Mmmm. [Corrigan starts the car, turning up the heat and making sure it's aimed towards the still-shivering young man. It's early October, the chill of the midwest frigid, even for him, and the last thing he wants is for Kurt to get sick. The radio kicks on as well, soft classical jazz filling the warm, dark car.

Easily navigating out of the dingy parking lot and onto the highway, Corrigan reaches out and sets one big warm hand on the back of Kurt's neck. It's possessive, but gentle, thumb stroking in soothing circles.] Go ahead and sleep. We're headed to Chicago, so it'll be three or four hours. You need to rest, understand me? You look exhausted.