Blaine's POV

A plate crashed against the wall inches from my ear. Shards of glass fell down to the floor, a few stray pieces landing in my hair. I winced slightly, but didn't move to retaliate or wipe away the glass. He had every right to be furious. I should have been groveling for forgiveness at his feet. Instead, I stood there, back against the wall, face a blank slate, and took it.

"I can't believe you, Blaine." He looked at me, beautiful blue-green eyes burning like fire. "I thought...I thought you loved me. We've been together for nearly four years-and you hadn't seen him since your junior year!" A hand went to his lithe hip and I winced again-after being with him for so long I could guess what was coming next. "Get out."

But that was it. Two simple words. There was no malice in his voice, no anger. As if my leaving would have no effect on him. And I doubted it would anymore.

They were just two words.

Blaine found an apartment somewhere in the city. Considering it was New York, it wasn't difficult. Physically, at least. Every time he went back to their-Kurt's, he mentally chided himself,-Kurt's loft to get his things, he was gone. It was like a blow to the chest.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he picked up the final box of his things before making his way towards the front door. Blaine reached for the door knob, not wanting to have that moment of finality-that moment of regret before he left.

Then, the phone rang loudly, nearly making him drop the box. He shifted it to one arm, cursed under his breath, and answered the call. "Hello?"

"Anderson? Brent Mitchell from Mitchell's Pub. You got the gig, kid. You start Friday at five. Don't be late. I'll pay ya when ya don't screw it up."

The new hire blinked. "Uh, thanks. I'll be there. I can't wait to start. Thank you so much, Mr. Mitchell."

"Catchya later kid." And he was gone. Blaine sighed, sliding the phone back in my pocket. At least he had a way to pay the rent. At this point-

"Congradulations."

Kurt stood directly in front of the curly-haired boy, jaw clenched, his shoulders and stance rigid. He'd come to the audtition too. Now, he wore a long, form-fitting sweater that hugged in all the right places and black skin-tight jeans. But the brown-eyed gaze was locked on Rachel standing behind him, eye brows arched dramatically at seeing the other boy.

"Thanks." Blaine swallowed. "I just came by to get the rest of my stuff. Sorry, had I known-"

"It's fine." Again, his tone held a sense of finality, but not a trace of sadness.

Blaine stood there for just a moment, searching desperately for a sign. A sign he wanted them back. A sign that this was killing him too. A sign that Kurt hated him. He just wanted some sort of emotion. Anything. He found none.

"Well," he said. "I guess I should get going." He moved to go out the door and Kurt stepped back to keep them from touching as he made my way past. Blaine felt a pang in his chest, but continued down the hall and to the stairs, hearing Rachel whisper something to the counter-tenor that Blaine couldn't quite catch.

Then, the door to the loft closed, echoing like a gunshot through the building.

"Kurt." Rachel's tone was light, but Kurt knew her well enough to know when she was accusing him of something. (He'd tried to "fix" he wardrobe a few too many times.)

Kurt sighed, walking over to the couch in his living room, falling back into it and sinking into the cusions. "Yes, my over-protective friend who really doesn't need to concern herself with my now non-existent love life?"

Rachel huffed, sitting next to him, crossing her legs and smoothing black pencil skirt. "I just want you to be happy, Kurt." She looked at him thoughtfully. "You've been acting so...normal...all week."

The counter-tenor shrugged before turning to face her, sitting cross-legged. He folded his arms. "It's not the end of the world, Rachel. Besides, I've got my audition to focus on next month."

"Kurt!" Her high soprano was shrill and angry.

"Yes?"

She glared. "You are not just going to play this off. I know you, you act like a dam and hold back all emotions behind your diva-which I do respect, you do it fantastically-but I know you can't just say Blaine means nothing to you now. Seriously-"

"Rachel. I'm over him."

The two divas locked eyes for a few moments, eyebrows scruntched together. It was a battle, and Rachel knew she couldn't win. But damned if she wasn't going to be persistent about it.

"We'll talk about this later. Now...retail therapy."

Kurt was pretty sure if he had bought so much as one more pair of sunglasses, the heart attack he was sure to get from next month's credit card bill would kill him. That was, of course, if the sheer weight of the shopping bags he was carrying back to his loft didn't crush him to death first.

He drug himself through the door, throwing the bags to the ground at his feet before laying himself back on the couch. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and laughing humorlessly. He was not going to do this. Tear himself up over this. Play the part of a the heartbroken.

He picked up his phone, dialing the number subconsciously. "Rache?"

"Hello, my darling."

"What are you doing this Friday?"

"Name a place and time." Her voice floated through the phone lightly, and Kurt held back a laugh as he heard Barbra playing loudly in the background.

"Mitchell's. Four-thirty?"

"See you then."