Disclaimer - I don't own it.

Rated T for obvious reasons.

Summary - Blaine gets clingy, Sam gets jealous. Klaine, Hevans.

Inspired and based roughly on Dear Near Scary's "When He Calls Me Baby", taken in slightly different directions, for a slightly longer story (thank you!).

Also, Kurt hasn't transferred to Dalton.

"Oh, dear God, hide me."

He ducked behind Sam's blonde head, pressing his warm cheek between two broad shoulder blades. He realized that Sam might not have been the best hiding spot; his head swiveled a little, shooting the soprano a confused look over his own shoulder. Kurt wondered if he could be any more obvious.

"Hey, it's Sam, right?"

That voice.

Kurt clung to the back of Sam's tee shirt, face paling.

It was the voice the echoed over his phone at least eight times a day.

"Yeah?"

That scent.

That manly, designer scent that had, lately, began to cling to Kurt's clothes.

"Have you seen Kurt?"

His name.

His name, which had recently been rolled off that tongue far too many times.

"Nope. He might have gone home with Finn, though, since they live together now."

There was a little huff of impatience. Kurt held his breath, fingertips turning white from squeezing the cotton between them. He prayed to McQueen that he didn't look down; Kurt wasn't sure that his Prada boots were hidden well behind Sam's Air Jordan's. He waited for the sound of the retreat, the soft click on tile, with bated breath.

"If you see him...Could you tell him to check his emails? And his text messages? He hasn't been...Well, anyway, I guess I'll see you later, Sam." The second-string quarterback moved a little; Kurt knew Blaine had offered his hand (because he was such a gentleman) and they were shaking.

Then the withdrawal. Kurt peered around Sam's shoulder, and watched as the back of Blaine's curly head retreated further and further away.

Relieved, the soprano let out a long sigh of contentment."Thank Gucci, I was beginning to think I'd never get away from - "

"Aren't you being a little mean?" Sam shook away from him, pulling his tee shirt out of Kurt's grasp, and turned to meet his teal eyes. "Why don't you just tell him to leave you alone?"

"Because," Kurt grumbled, unhappy with the suddenly turn of events, "you don't tell your boyfriend to leave you alone."

Sam's eyebrows disappeared into his Bieber bangs, and he crossed his muscly arms over his chest. "Oh, well, there's this great thing called breaking up."

Kurt rolled his knuckles into his own palm, wondering vaguely how exactly he was going to explain his situation. He wanted to walk away, to come up with an excuse to run, but Sam's profile was set; he wasn't about to let Kurt avoid confrontation. So drawing himself to his full height, he plunged forward. "Well, Sam, there's also this thing called being lonely, and it's extremely easy to be if you break up with your boyfriend. Understand? I'm tired of being alone, no matter how annoying and clingy and utterly, disgustingly perfect Blaine is. Okay? I'm going to go now."

Except he didn't "go" anywhere, because Sam caught him by the arm.

"Kurt." His green eyes were intoxicating; Kurt blinked a few times to steady himself. "We need to talk."

More soon.

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