Kurt Hummel was on the edge.

It was three weeks until Regionals and despite the structured image The Warblers generally presented, their attitude towards pulling together a competent set list for the competition was dismally lacking. In fact their performance recently had been so disappointing that Kurt was left in a permanent state of confusion every time he left rehearsal.

Rather than practice involving their usual formation of blending voices in a six-part harmony and the tedious two-step-shuffle across the mock-stage set up in The Warblers rehearsal room, the two hour slot every evening was a harried mess of sheet music and voices clashing as the boys attempted to talk over one another.

Once Kurt even thought he saw David remove his tie without Wes frowning at him.

Blaine was still there of course; charming as usual, but ever since Kurt had thrown him from his room following their failed sex talk, he had remained irritatingly elusive. He would be there, spinning and sidestepping over the polished floor in his stupidly shiny shoes, buzzing with that enigmatic stage presence The Warblers so depended on, but as soon as the clock ticked past seven he was gone in a whirl of blue and red and a quick dazzling smile.

He was there at breakfast sometimes, and even occasionally at lunch but it seemed that the hour of sex-related mortification had well and truly freaked him out. He was still as polite and friendly as usual and had assured Kurt that no, he wasn't insulted. Yes of course it was understandable that Kurt was uncomfortable with the situation, and no, he certainly wasn't suddenly put off their friendship. He was just really weighed down with work at the moment.

This coupled with the strange Warbler attitude recently had resulted in Kurt becoming almost unbearably high strung.

He was jumping at loud noises and sleeping badly and snapping at Mercedes so often during their bi-weekly Skype dates that she'd hung up on him last night, instructing him to call her back when he'd "Got his shit together, white-boy."

He was fine, fine he repeated to his teachers and his father and Blaine when he'd cared enough to ask two days ago. He just really wanted to win Regionals.

Or at least that was what he was trying to convince himself.

If he was honest he didn't know what was wrong. He was so tired during the day that he dozed off during Thursday afternoons Classic Literature lesson despite the fact that they were watching Romeo and Juliet and the Leonardo and Claire death scene was normally one that had him sobbing into his McQueen scarf, but when night fell and he was alone in the darkness of his dorm room he felt as though every cell in his body was buzzing with electricity.

For what though, he didn't know.

Even phone calls with Finn sent spikes of jealousy up his spine as he let slip about New Directions writing original songs regardless of the fact that Rachel had threatened him with dismemberment if he said anything.

Kurt doubted Finn knew what dismemberment meant anyway.

Finn rang off with a, "Gotta go bro, Quinn's here!" and hung up before Kurt could ask exactly why Finn had spent the entire call talking about Rachel's antics if he was supposedly back with Quinn, but dropped the phone onto his duvet with a sigh deciding he didn't really care anyway. New Directions relationship drama was just one thing he didn't miss.

He pressed his fingers to his temples as a headache throbbed behind his eyes. At this rate both stress and sleep deprivation were going to kill him.

Saturday morning was a bright one, and Kurt watched the sun rise over the trees that surrounded Dalton as the steam from his coffee rose in spirals into the air.

Pavarotti was chirping brightly along with the faint strains of piano melody issuing from the speakers next to his bed and his watch told him that it was just gone six. He groaned and rubbed his eyes, wondering if he should have taken up his Dad's suggestion to go home that weekend. Maybe he would be able to sleep better at home, in his usual bed with its goosefeather pillows and Egyptian Cotton sheets. Maybe Carole's cooking and Finn's laughter and a catch-up evening with the girls would put him in a better mind set to fall asleep.

Maybe.

But something in him had refused at his father's initial suggestion of driving back Friday evening. The excuse of The Warblers needing all the time they could to prepare for Regionals had worked like a charm but Kurt knew that wasn't honestly why he had declined the offer.

There was a heady atmosphere hanging over all of Dalton, but Kurt seemed to be the only one who felt it. The Warbler's had apparently gone mad with the stress of Regionals, and Blaine had been distantly vague as the weeks had passed and the whole time Kurt had a building sense of anticipation in his veins, like a child the night before Christmas. Like something big was about to happen, if only he knew what.

He laughed faintly at himself wondering if he was going slightly crazy, and stretched out to change the music. Maybe something more upbeat would rid him of the sleepy itch behind his eyes.

His finger brushed the surface of the Ipod and he jolted back at once. A bright spark of blue electricity had danced from the screen and onto his fingers, leaving a faint tingle in its wake. It was gone as quickly as it had come and Kurt shook his head once as he selected his favourite Lady Gaga playlist.

"Maybe I really am going mad."

Blaine was in the library when Kurt finally tracked him down, intent on pinning down exactly what his problem was and hopefully putting a stop to the awkwardness and avoidance that had danced around them for the last fortnight.

He even bought coffee. A peace offering, so to speak.

"Medium drip?"

He slid it across the table and Blaine looked up with a start. He looked as awful as Kurt felt, and he wondered again if he was the only one feeling the sleepless nights at the moment.

"You're a saint," he smiled faintly, closing his fingers around the cup like it was a lifeline.

They sat in silence for a moment, Kurt's heart hammering in his chest as he wondered exactly what to say. It had never been awkward between them before.

"Look Blaine, I don't really know what to…what is that?" He cut himself short, pointing towards a metal shape attached to Blaine's right ear.

"It's a...um…a Bluetooth headset. Thing. My mother got it for me because, well, she wanted me to…to keepintouchmoreoften."

Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"Really."

"Yes. She wanted me to be more accessible."

"Right. Even though we agreed that Bluetooth headsets manage to look simultaneously like cheap Men in Black rip-offs and ostentatiously pretentious?"

Blaine swallowed.

"Yes. She um…wanted to buy me a present. It was a surprise and I really had no say in the matter, I mean if she wants to buy me something especially if it's for her own peace of mind then I didn't really know –"

"Blaine, breathe," Kurt interjected, touching his fingers to the back of Blaine's hand before the boy could choke on his own words, "It really isn't a big deal. I was just teasing you."

"Oh."

They looked at each other for a moment.

"What's going on with you?" Kurt asked finally, the words little more than a broken whisper of all the questions he had been longing to ask for two long weeks.

Blaine didn't speak for a moment, and turned his hand so Kurt's fingers were intertwined with his. He ran his thumb across the back of his hand absentmindedly.

"I'm just–"

"Busy. Yeah. I know."

He made to pull his hand back, but Blaine caught his fingers and tugged them back, pulling Kurt closer to him over the table. His dark eyes were huge in his face, surrounded by deep purple shadows and Kurt had never seen him look so tired. So old.

"Kurt please. I'm sorry. I've just…there's been a lot of stuff that I…" He broke off.

"I just feel like I haven't seen my best friend for a long time."

The hint of a smile graced the corners of Blaine's mouth, "I know. I'll make it up to you I promise. As soon as we get Regionals out of the way then I'm all yours."

"Do The Warblers seem strange to you? The council, anyway?"

He hadn't meant to say it, but the thought of Regionals had sent all the curious wanderings of his mind straight to the forefront of his thoughts and out of his mouth.

Blaine frowned, "What do you mean?"

"Well for one thing, David took his tie off on Wednesday. Just took it off and flung it over the piano, and Wes didn't even notice. And the day before that Jeff was late, and when he finally got there he wasn't wearing his blazer and the council didn't say anything. It's like…I don't know, like they've forgotten who they are. They're just different and I honestly never thought I'd say this, I don't like the change."

Blaine nodded with a faint smile but his eyes were tight, "Maybe they're just stressed about Regionals."

Kurt nodded emphatically, "Yes! That's what I thought at first, but they're normally the semblance of order and discipline! It's like they're stressing so much over the idea of Regionals that they've forgotten it's in two weeks and we haven't even got an idea of what we're singing!"

Blaine stared at him for a moment, lips pursing thought.

"Maybe. I hadn't really noticed. Shall we say something on Monday?"

"I guess. I mean, we could try yeah. It couldn't hurt."

Blaine smiled again, and Kurt's heart leapt to his throat which was suddenly dry. He swallowed a mouthful of coffee and tried to ignore Blaine's fingers still curled around his and just how beautiful he was when he smiled.

Monday afternoon saw Kurt marching down the third floor corridor, attempting to send a legible text to Finn while keeping one hand on the strap of his bag to stop it bumping between bodies. He really didn't care who it hit, but this bag was Marc Jacobs and had cost him half his monthly allowance, he'd be damned if he was going to see it damaged at any point in the near future.

His last period French class had run late and the professor had seen the need to keep Kurt back even longer to ask him about the possibility of tutoring some of the less competent students once a week. He would have said no, but the photograph of the Eiffel Tower on her desk had entranced him and here he was half an hour later, having missed the evening meal and running to Warbler practice because he couldn't keep his damn mouth shut when it came to talking about France.

"Stupid France. Stupid Paris. Stupid Warblers," he muttered furiously, elbowing through the teeming bodies of blue blazers and wondering why the hell the halls were so busy this late in the afternoon. Shouldn't they all still be down in the canteen shovelling calories and cholesterol into their bodies at such a vile rate that it often made Kurt wonder why he was attracted to the male sex. Then his eyes would cross to Blaine in front of him, smiling and laughing and managing to make even the consumption of roast potatoes look sexy, and he would remember.

He stepped automatically out of line of a jostling group, laughing and joking in a way that reminded him so much of Finn and the New Directions boys that it made his heart hurt, and his back collided firmly with something hard and solid.

"Sorry!" He gasped out, turning so hard his neck clicked, wondering who he had stepped on and why they were behind him in the first place.

It wasn't a person.

A blue box was situated snugly in an alcove between a bust of Sir Dalton and a painting of the school itself, looking so out of place and yet blending in so perfectly it made his head spin.

He took a step backwards.

The box was as tall as the ceiling, and proclaiming the title "Police Box" in bright lights at the top, and blue. So, so blue.

Kurt blinked.

He took another step backwards.

He swallowed, lifting a shaking hand to cover his mouth.

His ears were filled with a buzzing sound, a silence so pressing it hurt, like the depths of the ocean were bearing down upon him.

He sank to his knees and the box simply looked back at him.

There had been countless boys milling this corridor only moment before, hundreds of them passing throughout the day and not one had noticed this. Kurt had walked this floor himself at least twice a day, nearly every day for nearly six months and he had never before –

He let out a shuddering breath.

The box was so silent and so still and yet he couldn't shake the feeling it gave him. Like there was something, someone watching him.

He pushed himself to his feet and stretched out a hand, taking tiny, slow steps towards the box as though it were a wild animal. His fingers brushed the cool metal of the handle.

Blue sparks again, like the ones in his bedroom and his arm jerked back as though burned.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and Kurt jumped.

Blaine Warbler:

Where are you?

Kurt let out a harsh sound of aggravation and seizing his bag from the floor, set off at a run down the now deserted hall. As he turned the corner he spared a glance towards the box, still there, still silent and tall and blue. Just sitting.

As though it was waiting for something.

Kurt crashed through the door at breakneck speed, bangs falling into his eyes and blazer hanging off one shoulder.

Wes looked at him from his seat at the council table, his eyes narrowed.

"Warbler Kurt?"

"Yes…sir?" Kurt gasped for breath.

Jeff stifled a laugh from his seat by the window, but Wes didn't look amused.

"Is there any reason for you would like to give for your tardiness?"

"I…um…" Kurt began, but broke off. What would he say, "Oh I'm sorry Warblers, I met a lovely blue box in the hall and spent an unnecessary ten minutes staring at it because I thought it was going to talk to me. Also you've all been acting like crazed automatons for the past fortnight, so obviously I presumed you wouldn't miss me."

Yeah. Right. Okay.

"An acapella singing group is only as strong as its weakest link Warbler Kurt, remember that."

"I...I don't think that's the original saying," Kurt began, but Nick spoke over him.

"Wes, Kurt was kept behind after French. I can vouch for him, and I'm sure Madame will too, if you ask her."

Kurt nodded hard.

"Also, Kurt wasn't at dinner, I presume for the same reason," Blaine jumped in, throwing Kurt a wink, "I can only imagine that his French teacher had something important to discuss with him. Kurt?"

"Oh yes. Very important. Exceedingly important. So important that I –"

"Okay Kurt that will do. Just try and be on time tomorrow, okay? Take a seat," Wes gestured with his gavel, and shuffled some pages on the desk.

Kurt huffed out a breath and dropped onto the sofa beside Blaine, who grinned at him.

"Well it seems the council is all back to normal," he turned and whispered into Kurt's ear, his breath ghosting along his collar, "I guess you had nothing to worry about."

"Just my luck they return to normal just in time to berate me the one day I'm late."

Blaine laughed, still encroaching Kurt's personal space but he couldn't bring himself to mind, not when he could smell the faint tinge of coffee and aftershave that emanated from his skin.

"Oh I don't think The Warblers were ever normal, Kurt."

Regionals were fast approaching now, and ever since The Warblers had returned to their normal selves they had been working everybody extra hard.

Practices were filling every possible free time slot on Kurt's timetable, every mealtime was filled with embarrassingly loud, synchronised voice exercises in between bites of food, and almost every lesson was dedicated to a surprise performance to entertain the masses.

Kurt wondered if there really was any ruling at this school, or if it had been created as some sort of twisted, Lord of the Flies inspired experiment. Did the teachers even do anything that wasn't shaking their heads and laughing at The Warblers antics, or worse, encouraging them?

Apparently not.

Through the rushed conversations he'd managed with both Finn and Mercedes, New Directions were as stressed as he was. Apparently writing songs was harder than it had seemed originally, they'd grudgingly revealed, but then Rachel would snatch the phone from their hands and inform him that while she appreciated both his talent and the fact that he was quasi-related to a fraction of their group, he was still technically the enemy. And also, her songs were perfect thank you very much, they were just unacknowledged.

Meanwhile Kurt's nights were just as sleepless, his restless dreams now filled with images of blue boxes and static electricity.

The box had disappeared from the third floor corridor, he'd checked and while his rational mind was telling him it was all a dream, and that he really needed to get some sleep soon before he starting hearing animals talk, the scrape of blue paint on the side of his leather bag told another story.

Of course it could have come from anywhere, but he'd never seen a shade of blue quite like that before.

"Alright everyone! Warblers!" Wes called from the front of the bus, seeming lost without his gavel to quieten the room and Kurt almost sympathised with him.

David stuck his fingers in his mouth and let out a piercing whistle that seemed to rattle through all the boys skulls simultaneously. He grinned, and slapped Wes on the back as the rest of The Warblers cradled their heads.

"Yeah, we can't sing if we're deafened Wesley!" Blaine called from his seat next to Kurt, to mutters of agreement from the rest.

Wes rolled his eyes, "You'll be fine. You just need to turn up and look pretty Blaine, and we'll win no problem."

"At least he's confident," Kurt mumbled, pressing his head against the cool of the window and yawning.

"Still not sleeping?" Blaine asked, his voice hushed as Wes instructed the group. Kurt shook his head, his eyes still closed as the bus started with a jolt and a hiss.

"No. And when I do I have really strange dreams."

"What sort of strange?"

"Like…haunting almost. There's this…this is going to sound really stupid, but this shade of blue. I can't get it out of my head."

"Too many Warbler blazers," Blaine said, leaning his head back, "Go on. Try and sleep, I'll wake you when we get there. We need our countertenor looking perfect."

"I don't even have a solo Blaine."

"Even so. Try and get some sleep so you don't pass out on stage, okay?"

Kurt tried to mumble his consent, but his thoughts were already drifting away from him and it came out a sleepy moan. Blaine's chuckle was the last thing he heard.

Kurt wished he could see The Warblers perform sometimes. He knew what they must look like, and how they sounded and he'd of course seen Teenage Dream, a memory that was branded into his brain no matter how much time passed.

But he wished he knew what it looked like from the outside, to see the teeming swell of blue bodies turn and shift and sing as one; to see the group of boys each working as separate parts to a whole, led by a figure whose stage presence was big enough to draw attention away from his unfortunate stature.

Kurt enjoyed performing with The Warblers, he truly did as they harmonised their way through "Thanks For The Memories" before shifting into "Perfect".

It was enjoyable. It was comfortable.

But he missed the passion he felt with New Directions. He missed the spark, the rush of performing a song you believe in. A song that speaks to you.

He felt like Ariel, and wondered what The Warblers would do if he broke into an impromptu rendition of "Part of your World". The image of Wes' head exploding was enough to keep a smile on Kurt's face as they bowed to the screaming crowd.

He vaguely registered that most of them were on their feet, and wondered if The Warblers really were that good.

They bowed as one, before breaking formation and clapping each other on the backs as the curtain fell in front of them, and Kurt caught a glimpse of a dark haired figure running off stage. He frowned.

"Blaine?" He called, but the boy didn't turn and without a moment's hesitation Kurt ran after him.

It didn't take long to locate him amidst the backstage paraphernalia, and when he did Kurt fell back into the shadows, watching.

Blaine was pacing, running an agitated hand through his hair, the other tugging at the knot of his tie. Kurt had never seen him look so dishevelled. He was talking in rushed, broken sentences and after a moments confusion Kurt realised he was only hearing half a conversation, remembering the Bluetooth headset.

"No…No. Seriously…Look I don't know what you're expecting me to say!" Blaine laughed faintly, exasperated, "I know. I just…Mickey shut up for a minute! I can't take much more of this, it's killing me. Do you know how mundane school life is? Well of courseyou dropped out."

Kurt frowned, leaning forwards slightly, craning his head as Blaine stopped in the shadow of a curtain. He had a glaring feeling that he was listening to something very private.

"I mean sure, maybe the velocity is right and you were probably right to call me, but honestly. I'm dying here. At this rate I'm just going to give up and Dalton be damned, it can be sucked into the Vortex for all I care. No you're right, I don't mean that."

"I'm going mad. I'm going mad. I'm going mad," Kurt mumbled, massaging his temples with shaking fingers. Everything Blaine was saying was jumbling around his brain and it seemed that his lack of sleep had finally caught up with him.

"Kurt?"

His head jerked up. Blaine was standing in front of him, a curious smile on his face, his hair looking deliciously ruffled as it stood up in every direction.

"What are you doing?"

Kurt let out a nervous laugh, and his pulse thudded in his ears. His voice came out an octave higher as he spoke.

"I was looking for you actually. And I have a headache."

Blaine raised an eyebrow, and extended a hand to help Kurt over a box of lighting equipment.

"Okay. Well I'm here."

"Who's Mickey?"

Blaine stopped short.

"What?"

"Oh nothing. I just heard you on the phone. Before I found you. I mean, that's how I found you. I heard you and, well. I just wondered. You've never mentioned him."

"He's just…He's an old friend…of a friend. He needed a favour with something, and I thought I could maybe help."

"Oh."

A silence fell over the pair as they stared at each other, squinting through the darkness and Kurt became dimly aware that Blaine was still holding his hand.

"I…um."

His throat was dry.

"We should go. They'll be announcing the winners soon."

"Yeah."

But neither of them made any move to leave.

"Kurt I need to tell you something. Something really, really big. But I don't know if I can. I –"

"Guys come on!"

Nick and Jeff ran past, thumping Blaine's shoulder as they did so. Kurt turned his head slightly and saw all The Warblers pressing towards the edges of the curtains.

Wes turned and beckoned them, as they filed out onto the stage. Kurt made to follow them with a sigh, but Blaine tugged him back.

"Kurt, please. I really need to say this."

"Blaine, we need to go. We'll talk afterwards, okay?"

He pulled Blaine's wrist, dragging them into the bright spotlights of the stage and releasing his arm to wave at Rachel and Mercedes. Their hands were linked tightly as they waved and smiled brightly back.

His heart was still beating double time.

The politician's wife was talking and stumbling, and Kurt's hands were wringing together. He could feel Blaine standing behind him, heat radiating through the back of his blazer.

"And the winner is…"

He heard Blaine take a deep breath behind him.

"The New Directions!"

And then all hell broke loose.

If Kurt's life had been building up to a moment, this was it. If the past few weeks had been an ascending journey then this right here was when he stepped over the precipice.

A mechanical scream, like wrenching metal, was echoing its way around the hall, bouncing into every corner and making it almost impossible to see the immediate source.

Impossible, if the source wasn't standing right next to you.

Kurt's eyes were fixed upon the three members of the council, their heads thrown back and their mouths open as the sound of creaking and crashing machinery. The sound grew louder and louder, and their eyes had darkened to a pitch black.

Kurt's head was pounding. People were rushing in every direction, feet pounding on the hardwood floor and the screaming was drilling a hole through his skull. He couldn't breathe, his body wouldn't move. He was fixed to the floor and the three Warblers turned towards him with their jaws stretched to gaping depths, the grinding, screeching sound still pouring from their throats.

A warm hand closed around his, grounding him.

Kurt spun, his eyes meeting Blaine's. They were brighter than he'd ever seen them, alight with excitement and wonder. He smiled.

"Run" he said.