Title: Did It Hurt?

Summary: Being the good friend he is, Blaine takes every chance to remind Kurt that it's Valentine's Day. Romantic comedies, pick-up lines, and candy hearts; Kurt might need a trip to the dentist. Or a cold shower.

Author's note: Partially inspired by a Chris Colfer interview; he is too adorable. Warning: side effects might include teeth rotting, due to fluff. Enjoy, ducklings.


"Roses are red, violets are blue. Candy is sweet, and so are you," Blaine declared with a twisted smirk as Kurt opened the door to his room for him. The younger boy pretended to swoon, placing one hand on his chest and fanning himself with the other.

"Please, I'm developing enough cavities as it is with all these non-stop romcoms being played," Kurt replied with a roll of his eyes, receiving happily the cup of coffee Blaine offered to him. Blaine scoffed in false disdain.

"Hey, I'll have you know that some of the best movies are romantic comedies," he replied matter-of-factly, and Kurt wasn't sure if Blaine meant it or was just saying it to keep their daily banter flowing like normal. Kurt, after taking a sip of his steaming coffee, pointed down his throat with his free hand and mimicked gagging. His friend raised an eyebrow.

"Juno, 500 Days of Summer, Ten Things I Hate About You, Scott Pilgrim—" Blaine began, all but challenging Kurt, who quickly picked up on it:

"The Ugly Truth, When In Rome, 27 Dresses, Couples Retreat, Dear John." (Kurt practically vomited the latter flick.)

"Touché," Blaine conceded with another smirk and a nod; he knew when he was beat. Kurt smiled with satisfaction as they both exited his room to head off to class.

"For the record," Kurt started as he shut the door and Blaine looked back at him, eyebrows raised attentively, "Scott Pilgrim was an absolutely terrible movie."

"For the record, Dear John wasn't even a comedy."

Thus began Valentine's Day.


Kurt was sitting down at the Warbler's lunch table when he noticed a pink box of candy hearts being slid towards him along the counter. Blaine. He was suddenly sitting opposite Kurt, his chin propped smugly on his fist as he gazed down at his friend with a smile. Kurt's face flushed as pink as the box of candies as he toyed with his present, composing himself enough to smirk lightheartedly.

"Blaine, you and I both know this may be the most disgusting candy on the face of the planet," he gave the box a little shake, seeing a purple 'BE MINE' through the plastic window.

"I think the yellow ones are half-decent. Besides, it's the thought that counts," the older teen replied, and then he winked and his eyes rather pierced through Kurt and Kurt's face now may have matched the crimson color of his tie. Kurt gave him a good-natured eye-roll as he picked open the box, emptied a few hearts lightly on the table, and held up a green "WHATEVER" to Blaine with an playful shrug of his shoulders.

It wasn't that Kurt didn't enjoy Valentine's Day. Sure he did. The world was practically decked in pink, and everyone loves chocolate. He just had never really acknowledged the holiday itself; he was single when he first celebrated this holiday of amour with his elementary school classmates, and he was single now. It was just another day to him. But the fact that Blaine was putting so much effort into relentlessly reminding him that today was not just the fourteenth of February but actually Valentine's Day was both immensely flattering and slightly surreal. There were times when Kurt virtually wanted to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

Like when in the hallway, Blaine had quickly approached Kurt from the opposite direction, halted him, and then gave him the impression that he was going to say something of relative importance. Instead he whipped out from his pocket a sheet of large, sparkly pink heart stickers (which he claimed to have copped from some freshmen) and stuck one on each of Kurt's cheeks and then one on his forehead. "Happy V-Day", he had said with that sly smirk, swiping Kurt's chin quickly with his thumb, and then continuing down the hallway.

And like at Warblers practice. He refused to acknowledge Kurt's existence until the younger boy finally agreed to harmonize Taylor Swift's Love Story with him. (Root canal-inducing, at the least).

And like now, when Kurt and Blaine were in their usual positions on the floor of the common room. Pressed back to back, their schoolbooks sprawled out in front of them and their current homework in their laps. He felt Blaine's head thump against his own as the older teen cocked his head back, letting out a defeated sigh. Kurt heard Blaine's book shut suddenly, and the other straightened himself up against Kurt's back. They were finishing homework while trying to come up with the best pick up lines. For the occasion, of course. It dawned at the younger boy that this Valentine's Day was certainly going to play out differently than all the others did in the past.

"I got one," Blaine declared. "If I received a nickel every time I saw someone as beautiful as you, I'd have five cents."

"These are all more 'rapist' than romantic," Kurt decided, and Blaine elbowed him lightly.

"Pick-up lines are supposed to be creepy. It's part of their appeal," he joked, and Kurt played along:

"I lost my number, can I have yours?" Kurt felt Blaine take a deep breath from behind him, the older boy racking his brain.

"Do you have any raisins?"

"No…"

"Well, then how about a date?"

"…If I told you you had a hot body, would you hold it against me?" Kurt felt himself unable to keep a silly grin off his face when he heard Blaine laugh.

"You win," the older teen gave in, evidently impressed as he scooted himself around so he sat leaning against the wall (causing Kurt to stumble back a bit, and he sent a glare toward his curly-haired companion). Blaine locked eyes with the younger teen, revealing that same award-winning smirk.

"So how was your Valentine's Day, Mr. Hummel?" he asked, now facing Kurt head-on. Anyone who has ever spoken to Blaine knows firsthand how intensely and effortlessly his hazel eyes can penetrate right through you. It took Kurt a lot of willpower not to avert his gaze; luckily anything regarding 'power' came as naturally as fashion for the younger teen.

"Lovely. Except for when Madam Cramer confiscated the candy hearts you gave me and Saravis made me take off the stickers you put on my face," he replied smartly, narrowing his eyes in fake annoyance. Blaine flashed him a grin.

"Aw, I'm sorry. Did I get you in trouble?" he said without any sincerity at all and Kurt made a face at him. They were currently mirroring each other, knees touching as they sat Indian-style. Kurt figured this was just the type of friends they had grown to be over the past few months. The ones who stood a little too close to each other, who threw an arm around the other's shoulders a little too often, who grabbed hands and held on for a little too long. The ones who gave each other stomach butterflies. Perfectly normal, Kurt mused, even teasing himself, and his insides began doing somersaults just at the thought of it.

"It's fine," Kurt said, raising his eyebrows and glancing at his nails, "Cramer hates me anyway. Just because I'm more fluent than her in French…"

Blaine grinned again, and Kurt couldn't suppress his own. Silence ensued, and the boys sort of began an unspoken staring contest. (The younger teen had exerted a lot of willpower. A lot.)

"Do you have a map?" asked Blaine wryly.

"What?" asked Kurt, keeping his gaze secure.

"Because I just got lost in your eyes," the curly-haired teen chuckled at his own cheesy pick-up line. Kurt snorted.

"You blinked," he replied, and in return, Blaine batted his eyelashes at him.

"I feel like we should end this day by watching a crappy romantic comedy," he suggested, sighing contentedly and stretching his back against the wall. Kurt grinned, but scrunched his nose and shook his head. Anything but that. The silence was back, and it was at ease. There were times when Blaine and Kurt could talk and talk and talk until one of them realized that if he didn't get a drink of water to refresh his dry throat he might choke on the next breath he takes—and then there were moments like these.

Kurt absentmindedly leaned over and motioned for Blaine to bend towards him slightly. The older boy furrowed his eyebrows, confused, but complied anyway; tilting his head toward Kurt to allow the younger teen to brush away a stray lock of hair that had fallen onto his forehead, (Kurt obviously was only slightly anal when it came to hair care. Slightly.), combing it back neatly into his part. Blaine slanted slightly into the gesture, eyes trailing the motion of Kurt's hand lazily as Kurt couldn't help but comb his fingers a couple times through, following Blaine's part tentatively to the side of his head. Their eyes met, and it was Blaine who dropped his gaze first.

(Kurt mentally applauded himself.)

The comfortable silence was only slightly uncomfortable now, and both boys now sat leaning marginally in toward each other. Kurt could smell the mix of cologne, shampoo, and hairspray that made up the distinguishing and familiar scent that was Blaine, and he took it in as if it was the next edition of Teen Vogue.

"I say we watch an unrated slasher film wherein everybody dies instead. Just in spite of it all," he mused, breaking the silence. Blaine looked up at him quickly, and his eyes lit up, which meant he was taking Kurt's suggestion seriously.

Oh God, he was taking Kurt's suggestion seriously.

"This is why we're friends, Kurt," and he stood up, took Kurt's hand, and made a beeline toward David's room.


The thing was, Kurt was kidding when he said they should watch a slasher film. Instead, Blaine had rushed straight to David's collection of movies. (David had nearly every DVD, ranging from The Princess and the Frog to A Dog Day Afternoon). Instead of grabbing a slasher film, he thought it would be a dandy idea to grab a full-out horror film. The Exorcist. "It's a classic, I really want to see it," Blaine had said. Kurt wanted to curl up in a ball and die the moment Blaine inserted the DVD into the player. The awful part was that the entire team of Warblers was watching as well, and two boys were now sitting in between Blaine and Kurt on the couch.

Kurt couldn't decide which was worse: the fact that he was watching The freaking Exorcist or that Blaine was no longer sitting next to him. Either way, his hands were covering his stricken face—he could just taste the breakout he was going to get tomorrow morning—and his wide eyes were reluctantly peering at the screen through his fingers, and the movie had started only two minutes ago.

He couldn't have just agreed to the romantic comedy. As unappealing and bland as she was, Kurt would take Katherine Heigl over the Satan girl any day. (Maybe.)

It was as if Blaine had heard Kurt's thoughts; Kurt peered over at his friend for the umpteenth time and locked eyes with him. The light from the TV revealed a pearly white grin coming from the older teen, obviously amused at the fact that Kurt looked absolutely terrified when nothing had yet happened on the screen. Blaine promptly stood himself up and came over to sit beside Kurt's legs on the floor, his back against the couch. He tugged on the leg of Kurt's plaid pajama pants.

"Come down here," he whispered, and Kurt let himself slide off the couch, hands still over his face to cover his eyes and his goofy smirk as he ignored the tasteless comments made by the other Warblers on the couch. He settled beside Blaine, hips pressed together, and the older teen looked nothing short of thoroughly entertained.

"Ten bucks says you'd rather be watching Scott Pilgrim right now," he teased, whispering so only Kurt could hear him. Kurt let out a hissing sigh from behind his hands.

"Watch it, sister. I was perfectly fine with gory Friday-the-Thirteenth-esque movies, but you had to go and pick the one movie that still makes my own father sleep with a nightlight," Kurt groaned quietly, and Blaine had to stifle his laughter.

The curly-haired teen then beckoned Kurt to scoot forward a bit, giving him room to snake his arm around the other's waist and angle him so Kurt was now leaning against Blaine rather than the couch.

"There," Blaine whispered, as if he had solved everything, and he rested his chin gingerly on Kurt's shoulder.

This was new. Goosebumps erupted everywhere on Kurt from the contact; he felt the blood rush to his face and was beyond grateful for the darkness of the room. He tried to focus on the movie while simultaneously averting his eyes from the screen. But in actuality, nothing could really distract him from the fact that Blaine's hand was comfortably resting on his lower abdomen and he could softly feel the tickling breath of the older teen against his cheek.

That is, until the scary parts actually started playing. The rhythmic banging and the possessed, levitating little girl who was spewing German nonsense proved not only to freak Kurt out, but he heard yelps from various other Warblers and Blaine stiffened ever so slightly behind him, whispering about seven "Holy crap"s in quick succession. Kurt turned his head, nearly bumping noses with Blaine.

"Hey," the older teen breathed, clearly thankful that right in front of him he had a perfect diversion from this bloodcurdling film.

"Hi. Can we leave?" Kurt whispered back, and was prepared to drag both himself and Blaine out of the common room if the need be.

"I thought you'd never ask," Blaine said with relief, immediately standing up and bringing Kurt with him. A chorus of "ow OW!", "Daaayum, boys!", and "Get it in!...I think," followed as the two left, and was disregarded, as usual.


In love. Absolutely smitten, the younger teen was. A rock-paper-scissor match had decided that the pair would end up in Kurt's room, and the younger teen contemplated where he stood with his companion. Blaine had become less of a mentor to Kurt than he originally had been; now they were both more or less on level ground. Although, the fact that Blaine had more experience in several aspects shone through with every sideways smirk and every flirtatious comment (there were plenty of those, whether Blaine realized it or not, because Kurt realized it. Oh, yes he did.)

The relationship had become less of an "I'll text you and maybe we can make plans for Friday?" and more of an "I'll show up at your door every day, and you'll be expecting me, obviously…" Again, Kurt often felt the need to pinch himself.

Especially as they laid side-to-side on Kurt's bed, staring up at the ceiling with the tiny television on mute in the background and nothing but a dim light besides the bed illuminating the room (Pavarotti was sleeping quietly with her head tucked under her wing, and the last thing either of them wanted to do was wake her up). Blaine, he noticed, had his eyes on the television, which was silently playing He's Just Not That Into You. Of course.

"You know what would be nice?" the younger boy mused, taking care to keep his voice down as to not wake his feathered friend, "If they had a gay romantic comedy every so often. Even if it was crappy."

Blaine turned to Kurt with a smile, "Agreed."

"We just have so much in common."

"We," Blaine propped himself up on his elbow with a mischievous smirk, his face now but two inches away from Kurt's, "should get matching tattoos."

"Tramp stamps!" Kurt played along, grinning, grinning, grinning, because that seemed to be all he could ever do when in Blaine's presence. "It's a plan."

A wave of sleepiness washed over Kurt as the two basked in each other's closeness. Squished between the wall and Blaine, the younger boy was warm and cozy and his eyes began to get heavier and heavier. The older boy had never seen Kurt truly at ease like he was now, without his ridiculously good posture and his legs crossed elegantly. It was refreshing.

"You look tired," Blaine remarked. Kurt smiled back lazily.

"I am tired."

"Do you want me to leave so you can go to bed?"

"No!" Kurt exclaimed a little too quickly and a little too loudly and maybe a little too desperately, and he held on to Blaine's arm firmly. Blaine repressed an amused laugh, immediately clamping his hand over Kurt's mouth with a "shush" and a gesture to the sleeping bird on Kurt's dresser. The younger boy wrestled himself free, leaving Blaine's hand to rest on the bed beside his chin rather than over his mouth. Cue the butterflies and heart palpitations.

"I think you should stay," Kurt amended, a bit less disruptive, and Blaine smirked. And some urges just couldn't be resisted any longer; Blaine was looking at Kurt again, watching the boy before him and memorizing every single detail and reaction that formed him as he let his fingers brush against the younger teen's jaw line.

"If you say so," he whispered in return, and he went so far as to run his fingers back through Kurt's hair gently. No one touched Kurt's hair. But Blaine did. Blaine, Blaine, Blaine; everyone else was irrelevant—there wasn't anyone else. Kurt felt his eyes flutter slightly and he rested his hand delicately on the other's arm again, Blaine's soft touch—now stroking his cheek— rocking him toward slumber. He carefully peered over the older teen to check the time, which then caused Blaine also to turn and glance at the clock.

"Ten fifty-nine." he said with displeasure written all over his face as he turned back to Kurt and idly traced the younger boy's jaw line with his finger. In about two or three minutes, the room advisors would come around and make everyone go back into their own living quarters. Kurt was too hypnotized to offer Blaine any reaction to what he just said, so Blaine just rested his hand warmly on the edge of Kurt's cheek, fingers buried in the hair at the nape of his neck. His thumb slid over the younger boy's cheek impulsively. "Walk me to the door?"

The two heaved themselves up in unison, Kurt's entire left side of his body still tingling from Blaine's touch, and entwined their fingers and tangled their arms together in a chain that clearly did not wish to separate. As they reached the door, Blaine reluctantly unraveled himself and allowed Kurt a reassuring grin—the younger boy looked just as unwilling as Blaine felt; he wanted to stay, dammit. He wrapped his arms around Kurt's neck, bringing him in close as he felt Kurt's hands slide around his lower back in suit, drawing their waists in tight together in a pleasant hug. A small smile danced at Kurt's lips as he slightly lowered his forehead to rest against that of his friend.

"G'night," he said softly, lowering his eyes, and all Blaine could see were Kurt's lips. It was instantaneous: mouth hovering in front of mouth; a force that could be described only as gravity beginning to pull them slowly together as one, Kurt's pink lips parting as he tilted his head, his breath hot and hitched and sweet and flush against Blaine's mouth, his hands tightening ever so slightly around Blaine's waist, the younger boy entirely consuming absolutely every single one of Blaine's senses—

—and now it was Blaine's turn to demonstrate a truckload of willpower.

He pulled away a little—closed his eyes and considered it for a long second—and then with an apologetic but definite smile on his mouth, he allowed a deep breath as he increased the distance between their lips. Kurt huffed, retreating with a deep blush and pulling his hands away as if Blaine had slapped him. The older teen quickly caught Kurt by the wrists, bringing him close again, wordlessly explaining that he was resisting a strong urge; it wasn't that he didn't want to kiss.

"Tease!" Kurt accused him, trying to make himself appear disappointed yet he couldn't seem to stop grinning like a madman, no matter how hard he bit his lip. Blaine chuckled, stroking Kurt's cheek and hair and neck again, immediately causing Kurt's brain to turn to mush, thus forgetting why he was supposed to be annoyed.

"Patience, Grasshopper," was Blaine's answer, because he's such a wise sage and Kurt couldn't decide if he wanted to kiss him or kick him, or just sit back like a purring cat as Blaine continued to pet him affectionately, "Slow and steady wins the race."

Kurt rolled his eyes and looked at his nails, like whatever, and Blaine would have been uneasy if Kurt wasn't still sporting that poorly concealed giddy grin. The older boy tilted his companion's chin up slightly, and extended his own chin so his lips could reach Kurt's forehead as he planted a warm kiss there instead, lingering for a moment as if to breathe Kurt in. Goosebumps blossomed down from his forehead to his entire body, and Kurt wondered if Blaine knew just how much he freaking tortured him.

"See you tomorrow," Blaine replied finally, and left Kurt's room for the night.


are you from Tennessee? - - - Blaine

Kurt stared at the message for a second. Then let out a laugh. Blaine had left all but thirty seconds ago; he probably was still walking back to his room when he sent the text. He quickly typed back:

are you aware that pickup lines are for creepy old men who want to get lucky at bars?

Kurt stared up at his ceiling with a silly smile, beaming from ear to ear at his and Blaine's silly banter and the silly butterflies fluttering about in his tummy. Silly, silly, silly. Kurt opened the new message from Blaine before his phone even finished buzzing.

you know you dig my pickup lines. fine, I'll be less subtle and slightly more cliché: be my valentine? ;) - - - Blaine

'In love' would have been an understatement.


The End