“That’s the doorbell.”

Kurt paused, breathed, readied himself.

“Kurt, the door?” Rachel spoke again.

“Right.”

He moved towards the door, more nervous than anything else. It all felt so domestic and simple, but so secretive at the same time. Blaine’s cheery smile appeared as Kurt pulled the door open, he rubbed anxiously at the back of his neck, almost shyly before saying hello.

Kurt smiled back, “Hey.”

They stood in the doorway for a moment, looking into each other’s eyes, both unable to read the relief that they felt in seeing each other again - and to think that Kurt had meant to cut Blaine out of his life. How easily being around Blaine became some sort of necessity, like oxygen to Kurt’s deprived lungs. Merely being in his vicinity filled a hole he didn’t even realize had formed inside him. Blaine’s heart beat faster and harder and he prayed to the God that he didn’t believe in that Kurt couldn’t hear it, couldn’t see how nervous he was.

“Sorry, come in” Kurt said, blushing, as he stepped aside.

“Wow, your apartment is not at all what I expected.” Blaine said, looking eagerly at the walls, the paintings, posters, furniture.

“Well, what’d you expect?”

“I don’t really know, not this.”

Kurt and Rachel’s apartment was a fairly boring and bland box situated on the 4th floor of a fairly boring and bland building. It was small with a lounge room and kitchen in the same area, one small bathroom and two small bedrooms. The walls were a dark cream color, lit poorly by yellow lamps and ceiling lights that left some corners still in darkness. The grey bench-tops of the kitchen and the tattered white refrigerator looked like they had been scavenged from garage sales and reject shops. There were few posters; one of Barbra Streisand’s Funny Girl and a Chicago poster with a signature Blaine didn’t recognize as being anyone important, and a few artworks that couldn’t be worth more than 20 dollars.

Not that two young Broadway hopefuls living in New York City should be living in glamorous penthouse suite or anything, but Blaine expected the home to bit a little more Kurt. A little more personalized and stylish, colorful, vibrant, unusual in the best of ways.

Blaine smiled and moved further into the living space.

“Blaine!” Rachel squealed, pulling the boy into a tight hug. “I’m so glad you could come. Kurt’s been moping all week.”

“Rachel!” Kurt shook his head in attempt to silence her.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did something happen?” Blaine’s voice was laden with genuine concern.

“No, nothing happened. Rachel’s exaggerating.” Kurt said, throwing Rachel a pointed look.

“Well, anyway, come in. Sit down, we’ll have a drink.”

They soon fell into an easy conversation full of snorts and giggles as they regaled each other with stories from the past. Dinner was a simple chicken stir-fry, one of the few meals Rachel was successfully able to make. Kurt was generally the chef of the house, but occasionally Rachel would insist that she cook. They sat on the sofa, laughing and drinking and eating into the wee hours of the night. At about 1:30 in the morning Rachel excused herself and went to bed (she had a class that morning at 9), leaving the two boys to themselves.

Whether it was the alcohol circulating through their systems or simply the enjoyment of Blaine’s company, Kurt could not bring himself to feel awkward or nervous, it was as if Nick had never said anything at all. Blaine didn’t really seem all that complicated, he was sweet and charming and kind. They sat side-by-side, their thighs pressed together, occasionally bumping one another with their shoulders. Kurt was hyperaware of Blaine’s warmth each time it met his body. He noted every time their skin connected, relishing the tingles he felt there, immediately missing it when Blaine pulled away.

“Do you think it’s weird that we spend time together? I mean, considering how we met?” Blaine asked, almost serious all of a sudden.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, I guess. I suppose not many people who get hit by a car become friends with the person who hit them.”

“I just… I don’t know. I mean Santana seems to think that you’ve got this hidden agenda or something. That you need to be watched.” Blaine laughed. “Not that she’s a reliable source of information. She’s a little paranoid. I just think it’s weird.”

“Yeah, I got the feeling she didn’t like me very much.”

“Aw, don’t be offended. She doesn’t like anyone very much. Well, except Brittany.”

“And you.”

“I don’t think so. She pretends. I think she secretly hates me.” Blaine laughed.

“I can’t imagine anyone hating you.” Kurt said, his voice little above a whisper.

“I can.”

“Who hates you?”

“My father.” Blaine turned his head away, refusing to look Kurt in the eye.

“Oh.”

“Geez. I’m sorry. That’s totally not appropriate. I don’t know why I said that. Just forget that.” Blaine fumbled.

‘It’s ok. I mean, I asked. Did you want to talk about it?”

“No. Not really.”

 “Well, I mean, I don’t know the situation, but I’m sure he loves you. No matter what comes between the two of you. You’re his son, and an amazing, loving, beautiful person. You’re kind and smart and talented and polite, you’re like the ideal son.”

“I don’t know that I’m any of those things, but thank you, Kurt.” A tear threatened to spill from Blaine’s eye. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to make this all about me and my problems.”

“That’s ok. From what I hear, you have a lot of those.” Shit. Kurt immediately wished he could reel that back in. What kind of mental lapse did he have to make him produce that?

A puzzled look came over Blaine’s face. “What?”

“Nothing.” Kurt dismissed him.

“Who said I have a lot of problems?”

“Nick.” Why can’t I just shut up?

“Warbler Nick? What?”

“Nothing. Forget I said anything at all. I’ve been drinking: it’s obviously not good for me. My brain isn’t working properly.”

“No, no, no. Wait. What’d he say?”

“Nothing. Something about your life being tangled and knowing where I stand. I don’t even really remember. It wasn’t even a big deal.” Kurt lied.

“How odd. Well, do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Know where you stand?”

“I don’t… I mean, I think I…”

“I’ll take that as a no.” Blaine laughed, leaning closer to Kurt. So much so that Kurt could feel Blaine’s breath against his neck.

Really close. Kurt thought.

“Do you want to?” Blaine said flirtatiously.

Kurt nodded. Not trusting himself to speak. Both men had drunk enough to make their heads fuzzy, to cloud judgment. This was the kind of situation when stupid things happened, things that would become regrets later, and for some reason, Kurt couldn’t bring himself to care. He could feel Blaine’s body heat radiating off him, see his muscles underneath the fabric of his shirt.

Silently, Blaine closed the gap in between them. Pressing his lips against Kurt’s sweetly, innocently. He brought his hand behind Kurt’s head as he deepened the kiss. Kurt moaned softly into Blaine’s mouth. He cupped Blaine’s cheek in his hand, barely able to pull him closer before Blaine shot himself to the other end of the couch. He breathed heavily, his eyes darting from spot to spot, never anywhere near Kurt’s face. He brought his fingertips to his lips, shocked.

Blaine felt his stomach drop, the blood drain from his extremities. He had just kissed Kurt… and it was amazing. He urged to grab the collar of Kurt’s shirt and pull him in again. His lips tingled, the taste of Kurt’s mouth lingered on his tongue. His mind raced, his heart pounded, he was barely able to think a logical thought.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I thought that was a good idea. You probably….” Blaine covered his face with his hands.

“It’s… It’s ok.” Kurt said breathlessly. “You could do it again… If you wanted.”

Blaine looked at him through his eyelashes. “I do, but I won’t. It’s not fair. And Nick is right. My life is tangled. I’m sorry, I think I should go. But I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Um, yeah. Ok.” Kurt said, forcing a smile.

Blaine grabbed his things and headed to the door. He hesitated slightly and turned back to Kurt, smiling warmly at him.

Kurt felt even more confused, but at the same time elated to a new level of happiness he didn’t know existed. Kissing Blaine Anderson was potentially the best thing ever, and he was determined to do it again, and again.