A/N: So hum… Hi guys. I've decided to leave lurkerdom and try my hand at writing. First of all, I'd like to say a big, enormous 'Thank You' to my wonderful beta Eirian. She has been an invaluable help in editing this story, and some of the paragraphs were born of her ideas. Without her this story would have been filled with the inaccurate words my French mind supplied me with. I look forward to working with you in the future! Go check out her stories guys. As for the timeline, just know that this story takes place a few weeks after Original Song - in a little AU world where Kurt is still at Dalton and hasn't transferred yet.
Disclaimer: Glee does not belong to me. If it did, we'd see a lot more of Kurt and Blaine cuddling.
Not long after moving into their new house, Kurt had come to the conclusion that having a room upstairs definitively had some cutbacks. One of those was sunlight streaming into your eyes in the early hours of the morning when you had a headache. That was something he really could have done without.
Fortunately, it had some perks too. The view from his window onto the backyard was quite splendid, for one. And while the basement in their previous house was a bit more spacious, Kurt had never realized how much he had missed having natural light in his room. But sometimes, it just plain sucked and made him miss the quiet darkness of his old bedroom. Grumbling, Kurt placed an arm over his eyes to shut out the light driving little daggers into his eyes and through his skull. Maybe I could just stay in bed today, Kurt thought ruefully. After all, even Dalton students could have sick days, right?
Kurt huffed under his breath. Yeah, right. He wouldn't be surprised if there was a rule about that. Dalton had rules for pretty much everything, especially if it concerned something that could get in the way of their pupils' academic studies. Sighing, Kurt dragged himself, very reluctantly, out of his warm sheets to get started on his morning routine. It was apparently going to be one of those days where you wished you were back in bed before you even left it.
Finn was, surprisingly, already eating his breakfast at the table when Kurt walked into the kitchen half an hour later. Kurt grabbed a grapefruit and the bottle of orange juice from the fridge, before pouring himself a glass and taking a kitchen knife from the top drawer. He took everything to the table and settled himself in the chair opposite the other teen.
"'Morning," mumbled Finn.
"Good morning." He raised an eyebrow at the soggy mess posing as cereals in his stepbrother's bowl. "Why are you up so early? You don't have to leave for at least an hour yet." He deftly sliced his grapefruit in two, saving one half for the next day.
"Glee project with Tina. We had an assignment together this week but we were both busy and stuff so we couldn't find the time to do it, but it's due today and Tina really wants us to at least look like we prepared something." Finn propped his head on his hand, and Kurt was a bit afraid he was going to fall asleep into his breakfast.
Finn yawned, showing off an impressive amount of dentition and nearly smacking his face against the table in the process.
"Dude, getting up this early is hard. I don't know how you do it."
Kurt daintily spooned some grapefruit into his mouth. "You get used to it." After all, he didn't really have a choice in the matter. Dalton was a lot safer than McKinley, but it was also a lot farther.
"If I had to get up this early everyday I'd probably end up looking like a zombie." Kurt watched as Finn started piling up the drenched cereals into something that vaguely resembled the shape of a pyramid. "And zombies are cool and everything but they look kind of gross, so I don't really want to look like one." He made a little hole at the top and started pouring milk into it with his spoon. "Even though they can eat your brain and that's pretty awesome."
When Kurt was tired, he was quiet and withdrawn. When Finn was tired, he had a tendency to ramble. A lot.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, Kurt hastily ate his last piece of grapefruit before standing up to put his dishes in the dishwasher and the other half of his grapefruit in the fridge. "Have a good day. I'll see you tonight."
The day went exactly like those before, with the classes being as challenging and mentally exhausting as usual. His headache unfortunately decided to stick around, despite the two Tylenol he'd swallowed after getting out of the shower, and if Blaine was shooting him little worried glances at lunch, Kurt deliberately ignored them.
Hours later and he was finally pulling up into the driveway, absurdly glad to be home.
Depositing his things in his room, he let himself be convinced by Finn to play a game or two of Mario Kart – the only game Finn owned that Kurt actually had some chances at winning – before the call of his bed, a mere forty minutes later, was just too strong to ignore.
He woke up to a hand on his forehead and his father looking down at him with concerned eyes.
"Hey kiddo. You feeling okay?" his dad asked softly.
Kurt brought up one hand to rub sleepily at his eyes before replying. "Dad? What are you doing home so early?" They'd been short-handed at the garage for a couple of days now since one of the mechanics left on paternity leave, and his dad wasn't usually home before seven or eight in the evening.
Burt smiled down at his son before removing his cap to swipe a hand over his head. "It's nearly seven thirty, kid. I think you've been asleep a while. You up for some supper?"
Seeing his son's scrunched up expression, Burt inclined his head and added "Carole's making spaghetti."
"Well in that case, how can I refuse?" Because Carole's spaghetti was pretty fabulous. Dragging himself out of bed under his father's watchful eyes before making his way down the stairs, he was surprised by the fact that he felt a little better. It seemed like this twenty four hour bug was running its course after all.
"Man, you look terrible," Finn said as soon as he stepped into the kitchen.
Which Kurt was slightly offended by, because he was pretty sure he didn't look that bad. Note to self, find a mirror as soon as possible.
Carole glared warningly at her son before depositing the last plate on the table and greeting Kurt with a smile.
Finn had apparently noticed his lack of tact, because he added, "You know… because your hair is all messy and stuff. And you're kind of pale. Not that you really have a tan usua-"
"Thank you, Finn," Kurt interrupted. "I am well aware of my current physical appearance."
Dinner passed surprisingly quickly. Between his dad and Finn arguing the merits of the Buckeyes versus the Wolverines, and talks about the various goings-on at McKinley and at the hospital where Carole worked, pretty soon everyone had finished eating.
"Alright, off to bed with you," Burt declared, pushing his chair back and grabbing both his and Kurt's plates to put them on the counter.
It took all of Kurt's resolve not to rest his head on the table and just fall asleep right there. "I can't… I have homework to do. Lots of homework," he sighed.
"No arguing, kid. Tomorrow's Friday, you can catch up on the weekend."
Kurt reluctantly agreed, letting his dad pull his chair back and guide him up the stairs to his bedroom. He automatically walked toward his vanity before his father's gentle grip on his arm redirected him to the bed.
"Dad, I have to do my skin care routine," he protested.
"You can do that skin care thing another time. Missing one day isn't gonna kill you." Burt waited until Kurt was safely settled under the covers before tucking him in, much to Kurt's embarrassment and secret delight. It had been years since his dad had last done that. It was comforting and familiar, and made Kurt feel all of two years old.
"Goodnight, Kurt." His dad placed a kiss on his head and swiped the hair away from Kurt's forehead.
Kurt smiled as he watched his dad get off the bed and turn his bedside lamp off. "Goodnight, Dad," he whispered back. He was asleep before he heard the sound of his door closing.
When Kurt woke up the next morning, his first reflex was to moan and tug the covers farther over his head. Because if he thought yesterday was bad, today he was pretty sure qualified as somewhere between completely awful and absolutely miserable. His throat felt sore and his headache felt like it had doubled in size while he slept. What had been a dull throb the night before now felt like a one-man marching band. That was playing loudly, and with absolutely no sense of rhythm.
Unfortunately, missing school for something as trivial as a headache was not an option when one was attending Dalton Academy. It would probably take him an entire week to catch up if he did. It simply wasn't worth it. Kicking the covers off, he used the heel of his foot to rub at his calf, which was itching something fierce. So was his stomach for that matter. Damn his sensitive skin… They must have changed the ingredients in the laundry detergent again.
He made his way to the bathroom, intent on relieving the building pressure in his bladder. He flicked the light switch, and froze as soon as saw his reflection in the mirror.
"Oh my Gaga!" he shrieked.
His skin, his habitually flawless skin, was covered in dozens of little red dots.
He raised the hem of his shirt, and sure enough, there were a lot of them down there too. And judging by the itching, Kurt had a nasty suspicion that there were some of them a bit lower as well… and that was uncomfortable in so many ways. He must have shrieked more loudly that he'd realized, because the next thing he knew his father was barging into the bathroom, a bathrobe hastily thrown over his flannel pajamas.
Burt looked around the room rapidly, probably to make sure there wasn't a sex offender or an axe-murderer hiding behind the shower curtain, before settling his gaze on his son. "Are you okay? What… oh." He stopped short, taking in the multitude of red spots splattered all over Kurt's skin.
"This," Kurt answered, gesturing emphatically at his reflection, "is a catastrophe!"
"Burt? Is everything okay?" asked Carole, stopping at the doorway wearing her own bathrobe - a gorgeous Burberry piece that Kurt personally offered her for her birthday – still slightly bleary-eyed from sleep.
"I don't understand. I was vaccinated!" He might have been slightly panicking, because he apparently had chicken pox, of all things, and his face was covered in little red spots and this was going to be hell on his already sensitive skin.
"Oh, honey," Carole smiled with pity. "It seems like you're one of the unlucky ones. The vaccine works most of the time, but it's not infallible."
Kurt felt like crying. This was going to suck more than the time he'd lost his father's credit card at the mall. Or the time in third grade when a clumsy kid had dropped a can of blue paint all over his favorite shoes, forcing him to walk back home barefoot because he'd refused to put them on again.
He let his dad guide him back to his bed, already mourning the days of misery ahead of him, while Carole went downstairs to prepare him a cup of hot tea with honey to soothe his sore throat, which apparently was another side effect of the chicken pox along with the headache. Joy.
"It hits teenagers and adults a lot harder than children. That's why you're feeling so sick," Carole had explained when he'd asked why he was feeling so bad because of a simple thing like chicken pox. Children had it all the time, after all, and it had never seemed like such a big deal.
He slept some more while his dad and Carole took their time getting ready for work, since his little freak out in the bathroom had forced them to be up earlier than usual. He sat up against the headboard when his father opened the door, walking across the room to sit on the side of the bed.
"You gonna be okay, Scooter? You want me to stay with you?"
"Dad, I'm seventeen, not six. I can take care of myself," replied Kurt, hugging his comforter closer to his chest. It wasn't as fluffy as it used to be, and he should probably buy another one. Thin comforters just weren't as comfortable. "Besides, I'll probably just sleep most of the day until Finn gets home."
"Okay then. I'll finish up as soon as I can at the garage. Until then if you need anything, you call me, you hear?" Kurt nodded and watched his father get up from the bed to head downstairs. He listened to the slight creaks of the stairs until he could hear the sound of his dad grabbing his keys from the hook in the hall and closing the front door. Sighing, Kurt looked despondently around his room, finally settling his gaze on the pile of homework on his desk. Maybe he could at least muster enough energy to start some of it. Resigned, he sat himself in front of his desk and started his math homework.
He had been at it for less than an hour, trying to remember the basics of algebra that he normally knew like the back of his hand, when he heard his cellphone vibrate on his nightstand. He shuffled quickly across the room, grabbing it just before the buzzing stopped.
From Blaine:Hey, where are you?
Smiling, Kurt sat on the bed and typed back: Home. I'm sick.
He had to wait for less than ten seconds before the tell-tale buzzing started again.
From Blaine: Bad? Want me to come over after school?
Grimacing, Kurt answered: I'll be fine. I don't want to give you my germs. Because even if he would like to see his dapper boyfriend, there was no way he was going to let Blaine see him in his present condition. The phone vibrated in his hand again.
From Blaine: Okay…hope you feel better soon. Have to get to class. Eskimo kisses!
Kurt raised an eyebrow before answering: Eskimo kisses? Cheap.
From Blaine: I don't want to catch your nasty germs :)
He received some more texts during the day, since apparently Finn had told everyone in New Directions that he had to stay at home. One was unsurprisingly from Mercedes, asking how he was feeling, and twenty minutes later he'd received another text from Artie: Word of advice my man, don't scratch. Which Kurt thought was easier said than done, because just thinking about it made his skin itch like crazy. Artie's text had soon been followed by a confusing one from Brittany that Kurt chose to ignore, asking him if he'd been in contact with any contagious chickens.
The rest of the day passed slowly, with Kurt alternating between sleeping, listening to his iPod and trying desperately to ignore how itchy his skin was. He was trying to sleep, one of his pillows resting over his head in an effort to block out the mid-afternoon sunlight, when Finn returned home from school. Kurt heard the front door slam shut, followed by the sound of his step-brother stomping up the stairs - finesse had never been Finn's strong suit – and a knock on his bedroom door. The door opened before Kurt could give him permission to enter.
"Hey. Just wanted to make sure you were okay. How are you feeling dude?"
Kurt raised the pillow just enough to give his step-brother standing at the foot of his bed a glare. "Not sick enough that I can't act on my threat to castrate you with my nail file if you call me dude one more time, Finn Hudson." He quickly slammed the pillow back over his head, but not fast enough to miss Finn muttering "Wow, you're cranky when you're sick."
A few moments of silence passed. Suspicious, Kurt lifted a corner of the pillow to see Finn prodding at something sitting on his bookcase.
"Touch my things and die," he growled, eyes narrowing. He felt pretty accomplished when Finn actually jumped back a little.
"Okay. Scary. I'm going now. I'll be at Puck's if you… you know, need anything." Finn stuffed his hands in his pockets, shuffling his feet.
Kurt muttered a thanks, the sound muffled through the pillow.
He was alone for less than forty minutes, or so he guessed by the number of sheep he counted in his head trying to fall asleep, before there was another, quieter knock followed by the sound of his door opening.
"Blaine!" Kurt exclaimed, quickly gathering his sheets around him and trying desperately to ignore the fact that he probably looked like a mess. "What are you doing here?"
Because standing in his doorway was Blaine, the very same Blaine that Kurt remembered sending a text to earlier informing him that he shouldn't bother visiting. So much for that plan.
"Finn called me. He said your dad would probably kick his ass if he left you alone so… here I am." he announced, a smile on his lips and his hands in his pockets.
Kurt glanced at the clock with a frown, trying to discretely place his hair back in a semblance of order. "Wait, how did you get here so fast?"
Blaine smiled guiltily. "I might have already been on my way over."
Kurt could feel his eyebrows rising involuntarily higher on his forehead. "You skipped Warblers practice?" he asked.
Blaine shrugged. "I did. I was worried about you. "
While Kurt was in flannel pajama pants and probably the only loose t-shirt he owned, Blaine was still impeccably dressed in his Dalton uniform. He was also smiling, and looking at him with what Kurt thought was way too much amusement in his eyes. Because Kurt may not have had a lot of experience in the boyfriend department, but he was pretty sure they weren't supposed to be enjoying your pain.
"What are you smiling about?"
Blaine looked like he could barely contain his smile. "You have chicken pox."
Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Thank you for enlightening me, I hadn't noticed," he deadpanned.
Blaine responded by taking off his jacket and folding it over Kurt's chair. "You do know you're cranky when you're sick, right?"
"So I've been told," he replied, glancing appreciatively at the sight of Blaine in his white dress shirt and tie. He hastily pulled his gaze back before Blaine could notice his wandering eyes.
"So… you didn't tell me you had chicken pox. Neither did Finn, by the way." Blaine turned back toward the bed, crossing his arms in front of his chest and leaning back against the desk.
"I didn't think it was relevant," answered Kurt, idly scratching a particular spot on his left arm that would just not be left alone. "Why is it so important anyway?" he asked, slightly suspicious.
Blaine unfolded his arms and took a step forward. "Don't scratch. It's only going to make it worse." He walked the remaining distance to the bed and sat down, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "And to answer your question… had I known, I would have brought a camera. The blackmail possibilities are just endless."
Kurt narrowed his eyes. "Why are you still smiling? I'm suffering."
Blaine grinned. "Because you look more like twelve than seventeen right now. It's pretty adorable."
Kurt glared at him before flopping back against his pillows and pulling the covers over his head. "I hate you. You suck at comforting people," Kurt added, the sound slightly muffled by the blankets. Being told that you looked like a prepubescent teen by your boyfriend had a way of making you feel like the least sexy person on earth.
He could feel Blaine grinning down at him, before he gave a little yelp when the sheets were yanked from his grip. "Come on," Blaine said. "I got us some movies at the video store. Being cooped up in this room all day is not healthy."
"What makes you think I was?" asked Kurt innocently, accepting Blaine's hand to get out of bed. Not that he actually needed it. But still, it was a nice, gentlemanly, Blaine thing to do.
Kurt only huffed in response, making his way down the stairs with Blaine's hand gently resting on his back. So what if I was? Thought Kurt. I'm sick and miserable and… okay, cranky… and the last thing I need is my boyfriend seeing me looking as appealing as road kill. He kept his thoughts to himself and let Blaine guide him to the couch in the living room.
"How did you get in here anyway?" Kurt asked, sitting down and leaning against the cushions. Because he was pretty sure he'd heard Finn lock the door before leaving.
Blaine walked toward the hall where his backpack lay propped against the wall. "I used my secret ninja skills to climb through the second story window." Looking over his shoulder and seeing Kurt's skeptical look he added, "Okay, Finn told me where I could find the spare key. And I have to say, behind the potted plants, really? It's almost as bad as under the rug."
Blaine turned back from rummaging in his bag, proudly brandishing two DVD cases. "So, I got us Finding Nemo and Toy Story," he smiled brightly.
"Anything that's not an animated movie?" inquired Kurt, smiling slightly.
Blaine looked back at the movies in his hands as if to make sure. "Unfortunately, no." He walked up to the DVD player. "So, which one do you want to watch first?"
Kurt shrugged, rubbing the heel of his right foot against his left in an attempt to relieve the constant itching. "I don't really have a preference."
Blaine shrugged back. "Nemo it is then." He put the movie in before walking back and sitting on the couch next to Kurt, draping an arm around his shoulders.
They watched the movie quietly, commenting occasionally and somewhere along the way Kurt ended up with his head against the armrest and his feet on Blaine's lap. Which made watching what was happening on the TV increasingly difficult, though, because Blaine kept lightly rubbing Kurt's sock-clad feet, and while it was distracting in a really comforting way… it was also making the itching worse.
Blaine must have sensed what he was doing - he abruptly stopped when Kurt shifted his feet uncomfortably. "Sorry. Itchy?" he asked, a small grimace on his face.
Kurt hummed positively in response, saddened when he felt Blaine retract his hands. He had loved the feeling, but apparently his body had other ideas. He'd have to try to do this again when his skin didn't feel like such an itching mess.
Twenty minutes passed that left Kurt dozing pretty heavily, eyes half-lidded and not really able to tell what was going on between Dory and the other clownfish with a funny sounding name. Something that sounded like Mervin, or Merlin.
"Hey, are you falling asleep on me?" Blaine asked softly, gently jostling the feet still resting in his lap.
"No 'm not… itches too much to sleep anyway," Kurt mumbled back, curling his hands into fists to resist the urge to scratch.
He unintentionally made a little sound of protest when Blaine stood up, taking his feet and depositing them back on the couch. "Where are you going?" And if it ended up sounding like a whine, Kurt deliberately chose to ignore it.
"Do you have any oatmeal?" Blaine asked instead.
"Second cupboard on the left of the sink," Kurt answered warily. "Why?"
Blaine only smiled and leaned down to give him a quick peck on the lips. "You'll see. It'll make you feel better, I promise," he added, before disappearing in the kitchen.
He was gone for less than ten minutes, during which time Kurt stared glumly at the TV screen and half-listened to whatever Blaine was doing. He sat up when Blaine returned.
Blaine offered him his hand, helping Kurt up before heading upstairs. "My mom did this for me when I had chicken pox. Without it I probably would have ended up scarred for life with all the scratching I did."
Curious, and ready to do pretty much everything to ease the constant itching, Kurt followed Blaine up the stairs and to the bathroom.
"Alright, get undressed," said Blaine as soon as they'd crossed the threshold. Kurt stopped mid-step, pretty sure that he must have misheard that last part; he swore he'd just heard Blaine telling him to take off his clothes. "Sorry, what?" he blurted out.
"Get undressed," repeated Blaine, seemingly totally unfazed by the request, squatting down beside the half-filled bathtub and stirring the water with his hand. He looked back when Kurt answered only with silence. "You can keep your underwear on, Kurt."
Kurt swallowed audibly, gripping the waistband of his pants nervously. This is stupid, you can do this, he told himself. Blaine is not going to care about your lack of muscles, or your pear-shaped hips. Or all these stupid little red dots all over your skin. He's your boyfriend and he doesn't care about things like that.
Blaine must have sensed his unease, because he stood up, an uneasy and apologetic look on his face. "I'm sorry, Kurt… I can totally leave if you want. It's no problem." He took a few steps toward the door before Kurt called him back.
Kurt took a deep breath. "Don't be silly. I don't have a problem with you seeing me in my underwear," he said, trying to sound confident, but sounding breathy and hesitant instead. Because he did have a problem with it, but Blaine was his boyfriend, and this moment would have come sooner or later. Kurt just wished it would have been later. Blaine had been an exemplary gentleman these past weeks, never pressuring him into anything more than kissing. And while Kurt had thought, sometimes, about doing other things… he had never found the nerve to act on it, and Blaine seemed reluctant to do anything without Kurt initiating it.
Biting his lips lightly, Kurt quickly took off his socks before pulling his pajama pants down and stepping out of them. He silently congratulated himself when he managed not to trip and make a fool out of himself. His shirt joined the rest of his clothes on the floor not long after. Kurt crossed his arms over his chest, not once looking at Blaine, absurdly glad that he hadn't opted this morning for his boxers covered with little ducks wearing bowties – a gift from Mercedes for his birthday ; she'd apparently thought they looked hilarious.
He made his way over to the tub, setting a foot down in the slightly troubled water.
"Be careful, the oatmeal makes it a lot more slippery," Blaine cautioned, suddenly appearing at his elbow and gently gripping his arm as Kurt slowly sank down into the bathtub.
All thoughts of Blaine and underwear flew right out of the window as soon as the lower half of his body was submerged in the water. Because this was incredibly soothing. It was heaven.
He soaked in the water for close to twenty minutes, making idle chatter with Blaine who was sitting on the floor next to the tub, enjoying the relief the oatmeal gave his skin. The constant itching he's had to deal with for most of the day suddenly felt ten times better.
"Ready to get out?" Blaine asked once the water had passed the lukewarm stage and was steadily turning cold.
"I am." Because as enjoyable as the oatmeal bath had been, the water's temperature was starting to get uncomfortable. He stood up quickly, thoughts of warm towels and pajamas on his mind, and was nearly safely out of the tub before he felt his foot slip.
He heard Blaine swear quite uncharacteristically, and felt him grab his arm in an effort to stop his fall. All it succeeded in doing, however, was to send them both falling into the cooling water. Kurt felt his tailbone hit the bottom of the tub painfully, while water splashed all around them.
"Well, that was fun," Blaine said calmly, wiping water out of his eyes.
"Sorry," Kurt said with a wince. "I forgot how slippery it was."
"Don't worry about it." Blaine pulled at the wet shirt sticking to the skin of his chest, before raising his eyes and staring at Kurt's midsection with his head slightly tilted.
"You know, this could make a crazy game of connect-the-dots."
Kurt responded by splashing water on his face. "Blaine, you have a lot of qualities, but Florence Nightingale you are not."
Blaine took a mock-offended expression. "Hey, I would make a great nurse."
Kurt gave him a disbelieving look. "You're afraid of needles."
Blaine held his hands up, droplets of water flying everywhere. "As long as they aren't used on me, I have no problems with needles."
After some minutes spent fooling around – while Kurt tried desperately to keep any oatmeal from getting into his hair - they finally managed to get out of the tub, clinging to each other maybe a little more than was strictly necessary.
Since all of his clothing – save his blazer that was still draped on the back of Kurt's desk chair - was wet, Blaine had no choice but to borrow some of Kurt's things. That was how Blaine found himself wearing a pair of sweatpants slung low on his hips and a long-sleeved dark red t-shirt that had always been a bit too large, while Kurt did his best not to blush at the sight.
Because, as cliché as it sounded, Blaine had never looked so… hot. The fact that his hair was half-wet and free of some of the hair gel that habitually kept it in place certainly didn't help to keep his teenage hormones in check.
They ended up on the couch again, watching reruns of some silly reality show, until some time later their quiet commentaries were broken by the sound of a loud – and very embarrassing - growl.
"Someone is hungry," Blaine said when Kurt's stomach made itself heard a second time.
"I'm not the only one," answered Kurt, lightly slapping the other boy's stomach. It was a lot quieter than his had been, but Kurt's stomach was certainly not the only one complaining. "Do you want me to cook something?"
"Nah, I've got it."
Kurt wanted to protest, because after all they were in his house. He was supposed to be serving the guest, not the other way around. But he was still relaxed and itch-free and the couch was incredibly comfortable, so he decided to let it go. Just this once.
While Blaine was gone, Kurt made a quick dash to the downstairs bathroom to rearrange his hair into something more presentable. His coiffure had not escaped the repercussions of lying down on the couch or the misadventure of the oatmeal bath. When he was satisfied with the result, he squashed down the temptation to sneak to the kitchen doorway to see what Blaine was cooking, and went back to the couch instead.
It wasn't long before he started fidgeting, looking at the TV but not really listening, straining to hear the sounds coming from the kitchen. What was Blaine cooking anyway? The groceries hadn't been done in a while, so there wasn't much to choose from.
Blaine finally came back a few minutes later carrying a tray – a horrible plastic thing with painted pastel flowers that Kurt thought they'd thrown out years ago – sporting two steaming bowls, glasses of juice and the small container of Tylenol. The latter because Kurt was apparently a bit hot, and he still couldn't believe how much effort it had taken not to give the overly used cliché answer to that.
After putting down the tray on the coffee table, Blaine grabbed the blanket thrown across the back of the couch and proceeded to bundle both of them up with it. He then reached over to the coffee table to grab the tray and set it over both of their laps, handing Kurt's bowl and a spoon to him with a flourish.
"Eat up, before it gets cold. I slaved over a hot stove to make that, you know."
Kurt smiled, accepting the food. "I am so very grateful. Thank you for saving me from starvation."
They ate in silence, with Kurt trying to hide the little smile on his face behind his bowl, because Blaine had just made him chicken soup. Sure, it came from a can and was slightly too salty for his taste, but it was still hot and tasteful and… homely, and so very domestic.
Once the dishes were taken care of – by Kurt, who refused to let Blaine take care of it despite his protests – they ended back on the couch, channel surfing until they finally settled on The Price is Right.
Blaine was sprawled sideways, with Kurt resting between his legs and his feet underneath him. He could hear Blaine's heartbeat thudding against his cheek, and feel the vibrations his voice made each time he talked or laughed, trying to guess the prices of the various items on TV and being completely off most of the time. It was much better than having his feet rubbed, Kurt decided when Blaine started to run a hand through his hair.
Yes, definitely better.
Maybe chicken pox had some perks too, after all.
Congrats, you've reached the end!
I'm still wondering how I ended up writing such a piece of… fluffiness, since I'm an angst fan to the core. Oh, well. The hurt/comfort won me over. ;)
It would mean a lot to me to know what you think, so drop a line!
Until next time!