Blaine feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin, so he focuses on watching the hall for anyone passing by instead of thinking about The Incident. He can hear faint noises coming from inside the apartment, and this is not how he wanted things to go. He can’t go in if Kurt needs help, and who knows where else the trip wires might be. It’s been five minutes.

He organizes the cart, sorting out window cleaners from wood varnishes and rug sprays and does not overanalyze. He folds and refolds towels into neat stacks, counts the rubber gloves, presses his ear against the door only to find silence. He finds a pen and doodles on the back of a “Do Not Disturb” sign, scrawling out notes that loop together into why, why, why? It’s been ten minutes.

Blaine gives up. He needs to talk to Santana, because even though the first thing she’ll say is to “tap that” at least she’ll make sure he’s seeing things straight. Because there’s just no way Kurt kissed Blaine for any reason other than the bomb ticking away in the room they’re trying to sneak in to. Blaine is, well Blaine, dedicated to the rules and dull and bland, and Kurt is absolutely not interested in him. There’s really just no way. It’s been fifteen minutes.

Blaine scrubs at the door handle, carefully wiping off all the smudges and fingerprints. He finds loose bits of thread and braids them absently, eyes fixed on the elevator at the end of the hall. He hums through snippets of old pop tunes, taps his fingers against the handle of the cart to the beat of impatience, reorganizes the wash rags folded haphazardly. It’s been twenty minutes.

He’s scared now. What if Kurt’s been caught and didn’t even make it into the room? What if Kurt’s stuck in there and can’t get Blaine’s attention. What if Kurt’s already out and didn’t tell Blaine? What if Kurt’s really a double agent and ditched Blaine? What if Kurt is hurt? What if -

The door clicks open behind him and Blaine jumps back in shock. Kurt smirks passes a small black box to him. Blaine tugs on rubber gloves and flips the box over a few times, but there’s no clasp, no lock, no keyhole, not even a seam. He frowns.

“You’re sure this is it?”

Kurt nods firmly. “It’s got to be. If it’s not, then the package isn’t in the room. Either way, we’re done here.”

Blaine still isn’t so sure, but tucks the little box down underneath the dirty towels.

“I’m going out the way I came in,” Kurt says quietly. “I’ll meet you at the spot after you’re done.”

Blaine nods and the door shuts at the same time the elevator doors open. He hurries to bend down and rustle through the boxes on the bottom of the cart, peeking through the cracks to see a tall blonde man striding down the hall. Blaine swallows harshly and stands, peeling off the gloves. His stomach twists unpleasantly because he knows this man. He’s seen his picture before, over and over and over for over a year, even though his hair was darker and his skin paler.

Blaine doesn’t let himself even consider the implications of all of that, and instead keeps his eyes down and smiles politely as he passes Sam Evans in the hallway.