Sick Day, a glee fanfic

A/N: Awhile back now, directly after Silly Love Songs aired, someone from LiveJournal was sick and feeling sad that there had been no Klaine resolution. So, she asked for a Kurt/Blaine friendship, of them being sick and cheering each other up. I couldn't resist the chance to fill something that would let me be a dork.

Still, this got away from me and turned into more pre-slash, but HEY! Who really cares, right? Not after Original Songs.

It was just a tickle. That's what he'd told everyone he talked to who asked why his voice seemed a little hoarse that day, and the day before that...and, come to think of it, the day before that.

It was just a tickle. Kurt didn't get sick.

He got put momentarily out of commission a few times, yes. There may have been some mentioning of a 'flu' or 'cold' somewhere in his past. He was sure his Dad was more than willing to play it up for the crowd, but the truth was; Kurt just really didn't get sick.

...No, seriously. He didn't.

It had to be something in the weather, he'd decided the night before. After all, Kurt had noticed a faint note of gravel in Blaine's voice when the two of them met up between classes. Upon an inquiry from Kurt, Blaine had simply shrugged it off, claiming it to be 'nothing'. He'd probably just worn his voice out from too much singing the day before at practice.

It was a perfectly acceptable excuse, and Kurt was more than willing to shove it off. After all, he'd had a bit of a proposition for Blaine for that night.

It was a little-known-fact, but 'slumber parties' were kind of Kurt's thing. Or at least they had been on occasion with Rachel and Mercedes. Every weekend they could, they'd meet up for some quality 'girl time' (though Kurt made sure not to call it that to anyone who asked, that was not Rachel or Mercedes) and they'd just spend Friday night bonding over anything and everything. It was one of the few highlights of Kurt's week.

Unfortunately, Dalton was a good two hours away from his previous residence, and as much as he adored the school – even if it was a little stuffy and self-important – it really was far away. It was sadly much too far to drive out every weekend. Thus for the past three weeks, Kurt had completely missed his weekend routine.

One week he'd been able to shove off as nothing. Two weeks was pushing it. Three had been a god-awful travesty.

He just couldn't do four weeks without a slumber party of sorts. He just really, truly couldn't.

Unfortunately, upon calling Mercedes to schedule, Kurt had found out that she couldn't do it. Rachel was available, but having a slumber party without Mercedes there to serve as a buffer for their more... physical disagreements was like asking for trouble. It would have been weird with only him and Rachel. He'd had to tell Mercedes to reschedule for some other time.

So, clearly slumber-party-less and desperate, Kurt had turned his attentions towards Dalton.

Wes was out instantly. There was no consideration whatsoever. Kurt thought he might just strangle Thad if they had to be in the same room together, so he was out too. David...well, he was nice enough, but Kurt could all but smell the sports fan on him, and sports just...weren't his thing. David had been a nice thought though.

Clearly there had been someone he could have asked all along, but he also kind of really had a thing for him and Kurt was pretty sure there was a rule somewhere that that kind of behavior was way too creepy.

Well, too bad. Creepy fell in the face of desperation. So, that Friday after class, Kurt had bucked up his courage, caught Blaine in the middle of the hallway and proposed the idea to him.

Much to his surprise, Blaine had agreed. He'd seemed a bit too amused when he did, but Kurt shoved that aside. The important thing was that Blaine had said yes!

They'd mutually agreed on Kurt's dorm that night. Kurt had come into Dalton in the middle of the year and thus he hadn't been able to share with any of the other boys. It gave him his own room for now and never had it come more in handy than that weekend. After solidifying who would bring what and agreeing on a time to meet, Kurt and Blaine had parted ways and hurried off to their respective classes.

That night, Blaine was there when he'd said he would be (Kurt was shocked; he hadn't actually expected Blaine to come, not really) and the party was on.

Of course, Kurt had to tone it down considerably. He'd settled on an older T-shirt and pajama pants as his sleepwear (even though he missed the feeling of his pink pajamas. They were comfortable!) and he'd kept the 'girl talk' to a minimum as much as he could. Even so, every now and then, a stray comment about Sex in the City or Vogue would jump into the forefront of the conversation.

Much to Kurt's pleasure, Blaine was able to carry on conversations about both subjects for much longer than Kurt had anticipated.

It was a night of laughs and friendship. Kurt felt privileged. Slowly, over the course of the night, Blaine's put-together image declined into wider grins and unsubtle attempts to throw popcorn at Kurt's head. It had quickly become a game – who could subtly throw the most popcorn at the other boy while they weren't paying attention – and from there, had degraded to Blaine 'accidentally' upturning the bowl on Kurt's lap.

They'd only just managed to quiet down in time for the prefect to pass by their dorm. Of course, to do this, Kurt had found his head shoved down into a pillow as they fought to stifle laughter (and muffle Kurt's indignant yelling). As soon as the danger had passed, Kurt had resurfaced for air, squint-glared at Blaine, and the older teen had found himself on the floor with a pile of blankets tossed onto his head.

The laughter had been endless. Kurt was pretty sure they'd both killed the 'gay boys don't have girly sleepovers' argument though. They'd set the movement back twenty years, he was sure.

After that, thankfully, Blaine had offered to help him clean up before bed. The popcorn soon disappeared, Kurt's bed was remade and the pillows were fluffed (a thoughtful touch from Blaine, he thought). The room was slowly put back together over the course of about twenty minutes and, somewhat exhausted at only ten at night, they'd both agreed that sleep was likely a good idea.

Kurt distantly thought it odd; he didn't usually start to get tired until eleven. That night it had started around eight. Very odd indeed.

Taking turns brushing their teeth (Blaine had insisted that he would toothbrush-duel Kurt if they were standing next to each other, and Kurt didn't doubt him for a second), Kurt took a little longer to complete his nightly regime.

By the time he was done moisturizing and primping (a guest did not mean he could skimp on the self-care, thank you very much), Blaine had managed to slip on his pajamas.

A raised eyebrow and look of untold amusement from Kurt had been all it took for Blaine to admit that he usually didn't exactly sleep in pajamas. (And Possible-Lord-Almighty, that had been a mental image for Kurt to dwell on secretly, oh yes.) Kurt had spent a few minutes ribbing Blaine on the Batman-logo T-shirt he'd chosen to go with boxers that looked suspiciously new, like they'd never been used before. Eventually, though, the magic of singing the Batman theme song to a flustered Warbler (who insisted 'It's David's!) had worn off and they both had agreed that bed was a spectacular idea.

Sadly, despite much insistence from Kurt, Blaine declined any and all invitations to share Kurt's bed. He'd insisted that the floor was actually pretty comfortable, especially with the carpeting and cushions he'd dragged off of the chairs.

It was only due to the fact that Kurt was suddenly so ungodly tired that he eventually – reluctantly - gave in. He tried one last time to offer Blaine his bed while he took the floor, but Blaine had only thrown his pillow at Kurt.

He'd asked for it back, sheepishly, a few minutes later. Kurt, feeling generous, had acquiesced.

Goodnights had been said; more laughter had been had after the lights went out but eventually they both settled down. They were both asleep soon after.

The next morning it quickly became apparent why the both of them had felt so ungodly tired and weak and sore the night before. Contrary to their own beliefs, it had not been because they were roughhousing or having so much fun they'd just worn themselves out. No, the cause was a little less... pleasant than that.

"Oh dear sweet baby Jesus."

It was the first thing that Kurt was consciously aware of hearing, and he couldn't register what it was. The voice somewhere from the side was croaked and uncomfortable and sick.

"Merciful...God, fuck, fuck," groaned the disembodied voice somewhere from the direction of the floor.

...Floor.

Something niggled at Kurt's mind for a few seconds. He was sure there was something he was supposed to remember, but, still mostly asleep, it was hard to place. Any second though, he was sure it would come to him. Yup. Any second...

And just as Kurt finally remembered that Blaine was on his floor, he also regretted waking up enough for conscious thought.

He regretted it a lot.

"Ghn," Kurt groaned, eyes blinking open and then squeezing shut instantly after. "Oh my go—my... Ghh, my head..."

Weakly dragging his hands up (and getting them thoroughly tangled in his sheets beforehand), he placed them over his eyes and winced deep. It felt like something had been picking away at his brain all night with a spoon, or something. Some blunt object meant to bruise and whack and cut bits of his head away with rusty edges.

Dear sweet Gaga, his head...!

A rumpled, raspy groan from the floor only half caught Kurt's attention at first. He was too busy slowly rolling onto his side under his frilly comforter to press his face to his pillow. It was soft and dark and warm and his head hurt so much dear God what had raped him in the ear during the night?

Feeling dizzy and disoriented, Kurt just groaned softly into his pillow, nuzzling deeper pathetically. He belatedly realized that his head wasn't the only thing that was hurting; his throat was on fire. His own voice had broken and scratched when he'd tried to say anything and it was just a big bunch of unpleasantness.

It took Kurt a few seconds to clue into the fact that the voice on the floor had sounded gravelly as well. When it did, he admittedly didn't rush to see if his kind-of-crush was all right.

Instead, Kurt kept his face pressed to the pillows, groaned again, and then slowly peeled himself off of his pillows. He ungracefully wiggle-scooted the few inches to the edge of his bed and, without really lifting his head, he peered down onto the floor with bleary eyes. "Blaine?"

"Shoot me," croaked Blaine from the floor. Kurt was at least a bit amused to note that Blaine had thrown both arms over his eyes and was just lying there.

"I'll do you if you do me," Kurt muttered back, wincing as his head chose that moment to explode in a steady, pulsing pain.

Blaine muttered something under his breath (and though Kurt wasn't feeling so hot, he did take extreme delight in the fact he could scope Blaine out like this) and slowly peeled his arms away from his eyes. Kurt glanced at him and noted that Blaine looked horrified. "...I feel awful," Blaine concluded. "I am too sick to even come up with a believable 'that's what she said' joke."

"That was pretty pathetic," Kurt agreed, slowly draping his arm over the side of the bed with a smile. He felt like absolute shit, but Blaine was helping him remember that he had a sense of humor at least. "So, not that I need much clarification... not with your voice, anyway, but uh – you feeling as awful as I am today?"

"Worse." Blaine groaned, his brows pinching hard as his hands fell back over his eyes to rub at them. "Oh my God, Kurt, what did you do to me?"

"Date rape," Kurt drawled (okay, groan-squeaked) as sarcastically as he could. "I'm a complete novice though, so I dosed myself just as much as I did you, clearly. There is no other explanation on this green-sometimes-not earth."

Blaine laughed helplessly on the floor, and Kurt winced in sympathy. The laughter sounded nothing if not absolutely painful.

"Urgh God... can you move?" Kurt grunted, trying to slowly get his mind in order.

"Ask me again in an hour."

"Serious face, Blaine. Serious face," Kurt groaned back, slowly turning over in his bed to lay back with about as much grace as a slug trying to do a backflip.

"Mmh," came the pained moan from the floor. It took a long few seconds but – eventually – Blaine struggled to sit up, grabbing at the sheets to pull himself up higher.

As soon as he could see over top of the bedspread, though, he winced hard, lost his grip and then fell back to the floor. "Oh sweet mercy-just—curtains. Oh god, how are you not blind? My retinas."

It was pretty bright in the room. Kurt had to admit.

Thankfully (maybe, he wasn't sure), he didn't seem to be as worse off as Blaine was. That wasn't to say that it didn't take Kurt a fair few moments to rouse himself, but he eventually did slowly sit up on his bed. A few unsteady movements brought his feet under him.

At least when he got onto his feet, he could walk. Even if he did stumble into the wall when he walked over to the open curtains across the room.

"Careful!" Blaine's voice drifted over his sheets. "Don't die, I don't think I can crawl over to you yet."

"You are such a gentleman," Kurt chuckled. He winced soon after, his throat setting up an all-new ache. Quickly pulling the curtains closed, he made his way back to his bed.

"Gentleman does not survive when 'sick' shows up," came the pathetic but honestly amusing whine from Blaine's side of the room. "Oh my god, the room is not meant to tip like this."

"Get up," Kurt groaned, reaching up to rake his fingers briefly back through his hair as he approached the bed again. "I don't know how sick you are, but one – you are so not vomiting on my floor. Two – you'll feel better if you're at an angle, not full horizontal."

"How can you even use words, Kurt? Seriously, my—ow, just- rifle!"

As unlike Blaine as the whining seemed, Kurt silently had to tip his hat to it. Not only was it amusing (and dorky, plenty dorky) but it was cute. Even if that cute was in a sympathetic I'm-so-sorry-you're-hurting kind of way.

"I don't get sick," Kurt replied, swallowing. His throat burned and scratched painfully and he swallowed again, trying to find some way to help.

"You sound like a growly Chihuahua," Blaine groaned. The sheets on the bed pulled taut for a moment and Kurt assumed that meant that Blaine was pulling himself up again. "You are so sick, don't even try to deny it."

"Nuh," grimaced the younger teen, shaking his head as slowly as he could. "Not buyin' it. I'm just… out of commission."

"You're sick, dummy," Blaine grunted, peering over the bedspread with bleary, pained, sick eyes. "I am sick. I know sick. You are sick."

Kurt blinked. As much as his head was still killing him (and seriously, it was – ow), he suddenly couldn't not look at Blaine's hair.

He'd never seen the boy after he'd just woken up before. No, he'd only managed to catch glimpses of Blaine while his hair had been perfectly gelled in the past.

Now? Well... 'bed head' was being kind.

Kurt had to admit – for likely having gel still matting it in places – Blaine's hair at least still looked soft. That was where the positive seemed to cease though, even if the fact that Blaine looked like he was wearing a road kill hat was...seriously so much cuter than it should have been.

He was beginning to wonder if he had issues. So far he'd thought that Blaine's sick whining and bed head had been cute. Maybe it was just Blaine as a whole.

...yeah, yeah, Kurt was willing to bet on that.

"What?" Blaine squinted up at him, his expression drawn. He looked absolutely miserable. "What is it?"

"You look like an overgrown rosebush."

Blaine blinked.

Kurt blinked back.

It took Blaine a few moments to catch on, but when he did Kurt saw slightly feverish eyes widen in comprehension. Blaine flopped back onto the floor with a groan, reaching up to scrub at his eyes. "Oh fuck. I forgot to—I was so tired last night I didn't even think. Ugh."

"Forgot to...?"

"Wash the gel out," Blaine croaked back, his lips pressed thin. "But, y'know what? Any other day I'd be mortified. Today? Don't give a shit."

Despite himself, Kurt felt his lips twitching into a faintly chapped smile. "You realize you're swearing yourself hoarse?"

"Telling someone I feel 'icky' doesn't seem to really describe the magnitude of ow I am feeling, Kurt."

Kurt's nose wrinkled and he slowly crawled back into his bed. "Okay, yeah, keep on swearing. It's less creepy than hearing you say 'icky'." He paused for a second, and then sighed. Unfortunately this led to a bit of a coughing fit that eventually left him red faced and gasping.

Blaine's finger periscoped up the side of the bed to point accusingly at Kurt. "Sick!"

"Not sick," Kurt countered, grimacing. He coughed again, swallowed, and then flopped over onto his side. "Get up here, Anderson. I'm not having you stay on the floor."

"But-"

"We're both not feeling so well. Not like we can be made to feel any worse, yeah?"

Blaine fell silent to consider and then, after a few seconds, he nodded. "Okay, yeah, point taken. Help me up?"

"You are more likely to pull me off the bed, and you know it."

"Fine," Blaine groused, but he sounded more amused (and sick) than anything.

It took him a few longer moments of awkward squirming and shifting but finally he managed to pull himself up onto the bed. While not exactly spacious, the bed also wasn't small and so he had little issue settling in beside Kurt. It meant that they were fairly close together but neither of them really seemed to care.

Kurt, who honestly was pretty sure that he wasn't feeling as bad as Blaine was, groaned: "I don't think we should leave."

"Mhh?"

"The room. Leave. I don't think we should leave the room," he clarified, slowly turning over so he could face Blaine. "Last thing we need is for all of the Warblers to feel like you."

"Yeah," Blaine agreed, even if he sent Kurt a squinty look. "And you are sick. You look awful."

"Do not."

"Do so. 'Cept your hair," Blaine admitted grudgingly, his lips pursed in a would-be-petulant manner.

"My hair knows its place," Kurt groaned back, pressing his face mostly into his pillow. "'It is time that you learned yours.'"

Blaine quirked a funny little half smile. "Did you just quote Mulan at me?"

"Did you just register that that quote was from Mulan?" Kurt glanced up, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

He was pretty sure that he wasn't imagining it when Blaine's color took a turn for the pink side of the spectrum again. He looked faintly embarrassed (and still a bit feverish) but he just shrugged. "Perhaps..."

"Dork."

"Hey," Blaine whined, shoving Kurt gently. "You were the one that said it!"

"Oh, I know," Kurt grinned back, closing his eyes. "But I am fully aware that I am so not cool in any way. You're still in denial of your dorkdom."

"Dorkdom is not a word."

"Yup, pure denial."

Blaine chuckled slightly, fussing with the blankets until he could squirm his way under with Kurt. "You are so mean, oh my god. Leave me alone, you bully."

A few months ago, a comment like that would have really rankled Kurt's nerves. Now, especially with the pathetic whine and laugh (giggle) that Blaine had thrown in, Kurt only grinned wider to himself. "Not gonna happen. You just gave me gold, Anderson. I mean, just think? Blaine Anderson: I think there's something there that wasn't there before!"

"You are going to milk this, aren't you?"

"Oh yes. Yes I am," Kurt opened one eye, smirking.

"Wonderful," Blaine sighed.

It took the both of them a good half an hour to properly assess just how they were feeling. Kurt was thankful to realize that – by essentially comparing wounds – he wasn't feeling as awful as Blaine. He personally had some mobility and his fever was significantly less. His throat hurt like anything and his head was pounding. He felt weak and slightly nauseous too, but that was all.

Blaine seemed to have the worst of all worlds. He was feverish (only a bit over 100, they'd found out. Kurt had a makeshift first aid kit that Carole had sent with him to Dalton) and he was suffused with chills and headaches and a sore throat. His attempts at walking had gone over about as well as an Asian slur in a Chinese restaurant.

The one upside was that Blaine seemed to have a bit of an appetite. It wasn't much, but Kurt had been able to offer him some saltine crackers that he'd stored away.

That was how they found themselves a half an hour later. There were crumbs on the bed – Blaine apparently didn't eat crackers like a normal person; he nibbled at them – but Kurt really didn't care. Again, he just found it cute, if a bit odd.

He'd gone for glasses of water earlier and they'd both taken awkward breaks to the bathroom to ensure no bladders exploded in the attempt to look like they were indifferent to needing to pee. Kurt had even phoned the Dalton nurse (who had explained that there was a bug going around, and just to rest up and stay low) just to make sure they'd not needed to come in. She had said that their idea to stay in Kurt's room was a good one and had told them to call again if anything changed for the worse.

Chicken soup. She'd recommended chicken soup if they had it.

Now, Kurt had a great many things in his room; there was a considerable number of clothes and product for his hair and skin. He had a boombox in the corner and a multitude of books he'd been unable to leave behind at his parents' house. There were assorted gifts from his friends, photos both in frames and in a collage on the desk (that had been Rachel's doing; there were gold stars everywhere, but Kurt loved the gift despite the third-grade appearance).

The point: even with the vast number of oddities he possessed, Kurt didn't magically have cans of chicken noodle soup in his room. He'd only briefly managed to hold back his laughter when the nurse had said it, but as soon as he'd hung up he'd been consumed by wry giggles.

It led to a coughing fit that Blaine joined in later. Served him right; he'd started to laugh too upon seeing Kurt so wracked by his own coughs.

"Chicken soup," Kurt drawled as soon as he was able to breathe again. He ignored Blaine still coughing and wheezing on his bed. "What, does she think I have a personal minibar and stove in stock in my room?"

"You are pretty h-high maintenance," Blaine grinned back, even if he kept wincing due to miniature coughs.

"I most certainly am not!" Kurt turned back, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Are you kidding? I'm pretty sure I've seen 20 dollar bills leap out of students' pockets to run away in fear whenever you walk by." Blaine draped an arm over his eyes and so Kurt was left glaring at that boyish grin still exposed. "You are absolutely fabulous."

"While that is true," the younger teen jumped in, sniffing simply because he was affronted (and not because he was sick), "I'll have you know that I have never wasted money on purpose, so bite me, Anderson."

Blaine groaned pitifully from the bed. "You're too far awaaaaay... I don't want to move."

"Baby," Kurt muttered back.

He took a moment to walk over to his smaller bookshelf across the room, though. Blaine still had an arm thrown over his eyes and so there was no way that the other boy could possibly be aware of the sheer level of his dry humor, but Kurt still felt proud of himself. He almost fell into the bookshelf upon leaning down to grab the book in question, but, thankfully, he managed to catch himself.

Blaine either didn't hear the commotion, or had decided that Kurt was on his own. Either way, he made a small sound of displeasure as Kurt crawled back into the bed.

"If I'm not moving, you're not moving. Stop squirming, Hummel, you're making me dizzy" Blaine whined, slowly dragging his arm away from his eyes.

Kurt just smirked down at him as much as he could with his own throat burning itself clean through. Still, a part of him was overjoyed; as soon as he had settled back in the bed, Blaine had inched closer and was almost sort of using him as a pillow.

Yes, yes, Kurt knew his obsession was way pathetic, he needed no comments from his internal peanut gallery. He knew Blaine was likely just one of those touchy-feely people when they got sick, but hey, he could dream.

Smirk slowly drifting into a grin, Kurt weakly held up the book in his hands. "We'll be well in no time."

It took Blaine a few long seconds to focus on the title of the book displayed before him. As soon as he'd focused a bit more, his lips pressed into a thin line and he gave Kurt a dry look. "If I wasn't so sure you'd shove me off the bed for hitting you with a pillow, I would so do it."

"Why? She said chicken soup."

"I think she meant more of the liquid variety," Blaine mumbled back. Even so, he reached out and slid the book (Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul) from Kurt's hands, flipping through it. "Why do you even have this?"

Ooh. Kurt hadn't exactly anticipated Blaine asking that question. He suddenly felt his own face seem a bit hot.

"Uh..."

Blaine kept leafing through the book. Kurt wasn't exactly sure what it was that he was looking for, but after about a minute of silence, Blaine found his voice. He sounded... either hesitant or gently pleased; Kurt wasn't sure which.

The mood had sobered considerably.

"This looks like it's been read a few times."

"Uh, well...yeah." Suddenly the humor in the situation seemed a distant memory. Kurt was kicking himself for even trying to make the joke to begin with.

"How long have you had this?"

The younger teen made as close to a noncommittal noise as he could (what with a sore throat) but, eventually, he gave in. "A...few months now, I guess."

"Months?" Blaine looked up, settling back in the bed. His head idly met Kurt's bicep, using it as a prop to stay generally upright. "It looks like it's been around a bit longer than that..."

Kurt shrugged with his free shoulder. "I, uh… I don't know if it was new when he bought it."

"He?" Blaine glanced up, an eyebrow raised.

Again, Kurt shifted a bit for a few seconds, obviously wondering whether he should say anything. Then, finally, he heaved as heavy a sigh as he could without breaking out into a coughing fit. "Mr. Schue."

"Your Glee club teacher?"

"Yeah."

Blaine chose to remain silent, but the quirk to the already raised eyebrow made it rather obvious that he was waiting for more. He wiggled the book after a few seconds of silence, and Kurt rolled his eyes. Blaine was nothing if not completely unsubtle.

"He got it for me when my Dad was sick."

"Oh." Blaine suddenly looked a little uncomfortable. He'd never asked about what transpired then; Kurt had only vaguely told him that his Dad had nearly died of heart problems. "Did he say why?"

"Sort of." Kurt sighed again, reaching out to gently lift the book from Blaine's hands. He held it as if he had done it countless times before. "Typical 'concerned teacher' spiel, but I know him better than that. I think he was intending it as an olive branch, or something… I wasn't exactly feeling touchy-feely with anyone then."

Kurt shrugged again, forgetting Blaine for a second. "I didn't think it would help any. I don't really know if it did or not, to be honest, not at first, but I just started reading it one night when Dad wasn't getting any better." Kurt managed a small, half-smile. "It helped."

"You never told Mr. Schue?"

"Oh, God no." Kurt chuckled, feeling his face start to heat a bit. "I was so awful to him before that, and it didn't get much better when Dad was in the hospital. I still don't know how he can stand talking to me, to be honest."

"Aww, c'mon," Blaine urged. He wore a playful grin but Kurt could see the seriousness in his eyes just the same. "How could anyone stay angry with you? You're like an overly fashionable cherub."

Kurt gaped at him and, despite the seriousness of the past few moments, he huffed a faint sigh and then hit Blaine over the head with the book.

"Ow!" Blaine laughed, turning his face against Kurt's arm to whine somewhat pathetically. "That is no way for a cherub to act."

"I'll cherub you," Kurt grumbled back, but despite himself he couldn't help but smile.

"I'm sad I'm sick," Blaine said, after a few seconds of silence. "I couldn't think of a 'that's what she said' joke before, and now I'm blanking on anything to do with cherubs."

"That's probably best for all involved," Kurt grumbled as he rolled his eyes. "Now shut up. Your 'dork' might be contagious."

As it turned out, after a bit of snarking back and forth and some veiled moments of being serious, the two of them settled in to actually read a few of the stories in the book. It was nice, Kurt supposed, even if a few of the sadder stories made his eyes burn a bit too noticeably for his liking. He and Blaine would only mutter soft 'wow' or 'yeah's after each story that made them think too hard. It was a bit awkward, really, but Kurt really enjoyed it as a whole.

He especially enjoyed it when they'd come across the stories that Kurt had dog-eared from all those months ago. Blaine was almost like a kid at Christmas with how he subtly (and unsubtly) tried to flip the book directly to what had interested Kurt so much. Kurt was much less excited and tried to block his attempts at every moment, but Blaine – eventually – won out every time.

They laughed at the hilarious stories, fell silent and offered awkward condolences at the horrifyingly depressing ones, and settled in calmly to read the heartwarming ones.

In all honesty, Kurt had thought that only Rachel and Mercedes would ever react that way to the book in question. He'd yet to actually show it to them, though, and now he wasn't so sure he wanted to. Certain activities belonged solely to Rachel and Mercedes (like singing Lady Gaga songs and attempting choreography during sleepovers that ended in a pile of teenagers on the floor, laughing their hearts out) but this one Kurt thought he'd keep for Blaine alone.

And, in truth, he actually felt better when their eyes started to hurt from reading so much of the book. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but through mutual agreement, they'd decided to put the book away.

"I can see why it helped," was all Blaine had said at the end of it all. Kurt wasn't sure if it was his imagination, but Blaine didn't sound quite so raw in the throat anymore.

Huh. Go figure. Chicken Soup worked.

"What time is it?" Blaine asked from where he had eventually come to use Kurt's arm as a pillow after Kurt had placed the book back on the shelf

Kurt chanced a look over at the clock on his bedside table. "Not even ten yet."

"Seriously?" Blaine drew back enough to blink up at his friend. "Does time slow down when you're sick, or something?"

"I," Kurt cut in, "am not sick. You are, though, so yes, I'd say you're slowing down time for the both of us."

"You are so in denial," Blaine grinned.

"Am not. I'm not sick, I'm just not one hundred percent not sick. There's a difference."

"There so isn't."

Kurt rolled his eyes and shoved a hand into Blaine's face. He managed to not-quite-manhandle his friend down onto the bed so he could pull his arm back. He also pretended not to notice Blaine pout at him at the loss.

"Hey now," Blaine whined, "That's no way to treat a sick person."

"Oh come off it, you baby."

"Be nice to me and I will." Blaine grinned, but quickly put on an overly exaggerated pout when Kurt turned to look at him.

Kurt sighed, grimacing as the act hurt his throat. He quickly took a break to sip at the water he'd brought in for himself earlier. It didn't make the pain a lot better, but it helped a bit, at least. "Okay, okay, fine. So...we tried crackers, water, Chicken Soup-"

"Technically, I don't think that last one counts..." Blaine hedged in, only to flinch away with a smile when Kurt sent him a dirty look.

"It counts. Shut up or I won't share my comfort-flick."

"That's a new one," Blaine tipped his head (even though he looked very dizzy soon after), "what, a movie you watch when you're sick?"

"When I'm not feeling unsick," Kurt corrected. Blaine rolled his eyes.

"Right, whatever. So what is it?"

"You'll see." Suddenly there was a spark in Kurt's eyes and, even though slightly creeped out, Blaine grinned back.

"Uh...okay?"

The problem, Kurt realized soon after stumbling across the room to put the movie in, was so blatant that he'd initially not even seen it. For a long, long time, whenever Kurt felt sick or just plain depressed, RENT had been his salvation. He'd not even think about it; it would just be there for him and he'd spend a good few hours basking in the story, characters and songs.

Still, yes, yes, he'd heard it all before. A lot of people hardly knew what RENT was in Lima, Ohio, and those that did just scoffed that of course a gay would like RENT.

It had been a contributing factor initially; Kurt couldn't lie. He'd grown up with it as soon as he'd known how to use a computer and browse the internet, and of course he had nabbed the movie version when it had come out. (Though he was the first to admit that it did seem a bit Hollywood; he still didn't care, he loved it.) He'd also made sure to grab the last Broadway production that had been filmed.

When he took the Broadway out to watch, however, things had to be... bad. Serious depression, serious illness, or something very bad happening – those were the only instances he pulled out the big guns. Thankfully, that wasn't an issue this time; the movie version was more than perfect.

Or so he had assumed. He'd still overlooked the obvious issue.

Blaine was a Warbler. Kurt was as well. They both sang for recreation and music was an integral part of their well-being and happiness.

Thus, watching a musical with a sore throat had likely been a poor idea. It was quickly realized that they could both only brokenly hum off-key at the best of times.

After the third time the both of them had to break off and laugh pathetically at how horrendously off-key they both were, they settled on just mouthing the words. It wasn't singing, and it didn't offer the full experience of RENT, but it was enough for the two of them.

Kurt – once again – found himself pleasantly surprised. Not only did Blaine know the words to the songs, but he had a few stray comments about the movie as well. Now and then he'd lean in and whisper them under his breath and Kurt – trying his best to concentrate on the movie – would either roll his eyes and shove at Blaine's face, or laugh quietly to himself.

The movie itself did wonders for Kurt's nerves. Though they both broke out into coughing fits periodically throughout the musical, it was still a wonderful experience. It was honestly something Kurt was glad to share with Blaine.

(And it had nothing at all to do with the fact that Blaine had fully and shamelessly given up his pillow in favor of using Kurt's arm as one instead. Nope, nothing at all to do with that.)

There were a few moments that Kurt silently tucked away into the back of his mind, though.

During Today 4 U, Blaine did his absolute best to drum away at the air as Angel broke into her impromptu dance routine. Kurt watched, laughing silently. He couldn't really help it – Blaine looked absolutely manic playing the air drums with his messy, sleep-gelled hair and a wide grin on his lips.

To his credit, Blaine made it the whole solo without collapsing, but as soon as Angel started to sing again, he flopped bonelessly back onto Kurt, panting.

"Oh my god, my arms. That was supposed to be entertaining, not impossible."

The whine in Blaine's voice had prompted Kurt into laughter so hard that he'd missed the remainder of the song. He didn't really care so much, he found.

The second moment that Kurt silently stored away in his mind was when the more...raunchy song came on. Earlier, the two of them had decided with a lot of laughing (ie, giggling, and some blushing on Kurt's part) that to both play Roger and Mimi was stupid. Initially they'd tried to mix up the roles a bit, but when Blaine had broken down, coughing so hard that Kurt had to pause the movie when he'd tried to sing Mimi's part, they decided that yeah, okay, Kurt playing the girl was probably the better idea.

Blaine had made him feel a bit better by reminding him that Mimi had Roger by the balls, more or less. He'd said it with such a straight face that Kurt had almost blacked out he'd been coughing and laughing so hard

Getting back on topic, though, the moment that Kurt knew he'd remember more than anything else was when the first few trills of Out Tonight started to play.

Blaine had pulled away from him, leaning back on his elbows to grin wide up at Kurt. He'd looked nothing if not completely satisfied with himself and as Kurt felt his face turning red and Blaine's grin just slid into the realm of 'more amused', Blaine held his hands out in a 'what can you do?' fashion.

"Ulterior motive for passing Mimi off onto you?" He'd asked rhetorically, grinning ever more, "Me? I don't know how you could even suggest such a thing, Kurt."

Kurt had sent Blaine as disparaging a look as he could (which was rather a lot, as he was sick and thus the dark circles under his eyes made his displeasure more visible). Embarrassment aside, though, he'd simply huffed and gone about the song.

It wasn't like he could dance very well while seated in the bed, or even sing along all that well. His throat hurt and any movement he made that was too much made the room start to tip precariously.

Even with those holdups, though, Kurt fell into the role as easily as he ever had. He was an artist; just because the song was essentially one constant plea for sex didn't make it any less iconic or melodious. He even tried his best to make Blaine laugh through the whole thing, sending him over-the-top looks and raking his fingers back through his hair in a way that Kurt never would have allowed had it been properly styled.

Just as Roger and Mimi met for the kiss before Another Day broke out, Kurt blinked as the DVD seemed to pause itself.

Panting slightly (and wheezing because Hello, sick!), he turned to curiously look at Blaine, only to see his friend staring at him rather intently.

"I just need to mention this," Blaine had rasped (his voice was deeper, and his throat sounded sore, but Kurt wasn't exactly sure why) "If you did that at Regionals, there is no way we wouldn't win. We might get kicked out for song selection, but everyone in that audience would remember us for decades." He nodded sagely, cleared his throat a bit, and then turned back to unpause the DVD. "Just thought you should know."

Kurt could hardly pay attention to the mournful yearning in the following song; he was grinning much too wide.

Perhaps the most predictable moment that Kurt stored guiltily away in his mind was on the streets of New York. Blaine had once again flopped back onto his makeshift pillow (aka: Kurt's arm) and was in the process of trying to rub his fever away with slow, honestly rather miserable shakes of his head when the first few notes of the following song started. Kurt perked up almost instantly, smiling wide, and if he knocked Blaine in the chin with his elbow as he nudged him, well that was Blaine's fault for not moving fast enough, now wasn't it?

"Ow, what?" Blaine whined, leaning back to blink up at Kurt petulantly.

"Gay love song," Kurt answered simply. Despite his obvious illness and the pounding in his head, he was downright convinced he was going to make Blaine laugh this time.

He loved RENT, he really did, but joking around with Blaine was just so...comfortable. Besides, they'd already assigned parts and had been lax, but this was one of Kurt's favorite songs. Ever.

Kurt made sure to keep his expression exaggerated as he grabbed Blaine's face, met his eyes, and then began to brokenly sing along with the song. Thankfully, Angel drowned out Kurt's awful attempts at singing the song with any dignity, but it was more fun to just watch Blaine stare at him.

It was only the raise in Kurt's eyebrow that had reminded Blaine that he'd inadvertently claimed Collins. Grinning, rather sheepish, Blaine had made sure to take up his part when it came.

Perhaps it had been a poor idea to entice his crush into a love song of sorts, but Kurt was pleasantly surprised to realize that he didn't feel awkward at all. They sang their hearts out (and coughed when they tried too hard) and both made grandiose gestures to one another while they played their parts. There was a lot of touching – Kurt's hand found a permanent place of residence squishing Blaine's cheek – and swaying in time with the music (until Blaine almost fell off the bed, of course. They toned it down then.)

And even singing about a thousand sweet kisses couldn't make the moment awkward. They tried their hardest to hold the notes as long as they could and when the song ended, Blaine all but collapsed onto Kurt. Kurt pretty much did the same and they were a pile of laughter personified.

Perhaps their respective fevers had some sway in why they were so giddy, but Kurt chose to think it was just that they were such good friends.

As far as embarrassing went, however, there was a moment that stood out very well. It was quick, and something that Kurt had honestly forgotten about.

Blaine was...well, through the next few minutes in the movie, Kurt had noticed him beginning to half-drift off, and he could tell that the fever was getting to him. Kurt would have been worried, but Blaine was a rather...well, amusing sick person.

He was expressive enough when he felt well enough to move normally. Every time Blaine sang, he expressed himself better than anyone Kurt knew– except maybe Rachel, but she was scary sometimes... But when Blaine was sick, he seemed to be a good ten times more expressive.

He kept turning to Kurt, wide-eyed, at any shocking part in the movie and the expression was so funny that Kurt had coughing fit after coughing fit in his attempts not to laugh. Blaine also laughed so hard at anything remotely funny that Kurt had to throw an arm over Blaine's face to muffle the sound.

"Oh my God, you're drunk," Kurt had commented fondly, rolling his eyes.

Blaine had said something back, but the shirt had muffled the statement.

...Kurt should have probably turned the movie off and let Blaine rest a bit at that point, but he chose not to. It really was his own fault, what had ended up happening.

Kurt had forgotten about La Vie Boehme, and how that song probably wasn't the best for an excitable, feverish Warbler to sit through.

Blaine quickly reminded him of that fact.

"Ew," Blaine commented, squinting at the screen. Maureen had just leapt onto the table and worked her pants down, exposing the rather interesting star tattooed on her ass. Joanne's hand came down and slapped her girlfriend's rear, and Kurt felt his face turn into one giant flaming tomato. He suddenly remembered the lyrics to the song.

"Oh God," he squeaked, and then grabbed at Blaine's head. "Okay, okay, I think that's enough RENT for now."

"But they just started singing," Blaine protested, his voice not quite a whine, but close. "It's rude to leave in the middle of a performance." He squinted at the television. "Besides, I'm busy reminding myself why I am so gay."

Kurt glanced at the screen, watching Maureen pull her pants back up, and he had to agree. Though his unease was grabbed by one stray fact he'd not noticed until now. "Oh God, she...ew."

"What?"

"She looks like Rachel's mom."

Blaine blinked at him slowly, and then tipped his head back. He outright groaned and it delved into a smaller coughing fit as Mark started to sing. "Oh my God. I can't even find the mind to make a Fountains of Wayne joke."

"Stacy's Mom reference, Blaine? Really?" Kurt drawled, sending his friend a look.

"You are not allowed to hold me responsible for the end result of being friends with David for so long," Blaine grumbled, slowly curling closer to press his still rather feverish face into Kurt's arm. "Leave me be."

Kurt chuckled and turned his attention back to the screen. Perhaps with Blaine giving him straight answers now, the danger was passed? Maybe?

Blaine suddenly broke out into a snort of laughter as Mark sang: "To fruits" and Kurt gave up hope.

He could only wait in horror, hoping Blaine missed the line. If he remembered correctly, Angel and Mimi didn't sing it so loud...

However, as he watched them leap up onto the table and Angel drop to her hands and knees, he felt Blaine shift beside him and nudge him. "Hey, you're not singing your parts," he whined, and Kurt grimaced deep.

He had expected to skim over the line, but there was no helping it. So, with as much dignity as he could, he swallowed.

"...and cheese. To leather, to dildo's—"

And Kurt promptly broke off, startled that he hadn't been able to hear himself sing. Instead, he'd pretty much just been treated with a blast of Blaine yelling the word 'dildo' so loud that it echoed off the walls of the room for a few seconds after. Kurt promptly turned the shade of a fire truck and sat, embarrassed, as Blaine helplessly broke off into peals of feverish laughter followed by fitful coughing.

"This movie is the best," he said when he finally found his voice. It was around the time Mark simply said: "To mucho masturbation."

Kurt pretended not to see Blaine raise a hand and awkwardly salute the television, and he also pretended very fitfully that he had not just acquired masturbation material for the next lifetime.

"Yeah," Kurt agreed, his voice squeaking in a way he hadn't intended it to. "Yeah, yep, uh-huh. This movie is pretty um. Awesome. Yeah."

He decided, against all odds, that he quite liked feverish Blaine. Now all that was left was to get better, and that couldn't be so hard.

When the final notes of No Day But Today (ie: Finale B) drifted through the still air and the screen went dark, both boys were silent.

For Kurt, hearing the song of hope, of realization, of support always made him feel better. He felt empowered and relaxed at the same time, reassured that everything would be okay. It had been the song that had helped him the most when his mother died, and it still carried through to that day.

He'd expected the same thing for anyone who watched the movie.

He hadn't counted on Blaine giving a miserable sort of sniffle from his arm. "That is what makes you feel better when you're sick?"

Kurt blinked, looking down at the miserable teenager curled against his arm. During the rather tense and uncertain second act, Blaine had slowly managed to worm himself under Kurt's arm and their legs had long since wound together. In all honesty, Kurt had simply assumed that Blaine had fallen asleep. He'd been quiet from Goodbye Love to What You Own. Kurt figured it was a fair assumption.

"Thought you were asleep," he frowned.

"I am so not that heartless," Blaine whined back, and – much to Kurt's amusement, it was an actual whine. "I'm not just gonna go: 'Oh hey, cool, Angel's dead, time for a nap while her sweetheart of a boyfriend sings horridly heartbreaking love songs over her coffin.'"

Kurt, however, had caught sight of Blaine's face and he could only blink incredulously. "Were you crying?"

"No!" Blaine pouted deeper, seeming scandalized by the insinuation. "I just feel like shit. There's a difference!"

"Really?" Kurt smiled, all but gloating. "Because your face looks pretty wet. You sure you weren't?"

"I've got a head cold, you twit," Blaine grumbled, once again pressing his face to Kurt's...well, it was his chest now, but Kurt still didn't feel it was awkward in any way.

"Your point?"

"Of course my face is wet. I'm a sopping ball of misery," Blaine whined.

Kurt grimaced, quickly catching onto what Blaine meant. "...you realize that if you weren't obviously so sick, I would absolutely murder you for getting my pajamas all... wet," he finished weakly. There simply wasn't another adjective that didn't sound so gross that Kurt could gag.

"Be nice to me, you're not as sick," Blaine grumbled back.

Despite himself, Kurt smiled. He was still feeling pretty awful himself, that was for sure. His throat was still raw and painful, and his head was still rather stuffy, but he could feel the affects of the cold slowly lifting as the day wore on. He had no doubt that by nightfall, he'd be in absolute agony once more, but the reprieve was nice.

The reprieve hadn't seemed to hit Blaine, and though Kurt was a little concerned for him, he couldn't help but find the fact that Blaine was undoubtedly clingy while sick to be...cute.

"Come on," he urged gently, unable to help his smile. "You seriously mean to tell me that you don't find that song the least bit inspiring?"

"Well, yeah, okay, maybe a bit," Blaine conceded, an odd pinch to his brow, "but you are still an emotionally masochistic sadist."

Kurt raised a curious eyebrow. "Um..."

"You're masochistic to enjoy something that makes you cry," Blaine grumbled.

"I'm not the one crying," Kurt reminded him, trying not to smirk too obviously.

"I'm not crying!" Blaine whined, and then broke off to cough fitfully against Kurt's chest. Kurt took brief pity as he rubbed his friend's back, waiting for the coughing to taper off.

"Okay, okay. And the, uh, sadist part?"

Blaine glanced up, eyes watery and red-rimmed from coughing so hard. He looked the picture of misery, but Kurt still couldn't help but find the petulant whine that Blaine's voice had become, cute. "You dragged me on the emotional roller-coaster with you."

"Oh, yes," Kurt drawled sarcastically. "Wanting to share a movie with a friend is such a sadistic move. How dare I do something to pass the time. How dare I!"

Blaine blinked, and then leveled Kurt with a squinty look. "Was that much sarcasm needed?"

"Do you even know me?" Kurt smirked, amused beyond belief.

Thankfully, it seemed as though Blaine had realized he was joking, and he seemed amused as well. Yet another reason Kurt absolutely adored the other teenager – Blaine knew him enough to not get upset when Kurt ran at the mouth.

It was a rare talent, to be sure.

"Ugh, my head," Blaine muttered soon after, brows pinching as he pressed his face against Kurt's pajama top. "Ugh...you wouldn't happen to have some morphine, would you? Or a shotgun? I'm not picky."

"Sorry," Kurt chuckled, though he decided to brave the mess that was Blaine's hair to offer some comfort. "Fresh out. Come back next Tuesday and we'll see then."

Blaine chuckled, winced, and then chuckled again. He sounded incredulous when he glanced up at Kurt, amused. "Why do I find that funny? Seriously, how sick am I?"

"I'm just a natural hoot, only explanation," Kurt suggested, sagely.

"No one says 'hoot' anymore," Blaine groused.

Kurt smirked, opening his mouth.

"And if you make an owl joke right now," Blaine grunted into Kurt's shirt, "I will bite you. I am officially close enough to do that."

Chuckling, Kurt relented, holding up his free hand in surrender. "Fine, fine. Hey," he added a moment later, "are you hungry again? It's pretty much noon."

Blaine took a few moments to consider, curling his hand absently in the shirt he was using as a pillow. "Mmh...no, no, I'm just really tired. You wouldn't, um, hate me or anything, if I..."

"Slept?" Kurt finished for him, dryly. "First off, I think it's impossible to hate you to begin with. Second, if you're not resting and-or asleep in twenty minutes, I'll knock you out myself."

Blaine sent him an odd look. Kurt merely raised an eyebrow. "I know where that book is. Hardcovers make good bludgeons."

Blaine's tired, helpless laughter warmed Kurt's heart to a pretty pathetic degree.

Ten minutes later found Blaine asleep. He had dozed off fairly quickly, and Kurt had only smiled. It had hardly taken Blaine five minutes to fall asleep, at most, and Kurt had enough mind to – again – find it cute. He was also rather thankful, all of a sudden. Blaine had obviously been exhausted during the movie, but he'd stayed awake long enough to see it through. And despite what Blaine would likely say, Kurt had a feeling that it wasn't entirely for Blaine's benefit.

Careful not to yank or tug at Blaine's hair, Kurt leaned back against the headboard, carding his fingers through the semi-gelled strands. Blaine had, after all, fallen asleep directly where he'd been laying before. He'd said that he would move, just to give him a few moments to fight down vertigo.

Kurt had just smiled and stayed silent. Minutes later, Blaine had fallen asleep on his chest. And yeah, okay, maybe it was really, really pathetic, but Kurt seriously didn't mind. He was in heaven, even if Blaine did smell sick and his hair was rough and messy and he'd coughed (and maybe drooled) on Kurt's pajama top. It gave Kurt time to study the other teen, and to try and work out some of the gel in Blaine's hair without waking him up.

Kurt didn't know how long it was that he'd just lain there, semi-stroking Blaine's hair to try and get it to fall right. All he was suddenly aware of was his phone vibrating on the table beside him.

Quick to grab it before it could inadvertently wake Blaine up (though Kurt highly doubted that would happen), he gave the device a quizzical look and then flipped it open.

Unread Messages: 1

Mercedes

Kurt raised an eyebrow curiously and – one handed, as he wasn't about to abandon Blaine's hair – he opened the message that Mercedes had apparently just sent.

sooo bored at grandparents. how r u? luv these guys but they smell funny. wish i was home. sry about slumber party.

Kurt rolled his eyes slightly, fondly. He really had to break Mercedes of her textspeak habit. Seriously.

Even so, he considered for awhile, taking inventory of how he was feeling. Then, after a few moments, he opened the touchpad keyboard and concentrated on texting back with just the one hand.

Don't worry about it, maybe next week. And I'm fine. Feverish, coughing, headachey, but NOT sick, thank you very much. Blaine is, though.

Mercedes' reply was almost instant, and Kurt felt a pang of affection for the sassy diva back at McKinley.

omg i'm sry to hear that! hope he feels better soon, same to u! even tho ur not sick, rite? lol

Kurt smiled suddenly, feeling Blaine grumble under his breath and shift closer, curling up with him in a way that set his heart to fluttering. He was very aware of how stupidly he was grinning, and he didn't care one bit.

On second thought, I'm feeling fantastic. This is one of the best days of my life.

Later, when Blaine woke up, Kurt had a hard time hiding his phone from curious eyes that looked considerably better. Kurt felt wonderful himself, despite getting very little rest – he couldn't keep the smile from his lips.

And Mercedes? Well, seated in the musty living room of her grandparents, trying to hide her own phone from the dog that threatened to chew it up, she smiled. Her last text from Kurt was still on the phone, but she was too happy for her best friend to reply willy-nilly.

He's asleep on me right now. His hair's all silly and I think he's drooling, but he looks absolutely amazing, Mer. Does that sound weird? That's weird, right?

No, Mercedes thought, beaming, while shoving the husky-mix away with her foot, and allowing the dog to steal her sock in retaliation. That's love, Kurt. You are so, so very in love.