vivid against Blaine's creamy skin.

"It's nothing, okay?" Blaine replies defensively, his forehead furrowing up in distress. He forcefully pries Kurt's fingers off of his arm and shoves his sleeve back over his arm. "I... I'll see you around—it was... it was good seeing you." He finishes his sentence and walks hurriedly away.

Kurt can only stand there with his 2% milk in his shopping cart as his ex-boyfriend walks out of his life once again.