A/N: Thanks for the enthusiastic review I got for the last chapter! Reviews really make my day. I've decided to give you guys an update every four days. However, I did mean to post this yesterday, and then forgot. I apologize. All italics are phone conversations/Kurt singing/unsung lyrics.

Kurt stumbled into their apartment singing, falling into the loving and strong arms of his fiancé.

Look what we've got
A fairy-tale plot
Our very own happy ending

Where we couldn't be happier
True, dear?
Couldn't be happier

And we're happy to share
Our ending vicariously
With all of you

He couldn't look handsomer
I couldn't feel humbler
We couldn't be happier
Because happy is what happens
When all your dreams come true!

Kurt giggled as he finished his impromptu rendition of the song, the alcohol making his world rose-colored and shiny now, rather than red and full of dark shadows like it had before. "Hi, love," he said to his wonderful fiancé, leaning up to kiss Sam.

"Honey, where have you been?" Sam ignored Kurt's searching lips. "I've been worried sick."

"I went to the bureau." Kurt said, and the world didn't nod with him this time. Probably because he was in Sam's arms.

"How much have you had to drink?" Sam asked, obviously concerned, but Kurt shook his head.

"That's not important. I went to the bureau," Kurt repeated, needing his boyfriend to know how important this was to him. The alcohol had just... helped.

"Honey, a bureau is a piece of furniture. I think it's time for you to go to bed." Kurt shoot his head, mostly used to the way the world shook with it.

"No. The marriage bureau," Kurt explained. Really, it was the same thing he had just said, just different words.

"Why were you at the marriage bureau?" At least Sammy had stopped trying to drag him away. Kurt righted himself as best he could, and placed his hands on Sammy's shoulders.

"I realized something at the bar." Sammy was going to interrupt him, but Kurt didn't give him the chance. "I don't want a big wedding. I don't need a big wedding. What I want and need... is you." Kurt ruined the dignity of his small speech by hiccuping at the end. Sammy's eyes were wet anyway.

"Kurt, I don't want you to give up your dreams of a white wedding with all your family just for me. We can make this work. Maybe not this year, maybe not in two years, but we can make this work." Kurt was shaking his head by the time Sam finished.

"I'm not giving up anything, because I have you. I want you. Now. Uh, and not like that. Well, like that too, but that's not what-" Sam cut off his babbling and completely drunk fiancé with a kiss.

"How did you file a marriage license without me?" Sam asked after a few minutes, as if this had just occurred to him.

"I had to do something called store-away. You can go fill it out tomorrow, and then we'll be married." Kurt went back to kissing his fiancé, elated by the idea of finally being married. He didn't care about a big wedding or a tropical honeymoon. All he needed was Sam and that lovely bed right over there. Speaking of beds, "fuck me."

"Baby, you're drunk," Sam said, shocked or angry or something. Something that did not sound like he was going to fuck Kurt.

"I don't care," Kurt muttered, leaning up to kiss at Sam's big mouth and squeeze his ass. Sexual coercion was the best invention ever thought up.

Alexandria Mason was not having a good night. The late shift at the marriage bureau was supposed to be easy. Who came in to get married at eleven at night?

Apparently, two people in the city of New York decided this would be a good idea on her shift. Her heart sunk as she looked at the two papers in front of her. Store-aways. Great.

The routine with store-aways was as follows: you type them into the computer the night you get them, and if you don't have the rest to fill in within ten days, they get deleted. Easy, right?

Wrong. Computers, especially her computer, don't like it when you don't fill out the entirety of the license, and tend to get cranky, either losing the information or editing it.

Sighing to herself, Alexandria began typing, her eyes drooping and the words blurring as she did. Luckily, she didn't even need to look at the keys, just following the lines of both licenses, using her tab button to work across a split screen. It was much easier for her to have two licenses open on her computer and fill in both at once.

She frowned when she realized one wasn't a store-away and a mistake had been made, but her brain was in too much of an exhausted haze to care. She was in the middle of finals and had probably gotten a grand total of two hours of sleep in the entire week.

So, Blaine Anderson had married Kurt Hummel, and Sebastian Smythe was waiting on... someone, she couldn't even know what gender it was automatically anymore, to fill the other half out. Fine by her.

Something had died in his mouth. The mother of whatever had died in his mouth was clearly taking revenge by jack-hammering his brain. Those were Kurt's only two coherent thoughts when he woke up the next morning, curled in Sam's arms. Kurt groaned quietly, not wanting to upset his own headache, as he realized that unless he wanted to puke all over his fiancé he would have to get up.

Kurt did exactly that, stumbling over to their bathroom and curling over the toilet as the contents of his stomach made themselves known in a rather dramatic way. He had probably only been there for two minutes before a hand was stroking down his back, another pulling his bangs away, and a soft voice mutterings sweet nothings.

Once Kurt's stomach was empty, he leaned his head against the bowl, knowing how unsanitary it was but frankly not caring. "That's what you get for drinking all night," Sam whispered, but he picked up his far-too-light fiancé and carried him back to bed.

"Mm," Kurt agreed half-heartedly, sleep seeming like a pretty great idea to him.

Sleep continued to seem like a excellent way to spend the day as Sam curled around him, but that ideal was brought short as Sam whispered in Kurt's ear "how long do I have to fill out the other half of the marriage license?" and the events of the previous night came flooding back to him.

"Ten days," Kurt replied, but he jumped out of bed anyway, immediately regretting it as his head pounded with blood and he swayed on his feet a little.

"Woah, what's the rush?" Sam asked, shivering as a sudden blast of cold winter air filled the space once occupied by his fiancé.

"I want to get married," Kurt said, rolling his eyes and once again wishing he hadn't. "Come on, slow poke, we have to get to Worth Street."

"No patience. None," Sam mock-complained as he rolled out of bed, grabbing clothes and not even trying to beat Kurt to the shower. He never won.

As soon as the couple was dressed and clean, they headed for the marriage bureau, deciding to walk despite the chill, holding hands as they traversed the city streets, knowing no one would say anything. Kurt was practically bouncing he was so excited, and he caught Sam giving him looks so full of love they made his heart clench. The walk seemed to take an eternity.

"Hello," he said cheerily to the woman at the front desk, relieved that it was not the same one from the previous night. "My name is Kurt Elizabeth Hummel and I filed a store-away license last night." The lady nodded, ear buds in, obviously not caring about what Kurt had to say.

Kurt bounced still, mood un-dampened by the woman's lack of interest, as she filed through the store-aways. "Yeah, don't worry. Your husband already filled out the other half." Only then did Kurt freeze.

"Excuse me, that's not possible. My fiancé is right here, and he's been with me since I filed it. There must be some sort of mistake. I would like to file a new one." Kurt knew he'd been drunk, but he certainly wasn't drunk enough to marry someone besides Sam.

"Polygamy isn't legal in this country, kid. You're already married." Sam looked at Kurt in shock, and the fashion critic knew his face was bone-white.

"That's not possible," he repeated. "I filled out half of the sheet last night, and Sam is here to fill in the other half this morning." The woman just shook her head and popped her gum, seeming not to care about the supernova going off in Kurt's head.

"Great for you. Here's the annulment papers you'll need to sign and get your current husband to sign in order to marry a new one. Have them notarized and bring them back." The woman placed a stack of papers that Kurt would estimate as one and a half Harry Potter books on the desk and turned away.

"Excuse me," Kurt said politely, feeling his patience wearing thin behind his poker face. When he was ignored, he allowed a more forceful tone to enter his voice as he repeated the words, this time a snap.

"What the hell could you possibly want?" The woman was clearly annoyed.

"I don't know who my 'husband' is." Perhaps it was slightly third-grade of him to include the actual air quotes, but the indifference of this woman to a mistake clearly made by their department upset him.

"Name, address, phone number." The woman printed a piece of paper quickly and placed it on top of the annulment forms. "Have a nice day."

Only Sam's presence kept Kurt from giving her a piece of his mind.

His fiancé took a hold of his hand as they walked down the steps of the bureau, and the air between them tingled with tension. "You're married." Sam didn't sound angry, or even surprised, but simply shell-shocked.

"Of course not, baby. I've never even looked at another guy since we got together. Who else could compare? There was simply a mistake made in the system that I now have to fix. Don't worry, I'll take care of it," Kurt promised the love of his life. Sam have him a look devoid of any emotion before kissing him hard, right there on the street. Only Sam's strong arms around him kept him from falling as the passionate kiss made him weak at the knees, and he had to clutch at his fiancé to keep himself upright.

"Everything will be okay," Sam whispered against his lips as he pulled away for oxygen. Whether he was trying to convince himself or Kurt, the fashion critic wasn't sure, and he would be willing to bet that Sam didn't know either. However, Sam's reassurance was true.

"I promise," Kurt said, pressing one soft kiss to his fiancé's lips. "I have to be at my new job in twenty minutes." Kurt sighed. He really wasn't looking forward to being a puppet to a fashion magazine. "I'll confront whomever I'm married to after work, and hopefully by the next time I see you I'll be a single man." Kurt tried to make a joke out of it, but Sam's eyes remained serious.

"I love you," he said firmly, releasing the fashion critic at last.

"I love you too," Kurt replied, extricating himself from the mechanic's grip and heading for Times Square, knowing he was cutting it close but not caring as he could feel his fiancé's stare boring a hole in his back as he walked away.

Blaine Anderson was married to Sebastian Smythe. Even thinking the sentence sent a rush of joy through the tycoon, who was taking a cold walk through Central Park as he waited for Sebastian to pick up. Thanks to the Internet and handy time zone calculators, he knew that it was six in the morning in Japan because it was four in the afternoon in New York, and he knew Seb would be awake.

"Hello?" the familiar voice sent a whirlwind of emotions through Blaine.

"Seb," he breathed, unable to form a coherent sentence past the emotions building in his throat.

"Blaine, I'm going to hang up now. You shouldn't have called."

"Wait!" Blaine cried, not wanting his angel to hang up on him. "I have something to tell you."

"Make it quick, Blaine. I have work to do." Sebastian's voice was bored and cold, the voice he used when he was vulnerable or upset.

"We're married." There was silence on the other end of the line. "I went to the marriage bureau, and I forged your signature off of the letter you left me, and we're married." Blaine held his breath as he waited for Sebastian to respond.

"Oh, Blaine," Sebastian whispered into the phone, sounding frustrated and upset. "Why did you do that? I'm not coming back, and a New York license, a gay marriage one especially, has no effect on me here. All you've done is taken away your chance for future happiness."

"I don't want 'future happiness'," Blaine responded tartly, upset that Sebastian was not happy. "I want you, and now I have you."

"You don't have me, Blaine. I'm happy here. I'm successful, and I'm happy. I... I have a boyfriend." Blaine's heart broke, the band-aids he'd been using to hold it together until Seb returned rotting and turning to poisonous goo, filling his already abused organ with holes... metaphorically, of course.

"It hasn't even been a week," Blaine responded dully, in too much pain to be angry about what had happened.

"I'm happy here, Blay. I'm successful, and I love it. I've moved on, and you need to as well. When you find the perfect guy for you, send the annulment papers overseas and you'll have them back within a week."

"Seb, I love you," Blaine whispered tearfully, ignoring the looks he was getting from the families passing by as he broke down in the middle of Central Park.

"Move on, Blaine. Move on." Sebastian hung up and Blaine sank onto the snow-covered path, not even caring about the cold wetness seeping into the back of his pants. His entire life had fallen apart in less than a week, and there was only one person to blame: Kurt Hummel.

Work. From. Hell.

That best described his day at Vanity Fair, as well as every day he'd spent at 4 Times Square. Kurt rifled through what must have been a hundred amateur reports, forced to read every one, and ended up throwing the lot of them in the garbage. For a magazine always searching for talent, they didn't have a lot of it on hand.

Cracking his sore knuckles, even though he knew it was a bad habit, he pulled the printed sheet from his bag. His husband's address was at least in a good part of town, and his suite was obviously the penthouse or close below.

Kurt crossed the street for the nearest subway station, taking the one uptown towards his husband's apartment.

He wasn't, of course, angry with the man who had mistakenly become his husband. Surely, it hadn't been his fault. If anything, he was probably now in the same situation, married to the wrong person, and horrified by it. Kurt was glad he didn't enter Sam's information, what could have happened if both of them ended up married to the wrong person?

Anyway, as long as his husband cooperated and signed the annulment papers quickly, he would have no beef with the man. He even knew a notary that worked near his husband's address. He would be single by sunrise (sundown had already happened, but it was only five thirty. Curse winter).

Kurt steeled his nerves as he rode the elevator to his husbands floor. He had been correct in his assumption that his husband owned the penthouse. He hesitantly knocked on the wide, polished door, and waited for an answer.

Blaine was sprawled on the couch, dressed in sweat pants and one of Seb's old lacrosse jerseys, thoroughly depressed and almost out of chocolate chip ice cream.

Despite everything he had done, every law he had broken to get back his angel, nothing had worked, and he was alone. The silence in the apartment tore at his heart the most. Sebastian was a loud creature, always baking something or watching something or singing something and never standing or sitting still for more than ten seconds.

The tycoon was preparing to get more ice cream out of the refrigerator when he heard a knock on the door. Too lazy and uncaring to check who it was, Blaine swung the door open to reveal the man he'd seen drunk at the bureau the night before, now fully sober and composed.

"Oh, great." The words slipped out of Blaine's mouth before he could control them, not that he regretted them, of course.

"Hello," the man said awkwardly. "I know this is a strange situation, but we seem to have a problem."

"You were at the marriage bureau last night." The man nodded. "You filed a store-away." Another nod. "You were drunk off your ass." A blush this time, and a nod.

"May I come in?" Blaine nodded yes before he realized he didn't even know the man's name. Oh well. He seemed generally harmless, even if he couldn't hold his liquor.

"So, what's our problem?" Blaine asked, gesturing for the man to take a seat on the couch. He did so, Blaine would guess later, out of politeness, but the sweaty, smelly blankets and tear-besotted pillows did not make it an appealing place to sit.

"We seem to be married." Blaine blinked once. Then again. Then decided the man was crazy, but he could sort that out later.

"Okay, uh, what's your name?" Blaine asked, not sure how to address the man sitting rather uncomfortably on his couch.

"I'm Kurt Hummel, fashion critic for Vanity Fair magazine." The moment the name registered, Blaine saw red.

"You!" was all he could force out, his sudden volume and anger making Hummel flinch.

"Me?" Hummel asked, and Blaine laughed coldly.

"You! You ruined my life! And I ruined yours! And now you're here, trying to tell me that we're married? Get lost!" Blaine yelled, scaring the critic out of his mind but feeling no remorse.

"I'm sorry, but how exactly did I ruin your life?" Hummel asked confused, and Blaine laughed again, no humor in the sound.

"You destroyed my fiancé's clothing line. You shamed him so badly he moved to Tokyo! As in Japan!" The sadness over what had happened earlier had nothing on his rage towards the man on his couch and barely made a blip on Blaine's emotional radar.

"I'm sorry, but who is your fiancé? Or, was your fiancé, I suppose?" Kurt wasn't saying it meanly, but it was obviously taken wrong by this crazy tycoon with multiple personality disorder.

"Sebastian Smythe," Blaine practically snarled the name, and Hummel's eyes widened in understanding.

"Have you seen his designs?" Blaine nodded, still glaring ferociously at Kurt. "You can't think he's good enough to make it in the big leagues."

"Of course he isn't. You don't think I know that? I may be in love, but I'm not stupid, Hummel, I've got eyes. But publicly shaming someone to the point they leave the country? That just makes you a bitch," Blaine snarled.

"It's not my fault Sebastian decided to submit his designs. If anyone's to blame for this, it's you, for not telling him that he sucked. Well, of course, I'm sure he did in many ways." Kurt stood up, enraged by the insult, facing his husband square on. Blaine resisted the urge to hit the man as he spoke of the love of his life in such a fashion.

"Don't. You. Ever. Talk. About. Seb. Like. That." If Blaine could control the powers of nature, his eyes would be glowing red right now, fangs growing as he scared this pathetic fashion writer into his proper place.

"Well, you ruined my life right back!" Kurt countered, not having any idea what he was talking about, but bluffing to turn the tide. "You're the one who pushed Sam's company under, aren't you?" The way Blaine turned his head away was enough of an answer for Kurt. "You destroyed my innocent fiancé's life. That's just low. He's always supported me to be nicer about my reviews. I gave your fiancé the reviews he deserved, and you gave mine hell because you were angry with me. You're pathetic."

Blaine took a few seconds to breath, perfecting his façade, but internally seething with rage. Hummel had no right to talk to him like this.

"Well, I'm glad your relationship with your fiancé is still going strong," Blaine said calmly, his poker face absolute perfection as he went from sixty to zero in one point five. "Too bad you'll never be able to marry him if I don't sign those papers, honey." Blaine smirked, and Hummel's face reddened.

"You bitch. Just because you couldn't hang on to a talent-less whore doesn't mean you have the right to ruin my life." Blaine just smiled as Hummel got riled up.

"I wouldn't be calling him that if I were you. It's not gaining you any brownie points." Blaine kept his voice chocolate-smooth and calm. "You're definitely going to need a bunch of those to have any hope that I will sign those papers."

"You wouldn't..." Hummel left the sentence unfinished, and Blaine just shrugged.

"Why not? I've got nothing to loose. Like you said, I couldn't hang on to Seb. So, how is it hurting me to stay married to you?" Hummel didn't answer. "Exactly. It isn't. Whiskey?" Blaine asked politely, leaving Hummel standing there shell-shocked.

Blaine was shocked but didn't let it show when Hummel answered "Yes, please," sitting back down on the couch with a sigh and placing his head in his hands. Shrugging and secretly wondering if his new husband was an alcoholic, Blaine headed for the kitchen and poured two shots of whiskey.

Bringing the shots back into the living room, he handed one to Kurt. "To new marriage!" he toasted mockingly, raising his glass in Kurt's direction.

Kurt replied "Fuck you," raising his glass in a mockery of Blaine before throwing the shot back like a pro. Blaine did the same.

Kurt woke up... not wrapped in Sam's arms. Instead, someone was wrapped in his arms, small and compact but oh-so-warm. Kurt held said-body close until he realized what this meant.

First of all, the sun was in his face, pouring through the open windows of a penthouse suite with a great view of New York City spread out before the occupants of the penthouse bed. Second, he did not remember going home the previous night. Third, he was still married. Fourth, he was not very well-clothed, and neither was the person he was holding. Last, but certainly not least, the last person he remembered seeing was Blaine Anderson, local tycoon and his new husband.

These five facts led to one horrifyingly inevitable conclusion: he had cheated on his fiancé with his husband.

Kurt pushed the body in his arms, Blaine, away. The tycoon only rolled over, obviously a heavy sleeper. Wondering where his clothes had gotten to, and knowing he had to be at work at any minute, Kurt sprung out of bed, glad that his hangover was not as bad. Somehow, his hangovers after blackouts were never as bad. He only ever threw up if he could remember what had happened the night before.

Checking around the apartment, and trying to ignore the fact that Blaine could awake at any moment and see him wandering around in his underwear, Kurt couldn't locate his clothes. One horrible thought (or perhaps it was a memory) occurred to him, and he looked out the window. Surely enough, his clothes were on the balcony of another apartment. Shit.

Glad he still had his underwear, he rifled through the drawers of Blaine's apartment (he could always use 'what's mine is yours' to justify the stealing), finding some slacks long enough (he guessed they were Sebastian's) and a pressed shirt that would work and quickly donning them, not hanging around long enough to shower.

He left before Blaine woke up.

"Charlie, I need my emergency outfit. Stat." The shirt he'd taken was too baggy, and the pants slightly too long, and Kurt looked like a mess. Thankfully, he'd been allowed to bring his assistant to Vanity Fair with him, and Charlie always had his back.

"Emergency outfit," Charlie replied, handing over a garment bag as Kurt blessed him repeatedly. "No problem, honey. Honestly, you and Sam must have one hell of a time in the sack." Kurt shook his head, then realized what he was saying and nodded, and then gave up on trying to answer with dignity and shooed Charlie out of his office so that he could change.

"Let's just say last night was not what I expected it to be," Kurt replied, changing clothes with the efficiency only someone who had once worked the runway had.

"Oh la la. Anyway, shall I list the ways in which life decided to torture you today?" Charlie didn't wait for an answer before continuing. "Your father called earlier, something about wanting to talk to Sam before the wedding, and it was the usual joint call with your step-mother. Sam's called eight-and-a-half times. The last one he hung up because I think he realized he was acting desperate, I have no idea why he's called so much. Oh, and you have a meeting in twenty minutes. Good thing you have an emergency outfit." Kurt groaned.

"Get me Sam on line one please, and my dad on line two, and see what you can do to postpone that meeting." Charlie nodded at Kurt's instructions and went straight over to the phone. "Oh, and coffee."

"Hey, Sammy baby. I know you must have been worried, but negotiations with my husband took longer than I thought." Charlie mouthed 'husband?', eyes open wide with shock, but Kurt chose to ignore him.

"All right, I was just worried. I love you."

"Yes, I love you too. I'm sorry that I worried you, but I stayed at a hotel.

"Kurt, a hotel?"

Yes, a hotel, Sam. Our finances are stable enough for one night at a hotel." Kurt's cell rang and line two picked up a call. Charlie chuckled. "Can you hold for just one second, love?" Kurt didn't wait for an answer, going to line one.

"Hi, dad."

"I want to talk to that fiancé of yours before the wedding, and he better want to talk to me."

"Yes, of course Sam wants to talk to you before the wedding. I don't know when that will be though, there's been some news." Kurt's father started in on the endless stream of questions, too fast for Kurt to answer one before the next came.

"What the hell could have happened that you postponed the wedding? Kurt, what is going on there? Why is your web site no longer available? Did you sell your soul to some idiot magazine? I don't like not knowing what's going on there, you have to tell me, kiddo, all right? Is it money? Do you need help from Carole and I?"

"Cell phone," Charlie commented, and Kurt looked at him gratefully.

"One second, dad, I have to answer my cell. You'll only be on hold for a second, I promise." Kurt quickly picked up his cell phone, not recognizing the caller ID but not wanting to keep both his dad and fiancé on hold for long enough for him to puzzle out who it could be. "Hello?"

"You forgot your clothes," was the only comment from his cell phone, but he recognized the voice automatically.

"Blaine, I really don't have time for this back and forth," Kurt replied, already feeling annoyed with his husband and dropping his phone on his desk, open.

"Fiancé, line one." Kurt swore under his breath and picked up his office phone.

"Sam?"

"You there, baby? You think you'll manage to get those papers signed by your... husband?"

"Of course I'll get the papers signed. I'm even on my cell with my husband right now." Charlie smirked, and Kurt flipped him off. "I'm sorry I left you on hold. I love you, and I'll be home on time tonight, all right?"

"Of course. I love you too, baby." Sam hung up and Kurt put the receiver down on his desk, placing his head in his hands, groaning at what his life had become.

"Dad on line two," Charlie reminded him, and Kurt grabbed at the phone again, hitting the button to talk to his father.

"Hey, Dad. Sorry about that. Work's really busy, I'm working at Vanity Fair now. Yes, the reason is financial, no, we do not need help."

"Just making sure, kid. We're still your parents, after all."

"I know, and I love you guys. I've got to go though, I have a meeting in..." Charlie mouthed 'eight' and Kurt nodded. "About ten minutes."

"All right. You need to hang up again? I just got one more thing to ask you." Kurt groaned, and put his dad on hold.

"Husband, cell," Charlie added helpfully.

"How did you even get this number?" Kurt asked his husband, annoyed.

"Don't you need to talk to your father and fiancé? P.S. if the phone's open, I can hear you." Blaine didn't sound annoyed, but rather entertained, holding those papers over his head.

"Look, Blaine, I know you think this is funny, but I really need to get those papers signed and notarized." Blaine's sigh came over the phone as a rush of static.

"You really don't get this, do you?" A pause, and Kurt was ready to strangle this man. "Meet me at the Balto statue in Central Park at three o'clock. You're a New Yorker, you know where that is." His husband hung up on him.

"And last but not least, father still on line two." Charlie's comments were starting to feel more like commentary at this point.

"What else could you possibly want to ask me?" Kurt asked his dad, irate thanks to the call from his husband.

"I was wondering when the next time I get to come up to New York is. I miss you, kiddo." Kurt's heart softened, and he smoothed out his tone.

"I'm sorry, I'm dealing with a lot right now, but I miss you too. Soon, all right?"

"All right. Bye, kiddo."

"Bye, dad. I love you."

"Love you too." The final dial tone hummed in Kurt's ear, and he finally hung up his accursed phone.

"Meeting in three," Charlie added. Kurt just glared at him. "Oh, this is too good. A father, a husband, and a fiancé, all on the phone at once, most of them even knowing about the others."

"Charlie, this is not funny." Kurt gave his assistant the deadliest glare he could muster.

"Relax. I'm just glad you're having some fun. Marrying a stranger late at night when you're drunk definitely counts." Kurt just sighed, slumping momentarily against his desk before standing up and stretching, prepared for the meeting with Marc (Jacobs, that is).

"It wasn't intentional," he replied to his assistant as he left the room, folder of passable designs in his hands, and tension written all over his face.

"Never is."

A/N: Kurt's little drunken ditty is from 'Wonderful' from Wicked, and Blaine's mini-appropriate-serenade was 'Amazed' by Lonestar, in case you couldn't figure that out. I hope you enjoyed the chapter.

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