Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters; Ryan Murphy and Co. hold that honor. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

"Happy New Year," Kurt whispered, smiling as he rested his chin in the middle of Blaine's back. The latter sighed slightly, his arms wrapped around a pillow that was firmly tucked over his head after Kurt's previous attempts to wake him up at six in the morning (after finally relenting to go shower and work on his morning routine before returning an hour later for a second attempt). His breaths were still deep and even but Kurt knew he was awake, smiling slightly to himself as he tilted his head downward just enough to press a kiss against his t-shirt. "What are we going to do now?"

"Sleep?" came the muffled, hopeful reply, Kurt laughing slightly, as he draped his arms comfortably around, lying perpendicular to Blaine. He folded his arms and kicked his feet up in the air, ankles crossed casually as he tapped out a light rhythm against Blaine's ribcage, feeling him shift a little at the feather-light pressure.

"That's what we did last year," Kurt said, grinning as he found a particularly sensitive spot over the upper part of Blaine's ribs and brushing just so that he squirmed and batted a hand half-heartedly at Kurt's arm in retaliation. "Isn't there anything new you want to experience this year?"

"Like what?" Again muffled, but Kurt thought there was at least a little more coherence to it, a little more awareness, at any rate. He smiled to himself, pulling out his phone and texting Mercedes, feeling Blaine's curiosity practically radiating off him. "Kurt?" He sounded slightly nervous, pulling the pillow off his head and trying to shift around to see who Kurt was talking to. Or more accurately, writing to, but it was the first day of a new year and Kurt wasn't about to deal with technicalities. Of course, with Kurt's weight settled on the middle of his back, he didn't make much progress in the spying department, only managing to crane his neck around a little before dropping his head in defeat, the slight whumph of the pillow making Kurt laugh in spite of himself.

"If this is another shopping trip, just know that my limit is four hours of indentured servitude."

"You make it sound like it's such a bad thing," Kurt said, rolling his eyes to himself as he sent off the text. He looked over at where Blaine had face-planted and chuckled, his hair flyaway and curly. "Your hair's eccentric this morning."

Blaine was still for a moment before reaching up a hand slowly to feel his head, groaning slightly as he encountered dozens of small curls. "Oh, God. It's hideous, I know."

"You just think it's hideous because it's not a gel helmet," Kurt quipped, shooing his hand away with nimble fingers. "But see, I kind of like it this way, and I would appreciate if you didn't plaster it to your skull every morning."

"How could you like it this way?" Blaine asked incredulously, lifting his head just slightly from the pillow so his words were slightly more comprehensible. "I mean, it's just a—oh. Mmm." He tilted his head slightly into Kurt's fingers had started stroking the slight curls at the base of his neck, a deep, satisfied hum escaping him. "I might be open to reform," he said at last, Kurt retracting his hand with a last gentle tug of remonstrance to look at the text as his phone buzzed.

Happy New Year to you too, boo! :) Busy on Saturday?

"Hey," Blaine whined, harrumphing, and Kurt bopped him lightly on the head instead, firing off a quick, No, but I might be. What's the occasion?

"You're so demanding."

"You started it," Blaine grumbled, shifting so that he could attempt to sit up once more. Kurt sighed and relented, rocking back onto his heels before settling on his haunches. Blaine sat up fully and stretched, kicking at the covers still tangled around his feet. "So what's the amazing plan for the New Year?" he asked, rubbing at his eyes and self-consciously lifting a hand to flatten his hair, a reflexive gesture more than anything.

Kurt hummed and said nothing, looking intently at his iPhone screen and purposefully ignoring the curious look Blaine gave him. He yelped and nearly toppled off the bed when Blaine growled and tackled him, reaching for the phone.

"You're—terrible," Kurt huffed, laughing at the fact that he still had longer arms and yes, it absolutely came in handy sometimes. Blaine growled and wrapped his arms tightly around Kurt's, pinning them to his sides. It still didn't let him see the text, but it also meant Kurt couldn't move or see the text, either. With a sigh, Kurt said, "Let me up and I'll tell you?" and scowled when Blaine just shook his head, clearly fighting a grin.

"Fine," he quipped, tossing the phone to the middle of the bed. Blaine spent one moment clinging to Kurt stupidly before pouncing on the phone, scrolling through the texts until he found the most recent ones and blinking in surprise.

"Really? You didn't even tell her your plans yet?" he said, handing the phone back and rolling his eyes. "You're so mean to me."

"Poor baby," Kurt cooed, ruffling his hair as he stood up and walked with the phone towards the door. "You'll just have to wait and see," he called over his shoulder as he trotted downstairs, leaving Blaine to mull over the possibilities alone.

His dad was already awake and crunching down on a piece of toast, looking over a stack of papers determinedly at the kitchen table. Evidence of a Finn morning breakfast raid was also present in the crumbs scattered around the counters and boxes of cereal half-heartedly replaced in their original spots on the shelves. Noting the sounds of Finn already engaged in his Call of Duty in the living room, Kurt shook his head to himself as he started on a pot of coffee, gratefully pouring himself a cup ten minutes later.

Blaine emerged a mere ten minutes after that, sparing one inquiring glance in Finn's direction before looking in the kitchen and smiling at Kurt. He sauntered over and casually draped his arm around Kurt's waist in a good morning hug before noticing Kurt's dad's presence and leaping back as though scalded. Kurt laughed, his dad grunting once in the background to acknowledge the incident and grant his overarching seal of As long as you're happy, I'm not going to say anything approval. Blaine still kept his distance as he meandered around the kitchen foraging for scraps, Kurt stopping him before he could pull anything off its shelf.

"Uh uh," he said lightly. "Clearly you haven't ever been on one of our famous New Year brunch spectaculars."

"Brunch?" Blaine repeated, looking at the clock and seeming tempted to let out a groan of exasperation, only censoring himself because of Kurt's dad's continuing presence. He cast a pointed look in his direction, wordlessly signalling to Kurt his woes, before shuffling out of the kitchen, Kurt following after a moment's thoughts. "How am I supposed to survive until then?" he asked. "It's nine-fifteen."

"We're not waiting until noon," Kurt said, already texting Mercedes the details as he plopped down casually on the couch. Blaine hesitated before sitting down next to him, Finn still lost in his own world in an armchair in front of the TV. "We're leaving in an hour."

Blaine frowned, evidently confused. "But that's only—"

"Trust me, it'll be brunch when we're done," Kurt assured, patting his arm in a placating way. Blaine shook his head slightly, leaning over to look at the text Kurt was writing only to see that he had sent it, sighing in fond exasperation.

"Is this the 'let's not tell Blaine what's going on' sort of plan?" he asked at last.

Kurt grinned wolfishly. "Maybe. But if you're really good I might even let you pick the stores we go to later."

Blaine's groan actually made Finn look over briefly from his game before realizing that it was one of despair, his attention quickly diverting back to zombie-slaying once he saw everything was fine.


Two hours later, Blaine had to admit that if this was how Kurt wanted to celebrate New Year's, then he was perfectly okay with that. Better than okay, even, as he savored the lingering hints of honey on his tongue from his English muffin. The restaurant was just casual enough that he didn't feel intimidated by it (taking Kurt on actual dates was still a rather bizarre process only complicated by the fact that they already went out together more times than they could count on supposedly 'not dates'), and Mercedes' presence help keep the atmosphere even more relaxed and calm. There were few other patrons around, ensuring that they didn't have to worry about noisy neighbors, a pleasant respite from the usual mayhem in their lives.

"All right, now that I'm sure you won't overturn anything important, check out what's happening in glee club next week," Mercedes broke in at last, pulling out a stack of folded papers from her satchel and setting them on the table in front of Kurt and him.

Looking over at Kurt, wordlessly proferring the first look at this newest development, Blaine watched as he slowly unfolded the papers, smoothing them out before looking down. Blaine's gaze followed after a moment, mostly taking in Kurt's raised eyebrow at first before refocusing on the actual news itself.

GREASE, the first page read, followed by several more with the music sheets and lyrics to a fair variety of songs from said-production. Blaine blinked in surprise. He knew from past experiences with the Warblers that doing nothing even when there wasn't a competition was a recipe for disaster (namely unrest and dissatisfaction, which quickly led to the disintegration of all order and the displeasure of everyone involved). It had happened several times before he, Wes, David, and Thad had been able to wrestle a new strategy into submission, usually a performance at a local center that would have them. It was a way of keeping everyone calm and busy, the practices and preparations preventing mutinies from arising more often. Part of leading the Warblers meant leading them, taking charge of situations and preventing them from being the 'privileged, pampered birds' Kurt had once informed Blaine they had become.

Still, it came as a slight shock to him that Schuester would choose to host another heavily-invested production only three months before the nationals' competition. With people like Rachel Berry, especially, he wondered how the news would go over as far as how much time it would leave for those practices and preparations to be held. The idea of diverting their attention to a separate big project was risky but, at the same time, also rather clever. It would keep them from obsessing too heavily over how they would perform at nationals and whether or not they would place in the top ten. Although Blaine had been somewhat disappointed to hear from Kurt last year that they weren't advancing and had instead come in twelfth place, he knew that the disappointment would be far greater this year if they didn't at least qualify for another round, prove that they were not just capable of making it to the nationals' level but also winning at the nationals' level.

And with that much stress, maybe planning a musical to keep everyone's minds from centering completely on the competition wasn't a bad idea.

"Grease?" Kurt said at last, his voice stunned as he looked over the music sheets again, flipping through them slowly. "We're doing Grease?"

"Actually," Mercedes said, drawing the papers back over to her side of the table and flipping to the bottom one, "we're not doing this as a formal production. It's just a project to get the glee club more attention from the rest of the school."

"Why do we need more attention?" Blaine asked, genuinely curious. His impression of the relationship the main McKinley student body had with the glee club had never been favorable, and the thought of trying to garner anything from the former seemed almost impossible. At Dalton, it had been different—the main student body practically worshipped the ground the Warblers walked upon, and most regarded it with a sort of envious admiration whenever it was brought up in casual conversation—but there was still little done in the way of deliberate attention-garnering.

"We're all graduating this year," Mercedes said, the words somehow heavier than before.

This year. Not some distant, indeterminate date in the future. In less than six months they would no longer be a part of the McKinley High population, moving on to achieve bigger and better things.

Hopefully, Blaine reminded himself silently. One never knew what life outside high school would hold, and for him especially it was strange to consider how much he had yet to really consider. He had been supportive and helpful when it came to getting Kurt's college applications filled out, but he had completed his own privately and without much conversation, preferring to examine his choices and submit based on what he wanted and not the preferences of someone else. Even for someone like Kurt, he wanted to make sure he chose the future that was best for himself, because, as Kurt had once said, 'anger lead to resentment which could lead to horrible and nasty break-up.' And no matter what, Blaine didn't want that, even if it meant choosing a college that was different from Kurt's so that he would be happier.

I'll never lose contact with him, Blaine thought fiercely, resisting the urge to snatch Kurt's hand or just yank him into a hug and never let go. It was hard imagining his life where he didn't see Kurt on a daily basis and he didn't have Finn or Carole or Burt to talk to if he wanted them. Lonely was the first word that came to mind, but he pushed it aside, forcing himself to consider his life before Kurt. Where he had been happy with the Warblers, happy as part of a team and not necessarily paired with anyone else, dependent on someone else like he was Kurt.

They were strong for each other, but sometimes Blaine just felt like the absence of Kurt was the absence of texture. Everything would still continue and exist and maybe even thrive, but there wouldn't be the same vivacity that came with sharing it with another person like he could with Kurt. Everything just seemed so much better when Kurt was around, and even in the worst situations Blaine found hope in the knowledge that Kurt was by his side to help him weather the storm.

Still, it was an intimidating thought, and he did his best to clamp down on his sudden desire to simply throw out all the other college applications (impossible, anyway, since he had already submitted them) to the handful of colleges he had applied to that weren't on Kurt's list. It had taken an effort to keep the awareness out of Kurt's hands, namely because he didn't want Kurt to stress about it like he already was, but he wanted to cross that bridge when necessary and not worry about it too much before.

Like you're doing right now? he reminded himself, forcing himself to pay attention to Mercedes as she spoke.

". . . not like we'll be there forever. And let's face it, the glee club is going to need new members soon, otherwise it doesn't stand a chance when it comes to competitions next year."

"We built up from scratch," Kurt reminded, picking apart a croussant. "There were five of us before we recruited Finn, and we still made it to regionals that year."

"Yes, but we didn't win," Mercedes pointed out. "And we almost had our program cut completely because of what Figgins said."

"But he didn't cut it," Kurt reminded, as though Mercedes was deliberately missing the point, "and he won't. Not after this year. Or last year, even."

"All I'm saying is we got really lucky to find so much talent in one year," Mercedes said, holding up her hands slightly in surrender. "The next group might not be so lucky, and I agree with Mr. Schuester: we can't just leave the club hanging like that. Not after we've made it this amazing."

Blaine nodded slightly, watching Kurt out of the corner of his eye as he stirred his coffee pensively, gaze focused on some distant point that neither could see. At last, he flicked his gaze back to Mercedes and nodded once, acknowledging the fact that they couldn't just abandon the glee club to collapse next year once all the leads had departed. Only Tina and Artie would remain as far as Blaine knew, and the prospect of leaving them to an empty choir room made Blaine's heart ache.

Sort of like how the Warblers left you?

Blaine squashed that voice before it could amount to anything. The Warblers had graduated, yes, and essentially left him behind despite his technical qualifications to graduate with them. Had he not been held back a year, he would have graduated with them, and who knew where he would be now. Possibly in Ohio, possibly in New York, but one way or another far, far away from Kurt. For an entire year.

The thought made him shiver a little despite himself. It was a grim prospect, and he was suddenly glad that he had been held back, even if it had seemed like a cruelty at the time. Maybe he would have to endure five years of high school while the majority of students were only sentenced to four: having that extra year to spend with Kurt made it worth it.

No matter what, he thought firmly, shutting out the mutinous little voices that whispered Bletcher and Karofsky and Sebastian.

"Earth to Blaine?"

Blaine blinked, looking at Mercedes and smiling sheepishly. "Sorry," he added aloud. "Just . . . lost in thought."

"I can see that," Mercedes said, shaking her head slightly. "Anyway, this isn't just about trying to recruit new members—it's just a fun thing for us all to do. You know. As a group. Because between this and nationals, that's all we've got left together."

Kurt hummed in acknowledgment. "Of course, then we have the entire summer," he reminded. "Not to mention I'll be Skyping all of you incessantly for the first few weeks of college."

Mercedes grinned and retorted loftily, "Not if I Skype you first."

They broke out into a playful argument of the merits of who would be better off Skyping the other first, Blaine letting his thoughts wander as he sipped at his own coffee absentmindedly.

For now, he decided, letting his hand drift over to Kurt's underneath the table and interlacing their fingers wordlessly, he wouldn't worry about the future. He would focus on the present, because he didn't know what was to come and he couldn't possibly predict it until he lived it. He would just have to hope for the best and continue as he was, doing his best to soak in as much of his senior year as possible.

Maybe this will be our big chance to really make a stand, Blaine thought, his thumb brushing lightly over the promise ring of Kurt's finger, feeling his grip tighten a little in response even as he chatted with Mercedes. Not just for ourselves, but for our futures.

And maybe it would work out. Maybe he would really find happiness at the end of it all instead of despair, joy and triumph instead of pain and indifference.

As long as I'm with you, he thought, gripping Kurt's hand tightly, then I'll be happy.


"Hey."

Blaine paused in opening his locker, his fingers slipping slightly on the combination as he turned to look at the speaker. "Hi," he answered, eyeing Karofsky warily. "So you're back?"

Karofsky shrugged a little, glancing over his shoulder as though he was wondering how to respond. "Yeah," he said at last, "I'm back."

There was a pause, Blaine wondering if he should return to his locker and get his stuff in case Karofsky decided to start walking and expected him to follow. Karofsky did nothing of the sort, back stiffening and shoulders straightening a little as he looked at Blaine. At last, he said, "Look, I'm . . ." his voice lowered, closing in the conversation to the two of them so that only someone standing right betweent them could hear, and added, "I'm sorry for punching you."

"Sebastian would have deserved it," Blaine said with a slight shrug, aiming for nonchalance but inwardly grateful for the apology. "Thank you."

Karofsky jerked his head in a nod before looking around and, after a moment's indecisiveness, stalking off. Blaine waited until he was out of sight before returning to his locker, pulling out his books for first period easily.

"So what's the verdict?" a familiar voice asked from his shoulder.

"What, with him?" A curt nod, Kurt's eyes looking skeptically at the place where Karofsky had disappeared. He seemed on edge at the fact that he hadn't personally heard the exchange, probably remembering days when Karofsky could have just walked up to him and casually threatened him in front of the school without anyone responding. "He apologized," Blaine said, almost feeling the tension ease around Kurt as he nodded slightly, waiting patiently for Blaine to finish gathering his stuff before looking fully at him.

"And did you accept?" he asked. His tone made it clear that insincerity would not have merited approval, that anything less than a genuine apology should have been turned down.

"I did," Blaine said simply, hoping that he put as much earnestness into his voice as possible. Kurt's eyes narrowed briefly, scrutinizing, before he spared one last look in Karofsky's direction and nodded.

"That's good, then," he said, tone brightening. He launched into an informative rant about what Rachel had told him as far as the Grease production went, emphasizing that while most of it was probably accurate in some way Rachel did have a tendency to exaggerate the truth. Blaine nodded politely and walked with him down the hall, unable to help but preen a little inwardly because Kurt was still wearing his promise ring.

Of course, Blaine chastised himself, mentally shaking his head. Did you really expect him not to?

Blaine honestly didn't know—part of him, at least, was a little skeptical that Kurt would want to wear something that declarative in the known bullying territory that was McKinley—but there he was, defying Blaine's expectations once more.

"Hey—Andy!" a voice called, followed by a grinning Marcus. "Hey, Kurt," he added, nodding at Kurt who smiled back. "Happy New Year. Ready for glee club?"

"Is there something special I should be ready for?" Blaine asked innocently.

"Hell yeah. Schuester's got about a dozen swimsuits hanging in a rack in the choir room and the pool reserved for the next two weeks. Sound fishy to you?"

"Wait, what?" Kurt demanded, stepping around Blaine so he was standing right in front of Marcus, his expression suddenly dark. "Pool? Swimsuits? No. Absolutely no."

"Kurt, you don't even know if they're for us," Blaine said soothingly. He was a little surprised at the outburst, if not completely put off. Kurt was probably just annoyed because it would ruin his flawless skin. Which it wouldn't, but Blaine knew any amount of arguing would only be futile in the face of Kurt discussing skin care. "Maybe we're just providing the vocals?"

Marcus wisely said nothing, but Blaine had a sneaking suspicion that his silence wasn't agreement. Kurt's expression stayed dark even after he excused himself to glee club itself, Blaine nudging him towards the choir room after realizing that Kurt wouldn't move. The latter growled a little before stalking off, Blaine having to nearly jog to keep up with him.

Sure enough, sitting in the middle of the choir room was a rack of swimsuits, Kurt's expression seeming to darken another shade as he eyed them.

"They might not be for us," Blaine repeated, steering him towards the back row of seats before he could concentrate on the swimsuits too long.

Unfortunately, they were for the glee club, and within twenty minutes Blaine was fairly sure Kurt went from uptight to rigid with tension. The rest of the guys were eyeing the suits with something akin to interest, the girls casting unreadable looks at each other while Schuester explained that the water polo team had generously agreed to let them practice in the pool.

"Mr. Schue?" Finn asked at last, raising his hand even as he spoke. "Why are we doing this?"

Schuester beamed and Blaine knew that the swimsuits were a means to an end, albeit a very strange end, his gaze scanning the choir room expectantly. He wondered if it was supposed to be one of his overarching moral lessons for the week, to step outside of their comfort zones or something. Still, the suits were modest and the decision almost ludicrously timed with the Grease production and nationals to consider. If Blaine hadn't seen the music sheets for himself and heard it from more than one glee club member, he might have doubted that they were performing Grease, but coupled with the swimming number it seemed borderline suicidal for their nationals' competition.

"Two reasons," Schuester said, drawing Blaine's attention back to the present as he walked back towards the choir room door. "First, we're not just swimming—we're singing, too. And second," here he held open the door, a blond-haired boy entering after him, a slight grin on his face, "it's a way to reaquaint ourselves with our returning member."

"Dude, we thought you moved to Kentucky," Finn said, even while the rest of the glee club crowded around him to half-smother the newcomer. "The hell?"

"My dad found a job back in Lima," the boy said with a shrug. "And I've got a pretty good gig just outside of town so we were able to move back. Well. We're in an apartment, but we're looking at houses again. Mom's with the kids at her sister's right now." He accepted the hug Tina gave him and looked around them, zeroing in on Marcus and blinking. "Oh. My bad. Hey."

Marcus rumbled a little before throwing out a hand and shaking the new boy's once firmly, retreating with a polite, "Nice to meet you, too."

He's not new, clearly, Blaine corrected himself, inwardly squashing the sudden, violent urge to tell them all how hypocritical they were. You didn't see how they welcomed Jesse St. James or Sunshine, he thought, suppressing mutinous thoughts that whispered, See how much they like him? See how little you fit into their family?

Lingering at the edge of the circle, mostly listening to the others catch up with the new guy demanding answers and laughing in turns, Blaine started when Finn spoke up beside him.

"That's Sam Evans," he explained in a voice that didn't carry over the conversation taking place in the bubble surrounding the new guy. Blaine appreciated that—the sudden, inexplicable desire to not be noticed as the odd-man-out in the miniature celebration nearly made him leave the choir room entirely. "He moved to Kentucky after his family ran into some financial trouble. He was one of our leads at sectionals last year," he added, Blaine humming slightly as he remembered. "And according to Kurt, he dyes his hair," Finn added. Blaine barked a laugh, unable to help himself, and Sam looked over, the rest of the group seeming to shift aside so that he could see him clearly.

"Oh. Hey," he said, blinking in surprise. "Aren't you that Warbler dude?"

"Former Warbler lead," Blaine corrected, nodding slightly and not moving. He knew it was petty, but he didn't want to rush and greet him, didn't want to just fawn over him like everyone else had. At least Sam couldn't possibly feel ostracized like he had because one person didn't like him—the rest of the group clearly did, even Santana. (Liked used loosely with her; she still had the tiny red notebook with her best insults in hand.)

"Cool. So it's like, still break for you guys?"

Blaine beat back a flush with a tremendous effort, realizing that Sam didn't know he was actually part of the New Directions. Kurt didn't know when you first transferred. He thought the same thing.

Ignoring that, Blaine was about to respond when Finn spoke up instead.

"Blaine transferred," he said simply. "He's one of us, now."

"Oh." Sam looked Blaine over, probably assessing his value as a team member, before shrugging slightly. "S'cool with me."

The rest of the glee club converged on him, allowing Blaine to retreat to the back burner of attention. Finn stayed by his side, offering the occasional commentary about Sam Evans, providing a welcome distraction to Blaine's thoughts.

Stop it. He was part of their group and he left because circumstances forced him to, and then he's lucky enough to come back. Being irritated with him doesn't solve anything.

Still, Blaine couldn't help but feeling the resentment in his throat, keeping him silent, almost choking him with outrage. Sam didn't even have to smile or anything, just nodded neutrally and occasionally cracked a grin at something someone said. It was enough to have Blaine practically bristling with the urge to tell them all that it wasn't fair that he had to fight constantly for their acceptance and Sam had it intuitively.

You know what you signed up for. This is just a part of that.

He was relieved that Schuester finally took over, urging them to sit down while Sam stood behind him offering the occasional side notes to his monologue. It was exasperating, how easily the rest of the glee club responded to him, even throwing in comments on their own. Blaine did his best to listen objectively, helped by his peripheral focus on Kurt, who hadn't let his guard drop since he saw the swimsuits. It was easier to not focus on his own frustration when he had someone else's to deal with, brushing his fingers lightly along Kurt's forearm, listening to Schuester with half a mind.

So Sam's part of the swim team, Blaine deduced, his free hand tapping incessantly against his knee, restless. We're doing this because he's on the swim team.

Of course, there were other reasons—how it would help them become closer as a team and whatnot—but Blaine didn't bother remember them. The real reason was plain enough, and it added to the growing frustration in his gut, making him want to say something, anything that would stop them from treating Sam like a prodigal.

As soon as the bell rang, Blaine forced himself not to be the first out the door, involuntarily ending up as the last in the room in the process. He stood slowly, walking down the tiers towards the door and almost missing Schuester's words.

"It's hard for you, isn't it?"

He paused, shoulders straightening defensively as he turned slightly to look at the glee club teacher. The rest of the glee club had already filed out, Mercedes dragging Kurt off to discuss something important. Blaine stood near the threshold of the door, his gaze briefly flicking back to the swimsuit rack before he huffed slightly. Schuester wasn't the one he wanted to talk to, not about this.

So all he said was, "Sometimes," and walked out, not bothering look at the man as he did so. Let him wonder about that. Maybe it would do him some good to not have a straightforward answer to bandage everything.