Blaine has taken to wondering if he’ll ever feel like he’s not balancing on the edge of knife around Kurt. He’s never had to be so careful about what he says or does or thinks around someone, but it seems so important not to offend Kurt, or make him stop treating Blaine normally. Because Blaine had been prepared for Kurt to be judgmental and dismissive and cold, but he’s not. And it’s throwing Blaine off.

Consequently, Blaine has gotten very little sleep, worrying about why Kurt is acting the way he is, and if it’s because the rumors are all false or if it’s just Blaine and what that could mean and just generally trying to repress the unfortunately strong sexual attraction Blaine feels toward Kurt. It does not help when Kurt steps out of the bathroom in just a towel and light t-shirt, hair deliciously damp and ruffled and Blaine is quick to get into the bathroom for his own very cold shower.

They spend the morning going through building plans and security details over and over, memorizing layouts and camera locations and staff shift changes. Kurt has earpieces that will allow them to talk to each other while Blaine is making rounds in the hotel. Blaine doesn’t shave, leaving him with just enough scruff to be less recognizable.

It’s really, really hot out. Sweltering. Blaine’s glad that the hotel uniform is made of a cotton light enough to keep him relatively cool. Kurt, on the other hand, is dressed in a black suit. Blaine can’t even imagine how much he must be roasting in those clothes; he’s pretty sure they don’t breathe at all, even though Kurt hasn’t said a word about it. Blaine’s pretty sure Kurt is a “suffer for the sake of fashion” kind of guy. Which would explain the slightly horrified glances he keeps shooting at Blaine’s clothes.

They part at the café across from the hotel where Kurt will wait.

“Be careful,” Kurt says quietly.

Blaine blinks up at him and slips his fingers through Kurt’s, squeezing gently. “You too.”

He can’t tell if Kurt’s cheeks are red from the heat or embarrassment, but Kurt nods slowly and pulls away, an odd look on his face. Blaine resettles his shoulders and turns to walk around to the hotel’s staff entrance. He keeps a careful eye on the rest of the staff, looking for someone more guilty or uncomfortable or nervous than they should be.

Blaine knows objectively that what makes him such a great undercover agent is what he went through in high school. Before the Sadie Hawkins dance he’d been bullied, sure, but it hadn’t been much more than shoves in the halls and slurs on his locker. After the attack and a month in the hospital, Blaine was tense and skittish; everyone who looked at him just a little bit oddly became a potential attacker, and even moving out of Ohio to Illinois hadn’t helped.

Blaine got tired of being teased over being nervous all the time and taught himself how to read faces; how to tell the difference between uncomfortable and unfriendly, tired and sad, guilty and ill. It was why he was snatched up by the Agency so quickly, that and his love for languages. Having no friends led to a lot of time spent alone in his room during the summer; he taught himself as many languages as he could just to keep from dying of boredom.

The mindlessness of the job leaves him free to mentally review their plan, but after the second hour of it he starts conjugating verbs in Italian to keep himself from getting too nervous. By the fifth hour of his shift, he’s made it up to the penthouse, where Kurt is already waiting. Blaine hands him the key card silently and pokes through the cleaning cart for rubber gloves.

Kurt opens the door and inch, peeks inside, then closes it. “There’s a trip wire.”

Blaine pales and leans heavily against the wall. “Now what?”

“Plan B,” Kurt says.

“What’s that?” Blaine asks nervously.

Kurt tips Blaine’s chin up with his fingertips and touches a lingering kiss to his lips. He’s gone when Blaine opens his eyes.