Fic: Cheesecake, Pizza and Cough Drops
Rating: PG (some language)
Pairing: Klaine (with significant mentions of Adam)
Word Count: 4,500++
Notes: Giant pieces of plot shamelessly stolen from the film Saved!
Summary: While suffering through a cold, Kurt figures out what he wants, and what he needs
The tickle in his throat comes late Thursday afternoon, picking up fabric swatches for Isabelle. Managing NYADA on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays with on Tuesdays and Thursdays was – challenging, but Kurt was managing. Managing better, maybe, even than he had in the fall. Persistent, the tickle doesn't relent no matter how many times he makes himself swallow or cough between subway stations so he stops for a hot herbal tea instead of his usual at the Starbucks adjacent to the office.
Manuela, the Monday-Wednesday intern was a godsend, but Seth the Friday temp was hopeless – a nephew of someone in the Higher Up who still had trouble with the copier ten weeks in. Thankfully, Seth was too occupied focusing his attention on beating his high score on Bejeweled II to realize Manuela and Kurt had near circumnavigate any involvement of him in the various projects they were responsible for, often conveniently 'forgetting' to CC him on all important emails. It was annoying – anything Kurt didn't put specifically in Manuela's file on Thursday afternoon, or heaven forbid left for Seth with a "please call X and confirm Isabelle contract lunch on Tuesday," note would be sure to be either lost, thrown away or confirmed for Thursday, not Tuesday because after all both days started with T.
Thankfully, Seth was useful for one thing – keeping Isabelle's hard candy jar replenished and Kurt's tickle-turned-sore throat was grateful for the watermelon Jolly Rancher at six o'clock when his to-go cup of tea had long been emptied. At six thirty-two his phone rang – Rachel.
"Hi I wanted to tell you I've been invited on this very prestigious "Women of NYADA" acting camping retreat this weekend upstate and obviously it was only a matter of time before the upperclasswomen noticed my immense talent and I'm at the store buying a new sleeping bag because I think Santana had sex in mine last weekend and I don't have time to get it dry cleaned and – what do you think: LL Bean Women's Mummy in Colbalt or is a mummy sleeping bag too morbid or –"
"–Hello to you too, Rachel," cuts in Kurt finally. "I didn't know 'Women of NYADA' was even a thing."
"Well, apparently it was only created this semester but I think it's going to be amazing and next year I'm going to be the president."
"I'm sure. When does this camping trip start, and where exactly are you going?"
"We're leaving tonight – oh Kurt it's so exciting, I mean, I never made it a whole night at Girl Scout camp but I think I've really matured since then - as long as they don't expect me to pee in the woods, but back to the main issue Kurt – Mummy sleeping bag or no mummy sleeping bag?"
"No on the Mummy sleeping bag I think, I mean – if it were a fall camping trip maybe but seeing as it's the middle of May…"
"Yeah I'm trying it out right now and it is sort of weird – oh Kurt I have to go the sales guy is looking at me funny I don't think I'm supposed to be testing out the floor model – oh, hello sir I was just –," with a click the phone hangs up. Giving himself a little shake to ease some of the tension in his shoulders, Kurt begins organizing the various projects he'd been working on, making sure to put the important photos from the Gisele shoot into the folder labeled "Accounting' to ensure Seth wouldn't peek at them and screw up their order the following day. He grabs another Jolly Rancher – green apple – on his way out the door, sliding open his phone in the elevator.
To Adam: Good luck on your audition this weekend!
He slides his phone into his messenger bag and offers a wave to the doorman, sucking on the Jolly Rancher whose corn-syrup tinged relief doesn't quite reach the back of his itchy throat. His phone vibrates twice in his bag as he slides his metro card into the turnstile but there's no reception on the subway so he can't do more than read the two text message that have come in within seconds of each other.
From Blaine: Thanks for the tip for Stage III of the 'Take Down Coach Sylvester" mission – it was perfect! How'd you know?
From Adam: Thanks! I'm sad to be away all weekend but pretty excited!
It was starting to get ridiculous how Blaine and Adam seemed to always text him at the same time – sure it might have something to do with the fact that he texted them more than anyone else he knew – Rachel and his dad preferred calling and Finn was Facebook message guy more than anything, but still.
Adam had told him on Tuesday he'd been invited to audition for a small supporting role in a new cop drama in LA and would be out of town all weekend. Kurt was pretty excited for him – Adam loved the Apples but acting was his main passion and he was good at it. The show would be filmed in New York, but auditions were in LA and with all of the agent-related stuff he'd left on his flight at noon that day. They'd had dinner together last night and it was nice, as all of their dates were. Santana had interrupted, bursting in the door swearing wildly in Spanglish after running afoul of her new girlfriend's homophobic sister, before anything too scandalous could happen. Adam, still pretty terrified of Santana, had kissed Kurt goodnight and goodbye for the weekend shortly after that.
After living in New York City nearly nine months, Kurt was pretty used to the bump-whir of the subway but today it was giving him a headache. And his throat hurt. He better not be getting sick. How could he be getting sick? He never gets sick and it's the middle of May for heaven's sake. Nah, it'd been a long week – lots of singing and dance rehearsal for both class and the Apples and a million fires to put out at . A good night sleep and he'd be fine.
"Shit Hummel, did you go to a reverse-tanning booth?" is Santana's way of greeting when he enters the loft and spots her on the couch. With a long suffering sigh Kurt answers without looking up at her,
"What are you talking about Santana?"
"You look like a chalk outline." Annoyed but concerned, Kurt puts down his bag and crosses the loft to get to the mirror in the bathroom. He does look extra pale – even for him. Shit.
"So what's the deal Hummel, one of those fancy beauty products have bleach in it?" Kurt clears his throat, wishing he had another Jolly Rancher.
"I think I have allergies or something. Which is weird because I've never had them before but this is spring in a new city ri-ri-ri achoo!" The sneeze interrupts Kurt's reassurances to himself.
"Fuck. You're not sick, are you?" Santana turns to give him a hard look, her eyebrow raised in the reflection of the bathroom mirror.
"Good Lord I hope not." He turns from her and shuts the bathroom door and turns on the shower. He sneezes three more times before the water is warm enough to get in. Fuck.
A hot shower returns some of the color to his face and after getting through his whole moisturizing routine without sneezing Kurt thinks he might be in the clear after all.
"I think I'm okay," he calls out into the living room but no one answers. Pulling on his robe, Kurt steps out of the bathroom and glances around the empty apartment. No Santana. Okay – bye, apparently. Kurt retreats to his room to pull on some underwear and a t-shirt when he notices the sticky note on his dresser:
"Snot's not exactly my favorite bodily fluid so I'm going to crash with Charlie for the weekend. I'm sure Yentl is a much better nurse than me. I'll bring you a bottle of mint schnapps on Sunday – clear out those sinuses. XX
- Auntie Tana"
Kurt almost ruins the note by getting precisely the body fluid in question on it as a massive sneeze overtakes him. Ugh. Well, it looks like Rachel didn't tell Santana about the Ladies of NYADA retreat and….it looks like he'll be alone in the apartment this weekend.
Kurt tries to think if he's been alone in the apartment for any more than a couple of hours since he first moved in – he doesn't think so. It would be nice, except, if he is sick (and he's not convinced he is damn it) – it'd also be the first time in his life he's been sick without his dad or anyone there with him. But he's not sick, not really. It might be nice to have some soup though. After retrieving his things from the bathroom Kurt slides open his phone again. Four new texts.
From Blaine: Really? April Rhodes told you that? I'm sad I never met her but that's a cool coincidence that she's in New York now. I hope you had a good day today, btw.
From Mercedes: [picture message] LOOK where we got to perform today!
From Adam: XO I'll call you tomorrow
From Carole: Surgery got moved from June 12th to the 10th. NOT a big deal, so don't worry, just fyi. We'll talk to you Sunday night like usual. Love you.
To Blaine: I have to tell you about when April was in Glee Club my sophomore year and I threw up on poor Miss Pillsbury's shoes sometime. My day was pretty good, but I'm tired. How was Glee?
To Mercedes: That's amazing! Jealous of that gorgeous view and delighted for you honey.
To Adam: TTYL XO
To Carole: What, is the DR going on vacation or something? OK. I'll talk to you guys on Sunday. Love to you and Dad.
He puts his phone down and looks at it for a full five seconds for remembering why he picked it up in the first place – to check his balance at his bank. Ouch. Okay, no take out tonight. Off to the kitchen to make some easy lime-pepper beef ramen soup.
Two hours later Kurt wakes up on the couch with a bowl of stone-cold, half-eaten soup on the coffee table and a Murphy Brown DVD playing on the television. Bleary-eyed and cotton mouthed, Kurt thinks it's probably time for bed and haphazardly puts everything away before taking Bruce out of his case and falling into bed.
There's a rock on his chest and water in his ears so Kurt's lest than enthused to fish his cell phone out from under his pillows and turn off his alarm when 7AM comes much too quickly. His throat burns. Yep, he's sick – it's official. He also has class in an hour and a half and can't miss it. Great. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb from the sing-off are still following him around and they'll be sure to call him out if he looks anything less than his best, so Kurt drags himself out of bed and into the bathroom to get ready for the day, glad for his emergency concealer – usually reserved for hickey-cover up, but useful enough in de-Caspering him this morning. At least his hair and outfit look good.
Another small favor of the day is that Friday means only one class, and history of the Theatre at that, where Kurt can sit and stare into space and try to pretend he doesn't feel worse by the minute. The minutes tick by so slowly Kurt almost has himself convinced the clock is going two minutes forward, one minute back but finally, finally two and a half coughing fits later class is over and he can go.
Kurt thinks about calling his dad. He thinks about calling Blaine. He thinks about calling Adam. He turns his phone on silent and walks to the drug store closest to his apartment and picks up cold medicine, cough drops, Gatorade, tissues and orange juice. The cheery teeny-bobber cashier pouts at him to 'feel better' as she rings up his order but he can't manage more than a brief jerky nod in her direction as thanks. With his shopping bag in one hand and messenger bag on his opposite shoulder he makes one more stop, the pastry shop by his house.
He eyes the contents of the cheesecake display while the bored-looking employee behind the counter reads a magazine.
"Um," he starts lamely.
"What can I get you ma'am?" he asks without looking up from his magazine. Kurt rolls his eyes, but stops half way through because they're swollen and it hurts. He coughs. Magazine looks up, startled.
"Oh, sorry, sir. What can I get for you, sir?" Kurt closes his eyes to subside the pounding in his head, trying to get the words out.
"Um, can I get a slice of the chocolate marshmallow swirl and – no wait the lemon raspberry and, oh but that one looks good too….um, sorry – can I just have the half-pie sampler?" He's sick – this is no time to be stingy in the cheesecake department.
"Yeah, okay dude," Magazine answers, turning to pick up a box.
His arms feel like lead by the time he finally gets back to the apartment and unceremoniously dumps his packages onto the kitchen table. He picks up a banana from their fruit bowl and unpeels it quickly, he's not even hungry but he needs something in his stomach so he can take the meds. Banana eaten, meds taken, Cheesecake in fridge and it's time for another shower to soak up the temporary relief of unclogged nasal passageways. He feels sleepy and loose by the time the hot water goes and it's time to get out. Slathering a quick layer of moisturizer on his face Kurt laboriously pulls on pajamas and boots up his computer.
Santana would shoot him if she knew. Hell, he'd shoot himself under normal circumstances. But he's sick alone in his apartment and these are desperate times. Back in his bedroom he boots up his computer and pulls up the 'online-ordering page' for Dominos and quickly taps out his order – a large, plain cheese pizza and clicks the delivery button.
Most people eat chicken soup and maybe grilled cheese when they're sick. Kurt certainly wouldn't say no to grilled cheese and chicken soup, but he's been eating pizza and cheesecake when he is sick with anything other than the stomach bug since his mother died. He'd come down with a double ear infection only a month after Elizabeth passed and he'd screamed and cried at the pain and the loneliness of not having his mommy with him until Burt – worn our and still grieving heavily – near hysterically begged Kurt "What do you want? What can I do?" and Kurt had demanded pizza and plain cheesecake with cherries on top.
Burt thought he remembered something about dairy not being great when you're sick but he was desperate and Kurt was miserable already so Burt ordered the pizza and paid the driver a nice tip to stop by the little restaurant that sold cheesecake and other desserts and pick up a slice on the way to his house. Kurt only ate a half of a slice and a few bites of cheesecake but was calmer and, well, maybe not happier, but less miserable than he'd been in three days so Burt chalked it up as a win. The combo had stuck and Kurt requested the treats every time he'd been sick ever since.
Kurt watched the Delivery Order Tracker progress bar move along the screen and downed a glass of Gatorade. He was already so tired, had he run a marathon that morning and forgotten? The apartment's too quiet. He misses Rachel. He misses Santana.
He thinks about calling his dad, or Carole. He thinks about calling Blaine. He thinks about calling Adam. Phone in hand when it starts buzzing, still on silent from earlier, but it wasn't Burt or Blaine or Adam – it's just the delivery guy.
Two slices of slowly eaten pizza (it's hard to eat when you can't breathe out your nose) and one slice of lemon-raspberry cheesecake and he's alone again, bored.
It's lonely. He puts the Wicked soundtrack on full blast and drinks a glass of orange juice. He checks his phone – Adam should be calling soon. They'd been dating – officially for about six weeks, and it was nice. Really, truly, nice. It felt good. He wondered what Adam would be like if he was here while Kurt was sick. He'd probably be lovely, at Kurt's beck and call. Kurt could have sent him out for cough drops, cheesecake and pizza and Adam would have happily gone.
Then again, so would have Blaine.
Or Finn, really – or Rachel, if you let her pick out the cheesecake flavor
Or anyone who cared about him.
Kurt frowns, hmm.
Adam wouldn't have known to get him his special treats, but Kurt could have told him. Blaine didn't even know about them from experience, Kurt was so rarely sick, he'd only heard about it in the story Kurt had told him while Blaine was recovering from the Warbler Slushy Fiasco.
Kurt pops another cough drop into his mouth and when Adam calls, Kurt lets him direct the conversation, excitedly telling him how the audition process is going. Adam notices Kurt sounds off, but it feels – wrong – and Kurt doesn't tell him he's sick, he just say's he's tired. Long week. He can feel Adam's frown through the phone but Adam doesn't push, just tells Kurt he'll see him on Sunday and hopes he has a good weekend.
They hang up and Kurt yawns, long and luxurious. He makes a cup of tea, throws away the mountain of tissues that've piled up in just a few hours, and climbs into bed, exhausted. Bruce is there to wrap him up and Kurt pulls him tight around him. It's comforting. He slips, and falls, and dreams. Nightmare – feeling like his throat's being stepped on and he wakes up coughing, quick to tear up and without even realizing he's upset he's crying, hiccupping and crying into the pillow. He wrenches himself up and looks at the clock, 7:30PM. Shuffling onto his feet he walks barefoot on the cold wood to the kitchen, more medicine, another few swigs of Gatorade and he's calmer. He's okay.
A cold slice of pizza and a glass of orange juice constitute dinner. His muscles ache, a massage would be so nice right now. He feels phantom, piano-trained fingertips on his shoulders. Shivers. He stretches, scratches his itchy throat and trots over to the bathroom to apply a layer of Neosporin to his red, chapped, nose. Ouch. An episode of Murder, She Wrote later and it's time for bed again.
Saturday he wakes up feeling worse than Friday and groans pitifully into his pillow. He barely makes it to the kitchen and back with his plate before collapsing back in bed – what a work out. It's all he can do to choke down half a piece of (delicious, he's sure) Almond Joy cheesecake and a cup of Earl Grey before pushing them onto the corner of his end table and falling back to sleep
He surfaces long enough to brush his teeth –which feel disgusting – shower, and check his phone.
From Satan: Still Alive?
From Adam: Miss you; hope you're having a good day!
From Isabelle: Thx for sending me your latest sketch – it's divine kiddo
He eats a bowl of Rooster-O's and another banana and takes a full ten minutes to tap out replies to everyone. The effort of it is enough to break a sweat, but that may be the fever talking. Time for some acetaminophen.
Kurt realizes just after the sun goes down he is running out of tissues and will have to go back to the store or rely on toilet paper which –thanks Rachel – looks like they're nearly out of anyway. Thank god for fabulous, identity-hiding hats.
Tissues and toilet paper secured and Kurt's back on the couch, wild Saturday night ahead of him with more pizza (and a side of cherry tomatoes, leave him alone) and an email alert on his phone from Blaine.
"Kurt,
Happy Saturday! I hope you're having a fun weekend. I would normally call you but Sam and I are at our STAKEOUT (!) and I can't talk. I just wanted to tell you that I checked in on Burt and Carole yesterday, and he looks good Kurt. Really, he does. Just like you asked, I checked and he's still eating that organic oatmeal you got him – no slim jims and soda for breakfast. Apparently, the peach jam you and I made last summer makes the stuff palatable. Be sure and thank Ms. Rhodes for her awesome tip – the Blam mission is almost complete.
Anyway, I hope you're having a good weekend and I will talk to you soon. Plus I'll see you soon! Getting excited and nervous for the NY NYADA audition. Plane tickets bought, hotel booked and song selection narrowed (see attachment for song choices but I know you're busy so we can talk about them later).
Take care.
Love,
Blaine."
Kurt smiles at his phone, but his fingers are too tired to reply right away. He chuckles to himself lightly. He doesn't really need Blaine to check in on his dad – I mean, Carole's there and Finn now most of the time, but there's…there's just something nice about it and he just wants it so he asked and almost every week Blaine sends him an update. It's comforting. The moment is interrupted by another coughing fit and the call for more tea and medicine and then Bruce is calling for him and it's time to sleep. Time to sleep, but it evades him for a good few hours – leaving Kurt with nothing to do but think. When he does fall asleep he dreams about fake-id's and drag queen's named Velma and parking lot arguments. He wakes up at 3am. Get's a glass of water. Pees. Falls back to sleep. Dreams about his friend Pavarotti, peaceful, soaring.
Sunday morning sunshine pours through his curtains and Kurt blinks away, eyes puffy and crusty but he wipes them with his palm and sits up. His lips are chapped, but he can sort of breathe out of one nostril so that's progress. Ugh, the sad left over piece of Almond Joy cheesecake is still sitting on the end table. Gross. Dishes, more medicine, orange juice, and toast for breakfast. Five episodes of the Golden Girls. A shower. Follow up text to Isabelle about new sketches and designs and a warning that Seth's aunt will be visiting next Friday so they should try to make him look busy that day. Adam texts him that his plane is leaving LA soon.
To Adam: Can we meet for coffee when you get back tonight? If you're not to tired?
To Kurt: Never too tired for you. Sure thing. Starbucks on 23rd? 7?
To Adam: I'll be there.
He checks his temperature, no fever. Good. His color is a little better too. If his nose would stop looking like a sun-burned Rudolph he'd be in a good place. He takes another nap, showers again, goes through the long version of his moisturizing routine.
He agonizes over his closet. What do you wear to break up with someone?
***Two Weeks Later***
Blaine's surprised that just Kurt is there to meet him at the airport but Kurt explains that Rachel and Santana are having an epic argument about curling irons and couldn't tear themselves away. Kurt asks if Blaine wants to get coffee before they drop off his stuff at his hotel and Blaine was never really one to refuse him, anyway.
"So, two weekends ago I had the worst cold I've had since I was a kid while Santana, Adam and Rachel were away –," Kurt starts.
"– You were sick? Kurt why didn't you tell me? I would have –," Blaine interrupts. Kurt cocks his head to the side.
"Would have what? Sent me chicken soup through the mail?" Blaine looks down at his lunch, slightly sheepish.
"I would have done anything, to make you feel better." Kurt smiles at that, he can't help it – and he knows it's true. Blaine l, oves him, he loves Blaine - that never changed, hasn't changed for him, not really since his Junior Prom.
"I know that, I know that," Kurt assures him. "Just, let me finish – okay?" Blaine nods.
"I was sick as hell, and alone in the apartment and I've never not had my dad – or, more recently, you – I've never not had at least one of you around when I'm sick, to get me whatever I need," Blaine looks pained, like he's dying to interrupt. Kurt holds up his hand to stop him and continues, "and you know what?" He goes on before Blaine can answer, "I was okay. I lived. I hauled ass over to the drug store and got medicine and took it and rested and got better."
"But it was actually kind of nice, you know, being alone in the apartment? I love New York, but there is always so much noise constantly and then Rachel and Santana are always there, which I love them too but it's…a lot sometimes," Blaine nods and keeps quiet, but looks cautious. "Being alone, even if I felt like my brain was stuffed with marshmallows – well, it gave me time to think, really, really think." Kurt pauses, looks at his hands, takes a sip of his coffee, swallows.
"I broke up with Adam when he came back from his audition in LA." Blaine's eyes widen and it looks like he might actually be biting his inner cheek but he doesn't speak, his eyes urging Kurt on. "He's great, a lovely, fun, kind person – but as much as I felt like I needed him to move forward – I just didn't want the same thing from him that he wanted from me."
"When you and I broke up, it felt like the world ended. Like, how could I go on after being hurt so deeply? Could I even make it if I was alone? Being sick, feverish and mountain of tissues and cold medicine wrappers and by myself in that big apartment with a runny nose and itchy watery eyes, well it proved to me I could. Blaine – I don't want to be with someone because I need them, that I can't function without them or what they can do for me, I want to be with someone because I want them," pausing, Kurt looks up and Blaine looks like he's on the verge of tears or bolting from his seat or both so Kurt takes his hand in his own. "And I want you. I always want you. I love you. I want you, now, forever and always, I want you." He pauses and clears his throat, nervous. Blaine stares at him.
"Even, after….everything?"
"We have both made mistakes and I am certain we'll make many, many more in the future but there's no one I want to fuck up and try again with more than you. I want you. That is, if you'll still have me."
Blaine's watery happy choked laugh bubbles out of him even as he lunges across the small booth, tipping over the fake flowers and vase, and seals his mouth to Kurt's pushing his tongue inside and kissing him long and deep.
"Is that a yes?" Kurt asks softly when the finally break to breathe.
"That's a yes. I love you so much, Kurt." Kurt leans forward and plants a soft kiss to Blaine's cheek before reaching for his bag.
"Let's get out of here."
-End-