fic: hang with me (Kurt/Blaine, 1/4)
Apr. 15th, 2011 04:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
firstaudrinahang with me (1/4)
Pairings: Kurt/Blaine, Blaine-centric.
Rating/Word Count: PG // 3258
Summary: Blaine's beginning to figure Kurt out. At least, he thinks he is.
Note: Title and little quotey bit from Robyn. Set right after BIOTA and follows along with canon through Sexy; will diverge at some later point.
will you tell me once again
how we're gonna be just friends?
if you're for real and not pretend
then I guess you can hang with me
There's a moment when Blaine wakes up and it's dark, his head fuzzy and already pounding, his mouth cotton-dry. He's in a bed too luxuriously comfortable to be real and there's just the barest hint of light coming in the window. His squinting eyes follow it to Kurt's profile, Kurt's pale skin and slightly open mouth, the sharp line of his nose, his relaxed face next to Blaine's on the pillow, and Blaine thinks oh I'm having that dream again.
When he wakes up again, for real, the room is brightly lit and his clothes are uncomfortably twisted around after spending the night in them. He's unaccountably confused because this is not his room and his sheets are not this nice and all he wants is to bury his face back into the pillows and possibly die. He becomes slowly aware of Kurt puttering around the room, disappearing around the corner and emerging fully dressed, carefully putting his pajamas away and setting his vanity to rights. Blaine watches him with one slitted eye, face smushed against the mattress, simultaneously comfortable and not.
Kurt finally stops in front of him, looking down at Blaine with his hands on his hips, exasperatedly fond. "Are we ready to wake up now?"
Blaine coughs a little and says, "I'm at your house."
"Yes." Kurt tilts his head to the bedside table with its waiting water glass and two aspirin. "You were absurdly drunk so I brought you home."
"Thank you." Blaine sits up gingerly, leaning back against the headboard as he swallows the pills. He wishes he'd at least taken off his cardigan before going to bed. Everything feels ill-fitting and tight; it's just making him more awkward and annoyed. "Hey, before, was that – "
"My dad?" Kurt perches on the end of the bed. "Yes. You made a lovely first impression, I have to say."
Blaine groans, covering his eyes with one hand. "Great. Fantastic."
Kurt has the gall to look amused. "It's alright. You can meet him again under less suspicious circumstances."
"Because that won't be at all awkward," Blaine says dryly. "'Hello, Mr. Hummel, remember me? I'm the boy you found hungover in your son's bed.'"
Kurt smiles but the expression in his eyes is unreadable. "Oh, I'm sure you'll charm him. Just don't do it by singing Katy Perry."
Blaine would laugh if it wouldn't make his head worse. He rests his head back on the pillow, peering up at Kurt. "That doesn't work on all Hummels, huh?"
Kurt presses his lips together. "Nope. Just the one."
Blaine's home and in the shower before he even remembers kissing Rachel Berry.
The rest of the night comes back to him in waves. Kurt and Finn manhandling upstairs; vomiting; Kurt clucking in disapproval, patting his back; tumbling into Kurt's bed and falling asleep almost immediately, trying to say a polite thank you but yawning over it.
He remembers wanting so badly to get along with Kurt's friends (especially seeing as Mercedes still eyed him suspiciously when Kurt brought him along to hang out). He wanted to fit in with them so badly, for Kurt, and he took one drink to make himself more comfortable and then another and then one more and Finn was really like a giant and wasn't the music awesome and Kurt's hands were like – like fluttering like birds –
Blaine remembers giving an exuberant woo! with his face against Kurt's neck and then hitting the floor, realizing belatedly that there was a step.
Kurt was smiling at him, though, instead of looking furious over the fall. "I did not expect you to be a woo girl," he said
"Woo," Blaine repeated faintly.
"Woo," Kurt echoed.
Blaine grinned. They stayed there on the floor until a giggling Mercedes bounded over to haul Kurt back up, explaining a joke she forgot even as she was telling it.
Then there's the vaguest recollection of singing and jumping, so much jumping (which, if he's honest, is all just classic drunk Blaine), and he thinks he might have yelled, "Konnichiwa, bitches!" before tumbling right off the stage.
But also, somewhere in there, he'd definitely kissed Rachel Berry. The more he thinks about it, the more he's sure, and he's got a kind of rising horror over what an embarrassing idiot he'd been – and Kurt had been so calm, sitting there with his prepared aspirin, and Kurt had taken care of him and, god help him, Blaine had liked kissing Rachel Berry. She tasted like pink.
He'd kissed her with a hand in her hair and the other curled around one of Kurt's many of-questionable-use black strappy belt things, fabric under his knuckles and flushed warmth underneath that. Blaine's hand flexed and he sighed into Rachel's mouth.
Blaine couldn't exactly say the fight is unexpected. He's doing his usual force-everything-to-be-normal-by-pretending-it's-normal thing and his brain is still in a haze of what the fuck so he's hardly even registering what's happening as it's happening. After, fuming alone in his car, he only knows he's certainly offended and he definitely said something shitty.
He doesn't know why he thought it might all just blow over. He would try to see Kurt's side – be fair and objective – but he's still too busy freaking out.
When he checks his phone, he sees there's a missed call from Rachel. Kissing her was nice, nicer than he would have thought, if he'd ever thought about that. Blaine had wondered, before, when he was younger, if maybe he could like both - he liked being around girls, he thought they were pretty. But he knows it's probably not exactly an accident that he's choosing to give it a shot with this girl.
When he calls her back to set up the date, maybe he's acting a little bit out of vengefulness. He's trying not to think about it.
Blaine gets easily attached. He's kind of known for it, especially since coming to Dalton – crushes that burn hot and burn out and pretty much never lead to anything. David's always said Blaine was flighty. It's not exactly something he can help; he latches onto people and fills his fantasies with them and then something happens and it's over. He doesn't even realize he's doing it until afterwards, moping in his room and blasting N'Sync.
His first crush in kindergarten was this kid named Danny who gave Blaine a valentine but ripped it up when the other kids started teasing him about it. Then there was Sara, his confusing fifth grade girlfriend for three days who he still thinks of as having really nice blue eyes. Jack in junior high – though the less said about that the better. Then a string of senior Warblers members that luckily graduated before Blaine could embarrass himself too badly. Jeremiah was really just another in a very long line.
Blaine gets attached and it burns and it ends, always, without fail.
He and Kurt have spent the last week of practice sniping at each other so much that it's beginning to irritate the other Warblers. The fourth time Wes tells him to fix it (getting increasingly snappish with every request), Blaine figures he should probably do something about it.
Before Blaine can speak, however, Kurt looks away and says pointedly, "You know how I feel about you."
It's a low hum between them all the time, something they never really forget: Kurt has a crush on him. Sometimes it makes Blaine flush out of nowhere, in the lunch line or getting coffee, just remembering. Kurt likes me.
Without thinking, Blaine says sharply, "Well maybe it's not about you."
Hurt flashes across Kurt's face and Blaine feels a stab of guilt. He's being insensitive, callous, mean – but then so is Kurt. Blaine's just frustrated – with himself, with Kurt, with everything.
Blaine really just needs someone to talk to and, without Kurt, he's finding he doesn't really have that. There are the other guys, sure, but the Warblers are consummate professionals more than they are the best of friends. None of them are someone Blaine would come to with something so personal. Kurt's really the only person he talks to like that.
He realizes that before Kurt he didn't really have a best friend.
Blaine storms – no, not storms, he doesn't storm – strides into the coffee shop, pretending he doesn't see Kurt at all, as he's been doing lately. He'll just get his coffee and leave and maybe pass by Kurt's table ultra-casually –
Rachel has appeared before him with terrifyingly silent footsteps and she's kissing him practically before he has a chance to say hello. His open surprised eyes land momentarily on Kurt, who is watching so intently Blaine shuts his eyes.
He'd been beginning to realize he hadn't needed the reassurance but he supposes it's still good to be sure. It's surprisingly good to be sure; he's embarrassed about overreacting and the resultant mess and hurting Kurt and being stupid enough to think a solitary drunken kiss meant anything at all. He knows he'll have to talk to Kurt, though, so he runs off to the bathroom to get up enough nerve.
When he returns Kurt is waiting for him, slowly sipping his mocha, alone.
Blaine stands in front of him uncertainly. "Hi."
"Hi." Kurt raises an eyebrow at him, the barest suggestion of amusement in the set of his mouth. "It's been a whirlwind week, hasn't it."
He laughs nervously. "Yeah."
Kurt presses his lips together. "You seem to be in a better mood."
"Relieved," Blaine admits. He indicates the chair across from Kurt. "May I?"
Kurt nods but there's still something hesitant and on edge in the way he's holding himself, arms and legs crossed. He notes, "Dashing and polite again."
It's rare for Kurt to be bitchy around Blaine, never mind to him, and Blaine's uneasiness magnifies. "Kurt." He sighs. "Don't, okay? I never – I kind of skipped the questioning phase the first time around and I was confused and – It's normal. It's really normal. I didn't – don't need you making me feel worse about it. I needed you to be my friend."
"No you didn't," Kurt fires back. "You decided to go out with her before you even mentioned it to me. Then you acted like I was crazy for thinking that was strange or for being – " He bites the inside of his cheek, trying for patience. "For being upset. She's my – well, sort of – friend, Blaine. She's Rachel Berry."
Blaine doesn't know the specifics of Kurt's history with Rachel but the full frustrating weight of it is conveyed in his tone.
Blaine is really bad at reading Kurt. Blaine sits. "I'm sorry," he says, "if you are."
He's sorry anyway, really.
Kurt opens his mouth, pauses, and says, "I am. Sorry."
Blaine begins, "We were both –"
"Stupid," Kurt finishes. He looks at the tabletop. "I wasn't very nice."
"I didn't mean, like, the majority of the things I said," Blaine tells him. "Not the bi stuff, the other –"
"Me too," Kurt says, shoulders relaxing fractionally. "I did too. Said things…you know."
"Yeah."
They both look at their hands.
"You know that I…like you," Kurt says slowly. "And my relationship with Rachel has always been complex and questionable at best. So, for a myriad of reasons, I lashed out."
Blaine nods. "I was just really confused. And freaking out."
Kurt nods too, looking down again. "I know."
Apprehensively, Blaine asks, "Are we okay?"
"Mostly." Kurt gives him a small smile. "I think so."
Blaine can't help his grin. "I'm going to go get my coffee. You'll wait?"
"I'll wait." Kurt takes another sip of his mocha, waving Blaine on.
It's still awkward for a little while.
They've become tentative with one another again like they were when Kurt first transferred, their ease gone. Blaine is worried he screwed up even worse somehow but, slowly, they get over it. Kurt starts bringing him coffee in the morning again, teasing Blaine about the bedhead he furiously combs down in his locker mirror when he's running late. Blaine helps Kurt with his calculus homework. They sit around Blaine's laptop to watch The Wild One and Center Stage. They settle back into familiarity and Blaine releases the breath he'd been holding for weeks.
They fall asleep halfway through Pillow Talk and wake blearily as the credits roll. Blaine turns his head to see Kurt's face scrunched against the light, looking furious at being woken up, and Blaine can't help but smile.
"My hair!" Kurt groans, hand flying up to the very un-Kurt-like tousled mess on top of his head. Blaine's eyes follow the motion and his smile widens.
"It's fine," Blaine says, reaching up without thinking. His fingers join Kurt's smoothing over the mussed strands. "It's cute."
Kurt gives him a look Blaine is starting to recognize, curious and suspicious and hopeful at once Blaine smiles again, quick and sheepish, and drops his hand onto the bed between them. "We fell asleep," he says, obviously, speaking just to speak.
"I noticed," Kurt says faintly, archly.
"We missed the end. Next time we should watch All That Heaven Allows. Because, I mean, hilarious melodrama with gay subtext? Doesn't get better than that." Blaine keeps babbling, rattling off other suggestions, maybe a Bette Davis movie, Kurt likes her, or Strictly Ballroom or a classic, like 10 Things I Hate About You, and Kurt just watches him go, amused.
When Blaine pauses for breath, Kurt says simply, "I'm glad we're not fighting anymore."
He says it so sincerely. Not dry or joking, not even relieved – just innocent and honest and matter-of-fact.
"Me too," Blaine says. Kurt smiles brightly and Blaine is obscurely pleased – Kurt doesn't smile like that at everyone.
Blaine wakes up late for school, misses his morning coffee with Kurt, misses the Warblers' post-first-period pre-meeting, and has the unsettling feeling that his dream, whatever it was, is still hanging over his head. Blaine rarely remembers his dreams.
Kurt finds him in the six to ten minutes between homeroom and English. With a little flourish, he affixes a brooch in the shape of a salamander to Blaine's schoolbag. It's gold; it glitters as it catches the light.
"You needed flair," Kurt explains, giving Blaine a small smile. The bell rings; he gives Blaine a tiny wave and disappears into the rush of boys in the hallway.
Blaine's beginning to figure Kurt out. At least, he thinks he is.
Kurt doesn't like to be touched – understandable but sometimes difficult for Blaine to remember. He's always been kind of touchy, curling a hand around someone's forearm as he talks to them, nudging shoulders, grabbing hands without thinking, dragging people around. It's just how he is and he forgets, more often than he should, that Kurt doesn't really like it. It leaves Blaine's hands hovering without making contact, awkward and graceless.
Blaine always pays attention to how people say his name. His father does it with that little disappointed exhale; his mother is warm but distracted. Kurt though – sometimes he says Blaine's name brightly, almost surprised; or frustrated, annoyed, wheedling, wondering. Kurt has so many inflections and emotions to assign to things and Blaine hasn't even learned most of their names yet.
It's funny, because once he thought he could help Kurt somehow, show him how to be happy or protect him or something. He learned quickly it was the other way around; Kurt knows way more than Blaine does without even realizing.
The whole sex thing ends up being an exercise in everything Kurt doesn't know. And Blaine's not proud of it but whenever he feels – however briefly – that maybe he's got the upper hand, well, he's a little smug about it. Can't be helped.
He's looking at Kurt in the mirror and stifling a smile. He doesn't want to seem like he has creepy recall or anything so he just says sultry, Kurt, sexy and not remember that time you were looking over sheet music and you bit your lip? Or you know when I said Amanda Seyfried's Interview spread was totally obvious and you glared at me –
Creepy recall. Blaine doesn't want that. He'd really just like to tell Kurt to stop trying so hard, but he refrains because Kurt's already looking skittish.
Blaine is trying really, really hard not to giggle or something (and only half-succeeding). He's uncomfortable too, but in a fun way – like sharing a secret when you're a kid, being nervous and excited at once. He can tell Kurt's not as amused as he is but he doesn't realize just how not amused; that that pale pink blush across the tops of his cheeks was so telling. Blaine just thought it was sweet.
Except Kurt is rapidly getting pinker and tenser, panicky almost, and it's so worrying that when he asks Blaine to leave, Blaine doesn't know how to argue him. Blaine just goes.
Mr. Hummel hadn't asked him, but Blaine could see it on his face: why do you care so much?
It's funny, Blaine decides. Mr. Hummel had been looking at him as if – as if maybe there was something to having found him in Kurt's bed, something to Blaine coming to talk, like Blaine isn't just trying to be a good friend (but of course, fucking that up too).
Blaine tries to communicate no I don't care like that with his eyebrows but he's not sure the message translates. Kurt's just not his type, he wants to say. They're friends.
Kurt calls him up and, after pulling the whole thing with Burt, Blaine couldn't be happier to hear from him. Kurt sounds casual, relaxed, and he's munching on something. His conversation opener is, "My father gave me sex pamphlets."
Blaine laughs before he can help it. "Oh yeah?"
"Mhm." There's the sound of shuffling papers and bed sheets and another bite. "There are really fascinating illustrations. You should see the god-awful fit on these line-art jeans." Blaine can practically hear his grimace.
Blaine closes his textbook, curling back against his pillows. "Are they helpful?"
Kurt chews thoughtfully. He finally says, "I'm deeply disturbed. But probably, yes."
"It's been an interesting week," Blaine notes.
"You told me I looked like I was having gas pains," Kurt says. Blaine can just picture the look on his face, the pursed lips, the arching brow, that furious look Blaine largely finds endearing. "That isn't polite, Blaine."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I take it back." He pauses. "You looked like you were having a spasm." Kurt's indignant squawk sends Blaine dissolving into laughter. "Kurt, I was so confused, you had to see your shimmy –"
"At least I don't have to climb to the top of a ten foot metal structure to feel tall," Kurt sniffs. "Tell me, are you standing on a table as we speak?"
It's Blaine's turn to play the part of the offended party. "How dare you, I will hang up this phone –"
"No, no –" Now Kurt is laughing too. "I just found a dialogue section in this one pamphlet – Tim is trying to pressure Scott into moving faster than he's ready to – "
"Read it to me," Blaine says and Kurt does, pitching his voice differently for Tim and for Scott. Blaine just listens; Kurt scolds him if he tries to add commentary.
Part Two
Pairings: Kurt/Blaine, Blaine-centric.
Rating/Word Count: PG // 3258
Summary: Blaine's beginning to figure Kurt out. At least, he thinks he is.
Note: Title and little quotey bit from Robyn. Set right after BIOTA and follows along with canon through Sexy; will diverge at some later point.
will you tell me once again
how we're gonna be just friends?
if you're for real and not pretend
then I guess you can hang with me
There's a moment when Blaine wakes up and it's dark, his head fuzzy and already pounding, his mouth cotton-dry. He's in a bed too luxuriously comfortable to be real and there's just the barest hint of light coming in the window. His squinting eyes follow it to Kurt's profile, Kurt's pale skin and slightly open mouth, the sharp line of his nose, his relaxed face next to Blaine's on the pillow, and Blaine thinks oh I'm having that dream again.
When he wakes up again, for real, the room is brightly lit and his clothes are uncomfortably twisted around after spending the night in them. He's unaccountably confused because this is not his room and his sheets are not this nice and all he wants is to bury his face back into the pillows and possibly die. He becomes slowly aware of Kurt puttering around the room, disappearing around the corner and emerging fully dressed, carefully putting his pajamas away and setting his vanity to rights. Blaine watches him with one slitted eye, face smushed against the mattress, simultaneously comfortable and not.
Kurt finally stops in front of him, looking down at Blaine with his hands on his hips, exasperatedly fond. "Are we ready to wake up now?"
Blaine coughs a little and says, "I'm at your house."
"Yes." Kurt tilts his head to the bedside table with its waiting water glass and two aspirin. "You were absurdly drunk so I brought you home."
"Thank you." Blaine sits up gingerly, leaning back against the headboard as he swallows the pills. He wishes he'd at least taken off his cardigan before going to bed. Everything feels ill-fitting and tight; it's just making him more awkward and annoyed. "Hey, before, was that – "
"My dad?" Kurt perches on the end of the bed. "Yes. You made a lovely first impression, I have to say."
Blaine groans, covering his eyes with one hand. "Great. Fantastic."
Kurt has the gall to look amused. "It's alright. You can meet him again under less suspicious circumstances."
"Because that won't be at all awkward," Blaine says dryly. "'Hello, Mr. Hummel, remember me? I'm the boy you found hungover in your son's bed.'"
Kurt smiles but the expression in his eyes is unreadable. "Oh, I'm sure you'll charm him. Just don't do it by singing Katy Perry."
Blaine would laugh if it wouldn't make his head worse. He rests his head back on the pillow, peering up at Kurt. "That doesn't work on all Hummels, huh?"
Kurt presses his lips together. "Nope. Just the one."
Blaine's home and in the shower before he even remembers kissing Rachel Berry.
The rest of the night comes back to him in waves. Kurt and Finn manhandling upstairs; vomiting; Kurt clucking in disapproval, patting his back; tumbling into Kurt's bed and falling asleep almost immediately, trying to say a polite thank you but yawning over it.
He remembers wanting so badly to get along with Kurt's friends (especially seeing as Mercedes still eyed him suspiciously when Kurt brought him along to hang out). He wanted to fit in with them so badly, for Kurt, and he took one drink to make himself more comfortable and then another and then one more and Finn was really like a giant and wasn't the music awesome and Kurt's hands were like – like fluttering like birds –
Blaine remembers giving an exuberant woo! with his face against Kurt's neck and then hitting the floor, realizing belatedly that there was a step.
Kurt was smiling at him, though, instead of looking furious over the fall. "I did not expect you to be a woo girl," he said
"Woo," Blaine repeated faintly.
"Woo," Kurt echoed.
Blaine grinned. They stayed there on the floor until a giggling Mercedes bounded over to haul Kurt back up, explaining a joke she forgot even as she was telling it.
Then there's the vaguest recollection of singing and jumping, so much jumping (which, if he's honest, is all just classic drunk Blaine), and he thinks he might have yelled, "Konnichiwa, bitches!" before tumbling right off the stage.
But also, somewhere in there, he'd definitely kissed Rachel Berry. The more he thinks about it, the more he's sure, and he's got a kind of rising horror over what an embarrassing idiot he'd been – and Kurt had been so calm, sitting there with his prepared aspirin, and Kurt had taken care of him and, god help him, Blaine had liked kissing Rachel Berry. She tasted like pink.
He'd kissed her with a hand in her hair and the other curled around one of Kurt's many of-questionable-use black strappy belt things, fabric under his knuckles and flushed warmth underneath that. Blaine's hand flexed and he sighed into Rachel's mouth.
Blaine couldn't exactly say the fight is unexpected. He's doing his usual force-everything-to-be-normal-by-pretending-it's-normal thing and his brain is still in a haze of what the fuck so he's hardly even registering what's happening as it's happening. After, fuming alone in his car, he only knows he's certainly offended and he definitely said something shitty.
He doesn't know why he thought it might all just blow over. He would try to see Kurt's side – be fair and objective – but he's still too busy freaking out.
When he checks his phone, he sees there's a missed call from Rachel. Kissing her was nice, nicer than he would have thought, if he'd ever thought about that. Blaine had wondered, before, when he was younger, if maybe he could like both - he liked being around girls, he thought they were pretty. But he knows it's probably not exactly an accident that he's choosing to give it a shot with this girl.
When he calls her back to set up the date, maybe he's acting a little bit out of vengefulness. He's trying not to think about it.
Blaine gets easily attached. He's kind of known for it, especially since coming to Dalton – crushes that burn hot and burn out and pretty much never lead to anything. David's always said Blaine was flighty. It's not exactly something he can help; he latches onto people and fills his fantasies with them and then something happens and it's over. He doesn't even realize he's doing it until afterwards, moping in his room and blasting N'Sync.
His first crush in kindergarten was this kid named Danny who gave Blaine a valentine but ripped it up when the other kids started teasing him about it. Then there was Sara, his confusing fifth grade girlfriend for three days who he still thinks of as having really nice blue eyes. Jack in junior high – though the less said about that the better. Then a string of senior Warblers members that luckily graduated before Blaine could embarrass himself too badly. Jeremiah was really just another in a very long line.
Blaine gets attached and it burns and it ends, always, without fail.
He and Kurt have spent the last week of practice sniping at each other so much that it's beginning to irritate the other Warblers. The fourth time Wes tells him to fix it (getting increasingly snappish with every request), Blaine figures he should probably do something about it.
Before Blaine can speak, however, Kurt looks away and says pointedly, "You know how I feel about you."
It's a low hum between them all the time, something they never really forget: Kurt has a crush on him. Sometimes it makes Blaine flush out of nowhere, in the lunch line or getting coffee, just remembering. Kurt likes me.
Without thinking, Blaine says sharply, "Well maybe it's not about you."
Hurt flashes across Kurt's face and Blaine feels a stab of guilt. He's being insensitive, callous, mean – but then so is Kurt. Blaine's just frustrated – with himself, with Kurt, with everything.
Blaine really just needs someone to talk to and, without Kurt, he's finding he doesn't really have that. There are the other guys, sure, but the Warblers are consummate professionals more than they are the best of friends. None of them are someone Blaine would come to with something so personal. Kurt's really the only person he talks to like that.
He realizes that before Kurt he didn't really have a best friend.
Blaine storms – no, not storms, he doesn't storm – strides into the coffee shop, pretending he doesn't see Kurt at all, as he's been doing lately. He'll just get his coffee and leave and maybe pass by Kurt's table ultra-casually –
Rachel has appeared before him with terrifyingly silent footsteps and she's kissing him practically before he has a chance to say hello. His open surprised eyes land momentarily on Kurt, who is watching so intently Blaine shuts his eyes.
He'd been beginning to realize he hadn't needed the reassurance but he supposes it's still good to be sure. It's surprisingly good to be sure; he's embarrassed about overreacting and the resultant mess and hurting Kurt and being stupid enough to think a solitary drunken kiss meant anything at all. He knows he'll have to talk to Kurt, though, so he runs off to the bathroom to get up enough nerve.
When he returns Kurt is waiting for him, slowly sipping his mocha, alone.
Blaine stands in front of him uncertainly. "Hi."
"Hi." Kurt raises an eyebrow at him, the barest suggestion of amusement in the set of his mouth. "It's been a whirlwind week, hasn't it."
He laughs nervously. "Yeah."
Kurt presses his lips together. "You seem to be in a better mood."
"Relieved," Blaine admits. He indicates the chair across from Kurt. "May I?"
Kurt nods but there's still something hesitant and on edge in the way he's holding himself, arms and legs crossed. He notes, "Dashing and polite again."
It's rare for Kurt to be bitchy around Blaine, never mind to him, and Blaine's uneasiness magnifies. "Kurt." He sighs. "Don't, okay? I never – I kind of skipped the questioning phase the first time around and I was confused and – It's normal. It's really normal. I didn't – don't need you making me feel worse about it. I needed you to be my friend."
"No you didn't," Kurt fires back. "You decided to go out with her before you even mentioned it to me. Then you acted like I was crazy for thinking that was strange or for being – " He bites the inside of his cheek, trying for patience. "For being upset. She's my – well, sort of – friend, Blaine. She's Rachel Berry."
Blaine doesn't know the specifics of Kurt's history with Rachel but the full frustrating weight of it is conveyed in his tone.
Blaine is really bad at reading Kurt. Blaine sits. "I'm sorry," he says, "if you are."
He's sorry anyway, really.
Kurt opens his mouth, pauses, and says, "I am. Sorry."
Blaine begins, "We were both –"
"Stupid," Kurt finishes. He looks at the tabletop. "I wasn't very nice."
"I didn't mean, like, the majority of the things I said," Blaine tells him. "Not the bi stuff, the other –"
"Me too," Kurt says, shoulders relaxing fractionally. "I did too. Said things…you know."
"Yeah."
They both look at their hands.
"You know that I…like you," Kurt says slowly. "And my relationship with Rachel has always been complex and questionable at best. So, for a myriad of reasons, I lashed out."
Blaine nods. "I was just really confused. And freaking out."
Kurt nods too, looking down again. "I know."
Apprehensively, Blaine asks, "Are we okay?"
"Mostly." Kurt gives him a small smile. "I think so."
Blaine can't help his grin. "I'm going to go get my coffee. You'll wait?"
"I'll wait." Kurt takes another sip of his mocha, waving Blaine on.
It's still awkward for a little while.
They've become tentative with one another again like they were when Kurt first transferred, their ease gone. Blaine is worried he screwed up even worse somehow but, slowly, they get over it. Kurt starts bringing him coffee in the morning again, teasing Blaine about the bedhead he furiously combs down in his locker mirror when he's running late. Blaine helps Kurt with his calculus homework. They sit around Blaine's laptop to watch The Wild One and Center Stage. They settle back into familiarity and Blaine releases the breath he'd been holding for weeks.
They fall asleep halfway through Pillow Talk and wake blearily as the credits roll. Blaine turns his head to see Kurt's face scrunched against the light, looking furious at being woken up, and Blaine can't help but smile.
"My hair!" Kurt groans, hand flying up to the very un-Kurt-like tousled mess on top of his head. Blaine's eyes follow the motion and his smile widens.
"It's fine," Blaine says, reaching up without thinking. His fingers join Kurt's smoothing over the mussed strands. "It's cute."
Kurt gives him a look Blaine is starting to recognize, curious and suspicious and hopeful at once Blaine smiles again, quick and sheepish, and drops his hand onto the bed between them. "We fell asleep," he says, obviously, speaking just to speak.
"I noticed," Kurt says faintly, archly.
"We missed the end. Next time we should watch All That Heaven Allows. Because, I mean, hilarious melodrama with gay subtext? Doesn't get better than that." Blaine keeps babbling, rattling off other suggestions, maybe a Bette Davis movie, Kurt likes her, or Strictly Ballroom or a classic, like 10 Things I Hate About You, and Kurt just watches him go, amused.
When Blaine pauses for breath, Kurt says simply, "I'm glad we're not fighting anymore."
He says it so sincerely. Not dry or joking, not even relieved – just innocent and honest and matter-of-fact.
"Me too," Blaine says. Kurt smiles brightly and Blaine is obscurely pleased – Kurt doesn't smile like that at everyone.
Blaine wakes up late for school, misses his morning coffee with Kurt, misses the Warblers' post-first-period pre-meeting, and has the unsettling feeling that his dream, whatever it was, is still hanging over his head. Blaine rarely remembers his dreams.
Kurt finds him in the six to ten minutes between homeroom and English. With a little flourish, he affixes a brooch in the shape of a salamander to Blaine's schoolbag. It's gold; it glitters as it catches the light.
"You needed flair," Kurt explains, giving Blaine a small smile. The bell rings; he gives Blaine a tiny wave and disappears into the rush of boys in the hallway.
Blaine's beginning to figure Kurt out. At least, he thinks he is.
Kurt doesn't like to be touched – understandable but sometimes difficult for Blaine to remember. He's always been kind of touchy, curling a hand around someone's forearm as he talks to them, nudging shoulders, grabbing hands without thinking, dragging people around. It's just how he is and he forgets, more often than he should, that Kurt doesn't really like it. It leaves Blaine's hands hovering without making contact, awkward and graceless.
Blaine always pays attention to how people say his name. His father does it with that little disappointed exhale; his mother is warm but distracted. Kurt though – sometimes he says Blaine's name brightly, almost surprised; or frustrated, annoyed, wheedling, wondering. Kurt has so many inflections and emotions to assign to things and Blaine hasn't even learned most of their names yet.
It's funny, because once he thought he could help Kurt somehow, show him how to be happy or protect him or something. He learned quickly it was the other way around; Kurt knows way more than Blaine does without even realizing.
The whole sex thing ends up being an exercise in everything Kurt doesn't know. And Blaine's not proud of it but whenever he feels – however briefly – that maybe he's got the upper hand, well, he's a little smug about it. Can't be helped.
He's looking at Kurt in the mirror and stifling a smile. He doesn't want to seem like he has creepy recall or anything so he just says sultry, Kurt, sexy and not remember that time you were looking over sheet music and you bit your lip? Or you know when I said Amanda Seyfried's Interview spread was totally obvious and you glared at me –
Creepy recall. Blaine doesn't want that. He'd really just like to tell Kurt to stop trying so hard, but he refrains because Kurt's already looking skittish.
Blaine is trying really, really hard not to giggle or something (and only half-succeeding). He's uncomfortable too, but in a fun way – like sharing a secret when you're a kid, being nervous and excited at once. He can tell Kurt's not as amused as he is but he doesn't realize just how not amused; that that pale pink blush across the tops of his cheeks was so telling. Blaine just thought it was sweet.
Except Kurt is rapidly getting pinker and tenser, panicky almost, and it's so worrying that when he asks Blaine to leave, Blaine doesn't know how to argue him. Blaine just goes.
Mr. Hummel hadn't asked him, but Blaine could see it on his face: why do you care so much?
It's funny, Blaine decides. Mr. Hummel had been looking at him as if – as if maybe there was something to having found him in Kurt's bed, something to Blaine coming to talk, like Blaine isn't just trying to be a good friend (but of course, fucking that up too).
Blaine tries to communicate no I don't care like that with his eyebrows but he's not sure the message translates. Kurt's just not his type, he wants to say. They're friends.
Kurt calls him up and, after pulling the whole thing with Burt, Blaine couldn't be happier to hear from him. Kurt sounds casual, relaxed, and he's munching on something. His conversation opener is, "My father gave me sex pamphlets."
Blaine laughs before he can help it. "Oh yeah?"
"Mhm." There's the sound of shuffling papers and bed sheets and another bite. "There are really fascinating illustrations. You should see the god-awful fit on these line-art jeans." Blaine can practically hear his grimace.
Blaine closes his textbook, curling back against his pillows. "Are they helpful?"
Kurt chews thoughtfully. He finally says, "I'm deeply disturbed. But probably, yes."
"It's been an interesting week," Blaine notes.
"You told me I looked like I was having gas pains," Kurt says. Blaine can just picture the look on his face, the pursed lips, the arching brow, that furious look Blaine largely finds endearing. "That isn't polite, Blaine."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I take it back." He pauses. "You looked like you were having a spasm." Kurt's indignant squawk sends Blaine dissolving into laughter. "Kurt, I was so confused, you had to see your shimmy –"
"At least I don't have to climb to the top of a ten foot metal structure to feel tall," Kurt sniffs. "Tell me, are you standing on a table as we speak?"
It's Blaine's turn to play the part of the offended party. "How dare you, I will hang up this phone –"
"No, no –" Now Kurt is laughing too. "I just found a dialogue section in this one pamphlet – Tim is trying to pressure Scott into moving faster than he's ready to – "
"Read it to me," Blaine says and Kurt does, pitching his voice differently for Tim and for Scott. Blaine just listens; Kurt scolds him if he tries to add commentary.
Part Two
