“What was that?” I demand sharply, coming behind Sebastian in the buffet line.
He lifts an apple, surveys it, then puts it back when he finds it bruised. “What was what?”
“The game, the chardonnay first to play?” I drop a carton of grapes on my tray, a few spilling out. “You, like, ambushed me last night!”
We both rest our trays on the counter to collect the fallen grapes. When we return to upright, Bas snatches one of the clean grapes from my tray. I fix him with a glare. “I just wanted you to play, calm down.” He shrugs, popping the grape into his mouth and walking off.
I huff, grabbing my food to follow after him. “No, okay, I didn't want to play!”
“Okay, jeez, I'm sorry.” He slides his tray into the spot to Trent's left. “I didn't mean to ‘ambush' you or whatever.” He takes his seat next to Trent.
I, with no lack of petty flair, sit on the other side of Trent. “You are so inconsiderate sometimes.”
Trent shifts a little in his seat, clearly sensing the tension. Sebastian either doesnt notice his discomfort or doesnt care. “I am not the inconsiderate one here.” He bites, leaning across Trent.
“Oh really?” I ask, matching his tone. “How so?”
“I provided you and Blaine with a condom.”
“That I didnt want?”
“While you havent even asked me how things are going with Adam.” He leans back in his chair with a smirk as if hes somehow made his case. “Theyre going great, by the way.”
“Please, Adam doesnt even know your name.”
“Uh, yeah he does.”
“Huh, sure.”
“You know what? I dont need this.” Sebastian pushes his chair out from the table. “Come on, Trent. Were sitting somewhere else.”
“Trent is staying with me.”
“Oh and why would he do that?”
“Because we share a cabin, because he knows Im right, because Ive never been a dick to him.”
“At least I actually spend time with him. Trent, lets go.”
Trent rises slowly, lifting his tray. “Actually, Im going to go sit with Marty and Cal.” He gives an apologetic look to me, then Bas. “Good luck with whatever this is.”
Sebastian turns to watch Trent go. “Now Trent is upset. Its all your fault.” With that, he storms off to join Alfie, who is just entering the mess hall.
I take in the empty table before me, feeling a lot less hungry now. I stomach one more grape, before emptying the contents of my tray in the trash and heading back down to my cabin.

I lie on my back on the bed that was originally mine, not feeling up to climbing the ladder. Im not even mad at Sebastian anymore. Of course the whole trek down here I was seething, mentally plotting all of the clever comebacks I couldve used. But, now Im just tired. Tired of his self righteous bullshit. Tired of him really only looking out for him, a good time and maybe anyone he deems to be fuckable.
He wasnt always like this either. Before high school, he was actually geeky. Like geekier than anyone Ive ever known. He was infatuated with the Justice League and art history. His fight against acne was worse than the War of 1812. And, for six years, he had to wear a full headset in addition to his braces. Yeah, he was pretty lame and the constant outpour of comic book trivia got old. But he was at least down to earth then. Not some uppity douche.
The change happened when he got his braces off and his parents sent him to a private high school. Everyday after class—he got out an hour later than I did—we would meet up for coffee. But, I think each day he was half a second later than the day before. It doesn't seem like much, but it builds up over time, slowly. Until, one day, it comes to a head like this. This flare-up at breakfast. We don't always get along. We never really fight, though. Not like this.
The door creaks open, interrupting my thoughts. At this point, I really shouldnt be surprised when I see Blaine. Still, a small flutter picks up in my stomach. “Youre on our bed.” He states, drawing a small grin.
My lips fall open to speak. But what are words? Our. Thats a word. It seems to be the only one echoing around my head. Our.
Blaine perks an eyebrow up, clueing me into how stupid I must look right now. Slowly, I close my mouth and smile at him.
“May I sit?” he asks, gesturing a hand to the foot of our bed. I nod quickly, sitting up to make more room for him. “What are you up to?” Theres something familiar in Blaines voice that makes me instinctively draw my knees closer into me. I shrug. “Did you get breakfast?”
“Of course.” Thats not a lie. I did get food; he never asked if I ate.
“Okay. I only ask because,well, uhm,” Blaines eyebrows knit together with his words, leaving a crease indented between them. “I couldnt help but notice you throwing away most of your food.” Sucking the corner of his lip in to rest between his teeth, he waits for my answer.
I shrug under his patronizing gaze that's made to look like its asking when in reality, hes telling me I dont have my shit together and that, no, Im not ready to be an adult. He watches me gauge how much to tell him through narrowed eyes. “Not much of an appetite, I guess. Its no big deal.”
“It is if you want to keep your strength up, which is vital.” Thats it; I know why this is familiar. Its his ‘concerned cabin leader' voice. The one specially tailored to make us feel coddled. “Especially with wakeboarding this morning. If–hmm?” I utter his name to cut the lecture short.
“I didnt sign up for wake boarding. I was just going to stay in and sketch today.” I inform him, tugging at the toe of my sock.
“Oh, okay. Cool. Mind if I join you then? Cant really wakeboard what with…” He gives a small kick from the wrapped leg. I crinkle my nose a little with guilt, but dont apologize knowing how he would complain if I did.
“Sure.” Now that the carefully treaded Blaine has relaxed into his regular self, I, too, can relax. I unwind myself, climbing out of the bottom bunk. “Wheres your sketch pad?” Blaine directs me to his trunk. In it, a distressed, spiral bound book, a bulky pencil bag and a glasses case, which I also grab upon request, rest on top of neatly folded v-necks and graphic tees. I retrieve my own design book and utensils, much less worn or full as Blaines, before returning to the bed.
He thanks me for his belongings, but doesn't touch them. While I set to work on my sketches, Blaine sits as if he has something to say. His gaze teeters between me and our socked feet, which are almost touching in the middle of the thin mattress.
I finally catch his gaze while hes watching me. I smile at him, putting down my pencil. “is there something I can help you with?” I briefly wonder if that sounded somehow suggestive. If it did, Blaine chose to ignore it.
He takes a heavy breath in, twisting his lips into a nervous grin. I can see the tip of his tongue toying with one of his canine teeth. Then, he dips his head. “Did I embarrass you yesterday?”
“What? Of course not!” I exclaim under Blaines voice while he continues to speak.
“Because, I just wanted to help but now–”
“You did.”
“–Im worried I maybe made it weird for you with the other guys.”
“Blaine, hey,” he lifts his eyes up to mine making obvious the blush blooming in his cheeks. “Thank you.”
“Oh.” At my gratitude, Blaines face breaks into sunshine itself. “Youre welcome.” he says through a grand toothy grin. After slipping on his bulky specs, he picks up one of his pencils, bops me on the knee with it then opens his sketchbook to work. Most of me dies at how utterly adorable he is, but I dont think he noticed.

The time of wakeboarding approached quickly. It is signified by the introduction of half the cabin returning to dress for the event. Trent is the first to return, slipping in quietly. I pointedly didnt notice him. However Blaine, once he unburied himself from whatever he was drawing, greeted him warmly.
“Hi Blaine.” And thats it. I wait. I put my pen down, look to him and wait. No greeting. I dont even see him look at me. He just collects his swim trunks and leaves to the bathroom to change. So, thats how it is. So much for not picking sides.
Jeff follows shortly after with Eli and Owen on his heels. “So, no wake boarding?” He asks of Blaine whilst fishing his still damp swim trunks from his bag of soiled laundry.
“Nah,” Blaine barely glances up from his page, flipping his pencil to erase a stray mark. “Wes talked me out of it.”
A sound that could only be described as pity is heard from the eavesdropping members of the cabin. Tugging his shirt over his head, Jeff then directs the question to me.
“The last time I tried watersports it didn't end well for me.” I explain, assuming the paddle to face incident is gone but never forgotten.
Instead of the pity previously expressed, I am rewarded a knowing chuckle from Blaine and a snort from Eli. “Do you know what watersports are?” Owen cracks a smirk from that. Jeff turns away before I can see if he, too, is in on the joke. Clearly I don't know what watersports are.
Apparently Blaine does. For this, he puts down his pencil and pad, lowers his glasses and sternly informs Eli “thats not needed.”
At the edge in Blaine's tone, the half dressed, half sunscreened members of team blue hush their voices. My muscles all tense, leaving my spine rod straight and rigid. Everyone expects a fight every time Blaine and Eli interact. This is far from being the exception. Until, Eli decides to surprise us all. He throws his hands up in surrender. “Right you are, Mr. Anderson. My sincerest apologies.” Then he snatches his swim trunks from his bed and heads to the stalls.
Once he has cleared ear shot and the cabin has returned to their chatter, I look back to Blaine. Already, he has returned to his work as if nothing has even occurred.
“You certainly got him into shape.” I whisper, leaning into the mattress so he can hear my soft voice.
Blaine looks at me, shrugs and pulls a face. “Hes just mocking me at this point.”

Beyond that, Blaine only interrupts his own brilliance to rub a bit of warmth into his bare feet. The hurt leg sits curled in front of him, sheltered below the bend of the other. Every time I notice this, I scoot my foot an imperceptible bit closer to him. Now my two feet are crowding his one so much its beginning to look like a confrontation. Again he reaches down to wrap a hand over his little feet. Of course he has little feet with neatly trimmed nails on both his fingers and toes, which he wiggles under his grip. Its as if theyre beckoning to me, inviting my feet to move further.
So, once Blaine has returned his hands to his work, I watch my cotton socks slip across the bed, leaving wrinkles in the sheets. They stop with just my toes over Blaines toes. His foot flexes from the instigation. Already, I want to take it back; it was a shit idea anyways. What if he hates feet?
But, before I can claim it was an accident, his foot relaxes and worms itself further between mine. Neither of us look up from our sketching. But theres no way I imagine the content hum from Blaine.

A long hour of still air between us lapses. Blaine is still etching furiously into his pad, like a young genius. My hand has long since stilled. I hadnt gotten past the forms of bodies. Instead of dreaming up their attire, my mind wandered to the other end of the bed. I never faced him full on, only catching glimpses of him through my lashes. His weight is rested coolly against a leg of the upper bunks frame. The glasses, which Ive deducted are for reading, perch heavily on the bridge of his nose. Theyve only slipped once so far, to which Blaine distractedly readjusted them. One arm is bent to cradle his journal, while his other has a firm grip on his pencil, never ceasing its motion.
How does he think so quickly? I can see every sprouting idea from the details in his face. It seems every half second his lips will change from a hard soden line of focus to a self satisfied, or sometimes even bemused, smirk.
Theres a fair glow on his forehead from just the slightest bit of sweat forming. I cant tell if its from his laboring or if the humidity left behind by the rain is getting to him. Either way, he seems not to be bothered by it.
The only thing to finally break his trance is when the tail end of a passing conversation wafts through the screen windows. Blaine looks towards the sounds of some freshman boys joking about the virginity of Quinns girls. He shakes his head at their nonsense, curls bobbing with the motion. He doesn't jump to defend them like he does me. He simply makes to return to his work. But, before he gets sucked back in, he notes my studious gaze with a questioning eyebrow quirk.
My mouth falls open only a bit before I catch it. I wont be stupid this time. “What are you working on?” I ask, praising myself for being so quick to save my own face.
Blaine lets the tip of his tongue, flat against his teeth, peek out to wet his lips as he glances from me to his work and back. I note the way he gathers it a little closer to his chest. His foot flexes between the soft encasing of mine. “If I tell you, you cant steal my ideas or tell anyone else, okay?” I nod. One hundred percent of me is ready to be the confidant of Blaine Anderson. It is a privilege and an honor. “Pinky promise?”
I almost laugh at the finger jutted out to me. But, a quick search of Blaines face proves that Blaine is pure enough to believe in pinky promises. I wrap my little finger around his as he does the same. When we both recover our hands, he reveals the current page to me.
The entire sheet is gridded of into six evenly spaced boxes. I briefly wonder how he got the lines that straight without using any guide. Only half the boxes are sketched in, the others remain yet to be touched by his brilliance. And Blaine truly is gifted. Despite the limiting size of the boxes, Blaine has drawn out a full superhero battle scene, packed with both action and detail.
When I look up I find Blaine nervously awaiting my review. Before I can sing his praises, he launches into explaining himself. “Theres this comic contest. Its really competitive. But if I win Id get that published and printed nationally.”
“Thats really cool, Blaine.” I mean it but he shrugs it off anyways. Pushing his glasses higher up his nose, he explains that ‘nationally' would probably only be one or two local comic shops per state.
“Maybe even less. Ya never know.” He shrugs again. Modesty, though a rare color for him, is something he wears incredibly well. Most everything is.
“Still, it sounds like a really great opportunity. And I think you have a pretty decent chance of winning.”
He pricks up at the compliment, but I can see hes trying to keep it from getting to his head. “Youve only seen half a page.” He reasons, tilting his head to his shoulder. “And you dont even know what its about yet.”
“So, tell me then.” And theres the sunshine again. One lopsided grin and my heart is sold.

“Well, I dont even read comic books and Im already sold.”
Blaine smiles up to me from where he has rested his head upon my knee. Apparently he has exhausted himself. “So, what are my chances of you dressing as one of the characters for comic con?”
“Oh, youre great.” I tell him, my fingers tickle the ends of his hair lightly enough that I hope he cant feel it. “But Id say slim to none.”
He hums, the sound turning into a chuckle. “Damn shame. I think you'd great in costume.”

“Blaine?” He puts down the Nightwing comic book in his hand, lifting his head from my knee. “Uh, what exactly are water sports? Like I know what I think they are. But, what did Eli mean?”
A laugh stutters out of Blaine. “Pfft,” He waves a hand. “Don't listen to Eli.”
“But, I wanna know.” I pout.
Pushing himself up onto his elbows, Blaine faces me. His mouth has fallen slightly agape. A distance I am familiar with. Apparently, the loose-jaw, stupefied daze is something I'm pretty great at. But, on Blaine it's different. There's a slight blush to his cheeks and his hair is flattened on the side that had rested on my leg only moments ago. His eyes are roaming my face to see if I am serious about my request. I am.
“Well,” He reaches up to scratch nervously at his head. Then, almost subconsciously, he tidies up the tousled locks with his fingers. “It's like… god, Kurt, I don't know an appropriate way to explain this.”
“That's fine,” I shrug. “I'm an adult.” Blaine crinkles his nose, narrowing his eyes at me. “Fine, sort of an adult.”
I watch him catch a deep breath, holding for just a beat. “Okay,” He begins with the exhale. “Watersports are sexual activities that involve bodily fluids. Usually like pee.”
“Oh.” Fantastic job, Kurt. Now Blaine is going to associate you with...with that. He can't even look at me, sitting up completely now and busying himself with studying the cover of his book. “That's not what I meant earlier. I've never tried that.”
I mentally high five myself when I see the smile tugging at Blaine's lips. Being able to make him feel he can't even suppress his joy feels like a superpower to me. “I figured as much.” He bumps my shoulder lightly with his own. “Are you hungry?”
“Oh, uhm, I guess it has been a while.” This question draws my awareness to the dull ache in my stomach.
“We probably should eat. And by eat I mean enter the Sundae making contest. So I can beat you.” He tells me, already reaching for his crutches.
“Fat chance, Anderson.”