Sam spent the majority of Monday morning trying his best not to fall asleep during his classes, heaving returned to Lima with the rest of the club late the night before. He was worn out and didn't really understand why the glee club hadn't been given at least half a day off before coming back to school – especially since they were now national champions (holy crap) – but Principal Figgins had always seemed like the type of administrator to put his faith in the wrong aspects of the school system, so Sam figured it was probably not that much of a surprise.

In the middle of his study period, Sam finally caved and dozed off on top of his history textbook in the library, only to snort awake and nearly topple off his chair as his buzzing phone startled him. He quickly wiped a fleck of drool away from the corner of his mouth, before glancing at his phone.

hey have u seen blaine today? read the text he'd received from Mike.

yeah i saw him in spanish this morning. why? Sam replied.

he's not in calculus

Sam didn't have to think twice before typing I'll go find him and hitting Send, then packed up his books and slung his backpack over his shoulder, leaving study hall behind. The entire club knew that Blaine occasionally spent long stretches of time on his own in the weight room (though no one ever really mentioned it), so Sam headed directly to the McKinley athletic wing.

Sure enough, he found Blaine standing in front of a boxing bag, out of breath as he drove his fists into it over and over again.

Sam gulped before walking forward. "Hey, man," he said. "What're you doing?"

Blaine jumped, having not heard Sam enter. "Oh, hi," he panted. "Just getting a few punches in." He shrugged and turned back to the bag.

Sam bit the inside of his cheek. "Why?"

"Exercise." The leather of Blaine's gloves smacked against the leather of the bag.

Exhaling slowly, Sam let his bag drop to the ground at his feet, and he shoved his hands into his pockets. "Blaine, you don't have to lie to me, okay? I'm your friend."

At that, Blaine stopped, turning around with a suspicious frown. "Excuse me?"

"Dude, you're supposed to be in Calculus now. Mike texted me."

Blaine gave an annoyed shrug. "So what?"

"So, you wouldn't skip class just to work out," Sam countered. "I—" He huffed, scratching at the back of his neck. "I'm worried about you, man."

"Why? I'm fine."

"Oh, come on," Sam protested, making Blaine scowl in confusion. "No, you're not. You practically had a mental breakdown when we were in Chicago yesterday – and don't give me the it-was-stage-fright crap."

Blaine sighed, his hands dropping to his sides. "What do you want from me here?" he asked, sounding weary.

"I want to make sure you're okay," Sam said. "Is that really such a bad thing?"

"Sam, I'm okay," Blaine insisted. "Really."

"Would you cut the bullcrap?"

"What do you want me to say, Sam?!"

Sam jumped, automatically stepping back. He hadn't expected Blaine to shout. Blaine's jaw was tight, the muscles in his cheeks clenching and unclenching, his shoulders rigid as he glared. There was a beat of silence, and then Blaine blinked, his shoulders slumping.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking away. "I didn't mean to yell."

Sam remained quiet, simply because he didn't know what to say.

"And… yeah, I'm struggling with all this," Blaine admitted, his voice skipping up slightly. "But there's nothing I can do about it because it's got nothing to do with me."

Sam frowned. "Why do you think that?"

"It's all Kurt's problems, all right?" Blaine said tightly, still not meeting Sam's eye. "Not mine. None of that stuff happened to me."

"Dude, if it had nothing to do with you, then you wouldn't be upset."

That statement seemed to catch Blaine completely off guard, and he was at a loss for a response, the air escaping his lungs without a word.

The end of the school day found Will in his tiny and ill-lit office annex, grading Spanish essays and sipping coffee as the clock loudly ticked away on the wall, counting down to when he could pack up his briefcase and head home. He was still coming down from the high of the New Directions' win at Nationals, but his Spanish class didn't care one way or the other about that, so he was unfortunately stuck where he was.

It was almost three-fifteen when a knock on the doorframe made him look up. Finn was standing in the doorway. "Hi, Mr. Schue."

"Hey, Finn, what's up?"

Finn took a couple steps into the office, shuffling awkwardly. "Nothing, I… was just coming to thank you."

Will's eyebrows shot up toward his hairline. "For what?"

Finn shrugged. "For a great run, I guess. Graduation's coming up in a couple weeks."

Will smiled, a small wave of pseudo-parental pride washing over him. "Do you feel ready?"

"No."

"Good," Will grinned. "Nobody ever does."

"I had a really good time being your student," Finn said, shifting in place. "Even if I yelled and sometimes threw chairs."

Will had to laugh at that. Finn had always had his problems, but he'd come a long way from the boy who spent his free time tossing Kurt into a dumpster. "At least we've got a Nationals trophy to show for the last three years," he said.

Finn nodded. "Yeah… Speaking of which, we're having an afterparty at my house this afternoon." He scratched at his temple. "Do you want to come?"

Will hesitated. "Thanks, Finn," he said. "But I think you guys should have some fun without your teacher hanging around."

"Okay. I'll see you in class tomorrow, then."

Will sighed as Finn shut the door behind him, disappearing down the hall. It felt like decades since he'd asked Figgins for permission to take over the club, and there was absolutely no way he could have ever anticipated everything it would affect down the road, but it was strangely good to see Finn and the rest of the seniors go.

After all, there wasn't really any such thing as friendship between teachers and students.

For the first time in what felt like years, Blaine was sitting on the floor of the Hudson-Hummels' living room. The entirety of the glee club was crowded into the room, occupying every seat and open surface and loudly chattering and recounting their Nationals experience for the benefit of the two members who had been missing. Blaine was squashed between Brittany and Mike against the DVD cupboard under the TV.

"But oh my God, Kurt, you should have seen the look on Jesse St. James' face when the judges said we won!" Rachel exclaimed, perched on the arm of the couch next to Finn. "He looked like he was going to have an aneurysm right there in front of everybody!"

(Blaine thought it was kind of sweet how, even though both Kurt and Quinn had been absent, Rachel was directing her anecdote to only Kurt.)

(It was also relieving to see Kurt laughing along with everyone else, sitting on the floor at the end of the coffee table and looking stress-free and genuinely happy.)

"I had to physically restrain myself from saying something obnoxiously cocky to him as we were leaving the stage," Rachel giggled.

Santana rolled her eyes, reclining in the armchair closest to the TV. "You're always obnoxiously cocky, even when you're not the center of attention. Jesus."

Rachel opened her mouth to make a clever retort, but was cut off by Carole leaning into the living room from the kitchen.

"Guys, I have to run out to do a couple of errands for a bit, but I'll be back later," she announced, buttoning her jacket and slinging her purse over her shoulder. "Don't break anything, okay?"

Puck waved. "Will do, Mrs. H."

"Yeah, I've heard that before, Puckerman," Carole scoffed with a grin, already turning out the door. Blaine snorted.

"Who wants to put on karaoke?" Rachel piped up as soon as Carole was gone.

Santana groaned loudly. "Give the singing a rest, Berry!"

"Santana, it's our last chance to sing as a group!" Rachel protested.

"…No, it isn't," Santana countered flatly. "Graduation isn't for another two weeks."

Rachel pursed her lips. "Well, those chances are running out and we should take advantage of them."

Blaine, Brittany, and Mike quickly moved out of the way as Finn followed Rachel's orders and set up the karaoke game on their PlayStation, and Blaine not-so-accidentally ended up settling cross-legged beside Kurt.

"I'll go first!" Brittany volunteered excitedly, yanking Mike with her for a duet to Sk8er Boi.

As Brittany and Mike danced and sang and jumped up and down in time with the music, Blaine was highly aware of Kurt beside him – breathing, laughing, smiling, clapping, being. Despite the fact that Blaine wasn't looking at or speaking to him, it was a warm and welcome familiarity to just have Kurt sitting there and existing unsupported.

There was finally energy in the air instead of a vacuum.

Brittany and Mike finished their song, stepping down to make room for Puck and Finn to start House Of The Rising Sun, and Blaine worked up the courage to turn and nudge Kurt lightly in the shoulder.

"Hey," he said, just loud enough to be heard over the chatter of the other people in the room. "How are you?"

The weariness hadn't disappeared entirely from Kurt's face, but it was much harder to see, at least for the moment. He'd lost a very noticeable amount of weight in the past several months, and his cheekbones stood out further from his face as he gave Blaine a small (but real) smile.

"I'm getting there," he said simply, for once neither guarded nor on the verge of collapse.

Blaine returned the smile. "Good."

Maybe – just maybe – everything would be okay.

This was the most fun Brittany had had in a long time. She'd missed having everybody in one place for no reason other than to just hang out, and even if Santana was annoyed at the idea of karaoke, it was still Brittany's idea of a good party. Once the majority of the people in the room had sung (Brittany thought it was a little strange and sad that Kurt had refused the microphone, instead quickly passing it to Blaine), Finn pulled Apples To Apples out of the game cupboard and dealt out the cards as the group moved back and tried to form the best circle possible considering how small the room was. Brittany clapped her hands excitedly and cuddled up to Santana's side – she loved this game. She wasn't an idiot, but she knew that most games involving complicated strategies weren't her specialty, so Apples To Apples was perfect. And way more entertaining than that one time Artie had tried to teach her Gin Rummy.

Mike burst out laughing as he read through the first round of submitted cards. "Santana, did you seriously match 'Jack the Ripper' with 'Emotional'?" he snorted.

Santana smugly claimed her green card, sitting back and allowing Brittany to rest her chin on her shoulder.

As the rounds passed by, Brittany found herself watching Kurt closely as he shuffled through his hand of cards, constantly re-ordering them. She tried to squint to see if she could spot the other people Santana said were trapped in Kurt's head, but Brittany could only see Kurt.

She did remember Zack from the pool party, though, and how fun and sweet he'd been to play with. Knowing how nice Kurt always was, Brittany would be willing to bet Lord Tubbington's extensive collection of bling that all the people in Kurt's head were equally fun, even though Santana insisted they weren't (Santana always saw the worst in people).

Brittany couldn't imagine being trapped in someone's head herself. It was probably cramped and dark most of the time – no wonder they wanted to come out and control Kurt's body themselves. Brittany couldn't really blame them for that, but it still sucked for Kurt.

The only thing she'd really been upset about was the fact that Santana had tried to lie to her about what was going on with Kurt in the first place. Because, really, she wasn't an idiot.

Kurt reached up to rub his temple, pressing a little bit too hard, and wincing very slightly like he was thinking too deeply about something.

"Brittany, you can't show me your cards," Santana said, pushing Brittany's hand back.

"Do you have any Advil?" Brittany asked softly, ignoring Santana's chiding.

Santana shook her head. "No, why?"

"I think Kurt has a headache."

Santana glanced at Kurt for a moment. "Britt, he looks fine. Come on, put your card down."

Brittany frowned, but did what Santana said and tossed in Kittens.

Kurt still looked like his head hurt.

"Who the hell put 'Helen Keller' down for 'Touchy-feely'?!" Artie demanded loudly.

"Come on," Puck protested with a snort. "Helen Keller's an automatic win card."

"You're a horrible person."

Mercedes had been trying to work up the courage to talk to Kurt all afternoon, but as the afterparty segued from karaoke to card games, her plans seemed to get lost in the fray. She'd been continuously glancing at Kurt out of the corner of her eye throughout the couple of hours that they'd been at the Hudson-Hummels' house, but she'd had no conversation with him beyond a weighted 'hello' and she couldn't help feeling a sense of relief (which she was going to ignore).

But honestly, Kurt looked better now than he had in a very long time. Granted, he was still way too skinny, his face a little too shadowed, but he was actually having fun.

It was almost weird to watch.

"Holy crap," Puck sniggered. "Who put 'Feminists' down for 'Useless'? Because that's a winner."

Mercedes blinked in surprise when Kurt grinned and snatched the green card from the center.

"Kurt!" Rachel exclaimed. "That is offensive!"

"It's a joke, Rachel," he said, still grinning ear to ear. "Relax."

Rachel hmphed and sat back, but Mercedes frowned, scrutinizing Kurt's face. The smile hadn't entirely faded, as if it was partially glued to his mouth, and his eyes were… off. He was looking a little too closely at the other people in the room (Blaine included).

The bottom of her stomach abruptly went ice-cold.

Kurt pulled himself to his feet, announcing that he was going to get a soda refill.

"Me too," Mercedes said, quickly working her way out of the circle and following him to the kitchen.

Her heart thudding in her chest, Mercedes took a deep breath, crossing her arms instinctively in front of her abdomen. "You're not very good at this," she said, failing to completely hide the tone of anger in her voice.

Kurt only glanced over his shoulder at her for a moment, pouring a cup of orange Fanta and leaning against the counter. "Not very good at what?"

"Lying."

Kurt's eyebrows snapped together. "What are you talking about?"

"I know you're not him," Mercedes said tightly. "Whatever your name is, you're not Kurt. You're pretending."

Kurt rolled his eyes, swallowing a too-large gulp of soda. "Oh, come on," he drawled. "You really think that one of my alters is pretending to be me? You sure you don't need a straitjacket of your own?"

Mercedes' mouth tightened. "Did you know that Kurt hates orange soda?" she asked, her stomach flipping over and over as Kurt glared at her. "He says it rots his teeth and he hates the smell."

Kurt's lip curled, his eyes narrowing. "Fine," he said, setting the glass on the counter. A slight, barely visible smirk ghosted over his lips. "You caught me."

Mercedes swallowed, her stomach jumping again because that admission had been so much worse than the possibility of her being wrong. "How long have you been here?"

"Couple hours." He shrugged. "What are you going to do about it?" Kurt challenged, crossing his arms. He leaned in close, threatening. Far too close for comfort.

Mercedes backed up a step, looking away. "Nothing."

Kurt's brows shot up in surprise, and she hated how hard his eyes were.

"I'll make a deal with you," she said, her voice wavering slightly. Kurt's eyes were piercing, and it almost physically hurt to look at him. "I won't tell anyone that you're here right now, so long as you just don't do anything."

Kurt made a face. "The hell kind of deal is that supposed to be?"

"Just… please. Don't do anything. A lot of Kurt's friends are here."

"You should know by now that that doesn't mean anything to me."

She swallowed the lump in her throat. That hurt. "Well, you probably don't want to deal with Finn's mom," she amended quickly. "She's scary when she's pissed."

There was a beat, then Kurt gave a weird half-nod, his head tilting to the side. "Yeah, okay, fair point," he acquiesced. "Deal. I'll lay low."

Mercedes let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Okay. Good."

"Let me ask you something, though," he stopped her as she turned to go back to the living room. "Why not tell anyone? I'm pretty sure you don't want to hang with me just for my winning personality." He winked.

Mercedes sighed, her lips tightening before she replied. "I just want to have a normal day with my friends," she said. "That includes Kurt."

"But Kurt's not here."

"Yeah, well, the others don't know that. And they all want the same thing."

Singing karaoke and playing Apples To Apples really wasn't Santana's idea of a good party (her version would have a lot more music, a lot less singing, and a lot more alcohol and R-rated action in dark corners), but for some reason she was still managing to have fun.

Santana wasn't ready to admit it just yet, but damn,she was going to miss these people after graduation.

And she definitely wasn't ready to admit that she was probably going to miss Kurt more than anyone (besides Brittany, of course).

What? The kid was snarky and talented and occasionally conniving, all of which scored major points with Santana. (And, okay, maybe she was super worried about him too…)

Still. It was going to be hard to say goodbye.

After what was probably the fortieth round of cards (seriously, did this game ever get old?), Brittany gave Santana a kiss on the cheek. "I'm going to get some popcorn," she said before standing up and heading for the kitchen. "Anyone else want some?"

"Popcorn's in the cupboard next to the stove," Finn called after her.

"I'll go help her," Kurt said, rising smoothly to his feet.

"You want us to wait for you?"

Kurt flapped a hand over his shoulder. "Nah, Blaine can cover for me."

Blaine shrugged and picked up Kurt's hand of cards from the floor as the game continued. Santana shuffled through her own hand, looking for a good match for 'Delicious', then tossed in 'Pamela Anderson'.

"Mercedes," Artie said loudly, snapping his fingers in front of Mercedes' face. "Hello? Put your card in."

Mercedes blinked, tearing her attention away from the hallway toward the kitchen. "Sorry." She shook her head and placed a card on the pile, not even sparing a glance at it to see if it matched.

Santana frowned. Why did Mercedes look like she thought a SWAT team was currently surrounding the house? Santana might have been an uncaring bitch ninety percent of the time, but at least she was intuitive.

Her train of thought was completely derailed in half a second as there was the sound of something slamming against the wall in the kitchen, closely followed by an absolutely ear-splitting scream.

Santana was running to the kitchen so fast that she didn't even remember lurching to her feet, her heartbeat thudding against her ribs and eardrums. She screeched to a halt in the kitchen door, staring at Kurt pinning Brittany against the wall with an arm across her chest. Brittany was red-faced and sobbing and terrified.

Santana took one look at Kurt's hand snaking into Brittany's skirt, and then she lunged.