Disclaimer - I don't own it.
Please remember to review. It's incredibly helpful.
He doesn't like the way Blaine never seems to see him.
How his hazel eyes seem to glance right through him, how they passed over him as though he was invisible.
Because if Kurt was used to one thing, it was being seen.
He looks down at his text book and tries to read.
But across the room, Blaine was laughing far too loudly to ignore.
And he wasn't alone.
Kurt doubts severely that he's ever seen the boy sitting carefully beside the Warbler, but there's something very familiar about the way he's batting his eyelashes, the way he laughs and throws out an hand, subtly touching Blaine's muscled arm.
His fingers contract and he accidentally rips a page out of his History book.
The sound makes Blaine look around.
His eyes land and, for once, stay on Kurt's face.
Kurt wonders if he can see the turmoil beneath his perfectly composed façade.
Blaine looks away.
It's after they disappeared, after Kurt is left alone in the common room, that he realizes what exactly was so recognizable.
The boy, flirty and young, reminded Kurt of himself.
Blaine tries very hard not to shove the kid away from him.
Too young, too clingy, too annoying.
He laughs at something he didn't hear and watches his face light up.
H remembers Kurt's eyes doing something similar.
He sighs and glances over.
Kurt looks content, flipping through his text book. Occupied, and not thinking of Blaine at all.
Happy, even.
The Warbler beside him (Grant? Greg? He can't remember) lifts a hand and presses his meaty fingers into Blaine's bicep.
Blaine tries not to think of Kurt's fingers on his skin, tries to forget the taste of Kurt's lips, tries not to wonder if he ever thought of the same things.
Grant/Greg's hair is blonde. Blaine has never had a thing for blondes.
He likes Kurt's hair. He likes the soft brown. He likes the way it sticks up in the morning when Kurt first rolls over. He likes the way the countertenor can't stand when it sticks up. He likes the way it smells like coconut and honey and the way Blaine used to run his fingers through it.
He hears ripping.
When he looks up, Kurt's bright eyes lock onto his, and for once, Blaine can't tear himself away from them. He tries to see under that mask of indifference, tries to tell him how much he loves him just through his eyes.
But then Kurt looks away to inspect a ripped page in his book and Grant/Greg invites him to watch My Fair Lady.
He sneaks another look at Kurt, but the countertenor is fully engaged in the Civil War. Blaine ducks his head and tells Grant/Greg that he's tired and would rather just go to bed.
They leave together, though, with Grant/Greg's arm pressed subconsciously into his.
Blaine wonders if Kurt even notices.
It's hard to avoid him.
To avoid those hazel eyes.
Because, if Kurt was being honest with himself, that's really what he misses most.
He misses the shared looks, the soft smirks, the intense, passionate stare that had positively melted him.
For course, Kurt sighs, it's easy to avoid him when he won't even look at Kurt for more than thirty seconds.
But Kurt finds himself studying the curve of his bicep under his white tee shirt, memorizing the sharp, chiseled line of his jaw, the curls that fall out of the constricting, perfect gel.
His fingernails dig into his palm to remind himself that no, that isn't acceptable.
Because friends didn't stare at friends.
He guessed that, technically, friends actually talked.
Blaine had said exactly three words to him since the coffee shop, since Kurt had dropped the huge friends bomb.
"Oh, hey, Kurt."
He'd said it sloppily, almost subconsciously, when they had accidentally bumped into each-other outside the mess hall.
Kurt can't forget the way his eyes seemed to pass over him, seemed to miss him altogether.
Because Blaine always met his eyes.
Always.
Blaine decides that he really can't take the evasion anymore.
So he seizes his courage and charm and uses one knuckle to knock on Kurt's dorm door.
There's a scuffle and a hushed voice that was too unique to be mistaken for anyone but Kurt says "I don't know who that would be" and the door opens just enough for one teal eye to peek out into the hallway.
"Blaine." He sounds breathless. His cheeks are flushed, his mouth curved upward in a way that made it obvious he had just been laughing.
And that makes Blaine immediately suspicious.
Not that he was the right to be suspicious.
Or jealous.
He feels his cheeks heat up.
He clears his throat and pushes unjustified thoughts away. Kurt has pulled the door back a little, so Blaine can see his whole, beautiful face.
But barely anything else.
"Are you busy?"
Kurt's lips slip into a thin line, and Blaine suddenly wants nothing more than to put that breathless smile back on his face. "Slightly. It is something important?"
You're important to me, and I feel like I'm losing you. It's important that I get you back into my arms immediately, that I kiss you and touch you and make you smile. I need you beside me, close to me. I need you to love me. So yes, Kurt, it is important.
"Not really."
His mouth curves back into a little smile. "Can I meet you at Driade in an hour?"
Anything, anything, anything, anything, ANYTHING for you.
"Curfew is soon." He pretends to check is watch.
Kurt snorts and raises an eyebrow. "It's never bothered you before."
It bothers me now, because I need you back now. Not in an hour, not in a minute, not in a year, not tomorrow. Now.
"That's true." He rakes a hand through his curls. Kurt presses his head against the door and smiles again. Blaine loves the way his eyes are just resting on him.
Loves the way his gaze feels warm on his skin.
Hates, hates, the way that he missed it that much.
"Sounds good. Chai?"
Kurt nods and moves to close the door. Blaine stops it with his loafer and brings himself to say softly, "It's good to see you again, Kurt."
He didn't know what he had been expecting really.
A deep conversation, an apology, a love declaration.
Something.
But when he sat across from Blaine at their regular table and he used his long piano fingers to push a warm cup of chai across the glass surface, he got neither.
Suddenly, they were just talking.
Casually, nonchalantly, normally.
Friends.
Kurt's ecstatic.
Because, he was being honest with himself, being friends with Blaine was much better than no Blaine at all.
He could ignore the urge to leap across the table and press a biting kiss into his full lips.
He could ignore the want to rip that perfectly ironed oxford off Blaine's muscles as they rippled under the fabric.
He could ignore the need to touch, to be touched.
It wouldn't be that hard.
…Right?
I wondered if anyone had noticed the chapter titles and how they're significant to the focus of the chapter content?
Lol. :)
REVIEW.
Next:
There's a moment when they just look at each other, chests heaving, angry words still fresh on their tongues, and wonder why they're fighting in the first place.
Blaine still has his fists in Kurt's shirt, holding him close. His jaw is still clenched, his eyes still livid.
But he feels Kurt's short little breathes, feels the heat radiating from his small, lean body and anger, fresh and new, flows through his veins.
Because even though he has the right to be angry, even though he has the perfect reason, he just can't bring himself to hate Kurt Hummel.
And very suddenly, his lips were crashing down on the countertenor. He doesn't bother to be gentle; Kurt lets out a little moan as his hands scratch down his sides and grip his firm ass. His lips are rough; his tongue smooths over the inside of Kurt's minty mouth. He bites at Kurt's full bottom lip. He can taste the cherry on Kurt's tongue feel his body fitting perfectly into every corner of his own, smell the coconut in his hair, touch every curve, ever line, ever plane, see the passion, pure and simple, in his beautiful teal eyes.
He doesn't want to be gentle.
He doesn't want to be kind.
Because Kurt is forcing Blaine to love him, consciously or not.
And Blaine really, really loves him.