"So..."
Kurt sat bolt upright, hands clasped in his lap and staring straight ahead. Next to him, slightly slumped over and nudging patterns into the dirt with the toe of his shoe, was Blaine. The high pitched screeching of the other kids who'd been tossed into this seeming endless, uncomfortably warm nighttime bonfire held by the Sunshine Rivers' summer camp programme (slogan: "Always Fun, Never Hum-Drum") carried to them on a thin breeze, but both boys ignored it.
Kurt doesn't quite remember why or how he and Blaine came to find themselves in their current place, sitting with a substantial degree of space between them on a rickety park bench. Neither of them had spoken for what seemed like a year already, and Kurt was beginning to sweat. Not only because he was sitting near a boy (and a very cute, curly-headed boy at that), but because his brand new fifty-dollar Marc Jacobs jacket was not doing him any favours; paired with the almost still summer night air, the sleeves clung to his clammy flesh with all the discomfort of putting on a wet swimsuit.
Kurt grimaced at the sensation.
Blaine coughed as he accidently somehow managed to choke on air.
And to put things incredibly lightly, it was awkward.
"You're pretty good at cooking," Blaine mumbled, and Kurt noted via his peripheral vision that he was looking at Kurt sidelong. Blaine gulped then, wishing he had kept his stupid, stupid mouth shut. He was pathetic in social events.
Kurt nodded tightly. "Oh. That'll be a useful skill if you ever have a time machine and it happens to break and you're stuck back in 1930's Nazi Germany, suddenly transformed into a woman and hit with the realisation that all the men require their wives to be able to cook them a perfect apple strudel."
Biting his lip to refrain from letting out what was sure to be an embarrassingly loud hoot of laughter, Blaine pressed the flats of his palms together and quickly turned to face forwards again. "You're funny. It's weird."
"Yeah." Kurt smiled, plucking an imaginary piece of lint from his lapel. He was suddenly aware of the two or three couples making out fervently on the bridge behind them both, and blushed. "I'm weird."
"Me too."
Kurt didn't even try and mask his scoff. "Yeah, right. Everyone loves you. And your dad's like, famous or something."
"My parents are getting divorced. That's why I had to go to camp. So..."
Blaine blinked. He was surprised at himself. He'd never actually spoken it aloud, let alone blurted it in front of a perfect stranger, but it was true- the only reason he'd been packed off to summer camp was because his parents were getting divorced. Tears prickled in his eyes, a sob catching in his throat, and Blaine quickly swiveled to the side in a hopeless effort to evade Kurt.
Sadly for Blaine, Kurt was very perceptive. "Are you... crying?" He asked with a delicate eyebrow raise, loud enough for Blaine to hear but not screeching it for the arrogant connected-via-tonsils couples to pick up on.
"No," Blaine sniffed, voice faltering and sounding way too squeaky and oh god, just kill me now.
Kurt's eyes darted away from Blaine's slightly shuddering figure. He reached up to smooth his perfectly sculpted hair (or at least as perfectly sculpted as he could get it with the measly remainders of his last bottle of hairspray), pursing his lips into a flat line as he contemplated his next course of action. He could either try and comfort Blaine, making him seem like a needy bitch, or he could make an excuse and escape back to the bonfire, making him like like a rude bitch. Either way, Kurt would seem a bitch. So he went with the less offensive plan of the two.
"Jesus."
Shuffling closer, Kurt licked his lips and placed a hand in between Blaine's shoulder blades. Blaine could have kicked himself as he felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end, but now Kurt was close enough for Blaine to register that he smelled so damn good. And Blaine had a weakness for boys that smelled good.
"I'm not a uh, very affectionate person," Kurt began, casting his eyes nervously around the dark landscape. Blaine was silent, breathing steadily, so Kurt took that as a sign that he was not making a total colossal fool of himself. "People aren't... I mean, I don't think people are meant to be together forever."
Oh.
Okay.
Kurt Hummel, where the hell did that come from?
Resisting the urge to slap himself, Kurt simply blinked up at the flickering torches, watching the orangey-yellow flames dance and trying to retain his deadpan composure. All those A+'s in drama class were not going to waste.
Blaine coughed again, muffling it as much as possible before uttering a dumb "Really?" in reply.
"Yeah."
Silence.
Kurt's hand didn't move from Blaine's back as Blaine nodded slowly. "Can I give you a blowjob?"
"No."
