I own nothing

"You're gonna suffer… But you're gonna be happy about it…" came Rupert Grint's voice from Blaine's flatscreen. Blaine looked down at the angelic boy that had somehow found his way down to his chest, and thought Ron's prediction didn't sound so far off base.

"Blaine?" Kurt's voice floated up to him through the sounds of Professor Trelawney's exploits. Blaine jumped and loosened his hold around Kurt's waist; he hadn't known the countertenor was awake.

"Yes?" he asked uncertainly.

"What are we? I mean, I don't… Are you just a mentor to me? Cause…"

"No! Of course not!" Blaine's mouth went dry. "I'm your friend!" he edged, petrified in position.

"Oh," said Kurt, sitting up suddenly.

Blaine sorely missed the boy's warmth at his side.

"I just… maybe… No, I know it!" Kurt's voice grew stronger. "You've been treating me like more than just a friend! You can't just hold my hands and look at me with those stupid hazel eyes and flirt with me like some suave, perfect little… Why would you lead me on like that, Blaine? After everything we've…"

"K-Kurt," interjected Blaine. "I… You're right. I have been… flirting. But it's only because… You're just so damn beautiful! I… I really like you, Kurt."

Blaine watched as Kurt's beautiful eyes softened and his soft lips stretched into a rare smile. Then, Blaine's heart soared as Kurt leaned in so close that Blaine could see each impossibly long eyelash. Kurt leaned further, impossibly close, so that Blaine couldn't help but close the distance, to finally feel those wonderfully soft lips on his own.

It was blissful oblivion, and Blaine thought, as his hands found Kurt's waist and he tasted the lingering sweetness of kettle corn on Kurt's tongue, that he hoped this was an obsession he never outgrew.