EIGHTEEN
"We have to do something," Hana said.
She leaned in low over the breakfast table and indicated the two empty seats. Nick and Jeff paused chewing for a moment, and Dagny halted with a broken off bit of muffin halfway to her lips. She frowned at her friend.
"So that's why you dragged me out of bed at this ungodly hour? To plan an intervention?"
Hana scowled at the older girl.
Kurt and Blaine had skipped breakfast with the group for the past eight days because they couldn't stand to look at each other. Thursday movie night had been a disaster when Kurt announced he had a date with Christophe, and Blaine had spent the rest of the night sighing moodily. Yunjin had gone from wanting to rip out her hair during rehearsals to wanting to throw things at her students.
"I'm serious, Dagny. We have to do something. We all know this fight between them is completely pointless, and it's hurting all of us."
"I don't think we can do anything, Hana," Nick said. "If they're going to work this out, it'll have to be in their own time."
"Fine. If you don't want to help, then just go stick your head in the sand! Dagny, I'm counting on you getting through to Blaine. I'll talk to Kurt."
"Whoa. Hana … I'm with Nick on this one," Jeff said quickly. "We shouldn't get into this. Let them work it out on their own."
"I know you want to help," Dagny said kindly, "but guys don't resolve their problems the same way girls do. Sending in mediators is only going to make it worse."
Hana crossed her arms over her chest and slumped backed in her chair. She refused to speak to her friends until they were halfway to school, and even then she only wanted to argue her point more. Dagny had stayed behind, of course, but Nick and Jeff had to deal with her nagging until the first hour bell rang.
"What has gotten into her?" Nick asked, gazing at Hana's retreating form over his shoulder.
"Long story," Jeff sighed. "Just … let's make sure she doesn't go talk to Kurt or Blaine. The cold shoulder thing is getting old, but it's better than the alternative."
"Agreed."
o o o
An early spring thaw settled over Here in the middle of the first week of March leaving patches of walkways clear and a constant drip off rooftops. Patches of melting snow piled on top of hedges and walls like mounds of icing, and clumps of dead, brown grass pockmarked the hillsides around the town. The temperature hadn't risen much, but the sun shone brightly in a clear sky and the usual wind blowing in from the low mountains in the distance had quieted.
Blaine hated this time of year, and the ugliness of the thaw only made his mood fouler. A miscalculated footstep around a corner in the College Quad sent his shoe into an inch of squelching mud. He cursed at the splattered shoe and hobbled off to the side to scrape the muck off the sole as best he could.
"Let's put you where you belong, homo," Parrish snickered.
Blaine watched the scene as if in slow motion. Parrish's hands slammed against Blaine's chest, and with his weight balanced on one foot, he didn't stand a chance. He went sprawling backwards onto the muddy ground. He felt it shifting beneath him, sucking him in further, and splashing onto the back of his head. Parrish and his gang walked away laughing raucously and thumping each other on the back.
With a disgusted grimace, Blaine pulled himself out of the mud. His black jeans and unfastened winter coat were covered in thick, grayish brown mud, and flecks had splattered onto his plaid button up too. His face flooded with heat when he saw onlookers snickering at his humiliation, and he turned away to hide his shame from the rest of the student body. If he thought things couldn't get any worse, he was wrong, because coming up the walkway, hand-in-hand were Kurt and Christophe.
Kurt stopped short when he saw Blaine covered almost literally head to toe in mud, and then his eyes flickered to the laughing students. He dropped Christophe's hand and rushed forward.
"Come with me," he murmured.
Taking Blaine's hand, Kurt pulled him past the onlookers and into the nearest restroom inside the school. Something about the bathroom was definitely off, and it took him some time to realize there weren't any urinals on the wall.
"A girls' bathroom?"
"It's much cleaner," Kurt sniffed.
The taller boy shuffled through his messenger bag. Two textbooks and color coordinated notebooks were piled on the ledge under the mirror before Kurt found what he was looking for: a small soft plastic travel bag. Blaine saw miniature bottles of shampoo, hand sanitizer, hairspray, and a nail care kit inside. He also had a full change of clothes and a towel inside the bag.
"Why do you have all of this stuff?"
Kurt turned on the hot water tap and let it run while he came around behind Blaine, eased off the mud covered coat, and carefully removed the still clean bowtie and his glasses.
"Dumpster tosses and Slushie facials don't come without a mess. I've learned to be prepared for anything." He tested his fingers under the water and tempered it by spinning the cold tap. "Duck your head. I'm going to wash your hair. Don't turn your head or you'll hit the faucet."
Blaine did as directed and let Kurt work his fingers into the muddy curls. Brown water swirled in the porcelain sink and disappeared down the drain. When it ran clear, a sweet floral scent filled his nose, and Kurt massaged shampoo into his hair. Not since he'd been a little boy had anyone washed his hair. He'd forgotten how wonderful it felt to have another set of hands working on his scalp. They didn't talk at all as Kurt cupped water over Blaine's sudsy hair, and he kept his eyes shut tightly against the soap.
"Your hair is clean, at least," Kurt said, twisting off the taps.
He wrapped the towel around Blaine's head and used the corners to wipe off rivulets of water down his face and neck. Blaine took over when most of the water had been soaked up, and Kurt backed off with a bashful smile. He busied himself with getting the clothes ready, although Blaine didn't need anything more than the stack handed to him.
"I don't have any gel, so we'll have to make do with hairspray. I think I can make it work. You should get dressed first though."
Blaine went into the handicapped stall to put on fresh clothes. They were plain by Kurt's standards, dark wash skinny jeans and a green-and-white striped long sleeve shirt, but probably he wouldn't tote around his favorite clothes every day anyway. They worked just fine for Blaine.
"I don't even know what to do about this coat, though," Kurt worried.
"Toss it," Blaine called back. "It's too much work to have cleaned. I'll use a March blue to get a new one."
When he came out of the stall, Kurt had removed his fluffy taupe pashmina and wrapped it around Blaine's neck. It was still warm and smelled of Kurt.
"You're going to be cold without your coat," he explained.
It wasn't really that cold inside, but Blaine didn't want to give back the little bit of Kurt he'd been given permission to have.
"Where did you find a pashmina at this time of year? Scarves are gone from the warehouse in a second."
"I made it. I've gotten on good terms with Ayo, and she let me know when someone found wool."
"So you really are making your own clothes?"
Kurt smiled and nodded. He ran a comb lightly through Blaine's curls, and although he was perfectly capable of doing it himself, Blaine let him carry on. Like having his hair shampooed, this felt wonderful. When the tangles were gone, Kurt began arranging and re-arranging curls until he was satisfied with their exact placement. Blaine wanted desperately to laugh at the way Kurt's tongue poked out between his lips when he concentrated, and the way he scolded the curls around Blaine's temple under his breath because they wouldn't lay right. When everything was in place to his satisfaction, Kurt coated Blaine's hair with the spray.
"Hopefully it won't frizz when your hair dries. I think your hair is short enough that you'll be okay, but it might be a little fluffier today than usual."
Blaine slipped his glasses back on and the world came into focus. Now that the time had come for them to part and go to class, Blaine remembered that he was supposed to be mad at Kurt for calling him selfish and self-serving, not to mention flaunting his handsome, sophisticated boyfriend around.
"Kurt, I know we're in a weird place right now, but I want to thank you for being here when I need you."
Kurt's eyes flicked upwards to take in Blaine's reflection in the mirror. Blaine thought he saw a hint of panic in Kurt's wide eyes, almost like he'd forgotten they were fighting too.
o o o
As Blaine sat in his literature class later listening to the discussion about Our Mutual Friend going on around him, his memory called up snippets of conversations and moments he and Kurt had shared since November. Mostly, though, he pondered the angry words Kurt had spat at him: selfish and self-serving.
Despite their fight, Kurt had dropped everything to help Blaine. If that wasn't the definition of loyalty and altruism, Blaine didn't know what was. Wouldn't everyone seem selfish in comparison to Kurt? If he was being honest with himself, there were selfish undertones to his hesitance to have a romantic relationship with Kurt. He didn't want to get hurt and lose his friendship with Kurt, but that had happened anyway.
"You're free to go, Mr. Anderson."
Blaine started at his professor's voice and saw that he was the only student left in the classroom. He mumbled an apology and hurried out of the room. The high school students were making their way to the cafeteria for lunch, and Blaine threw himself onto the bench at the usual table.
"Rough morning?" Nick asked.
"You have no idea."
Blaine stood to go stand in line for food, but before he left the table, a winter coat was placed on the gray Formica. He turned sharply to see Kurt walking away with a faint smile cast over his shoulder.
"It's too cold for you to walk to the warehouse without a coat, so I went on break."
Kurt turned fully and took his now customary seat beside Christophe. Blaine examined the coat. It wasn't what he would have picked out for himself, but he really loved it. It was a dark grey and double breasted with large, shiny silver buttons. There were pocketless zips along the chest and buckles on the shoulders and wrists.
"Not to say 'I told you so' or anything, but …" Nick said.
Hana threw a French fry at him.
o o o
"So you are friends again with Blaine," Christophe observed.
Kurt popped the top off the Ranch dressing container and drizzled it over his salad while he considered what he and Blaine were after today.
"I don't know," he said honestly.
"You are leaving school on break to go find him clothes at the warehouse halfway across town. You are leaving me standing in the courtyard while you run off holding his hand. You are spending all of first hour in a bathroom with him. But you're not sure if you are friends?"
Kurt's head snapped up at the sneering tone. Camille and Ando, who had been approaching the table and overheard, spun on their heels and went to find another place to eat lunch.
"It's not like that. You saw what happened with Parrish. He's bullying Blaine because he's gay, and I know what that feels like. I went through that alone, and I went through it with friends. It's never fun, but it's the tiniest bit better knowing you're not alone."
"Jonas is bullying him because Blaine is weak and will not stand up for himself. You should not indulge his acceptance that bullying must be part of high school for gay teens. You should leave him to figure this out on his own."
Kurt bristled. He had said as much to Blaine before, but hearing someone else say the very same thing raised his hackles. His food sat forgotten on the table. He fixed Christophe with the glare Mercedes lovingly called his "bitch face."
"This is the second time you've told me drop a personal relationship. I've had enough of that, Christophe. Friends are there for each other. No matter what they've said or done to each other, they're there."
"So you are friends with Blaine," Christophe asked, a frown pulling deeply at the corners of his mouth.
"I guess I am," Kurt said, with a dry laugh. "No one has ever been there for me the way he has been, and that kind of bond doesn't go away because he hurt my feelings when he was angry. The fact that you don't understand that scares me, because where are you going to be when I need you? I'm starting to think you'll just disappear when things get tough."
Kurt stood up from the table and pulled the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder. He haughtily stared down his nose at Christophe.
"Thank you for this, Christophe. It's given me a moment of clarity. Blaine is my best friend, and he always will be. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go find him and work out our disagreement."
Kurt felt eyes on him as he flounced out of the cafeteria with his head held high.
Despite his declaration, Kurt did not go find Blaine. The middle of the school day was not the opportune time to talk, and he knew it. He would wait until this evening between dinner and rehearsal to ask for a quiet moment with Blaine to talk.
As he sat through the rest of his classes, Kurt pondered the many revelations he'd had today. He was beginning to wonder if Blaine might have had a point after all. Christophe was charming and handsome, and Kurt had a good enough time when they were together. There must be a reason, though, that Kurt felt no desire to share his secrets with Christophe or cuddle up next to him or sing flirty songs to him.
The final bell released the students from their classes before Kurt had finished copying down the Portuguese conjugations on the blackboard. He stayed behind for a few moments to note all the information in his notebook.
"There's no need to rush, Kurt," Professor Hirsch said with a laugh. "I'm not going to erase anything on you. Are you worried about Portuguese?"
"A little. I've never even heard the language spoken before today."
The linguistics professor shifted through his bookshelf and pulled out an old battered textbook with a faded red cover. He passed it to Kurt.
"Latin in the basis for all the languages we study in this class. You're at a disadvantage having never studied it. If you can't make sense of the book, you might ask Blaine to help you. He's the best Latin student I've ever had."
Kurt tucked the book into his bag, thanked his professor, and fled before any more outside reading could be shoved on him. He came up short in the hallway. Christophe leaned against the opposite wall with a box of Swiss chocolates in hand.
"I am sorry, Kurt. I hope you will accept that I am not a perfect person. Nobody is, especially not a Frenchman."
The apology sounded sincere, and the self-deprecating humor was lovely. But all the same, it bothered Kurt that Christophe had not said what he was sorry for. A voice in the back of his mind wanted to ask if Christophe even knew what he'd done to upset Kurt and if he had any plans to change.
As beautiful as the words were, and as much as Kurt had dreamed of the day when someone would buy him presents, he couldn't deny that picking out a coat for Blaine gave him more joy than receiving the chocolates.