Summary: Kurt has a secret admirer who leaves him roses, coffee, and cards, and he's sure he knows who it is.
Author's note: blangstilicious blangst as a protest against all the Valentine's fluff. hah. hah. hah. sob.
The first one takes him by surprise, a flash of bright red and dark green, curled petals and spiky leaves in his locker. He stares at it, dumbfounded, before picking it out and delicately twirling it around. He's looking for a card, a slip of paper, initials scratched into the stem, anything to show him who sent it, but he finds nothing.
He doesn't notice Blaine watching him with a small smile curling the corners of his mouth, a knowing look in his eyes.
He does notice that cute lacrosse player, Adrian, Adam, something like that, flashing him a smile, all white teeth and smoulder.
The second one is more anticipated, lying smack-dab in the middle of his desk as he enters the History classroom. There's a card attached now, though. In beautiful script, written in purple pen, his own name stares back at him.
Kurt
He picks it up quickly, noticing curious stares of pupils pouring in for the next class. He blushes and cautiously drops it into his bag with the other one.
He doesn't notice the five carefully drawn drafts of his name in the sideline of Blaine's notebook, in pink, orange, turquoise and purple pen.
He does notice Cute Lacrosse Player-Aaron, if he remembers correctly- toying with a purple pen.
The tacky heart decorations, the excessive use of the colors red, pink, and white, the sickening lyrics of old love songs, the horrible stench of the faux rose perfume most of the boys had apparently decided to wear … Today, nothing could bother him.
He had found a third rose lying next to his morning coffee. A wide grin had stretched around his lips as he read the—admittedly tacky but, hey, it's something— card lying next to it.
You're as sweet as a nonfat Mocha!
It had taken all of his strength not to squeal like a fifteen year old school girl as he let himself fall back against his pillows with a happy sigh. Mostly to himself, he mumbled:
"I think I have a new favorite holiday…"
While he was thinking of possible strawberry blond hair and a smile to die for, the door closed softly, and a smiling Blaine pads back to his own room to get ready for another day of school.
The fourth rose was handed to him by Wes, over his plate of salad at lunch. He smells it, the familiar, heavy, fragrance, and is immediately transported back to his youth, to his mom's dresser that, even now, still faintly smells of roses. He glances at the table opposite of them, against the far back wall, to see Aaron looking at him. He quickly looks back at his own tray, busying himself with pushing the bland food on his plate around and looking, well, busy. His eyes are lit up though, and he's obviously trying to suppress a smile as he drops the flower in his bag. The card that was dangling on the stem catches on the zipper of his bag, and in a flash of blue pen and carefully practiced script, an invitation stands.
Meet me in the library at 6
xx
He doesn't notice Blaine staring at him, trying to gauge a reaction.
He doesn't even notice Wes winking at Blaine and giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
He does, however, notice Aaron blushing and smiling faintly on the other side of the room.
At six o'clock sharp, he pushes through the door of the library, the smell of paper and knowledge hitting his nose in a wave, and he's immediately reminded of why he likes the Dalton library so much better than the McKinley one. There are actual old, hard-wood, tables and benches in here, the books date from before the 'Twilight' era, and people actually come here for studying rather than to look for a quiet place to make out. Sighing, he looks around. There's no one there that could be his 'secret admirer'. Nobody he would want it to be anyways.
So he perches himself on one of the unoccupied benches and takes out his notes for that History paper that's due next week. It's at five past six that a flustered Aaron comes practically running into the library.
Kurt jumps up as soon as their eyes connect, and practically slams himself against Aaron, smashing their lips together. Aaron's hands come to rest, somewhat hesitantly, on his waist, but as Kurt shyly runs his tongue over his bottom lip, he does open his mouth to grant him entrance.
They stay like that for what could have been hours, or minutes, or maybe even weeks, they wouldn't know. Kurt smiles softly as he rests their foreheads together, and whispers a small 'Thank you.' Aaron just smiles, a bit confused, but he doesn't really think about it, because when he has a gorgeous boy in his arms, who cares if that boy doesn't entirely make sense?
Kurt doesn't notice Blaine standing in the doorway, panting and flushed from running through the halls to be there at six o'clock because Warbler practice had overrun.
He doesn't notice the bouquet of about 20 red roses Blaine is holding, that suddenly falls, together with Blaine's face.
He doesn't notice the few rose petals left in the doorway after Blaine had scrambled to the floor to pick up all his roses—his monthly allowance.
Neither does he notice the dark navy figure that slowly walks back to the dorm rooms, his back curved under the weight of his defeat, the twenty-something roses dragging with their heads across the expensive marble floors.