A/N: Oh, my god, guys. Three months. I am so sorry for making you wait so ridiculously long. I was just so overwhelmed (much like Kurt in his Calculus class) because I live in the town/city that originatedApple, and if you looked it up on urban dictionary, you'd see how horribly grade and school oriented it is. So then our teachers were like "LETS BOOST OUR STAR TESTING SCORES BY GIVING YOU SHITLOADS OF HOMEWORK CAUSE THAT'S A FABULOUS IDEA!" And we were like, you know, "Shit." And so I haven't really been writing much of anything, not even little songs for Wes and David to sing to traumatized Kurt! So if anyone is still here, reading, I give you a giant hug and a great thank you, and I promise not to make you wait quite that long again, because it's summer break now and I can actually use my laptop for creativity soon. And I hope you haven't already forgotten what's happened in the story so far, because I certainly did. :P

So here I am, writing away on my iPhone, and then I will transfer to my laptop when I can, and then it'll be uploaded. I'm trying!

Thank you, sorry, I don't own Glee, and let's get this show on the road!

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Kurt was on edge. Ridiculously so.

Except it wasn't ridiculous, not really, because he was sharing a room with Drew Jacobson for God's sake, and Drew Jacobson happened to be a certifiable nutcase, with little nutcase friends he kept in his back pocket and only took out when Kurt was resting.

Okay, so maybe that was a little extreme.

Kurt flinched violently, tipping himself to the floor with an unearthly shriek as a tie dripping with some questionable blue-ish liquid flung past his head and into the window next to him. Small clumpy bubbles began to make an appearance before dancing down the glass and dripping onto the window pane. Kurt winced, standing up and yanking a photo frame out of a particularly large globule's path.

"Nice, Drew!" Kurt whirled around suddenly, holding up a threatening finger as he stalked over to Marrit Nichols's particularly-brawny-yet-perpetually-and-strangely-femininely-hunched form. Marrit straightened immediately, leaning almost laughably backwards.

"Do. Not. Encourage. This." Kurt threatened, violently poking his roommate's best friend with every implied punctuation mark on the chest. Satisfied, he turned to Drew, who was standing suspiciously close to the door a confusedly sheepish expression on his face as he dropped his left hand hurriedly and transferred his sponge to it.

"Hey Kurt! Nice to see you... awake." he said awkwardly, and made a little wave with his right hand, which was, incidentally, sopping wet and dripping soap all over his bed.

Kurt pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to ten, a tactic he used quite often when it came to interacting with Finn. "Drew-" he paused, again counting to ten. As he did so, he noticed Drew and Marrit staring at each other worriedly. Ten was bad; twenty was just damn scary. "Firstly, yes, I am awake. I think half of me woke up because in my sleep I detected a rather idiotic process being conceived to clean our shared room, and I know the second half woke up as this plan was being put into action. Secondly, what in the name of all that is good, fashionable, and sanitary are you doing? Because I was under the impression that you were supposed to be cleaning our room this month, in a normal, healthy way, much like the way I did last month, but clearly I was very, very wrong."

"Cleaning." Marrit said sheepishly.

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "What, Bernstein Bear style? Shall I put sponges on your feet, too, so you can slide around on the floor until you inevitably crack your skulls open?"

"You're very eloquent in the morning, did you know that?" Drew mused, turning to Marrit, whose eyes were bugging out in sheer worry for his best friend. "He's very eloquent."

"And scary!" Marrit hissed, eyeing the positively menacing boy standing opposite him.

"Yeah, scary, right..." Drew continued, deep in thought.

Kurt closed his eyes, exhaling softly as he counted yet again to ten. Slowly, he relaxed his jaw and began to walk stiffly towards their shared bathroom.

Marrit stared after the counter-tenor as the door shut with a resounding slam and the shower turned on. "I have no hope whatsoever for your future, Drew."

"Whatever," Drew shrugged. "Let's clean this shit up."

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Warm showers, Kurt decided, were the best invention ever created. Period.

Cold showers were just awful. They left you feeling too awake, and horribly jittery once you were finished, with the added pitfall of feeling even warmer when you stepped out— so if you wanted to wake up, you'd just be more sleepy as a result.

Hot water was damaging on skin and hair, and Kurt could just not have the heat scalding and burning his pores and hair, effectively drying it out.

Yes, Kurt decided, warm showers were the way to go. If Goldilocks had chosen to shower once she had reached the residence of the three bears (which she should have, because no one should go wandering through a forest like some sort of savage and then go into a perfectly nice home and lay in someone's bed with those dirty clothes; really, it was common courtesy towards those bears), Kurt was certain that warm showers would have been the shower of choice. It was a perfect atmosphere for an impromptu concert, and a brilliant host of Super Important Deep Thoughts. Especially when said Super Important Deep Thoughts were Exceedingly Secret Super Important Deep Thoughts. Even more so when those Exceedingly Secret Super Important Deep Thoughts were so Supremely Secret that his own best friend, with whom he shared all manner of Very Secret Deep Thoughts, could not know about them, because they, in fact, included the best friend in question in a Very Supremely Secret way.

Yes, the warm shower was a good place to review said thoughts.

"Kurt?"

A loud crash resonated through the room as many bottles fell to the floor of the tub. Kurt swore loudly, scrabbling to pick them all up as he turned off the water and wrapped his towel around himself. "Drew," he called. "I swear to the sky, the clouds, and the great spaghetti monster that floats around in them that if you just made me drop my fifty dollar per ounce bottle of—"

"Kurt?" A curly head of hair peeked around the door concernedly. "Are you okay? I heard a bang, is your—?"

"Fu—!" Kurt restrained himself with difficulty. "No! Hi, Blaine! I'm not— oh. Um…hi."

Blaine reddened profusely. "Oh, were you…?"

"Yeah," Kurt managed a squeak, wanting to bang his head on the countertop as the undignified syllable left his mouth. "Just, um." Casually, he rested his arm on the counter, shifting his weight to his elbow (not minding the fact that the water on both surfaces made this a very bad idea), and squeezing his eyes shut in a last ditch effort to regain presence of mind. "Not a big deal. Was there anything you wa—!"

Blaine rushed forward as Kurt slipped, catching him before he could hit the ground. "Kurt!"

"I, um, I'm okay." Kurt nodded to himself, eyes still squeezed shut. "Yeah, just. This is why you don't wake me up too quickly." Slowly, he opened his eyes and sucked in a quiet breath.

Blaine was staring at him in obvious concern, his eyebrows scrunched together and his lips curved downwards just a little. Kurt could count every freckle, every eyelash that framed beautiful hazel pools. Suddenly, he became almost painfully aware of Blaine's arm, wrapped around his bare waist strongly, curving around his hip delicately and rubbing lightly there. Kurt shuddered and leaned back slightly, reveling in the feeling of the muscles keeping him upright, and Blaine blinked, his mouth opening a little.

"I just—" he whispered, licking his lips and glancing down at the countertenor's for a split second. "You…"

Kurt chuckled breathlessly. "I think I've been woken up sufficiently," he breathed. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, he rejoiced at the regaining of his vocabulary— being reduced to a stuttering pile of dashes was not attractive in the least.

Blaine smiled for a few seconds. "There's the Kurt I know and love."

Kurt made a face.

"Oh, right!" Blaine exclaimed, putting a very disappointed Kurt upright and backing away a few steps. "Love! Yes! The challenge!"

Kurt made another face.

"Don't look at me like that," Blaine smirked. "I'm your mentor. What kind of a mentor would I be if I didn't teach you the basics of life?" He turned and walked out of Kurt's bathroom. "Oh, don't forget!" he yelled back. "Coffee at six this evening! I want to show you something!"

"Hot date?" Wes asked, turning the corner as Blaine emerged from Kurt's room.

Blaine jumped, startled. "Shut up," he grumbled, and continued walking.

Back in the bathroom, Kurt was taking steadying breaths, his arms grasping the sink as he looked at his reflection and remembered Blaine's fingers on his skin.

This wasn't love, or romance, but goodness.

It was strong.

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A/N: That sucked. Royally. I'm so sorry. What happened to me? I used to be able to write.

Ahhhhh.

But, yes, school is over. And I got to see Glee Live and I got hot pink sunglasses like Darren Criss's. So yay.

Review!