biting my lips so hard for you baby
potr
It's not like he thinks about him all the time. He doesn't sit in his desk and doodle his name in the margins of his papers or stare at his hand and get lost in fantasies of running down the hallway with their fingers entwined. He doesn't do that at all. Because he's not that person.
He sits up and pays attention at Glee Club, because that's what he does. It's what he's always done and it's what he's always going to do. When his friends complain to him about their girlfriends or their boyfriends or their friend-friends or their not-so-friends, he listens and does not think about what he would say right now. He has to trust his own opinions, and he can't put his whole heart in someone he only just met.
He's smarter than that.
But, sometimes, when he's sitting at his desk and the teacher has his back to the class, he pulls out his phone and looks at the most recent text message and smiles. Sometimes, when no one else is looking, he clasps his hands together and tries to recall the last time someone's hand felt so warm and right in his. And, though he'll never show it to you (not even if you ask politely and bat your eyelashes—someone already tried that), there's an entire page in his notebook filled with his name. He's not an artist and there aren't little hearts or happy faces, just that name. Over and over and over.
Kurt Hummel. Kurt. K-U-R-T. KURT. kurt. k. u. r. t. h. u. m.m. e. l.
It's been years since he's been this guy—the one who hides just how deep he's in it. There's just something about him that brings it out, he supposes. And he can't get enough.
Kurt and Blaine. Blaine and Kurt. Burt. Klaine. Blaine Hummel. Kurt Potter.
He can wait however long Kurt needs, he supposes. But whatever this is, it's growing. And he's not sure he wants to stop it.