It’s been a week since Kurt has moved into his brand new apartment in New York. Well, a new-er apartment. It’s better than his old one at least; a little apartment closer to his office, more fitting after his promotion since his fashion designs have been doing so well. It’s comfy and cozy, and for Kurt it is simply a dream come true. Given that his Broadway dreams had faltered since moving to the city, fashion has been something that’s been keeping him grounded.

Kurt, with his strong spirit, has always had a knowledge that he wanted to do something with his life. He knew he didn’t want to stay in his small hometown of Lima, Ohio. New York called his name; the lights, the fashion, the constant change.

For Kurt, fashion is a constant; something he has always kept up with. It was something he always doodled on the margins of his notes when he wasn’t practicing for his latest Glee club audition in high school. It only made sense that when he didn’t get into the performing arts schools of his choice that he turned to it instead.

To be honest, he thought it was fate.

The apartment itself isn’t grand. In fact, it’s quite small, but it almost pays for itself with his promotion and the rent not being too bad. It balances out, and he’s definitely grateful for that, especially in New York.

His neighbors are really nice, Quinn and Brittany, and that is also something he doesn’t take for granted. They’re both blonde and charming in their own way, and while Quinn seems to have more of a head on her shoulders, he knows Brittany’s intentions are sweet. He’s closer to Mercedes’ apartment, only a few blocks away, and Puck’s guitar shop slash above apartment isn’t too far off either.

He’s surrounded by good friends, and DC is a manageable distance, so his dad can visit on weekends when he’s not busy at his own office. In fact, when Kurt really thinks about it, it really is the best apartment he could have asked for.

Except for... well.

Kurt’s starting to notice that things… aren’t quite normal.

It’s weird. Really weird, actually. At first he thought he was going crazy, a trick of the mind from being in a new place again, from adjusting to his new surroundings. But when he asked Quinn about it, she just smiled at him with her perfect teeth and told him not to worry, that “Everything would make sense eventually.”

That only made him worry more.

Because things just keep moving, and he’s pretty sure he’s lost more sewing equipment in this apartment than he ever has in his entire twenty three years of living. And it’s really difficult to finish sewing his designs if he keeps losing everything.

Over the past month he’s lost five thimbles, fifteen sewing needles and three spools of thread. How, he doesn’t know, but he’s pretty sure his buttons keep disappearing too, because the bags seem to be getting smaller by the day. It might just be his eyes playing tricks on him, but he’s not leaving anything up to chance.

His dad keeps suggesting that it’s probably just the mice. Kurt thinks they must be pretty crafty mice.

Because not only is his sewing equipment going missing, leftovers of his cooking are going missing if he leaves it out on the counter for too long, and that’s creepy even for him. Even his hair gel looks like something has been poking at it, or scooping it out, or something. He doesn’t think anything of at it first. He thought he had been subconsciously doing it himself by accident, or that it had gotten messed up on the move over.

But now nothing is making sense. Nothing at all.

--

Monday night, Kurt gets home late from work. He drops his bag off by the front door, slipping it off of his shoulder and onto the floor with a heavy plop and silently hopes the tenants downstairs don’t mind.

With a sigh, he heads into the small kitchen on his left, flicking the light switch on as he goes. He runs his fingers through his already disheveled hair as he opens the fridge and takes out a water bottle, taking a sip before his eyes travel towards his kitchen counters.

His mysteriously overly-clean counters...

Kurt isn’t a messy person by any means. In fact, he’s often quite clean. But his counters are literally reflecting the light back at him (it’s kind of hurting his eyes, actually), and he’s pretty sure he hadn’t finished his bagel this morning, and yet it’s nowhere to be found where he left it on the counter this morning.

Shaking his head, Kurt puts the thought to the back of his mind and downs the water bottle before tossing it in the recycling bin. He flicks off the light switch before he leaves the kitchen, scratching his head as he makes his way down the hallway to his room. He pushes his thoughts of mice skating on cleaning cloths across his counter tops out of his mind as he does so, chalks the whole thing up to his tiredness and overwork and tells himself this is the least of his worries.

He does a half-assed skin routine for the night and almost pokes his eye out. By that point thinks that if he stays awake any longer he’s going to start looking for these so called skating mice he’s been making up inside of his head. He lazily changes into his pajamas, flops down on top of his bed, not bothering to actually get under the blankets, and figures he’ll deal with his over-cleaned counter debacle tomorrow.

--

It doesn’t help that Tuesday night isn’t much better. In fact, it’s almost worse.

Kurt opens his eyes groggily, wrapped up comfortably in the blankets of his bed. He blinks in confusion, having just been heavily asleep. He thinks it better be a pretty damn good reason, his subconscious saving him from a horrid dream that would haunt him for years to come, because he actually has the day off tomorrow and he can actually get some sleep tonight—

That’s when he hears the faucet to his bathroom sink running.

Untangling himself from his blanket, Kurt raises an eyebrow in confusion and makes his way to the bathroom. He flicks the light switch on to watch as the water pours from the faucet and into the sink, down the drain and never to be seen again. Kurt watches it for a moment, his blue eyes, groggy with sleep and uncertainty are transfixed for some time before he turns the water off.

He stands there for a few moments more, his fingers lingering on the handle of the faucet, before he switches the bathroom light off with a click. He turns to head back to his room with a sigh, and that’s when he swears he can hear hushed and accusatory mumbling that sounds a lot like, “I told you he would wake up!” and “We just should’ve went to Quinn and Brittany’s like usual!”

Kurt shakes his head and rubs his eyes before he heads back to his bedroom. He doesn’t even bother to look back, sure that his mind would just play tricks on him again anyway. His mind is already racing because he just heard voices in his bathroom where his faucet had turned on by itself, and he’s thinking so much that he stubs his toe on his door frame and ends up knocking some of his hair products over on his vanity.

I’ll put it back tomorrow, he thinks, and groans in frustration. He has the day off and he’ll just fix it tomorrow. He’ll fix everything tomorrow. Especially that damn faucet.

Kurt crawls back into bed, wrapping himself back in his blankets with another small groan. He pulls them over his head, his mind buzzing too fast to care about the hot air he’s breathing in and ignores the pain throbbing in his toes.

Maybe moving into this apartment wasn’t such a good idea after all.

--

The next morning, Kurt almost forgets about the whole faucet situation. He gets up and the first thing he does is showers, trudging to the bathroom, dragging his feet along the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. He doesn’t even bother to look at his reflection in the mirror, knowing the person staring back at him will look disheveled and unkempt; he won’t bother to look until he’s at least gotten a cup of coffee in his system, and even then he’s risking it.
He takes a lot longer in the shower than usual, letting the water loosen his muscles and calm his nerves; he spends the majority of the time just standing under the warm spray as he lets the droplets cascade in little races down his skin, only to watch it flow down into the drain.

When all is said and done, he changes into a loose fitting pair of sweatpants that hang low on his hips and a t-shirt from an ex-boyfriend he hasn’t thrown away. He makes himself a cup of coffee and sucks it down black, the taste bitter in his mouth, before making himself another with cream and sugar just the way he likes it. He takes the warm mug gingerly in his hands before he trudges to the living room and snuggles up on his couch, blanket strewn across his lap as he browses through a magazine.

The mug is cold in his hands and the coffee long gone by the time he gets up from the couch, blanket gone from his lap as he pads back to his bedroom, considerably more awake. He changes into a more presentable outfit, even though he has no one to impress, but he figures he should get some grocery shopping of some sort done while he has the time off. And if he’s going out in public, Kurt’s going to do it right.

He settles for a pair of tight fitting pants and a pair of white Doc Martins before he grabs a white button up shirt from his closet. He pulls on his navy blue shall-sweater and makes his way over to his vanity before—

He blinks in surprise as he sits down, because he definitely remembers stubbing his toe from last night (he can still feel the slight throbbing if he moves it the right way), and he definitely remembers hearing things fall over. But his vanity is exactly how he left it before he went to sleep; before he had gotten woken up by his strange, mysterious faucet.

Maybe he really is going crazy, he thinks, because this definitely is not normal. But, well, at least he doesn’t have to clean. And that is definitely not a normal thought, but then again, what is normal anymore?

Sighing, Kurt gathers all of his hair products and sits down at his vanity. He runs his hands through his hair and starts his rigorous styling process. He uncaps the gel, getting some on his fingers as he starts to style, giving his hair volume before he uses his other hand to grab the hair spray (mastering the uncapping process with one hand) and his hair is starting to cooperate.

After a few more minutes of this, he’s starting to like the way it looks; a little disheveled, but still well kempt. He caps the hair spray and puts it back in its proper place before he goes to grab the cap off his hair gel, but then he stops.

Because there, standing on the cap, about to reach its (his?) little hand into his hair gel, is a little man.

Apparently the little squeak that Kurt just heard came from his own mouth, because the little creature seems to have noticed it’s been spotted. Kurt stands upright, almost knocking his vanity chair over as the little thing jerks its hand back, putting both of them firmly at its sides, and rocks back and forth on its tiny little feet, staring up at Kurt with the tiniest little hazel eyes Kurt has ever seen.

“Uh. Hi!” The little man (Man? Boy? Thing?) waves at him, a little bit too enthusiastically and oh shit, it can talk.

“Uhm.” Kurt swallows, and he’s pretty sure his voice is shaking. “Hello…”

“I’m Blaine!” It says to him, and goes to hold out a tiny little hand before it stops itself and retracts, wringing its own hands together in front shyly instead.

Kurt watches as it— Blaine, he reminds himself now, bites his bottom lip as he looks almost anywhere but Kurt, as if trying to figure out something to say.

Blaine seems to take particular interest in his shoe, which looks like it’s made of plastic, and Kurt’s eyebrow would raise itself higher if it were physically capable. It’s then that Kurt takes in the rest of the man (Blaine)’s appearance. He notices how Blaine’s clothes hang loose on his body, like they’re not particularly made for him, and he swears he can see the hint of a Velcro clasp behind Blaine’s neck. He can’t be taller than a standard water bottle, Kurt thinks, if that. And besides the fact that he’s just extremely vertically challenged, he doesn’t seem any different than any other human being.

“Are you wearing Barbie clothes?” Kurt blurts out and of course that would be the first thing he asks. Blaine seems a bit taken aback, and he blinks up at Kurt before he starts laughing. The sound is surprisingly loud in Kurt’s ears; not quite as loud as a normal person’s, but still quite audible for a person of his size.

“Not necessarily,” Blaine smiles, bright and shining up at Kurt, and Kurt can’t even believe this. “They’re Ken’s clothes or something. At least, that’s what Brittany says, anyway. And they’re a lot more comfortable than the things we’ve made out of washcloths—”

Kurt sits back down on his vanity chair with a plop staring at this small, little man on his vanity table in awe. So this is what Quinn was referring to, how everything would make sense. Things going missing, the cleaning of his counters, the faucet, the voices…

“Sorry about the hair gel, by the way,” Blaine’s voice breaks him from his thoughts, and Kurt looks back at him, his gaze having traveled off to the products behind him. Blaine seems to take a tentative step towards him, off the cap of the hair gel and onto the vanity itself, still wringing his hands in front of him, seemingly not wanting to scare Kurt away. Like Kurt was the smaller, more vulnerable creature involved here.

“It just works really well on my hair. It’s kind of hard to control, and well. You have so much of it, and I don’t really need that much and I didn’t think you would mind, and well…”

“It’s okay,” Kurt says before he realizes what he’s even saying, but before the words are fully even out of his mouth, Blaine is smiling again. But Kurt doesn’t even know if this is okay. He’s talking to a miniature person on his vanity, in his apartment. This isn’t normal, this isn’t supposed to be okay…

“Okay, good!” Blaine pipes up, visibly more relaxed. “I was worried. Santana said you would probably get mad, but I knew you probably wouldn’t, you seem like a nice guy and—”

“Wait, who?” Kurt asks, and Blaine blinks back up at him again, having stopped mid-sentence.

“Santana!” Blaine beams, “She’s my friend. She lives here with me.”

Kurt blinks.

“Not here in your apartment!” Blaine corrects himself, putting his hands put in front of his chest, palms facing Kurt in his defense, backtracking, “Not specifically, anyway.” He shrugs, now, hands finding their way comfortably beside him, resting on his thighs. “In the walls of the building. It’s where all the Borrowers live.”

“There are more of you?” Kurt can barely fathom the existence of one small person, and yet there are more? But Blaine nods excitedly at his question.

“Oh yeah! Santana, Rachel, and everyone else!” Blaine seems to like the fact that Kurt is taking an interest and not shying away or trying to squish him with his hairspray can.

“Does everyone else in the building know about you?” Kurt feels like he’s asking a lot of questions, (he’s sort of entitled when it comes down to it) but leans a bit closer to the vanity to listen to Blaine’s answers.

“Almost,” Blaine tilts his head as he smiles wider now, “But we mostly just hang out with Quinn and Brittany. And the two little girls in 3C.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow.

“Why 3C?”

“They have Disney movies!”

--

Three hours end up passing with Kurt sitting at the vanity table, Blaine animatedly explaining things about the world in which he lives in, which is coincidentally Kurt’s world, just from a whole other perspective.

Kurt finds the whole thing, while all unusual, rather interesting. He listens as Blaine talks about climbing into the apartment of 3C through the little hole in the wall behind the couch, and how he and Rachel (another one of his other tiny friends) like to sing along to the animated movies with the little girls (who are really nice and like “share their popcorn without us even having to ask!”). Blaine explains about how they sometimes have to steal food from other people’s apartments when Quinn and Brittany forget to leave some out when they’re running late for work, or when they feel bad asking for some.

“And the clothes?” Kurt asks, because he feels obligated. Blaine seems to automatically rub behind his neck to the Velcro portion of his shirt.

“They’re Brittany’s Barbie’s clothes or something. I’m not sure of the specifics,” he shrugs as he smiles, and Kurt swears he can see the little borrower’s cheeks go a feint red. “But it’s better than what we used to wear; tied dishcloths and scraps of fabric.” Blaine scrunches his nose at the thought and can’t help but let out a small laugh.

In all honesty, Kurt feels like he’s living in a dream.

Eventually Blaine has to go, something about meeting Rachel and her being really impatient and moody when he’s late. So they part ways, Blaine climbing down the leg of Kurt’s vanity with an amount of skill Kurt has only seen from mountain climbers on the Travel Channel, and disappears under Kurt’s dresser before he pokes his head back out, waving his little hand and says, “See ya later, Kurt!” and disappears fully again.

Kurt sits at his vanity for a few moments after, blinking slowly.

There are borrowers inside his walls.

--

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Is the first thing Kurt asks when Quinn opens the door. He figures, somewhere in these walls, Blaine and the rest of his family, clan, whatever they are, can hear him, but he doesn’t care.

“Nice to see you too,” Quinn rolls her eyes at him, but smiles nonetheless as she moves in her position in the doorway, allowing him access into her apartment.

Kurt stares at her for a moment, eyes an icy grey, before he steps inside. He makes his way to the living room, crossing his arms and taking a stance in the middle of the room as he turns and stares at Quinn who follows him.

She laughs.

“You were going to find out sooner or later,” she smiles at him, her smooth voice on the verge of breaking into giggles. Kurt tries to stare through her but fails.

“Yeah, well…” He trails off and Quinn puts her hands on her hips. “You at least could’ve warned me!” He counters, and Quinn rolls her eyes again.

“Listen,” Quinn says and makes her way towards him before she sits on the couch. “You wouldn’t have believed me anyway.”

Kurt knows she’s right.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, can feel Quinn staring at him when he closes his eyes.

“So what does this mean?” he asks, because he’s really confused right now. There shouldn’t be borrowers in his walls, they shouldn’t be stealing his hair gel and cleaning his counters…

“It just means that you’re going to have to get used to it,” she smiles at him, plain and simple, as he looks back at her across the room. And as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he can’t quite fight the small smile that tugs on his own lips as she heads to the kitchen.

--

“Where’s Brittany?” he asks after a while, sitting at Quinn’s kitchen table as he lazily flips through a magazine. “I haven’t seen her since I got here all of fifteen minutes ago. Normally she’d be causing some sort of trouble.”

“She’s giving everyone a bath,” Quinn replies nonchalantly as she comes back into the dining room area, pouring water into their teacups on the table.

“Excuse me?”

Looking up from his magazine, Kurt curiously raises his eyebrow as he stares at her.

“I’d be helping her if you weren’t here,” Quinn admits, giggling, “That’s probably what’s taking her so long…” She trails off and goes to put the tea kettle back in the kitchen as Kurt spins in his chair to face her, mouth agape.

“They take baths here?”

“In the bathroom sink,’ Quinn says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and Kurt stares, dumbfounded, as he tries to understand the concept.

“Listen, Kurt,” Quinn says to him again with a sigh and runs her thumb over his cheek. “I know it’s a lot to take in. But you have to understand that, well, this is the norm here. It’s actually a lot more normal than you think. And if…” She sighs and moves her hand from his face and runs it through her own blonde curls. “And if you think you can back out now, well. It’s a little too late for that.”

Kurt watches with furrowed eyebrows as she heads to the bathroom and closes the door behind her.

--

The winter air is hitting the city more and more each day, autumn slowly being taken over. It’s not cold enough to put on the heat in the apartment, so Kurt sits on his couch, curled up with his sketchbook settled on the blanket on his knees. He taps the eraser on the paper, his brain buzzing with the finalization of his sketch idea.

His mind is restless; he’s restless. He hasn’t seen Blaine for two days, not since his talk with Quinn. He wonders if that’s had anything to do with it. Or if it even happened at all.

“Of course it happened,” he had told himself. “It was real and it happened and you can’t keep fooling yourself. He’s real… they’re real…”

Kurt’s been kidding himself if he hasn’t been leaving the cap of his hair gel a little more loosened than usual. Just to see if there are scoops out of it, he thinks. Just to make sure. And there are, so he knows that he didn’t imagine it. But after those three hours of talking with Blaine on his vanity and then nothing, well… Kurt’s sort of missed him…

“Well that looks cool,” Comes a voice from his left and Kurt nearly throws his sketchbook across the room.

Blaine looks up at him, frozen, with tiny hazel eyes that are blown wide from Kurt’s reaction. He seems to brace himself, regaining composure and steadying himself on the top of the couch before he breaks into a smile.

“Sorry, sorry!” he laughs and Kurt just stares, wide eyed with his face flushed pink before he finds a way to breathe again. “I didn’t mean to scare you!”

“A little late for that,” Kurt breathes, trying to get his heart rate back to normal, and he runs his hand through his hair as he smiles and composes himself before he settles the sketchbook neatly back onto his lap.

“Sorry,” Blaine apologizes again and sits down on the top of the sofa, hands at his sides as he smiles up at Kurt again while Kurt stares back with curiosity, still not sure how the tiny little man before him actually exists.

“What’s that sketch for?” Blaine asks as he points to the drawing in Kurt’s lap with his tiny little foot and Kurt notices he’s not wearing shoes today.

“Work,” he replies and Blaine hums in acknowledgement.

“It’s really good,” He praises him, and Kurt doesn’t quite know how to react.

“What do you do, exactly?” Blaine tilts his head to the side as he looks back up at Kurt and he’s definitely gotten back into Kurt’s hair gel again.

“Design clothes mostly,” he shrugs, “Sew a lot, put them together. Meet with clients and do the whole thing over again. In the fashion world I’m kind of a big deal,” he jokes, but Blaine’s little eyes go wide again, this time in what appears to be amazement.

“So you’re, like, famous?”

“Not really. But hopefully someday.”

“I hope so, too.”

--

They sit in a comfortable silence for a while, Kurt sketching a new piece on the paper in his lap before Blaine gets fidgety and starts humming a little tune, strumming his fingers on the upholstery of the couch.

“Quinn told me you stopped by the other day,” he says after a bit and Kurt stops his sketch, biting his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Yeah…”

“Sorry…”

“For what?”

“Not telling you sooner. You know. About me, about everything...” Blaine’s voice is small, even for his size, sincere and sad as he looks up at him and Kurt can’t stop staring into those little eyes of his. He doesn’t understand how such a tiny person can seemingly be filled with so much emotion. “Introducing myself, I guess.”

“It wasn’t like you could have thrown me a housewarming party,” Kurt smiles, “I’m horribly picky about decorations.”

Blaine seems to relax a little bit, but Kurt can still tell his little mind is racing.

“I just don’t want you to be mad at me. Or at Quinn or Brittany or—”

“I’m not,” Kurt reassures him, “It was weird at first. I didn’t really know or understand. I’m not even sure if I still do understand this, but. I’m not mad. Confused, yes, but I’m not mad. I promise.”

“Well that’s good,” Blaine smiles sheepishly and trails his fingers on the couch again before he looks back up at Kurt. “I’m glad.”

--

Work is busier than normal; designing a spring collection is more difficult than it looks, Christmas seems to be just around the corner and Mercedes has been trying to get him to go out to the bar with him for quite some time now.

“After Christmas, ‘Cedes, I swear. It’ll be a great way to end the year,” Kurt promises and Mercedes shoots him a pointed look as they walk down the hallway, coffees in hand.

“Oh really?” she asks, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. Kurt swears even the clicking of her heels on the floor are dripping with the sound of diva.

“Would I ever lie to you?” He smiles down at her and kisses her on the cheek before she smiles back, shaking her head as she makes her way to her office.

Kurt goes into his own office and sits at his desk, unfolding his sketchbook and grabbing swatches of fabric from his cabinet. His collection so far is severely lacking anything with inspiration, but Blaine had said his sketches were good so he’ll go with that. He doesn’t know why that makes any difference, but for some reason it does.

Sighing, he runs his hands through his hair and stares at the papers scatted on his desk, lines upon lines of drawings and appointments, clients.

It was going to be a long day. A very long day indeed.

--

Fifteen clients, one almost spilled coffee, and a skipped lunch break later, Kurt is finally out the door of his office. Bag over his shoulder, he makes his way down the hall, eyes (and hair) drooping, dragging his feet across the tiled floor before he reaches the elevator.

“You finally out too?” he hears Mercedes’ voice from behind him, and Kurt leans against the wall, pressing the down button for the elevator.

“Don’t you know it,” he sighs and watches the little orange button light up as she laughs, rubbing his shoulder.

“Boy, you look like you got hit by a freight train,” she smiles.

“I feel like I got hit by a freight train,” Kurt laughs as the ping of the elevator sounds and the door opens. He pushes his shoulder off the wall and walks in, trailing after Mercedes as she presses the button for the ground floor. “I’m just glad today is over with.”

They say their goodbyes in the lobby, Kurt promising Mercedes at least a shopping trip sometime in the next week, and Kurt wants nothing more than to be back home in his apartment after a long day’s work.

--

“How was work today?” Blaine asks between bites as he sits cross-legged in front of Kurt at the kitchen table. He has a small plate next to him (Brittany had brought extras over for him the other day “Just in case!”) that Kurt has topped with mini slices of carrots. He dips them into the small bowl of ranch dressing that’s placed next to it and takes a tiny bite.

“Busy,” Kurt sighs and shoves a fork full of salad into his mouth. They’ve fallen into this routine now, over the past few weeks. He’s not sure how it happened really, but it just… has. And he enjoys it. Blaine stops by when Kurt gets back from work and they talk. Blaine asks him about his day, makes googly eyes over his sketches, and they talk until one of them (or both) falls asleep on the couch.

Kurt doesn’t mind. In fact, he enjoys the company. He thinks it would be a lot more normal to go spend more time with Quinn or Brittany, but he figures they understand. From what Blaine tells him, Quinn spends most of her time with Rachel when she’s not with Brittany or working, and Santana and Brittany have quite the relationship of their own.

“Between almost spilling coffee on a clients orders, my boss telling me that my collection is the ‘most looked forward to thing in the company this season’, and being pressured into going out next week by Mercedes… I’d say I’m lucky to be home in one piece,” Kurt sighs and rests his head in his hand for a moment, propped up on his elbow leaning on the table.

He looks down at Blaine who hums in acknowledgement as he chews, and for some reason it makes Kurt smile, his lips pulling tight before he takes a sip of his water sits up straight in his seat again.

“What?” Blaine asks, mid chew with his cheeks puffed out before he swallows, and Kurt shakes his head.

“Nothing.”

“You’re weird.” Blaine smirks before he dips another piece of carrot into his dressing and takes another bite.

“Coming from the man who’s five inches tall,” Kurt smiles and points his fork down at Blaine who furrows his little eyebrows with a pout on his lips.

“Five and a half.” Blaine retorts and points a small finger up at Kurt in retaliation.

“Oh, I’m scared now,”

“You should be,” Blaine laughs and takes another bite with what Kurt assumes to be a vicious attempt. It only makes Kurt laugh, the water he took a sip of threatening to come out of his nose.

“I’m serious!” Blaine counters after he swallows, standing up and walking over to Kurt’s plate, “I could put like, rat poison in your food or something!”

“You wouldn’t,” Kurt is coming down from his giggle fit, wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes. “You’d miss me too much.”

Blaine crosses his arms and stares up at Kurt for a moment before he smiles, big and wide across his face before he laughs.

“Yeah, well. Maybe a little bit.”

--

When Kurt meets Santana it’s really the last thing he’s expecting. It’s like meeting Blaine all over again. It’s just as shocking, perhaps even more so, because this time he’s naked and wrapped in a towel, fresh out of the shower.

And yet, there she stands, un-phased, on his bathroom sink counter with her hands on her tiny little hips, seemingly determined as ever.

“So you’re Kurt…”

“U-uhm, yes?” he stammers, cheeks flushing red as he tightens the towel around his waist a little more.

“Exactly how long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” She muses, a smirk tugging at her lips and Kurt thinks he’s going to die right then and there in his bathroom.

“Can I, uh, help you with something?” He asks, becoming extremely aware of the way her tiny eyes seem to be burning holes into his skin as they trail over his body and suddenly he’s very self conscious of himself.

“Sort of,” she trails her fingers along the hot water handle of the sink, staring down at it with seeming fascination. “Do you plan on going anywhere?”

“Excuse me?”

“Leaving,” she clarifies, turning to face him now, and suddenly Kurt feels like the smaller person. “Do you plan on leaving this apartment anytime soon.”

“Like for lunch?” His voice is higher, and not nearly as sarcastic as he wants it to be, but it’s all he can manage under her gaze.

“You know what I mean.”

“Am I getting a ‘best friend’ talk right now?”

“Listen to me,” Santana walks towards him on the counter, brandishing one of her fingers in his direction, particularly at his face. “If you hurt him, Hummel, I swear, I can do things to you that you’ll—”

“Okay, okay!” Kurt literally backs up to the adjacent wall, hands up projecting his chest. “I’m really confused right now, but okay!”

Santana sighs, running her fingers through her raven hair and composes herself, mumbling something about, “Should’ve had the hobbit do this,” but Kurt’s too busy listening to the thrumming of his heart in his ears to concentrate on anything else in particular.

“Okay, listen. Blaine is… trusting. Too trusting. He’d basically trust a gang member if they promised him a good time,” she waves her hand before she places it on her hip. “What I’m trying to say is… He’s been through a lot. People have hurt him before, and he still hasn’t learned his lesson.”

“Listen...Santana, right?” She nods up at him with slightly softer eyes, her eyes becoming softer as she had started talking, and Kurt makes his way back to the sink counter, still feeling awkward in his towel.

“I’m still getting used to all of this. I still don’t even really know what’s going on, but, what I do know is that I enjoy his company. I enjoy living next to Quinn and Brittany’s apartment, visiting and talking about all of you.” He smiles at her raised eyebrow.

“I know you’re close with Brittany. And I haven’t met Rachel yet, or any of the others, mostly because Quinn didn’t want to shock me even more. But I know that when that time comes, I’ll be able to fit into whatever… this is. I’m trying.”

“Okay, Doll face,” she smiles weakly and shakes her head. “I guess that’s a start.”

--

“Why do you look like you got hit by a bus on the way to work this morning?” Mercedes’ voice sounds from the door of his office and Kurt groans.

“You wouldn’t believe the morning I’ve had even if I told you,” Kurt continues to sketch with a quick glance up at Mercedes who makes her way over to his desk.

“That bad, huh?”

“You have no idea.” He stops sketching and rests his chin on his hand as his elbow rests on the desk. “What’s new?”

“I just came to give you this,” Mercedes smiles as she puts a freshly bought coffee on his desk.

“’Cedes…” Kurt takes his head off of his hand and looks up at her.

“I’m the best, I know.” She rolls her eyes and smiles and Kurt sighs.

“You have no idea.”

--

Mercedes’ coffee delivery does the trick and Kurt’s work day is considerably brighter. He finishes most of his sketches for almost all of his clients, gets an early lunch break with Mercedes, and by the time he gets back to his office, his mind isn’t so… jumbled.

So even as he sits with his third cup of coffee at two thirty, his mind isn’t thinking about the hours left in his work day, or the weekend ahead. He simply just concentrates on the sketch in front of him, what colours he plans to use, what fabrics, until—

“Hello there!”

Kurt jumps in his seat, startled by the small voice so close to him. It takes him a moment to find the source of the noise, his eyes immediately going to the closed door of his office, before they dart down to his desk where two little arms are waving to him.

“You have got to me kidding me.” Kurt sighs and the small girl standing on his desk gives him a pout.

“Well that’s rude,” she huffs and crosses her arms over the ridiculous animal sweater she’s wearing and Kurt blinks.

“I really don’t have time for this,”

“Rachel.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m Rachel.”

“Well that’s nice and all, but, to be quite honest, I started off my day by meeting Santana in my towel this morning. And if you couldn’t tell, I’m working right now.” Rachel tilts her head to the side as if she can’t understand him and Kurt sighs.

“So I can’t really do this at the moment.” Kurt protests, but there’s a fire in Rachel’s tiny little eyes that makes him slightly uncomfortable in his seat as she taps her tiny foot on his desk. “How did you even get here, anyway?”

“Your bag,” Rachel states simply, uncrossing her arms and moving them to rest on her hips. “I was in there most of the day, you know. It was really uncomfortable.”

Kurt sighs and rubs his temples, the stress coming back as Rachel drones on about Blaine not introducing them soon enough.

“I really thought it was my obligation as his best friend to introduce myself, but he didn’t think you could handle it. But with the way Quinn says you’ve been handling everything it’s only fitting that we be introduced! Santana told me I should wait a while after she met you this morning, but I simply told her that I would be fi—”

“You sure do talk a lot, don’t you?”

Rachel stops talking and blinks up at Kurt as her cheeks go a faint red and she ducks her head down. Kurt feels bad and he bites his bottom lip before he leans back in his chair.

“Sorry, it’s just... Let me just call Quinn or something and see if she can come and get you or—”

Rachel’s head perks up at Quinn’s name and Kurt’s eyebrows rise.

“She’ll be at work, too,” she mumbles, and picks at the bottom of her hideous sweater that Kurt wants to throw into the giant trash can the homeless people use as a fire pit in the alley way down the block. “I wouldn’t want to bother her, y’know, with her being so busy and all…”

But you’re okay with bothering me.

Rachel toes at the side of Kurt’s sketchbook and he sighs, long and heavy.

“Fine,” he agrees, “I guess you can stay.”

Rachel beams up at him and claps her little hands excitedly. She even bounces a little, and Kurt can maybe, kind of, sort of forgive her a tiny bit. Maybe.

“Fantastic! I have so many questions for you! For example, would any of these people you work with have any great connections for me when I make my way to Broadway?”

“What?” Kurt blinks.

“When I grow to an acceptable human height I plan to become a famous Broadway actress. To do so I need to have satisfactory connections into the industry.” Rachel beams, matter-of-factly, and nods her little head ever so slightly to prove her point.

This was going to be a long rest of the day.

--

“So you see, Kurt, that is why Barbara is the greatest singer-slash-actress-slash-human-being that ever lived.” Rachel declares from her perch on Kurt’s palm and Kurt sighs as he walks down the hallway.

“You’ll see one day, Kurt.” She nods and Kurt rolls his eyes as she looks up at him with her big, brown, hopeful eyes.

“Oh, I’m sure,” he sighs and makes his way to the door before Rachel pipes up again.

“W-wait, aren’t we going to your apartment?”

“No.”

He knocks on the door, loud and echoing in the hall before it opens to reveal Quinn. She smiles for a moment, before she notices Rachel in his palm, and her expression turns thoroughly confused.

The blonde looks between Kurt’s face and his hand for an instant as Rachel shifts uncomfortably in his palm, twirling her hair between her fingers. Kurt waits for a brief moment before he takes Quinn’s hand with his own free hand before, by her distasteful Barbie sweater, places Rachel in Quinn’s palm.

“Please control your tiny girlfriend,” he says simply before he makes his way back to his own apartment, leaving Quinn dumbfounded in her doorway, Rachel red-faced and clinging to her thumb.

--

He receives a few text messages from Quinn later that day, many of them containing the word “Sorry!” and the phrase “It won’t happen again! I promise!” and by dinner time he’s mostly gotten over it. It’s not like he was truly mad in the first place. A bit annoyed, perhaps, but not anything extreme. It’s not like Quinn had anything to do with it in the first place. And Rachel really did mean well…

He receives a text from Quinn again, quite some time later after he had left both girls standing bewildered in the doorway, and his phone is buzzing beside him on the couch.

Rachel wants to know if you forgive her yet.

Kurt sighs with a smile and replies back.

It’s really hard to stay mad at either of you, do you know that? Tell her yes, but she can’t ever come to work with me again.

He pauses before texting her back again.

Ever. He adds. Her being seen in public could’ve been disastrous.

Awee, you do care! –From everyone

Shut up. Kurt texts back before he rolls his eyes and tosses his phone lightly beside him on the couch again. He flips the stations on the TV absentmindedly for a while, but it’s not too long before his phone buzzes again.

Santana is jealous that Rachel got ‘special treatment’ by getting out of the apartment and not her. She wants you to make it up to her.

What am I supposed to do about it?!

Come over for dinner.

--

“What are you doing for Christmas?” Quinn asks as she puts the plates away in the cabinets that Kurt is handing her after they’ve finished dinner, and he shrugs and hands her another.

“Back to Ohio for me. Or, well, that’s the plan, anyway,” Kurt grabs another plate from the drying rack to hand to her and looks to Quinn. “What about you?”

Brittany comes into the kitchen from the living room with Santana perched on her shoulder, like some odd sort of parrot, and Kurt smiles.

“Staying here.” Quinn smiles as she places the last plate away and turns to face everyone, leaning back against the counter behind her. “Nothing fancy.”

“I’d like to go see Lord Tubbington,” Brittany sighs, twiddling her thumbs in front of her, “But it’s just easier to stay here for the holidays.”

Kurt raises and eyebrow and looks back at Quinn.

“Her cat back home.” She smiles, “She’s really attached.”

“Ah.” Kurt nods and casts her glance, earning him a glare from Santana which he takes as a warning to drop the subject. “Noted.”

“Also that way Santa knows where to bring all of my presents, since I’ve been here longer.” Brittany trails off, and Quinn gives her a reassuring smile.

Kurt looks down at Blaine on the counter where he’s sitting in a soap dish, watching the bubbles float up from the sink with mild amusement and smiles. Blaine seems to notice the eyes on him and turns to look at Kurt and smiles back, bright and shining, and Kurt feels a small tug at the pit of his stomach.

“Hey, Doll face!” Santana’s voice pulls him back and he looks over to where she’s now standing on the counter next to Rachel who’s smiling up at him. “Let’s go put in a movie! Your pick!”

--

“I could’ve cooked you know,” Kurt says as Puck picks up his legs to move them out of his way before he sits down, putting Kurt’s legs across his lap and settling down. “I did buy you those pots and pans for a reason.”

“Naw, dude, don’t worry about it,” the other man says and shrugs. “Besides, I don’t understand why you cook of that fancy food when you could have pizza,” he says pointedly at Kurt, holding up his food to show Kurt who rolls his eyes.

“From New York,” Puck continues with emphasis before he takes a ravishing bite. Kurt scrunches his nose before he takes a bite of his own slice, chewing quietly. “It’s like, tradition or something.”

“Remind me why I hang out with you?” Kurt raises an eyebrow and opens his water bottle as Puck practically stuffs another slice of pizza in his mouth.

“Because I got you here?” he asks, making it sound more like a statement, after he swallows a loud, squishy swallow that makes Kurt cringe again.

“Actually, I think your truck got me here, after we ran out of gas…”

“Say what you want, Hummel,” the other man shrugs again and reaches to the coffee table to grab some more pizza.

“You’re a pig, Noah!” Kurt laughs and pushes up on Puck’s stomach with his legs, “You’re going to get sick!”

“If you keep doing that I will!” Puck pokes Kurt’s leg and Kurt swats his hands away.

“Be careful!” he almost squeaks, “Not with your greasy pizza hands!”

“Dude,” Puck laughs, “We need to get you laid.”

Kurt pouts and folds his arms over his chest and Puck smiles, grinning from ear to ear before he takes another bite of pizza.

“I hate you.”

“Then get off my couch,”

Kurt scowls before he brings his foot up slowly and hits the bottom of Puck’s pizza plate, tilting it sideways and the other man fumbles, trying to regain the balance with one hand.

“Dude, my pizza! Knock it off!”

“That’s my point!”

Puck gives him a scowling look and moves his pizza to the other size of the couch, far away from Kurt’s reach.

Kurt smiles, bright and innocent before he takes another bite of his pizza and Puck scowls.

“Definitely need to get you laid…”

“Who says?” Kurt pouts and leans over, putting his pizza plate on the coffee table.

“I do.”

“And who says I’m not?” he asks, raising his eyebrow and Puck laughs.

“If you were you wouldn’t be so bitchy all the time,” he says and Kurt scowls again. “You need to lighten up, dude! You work too hard!”

“Do not,” Kurt mumbles and pulls out his phone, texting Mercedes.

Puck says I work too hard. He texts and rests his phone on his chest as he leans back, crossing his ankles in Pucks lap.

You do. Mercedes texts back and Kurt frowns.

“I dunno, dude,” Puck says after a while and sighs, leaning back against the couch as he drapes one arm along the back. “I just think you need someone to take the edge off,”

Kurt gives him a look and Puck holds up his hands, backtracking.

“Not just sexually, dude, like. Intellectually and whatever…. with all of that stuff you like.” He shrugs. “You just need to unwind.”

Kurt sighs, tapping the back of his phone with his fingers and pursing his lips before he leans over, pressing his face into the back cushion of the couch.

“I do work too hard, don’t I?” he says and Puck laughs as he reaches over and ruffles his hair.

--

“You’re free to, you know, stay here more often,” Kurt suggests over his shoulder as he folds his laundry on his bed later that night. Blaine observes from the vanity, catching Kurt’s glance in the mirror as he fixes his hair with a bit of Kurt’s gel.

“What do you mean?” the borrower asks, raising his little eyebrow and Kurt shrugs as he pairs some socks together.

“Since you always seem to hang out here with me and you never seem to want to go back to Quinn’s when the girls are all together, I figured, well…” he shrugs again and folds a shirt. “You might just want to stay here instead. But if you don’t want to, I mean. That’s totally understandable—”

“I’d love to,” Blaine smiles and turns around excitedly, clasping his hands in front of his chest. “Can we bring my bed over tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Kurt smiles, “But are you sure Rachel won’t mind?”

“She’ll know where to find me.” Blaine says with a thrilled smile as he bounces on his toes.

“Okay, fine,” Kurt says and turns around, “But you have to tell her.” He tells him, pointing a finger at tiny brunette while a brandishing an unpaired sock in his clenched fingers, and some of the colour drains from Blaine’s face as he stops bouncing.

--

“So your dad is getting time off from work for Christmas?” Blaine asks a few nights later, kicking his little feet as he watches from a safe distance from his seat in the cabinet above the stove, observing Kurt with keen eyes from above as he cooks.

“That’s the plan,” Kurt says as he lowers the heat on the stove. Back to Ohio for Christmas was indeed the plan; spending the holidays with his dad, Carole and Finn miles away from his little New York apartment.

“It’ll be nice to see everyone,” he smiles up at Blaine who smiles back, “It’s tough, with my dad and Finn in DC so much. Carole gets lonely a lot, so it’ll be nice to be together for Christmas.”

“That’ll be fun,” Blaine chirps and leans forward a bit to get a better look at Kurt stirring the sauce in the pan.

“If you consider the fact Carole and I will be kicking Finn out of the kitchen to make sure he doesn’t burn the house down, then yes. It’ll be loads of fun.” Kurt laughs and adds a few more spices.

“Cooper almost got eaten by a cat once,” Blaine shrugs. “Merry Christmas!” Blaine mock waves his little hands in front of him and rolls his eyes.

“Who?” Kurt asks, walking away from the stove to go to the other cabinet to get some more supplies.

“My older brother.”

“You have a brother?”

“Well, yeah…”

“You never told me that,” Kurt looks at Blaine over his shoulder for a second and Blaine shrugs for a moment a smiles a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I don’t tell you a lot of things.”

“Keeping secrets huh?” Kurt smiles and Blaine looks up to the ceiling as he smiles. “As your roommate, I’m offended.”

“So we’re roommates now?”

“Well, let’s see…” Kurt puts a few more spices into the pot and stirs. “We share food, you take up a spot in my bedroom, and you’re always here when I get back from work.” He scrunches up his face as he smiles when he looks back up at Blaine. “So, yes. I would say that we’re roommates.”

“Well,” Blaine stands and holds on to the inside corner of the cabinet. “If we’re roommates, am I obligated to pay half of the rent? Because I don’t really know if I can do that.”

Kurt laughs, loud and echoing through the kitchen and shakes his head.

“No, no, I think I’m all set with that.” He smiles, “Thanks for the offer, though."

“Good. Then I think things will all work ou—oh—!”

It’s then that Kurt watches, with wide eyes and almost in slow motion, as Blaine leans too far from the cabinet, his foot slipping from underneath him. His little hands lose grip on the side of the cupboard and Blaine is falling, down, down, down towards the large boiling pot on the stove.

Kurt watches then as his own hand reach out on its own accord, not having time to think. His other hand drops the spoon it’s holding, also reaching out and grabbing a hold of Blaine, gripping the Velcro fabric of his stupid, stupid shirt.

He fumbles, almost losing his grip, and uses both hands before he has a good hold on Blaine. Tiny, tiny Blaine, who was just mere inches from falling into the boiling pot below him. Kurt tugs the borrower close to his chest, cradling him as he falls back against the counter and sinks down to the floor, breathing heavy.

“Oh my God, Blaine, are you okay?” he breathes as he looks down, moving one of his hands to get a better look at the small body cradled against his chest. “Did I hurt you, oh my god, are you okay? Blaine, please answer me!”

His voice is frantic, much higher than normal, because he’s scared. He’s scared of the silence, scared that he hurt Blaine somehow in the process of saving his life (and in the back of his mind he wants to laugh somehow at the cruel irony). But as he looks down, he can see Blaine’s little hands fisted in his apron, clinging and desperate for something solid to keep himself locked down and safe. His small eyes are wide and blown and fearful and Kurt can feel his small body trembling against his chest, shaking and terrified.

“Blaine… Blaine, it’s okay,” he whispers, and uses his right hand, the one that’s not resting under Blaine and holding him to his chest, to rub his thumb gently against Blaine’s small, trembling shoulder. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. I promise.”

Blaine lets out a choked sob and Kurt hushes him, holds him as close as he can without seemingly hurting or crushing him, and rubs his fingers in soothing circles on Blaine’s back.

They sit like that for a long while, Blaine’s shaking subsiding slowly over time, but his grip is still tight on the fabric of Kurt’s apron. The tile of the floor is cold and hard, while the handles of the cabinets are pressing into Kurt’s back, and the food on the stove long forgotten and probably ruined, but none of that is of any concern.

“Blaine, let go of the apron,” Kurt whispers, soft and gentle, but Blaine’s fists remain clenched and curl themselves even harder into the fabric. “It’s okay,” Kurt says again and Blaine’s eyes scrunch up tight before they open wide again.

“I won’t let you fall,” His voice is stern, because he needs Blaine to know, to understand that he’s serious; he needs Blaine to know that he’s there for him. “You’re not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

Blaine’s hands slowly unhinge themselves from Kurt’s apron, like a kitten’s claws that don’t want to let go. Kurt gently tugs him, and Blaine latches onto Kurt’s thumb, cheek pressed against the pad of the appendage as he curls into himself on the palm of Kurt’s hand, clinging tightly. He stares up at Kurt with those same wide eyes, and it’s all Kurt can do to stay strong.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” It’s then that Blaine finally finds his voice, rushed and rambling, eyes filling with tears. “I’m sorry,” he chokes. “It was the pants, they were too long and I… I was just trying to see, I wasn’t paying attention and I… oh my god… oh my god…”

“Hey, hey,” Kurt shushes him and cradles his other hand around Blaine, securing him in a hand-made cocoon for the time being. He can feel Blaine’s grip relax slightly while his body settles into his touch at the contact. “It was a mistake. It could’ve been worse, but it wasn’t. It’s okay.”

Blaine nods, weak and teary-eyed, and Kurt sighs with a weak smile.

“What do you say to ordering take out and watching Aladdin tonight?” he asks and Blaine lets out a shaky laugh as he wraps his arms tightly around Kurt’s thumb again and snuggles his face more against it, brushing his nose against the skin.

“Sounds good.”

“Just… do me a favor,” Kurt says after he gets up, biting his lips as he looks at Blaine who stares back curiously with a raised eyebrow.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again.” He breathes and Blaine’s cheeks flush and he coughs with that Kurt thinks must be of embarrassment.

“Deal… And Kurt?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

--

The next few days, there’s a shift in the air between them. Blaine takes his time perfectly scaling up and down the couch, careful to stay away from the edges of things, holding tightly and making sure he has a grip on everything. A safe route.

Sometimes Kurt will offer him his hand, lifting him up to his destination with ease and vigilance, careful not to move too fast or offer too much assistance. He doesn’t want to scare Blaine; he knows that he has to still do things on his own, knows that he’s not always going to be there if Blaine needs something. But for now, he does what he can; because he doesn’t ever want to see Blaine that fearful again.

A week later, even though it pains his wardrobe to do so, Kurt comes home with a polo shirt. When Blaine raises an eyebrow at him from his perch at the kitchen table where he’s sitting, Kurt gives him a smile.

“C’mere,” he says, holding out his hand and Blaine complies, a confused expression still on his face as he stands in Kurt’s palm, bracing himself against Kurt’s thumb.

But when Kurt leads his hand up, stopping at the pocket, Blaine’s eyes widen in understanding.

“Hop in!” Kurt chirps and Blaine looks up at him, blinking a few times and Kurt giggles. “Go on!”

Blaine climbs into the pocket with Kurt’s help and he settles in, holding onto the fabric as he leans back against Kurt’s chest.

“Wow…” Blaine breathes and Kurt laughs.

“What?”

“It’s… warm.” Blaine says.

“What, you’re not going to comment on the view?” Kurt can’t help but laugh and Blaine looks up at him sheepishly.

“Well, that’s nice, too, but. I dunno. It’s just. Comfortable.” Safe.

“Well, good.” Kurt beams. “This way, when I’m cooking or wandering around the house, we don’t have to worry about any…” Kurt waves his hand absently in the air. “Accidents.”

“I like this plan.” Blaine smiles.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Kurt smiles and brings out a tiny-sized bag from his work-bag, Blaine watching him intently from his pocket as he does so, and puts it on the table.

“What’s that?”

“You won’t know until you open it.” Kurt smiles and holds his hand out so Blaine can escape his pocket.

He places Blaine, who, once back onto the table walks over to the small bag curiously. Once he inspects it, he moves back the small amount of tissue paper, and Kurt laughs lightly as he watches the little borrower’s eyes go wide.

“Kurt…”

“I had extra time at work today,” he explains as Blaine takes out the small pair of pants from the bag and examines them. “Perfectly tailored, no Velcro involved.” He laughs a little again and Blaine looks up at him, his eyes still wide.

“Kurt, you… you didn’t have to….”

“Oh, but I did.” He insists. “After… after what happened last week… You need to wear things that aren’t going to put you in danger, Blaine,” he says softly. “Besides,” he smiles, “Those Barbie clothes do nothing for your figure.”

Blaine pulls out a small shirt next, followed by a sweater. His eyes seem to be growing wider by the second and Kurt’s afraid that they’re going to pop out of his little head.

“How much extra time did you have at work today?” Blaine asks, seemingly trying to still put the pieces of everything together inside of his brain.

“Two clients missed their appointments. So a fair amount of time,” Kurt shrugs. “I could’ve done something else, but I wanted to do this. For you.”

‘Thank you,” Blaine breathes. “Really.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? Try them on!” Kurt moves the small bag out of the way of the table, smiling from ear to ear. “I want to see how my impeccable sewing skills look on you!” he beams and Blaine blushes.

“F-fine. But you have to… turn around first.” Blaine makes a twirling motion with his finger as he points to Kurt.

“Okay, okay,” Kurt huffs, but he smiles and turns around in his seat.

“And no peeking!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what they all say.”

Kurt bites his bottom lip to keep himself from laughing, but he’s pretty sure the shaking of his shoulders gives it away.

“Are you done yet?” Kurt asks and Blaine huffs from behind him, laughing.

“You’re so impatient.”

“And you’re slow. C’mon!”

“Okay, okay! You can turn around.”

Kurt turns around in his seat to see Blaine standing awkwardly on the table, stretching his arms out beside him as he holds the ends of the shirt sleeves in his hands.

“So?” he asks, his voice small, but his smile hopeful. “How do I look?”

“Wow…” is all that Kurt breathes for a moment and Blaine blushes. “They need some small alterations, but Blaine… Blaine, you look…” Kurt trails off and Blaine twirls around.

“At least the pants are short enough,” he laughs and Kurt laughs, too.

“At least the pants are short enough.” He repeats. “Maybe too short.”

“No, no, I like them!” Blaine smiles.

“One more thing,” Kurt reaches into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out a small piece of fabric, handing it to Blaine.

“I thought it completed the outfit,” he explains and Blaine looks down between the fabric in his hands and up at Kurt with wide eyes again. “And I had some leftover fabric.”

“You made me a bowtie?” Blaine asks; his voice so soft Kurt almost doesn’t hear him.

“Yeah, I mean…If you don’t like it, I can—”

“No, I…I love it.” Blaine looks back up at him and smiles wide and Kurt can swear his heart is going to burst inside his chest.

“And it has a little clip, so you don’t even need to worry about tying it or anything,”

“Kurt,” Blaine laughs and Kurt tilts his head as he watches Blaine on the table.

“What?”

“You’re the best.”

“You’re not too bad yourself.”