While classes might have been canceled, having nearly all of the Warblers together in one building proved too irresistible a temptation for Wes. He sent out a mass text, telling them that their usual Friday evening practice was still on. Only Winston, who lived in Lexington Hall, and Adam, who was a day student, were excused.
Most of the members were still eating ice cream in the basement kitchen when they got the text message. There was some grumbling, but Kurt felt sure he wasn't the only one who was actually looking forward to practicing.
That is, until he remembered he couldn't sing.
Instead, he sat and watched while the group rehearsed. Practice turned out to be a complete disaster. The group's pitch kept sliding flat, the soloists were forgetting lyrics, and the basses were overpowering the other sections. The choreography wasn't complicated, but that didn't stop Jeff and David from tripping over each other three different times. Even the rhythm was dragging, despite Michael's usual vocal percussion talents.
"This is ridiculous," Wes said crossly, after Jeff and David went sprawling onto the ground for a fourth time, their feet tangled. "Winston and Adam should be here. Having members missing throws the entire group off our game."
"The snow is over two feet deep now," Thad pointed out. "Winston probably can't open the front door of Lexington at this point. And as for Adam, I don't think we need another member getting into a car accident, do we?"
"Well... you guys shouldn't have eaten ice cream," Wes said. "Everyone knows dairy is bad for your voice. It creates mucus and–"
"Your argument would be more compelling if you hadn't dripped rocky road on your sleeve," Trent said.
Wes frowned, picking at the offending stain but still looking to place blame somewhere else. "Well..." He looked over at Kurt. Blaine leaned forward, shaking his head silently in warning. "Fine," Wes grunted, banging his gavel. "We're a lost cause tonight. Practice is adjourned."
There were more than a few sighs of relief. The Warbler members packed up their sheet music, chatting quietly. "What now?" Kurt asked Blaine, curious. As sunset approached, their options for entertainment without the use of power were growing limited.
Blaine checked his watch. "It's six o'clock, so I guess we grab dinner."
"We just had massive bowls of ice cream. How could you be hungry?"
"Let me explain to you how teenage boys' metabolisms work..." Blaine slung an arm around Kurt's shoulders as they followed the rest of the boys back down to the kitchen. Kurt listened intently, trying his hardest to ignore the lovely feeling that twisted deep in his stomach every time Blaine's hand dipped down to graze his elbow. "See, we're hungry all the time, but as a trade-off, we get to eat anything we want, all day long."
"Fascinating," Kurt replied drily. "I so appreciate the human physiology lesson. But is there any healthy food in the kitchen, or is it all just junk?"
"The Dining Services people keep it stocked up pretty well. Initially it was supposed to be emergency rations, but after they realized the guys were just eating anything they put in here, they were a little more strategic. Now, whenever there's snow in the forecast, they put enough food in there to last us for days."
"Even without power?"
"Sure – although there won't be much produce right now. Michael is strict about keeping the refrigerator shut when the power's out, and that's where they keep the green stuff." He gave Kurt a reassuring smile. "We'll find you something, don't worry."
The kitchen was packed with at least thirty boys, rummaging through the pantries and cardboard boxes. As the boys filed out one by one, Kurt spotted their armfuls of pre-packaged peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, potato chips, Oreos, and Coke. He resigned himself to eating pore-clogging, hips-spreading junk food for dinner. To his surprise, though, when he reached the pantry himself he found plenty of options. Finally he selected a packet of tuna, Wasa crackers, a banana, and Parmalat milk, and tried not to roll his eyes when Blaine opted for three PBJs and two Parmalats. They took the food up to Blaine's room and ate while finishing up their homework.
It was... nice. Kurt felt almost domestic with Blaine, although he immediately pushed the thought out of his head. He looked up at one point to find Blaine grinning at him, with a bit of peanut butter sticking to the corner of his mouth, and he had to swallow hard to keep from leaning over and–
The door opened, and Michael poked his head in. "Guess what."
"What?" Blaine asked, licking his lips as Kurt stared at the floor.
"It'll be dark soon." Michael's eyes were twinkling.
Blaine cocked his head. "That's now it works every night."
"And there's no power."
"Right..."
"Meaning no lights."
"That..." Blaine's face suddenly lit up with comprehension. "Wait, seriously? Grog?"
"Epic Dorm Grog," Michael confirmed. "David looked up the sunset time on his iPhone, and it's supposed to be completely dark in twenty minutes. We're meeting in the common room in ten to go over the rules while the Grog makes the rounds."
"Awesome."
Michael left, and Kurt turned inquisitive eyes to Blaine. "Grog? Isn't that, like, alcohol?"
"Nope. I mean, yeah, it can be that, but Grog is also a game. A bunch of us used to play it at camp growing up. Works great in a dorm." He looked appraisingly at Kurt's uniform. "You can't play wearing that, though. I'll lend you some of my clothes."
"Your clothes?" Kurt felt his jaw go slack. "To wear?"
"Well yeah, you'll have a better chance of fitting into mine than into my roommate's. Jaewon is five feet tall on a good day." Blaine stuffed the rest of his sandwich in his mouth, then jumped to his feet, heading over to his bureau. "You have to dress all in black for Grog. The game is all about stealth." He pulled out two pairs of black sweatpants, along with a black long-sleeved shirt and a black sweatshirt. "Do you want the shirt, or sweatshirt?"
"Shirt," Kurt croaked out. Blaine threw him the shirt and one of the pairs of sweatpants, then started unbuttoning his own dress shirt. Kurt tried not to stare. The room had grown darker in the dusky light, but he could still make out Blaine's form fairly well as the boy took off his shirt and shimmied out of his pants. He was standing in just his boxers, acting as though this were completely normal, and Kurt couldn't exactly remember what air was.
Finally he blinked, realizing he looked like a pervert just sitting there and watching the impromptu strip show. He rose and unbuckled his belt, embarrassed. Off went the slacks, and on went the sweatpants. They were a bit too short for him, and he grimaced at the inch of pale ankle skin peeking out from below the elastic bottoms. Blaine was smirking at him a little, so he lifted his chin haughtily and ignored the muffled snort directed his way. His fingers were a little shaky as he unbuttoned his shirt and stripped it off. There was a sharp intake of breath, and he looked up, startled, to see Blaine staring at him.
"Jesus, Kurt."
He followed Blaine's gaze down to his chest, and saw how dark his seatbelt bruise had become. "Oh. Yeah."
Blaine looked stricken. He stepped forward. "I didn't know it was that bad. Are you okay? Do you want to skip the game and rest instead?"
"No, no. I'm fine." Kurt picked up the shirt and tried to slip it on, but to his dismay, he found that he couldn't raise his arms above shoulder level without grimacing in pain. "I could use a little help, though. If it's not a bother."
"Sure, of course." Blaine was at his side in an instant, pulling the shirt gently over Kurt's head, and easing his arms into the sleeves one at a time. The light in the room was so faint now that Kurt almost thought that Blaine was blushing.
"Thanks."
"Any time," Blaine replied, sounding a little breathless. They both heard the footsteps of neighbors on the hall heading down to the common room. "We should go," he said. They both left the room and walked down the hallway, which was dark but for the eerie red light cast by the battery-powered Emergency Exit signs.
Most of the dorm's residents were in the common room by the time they arrived. Michael waited for a few more stragglers as Kurt and Blaine snagged a spot on a couch by the wall, then began to speak. "Okay, for those of you who haven't played, here is how Grog works. There's one person who is essentially 'it.' That's the Grog. His goal is to tag everyone. Everyone else is working together. Before the game begins, the Grog takes a flashlight and disassembles it into four parts: the base, the top, and the two batteries. He can hide the parts anywhere in the dorm, as long as it is not inside of something else. So for example, it could be on top of the refrigerator, but not inside the refrigerator. Everyone is searching for those flashlight parts that the Grog hid. The goal is to find all four parts, reassemble the flashlight, and shine it on the Grog. That's how you win."
"What happens if the Grog gets you?" Kurt asked.
"If you are tagged by the Grog, then you have to freeze in place until another player can come along and untag you. Also, if the Grog tags you while you are carrying any of the flashlight parts, then he gets to take them and re-hide them." Michael smiled. "Now, Grog is always played in darkness, and it can be hard to tell who is another player and who is the Grog. So the rule is that the Grog can only walk, never run, and with every step he takes, he has to say 'Grog' so that people know it's him. He is allowed to stay in rooms, quietly waiting to ambush people, but the moment he moves, he has to say 'Grog.'"
Blaine turned to Kurt, whispering, "I know this sounds confusing. Cliff's Notes version: you go around the dorm, searching in the dark for flashlight parts, and try not to get tagged. And if you hear someone saying 'Grog,' you run like hell."
"Got it. How do I get into the residential floors, though? I don't have one of those key cards."
"When the power goes out, the internal security systems go off, so nobody risks getting stuck. Besides, you and I will stick together."
The room was almost completely dark, now, and Kurt was thankful for that, as he felt his cheeks flushing.
"Okay," Michael continued, "While we've been talking in here, tonight's Grog, Wes, has been hiding the flashlight parts all over the dorm. The common room is a home base; you can't be tagged in here and he can't hide any parts here either. So, without further ado, as Brighton Head of House, I declare this game of Grog... begun!" The boys piled through the door. Some ran down the hall, while others tiptoed up the stairs.
Kurt and Blaine were the last to leave the room. Their eyes slowly adjusted to the faint red-hued light, and they looked at each other shyly.
"It can be hard to keep your balance in the dark," Blaine said. "I wouldn't want you to fall. Maybe we should hold hands."
"That seems sensible," Kurt whispered, after taking a deep breath. He held out his hand, and when he felt Blaine's slip into his and intertwine their fingers, he hoped his shiver wasn't noticeable. "So... where to first?"
