“Excuse me,” Kurt calls. Blaine turns, sees Kurt a few steps above him twirling his forgotten keys around one finger and starts to say something, but Kurt’s eyes go wide and he chokes on his next breath.
“Blaine,” he says, voice barely more than a breath but full of something so old, a familiarity that Blaine hasn’t heard in months. Blaine’s breath stops as their eyes meet, and it’s there, too. Recognition. When Blaine manages to speak, his voice cracks.
Kurt nods mutely and Blaine drops everything, runs up the stairs and pulls Kurt into his chest with a sob as the keys clatter to the ground.
“Kurt - does this mean - are you - do you - say something,” Blaine begs, framing Kurt’s face with his hands. Kurt’s still staring at him with wide, shining eyes, and it takes him a minute, but he finally finds his voice.