From: theonlyberryinmyfamilytree@gmail.com
To: alexandermcqueenisnotdead@vogue.com
Subject: Music speaks louder than words
Still ignoring my calls, huh? It's been seven long weeks. I think it's high time you stopped pretending you're not itching to talk to me about Blaine and do just that already! Kurt Hummel, I know you. I know you're not really mad at me. You're just jealous I found him before you did but honey I think you're forgetting something crucial here: I found him for YOU!
So, stop being mean and reply to my text, e-mails, tweets, Facebook pokes and other forms of communication. I am not above sending you smoke signals and fruits baskets. Though, I'm not sure you deserve them at this point.
And before you deny any interesting developments, Mercedes and Tina both sent me pics and recording of the night at the bar. The recording was bit shady but despite the obvious impromptu side of the performance, you guys sounded amazing. I'm devastated I wasn't there. I really miss you, Kurt.
Love,
The Elphaba to your Glinda.
Xxx
P.S: what's going on with Mercedes and that blond guy with the very impressive set of lips?
...
From: alexandermcqueenisnotdead@vogue.com
To: theonlyberryinmyfamilytree@gmail.com
Subject: RE: Music speaks louder than words
I'm not mad?! Rachel, if you were here right now, I'd slap you for that. I'll admit that Blaine is a great guy and he's the perfect roommate (better than some people I won't mention) but that's not the point. The point is that Santana knew about him before I did! How is that even fair? I think I'm allowed to torture you for a little while longer. It was embarrassing for everyone involved and you blatantly lied to the poor guy. You told him I knew everything I needed to know.
You've got some never, lady!
You're lucky our parents know nothing about this, I'm sure our fathers would have a few chosen words for you.
I'll grant myself another couple of weeks of fuming, thankyouverymuch and let you stew in the guilt you're pretending not to feel.
But yes that was a wonderful night, the details of which will be revealed only to the deserving.
Still-Infuriated Kurt Hummel.
X
P.S: I don't know what you're talking 'bout. *evil laughter*
......
Early September, Isabelle called Kurt as well as three other interns to her office and announced that a position as her assistant would open in January and that they were all serious candidates. The following months would serve as a try-out and that the best was expected from all of them. Despite their friendly relationship, Isabelle had never played favorites at work and Kurt felt the pressure and the opportunities fall on his shoulders like an anchor.
He'd been an intern for the last five years now and just before coming back from Paris, he had graduated from Parsons. It had been a conflicting situation to leave for Paris while still in the middle of his studies. He had a solid file, he'd worked hard and long, never stopping in his relentless efforts to succeed, and he was appreciated by his teachers but he was not above everyone else, no matter how much he liked to think he was. The project had almost been dismissed but Isabelle pleaded for him in front of the school board and through a complicated organization of over-seas courses and a plan for the following year's final port-folio they'd all agreed to let Kurt go to France while remaining a student at Parsons.
So, now there was this big opportunity to finally start earning good money and doing a thrilling job. Being an intern had its perks and working with Isabelle was a pleasure but the world still looked at the word intern like it was a pitiful disease. Kurt wasn't going to screw this up, he couldn't. He knew this was the opportunity of a lifetime and people were counting on him. He was counting on himself. So he started working even harder and longer, always pushing and making his presence known, understood and felt. He wanted to make a difference, be remembered and live his life like he'd always intended.
The result of that was exhaustion. One Friday afternoon in the beginning of October, after weeks of working his butt off and barely sleeping nor eating, Isabelle sent him home and told him sternly that his only assignment for the weekend was sleep and food in whatever order he felt like. For all her charm and sweetness, that woman could be very scary when she wanted to be.
The next morning, Kurt woke a little after 10:00, well rested but still a little dejected. He'd planned to use this weekend to finish organizing the samples they'd received on Thursday and there was the repertoire that needed and update, not to mention the November schedule which still needed some tweaking. He'd wanted to go to the office for at least a little while to get a head start but he knew Isabelle would sent him packing if he tried. Damn her for not letting him bring anything from the office either. He hadn't had a completely free weekend since August and, truth be told, he felt a little lost.
He got out of bed and decided he could at least use that time to clean the apartment. Blaine had probably already left for school ("School on a Saturday, Kurt, is like having your teeth pulled out while a butchered version of your favorite song plays in the background. It's inhuman. Don't make me go. Pleeeeease.") and Kurt had the loft to himself. So, he took an extra-long shower, changed into his comfortable black sweatpants and blue hoodie and he made himself a big breakfast. He selected his housework playlist, turned the volume up and pulled up his sleeves. He started with the kitchen and slowly but surely made his way around the loft.
While hard at work, he let his mind wander aimlessly. He thought about Rachel and how dearly he missed her. He knew the show was doing pretty well all over the country and that they had expanded the tour for another six months. He thought about his father's latest check up with the doctors. He hoped he got to spend thanksgiving in Ohio. He thought about the shy looks and goofy smiles Mercedes and Sam couldn't stop exchanging. These two needed to fess up; the sexual tension was almost too thick to walk through. He thought about Blaine's latest gig last weekend and how amazing the night had been.
His mind paused on Blaine and he felt his whole body sigh. He really didn't know what to think about their situation. He knew Blaine had fast become one of his closest friends. They had so much in common and yet they were just perfectly different. Blaine laughed at every joke not because he was being polite but because he actually got them, he found Kurt funny. Such a strange thought for Kurt. Blaine came to him for everything; be it a fashion advice or school problems or funny stories about kids at the kindergarten he was student teaching at.
The thing was Blaine had appeared into his life and took away the only constant in Kurt's life: solitude. Kurt had a loving family, crazy friends and a good relationship with his co-workers (he'd worked hard for that). He had a solid support system but Kurt had always been lonely. It almost became second nature to him, this ever present loneliness. He'd had a couple of boyfriends and he never lacked dates (Paris and more precisely Paris boys had worked wonders for his ego) but he'd never had someone who understood him. The whole complexity of him. Someone to be completely comfortable with, no second guessing and without being afraid of being just himself.
And then came Blaine and things changed radically for Kurt. Loneliness was replaced by comfort and acceptance. The loft was more alive than it had ever been: there was always music and laughter and movies and silly games and dancing and Kurt's head was always dizzy but I felt so wonderful he couldn't care less.
Sometimes.
The rest of the time it scared him senseless, because now he felt like all he was waiting for was for the other shoe to drop. There were so many dangerous territories in this new relationship. They had friendship, that was true but if Kurt was honest with himself, he would like more. They had friendship, yes but they were roommates. Temporary roommates. Sure, Rachel's kept pushing back the date of her return but she would be coming back and Blaine would have to leave. The thought alone was enough to keep Kurt up at night. They were friends and it was the easiest, most beautiful friendship Kurt had ever experienced and his feelings might be eclipsed by lust from time to time but Blaine's friendship was too important to jeopardize.
The problem was that the boundaries were starting to get a little fuzzy and he wasn't the one doing the fuzzing. A couple of weeks ago, Blaine had gone out with friends from school and had gotten monumentally trashed. Kurt didn't know the finer details of the story but it eventually lead to a sleepy-drunk Blaine, clad in nothing but his boxers and a t-shirt stumbling into Kurt's bed in the middle of the night.
Kurt had frozen from head to toe, every bit of him processing the new information. Blaine, half naked, in his bed.
"Blaine," he'd called softly.
"Shhhh. Sleepy sleep," Blaine had mumbled softly in reply before proceeding to plaster himself to Kurt.
"Blaine, you're in my bed."
"You're comfy and you smell so wonderful," he'd sighed contently, tightening his arm around Kurt.
Flushing from head to toe, Kurt had willed his body to relax. "Oh."
"Good night, Kurt"
"Night, Blaine."
Suffice to say, Kurt barely slept that night. Blaine had apologized for a whole week afterwards. It was quite cute actually how his face would go all red and how he'd become super polite and flustered. Probably the cutest Blaine had ever been.
Cute or not though, he wasn't making life any easier for Kurt, especially since Blaine's feelings remained in the strictly friendly category. Kurt both dreaded and looked forward to the day Rachel would come back.
He was in the middle of dusting the frames when Stupid Cupid by Connie Francis came on. Kurt grinned widely to himself and started to shimmy along to the music. He used his feather duster as a microphone and started to sing his heart out. He danced around the loft, using pillars and other furniture as props, swinging and twisting and getting completely lost.
Just when Connie started complaining about not being able to do her homework, another voice joined Kurt.
I can't do my homework and I can't see straight
I meet him every morning 'bout a half-past eight
Blaine's lower register sent shivers up and down Kurt's spine. He almost lost his footing but Blaine was there to catch him and before he could react he was being twirled. And thus started the most thrilling three minutes of Kurt's weekend. At first, shock, inhibitions and perhaps a little embarrassment at being caught dancing around alone, prevented Kurt from really getting into it. That was without counting on Blaine's ability to make him melt and relax until he was the one doing the twirling.
They played with every lyric and every note; they danced around each other, sometimes up against each other. Blaine must have climbed on every piece of furniture available while still maintaining eye contact with Kurt and playing with him. At the bridge he grabbed the broom that Kurt had left leaning against one of the pillars and used it as a guitar. He dropped to the floor on his knees and made ludicrous faces while Kurt bounced around him. Blaine was quickly back on his feet, broom forgotten; he grabbed both of Kurt's hands to make the both of them twirl together. Their voices matched perfectly and neither missed a single word of the song. Kurt's cheeks were hurting from smiling too much and they were probably as red as Blaine's favorite bow-tie but he couldn't bring himself to care. For the first time in too many weeks he was having fun and he couldn't imagine anyone else making him feels like this. Blaine's eyes were huge and luminous and his own smile could probably outshine the sun, making Kurt's heart stutter sweetly.
Since I kissed his lovin' lips of wine,
The thing that bothers me is that I like it fine!
Hey, hey -- set me free
Stupid cupid, stop pickin' on me!
They chased each other around the apartment, Kurt trying to bat away Blaine's hand with the duster while the idiot wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. The duster finally went down and Blaine used Kurt's mock outrage to plant a loud smooch on his cheek. Kurt froze in shock. It was a good thing Blaine was too busy pretending to have been hit by one of Cupid's arrow and falling backward on the couch to see Kurt's reaction.
Kurt's cheek burned and tingled. His chest was tight and his heart was fluttering. He felt like an idiot for reacting the way he did about a simple friendly kiss. It wasn't as if Blaine meant anything by it. It was just something he did in the moment, because of the song and because they were being silly. There was nothing more to it. Still, a kiss was a kiss; even a simple kiss to the cheek and the feeling of Blaine's soft lips against his skin was something Kurt wouldn't forget anytime soon.
The song changed; Promiscuous came on and Kurt took a few seconds to pull himself together. A small peck to the cheek was not going to bring Kurt Hummel down. He made his way to the couch, peered over the edge of it to find Blaine on his back, his shoulders moving in rhythm with the base line of the song. Kurt shook his head but smiled down at him.
"Having fun?"
"This song," Blaine grinned.
"I know. Hungry?"
"Starved. What are you offering?"
Kurt scoffed. "I'm not offering you anything, lazybum. In case you haven't noticed, I'm in the middle of cleaning up."
Blaine's eyebrow furrowed more and more as Kurt's sentence progressed. "Lazybum? Has work been so traumatic that you are now making up words instead of using already existing ones? Also, if you weren't offering food, why did you ask if I was hungry?"
"I'm just using my right as a human being to make language evolve. And I only asked in the hope that you would go get us something."
"But you insulted me first," Blaine pointed out, lips twitching into a smile.
"That's just the Hummel charm," Kurt winked causing Blaine to laugh.
"You are so full of yourself."
"I am cleaning your apartment."
"Our apartment."
"Still cleaning it."
"Why do I have the feeling that arguing with you won't lead me anywhere?"
"Because you're a smart boy."
"Is that supposed to make me forget about your previous insult and entice me to go get us lunch?"
"See? Smart."