This was originally a fanfiction I wrote for redbullandcupcakebatter (on tumblr) for Glee Secret Santa, this December.
I didn't actually get a chance to name the story (which is why its title is so terrible). I can't think of a thing to call it, to be honest.
It's just a cute little sick fic, but it was an honour to write, as I've read some things by Cailtin before and I simply adored them.
Sleep is a beautiful thing. It's for rest and recuperation, something your body wants as much as it needs. And while Kurt Hummel usually wakes up early enough in the morning, prepared to start a fresh new day, that Monday morning he felt like burying himself in blankets and sleeping until his body actually gave him the recuperation he'd been promised.
Kurt groaned out loud, to no one except himself, as he sat up in his bed, assessing exactly what felt so bad. For one, his head felt strange and foggy – not just in a sleep-deprived teenager kind of way, but worse than that. As if that wasn't enough of an indication, his throat was rough and irritated.
He took a few deep breaths in – through his nose initially, but he switched to his mouth after he realized that yes, his nose was plugged, and yes, he was definitely sick. He felt the urge to flop back down into bed and roll up in his dark red comforter, but struggled against it. Rolling himself out of bed, he made his way to the bathroom he shared with Finn, grabbing the necessary shower products before leaving his bedroom.
See, Kurt had always believed that it was possible to trick your body into downplaying any degree of illness. If you felt sick, you made your best effort to not look sick. You took a shower, dressed up, and went through a normal skin care routine as usual. Oftentimes, your body would get the hint. You would feel better about yourself, even if just for a little bit. Lying down in your bed all day in your pyjamas was the last resort, the white flag of surrender.
Kurt tried. He really did. He took a fairly long, well-deserved shower, and he combed his hair nicely, and he picked out a nice outfit and everything. He realized that he couldn't fight anymore, however, when he ended up clutching the toilet for grip as he vomited into the porcelain bowl.
Of course, Finn heard him.
"Kurt?" he said, a little dumbfounded, as he had just woken up and was headed to take a morning pee. "Are you okay, dude?"
Kurt turned his head to look at his step brother and, after deciding not to use sarcasm – now wasn't the time – he wiped his mouth with the back of his right hand. "Not really, no," he admitted.
Finn wasn't really sure what to do. "Um," he hesitated awkwardly, looking around the room for a second. "I can go get Burt or my mom for you, if you want?"
Kurt tried to smile. "Please," was all he said, feeling weak. He closed his eyes and leaned against the seat, waiting for his dad or his step mom.
He could hear footsteps coming upstairs, and recognized them as Burt's. "Hey, kiddo," his father greeted him at the doorway. "How're you doing?"
"Dad." Kurt lifted up his eyes in recognition. "I'm sick."
Burt chuckled a little. "I can see that." He walked over to the toilet seat and, seeing the contents of the toilet bowl, made a face before flushing it for his son. "You're definitely not going to school today."
"But… Dad!" Kurt protested, still positioned on the bathroom floor. "I can't afford to miss school. I've got Glee club, and I've got a French test, and… and…"
"Kurt, you just threw up," Burt told him calmly. "You're not going to school, not when you're sick, I don't care what's going on at school. Glee club will cope without you for one day, and you can take your test tomorrow." He walked back over to the doorway. "Just text your friends and ask them to catch you up on what you're missing today. And in the meantime, get some rest."
And that was how Kurt found himself, a few minutes later, back in a pair of navy-coloured pyjamas and nestled up in his bed. He was in the middle of texting Blaine the bad news when Burt appeared at his door, with a glass of water in one hand, and a bowl of chicken noodle soup in the other.
"Hey, Kurt," he greeted his son quietly, making his way across his bedroom and placing the glass and bowl on the bedside table. "I have to go down to the shop, actually, and Carole's leaving for work, too… but are you going to be okay on your own for a little while?" He hesitated, looking at Kurt with an observing glance. "I mean, if you're not feeling well enough, I could –"
"I'll be fine," Kurt reassured him, with a faint smile. "I'm just going to sleep."
Burt nodded. "Yeah, okay. If you need anything, just call." He gestured towards the table. "I brought you some water – make sure to drink lots of fluids, remember – and some soup in case you get hungry."
Kurt was touched by the gesture. "Dad, you actually made that?"
"I heated up a can of it," Burt admitted. That made more sense. "Just… get better, okay, Kurt?"
Kurt nodded wearily. Burt smiled softly, and turned to leave, closing the door gently behind him.
Picking up his phone, Kurt finished up his text to his boyfriend and sent it, before setting his phone down on the nightstand and letting his head fall against his pillows. As his eyes closed and Kurt felt himself going to sleep, he made note that he could faintly hear the engine of Burt's truck as it revved up for work.
It wasn't until a few hours later he woke up. While he wasn't expecting to feel cured from a little bit of sleep, he did surprisingly feel a little better than before. Not completely, though. Kurt grabbed a few Kleenex from the tissue box on the bedside table, and blew his nose.
He turned to put them in the garbage but, remembering how he moved it around last week when reorganizing his room, spotted it across the room. Conflicted with a lack of energy and a desire for cleanliness and order, he hesitated first before throwing the tissues at the garbage bin near his vanity table.
He missed by a few inches, the Kleenex landing on the wooden floor. Kurt made a face, but made no effort to get up. Instead, he checked his phone for the time, and remarked it was 11:48. Not only that, he had a few text messages – all from Blaine. Kurt felt his cheeks flush.
He read them quietly, wrapped in his blanket and eating spoonfuls from the now-cold soup. Blaine was concerned; he wanted Kurt to feel better soon. Then, an hour or so later, he was lamenting over his boredom, and expressing a desire for Kurt to be there with him, and then –
Kurt almost spat the mouthful of cold chicken noodle soup back onto the bowl. Blaine was coming over to check up on him. He checked the send time – about ten minutes ago. He had probably already left McKinley by then; the students were on their lunch break, so he wouldn't have missed any class.
"Oh, crap," Kurt exclaimed to himself. He wasn't exactly sure how he felt about this. After all, he loved his boyfriend, and of course he'd love to see him… but under more ideal circumstances. Like when he was feeling healthy and clean and in a well co-ordinated outfit – which wasn't exactly the case this time around.
With this new motivation, Kurt sprang up into action – a little too fast, he thought to himself, as his head throbbed violently as soon as he did. He tried to ignore it as best as he could, however, dashing to pick up the Kleenex and toss them into the trash bin – this time not missing. While he was at his vanity table, he took a second to check himself in the mirror.
"I look like shit!" he exclaimed, his voice a little shriller and louder than he'd been aiming for. But it was well-deserved, in his opinion. His nose was a little red and puffy, and he had a serious case of bed head – and not in the appropriate-but-seriously-overdone styled way. To top it all off, he was in his freaking pyjamas. Not that they weren't nice clothes – it wasn't like he'd be wearing something from a Mattress Land commercial to bed. He just needed to change, quickly.
First things first: the hair. Kurt was suddenly grateful for the can of hairspray he'd left behind on the vanity table from the previous day. He grabbed it, and tried desperately to straighten out his messy locks with a combination of his fingers and the hair product. When he'd finished, he put the can down and admired it for a second. It was a rush job, Kurt admitted to himself, but it didn't look half as bad as it did before.
Second: outfit. He sprinted over to his closet, threw open the doors, and began a frantic search for an appropriate wardrobe choice. He was scrambling about – throwing things on the bed and throughout the room without much of an afterthought – when he heard a soft tapping at the door.
"Kurt?" he could hear a voice on the other side of the door call out, and damnit, because it was Blaine's voice and Kurt hadn't even picked out an outfit, much less cleaned up the disaster he had turned his bedroom into.
Kurt only managed to throw the clothing on his bed onto the floor – and throw himself onto the bed and in his covers – before the door cracked open and Blaine came in, holding two cups from the Lima Bean.
"Hey," Blaine said as way of greeting. "I come bearing gifts." He gestured to the cup in his left hand. "I know you're not feeling well, so I skipped on the usual non-fat mocha, and brought you some lemon tea."
"You are so sweet it sickens me sometimes," Kurt told him with a smile as Blaine moved forward to set the warm drink on his nightstand, taking the now-empty bowl in exchange and placing it on the top of Kurt's dresser.
"I knew there was a reason you loved me," Blaine teased. "How are you feeling?" he asked seriously, taking a seat at the edge of the bed.
"Better," Kurt said honestly; partially because of the nap, but also due to his boyfriend's presence. He took a sip of the lemon tea which – while it usually wasn't his thing – soothed his throat a little.
"That's good," was the soft reply. Kurt turned from his tea to see Blaine looking at him with concern.
"Blaine?" he said nervously to the other boy.
"Yeah, Kurt?"
"What are you doing here?" The question came out of Kurt's mouth faster than he'd intended, and he quickly tried to rephrase his words. "I mean, it's not to say that I don't want you to… I was just wondering why you… what I meant to say was – "
Blaine laughed before he could finish whatever it was he was going to say. "I was worried about you, obviously." He leaned over and took Kurt's hand from where it was lying on top of his covers, holding it in his own. "And I missed you, and I wanted to see you today. Isn't that reason enough?"
Kurt couldn't help but blush. "But… you have school," he pointed out.
"Kurt, it's lunch break," Blaine said just as matter-of-factly. "Besides, I've already cleared it with all of my afternoon teachers that I won't be coming in for the rest of the day so that I can help take care of you."
"You what?" Kurt's reply was full of surprise.
"Relax," Blaine assured him. "I only had to convince Ms. Doosenbury for Geography, and then Mr. Schue for Spanish and Glee Club. Which wasn't very hard – and I'm not missing anything at all today," he added when he noticed his boyfriend's disapproving look. "By the way, Mr. Schue hopes you're back on your feet soon."
Kurt opened his mouth to protest, but he closed it again when it realized it would probably be useless. Blaine was trying to be nice and look out for him – he shouldn't argue. Besides, even if he wanted to, he wasn't feeling up for it. He let go of Blaine's hand, burying himself deeper into his covers to conserve his heat. "Thank you," he said appreciatively, looking into hazel eyes. "I love you."
"I love you, too." Blaine didn't hesitate to return the words, as if he truly meant them. He must, after all, Kurt thought to himself, if he's willing to ditch school to look after his sick boyfriend.
After a minute or so of silence, however, the two of them were faced with the fact that there wasn't much for them to do – despite being completely alone in the house in the middle of a school day.
"Um, Kurt," Blaine began, looking over to the pale face in the sea of dark red blanket. "You wouldn't mind if I went looking for a movie for us to watch, would you?"
"Not at all," Kurt said, smiling, somewhat relieved as Blaine rose from his seat, grabbing the empty bowl of soup.
"I'll just drop this off in the kitchen," he explained, and closed the door carefully on the way out of the room.
As if that were his cue, Kurt jumped up again – this time, only to make the room a little more orderly, folding all of the designer clothing properly and placing it in the closet properly. Kurt promised himself he would later iron every single article of clothi ng he had neglected, setting aside a section in his closet to remind him. After he was done, he laid back in his bed, wrapped himself up like a Christmas present in his comforter, and waited for Blaine.
When his boyfriend came in several minutes later – knocking beforehand, to make sure he wasn't walking in on anything – Kurt was sure he noticed the room's new state, but he said nothing. Instead, he held out a DVD case for Kurt to see.
"Okay, so, what about Grease?" he asked, looking to gauge Kurt's reaction.
"That's a definite guilty pleasure," Kurt responded, and Blaine could tell he'd picked a winner.
He grinned, putting the disc into the player. "Lights on or off?" he asked.
Kurt paused for a second, debating. "Off," he finally decided, figuring that he and Blaine wouldn't have to worry about a potential risk getting caught doing anything – not because they were going to be alone for at least the next two hours, but because Blaine knew better than to try anything with Kurt when he was feeling sick.
When the lights were off, Blaine made his way to Kurt's bed. "Can I lie down?" he asked, not wanting to cross any boundaries with him.
"Of course," Kurt told him. "It's not like I'm going to make you sit on the floor."
Climbing into bed, Blaine kissed the top of Kurt's forehead. "Just asking," he said in self-defence. "I wanted to be polite."
"You and your dapper ways," was all Kurt said, sighing as the screen opened in on the gorgeous beach scenery and the two figures of Sandy and Danny.
Blaine smiled to himself, and leaned his head against his boyfriend's shoulder, just as engaged in the movie as he was.
Within the first half hour, the both of them fell into the clutches of sleep, resting against each other soundly when Burt peeked in and found them later in the afternoon, after returning from the tire shop. At the sight of the two of them, he smiled fondly to himself.
"I hope you're feeling better, kiddo," he whispered to his son, pulling a blanket over the pair of sleeping figures before going back downstairs to read the newspaper.