IS SO EXCITED FOR GLEE TODAY I CAN"T EVEN BREATHE! I just want the show to start already. But patience. I'm trying very hard to have it, it's just all so exciting.

I hope this chapter isn't too confusing, it's not meant to be exactly straight forward, and it get's kind of busy but it is what it is.

Thank you to all the wonderful reviewers and readers, you're all like pieces of magic.

*And an apology to QueensMirror, I didn't mean too, I'll be more careful.*

Anyways, Onwards, ever striving onwards. (Proudly on our brooms we fly)

I don't own Glee

X

Kurt gave a soft knock before opening the door slowly. "Hey Blaine, could I talk to you?"

Blaine gave a jolt from his bed, surprised by Kurt's appearance. "Of course, come on in."

Kurt stepped into the room, shutting the door softly behind him. He shifted uneasily back on forth on his toes, his fingers pulling anxiously at his cuffs. "How are things?"

Blaine opened and closed his mouth a few times before settling on what he was going to say. "I'm...fine. Things are fine."

Kurt gave a tight little smile. "Good, that's good."

"How are you?" Blaine asked.

"Pretty good," Kurt shrugged.

"Great," Blaine grinned tightly. "And Flint, how's he."

"He's great."

"Good."

Truly awful silence inevitably followed the quick back and forth of their question and replies. Small talk was not the reason for Kurt's surprise visit.

"Kurt, I am so unbelievably sorry," Blaine finally gushed out. "I don't even know what I can do to make you understand how terrible I feel. I don't know what's been going on with me. It's like...I'm being controlled by someone else."

"Have you talked to Wes and David recently?" Kurt asked, not appearing to have heard Blaine.

"Yes, they were here a few days ago. But, listen, Kurt–"

"They said you were doing okay," he carried on over Blaine. "But you were still feeling pretty lousy about that whole thing."

Blaine gave a vigorous nod. "And I am. But I–"

"I keep forgiving you," Kurt flailed hopelessly, looking torn. "You've been pulling all this crap and I keep forgiving you. And you're my best friend, so I'm bound to keep forgiving you but I really can't do it anymore. I can't keep accepting you're apologies if you're just going to do something terrible again. It will get tired. I'm already exhausted from trying to keep up and I won't be able to do it much longer. There's only so much I can take before I run out of forgiveness."

"Kurt..."

"So if I forgive you. If you apologize and promise it will never happen again, and I forgive you, you can't break that. You can't even do anything that will require you to apologize again, because I will not be able to forgive you. I will not be able to believe that you're sorry and there will be no trust between us ever again."

"I am sorry," Blaine professed, taking Kurt's hands in his own, squeezing them in earnest. "I am very very sorry. I shouldn't have done that. Any of it. I was wrong. I was very much in the wrong and I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't forgive me but I am deeply sorry."

Kurt looked at him with sad eyes, but returned Blaine's squeeze before pulling his hands away. "Okay. Then I forgive you. But this is last time Blaine. No more redo's after this."

"Kurt I...thank you. I'm so grateful, thank you. But there's something..."

Kurt turned his head to the side at the odd tone Blaine was suddenly using. "What is it? Are you alright? Things are okay with Sebastian right?"

"Yeah, Sebastian is fine. We're fine, but I...I ummm..." Blaine swallowed, feeling cowardly and small. "Here," he finally said, reaching into a drawer. "I found this in the commons, I'm pretty sure it's yours."

Kurt smiled brightly, taken the scarf into his hands. "I thought I'd lost it, thank you."

"Not a problem. Happy to help."

They shared a smile, the warmth and kinship that was once between them flickered for a moment.

"Okay, I'll see you later," Kurt promised, folding the scarf carefully. "Things to do."

"Yeah," Blaine agreed. "Later."

Kurt left the room, Blaine giving his mattress an angry kick, moments after the door was shut. He went back to the drawer, pulling out the duplicate scarf Chelsea had sent him and threw it in the garbage. Now what was he supposed to do?

X

The weeks that followed were...interesting, for the parties involved with the incident. Blaine had spilled a rushed and almost terrified apology to Flint, who accepted it good naturedly, in turn apologizing for his reaction and for punching Blaine in the face. Flint promised that he wouldn't ever react that way again, as long as Blaine didn't give him a reason too. Hearing this Blaine agreed quickly, claiming he just wanted them all to be able to be friends.

So that's how Blaine found himself for the next month in the blissfully happy presence of the newly reunited couple, who were doing better than ever. It was becoming almost unbearable to watch, as his own relationship was taking off in the opposite direction. The time he spent with or talking to Sebastian was becoming almost non-existence. He couldn't even bring himself to make any effort to fix it or tell anyone he was having problems, even though he had many an opportunity.

They all started spending their lunches together, the three of them, as well as Wes and David, who seemed to be sticking much closer to Blaine than usual. They never let him alone. They were always asking what he was doing, what plans he had, making sure he was always doing something. All of these things had Blaine bending in different directions. He was split between appearing calm and normal around Kurt and Flint, appeasing Wes and David's sudden clingy-ness and dodging the numerous texts and calls from Chelsea, who was hounding him for any details she could. Inquiring if there was anything off about Kurt and Flint as well as desperate reminders of the one thing she needed him to do for her.

He exhaled heavily, looking around the table. They were set up in their newly formed study group, working on their assignments. David looked to be asleep on the floor, Wes pouring over a book, Flint typing on his laptop, and Kurt was off to refill his water bottle. Blaine's phone buzzed again and he quickly dismissed another one of Chelsea's reminders.

"Hey Flint, could I borrow your computer for a second?" Blaine asked.

"Sure," Flint said, passing the PC across the table.

Blaine gave a smile, pulling up the AOL browser. He hoped Flint was as trusting and lazy as Chelsea had said.

X

It started off with little things. For most people, they would have been unnoticeable things. Or things they just chose to ignore. Most people have a natural instinct to turn a blind eye to it. Disregard it, pretend it isn't happening. They find themselves able and content living in some make believe place where there isn't a single thing wrong, only to act so incredibly surprised when it falls apart. When everything they thought was so good and wonderful suddenly turns into to dust. And they get to ponder over what went wrong, when it all started to break. But if they were able to be honest, they know exactly when. They know the precise moment when the doubt crept in and the worry gnawed at the little corners of their mind.

But Kurt wasn't most people. Kurt noticed everything. He was a romantic, details were important. So he took notice.

The first thing was the smell. Kurt was so often tucked into Flint's side or pressed against him on the couch or had his head resting on his shoulder, that he was very familiar with the way he smelled. The shampoo he used, his soap, deodorant, the fabric softener that scented his clothes. But now there was something else. Something unfamiliar that was making him feel uneasy. Hugging Flint, his face pressed into his chest, Kurt had asked him if he was trying some new cologne or had changed one of his brands of personal products. Flint had given a loose shake of his head, saying he hadn't.

Kurt tried to smile, acting as casual as he could. "You just...Something smells different."

Flint shrugged, tilting his head down, inhaling deeply. "I don't smell anything. Maybe my mom switched detergents or something."

Kurt's eyebrow's remained knitted together. "Yeah, maybe."

The next time had been when they were at Flint's house. Flint was just picking something up before they were going off to see a movie. They had only spent a few moments in his room and as Flint graciously guided Kurt through the door the sight of a sock was just visible in the corner of his eye. It was an odd place for a sock, slung on a lampshade, looking ready to fall. It must have found its way there in haste, that out of place average white sock. Stranger still, because all of the socks Kurt had ever seen of Flint's were dark gray or navy or back trouser socks. He didn't own any other kind. So the unexplainable cameo appearance of the white sock lingered at the forefront of Kurt's mind. Pressing in on his personal space like an unwanted house guest. But Kurt tries to forget about it, because it's insignificant really, just a sock. Nothing important about that.

Then he got a funny e-mail from Flint once. It's funny because they don't e-mail. They never had a reason too. But the Warblers had an e-mail list for mass announcements so he knows that .com isn't anybody else but his boyfriend. But the message reads really happy, asking when 'they' could see each other again, and Flint hoped it would be soon. He knows that it probably wasn't mean for him, unless Flint was trying some new form of flirting. So he doesn't bring it up, and neither does Flint. So Kurt writes it off as if the e-mail might have been meant for Amelia. Because Flint and Amelia are close and he knows they write because she is always sending him silly things with cats and other chain letters. And her handle is KarateKickMia, so Kurt can reason this away with a slip of the fingers, so it had simply been sent wrong and Flint hadn't noticed.

Kurt tries desperately not to be bothered when one day, Flint brings him a jacket, offering it out to him, saying Kurt left it at his house last time he was round. But Kurt shakes his head, pushing it back, explaining that it wasn't his. It wasn't his jacket. He knew every article of clothing that was in his closet and that plan black jacket wasn't something he owned. Flint looked at the piece in his hand, he seemed confused and maybe a little surprised. But he gave a goofy smile and said his cousin must have left it there when he visited last.

The fifth incident, they're alone in Flint's room. They've reached the point where they find themselves pleasantly flushed, pressed into the soft comforter of Flints bed. Mouths pushing against each other, warm and eager, giddy laughter always seeming to bubble in their throats. They always appeared to be moving. Rolling back and forth, always changing places. It was at times like these when Kurt couldn't stop himself as he clawed and gripped at Flint's hips, his fingers moving around the expanse of skin and cloth he found there. And he had to repress what would have been a cross between a giggle and a moan as Flint's hands slipped themselves under his shirt, his agile fingers dipping into each curve of his spine.

Nothing ever happened other than that. Even if the hands crept under each other shirts, the clothes always stayed on. They made it a point to never be fully aligned or have their full weight a top the other. Kurt knew he wasn't ready for anything like that. Not yet. He didn't know enough, and he loved Flint, but he wasn't ready. And Flint had made it abundantly clear that nothing beyond the slightly heated make out sessions was going to be happening anytime soon. Flint was very good when it came to keeping that distance, making the line they didn't cross very clear.

But today was a little bit different. Today, Kurt was feeling particularly handsy and his nimble fingers had worked at the buttons of Flint's top so that it hung open deliciously, exposing the lean stretch of pale skin that was his chest. He took a fistful of Flint's shirt, pulling him closer, nipping along the curve of his neck. Kurt felt the muscles in Flint's throat tighten as he grinned. Flint hooked his arm around Kurt's back, lifting him farther up the bed, to rest more comfortably on the pillows. He turned his own attention to Kurt's collar, working around the area with lips and teeth and tongue.

Kurt's head fell to the side, inviting Flint to the rest of the flesh he could find there. His own fingers knotted enthusiastically in the hair at the base of Flint's head, his nails beginning to dig slightly, but not unpleasantly. But with his head cradled between two pillows, Kurt's nose picked up the smell that had been aggressively taunting him for weeks.

His free hand slipped above his head and under the pillows, pulling out the loose material he found there, holding it up so he could see it clearly. Flint noticed Kurt's sudden distraction and pulled back slightly. Kurt used the small space to his advantage, sitting up quickly, bringing the offensive article between them. The cheap, generic, blue graphic tee was emitting a heavier dose of the scent he had been smelling on Flint. And the shirt was too small to Flints and it certainly wasn't Kurt's.

"What is this?" Kurt asked, his voice sharp, not even trying to hide the accusation.

"I don't know," Flint said, moving back a little further

"You don't know."

"I don't know where it came from," Flint elaborated. "I've never seen it before."

Kurt barred his teeth, unbelieving. "There's a shirt in your bed and you've never seen it before?"

"Maybe it's some old thing of Ryan's that got in the wash some how. My mom brought a load up the other day, might have gotten mixed up."

"That's ridiculous. You know that right?"

"It's the only thing I can think of."

"And what about the jacket?" Kurt pushed, his cheeks flaring up, the shirt clutched in his shaking hand. "And this stupid smell has been all over you. Or that e-mail."

"What e-mail?" Flint asked bemused. "And I told you, the jacket must have been my cousins. As for the smell, I don't know, it's probably just different fabric softener or dryer sheets."

"It is not dryer sheets," Kurt snapped angrily, forcing himself out of the bed. "I'm not stupid, I know what cheap body spray smells like and this screams teenage boy."

Flint rose slowly from the bed, his mouth turning into a distasteful frown. "What are you trying to say Kurt?"

"You know exactly what I'm getting at."

"I hope not, because it sounds like you're accusing me of cheating on you."

Kurt folded his arms. "If the shoe fits."

"Well I'm not," Flint retorted quickly.

"That certainly isn't what it looks like."

"I'm not cheating on you."

Kurt dropped the offensive t-shirt on the floor. "There is someone else's shirt in your bed and I'm supposed to believe you?"

"You're supposed to trust me," Flint countered. "You're supposed to believe me and even if you don't you should be giving me the benefit of the doubt. Besides, if I were cheating on you don't you'd think I'd be a little more careful? Leaving his shirt lying around were you can find it doesn't seem very sneaky to me."

"Well I never said you were being smart," Kurt snapped.

"Oh, so now I'm cheating on you and I'm stupid?"

"Or you don't care if you get caught," Kurt threw at him. "You won't even try to take my shirt off, I guess that's because you're clearly getting action from someone else."

"I'm not sleeping with anybody," Flint hissed. "We've talked about this, we agreed to wait–"

"For my benefit I'm sure," Kurt spat, placing a hand over dramatically on his heart. "You're eighteen years old and you clearly have needs I'm not satisfying."

Flint tugged at his hair, frustrated. "You are satisfying me just fine. Will you stop being such a drama queen and listen to me."

Kurt stiffened. "Drama Queen?"

"Kurt, I didn't mean–"

"No, you've made it clear what you meant," Kurt said, scrambling to get his things. "I'm a drama queen. I'm obviously not mature enough for you and from what I can tell you've found someone else who is."

"Kurt, please, don't go. I swear, there isn't anyone else."

"I may be a romantic Flint, but I'm not blind and I can't just ignore the signs. You don't start smelling like someone else unless you're spending copious amounts of time rubbing against each other."

"Will you stop acting like this," Flint pleaded, his hand wrapping around Kurt's forearm.

Kurt yanked his arm away with a screech."DON'T. Touch me."

Flint stepped back slightly, trying to regain a level of calm and control, breathing as evenly as possible. "You are making things up in your head."

"I'm not," Kurt insisted, stony faced.

Flint chewed on the inside of his cheek, his gazing trailing to the ceiling, unable to look at Kurt. "Fine. I can't make you believe me. If you want to go then go. I won't stop you."

Kurt jammed his arms into the sleeves of his coat, growling."You're so stupid!"

"Right now," Flint said, with a hollow laugh. "That's just the pot calling the kettle black, sweetheart."

"I don't even want to look at you," Kurt grumbled, leaving the room with a slam of the door.

"Feelings mutual!" Flint screamed after him before dropping to his bed, his temper seething uncontrollably.

X

And end chapter 21. Feel free to share you're feelings, you know what to do.

Yorkshire Pudding,

Cleo