A/N: Well, it's me again. No, I'm not dead. :) I'm just a mega gleek who kind of spent a month trying to get this one-shot just right…I tried very hard to keep both Kurt and Blaine in character. It's terribly difficult to get into their heads. Also, keep in mind that I do not have a beta. I tried editing it myself, though if you see a mistake, please don't be annoyed. I'm just not the best grammar checker in the universe. _
Oh, lets all send a big hug and humongous congratulations to Chris Colfer for wining a Golden Globe for his role of Kurt on Glee. I, and probably every other fellow Kurtsie out their, am extremely happy for you. You deserved it. :D
Disclaimer: I wish…
Dedications: I'd like to dedicate this fan fiction to two authors…CP Coulter and Keitorin Asthore. Seriously, these two writers are my absolute favorites; CP Coulter's fan fiction "Dalton" is a work of art and should be made into an actual Glee spin-off (my favortie OC is Dwight! 3), and Keitorin Asthore's fan fictions are nothing sort of brilliant. If you are looking for amazing Klaine, or just all-around awesome storytelling, read their works. ^_^
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Kurt was a man of fashion, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that truth out. Anyone who knew him at least a slightest bit could tell you, with clarity and an assured reasoning, that if the young man did not make it big in showbiz or Broadway, that he would undoubtedly rock the world of fashion to it's knees. For Kurt Hummel, every day was a new experience, a new miss-match, a new outfit. It was for this very reason that Blaine, when he stepped into said boy's dorm room after school hours to check up on him and make sure the younger boy was not completely drowning in homework, was surprised to say the least at the picture that greeted him.
Dalton Academy's dormitories were beautiful in every sense of the word, with tall, cream ceilings, soft downy rugs, and even a small kitchen in the far corners of each room, fully complete with a compact oven, mini-fridge, limited counter space and a toaster. Blaine wasn't struck by the magnificence of the area's layout though, he himself resided in one. The glamour was nothing new. It was what was going on inside the large space that caught his attention.
The marbled counter top, usually spotless, was dusted over with a fine sheet of a brownish flour-like substance that smelled a lot like a powdered mixture of cinnamon and ground ginger. There were certain places here and there that had crumbles of unmixed dough that must have fallen or flew out of the medium sized glass mixing bowl sitting alone beside a freshly used cookie cutter shaped like a…rabbit?
He could see that the oven behind the counter was baking a batch of what Blaine assumed to be very delicious smelling cookies, and to the right of the oven, the Dalton boy spied Kurt.
Since school was out, Kurt had obviously changed out of the Dalton red and black required uniform and put on an outfit from his wardrobe, probably just for the familiarity of it. Still, this sort of thing was common with Kurt and it was not what made Blaine do a double take on the younger male.
Kurt had his side to him, and apparently was so engrossed in washing the dishes from his cooking that he didn't noticed the older teen enter his dorm, and instead of looking up and greeting him with a million-watt smile like Blaine had become accustomed to, the countertenor just continued to clean the dishes in the sink, while murmuring softly to himself a tune Blaine recognized as the song 'One Song Glory' from the musical Rent, with his arms elbow deep in soap bubbles that smelled a little like lilacs.
Still, even though this was the first time Blaine had walked into Kurt's dorm to the sight of the boy cooking, that is also not the reason Blaine felt himself rooted to the spot and stared.
You see, Kurt is a man of fashion, as we have already established, and takes care of his clothes like a mother hen takes care of all her little baby chicks. Blaine still shivers in fear whenever he remembers the time he accidentally spilled a cup of coffee (only lukewarm, not hot, thankfully) on Kurt's brand new, spotless, fleece white cardigan sweater. Blaine always becomes paler whenever he thinks of that little mishap that totally did not go over well.
This fact was exactly why Blaine was glued to the carpet, his mouth slightly agape, because, you see, Kurt Hummel was dressed amazing yet again; in a pair of dark velvet-blue corduroy skinny jeans and a bright turquoise turtleneck that looked soft to the touch, along with shiny, black shoes that seemed to have been snatched from some kind of runway.
And Kurt was, along with his clothing, completely covered in flour and such. His jeans had splatters of flour from his ankles to his hips, whereas his turtleneck had tuffs of the white powder clinging to the fabric. His hair looked to be engulfed with the substance, and his left cheek appeared to be smudged with a bit of cookie batter.
The first thing Blaine said, after standing in the doorway for about a minute, was; "I guess aprons are out of style…", with just a tad bit of friendly teasing to his voice. Letting out an adorable and quite loud gasp, Kurt dropped the spatula he was washing back into the soapy sink and looked up at Blaine with a panicked deer-caught-in-headlights expression. And Blaine couldn't help it (really, Kurt was much too precious for his own good), he cracked up. Heaving great gasps of air and struggling to breath, Blaine Anderson had the biggest, longest, and most authentic laugh he'd had in years.
Kurt glared at the older Warbler, affronted by his presence and thoroughly embarrassed, if his bright red blush had any indication. "BLAINE! Wha…how…ah…why didn't you knock!" Kurt had grabbed a wooden mixing spoon from the top of the oven and was brandishing it at Blaine as if it was a Weapon Of Mass Destruction. Some of the cookie dough that was still on the spoon went flying, and just barely missed Blaine's face.
Blaine through his hands into the air, trying with all his might to quite his laughter. "Sorry! I-it's just…" That's as far as he got before braking into another fit of chuckles.
Huffing exasperatedly, the younger male opened his mouth, about to give Blaine a real piece of his mind, when the timer on the oven's clock beeped, signalling that the cookies were ready to be brought out. Quickly giving the still-not-quite-sane Blaine a look that clearly said: 'Right now I must go and set free my cookie army from their lair inside the cave of heat, and if you are not done with your psychotic brake down by then I will unleash their wrath upon you and your petty existence.' Blaine either did not understand the look, or chose to ignore it.
The older Warbler had calmed down by the time Kurt had put on a pair of polka-dotted oven mitts and placed all his cookies on a tray to cool for a while. Walking over to the younger boy, Blaine smiled apologetically with a hint of amusement still evident on his face.
"Sorry again…it's just…you…you're covered in flour!" Blaine explained, his mouth curling up into a grin again.
Kurt frowned and stared at him, waving his hands toward the cooling cookies. "Well, I was making gingerbread cookies. They're kind of hard to make without getting down and dirty. Plus, I haven't even put icing on them yet."
Blaine nodded, though he suddenly looked a tad bit confused. "Why…why aren't you wearing an apron? You know, to protect your…" Blaine swept his hands down Kurt's torso. "Clothes."
Kurt looked at Blaine for a long moment and finally sighed. "It's 'cuse…" Kurt mumbled out the rest of the quick sentence and then turned around so fast he must have gotten whiplash, opened the small fridge and tried very hard not to look at Blaine.
"Kurt?"
The boy in question turned back around slowly, his eyes guarded, holding a carton of milk to be used for making the icing. "What!" He snapped, his voice coming out more harsh then he meant it too. Dang it, why did he always loose his composure around Blaine…
"Kurt." Blaine repeated, his eyes growing more serious by the second. "What did you say? I wasn't able to here you." Blaine caught Kurt's eyes in his stare and Kurt felt his resolve be blown away by those two questioning pools of hazel. Carefully, he sat down the carton of milk.
"I…I…well, I learned how to cook from my mother. And she…she was an amazing cook, always getting the flavours just right, the texture just moist enough, she never burnt her cookies…" Kurt knew he was babbling, but he couldn't help it, really. Once he started, he found that he couldn't stop. "Once, I got very frustrated because I had tried to make her a cake for her birthday and it had turned out horrible, even though I had followed her recipe completely. Eating it was like chewing on one of my dad's old, extremely unfashionable work boots."
"I doubt it tasted that bad." Blaine laughed, grinning at Kurt's disgusted face.
Kurt just stared at Blaine with a look of shock. The younger boys eye's widened. "Oh, it was that bad. Worse, even. Trust me." Shaking his head and sighing ruefully, Kurt continued his story once he noticed Blaine's expectant eyes practically begging for more.
"Anyways, I expected her to be a little angry with me, you know, for using up a lot of her cooking supplies and for ruining her birthday cake, but…she just smiled and told me to take off my apron. My dirty, egg and flour splattered apron. And when I handed it to her, she kissed my forehead and brought me and my dad out to the back yard and lugged an old tin bucket with her. When she asked dad for his lighter he looked at her like she was crazy but she just grabbed it anyway. And then she set my apron on fire…"
"Yikes!" Blaine made a startled face. "Wha-"
"Don't worry, she lit it aflame inside the bucket." Kurt lips upturned into a tiny smile, his cheeks flushing a bit red. Blaine noticed his eyes looked a little misty, probably from looking back on inner childhood memories. "No forest fire required. Then she knelt down on her knees, looked at me and said; 'Pumpkin, I know how hard you wanted to make me happy. You did. Just by trying you did. But sometimes these dumb, annoying thing just happen. And when they do, you stand up to them, gather your courage, look them in the eye and tell them 'screw you'."
Suddenly, Blaine had a feeling he knew exactly were Kurt's strength came from. Kurt, unlike Blaine, had had the ability to fight back against his demons. All he had needed was a little repeating of his mother's words unknowingly through Blaine.
Blaine wished he had been able to do what Kurt had attempted. It didn't even matter that in the end it hadn't worked out, that it had actually made things worse; just the plain fact that he was able to stand up for himself was amazing. And as Blaine watched Kurt shuffle his soapy hands together, as if the younger Warbler wasn't sure whether to continue or stop, the older boy had the incredibly urgent need to wrap his arms around the countertenor and start crying. For regret, for what Kurt had to endure, for what he himself had to endure…and for the courage he was never able to come by. And Blaine had a feeling that if he did this, if he just suddenly threw his arms around the younger boy, Kurt would let him. Maybe he would be a little startled, but he'd let Blaine empty his heart out. That was just the sort of person Kurt was.
But, Blaine didn't. He did not grab onto Kurt and begin to weep like a newborn child, because that's not what mentors do. Instead, the older boy nodded at Kurt and smiled tentatively.
"Go on."
Kurt shrugged, making some flour slip off his shoulders like dust. "Not much left to tell. Dad kept staring at mom like she was insane for the rest of the day. As for mom and I, we went back into the house and made a giant, chocolate-y, gooey cookie from a whole bunch of leftover ingredients. We didn't use aprons, and we both got completely filthy, but…it was nice." Kurt raised his hands out in front of him in a mock-surrendering pose and sighed. "Ever since then, well…especially after mom died…I just can't stand wearing an apron." The countertenor shuddered with disdain. "It's even worse than having to wear the clothes my long lost relatives send me for Christmas and pretend I like them." Blaine grinned at that comment.
With that, Blaine asked politely if Kurt would mind much if the older Warbler helped with cleaning up the small kitchen. Kurt, glad for some company, agreed quickly, nearly pulling a neck muscle with his super fast nod. And when they were finished; with all the dishes put away and the counter shining so much it reflected the glare of the ceilings light bulb and sent sparkles glimmering across the marble, Blaine gave Kurt a genuine smile and placed his hand lightly on the younger boys shoulder.
So maybe Blaine couldn't burden the younger male with his heart's feelings just yet; that was okay. Some things are better left unsaid, even if only for a while.
"Do you think, next time you get into the mood to cook something…you could invite me over to help?"
Kurt flushed slightly and shrugged, giving Blaine a watery smile. "Since when do you need an invitation?"
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"Flying isn't so very hard to do,
When you share another's wings…" - S. Marie. N.