"Blaine?"

"Hm?"

Looking up from the homework in front of him, he noticed Kurt watching him pensively, but also somewhat concernedly. The rhyming dictionary lay in front of him at the table, closed once more – Kurt had quickly concluded that he wasn't much of a songwriter, but at least he kept trying. Blaine had offered to help numerous times, but Kurt didn't want to hear any of it. Being the understanding boyfriend that he was, Blaine had stopped offering half an hour ago.

"Do you remember when I asked you if people had ever literally died on stage?"

"Yeah, I remember," he replied. "Right before our performance at Regionals. Why?"

"You never answered that question," Kurt said matter-of-factly. "Do you think anyone has ever died on stage?"

"Why are you asking?" Glancing at Kurt, who was now nervously twirling a pencil around, Blaine couldn't help but smile a bit. He didn't think there was anyone on this entire planet who was more adorable than his boyfriend, whether Kurt was happy about that or not. "You're not nervous for Nationals, are you?"

Ah, yes, Nationals. New Directions would leave for New York in a couple of days and trust them to not have even started on their set list. Blaine had been speechless when Kurt had offhandedly told him that he and Finn were planning a funeral for the sister of the (evil, Blaine automatically added) cheerleading coach, and, oh yeah, no, they weren't practising for Nationals yet – as a matter of fact, they had no idea what they were going to sing, so no, there was no choreography yet either – why, they still had a couple of days left after the funeral, right? He didn't know if he should be relieved or start panicking more when he heard that this was New Directions' usual way of preparing for a competition. And even now, instead of just choosing songs and practising them until they could dream them, their coach apparently thought it was a good idea to let them write the songs first.

If Nationals were a contest for procrastinating show choirs, New Directions would surely take the gold, without a doubt.

"Nationals?" Kurt glanced down at his paper, that, from what Blaine could see from where he was sitting, didn't contain more than a couple of loose sentences. "Oh. No, not really. Well, I'll miss you…"

That was the other thing about Nationals. New Directions was going to be away for a week and Blaine was sure that he would be suffering greatly from Kurt withdrawals. Ever since they'd first met, even before Kurt had come to Dalton, they hadn't not seen one another for more than three days. Now that Kurt was back at McKinley, Blaine was the one commuting almost every single day – he got into his car every day after class or Warbler rehearsal and drove all the way to Lima. He and Kurt would do some homework, Carole automatically put an extra plate on the dining table, and sometimes he even stayed the night (on the couch, mind you).

Blaine had no idea how he was going to survive the next week. He thanked whatever higher being there was for cell phones and other modern technology that would at least allow him to keep in touch with Kurt.

"I'll miss you too," he hastily assured Kurt as the other boy started looking a little doubtful. "And… I suppose people die on stage, but it can't be a common occurrence, right? I doubt people in the show choir world die on stage, Kurt. You have nothing to worry about."

"Apparently it's happened," Kurt muttered, wrapping his arms around his knees protectively, and Blaine frowned. "Remember that I told you that Mr Schue appointed that idiot Jesse St James to be our advisor?"

"…Yes." To be honest, Blaine didn't think there was anything Kurt had ever told him that he didn't remember, but he refrained from telling him that. Plus, it had been only yesterday that Kurt had told him about the soloist competition and the comments Jesse St James had made after Kurt had sung. "He's really that much of an idiot?"

Kurt nodded furiously, as could've been expected. "He's even more of an idiot than that. But let's not talk about that now – even if he wasn't, family bonds demand that I stick by Finn through thick and thin, and Finn is very anti-Jesse, which means that I am too."

"You rhymed!" Blaine exclaimed before he could help himself. "Write it down!"

"What – ?" Kurt started, before realising what he'd just said, and he rolled his eyes. "I seriously doubt that that would make a hit song at Nationals, Blaine."

Blaine was, however, writing the line down anyway. "You never know when a time comes where you can use it," he said wisely (or at least, he hoped so).

Kurt looked thoughtful for a moment. "If I manage to expand it and if I don't think I'll make a complete fool out of myself, I can always use it to serenade Finn on our parents' wedding anniversary in November…"

Blaine grinned enthusiastically. "Can I help you write that song?" he asked eagerly, causing Kurt to sigh.

"If you insist," he muttered, but Blaine easily saw that he was secretly amused. Which was good. "But back to the matter at hand," Kurt continued, and Blaine took a moment before remembering what had triggered this spontaneous burst of literary creativity in Kurt. "Dying on stage."

"It happens?" Blaine asked. He still couldn't believe it.

"Apparently. That's what he said."

He? Oh, right, Jesse St James. There had to be a reason why Kurt brought it up, right? "Really?"

Kurt moved over to the other side of the couch, scooting closer to where Blaine was sitting on the floor. "He said that Vocal Adrenaline has three or four weeks of twenty-four hour a day practices before Nationals," he said conspiringly, even though there was no one else in the house at the moment. "They're all on IV drips. If someone dies, they use them as a prop."

Blaine stared for a moment. "You're not serious."

Nodding solemnly, Kurt said, "That's what he told us. And yes, I know that we shouldn't trust him at all, but… placed in context, it seems like something Vocal Adrenaline would do, don't you think?"

"Vocal Adrenaline, yes," Blaine replied, deciding to attempt some damage control. "They live for show choir. They do everything to win, no matter what the cost. Stuff like that would never happen to you, or me, or any of our friends – well, unless we'd join Vocal Adrenaline all of a sudden – so there really is nothing to be worried about."

"I know," Kurt responded quietly, staring off into nothingness. "I know chances are very slim that I'll suddenly die on stage, or Mercedes, or Finn, or anyone of us, but… it just seems so cruel, don't you think? And disgusting, too. Using corpses as props?" He visibly shuddered, and Blaine didn't like the thought much either.

"I'm sure they won't get away with it if they try to use those during Nationals," he tried to soothe Kurt.

"I should hope so," Kurt muttered, and Blaine reached out to grab one of his hands.

"Why did you ask?" he asked softly. "If I remembered, I mean."

"I think it just bothered me," Kurt answered, frowning slightly. "I just needed to get it out of my system. Sorry for putting images in your head now, though."

Blaine chuckled. "I'll be fine, don't worry about me. In fact – I might just tell the guys tomorrow at practice. Maybe any of them will be getting nightmares."

Kurt shook his head at him. "You're awful," he commented, and grabbed the rhyming dictionary again. Instinctively, Blaine shielded his head, trying to protect himself against any upcoming attack, but there was none. "I'm not going to throw it at you," Kurt said, sounding a little surprised that apparently, Blaine had expected that. "I'm not sure if we're at that stage in our relationship yet where I can freely throw stuff at you for whatever you've done now."

Blaine truly hoped that they would never reach that stage – not that he planned on breaking up with Kurt in the (near) future, but surely they could grow old together without throwing things at one another, right?

Less than a minute later, Kurt sighed. "I give up. I can't rhyme to save my life." Nodding at Blaine's homework on the table, he asked, "Have you finished your homework yet?"

"Actually, I haven't," Blaine replied honestly. After a few seconds, he added, "But we can pretend that I have. Why?"

Kurt tugged at his hand, pulling Blaine towards him. "I think I'll just tell them that while rhyming, I got distracted by my boyfriend who's going to miss me very much when I'm in New York. I'm sure they'll forgive me."

And well, how could Blaine say no to that?