A/N: Hi, everyone! *waves sheepishly* I'm back after a much longer hiatus than I intended. Apologies for leaving you on a cliffhanger for 6 months. Life and writer's block hit me hard in the second half of 2015. I promise it will not be anywhere near as long until the next update, because I split what I wrote for this chapter in half.
Thank you very much to my betas: AncientGleek for her nitpicking brain, encouragement, and wit. And LadyFiona for listening to me think aloud until we cracked the code to my writer's block together. I made it to the end of this chapter because of you guys.
The Warbler is a Tramp – Chapter Thirty Five
It started out peacefully enough. Wes called Blaine into his office the same as he would have any other day. And Blaine, bracing himself for the lecture he always knew to expect from his friend and manager, passed by Kurt's desk with an easy smile and strode across the threshold, hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. The office door closed behind him, and Kurt released a long, stressed breath.
For the next twenty minutes he couldn't focus on work; he was too hyperaware of every muffled sound from inside the office. A chair scraped against the floor, and Kurt's head snapped up. The clink of a glass against a solid surface had Kurt's foot tapping against the leg of his desk in rapid rhythm. Quinn looked at him strangely when he thought he heard the door click and leaned over his desk to look.
Calm down, he scolded himself. Think about something else.
Logging onto his personal email account—there was no way he was getting any real work done—he couldn't have conjured up a better distraction than the new message in his inbox.
()()()()
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Tina Cohen-Chang
Subject: I hear you're looking for an agent?
Hi Kurt!
David mentioned you're looking for an agent?
I won't be offended if you say no, but I would love to give you my pitch. I've recently gone freelance (David said you thought I was in real estate? I am definitely a talent agent!), and filling my roster with people like you is priority number one.
If you've already found representation, feel free to ignore me—professionally, at least. I'd like us to be friends.
Speaking of which, I hope you're holding up okay. I've seen what the media's been writing about you, and I can relate. David and I have been together for years, but we only recently went public. In the last few months, his fans have accused me of gold-digging, bearding, and forcing him into codependency, while the tabloid media reduces me to every Asian stereotype they can find.
I'm here if you just need to vent to someone, too.
Tina aka TCC Talent
()()()()
Kurt had to admit he was intrigued. She wasn't on the list Adam had given him, but veering away from anyone associated with his ex was probably wise. And he trusted David's judgment, even if his recommendation of his own significant other was undoubtedly a bit biased…
Kurt quickly sent off his agreement to meet with her, but before he could ensconce himself further in his inbox, Quinn's head jerked around to Wes' office door. His fingers stilled over his keyboard and he listened…
"…do this too me?"
That was Blaine.
Quinn briefly caught his eye from across the room. Judging by her uncharacteristic silence since his own meeting with Wes, Kurt knew she'd heard snippets of their argument and was dutifully pretending she was none the wiser.
"BUT YOU DIDN'T TELL ME, WES!"
"Keep your voice down." Wes could barely be heard. "…doing the right thing—"
"The right thing?" Blaine spat, voice loud and clear now. "The right thing would have been to not treat my boyfriend like—"
"—Blaine, please, calm down—"
"—you're supposed to be my fucking friend, Wes!"
"I am your friend!"
"Then why the hell would you go behind my back like this?"
"Because I'm trying to save your careers!" Wes hissed back. "I don't always have time to run every tiny thing by you."
"Tiny thing? You think meddling in my private life and using it for publicity is a tiny thing? You're unbelievable," Blaine ranted. "Absolutely unreal."
"Blaine, please. Quinn and Kurt are just outside."
"I don't give a fuck!" Blaine growled, voice barely muffled by the wooden door now. "I just wanted one thing, one bloody thing in my life that was mine, that had nothing to do with album sales or public image or… just one sliver of happiness I could hide away and keep for myself. And you couldn't even let me have that. You had to go and turn him into a product, too."
"Blaine, you can't seriously think you'll be able to hide him forever," Wes rebuffed condescendingly. "You're a celebrity."
"BUT HE'S NOT!"
The sound of something shattering against the wall had Kurt and Quinn bolting out of their seats, ready to rush into the office.
"You spent months keeping him away from me," Blaine continued, incensed. "You made me feel like shit for wanting him—"
"—I was trying to fix your complete lack of professionalism!"
"No. Fuck, no! You do not get to preach at me about professionalism!" Blaine spat. "Not when you made Kurt sign a morality clause to keep me at arms-length—and then ripped the thing up the moment our feelings became useful to you!"
"To all of us!"
"And worst of all, you let us both believe you did it out of the goodness of your heart. When really you were just laying the foundation for an image overhaul behind my back. In what world is that professional?"
"Oh my god," Quinn whispered, stealing Kurt's attention. She dropped back into her chair, eyes wide and fixed on the door, no doubt recalling the fragmented conversation she had overheard in the office, and had relayed to Kurt weeks ago in an effort at reconciliation.
"Just because he wants to be a performer doesn't give you the right to slap a fucking target on his back!" Blaine continued.
"I—"
"Last night you led a bunch of strangers straight to us with no warning." Kurt could practically see Blaine pacing up and down, hands balled into fists. "Do you realize what you could have done? What if it wasn't just the paparazzi who found us? What if a group of homophobes came out to harass us, too? We would have been walking into a trap!"
"Blaine—"
"I've been trying to ease him into my cluster-fuck of a life, not throw him in the deep end without a lifejacket!" Blaine bellowed. "What the hell were you thinking? It's like I don't even know you anymore."
"Oh, come on, you're just being melodramatic now. I haven't changed."
"Really?" Blaine choked out office fell silent for a few moments, as if the fire that had been burning Blaine from the inside out had finally sapped the oxygen from the air. His voice shook when he eventually continued.
"I'm not so sure anymore…because the boy I knew would never have done this. It's like you spent so much time at the Hunter School of PR and Misery, that somewhere along the way you forgot how to act like a compassionate human being."
"That's not true!" Wes protested hotly.
"We fired Hunter and brought Kitty in because this was how he operated," Blaine pointed out accusingly. "You promised we would call the shots from now on. You said we'd get a say in the handling of our public image. What happened to that?"
"I…" For the first time since Kurt had known him, Wesley Montgomery didn't have a comeback.
The office was silent for some time. The door handle twisted, and Kurt sat back in his seat, heart thudding in his throat. The door was opened only a fraction though, just enough for Kurt to make out a familiar curly head of hair through the gap.
Blaine sighed heavily. "Maybe you really were too inexperienced to manage us."
"I'm…" Wes was startled by the turn of conversation. "Blaine, you don't mean that."
"I do, actually," Blaine replied coldly. "Everyone told us to choose management with the receipts to prove their worth…but we decided against it because we thought we would be better off with someone we knew and trusted."
"Blaine," Wes said fearfully. "You can trust me. Please, I need you to see this from my side—"
"—because you've always been so willing to see my side?" Blaine retorted. "You've been treating me like a know-nothing kid for years, Wes! And I just let you because I thought you were looking out for me. For all of us."
"That's not fair!" Wes denied. "Look, I know I've messed up. Kurt's made that very clear."
"'Kurt made that very clear,'" Blaine mocked.
Kurt cringed. He had hoped Wes would leave it to him to explain his involvement in Wes' coming clean. It wouldn't be the first time Blaine came down on Kurt for meddling in his problems, and the longer this went on, the less confident he was that he'd done the right thing by confronting Wes without Blaine present.
"Why did you only realize what a controlling arse you are, after my boyfriend jumped in?" Blaine moved farther into the room again and out of Kurt's line of sight. "I've been asking you to back off for years! Why could he get through to you when I couldn't?"
"Because you're like my little brother," Wes cried. "This job…it's been one shit storm after another since day one, and it's my job to keep us afloat. And that means I've had to make difficult decisions, which is really difficult when you grew up with the people you're managing."
"You said you could handle it."
"I know I did, and I can," Wes insisted. "I just…you know we never thought things would get this big. I thought I was managing a group with a UK and Ireland fan base. I didn't factor the whole world into our plans!"
"You are the one who convinced us to try!"
"Because Smythe and Hunter wanted it," Wes exclaimed. "I figured we'd take a crack at the US market just to shut them up. I didn't think they'd actually go for the preppy school boy thing. But they did, and the pressure became ten times worse as a result…Quinn's always helped where she could, and I've got Kitty to back me up from the PR side now, but before…it was just me, and I…I didn't want to let you guys down so I started making these decisions on my own."
"You're so full of shit."
"…I guess I can see why you think that," Wes said softly.
"Yes, well, I'm glad my boyfriend was able to get that across to you for me," Blaine said sarcastically. "Because clearly we wouldn't even be having this conversation otherwise."
"Okay, you've made your point!" Wes snapped. "I'm sorry I set up stunts without telling you. I'm sorry it's taken me this long to 'fess up. I'm sorry I told Kurt before I told you. I'M SORRY!"
"But, why?" Kurt had to lean forward slightly to catch Blaine's words, now that his voice had returned to its normal decibel. "Why could you tell him, but not me?"
"I didn't want to tell him," Wes said bitterly, "but he's quite forceful when he wants to be. I just…shit, I don't know, Blaine. It's easier to listen to Kurt because we're not close—there isn't that emotional connection. Not like there is with you and the lads."
There was quiet inside the office for a long moment. Kurt's hands were squeezed into fists beneath his chin, elbows tucked into his torso, straining to hear Blaine's reply. Quinn watched him worriedly from across the room, but he had eyes only for the door still standing ajar between him and the quarrel inside the office.
"Then maybe you shouldn't be our manager anymore," Blaine finally said.
The door was thrown open. Quinn's head jerked back around to her laptop when Blaine stormed past both their desks. Kurt made to follow, but Blaine turned, the door to the corridor held in his white-knuckled grip.
"Don't, Kurt," he warned.
"I..." Kurt pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and took a timid step forward.
"Just...don't." Blaine dug his palms into his closed eyelids. "I don't want to talk about it."
Kurt knew the frustration of feeling cornered by well-meaning loved ones; so he leaned on the edge of his desk and nodded dejectedly at the floor instead of arguing.
"Blaine?" Wes stood warily in the doorway to his office. "I know you're upset, but we're screening the music video in less than an hour; so if you could just—"
"—WHO FUCKING CARES?" Blaine roared.
Kurt had never understood the expression 'a ring of silence' until the room did just that in the wake of Blaine's outburst.
"It doesn't matter anyway, right?" Blaine said, looking around at Kurt, Wes, and Quinn in turn. "That song's not going to belong to me, anyway, is it?"
Words of reassurance didn't seem to be in Wes' vocabulary in that moment, and Blaine took his silence as confirmation the conversation was over. He strode from the room. And despite Kurt's instinct to chase after and soothe him, he didn't. Blaine needed space. Kurt would give him that.
Quinn took her cue to disappear, muttering about making tea and coffee, leaving Kurt to awkwardly avoid looking at the man he had yelled at an hour earlier.
Great.
"That..." Wes faltered. "That recording you made of our meeting...could you please keep David, Trent, Nick and Jeff back after the video screening and play it to them?"
Kurt's eyes flickered to Wes in surprise, but he briefly nodded his head in agreement.
"Thank you." Wes cleared his throat. "I'll be back soon. There are, uh...things to consider."
Watching the video for "True Enough For You" was, frankly, the last thing Kurt wanted to do. Not when the song Blaine had lovingly crafted was close to being wrenched from his possession. Not when the version being sold to the masses was a generic shell of the original, repackaged for a mass market that would never care for the fragile soul behind the lyrics.
Kurt had kept every word of his song locked away in the place where he kept his most treasured memories, ever since Blaine had first serenaded him with the original acoustic version.
But, alas, Kurt was required to attend the scheduled screening and pretend like nothing was amiss. So he avoided the core group of Warblers and Canary Records execs and kept to the back of the room, keeping a close eye on his phone.
Predictably, Blaine didn't turn up. No explanation for his absence was given, and no one asked. Even Jeff—the nosiest of the Warblers—shrugged it off when Wes began his introductory speech without Blaine present, and Mercedes only cast the occasional look of concern over her shoulder at Kurt.
Kurt couldn't even enjoy Santana's debut on the record.
Before Kurt knew it, the video had played without his taking in any of it, and everyone but Trent, Nick, Jeff and David had left the room, leaving Kurt to do as Wes asked. He gave an abridged explanation of the situation Wes had manuvered Blaine and him into, set up his phone on the desk, and left them in the meeting room to listen to the recording. He wasn't ready to relive his conversation with Wes—not when his stomach was tied in knots worrying about Blaine.
Making it back to his own desk, Kurt dropped his head down on the cool wooden surface. God, it was barely mid-afternoon, and the day had already sapped him of all energy.
A steaming coffee cup was placed gently on the desk. "You okay?" Quinn asked.
"Not really," Kurt mumbled tiredly. "Where's Wes?"
"In a meeting finalizing promotion for the record," Quinn said in a monotone. "Apparently he intends to let David, Trent, Nick and Trent chew him out after; so... we should probably take cover." She wheeled her swivel chair to the opposite side of Kurt's desk and sat down. "Do you think they'll do it?"
"What?"
"Fire Wes."
Kurt shrugged. He honestly didn't know. Blaine said a lot of things he didn't mean when he was upset. And there were four other members who had a say.
"I wasn't trying to get Wes fired," he said. "I just wanted the truth."
"I know."
"Blaine's just... had a really bad couple of days." Kurt nearly snorted at his own understatement.
First Jonathan Smythe threatened to take ownership of Blaine and Nick's songs to keep the band from leaving Canary Records. Then they were ambushed on their date, and Blaine lashed out at a photographer. And to add a fat cherry on top of an already shitty sundae, Blaine's friend and manager turned their relationship into a PR opportunity without consulting him.
"I don't think I've ever seen him like that," Quinn said and took a sip of her coffee. "And that's saying something because I've seen some major tantrums over the years. He's never done a Harmony Delgada though."
Kurt's eyebrow quirked inquisitively.
"Throwing drinks at people," she clarified.
"He threw that glass at Wes?" Kurt exclaimed, horrified.
"Oh, no!" Quinn waved her hands. "Sorry, bad wording. It shattered against the side wall."
Relieved, Kurt leaned on one elbow, index finger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose. How long until he could go home, cuddle Blaine and make this better?
"Hey, look on the bright side," Quinn said, nudging him almost playfully. "Blaine was pretty badass threatening his best friend for you like that."
Kurt looked up at her like she'd lost her mind.
She rolled her eyes and smiled wryly at his reaction. "I just mean, if he's willing to fire someone he considers family, just like that...he must really love you."
Kurt drank deeply from his mocha, cheeks suddenly very hot.
By the time he left work that evening, Kurt was in a panic. Blaine hadn't responded to any of the numerous voice or text messages he'd left. And while logically he knew Blaine was angry with Wes, silence left room for doubt, and by the time he made it back to his hotel room, he was sifting through and overanalyzing everything he'd ever said and done.
Had he been wrong to confront Wes? What if, by demanding his manager refrain from treating Blaine like a child, he had inadvertently done the exact same thing?
He was too impulsive. Too controlling.
An unrecognized number called just after 7 pm, and Kurt dragged himself from his self-loathing to accept the call with a tentative, "Blaine?"
"Nope, this is Sebastian," the voice on the other end drawled.
Kurt rolled his eyes up to his skull. "What do you want?"
"Charming as ever," Sebastian responded. "Look, I need you to pick up your boyfriend. He just emptied his guts and I am not his babysitter."
Kurt sat up. "He's with you?"
"Surprisingly, yes," Sebastian replied. "I thought maybe he wanted a quickie for old time's sake, but he's done nothing but whine about his life. Shame, really. He used to be fun. I'm assuming this depressing version of Blaine is your influence."
"Where exactly is 'here'?" Kurt growled.
"A pub in Hackney. He had better taste in venue before he met you, too."
Kurt stumbled into his shoes and jacket, borrowed Nick's car, and thirty-two minutes later pulled up outside the address Sebastian had given him.
He wrinkled his nose at the building. The pub was clearly in need of renovation. The sign above the door looked like a strong wind could yank it off the wall, and the white paint on the brickwork was dark with the city's pollution.
The inside was even worse—dank, dusty, and dimly lit.
He spotted Sebastian in a booth, looking singularly unimpressed with the dark curly head of hair flopped onto the table beside him.
"Fucking finally!" Sebastian griped, slipping out of the booth to let Kurt in next to Blaine. "He's been like that ever since I got him out of the bathroom."
"How long was he drinking?" Kurt asked.
"Not entirely sure. He was already wasted when I rocked up," Sebastian replied, sitting on the opposite side and dragging his scotch across the table. "The barman said he came in about four."
He's probably been drinking all day, Kurt thought resignedly. He stroked his fingers through Blaine's curls and ran a flat palm down his back.
"Blaine?" he said gently.
There was no response, but Blaine's breathing was too labored to be restful.
"Baby, I know you're awake," Kurt quietly chided. "Sit up for me."
"Baby?" Sebastian choked on an ice cube. "Can you be any more nauseating?"
"I can, actually," Kurt snapped. "Not that it has anything to do with you. Now how about you be a nice friend and get him some water?"
"I'm not your butler, Hummel—"
"JUST DO IT!" Kurt exploded.
All five patrons in the pub spun around to stare, but Kurt didn't care. He was tired and anxious and done with this shithole of a day. Sebastian's hands went up in surrender, and he stalked off to the bar, no doubt muttering obscenities about Kurt.
"Ow," Blaine moaned, rubbing his forehead into his sleeve. "You yelled in my ear."
"Sorry," Kurt cringed. "Come on, sit up."
"Can't…hurts…"
"It's self-inflicted; you're not getting any sympathy here."
"Fuck you."
Kurt quirked an eyebrow at that. "Which you won't be doing, if you talk to me like that again. Sit. Up."
"Hate you right now."
"You hate yourself for drinking too much."
"…I threw up."
"I know."
Sebastian plonked a glass of water on the table, and Blaine startled upright blearily. Kurt sighed long-sufferingly, thanked Sebastian through gritted teeth, and pushed the glass toward Blaine.
"Come on, grumpy. Drink up—slowly—and I'll take you home," Kurt fussed.
Blaine gingerly sipped for the next ten minutes, placing his head on Kurt's shoulder when he wasn't. When he'd swallowed the last mouthful, Kurt nudged his bicep.
"You ready to go now?"
"Bathroom," Blaine mumbled. "Need to pee."
Sebastian snorted into the final mouthful of his scotch, but surprisingly got up to help Kurt get Blaine out of the booth.
"Do you need help getting there?" Kurt asked.
Blaine waved him off, though, and staggered away, using the tables around him to keep upright. Only when he'd made it to the door to the men's room and made his way inside, did Kurt let his head fall into his hands. God, he's probably going to fall in the toilet.
"Hummel, quit being dramatic. He's drunk, not a borrower," Sebastian said, and Kurt realized he'd voiced that last thought aloud.
"A what?" Kurt tilted his head.
"A tiny person who lives under the floorboards…" Sebastian answered slowly for maximum condescension. When Kurt only blinked at him, he leaned forward. "Wait, you seriously don't know The Borrowers? You've never even read the book?"
"No?"
"Wow," Sebastian deadpanned. "Your subscription to Princess Weekly must be truly riveting. Or perhaps you didn't progress past picture books?"
"Well, I've been known to skim Douchebag Daily on occasion, since you feature so prominently," Kurt threw back tersely. "And for once in your damn life, would you just shut the fuck up! Blaine and I have had a really crappy day; so forgive me if I don't care about your stupid pop culture references."
"Touchy, touchy," Sebastian scoffed. "Fine then, enlighten me. What's my father gone and done now? Blaine was whining about Wes earlier, and then, out of the blue, he called my dad a demonic dictator."
Kurt barely contained a grim smirk. "You don't pay attention to your dad's work?"
"Not particularly. Some of the artists signed are easy on the eye, but the business side bores me," Sebastian replied. "I know my dad's a prick though. Anything that earns him a title akin to Darth Vader must be worth hearing about."
"Why, so you can laugh at Blaine's expense?"
"Believe it or not, Hummel, I actually like Blaine," Sebastian bit back. "I don't delight in his misfortunes."
"Says the man whose best friend is his ex."
Sebastian scoffed. "Friend is a bit of a strong word."
"It is?" Kurt cocked his head in intrigue.
"Let's just say Jeremiah and I don't agree on much these days," Sebastian said. "And anyway, he's too busy fucking his co-star and obsessing over Blaine to pay me any mind."
"Adam?" Kurt squawked.
"Yeah, him—the one with the beanie fetish." A shudder ran through him. "I'd love to stuff the hat most likely to suffocate him into his pretentious mouth."
"Is that what you don't agree on?" Kurt asked. "Jeremiah's taste in men?"
"It's more how he treats them. I might not qualify for 'boyfriend of the year', but I'm pretty straight forward about what I want—sex without a lot of conversation. Jeremiah, on the other hand, likes toying with their lives." Sebastian thoughtfully tapped his fingernail against his empty scotch glass. "If I tell you something, will you explain what my dad's done to Blaine?"
"Depends on what you tell me."
"Well, I better make it good then," Sebastian said flippantly. "Jeremiah paid the photographer who papped you with Adam the other day."
Blaine's suspicions were right then. "Why?"
"Because he's petty as fuck. He doesn't like that Blaine seems happy without him—and since you're the reason lover boy gave Jeremiah back the money he owed, destroying the only leverage he had over Blaine, he wants—very badly—to break you guys up."
"Well, you can tell Jeremiah it was a waste of his time," Kurt said. "Blaine didn't even react when he saw the pictures."
"Well, obviously—they were about as racy as a Jane Austen adaptation," Sebastian said cattily.
"And tell him to quit using my ex to get to me," Kurt continued, ignoring him. "It's pathetic."
"No, what's pathetic is that Adam has no clue he's being used," Sebastian replied, causing Kurt's stomach to flip-flop uncomfortably. "Jeremiah's always been good at wooing his victims though. How else could he have scored Blaine?"
There was a bitter inflection in Sebastian's words that gave Kurt pause, but before he could analyze further, Blaine announced his return by stumbling over his own feet. Kurt jumped up and caught him with ease.
"O-kay, home time. Sebastian could you…"
The pair looped an arm each under Blaine's armpits and guided him out to the car. Opening the closest back door, Sebastian held it open for Blaine to crawl inside. The door was shut carefully behind him before Kurt faced Sebastian again.
"Your dad's threatening to sue The Warblers," he revealed.
Sebastian's eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"Nick and Blaine submitted songs under a penname, to see if your dad was deliberately rejecting their songs, and he was pissed when he found out. He says Canary Records can strip them of their band name and claim ownership of the songs they wrote if they sign with another label."
"He can do that?" Sebastian looked genuinely perplexed.
"I don't know," Kurt said with a shrug. "Your dad claims they violated a clause in their contract by writing under a false name."
"I—shit."
"Look, do you need to be anywhere? I can give you a ride."
"No, thanks. I don't want to be in the car if he pukes again. My nostrils will never recover," Sebastian dismissed drolly.
Kurt nodded once and clambered into the car. Blaine was asleep in the back seat; mouth wide open, throat gurgling. Switching the vehicle on, Kurt was about to release the parking break when Sebastian rapped his knuckles on the window.
"Can you tell him I'll figure something out?" Sebastian said, when the window was lowered. "About my dad, I mean."
"What? Sebastian, no! I—you'll only make it worse," Kurt protested. "You shouldn't even—and if your dad finds out someone told you—"
"—I'm not going to do anything rash," Sebastian said hastily. "Just…tell him. Okay?"
Kurt eyed him suspiciously, but Sebastian's face was surprisingly sincere. Not a smirk or sneer in sight. "Why would do you even want to help?"
Blaine let out a long gurgling snore, and Sebastian's eyes snapped to the heap of boy in the back. Kurt turned to look, too, unnerved by the unusually fond smile on Sebastian's face. Like a trick of light it was gone, though, his regular mask of indifference back in place as if it had never left.
"I told you," Sebastian replied, clearing his throat. "I like Blaine. I always did."
Kurt's eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, Sebastian straightened up and walked away, hunching over to wrap his jacket closer to his body as he disappeared around the corner.
"We home yet?" Blaine mumbled drowsily, jogging Kurt from his stupor.
"No, not yet, honey," he replied, easing the car away from the sidewalk.
"M'sorry," Blaine continued, "…didn't have to pick me up."
"Of course I did," Kurt said softly. "I was really worried about you."
"Sorry."
"Shhhh," Kurt soothed. They had paused at a stop light; so he reached back to squeeze Blaine's fingers. "Go back to sleep. I'll wake you when we're home."
"Mmm 'kay."
Blaine's snoring soon filled the car again.
Kurt mulled over Sebastian's parting words as he drove. There had been a mutual dislike between them from the beginning, but for the first time Kurt felt that he understood why. And it forced Kurt to acknowledge an uncomfortable question that had been nagging at him since Sebastian contacted him earlier:
Why did Blaine call Sebastian, instead of his boyfriend?