Kurt was so ready to get back to his dorm and collapse that he almost broke out in a run.  His hair was flat, his favorite pair of fingerless gloves had ripped, and two gemstones were missing from his vintage blackbird pin.  It had been a terrible day, but he took a little comfort in the fact that it was almost over and didn’t have time to get worse. 

Just seeing the plastic numbers on the door made him want to cry with gratitude.  He even felt fond of the silly drawing from the sweet shy girl that lived next door, Sophia, that declared the room belonged to “Riley the Rogue Warrior & Kurt the Kicker.”

(His roommate had seen the football pictures, and then the cheerleading pictures, and by then it was all over.  Kurt’s unusual high school exploits were well-known throughout the hallway.  Riley also really liked online fantasy games.)

Kurt took a deep breath and started mindlessly humming as he put the key into the lock, trying to make as much noise with the door handle as possible to let Riley know he was coming into the room.  Having the far side of the room was fine with Kurt.  It meant Riley didn’t really know how intense his moisturizing ritual was and if there was a fire he would be more likely to make it out the window, but it also meant that walking into an awkward moment was much easier.  Kurt tried very, very hard not to remember the time Riley had been zipping his pants as he walked through the door.  Thankfully Kurt had been distracted by shopping bags and could pretend like he didn’t notice Riley’s darting eyes and the way he wouldn’t stand up from his desk chair.

After feeling like he had given his roommate sufficient warning, Kurt turned the key and kicked his way into the room, leaning into the heavy door to remove his key.  There had been times when his key would get a little stuck, but with a good jiggle it always came loose.  This time, it wouldn’t budge.  Kurt grunted in frustration, tugging on the small piece of metal.  Riley looked up from his laptop curiously, this time thankfully typing a paper, and pulled off his headphones.

“Got a problem?” he quipped, moving closer to investigate.  Kurt only gave him an irritated smirk as he wiggled the key back and forth, but to no avail.  He let out a huge frustrated breath and shoved the hair back that had fallen onto his forehead.

“Let me,” Riley said confidently, dropping his headphones on the desk.

“Be my guest,” Kurt replied, a bit fiercer than necessary, stepping back into the hall to give him space.

Riley stuck his foot out to keep the door from closing, assessing the key with furrowed brows, hands on his hips.  Kurt had to bite his lip from laughing out loud at his look of intense concentration.  He had long learned his lesson on having feelings for straight guys, but he could still appreciate them, right?

Riley moved in for the kill, grasping the key in one hand and the rest of Kurt’s crowded keyring in the other.

“Don’t you dare rip my Coach keychain Riley Swain!” he squawked just before Riley suddenly jerked back from the door and into the hallway as well, Kurt’s blessedly intact keyring in one hand and—

He registered the small piece of broken metal in Riley’s other hand just in time.  “Don’t let the door close!” Kurt shrieked again, wincing as his voice echoed down the hall.  Kurt stuck his foot out just in time, hissing as the door smushed his toes.

“Woah, it’s like I’m the Incredible Hulk,” Riley said reverently, peering at the half key in his hand like it was a sign from god and no doubt planning to keep it forever.  Kurt took a deep, steadying breath to calm his pounding heart as he tried not to think about how much worse his day could go because he had clearly jinxed it the first time with such thoughts. 

“This is just great,” Kurt murmured as he swung the door open again, shoving Riley’s backpack over with his foot to keep it from slamming shut. 

That makes three broken things in one day.  That’s usually followed by a curse, right?  One to affect my children’s children’s children…

“What do we do now?” Riley asked cheerfully, trying not to laugh as Kurt dragged his own desk chair over to be closer to the open door and flounced down into the seat.

“Now, we call the RA on Duty so he or she can laugh at us, too,” Kurt replied wearily as the first pair of their neighbors came to see what all the fuss was about.  He pulled out his phone and dialed the number that Amy, their hall’s Resident Advisor, forced them to program in at the beginning of the year.  He had never had a reason to call before, but a key broken off in the lock was outside of Kurt’s realm of fixable situations.

“RA on Duty, this is Blaine, how can I help you?” the voice on the other end said as way of greeting, chipper in a way that took Kurt aback for a second.  He was used to that forced kind of hospitality that naturally comes with being paid to be helpful, but this Blaine seemed to actually want to assist.  It was off-putting, but in the best way.

“Uh, yes, this is Kurt Hummel, Alumni Hall, room 1135?  It seems that my roommate and I have gotten a key stuck in our door’s lock.”

The voice on the other end said that he was on his way to assess the situation before he could call the repairmen.  Kurt hung up with a word of thanks and turned to the girls hovering in their doorway who were flirting shamelessly with Riley.  Kurt narrowed his eyes; he thankfully didn’t recognize any of the girls, meaning he wouldn’t have to talk to them.

He leaned back in the desk chair and stared at the uneven surface of the ceiling, looking for patterns and doing his best to tune out the long peals of obnoxious laughter from the girls who were now gathering on Riley’s bed.  He thought absently about the voice on the phone being quite pleasant, and wondered if its particular melodic qualities were because he sang.  Calm down, Hummel, not a good train of thought.

There was quite a party going on in room 1135, one that Kurt was obstinately not participating in, by the time someone knocked cautiously on the open door.  Kurt looked up and found he could not look anywhere else.

The figure at the door had dark hair that was gelled down but still allowed to curl at the ends and was dressed in a bright purple polo embroidered with “Student and Residence Life” over the pocket, an equally as purple backpack slung over one shoulder.  His jeans were dark and tight, rolled up at the ankle to reveal that he wasn’t wearing any socks with his oxfords.  The polo was fitted obscenely well and Kurt had to consciously tell his jaw to close when he spotted the way his arms were flexing as he stretched them out to fill the doorframe. 

When Kurt finally tore his eyes away from his biceps long enough to look at his face he found that the man’s eyes were already trained on him, his lips slightly parted.  Kurt forgot how to breathe momentarily.  He cleared his throat around the giant lump that had arisen and the spell broke.

“Somebody called the RA on Duty?” the figure finally spoke, looking over the group of girls on Riley’s bed with amusement.  Kurt took the opportunity to surreptitiously wipe his jaw for drool.

“Oh yeah, that was Kurt,” Riley said, pointing him out.  Kurt fought down the urge to smack him in the back of the head.

“Uh, yes,” Kurt said intelligently, standing up and smoothing out his shirt reflexively.  He silently thanked whatever higher being there was that he had recoiffed his hair out of boredom while waiting for the door situation to be solved.

“So you’re Kurt,” the man in the purple polo moved forward, shining eyes once again trained on Kurt.  “My name’s Blaine.”  He extended his right hand, and something deep in the reflexive area of Kurt’s brain offered his hand, too, and a firm shake.  The conscious part of Kurt’s brain, meanwhile, was keeping up a liveblog of emotion. 

Oh my god, he’s so cute.  A straight guy would never wear that tight of a polo.  Or those jeans.  Right?  Oh my god, he’s adorable.  I just want to kiss those eyebrows.  Precious.

“What do we have here?” Blaine said, turning to the open door curiously as he dropped the purple backpack inside the dorm room.

“Well,” Kurt swallowed, feeling his face heat up for no reason at all, “The key kind of got stuck in the door and after much wiggling and manhandling to try and pull it out, it just broke.  Whoops!”

Did I just use the words manhandling, wiggling, AND pull out in one sentence?  Oh god, shut the hell up Kurt Hummel.

Blaine crouched down to inspect the lock, laughing silently at the story.  Kurt cocked his head as he admired the back pockets of Blaine’s jeans.  Well, okay, and how they highlight his ass, he admitted to himself.

“Hey, it was your key!” Riley called, and Kurt rolled his eyes.

“Okay, my key then.  But as Riley did the actual breaking, so you can charge us both.”

Blaine straightened up and pulled a cell phone labeled RA ON DUTY, PLEASE RETURN TO ALUMNI HALL OFFICE out of his pocket.  “Yep, you guys sure did bust this one up.  Let me call the emergency maintenance guys and see what it’s going to take to fix it tonight.”  He stepped out into the hallway and disappeared from view.  Kurt let out a slow breath as he got up to pace his side of the room, trying to quiet his racing mind.

He had promised himself, no more fawning over straight guys.  He swore he would leave that particular bit of embarrassment back in high school where it belonged.  And Blaine was straight.  Right?  Kurt hardly let himself hope for a wonderful gay guy to fall in his lap anymore, not after so many blusters in the past.  But then again, that polo and those shoes, and those jeans.  And no socks.  But Kurt couldn’t make assumptions.  He had spent his whole life being assumed about and he could not let himself judge others that way.

Most of all, Kurt didn’t let himself hope, he refused to let himself hope.  But a tiny bubble of it settled in his chest anyway, despite his best efforts to expect the worst.  A tiny little voice, far sweeter than his usual snarky inner monologue, whispered hope for the best.

It was promptly headlocked into submission, but Kurt still got the message.

Blaine appeared back in the doorway and Kurt paused in his pacing.  “Alright, emergency maintenance is on the way but it’ll be about fifteen minutes.”  He sounded satisfied, but his eyes darted around nervously.  Kurt tilted his head again curiously.  “Is it alright if I, uh, stay in here with you guys?  I’m supposed to stay with the resident until the situation is resolved.”

Kurt laughed a little at his clearly memorized words and waved his hand dismissively. “Of course you can stay in here, silly, you’re our knight in purple armor tonight.”  Blaine smiled, much wider than his initial polite close-lipped smile, and cautiously stepped into the room.  Kurt couldn’t help but smile back.

Kurt did a mental evaluation of his side of the room and once again thanked the universe that he had taken the extra ten minutes that morning to make his bed and put all the dirty clothes safely away in the hamper in his closet.  “Um,” Kurt began, looking pointedly at Riley’s bed, where he was still entertaining the majority of their neighbors with the exaggerated tale of his heroic key breaking.  “Maybe we can hang out on my side?  I’m sure Riley will let us know when the maintenance guys arrive.”

Blaine nodded, and Kurt swore his grin got even bigger.  He internally swatted at the bubble of hope that was fighting to expand.  One of the girls had claimed his chair so Kurt settled himself on top of his desk and gestured at the bed for Blaine.  Blaine tugged at his jeans nervously, placing the on duty cell phone on the corner of Kurt’s nightstand.  Kurt simply watched him for a second, but soon realized he needed to say something quickly before it got awkward.

Blaine beat him to it though, his eyes lighting up as he picked up a magazine off Kurt’s nightstand.  “Is this November’s Vogue?” he said excitedly, running his fingers lightly over the face of the singer on the cover.

The bubble in Kurt’s chest expanded until he couldn’t breathe properly.  “Yep, just bought it this morning,” he said proudly.  Okay, fashion magazine appreciation?  Definitely gay.  Kurt felt like living up to his nickname and doing a high kick just for the joy of it all.

“Have you read it yet?” Blaine asked in a small voice, looking up at Kurt through his eyelashes and oh wow, Kurt forgot his own name for a second.

“N-no,” he replied finally, looking anywhere but at Blaine’s stupid dark, long, thick eyelashes.  And it was sort of a lie because he had definitely flipped through it a time or two already but he didn’t have anyone to really discuss each article and picture with so he really hadn’t read it, only skimmed it.

Blaine quirked an eyebrow and then patted the spot next to where he was leaning on the bed, too polite to mar Kurt’s duvet cover with his shoes.  Kurt hesitated for only a second before fulfilling his request.  After a second of awkward shoulder-to-shoulder contact Kurt sighed and started unlacing his boots.  Blaine looked at him, those eyelashes suddenly so close, and held up his oxford for evaluation.

“Yes, you can take them off,” Kurt said in mock exasperation, getting up to line his boots up carefully in the floor of his closet.

“I wanted to make sure feet didn’t squick you out,” Blaine explained happily as he set his shoes gingerly next to Kurt’s desk.  Kurt climbed up on the high frame to sit on the bed primly, this time with his feet drawn up under him.  He looked at Blaine, who was studying the bed intently.  Kurt was just about to ask what was going on when Blaine stepped back to get a running start and landed with a creaking bounce next to Kurt, nearly bashing his head into the concrete wall.

“Woah there Tiger,” Kurt laughed as he reflexively put out a hand to block Blaine’s cranium from being cracked open, brushing his shoulder instead when his head didn’t meet a hard doom.  Blaine’s eyes got very wide for a second and Kurt drew his hand back quickly like he had been burnt.  He cleared his throat and reached for the magazine that Blaine had just missed crushing as Blaine settled in with his legs crossed.

“So, how brilliant is Adele?” Blaine offered as he scanned the table of contents, something that Kurt had always felt was unnecessary but now struck him as excruciatingly thoughtful and endearing.  His mouth worked while he tried to make his brain come up with a response.  Blaine looked up through those damn eyelashes again and, yep, that didn’t help at all.

“Brilliant, yes, oh god, she’s incredible,” he offered finally, allowing Blaine to launch into a rant on the merits of straight soul singing versus the bubble gum pop of Katy Perry, also throwing in Beyonce’s R&B dance hits for perspective. Kurt shook his head a little bit in wonder as he watched the way Blaine turned the pages of the magazine so carefully and the way he got excited over something as simple as the way a scarf was tied.

Kurt was just about to make a point in their debate on the merits of a well-placed brooch when another knock came from the open doorway.  Kurt leaned back until he could see around his desk and sure enough, it was two men in blue shirts with embroidered nametags, one of them carrying a toolbox.  He turned to find Blaine’s eyes trained on him, and he nodded at his silent question. 

Blaine closed the magazine, taking care not to bend the pages, and set it gently onto the nightstand.  Kurt was struck with something almost like fondness.  The bubble of hope bounced insistently despite his best efforts.

Blaine hopped down from the bed, slipped his shoes back on, and rummaged in the purple backpack (also embroidered with the Housing logo), extracting a printed notepad and a pen.  “Hey guys, yep, it’s really broken off in there,” he said to the maintenance men, gesturing to the lock with his pen.

Kurt got up to lean against his closet door, watching the way Blaine talked to the maintenance men, laughing and making jokes with ease.  He tried fervently to ignore the little jumps of that damn bubble each time Blaine met his eyes or shot him a smile. Kurt would only let their eyes lock for a tiny fraction of a second before flicking his gaze to Riley, who was now dealing cards for a game of what Kurt could only pray was Go Fish and not strip poker like the last time.  He counted to ten, then turned back to watch Blaine.  Somewhere in the back of his mind it struck him that it might be a little weird to be staring, but he was just concerned with the fate of his door lock.  Right?

Blaine came back into the room, standing next to Kurt but not as closely as he would like, as the maintenance men sprayed WD-40 into the lock and tugged at the tiny visible stump of the key with pliers.  Kurt watched Blaine watch the workers as he scribbled notes on the form that Kurt could now see read “Emergency Maintenance Report.”  His print was surprisingly neat for the speed he was writing.  Blaine turned his head towards him suddenly, and Kurt looked away quickly, feeling his face heat up in spite of himself.  After a count of ten he turned back to find Blaine still staring at him, his lips parted and his face back in that same expression that he wore the moment Kurt first saw him, one of surprise and anticipation and maybe a little intrigue?  Blaine opened his mouth wider, sucking in a breath, and Kurt stopped breathing as Blaine began to form words—

“Aha!” yelled the maintenance worker in the doorway.  Kurt and Blaine looked up quickly to see the man holding the pliers pinching the other half of the key over his head in triumph.  Blaine shot Kurt a look of apology and went over to finish his report.  Kurt let out the breath slowly, feeling the disappointment strangle the life out of his little bubble of hope.  Can’t say I didn’t see this coming.  Damn, this is the first time I’ve hated being right.

“Woah, cool!” Riley exclaimed as the half key was placed into his hand, having managed to extricate himself from the game (which, Kurt was relieved to see was Apples to Apples and decidedly the normal, non-sexy version).  “Now I can prove how strong I am!”  He turned to the enraptured girls on his bed so they could inspect both halves of the key.

Kurt fought hard not to roll his eyes at Riley for the millionth time in their short stretch of almost-friendship.  Blaine offered the form to the nearest maintenance man who signed it with a quick scribble.  The men waved fondly at the aggregate of students in the room and Kurt thanked them profusely, floating to the door to touch the lock and make certain it was really okay.  If someone broke in he would have Riley as his first line of defense, but Kurt didn’t put much stock into his Hulk assertions.  Or any stock.

Blaine stepped into the hallway, waving after the maintenance guys and making a joke about hoping not to see them again anytime soon.  Kurt smiled as he watched Blaine laugh to himself, hanging his head a little and his shoulders shaking with mirth.  Precious.  Adorable.  Kurt was really going to have to find some new adjectives.  He made a mental note to get a thesaurus in order to truly appreciate the man before him.

“So, all that’s left to do,” Blaine turned to Kurt with a small smile, “is sign the form.”  Kurt took the pen, stomping down the flutter in his stomach when their fingers brushed.  He signed the bottom of the page of neat handwriting with a flourish, looking up at Blaine as he handed the clipboard back.

“And, you’re in luck!” Blaine brandished a key from out of the backpack, waving it a little in front of his goofy smile.  “There’s always a third key to every room, so I brought yours just in case they could salvage the lock.”

Kurt smiled widely as Blaine placed the little piece of metal into his open palm.  “So no charges then?” he said hopefully, knowing that the cost of changing the locks was over two hundred dollars.

“No charges,” Blaine agreed, zipping his backpack shut and slinging it over his shoulder.  “Just don’t solder that broken key back together and give it to anyone, alright?”  Kurt laughed, waving a hand in a gesture of agreement.

Blaine looked down, fiddling with the strap for a second, then looked up to meet Kurt’s eyes.  His eyes were soft and searching, and the bubble of hope was suddenly back in full force, trying desperately to push out every little trace of doubt.  He let go of the strap, dropping both arms heavily.  “I just, I want to—”

“Hey Kurt!  Can we close the door now?  I think we’re gonna wake the whole hallway.” 

Riley.  Kurt closed his eyes to try and contain his feelings of rage.  “Sure bud, in just a second,” he said through his teeth, turning to throw his roommate the most murderous look he could muster.  Riley didn’t even look up from the red cards in his hands, hardly concerned with the fact that he was ruining Kurt’s life.

Kurt turned back to Blaine quickly, but the moment had passed and his eyes were back to normal, friendly and eager to please, but nothing more.  Kurt tried not to cry aloud in frustration.

“I’m sure I’ll see you around,” Blaine said with a real smile, hitching the strap of the backpack up as it slipped.  “Just, hopefully not in the middle of the night.  Being on duty means twenty-four/seven, unfortunately.”  Kurt nodded mutely, smiling to try and cover the sharp stab of devastation, much like when he lost an eBay auction for an Alexander McQueen sweater in the final seconds after lusting after it for days.   Blaine hesitated for just a second before turning for the stairs at the end of the hall.

Kurt forced himself not to watch him walk away.  Or observe his back pockets any more.  He whirled around on Riley, who was trying to track down all the cards to put back in the game box.

“Really?” Kurt hissed quietly, knowing the sound would travel down the hallway.  “Really, Riley?  Could you have worse timing?”  Riley shrugged apologetically and Kurt threw his hands up in frustration. He grabbed his now vacated desk chair and dragged it back to his side, shoved it under the desk and picked up the Vogue wistfully off the nightstand.  He was pouting and he knew it, but it just wasn’t fair.

Suddenly, Blaine’s head reappeared in the doorway.  Kurt snapped his head up quickly at the flash of purple in his peripheral vision and tried not to squeal out loud. 

“I’m the RA just upstairs.  Like, my room is right over Amy’s room,” Blaine said, his eyes wide.  Kurt raised one eyebrow and nodded a bit, wondering why he came back just to divulge this particular bit of information.  “So you know where to find me if there’s, you know, any more late-night emergencies,” Blaine explained, now looking at Kurt’s feet.

Kurt sucked in a quick breath and broke out in a wide smile in spite of himself.  Blaine nodded, more to himself than anything, and turned to leave again.  Kurt’s smile turned big and sappy and he cradled the Vogue to his chest for one beautiful moment before shaking himself mentally.  Shower, moisturize, bed.  No thoughts of purple polos and sockless oxfords.  None.

He was just about to get into bed (thankfully Riley’s groupies had finally left) when he spotted the on-duty cell phone still lying forgotten on his nightstand.  Kurt swore loudly as he realized what he had to do.  What Blaine knew I would have to do?  He bound and gagged that thought and shoved it in the mental closet.

Okay, think.  He knew where Blaine’s room was, and he knew Blaine had to have the phone back tonight or Kurt would be getting his calls for unlocking rooms and fixing broken air conditioners.  Whether Blaine left the phone intentionally or not was beside the point.  Right?

Kurt looked at his hair in the mirror, thought about wearing a hat, decided against it, and combed his damp locks into the best sort of order he could manage.  He traded his sleep pants and thin white tee shirt for jeans and a sweater, trying not to feel silly.  He was just giving a phone back.  It didn’t call for calculated fashion.  Right? 

He decided to leave his feet bare to give the illusion that it was just a casual occurrence, just a quick errand to give something back to someone he just met, nothing more.  Then Kurt remembered the very questionable cleaning methods of the ladies who took care of the hallways and stairways.  Kurt groaned and shoved his feet into his slightly beat-up (well loved) loafers, smiling a little at the thought of wearing them without socks.

Before he could second-guess himself Kurt grabbed the on-duty phone, his own phone, and his set of keys, the new key to his residence hall door carefully threaded onto the ring.  He mumbled an excuse to Riley who was already engrossed in his “nightly win” on his fantasy RPG.  Kurt didn’t even try to suppress his eye roll and left, jiggling the handle to double check that the door was locked.

He found Blaine’s room at the end of the second floor hallway easily, tipped off by the big plaque reading RESIDENT ADVISOR and the bulletin board covered in pictures of Katy Perry and Harry Potter and whimsical novelty bow ties that just screamed Blaine.  He hesitated, wondering if Blaine was asleep, but when he leaned closer to the door he heard the quiet but unmistakable sounds of Jersey Shore.  Kurt shook himself a little, trying to squash the butterflies in his stomach and that stupid, insistent bubble in his chest.  He was just returning something to a friend, nothing more.  There was no reason to think it would be anything different just because this was Blaine’s room where he lived and slept and showered. Alone.  No reason at all.  Right?

He knocked three times, and only a little bit too loudly, before he could talk himself out of it.  The sounds of Jersey Shore stopped abruptly and he heard rustling.  Kurt shifted his feet, feeling the nervous sweat gathering in his shoes and cursing his haphazard decision not to wear socks when the door opened.

“Kurt?”

Kurt lost his breath not for the first time that night.  Blaine was also clearly getting ready for bed, his hair damp and curly and his sweatpants and tee shirt adorably well-worn and emblazoned with football logos that Kurt didn’t immediately recognize.   His eyebrows were raised and his eyes were wide and his lips were upturned but parted and he was waiting for Kurt to say something.  Right.

 “Um, hi,” Kurt said, sighing internally at how inarticulate he got around Blaine.  He pulled the on-duty phone from his pocket and held it up.  “I don’t know if you realized, but you left this in my room earlier.”

Blaine made a small noise (Of recognition?  Gratitude?  Victory?) and took the offered phone, squeezing it tightly before slipping it into the pocket of his sweatpants. 

“Kurt,” he said again, reaching out to touch his arm briefly.  The bubble of hope inside Kurt threatened to burst and bring showers of joy like a happy piñata.  “Thank you, really, so much.  It didn’t ring, did it?  This is only my second time on-duty and I’m afraid that I suck at this whole Resident Advisor thing.”

He could only shake his head in response, that irresistible urge to smile around Blaine making his lips curl.  “No, you’re in the clear this time, no one else called.  And if being a sucky RA means saving me from having to pay to have my locks changed, being the witness to keep me from strangling Riley, and keeping me entertained tonight, well, I’d hate to see you being a good RA.  It might bring world peace.”

Blaine hung his head, but not before Kurt could feel a stroke of pride at the huge smile on his face.  I did that. Wow.  All the feelings he had tried to hold back were suddenly forming a conga line in the general vicinity of his ribcage.  He halfheartedly tried to keep the champagne from flowing just yet.

They just stood there for a comfortable, quiet minute, soaking up the moment and goofily smiling at each other.  “I can see you’re busy,” Kurt said finally, eyeing the television behind Blaine with amusement, the too-tan faces of the Jersey Shore cast still flickering on the screen, a silent fight playing out on mute.  “So I’ll just—”

“Wait.”  Just as Kurt was turning to leave, Blaine reached out again, this time gently circling Kurt’s wrist.  He turned back and searched Blaine’s face, finding he could do nothing but try to breathe normally.

“Do you, ah,” Blaine started, avoiding Kurt’s eyes.  Kurt thought he might pass out.  Even the conga line was paused with baited breath.  He refused to try and jump in and help him out, he bit back the witty retort to lighten the mood.  Kurt needed to hear what he was going to say.

“Do you like coffee?” he said finally, looking Kurt in the face with such an earnest expression that he thought he felt his heart burst with pleasure.  Words were still hard to form though, so he stood helplessly while Blaine started to babble.  “Or frozen yogurt?  Or sushi?  Pizza?  Maybe hookah?”

Kurt laughed, partly from happiness and partly at Blaine’s rapidly derailing babble, but stopped when he saw Blaine’s eyebrows draw together in hurt.  Maybe he’s been tortured enough for one night with trying to find words.  Kurt took a breath and smiled, his most radiant yet.

“Coffee, yes.  I love coffee.  And if you like coffee, maybe we could enjoy some sometime. Together.”

Blaine’s face lit up like the fourth of July, like Times Square, like the most beautiful Christmas tree, like Kurt had just made his day, his week, and possibly his life.  Kurt personally popped the cork on the first bottle of figurative feelings champagne.

They enjoyed another moment of silence, just looking at each other, when Blaine suddenly laughed, shaking his head a little bit.  If his head was half as pleasantly fuzzy as Kurt’s was, he could relate.

“Maybe I could give you my number?  My personal cell phone, that is.  So you can let me know when you’re available for that coffee?” Blaine offered, tilting his head to the side in question.  Kurt smiled, all too happy to answer.

“Yes.  But you know this means I’ll be calling you directly next time my well-meaning caveman of a roommate breaks something, right?” Kurt teased, pulling his phone from his pocket but holding it back from Blaine’s open palm.

“Well, I don’t know how much help I would be, but I think I’d be okay with that.  Actually, more than okay,” Blaine replied, his eyes taking on that particular shine from before, the one Kurt had only seen for a moment.  Kurt’s inner feelings had now busted out in a full-on cheer routine consisting of nothing but high kicks and toe touches and an endless medley of Disney love songs.

Kurt tapped to open the new contact screen and laid his phone into Blaine’s outstretched hand.

He couldn’t wait.  He told himself he would play it cool, he would wait twenty-four hours like all the movies say, and really based on his personal history the least he could do now was retain a shred of mystery and dignity.  He didn’t look at his phone.  He forced himself not to look at it, knowing as soon as he did he would break down and send a damn text message. 

Kurt got back to his room, key safely and smoothly extracted from the lock, and changed back into his pajamas.  He brushed his teeth again, just to ensure that plaque growth wouldn’t occur overnight, climbed into bed and turned off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.  He concentrated on Riley’s steady breathing and willed himself to sleep.

After trying to find a comfortable position for twenty minutes, he caved.  What could a text message hurt?  He groped blindly at the nightstand until he found the smooth glass and lit screen that ignited the bubble of hope in his chest, turning it into a warm feeling that spread out to his toes.  He was only a few screen taps and an aerial signal away from Blaine.

He opened a new text message, typed What if I said I was free tomorrow? -K and scrolled through his contacts to add the recipient.  Right there listed between Beth and Brittany it said Blaine Anderson, Knight in Purple Armor.  Kurt felt that dopey, gushy smile spread involuntarily across his face as the bubble of hope in his chest exploded and took up residence in every nook and cranny of his soul, illuminating every little dark place of doubt.  He took a second to enjoy the rush, eyes closed in relish, and then pressed send.

Text Message

Blaine:  Can I tell you a secret?

Kurt:  That depends, will I have to keep it?

Yes.  Well, only from people who would laugh at me about it.  Which might be everyone.  So yes.

Now I’m intrigued.

The on-duty phone?  At first I did leave in on accident.  I remembered as I was walking up the stairs, and I went back to get it.  Then I saw you and I was struck with the thought of how it would be so very nice to see you again.  So I told you where my room was instead.

That’s so sweet.  But you know you could have just asked me out then and gotten your phone, too.

All those girls were staring at me though!  They live off romance, you know, and I just froze up in front of their judgy eyes!

So you’re scared of teenage girls.  Good to know.

I feel the sudden urge to break into My Chemical Romance.

And you have terrible taste in music!

HEY!  You knowing the song I was referencing means that YOU have terrible taste in music, too.

…Touché.

Does this mean you’re buying coffee tomorrow?

Yeah, right.