So I'm not gonna be angry, or apologize, I just want ya'll to know I didn't post a drabble yesterday because while I rarely even consider skipping a day of posting, when my entire face is burning with ש reaction to stupid fly-spray chemicals and my land is under a continuous missile attack… I reserve the right not to post a drabble that night.
Stubble
Blaine knocks on the door softly, and when he gets a groan in lieu of a reply he proceeds with caution, entering the room and looking at the lump under the blankets while he gently closes the door behind him.
"How's my beautiful boyfriend doing?" he asks, sitting down on the chair by the bed, and resting a hand on where he assumes Kurt's head is.
"I feel like death," Kurt moaned into the blanket covering him. "And I probably look the part as well."
Blaine rubs his forehead through the blanket. "It's just the flu, honey. I'm sure you'll be alright."
Kurt groans again, and Blaine gently peels the blanket from over his face. His eyes have dark circles under them, their blue framed with red, and his nose is red as well. His lips are chapped and dry and his cheeks are flushed, scattered with dark little dots that look like freckles. It takes Blaine a moment to realize why when he runs his hand on Kurt's cheek, as if trying to sooth his fever, it's scratchy.
Kurt closes his eyes and rubs his head against Blaine's hand. "Feels nice," he says.
"You have stubble."
He doesn't stop rubbing. "I didn't care enough to shave today, or yesterday. I don't have a lot of it."
"I didn't know you had the ability to grow facial hair," Blaine says, scratching gently at Kurt's cheek.
"You're mean, why am I your boyfriend again?" says Kurt, rolling to his side to squish Blaine's hand under his head so he can rub over it more easily.
"Because you love me. And because I bring you tissues and let you rub all over my hand like a cat."
"This cat is sick and will not have you making fun of him."
"He's also talking in third person."
"Just keep scratching my cheek, boyfriend."
"Love you, too."