CHAPTER FORTY

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 11

BLAINE

The break in the cold weather had been perfect – only made more wonderful by spending most of Saturday and Sunday with Kurt enjoying being outside together.

Unfortunately, as expected, the cold weather had come back and I had been unprepared. Sunday night, the cold front came sweeping back through – bringing 6 inches of snow along with it – and giving me a nasty cold. It really was my fault for not checking the weather and sleeping with my windows open, but it had been two days and I was showing no signs of improvement.

I had called Clark Monday morning and he seemed genuinely surprised since I hadn't called in sick since I first started working at Rialto. He realized I wasn't kidding when I practically started hacking over the phone, so he said he would pass the message along to Jeremy and that he would personally run by the studio if they had any issues.

I had also received a call from Santana, who noticed my absence from work. When I started sneezing into the phone, I heard her muttering of "disinfectant" and "contracting diseases through the phone" and she swiftly hung up. I was too exhausted and gross to even think about what she had said or be offended that she had hung up on me, so I just left it to the fact that Santana was just being her ridiculous self.

I had quarantined myself in my apartment and tried to sleep on the first day. After the first day in bed, I decided to move to the couch and try to at least watch some TV or do something other than stare at the ceiling while wiping my nose for hours on end, but it was fruitless. I felt like a softball had taken residence in my nasal passages, my head felt heavy, and I couldn't sleep due to either coughing or not being able to breathe.

I hadn't been this sick in years but it looked like I was down for the count with the plague of the century.

And I was miserable.

And to top it off, it looked like I might miss our company Christmas party. I had decided to bite the bullet and ask Kurt to come as my plus one to the party on Sunday night but if I didn't get better soon, the party wasn't going to happen. And I was really looking forward to having a +1 for the first time... ever.

I grabbed the comforter I had pulled from my bed and trudged into the kitchen – hoping there was a bit of hot water left to make myself some tea. My mom had advised that I start drinking TheraFlu like it was going out of style, but it didn't seem to help much. It didn't really hurt any either so I figured the plan wasn't totally flawed at this point.

I pulled out the packet and dumped it into the nearest mug – hoping it was a clean one since I was too congested to smell it and see if that was the case – and poured the last bit of water from the kettle into the mug when my phone started going off.

I groaned as I slowly grabbed hold of the comforter tugged around my neck and waddled back to the couch with my mug in hand. I wasn't in any rush to answer the phone since I probably wouldn't be able to hear much from the person on the other end, so I figured I should get comfortable before I called them back.

The second I plopped down on the couch and adjusted the warm mug in my hands; my phone started going off again. I looked down at the screen and managed a small smile – before hacking again.

"Uh'lo? Kurt?"

"Blaine? Are you okay? Sorry to call you multiple times but you didn't answer my text messages and I hadn't heard from you in a while so I was worried," Kurt rushed.

"Sorry, I been'd sick," I said, stuffy nose obvious from my mispronunciation.

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. You sound awful."

"Well t'anks for cheering a guy ub, Kurd," I attempted before another coughing fit interjected my crack at humor.

He giggled on the other end. "Glad to see you're still in good spirits despite the fact that you sound horrible. Do you need anything? I hate to imagine you sitting in your apartment alone while you're sick."

"I'b fine. I don' wan' you to get sick doo," I coughed.

"I'll be fine. I've managed to not get sick from Wes' grossness for years, I think I can manage not to get sick from you too." I smiled at that, imagining Kurt ferociously spraying down their apartment at Wes' first sign of sickness. That seemed like something Kurt would do. And it was adorable. "Do you have enough medicine? I can also get you some orange juice or cough drops..."

"I'be fine," I retorted. "I don' habe medicine, but I don' need id. I been sick 'fore."

"Ugh, I swear guys are the worst when they're sick," he replied.

"You're a guy, doo! Are you dis bad whed you're sick?" I chuckled.

"I at least take medicine, unlikesomeguys I know," he said with a snort. "But seriously Blaine, I'm going to come by and bring you some things, okay?"

"Kurd, you don' hab to—"

"I won't take no for an answer, Blaine. So when I buzz you to let me in, don't turn me away."

"Otay," I uttered. "See you sood."

Kurt giggled. "Bye sickie."

I groaned as I dropped the phone onto the couch and huddled up closer in my blanket. I looked around my apartment; it was as if a hurricane of tissues and coffee mugs had come through. I didn't have the energy to clean everything up, but I didn't want Kurt to see my place looking like a total disaster.

I took a small grocery bag that I had left over from Duane Reade and started shoving used tissues in it between coughing fits. I hobbled to the kitchen to throw away the offensive tissues and started to dump the empty mugs that were scattered throughout the kitchen into the sink. I would have shoved them into the dishwasher, but bending over to open the door caused my nose to leak – which was both disgusting and uncomfortable – so I just hoped Kurt wouldn't mind this one time.

After looking around one last time and deeming it worthy of someone else's eyes, I trudged back over to the couch and turned the TV on. I relaxed my eyes for what felt like just a moment before I heard the buzzer beckoning from the kitchen.

I dragged myself over to the receiver and pushed the button.

"Kurd?" I questioned.

"Yeah, can you let me in? It's freezing!" he replied.

I pushed the button to open the door and leaned against the doorframe while I waited for him to arrive to my apartment. Making my way back over to the couch and then back to the door to let Kurt in would require too much effort, so I figured waiting here in a somewhat comfortable leaning position would suffice.

What felt like seconds later, I heard a soft rap at the door. I slowly backed away from the door that I was leaning against and opened it to see my smiling boyfriend's face on the other side.

KURT

I tried to knock on the door as lightly as possible in case Blaine had a headache, but I could hear stirring on the other side as I juggled the bag and container in my hands. The moment he opened the door I smiled at the sight of him, but immediately my smile switched to a look of concern.

Blaine looked terrible – and I didn't think that was possible.

His eyes were red-rimmed; his nose was as red as Rudolph's, and his hair was like a rat's nest on top of his head. His eyes were cracked open – as if it was painful for him to keep them open – and he leaned against the doorframe, nearly pushing all of his weight against it.

"Hi," he rasped.

"Oh, Blaine," was all I could manage as I took in the sight of my truly sick boyfriend.

"Cub id," he said and I giggled internally at how his words sounded slightly like a little kid trying to speak for the first time. He sniffled before he started talking again. "Sorry thad id's a mess."

"It's fine," I replied. I took in Blaine's apartment and it was slightly untidy compared to the other times I'd seen it, but it was understandable. I saw a bag on top of his trash can filled with tissues and I felt a mixture of grossed out and a hinge of adoration for Blaine; grossed out because God knows what kinds of germs those things had on them, but found it adorable that Blaine probably tried to tidy up his apartment just because I was coming over.

I laid my coat on the back of one of his kitchen chairs and placed my scarf and messenger bag with it. After laying down my things, I peered into the bag that I'd just filled at the pharmacy. "I brought some tea, NyQuil, Mucinex, Vapo Rub, cough drops, more tissues, and a batch of soup," I said as I gestured to the bag in my hands.

Blaine tried to laugh before a cough caught in his throat. "Geez, dib you buy the whole store?" he asked.

"Hardly, but I figured you were probably totally out of supplies since you said you didn't have any medicine around here," I replied as I started opening cabinets looking for a bowl for the soup. "Why don't you have a seat on the couch and I'll bring over your soup?"

"Otay," he said as he shuffled toward the couch. He looked rather pathetic as I saw his figure walk away. He was slouched over and I thought I heard his back crack a little bit as he walked; he was the epitome of miserable.

I made use of myself in the kitchen as I heard Blaine growl as he plopped down on the couch.My poor boyfriend, I thought to myself as I poured the warm chicken noodle soup into a bowl I'd found in Blaine's cabinet. I grabbed a spoon from the drawer and wrapped the bowl in a paper towel and walked over to the couch.

Blaine was the sorriest sight I'd ever seen. And that's saying a lot considering Wes was the most abhorrent sick person on the face of the planet. Blaine was leaned over on the couch with his feet firmly planted on the ground with his eyes closed and his mouth open with a slight rasp coming from his mouth as he breathed.

"Blaine?"

"Whud?" he groaned as he attempted to sit up, only to struggle at the task.

"Here, let me help you," I said as I grabbed his arm to pull him up into a seated position.

Once he was seated – with his head leaning back against the back of the couch – his eyes flicked open. "T'anks," he said. "You don' habe to do dis. You really could ged sick."

I waved him off. "I'll be fine. I took some extra Emergen-C just in case though," I chuckled.

"Good," he breathed, small smile on his lips. I gazed at him for a minute before realizing he probably didn't want me to just stare at him all day – though looking at sick Blaine was kind of adorable.

"Here's your soup," I said, extending him the bowl in my hands. "Can you manage to hold it yourself?"

"I'b nod an inbalid, Kurd," he joked, swiping the bowl from my grasp.

"Okay, okay," I resigned, exaggerating the faux frustration in my tone.

"Could you do 'be a fabor?" he asked. I nodded. "Could you ged some crackers oud of the cabined – I like to crush dem and put dem on tob of my soup. My mob and dad always used to do dat for 'be whed I was sick as a kid. "

I chuckled at this endearing attribute. "Of course," I replied as I journeyed to the kitchen to find the crackers.

Once I found them and brought them back to him, I noticed he had eaten a few spoonfuls of the soup, but also managed to spill some on his shirt and had closed his eyes again. "Blaine?" I asked softly, earning no response from Blaine. "Honey? Blaine?" The term of endearment – one that had slipped out a few times by now – seemed to awaken him as he sat up and focused on the broth in front of him. "Here are your crackers," I said, handing them over to him to do as he pleases. "I hope this magic your parents did with the crackers will help you feel better soon."

He smiled as he took a couple of crackers from the pack and crunched them up, piling them onto his soup and stirring them in. "You're doin' jus' fide ad my nurse," he hummed as he brought the soup to his mouth.

I snorted, thinking that I was nothing like the only nurse I was familiar with. Carole would be proud at my efforts, though. "While you eat, I'm going to get the medicine ready. Is that okay?" He nodded as I pulled the bag from the coffee table in front of us. I pulled out the contents and laid them all out on the table. "I know it's the daytime, but I really think you could use some sleep. How about you take some NyQuil and get some sleep before starting with the rest of these meds?"

Blaine woozily nodded as he brought another spoonful to his lips. "I debinitely need to sleeb," he agreed. "I couldn't sleeb last night – I kept coughing and had a hard tibe breathing."

"I'm sorry," I said as I gingerly touched his forearm; hoping the slight contact would bring some comfort to him since hugging or kissing was out of the question. Blaine took in one last bit of soup before putting the bowl down, noting the soup was gone.

"Here, let me take that," I said, taking the bowl from him and going into the kitchen. I rinsed out the bowl and put it – along with a few mugs from the sink – into the nearly empty dishwasher that was slightly ajar.

"You don' habe to clean up, Kurd," he called from his place on the couch.

"It's fine, Blaine. I'm not doing any heavy lifting," I called back. I grabbed a clean spoon from the drawer and came back to the couch to see a slightly less pathetic-looking Blaine sitting up. The soup must've helped a little bit since he looked less like death. "For the NyQuil," I said, handing him the spoon.

"T'anks," he replied and popped open the cap on the bottle. "Norbally I don' take dis because it makes me feel kind of crazy, bud I need to sleeb."

"I understand," I said. After Blaine took the medicine, I started to pick up the discarded NyQuil box and the empty grocery bag, taking the items to the kitchen to throw away. After realizing I had nothing left to do now that I'd brought the items to Blaine, I started packing up my bag and grabbed my coat that I'd taken off upon entering his building. "Do you need anything else? I think I'll head out to let you sleep," I asked, looping the scarf around my neck.

"You don' habe to leabe," Blaine said, now standing near the wall that separated the living room from the kitchen. He was still leaning against the wall and still looked pitiful, but the fact that he was standing gave me a little hope that he might feel better sooner rather than later. "Cub on, why don' we watch somethin' for a liddle while. I'd lub some company."

"Okay," I said, untangling my scarf and putting my coat and bag back in their place on the chair. "What should we watch?" I asked as I made my way to the couch, Blaine following in-step.

"Clueless is on Nedflix and I'b always good for dat moo-bie."

"Done," I said as he grabbed the remote and started the movie.

I wasn't sure what to do physically with us in such close proximity on the couch. It wasn't that I didn't want to reach out and touch him or lay my head on his shoulder, but I knew getting sick was not on my agenda – especially not with the holidays just around the corner.

Rather than worry about the physical contact or how I could potentially get sick, I lightly laid my hand on his arm and pulled his arm onto my leg. He looked at me hesitantly but I simply grinned in return, causing him to lightly rub his hand on my leg. Though the contact was minimal it was a nice reassurance.

We sat and watched the movie for a while and before long, I could hear Blaine's breathing even out and the scratching in his throat became a bit more pronounced. I looked over and saw Blaine lying against the back of the couch with his mouth slightly ajar and his hand still firmly placed on my leg. Normally I would think his behavior was a bit barbaric and a little too reminiscent of how Finn would end up after watching football on Thanksgiving afternoon, but somehow Blaine made it look charming.

I peeked at my watch – it was now just after 2 – and I knew that my window of opportunity to spend time with Blaine was closing since I had to be to work by 4. I took one last look at my adorably passed out boyfriend before giving him a little nudge on the shoulder.

"Blaine? I think you should go to bed," I stated. Blaine grumbled in response, but droopily took his comforter that was lying on the couch next to him and pulled it to his chest. He moved to lie down – using me as a pillow – before I pushed his shoulders forward, causing him to sit up. "No, Blaine," I chuckled. "In your actual bed. Not on the couch."

"'M comfy," he whispered.

"No sir, to bed with you," I said sitting up and lightly pulling on his arm to get him to stand. He groaned as he stood and I soon found myself bearing most of his weight as he struggled to stand. I wrapped my arm around his waist as he clutched onto my shoulder for balance. If it was anyone else, I probably would have been annoyed at the dead weight, but with Blaine it was – of course – endearing.

Blaine and I finally made it past the divider in his studio toward the area that housed his bed and closet. It was the first time I'd seen his bedroom area – the bookshelf that served as a room divider had obstructed my view in the past – and I couldn't help but look around a little bit.

A vintage print of New York City was on the same wall as the window and behind his bed was a large photograph of the Brooklyn Bridge – coincidentally the same one that was the background on his Twitter page. His bed was covered in gray sheets and his comforter provided a nice contrast with its dark blue hue. He also had a few more photos of his family and friends on the small side table next to his bed – all in coordinating red frames.

I was slightly impressed at his ability to make the room go together without making it too matchy-matchy, something most men failed at, but it was just one more thing on the laundry list of things that Blaine was amazing at, apparently.

I laid him down on the bed and he groaned as his face his the soft mattress. He somewhat quickly crawled up to where his pillows were and let out a moan as the fabric hit his face. Normally I would be slightly turned on at the sound of a man - well, the sound of Blaine - moaning on a bed, but considering that Blaine immediately started coughing after his face made contact, my libido remained in check.

I pulled the comforter up around his shoulders and did my best to cover his body with the blanket, hoping it would help him settle as his coughing subsided. He stilled after a moment and seemed to be calmed by the comforter's warmth as I tucked the last bit in under his chin.

I leaned in and gave his unruly hair a kiss. "I hope you feel better Blaine," I whispered before stepping back.

"T'anks Kurd," he replied, the only sign of his conscious state.

I stepped back to make my way past the divider when I heard Blaine weakly mutter something. Afraid he needed something, I turned back and leaned in again. "What is it Blaine?" I questioned as I stepped in closer.

"I lub you," he slurred before turning over to face the window.

I stood back, shock likely obvious on my face.

He didn't...

Did he just...

What just...

I stepped out of the bedroom area, stunned. His words had been slightly slurred, but the sentiment was unmistakable. He couldn't have meant to say anything else; there were no excuses about olive juice or anything like that.

Blaine just said that he loved me...

...while on strong medication that he said made him crazy.

I wasn't sure if I should be overjoyed, nervous, or scared. Overjoyed because it meant that for the first time in my life, a man had admitted that he loved me; nervous because what if he hadn't meant to say it - whether it was now or ever; and scared because that put things into perspective for me – and for us.

I knew Blaine had feelings for me – he had admitted as much to me in the past without really admitting that he loved me; but he had said that somehow our relationship felt different to him. I agreed with him since it reallydidfeel different. But him saying it aloud made things more real somehow.

Blaine's three words made me have to confront the things I had been trying to sweep under the rug for the past few days. I was normally a very emotionally reserved guy, so admitting to any type of feelings was not something that I took lightly. And the things I was feeling for Blaine had been churning since I first met him – if I was being honest with myself – but had truly come to a head in the past few days as our conversations had gotten deeper and our time spent together had become prolonged and more intimate. And not even intimate in a sexual way - but intimate in that we were really getting to know each other in a way I hadn't let someone in for a long time.

I let the thoughts fester as I collected my belongings and got ready to embark on my journey into the cold. I walked over to take one last look at my conked-out boyfriend and smiled. He was like a giant starfish on his bed with his face toward the window and the light coming through the blinds softly illuminating his face.

And in that moment, gazing at the horribly sick Blaine, I said the thing I'd been thinking but was too afraid to say – knowing he couldn't hear me and wouldn't remember the next day even if he could understand me.

"I love you, too."