Blaine wasn't sure what he was expecting when Kurt had told him that his room was "a complete mess", but he'd offered to help with spring cleaning anyway. What he hadn't expected was the sight that actually met him when Kurt opened the door to his bedroom with an apologetic frown on his face.
From what the shorter boy could see, the room was immaculate. The bed was unmade, sure, and a few notebooks were scattered across a nearby desk, but really the room was nowhere near the train wreck Kurt appeared to think it resembled.
"We've just been rehearsing like mad for Nationals and I haven't had time to straighten it up after that," he was saying, and Blaine nodded politely while attempting not to laugh.
"So… Is this it, or did you just throw everything in the closet before I came over?"
"That's sort of the problem," Kurt said sheepishly, smiling. "I did throw everything into the closet, and now the stuff I actually need to try and sort through is buried." He opened the door to his (massive, Blaine noted) closet, which did look as though a train had barreled through it. The hanging clothing was untouched, carefully arranged to avoid the piles of miscellaneous stuff jumbling around their hems. Kurt reached in and grabbed a few spare pillows, throwing them in the direction of the bed.
"You realize if you throw everything like that we'll just end up cleaning your room three or four times, right?" Blaine asked with a grin, retrieving the pillow and setting it on the duvet.
The next one smacked him upside the head.
He met Kurt's look of mock irritation with another grin. "Payback for the beach ball?"
The taller boy nodded. "Payback for the beach ball. Now come help me with this stuff."
Kurt's bed was quickly buried under boxes, toward the head of the bed lay the ones to be left alone, toward the foot to be sorted through. They filled the room with idle chitchat as they worked, discussing school and family, Blaine suppressing a laugh every time Kurt would snatch a box and glance into it before allowing him to handle it.
During one such sneak-and-peek session Burt's voice hollered up the stairs, causing his son to jump and drop the box he'd been holding. "Hey kiddo, Carole wants to ask you something!"
"Okay Dad, I'll be down in a second!" Kurt called, moving to pick up the dropped items. Blaine had beat him there, though, and their hands landed simultaneously on a woolen scarf. They smiled broadly, laughing a little.
"You go ahead, I'll pick this up."
"And?" Kurt prodded, tugging the accessory from Blaine's palm.
"And I promise not to look in any other boxes until you come back," he said, taking the scarf back from Kurt with a laugh. The blue-eyed boy chuckled a bit and disappeared out the door, a slight bounce in his step.
Blaine shook his head, smile wide on his face, and returned to finding the scattered objects. A few inches from where the scarf had fallen lay a small video camera, which the Warbler picked up carefully. "Careful about your gadgets, aren't you?" he mumbled admiringly, figuring the camera had been wrapped in the scarf to afford it some protection.
As he turned the small device over in his hands, he accidentally brushed a few buttons, popping open the side display and setting its memory to play.
"I need no permission. Did I mention? Don't pay him any attention."
Blaine nearly dropped the camera. The screen that had flicked to light showed Brittany and Tina, dressed in dancers' leotards, dancing around… Kurt. Who was also wearing a leotard, pants that must have been painted on, and a sequined vest. And he was moving - dear God, he was moving perfectly to the song.
He should have turned it off as soon as the song started, but now, now he couldn't even remember how to work the damn thing. The only thing he could comprehend was Kurt dancing to Beyonce's voice, and his hips in those pants -
A terrified squeak from the doorway tore his attention away from the tiny screen, and wide hazel eyes were met with wider blue. "What are you doing?" Kurt demanded, one hand gripping the doorframe for dear life.
"I just - it was - it fell and when I picked it up it started and… and then I couldn't remember how to turn it off…"
"You couldn't remember?" Kurt responded, crossing the room and ripping the camera from his boyfriend's hands, stuffing it back into the scarf. "Just hit the same button!"
"There were more important things to think about at the time than how to turn off a camera," Blaine answered, forcing down a grin and pinning Kurt with a stare.
"Like what?"
"Like trying to think of a way to convince you to show me those moves in real life," he said.
Kurt's expression went straight from pissed to confused embarrassment. He thought for half a second, wiped his expression clean, and deadpanned, "No."
Blaine's confidence wavered, his own face suddenly the one confused. "Why not?"
"If you really want to learn it, you could ask Finn."
"Finn?"
"Oh yes, the football team performed that at a game last year," Kurt quipped, smiling sweetly. "Didn't I tell you that?"
"Yeah, I think," Blaine said. "But you were kicker, you weren't in at the time…"
Kurt smirked, placing the scarf-wrapped camera back into a box and setting it conveniently over Blaine's shoulder, bringing him into the other boy's personal space. "That's because I had my own version, which is not recorded anywhere, and which you will never see unless you swear not to tell anyone about that tape."
"I promise!" There wasn't even a second's hesitation. Kurt laughed and returned to the closet, sifting more carefully through a few boxes, cutting off the shorter boy's next question by asking what Carole had originally called him downstairs for - whether Blaine would be staying for dinner. "I can if you want me to," he answered.
Kurt rolled his eyes at a box of old Christmas cards, turning around again. "Of course I want you to. I'm not going to kick you out over that tape."
"Are there others you might?" Blaine joked back, relaxing again.
A wicked smirk curved Kurt's lips. "None that you'll ever find."