britt.

     All of the pamphlets in Ms. Pillsbury’s office were right; human contact ( but not from the janitor ) did help to relieve stress. Still, it was sad. Before everyone left, they’d all promised to keep in contact. The switch in topic, though subtle, made Brittany wonder how much Blaine was talking to people. “Google just says what it is. I think to make a translate-y thing, you have to get it. The only ones I understand are Puck’s. He does the eggplant emoji and then the smirky face, y’know?” she said, mimicking the expression before continuing. “I’m glad he’s learning to cook, but he should really consider making something else. – Do you think he could help me make a translator? He totally gets it.”

      “Britt?  I’m not sure that his cooking skills are what he’s implying with the eggplant–uhm–nevermind.  You could try talking to him.  Or we could make one?  Did you know I speak fluent emoji,” Blaine asked with a smile trying to cheer her up. He wanted to make sure she was okay above the fact that her worries mirrored the ones that crept up on him when he didn’t devote his full attention to the dozens of clubs, extracurriculars and various other hobbies he threw himself into trying keep himself distracted from the lack of Kurt being there. Without realizing, his free arm draped itself across the empty chair on the opposite side of where he sat. Muscle memory and habit.  Hard to break.  Even if there was no one there.  “We could make a fortune if it takes off,” he egged her on trying to get a smile for his efforts, “It’d give us something to do?  Before Puck thinks of it first.  You know?  After he’s finished ‘learning to cook’.”