Blaine liked Wednesdays.

Wednesdays meant dusting off the glass bottles on the shelves so that they reflected the dim candlelight.

Wednesdays meant Santana smirking at him as she licked her paws and trading amused glances with Mortimer.

Wednesdays meant trying to tame his hair with every substance he could think of.

Wednesdays meant Kurt.

Because every Wednesday, Kurt Hummel would step through the door, and pick up medicines for his father.


Santana stretched lazily on her windowsill perch and jumped to the floor, shifting fluidly from cat to human.

Blaine was at the worktable, studying a thick tome and muttering to himself. She crept up beside him. "You need four extra pinches of dandelion if you want to modify it," she said, startling him as she leaned over his shoulder. Santana ran a finger across his notes, managing not to smear the fresh ink as she read his changes to the sleeping spell. "That book is outdated."

He sighed and turned around on the bench to face her. "I know, but it's all we've got right now," he frowned, taking in her new outfit. "Going somewhere?"

Santana shifted the folds of her skirt so that they'd hang correctly. "I was gonna go into town,"

"Not like that, you're not," he said, pointing at her low cut bodice. "I can see your cleavage!"

Santana huffed and crossed her arms. It didn't help matters. "This show isn't for you, so I don't see why you care. I'm going into town. You wanna go?"

Blaine's face fell. He silently moved his foot into her view and Santana's eyes softened at the sight of the delicate silver chain wrapped around his ankle.

"I'm sorry, I forgot," she murmured. Blaine shrugged.

"Not like he'd want to leave anyway. It's Wednesday."

Blaine blushed. "Mort, shut up."

Mortimer fluttered his leathery wings indignantly. "It's true though."

Santana reached over and flicked Mort on his pink nose. "Stop it. I'm leaving, no fighting without me."

Blaine turned back to the spellbook. "Be back before dark, Santana. I mean it. You can't fend off wolves when you're a foot tall."

Mort snorted, twin lines of smoke exiting his nose. "I beg to differ."

Blaine rolled his eyes. "You can't fend off wolves when you're not a foot tall dragoncat. Better?"

"I'll be back before I go all werekitty, I promise." Santana was already out the door. "See you tonight, Mama Hen."

Mortimer slipped off the shelf he'd been sitting on like a throne. He batted at the silver chain that wound its way around the cottage, the end disappearing into the wall itself. "Still no idea how to break this damn thing?"

Blaine sighed and ran his fingers through his disheveled hair. "It's a True Love curse. I know that much. Old bat always figured I didn't have one."

Mort jumped up onto the table. Blaine swept a hand over the soft fur of his back, massaging around the wingjoints as Mortimer purred. "What about Kurt, though? He likes you. And he knows the place behind my ears that needs scratched. You love seeing him."

Blaine blushed again but didn't deny it, running a finger over the stubby horns on Mort's forehead. "Kurt fights monsters. He could have his pick of anyone in the kingdom. He wouldn't want the dead miracle man's slave boy."

Mort licked his palm with a forked tongue. "Says who? You're not that bad for a human, if I do say so myself."

"Humans are complicated, Mort. It's not as simple as asking him to marry me."

"Humans are stupid." Mortimer paused and sniffed the air. "And you'd better tame the beast on your head if you don't want Kurt to see it. He's almost here."

Blaine scrambled to the mirror and made a valiant attempt at flattening his curls before there was a knock on the door. "Come in!"

The door creaked open on old hinges and Blaine turned with the most genuine smile he could manage. It probably looked psychotic. "Good afternoon, Kurt. I've got the medicine for your dad."

Kurt smiled and stepped further into the cottage, running a hand over Mortimer's back as the dragoncat climbed up on a chair to greet him. "No Santana today?" he asked, looking around and apparently noticing the absence of the sleek black cat.

Blaine shrugged as he shuffled things aside to find the bag marked 'Hummel'. "Out hunting mice, probably." If anyone ever noticed the coincidence of 'his' cat and the beautiful girl that sometimes came into the village having the same name, no one ever mentioned it.

Finally finding the sack, he handed it to Kurt and accepted the bronze coins Kurt dropped into his palm. Kurt's fingers grazed his and Blaine could swear that his heart stopped for a moment.

For some odd reason (probably the low lighting in the cottage) a rosy blush seemed to have been painted across Kurt's cheeks as he thanked him and left. Blaine shook off the thought and watched him go with a sigh.

Mortimer butted his head into Blaine's leg playfully. "Say what you want, Blaine, but you've got it bad."

Psst...yes, no, maybe so? If you'd like, my tumblr is hearjessroar. Come say hi or tell me that this fic sucks. Either or.