A/N; Hey everyone! So this was going to be a chapter in my Blaine-centric fic Home is Wherever I'm with You, but when I was writing it, it just kept evolving. It's turned into something much bigger than a little chapter :) I'm going to do a smaller version for Home, maybe where Kurt gets sick or something.
But anyways, here's to my loyal fanbase! Reviews are so much love, and they're the only reason I write more. That, plus my partner in crime, the lovely Ace Please, who is my muse and inspiration.
I do not own Glee...that's probably a good thing.
"There you guys are!" Wes huffed as Kurt and Blaine skidded into the practice room. With a deft push he slid the heavy doors shut behind them. "We were wondering if you'd gotten lost on campus."
"Or drowned," David chipped in from his place in the Warbler line-up. Blaine tried to slip in as unobtrusively as possible, shooting a grin at Kurt. The spry countertenor rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.
"Okay, Warblers, can I have a middle C please?" Wes raised his hands in the ready position, and Blaine mentally centered himself on the phantom note. The Warblers apparently had different ideas of what a middle C was; when Wes lowered his hands, a variety of pitches grated against each other as the boys looked at each other sheepishly.
Wes cleared his throat, apparently restraining himself from rolling his eyes. "Can we, um, try that again?" There was a scattering of embarrassed laughter.
"…and did you see when Reed tripped over that music stand? I thought I was going to fall off the bleachers laughing," Kurt grinned. There was a spring in his step after a successful Warblers rehearsal; he was all but skipping as he and Blaine exited the music building. "Is it still raining? I left my umbrella here just in case. I guess it's just drizzling, but it's not enough that it'll ruin my clothes," Kurt rambled on happily, neglecting to pause for an answer as he ducked outside to check the weather.
Blaine trailed wearily behind him. He had started getting a headache halfway through rehearsal, and the pressure pounding behind his eyes had only increased as he was assaulted by noise. He followed Kurt into the dreary weather, rubbing the bridge of his nose when his friend wasn't looking.
"What are you doing for the rest of the evening?" Kurt continued, cheerily kicking pebbles along the edge of the path.
"Homework, mostly," Blaine answered, or tried to answer. His voice was rough and fading; he cleared his throat and tried again.
Kurt didn't seem to notice. "Do you want me to help you study for French?"
Blaine smiled. "Do you mind? That would be wonderful." There. His voice was still weak, but it wasn't as obvious. The sore throat that had been plaguing him all morning seemed to have teamed up with his headache to inflict as much misery as possible.
You're such a drama queen, Blaine, he scoffed to himself. Chill out. It's just a headache. Pop some Advil and get over it.
"Not at all!" Kurt chirped, sounding for all the world like Pavarotti, Blaine observed with a flicker of amusement. "Do you want me to come by your room later?"
Blaine racked his aching brain, mentally cataloguing his homework load. "Maybe in like two hours? I'll get some other stuff done first."
"Sounds like a plan," Kurt replied, flashing a quick, breathless smile. "I'll see you later!" The sidewalk divided and Kurt skipped off towards his building, leaving Blaine to drag himself to the adjacent senior dorms. Maybe he'd feel better later.
Unfortunately, it was later, and Blaine was not feeling any better. The Advil he had taken immediately upon arrival had only begun to take the edge off his headache, and he was absolutely exhausted. He roused himself from his half-sleep as someone knocked softly on his door and pulled himself out of bed.
"Hey," he smiled as he opened the door to admit Kurt. The countertenor had a stack of French textbooks in his arms. On top he had balanced what looked like two lattes.
"Bon appétit," Kurt quipped, indicating the cups with his chin. Blaine couldn't help but laugh.
"Good god, you're amazing," he sighed, accepting the latte and sipping it gratefully. The warm liquid soothed his throat, taking the edge off the hoarseness that had developed as the evening wore on.
"You seemed pretty beat earlier, so I figured I'd bring you a study incentive," Kurt said, setting the books in the middle of Blaine's floor and sipping his own latte. Blaine rubbed the back of his neck.
"Oh, yeah. I came back to my room and fell asleep," he remarked sheepishly.
"I could tell by your hair," Kurt commented wryly, eyeing Blaine's mussed curls. "All right, ma cher, allons. Conjugate venir in the present, s'il vous plaît." He sank into a tailor's seat, patting the floor across from him.
Blaine flopped onto the floor on the other side of the French texts. "Um…venir…je viens, tu viens, il vient…" he paused, rubbing his eyes. "Nous…viendrons?" He peeked through his fingers at Kurt, who was shaking his head.
"Try again."
"Hmmr." Blaine tilted his head back against his bed. "Nous…" He gave up after a second, gesturing for Kurt to go on.
"Nous venons, Blaine," Kurt supplied, sighing dramatically. "We went over this this morning! Focus, okay?" he prodded him, his eyes gentle.
"Okay, sorry," Blaine mumbled, racking his brain again. "So, nous venons, vous…venez?" He glanced over at Kurt. The countertenor nodded, urging him on. "Um…ils viennent."
"Perfect!" Kurt clapped his hands together. "Cheers." He took his latte cup and clicked it against Blaine's before taking a sip. "Okay, now do the future tense."
Blaine closed his eyes as his headache surged back, throbbing mercilessly behind his eyes. "I have no idea," he sighed after a second, rubbing the bridge of his nose again. Kurt watched him with growing concern.
"Are you okay? You look a little peaky, and you're hoarse," he frowned, nibbling on his lip. Blaine's eyes snapped open.
"Yeah, yeah, sorry. Just a headache." He pulled himself off the floor and retrieved another two Advil. "There," he swallowed them with a flourish. "Let's go back to French."
Kurt watched him suspiciously for another moment before going back to drilling Blaine on his irregular verbs. After a little more than an hour, it was clear that no more was going to get done. Blaine was about to fall asleep where he was sitting, and his voice had faded to a rough whisper. Kurt wasn't convinced when Blaine blamed it on lack of sleep, but he still insisted that they cut their study session short so Blaine could get some rest. The lead Warbler didn't put up much of an argument.
As he said goodnight to Kurt and happily crawled back into bed, Blaine muffled a harsh sneeze in his elbow. Eww, gross. He sniffed roughly and curled into a little ball in the warmth of his blankets, hoping against hope that he could sleep whatever this was off.
"Hey, Blaine? Blaine?"
Blaine stirred in his blanket cocoon. Kurt floated through his dreams, demanding that he get back to studying French so they could find the Yellow Brick Road and meet Gwyneth Paltrow. Blaine was about to tell him politely to buzz off, but the voice kept sliding into his consciousness.
"Blaine!" Someone was pounding on his door. Blaine dragged his eyes open - no easy feat, they felt like sandpaper - and looked around, confused. "Whozzat?" he asked blearily, his voice coming out in a croak.
"Ah, sweet Streisand, you're awake." It was Kurt's voice again. It took Blaine a second to realize that there was an actual Kurt outside his door, not just the (less hot) dream version. The countertenor opened the door a little, allowing a sliver of light to pierce the room. Blaine struggled into a seated position, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"Breakfast starts in a few minutes. Wes and David told me to come drag you out of bed," Kurt explained, moving to the window and opening the curtains. Blaine flinched away from the light.
"I'm sure they did," he grumbled, breaking into coughing as his voice caught. Kurt paused at the windows, glancing over at him.
"Hold on..." He strode to the bed and gently pressed the back of his hand against Blaine's forehead. "Yeah, that's what I thought," he commented, pulling away.
Blaine cocked an eyebrow. "Yes?"
"You're warm, definitely running a fever," Kurt said, pulling a small container of Purell from the pocket of his Dalton blazer and coating his hands. "I knew you looked sick last night." The young countertenor's gaze softened, and he moved to the edge of Blaine's bed again.
"And you're hovering," Blaine remarked. He cleared his throat and just barely kept from wincing. Kurt missed nothing.
"I'll get someone to tell Headmaster Mallory that you won't be in classes today," Kurt's eyes flitted around the room, as if searching for something. "I'll be back in a few minutes - will you be okay by yourself until then?"
Blaine couldn't help but roll his eyes. "I'm fine, Kurt, just hoarse. Probably from Warblers practice. I don't need to miss classes so close to mid-terms." He made as if to rise from his bed, stopping as Kurt gently put a hand on his chest. God, that feels good, the less up-tight side of Blaine sighed, all but purring.
"Blaine." Kurt nailed him sharply with his gaze. "You're not going anywhere." He pressed him gently back until Blaine was lying down again, staring up at the ceiling. "Seriously. You're running a fever - would you rather get everyone else sick? Would you rather get worse and miss mid-terms?"
He had a point, and now that he mentioned it, Blaine did feel pretty awful. His head felt like it was full of cotton, and his throat was burning. Basically felt like he'd been run over by a truck.
"You might have the flu, it's been going around Dalton. Wes and David were both out last week." Kurt continued talking, and Blaine closed his eyes, letting the sound of his voice wash over him. Maybe going back to sleep wouldn't be so bad after all.
When he reopened his eyes, the room was dark. Holy carp, did I sleep through the entire day? Blaine sat up, a little panicked. But it was just his curtains, drawn over the windows to block out the daylight. A thin spear of light filtered through beneath them. Blaine glanced over at his clock; just after eleven. The dark-haired tenor leaned back against his pillows with a groan.
It seemed Kurt had gone to class - he saw a note next to his bed in his friend's meticulous handwriting. Blaine leaned out as far as he could without tumbling onto the floor and just barely managed to snag the paper.
Be back at 12:03 p.m. :)
Kurt x
Blaine's eyes lingered on the little 'x.' It was a little smeared, like Kurt had drawn his hand across it and tracked the ink. He smiled. 12:03 p.m. couldn't come soon enough.
Revieeeew! And I'll love yew :3