"So Sam thinks he has an Aussie twin."

"So Finn's rooming with Puck.

"So Marley wrote an original song."

"So Rachel got a callback for 'Funny Girl.' "

It's how they start conversations these days, a clipped back and forth that's come to define their relationship since the shooting, like there's an underlying tension that neither of them wants to acknowledge.

"I'm worried about him."

"I'm happy for her."

"I miss you."

They exchange text messages laden with unspoken meaning, and sometimes the occasional direct, to-the-point ones. But somehow Kurt can't bring himself to face any of it head on, not completely anyway.

He thinks it might have been the way Blaine's voice sounded shaky and small when he called him that night that triggered it. He'd never heard Blaine sound so young or so scared, and it terrified him.

It's okay, though, because it's normal to be worried about your friends. He had asked if Tina and Sam were okay, and he'd laughed appropriately when Blaine recounted how Artie had wanted them to film messages to their loved ones. Because, as Blaine had said, it was so typically Artie.

He didn't ask Blaine what he had recorded, figuring it was personal, and if Blaine wanted him to know, he'd tell him. Kurt's not ready to know the answer. So he doesn't ask.

Quite frankly, Kurt doesn't know what he'd do or say if he had been in that situation — if he had feared for his life and didn't know if he'd ever speak to Blaine again. He tries not to think about it; it's too much.

He wants to tell him he still loves him — and that maybe it's even more than he did before — but he can't. The words catch in his throat.

However, Kurt has been far more attentive to Blaine's calls and texts lately. He can't help it. Nearly losing your best friend has that effect on you, he reasons.

And that's why, when his phone rings at 11:27 on a Tuesday morning, Kurt answers without question, even though he'll probably be late for class. Because it's Blaine.

"So I think Becky knows something about what happened with Sue."