At 5:00pm the following Friday, as the jingling sound of the bell hanging above the door signalled Blaine's arrival, Kurt readied himself.
Do nothing. Do nothing, just keep working. Pretend like he's not even here.
It wasn't like he wasn't busy- he did have an entire store full of animals to see to, since Becky had called in and he was the only one working (not that she would have been much help anyway, realistically, though it was rather inconvenient for Kurt, as he now had to operate the register, meaning there was no way to avoid Blaine completely). It wasn't like he had invented tasks to do just to get out of talking to Blaine any more than necessary- really, stopping for a conversation was entirely unprofessional, because he truly did have so much to do. He wasn't getting paid to chat, after all.
And if he'd made sure that the birds were already cleaned and fed and had everything they needed well before 5pm, so he didn't even have to cross to that side of the store, well, that was just coincidence.
Shoulders tense, Kurt continued working, every cell in his body fighting the urge to glance over towards the door to ascertain whether it really was Blaine who had just walked in. All he had to do was stay focused on the task at hand, don't look up, don't look up, be strong. He just had to wait until Blaine was ready to check out, serve him, and get him out the door. He could do that, right?
He was in the midst of cleaning a hamster cage, two curious Syrian hamsters blinking blearily and sleepily twitching their noses in his direction, too lazy to investigate the source of their daytime disturbance but too distracted to continue their nap, when he heard footsteps approaching behind him. Do not turn around, he willed himself, ignore, ignore, ignore. Play it cool, Kurt.
And then a gentle hand was tapping his shoulder, and an equally gentle voice was greeting him with a pleasant "hey, Kurt", and the contact was so unanticipated that he jumped, hands flailing inside the cage- just enough to startle the closest hamster…
Kurt pulled back with a yelp, and a hissed "fuck", and straightened up, hastily locking the cage door with one hand as he brought the other up to his eyes to examine. The quickly reddening indentation of tiny teeth on the back of his hand stood out starkly against his pale skin, and a thin trickle of blood started to slowly spiral down his wrist, staining the cuff of his shirt a dark crimson.
"Oh my god, I am so sorry," Blaine blurted, undisguised horror plain on his face, "I- I don't know what I was thinking, I really didn't mean to startle you-"
"It's fine," Kurt cut him off, jaw clenched in annoyance- of course he had just completely embarrassed himself in front of Blaine. What had happened to playing it cool? What kind of person acted like they had just been shot over the barely-there brush of fingertips on their shoulder?
Probably, he reasoned to himself, the kind of person who wasn't used to being touched, at least not by people with good intentions- but that wasn't relevant, he had still made himself look like a fool.
He tried to remind himself that he shouldn't care- why did it matter if Blaine thought he was weird? He was trying to forget about Blaine, not trying to impress him, so it shouldn't matter…
But he was still mad about it, anyway.
"No, Kurt, it's not fine, you're bleeding," Blaine countered, those big eyes hooded with concern, heavy eyebrows drawn together as he reached out to draw Kurt closer by the elbow, examining the bite carefully. He reached into his jacket pocket, Kurt watching curiously, breathlessly, and produced- god, was that a handkerchief?, he thought, what era is this guy from?
Blaine dabbed carefully at his wrist with the soft cotton handkerchief, wiping away what he could of the bloody trail disappearing into his shirt sleeve, then gently pressed it against the back of his hand. Dark red seeped into pristine white as he pulled Kurt's hand towards him, twisting it just so to allow him to tie a loop across his palm in a makeshift bandage.
He stood there for a moment with Kurt's bandaged hand in his, carefully examining his handiwork, and Kurt was suddenly aware of how close they were- how Blaine's face was just inches from his, and how at this distance Blaine had to look up slightly to look into his eyes, dark pupils peeking upwards through a canopy of thick lashes, fanning his face with every slow, fluttering blink. He could see every tiny detail of Blaine's face, could count his eyelashes, could see the swirls of green around the edges of his irises…
Could kiss him if he wanted to.
He could lean in, and close the gap between them, could press his lips against Blaine and taste him- what would he taste like, he wondered?-, could tangle his fingers in his slicked-back hair, and press his body against his until he couldn't tell Blaine's heartbeat from his own…
But he couldn't, because Blaine had a boyfriend, and he was supposed to be ignoring him, and on top of all of that he was working, and as hypnotised by Blaine's peach coloured lips as he was, he just couldn't. Trance broken, Kurt tore his eyes from Blaine's, gaze dropping to the floor as he stepped backwards, immediately mourning the loss of contact as he pulled his hand from his, but knowing it was for the best.
"Um," he cleared his throat roughly, eyes darting around and landing anywhere but on Blaine's face, "uh, tha-thank you, for that… I- thanks," he finished lamely, lost for words.
"You're welcome," Blaine replied, and his voice sounded strange somehow, almost strangled, "you'll have to, um, clean the bite so it doesn't get infected. You might need to get someone to take a look at it. Just in case."
Kurt nodded, clasping his injured hand to his chest, fingertips caressed by the soft fabric of Blaine's now-ruined handkerchief. Something had changed somehow- the air in the store seemed thick, like he could wade through it; and charged with a strange energy, almost electric- like if either one of them made a move they would be shocked. It felt almost like a translucent fog was creeping into the room, under the door frames and through the cracks of the windows until it engulfed his brain in a fuzzy cloud, leaving him speechless.
Blaine was still standing there in front of him, only about a foot away, maybe even less, wringing his hands in what almost looked like nervousness, eyes unblinking and unreadable as they trained on Kurt's face.
"I don't know what happened," Kurt heard himself blurting, somehow feeling the need to explain himself, but simultaneously not knowing what to say, "I mean, it happens, sometimes the animals bite, but I just- I-"
"It was my fault," Blaine interjected, "I startled you. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have- I should have just minded my own business. Look- I uh, I'd better leave. I hope your hand heals up okay. I'm really sorry."
He turned as though to make for the door, and it was then that Kurt realised he was still empty handed.
"Blaine, wait!" he called, and Blaine turned to face him, eyes wide with expectation, and possibly apprehension, though Kurt couldn't understand why, "you- you didn't get anything. Can I help y-"
"No, it's fine, I'll just- I'll come back some other time," Blaine explained hurriedly, hand already reaching for the door handle, "I'm good. See you… um, see you sometime."
Before Kurt could say another word, either in protest or compliance, he had disappeared, the door swinging behind him and the bell tinkling almost in mocking, leaving him standing there alone with his bandaged hand still pressed to his chest.
Kurt exhaled shakily, still stuck to the spot, trying to process what had just happened. So much for ignoring him, he thought, although if the way Blaine had rushed out was any indication then maybe he had at least successfully put him off…
He tried to push down the crippling disappointment that thought sparked in him.
In the shrouded quiet of the empty store, he finally took the time to tend to his wounded hand. The site of the bite was small, of course, but stinging painfully. It didn't appear to be bleeding any more- the pressure Blaine's handkerchief had applied had seen to that. He walked towards the counter and untied the handkerchief carefully, peering at the cut as he reached into the first aid box for an alcohol wipe and a proper band aid.
He grimaced, flinching as the wipe burned at his exposed skin, and carefully placed the band-aid over the affected area. He reached for the trash can to dispose of the evidence of his embarrassment, inadvertently casting his eyes towards the stained handkerchief on the counter. His brow furrowed as he noticed something, a pattern of some kind maybe, partially obscured by a splotch of crimson blood. He lifted it again to get a closer look, and felt his stomach somersault with affection as he realised that it was embroidered with some kind of crest, featuring a golden bird and a tiny music note, the initials B.D.A woven underneath. Not only did Blaine carry a handkerchief, but he carried a personalised handkerchief that presumably held some importance, and he had been selfless enough to give it to him knowing it was going to end up soiled, possibly permanently.