ELLIOTT

Kurt looked tired and pensive as he exited the campus building. He was carrying a gym bag over his shoulder and a water bottle in one hand, and was peeling at the label absentmindedly with the other. Then, he looked up and met Elliott's eyes. His face lit up and he smiled brightly, letting go of the label to wave.

Elliott smiled back and started walking towards him. "Hey. I got your message," he said as soon as Kurt was within hearing distance.

"I'm glad, thank you so much for coming," Kurt replied, walking up to him to put his hands on Elliott's upper arms and lightly brush his cheek against Elliott's, making a kissy sound- a habit Kurt had picked up a while ago around his friends and which was, as Elliott assumed, probably the stylish thing to do at NYADA right now. Elliott didn't mind, though he never quite knew where to put his hands. The greeting was over before he could make up his mind, and Kurt stepped back.

"I'm so beat," he said, hiking the strap of his gym bag up on his shoulder. "I really appreciate your offer to help. I kind of panicked earlier when I found out they made Vocal Performance a black-tie event. It means I spent two weeks working on my outfit and now I can't wear it."

Elliott nodded. "Well, you couldn't have known they'd dress-code your exam, I mean, who does that?" he offered as they started walking towards the subway. NYADA, obviously. Elliott was sort of relieved, once again, that he was at NYU. Kurt had texted him to ask if they could meet at NYADA so they could plan their strategy on the way to the loft and not waste time once they got there.

"They didn't last year. I checked. I spent a lot of time reading up on all the NYADA blogs about the previous years' exams and people's experiences and grades so I knew what to expect," Kurt said, sounding exasperated. He sighed deeply. "Anyway, I might still get credit for my creation in Costuming, but now I need something else to wear for Voc. I have a dinner jacket that might be appropriate, but it needs letting out at the shoulders and maybe even the entire front, and it has an embroidery on the pocket that I am not sure will come off cleanly." He sighed. "Plus, I like that embroidery and don't really want to pick it off."

Elliott nodded again, taking it in. The subway came, and they boarded. "What about the one you wore to our first One Three Hill gig?"

Kurt gave him an unhappy look. "Blaine killed that in the washing machine."

"What?!" Elliott asked, outraged. "He threw it in the machine?"

"Yep," Kurt confirmed grimly. "I'm still not sure why, because he always brought his own jackets to the dry-cleaner. I think he said something like he didn't notice it in the hamper. Like I would throw it in there."

"Right," Elliott mumbled, and added one more item to the list of why-Kurt-should-have-ditched-Blaine-long-ago in his head. "Well, mine's too big. Dani's?"

"That was a rental."

"Oh. Bummer. Can't you get a rental?"

"And risk a costume malfunction during my midterm?" Kurt replied, wagging a finger at him. "You know the first rule of theatre. Never perform without a dress rehearsal. I can't do that in a rental. It's too short notice. And they might not have the exact size available, or I end up with a suit smelling like cigarettes or fabreze. Rental is not an option. I have 22 hours left to make and practise in a new outfit."

"And get some sleep," Elliott added.

"Sleep is overrated," Kurt replied, and yawned.

"We'll figure something out," Elliott said, and patted Kurt's hand.

"Thanks," Kurt said again, and the look he gave him made Elliott feel like he had just donated one of his kidneys.

Not much later, Elliott was on his knees holding the bottom of a tape measure at the jacket's hem while Kurt held the top pressed to his shoulder seam. Elliott was humming along to one of Kurt's T-Rex albums with a few pins between his lips. The loft door slid open.

"Oh my god, could you be any gayer?" Santana greeted them at the sight.

"Sure," Kurt replied, completely unfazed, and unzipped his jeans in front of Elliott's face.

Santana sputtered and pretended to be disgusted, clasping a hand over her eyes and waving at him to put himself away as she walked on through to the kitchen.

Elliott looked up and saw Kurt winking at him. He knew it was just a joke, but damn- he had nearly swallowed a pin. He quickly pulled them out of his mouth.

"You realize you don't live here anymore, right Santana?" Elliott asked to deflect from his flushed face, as she carried half a loaf of bread, a jar of mayonnaise, pickles and two tomatoes from the fridge to the kitchen table.

"Neither do you, sweet cheeks," she replied, and started making a sandwich.

"Yeah, well, I invited him over for an emergency midwinter critique outfit rescue mission," Kurt said, zipping up again. "What are you doing here?"

Santana shrugged. "Just thought I'd stop by to see how you were holding up without Bozo. I figured you were probably having an orgy with half of NYADA and might need some more condoms."

"Very thoughtful," Kurt said drily.

"That's me," Santana said, and bit into her sandwich with relish.

"Rent is due, huh?" Kurt asked.

Santana took a very long time to chew, then shrugged.

"You can stay if you let us work. There's some cheese in the blue tupperware box, if you want."

"Gotcha," Santana replied, and got up. "You may continue to work it." She circled her finger in the air at Kurt's crotch.

"Just ignore her," Kurt said quietly. "Sometimes she forgets we're not in high school any more and she doesn't need to pretend to hate me to keep the bullies off her back."

"I heard that," Santana said from the kitchen.

Elliott just shook his head. He'd probably never stop feeling bad every time Kurt casually mentioned the abuse he went through at school.

As he tried to focus back on the hem of the jacket, he noticed something. "Hey," he mumbled, and peered inside the embroidered pocket. It was sewn shut with a few invisible stitches- a pocket never intended to actually be used as a pocket- and he poked a finger inside, feeling at the fabric. "It's doubled."

"Huh?"

Elliott reached for a small pair of sewing scissors on the coffee table and cut the stitches. "The inside of the pocket. It's not lined, they just doubled the outside fabric. Which means you could just-"

"Take it off," Kurt finished, "and flip it."

"Without having to take off the embroidery. Flip it back after your midterm."

"You are a genius," Kurt exclaimed, hopping up and down excitedly. Elliott grinned.

"Get a room," sounded from the kitchen half-heartedly.