The dressing room was filled with nervous chatter as the members of New Directions awaited their turn onstage. There was scattered yet positive energy in the room, all of them psyched to show off their months of hard work.
And that was fine. At first. But then Rachel actually got on top of the table, as if she wasn't imposing enough at her outstanding height of five foot zero. "Before we go on I just want to say something." She announced. Cue a litany of groans and eye rolls.
"We've all contributed to making this performance the best that it can be. We have toiled under harsh, unreasonable conditions; conditions that would violate my contract once my application to the Actors Guild goes through. And naturally, I've put in more work than all of you combined, but-"
"Um, Rach. I'd get to the point." Finn mumbled helpfully, picking up on the near murderous glances that the other members were giving her.
"Right." She said brightly, completely oblivious to their glares. "I guess what I'm trying to say is...go team!" She needed Finn's assistance to carefully get off of the table so she was back on level ground.
"Nicely put, Rachel." Mr. Schue said with a tight-lipped smile, trying not to look too relieved when Rachel took her seat.
Kurt had ignored most of the spectacle, too busy helping Mercedes with her eye shadow. He was blending it in with his fingers, leaving his fingertips covered in a shimmery golden residue.
"Excited for your solo?" Mercedes asked, eyes still closed as Kurt fussed over the little details. He couldn't quite get the effect he wanted because his hands kept shaking. It had started the moment they entered the concert hall; a slight trembling that he couldn't get under control.
"Technically, it's a duet." Kurt corrected, looking on the dresser before selecting a bottle of liquid eyeliner. "Don't move." He said as he got ready to apply it.
"Whatever. Duet, solo, it's still more than I got."
"It's only like, half a song. Rachel's got two whole songs to herself."
He messed up on the second eye. Cursing under his breath, he took a napkin and tried to fix his mistake.
"We could get rid of her, you know." She mumbled. "Me and Tina made an eleven step plan."
Although Rachel was his friend by default—you had to be nice to your brother's girlfriend—that didn't mean he didn't join in on the scheming every now and again.
"If it doesn't involve murder then I'm in." He joked, putting the finishing touches on her make-up. "Open your eyes."
Mercedes looked in the mirror and admired his work, nodding in approval. "Not bad." She turned to him, and as if reading his mind, she said, "Boy, quit being nervous. You'll be fine."
"But what if I forget the lyrics? Or my voice cracks? Or I accidently trip on something?" He ranted, her reassurance doing nothing but releasing a waterfall of insecurities.
"One, you never forget your lyrics. Two, we all did vocal warm-ups before we came here. And three, if you trip you better keep on singing." Mercedes crossed her arms. "Any more concerns?"
"What if the judges just hate my voice?" He asked quietly, revealing his realconcern. He knew he and Quinn had more than enough practice, and that he wasn't careless enough to trip. But the register of his voice was something completely out of his control. "I mean, it's not what they're used to hearing."
"Your voice is different." Mercedes agreed. "But different's what we need."
Kurt calmed down slightly when Mercedes pulled him into a much needed hug. When he pulled away he saw Tina who seemed to be waiting for the chance to talk to him.
She was holding a beautiful rose that Mike had gotten her. He smiled a bit to himself, always finding it cute when couples got each other roses, despite the cliché. But there was something a little off about this one. Kurt usually saw couples exchange red roses, as a sign of love or devotion.
This one was white.
"Delivery for Kurt Hummel." She said, handing it to him along with a little card that came with it. "One of the stagehands said someone dropped this off for you." She explained upon his confused look.
Before even opening the card he knew who it was from, and he couldn't hide his smile. He opened it to see a simple message.
Break a leg! (That means good luck, right? Or is that strictly a theater thing? Because I don't want you to really break your leg. Or any body part.) And quit worrying. (Yes, I know for a fact you're freaking out.) You'll do wonderfully.
-B
Tina and Mercedes exchanged curious glances as they watched Kurt's face light up upon reading the card. He looked up to see them giving him matching smirks, knowing they were expecting him to elaborate.
"What? Do I have something on my face?" He asked, feigning ignorance.
"Who's it from?" Tina asked, not even bothering to humor his act.
"Actually, Mike got it for me. I've been meaning to tell you..." Kurt quipped, trying to keep a straight face as Mercedes laughed.
"Very funny." Tina deadpanned. "Can I read it?"
With perfect timing, a stagehand opened their door and told them that they were up in five minutes; saving Kurt the trouble of making a witty response to deflect.
"Alright guys, it's go time!" Finn announced, and everyone cheered before filing out of the room, moving to line up back-stage.
Kurt left the flower on the table and tucked the small card into his pocket before heading out of the dressing room, his fear replaced with visions of clarity. He was being irrationally nervous and he'd be fine.
On the way out he brushed shoulders with Quinn, who offered him a small smile and took his hand, giving it a little squeeze. As far as duet partners go, Kurt knew he lucked out big time without even realizing it.
Blaine sat in the audience wedged between Emma and Santana, who would have stayed home if it weren't for the promise of going to Breadstix after. Will was sitting two seats over from him and avidly watching the performance.
Well, so was Blaine, of course. Except he devoted most of his attention to one specific performer. And it was watching Kurt perform up there that he realized he was really good. Not just passable, which most kids were in high school, but he showed genuine promise.
Another person who caught his eye was the Rachel girl, whose voice was phenomenal, but Blaine hoped she'd learn to sing one day without making those funny faces.
Finn had a great voice for rock tunes, but the way he moved his body during the dance numbers was very awkward. Pretty much all of the males in the Hudmel family, aside from Kurt, vaguely resembled lumberjacks. Except now Finn looked like a lumberjack who accidentally found his way into a suit and tie.
Overall, it was an incredibly solid performance and although Santana would never admit to enjoying herself, it was hard to miss the surprised grin on her face as she watched the kids perform.
She remained decent all the way until they got into the parking lot. "So, which one did you have a dream about boning?"
If he had been drinking something he would have choked on it. "Santana!"
She laughed. "I was trying to guess but I'm still not sure. I've narrowed it down to the blonde guy and the tall one."
He had to contain his own laughter. She thought it could have been Finn, the thought just as amusing as it was nauseating. But he supposed in her defense, she had no reason to suspect it was Kurt. Because Kurt wasn't his usual "type".
"It's none of them." Blaine said. "I'm only here because Emma invited me."
"Right." Santana said, eyeing him up and down one more time before seemingly giving up on the cause. "Anyway, you promised me food. Get to it, pretty boy."
"Right. And when are you going back to New York?"
"As if you wouldn't miss me." She said. "The offer still stands, you know. Brit and I have room to spare. Just until you find a place."
Blaine sighed, turning a corner. "I like it here, weirdly enough." He lied.
She couldn't be bothered trying to convince him, too busy reapplying her lip gloss in one of the car mirrors. "Suit yourself."
Blaine would also be lying if he said her offer didn't sound tempting. But there were exciting things happening here in Lima, things he wouldn't miss for the world. Like Kurt's junior prom, or his senior year, or his graduation. Or even moments like this, performances where they only win second place but Kurt still looks so proud just to be up there.
He wanted to be there for it all. Then, and only then would he consider moving.
In class the next day he publicly congratulated both Mike and Kurt for a good performance the night before. Although they weren't first place, a privilege that was robbed from them by an all boys' school called Dalton, they still managed to earn a pretty large trophy; considerably more impressive than their "third place" certificate from last year. Also, due to a lack of competitors that year—no choirs from Illinois had registered—both clubs got to move on to Nationals.
It was after class when all of the other students cleared out that Kurt approached his desk.
"Yes, Hummel?" He inquired, looking up briefly from his paperwork.
"Thank you. For the rose, I mean." Kurt said. "It was nice."
He looked back down at his work, a small smile playing at his lips. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Kurt rolled his eyes fondly. "I'll let you finish your work." He said, leaving the classroom with a smile of his own.
Santana left the following week, making his apartment vacant once more. She had never really gotten around to helping him renovate like she promised, but the two of them had been to Home Depot and bought supplies. Then she had to leave for work, a scheduled photo shoot for the upcoming season of Falling For Dallas.
So he was left with a bunch of cans of paint, two brushes, two rollers, and a heavy sense of abandonment.
But then he realized he knew someone else who was good with that kind of stuff.
"Are you busy?" Was the first thing he asked.
"Not really." Kurt said, putting the phone down to yell something at someone in the background, presumably Finn. "Why?"
"How good are you with a paint brush?"
Kurt had been there within the hour, fully decked out in his idea of painting attire—an old shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a pair of jeans overalls, and old converse that had various things drawn on it in sharpie.
Even his work clothes were adorable.
He also came with his own supplies, stuff Blaine hadn't even thought of like paint tape and plastic pans, as well as a plastic bucket that they could use if they wanted to mix colors.
Blaine wondered why he hadn't asked Kurt to help him with the place sooner. He was born to do this kind of thing.
"Where do your parents think you are?"
"Volunteering at a community theater three towns over."
"What time do they expect you back?"
"Late."
And that was that. They quickly got to work.
Blaine was surprised at how efficient Kurt could be when he was doing work unrelated to chemistry. He helped move some furniture out of the way, which helped assure Blaine that Kurt wasn't as helpless as he seemed at times. And soon they were painting, rollers dipped in mint green to go over the originally beige walls.
"Keep painting in the same direction." Kurt instructed, seeing Blaine go from horizontally to vertically whenever he felt like it.
"Right." Blaine said, the hint of a smirk on his face as he adjusted his painting pattern.
If Kurt caught his smirk he wasn't letting on, simply continuing to paint the wall in silence. Only fifteen minutes later and Blaine found his hands were covered in paint, as well as bits of his neck that he may have touched without realizing. Kurt, on the other hand, was impeccable; not a speck of paint in sight. And Blaine didn't understand how. Painting was meant to be a sloppy activity; it should leave its mark.
But Kurt looked just as pristine as he did before they even opened the paint cans. And Blaine couldn't have that. It was unfair. So, naturally, when Kurt bent over to pour more paint in the pan, Blaine's hand may or may not have wandered, and it may or may not have slapped his ass, leaving a hand-shaped print.
Kurt yelped, turning around quickly and blush quickly rising on his face. He looked down at Blaine's paint covered hands then back up to the mischievous glint in his eyes, catching him red-handed. Or green-handed.
"Was that necessary?" Kurt asked haughtily.
"Of course not." Blaine said, grinning. If there was one thing he really appreciated about Kurt it was how easy it was to get him incredibly flustered. He hadn't met someone that prone to blushing in his life. He supposed Kurt's pale skin was partly to blame, but it was mostly his fickle nature.
Blaine never thought he'd be one to find shyness attractive, of all things. But he was discovering all sorts of odd things about himself.
"Don't even think about it." Kurt said warningly, knowing fully well what Blaine was planning. "You're going to make a mess."
Naturally, Blaine closed in on him anyway, resting his hands on Kurt's waist and pulling him close. "What if I want to make a mess?" He asked quietly.
Blaine was waiting for Kurt to pinch him or elbow him in the side like he usually did whenever Blaine decided to push his buttons, but that moment didn't come. Instead he was met with the sensation Kurt's body shivering slightly against his own. And he wasn't pushing him away; instead it seemed as if Kurt were pulling him closer. Or maybe that was his imagination. Or an invisible gravitational pull that kept him constantly revolving and drifting toward Kurt but so afraid to kiss or bite or touch.
Blaine needed Kurt to push him away, he always counted on it. It was what kept their teasing and playfulness from escalating to dangerous levels; into something it couldn't be. And there was a light in Kurt's eyes, an awareness of what was happening versus what could happen and as opposed to looking freaked out or offended or scared he looked curious. Always wanting to push boundaries and take things further, further, further, until they both jumped off of that deadly cliff.
Kurt was the first to lean forward, pressing his lips to Blaine's without caution, and although they'd kissed before then this was something more toxic. And soon Kurt was pressed against the freshly painted wall; the hair at the back of his head receiving a coat of paint as well, but he couldn't find the heart to care.
He got goosebumps when he felt Kurt's nails scrape down his back through the thin 100% cotton of his Star Trek t-shirt—which he got years ago in college and it did not make him obsessed, thank you very much—and didn't think twice before pressing his thigh in between Kurt's legs.
The sound of desperation, as well as what might have been a great deal of surprise, that came out of Kurt's mouth sent blood rushing straight to where it had no business going, god damn it.
He pulled back slightly, overwhelmed with the sudden urge to watch instead of listen. Kurt met his gaze; pupils dilated and face completely flushed. Blaine watched the way Kurt's breath would hitch every time he moved his thigh; how he'd tilt his head back slightly and expose the wonderful stretch of skin along his neck.
But of course Blaine's conscience decided to kick in just then and remind him just who he had pushed against a wall.
"You're going to have to tell me to stop." Blaine mumbled, but that didn't stop him from mouthing at Kurt's jawline.
Of course Kurt did no such thing, because he seemed to be hell-bent on making Blaine's life as difficult as possible. Instead, he rocked forward, practically keening. A request. And Jesus Christ, if the kid even knew half of what he was asking for..
There was something about being in control of a situation that was so rare and foreign to him. But it was wonderful, and it left him wondering why everyone didn't want this; want to watch someone fall apart beneath them.
"We should…stop." Blaine repeated, more stern this time yet still not heeding his own warning.
"Don't stop." Kurt murmured. "Just…don't overthink it."
And as tempting as it was to just ignore his conscience and go for it; he knew he'd have to live with it afterward. Things had already gone too far and maybe he should-
But then Kurt kept making those ungodly sounds, hushed and sparse but definitely there and it just wasn't fair for Blaine to be expected to keep control in a moment like that. Kurt was the one who pulled him closer, kissing him and wow where the hell did he learn that from?
It lasted mere minutes but seemed to span an eternity until Kurt's body tensed, his grip on Blaine tightening as a shiver ran through his body, mouth hanging open while all Blaine could do was stare, transfixed.
When Blaine's rational mind realized what he'd just witnessed it was enough to get him to step away slightly, hands resting on either side of Kurt's head and still close enough to watch his chest rise and fall with each breath.
"Fuck, I didn't…wow. I didn't mean for that to happen." Blaine said, resisting the urge to jump Kurt where he stood, looking at him and biting his lip in a way that was downright dangerous. "And you've got um…paint. In your hair, I mean."
Kurt absently lifted a hand up to feel for it; his hair already beginning to bristle as the paint dried. And all of a sudden he was working on unhooking the straps holding up his overalls; an action that nearly gave Blaine a heart attack.
"What are you doing?"
Kurt gave him a confused look before it dawned on him how it may have looked given what they were just doing. "Sorry, I..Can I use your shower?"
"Oh. Yeah. Down the hall, first door on the right. Clean towels are in the cupboard across from it."
"Awesome. You wouldn't happen to have hypoallergenic soap, would you?" Kurt asked, and upon Blaine's dumbfounded look simply laughed. "Kidding."
"Right. Yeah. I figured." Blaine stammered, berating himself mentally for being so uncool . Kurt should have been the one freaking out, but he was so calm and relaxed about the whole thing that it made Blaine feel like the inexperienced one.
The moment Kurt got in the shower and had the water running, he actually took the time to whisper, "Oh my god" about a few dozen times to himself. Because there was no way in hell that just happened. Kurt was almost ninety nine percent sure he had just had an encounter of the sexual variety. Once he'd calmed down enough he reached for the shampoo and worked the paint out of his hair; he tried to rationalize it in his brain. How it started was beyond him, what exactly happened was still a bit of a mystery, but all he knew is that it had been awesome.
He could finally check that activity off his adult to-do list, if he'd had enough insight to make one of those.
Well, he could always make a chart or something when he got home.
Once he rinsed out his hair, skipping the conditioner even though it pained him to do so, he wrapped a towel around himself. He got out of the shower to find clean clothes laid out for him, folded neatly and conveniently placed on a shelf.
He got dressed and headed back out to the living room; to see Blaine sitting on the couch with his face in his hands.
"We should finish painting." Kurt said, causing Blaine to look up suddenly. Whatever he'd been thinking about, it distracted him so much that he hadn't heard the shower being turned off.
"I uh…actually, I think I can handle it." Blaine said. "But thank you for coming." And upon his wording he quickly stumbled to correct himself. "Or rather…what I meant to say was…"
"Blaine." Kurt said sternly, getting him to quit ranting. "We're going to continue painting, minus the extra-curricular activities, then I'll leave. I don't leave projects half-done."
Blaine eyed him wearily. "God, I haven't…I haven't traumatized you, right? Because I didn't, I mean, I wouldn't-"
"Oh, you've thoroughly traumatized me." Kurt offered him a smile, taking Blaine's face in his hands. "Screwed me up for life, in fact. Now that that's settled, can we continue painting?"
Blaine scanned Kurt's face for a moment, in awe that he was lucky enough to know him. "You're going to be the death of me."
"I'll take that as a yes."
Two hours later and they had managed to finish the whole living room, holding normal conversation as if nothing happened. The only difference, surprisingly enough, was that there was less tension between them.
Blaine moved with an ease now, smiled easier, wasn't afraid to get close. He supposed something like what happened was Blaine's worst fear, so the fact that it happened gave him one less thing to worry about.
But Kurt was sure there were like thirty-seven or so other things that Blaine was constantly flipping shit about in that guilt addled brain of his, anyway. So there wasn't that much of an improvement.
When they'd finished Kurt worked on packing away all the things he'd brought, knowing that if he valued his newfound social freedom it would benefit him to get home at a reasonable time. It was as he reached for his clothes from earlier that Blaine piped up.
"Um, Kurt?" Blaine asked, apprehensive and vulnerable in his approach. Kurt looked up, giving him all of his attention. "If you ever wanted to bring stuff here, or something, I could clear out a drawer for you."
He stood there, shifting back and forth on his heels and looking completely uncomfortable as he waited for Kurt's response. Kurt's heart flipped in his chest, figuratively speaking, that is.
"I…yeah. Sure. That would be nice." Kurt said, offering him an assuring smile. It was a bit domestic of them, but Kurt found himself not minding it too much.
"Good. I'll do that tonight." Blaine said. "And just know if you ever need a place to relax or hideout from stress or something…you're always welcome."
"I'll keep that in mind." Kurt said, standing up with his bag of supplies in tow. "Maybe next time we could do something about the hideous carpet in your room."
Blaine laughed a little nervously. "Sounds good. I'll see you, Kurt."
"I'll see you." Kurt said, turning to walk out of the door but as an afterthought he ran up to Blaine and kissed him on the cheek. "By the way. Earlier was awesome." He said, then promptly let himself out before Blaine could even react.
Kurt's absence was palpable; the apartment growing so silent that it was deafening. And in that silence stood a man wearing a foolish grin; cheek still warm where Kurt's lips were pressed against it just a moment before.