Mike had stayed hovering in the doorway of the bungalow that led into the open-plan living room area, just like his place with Puck. He had watched as Quinn tried to roused Kurt from what looked to be a hangover or at least a booze-induced sleep with no luck. He suspected this could be the case after Kurt's break-down at the Karaoke bar. Kurt hadn't been himself for weeks and seemed to be falling into a pit of deeper depression as the days ticked by without Blaine.

But Blaine was here now, and as much as Mike wanted to try and ease the blow of all of this on his friends, Blaine was a few doors down about ready to freak the fuck out again, and he couldn't let that happen because he now knew what mess Blaine had gotten himself into back home from psychological stress. They were trying to prevent him hitting that snap here, and the only way to do it was to get Kurt to him so he could see he wasn't dead.

He hurried over to the sofa and tugged on Kurt's sleeve. "Dude, it's no joke. Look at me, I wouldn't fuck with you over this. None of us. Blaine's here, he's back at our bungalow. He came right from the minute you were shot and he's in a mess. He's begging for you, he thinks your dead. You need to come or he's going to seriously lose it," he said, laying it flat on the line and his voice literally pleading Kurt to move ASAP.