September 18th, 1918 - Battle of Epehy

Kurt

Kurt sat listening to Blaine's story about how Bobby had ended up without his life in a shell hole. He giggled when Blaine came up with some pretty kooky ideas, and added his own when Blaine seemed to be stuck about something.

Kurt couldn't seem to keep his eyes off Blaine. He watched his every movement, from the curve of his pink lips when he talked to the restless movements of his hands as he spoke. Kurt was completely taken with him, especially now that he knew what colour his eyes were. They were honey brown and so full of life that Kurt couldn't help but be entranced by Blaine. He wondered why such an amazing man would sit beside him willingly. Especially since they seemed to be sitting in a man-made hole that contained water, dirt, blood and dead men; how utterly romantic.

Out of nowhere, Kurt's stomach growled. He blushed in embarrassment. Of all the times his stomach would betray him, of course it would be when he is sitting right next to a handsome and charming man that wasactually willing to speak with him. Kurt had to remind himself that this man did attempt to kill him, and still had the potential to do so, even if his rifle was sitting several feet across from them. Yet, Kurt couldn't stop the warm feeling in his chest Blaine gave him.

His stomach growled again, this time loud enough for Blaine to hear. Blaine paused in his ramblings to give Kurt an amused smile, before nudging his shoulder against Kurt's.

"I'm a bit peckish myself" he tilted his head looking from Kurt to his pack. "Do you have anything in that pack of yours?"

Kurt quickly undid the clasp at his waist, so that he could swing it to his front to scavenge for the food he knew was somewhere in the bag. He dug through the pack, moving some of his equipment around, before finding the rations and canteen at the very bottom.

After a few moments, Kurt held out a bag of jerky and his canteen to Blaine. The man smiled as he accepted the drink offered to him, and placed his hand into the bag pulling out a few pieces for himself.

Stopping, Blaine gave Kurt an odd look as he rummaged in the bag a bit more.

"Honestly, how long does it take you to grab a few pieces?" Kurt joked.

"No, wait there is something hard in here." Blaine mumbled under his breath, as he leaned closer to Kurt to get a good look into the bag.

"What are you looking for?"

Blaine let out a hearty laugh as he fished out what he was looking for. "Umm, Kurt, why is there a compass in your jerky?"

Kurt gaped at Blaine, who was indeed holding a compass in his hand. "I - it must have fallen in at some point-"

Blaine shook in silent laughter as he watched Kurt flounder for an explanation.

"Oh, shut up and eat your jerky." Kurt snapped snarkily as he snatched the compass from Blaine's hand, replacing it with some jerky.

The two of them sat quietly, eating the dried meat. Kurt listened to the steady rhythm of Blaine's breathing, noticing how the sounds of falling shells became less frequent and how every so often their shoulders would brush sending a chill down Kurt's spine, which made his blush darken and his belly grow warm. Kurt swore this man may be the death of him yet.

"What kind of jerky is this?" Blaine murmured around a huge chunk in his mouth, a look of disgust on his face as he ate the meat in question.

"I have no idea." Kurt shrugged, giving Blaine a weak smile, "They just gave it to me."

Blaine smiles back, his eyes lighting up. "Right, well I guess it's a good thing I fell in a hole with a newbie." He said as he reached for the canteen that Kurt was holding, brushing his fingers along Kurt's hand.

Another shiver ran up Kurt's spine as Blaine's fingers touched the back of his hand. He smiled at Blaine, letting him take the bottle. Kurt watched Blaine's Adam's apple bob as he drank, letting out an annoyed sound as some of the water spilled from his lips. Blaine glanced at Kurt smiling when he caught Kurt staring.

"Just so you know," Blaine said as he wiped the back of his sleeve across his mouth. "Out here it's not starvation that will kill you..."

Kurt hummed in response. "Shouldn't I be more worried about British soldiers falling in my hole threatening to shoot me?" he teased.

Blaine let out a laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He placed a hand on Kurt's shoulder, as if he needed to ground himself. "Well, yeah," Blaine wheezed, "but that wasn't my point."

"Then what was your point?" Kurt asked as Blaine attempted to regain his composure.

His face grew grave. "I meant, there are worse things to die from then starvation."

"Okay, just because I'm German doesn't mean we didn't learn about all the horrible, gruesome ways in which a man can die in war."

"Again, not really what I meant. You really need to let a man finish his thoughts." Blaine chuckled.

Kurt blushed, which he had noticed, seemed to be the only thing he did around this man. "Then what do you mean?" Kurt asked bashfully.

"What can actually kill you is the cold and boredom," he said, a smile growing on his face.

"You're joking, right?" Kurt asked, looking at Blaine with confusion. "I can understand the cold, but boredom?"

"Oh, yeah," Blaine said with a straight face as he turned towards Kurt, grabbing one of his hands as he did so. "Here, let me give you some life lessons."

Kurt laughed at Blaine's sudden enthusiasm, glancing at their clasped hands. "You're going to give me tips?"

Blaine nodded.

"Alright, teach me oh wise one."

Blaine smirked, "Okay, my first tip is hoard socks."

"Hoard socks?"

"Yes, for example, the ones I'm wearing now aren't mine."

Kurt raised an eyebrow in question. "I don't want to know, do I?"

Blaine grimaced a bit, "It's not pretty but when you've been in a trench long enough you will do anything to keep your feet warm" Blaine paused, looking at Kurt oddly, "And that includes taking socks from dead people."

Kurt froze as Blaine's words sank in; he was wearing socks that were on a dead man's feet.

"Oh, my god." He whispered in horror, looking from Blaine's face to his boots. "You're wearing a dead man's socks?!"

"Yeah..." Blaine hesitated. "If it makes you feel any better I'm not the only one that does it. It keeps you from getting trench foot."

Kurt burst into a nervous fit of giggles that left Blaine staring, a little put off by Kurt's reaction. "I could never do that!" Kurt exclaimed.

"I didn't think I could either." Blaine agreed, shrugging. "But I would rather be able to feel my feet, than have to potentially get them cut off from frostbite."

"Good point." Kurt replied, his smile faltering a bit. Blaine seemed to be becoming restless as he started to fidget with Kurt's hand, rubbing the pad of his thumb across Kurt's knuckles. Kurt's breath caught at the intimacy of it.

"So what other tips do you have for me?" Kurt asked breathlessly, watching Blaine's face change again, a small dusting of a blush seemed to show through the mud plastered on his face.

"Oh, umm, dry matches." Blaine paused, looking straight into Kurt's eyes, smiling. "If you want to gain favour with the boys, have a set of dry matches on you-"

"But, I don-"

"Whether you smoke or not." Blaine continued, "Having some matches around can be handy. It will help you make some friends and out here having some friends comes in handy."

Kurt nodded his understanding, feeling like he shouldn't pry. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, one last thing-" Blaine withdrew his hand, making Kurt's hand feel cold from the absence of Blaine's warmth. He dug into his jacket pulling out a brown, leather-bound book.

"You should find some sort of hobby, whether it be playing cards, writing, drawing, anything really." Blaine shrugged as he placed the book in Kurt's hand.

Kurt looked up at Blaine, silently asking permission to open the book.

Blaine nodded, when their eyes meet. "I started that a few weeks in, it keeps your mind sharp, and well, it keeps you from going insane..."

Kurt pulled open the worn leather clasp of the book. The pages were becoming slightly yellowed from wear. Opening the book to a random page, Kurt saw some chicken scratch covering the one side of the book and a portrait of a man on the opposite side.

The image was very impressive; the detail was impeccable and so life-like, the man looked as if he could jump off of the page. Kurt continued to thumb through the book looking at the beautiful images, smiling at the talent that Blaine had.

Kurt stopped to read a few of the passages as well, revealing that Blaine had another talent in writing. The short stories he had written intrigued Kurt. He was always interested in literature and reading, and Blaine's imagination, and talent for writing made Kurt want to sit and read every word that graced the pages, but he knew now was not the time.

Kurt finished looking through the book, quickly flipping the pages to ensure that he didn't miss any of the pictures. When he flipped to the back of the cover Kurt noticed writing that wasn't Blaine's, the note was heartfelt and signed With love, Cooper.

"Who's Cooper?" Kurt asked; his mind was drifting to ideas of Blaine having a handsome lover back in England. A tiny green monster started to show its ugly head at the thought of another man holding Blaine in his arms.

The thought of someone else knowing what it felt like to have his hands tangled in his curls, to know what it was like to wake up to those beautiful honey orbs staring into his soul every morning, it was enough to make Kurt want to march to England and let this Cooper know that he, Kurt Hummel, was the man that Blaine should be in love with and be with till the end of time.

Kurt gave his head a hard shake, willing these absurd thoughts to leave his mind. He was going crazy. Only a few hours in a shell hole with a man he hardly knew a stitch about and he was fawning over him as if he was a school girl. Letting out a small breath, Kurt looked back to Blaine hoping he had no clue as to what he had been thinking.

Blaine looked uncomfortable, and starting fidgeting again. Glancing from Kurt to Bobby lying at the other side of the trench, Blaine heaved a great sigh.

"My brother." Blaine whispered, his face growing sombre.

Kurt instantly felt like he was the worst person in the world, for letting his mind wander the way it had. He knew nothing about Blaine's life, but he could understand the look of complete anguish that now was plastered on Blaine's face. It was the same look he had seen on his father's face when they had lost Kurt's mother.

Without thinking, Kurt placed a reassuring hand on Blaine's shoulder causing the other man to flinch. Kurt mumbled a quick apology, taking the hand in his own and rubbing it as if it were burned by Blaine's rejection.

Kurt hesitated. He wanted to know more about Cooper, but seeing Blaine's expression Kurt knew to leave the subject alone. Kurt grabbed the book that was balancing on his knee and placed it on Blaine's. Letting both Blaine and himself get lost in their own thoughts.

Blaine

Blaine had to take a moment and breathe, trying to overcome the sharp pain of tears pricking at the back of his eyes. Cooper was dead. As much as he didn't want to believe it (he hadn't actually seen the body, so who was to say that he was really gone?) and he hated himself for that false glimmer of hope, it was the truth. He stared at Bobby, wondering, in all of his creative exploits of the dead man's fictitious back story; did he give him a brother? Did dearly departed Robert actually have siblings? Would they morn like this for him? Feel as if the bright joyful things inside had just disappeared without them noticing?

He suddenly felt sick, realizing that in the hours that he spent bogged down in this shell hole that reeked of waste and earth, with Kurt and the unknown dead man, he had forgotten about everything, the stupid war, the goddamn cold and Cooper's death.

It was a rude smack in the face and he wasn't ready to deal with it just yet, if ever. However, he didn't want to stop talking to Kurt, didn't want to stop thinking that someday things could be, not alright but maybe, okay. This strange German boy made him think that this didn't mean that everything good inside Blaine had died and while this made him feel even more guilty, he couldn't let that go away.

"You speak good English, for a German, that is." Changing the subject, Blaine turned his attention back to Kurt, feeling a little giddy rush when the man's face seemed to light up again. "How did you learn?" He had to ask. Most Germans he'd come across were prisoners of war, who shouted out broken phrases in butchered English. 

Kurt sighed dramatically, his thin shoulders heaving upwards with the motion.

"I speak English well." He corrected. The words perfectly formed, with only a slightly harsh accent to them and with a tone that clearly implied his irritation at Blaine's incompetence in reproducing his own language.

Blaine couldn't help but chuckle, muttering "Oh, shove off" which earned him a soft smile from Kurt.

"My mother taught me." The distant look and small crinkle of sadness just around Kurt's pale eyes told Blaine everything he should know, which was a clear ‘don't ask about it'. So, Blaine didn't.

"So, where abouts are you from?"

Kurt grimaced again at Blaine's lack of correctness in talking; all it got out of Blaine was a cheeky grin as he leaned over and bumped their shoulders together. Kurt flushed again, obviously not used to having such actions directed at him, but he looked grateful at the change in topic.

"I am from Düsseldorf." He answered. The awe in his voice as he spoke of his home, the river and his father's garage made Blaine's chest tighten and his heart flutter.

"And you?" Kurt was looking at him now with wide imploring eyes and Blaine felt compelled to answer. He snuggled down again in his imprint, fingers absentmindedly running across the discoloured bindings of his journal, drawing out strange patterns.

"I was born in Bromley. It's near London." Kurt hummed, turning his head away to look over at Bobby while Blaine continued talking about home, going as far as opening his note book and reading out some memorable moments about how his mates Wes and Dan once stole Menkins' plough horse. Kurt laughed and made little vibrating noises at appropriate moments. Somewhere in the time spent trading tales Blaine had pulled out the small pencil that he had shoved down into the front pocket of his jacket and started to lightly sketch on a slightly stained but relatively blank sheet. His eyes were flickering between the paper and the man sitting quietly next to him.

"You're doing it again." Kurt announced, eyes never once leaving Bobby.

Blaine hummed questioningly, tongue sticking just out the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on darkening a few important lines. 

"You're staring again. What are you doing anyway?" Blaine smiled sheepishly at Kurt, who had now turned to face him head on, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever the other man was doing.

"Oh. Just sketching you."

Kurt looked legitimately shocked. His mouth dropping open before he seemed to pull himself together and stutter out a shaky "Why?" as Blaine stopped to think deeply.

"I..." He started, looking up to where the night sky had started to peak through the heavy screen of gun smoke, before answering truthfully.

"I want to be reminded of something beautiful."

Blaine smiled over at Kurt, who was blushing but also seemed to be preening, patting down his hair and tugging at the cuffs of his uniform. A small smile played on his lips as Blaine continued to draw.

The artillery barrage had stopped. No Man's land had become suspiciously quiet, something that put Blaine on edge. However, next to him Kurt had started to nod off, his arms wrapped tightly across his middle as his head would fall forward and then right back up as he snapped himself awake. It was really cute.

Blaine threw and arm around the man's shoulders, finally realizing just how thin Kurt really was as he pulled him closer, tucking him into his side. The water swished around their calves and Kurt stiffened for a second before melting into the warmth that Blaine provided.

"It's alright if you want to rest." He mumbled as he rolled his shoulder urging Kurt to use it as a makeshift pillow, which he did. Kurt yawned out a small opposition which quickly died when his head finally settled on Blaine's collar bone.

"How do I know you won't kill me in my sleep, huh?"

Blaine chuckled in response but it sounded hollow and pathetic, even to his own ears.

"Don't worry. I've had about enough death today."

He watched a little longer as the dead man's legs continued to bob around in the water.

September 19th, 1918 - Battle of Epehy

Kurt

The sun was shining when Kurt woke the next morning. The bright early morning rays almost blinding from the lack of sunshine in recent days. Kurt groaned and shifted closer to the warmth at his side, content to fall back to sleep.

Before Kurt could slip back into unconsciousness, it hit him where he was and his eyes snapped open, glancing around the shell hole he sat in, his head still resting on Blaine's shoulder. Kurt craned his neck to look at Blaine, and smiled at what he saw.

Blaine was sleeping his eyelashes splayed across his cheekbones as he dreamt of god knows what. A small, content smile graced his features as he slept. Blaine shuffled in his sleep squeezing Kurt closer, then suddenly relaxing letting his arm fall to his side. He looked so peaceful and happy that Kurt didn't have the heart to wake him. Instead Kurt let himself indulge in the feeling of being in another man's arms for a few moments longer, something he was sure was never going to happen again.

After a minute Kurt reluctantly started to pull himself from Blaine's embrace, being careful not to wake him.

Once he was free, he scanned the shell hole again his eyes landing on Bobby who lay on his perch staring at Kurt with open, expressionless eyes. Kurt shivered; it was worse now actually being able to see Bobby. Kurt now noticed that the man had a large wound on his chest which was probably the reason he lost his life, at least until he noticed that Bobby was missing a foot. Averting his gaze, from the poor, dead British soldier Kurt turned his attentions back to Blaine who was now sleeping with his mouth hanging open.

Kurt chuckled at Blaine who was smacking his lips as he dreamed. Shaking his head, Kurt caught sight of Blaine's book sitting on his stomach. Kurt reached for it, opening it to the page that was marked by the pencil Blaine used. Kurt's breath caught as he gazed at Blaine's sketch of him. It was as if he looked into a mirror, but there was something that seemed off with the picture to Kurt but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Shaking himself from his thoughts Kurt grabbed the pencil and wrote a quick note to Blaine on the adjacent page. It was nothing special but he felt the need to write a small thank you to Blaine after all they had been through the night before. After rereading his note several times Kurt marked the page with the pencil before placing the book back on Blaine's knee.

Shuffling slightly in the water Kurt moved to a squatting position, wincing as his joints cracked from the misuse. Kurt went to grab his rifle when he remembered that the gun was useless from all of the mud clogging the barrel. Scanning the hole Kurt's eyes landed on Blaine's rifle sitting against the opposite wall. The rifle was practically calling Kurt's name so he decided that he would take it, not that it would really do him much good since he was such a poor shot but at least he would have something to remind him of Blaine.

Kurt scrambled to grab Blaine's rifle and secure his pack, before moving quietly through the ankle deep water to the embankment, getting ready to pull himself out of the hole and unfortunately leave the man behind him.

Kurt knew that he should technically be taking Blaine as a prisoner of war, but he couldn't bear the thought of what would happen to the man if he did. Blaine had spared his life, so Kurt would do the same. That's all there was to it.

Placing a hand on the wet mud of the wall to begin his assent, Kurt turned to take a final look at the man sleeping in the pool of water, and decided it wasn't quite time to leave. Turning on his heel Kurt went back to Blaine's side telling himself that he needed something else of Blaine's, some memento that would always be his. Something that couldn't be taken away as easily as a rifle could, something small enough he could keep it on his person without anyone else being aware.

Since Blaine didn't bring a pack, Kurt searched Blaine's uniform for something he could take that wouldn't be missed. Scanning his jacket he contemplated whether a button would do, but soon thought against it when he remembered that the cold season would be setting in, and the last thing he wanted was for Blaine to be cold. Turing his gaze upward Kurt noticed the letters RF, in gold, on Blaine's lapel. It was his battalion pin, something of little value, that Kurt could take as a trinket to remember Blaine.

Smiling at his find, Kurt carefully ripped the pin from Blaine's collar, making sure not to wake him as he struggled with the thread holding the pin on. After a few moments, Kurt held the small gold pin in his hand, tracing a finger over the letters once before putting it inside his breast pocket. He sat for a moment just watching the rise and fall of Blaine's chest, entranced by the soft movement of his long lashes against his cheeks.

Sighing Kurt decided that it was time for him to leave, since he was now becoming borderline crazy over a man he had only just meet hours before under the most insane of circumstances. But god did it pain him to do so.

Placing a gentle hand on Blaine's muddy cheek, he leaned forward to place a simple kiss to his forehead.

"If only we could have met another way..." Kurt mumbled against Blaine's soft skin.

Before he could change his mind again Kurt rose, and began to climb the embankment, with Blaine's rifle slung over his right shoulder, and Blaine's pin close to his heart.

Once he was over the edge, Kurt paused to get one last look at Blaine. "Stay safe." He whispered, before sprinting back to his trench with a sad smile on his lips.

Blaine

Blaine woke with a start. The guns had started to go off again, only this time it was a ways off so it was easy to figure out that most likely another division to the north had been sent out into the fray.

"Hey, Kurt, I think that..." His words quickly died when he realized that the other man was no longer there, snuggled into his side where he should have been. Blaine started to wonder just when the boy had left and why hadn't he woken him to say good bye. For a moment his mind was wracked with worry. What if he hadn't made it back to his own trench? What if the British had retaliated for the German's creeping night barrage? What if Kurt had forgotten his way back to his trench and had wandered to close to their side and gotten shot?

Blaine had to stop and take a deep, calming breath, which is when he noticed that his gun, which had spent the night sitting alongside the bloated body that had been warmly named Bobby, was now gone. The bastard had stolen his gun.

A hearty laugh escaped him and he had to throw his head back, relishing in the first rays of sunshine that he had seen in the last few months. Kurt was going to be just fine. The little sneak was smarter than anyone probably ever gave him credit for.

Starting to stand up, Blaine reached down to retrieve his journal that he had specifically placed on his stomach the night before, before falling asleep curled into Kurt. The pencil was still lodged in the book, dividing the pages. Blaine flipped it open to the same page that he had meticulously tried to sketch the German in dark. On the page opposite Blaine's drawing, written in the most attractive scribble that Blaine had ever seen there was a note.

Dear Blaine,

It feels odd writing a farewell letter to someone I hardly know, but I wanted to say thank you for not killing me when you had so many chances to do so. Maybe, this is a little forward of me to say but I felt that we had a connection.

I wish you the best of luck in this war, and my hope is that we will both make it out alive, where we can maybe see each other again in much more accommodating circumstances. You are a kind and charming man, that is truly gifted I only hope the best for you.

Keep your head down and stay safe.

Your German Friend,

Kurt Hummel

P.S. You sure are a flatterer, because this picture you drew of me looks nothing like me.

With a wide smile stretched across his face Blaine snapped the journal shut, readjusted his helmet and give Bobby a quick two finger salute, swearing that for a moment the corpse seemed to be smiling, before hoisting himself up and out of the shell hole. He made his way quickly across the still ghastly looking landscape with a jaunty step in his walk and a more subdued grin.