"I officially call this emergency meeting of the warblers to order," Kurt Hummel slammed a hammer from his father's shop down onto the council desk, wincing when the old wood groaned at the impact. Oh well. Wes wouldn't lend him his gavel.

"Can an ex-Warbler call an emergency meeting?" Jeff asked tentatively. Kurt glared at him.

"I most certainly can, especially when it involves someone I care about," Kurt growled. The other boys fell silent. They could sense the Hummel wrath brewing, and from the way they were glancing at one another, they knew what it was about. "How many of you knew about Blaine's problem?"

"I really wouldn't call it a problem," Nick said, "It's been a stressful week. It's just something he does to relax, you know? We all have stuff like that. Don't we, guys?"

Thad nodded, "Yeah, we do. Whenever I'm stressed, I like to make lists of the people who are mocking me…"

"I like to polish my gavel collection," Wes said.

"I like to practice every song on our set list on the kazoo, waiting for the day in which you will take my suggestion to heart and allow me to unleash my true talent," David said longingly.

"See?" Nick said. "Some of our habits may be… weirder than others, but we all have ways to deal with the stress of being a capella rock stars in this crazy world of ours. Can't you understand that, Kurt?"

Kurt glared at him, and Nick sat down silently. The other Warblers were fairly certain Kurt killed a piece of Nick's soul that day.

"Ummm, Kurt?" Thad stepped forward, brave in the face of imminent soul homicide, "Um, I don't mean to be rude, but how did you find out about this? I'm pretty sure Blaine was trying to hide his - "

"Addiction?" Kurt asked. The word tasted bitter, and Kurt spat it from the tip of his tongue. Thad nodded. Kurt sighed dramatically.

"It started last Thursday…"

Kurt stepped out of his navigator, dressed to the nines and flashing a smug smile to anyone who came near. Today, he wasn't gleek, or homo, or fag boy, or lady boy, or anything else those Neanderthals could cook up in their tiny, sport-addled brains. Today, he was Kurt Hummel, visiting his boyfriend.

But something wasn't quite right about this particular visit. Kurt watched as the Dalton boys, who usually offered visitors a high-five, or at the very least an interested stare, walked to their classes with their heads stiffly forward. He saw Thad, and went to say hello, but the boy didn't notice him, muttering to himself as he walked right past.

"Kurt?"

Kurt spun around at the familiar voice, forgetting about Thad as soon as those big hazel eyes came into view, "Blaine!"

Blaine grinned and ran up, wrapping him in a hug, "I missed you," The boy mumbled against Kurt's shoulder, nuzzling his face into Kurt's collar bone. It was weird, having a boyfriend who was shorter than he was, but Kurt liked it. He liked it a lot.

"What's going on?" Kurt asked as he pulled away.

Blaine's eyebrows dipped together, the little hollow between them standing out. Kurt realized that Blaine didn't look so good either, dark circles beneath his eyes and… was that stubble?

"Yeah. Well, its exam week; guys around here get a little crazy. Bad grades mean loss of money and scholarships… there's a lot riding on this, that's all." Blaine grinned, but it only served to make him look more exhausted.

"Are you okay?" Kurt asked.

"I'm fine," Blaine said, but he wasn't convincing, "I just finished my last exam, and my beautiful boyfriend is here to help me celebrate. Race you upstairs?"

An hour later, Kurt had nearly forgotten about earlier. 'The Little Mermaid' was in Blaine's laptop, and he was leaning against his boyfriend, the other boy's arms wrapped around him, a bowl of butter-less kettle corn in his lap.

Kurt popped a few kernels into his mouth, "Mmmhhh." He tried to ignore the way Blaine was fidgeting, bouncing his knee up and down and jolting Kurt a little with each motion. "Are you okay?" Kurt asked.

"Fine," Blaine said, "Can I have some more kettle corn?"

"Sure," Kurt handed him the bowl, "I'm glad that you like it. My dad complains about eating 'fake popcorn' every time I bring it out… I'm really glad you eat healthy, Blaine. That's important to me." Kurt tried to make it sound casual, but he had the feeling he'd failed. He reached nervously for the glass of mineral water on the nightstand.

"It's kind of how I was raised," Blaine said quietly, then, "Oops." A particularly rough jolt of his knee had knocked Kurt off balance, making him spill the water right down the front of his meticulously chosen outfit, "Oh, my gosh. I'm so sorry, Kurt."

"Don't be," Kurt waved it off, "Do you have a place for me to change?"

Blaine paused the movie, and then showed Kurt to his bathroom, offering him one of his old Dalton sweatshirts and a strained smile. He didn't expect Kurt to keep the door unlocked. He didn't expect Kurt to notice that the movie hadn't turned back on. He didn't expect Kurt to be extra quiet opening the bathroom door.

"Blaine, what are you doing?"

"Kurt!" Blaine stepped forward, blocking his activities from Kurt's view. But Kurt had seen enough. The boy stepped forward.

"Step away from the drawer." Blaine did as he was told, leaving Kurt to peer into the forth drawer in Blaine's dresser. And inside the drawer? HORROR.

Blaine's dresser drawer was filled with box upon yellow box chocolate covered marshmallow cookies. Blaine had a single box in his hand, lifting a dark brown cookie to his lips.

"I'm sorry, Kurt. I should have told you."

"What is this?" Kurt said.

"Whippets. They're my favorite cookie," Blaine said, "My grandpa sends me boxes from Canada."

Kurt looked over the drawer, "Do you know what eating this many cookies will do to you?"

"It's nothing, Kurt!" Blaine snapped. "It's not like I eat these every day! I just get stressed sometimes, and I eat a box or two. What's your problem?"

"Nothing," Kurt said, "I just don't think this is very healthy…"

"Well, I don't think you should be telling me how to eat," Blaine said, "In fact, I think you should leave now."

"What?"

"The Whippets and I demand that you be gone!" Blaine shrieked. Kurt stared at him, shocked, before leaving the room. As he walked away, Kurt could hear Blaine humming happily as he munched cookies behind the oak door.

"It was horrifying, not to mention completely humiliating," Kurt finished his story, frowning at the memory.

"So he has a couple boxes of his favorite cookie lying around. So what?" David said.

"It was not a couple boxes," Kurt said, "It was practically a cookie fortress. And since then I've found a separate stash under his bed, in two other drawers and in his closet. It puts Finn's secret junk food stash to shame, and I didn't even think that was possible. Do you know how many calories are in one box of those cookies? And then there was the way Blaine freaked out at me, kicked me out of his room over them. Something isn't right here. We need to have a cookie-vention."

"Cookie-vention?"

"That's a cookie intervention, David," Kurt said.

It was clear what had to be done. The Warblers looked right into Kurt's solemn blue eyes and did what they did best.

Start a massive argument.

"The man needs his cookies. Who are we to deny him that?"

"Yes, but he is showing the classic signs of addiction; erratic behavior, mood swings, withdrawal, attempt to hide his obsession. An addiction is never healthy…"

"Blaine's always like this; you remember that time he suggested we change the piping on our jackets for competition? That's when I knew he would end up a delinquent…"

"That's enough!" Kurt yelled, smashing his Dad's hammer so hard against the desk that he broke a hole in it. "I'm not here to get your approval; I'm merely looking for help. I am confronting him about this, whether you're with me or not." Kurt looked from face to face, hoping that someone, anyone, would stand with him. He didn't think he could handle Blaine on his own.

Kurt had to admit, however, that he was surprised when Wes was the one to step forward. "I don't know about you boys, but I'm in. Blaine's too important to all of us for us to let him wallow in the mires of addiction any longer. Besides, interventions are like crack to me."