In which Blaine and Kurt end up despising each other, helping each other, and falling in love with each other, all under the backdrop of the magical school we all love.
Blaine breathes in the strong, clean smell of laundry detergent and softener. He glances around as clothes fly over his head, sprinkling water onto his curly hair, and drop themselves into the dryer. Holding his basket carefully under one arm, he wonders how more students didn't do their own laundry. He could never get enough of the magic in the room, let alone the intoxicating mixture of vanilla and wild orchid.
The house elves running around near his legs all greet him with their normal smiles and welcomes, ushering him happily to his normal washer. Once he starts loading his clothes into it, they all dissipate, running back to the load each was currently working on.
He's just finished emptying a cap full of soap when he hears a squeak of surprise and, when he looks in the direction of the sound, a brown head ducks behind a particularly tall double-dryer.
"Kurt?"
"Oh, for Christ's sake."
"Why are you hiding?"
"Because I'm sick of seeing your ugly mug."
"Really."
"Yes."
Blaine leans against a washer and yawns loudly behind his hand. "And this has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that it's obviously laundry day?"
There's a sigh, and then, "Just shut up, Anderson."
"Muffin, you know I don't care what you wear." His voice drips with sarcasm. Kurt peers out long enough to flip him the illusive middle finger. "Seriously, Kurt, do you really think I'm going to tell people about your laundry day outfit when I have something so much bigger on you?"
There's a moment of silence, and then Kurt mutters, "Fuck it" and takes a few steps toward him and then lifts himself effortlessly onto a nearby washer.
After a second of raking his eyes down the lithe form, Blaine decides that Kurt really has nothing to be embarrassed about.
He's wearing a tee-shirt that had the collar snipped cleanly from it; one sleeve slips carelessly down his shoulder and exposes flawlessly pale skin and deep collar bones. Blaine has to physically repress the urge to touch the unblemished porcelain. On his legs…
"…Are those cheerleading pants?"
Kurt sniffs. "Yes, and if you tell anyone, I'll—"
"I won't. It's just interesting."
"Yes, well…Not everyone has a random pair of Quidditch gym shorts to wear on laundry day."
Blaine smoothes his palm over his thigh, feeling the mesh material beneath his fingers. "I would wear them every day, if they weren't such a crime against fashion."
Kurt raises an eyebrow. "Are you trying to say that the rest of your clothes aren't?"
"Good one." Blaine rolls his eyes. After a moment of silence, he asks, "So can you do anything impressive with your secret cheerleading skills?"
Kurt gives him a pointed look and gestures down at his body. "Don't pretend you haven't noticed."
"I said impressive."
"Oh, ouch."
"Seriously, can you?"
Kurt seems to weigh the pros and cons of exposing his abilities and comes to a quick conclusion. He slinks off the washer, lithe body sliding from the appliance with a type of sexual grace that isn't lost to Blaine's hazel eyes at all. He takes a deep breath, chest puffing out as it filled with air, and executes a flawless high kick that Blaine leans away from in surprise.
"Impressive enough?"
Blaine shrugs one shoulder. "I wouldn't be able to do it."
He smoothes down his tee shirt, the cut collar slipping impossibly further down his porcelain shoulder, and a smug smile traces over his mouth. Blaine casts his eyes downward, knowing that if he let them stray, they'd land on the tiny sliver of milky skin that was Kurt's hip, exposed when Kurt had performed his cheerleading trick.
"So why are you down here, anyway?" Kurt asks after a beat, pulling himself back onto a washer. "I know you have enough money to have someone else clean your clothes for you, and plus, it's free and Hogwarts."
Blaine lifts an eyebrow. "How do you know I have enough money?"
"We were friends in Kindergarten, remember?"
"Well, you have a shitty memory." Kurt raises an eyebrow in curiously. "I'm not rich. My parents are rich. There's a significant difference."
Kurt chews on his bottom lip, but says nothing. Blaine looks down at his hands.
"As for why I come here when it's free…I like it here. It's quiet, smells good. The house elves are nice and it's less work for them. I don't think they mind much. I also get alone time, which is always –"
"Sorry."
Blaine meets Kurt's eyes. "For what?"
"Destroying your alone time."
"I don't mind."
Kurt's mouth curves upward ever so slightly; Blaine chews on the inside of his cheek and hums a soft tune that had been stuck in his head for a few days.
After a moment of comfortable silence, Kurt straightens his spine and asks, "Do you happen to have the notes from charms yesterday?"
"I always take notes."
"I need a favor."
"Stop."
"What?"
"Stop it."
"Stop what?"
"The tapping."
"Tapping?"
"You're tapping your quill against the table."
"Oh."
"It's driving me crazy."
"Like this?"
"Yes."
"I'm doing it right?"
"Blaine."
"I just want to make sure I –"
"Stop."
"Fine, but only because you're my muffin and I love every irrational pet peeve you have."
"Shove off."
"If I'm not mistaken, you're the one using my charms notes to write that essay."
Kurt rolls his eyes and uncrosses his legs, stretching them out tiredly. He swears they've been sitting there for at least two hours In silence, with the occasional question being voiced between them. After relocating to the library, Blaine had taken to tapping his end of his quill against the smooth surface of the oak table and successfully driving him insane.
Next to him, Blaine throws his quill down and lets his parchment roll into a type scroll on its own accord. He lifts his arms over his head and makes a show of yawning loudly behind his hand, forcing Kurt to shoot him a look that was equal parts disgust and annoyance.
"You're done?" The Slytherin demands in disbelief, watching irately as Blaine slipped his essay into his bag.
"For now."
Kurt snorts. "You do realize that you have to try in order to get a passing mark, right?"
Blaine leans over his shoulder, lips ghosting the boy's ear, and murmurs quietly, "You should have more faith in my intelligence, Mr. Hummel."
Kurt sends his elbow backward and it connects hard with Blaine's ribcage; the Gryffindor lets out a little groan of surprise and hurt.
"Maybe, Mr. Anderson, if you weren't such a cocky asshole, I wouldn't question your intelligence."
"Ouch." He sits back down. "What's your favorite color?"
Kurt arches an eyebrow at the arbitrary question. "Why?"
"Carter asked me what it was the other day, and I honestly didn't have an answer."
"Dior gray."
Blaine makes a face. "That's not a color."
"Well, what did you tell Carter?"
"I guessed blue." His eyes search Kurt's face. "I'm not sure why."
Kurt stares at him, at his wide Bambi eyes and strong jaw, and then looks back down at his paper. "Interesting."
"Don't you want to know what my favorite color is?"
Kurt lets out a long sigh. "I'm trying to write a paper."
"So? Take a break. We need to know about each other in case someone asks. We are supposed to be dating, you know."
"Fine. What's your favorite –"
"Easy. Purple. Favorite song?"
There's a pause as the wheels in Kurt's brain start to turn, churning through the various songs he had on repeat in his head. "Defying Gravity."
"Really?" He makes another face.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"I just imagined you saying Barbra Streisand or Patti LuPone. "
Kurt rolls his eyes. "I do like Barbra Streisand and Patti LuPone. But if someone threatened me with an Unforgivable, I would say Defying Gravity."
"Oh."
"Well?"
"Oh, um…Anything by Katy Perry."
"Of course."
"What does your mom look like?"
Kurt swallows. There's a second of silence while he struggles with the emotions bubbling in his throat and Blaine's eyes travel over his face, noticing the Slytherin's immediate discomfort.
"Like me." He finally manages with a thick tongue. Blaine nods silently, somehow knowing he wasn't quite finished. "I don't look a thing like my dad, so…I got all of her traits. She looked like me."
Blaine's brow pulls inward. "Looked?"
"She's dead."
"I'm sorry." He looks it; his fingers twitch over the surface of the table, like they want to grasp Kurt's and hold on tight. Kurt suddenly hates the pity in his hazel eyes.
"I don't need your sympathy."
The Gryffindor blinks. "No, I guess you don't."
"So, what about you?" Kurt's desperate to talk about anything else. "Do you look like your mother?"
"I wish," Blaine scoffs, running a hand over his face. "No, I look just like my dad."
Kurt notices the bitter tone in his voice and ventures bravely, "Not a good relationship?"
"Not exactly." It's all but a growl; Kurt lifts an eyebrow interestedly. "He hasn't quite come to terms with the fact that I like to kiss boys yet."
"Really?"
"Really. He's convinced it's just a phase."
"I'm sorry."
Blaine's eyes flick to his face and his lips quirk upward. "I don't need your sympathy."
"Oh, clever."
"Ha! You said I was clever!"
"Shut up."
Blaine laughs, but Kurt can tell it's not a full, honest laugh. There's still a darkness in his eyes that had pooled there when his father had been brought up; Kurt finds himself wondering what Blaine's real laugh sounded like, and if it reached the hazel irises.
After a beat, Blaine clears his throat. "What's your home situation, then?"
"My dad is entirely supportive of me," Kurt says confidently, smiling at the thought of his overprotective and entirely too loving father. Blaine lets out a low whistle.
"Lucky little Slytherin."
"Can I finish this essay now?"
Blaine claps him once on the arm, hard, and stands, hiking his bag onto his shoulder. "Have fun, muffin."
Kurt would be lying if he denied that he watched Blaine's jean-clad ass disappear around the corner.
Blaine's trekking around the grounds with his broom held tightly under his arm when Santana catches up with him. He's honestly surprised to see her; it was rare that Santana actually talked to him when they weren't on or near the pitch.
"Hey, Anderson, I heard you were boning my boy Kurt."
"Well, we're dating, if that's what you –"
She grabs him by the tie and drags him uncomfortably close. Blaine jerks away in surprise, but doesn't actually move a centimeter. "Listen, hobbit, Kurt is fragile. He needs to be treated right. You are probably the last person I would want near my boy, but apparently he's found something appealing under those enormous Dorito eyebrows of yours. So if you hurt even the tiniest hair on his far too impeccable head – or anywhere else – I will come after you with a bludger bat. I'm not below going all muggle on your ass. Do we understand each other?"
"Yes, ma'am," He says immediately. Santana takes a step back; when she lets go of his shirt, Blaine's heels sink back into the ground. It takes him a few seconds to realize he must have been on his tip-toes.
"Good." She sniffs. "Personally, I find you absolutely revolting, but at least you're better than the last one."
Blaine's ears prick. "Last one?"
Santana shoots him a dirty look and, with a flick of her cloak, turns on her heel to head back toward the castle. "See you on the pitch, Anderson. Prepare to have your ass handed to you."
So. :)
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