Classes starting caught Blaine off guard, no matter how much he’d tried to prepare himself for it. They were different than the classes he was used to, especially after the past year at a very untraditional school, and it was just going to take a bit of adjusting. He was even more grateful for the fact that he’d met with his teachers beforehand, which led to far fewer awkward moments before, after, and during classes. His days faded in and out of each other, full of syllabi and readings and reflections to write.

If nothing else, each day started and ended the same. They started with coffee and ended with Kurt.

Coffee was a necessity every morning. Blaine didn’t feel quite himself without it, and after spending most mornings at Java Central over the past several months, he didn’t think it would be right to stop. How else was he supposed to face classes at nine in the morning if he wasn’t caffeinated? Maybe Kurt had been right when he said he thought Blaine had a coffee problem.

Then there was Kurt. Not so much a necessity but practically a guarantee. Blaine never ran into him on campus, but he hadn’t really expected to. It was a small school, but the music majors essentially lived in the fine arts building and Blaine had his classes split between two of the other buildings. Plus it didn’t help when he couldn’t just spot Kurt across the quad and take a detour to get to talk to him between classes. He didn’t really mind though, because his phone rang every night like clockwork, and it was always Kurt.

There was never a lack for conversation, and Blaine had never thought he’d be so excited to talk about school and classes. Kurt always had so many stories from the music department, the clash of divas in his choir or the way the music theory teacher started each class with a tidbit of random information (except he called them “timbits” because his name was Tim). Blaine didn’t have that interesting of stories, but he would share about the readings he’d done, the class discussions that revolved around them. He loved how in depth his classes got into the literature, how it reminded him of the AP Literature and Composition class he’d been in back in high school, before the incident.

Their calls always ended the same way, too.

“Alright, I’m going to go to bed before Roscoe eats me for keeping him up past his bedtime.”

“I refuse to believe that dog would ever harm a fly, he’s definitely not going to eat someone who feeds him and takes him to a coffee shop where they practically force feed him treats.”

“He can be vicious.”

“Good night, Blaine.”

“You’re coming on Friday, right?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Good night, Kurt.”

Friday came quickly, and Blaine tried to stay out of the way once he was home from classes. Santana had been spent the past two days making sure they were stocked for the party, and she said her friend Puck had brought over enough booze to knock out an entire herd of elephants. Blaine wasn’t sure if that was necessarily a good thing, but he’d just nodded. Puck had been nice, if not abrupt, but Blaine was used to that with Santana. He found it very easy to believe that they were friends, and hearing them go back and forth made him think that maybe they should keep Puck around, so there was someone to give it right back to Santana. It wasn’t going to be him, he knew that for sure.

Blaine didn’t know what time Santana had told people to show up, but they’d had more than enough time to devour a pizza between them before anyone did. Santana had told him that she had great plans to get him drunk, and he’d just shaken his head.

“I don’t want to get drunk,” he said, shoving the pizza box toward her to offer the last piece. “I mean, I’ll drink something, but I don’t want to get drunk. And can I trust you to make me a drink?” He was scared to ask, because he knew there was little to no way for him to tell what she would give him. If it tasted awful, or too strong, he could always sneak off and dump it in the sink, but he’d rather she just make him something that wasn’t bad. He did want at least one drink, though, after the stress of his first week of college.

“Of course you can trust me,” Santana said, and there was something in her tone that made him believe the exact opposite. She sounded far too sweet, decidedly unlike herself. It made him feel like he was going to be making heavy use of the kitchen sink, so far as his drinks were concerned.

“Right.” A knock on the door stopped the discussion in its tracks, and Santana wandered off to let in whoever it was.

Blaine stayed in the kitchen, finishing off his pizza as music started to blast through the house. Santana had put together a party playlist full of top 40 songs and also what she referred to as “club music” and Blaine had just taken that to mean music with all bass and little else. At least, that’s what seemed to be shaking the rafters of the house. He was more than okay with being in the kitchen, away from all the people he didn’t know, and slightly blocked from the full volume of the music.

Brittany arrived and found him, slipping her arms around his neck and loudly saying she was going to make them drinks. He’d only planned on letting Santana make drinks for him, but Brittany was okay. She was definitely much more wholesome than his roommate, though it would be difficult for her not to be, and he figured she was more trustworthy around liquor than someone who had already said they wanted him to get wasted.

“Here, it’s yummy,” she said a couple minutes later, shoving a plastic cup into his hands. He took a tentative sip and had to agree. It mostly tasted like some sort of soda, and very little like alcohol. If that was how she was going to make drinks, Brittany could make his drinks all night long. “Come on, drink up! I want you to dance with me.”

“I don’t know about that,” Blaine said, taking a long drink all the same. “You’re a real dancer, I doubt I could keep up.”

“This isn’t that kind of dancing, silly!” Brittany laughed, leaning up against him. “It’s fun dancing. Like, back when your eyes worked, did you ever watch Dirty Dancing? It’s like that.” Blaine wanted to pat her on the head for feeling like she needed to explain that to him, but he didn’t. She was too sweet, so he would just let her go on. He took his time with the rest of his drink, though the cup wasn’t that big so it didn’t take that long.

As soon as his cup was empty, Brittany snatched it away and took his hand, tugging him toward the living room. “Come on, I want to dance with you!”

“You don’t want to dance with Santana?” he asked in an attempt to escape.

“Nope, not right now. I want to dance with you.” They brushed passed so many people -- how many had Santana invited anyway? -- until they were in the middle of the living room and Blaine could feel the bodies moving around them. Brittany’s arms twisted around his neck and she pressed up against him, body gyrating in time to the music. He wasn’t exactly that well versed when it came to dancing, especially like that, and he knew he definitely couldn’t keep up with Brittany, but he tried.

Brittany danced like she seemed to do everything, full of passion and touch and complete immersion. She guided his hands down to rest on her hips, and just danced against him, with him, her hair occasionally brushing and tickling against his face. Blaine felt warm, and he blamed that on the drink. He didn’t know what had been in it, but it had tasted good and made him feel tingly. By the time Santana handed him another drink and cut in, he had been loosening up and dancing better with Brittany, hips working in tandem and hands gliding over her back and against the soft fabric of her dress.

Blaine was thirsty, beyond anything, and that was why he took such a big gulp of his drink. He coughed, almost dropping it, thanks to the strong amount of whatever it was that Santana had given him. That just made him need something to drink even more, and he took a careful sip, doing much better the second time around. It was gone quickly, and he started to make his way toward the kitchen to throw the cup away, but he barely made it out of the crowd before the cup got plucked from his hands.

“I’ll take that off your hands,” Kurt said, and he tossed the cup into a nearby trash can. Blaine had already felt warm, certain that his face was flushed, but Kurt was there and he knew he’d be feeling both those things even without the alcohol. “I tried calling you to let you know when I got here, but I think it was too loud to hear.”

“Sorry, yeah, I didn’t hear my phone,” Blaine said, leaning into the doorway. “You got in alright, though! Did you get a drink?”

“Mhm, I did,” Kurt said, taking a step in closer so they didn’t have to talk as loudly. Blaine felt like his head might start spinning. “You looked like you were having fun out there.”

“Oh, yes! Brittany’s a sweetheart,” he said, grinning. “I don’t really dance, but she kind of dragged me into it.”

“Dragging is required to get to dance with you?” Kurt asked, amused, and he reached to take Blaine’s hand. “I think I can handle that.”

“No no, don’t drag me anywhere!” Blaine said quickly, shaking his head. “I need a break. It’s hot in there... give me a few minutes?” Not to mention that the thought of dancing with Kurt made him feel dizzy. “You get another drink or something and I’ll sit and cool down and then we can dance and there won’t need to be any dragging.”

“Deal,” Kurt agreed, and Blaine made his way over to lean against the counter, away from the doorway to the living room. He thought of maybe sticking his head in the freezer for a minute, to try and stop feeling so hot and maybe make his face less red, but that would have been stupid and also in front of Kurt. That was the last thing he needed to do.

It didn’t take that long for Kurt to finish his drink. Blaine definitely felt less overheated, but a whole lot more fuzzy and blurry. The pounding of the bass definitely didn’t help, and he didn’t realize that Kurt was so close to him until he felt an arm slip around his shoulders. That touch was enough to make him feel all warm again, and he just about giggled. That would have been ridiculous, even if Kurt maybe wouldn’t have heard it over the music, so he held it in.

“Dance?” Kurt asked, so close to his ear that Blaine shivered. He nodded and Kurt’s hand slid down to his, guiding him back into the living room and into the midst of all the rest of the party goers.

Dancing with Kurt was completely different than dancing with Brittany. Brittany was all soft curves and sharp movements, but Kurt was neither of those things. He pulled Blaine in front of him and Blaine’s hands gripped onto his biceps, mostly to steady himself but also just to touch. Kurt didn’t object or pull away, and his arm even slipped around Blaine’s waist to keep him close. Their movements were smooth, flowing together, and each time they brushed together Blaine could feel the heat rising up through his neck and into his cheeks. He’d never imagined that even the slightest touch of his knee against anyone else’s would have made him feel flutters in his stomach, but somehow it was happening anyway.

Their rhythm started out slower than the fast, manic beat of the club music sounding around them. It was like they were testing the waters, and then letting themselves ease into it but never quite getting all the way there. Blaine didn’t care, and wasn’t sure if he even could care. He was too stuck on how Kurt’s biceps felt beneath his hands, slightly flexed as he held his arms around Blaine, and how Kurt’s hands were pressed flat against his back to keep him close. The way he couldn’t hear anything but the pounding of the music, but he could swear that Kurt started humming along when it switched tracks to a more familiar pop song.

He leaned up closer to try and hear, everything else in the room seeming blurred compared to Kurt. His hands loosened their hold and slowly inched their way up to Kurt’s shoulders, taking in the height difference between them. The soft timbre of Kurt’s voice, his humming, was so close to Blaine’s ear that he could actually feel his breath playing against his skin. He was close, so close, and all Blaine could think about was how if he turned his head, and he wouldn’t even have to turn it that much, he could kiss him.

Blaine jerked back, pulse pounding, with fingers tightened around Kurt’s shoulders. What was he doing? Kurt was his friend, and he was imagining kissing him – very much wanting to kiss him? He’d never kissed anyone before, and the thought of it made his head spin even more than it already had been. Not to mention the fact that he couldn’t see what he was doing and if he tried, he would probably end up missing and then looking like even more of an idiot. Matters weren’t helped at all when Kurt’s hands, slender fingers and soft palms, cupped his face and tilted it up.

“Are you okay?” Kurt asked over the music, thumbs skimming over his cheekbones and if Blaine hadn’t felt completely fuzzy before, he would have been then.

“Y-yeah I just… thirsty,” he managed to get out, his hands still gripping on Kurt’s shoulders as if he wouldn’t be able to stay upright without them there. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure if he could.

“I can go grab something to drink,” Kurt offered, dropping his hands and starting to step away, but Blaine’s grip tightened. “Blaine?”

“Is Santana…?” Blaine started, trailing off. Kurt pushed up onto his tiptoes, looking over the crowd. He pulled away, leaving him there for a brief few seconds before Blaine felt someone different, softer, and familiar but not Santana, pressing in against him. “Brit?”

“Your elf told me to keep you company while he got more drinks!” Brittany said cheerfully, arms slipping around his neck as she swayed their bodies together.

“My elf?”

“He looks like an elf! Well his ears aren’t pointy enough, but other than that he does.” Blaine honestly wasn’t sure if she was actually ridiculous or if it was that he was beyond tipsy and verging on drunk.  

“He’s not… my elf,” Blaine finished lamely, not sure which part to address first and just settling on it all at once. Brittany just laughed and hugged him in closer, their foreheads resting together as they moved in time to the music. Thankfully it didn’t take that long for Kurt to get back, and Brittany gave Blaine a lingering kiss on the cheek before pulling away. His face flushed at the show of affection, mostly because it was in front of Kurt and he didn’t know what the other boy would think of it.

“Sorry, I didn’t see Santana when you asked,” Kurt said, putting a cup in Blaine’s hand. “I figured I’d grab a familiar face. Er, familiar person. See? Now you’ve got me doing that, too.”

“Thanks.” Blaine took a long drink, grateful for the fact that it was water. Two more gulps and it was gone, and Kurt took the cup from him, discarding it.

“Better?” he asked, and Blaine nodded. Kurt’s hands rested on his waist, pulling him back in, and Blaine took in a sharp breath. He could smell Kurt’s cologne, musky and sweet, and he just settled on taking in deep breaths to commit that scent to memory. It was equal parts cologne and Kurt, and Blaine felt like he was being creepy but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

It was intoxicating, being so close to Kurt. Everything about him drew Blaine in and made him forget about everything else but the way his hands slid around to press against his back, keep him in close, how he kept humming along with the music and it was soft enough that Blaine rightfully shouldn’t have been able to hear it but he could. How he smelled like the perfect mix of sweet cologne, hairspray, and the faintest bit of sweat. The way his muscles hand felt under Blaine’s fingers, and how he wanted to touch more of him than just his arms. The room was full of people talking and laughing, full of bodies moving and dancing, it was loud and slightly chaotic, and the only thing Blaine was aware of was Kurt.

He felt overwhelmed, and his head dipped down. He’d meant to rest it on Kurt’s shoulder, a thought that had sent thrills through him, but he misjudged exactly how close they were and what ended up happening was his lips brushing against Kurt’s shoulder. It took a good few seconds for him to realize it, for anxiety to flow through him faster than anything else, and he pulled back with murmured apologies falling from his lips.

“Hey, shhh, it’s okay,” Kurt said gently, and Blaine felt a soft pressure against his shoulder. His breath caught in his throat as the realization hit that it was Kurt kissing him. He flat out thought he was going to forget how to breathe when Kurt kissed up by his collar, mostly against the fabric of his shirt but there was the faintest touch of the corner of his mouth against his skin. It was a whole new level of overwhelming, like he was drowning in how much feeling was coursing through his body.

“K-kurt,” he stammered, placing his hands against his chest for a moment before pulling them back. He really did not need to be touching him – that would only make his head feel like it was spinning even more. “I… I have to go to the bathroom.”

It was a stupid excuse, but one he could work with, and he pulled away and stumbled through the crowd, almost tripping onto the staircase but using that to get his bearings and turn him in the right direction. He didn’t go to the bathroom, but rather his own room, shutting the door behind him and leaning up against it, trying to catch his breath. Blaine felt dizzy, so dizzy, and he could only partially blame that on the alcohol. He sunk down to the floor, wrapping his arms around Roscoe when he came over to see what was wrong, and just burying his face against his fur.

* * *

Kurt watched as Blaine disappeared through the crowd, and found himself standing there still in the midst of all the other people dancing. He felt sick to his stomach, wanting to go after him but not wanting to upset him any more than he already had. He hadn’t meant to, he just hadn’t wanted him to worry or be uncomfortable (and also he’d really wanted to kiss him) but he’d managed to do exactly the opposite. Would he have done it if he hadn’t been tipsy? He didn’t think so, but he also didn’t think Blaine would have ever danced with him or anyone else if he hadn’t been drinking – it just didn’t seem like a very Blaine-like thing.

Pushing his way through the living room, he went out the front door to get some air. He was greeted with a cloud of smoke, however, and his first breath sent him into a coughing fit. There was snickering from beside him, and he wasn’t surprised at all when he looked over and saw Santana standing there, smirk twisting up the corners of her lips and a cigar held between her fingers. There was a glint in her eyes that he didn’t particularly care for, and he took a step away to try and avoid the smoke, but she just followed him.

“Can I help you with something?” he asked, feigning politeness but unable to keep the slight annoyance out of his voice.

“Yeah, you can not fuck with Blaine,” she said, resting her free hand on her hip as she took a few puffs off her cigar, blowing the smoke out right at him. “That would be great.”

“I’m not—“

“Oh please, princess,” she scoffed, and his eyes narrowed at the nickname. “Any more on top of him in there and I could have been charging for a show.”

“As opposed to everyone else in there,” Kurt said dryly, cheeks flushing as he folded his arms across his chest. “Who were all being so PG-rated. I don’t see anything wrong with me dancing with my friend. You didn’t seem too upset about anything when that blonde girl was all over him.”

“Brittany’s not exactly his type,” Santana said, rolling her eyes. “She’s hardly a threat.”

“I’m not a threat,” Kurt said, and she just snorted derisively in response. “I’m not fucking with him.”

“Look, I’m sure you’re nice or whatever,” she said, not looking at all like she believed those words. “I’m going to be extremely clear. I like very few people, but Blaine is one of them. He’d got that stupid way of being endearing that I absolutely hate but he doesn’t make mess around the house so I like him.” Kurt could tell that she was holding a lot back, probably reasons that she liked Blaine other than the fact that he wasn’t a slob, but he wasn’t about to push her for anything. Not when she was poking toward him emphatically with her cigar and he really didn’t feel like getting burned. “If you hurt him, I don’t care how or by doing what, I will rip off your dick and balls with my bare hands and feed them to Roscoe.”

Kurt stared at her, eyes wide. “And considering how much I never want to get that close to a penis again for the rest of my life,” she added, looking up at him challengingly, “that should say a lot for how serious I am.”

“Look, Satan—“

“Just letting you know,” Santana said, shooting him a look before turning on her heel and going back into the house, cigar between her lips. Kurt just stared after her, leaning back against the railing on the front of the porch. All he’d wanted was some fresh air, and instead he’d gotten lungs full of smoke and threats that he knew were far from idle. That had somehow still managed to clear his head, sober him up a little.

He headed back into the house, cutting through the kitchen to avoid the mass of people in the living room, and checking the bathroom. Blaine wasn’t there, nor had he been out with everyone else, so Kurt just started checking doors. Closet. Laundry room. One was locked. Finally he came to the one that opened to an actual room, all bare walls and simple furniture. Everything looked impeccable, perfectly organized and straightened. The bookshelf beside the desk had books sorted by height on one shelf, binders for classes on another. The closet door was left open, and he could see everything hanging according to color, separated by dividers, shoes carefully paired on the small shelves at the bottom.   

Blaine was sprawled across the bed on his stomach, shoes kicked off beside the bed. The polo shirt he’d been wearing was tossed to the floor, and the plain white undershirt still on him was clinging to the sweat on his back. Kurt realized he was staring, and he been ever since he saw him there in the darkness of the room, but he couldn’t help it. He was still buzzing from the vodka he’d had not that much earlier in the night, and even if he hadn’t been there was just something about Blaine he couldn’t look away from. He thought, belatedly, that maybe it was a good thing Blaine couldn’t see him. Roscoe could, and had sat up quickly when the door had opened, but he’d settled back down once he saw Kurt.

For a moment, he considered sneaking out and just calling him the next day. He looked like he was sleeping, after all. Except then Blaine grunted, something about closing the door, and Kurt stepped inside and shut it behind him without a second thought.