There was a knock at the door. I turned abruptly and tea splashed from my mug onto my hands like a prickling tongue of fire. I inhaled through my teeth as I quickly went to the door, my head swirling. Some niggling sensation at the back of my mind told me that I was crazy answering the door in my pajamas at that late hour. There came another knock: short and percussive. Not urgent, but more impatient than the last.
"Coming!" I shouted irritably. My hand reached for the doorknob and it swung open with a squeak of complaint.
"Blaine?" His form was dark in contrast to the poorly-lit hallway outside my flat and his dark curly mass of hair was in disarray. The swing of the door brought a sudden waft of stale odor, no doubt, alcohol, punctuated by the rich smell of his leather jacket. He stumbled forward, catching himself on the wall, his shoulders hunched.
"Blaine?" I said, placing a hand on the center of his chest, pushing him upright like some kid's ragdoll. "Are you drunk?"
"I couldn't... Kurt, I… I had to…" His mouth struggled around the words, his eyes scrunching as he tried to focus. How in the world did he even make it in and out of the elevator? I folded my arms around his chest and tried to drag him to somewhere he couldn't hurt himself. I grunted as he tripped and all his weight fell towards me. He caught himself on my shoulders, his prickly cheek against the side of my mouth. Blaine's drunken breath whispered past my ear, tickling the most delicate nerves in my system.
"Kurt…" he moaned. I was fighting off a shiver as his soft mouth made contact with my collarbone. My brain was spinning and it hurt to keep my eyes open. Why can't everything just stop spinning for a second?
"Blaine," I said softer, with less authority. I could feel my muscles grow weak as my willpower crumbled away. My arm was folded between us and my palm was against his beating heart. I used that leverage to shift his weight and by some maneuver he landed on the couch with a soft whoosh.
"I had to… My…" He was still mumbling, slurring his words. He was trying to balance on the edge of the couch like he was going to fall off. I had to do something. I sat opposite him on the floor, my hands on his knees.
"Listen to me. Blaine, listen," I looked into his dark eyes, perfect reflections of my troubled face.
"Why are you here? How did you get here? I thought you were going home after the party," His face came closer, his eyes shadowed by dark eyebrows. Our foreheads met with a soft graze of skin and I smelt his alcohol-laden breath. My breathing became shallow as a strange warm feeling came sneaking up from my stomach.
"I couldn't keep…. I couldn't," He couldn't get his words out in an urgent attempt to tell me… something.
"Couldn't what?" Our breath mixed together in a fusion of sweet and sour, making the hairs on my forearms stand to attention like a small army of keratin soldiers.
"Couldn't keep away… from you, Kurt. I…" His voice trailed off again, his eyes pulling away from my gaze, his head sinking to my shoulder. What was I doing? My thoughts were too slow to react, my brain panicking but my body just sitting there.
"I want you… so bad," His eyes were locked back on mine, those big eyes. His brow was furrowed and his eyes filled with drunken tears. Drunk. He's drunk. People always talk crap when they're drunk.
"I… need you, Kurt," He was toppling towards me, breaths coming in rasps. As he fought to stay awake, I fought my urge to kiss him. Kiss him? Wait, what? This is Blaine, he's just my friend and he's drunk. Even if I did feel for him that way, I couldn't take advantage of him like that. I pushed him backwards, a sturdy palm on his chest and he collapsed sideways on the couch. Without letting my brain interfere, I grabbed an extra blanket from the closet and hastily threw it over the lump on my sofa. In my living room… in my apartment. What the hell had just happened? I knew one thing for sure; that kid's gonna have a hell of a hangover.