"Honestly, you need to calm down. Anybody would think you'd never filled out a form before."
Kurt gets that look – that slightly manic, wide-eyed, wanting-to-strangle-Santana-Lopez look that she's been seeing more and more of in the last couple of months.
"God, you're so right! It's no biggie! I just need to chill! Not like this form is the most important document I will ever sign or anything!"
She grimaces.
"I know you're stressed, but please never say 'chill' again."
"This form is it. This is The Form. This form is going to change my life."
"It might not. You might get rejected."
His face falls. He used to be much better at taking a joke. Rachel gives Santana's arm a hard pinch.
"They would be idiots to turn you down, Kurt. It'll work. They'll love you."
"And if not, my offer of ova still stands. Because I'm a good friend. And I heard egg donors get, like, a tonne of money."
Kurt lowers his head onto his kitchen table while the girls squabble behind him.
"If he's going to use anyone's eggs, it'll be mine. We've been best friends since back when you were still mean to us. And through all the times since then when you've continued to be mean to us. And right now, when you are still being very mean to him in his hour of need."
"A kid that's half you, half Kurt? Do you have any idea how much bullying that child would have to go through? I'd call CPS before you could even get your hands on a turkey baster."
"I told you," Kurt's voice is just audible where he mumbles into the table, "I'm not going down that route. There are thousands of kids in the world who need homes. And you're both going to be the most obnoxious aunts imaginable as it is, without having any biological connections. Now please leave me alone so I can at least spell my own name without interruptions."
"Whatever, I have to go to work anyway. Knock 'em dead, babe." Santana bends down to kiss Kurt's cheek. "Or a more appropriate metaphor. I'll see you at seven, with a large expensive bottle of something, and a lot of leg on display." Kurt hears the click of Santana's heels and the standard door slam. He makes a mental note to talk to her about noise pollution and how easily woken up babies are. Or just not to invite her over for his first year or so of parenthood. Rachel pulls up the chair next to him and strokes his hair, and he raises his head to look at her.
She's going with the 'are-you-sure-about-this' face and he sighs.
"Don't start."
"I just don't get it, Kurt."
He drops his head onto the table more quickly now, four times before she takes his face in both of her hands.
"One last time and I swear I'll stop. You know that the second this form is posted I am in 100% support mode, backing you all the way. I just want to make sure this is definitely what you want."
"I'm waiting for the rest of the speech."
"What speech?" He raises an eyebrow, and when she starts talking he can more or less mouth along with each word. "Kurt, you're such a catch. You're young and you're so intelligent and fun and gorgeous! The right guy could be waiting around the corner! Then you could have a baby the way you've always wanted!"
"Rachel, unless you have got Taylor Lautner's gay twin brother's phone number in your purse, I'm going to be a little more realistic. I've done the dating thing for, what, twelve years? I mean, everyone fantasizes about falling in love, but I can't keep waiting for a fantasy. I don't want to wait. Maybe when I was in my twenties I thought I would get married first, but-"
"But you've only been thirty for thirteen hours!"
"And that's the age I said I would start this process. I'm not sitting around for something that might never happen." She looks like she might cry and she takes his hand. He doesn't pull it away. "I wanted to live in New York, so I moved to New York. I wanted to be a writer and I became one. I've wanted kids since I can remember, and I'm in a place in my life where I have the time and space and money to make it happen, so I'm filling out this very complicated form, and it's giving me a headache already without your help. So can you do what I asked you to come here for, and proofread this when I'm done and make sure I sound like a perfect parent?"
She gives his hand a squeeze. "You don't need my help for that. But I'll do whatever I can."
"Thank you."
She rests her head on his shoulder and he presses a kiss into her hair. He does love how much she cares, even if she is a hopeless romantic.
"You know, you really are going to be a great dad. Somewhere out there is the beginnings of the luckiest baby in the whole world."
"I hope so. Right. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can start celebrating my birthday in a way that involves less administration."
"And a lot more tequila."
"That's the kind of support I was hoping for." She grins and starts scanning the page on the table, checking through what Kurt's already filled in, apparently convinced enough to start being helpful. In spite of her keeping her promise to stop pestering him, he can't help feeling the need to add, "I promise this is what I want. I know it's not what you and Jesse will have, and maybe it's not what I thought I would have either, but… I really want this. I want to give a home to a child who needs it. I want to be a father. I want that more than I've ever wanted any guy."
She looks up at him and nods.
"I trust you, Kurt. Let's get you a baby."
He smiles and hugs her, giving a little squeak of excitement. It's finally happening.
Kurt wears his smartest suit for the short walk to the post box. He insisted Rachel go home and get ready for the evening, because he felt like he needed to do this alone, but now that he's here he kind of wishes there was someone else with him. Just an arm looped through his would have been nice. He shrugs off the feeling and smiles at the envelope.
'I can't wait to meet you, wherever you are' he thinks. This isn't what he used to picture. But it still feels like there are fireworks in his stomach, and he can't stop smiling as he walks home through the park.
Everyone has managed to keep their birthday plans for him very quiet so far – even though Kurt knows exactly what they will entail. Santana's bribed the taxi driver to go down plenty of side streets and alleyways but it's not quite enough to confuse him. Not that he really minds.
"So, do you feel different?" She asks. "Now that you've taken the first step?"
Kurt pauses. He wasn't expecting a serious conversation from Santana this evening.
"I don't know. I don't think so. I thought I might start panicking and thinking I'd made the wrong decision or something, but I haven't. I feel really calm about it. Like for years I've been building up to doing this, and now I have it's like a weight has been lifted off. Like I'm finally doing the right thing. If anything, I just want it to happen faster."
She smiles. "I figured. Look, I know I'm not supposed to get sentimental or anything, because it's not what I do, but I just want to say because it's your birthday and I've already had a fair amount of champagne, that you're going to be an amazing dad, okay? That kid, whoever and wherever they are, is so damn lucky."
Even though this side of Santana always catches him off guard when she makes an appearance, it's Kurt's favourite.
"Thanks, Tana. Love you."
"Uh-huh." She looks out of the window. "So you need to make the most of your current lack of responsibility tonight. Shots as soon as we get there?"
"Assuming it's a bar. Which I obviously don't know."
"Shut up. You are totally oblivious to the fact that we are going where we always go because we all know you'll have a great time. And because you know the owner. More importantly, are you planning on doing anything scandalous? To make me proud?"
"Santana-"
"No, I know, that's not your thing, but you've been super stressed for months about getting those stupid forms and calling in all your references, and you've finally done it. Now it's your birthday and soon you'll be stuck at home with a puking kid, and you deserve to get all kinds of laid tonight."
"Hey! If you'd let me finish, I was about to say that… I'm not totally against the idea."
"What?!"
"It's always been kind of a bucket list thing. Sex with a random stranger. Might be exciting."
Santana's mouth is just hanging open. "Oh. I, uh. Um. Right."
"What? You asked."
"It's just… my baby's all grown up! I'm so proud, I might cry."
"I hate you."
"Fifty bucks says you can't go through with it." He sticks out his hand and they shake on it. "Love you too, by the way. Or something."
He grins, and they pull up to a very familiar spot.
It still feels odd calling themselves 'Pamela Lansbury' when they go out, but it's a habit they've never been able to shake. Their first and last public gig was over a decade ago, and Callbacks has long since closed, been bought by Elliott, refurbished, and transformed into an intimate, exclusive bar, and is now the hottest venue in a twelve-block radius. He still gives into Rachel's desperate pleas for monthly karaoke nights, and he's pulled out all the stops for Kurt's thirtieth. Even though he insists it's not a Broadway hangout any more, he's invested in the backing tracks for every musical he knows, and the discographies of Streisand, Garland and Lupone. He'll never live it down, but he and Kurt have always been close. They almost became more than friends, but it was clear that they wanted very different things, and they've never let it get weird. So he refuses to let this milestone pass without a bang.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and everybody of every possible identity between or outside the creepy binary system the straights have put in place, we are here tonight to celebrate the birthday of our very dear friend, Kurt Hummel! Can we all give him the adoration he deserves?"
The crowd goes crazy, and Kurt goes pink but takes a bow nonetheless. Rachel, Dani and Santana all climb onto the stage and Kurt frowns. He has a pretty good idea of where this is going.
"Now," Santana says into a microphone he didn't even notice before, "it's time for us to celebrate the only way we know how, because we were all raised to be emotionally incompetent and very gay, so we'd like to invite the birthday boy on stage for a reunion of probably the worst band of all time. Kurt?" She gestures to him, and Dani reaches out to help him up.
He wishes he were more surprised, really.
He takes the mic offered to him by Elliott.
"Well, today's a big day, I guess. Might as well say goodbye to my days of being young and carefree properly. What are we singing?"
"I think you know," Rachel sing-sings into her microphone. "Hit it!"
The band strikes up with a somewhat indie version of Madonna's 'Get Together' and Kurt punches the air in triumph. This was his exact vision for this band at twenty, and here he is ten years later living it, on the verge of the one thing he's always wanted right about to start. The shots from earlier are warming his chest, his skin is still covered in goosebumps, and he's surrounded by his favourite people in the world. He feels truly fantastic, and he's just downed the champagne given to him by Rachel when Dani's hitting the best part of the song flawlessly on guitar, the high note piercing right through him, and that's when he sees him.
He stops in his tracks while Rachel sings 'do you believe in love at first sight' and honest to god stares at him. He can't be older than twenty-five, dark hair, eyes that seem to sparkle from across the room, plum suit with a striped bowtie. He comes in with a couple of others, but they fade into blackness because he's so damn pretty and he's staring right at Kurt. In all fairness, Kurt's got a spotlight on him and he's staring at him too.
When the song ends, he can't tell if it's the rush of performing again after such a long time, the waves of love he feels coming from his friends, the excitement of the momentous decision he made today, or the intense eye contact between him and the guy for the last solid minute, but he feels exhilarated. Energized. Like this guy could help him earn that fifty bucks from Santana.
The crowd is genuinely going wild, possibly because of the two-for-one shots, but Kurt's happy to bask in it. The guy's clapping along with everyone else, and Kurt feels someone right up close to him and Elliott whispers, "If you don't fuck him in the next ten minutes, I'm revoking your gay card and cancelling this entire party. Go."
Kurt snorts and tries to shrug it off. He never really did the hooking up at parties thing even in college, so maybe it would be stupid to do it now that he's thirty with all of his friends watching him and an application to become a parent in the mail. Even if traditionally, having kids started with people having sex. Still, he follows his friends to the bar through a stream of flirtatious smiles – of course now would be when he gets floods of attention – and a few congratulatory slaps on the butt from the girls. He is faced with all of his former bandmates grinning at him, Elliott holding a shot out for him, and with a loud 'Fuck it' he downs it and winces. He's managed to avoid getting quite as drunk as he did exactly a year ago, when his twenty-ninth birthday resulted in him spending the night clinging to Rachel's toilet and crying over the lack of eligible bachelors in New York. This feels much, much better: it appears there is at least one hot guy left in the city, and Kurt's about 80% sure that he won't throw up at the end of the night.
Santana toasts "To Kurt's baby!" and they all join in, until their expressions suddenly change. They look at the floor and each other, and there's a smooth voice right behind Kurt.
"What's everybody toasting here?"
Oh, fuck.
"To Kurt, baby! Cause he's so groovy!"
Kurt both loves and hates Dani in that moment, but the prettiest man Kurt has ever seen seems willing to go with it, and he silently thanks her for covering for him.
"Well, groovy Kurt, would you be able to manage one more drink? On me?"
Rachel bumps her hip against Kurt's, and before he can blink he's stumbling into the guy's arms, and they're warm, and everything is a little too warm, and he doesn't think another drink is a good idea if he's not going to make a total idiot in front of Mr Handsome Face. He's trying to figure out his next move when he notices that he's still slumped against the stranger who is just about managing to hold him up.
He straightens up, only wobbling a little. "Um. Sure. Vodka tonic, please." While the others stare at Kurt's new friend with shit-eating grins on their faces, he looks at him and hears himself sigh. Loudly. Santana glares at him as if to say 'get your shit together, Hummel, or you're not getting a cent from me.'
"So, it's your birthday?"
"Mm-hmm. Our boy's twenty-three today."
Tomorrow, Kurt will not think this is particularly funny, but right now it seems hilarious and a giggle escapes from him. A drink is put in his hand, the man passes money over the bar, and god it really is too hot in here. And he wants to kiss this guy's face off without his friends' eyes on him. "Could we maybe go outside for a minute?" The stranger nods.
"It was lovely meeting all of you," he says, and he seems genuinely intimidated by this cluster of idiots. They've got the protective death-stare down by now. Kurt mouths 'stop it,' and Santana smiles wickedly, slipping the fifty bucks back into her cleavage until she has definitive proof of Kurt getting groovy.
"Maybe he could call you daddy. Give you some practice."
Dani howls. Rachel is scandalized. They all get back to the dancefloor.
Kurt feels a hand on his lower back, and he thinks it's both supporting him and threatening to make him melt on the spot. The cold air on his face is nothing short of glorious.
"So, Mr Gorgeous Drink-Buying Man, would you be offended if I didn't drink this?"
"Sorry?"
"That was a perfect chance to tell me your name, but whatever. I can't have another drink. I think I might actually die if I drink this." This isn't really true. He just wants to make sure he remembers whatever happens with this guy. "Would you like it?"
"I think I might have some catching up to do. Hand it over." He guides them both towards a bench and takes the drink. He sips it and winces. "God. No. Just no. Can't. I think he forgot the tonic. I'm Blaine, by the way."
"I'm Kurt. But you knew that already."
"Groovy Kurt."
"That's me. So groovy. The grooviest. We used to do that song! Get into the Groove!"
"You and your friends? So you really are a band? That's so cool!"
Kurt clears his throat. "No big deal. Few covers. Some originals. Mostly local shows. We did a dog adoption day once."
"Oh. Okay. Do bands normally do those?"
Kurt wags his finger at Blaine, screaming internally that this is not a sexy way to behave, or a sexy thing to talk about, and that nothing about this display is sexy.
"Ah, but we are not a normal band!" This of course means 'we called ourselves a band in college for a whole month but now we all have jobs' but Blaine just smiles a handsome, slightly bashful smile.
"I mean this in the nicest possible way, Kurt: I don't think anybody would ever call you normal."
Kurt feels his face heat up. He feels like he should go back inside and talk to Rachel about this. Because he wants to take this boy home and ravish him, just to be reckless for once while he still can, even though it's so not something he would usually do. Something about tonight has transformed him for the night into Groovy Kurt, full-time band member, man about town, and the kind of person who would definitely take this beautiful man home for a night of wild, carefree passion. His legs are refusing to move back inside towards Rachel and away from lovely warm Blaine. It's like there's a tiny Santana on his shoulder egging him on as he cups Blaine's cheek and kisses him, all messy tongue and teeth clicking together and kind of a disaster but Kurt could do it for hours.
"Do you want to get out of here? My place is just a couple of blocks away."
"Sorry?"
"I think I want to fuck you."
Blaine's mouth falls open for a minute. God, Groovy Kurt is so suave. "Um. Yes. Please."
Kurt's legs are thankfully willing to cooperate now. "Just a second. Let me text Rachel and tell her I'm leaving."
Kurt: OH MY FUCKIGN GOD I TOLDHIM I WANTNA FUCK HMI GOING BACK OT INE NOW LOVE YOU THANKKS FOR BITHRTDYA LVOE YOU OS OMCUH XXXXXXXXX
Rachel: Okay, sweetie! Use protection and drink a big glass of water before you go to sleep! Love you too birthday boy! Xxx
This is not the only reply he receives. To be fair, he didn't stipulate that his message was confidential.
Dani: YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAS QUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEN
Elliott: Happy birthday! Nobody is more deserving of one last fuck of freedom!
Santana: OH MY GODDDD BIRTHDAY SLUT UR AUNTY TANA IS SO PROUD OF YOU GO AND GET IT
Santana: I CANNOT BELIEB
Santana: MY LIL GAY GRANDMA HAVING HIS FIRST ONE NIGHT STAND
Santana: PLS DON'T THROW UP ON HIM
Santana: OR HIS DICK
Santana: DON'T KNOW HOW TP GET OHONE OFF CPAS
Santana: oh ok got it lmao bye
Kurt switches his phone to silent, grips Blaine's hand firmly in his, and decides they should run back to his place as fast as possible.
"This doesn't really look like the kind of place a singer in a band would have. I love it."
"Oh. Well, I hate to conform to stereotypes. I figure the least clichéd band member home aesthetic I could go for would be, like, suburban accountant."
The run home has definitely sobered him up. It's also made him kind of sweaty and red and breathless, and more than a little bit sleepy. But god, Blaine's still so fucking handsome and Kurt feels like he might still have just enough momentum left of his reckless streak to do some very fun things with him.
"No, really, this place is gorgeous. How can you afford this?"
Because I'm not twenty-three or in a band or remotely cool. I'm thirty and I'm a very successful journalist and a big sap who just wants to have kids. I need my place to be family friendly for adoption people to visit. In the very near future.
He spots the first three drafts of his application form on the table and stands in front of them.
"Oh, well… I write. I write songs for other artists." What? "And some little music reviews sometimes." And fashion editorials and political pieces and double page features BECAUSE THAT IS MY JOB- "Honestly I've just been piecing together odd bits of work and it's turned out well. And, uh, I inherited money. From my… grandmother."
The one-night-stand thing is rather freeing. Kurt can invent whatever history he wants. Deep down he would actually like to tell Blaine the truth, because Kurt's never been much of a liar and somehow lying to Blaine feels really unseemly, for someone who's just been nice so far and is currently fetching Kurt a glass of water.
"Oh, you don't have to-"
"Please, it's fine. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't make sure you were hydrated."
Oh. He's so kind.
Kurt stops tentatively sipping the water, puts the glass down and grabs Blaine's lapels and kisses him. Blaine's surprised but there isn't an ounce of hesitation when he kisses back, his hands on Kurt's waist pulling him close.
"Blaine," Kurt gasps in a way that he is sure is very seductive, "I am gonna fuck your Blaines out."
Blaine snorts.
"Okiedokie."
"Brains! I meant brains! Totally gonna fuck your brains out. Why are you making that face?"
Blaine is clearly holding back a snigger. "Face? What face? I'm super excited for all the fucking-out of my brains. My brains are pumped right now."
"Stop laughing. You're ruining it."
"No, no- you just don't really strike me as the kind of person to tell someone he just met that he wants to fuck their brains out. But it's fine, knock yourself out. Can't wait."
Kurt huffs a little but kisses Blaine again anyway, but has to pull back when he feels him shaking. "I said stop laughing!" Blaine shows no signs of stopping.
"Have you ever had a one-night stand before? You know, it's fine if you haven't; it's not for everybody."
"Shut up. I'm usually, like… busy. Right, we're gonna go upstairs, and you're gonna take your shirt off, and we are gonna have so much sex you won't even believe it. Come on."
He takes Blaine's hand again, and Blaine is more than happy to follow him upstairs. When they reach the top Kurt puts his hands on Blaine's waist and pushes him forward, and he almost veers into the spare room. "No! Not in there!"
Blaine frowns. "What? What's in there?"
"Oh, it's- it's just the spare room. Not enough space for what I have planned."
Blaine almost laughs at the idea that Kurt had 'planned' any of this evening, but realizes that he probably shouldn't do anything that will slow things down. They crash into Kurt's bedroom, grabbing clumsily at each other. The bowtie falls to the floor. A button pops off and almost hits Blaine in the eye. Kurt's head gets stuck in his shirt for more time than is dignified. By the time they flop onto the bed, they're both wheezing with laughter, still half-dressed, and Kurt's head flops forward onto Blaine's shoulder.
"Are you really sure you want to do this?"
"I think so?"
"Care to elaborate?"
"Um. You're gorgeous. And I think if I don't do this I'll kick myself tomorrow."
"But…"
"But this has been a really stressful week, like, you have no idea, and I just. I don't know."
Blaine smiles up at the man straddling his thighs. He reaches up to brush a rogue strand of hair out of Kurt's eyes.
"Who says we have to do everything tonight? What's the rush?"
I want to make the most of you before my whole life gets changed forever.
"I… it's my birthday." His voice is quieter than before, as he realizes just how much he's holding back. "I want you. I do."
"But you are a cold, cruel man, and you are so mean that all we're going to do tonight is make out a lot. Which still makes tonight about a hundred times better than I thought it was going to be. Honestly, I just wanted to spend more time with the most interesting guy at the bar, so as long as that happens, I'm good."
Kurt's mouth hangs open long enough for Blaine to smile again before reaching up and kissing him. This time it's so slow the whole world seems to grind to a halt, and so gentle Kurt feels like he shouldn't move for at least an hour afterwards in case he disturbs the air around them.
But he does move.
He kisses Blaine back, and their bodies shift together easily until they're lying side by side. He feels Blaine's hand slipping under his shirt, only to rest on his back, pulling him close. Kurt's hand finds its way to Blaine's cheek, feels the light dusting of stubble, the curve of a smile he sees every time their lips pull apart. It not sexual. It's romantic, and terrifyingly intimate, and the safest Kurt has felt for the longest time. The stress of the last few months, and the worry about what comes next are gone.
An hour goes by in what feels like five minutes, and they're still talking.
"So," Blaine says between pressing kisses to Kurt's jaw, "what's your favourite animal?"
It's such a curveball that Kurt almost headbutts him. "Excuse me?"
"Don't pretend you don't have a favourite, okay. Everyone does. Mine is the majestic manatee."
"Like, sea cows?"
"Yep. They're so serene. I just look at pictures of them whenever I feel sad, and everything seems better."
"Right. Fair enough." Blaine looks at him expectantly. "So, you're serious? You want me to spend my thirtieth birthday choosing my favourite animal?"
"No, I want you to spend the day after your thirtieth birthday – because it's 3am and you can't play the birthday card anymore – telling me your favourite animal. Because you definitely already have one."
Kurt smiles in spite of himself. He always thought one-night-stands would involve less talking and sighing, and in all honesty a lot more sex, but this is the most disarming man he's ever met. He just can't bring himself to be guarded or cynical about anything.
"Giraffes."
Blaine scoffs. "I can't believe you have a favourite animal. You're a thirty-year-old man."
Kurt shoves into Blaine's shoulder. "Fine. Not telling you anything else ever again."
"No, no, I'm sorry! Please, Kurt, tell me why giraffes are your favourite animals."
Kurt tangles his and Blaine's fingers together and lies on his back. Blaine slides his hand over Kurt's stomach and nudges at the buttons on his shirt. He shoots Kurt a look of 'is this okay?' Kurt nods, and Blaine slowly starts to unfasten them.
"They're weird, I guess," he says, his fingers teasing at the hair at the back of Blaine's neck as Blaine kisses his collar bone, "they're ridiculously tall and they have those pointless little horns on their heads, and they look like they should fall over constantly, but they don't. I remember my dad taking me to the zoo when I was little, and I was this little gay kid in Ohio and I didn't have any friends and I felt so out of place everywhere, but- they were totally out of place. And they made it work. They should have been awkward and stupid, but they were just graceful. Elegant. That's why they're my favourite."
Blaine props himself up on his elbow.
"Wow."
"What?"
"Nothing, I'm just- astounded by how good you are at this game. Are you sure you've never played before?"
"Are you making fun of me?"
"Absolutely not. I was expecting, like, 'they're tall', and you went and got real. Incredible."
Kurt feels his cheeks start to get hot. "Okay, okay, fine. I'm a dork."
Blaine's face shows nothing but concern. "No. You're amazing." He kisses him, just a peck. "I think you just became my favourite person on the planet. And for what it's worth, I think I would have been friends with little Kurt."
Kurt snorts. "I don't think you would have been able to walk. I was six, which would have made you…"
"Oh. Um. Three years away from being born."
Kurt groans. "Oh my god. Of course. Of course you're twenty-one. Jesus."
"Then I guess it's a good thing this is just a purely physical one-night thing, right? Except instead of crazy animal sex, it's just breathtaking animal metaphors for our place in society. Super casual." Kurt rubs his hand over his face, but as soon as he opens his eyes, Blaine is kissing him again. "I'm sorry you felt out of place, Kurt."
He smiles. "It's okay. It just made me stronger in the end. I embraced my inner giraffe."
"Still. Wish I could have… I don't know. Made you feel better." They just look at each other for a moment, and it makes them both feel so raw and exposed they almost forget they both still have pants on.
"Well, you've made me feel much better about turning thirty. Until the negative three thing." Blaine grins. "Okay, I know this has been a really weird night, but I should probably go to sleep. As much as I would like to stay up talking and getting felt up, I think my eyes are going to close soon whether I want them to or not. Sorry."
"Oh, no, it's cool. I actually have work in the morning."
"Wait. Where do you work? Did I even ask?"
"Don't worry about it. It's this tiny place, totally unknown. You probably haven't heard of it."
"Where is it?"
"Starbucks."
Even though Blaine has turned away from him, Kurt can feel him grinning. "Star what? What even is that place?"
"It's an aquarium. Just me and a bunch of manatees, chilling every day." Kurt laughs, and Blaine looks back over his shoulder, a slightly goofy smile on his lips. They kiss once more, like it's part of a long-established bedtime routine. Kurt starts to settle himself, but Blaine tugs on his hand. "Kurt, my brains remain tragically non-fucked-out. A dutiful host would spoon me at the very least." He shuffles back so his body is nestled comfortably against Kurt. It feels so natural it's almost alarming, but Kurt is too exhausted and calm to question it. He presses a kiss to Blaine's shoulder blades and wraps an arm around his middle.
He's never getting that fifty bucks from Santana.
The last thing Kurt remembers is warmth.
The first thing he feels when he wakes up is a gentle press of lips against his cheek.
The second thing he feels is a lot of pain. There is a loud groan, and it takes him a moment to realise it's coming from him.
It's followed shortly after by the smell of pancakes wafting towards him. For a second he thinks it might make him heave, but it doesn't. Against his body's vehement protests, he forces himself to sit up, and even though his brain is throwing itself against his skull repeatedly, he smiles.
On his nightstand is a plate of blueberry pancakes, coffee, a huge glass of water, and a pink post-it note stuck to his phone. Inside a heart on the paper, there is a phone number, and a message.
Phone number of Blaine Anderson, most beautiful man in the world/love of your life probably. Thanks for a perfect night. X
Kurt catches himself sighing in a way that can only be described as dreamy.
Well. This is incredibly inconvenient.