Author's Note/Disclaimer: The song "Goodnight and Go" by Imogen Heap is not mine. Neither is the show Glee, any of its characters, Tyra Banks, America's Next Top Model, or any of the Glee actors (namely Darren and Chris). I'm just doing this for fun to pass some time in my life. Anyway, this is my second Glee fic. I hope it is as well received as the first one was! (And if you enjoyed this, please go check out my other one, if you have time! It's much longer, but also a one-shot.)
Why'd you have to be so cute?
It's impossible to ignore you.
Why must you make me laugh so much?
It's bad enough we get along so well.
"Goodnight and Go" – Imogen Heap
Kurt wrapped the blanket around himself even tighter, curling as far down into his memory foam mattress as was humanly possible, but the shivering wouldn't stop. Even marathon reruns of America's Next Top Model couldn't make him feel better.
"Five girls stand before me, but I only have four pictures in my hands. These four pictures represent the girls still in the running to become America's next…top model," came the soft, soothing voice of Tyra Banks.
He groaned. "Oh my God, just get on with it. Everyone knows that lanky blonde with the bad attitude is going home." Another coughing fit hit immediately after speaking, however, reminding him that it was probably a bad idea and that he should probably just listen to the doctor and sit in silence.
(Because everyone knows silence and Kurt Hummel are best friends.)
Nevertheless, Dalton's on-campus doctor had been insistent that he needed to do nothing but relax this weekend. "Acute Bronchitis," he had said, "won't cure itself." Between the uncontrollable shaking due to the fever, the raging coughing fits where he felt he might just cough up one of those vital lungs of his, and the incurable headaches – he was starting to get the picture.
It was currently Sunday night, and he had been sealed in his dorm room as a biohazard ever since Friday morning. To say he was going stir crazy was a bit of an understatement. But according to campus rules, he wasn't allowed to leave until his fever officially broke, and even with a heroic dose of antibiotics and ibuprofen, it seemed that his temperature would not be beaten down. Once the four hour dose of the pain reliever wore off, his temperature almost immediately shot straight back to 100°F.
That was why he was so surprised when he heard the knock at the door.
After a quick inner debate about whether he should A) chance talking again or B) get out from under the warm blanket and answer the door himself (he decided to risk the coughing fit), Kurt instructed whoever was outside to make their way into the room – if they so dared.
The curly hair was the first thing he saw, and he immediately groaned and pulled the blanket over his head. Blaine was the last person on earth he wanted to see him looking so completely gross. He hadn't showered since the previous night, his eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, he was even paler than usual (which was startling even for him, because he hadn't thought he could even achieve a lighter shade of porcelain than he already was) – not the way you want the boy you're totally head-over-heels in love with to see you, if he had to be perfectly honest.
And then the coughing started up again, and his embarrassment grew further.
"Can you not just leave me to die in peace? You shouldn't be here, Blaine. The Warblers would slaughter me if you got sick." he said hoarsely, briefly peeking out from under the blanket.
"But I come bearing Kleenex and soup. Are you really going to turn me away?" His face was alight with his typical sideways grin, and Kurt knew immediately that all his protesting would be completely useless.
"Ugh, fine. But when you get sick, make sure you tell Wes and David that I tried to get you to leave, okay?" His glance slid to the box of tissues and he slyly grabbed one before standing to excuse himself to go to the restroom.
"Kurt, seriously, you can blow your nose in front of me. I've been sick before. I know how it goes."
Reluctantly, the countertenor sat back down. "It's just so gross," he said, trailing off at the end.
Blaine just smiled and slid the bowl of soup over to him. "Stop protesting and eat. You shouldn't be talking anyway, and the soup will help your throat."
With one of his ever-so-dramatic eye rolls, Kurt picked up the spoon and slowly began eating.
"Anyway, I didn't come here just to give you soup - though it is a family recipe and has been known to cure just about anything," Blaine began with a chuckle. "But I wanted to let you know that solo auditions were pushed back until you're well enough to attend. Also, I have the new sheet music for you. I know you can't practice it right now, obviously, but I figure you can at least be looking at it, right?"
Kurt raised an eyebrow at him over the bowl, obviously having to hold himself back from retorting.
Blaine ran a hand over the back of his neck after a few minutes of watching Kurt eat. The silence had reached that incredibly awkward point where something – anything – is begging to be said. "So, uhh, are you feeling any better at all?"
More silence. But then a reluctant shoulder shrug.
"Well, is there anything I can do to help? Or at least make you more…comfortable, or something?"
Blaine looked so helpless, and Kurt tried desperately to get the image of the older boy pulling a 'kiss it to make it better' out of his head to stop the blush he could feel coming, which apparently didn't work, because then Blaine said- "Kurt, you look really flushed. Is your fever getting worse?" And in one fluid, sudden movement, Blaine kissed his forehead, lingering there for a second.
Kurt dropped the spoon in his hand back into the (now nearly empty) bowl with a resounding clank.
"B-Blaine, what-?" was all he managed to squeak out.
"Don't you know, Kurt?" Blaine leaned in again, stopping just short of the other boy. "Lips are much more sensitive than a hand. Much easier to tell temperature with. And by my expert medical opinion," he paused, licking his lips, "I'd say you're fever free."
Kurt swallowed the growing lump in his throat. "I-is that so?"
"Ah, ah, ah." Blaine interrupted, shaking his head and holding a finger to Kurt's lips. "The doctor said no talking, remember? You better stay quiet."
"Make me," the younger boy breathed.
"It would be my pleasure," was the only response given before Blaine snaked a hand into Kurt's hair, closing the distance between the two in a gentle kiss.
At the start of the beeping, Kurt took the thermometer out of the other boy's mouth. "101.4°F," he sighed. "I told you you'd get sick." He then walked to the sink to rinse off the piece of equipment.
Blaine tried to smile around his coughing. "It was totally worth it, as long as you'll take care of me."
Kurt just rolled his eyes and chuckled. "Stop talking and drink your tea, before Wes gets even angrier with me."
Blaine raised the cups to his lips, still smiling.
We'd be good. We'd be great together.
Why'd you have to be so cute?
Author's Note: This was amusing for me to write, since I'm in Kurt's position right now. Being sick stinks, especially if you don't have a Blaine to take your mind off it. Anyway, I hope someone enjoyed it! Thanks for reading.