Details for Brittany’s birthday party came quickly – date, time, place, and a brief mention that it was Alice in Wonderland themed, but not costumes, she just thought Kurt might like to know that because he knew how much she loved it. Kurt didn’t particularly care if it was costumes or not, as soon as she mentioned the theme he knew he was going to make himself a subtle homage to wear. Beyond that, he knew exactly what he was going to give Brittany as a gift.

Maybe it was because she clearly appreciated his creation, or maybe it was because she was just so sweet and endearing and had been what inspired him to actually sit down and make time to sew his own things again, but he wanted to make her something. There was only so much time before the party, only so much time in the day after he got home from Vogue and before he knew he had to sleep, but he knew if he sat down and made himself work he could do it.

It was methodical and almost systematic, measuring and cutting out muslin, laying the pieces together like a puzzle, fitting and pinning them into place and sitting back to examine the way it fit on the form. The process was always interesting to Kurt, watching ideas slowly take physical form and turn into something so much more. He could imagine a great many things, but it was the ability to sift through and find the possibilities, put them down on paper and then translate into fabric, that made him proud of what he did.

His mind wandered when he worked, scissors slicing through the actual fabric he was using and putting pieces aside as they were cut out. Lunch with Brittany had been enlightening in regard to what Blaine had said. Distance was hard, and Kurt had never had to deal with it so he didn’t have any first-hand experience, but sitting and listening to Brittany talk about the two and a half years she’d been dealing with it in regards to Santana, he could almost feel the frustration. There was love, so much love, but that didn’t change the miles between them.

It was interesting to look at the parallels – Brittany and Santana, him and Blaine. They’d gone about things in completely different ways. Brittany had been entirely honest about her relationship with Santana, how it had started and progressed. It had started in bed, though thankfully she’d spared Kurt most of the details, and after Santana went back to Ohio there had been texts and late night phone calls. Getting off work at the same ridiculous hour every night meant that they always ended their nights talking, and the next time Santana had come to New York it had cemented things further.

The phone calls were what had stuck with Kurt the most. It was the way Brittany had talked about them, because it sounded exactly like what he had with Blaine. They might not have talked as often as Brittany and Santana, but that was partially due to their conflicting schedules – and there was nothing that could be done to fix that. It still sounded the same, in any event, how they would catch each other up on the events of their days and eventually say goodnight when one or the other started to fall asleep.

Brittany’s dress came together easier than he’d anticipated. It helped that he’d already had her measurements and a basic idea of what to do from the first dress he’d made her, but still. The pale blue fabric flowed beneath his fingers and through the sewing machine as music played quietly in the background to keep his apartment from being silent other than the whirring of the machine as he pressed the pedal closer to the floor, watching the pieces stitch together and start to form an actual garment.

His phone rang and he reached for it, automatically answering and holding it between his shoulder and ear as he finished the part he was working on. “Hello?”

“Oh thank God.”

“Blaine?”

“You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice,” Blaine said, and Kurt lifted his foot off the pedal before he accidentally sewed things wrong or injured himself because it really wasn’t fair for Blaine to say things like that.

“Is something wrong?” he asked carefully, stretching over to turn off his music, though it had been playing low enough not to cause much interference but he still didn’t want any distractions.

“No, nothing’s wrong. It’s just been a long night.” Kurt glanced over at the clock on his nightstand, sure that he’d lost track of time while working because he had no idea what time it was. He ran his hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair and sighing.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“I am. Like I said, long night,” Blaine groaned. “There’s some convention going on right nearby so the place is packed full of middle aged women and they’re all nice but super drunk and have all turned into woo girls and apparently they like me?”

“I’m sorry, you sound a little surprised by that last part,” Kurt replied, his lips quirking up into a grin. “There is nothing about you that isn’t cougar bait.”

“Never say that again. Seriously, Kurt, I think I’m in danger. They’re going to try and steal me away to their hotel when they leave, I just know it.”

“Don’t you guys have security guards and bouncers?”

“Not enough to handle this many drunk ladies.”

“Get Santana to help.”

“Ah,” Blaine said, breaking out of the teasing back and forth and sounding somber all of a sudden. “That’s a no go. She’s not her normal ass kicking self tonight. Got the blues.”

“Is she actually singing the blues, or just feeling down?”

“I would probably pay money to hear her sing the blues, but no, she’s just kind of depressed. Been this way all week so far, but that’s why I’m here on the phone with you instead of getting some mid-set drinks with her. I gave Sam strict orders to keep the whiskey away.” Blaine sighed, and Kurt could practically see him rubbing his hands against his face, up into his hair. “She’s missing New York.”

Missing New York meant something different than the words actually said, and Kurt knew. New York meant Brittany, but it was easier to throw the blame on the city than the other emotions involved. There was a difference between the draw of New York and the draw of a person. Kurt knew that, and Blaine knew that, but those words didn’t need to be said out loud. He hummed quietly in acknowledgement, his hand smoothing down the fabric draped across his desk.

“Do you know when you guys will be coming back?” he asked, trying not to sound overtly hopeful.

“No. They were talking about sending us to St. Louis here soon, which is the opposite direction of where we want to go, but they usually don’t solidify anything until right before it happens. Thank goodness our lives are kind of dictated by the bar anyway, otherwise that would be annoying.” There was a burst of noise on Blaine’s end, and Kurt lifted his head away, causing his phone to drop into his lap. He grabbed it, slowly bringing it back up to hear if it had gotten quiet again. “—just checking to make sure I didn’t need to be back inside yet. Kurt? You there?”

“Yes, sorry. Do you have to go?”

“Not quite yet,” Blaine replied, and Kurt smiled to himself. “You’re stuck with me for now. Oh wait, am I interrupting something? I’m sorry, I can let you go.”

“You think I’m going to abandon you the cougars?” Kurt admonished. “Blaine, who do you think I am?”

“Well currently you’re my hero, but I’m certain that you’re actually a New York socialite who has much better things to do with his night than speak on the phone with a humble fake pianist in Ohio.”

“Blaine.”

“Yes? Is that not accurate?”

“Wrong on so many levels,” Kurt said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll take the title of hero, because I would be a fool not to, but the sheer amount of time I spend holed up in my apartment alone clearly takes me off the socialite list. And you are not a fake pianist. You’re a very real pianist.”

“I meant fake in the sense that this is not what I’ve been training to do with my life,” Blaine corrected. “Thank you, though. I’m sure you’re quite the socialite and you’re just lying to try and make me feel better about my life.”

“Oh yes, I just ducked into the parlor when the phone rang so you wouldn’t be able to hear the cocktails going around with all my other socialite friends,” Kurt responded haughtily, making Blaine chuckle.

“I knew it.”

“You know how I am.”

“Indeed I do—hang on a sec,” Blaine broke off in a mumble, speaking to someone else for a moment before Kurt heard him sigh into the phone. “Well you’re off the hook for now. Go back to your drinks and high life in the city.”

“You’re leaving me?”

“Sadly yes, but have no fear, Kurt, it’s not forever. Besides, you should be going to sleep, it’s getting late. You have big, important fashion things to do tomorrow, I’m sure.”

“It is a little past my usual bedtime,” Kurt consented, wrinkling his nose. He’d gotten too caught up in what he was doing, and he knew he wasn’t to a point where he wanted to stop so he wasn’t going to get to bed as soon as he got off the phone. “You go knock those cougars dead. Not literally.”

“Not literally,” Blaine agreed. “Go to sleep, Kurt.”

“Good night, Blaine.”

Kurt tossed his phone over onto his bed and rubbed his temples as he stared down at the fabric in front of him. Blaine had that way of being adorable and charming and making him forget that things were complicated. It came so easily, the conversation, the teasing, that it never felt like they were so far apart and dangling in some limbo of nothingness. He wasn’t sure if it would hurt more or less to be stuck like that or to be like Santana and Brittany – to have the label and reassurance but at the same time not have anything much more at all except for the rare few days here or there.

It didn’t matter because nothing was going to change, and Kurt had accepted that. Still, it didn’t stop the thoughts from making their way into his head every time he got off the phone with Blaine, or had a particularly long texting spree with him. He wanted it to be able to change, for them to be something other than friends who clearly wanted to be more but couldn’t for one reason or another, but in an attempt to keep his sanity he did everything he could to push that from his mind.

He reached over and turned on his music again, letting it fill the room before he turned his attention back to the fabric in front of him. It had been a no brainer to make Brittany a dress akin to that from Alice in Wonderland, but he’d been careful to keep it from turning into a costume. It was simple, classic, and almost like a secret – or it would be, once it was done. As it was, only half of it was sewn together and he’d had had plans to have it at least entirely assembled before he called it quits for the night.

It helped that Kurt wasn’t tired at all, especially after being on the phone with Blaine. He made himself a cup of tea and kept it placed on the floor beside his chair, fearing that if he had it on his desk it would get tipped over and ruin what he was working on. There was a slight complication with a bobbin, which was easily fixed, before he was back to it. Time passed quickly when he was working, and by the point when he stopped it was just past one in the morning.

He slipped the dress, far from done but close enough that it would hang there properly, onto the dress frame and picked up his tea, taking the last few sips even though they were cold, before tucking the mug into his sink. His clothes fell easily into the laundry basket as he pulled them off, and he slid into bed with a quiet groan. It was difficult to fall asleep when his head felt so loud, so full of thoughts, and even a soft soundtrack of classical music didn’t help.

That was why Kurt was still awake when his phone buzzed with a text, and he reached for it blindly, squinting into the bright light of the screen as he read it.

From: Blaine Anderson
I had my ass grabbed by not one, not two, but three cougars. One was a double grab :(

He’d pressed the dial button before he was done reading it, rolling onto his back and tugging the covers up closer to his chin. Blaine picked up within two rings, his voice hushed.

“Kurt? Why aren’t you asleep?”

“My spidey sense was tingling, and clearly it was right. How’s your ass?” Kurt brought his palm up to cover his face as soon as the words were out of his mouth, certain that had he been fully awake he wouldn’t have asked but he was stuck in that haze just before falling asleep and it had happened.

“My ass feels slightly violated,” Blaine said, amusement clear in his voice. “But I think it’ll be alright.”

“You should have some words with your security detail.”

“Mhm. Well, it was when I was leaving so they weren’t exactly trying to keep me secure at that point. When I get famous, I’ll have to hire someone to walk really close behind me whenever I leave places. Cut down on the groping potential.” Kurt laughed lightly, trying not to think about how slightly jealous he was of random middle aged strangers who had essentially assaulted his friend. Not that he wanted to assault him, but being in a position where he was allowed to grope him would have been nice. “Kurt?”

“Hm?”

“Did I wake you up?”

“No, I wasn’t asleep yet,” Kurt murmured, rolling onto his side and keeping his phone balanced on his ear. “Too loud.”

“Your neighbors?”

No, my thoughts, Kurt wanted to reply, but that wouldn’t do any good. “Something like that.” He sighed, and then chewed at the inside of his lip. “You should sing me to sleep.”

“But it wasn’t my fault this time,” Blaine protested, but they both knew he would anyway. At least, Kurt hoped he would. There was a pause, the distinct sound of a door closing, and then he spoke quietly. “Any requests?”

“No, just… anything.”

“Anything,” Blaine repeated, and the silence seemed to last for such a long time before the warm timbre of his voice hummed into Kurt’s ear. “Stop worrying where you’re going, move on…If you can know where you’re going, you’ve gone, just keep moving on…”

It wasn’t that Kurt had forgotten about Blaine graduating with a musical theatre degree, or that his goal was to get to the stage, but everything he’d heard him sing before then had been popular music usually backed by banged out piano accompaniment or a band, except that one time before when he’d fallen asleep listening to him. He’d never heard him sing anything from a musical, especially not something nearly as poignant or perfect as that, and as heavy as his eyelids felt, Kurt couldn’t let himself fall asleep. Not when Blaine was singing something from Sunday in the Park with George and making him feel like emotion was swelling up in his chest as he skimmed over the duet moments and made it seem like nothing was missing at all.

There was more silence when he was done, and Kurt didn’t know what to say.

“Kurt?” Blaine asked quietly. “You still awake?”

“I wish you were here,” Kurt whispered, hugging his arms around himself. “In New York.”

“Me too.”

“I’m sorry, I know that’s not fair—”

“No, it’s fine,” Blaine said, softly but firmly, and Kurt pursed his lips to keep from going on. “I want to be there. I will be there. I just… don’t know when.”

“I know.”

“It’s really late, Kurt. You should get some sleep.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Kurt.” Blaine sounded slightly like he was chastising him, all in that one syllable. “If you go to sleep, I promise I’ll call you tomorrow at a normal person time and we can talk more then.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. Sweet dreams.”

Burrowing himself under the covers further, Kurt reached out to put his phone on the pillow next to him, like it always was when he slept. He knew he was probably going to regret staying up so late, first with working on a project that had nothing to do with his work but everything to do with what he wanted, and then on the phone with Blaine, but he honestly didn’t care. That was why he always allowed himself enough time in case he needed to stop at Starbucks on the way in to Vogue in the mornings, and as he fell asleep he already knew there was a quad non-fat mocha in his near future.