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Fic: What to Do
Title: What to Do
Fandom: Glee
Rating: PG
Characters: Kurt/Blaine
Summary: Blaine has dropped off the face of the Dalton map, and Kurt is trying to figure out why. It's a good thing one of them has experience with family emergencies.
Count: 2565 words
Notes: Written for this prompt on the fluff meme. Basically all I want out of these two in the future is (1) delightful awkwardness, and (2) for Blaine to have a vulnerable moment or two (potentially with bonus Kurt BAMF moments).
When Kurt has sent four text messages and received no responses, Blaine hasn't posted anything on Facebook in a day and a half, he doesn't show up at lunch, and then he isn't present for Warblers rehearsal on Thursday afternoon, it becomes clear: something is very, very wrong.
After they've run "Party All the Time" enough times that the idea of returning to 1985 to kneecap Eddie Murphy before he records the original song sounds both appealing and absurdly possible (it is Eddie Murphy-related dementia, Kurt is sure), Kurt takes a deep breath and steps up to the council's table while everybody is collecting their things and saying their goodbyes.
"A moment of your time?" Kurt asks, tightly clutching the strap of his satchel, and Wes slowly lets his hands fall away from the papers he'd been gathering on the table. Kurt thinks that David glances between the two of them, but it's hard to say because he doesn't skip a beat in his conversation with Jeff about the finger-snaps in the chorus.
"Sure," Wes says, genial and smooth. Kurt sometimes suspects that he's a robot. "What's on your mind, Kurt?"
"Do you know why Blaine wasn't here?" And wasn't in the sophomore commons between classes, and hasn't been at his usual table in the library, and didn't call Kurt once today, none of which Kurt will say because he doesn't need to sound like a stalker.
This time, it's obvious when David looks over at them; Kurt immediately wonders, with no small amount of modulated dread, what he's missing. But Wes only looks irritatingly kind, and he says, "He texted me earlier; family emergency, he'll be back Monday. That's all I know."
"Oh," says Kurt quietly, suddenly feeling very small and very self-absorbed for all his half-formed fears that Blaine had been specifically avoiding him. "Thank you."
There isn't really any question of where Kurt is going to go, or what he's going to do. He doesn't stop at his room to drop off his bag or check his hair or say hello to Pavarotti; he goes straight to the third floor of the dormitory.
He does have a moment of hesitation when he's standing in front of the familiar door, knuckles white in his grip on his Cavalli bag. What if Blaine really does want to be left alone? What if Kurt is overstepping their boundaries?
Blaine's hall is pretty busy; it's the hour between dinner and the end of most club meetings/sports practices, so boys are coming and going, shouting cheerfully at each other. Kurt has clearly been spending too much time on this hall, because boy-with-greasy-hair-who-lives-three-doors-down claps him on the shoulder as he passes on the way to the bathroom, and says, very loudly, "Hey Kurt!"
Something clatters inside Blaine's room, the occupant clearly startled.
Kurt's eyes widen dramatically and he raps on the door as fast as he can. Several long seconds pass -- Kurt silently, vindictively promising Unfortunate-Hair a bottle full of shampoo meant for dry hair -- and then the door swings open.
"Hey," says Blaine, leaning in the doorway. He's wearing loose jeans and a plain T-shirt that has seen better days. No shoes, no socks, and he apparently left the gel in the shower caddy this morning; his hair is all soft curl. His eyes are a little red around the rims, but more than anything, he looks and sounds tired.
Kurt's fingers curl tighter around the strap of his bag. He takes a deep breath, and then he asks, as simultaneously matter-of-fact and kind as he can manage: "Are you okay?"
Clearly startled by the question and Kurt's manner, Blaine quickly half-smiles; honestly, he looks like he almost laughs. "Yeah," he says, stepping back out of the doorway. "Yeah; come on in."
The dorm room looks like a bomb went off in it. A bomb filled with shrapnel made by American Apparel and the Gap. (Kurt has slowly been coming to terms with Blaine's out-of-uniform fashion sense. It's a process.) There's a roll-on suitcase spread open in the middle of the floor; it currently contains a maroon tie and a pair of black dress shoes, and nothing else. Piles of clothes -- a suit jacket, jeans, several sweaters, more pairs of shoes -- have been thrown across the floor, Blaine's bed, his roommate's bed, both desks, and even tossed over the curtain rod.
Kurt takes it all in. Under the careful scrutiny, Blaine pulls a rueful, still-tired-looking face. "I know," he says.
"You," Kurt says, setting his bag down on top of a scarf on Blaine's computer chair, "need help."
"I do?" Blaine asks, glancing around his room like he's seeing it for the first time.
"Well," Kurt starts, and then he stops halfway into launching himself into head-bitch-in-charge mode. "If you want help, that is." Blaine just kind of looks at him, still standing by the door that he closed behind them, and Kurt steadfastly remains calm. "When my dad had his heart attack," he begins, and Blaine nods faintly, because his eyebrows may be pulled together into a quizzical frown but he's Blaine and he still remembers everything that Kurt tells him, "everyone either left me utterly to my own devices or they did whatever would make them feel better. All I wanted was for someone to ask what I wanted. So." Kurt puts his hands on his hips, and he asks, "How can I help?"
Blaine stares at him like a deer in the headlights. "Um," he says, finally, and his voice sounds rough. He clears his throat and steps around Kurt, finally coming away from the door. "You were right; I could definitely use some help packing."
"Luckily for you," Kurt says, airy and brisk, neatly rolling up his blazer and shirt sleeves, "you're in the presence of a master."
He laughs, both looking and sounding completely startled, like he's shocked by the fact that Kurt is here and he doesn't really know how to respond to that, and Kurt's heart clenches uncomfortably in his chest.
"You should also feel free to say that what you need is to be left alone, and I'll respect that like I respect anyone who manages to get their hands on Valentino's spring collection six months in advance," Kurt says, taking a half a step back, and Blaine reaches out and grabs his hand. Kurt is trying not to let the fact that he's utterly head-over-heels in love with this boy influence his actions, but it's so hard when Blaine takes his hand and Kurt can feel it right down to his toes.
"No, don't." Blaine doesn't let go of his hand; his palm is hot. "I know I'm not," he half-smiles again and makes a self-deprecating face, "awesome company right now, but if you don't mind..."
As if Kurt could ever mind. As if Blaine could ever be anything less than amazing company. "Wes said there was a family emergency," he says, careful, and Blaine nods a couple times.
"My aunt," he says, and that's all he needs to say.
"Sandra?" Kurt remembers Blaine's mentions of a beloved aunt who was "way cooler" about his coming out than his parents initially were; who was in treatment for stage III pancreatic cancer.
(Blaine isn't the only one who pays attention.)
He nods again, slower this time, and Kurt squeezes his hand really, really hard and lets the silence sit for a minute or two before he says, "We'll have to find that heinous tie that she got you for Christmas."
Blaine's eyes are suddenly too bright and he gives a choked half-laugh and then starts to turn away, clearly embarrassed, and Kurt grabs the back of his neck and pulls him into a hug before he can get very far. So much for letting Blaine decide what he wants. From the way that Blaine sinks against him, though, Kurt is pretty sure that this was the right instinct.
Kurt is a little bit -- a very little bit -- taller and they fit together impossibly well, Blaine a warm and steady weight against him. Blaine tucks his face against Kurt's blazer. Kurt hated it when people told him they were sorry and that things were going to be okay, after his dad's heart attack; he strongly disliked both platitudes even as an eight-year-old, when his mom died. So Kurt holds Blaine, and he rubs his back in tiny circles, and he doesn't say anything.
The door clicks open and Blaine stiffens in Kurt's arms. Blaine's roommate gets one look at the two of them and he shoots Kurt a relieved face and a thumbs-up, then goes back out into the hall, closing the door behind him.
"It was just Pedro," Kurt quietly assures Blaine, who nods without lifting his head.
"I couldn't find it," he finally says, his voice muffled by Kurt's shoulder. "That's why this place looks like a hurricane went through it."
It takes Kurt a couple seconds to realize what he means, and then he smiles. "Again," he says, "you're in the presence of an organizational master. I'll find it. As much as it will pain my fabulous sensibilities to do so."
He feels Blaine's smile curve against his shoulder.
The novelty tie turns up tucked into one of Blaine's shoes in his closet. It's just as hideous as Kurt remembered it, featuring a giant print of a prowling Bengal tiger. Much to Kurt's pleased surprise, Blaine laughs his ass off at both the tie and at Kurt's expression when he's faced with it again.
"My mom's going to freak if I wear this to the funeral," Blaine says, gazing at it fondly.
"From what you've said about her, I suspect that your aunt would love that," Kurt points out, down on his knees and surrounded by neat stacks of clothing, each arranged into one day's outfit.
Blaine laughs again, wrapping the tie around his wrist. "Yeah. She would." Beat. "Would have."
"Right," Kurt says briskly, trying to draw him away from the quieter tone he fell into at the end of that statement. Kurt is all for a healthy grieving process, but as far as he can tell, Blaine has been alone in this room thinking about nothing but sadness and loss for a solid day and a half, while waiting for the weather to clear so that he can fly out. Distractions can't be a bad idea, at this point. "I currently have enough outfits to clothe half the Warblers for a week; how long are you going to be in Philadelphia, and will you have to dress up for the wake as well as the funeral?"
Blaine glances down at him from his perch on his bed, looking startled by the question. "Four days, and I don't know," he admits. "I haven't been to a lot of wakes."
"You should probably be prepared for both contingencies," Kurt decides, and he tucks the staid, thoroughly respectable maroon tie into the suitcase pocket where Blaine has stashed several pairs of socks and the less-respectable tie. "It's perfectly acceptable to wear the same suit twice, but I'll add an extra shirt and tie just in case."
"Kurt," Blaine says, and Kurt already knows what he's going to say, but he glances up anyway; "you really don't have to--" He doesn't finish the sentence; he doesn't have to.
"I want to," he tells him firmly, eyes on Blaine's, and then he holds up a crisply-folded dress shirt in either hand. "Black or white?"
Blaine looks startled when Kurt answers his cell phone on its second ring; even more so when Kurt steps out, saying he'll be right back, and returns with a pizza and a stack of napkins. Kurt puts it down on the bed beside Blaine, flips the box open, hands him the napkins, then goes back to squeezing two pairs of shoes into the suitcase on the floor.
Blaine shoots first the pizza, then Kurt a seriously confused, bemused glance, and he says, "Wait, how did you--?"
"I texted in an order while you were in the bathroom," Kurt says matter-of-factly. "We'll have to leave for the airport within the next 45 minutes, so unfortunately, there weren't many delivery options that didn't involve sauce from a can and overprocessed cheese products."
"The airport?" Blaine asks, frowning. "Kurt, I was going to call a cab--"
Kurt doesn't say anything; he just lifts his eyebrows calmly, a wordless you must be joking (a gentler version of the expression that he perfected last year after hundreds of hours of exposure to Rachel Berry), and after a few seconds, Blaine closes his mouth and then says, "Thank you."
Sixteen minutes after Kurt lifted Blaine's neatly-packed suitcase out of the back of the Navigator and reluctantly left Blaine at the US Airways departures sign, his phone chimes. He's at a red light, stuck in traffic on his way out of Columbus, and he whips his phone out while keeping a wary eye on the brake lights of the truck in front of him.
don't know what i would have done w/out you
Kurt smiles to himself a very tiny bit; glances up to find that traffic doesn't appear to be going anywhere, and he quickly taps out a response.
i seriously hope you're already thru security; that's a lot of effort for nothing if you miss your flight bc you're texting me
His phone chirps again almost immediately.
ha, ha. yes, thru security. just waiting for the plane now.
Somebody honks behind Kurt; he hisses under his breath and tosses his iPhone into the passenger seat, putting the Navigator into gear. He doesn't check his texts again until he has pulled into his usual spot in the Dalton student parking lot and has turned off the car.
thanks kurt.
Kurt smiles quietly at his phone, and then he tells Blaine to text him his return flight details.
Blaine doesn't text him his flight information.
Kurt doesn't actually know that Blaine is back on campus until he hears a knock on Monday night and he gets hauled into a fierce hug after he answers the door.
"Blaine," Kurt says, startled, still feeling the cold on Blaine's jacket as he automatically wraps his arms around him. "When did you get ba--" Blaine draws back; not enough that they have to let go of each other, but enough that Kurt can see his face, and Kurt has about a half a second to realize what's about to happen and to finish, "--ack?" before Blaine is kissing him.
After a couple of seconds, Kurt's roommate quietly clears his throat. Kurt lets go of Blaine long enough to make a fierce gesture at Steven behind his own back, and then he pushes Blaine out into the hall and shuts the door behind them.
Blaine smiles at him, looking tired but bright and pleased and unrepentant (and much better than anyone has a right to look after a weekend at a funeral and a day in airports, and while standing under florescent hallway lighting). Kurt's heart thunders under Blaine's cold hand on his chest, and then he slowly curls his hand around Blaine's forearm and pulls him in again.
Fandom: Glee
Rating: PG
Characters: Kurt/Blaine
Summary: Blaine has dropped off the face of the Dalton map, and Kurt is trying to figure out why. It's a good thing one of them has experience with family emergencies.
Count: 2565 words
Notes: Written for this prompt on the fluff meme. Basically all I want out of these two in the future is (1) delightful awkwardness, and (2) for Blaine to have a vulnerable moment or two (potentially with bonus Kurt BAMF moments).
When Kurt has sent four text messages and received no responses, Blaine hasn't posted anything on Facebook in a day and a half, he doesn't show up at lunch, and then he isn't present for Warblers rehearsal on Thursday afternoon, it becomes clear: something is very, very wrong.
After they've run "Party All the Time" enough times that the idea of returning to 1985 to kneecap Eddie Murphy before he records the original song sounds both appealing and absurdly possible (it is Eddie Murphy-related dementia, Kurt is sure), Kurt takes a deep breath and steps up to the council's table while everybody is collecting their things and saying their goodbyes.
"A moment of your time?" Kurt asks, tightly clutching the strap of his satchel, and Wes slowly lets his hands fall away from the papers he'd been gathering on the table. Kurt thinks that David glances between the two of them, but it's hard to say because he doesn't skip a beat in his conversation with Jeff about the finger-snaps in the chorus.
"Sure," Wes says, genial and smooth. Kurt sometimes suspects that he's a robot. "What's on your mind, Kurt?"
"Do you know why Blaine wasn't here?" And wasn't in the sophomore commons between classes, and hasn't been at his usual table in the library, and didn't call Kurt once today, none of which Kurt will say because he doesn't need to sound like a stalker.
This time, it's obvious when David looks over at them; Kurt immediately wonders, with no small amount of modulated dread, what he's missing. But Wes only looks irritatingly kind, and he says, "He texted me earlier; family emergency, he'll be back Monday. That's all I know."
"Oh," says Kurt quietly, suddenly feeling very small and very self-absorbed for all his half-formed fears that Blaine had been specifically avoiding him. "Thank you."
There isn't really any question of where Kurt is going to go, or what he's going to do. He doesn't stop at his room to drop off his bag or check his hair or say hello to Pavarotti; he goes straight to the third floor of the dormitory.
He does have a moment of hesitation when he's standing in front of the familiar door, knuckles white in his grip on his Cavalli bag. What if Blaine really does want to be left alone? What if Kurt is overstepping their boundaries?
Blaine's hall is pretty busy; it's the hour between dinner and the end of most club meetings/sports practices, so boys are coming and going, shouting cheerfully at each other. Kurt has clearly been spending too much time on this hall, because boy-with-greasy-hair-who-lives-three-doors-down claps him on the shoulder as he passes on the way to the bathroom, and says, very loudly, "Hey Kurt!"
Something clatters inside Blaine's room, the occupant clearly startled.
Kurt's eyes widen dramatically and he raps on the door as fast as he can. Several long seconds pass -- Kurt silently, vindictively promising Unfortunate-Hair a bottle full of shampoo meant for dry hair -- and then the door swings open.
"Hey," says Blaine, leaning in the doorway. He's wearing loose jeans and a plain T-shirt that has seen better days. No shoes, no socks, and he apparently left the gel in the shower caddy this morning; his hair is all soft curl. His eyes are a little red around the rims, but more than anything, he looks and sounds tired.
Kurt's fingers curl tighter around the strap of his bag. He takes a deep breath, and then he asks, as simultaneously matter-of-fact and kind as he can manage: "Are you okay?"
Clearly startled by the question and Kurt's manner, Blaine quickly half-smiles; honestly, he looks like he almost laughs. "Yeah," he says, stepping back out of the doorway. "Yeah; come on in."
The dorm room looks like a bomb went off in it. A bomb filled with shrapnel made by American Apparel and the Gap. (Kurt has slowly been coming to terms with Blaine's out-of-uniform fashion sense. It's a process.) There's a roll-on suitcase spread open in the middle of the floor; it currently contains a maroon tie and a pair of black dress shoes, and nothing else. Piles of clothes -- a suit jacket, jeans, several sweaters, more pairs of shoes -- have been thrown across the floor, Blaine's bed, his roommate's bed, both desks, and even tossed over the curtain rod.
Kurt takes it all in. Under the careful scrutiny, Blaine pulls a rueful, still-tired-looking face. "I know," he says.
"You," Kurt says, setting his bag down on top of a scarf on Blaine's computer chair, "need help."
"I do?" Blaine asks, glancing around his room like he's seeing it for the first time.
"Well," Kurt starts, and then he stops halfway into launching himself into head-bitch-in-charge mode. "If you want help, that is." Blaine just kind of looks at him, still standing by the door that he closed behind them, and Kurt steadfastly remains calm. "When my dad had his heart attack," he begins, and Blaine nods faintly, because his eyebrows may be pulled together into a quizzical frown but he's Blaine and he still remembers everything that Kurt tells him, "everyone either left me utterly to my own devices or they did whatever would make them feel better. All I wanted was for someone to ask what I wanted. So." Kurt puts his hands on his hips, and he asks, "How can I help?"
Blaine stares at him like a deer in the headlights. "Um," he says, finally, and his voice sounds rough. He clears his throat and steps around Kurt, finally coming away from the door. "You were right; I could definitely use some help packing."
"Luckily for you," Kurt says, airy and brisk, neatly rolling up his blazer and shirt sleeves, "you're in the presence of a master."
He laughs, both looking and sounding completely startled, like he's shocked by the fact that Kurt is here and he doesn't really know how to respond to that, and Kurt's heart clenches uncomfortably in his chest.
"You should also feel free to say that what you need is to be left alone, and I'll respect that like I respect anyone who manages to get their hands on Valentino's spring collection six months in advance," Kurt says, taking a half a step back, and Blaine reaches out and grabs his hand. Kurt is trying not to let the fact that he's utterly head-over-heels in love with this boy influence his actions, but it's so hard when Blaine takes his hand and Kurt can feel it right down to his toes.
"No, don't." Blaine doesn't let go of his hand; his palm is hot. "I know I'm not," he half-smiles again and makes a self-deprecating face, "awesome company right now, but if you don't mind..."
As if Kurt could ever mind. As if Blaine could ever be anything less than amazing company. "Wes said there was a family emergency," he says, careful, and Blaine nods a couple times.
"My aunt," he says, and that's all he needs to say.
"Sandra?" Kurt remembers Blaine's mentions of a beloved aunt who was "way cooler" about his coming out than his parents initially were; who was in treatment for stage III pancreatic cancer.
(Blaine isn't the only one who pays attention.)
He nods again, slower this time, and Kurt squeezes his hand really, really hard and lets the silence sit for a minute or two before he says, "We'll have to find that heinous tie that she got you for Christmas."
Blaine's eyes are suddenly too bright and he gives a choked half-laugh and then starts to turn away, clearly embarrassed, and Kurt grabs the back of his neck and pulls him into a hug before he can get very far. So much for letting Blaine decide what he wants. From the way that Blaine sinks against him, though, Kurt is pretty sure that this was the right instinct.
Kurt is a little bit -- a very little bit -- taller and they fit together impossibly well, Blaine a warm and steady weight against him. Blaine tucks his face against Kurt's blazer. Kurt hated it when people told him they were sorry and that things were going to be okay, after his dad's heart attack; he strongly disliked both platitudes even as an eight-year-old, when his mom died. So Kurt holds Blaine, and he rubs his back in tiny circles, and he doesn't say anything.
The door clicks open and Blaine stiffens in Kurt's arms. Blaine's roommate gets one look at the two of them and he shoots Kurt a relieved face and a thumbs-up, then goes back out into the hall, closing the door behind him.
"It was just Pedro," Kurt quietly assures Blaine, who nods without lifting his head.
"I couldn't find it," he finally says, his voice muffled by Kurt's shoulder. "That's why this place looks like a hurricane went through it."
It takes Kurt a couple seconds to realize what he means, and then he smiles. "Again," he says, "you're in the presence of an organizational master. I'll find it. As much as it will pain my fabulous sensibilities to do so."
He feels Blaine's smile curve against his shoulder.
The novelty tie turns up tucked into one of Blaine's shoes in his closet. It's just as hideous as Kurt remembered it, featuring a giant print of a prowling Bengal tiger. Much to Kurt's pleased surprise, Blaine laughs his ass off at both the tie and at Kurt's expression when he's faced with it again.
"My mom's going to freak if I wear this to the funeral," Blaine says, gazing at it fondly.
"From what you've said about her, I suspect that your aunt would love that," Kurt points out, down on his knees and surrounded by neat stacks of clothing, each arranged into one day's outfit.
Blaine laughs again, wrapping the tie around his wrist. "Yeah. She would." Beat. "Would have."
"Right," Kurt says briskly, trying to draw him away from the quieter tone he fell into at the end of that statement. Kurt is all for a healthy grieving process, but as far as he can tell, Blaine has been alone in this room thinking about nothing but sadness and loss for a solid day and a half, while waiting for the weather to clear so that he can fly out. Distractions can't be a bad idea, at this point. "I currently have enough outfits to clothe half the Warblers for a week; how long are you going to be in Philadelphia, and will you have to dress up for the wake as well as the funeral?"
Blaine glances down at him from his perch on his bed, looking startled by the question. "Four days, and I don't know," he admits. "I haven't been to a lot of wakes."
"You should probably be prepared for both contingencies," Kurt decides, and he tucks the staid, thoroughly respectable maroon tie into the suitcase pocket where Blaine has stashed several pairs of socks and the less-respectable tie. "It's perfectly acceptable to wear the same suit twice, but I'll add an extra shirt and tie just in case."
"Kurt," Blaine says, and Kurt already knows what he's going to say, but he glances up anyway; "you really don't have to--" He doesn't finish the sentence; he doesn't have to.
"I want to," he tells him firmly, eyes on Blaine's, and then he holds up a crisply-folded dress shirt in either hand. "Black or white?"
Blaine looks startled when Kurt answers his cell phone on its second ring; even more so when Kurt steps out, saying he'll be right back, and returns with a pizza and a stack of napkins. Kurt puts it down on the bed beside Blaine, flips the box open, hands him the napkins, then goes back to squeezing two pairs of shoes into the suitcase on the floor.
Blaine shoots first the pizza, then Kurt a seriously confused, bemused glance, and he says, "Wait, how did you--?"
"I texted in an order while you were in the bathroom," Kurt says matter-of-factly. "We'll have to leave for the airport within the next 45 minutes, so unfortunately, there weren't many delivery options that didn't involve sauce from a can and overprocessed cheese products."
"The airport?" Blaine asks, frowning. "Kurt, I was going to call a cab--"
Kurt doesn't say anything; he just lifts his eyebrows calmly, a wordless you must be joking (a gentler version of the expression that he perfected last year after hundreds of hours of exposure to Rachel Berry), and after a few seconds, Blaine closes his mouth and then says, "Thank you."
Sixteen minutes after Kurt lifted Blaine's neatly-packed suitcase out of the back of the Navigator and reluctantly left Blaine at the US Airways departures sign, his phone chimes. He's at a red light, stuck in traffic on his way out of Columbus, and he whips his phone out while keeping a wary eye on the brake lights of the truck in front of him.
don't know what i would have done w/out you
Kurt smiles to himself a very tiny bit; glances up to find that traffic doesn't appear to be going anywhere, and he quickly taps out a response.
i seriously hope you're already thru security; that's a lot of effort for nothing if you miss your flight bc you're texting me
His phone chirps again almost immediately.
ha, ha. yes, thru security. just waiting for the plane now.
Somebody honks behind Kurt; he hisses under his breath and tosses his iPhone into the passenger seat, putting the Navigator into gear. He doesn't check his texts again until he has pulled into his usual spot in the Dalton student parking lot and has turned off the car.
thanks kurt.
Kurt smiles quietly at his phone, and then he tells Blaine to text him his return flight details.
Blaine doesn't text him his flight information.
Kurt doesn't actually know that Blaine is back on campus until he hears a knock on Monday night and he gets hauled into a fierce hug after he answers the door.
"Blaine," Kurt says, startled, still feeling the cold on Blaine's jacket as he automatically wraps his arms around him. "When did you get ba--" Blaine draws back; not enough that they have to let go of each other, but enough that Kurt can see his face, and Kurt has about a half a second to realize what's about to happen and to finish, "--ack?" before Blaine is kissing him.
After a couple of seconds, Kurt's roommate quietly clears his throat. Kurt lets go of Blaine long enough to make a fierce gesture at Steven behind his own back, and then he pushes Blaine out into the hall and shuts the door behind them.
Blaine smiles at him, looking tired but bright and pleased and unrepentant (and much better than anyone has a right to look after a weekend at a funeral and a day in airports, and while standing under florescent hallway lighting). Kurt's heart thunders under Blaine's cold hand on his chest, and then he slowly curls his hand around Blaine's forearm and pulls him in again.
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