Sketches

He watched amusedly as his boyfriend lifted himself lithely from the carpet with a huff. He saw the other boy toss his blue spiral-bound notebook down carelessly, and heard him yell "Coming!" in a thoroughly irritated tone. After returning the rueful smile thrown his way, he watched him leave the room, answering his father's summons. Now alone in the older boy's bedroom, he took the opportunity to investigate—after all, it wasn't often that he was left to his own devices in a space that was completely and utterly Kurt.

Blaine stood up, stretching his sore joints momentarily. He had previously been spread out on the floor, discussing August Vogue with Kurt. He stepped carefully over the magazine and made his way to Kurt's desk. He did not intend to snoop—Blaine Anderson respected privacy, thank you very much—but he was curious as to what Kurt might like for the one-year anniversary of the day they met. (Thought that momentous day was in early November, Blaine was not naive enough to procrastinate shopping for his finicky boyfriend.) He smiled at the myriad of cutouts from various fashion magazines and the scathing and zealous comments he had applied to each on colored Post-It notes. He was sure that Kurt's system was color-coded, but he didn't even try to figure out what meant "I love this!" and what meant "This should be illegal." Old school papers, each with As and Bs written in the top margin—with the exception of one D, but Blaine noticed that the date on that precalculus assignment was the day that they exchanged their first kiss, and remembered sharing Kurt's temporary lapse in academic success—littered the left side by the computer. A few photographs, some of the two together, some with the New Directions, some with the Warblers, some with his family, were mixed in with colorful papers and ribbons, so Blaine knew he'd been scrapbooking recently.

He shuffled the documents around, grinning stupidly at the unequivocal Kurt-ness of the desk, until he spotted something that piqued his interest: Kurt's pink spiral notebook. He remembered Kurt doodling in it often, both at Dalton and later after he'd transferred back to McKinley. Blaine had flipped through most of Kurt's school books and binders at some point or another, usually out of boredom, but he realized then that he'd never seen the contents of the small pink packet of paper he now twirled in his hands. He knew he shouldn't open it—after all, this belonged to Kurt, and he deserved his private space—but curiosity crippled his better judgment. He allowed the book to fall open to a random page, and then gasped.

It was...beautiful.

Kurt had sketched dozens of outfits and ensembles on figures of men and women throughout the notebook, and his skill was superior to any Blaine had ever seen outside art museums. Every muscle, every facial feature, every fold in the fabric was expertly shaded, formed, and curved. Blaine waited for the models to simply walk off of the page and into the three-dimensional world before them.

The clothing designs were stunning. Perfectly cut tops of the most flattering shades of pink, blue, red, green hugged the feminine form delicately. Trousers and jeans subtly hinted at the masculinity of the men. Carefully chosen accessories brought out the green in her eyes or the red in his blond locks or the elongation of her fingers or the strength of his waist.

Blaine had no words. He had absolutely no idea that Kurt was such a gifted artist. He knew that Kurt aspired to work in fashion, but he had never seen the proof of his talent. Inexplicably overcome with emotion, Blaine's hazel eyes filled up with tears.

"Sorry about that, I swear my father will never learn how to use the iron—Blaine?"

Blaine turned slowly, finding an adorably confused Kurt leaning against the door jamb, inspecting him with concerned glasz eyes. He still held the pink notebook in his hands. He tried to look sheepish about being caught snooping, but his utter astonishment clouded any potential guilt.

Kurt spotted the object Blaine clutched, and he immediately blanched. "How did you...where did...why do you have that?"

"Kurt..." Blaine breathed. "This is...wow. I didn't know...they're so beautiful, Kurt."

"I know it's weird—wait, what?"

Still enraptured by the artwork, Blaine began flipping through more pages. "Your drawings, Kurt. They're simply...perfect. Why didn't you tell me you could sketch like this?"

Kurt slumped over to his bed, collapsing upon it and slinging an arm over his eyes. "It never came up."

Blaine finally ripped his attention away from the beauty in his hands and focused on the one laying on the bed. "Kurt..." He crossed over and perched beside his boyfriend, tugging his arm away from his closed eyes. "Baby, are you...are you embarrassed?"

Kurt shot up, eyes flashing. "Yes, Blaine, I'm embarrassed! That's so weird, drawing clothes and people and fashion and—just—UGH!" He stood up and paced back and forth, thoroughly flustered.

Gaping in disbelief at his boyfriend, Blaine was at a loss for words. How could Kurt honestly believe that his gift—was there anything else to call it?—was something that he should be ashamed of? Blaine thought that he should be selling his ideas and his skills to the most elite designers in New York and Paris and Milan. "Kurt, stop." The older boy continued pacing. "Stop. Kurt. Look at me, hey." Blaine crossed over to Kurt and placed his hands on his shoulders, effectively halting the boy's movements. "You have nothing to be embarrassed about. You should be proud. I know of people who would kill to have your talent Kurt—why'd you even take art class last year? You should've been teaching that class. These drawings—" He waved the notebook around to emphasize his point. "—are some of the most beautiful things I have ever seen—made even more so by the fact that you, my gorgeous, wonderful, perfect boyfriend, drew them."

By the end, Kurt's eyes were brimming with tears. He threw his arms around Blaine and squeezed him in a tight hug. "Thank you," he whispered. "I'm glad you saw those; I'm tired of hiding them from you, and I really need your balanced male and female opinion on a few pieces."

Blaine laughed, his hot breath tickling Kurt's ear. "Sure thing, love."

Kurt pulled away and led Blaine by the hand to the bed. He gently tugged the notebook from Blaine's grasp and began rifling through the pages. "There's one thing I want to show you, since I'm coming clean today..." He found the sheet he was looking for and paused, placing his hands over it. "Okay, so, do you remember the day that you asked the Warblers for permission to serenade Jeremiah at the GAP?"

Immediately coloring, Blaine looked away and bit his lip. "Maybe."

Kurt smirked at his boyfriend's uncomfortableness. "Relax, Blaine. I'm not here to poke at the past." Then he fake coughed, muttering "Slut-pig!" as he did so.

Blaine shoved his shoulder. "Jerk."

Laughing, Kurt continued. "Well, before you requested a go-ahead to make a fool out of yourself and me, you caught me doodling in the notebook. And you asked me what I was doing, and I lied, of course, and said nothing. Well...this is that nothing." He lifted the book for Blaine to see the page.

Blaine's red face broke out into a grin. "Oh, Kurt..." His own heart leapt at the sight of heart on the page, the red arrows through the side and, more importantly, the "Blaine + Kurt" in the center. "You knew? Even then?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Yes, Blaine. Even then. Ever since you grabbed my hand on the staircase. Not all of us are hopelessly unobservant, Blaine Anderson." He smiled when Blaine flushed again.

"You are amazing." Blaine snaked an arm around Kurt's slender waist, pulling the older boy in for a kiss. Then he smirked and stretched out on Kurt's bed, lying on his side. "Well, Kurt?"

Kurt raised an eyebrow, looking down at his boyfriend. "What?"

"Draw me like one of your French girls."


So, this was suggested to me three trillion years ago by Erinscan. I felt like it was strong in the beginning, fell apart in the middle, and utterly crashed and burned at the end. Maybe because I was watching the Tampa Bay-Tennessee game as I was writing. Hell, I'm STILL watching the game.

Anyways, I'm terribly sorry (again) that it's taken me so long to update. I was grounded for two weeks, as most of you know, and am probably going to be grounded again when my mother discovers tomorrow that I have an F in AP Chemistry (again).

Okay, so I read The Sidhe by Chazzam twice this weeked. TWICE! It is my favorite FanFiction of all time. OF ALL TIME! (Sorry, CP Coulter. I still love Dalton too!) I think I'm going to read TS again soon. It's simply...ASKDFHASFNWA;FJW;LKFJSDKFJ IT'S SO GOOD! And it makes me doubt my writing ability altogether, making me feel like a complete failure, but whatever.

Again, I am going to make my apologies for The Moments We Remember. I swear, I have chapter three written, and chapter four planned, but I am having the WORST writer's block about chapter two - and it's the biggest chapter! I don't know what I'm going to do; I've tried writing a whole bunch of time, but I sound SO INARTICULATE and dumb.

I've started a little side project (yes, another one, and I'm sorry!) and I may or may not post it sometime in the near-ish future or never. Yeah.

Well, I have to go watch the Pats game with my priests and my parents. I'll be worshiping at the feet of Tom Brady and Wes Welker, so if you need to contact me, don't.