“Let's take a look at what you've got going so far,” Kurt says, reaching across the kitchen table for Blaine's planner. Blaine slides it over, relaxing into his morning with Kurt – a morning not spent rushing out the door to catch a train. No, this morning Blaine has absolutely no plans. He got up an hour earlier than Kurt, as usual, but without the anxiety of work weighing on him, he felt more at ease getting his chores done. And Kurt pushed his morning appointments to the afternoon, to join his sub in celebrating his one week anniversary of freedom.

Giving up his job as a part time teacher ended up being a Godsend for Blaine. It wasn't an easy decision to make. Being a teacher had been Blaine's safety net for so long, he was terrified of losing it. But he and his Dom had been discussing his quitting for months. Blaine still might have been a bit unsure. He was unhappy with his job, but secure in the rut he'd gotten trapped in. But Kurt definitely wasn't, and Blaine knew that if Kurt felt strongly about it, then it had to be for the best. Kurt was Blaine's safety net now. He couldn't keep Blaine from falling, but he'd make it safe for Blaine in case he did.

On Sunday, they agreed for the final time that Blaine would resign. The following morning, Blaine turned in his resignation to the same man who, every semester, put tremendous pressure on him, telling him at every turn that he wasn't pushing his students hard enough, and that his job was at stake. That same afternoon, Blaine received about two dozen phone calls from the district office, begging him to come back.

But Blaine couldn't field any of those calls. He was tied up…literally.

Blaine knew he would miss his students, but many of them had his email address, and he knew that they would keep him updated. Other than that, he couldn't think of a single other thing he missed – not the working lunches he didn't get compensated for, not the parent-teacher conferences, not the pit that had taken up permanent residence in his stomach, and grew larger every time anyone said the words standardized testing in his presence. Blaine's entire outlook on life changed within a week. He slept better, he was more energetic at rehearsals, and he had more peace of mind.

He didn't feel helpless, and he hadn't had a panic attack once.

“Well, I was able to squeeze in two hour-long sessions with that vocal coach my director recommended,” Blaine says, pointing to a row of boxes, “and a few more time slots at the gym. Maybe I can get rid of those love-handles our choreographer claims I have.”

“The man's an imbecile, pet. Don't listen to him,” Kurt says, looking at the boxes Blaine erased and re-filled with new appointments, Blaine-centric appointments, written in his tidy script. “Dance, gym, diction, voice, lunch with me…good, good.” Kurt nods approvingly. He comes across a box for Thursday in two weeks with nothing written in it but the letters “tbd”. He points to it and looks at Blaine questioningly.

“I was going to talk to you about that, Sir,” Blaine says, chewing on his lower lip, the only sign of nervousness Kurt's seen from his sub in days. Kurt doesn't want Blaine feeling nervous, not when he's basking in his new Shangri-La. Unless Blaine's nervous about something regarding his Dom. That's something Kurt can take care of. “I thought, maybe, if you wouldn't mind, we could sign up for that Shibari workshop? You know, the one you had mentioned taking on your afternoon off, but I couldn't go because of A.P. Prep?”

Kurt smiles. When Blaine found out he wouldn't be able to go, he was extremely disappointed, more so when Kurt refused to go without him. After all the strife Blaine had been going through, Kurt didn't think he'd remember.

But that was Blaine. Always the little sweetheart, always so thoughtful.

“I think that sounds like a fantastic idea, pet,” Kurt says.

Blaine smiles, ready to ask if he can pencil it in, when his phone begins to ring. Cell phones at the kitchen table are rarely allowed, especially on days when Kurt has to make crazy changes to his schedule to spend time with his sub, like he did today. Kurt permitted it this time since Blaine was in the throes of rearranging his life, and needed the phone to confirm appointments. Sitting on the table closest to Blaine, Blaine sees the number first, then holds it up for Kurt to see.

“May I, Sir?”

Kurt glances at the number on the screen. There's only a handful of people Kurt will allow Blaine to take a call from at the breakfast table. The person calling him now is one of them. She's on the top of the list, actually.

“For the lovely Mrs. Anderson,” Kurt says, “of course.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Blaine answers the call on the third ring. “Hi, mom!”

Those are the last words Kurt understands because the rest is a flurry of vowels and sounds that form words Kurt feels he should understand, at least a little by now, but he has no clue. Blaine throws in one or two English words, and Kurt thinks for a second that they might clue him in, but no. Nope, everything after is a complete mystery.

Blaine's mother, Pam, moved to America from the Philippines when she was in her teens. She didn't speak a word of English at the time, but she jumped straight into public school, and she's been a fluent English speaker since. Still, Blaine and his mother always talk over the phone in her native language. At the beginning, Kurt found it jarring, and frankly, somewhat insulting. He's not too proud to admit it. He didn't like feeling left out of the conversation, especially with his sub involved, but he got over himself quickly.

This was between Blaine and his mother. Kurt doesn't get a say in how they communicate with each other.

Besides, Kurt remembers what it was like, talking to his mom in French over breakfast on Saturday mornings while his father worked at the shop. They wouldn't have if he was at the table with them. They wouldn't want to exclude him. Kurt remembers the many times they tried to teach his dad French so he could join in the conversation, but his father got frustrated. He would joke that he was a vulgar American, and that it wasn't in him to speak fancy French language.

The first few Saturdays after Kurt's mom passed away, his father took Saturdays off. He sat with Kurt at the breakfast table, an English-French dictionary in his lap, trying to fumble his way through Hi, How are you? and Would you please pass the butter? while negotiating his toast and coffee.

Burt Hummel never got the hang of saying more than Bon jour, Au revoir, merci, and sil vous plaît. That didn't matter to Kurt. The point was his father tried. He tried to make up for Kurt's loss of a mother, the one person who knew him inside and out on a level his father might never understand.

Kurt excelled at French in school, and that barrier between him and his father always remained. It wasn't a tall barrier. It didn't keep Kurt and his father apart. But it was one that only his mother could breach.

Kurt doesn't like having barriers with Blaine, even small ones, but language isn't a small barrier. It's a core piece of knowledge – an intimate connection. Kurt has thought about teaching his sub French, but he doesn't want to add any more stress on the man than he's already under, even if he did recently lose about 300 pounds of it by unloading that job.

Blaine's eyes dart up to Kurt, watching him intently, and he blushes as he says something that Kurt assumes means, “Yes, mom,” solely from the tone of his sub's voice. Kurt knows that Blaine's mom has been making him promise that he'll come visit soon, and bring the young man he's been telling her about. Kurt wonders if that's what this yes, mom is about.

The last thing Blaine says he always says before he ends his calls with his mom, so Kurt thinks it might mean, “I love you.” He's considered looking up a few of these words on Google Translate, but that would feel like invading Blaine's privacy. In reality, all he really needs to do is ask. Blaine will tell him anything he wants to know.

Blaine blows his mom a kiss and hangs up the call, then turns back to Kurt and his planner.

“Okay,” Blaine says, eager to return to his planning. “Where were we?”

“Actually, I wanted to ask you a favor,” Kurt says, closing the planner to ensure he has Blaine's complete attention.

“Sure, Sir,” Blaine says, becoming instantly curious. “Ask me anything.”

“I just realized,” Kurt says, taking Blaine's hand in both of his and massaging his sub's palm with his thumb, “you have this whole other side to you – this whole culture and language - that I know nothing about. I was hoping that maybe you would consider teaching me.”

Blaine's brow draws in confusion. “Teach you, Sir?” he asks.

“To speak your language,” Kurt says.

Blaine's confused smile becomes bashful. “You want…you want me to teach you to speak Filipino?”

“If you don't mind,” Kurt says. “Just a few words, some phrases. I don't plan on listening in on your phone calls with your mom. I promise, though I am kind of curious what she thinks of me.”

Blaine chuckles that high-pitched giggle he gets when Kurt does or says something special out-of-the-blue. “That's…that would be…wonderful,” Blaine says. “I could teach you a few things now. What do you want to start with, Sir? Commands? Safewords?”

“How about” – Kurt brings Blaine's hand to his lips for a kiss – “we start with the two most important, hmm? Teach me how to say good boy” – Kurt kisses Blaine's knuckles, enjoying his soft gasp at the light touch – “and then teach me how to say I love you.”