“Blaine?” This morning our farcical leader woke the entire cabin with his signature mouth trumpet. Since he has to sit out due to injury, he requested the entire cabin attend the mornings optional nature walk in his honor. Suffice to say, everyone was pissed. It also goes without saying that I quickly found a way to get out of it. After telling Jeff I wasnt feeling well, and apologizing to Trent for ditching him, I headed back to the comfort of the cabin only to find the beds all to be empty.
“Im in here!” I follow his voice to the bathroom. He stands before a mirror, balancing on one leg, still in his sweatpants. The only other thing on him is the wrap on his ankle and a whole lot of shaving cream smeared across his chin. “Arent you supposed to be on the nature walk?”
The muscles of his arms tense wonderfully as he braces himself on the sink. “I, uh, I got out of it.” I answer distractedly. “Whatre you doing?”
“Oh,” Blaine turns back to the mirror. I watch as he rinses a small razor. “Quinn has been bugging me to get rid of this thing all week.” And, as if its nothing, he shaves a clean strip across his jaw. “And, I mean, its been too hot for awhile now anyway.” Ive never seen Blaine without a beard. The idea of him clean shaven is both terrifying and incredibly thrilling. What if he looks weird? But, what if he looks even hotter? “Okay, why are you staring at me like that?”
“Huh?” Great, real intelligent, Kurt. Gravity has seized my arms, letting them hang limply by my side, my mouth has fallen open and I'm all but drooling at this point.
“Like that.” He flicks the razor towards me. “Like I have two heads. Am I bleeding or something?” Blaine turns his face about, watching himself in the mirror to check for any scratches. All I can think about is his half shaved face and how, yep, hes even hotter and basically Im fucked.
“No, you just,” I have to swallow since my mouth has decided to go into saliva producing overdrive. “You look different without a beard.”
“Uh-oh, different bad? Should I stop?” Blaine turns back to me with only a small strip of shaving cream left in the center of his chin. “Rock the goatee look?”
I giggle. God, how did this man turn me into a giggler? “Definitely not.” It took me a second to process it, but I think Blaine might be flirting with me. I shift my weight to alleviate the thrilled twist in my stomach. “The clean shave is a good different.”
Blaine splashed some water on his face, rinsing the residual shaving cream away. “Im fresh faced like a baby now.” He grins, patting aftershave into his skin.
Thats honestly such a lie, though. Quite the opposite has actually occurred. With the beard his face seemed fuller, giving the illusion of a mature baby face. Now there is absolutely nothing in the way of that jawline. I thought it was strong before. But, damn. His face is as chiseled as the rest of him.
“Kurt, you still breathing?”
“Yes, hi.” I squeak, snapping my eyes away from his jaw.
“Hello.” He limps forwards. For a second he stops before continuing. I watch grin and bear his way across the linoleum tiles. His keep shifting from the his feet to my eyes. Every time he looks up I have to catch my breath again, because it dredges up the ridiculous idea that maybe this time he's going to kiss me. And now it's all I can think about. I venture I peek at his lips. I wish I hadn't. They're full; fuller than mine at least. There's this incredible depth and plushness to them. Or, so it would seem. I wouldn't truly know. And they are unfairly pink. Like the bubblegum pink that makes me want to rub my tongue all over them. Wow, okay, Kurt, get a grip.
I take a quick breath of personal recollection right as Blaine stops before me. The tip of his tongue peeks out past his lips, just for a second, leaving them parted. This is it; Blaine is going to grace me with his lips. “Help me to the deck?”
“Oh, of course.” I try not to slump with disappointment as Blaine slots himself into my side almost immediately. His arm drapes heavy across my shoulder span. Were so close that I can detect everything from the raspberry of his shampoo to the eucalyptus of his after shave lotion. I slip my arm around his waist, my hand having nowhere to rest except the warm skin of his hipbone. The bare skin of his torso slides against the cotton of my shirt, which rubs against my own skin. His warmth, he's always warm, bleeds through to me providing the utmost comfort as we stumble out to the deck.
I want Blaine to be better, honest. I feel awful that he has to sit out of so much. But, I kind of love him leaning on me like this, like he needs me. It makes me feel like a far more permanent fixture in his life. So, the idea that eventually he will be better and back to gallivanting around the grounds makes me a little desperate to hold on.
Despite that, I gently help him to the ground outside our cabin. The structure supports his weight while he bends one leg and extends the hurt one across the deck. I plop down opposite him, then place his foot in my lap.
“Aw, stop. You don't have to do that.” Blaine tells me, although I can tell he's thankful in the way just a little bit of the pain drains from his face.
“You need to keep it elevated.” I explain. I won't however explain how I like having him close to me. Or why I begin to slowly knead the tips of my fingers into his swollen flesh. I don't know if Blaine can explain why he lets me.
“So, Potter,” He sets in, grinning at me, completely accepting my unsolicited massage. “You must've had more of a summer before ending up here.”
“Yeah; not much though.” I shrug, thinking back to the prior months. Most of my vacation was spent gearing up for college; dorm shopping, roommate surveys, alleviating my dad's fears of how fast I'm growing up. “I spent a lot of it with Sebastian.” He, too, consumed a massive chunk of my summer days. If I wasn't in bed sketching or reading vogue, a favorite pastime of mine, I would have been found at Lima's only municipal pool worth visiting. “And take ‘worth visiting' with a grain of salt. The pool is actually shit. I'd take shit sans dead cockroaches over one with a surplus of them any day.” Blaine seems to find humor in this, which encourages me. His face lights up like one of the far happier emojis.
“Is he your best friend?” Blaine watches my hands working down his feet, rubbing out knots in the soles.
“The cockroach? Totally. We're like this.” The massage is put on pause for me to hold two intertwined fingers in his view.
He nudges me with his foot. Whether it was playful or a request for my hands to return to work is undecided. The jury is still out on that one. “You know what I mean.” The jury has reached a verdict: it was playful.
“Sebastian is my best friend, yeah.” I answer, rather lack luster, as I shift my attention to his Achilles tendon.
Blaine lifts his weight, with effort, tucking his well foot under his body. “Your best friend or your oldest friend?” He leans toward me, fixating his own eyes on mine.
I frown. Ive never thought of that. I do suppose Sebastian has known me all his life. We do share everything with each other. But, does that make him the best?
Before I can answer, not that I know how to, Blaine jumps in. “Sorry, not my place.”
“No, its fine.” A silence falls between us. Blaine cast his head down, tugging idly at the drawstrings of his sweatpants. I watch him; the curls that gently fall to his forehead, the delicate longevity of his eyelashes, the way his jaw shifts beneath his skin, now exposed from his shave. Its the latter of the things that tips me off to the idea that Blaine feels guilty. I dont like that. “How was your summer?” I ask desperately attempting to shift gears.
“It was good.” He answers, still a little dazed. “I actually spent it at my brother's places in California. He taught me how to surf. I ate my weight in sushi. It was awesome, actually.”
My nose crinkles at that. “Sushi?”
He looks up at me again. “Yes, sushi.” I make an expression of disgust that gets Blaine laughing again.“I swear its good if you know where to go.”
“Well, I guess I dont know where to go then.” Ohio isnt exactly the sushi capital of America. But I dont tell Blaine that.
“Ill take you one day. Theres a place near the museum that has deceptively good sushi for Michigan.” He squints an eye at me, adopting his conspiratorial behavior.
“Id like that.” I briefly wonder if hes ever taken Quinn there, then dismiss the thought. This isnt a date.
“Great, its a date.”
“Whats a date?” I see the recognition in Blaines face before I feel Sebastian resting his hands heavily onto my head. I swat his hands away, mumbling about the state of my hair.
Blaine watches the exchange. My cheeks flush with only the mildest embarrassment as he shoots me a quick and questioning glance. I'm not particularly worried about the state of my hair. But, I can sense that Blaine feels the exact way I felt watching the small quips of frustration between Sebastian and his parents whenever I'd join them for dinner. Which was often and rarely ever pleasant. All I have to offer is a smile that says ‘this is normal; best friends are always like this, right?'
Luckily Blaine doesn't stare for too long. “I'm taking this stud out for sushi.” He winks at me before returning his gaze to Bas, who no doubt has a smirk or quirked eyebrow or some other devious expression that warns the demise of my reputation.
“But, Kurt, stud,” I tighten my jaw as his knee jabs my spine in a rough, playful manner. “The last time you had sushi, you puked on everything.”
“Well,” I decidedly don't look at Blaine. I think he's doing the same to both of us. Instead, my eyes wander across the grounds to a few of David's boys gathering on their deck. One of them makes a joke and they all laugh. It all seems so jovial. I'd much rather be there than here between a dick and a hard place. “Maybe I just didn't know where to go.” From the corner of my eye, I catch Blaine look to me. His lips tug up into a grin.
Sebastian is less impressed. “Hmm, sure. Well, have you seen Trent?”
“Ah, he's on the nature walk.” Blaine supplies, all sense of the previous tension drowned from his face. In place is his usual state of contentment.
Although he's still behind me, I can just tell Sebastian is rolling his eyes at that. “Then would either of you like to accompany me to breakfast?”
“I should hang back. Wait for the rest of the group to return. And maybe put some clothes on.” Blaine explains, struggling to get up. Like a well trained service animal, I am quick to his side, helping him to his feet.
“You'll come watch the Quidditch game later?” I ask, bracing his weight by his forearms. “If you're feeling up to it.”
“Even if I'm not feeling up to it, I'll be there.” Blaine winks again at me. “See you guys there.” He begins to limp into the cabin as Sebastian and I head off for the mess hall.
“Don't bother with the clothes thing. Kurt likes you half naked.” My friend calls over his shoulder.
“Sebastian!” It takes everything in me to not kill him there on the spot.

I just about leap out of my skin at the first crack of thunder. I glance around, embarrassed, to see if anyone has notice. None of them do. Trent has dropped his broom to the ground, whether in utter frustration or as a startled reflex I don't know. Nick and Jeff share a look of resignation that scream ‘after thirty minutes of arguing over the rules, we get this?' Adam just looks to the sky and groans as the first drop lands center of his forehead. Both Sebastian and Eli, who I think are only here to watch Adam, do in fact watch him with an alarming amount of fascination. David is already packing everything up, while Wes calmly powers up his megaphone.
“Due to weather, we unfortunately, have to cancel today's game of Quidditch.” His announcement is met by only six protests, including my own. The game didn't have many participants. We drew an even smaller crowd. Just Blaine, still in his sweatpants, still without a shirt. Thankfully.
“This game? It's the only game all summer!” Blaine protests from the side. Eli snorts at his indignation.
“It's the rules, Blaine.” He orates. A very pompous expression is drawn up on his face that I'd pay to knock off. “We don't want anyone else getting hurt, right?” Eli turns to Wes for validation. But I can't shake the way his eyes pass over me before landing on our leader.
“He's right, Blaine. I'm sorry.” Wes consoles, this time without the megaphone. There's really no need for it in this setting. Besides, he's no use to us if he gets fried by the lightning.
“Don't be sorry. Can we just get inside before it really picks up?” Bas demands, storming towards the cabins. His tantrum seems to get people moving. I, however, don't. I refuse to follow him. What Blaine said this morning has stuck with me all day, slowly conjuring a bitterness towards my oldest friend. And now this, with him acting with such audacity, is leaving me stubbornly wet and with a frustrated pang in my stomach. So, no, I won't follow at his beck and call anymore.
“Kurt? Looks like everyone's going to hang in our cabin. You coming?” Blaine has stopped, only one crutch tucked under his arm, to call to me. For Blaine, however, I'll do anything.
“Yeah, sure.” I say, hurrying to catch up with him.
He waits for me, then extends the same offer to Wes and David, who seem to be headed away from the crowd. Wes explains that they need to finish clearing away the game's supplies, then go check the grounds to make sure everyone is taking shelter from the storm, then they have to discuss how the weather will affect the upcoming events and then…
At a point I think Blaine stops listening. He just waves them away, throwing his free arm around me. It seems so ‘old pal' like, but it might just be for help walking. “I don't think everyone appreciates how hard those two work for us. Like Wes is the hardest head leader ever. At least in my years of camp.”
“Oh believe me, I appreciate it. Wes was my buddy last week.” I remind Blaine as I help him up the steps to the cabin.
“Ah, yes. I do recall you being ditch.”
“Frequently, yes. I was ditched.”

“Did you ditch mom and dad?” Eli demands of us when we enter the dry solace of our cabin. I leave it to Blaine to answer, although he, too, requires more clarification before he can offer an answer. “Are Wes and David coming?”
Blaine turns to me with an exasperated roll of his eyes, because we both know Eli is part of the unappreciative everyone we just discussed. “Mm, no. They are off making sure no one gets hurt. As was your concern, right?” Honestly, if Blaine Anderson isn't the classiest at the clap back then I don't know anything anymore.
“Layoff, Anderson. I was asking for Jeff.”
The blonde boy looks up to everyone's questioning gaze with an innocent shrug. “Wes doesn't like it when we drink in the cabins.” Then he opens his trunk to reveal what looks to be a small liquor store.
“Well, yeah, it's not the best…” Blaine scratches the back of his neck as he surveys Jeff's selection.
“But, he has whisky.” Nick explains as if that's the magic word for Blaine.
And maybe it is. “Fuck the best. He never said it was against the rules.”

“What the hell kind of care packages do you get?” Eli lifted a glass bottle full of a clear liquid. Vodka, I recognize despite my scarce experience with such substances. Jeff seizes the bottle from his hand, placing it in the center of the room with the moonshine, white wine and champagne.
“Weve been stocking up.” Nick explains. I watch him and Jeff unloading bottle after bottle. “Our parents dragged us out to a lot of stupid parties all summer.” Every time I think thats the last bottle, another is retrieved. Just the idea of it leaves a gnawing worry low in my gut. “So, from every party, we took a little souvenir.” Nick lines up a bottle of Chardonnay to the mix.
Jeff adds two more of them. “Or three.” He jokes, leaving a chaste kiss to his boyfriends cheek.
Next to me on the bed– whether its mine, his or ours is to be discussed– Blaine doesnt seem to share my concern. Hes already a few good sips into a bottle of Scotch whisky. “You wanna try some?”
I decline the offer so quick that Blaine actually looks concerned. Very early into high school, I had an incident with alcohol thats made me a bit wary of it. I havent had it since. Technically, Ive never consciously had it. Not that I never will. Id just rather drink somewhere that I can better control the situation.
“If you lads wanna get proper drunk, I do know a few games.” Adam proposes with his incurably British manner.
“Whatd you have in mind?” The idea of being ‘proper drunk' is enough to shake Eli out of his usual asshole trance.
“Its called Drunk Artists. So, basically us.” Adam sets off preparing for the game. He distributes a bottle of alcohol to everyone. He then asks to borrow a large sketch pad and pen from Blaine, which he sets up on an easel. Apparently those are never hard to find at art camps.
The game is basically like Pictionary, except for every ten seconds that it takes for people to guess what youre drawing, you take a sip of your drink. If no one guess before you finish, you take a shot. “So, who wants to start?”
No one moves to begin. Honestly, it blows my mind just a bit. This is, after all, camp brotherhood where there is never a lack of participants.
Sebastian, who is seated with Trent on his bed, flicks his eyes towards me. “Hey, Chardonnay, first to play.” We look down at the bottle cradled in my lap at the same time.
I feel a fire being lit in my cheeks, spreading from the tips of my ears and down to neck. Why is Sebastian doing this? He knows better than anyone that I don't drink. Especially not like this. “Oh, I'm not…”
“You are the only one with Chardonnay, Kurt.” Adam shrugs, as if that's a comfort to me.
I huff indignantly, gripping the neck of the bottle. I want to yell at Adam and remind him that he's the one who gave me the stupid bottle in the first place. But, everyone is staring at me, waiting, I suppose, for their stupid game to start. After the debacle last week at breakfast, I don't want to make a scene again.
There's a long beat of silence only cut by the rain drumming against our wooden roof. From where I sit I can feel a light mist blowing in through the screen windows. With that, I can also feel everyone's eyes on me. I stare down at the bottle in my lap.
Maybe I could just play. Everyone would certainly hate me less. What's the harm in one round? I could even try getting away with pretending to drink from the bottle. I just wish Sebastian didn't have to be so adamant on me participating in this stupid game. I doubt I'm alone, too, in my detest for this. A glance at Trent is all I need to affirm he's glad to not be me right about--
My thoughts are disrupted by the weight of a hand on the small of my back. “You don't have to play.” Blaine nearly whispers to me. He shifts closer to me on the bed, our knees just bumping. I don't look at him, but I can feel how close he is from the way his breath tickles my neck. I can smell the whisky on it, too. It's like oak and citrus. But there's also the inexplicable scent of band aids that oddly makes me feel safe. “Or you can just play and not drink. Totally your call.” He ducks his head trying bring himself into my gaze. Amber eyes, the closest they've ever been to me, vie for my attention. When I succumb to his look, he offers me a warm smile. “How about, here, you take my watch. You'll be the timer.” He removes the wrist watch and fastens it to my own arm. “I'll go first.”
Adam, again shrugs. “Alright. You have your whisky?”
Blaine smiles dashingly and raises the bottle. “Always.”

The storm doesn't let up for the rest of the afternoon. So, Drunk Artists has to see us through to dinner. More people end up joining, presumably corralled by Wes and David. Everytime the door to the cabin is swung open, not by rain and wind, but to reveal another man, we have to readjust the game. People move seats, drinks are redistributed, my position as timer was also forfeited a while ago to Trent. But, I've found comfort in a certain constant: Blaine. He has yet to give up his whiskey or his turn or, lucky me, his spot. Although he has become increasingly intoxicated. His last round as artist was particularly lengthy for him, returning him feeling defeated, pretty stewed and, I suppose, quite cuddly. He sags against me, leaving his head to rest on my shoulder. A startled gasp escapes me. Well, this a welcome change. The weight of his head lifts momentarily. I look down to find him looking up at me. His face seems to be asking for permission. I grant it with a nearly imperceptible up turn of my lips, but Blaine doesn't miss it. He grins back, settling again into me. Even as the rain begins to lighten, leaving the diminishing day with a humid sort of glow, Blaine stays next to me, opting out of his turn. Claiming he's had enough to drink. I just can't shake the thought that we are almost the mirror image of Nick and Jeff on the other end of the cabin.