(Present day)

Well, wasn’t this just fucking perfect.

It wasn’t like Blaine had intended to get stuck in a pub in the English countryside with the iciest diva on earth. But David and Wes were already planning to do a two-week tour of England and Ireland over the winter break (even do an honest-to-God Dickensian Christmas feast), and with Blaine’s parents spending the holidays in Madagascar, his friends took pity on him and invited him along, calling him their very own Oliver Twist. They decided that since they had the whole group they might as well see if any clubs were booking last minute performers.

Blaine admitted it was his own damn fault; he saw the flyer advertising the competition at the Blithe Spirit Inn but how was he supposed to know the proprietor was the same Adam Crawford that - based on the NYADA gossip mill - had broken Kurt Hummel’s heart, freezing it seemingly forever in the process? In which case, why the hell would Hummel be there?

After that club audition a few years ago Blaine soured on Kurt. He had thought Kurt was attractive when they first met, and he was definitely talented; but Kurt’s demeanor that day had put such a damper on Blaine's excitement that it affected their interactions going forward. From NYADA tryouts, to who got picked to demonstrate fencing technique, to whose band pulled more crowds, they spent most of their NYADA tenure in a constant state of one-upmanship. One time David joked “why don’t you just fuck him already?” and Blaine didn’t speak to him for a week.

So the fact that even across the Atlantic Blaine apparently couldn’t escape Kurt was just the poisoned cherry atop the shit sundae that was his life.

Blaine and Kurt stopped arguing once Adam told everyone to shut up, but they continued to glare at each other while he explained the situation they were all in. Now Blaine paced the floor as he watched the snow outside. When were they going to be able to leave? Were they going to have to spend the night?

“Here,” Wes came up to him, offering a pint. “You look like you need it more than me.”

“Thanks.” Blaine took the glass and drained a third of it in one go. He glanced up at a framed picture above the bar of who he assumed was a Crawford ancestor, probably the original owner of the place. “So, what’s the word?”

“Well, we’re stuck for the night, at least. I was talking to one of the locals, who said it might be more based on the forecast. This snow’s not letting up.”

“We might be here for more than one night?” Blaine looked over at Kurt, who was commiserating with his bandmates and looking at his phone, whether for the weather forecast, a ride out of there, wi-fi signal or something else. “I don’t know how long I can be stuck here with him.”

Wes patted his shoulder. “Well, you’re going to have to figure something out.” He walked away, presumably to make sleeping arrangements for the night. Blaine took another gulp of ale and glanced at Kurt again. This time he caught Kurt staring at him, then quickly looking away. But not before Blaine registered that the stare was unlike the evil eye he was used to. It was almost…lust?

What was that about?