You've got four and twenty hours
Just one day to prove to me
That your love has got the power
Make me believe
Valentine's Day.
You either love it or you hate it – there is no inbetween.
Blaine was most definitely the former. He was a hopeless romantic, and he lived day to day enjoying the little moments and appreciating the smallest of gestures. So when there was an entire day dedicated to nothing but love, love, love, you can bet your last pair of socks he was all for it.
It was, by far, his favorite holiday. He thought there was something really great about a day when people are encouraged to lay it all on the line and say to somebody those special words: I'm in love with you.
In fact, that's what he was thinking about right now.
He'd woken up early – earlier than he ever had – and lay staring at the ceiling. The form of the man next to him slept on peacefully, totally undisturbed by Blaine's restlessness. He lay on his side, watching the other man sleep. Occasionally he'd reach over and push back a stray strand of hair, tucking it back in place, or pull the sheets up to keep his partner warm.
Those three words kept tumbling around in his mind - I love you, I love you, I love you. They were easy enough to think, but saying them aloud was the real challenge. Blaine would mutter them to himself in practice, but the syllables always got twisted and caught in his throat. He was determined to get them out on this: the most romantic day of the year. This would be the year he told somebody that he was in love with them.
He was starting to toss and turn, fidgeting nervously - sleep was evading him. When the clock told him it was finally an acceptable hour to be awake, he snuck out of bed and down the stairs to the kitchen.
He busied himself by making breakfast for his wonderful boyfriend. That's what he kept telling himself. He kept reminding himself of all the great times they'd had together – every single asset and quirk that he'd catalogued in his mind and adored. Every moment he'd ever felt like saying those words, but never had the guts; always shying away and settling for a "You're amazing" or "What did I do to deserve you?"
He made pancakes, he made bacon and eggs, he squeezed some fresh orange juice and even put a single rose on the tray. When everything was artfully arranged, he took the tray and started back up the stairs with care. He made sure not to make any noise as he set the tray down on the bedside table, clearing a space for it.
The other man twitched, sighed and turned over to face away from him, but he didn't wake up. Blaine released the breath he'd been holding with a whoosh and retreated to the bathroom to make himself presentable.
His curly hair was a mess, but there was no time to fix that without jumping in the shower and making a huge racket. He wet his fingers and patted it down as best he could. He peeked out the bathroom door to make sure he wasn't being too loud. He brushed his teeth and surveyed himself in the mirror.
He was still wearing only his boxers – ironically the cheesy kind that were dark red with light pink hearts everywhere. Hey, don't judge him - they were on sale and he really needed some underwear at the time. He thought they'd be a nice touch of humor, but now he was rethinking his choice. But if he changed his boxers then that fact wouldn't go unnoticed and he'd appear overeager.
He definitely didn't want that.
So he just left them as they were. He was going to do something about the sleep in his eyes but he heard someone groaning from the other room.
His heart was racing. This was it: this was the moment. He'd had it planned down to a T and this was it. He took a deep breath and walked back into the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed as the other man rolled over and pulled a pillow over his head with a groan.
"Do I have to get up?" came the predictable morning question.
Blaine laughed nervously. "Yes, you do. But if it helps, I made you breakfast."
He heard the other man inhale through his nose and mumble an approval. "That's one incentive to get up."
Blaine grabbed his hand, causing the other man to peep out from under his pillow. The familiar glimmer in his light eyes gave Blaine strength to speak. Of course, he'd orchestrated an entire elaborate, mushy speech, but all those words he'd planned to say shot straight out of his head. So he just said what he felt.
"Jeremiah," he began, trying to hide the tremor in his hand.
"Blaine," Jeremiah prompted.
"We've been dating for over a year and you're…perfect," Blaine said. "You're patient with me and kind. You always call when you say you will and you treat me well. I'll admit when we met it wasn't…orthodox," he admitted with a laugh. Jeremiah snorted, but didn't interrupt. "But being with you has made this past year the best year of my life. And I just wanted to tell you…" He took a deep breath. "I wanted to say…I love you."
Then they were out there. The words were just floating around out there and Blaine didn't know if he wanted to snatch them up and stuff them back into his mouth or not. So he waited.
Jeremiah sat up and squeezed Blaine's hand gently. He was smiling – that was a good sign, right? He leaned in and whispered something just before their mouths met.
"I love you, too."
"He loves me!" Blaine exclaimed in Mike's general direction.
Mike was standing on the other side of the river – the one Blaine lived right next to. It was the single most beautiful neighborhood in all of Los Angeles (and probably the single most expensive). Houses lined the edges of a man-made river that cut through the area. There were bridges every hundred feet or so for people to pass over.
Blaine ran across one of these bridges and into Mike's arms. He was giddy with excitement, he could barely contain himself.
"I said he loves me!" Blaine said again as if Mike hadn't heard him the first time.
"Really?" Mike asked. He sounded disbelieving, but he hugged Blaine back anyways.
"What? Yes," Blaine answered. "You don't believe me?"
"No, I do," Mike said, backtracking. "I was just bracing for the worst. You know – immigrant mentality."
"Shut up," Blaine said, punching Mike's shoulder in passing. "You're not an immigrant."
"It's an expression," Mike defended himself. "And I wasn't sure how that whole ooey gooey speech of yours was going to fly."
"Ah, I scrapped the speech," Blaine told him.
He'd fretted over this day for weeks with all his closest friends, Mike being one of them. And since they worked together, that means Blaine could ask Mike's opinion day and night if need be. Mike was all filled in on the details.
"You mean you didn't tell him that his eyes were oozing gold irises of magic and that his lips were fashioned by the Gods themselves?"
"I never said those things! I just…said what I felt."
"And that worked?" Mike was still disbelieving.
Blaine rolled his eyes. "Yes, it worked. Geez, did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed or something?"
"Nah," Mike waved him off. "But it might have something to do with these terrible pink uniforms you've got us wearing all day."
They must've looked strange, two grown men walking down the street side by side wearing bright pink shirts, matching sweatshirts, and hats with flowers on them. They even had pink sneakers for good measure.
"It's a business strategy," Blaine explained. "We attract attention, we get business. We work in a flower shop."
"We work in your flower shop," Mike corrected him. "You had the final jurisdiction over these outfits."
"We look good," Blaine said, popping the hood of his sweatshirt.
They came up to the – you guessed it – pink van with a huge decal of a flower on the side, the shop address, and phone number. Blaine took out the keys and crossed to the driver's side.
"Are you always this happy to look like an idiot?" Mike continued to complain as he got in the passenger side.
Blaine laughed as he put the key in the ignition. "It's Valentine's day," he said. "I can be silly, and mushy, and over-romantic and nobody is going to look at me weird because it's allowed."
"Yeah, well. That outfit will still get you some weird looks."
Blaine just shook his head and they drove off.
Noah Puckerman was the number two sports reporter, thank you very much. And was a pretty big fucking deal, too. At least it was to him.
He fancied himself a big-time reporter. A local celebrity, if you will. It'd taken him years to put the mohawk he'd been infamous for in high school behind him. He knew if he wanted to be "serious" about his future, he'd have to look the part. It didn't hurt with the ladies either, if you caught his drift. He prided himself on being "that sports guy on TV." That's who he was. It was who he wanted to be. This was more than he'd ever dreamed to be.
That's why he was more pissed off than usual. He'd woken up to see that the calendar proclaimed this day to be the fourteenth of February. Cue the eye-rolling. He knew it was going to be a slow sports day, but he'd hoped to do some investigative pieces or fill in for the duds who were taking the day off to "do something special."
But no.
His assignment for the day was the absolute worst. He marched straight up to Ms. Haymond and told her so.
"What the hell is this?" he hissed.
She sighed. "Good morning to you too, Noah."
That's what he loved about her. She was a young, successful business woman and she took no guff from anyone. Especially not him.
He ignored her. "This," he held up the vile piece of paper. It was even printed out on pink paper. The nerve. "This is a lifestyle piece. You know I don't do these kinds of stories."
"Noah…"
"I am the sports reporter, goddamnit."
"The number two sports reporter," she reminded him.
He clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. "I refuse to do it. There has to be something in my area for me to cover today – Anything. I'll scrub the fucking toilets if you want me to."
"Noah," she said again in her usual exasperated tone. "You have the biggest story of the day! Other reporters would kill for your job today."
"Yeah? Then let them have it. I hate Valentine's day."
She crossed her arms. "What's to hate?"
"Look, I have to shut down my..." He lowered his voice, "… my player-ness from New Year's to St. Patty's day just to afford this day. It's a waste of time. Women want commitment. I just want to have hot, kinky rebound sex after their dates dump them."
She sighed. "How romantic." She shook her head. "I don't buy it, Puckerman. I know you have the potential to sweep a girl off her feet."
"Yeah, well not today," he shot back. "Today I demand another project."
"Everyone else already has their assignments and I need you on this one. Come on, it's not so bad," she told him. "You're our man on the street. You'll get air time all day long. All you have to ask is 'Jane Q…John Q, what does Valentine's Day mean to you?'"
He stared at her long and hard. Somebody must've stirred drugs into this lady's cup of coffee because she sounded like an absolute idiot. "It's ridiculous," he told her. "It's a fluff piece – it means nothing."
"Noah, just shut up and cover the fucking story," she said before turning her back on him. "You're lucky you're cute or else you would've been fired by now."
He grumbled and stuffed the pink paper in his mouth before stalking off.
This was definitely the worst day of the year.
It was definitely the best day of the year.
Blaine had dropped Mike off at the shop and had made his way to the Flower Market. It was busy on a normal day, but on a day like today it was almost impossible to navigate. Almost.
That is, unless you were Blaine Anderson.
Blaine, who knew all the nooks and crannies of this place. He knew every individual seller; he had spent years building up a repertoire with them. They all called out greeting to him as he passed with his cart.
He placed orders like rapid-fire. By the hundreds. He ran around the warehouse like a madman, using his cart as a scooter to clear a path. He rode that thing all over, skidding to a halt only to confirm an order he'd set up for delivery.
He stopped again when he heard his name.
"Blaine!" someone called.
Blaine spun around and saw one of his close friends, Mr. Li.
"Happy Valentine's Day!" he called back, walking over to give him a hug. "Business is good today, huh?"
"More than good," Mr. Li replied in a thick accent. "It's brooming!"
Blaine laughed. "I think you mean 'booming'."
He nodded in agreement. "Why are you always so happy, Blaine?" he asked.
"What's not to be happy about?" he retorted playfully. "Oh, guess what!" He didn't wait for an answer. "Jeremiah said he loves me!"
"No kidding!" Mr. Li said, eyes wide. "He said it back?"
Yes, Blaine had told everyone about his cheesy Valentine's Day speech. When he was excited, he had a little trouble keeping things to himself. He'd told his friends, his co-workers, even his dental hygienist But that just made it easier when he was filling everyone in.
"Yes!" Blaine told him. "Why does no one believe me?" he muttered to himself.
"That's great news!" Mr. Li exclaimed, slapping Blaine on the back joyously. "Maybe you two get married someday." He waggled his eyebrows.
Blaine chuckled. "No, not yet. Maybe someday," he said.
Mr. Li gestured to the camera crew nearby. "I'm going to be interviewed," he told Blaine. "Will you stay to watch?"
"I wouldn't miss it," Blaine promised.
A/N: Oh my, what's that sound? I've-Gotta-Be-Me is doing yet another holiday story? And not just any old holiday story, a crossover? You don't say!
Whoa, you guys. You caught me. This one is extra fun though because it's Kurt and Blaine centric-ish, but everyone gets a part! Some characters don't come in until later chapters, but they're there. It's really fun to kind of write in everyone's head that I don't always get to include, so this is really a joy for me - genuinely it is. I get my kicks where I can get 'em.
My original plan was to finish the entire story in one go and post the chapters, a few at a time, until Valentine's Day when I would post the ending, but I'm still writing! So this will probably be a week-long thing, you guys. Are we pumped yet?
Review, leave me thoughts!