AN: Once again, I am forced to begin my author's note with an apology. I could go on and on about the reasons why it took me so long to get this chapter out (school, work, hand-eating milkshake machine …) but it's a moot point anyway. The chapter's late, I kept you guys waiting far too long, and I can only hope some of you are still with me and this story.

On a slightly more cheery note: I have a tumblr now! Still trying to figure out how the hell it works (seriously, if ever there was a website to make me feel eighty-seven years older than I actually am …) and my blog is frightfully bleak at this point - but with an injured hand finally on the mend (oh, and to all my readers who have been/are/will be occupational therapists: I appreciate the work you do, but that does not cancel out the fact you're all sadists) I'm hoping to maybe pick up on the writing a bit. Post some snippets or whathaveyou's over there.

Link's on my profile if you're interested! Come say hello and make me feel slightly less like the creepily silent lurker I actually am!

Disclaimer: Not mine. Never was mine, never will be mine, can we stop rubbing it in now, please?

Chapter Ten: Lady Troubles

Today was going to be a good day, Kurt thought to himself as he entered the impressive entrance foyer of Dalton Academy, a spring in his step, and a steaming cup of Lima Bean coffee held in each hand. The sun was rising, birds were chirping, his hair looked marvelous - all the ingredients were there for the beginnings of a truly spectacular morning.

His brisk footfalls echoed against the polished floors, bouncing off the wainscoted walls, intermingling with the notes of the cheerful tune he whistled to himself as he walked with purpose down the corridors, his shoulder bag bouncing jauntily against his hip with his movements. The sky outside the mullioned windows was beginning to lighten, streaks of orange and pink striping across the cloudless expanse, giving strong evidence to the weather forecast's promise of another beautiful, sun-filled spring day.

Kurt glanced at his wristwatch, mindful of the medium drip he held in that hand. He grinned; quarter to six - right on time. The halls of the school were mostly deserted at such an early hour, the few early-risers roaming the floors looking puffy-eyed and sleep-rumpled as they traipsed to their early morning meetings. Some stifled yawns behind their hands as they offered mumbled greetings to Kurt as he passed; others stared with drowsy-eyed incredulity at how blatantly chipper Kurt appeared so early on a Monday morning.

Ignoring their dubious expressions with ease, Kurt smiled to himself as he hurried to his destination, his steps more quick-paced than usual. He had every reason to be chipper this morning: the weather was about as un-Ohioan as it could possibly be (read: cheerful), the barista at the Lima Bean had complimented his new scarf, he had easily snagged one of the best spots for his Navigator in the student parking lot, and … Kurt's smile widened, his pace quickening even more as he spotted the curly-haired figure standing a few dozen paces in front of him, leaning casually against a familiar iron banister as he hid a yawn politely behind his hand.

Kurt sidled up behind Blaine, taking care to make as little noise as possible. Lowering his voice a few octaves, he ducked his mouth close to Blaine's ear and murmured in as seductive a voice as he could muster, "Hey there, stranger."

He had to bite back a laugh when Blaine, clearly startled, visibly jumped, spinning around and clutching a hand to his chest. And, in answer to the reproving glare directed his way once Blaine calmed down enough to recognize who it was that had crept up on him so thoroughly, Kurt offered one of the coffee cups, quirking a brow. "Come here often?"

Something warm and lovely flickered behind the surprise and irritation in Blaine's gaze, his entire countenance lighting up as his eyes dipped from Kurt's face to the proffered cup. Warm fingers wrapped around Kurt's as he accepted the drink, lingering there, and a smirk slowly formed as Blaine took in the flush that began creeping up Kurt's neck at the simple touch.

"Careful," Blaine said, his tone light and conversational as he pulled his hand away and took a sip of the steaming drink. He hummed his approval before winking at Kurt, playing along. "I'm meeting my boyfriend here, and he's the jealous type."

Kurt's wry look was met with a laughingly unrepentant one.

"Well." Determined to be the victor in their little flirty charade, Kurt sent the other boy a coy smile he spent more time than he was willing to admit perfecting in his vanity mirror, as he slowly walked his fingers up Blaine's sleeve. "Can't say I blame him." When his fingertips brushed against neck and Blaine's breath hitched, Kurt smirked, feeling giddy with triumph.

A feeling which grew considerably when Blaine decided the best way to wipe the smug smile from Kurt's face would be to kiss it away. A hand tugged sharply on Kurt's collar as warm lips flavored with coffee pressed insistently against his, and Kurt fought very hard against melting into the embrace (zero-tolerance bullying policy aside, he would never live it down if one of the Warblers happened along and caught Kurt popping a foot up behind him circa 1950's house-wife). Instead he leaned eagerly into the kiss, tilting his head to the side invitingly, the hand resting on Blaine's shoulder slowly sliding up to cup the side of his face, only to pull away with a start when Blaine hissed in a stilted breath through his teeth.

"Sorry," Kurt broke away with a gasp, his mutinous hand now clutching a non-injured part of Blaine's neck as he attempted to catch his breath, feeling slightly dizzy. No matter how many times he did it, Kurt was sure he would never get used to kissing Blaine. "I promise my hand did that completely of its own volition."

"Don't apologize," Blaine mumbled, his eyes glazed and distracted as he stared intently at Kurt's mouth. "I love your wandering hands."

It was hard to tell whether that last sentence was merely exhibit A of Blaine being his adorably oblivious self, or a Freudian slip of epic proportions. Regardless, Kurt's mind instantly short-circuited at the suggestive words, a deep blush making its way to the roots of his hair, because hello, as refreshing as it was to learn how imaginative one's mind could actually be, the middle of a private school hallway was very much not the appropriate setting for that kind of mental imaging.

While Kurt gaped and sputtered uselessly, his brain a whirr of hot colors, flashy lights, and words like hands and hungry and, bizarrely, humdinger, Blaine took his sweet time to register what precisely it was he had just said.

His response once he did, however, was sufficiently wide-eyed and horror-struck. "Um," Blaine stammered, a flush to rival Kurt's beginning at his ears and working its way downward. He laughed, the sound of it high-pitched, toeing the line between mildly uncomfortable, and a mortification only teenagers in a relationship could properly understand. "I'm just going to go ahead and blame the head injury for that one."

Feeling about ten degrees hotter beneath the collar than he had seven seconds ago, Kurt cleared his throat delicately, "You do that," and let out a silent breath of relief when the words came out coherently. There were unmentionable things tripping eagerly over each other in Kurt's head (he was really beginning to regret that Google search he braved after the "pamphlet incident"), and Kurt's brain was frantically pleading with his mouth not to make a fool of them both with its recurring habit of spouting off whatever mad, depraved thoughts he held whenever Blaine was in the near vicinity.

Although, it was a strange sort of comfort to know Blaine seemed to struggle with the same issues. His neck was coloring rapidly as he squinted his eyes shut in embarrassment, the fingers still clutching the back of Kurt's neck digging in briefly as he shrugged his shoulders and admitted sheepishly, "That sounded so much more romantic in my head."

Kurt snorted inelegantly into the side of Blaine's neck at this (because honestly, coming from the boy who experienced a love epiphany during the lament of a dead bird? How shocking.), and it only took a few indignant seconds on Blaine's end before he was joining in as well. He clutched at Kurt's shoulder with one hand as his somewhat self-deprecating chuckles bounced along the marble surfaces, resonated clear and brilliantly around them, before landing somewhere deep and warm inside Kurt's chest, reverberating beneath his ribs like a comforting, familiar hum.

This, Kurt decided, as their laughter slowly melted away into soft, carefree smiles, was how it was supposed to be. The two of them, standing together, hearts in their eyes and smiles wide, their banter easy and effortless yet still awkward enough to keep them blushing - this was them. This was the reminder of why they worked so well, and why the weekend from karmic hell could be put behind them so easily. The insecurities had been dealt with, the sad truths laid bare, and though Kurt would brave three days in a row wearing the same designer before ever willingly attending another McKinley sporting function again, inevitably their disastrous date had brought them closer. What was left was Kurt and Blaine, holding hands in a hallway, poking fun at each other, and feeling stronger and more secure about themselves and their relationship than ever before.

A relationship that was sweet, and awkward, and maybe a little bit sassy. A relationship that was them. Their kind of comfort, their kind of safe, their kind of normalcy - it was Kurt and Blaine at their finest, and Kurt was determined to never take another second of that for granted again.

Taking care this time to avoid Blaine's injured cheek, Kurt brought their mouths together once more, his stomach galloping at top speed when he felt Blaine grin against his lips. For a long moment they stayed that way, coffees held out at awkward angles so as to prevent painful spillage, their free hands gripping each other's necks, completely lost to the world around them as they focused solely on each other.

As involved as they were in gifting each other with a properly enthusiastic good morning, they only broke apart when a boy Kurt recognized from his history class descended the spiral staircase behind them, waggling his eyebrows suggestively as he called out, "Impressive PDA, gentlemen!"

Blaine let out a breathless laugh at the venomous look Kurt shot into the boy's back at the unwelcome interruption. A dark flush was working its way into his non bruise-mottled cheek as Blaine stepped away, plucking Kurt's messenger bag off his shoulder and replacing it onto his own.

"In thanks for the coffee," he said in response to Kurt's (admittedly half-hearted) protests, waving the paper cup around for emphasis.

"You know, generally it's the invalid who gets their bag carried for them, not the other way around," Kurt couldn't help but point out archly, even as he allowed Blaine to grab his hand and begin tugging him in the direction of the Warblers' meeting hall. A strong sense of déjà vu overcame him at the familiar action, and Kurt was careful to school his features, even as his brain performed a mental backflip.

"I am not an invalid."

Blaine's tone was indignant. Kurt found this adorable, though he felt it would be unwise to say so, at least until his boyfriend had finished his coffee.

"No," he agreed instead, throwing in a condescending nod which luckily for him Blaine did not catch, "of course not. You are the picture of perfect health. The fact you look as though you tried to comb your hair with a frying pan is obviously nothing more than a clever attempt at skipping PE."

Blaine shot an offended pout over his shoulder, though the effect was lessened considerably by the humor sparkling in his eyes. "It's such a comfort to know you've made the transition from 'fawning worriedly' into 'teasing mercilessly' so easily."

"Well -" an early-riser called out a greeting to them from down an intersecting hallway, and Kurt took advantage of Blaine's momentary distraction to brush a bit of lint from the other boy's blazer - "I figured the seven 'I'm fine, Kurt, stop bothering me' texts I received yesterday were to be taken as a hint."

They stopped just before the entrance to the Warblers' meeting hall, where the sounds of soft murmurings could be heard on the other side of the doors. Blaine pulled Kurt around so that they were facing each other, still keeping a firm hold on his hand, and preventing him from entering the room.

"I may have had a few extra-strength Tylenol in me for the majority of the day yesterday, but I know for a fact I did not once call you a bother," Blaine countered quietly, and Kurt felt there had to be something inherently pathetic with how much of an affect a pair of pretty eyes could have on his heart rate. What business did Blaine have, anyway, having eyelashes so distractingly long? It was a completely unfair advantage over the rest of them mere, regular-lashed mortals.

Blaine tugged on his hand, and Kurt, stupidly mesmerized, moved in closer without a thought. "I loved having you fuss over me," Blaine murmured, his words soft, and Kurt took a moment to be silently thrilled over the fact his boyfriend had to tip up onto his toes to brush their noses together. "I just didn't want you to spend the rest of your weekend worrying, that's all."

Kurt's eyes let loose their signature move, because redundancy, thy name is Blaine's Good Intentions. "Must sting to know your efforts were entirely fruitless." He said it teasingly, but his gaze turned serious as he pulled back far enough to reach up and tilt Blaine's chin this way and that with his fingers, his eyes critical as he inspected the discoloration and cuts marring Blaine's skin.

What he saw had him humming with concern. "Seriously though, how are you?" Blaine's injuries certainly appeared less angry than the last time Kurt had seen them - there wasn't as much swelling, for one thing, and the overall hue to the other boy's bruising had turned more greenish than purple - but seeing as less than forty-eight hours ago half of Blaine's face had closely resembled something from one of those zombie apocalypse films Finn was so fond of, that really wasn't saying a lot.

"I'm fine, Kurt," Blaine told him firmly, an indulgent head shake the only indication he was in any way, shape or form annoyed by Kurt's hen-pecking. He obediently allowed Kurt to move his head in various directions for a few more seconds, before snagging Kurt's fingers with his own and kissing his knuckles affectionately. "You're worrying over nothing."

"Oh, is that so?" When Blaine nodded confidently, Kurt stepped back and crossed his arms, unconvinced. "Well then, Harvey Dent, since you're so sure of your impressive healing prowess, go ahead and blink both eyes. At the same time," he added pointedly, knowing perfectly well this was a basic function Blaine and his swollen eye had yet to re-master. Blaine seemed to realize he had been out-maneuvered, for he scowled playfully and lifted his coffee to his mouth, grumbling something into the cup.

Victory achieved, Kurt cupped his ear with an exaggerated motion and leaned in closer. "I'm sorry, what was that? Didn't quite catch you admitting I was right."

It would be a cold, cashmere-less day in hell before Kurt ever willingly owned the squeak that emitted from him after Blaine, appearing to have grown tired of Kurt's rightfully-earned gloating, swiftly pushed him against the heavy wooden doors behind him and latched their mouths together.

And once again, Kurt's basic motor functions were rendered completely useless by a pair of dastardly talented lips. His surprised "Mmph!" tailed off into a groan, his eyes slipping closed as tingly sensation zinged electrically from his mouth down into his toes. The kiss was unexpected, and forceful, and rather exhilarating … but Kurt wasn't stupid. He could see an attempt to shut him up for what it was, and had half a mind to call Blaine out on it - but the other, much louder half of him was too full of quivering exclamation points to care much about insignificant details such as proper decorum and his pride. Blaine was kissing him - the really good, hot, trying his damnedest to remove Kurt's tonsils kind of kissing - up against a door in the middle of school, and if the prospect of a teacher walking by wasn't enough of a deterrent to make Kurt pull away (though this early in the morning, there wasn't much of a worry for detention; Dalton teachers were notorious for holing themselves up in the third floor staff room until right before the start of lessons, fighting each other for dibs to the espresso machine), then nothing was.

The intricate carvings of the mahogany door were digging sharply into Kurt's back, the edges of his and Blaine's messenger bags knocking against each other between their knees, and still Kurt sighed happily into Blaine's mouth as warmth blossomed near his navel and began spreading steadily outward …

… And outward, and outward, and - and downward as well. Kurt's eyes snapped open as panic settled in because, oh hell, if what those pamphlets said was true, then this was about to get really embarrassing really fast, and Kurt did not know much about how these things worked, but he did know this should not be happening in the middle of school, but wow it was intense, and - he frowned against Blaine's lips, squirming his shoulders against the door - getting rather hot, actually. Uncomfortably so, even. And - and wet, and … ow, okay, that was really beginning to sting, and his Google search hadn't mentioned anything about it being this painful -

Kurt clued in to what was going on the same moment Blaine did. With two identical yelps they sprang away from each other, Blaine wide-eyed with stunned disbelief as he gaped down at the nearly empty coffee cup now held in his hand, and Kurt with an agonized hop in his step as he fumbled with the hem of his button-down, untucking it haphazardly from his pants, trying desperately to pull the scalding fabric away from his skin.

"Cheesus H. Crust," he swore loudly, tears of pain springing into his eyes as he held his coffee drenched shirt away from his stinging stomach. His gaze was incredulous and accusing as he glared up at Blaine, who was eyeing between his cup and the amber stain on Kurt's uniform shirt with poorly concealed trepidation. "We have a moment, and you forget you're holding a cup of coffee in your hand? Really, Blaine?"

For a second Blaine dithered, blinking those damnable eyes off-kilter at Kurt, seemingly torn between gallantly offering up his own shirt as recompense or turning on the spot and making a run for it. "Consider it a compliment?" he offered feebly, with what he clearly believed to be an irresistibly redeeming smile - a smile that wilted rapidly in the face of the unimpressed glower Kurt gave him for his troubles.

This was the second time Kurt's uniform had been ruined in a week (third time, if you included that one cufflink Kurt was half-convinced was still lodged somewhere within Blaine's curls), and each and every time had been caused - inadvertently, at least - by Blaine. Blown tires, spilled coffees, accessory-eating hairstyles; to Kurt, this was a worrisome trend that required immediate correction. To Blaine, it was a dangerous predicament.

Luckily for him, he was saved from suffering Kurt's wrath by the appearance of a well-timed interruption. The sound of a throat being cleared had Kurt spinning on his heel, the front of his drenched shirt still pulled out in front of him, pinched between thumb and forefinger.

"If you've finished defiling nearly two hundred years' worth of scholarly tradition by acting inappropriately up against the mahogany," Wes began in clipped tones, his sharp eyes flicking from Kurt to Blaine and back again; Kurt could hear the sounds of stifled snickering from behind Wes' shoulders, "we have three songs' worth of choreography to discuss." The senior Warbler's eyes skimmed lower, and his face furrowed with confusion. "Warbler Kurt, what happened to your shirt?"

Kurt scowled. "Your lead soloist happened to my shirt." He snatched the handkerchief Blaine meekly held out to him and began scrubbing furiously at his front, though he knew it would do little good. Coffee stains always required immediate action, after all, and even with having council members as fussy as Wes and Thad leading them, the chances one of the Warbler boys had a stash of club soda and Tide-to-Go sticks hidden somewhere in the meeting hall were not very promising.

Wes watched in silence as Kurt blotted fruitlessly at his shirt, muttering wrathfully to himself as he did so, before fixing his frown on Blaine instead.

"Warbler Blaine," he intoned somberly, tilting an almost pitying look Blaine's way, "we've been over your impulse control issues before -"

"Oh God, Wes, you promised not to bring this up in public …"

"- and I assumed it went without saying that the merits of not jumping all over the furniture also applied to jumping fellow Warblers."

In the room beyond Wes, several hoots of laughter were hastily muffled. Kurt glanced up just in time to watch as Blaine rubbed his free hand across one eye, caught somewhere between politely bewildered and agonizingly embarrassed, and a bit of his own self-righteous serves you right, you clumsy garment destroyer thoughts drained away from one last woeful look for his now-ruined shirt, Kurt gave his efforts up as a bad job, pocketing Blaine's handkerchief instead and gesturing wordlessly for the embarrassed boy to precede him into the room.

"How'd you know what we were doing, anyway?" Kurt questioned Wes as Blaine squeezed through the doorway between them, shoulders hunched and keenly avoiding eye contact, to which Wes answered with a dry, "Lucky guess."

Nearly all of the seats were occupied. It seemed that, once again, Kurt and Blaine were the last to arrive. Blaine had paused between two of the leather loveseats, shifting his weight from foot to foot and glancing uncomfortably between the two sofas, as though torn; and Kurt, coming up behind Blaine's shoulder and taking in the seating arrangements, immediately knew the reason behind his boyfriend's anxiety.

There were two open seats left, both of which were located at the far end of their respective couch. One, Kurt noticed with a displeased sneer pulling at the ends of his mouth, was situated beside a darkly-scowling Trent, who took one look at Kurt and turned his head away with a pointed sniff. The other option (Kurt felt his sneer slide into a look of intense suffering) was set up snugly against -

Casey waved cheerfully up at them. "Hi there!"

Ruined uniforms, painful coffee burns, and a choice between If-Looks-Could-Kill Trenton or Casey the serial giggler Dewitt …

… Exactly which Fate had Kurt pissed off that morning?

Blaine was watching Kurt almost guiltily, clearly waiting for him to make the first move, and Kurt couldn't help but feel touched by the gesture. Clearly Blaine understood - especially after Kurt's embarrassingly over-reactive stunt four days ago - that choosing between Trent or Casey to sit beside was, to Kurt at least, a damned if you do, damned if you don't scenario that, either way he chose, would inevitably end with him nursing a fierce headache, not to mention an inconsolable urge to physically harm something.

Really, it all came down to choosing between the lesser of two evils, and when one of said evils was eyeing up his boyfriend more obviously than the other one …

"Casey." Kurt considered it a sure sign of his growing maturity when the greeting came out only mildly condescending. "What a -" he slanted a dark look toward the council table "- surprise to find you here this morning."

Casey giggled. Blaine sidled closer to Kurt's side, and a calming hand slid over his elbow, gripping above the joint warmly. Still slightly miffed over Blaine's recent addition to his ensemble, Kurt ignored the rather translucent warning easily.

"I woke up early, and decided to see what my favorite group of boys was up to," Casey explained with a shrug and a smile. Many of the surrounding Warblers visibly preened at this, with the exception of Thad, who let out a rather loud sniff from his side of the council table, his arms crossed huffily against his front. Apparently Kurt was no longer the only Warbler who would happily see the end of Casey's rehearsal visits. "Wes was nice enough to let me sit in on another one of ya'lls meetings."

A wink was sent Blaine's way, with the added greeting of, "Eye's looking a hundred times better from last night, handsome," and the grip on Kurt's elbow became less comforting, more restraint-like as Blaine murmured out the side of his mouth, "I will buy you five more shirts if you let that one go."

Having returned to his place at the head of the council table, Wes cleared his throat again, clearly impatient to get on with the proceedings, and Casey patted the seat next to her with a lilting, "I promise I don't bite." Nick, who was sitting on her other side and staring obviously, made a sound reminiscent of a mouse being stepped on at her words, and Casey sent a coy look his way.

As Nick garbled nonsensically back at her, his eyes glazing over, Kurt fixed a strained smile into place, side-mouthed, "So going to take more than five shirts," for Blaine's benefit, before pulling his bag free from Blaine's shoulder and sitting purposefully next to Casey, leaving Blaine to hesitate, then slip haltingly into the seat next to a heavily glowering Trent.

Casey was positively beaming as she watched Kurt settle himself into the cushions, and Kurt tried his hardest to keep his expression tolerating and not murderously scandalized as she immediately latched onto him, squeezing his arm and wrinkling the fabric.

"Your hair is looking gorgeous this morning," she whispered against his ear, as the gavel sounded and Wes and David began their perfunctory argument over the whereabouts of that week's minutes. Before Kurt could properly digest receiving a (remarkably accurate) compliment from the girl he commonly envisioned falling off very tall buildings, she continued, "And don't worry, you can barely notice that little old stain on your shirt."

The stain was dark amber in color and easily the size of a dinner plate; Kurt stared woodenly down his nose at her, an eyebrow arched.

"… David, saying your roommate 'accidentally' lined his hamster cage with our minutes is not a sufficient enough excuse!" Wes' irate voice rose above the din of the rest of the people in the room, and the Warblers turned collectively to watch as the three council members argued heatedly with each other.

"Well, what do you suggest I should've done differently?" David retorted, looking affronted. "Brought the cage in with me? Picked through Smoky the gerbil's excrements just so I could read about how council members Wes and Thad argued for forty-five minutes over whether or not adding a 'pop' to our shuffle-step-shuffle-shuffle-snap routine would be too risqué for a nursing home?"

"It was a legitimate concern!" Thad cut in crossly. "Some of the residents could have pacemakers, for God's sake!"

"Forgive me, I didn't realize pop was a euphemism for 'taser the old people' …"

Casey leaned into Kurt's shoulder. "Is it just me, or do those boys getting all worked up just make you shiver?"

Kurt did not answer her. He felt staring back in abstract horror would be adequate enough.

Wes threw up his hands. "Councilmen, we already decided to remove the pop as a precaution, I'm not about to bring it back to a vote!" The gavel sounded, and Wes sighed wearily. "I don't think I need to express the importance of this performance, and how we can't afford any mishaps? After The Gap Attack That Should Never Have Been, and last weekend's bonfire episode -"

"That wasn't a performance, though …"

Wes waved Warbler Louis' comment away impatiently. "Thanks to a certain soloist and his inability to refrain from serenading people during inappropriate settings …"

As the snickering from earlier made a reappearance, Blaine raised a hand. "In my defense, I would just like to point out that at the time I didn't realize people other than Kurt could hear me, and also I have it on good authority that the other bon fire attendees appreciated my Christina Aguilera medley."

Kurt nodded his agreement. While that last encore of Dirrty may have been pushing it, Blaine's rendition of What a Girl Wants had been a sight more romantic than When I Get You Alone.

… Not to mention he had been working it with that marshmallow poker.

Wes, however, did not appear to share Kurt's views on the matter. "Warbler Blaine, whether unknowingly or not, you turned an innocent gathering into a mildly explicit performance, word of which got back to the dean who's now breathing down our necks, and thanks to that absolute fiasco of a night -"

Thad scoffed. "I'd hardly call Saturday night a fiasco, Wes …"

"Hardly a fias - Warbler Russ was set on fire!"

"Warbler Russ' coat was set on fire," David corrected, as though the distinction made all the difference.

Clearly it did not to Wes, who was now eyeing his fellow council member dubiously. "Are you implying that the igniting of one of our prized baritone's clothes is not something to be concerned with?"

"What I'm implying is he was barely even singed. The aerosol can blew up after he let go of it, and Warbler Jeff informed me he's recovering nicely."

All heads swiveled to Russ' roommate; Jeff was perched on the piano bench and picking absent-mindedly at a loose thread in his cuff. "His eyebrows are still missing, but he can sit down without crying now," he confirmed with an unconcerned shrug.

"Yes, well." Wes shuffled the papers in front of him, a clear indication he was ready to move on to a different subject. "Let Warbler Russ' predicament be a lesson to us all -"

"Processed cheese really can kill you?" Kurt quipped to the general hilarity of the room, though Wes' fiercely quelling glare had them all shifting in chastised-toddler silence moments later.

"- that all public outings are an opportunity to uphold the traditions and good-standing of the Warblers, and some of us" (a pointed look was thrown Blaine's way, who sent back one of total innocence) "should take care to remember that.

"Now, speaking of Warbler Russ, we have to discuss rearranging our positioning for this weekend's performance …"

The meeting proceeded from there as normal. Wes and Thad spent fifteen minutes battling each other over whether the back line should hold an uneven amount of Warblers, as opposed to the front; an additional ten were wasted pondering over whether or not the nursing home would have adequate enough lighting to put their formal tie bars to good use. Warblers Jeff and T.J. were reprimanded for miming strangulation with their own ties; Blaine had to fend off several sycophantic compliments pertaining to his vocal range; and David received a gavel-whap to the back of the hand for turning Wes' meeting notes into a paper duck while the Head Warbler wasn't looking.

As was his way, Kurt paid little attention to the happenings of the Warblers surrounding him. He had learned early on that the best course of action for him during one of these meetings was to raise his hand whenever Blaine (the sanest of the Warblers) did, nod superfluously when Wes glanced in his direction, and spend the rest of his time planning weekend outfits. This time, however, did not lead Kurt very far into his Spring 2011 wardrobe. Instead of coordinating waistcoats with boots and mentally comparing the positive points of homburgs versus fedoras, Kurt was forced to concentrate all his attention on fending off the overly-excitable, excessively bubbly, weirdly handsy female sitting to his right.

Casey, it seemed, thrived in the midst of bickering school boys and, no matter how hard Kurt dug his elbow into her side, appeared determined to invade his personal space to share her every thought with him. Which was a shame, as Kurt was sure he could have happily lived without knowing what effect Wes' gavel had on the girl's nervous system, how luscious Warbler Nick's hair looked up close, and how upsetting it was that council member Thad had taken her rejection so hard.

"I mean, it's not as though we were dating or anything," Casey whispered into his ear, as Wes shouted something at Warbler Devon pertaining to inappropriate hand movements.

Realizing Casey was looking at him expectantly, waiting for a response, Kurt gave a non-committal grunt, as the majority of his attention was focused on keeping his movements subtle as he tried to extract his arm from Casey's clutches.

It was a fruitless effort; the girl had a freakishly strong grip for someone so petite, and clearly couldn't take a hint even if it quite literally smacked her in the face (was she truly that obtuse, or did harpies simply feel no pain?). In all seriousness, though - where was a crowbar when you needed one?

"It was just one little date," Casey continued breezily, apparently under the false impression that Kurt trying to squirm away from her meant he was positively enthralled with her tale. "He's a nice boy and all that, but I think we're better off as friends, don't you?"

"If you thought that before, then why did you agree to go out with him in the first place?" Kurt snarked, his frustration with having one of his least favorite people clinging obliviously to his side like a damned limpet bleeding through his tone. He gave an impatient jiggle to his shoulder, and huffed out a breath through his nose when the movement proved ineffective. Slumping resignedly against the back of the sofa, he glared down at her. "Sort of unfair to Thad, don't you think?"

Casey blinked back up at him. "But isn't that what we do?" she asked him, sounding genuinely puzzled.

Isn't what who does? Kurt stared at Casey, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. Is she speaking in trollop-code, or something? He was beginning to feel as though he was missing something. Or that she was purposely trying to irritate him. Either way, he really wanted to stuff his tie into her mouth to block out the noise.

But Casey had moved on with the conversation before Kurt could either demand clarification or signal an S.O.S. to Blaine. "Besides, I like them a bit more sensitive," she continued in a sultry murmur; and Kurt found himself wanting that crowbar for a whole different reason as he watched Casey send a finger wave in Blaine's direction. Blaine, with a carefully neutral expression in place, pretended not to notice. "Every girl deserves a prince charming, doesn't she?"

Kurt wanted nothing more than to plaintively inform Casey she was barking up the wrong tree - the very wrong, very taken, very gay tree - and then push her out a window for good measure, but he kept himself tight-lipped instead. He was mature, he reminded himself sternly. He was an emotionally growing person in a committed, trusting relationship. Blaine had made it perfectly clear to him that Kurt had nothing to worry about on that end. And yes, Casey was an abominable flirt clearly itching to set her harpy claws into Blaine's excessively obtuse flank (Cheesus Hummel, do not think about your boyfriend's flank in public …), and as much as Kurt wanted to string her up by her hideously unfashionable socks and call her out on her floozy ways, he could - no, he would be the bigger person.

Because he was mature. And nearly an adult. He was a calm, collected, mature adult.

And besides, it was getting increasingly harder to make "accidental shove down a staircase" seem believable these days.

Kurt's phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out with a furtive glance and unlocked the screen.

Meeting almost over, and you haven't upended your mocha on her yet. I'm so proud ;)

Kurt snorted and glanced over at Blaine. Blaine grinned back, his eyebrows waggling up and down cheekily. Shaking his head indulgently, Kurt tapped out a quick response: There's been enough wasted coffee for one morning already, thank you very much and snorted again when Blaine sent him an affectionate wink, glanced down at Kurt's response, and exaggerated a pout.

"You two are so cute together," Casey gushed, the sound of it ringing so falsely in Kurt's ears his teeth practically vibrated with it. She hugged Kurt's arm and leaned across him to wave at Blaine again, who took one look at the murderous glint in Kurt's eyes and hastily pulled Trent into a conversation about - shoe polish? Really, Blaine?

Kurt made it a point to jab another elbow into Casey's side as he put his phone away, and was thoroughly disappointed when she dodged the movement effortlessly. "Sending sweet little texts to each other during rehearsals … too precious. I hope y'all never break up."

Liar, liar, so-short-it's-clichéd skirt on fire.

"And speaking of cute boys …" Casey dropped her voice conspiratorially and moved in closer; and Kurt, silently cursing Mercedes for molding him into such an attention-hungry gossip, found himself tilting his head down to hear her better. Casey glanced coquettishly over her shoulder, then back at Kurt. She wiggled her eyebrows. "How long do you think it'll take me to convince the adorable Mr. Nick to buy me lunch?"

Not long, as it turned out. Ten minutes, two doe eyes, and one strategically-placed hand later had Nick nearly tearing a hole through his blazer trying to extricate his wallet to buy Casey a pre-lessons latte. Kurt watched, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, as the two of them exited the Warblers rehearsal room, Casey all smiles and twirling a piece of hair coyly around one finger, and Nick tripping over air on every third step.

"There's something going on with that girl," Kurt declared, as Blaine sidled up next to him and laced their fingers together warmly. "Something suspicious."

Next to him, Blaine "hmm'd" neutrally. When Kurt lifted a brow at him, he held up his free hand and pointed to himself, "Switzerland, remember?"

Ah, yes. The lady chats. How could Kurt forget?

"So you think it's completely normal of her to bounce from Warbler to Warbler, giggling as she goes?"

"You think it isn't?"

Kurt shrugged. It was a niggling little thought he had; an itch in his brain that try as he might Kurt could not scratch. It was a feeling, almost a memory, tipping along the edges of his mind, twirling enticingly around the fuzzy edges of remembrance and dancing away tauntingly before Kurt could fully grasp it. He didn't know what it was or why he felt it right then, as he watched Casey's smile falter as she glanced in Thad's direction, but there was something about the way the girl acted just then - how her laughter hitched barely noticeably, the way her shoulders shifted, the flicker Kurt caught in her eyes as she turned away - that had Kurt thinking he had seen it somewhere before.

Blaine tugged gently on Kurt's hand, murmuring something about grabbing him one of his extra uniform shirts before classes started, and Kurt spared one more moment to ponder over Casey's odd behavior, before the realization of holy hell, you're going to smell like Blaine for the rest of the day! sufficiently distracted him.

No doubt what Casey was doing was suspicious, but Blaine smelled heavenly, and Kurt was only human.

Kurt vowed to keep a closer eye on Casey throughout the week, but it wasn't until the following Friday that everything came to a head.

"Warblers, take your places!" Wes whispered frantically from his position on the side of the nursing home's makeshift stage. Kurt slipped into his spot in the front row between Jeff and Zach, offering a little wave to Blaine who was standing three Warblers down. Blaine grinned and blew him a kiss, then kicked at David when the tall tenor pretended to catch it.

"Decent turnout," Jeff mumbled to Kurt as he gazed around the sterile white recreational room full of the Kingston Retirement Community's residents. "Most of them look awake, even." He nudged Kurt in the ribs with a smirk. "No sign of any cats yet."

"Don't let that fool you," Kurt murmured back as he eyed a particularly cantankerous-looking old man in the front row warily. "The last woman had the thing hidden under her nightdress."

Warbler Devon poked his head in between them from the back row. "Is that Casey sitting out in the audience?" he asked them, squinting his eyes and gesturing to a corner of the room where an unfortunately familiar bob of hair could be seen sitting between a man dozing in a wheelchair and a grandmotherly old lady knitting a hat.

"Yeah, it is," Jeff replied, frowning slightly as he glanced back at Devon. "She here to see Nick?"

"Nah, man, that ended ages ago. She's with Zach now -"

"She's not," Zach grunted out from beside Kurt, his face dark and mulish as he glared out into the audience. "Ditched me to go play nurse with Russ -"

"Nuh-huh." Jeff shook his head in disagreement. "She hasn't been to our room at all this week. Trust me, I would've heard about it if she had."

Devon looked thoughtful as he whispered, "Louis mentioned something about taking her out for pizza on Wednesday -"

"Yeah, and on Thursday he skipped classes and refused to talk to anybody about it …"

This all happened in a week? Kurt thought dazedly to himself. What is this, The Bachelorette: Warbler Edition?

The overhead lights dimmed. Wes began hissing and flapping his arms at them like an angry goose, so the boys felt it would be within their best interests to hold in their speculations until the end of the performance.

A performance that went off without a hitch, as it were. Blaine, of course, was in top form. He dazzled the crowd with his usual amount of energy and finesse, slipping into his showman's persona with ease. He danced with the residents that could, and hammed it up for the ones that couldn't. He crooned his way into the hearts of all the ladies, so by the time the final note of their last number cut off, Blaine's cheeks were rosy from being pinched so many times, the pockets of his blazer stuffed with boiled candies, peppermints, and one pair of dentures a little old dear slipped into the back of Blaine's pants with a wink and (judging by Blaine's scandalized expression and how he bolted for the safety of Kurt's side immediately after) congratulatory pinch.

Blaine swore he was traumatized by the whole affair. Kurt could not remember a time when he had laughed so hard in his life.

"It's what you get for being such a lady killer," Kurt chortled after the performance had ended, as Blaine huffed and grumbled out something about violated personal space. He reached up to ruffle Blaine's hair, and laughed again when his hand was pointedly slapped away. Blaine really was too cute for his own good sometimes, and the clamoring old women just proved Kurt's point. "If you weren't so darned charming all the time, we wouldn't have this problem, now would we?" Blaine scowled huffily and stomped away.

Unrepentant, Kurt grinned at Blaine's back. The thrill of a successful performance mixed with the high of laughing so exuberantly left him feeling floaty and light, his head positively thrumming with unspent energy. Warblers all around were bestowing congratulatory backslaps and high-fives to each other as they mingled with the residents and helped break down the stage, their loud chatter and booming laughter lending an excitably charged feel to the atmosphere in the room.

Kurt was feeling so positive, in fact, that he barely blinked an eye when Casey meandered her way through the crowd and issued Blaine a platonic-if-you-squint sort of hug. He hardly noticed it at all when she lingered a second too long, and the fact her arms were squeezed so snugly around Blaine's neck as she laughed something into his ear was barely a ping on Kurt's Irritating Women radar. He certainly didn't care when Blaine had to physically unwrap the girl from him to gain some distance between them, and found it absolutely charming when Casey reached out to squeeze Blaine's bicep instead.

Floaty and positive. Yes, that's what he was feeling. Nothing of the negative sort whatsoever. Nope.

Wes and David joined Blaine and Casey. Kurt watched as Casey reached up and began fiddling with something on Wes' collar, every aspect of her posture screaming on the prowl as she laughed in response to something the Head Warbler said.

Positive. Floating. Positively floating. Floating positively. Fositively ploating, floa -

David said something, and everyone laughed as Blaine grinned something in response; Casey twirled her hair coyly, glanced in Kurt's direction, tilted her head just so, and winked.

Something in Kurt's brain snapped. That's it.

Within three seconds Kurt was striding over to the group, pulling Casey away from the boys with a smoothly entreated, "Excuse me, gentleman, but this darling young woman has the makings of a mascara massacre on her hands and, well, duty calls …" and marching the thoroughly confused girl ("… But Kurt, I'm not wearing any mascara …") into a much quieter, blissfully witness-less back room.

"You," he barked, letting go of her arm and shoving her none too gently toward a plastic chair, "sit."

Casey sat, crossing her legs at the ankles and looking mildly concerned as Kurt towered over her, his posture stiff, his expression thunderous.

"Kurt, are you all -?"

Kurt held up a hand, silencing her. "I'll do the talking, you'll do the listening. Got it?" At Casey's alarmed nod, he dove in. "I'll cut right to the chase. I'm not like the other boys at Dalton. I have an in when it comes to enemy territory: I know things about women they don't understand, will live their whole lives trying to figure out, but ultimately fail in wrapping their naïve little minds around. Things are simple with them. See a pretty girl, like a pretty girl, date a pretty girl. If you happen to be a pretty girl, it's easy to manipulate, isn't it?"

"Kurt," her tone was baffled, clearly not having expected nor understanding where Kurt was going with this, "I don't -"

"They look at you and they see a sweet Southern belle who giggles like a saint and gives new meaning to the term school boy fantasy. But I can see right through that little act of yours, sister, and it's starting to get old."

Casey's expression was still confused, but Kurt thought he could detect a spot of color blossoming over each cheekbone, and he took a sick sort of pleasure in knowing he could crack her sunshine façade so easily. She shook her head faintly. "Kurt, what are you -"

Kurt continued on mercilessly: "I spent over a year in close quarters with Santana Lopez, the meanest of man-eaters out there, so I know the tricks. I know what the looks mean, and the touches, and the laughs, and I'm telling you now that I'm on to you, Dewitt. Oh yes," he added, as Casey's mouth dropped open and she stared up at him with something akin to horror, "I'm on to you, and I've been on to you since you first entered that school. You may think a few winks or a flirty smile or two is enough to mask the truth, but I've seen what you've done to the Warblers, what you're trying to do with my boyfriend, and nothing you say is going to convince me that you are nothing more than a soulless, malicious little tramp who'll stomp over the hearts of every boy she meets, disregard their feelings and commitments, just to achieve her own ends!"

The silence that followed Kurt's declaration was ringing. Kurt stood there, fists clenched and breaths heaving, vindication soaring through him as finally, finally he could end the charade. It was a freeing, glorious sensation, knowing he had held nothing back, had laid all the cards on the table and let Casey Dewitt know exactly what he thought about her, to hell with how she reacted.

Of course, Kurt wasn't counting on Casey to slowly stand from her chair, lift up a trembling chin, mumble a tremulous, "You're right," and burst into tears.

Nor did he expect her to fling her arms around his neck, bury her face against his shoulder and sob brokenly into his shirt.

He definitely didn't foresee the way she would gasp out a, "I'm sorry," or, "I'm so awful," or a hiccupping, "Please, for-forgive me."

But when Casey's knees buckled and Kurt had to stoop to support her weight, his ear lowering just in time to hear her whisper two painfully familiar words against his collar, he couldn't help the thought that slammed into his mind as his burning anger and fierce vindication gave way to stunned incredulity and dawning compassion:

I really should have seen this one coming.

AN#2: … So how many of you hate me for leaving you hanging? If it makes you feel any better, I hate me for it too.

I'll try (and try, and try) to get the next one out sooner. If you follow me on tumblr, I promise I won't sass anyone who bugs me for updates. I could use the motivation!

Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated. And coveted. And devoutly cherished.

Till next time, lovelies!