no es bueno, sry
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Chapter Three
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Two weeks later, Kurt slept through his alarm again. He woke up slowly, listening to and then singing along with the muffled song flowing out of the iPhone from under his pillow. He scratched his belly, back arched as he yawned his way through the chorus. Kurt tugged at the black sheet twisted around his slim hips. Flipping onto his stomach, he reached for the cellphone.
Today Kurt hadn't planned on heading to the boutique until noon and he'd written out a list of errands to get done in the morning, but nah. It was quite simple: he would rather ignore the piles of laundry eating up half his bedroom floorspace for as long as possible... or for however long it would take building maintenance to fix the washing machines in the basement. One was always broken and somebody had once again jammed up the other two by trying to use nickles instead of quarters. He had no desire to head out to a laundromat. Too bad he couldn't afford to have everything dry-cleaned. That boutique wasn't exactly bringing in the big bucks (or little bucks, even).
Kurt hit a button on his phone and found twelve text messages waiting for him. Two were from an old friend who was currently livin' it up in Las Vegas. The first one from him was a generic long time no type! What's new with you, buddy? The second message included a picture of Elliot standing beside Britney Spears and the caption read, "obviously I've been pretty busy." Kurt bit his thumbnail, wanting to reply with a picture of his sonogram and obviously me too. In another two weeks, maybe he would. Until then, zip.
He had four text messages from the Berry—all her usual complaints about the enormous size of her students' egos and how she had never seen such divas before. "Blaine has the reigns today or else I'd smite them all," her last one stated and managed to pull a chuckle out of Kurt. Rachel made sure to mention Blaine via text at least once a day after Kurt had gotten upset with her for giving Blaine a hard time in the classroom. He'd snapped his fingers at her because there was no way he would let anyone (or continue to let anyone, in Rachel's case) misuse his baby daddy.
The last six messages were from Blaine and each one added more oomph to his smile, from I still can't stop looking at our sonogram pic to How's the nausea? His attentiveness alone had already exceeded Kurt's expectations. Since their ultrasound appointment, the combination of Blaine's positive attitude and eager behavior had washed away the majority of Kurt's concerns. At first, he had been worried about the repetitiveness of Blaine's emphasis on him or them as a "team" (Kurt put a ban on the word 'couple') because they weren't a duo. They were a trio. While I'm here for you had been nice to hear, Kurt reasoned that he could take care of himself. What he needed was for Blaine to want to be there for their child. So far, Blaine seemed very smitten with the unborn life they'd created. It was sweet, his excitement as Kurt started to near the end of his first trimester.
Tears sprung to Kurt's eyes. He'd take the ugly-cry spells over morning sickness any day. He was hesitant to admit it, but Kurt liked the way Blaine made him feel—like he was important. He liked the way Blaine looked at him and smiled at him—like he was special. Like he was worthy. Kurt liked the way Blaine would take his hand when he'd let him, the way he'd hold on as if he didn't ever want to let go.
On his own, Blaine had gone to the library and checked out several books on male pregnancy. He was reading any internet articles he could find and sharing anything interesting with Kurt. Blaine was even writing writing down questions for their next appointment with Dr. Samujh. Despite this, Kurt couldn't always relax around him. He wondered about Blaine losing interest in him or the pregnancy too often. All good things must come to an end, he had learned many times.
Now he felt sick.
"Have some faith in me ;)," had been one of Blaine's text messages from the other day. He'd been sending Kurt unusual home remedies for nausea he had found online.
Kurt sighed loudly, responding to Elliot with a text full of exclamation marks. He could only think of one-liner quips for Rachel and on a good day she wouldn't appreciate even his best one, so hmm. To send, or not to send: that was the question. He did text Blaine once before dragging his butt out of bed. "Would you judge me if I have a banana split for breakfast?" Kurt meant it as a joke, but he soon craved the idea and in no time...
Due to limited supplies, his stomach settled for banana pancakes smothered in chocolate syrup and buried under roasted walnuts. He had taken whipped cream out of the fridge and rather than using it on the full stack of pancakes in front of him, Kurt sprayed it directly into his mouth. More than once. Like, until there wasn't anything left in the can. With a thin smear of the chocolate sauce on his cheek, he cleared the plate.
The disgusting build-up of dirty dishes in the sink caught his eye and heightened sense of smell. At the risk of running late to work, he washed through them quickly while scolding himself by muttering self-deprecating insults under his breath. Once everything was stacked neatly in the dish rack, Kurt pushed away from the counter and turned around. A burst of dots soared into his peripheral vision and dissolved into a black shroud. It cleared in seconds, but sent him staggering into a kitchen chair that he then knocked over. Bent over awkwardly, he grabbed hold of the tabletop to keep from joining the chair on the floor. His entire body shook as he struggled to pull out another chair and collapse onto it. Kurt held his head in his hands, his stomach feeling unsettled.
He wanted to stay put and catch his breath. The bubbling sensation in his gut, however, demanded he scamper off to the bathroom this instant. Minutes later, he had a new aversion to... Blech, bananas. Brushing his teeth vigorously enough to make his gums bleed, Kurt swore off the yellow fruit. No more, none! Never, ever again—during the duration of his pregnancy.
By the time Kurt left his apartment, he guessed he was feeling as close to "normal" as he could get. Not wanting to flare up any nausea with jerky and unsteady motions, he walked to the store instead of taking the bus or subway. On his way there, he stopped for a blueberry and yogurt parfait. He also lingered at a street vendor and bought a bag of popcorn.
Kurt loitered outside of the boutique, his mouth stuffed with popcorn. Using his least greasiest hand, he sent Blaine a text. "Not a good morning," his message read. It took less than a minute for Blaine to reply.
From Blaine: Did the banana split not agree w/ you?
To Blaine: Please don't – bananas are now our enemy and have been blacklisted
From Blaine: Noted. How you holding up otherwise?
Noticing the time, Kurt tucked the phone away into a pocket and entered his store. Blaine didn't need to hear the details about his back-to-back episodes of dizziness and vomiting and Kurt really didn't really feel like sharing them, anyway.
"You're late." Sitting behind the cash register, Kitty filed down her nails. Wrist tipped back and fingers curled, she examined her work.
Purposely/on accident, he spilled popcorn kernels across the countertop in front of her. Kurt waited for the pretty Kitty to snap his name and glare at him before he jutted his bottom lip out and hung his head in faux shame. "You gonna write me up?"
"For the millionth time, Kurt: Ew. This whoops-a-daisy pregnancy has turned you into a capital S-L-O-B." She swatted at Kurt with a red sale sign, which she then used to sweep the mess he'd made into a small trashcan that was already overflowing with empty Starbucks cups. Judging by the pair of fingernail clippers and an opened bottle of nail polish remover left in plain sight, she'd had a busy morning. Poor Kitty had it lowercase r-o-u-g-h.
"You know, Miss Wilde. I'm this close to not being able to afford you and I'm not the tiny, tiniest bit upset about that." He wished he were joking. Kurt was an actor; like Sugar, he knew nothing about running a retail business.
Kitty snorted. "Please. Gnarly Marley is gone. I'm all you have and once your Jabba the Hutt transformation is complete, you're going to need me big-time. Funds be damned."
"Huh, a Star Wars reference. From you." He picked up a bottle of nail polish. "'Color Me Surprised,'" he read off the label.
"Geeky boyfriend carryover. It happens."
"Uh-huh, well. If you want to keep this job till everything goes under?" He could feel the shift in his face, the click of the bottle clear as he set it down. "You're going to retire the fat 'jokes' and stop making offensive comments about my pregnancy. My child is not a mistake."
There was a slight lean to Kitty's upper body. "Mama bear pokes her head out, roar."
Kurt's jaw ached from clenching. "I'm asking you to find more creative ways to insult me." His unborn baby was off-limits.
"You're not really asking," Kitty pointed out.
"No," he confirmed and willed a smile. He thought it'd feel better to put Kitty in her place. Her eyeroll spoke volumes. "I'm not."
Later, Kurt was marking down clearance items from Sugar's dismal reign when a bony finger tapped him on the shoulder. He heard a deep voice asked, "Excuse me?" right as he was about to snap at Kitty for not staying on her side of the store. "I could really use your help."
He squeaked an, "Oh!" Kurt spun around on his heels and, after drinking in the sight of his tall, dark, and handsome customer, uttered a less pitchy and more breathy, "Oh?"
The man grinned, touching his own cheek as if to point out the adorable dimples that framed his irresistible smile. Yeah, um. Kurt found them on his own, thanks. "I need a present for my sister," he explained in accented English. "She's kind of mad at me, but I don't want an 'apology' gift. It's more of a 'we are forever related and there's nothing you can do about it' gift."
Distracted by the gentleman's perfect teeth, Kurt had stopped listening after the mention of an angry sister. He clapped his hands together. "I can certainly help you with that."
"Cool. I was hoping you would."
Kurt made a sound that was close to a giggle, his stomach flipping as he was checked out blatantly by the older fellow. Biting his lip, he scanned the shop for Kitty. It seemed as though she had disappeared. He started to ask about a budget when the guy stuck his hand out and introduced himself as, "Rafael."
Rafael's grip was firm, his fingernails buffed from a recent manicure. The slight redness between his sculpted eyebrows told Kurt somebody just got their unibrow waxed. Rafael's gaze trailed down from Kurt's face to his chest; Kurt was certain he was either eyeballing his slammin' pecs through his shirt or looking for a name badge. FYI, Kurt Hummel didn't do nametags. Not since his barista days and he refused to move backwards.
"And you...?"
Letting go of Kurt's hand, Rafael crowded him until all Kurt could smell was the heavy scent of his spicy cologne. Kurt held his breath and thought of Blaine, who'd recently started using fragrance-free products for Kurt's sake. Kurt noticed the other day when he couldn't detect even a hint of Blaine's raspberry-scented hair gel. Honestly, Kurt was touched; Blaine had yet to aggravate his sensitive stomach by wearing too much of something. Still, he'd changed what he used on a daily basis "just in case" for Kurt.
He had been at a loss for words. "You didn't have to," he'd eventually said to Blaine.
Blaine had brushed him off with a half smile and told him, "Don't be silly."
Breathe in through your mouth and out through your nose. That didn't work, so Kurt became a proud mouth breather. He would bury his entire freakin' head into the ground if he barfed or passed out in front of his hot, hot customer. He'd sell the damned boutique, move across the nation, and then ram his stupid skull through dirt and rocks.
"I'm Kurt," he said on the gentlest exhale he could manage. "Now, on a scale from one to ten: how mad is your sister, exactly?" He perked up and hoped for a ten 'cause cha-ching.
Rafael, oy. He turned out to be quite the talker. Mr. Chatty-Cathy told Kurt all about his older sister, Luz (Kurt learned she was a local schoolteacher and loved educating young minds. ...Okay?). Apparently they'd had a "loud, very loud" 'disagreement' over Rafael's sponge of a boyfriend. Now that his gold-digger ex was out of the picture, he hoped to mend fences with Luz and he wanted to do it without an apology. He felt he had every right to get annoyed at her for interfering with his disastrous love life. Or something. That was the gist of his story. Dizzy, Kurt had trouble smiling widely while nodding his head and concentrating at the same time. He needed more oxygen so badly, oh my god.
Kurt made the mistake of asking Rafael about his sister's likes and dislikes in order to just pick something—literally anything out for him to give to her and get his cologne-soaked body out of the small, not-adequately ventilated boutique. That dazzling smile of his, though. Eh. His long-winded explanations, though. Kurt was torn between the need to kick him out and a want of bending him over the nearest counter. He showed him to their new line of scarves and slipped a Versace around his neck. He asked about the color of Luz's eyes and didn't expect for Rafael to think the question over.
Rafael finally settled on a totally descriptive, "They're darker than yours?" He winked at Kurt and added, "though not as beautiful."
He was done for. Absolutely done for. Against his will, Kurt's body was enveloped in a heat that'd spread from the fiery pit of his stomach. He snatched a small clearance sign right out of its metal holder and fanned his face with it. He stopped after a few seconds, realizing how ridiculous he must've looked.
Kurt held the sign behind his back, a chuckle dying in his throat. "It's h—hot in here," he reasoned weakly.
Rafael made an interested "mmm" sound. "Muy caliente," he agreed and there was something about his sharp pronunciation and the way he leered at Kurt that had Kurt's heart thumping madly.
Continuing to feel foolish and ready to break out into a sweat, he was able to talk the customer into a scroll pattern scarf (and he was sort of sad to see it go). If he weren't so eager to breathe through his nose, Kurt knew he could've easily convinced Rafael to buy a pair of earrings, too. He showed him to the cash register, still wondering where Kitty had run off to.
"Would you like—?"
"Would I like your phone number? Yes." Rafael sighed, relieved. "Yes," he repeated.
Kurt stopped himself from wringing the expensive garment. His smile faltered. "I was going to say gift box."
That didn't slow Rafael down; he went with the flow, anyway. "I'd love to make you dinner sometime." Sometime soon, waggled his dark eyebrows. His suggestive tone didn't go unnoticed.
Kurt shook his head, not looking up again as he folded the scarf into a gift box. He blew an excessive amount of rainbow glitter off the pink tissue paper he had covered over the charming I'm not sorry, but you should be present and silently cursed Sugar Motta.
"I eat a lot." 'Some might suggest I eat enough for two' was at the tip of his tongue. He bit it back, secretly amused by the traces of confusion etched into Rafael's features.
He handed over a black credit card to pay for his purchase. "I'll... make extra?"
"I'm not dating right now." Or anytime in the near future, especially once his waistline started expanding. Kurt swiped the card through the boxy credit card terminal.
"Who said anything about a date?" Rafael shushed Kurt before he could open his mouth. He pocketed his returned credit card, then used the receipt he'd just been handed to write down his contact information. He included his Twitter handle. "Shh," he said again when Kurt actually tried to speak up this time. Kurt fired an icy glare at him. "You can take this and you call me when you're ready for some Rafael, yes? I am an excellent cook, Kurt. You won't be disappointed." He picked up the gift box, causing more glitter to rain across the counter.
Kurt rolled his eyes. He uttered a "maybe," which fell on Rafael's ears as a yes judging by his pleased smile.
"Cool. Till then." He gave another wink before strolling out of the store.
Kurt let out a groan once the door shut soundly behind his outspoken admirer. Months ago, Rafael might've stood a chance if he hadn't shut Kurt up twice. That did not fly well with Kurt. Paying no attention to the scribbled line of 10 digits, he crumpled up the glossy slip of paper. He hoped Luz enjoyed the $260 scarf 'cause, as read a sign posted high on the wall, no returns without a receipt!
"He seemed like a 'no strings attached' kind of guy." Unsurprisingly, Kitty popped her head in from the back now that there weren't any customers around. Her judgmental tone had been laced with irritation. She blew on her pastel pink fingernails, her narrowed eyes focused on Kurt. He threw the wrinkled receipt into the trash. It slid off an upturned plastic cup and fell to the floor. "You're not going to call him?"
Kurt pulled a face—his physical response to her surprised reaction. "Who, Mr. 'Cool'? Of course not."
"You didn't get him to back off by mentioning your..." She nodded her chin, drawing Kurt's attention down to the hand he had placed low on his belly.
He clipped out another, "Of course not." It wasn't any of that customer's business, he told her. Kitty cocked her head, frowning as if she didn't believe him.
"But he was smokin' hot and loaded, Kurt." Her sudden smile wasn't a kind one. "I thought your hormones would've been all over that, sniffing out the goods."
Kurt's paling face remained contorted into a confused grimace. Thanks to some "friends" he'd grown up with, he had long gotten used to wisecracks being made at his expense. This was different. She was accusing him of something. "Kitty, stop. I'm not going to do... that."
Her expression cooled and she flicked up an eyebrow. "You're not going to do "that" again, you mean?"
He scoffed in disbelief, slapping a hand down onto the counter. A rush of anger sent a ripple through his vision. "Are you slut-shaming me?"
Kitty half-shrugged like eh, maybe. "I don't blame you for wanting to do better than Blaine. He's been stopping by here every day lately and he is such a major dork. Like, a total bozo. You need a man. I get it, it's not like you're dating a mature college student. You're dating—" Ears probably ringing, Blaine bounced merrily into the shoppe. He was drinking out of a juice box. "That."
"Shh," Kurt hissed. He paused to do a double-take at the juice box. Nice timing, B. "And we're not dating." She'd known previously they definitely weren't an item. He didn't know when or, more importantly, why Kitty started to think otherwise.
She appeared genuinely shocked by this tidbit of non-news. "You're not? But... like, but?"
"But what?" he demanded to know as Blaine greeted them with his usual perky smile.
"Hey, guys. What's going—?" He had to have noticed the tension between them, in the lines of their bodies. He looked to Kurt for an answer, effectively ignoring Kitty and her unsheathed claws. "...On?"
Kurt glanced in Blaine's direction. "Kitty was just leaving." He would rather do that, leave. She and Rafael had sucked the life out of him. At least his bed wasn't hypercritical of him. That's where he wanted to be, cocooned in blankets; tucked away from the poison that was Kitty Wilde.
She stared at him for a few beats. "What now?" she asked, her delivery wooden.
"Come on, Kit. You don't want to work for a giant slut, do you?"
"Whoa!" Blaine tried to interject. Kurt could feel the cool weight of Blaine's fingers encircling his wrist. Kitty talked over him, pissed off.
"You're firing me for speaking my mind? I—"
Kurt waited patiently for his turn to interrupt her. "I'm firing you for being a bitch."
She darted forward. Blaine copied her movement, slipping in between them. Kitty and Kurt engaged in a staredown over Blaine's shoulder. "I was only being a bitch," she snapped, "because I thought you were sleeping around on Blozo over here."
"'Blozo'?" Blaine jutted his chin out. He asked again, "What is going on?"
Kurt put a steady hand on Blaine's arm—not now. "You're not as irreplaceable as you think," he told her coldly. And Christ, Kitty. Hadn't she learned her lesson on making assumptions?
Kitty didn't fire back a response right away. She nodded slowly to herself. "You know what? Fine, whatever. I'm tired of putting up with your grossness, anyway. That thing you do, like, daily? The stuffing of your face, then puking up a storm in the restroom we share—and then porking out again immediately freakin' after? Yeah, I can't deal with that anymore. I liked you better when I thought you were on drugs."
(Blaine frowned and mouthed, "Drugs?")
She was tired of putting up with him? Kurt almost laughed. Strange how only an hour and a half ago, he thought he'd knocked her cockiness down a peg. Her constant insults weren't going anywhere. She wasn't going to change, so Kurt needed to make a change.
Kitty hammed up her exit by blessing Kurt in jest, her clutch in one hand and the bottle of nail polish in the other.
"I've never liked the way she's talked to you," Blaine later confessed over frozen hot chocolate. He'd run out for the treats as a surprise, something to distract Kurt from his boutique drama and maybe cheer him up a bit. He would've gotten cake, but they had indulged in that the other night. "I didn't want to overstep, so I tried to just... ignore her, which has not been easy."
Kurt sucked a glob of half-melted whipped cream off his finger. "'Overstep'?"
"You're the boss, Kurt." Only momentarily, Blaine's gaze fell from Kurt's eyes to his lips.
He smiled around the sticky tip of his finger. "I am," he agreed. "I'm the boss."
"Speaking of overstepping." Blaine wiped daintily at his mouth with a paper napkin. "Can I ask about what Kitty was talking about?"
Kurt hitched his rounded shoulders up into a shrug. "Don't worry about it?" he suggested and then sighed, sneaking a glance at Blaine. "Some guy hit me up for sex and I didn't exactly say no to his face." Unpredictability had been the reason Rafael didn't receive the tongue-lashing he'd deserved for shushing Kurt. He didn't need to piss off a strange man at his everyday job.
"Oh." Blaine must've willed his face to grow vague. Kurt could see he was trying hard not to visibly react. "Does that happen... a lot?" he asked, chewing too roughly on his straw. An amused snort from Kurt had him snapping his head to the side. "I didn't," he stammered through a startled laugh. "I did not 'hit you up f—for sex.'"
"You didn't exactly say no," Kurt recalled with false pensiveness.
Blaine bowed his head away from Kurt, his grin as bright as his cheeks. "If my memory serves me correctly, which it does because one of us is very much pregnant, neither did you."
Of course I didn't, Kurt almost said to him. Have you seen you? Perhaps now wasn't the time to get flirty. Frowning to himself, he leaned into the edge of the table.
"For the record," he mumbled softly. "Despite what Kitty thinks and is probably going to tell everyone we both know within a ten mile radius of New York City, that night you and I... you were my—first since Adam." His half-lidded gaze shot up when a hand settled over his own.
"Even if I wasn't, Kurt? It's not any of my business and I'm not here to judge you, anyway. Friends don't do that."
Kurt turned away this time, his smile heavy with a shyness that confused him. He sipped on his frozen drink. "Mmm." He smacked his lips together. "I like this."
Blaine straightened on the stool. "I could do this again tomorrow on my lunch break," he offered as if he weren't already stopping in every day (to Kitty's disgust) with treats. Yesterday he'd brought over a half-dozen fresh cronuts and (again, to Kitty's disgust) they had scarfed them down together.
"Only if you want to and only if you keep consuming all these calories with me." Kurt playfully knocked the the side of his knee into Blaine's. "If you never gained those freshman fifteen, you're definitely going to now."
Blaine didn't seem to mind. Unlike Kurt, he finished up his overloaded serving of frozen hot chocolate. Since his last class of the day had been canceled, he stayed at the boutique and continually asked Kurt what he needed done.
"You're sweet, Blaine, appreciatively so." Kurt smiled as Blaine put on a show of preening at the compliment. "But you don't work here."
"I could." He put a new liner into the trashcan kept near the cash register. Blaine had recycled what he could and then he'd thrown out the week-old garbage. "You don't have any employees left and I'm super cheap. Like, you don't have to pay me."
Kurt wondered if Blaine was a real person. "No."
"I'm free most nights during the week and weekends."
Maybe their baby would be an alien-human hybrid. "No."
"Think about it, then?" Blaine used a mango-scented hand sanitizer that'd been left out before he came up to Kurt and stroked his fingers down Kurt's bare forearm. Goosebumps rose under his featherlight touch. Kurt tried not to sway on his feet. "Let me help out, please? I promise not to burst into song more than three times a week."
"You are too..." Cute, wonderful? Perfect? Unreal. Shaking his head, Kurt plucked at the ribbed sleeve of Blaine's polo shirt. It hugged Blaine's bicep quite nicely and he would've had to been blind not to notice. He scrunched his face up, an eye peeked open. "I don't know. I will, I'll think about it." His second maybe of the day.
Blaine's hand hopped from Kurt's wrist to his waist, fingers splayed. "Thank you for your consideration," he said. "I'm going to throw in one more please: please keep me in mind, Kurt. I'm all yours. I'd rather help out here than someplace else." He noted, however, that he happened to be a "very understanding individual" if Kurt denied him the "absolute honor" of working beside him.
"You're all mine?" Kurt teased, tempted to mirror Blaine's handsy-ness.
"All yours," Blaine confirmed huskily and all of Kurt's cockiness rushed out of him at once.
He could've kissed Blaine then, naturally. He wanted to surge forward and grab that beautiful face, to kiss him hard on the mouth. He didn't. Swallowing back a knot of disappointment that refused to be ignored, he maintained strained eye contact with Blaine until his hand dropped off Kurt's tense body.
Blaine's careful eyes asked a question that Kurt put a stop to by raising his hand in a don't fashion.
His voice brittle as he excused himself, Kurt disappeared into the restroom. He ran cold water on full blast and washed his hands over and over again. He did feel a speck of pride for managing not to shed any tears. "These stupid hormones," he snapped.
He repeated the same three words with the exact inflection to Blaine minutes later. Blaine had been holding a bowtie up to his beck and dropped it when Kurt had shuffled out of the bathroom. He grudged up an apologetic smile. It shifted into a pout-y sneer. Too bad he was supposed to look unapproachable and not like a toddler who missed a nap.
"I'm in a bad mood," he warned and sounded miserable.
Blaine marched up to him and bent over to speak sternly into Kurt's navel. "Baby, what are you doing in there?"
"No, don't." Kurt held a fist over his heart, his mouth pressed into a tight-lipped smile. "Don't do that, don't be cute."
"'Don't be cute,'" Blaine pretended to ponder, tapping a finger on his chin. "Uh-oh, wee one. An important lesson, so listen here—a leopard cannot change its spots."
"Utter 'wee one' into my crotch again and I'm going to make you see spots."
Blaine's booming laugh weakened Kurt's solemn expression. He rose from stooping. "Hey, I read that it's only going to be about a month before he or she can actually hear us." Hey, I read that... was Blaine's unofficial catchphrase.
"'Only,'" Kurt echoed tonelessly. The second he'd gotten that phone call from his family doctor confirming his pregnancy, time had started to slow down. It continued to drag its feet.
"I know. It feels like forever, right? It's really just around the corner."
Ready to snap, Kurt caught himself. I'm not a child, Blaine. I do have a concept of time. He sucked his bottom lip in-between his teeth and then stuck it out. "It isn't," he declared stubbornly.
Blaine nodded, a little glum. "It isn't," he agreed.
Silence hung between them, their impatience over becoming parents shared in timid smiles.
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On the morning of the first day of Kurt's second trimester, Blaine showed up at his apartment with three balloons, two coffees and one strawberry cheesecake from their favorite bakery. Kurt answered the door in a white tee and rumpled pajama bottoms, a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. Sleep lines were visible on one side of his face.
"Surprise!" Blaine handed him the balloons, one yellow and the other two a bright red. He pecked a kiss to Kurt's cheek and then brushed past him, heading toward the kitchen. "The coffees are going to need to get reheated. I got them before I picked up the cheesecake. I know it's early. I just really wanted to get your day off to a really, really good start."
Toothpaste foam dribbled down Kurt's chin. He followed after Blaine, his stomach already rumbling for a taste of that heavenly dessert. "And you really thought you could accomplish that with balloons, really?" Blaine opened the door to the refrigerator and Kurt stared at his backside as he rummaged through the shelves to make room for the pink box of cheesecake.
"What's with all the pickle relish?" Blaine paused and then glanced over his shoulder. "Wait, you don't like the balloons?" he asked, having misread the wry amusement in Kurt's voice. "They're to celebrate our second trimester."
"Our, our second trimester? I'm pregnant, Blaine. We're not pregnant, I am. Me." He came up behind Blaine and poked him in the back with his toothbrush. "And don't you mind the relish." An intense craving and a '10 bottles of dill relish for $10' sale had resulted in an impulse buy. A delicious impulse buy.
Blaine let out such a long, heavy sigh that two seconds passed where Kurt thought his sarcasm had struck a nerve. "They're to celebrate your second trimester," Blaine corrected himself. He motioned for Kurt to hand him the cheesecake. "How's it feel?"
Lifting the lid up, Kurt stole a fat strawberry off the top before he gave Blaine the box. "You didn't have to do this." He interrupted Blaine from being all of course I did, Kurt and you deserve it, Kurt. Sometimes, he could already read him like a book. "I'm saying you've set high standards for the third trimester."
"Don't worry, I think I can outdo this."
Kurt rinsed his minty-fresh mouth out at the sink. He picked the cups of lukewarm coffee up and brought them over to the microwave. "I'm going to cook you dinner tonight." He liked the idea of making (or, more likely, ordering) Blaine supper as a thank you for his thoughtfulness. They could have the cheesecake for dessert, although Kurt was definitely cutting out a large slice and bringing it to work for lunch. Or a mid-morning snack. He bit into the fresh strawberry he'd put aside.
"Oh! That sounds—"
He looked back curiously at Blaine, whose excitement had died in his throat and his face was now frozen in a distressed grimace.
"Um, I kind of already have plans." He kneaded the nape of his neck. "With my roommate," Blaine elaborated even though Kurt hadn't asked. "I'm sorry, I stupidly agreed to a night out 'cause he said he never sees me anymore and that was sort of touching. He was like 'we need to bond,' but I realize now it's more likely he meant 'we need to get bombed' and I should never have agreed to that and I, I'm stupid. I am so sorry."
"Blaine, calm down. It's—"
"You know what? I don't care. I'm going to cancel."
"Blaine, it's fine. Go out with your friend."
"But that's the thing," he huffed. At the peak of his rambling, he'd gotten animated with his hands. Kurt had thought that'd been adorable. Rather than start up on gesturing madly again, Blaine slumped his shoulders. "We are not friends. He's barely a roommate. He tried to pay his half of last month's rent in beer tokens."
"Go," Kurt insisted. "Take a rain check. I'm not going anywhere. Carole and I have a Skype date, anyway." If Blaine were to stay, then Carole would want Kurt to introduce them. He wasn't ready for that, not after Carole's recent winking episode while she had commented about how much time he and Blaine were spending together.
Blaine clicked his tongue and let out a heartfelt, "Aw." Kurt wasn't expecting Blaine to pull him into a hug. He pressed another quick kiss to Kurt's cheek. "A least I know where I'd rather be," he said into Kurt's ear.
"That's the second time you've done that," Kurt remarked. He raised his fingers to touch them over his cheek.
"Oh, god." Blaine's own cheeks blanched, his eyes widened comically. "Is that not okay? I figured kissing you on the cheek was alright since I put a baby in you, so it wasn't crossing the line or—or anything?"
Put a baby in you. Kurt dissolved into laughter. He covered his mouth and mumbled through his fingers, "It's okay as long as you never use that phrase again." Blaine nodded, all serious until Kurt snickered and nearly lost it again. "You helped put a baby in me. Look at you, giving yourself all the credit."
He scoffed. "I would never. You, your body is—what your body can do is amazing."
Swallowing a response, Kurt moistened his lips. He felt hot and tingly all over, his mind conjuring up something special. He pictured it easily, Blaine cradling Kurt's head between his palms. Blaine panting, moaning; crushing their mouths together. His hips grinding against Blaine's, desperate for release.
"Yeah," he croaked. "Yeah. Wow, the time. I've got to, to shower. Get ready. Thank you for, uh. Yeah, thank you."
Blaine watched Kurt's face carefully. "Are you okay? You seem a little—" Not needing his flustered state pointed out, Kurt surged forward and smacked a kiss to Blaine's cheek. He brushed a curled finger under Blaine's chin.
"Don't forget your coffee," he drawled.
There was a knowing gleam in Blaine's eyes that shone in his broad smile.
Kurt neither spared a good-bye nor did he wait for Blaine to leave the apartment before he took off to the bathroom. He turned the hot and cold water knobs to run a shower, his grip unsteady. Fully dressed, he stayed on the outer side of the tub as he clutched at the shower curtain. It'd been tough fighting an urge fueled by hormones. This pregnancy wasn't joking around.
He spent most of the day in a daze... a grumpy daze. Kurt had forgotten his non-fat mocha in the microwave and he hadn't remembered to pack any celebratory cheesecake with his lunch. Oh, and then he'd left said lunch on the counter in the kitchen. Still, every so often? Kurt would smile to himself, thinking about Blaine and his balloons.
It took him until the early afternoon to admit he needed an extra set of hands. The thought of working long days by himself six days a week was excruciating and made Kurt not look forward to being there, in his own retail shoppe. It was boring. He threw on a pair of sunglasses and a headscarf and sent Blaine more than a few selfies. He picked his favorite and attached it in a you continue to miss out on my fabulousness text message to Elliot.
Kurt used his lunch break to pay bills. He sat at the desk in his office, swimming in a stormy sea of dollar signs and little numbers. His pair of Cheaters perched low on his nose, he punched at buttons on a calculator. Chewing on Tums tablets, he wrote a reminder for himself on a Post-it note to figure out ways to use less electricity. The light bill for the shop was ridiculous.
Since business was slow, he closed up early. Kurt picked up dinner from a pizzeria across from his apartment building. Once home, he threw out the leftovers he had left out in the kitchen. TV turned on and pants unbuttoned, he dug into the tray of pizza. He fell asleep on the couch before he'd finished his first slice, a spot of bland tomato sauce painting the corner of his mouth.
He woke up from a short nap and started munching on some cold pizza as if he hadn't dozed off. He eventually wrapped the rest in tinfoil and put it away into the fridge. He tapped the corner of the box of cheesecake with a finger. Soon you will be mine, he promised. Kurt then pulled off his shirt and changed into shorts. He hopped on his treadmill, which literally took up half of his "living room." Halfway through his second mile, someone knocked at the door.
Knowing it couldn't be Rachel because she'd taken off to LA for the weekend, he was still surprised to find out his evening visitor was Blaine.
Blaine rushed out an, "I'm sorry," and his voice wavered as he asked, "Do you think I could crash on your couch tonight?"
Kurt noticed the slight redness to Blaine's eyes. "Of course."
He didn't move. "I got into an argument with Puck," Blaine explained dully. "And I, I'm so aggravated over so much. I need a break from him."
"Hey? It's okay." Kurt tilted his head and then nodded it to the side. "Honey, come in."
He gestured for Blaine to make himself at home. Kurt slipped back into a t-shirt and then hurried into the kitchen.
"Where are the strawberries?" Blaine asked, teasing Kurt after he'd brought out two enormous slices of seemingly plain cheesecake.
"Oh, they fell. Into my mouth."
Blaine bit his lip, smiling. He lightly dipped the tip of his fork in and out of the dessert. "Thank you for... this. Your kindness. I should've taken you up on that dinner offer."
"Mmm, yeah. You look like you need to let out a good rant." Kurt sat down heavily beside Blaine on the couch and sagged against him. He swallowed a mouthful of cheesecake. "Out with it. My mouth may be full, but I have two opened ears."
"No, no. You don't want to hear me whine."
"No, no. I do." He clanged his fork against Blaine's in an attempt to get him to eat the cheesecake and not mash it. "Hey, you're the one who appointed us BFF."
"And you're the one who's still rolling his eyes when he says 'BFF.'"
"You weren't even looking at me!"
"I could hear it in your voice."
He pointedly rolled his eyes again, the motion exaggerated. Kurt smiled to himself; he relaxed, content as he noticed Blaine doing the same. Continuing to eat small bites of food off a dinner plate, he gave Blaine a chance to find his words.
It took time for Blaine to heave out a sigh, his eyebrows lowered. "I'm tired of people going ahead and doing what they think are 'favors' without my consent or even m—my knowledge." Abandoning the messy fork, a hand flew up to his face. His shaky fingers halted in the air, poised as if ready to pinch at his nose.
Mouth snapping shut, Kurt accidentally pressed a forkful of cheesecake into the seam of his lips. Not including a panicked oh god, his first thought had been what did I do? His eyes followed the erratic movement of Blaine's hand before it dropped down to rest on Kurt's knee. He scolded himself, mentally hissing not everything is about you.
"Did you know Rachel originally rejected me as her TA? She said I didn't 'look the part.' But then she just suddenly changed her mind. Turns out, my brother lied to her by promising Rachel a movie role if she reconsidered my application. So she's pissed at me because of our 'indecent deed of procreation' and because my brother is Cooper Anderson."
Kurt sat up. "Your brother is Cooper Anderson?"
Blaine side-eyed him hard and ignored Kurt's gasped inquiry. "He never said anything about it. Not a single word, Kurt. I had no idea till Rachel told me." He leaned forward to set the plate in his hand down on the coffee table. "Gosh, and Sam? He very casually mentioned that he'd invited Puck to move in right before he announced he was moving out. Yeah, he let me in on all that as it was happening. Like, I came home and there were boxes everywhere. No warning, just: oh, hey? I'm gone and here's your new roommate.
"I barely knew Puck. I still barely know him. Yet he feels he knows me well enough to set me up on blind dates! That's what tonight was all about. I got to the bar and he ushered me over to a table where some guy in way too much eyeliner was sitting, then he introduced us and walked away. Who does he think he is? And what does it say about me that I have so many people in my life making decisions for me? I didn't need Cooper's help, I didn't need Sam to replace himself with someone else, and I definitely don't need Puck deciding who and when I should date."
Blaine had stood up mid-tirade and now his back was turned to Kurt. He sniffed, giving a self-critical laugh. His folded arms were tucked against his chest. Behind him, Kurt blinked his eyes slowly. Caught off-guard by the rising anger in Blaine's outburst, a knot of sympathy twisted in his gut. Kurt interrupted Blaine for interrupting him during his attempt to gently state Blaine's name.
"Thank you," he said and made sure to stress out the syllables over Blaine's unnecessary apology, "for ending up here tonight. Sure, I wasn't your first choice—" Success! He flashed a small grin at Blaine, thrilled with himself for getting him to whirl around all panicked with a but? on his lips. "I'm teasing you, Blaine. If anything, it means a lot to me that you chose to come here. It makes me feel comfortable that you feel comfortable sharing that part of your life with me. It sounds like your brother and friends really care about you. That's not a bad thing, but you need to tell them when they're crossing the line. Without yelling. Snarling isn't a good look on anyone.
"Also: my couch is not a bed. I have an air mattress you may blow up, but obviously stuff's going to need to get moved to make room. I have no idea how I'm going to fit in here once I'm nine months gone." During their last conversation, Kurt had grumbled to his patient step-mom about his sure assumptions on him constantly knocking crap over once he grew out his pregnant belly. Carole had (jokingly, right?) asked him if he wanted to borrow the reacher she'd gotten when she had her partial knee replacements done. "Right, so please channel what's left of your pent-up frustration into energy and get on that. Start with this." He used his sneaker-clad foot to point at the coffee table.
There was a pause and then Blaine asked, "You're not going to help?"
"Nope. I'm just going to sit here lookin' pretty and supervise."
"Yeah, 'supervise' the rest of your cheesecake and mine."
Kurt looked up, smirking and saw Blaine gazing down at him fondly. He set aside his half-eaten dessert and rose to his feet. He almost hesitated, shyness sinking in as he gestured for Blaine to come near him. Blaine seemed reluctant himself, only until Kurt tugged on his arm and pulled him into a hug.
"I can't believe your brother is Cooper Anderson."
Blaine groaned Kurt's name.
Kurt stopped smiling. "You can, you know. Date." Blaine stiffened and they both took a step back. "Was your secret blind date at least cute?" He forced his mouth into an upward curve and he knew Blaine could tell it was strained.
"I—I don't? I don't want to..." Blaine shook his head, a hand cupped to the back of his neck. "It doesn't matter. Dating isn't a priority for me right now, Kurt. My education and this baby is all I care about." He pressed his lips together. "And you," he added quietly.
"I'm just saying, if you wanted to? You could still have fun." Kurt stared down, not noticing Blaine also looking off to the side. Their eyes found each others' and then bounced away again. "And I could, too."
Blaine tried to shake his head and nod it at the same time. He stopped Kurt from saying anything else with a sharp, "Okay." He turned his head and repeated a softer, "Okay." Clapping his hands, he asked about the whereabouts of Kurt's air mattress.
No words were exchanged as Kurt helped him clear out space in the middle of his living room for the twin-sized airbed. He brought out clean sheets from the linen closet in the bathroom. Accepting them and a pillow, Blaine wished him a good night. In a silent response, Kurt let his hand linger over Blaine's.
It wasn't until he was comfortable in bed when Kurt picked up his half-dead cellphone and sent Blaine a text message.
To Blaine: Come ON, is your brother REALLY Cooper Anderson?
Another groan from Blaine had Kurt smiling into his pillow.
[:::][:::][:::]
Kurt couldn't button his jeans closed. Face flushed and teeth bared, he dove into denial. He tried lying flat on his back in bed, hips lifting off the mattress as he sucked his gut in and held his breath. After a zany struggle that nearly ended with him falling off his bed, he was forced to peel them off and pull on another pair. He succeeded on the third attempt, although barely. It'd taken a mixture of concentration and strength to button the pants, but the zipper wouldn't stay up and his stomach bulged over the waistband. He'd have to find a very loose-fitting top to wear with them. Unfortunately, it was too warm outside for layering.
He took his iPhone off its charger and called Rachel. It surprised him when she answered on the first ring. Pouting, Kurt sighed out her name. "It seems my clothes have shrunk on me. I'm not sure I can sit down without busting a seam." He brought up their lunch date for that afternoon and hoped she wouldn't mind if he postponed it for a shopping spree.
"Kurt? I, I already canceled our reservations. I assumed—" Rachel cut herself off. She tried again, speaking slowly. "I assumed you'd want to be with Blaine."
"Oh." Head turned, Kurt eyed the reflection of his backside in the full-length mirror situated in the corner of his bedroom. He pressed his tongue into the inside of his cheek. "How passive-aggressive of you."
Rachel was quiet. She echoed his oh. "I take it Blaine's okay, then? He had everyone worried. Carmen Tibideaux said she was going to glue a nonslip mat on top of every piano in NYADA for him."
Kurt inhaled sharply, the room tilting. His hand shot to the front of his belly where the button on his pants had just popped open. "Wh—what are you talking about?"
"Oh, my god. Kurt. You don't know. I'm so sorry, I? I thought he—someone would've gotten in touch with you by now!"
"Rachel, shut up and tell me what happened."
Rachel's voice sounded muffled as she whispered something to someone. "He was rushed to the hospital this morning. He slipped during his rehearsal for the summer showcase and hit his head."
His legs were ready to give out on him. Kurt sat down on the edge of his bed. "What do you mean 'hit his head'? Was there blood, did he lose consciousness? Was an ambulance called or—or... Why hasn't anyone called me, Rachel?"
"Honey," she said in a condescendingly sweet tone, "I think you need to calm down."
"'Calm down'?" he spat. "You expect me to—?" His cellphone vibrated in his hand, signaling an incoming call from Blaine's phone. He hung up on Rachel immediately to answer it. He closed his eyes and prayed to a God he didn't believe in. "Blaine?"
[:::][:::][:::]
When he arrived at Blaine's apartment, Kurt didn't pause to knock. His hand found the doorknob and, twisting it, he invited himself in. He heard Blaine's voice, but didn't catch a word he said. Kurt rushed to him, not liking the glossiness of his eyes or the navy blue sling Blaine wore for his right arm. The exaggerated crinkle of Blaine's face as he smiled had Kurt tearing up.
"You're flying high." He knew his own smile didn't ring true. Concern hadn't stopped rattling through him since he'd talked to Rachel over the phone.
"So high," Blaine slurred and then giggled. He held out his good arm. "Come here, you."
Kurt stared at him. "I don't want to—"
"Hug me?"
"Hurt you."
Blaine shook his head as he dismissed Kurt's reluctance with a flick of his hand. Embracing Kurt in a delicate one-armed hug, he mumbled an apology into his neck. Kurt shivered under the innocent press of Blaine's mouth. "I didn't want to worry you. Stress bad."
"Stress bad," Kurt agreed. Blaine had already explained that he'd wanted to wait till he got home from the Emergency Department to tell Kurt about his 'minor spill' off a grand piano. Apparently he'd lost his cellphone in the cushions of his sofa and his Vicodin-laden self had fallen asleep while looking for it. "Painkillers good?" Blaine responded with a soft snort. "Okay, you're going to have to let go. My pants are falling down."
Blaine's breath fanned warm over Kurt's skin. "Is this a dream, am I hallucinating?"
"I couldn't button them so I had to use a safety pin." Blaine broke away to cradle a curious palm to Kurt's stomach. "Not so flat anymore, huh? You're feeling up a fat roll."
"Don't say that," Blaine huffed. "You have a baby roll and it's adorable." He offered, "I can get you a belt?"
"I'd rather a rolling pin," Kurt muttered darkly. He touched a fingertip to the rough edge of the sling's thick strap. "Never mind me. How are you holding up, mister?"
"Never mind me. The x-ray was clean. The doctor told me to only wear this for a few days, give my shoulder a rest." He took Kurt's hand. "And my head is fine. No concussion, not even a bump or a bruise."
Kurt laced their fingers together, his chin wobbling. He could feel the wetness of tears at his eyes. He wiped at him, sniffling. "I..." Anger set in. "I can't believe you fell off a freakin' piano, Blaine!"
Appearing slightly frightened of Kurt, Blaine stammered his umpteenth apology. Still holding Kurt's hand, he led him over to the couch. "I truly feel horrible. I should've—whoa, sorry. Dizzy."
Sitting down, Kurt picked up a maroon throw pillow and hugged it loosely to his chest. "Now I 'truly feel horrible.' I shouldn't have just snapped at you while you're all loopy and hurt. Can I get you anything? Have you eaten?"
Blaine prodded at the pillow in Kurt's lap. "I don't like this. What are you hiding under here?"
"Stop. You know what I'm hiding under here. Hey!" Legs folded under him, Blaine pulled the pillow away and let go of it. He splayed his fingers across the little swell of Kurt's belly. The safety pin had given up and now his pants were undone. "And what do you think you're doing?"
Blaine dipped down, tugging at the curved hem of Kurt's t-shirt till a line of pale skin was visible. He wet his lips and then brought them down for a kiss. "That," he whispered. He tilted his face up. "Please, Kurt. Can I—?"
He didn't want to hear Blaine's question. "No," he answered shortly.
The sound of Blaine's apartment door creaking open and then shut echoed through the room, startling them both.
"Yo, Blaine?" A blonde guy Kurt had never seen before shuffled in from the other room. "There was a super crazy long line at that soup place so I got Chinese from... Oh, you have company."
Blaine's face hardened into a scowl. He covered up what little of Kurt's stomach he had revealed. Standing up, Kurt pushed his hand away gently. He pulled down on his shirt to conceal his unfastened pants.
"Sam, this is—"
"Kurt?" Sam guessed, squinting a bit too intently at Kurt's torso.
Sam. Blaine's ex-boyfriend. Great. There went Kurt's plans to invite Blaine to stay with him for a night or two. With an arm out of commission, he'd need any help he could get. Yeah, and apparently he'd be getting it from Sam.
At least he noticed Sam's gawking. "Sam," Blaine snapped through his teeth.
Sam grinned sheepishly. "What? Right. Sorry. Nice to meet you, Kurt. I'm just gonna leave? Yeah, leave you two alone."
Kurt had to get out of there. The awkwardness was making him nauseous (although that could've been due to the smell coming from the greasy bag in Sam's hands) and he couldn't shake off a flustered feeling. "No, that's alright. I'm... late. For a date. With Rachel. Then... you know, the shop. If I'm not there, I'm not making any money." He stumbled over a chuckle. "I'll call you later?"
Blaine didn't try to hide his disappointment. "You can't stay a while longer?"
"I didn't know you—" Kurt bit his lip and shook his head, his eyes bouncing around nervously. He spared another glance in Sam's direction. Never mind that. He reached out to touch Blaine's good arm and moved in for a good-bye hug. Rather than embrace him, he kissed Blaine's lips. It was a quick, soft kiss he hadn't meant to give. "I'll call you later."
Blaine seemed more relieved over the kiss than shocked. He smiled faintly. "You will. And Kurt?"
Stepping past Sam, Kurt froze.
"Are you sure you don't want a belt?"
He rolled his eyes, hitched up his pants, and kept walking.
[:::][:::][:::]