It all started with the cardigan.

Well, no, it started with a bad week.

It exploded with the cardigan.

The post-Valentines prank war had ended. Glitter had been cleaned up, blood had almost been spilt, and now all was back to normal in the Dalton dorms.

Except both Blaine and Kurt had had a really bad week. The kind of epically bad week you need your best friend for.

They were both overworked, and tired, and each just about ready to kill the next person who annoyed them.

This was not good.

Kurt raised an eyebrow at his roommate on Friday afternoon. "Really, Blaine?"

He snapped his head away from his sleeve, which he was fixing distractedly. "What?"

"You are wearing that? Out of this room?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"Have you seen it?"

"I like it. Doesn't it look good?"

Kurt chose his words very carefully. "The color, Blaine."

"I like the color."

"It's a nice color. It just is not a nice color with that shirt."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"I will not be able to look you in the eye if you wear that."

"Well, to coin a phrase, you are not the boss of me."

They were both still smiling. A little.

"...besides, you're one to talk."

Oh dear.

"What does that mean?"

"That scarf?"

"What is wrong with my scarf?"

"Nothing, if you like the bargain bin at K-Mart."

Kurt actually gasped.

"What is your problem?"

"You insulted my cardigan."

"Because it is hideously matched. I know you can do better."

"Oh, for god's sake. Let's just go." Blaine scowled as they left the room.

"Fine, but please walk at least three feet behind me at all times."

"Shut up."

They'd gone out for pizza with some guys from their floor. It had been a really long week – Kurt had had a surprise History exam (it was a surprise in that he'd forgotten about it), had been reprimanded by his Latin teacher for texting in class (Mercedes had needed an update, okay?), had been working so hard at learning new music for the Warblers that he was beginning to lose his voice, and was seriously considering telling Blaine that if he did not stop leaving his freaking capo on the floor, he'd throw it out the window next time he almost stepped on it. Or he'd take a pair of scissors to his guitar strings. One of the two. It was also possible he was a little bit frustrated with his feelings for his guitar-playing hideous-color-combination-loving, curly haired roommate. Possibly. All of these things combined might just have been making him a little crazy, and the two of them might have been snapping at each other all week.

So when Blaine took the piece of pizza, the last one of the veggie-type that Kurt had been eyeing, he was annoyed. More than annoyed. He was furious. And when, a minute later, Blaine turned to him and asked him whether he still thought the outfit was hideous, considering the waitress had asked for his number, Kurt couldn't stop himself from retorting.

"You noticed that? I'm surprised you didn't try to befriend her, and then move in and have a house full of fashion-challenged children."

"What?"

"Never mind. Can you please pass the bread? Unless you want to eat that too."

Blaine was looking quite annoyed now. So far that week he'd flunked a big french test ( he had to retake it the following week) and written a twelve page paper on the English Civil War, only to have his hard drive crash four hours before the deadline, and if he woke up to one more Lady Gaga song he was probably going to do some serious damage. He'd also mistranslated a sentence on his Latin quiz (and he wasexcellent at Latin. He'd won awards, for crying out loud) because he'd been distracted by the memory of breakfast that morning, when Wes had commented that the way Kurt was nibbling at his granola bar was practically causing Blaine's eyes to roll back in his head, and Kurt had smiled a little before throwing an apple straight at Wes' nose. Kurt's assault on his favorite outfit (which Rainn Fawkes had worn in Marie Claire just the previous month, thank you very much, and Kurt had talked about that photoshoot for days, which may or may not have influenced Blaine's decision when he saw it in the store) had darkened his mood even more, and he was, at this point, just wanting to go to bed and stay there until the week from hell ended.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he demanded. "You've been snapping at me all day, all week, even, and I'm sick of it."

"Me? You're the one who -"

"Children, children," Wes demanded, waving a napkin between them like a flag. "No fighting at the dinner table."

"He's being a-"

"Charming young man, who should pass me a piece of the cheese?" David asked.

"No, just a total and complete -"

"Listen, Kurt, I've had a hell of a week, so if you're determined to start a fight, let me tell you -"

"I'm not the one starting anything here, Blaine. Nor, may I add, am I the one who leaves empty hair gel containers lying all over the place for people to step on. What do you do, Blaine, pour it on?"

"Oh, shit," muttered David, pouring himself another soda. Blaine's eyes narrowed.

"Once. That happened once. And maybe if there was any space for my gel amongst the four thousand different brands of moisturizer you insist on buying - quite why I don't know, as they have no purpose whatsoever -"

"Guys," Wes protested, as Kurt's eyes flashed and he lifted his chin, "really, I don't think this is the -"

"My skin," Kurt said through gritted teeth, "is something I care about, whether you seem to think it's worth my time or not. Excuse me for caring about my appearance." He eyes his roommate's outfit with distaste. "...unlike some people, I don't leave the house looking like I dressed in the dark."

"You are being a total and complete jerk right now."

"It takes one to know one, doesn't it, Mr. Anderson-Hamilton?"

Blaine opened his mouth to respond, then closed it and stood up, pulling out a twenty and handing it to Wes. Neither of their voices had been raised, but everyone at the table was listening. "I'm done with this. I'm going back to school." He paused before he left the table. "Actually, no. I think I'll go home for the weekend. Wes, I won't be at practice tomorrow. Kurt," he paused, "if you honestly find me so difficult to live with... then maybe we should think about finding different roommates."

Kurt's eyes widened, then he opened his mouth and it set into a firm line. "Maybe we should."

"Fine. I'll see you all on Sunday." He paused and glanced at Kurt. "I'll tell my parents you say hi."

Kurt watched him go, with the rest of them, frustration, fear, and anger broiling in his stomach. Fine. Let him go. I hope he – he couldn't even finish the thought. He wanted to go to bed. He wanted to curl up with his ipod and listen to the 'Emotive Songs: Sorrow' playlist Rachel had made for him, and then tell Mercedes how right he was, and how stupid Blaine was being.

"I'm going back to school," he told Wes and David after a minute, glad he'd chosen to drive his own car. "Can you guys get a ride back?"

Wes opened his mouth to speak, but David silenced him with a look. "Sure, Kurt. You... you sure you want to leave now? I'll bet if you called Bl-"

"I don't need to call anyone," Kurt sniffed. "I'll see you later."

He drove back to school, and curled up in his bed for hours, alone in his and Blaine's dorm room, staring at his phone, replaying the entire week, and wondering what the hell they'd just fought about anyway.

Saturday was miserable. Warbler's practice was completely pointless, as they'd been intending to rehearse You Belong With Me. It was probably just as well Blaine wasn't there, because Kurt knew he'd never sounded worse in his life. Nick sang through Blaine's part, but after a few tries it became clear that vocal exhaustion was only one of Kurt's problems. He just couldn't do it, and that irritated him even more. He was a professional, for christ's sake. Who the hell was Blaine Anderson-Hamilton-Whatever to make him feel like he couldn't sing a damn love song? How dare he? He was Kurt Hummel! This was unacceptable!

When his voice cracked for the third time on the first chorus, Wes called a halt.

"Okay, gentlemen, I think that's enough for today. Nick, thank you for stepping in, but don't get that manic look, it's just for today. I'll see you on Tuesday. No absences, please, we have a competition to prepare for, and tardiness is not tolerated."

As the members filed out, including David, who shot his roommate a significant look, Wes grabbed Kurt by the arm. "Seriously, Kurt..."

"I'll make some tea," he promised, picking up his bag, and wondering if he'd make it to his room before he started to cry. "My voice will be fine by Tuesday, I promise."

"Have you called him?"

"Who?" he evaded.

"Who the hell do you think? Everyone's favorite hobbit. He-who-must-not-be-ruffled. Listen, I have no idea what happened last night, but -"

"No offense, Wes, but it's really none of your business, and I don't want to talk about it, so -"

"It is. And no offense, Kurt, but I so don't care." Wes held up his phone. "Do you see this?"

The background was a picture of Wes and his girlfriend, just like always.

"What?"

"No texts. No nothing. David and I have been trying all day. If I hadn't called his house and talked to Hal, I'd think he'd run off to Mexico or something."

There was a pause. "Not Mexico," Kurt corrected quietly.

"What?"

"He'd go to Canada. He got sick when he went on vacation to Mexico. He hated it."

Wes looked at him for a moment. "Call him."

"I don't want to."

"You are such a bad liar."

"He wants a new roommate. You heard him."

"No, he wanted you to follow him out of the restaurant and tell him he was right. Did you see his face when you said 'okay'?"

"I don't want to talk to him, and he doesn't want to talk to me."

"Please, I'm willing to bet you've been sitting by your phone all night."

"I have not," he lied.
"He was too," Wes said quietly.

"You don't know that."

"His dad does. They're close."

"I know."

"Blaine won't talk to him."

"There isn't anything to talk about."

"Christ, what did you two fight about?" Wes seemed suddenly irritated, and that set Kurt off.

"I have no fucking idea, okay? I had a bad week, and he had a bad week, and then we were snapping at each other, and sniping all week, and I couldn't say anything, and he couldn't either, without one of us starting a – and then he'd had enough, and now he wants to move out, and I -" Kurt sank onto the couch and put his head in his hands. "I don't know what happened."

Wes looked alarmed at the imminent tears, but sat down and patted him comfortingly. "You had a fight. It happens when you're in lo – when you live with someone."

Kurt looked up. "Did this ever happen with David? Or when you were living with Blaine?"

No, but there wasn't a icy block of sexual tension in either of those relationships thick enough to sink a cruise liner.

"No, but Jo and I fight all the time."

"She's your girlfriend."

"...yeah."

Kurt seemed to think about this for a minute. He sniffed. "He hates me. He thinks I'm vain."

"No, he doesn't."

"He thinks I care too much about clothes, and the way I look. He thinks I'm stubborn and judgmental."

"No, he knows you're stubborn and judgmental," Wes corrected, nudging him. He almost smiled. "And... if I tell you something, do you promise not to ever tell him I told?"

"What?"

"Promise. He'd kill me."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "I sincerely doubt that there is anything you could do to Blaine that could match the stuff you've already pulled."

"Don't set me challenges right now, I'm trying to help. Anyway, do you promise?"

"Yes."

"Do you know what he said to me when he got back from the hospital that first time, just to grab a change of clothes, even though I said I'd drive over? When you were lying there? And you'd woken up, after he'd thought you were dead?"

Kurt was just looking at him. "What?"

Wes took a breath, then let it out slowly, keeping eye contact. "He said he wished it was him. He said he'd nearly killed you, and if you'd died, he didn't know what he would have done... he was so scared, Kurt. He thought he'd lost you, and then he thought you'd hate him, because he was the one who had told you to stand up for -"

"That's ridiculous."

"I'm not done. He said he'd failed you, and maybe he didn't deserve to even be your friend. He was broken, Kurt... and when you went back to McKinley he spent every waking hour checking his phone, or on facebook, making sure nothing was wrong, fighting the urge to text you, to check everything was okay...he..." Wes closed his eyes briefly. "He went a little crazy. Nothing like he would have been if he'd lost you, but... Blaine's my best friend, Kurt. He's our best friend. David and I... we...it was difficult... it was so difficult to watch him fall apart."

Kurt didn't know what to say to that. He'd known some of that – after he found out that Blaine had been slushied, which was the only time they'd really talked about it, Blaine had told him a little – that he was scared, and that he'd blamed himself. But what Wes was talking about was... "I – I'm sorry...I..."

"This is not something you need to apologize for, idiot. You just need to know... Blaine, he – he cares about you...so much. You know that, I know you do. He's cared about you for... he will. You can criticize his clothes and hair as much as you want, that isn't changing anytime soon. Blaine's a lot of things... he's stubborn, and talented, and really lousy at saying what he wants... he's also loyal. To a fault. Always." He paused. "Well, maybe lay off the hair. He's touchy about the hair."

Kurt was crying a little, but he managed to giggle. "I have never heard you say so many sentences in a row without making some kind of crude joke. I don't expect this from you. Who are you, and what have you done with Wesley?"

"He has been dealt with," he said solemnly, waving his gavel before wiggling his eyebrows. "I am a man of many talents, as Jo can tell you. Also, when David picked rock, I picked scissors."

"Touching," Kurt commented.

"I try. Kurt...call him."

"I can't."

Wes shook his head, his jaw tight, then stood. "You know, I joke a lot, but I want you to know that I mean it when I say you're both idiots. I love you guys like brothers, but... god, you're idiots." He touched him on the shoulder briefly, then left.

Kurt took his phone out of his pocket and set it on the table in front of him, then moved his bag to the floor and curled up on the couch. He knew Wes was right.

He was an idiot.

It was dark when he woke – the curtains were open, and the light was just beginning to touch the grass outside the common room window, visible through the gloom. Clearly, he'd fallen asleep after practice yesterday afternoon. And clearly no one had bothered to wake him up. The common room was always full on Saturday nights – he had no idea how he'd managed to sleep through that.

He heard a cough. He wasn't alone.

He looked over to see Blaine, his (former?) roommate and possibly-still best friend, sitting in an armchair, looking at him over his copy ofThe Princess Bride – that meant he was nervous.

"How long have you been here?"

"A while."

Kurt frowned. "Don't go all stalker vampire on me. How long?"

Blaine shrugged. "I got back last night. Couldn't find you. Wes told me he'd seen you here, so I came down... you were asleep, so I decided to make sure no one bothered you. You were tired."

"You stayed here all night?"

"You were comfortable."

"But you weren't."

"I wasn't tired."

"You haven't slept all week. Of course you are."

"I couldn't sleep. I -" He touched the book. "Had to catch up on my reading."

"You have that book memorized. Did you just stay here all night watching me sleep?"

He blushed. "No. That would be weird."

"Yes, it would."

Blaine sighed. "I don't want to fight."

Kurt paused. "Me either."

"I don't even really know what we fought about," he confessed.

"I took my week out on you. I shouldn't have."

"I shouldn't have either. It's just... it's easy, because … I know you're always there."

"We spend a lot of time together."

"Yeah." Blaine stood and walked over to sit by Kurt's feet on the couch. "And I really like that – I really like that we hang out, and do all this stuff together, and you're not just my roommate, you're my best friend... but..."

"It makes it easy to snap."

"Yeah." He put down the book and looked him in the eyes. "I'm sorry I said all that stuff. And..." he hesitated... "the only reason I said that stuff about you and the moisturizer was because I don't think you need have... your skin is perfect. It isn't stupid. Nothing that.." he blushed, then spoke quickly. "Nothing that makes your skin so soft is stupid.""

Kurt was pink. "I'm sorry too. I like your hair. I like it when it's all curly, and stuff, but... it always looks good." He paused. "And the outfit... wasn't as bad as I said. You made it – it... it looked fine. Hot, even."

He nodded in shy thanks, blushing himself, then, after a moment, seemed not to be able to stop himself from blurting out "Please don't find a new roommate. When I said that, I... I was being an idiot. I didn't think... I hope you don't want to."

"I don't," he said quickly. He added "Wes thinks we're both idiots."

"He's one to talk."

"He told me to call you."

"I know."

"How?"

He shrugged. "Parents. Voicemails. And I know Wes and David."

"I was staring at my phone." He gestured to the table. "Where is my phone?"

Blaine pointed to the other side of the room. "It's charging over there."

"Oh. Thanks."

"No problem. Kurt... I was... I should have called you. That's why I came back last night. I... wanted to apologize. For taking everything out on you, and...thanks. For being there, you know. We should have, this week, but... I know you're there."

Kurt shrugged off the blanket that was covering him, which was Blaine's favorite, the soft blue one, and had definitely not been there when he'd fallen asleep, and sat up properly. "You're my friend."

"I know, but..."

"But nothing."

They smiled at each other for a minute. "My mom wants you to come for dinner next weekend."

He raised an eyebrow. "Even after..."

Blaine blinked at him. "They know we had a fight. I told them, after I spent most of yesterday sulking and playing Death Cab and Blink 182 in my room. After about the tenth voicemail from David."

"Why? What did David say?"

"It wasn't that," he said quietly. "It was the fact that I realized who I was waiting to see a call from, and what a huge hypocrite I was being." He smiled at Kurt's confusion. "Courage, remember? I forget sometimes too."

"Oh... I... I'd like to go to dinner. At your house. If... your family is ridiculously perfect, have I mentioned this?"

Blaine rolled his eyes. "Perfect is the last thing we are. Trust me on this."

"Yeah, okay." He started to get up, but Blaine grabbed his hand – it was a reflex, and he looked slightly embarrassed by it.

"I'm serious. And...I really am sorry."

Kurt squeezed. "Me too. What time is it?"

"Almost seven."

"It's Sunday."

"Yes."

"Do you want to go to breakfast?"

Blaine grimaced.

Kurt clarified. "Let's go get pancakes. I'll drive, you're dead. Then you can come back and sleep."

"I have a paper to write."

"You need to eat. And sleep. I'll wake you up in time to finish it, I promise..." he tried to straighten out his wrinkled uniform, frowning, and then running his hands through his hair in what he hoped was a casual manner. "Then we can study French."

"You don't need to study french," Blaine objected.

"But you do. And you didn't need to sit up all night thinking deep thoughts and guarding me like some kind of ador – like some kind of dragon, or something."

Blaine stared at him for a moment, then smiled. "Okay." He picked up the book, and headed for the doors, turning for one final grin. "As you wish."

Kurt decided he'd have to watch or read The Princess Bride again very soon.

As they got ready to visit Blaine's parents that weekend, Kurt commented, while fixing his hair for the fourth time, that it was a little cold out, and anyway, that shirt would look really good with his new cardigan. The color complimented his skin tone, he said, even better than it did Rainn Fawkes'.

Blaine walked over to the closet, and smiled into the hangers.