WHO: Blaine Anderson + Kurt Hummel WHEN: Friday, March 13 WHERE: Kurt's apartment WHAT: Knocked out by the plague, Blaine and Kurt settle in with the essentials: tissues, blankets, orange juice, and hair gel.
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Was this the apocalypse? The end of the world? Had they really been plucked from their home universe to end up here, where they'd get the sniffles and die?
Blaine sat on the couch, curled up in a quilt and staring at the television while bleary-eyed newscasters discussed the global plague that seemed to be infecting literally everyone save a handful of people. He was so ill that he hadn't gelled his hair, and after a hot steamy bath it was in wild, frizzy curls. He'd never go outside looking like this. He'd never be caught dead looking like this.
Except he probably would be. He'd die here, of the plague, and when they took his body away they'd all be joking about his hair.
No. No, thanks.
He pushed himself up and dragged himself to the bathroom, grabbing his value-size bottle of raspberry-scented hair gel and a comb. He coughed all the way back to the couch and sank down like dead weight.
"The coroner's not going to find me looking like I stuck my finger in a light socket."
Kurt had no such concern and just let his hair go to shit for the time being.
He was as sick and tired as anyone else, and given that literally everyone was sick, he was lucky to even get ahold of his manager in the first place when he called out of work. He'd managed to drag home some good sick-foods and what felt like a lifetime supply of orange juice before giving up entirely. Curled up on the couch in a blanket and comfy silk pajamas (a gift to himself with his first paycheck), Kurt had one arm dangling out of the cocoon so he had a hand free to grab his drink or the remote to the TV if he had to.
"We're not going to die, Blaine. But you'll get gel all over the blankets."
"Are you watching the news? Everyone's sick," Blaine insisted. "Almost the entire world is sick. It's only a matter of time before we all die. It's like swine flu, or how every time there was a potential outbreak from Asia Coach Sylvester made me and Tina wear face masks to protect everyone else."
He reached for his orange juice, taking a shaky sip. "I don't want to die ungelled, is all I'm saying."
"I think you're being fatalistic," Kurt said dryly. "There are super genius heroes all over the place. They'll come up with some miracle cure." He should be freaking out, but he was too sick to panic. He barely cared enough to drag himself to the bathroom for… anything.
"I think I'm thinking ahead." Blaine set his glass down and went for the gel, but he had to double over and cough, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "Oh… screw it, I can't," he muttered, flopping over and resting his head against Kurt's side. "Come here. Hold me. I need you to hold me."
He was such a baby when he was sick. He wanted to be cuddled and snuggled and petted, told everything was going to be okay while he whined.
Kurt scooted a little, shoving his back against the back of the couch so there was room for Blaine in front of him. "Come here," he said with a sigh, tugging Blaine down to lay on the couch and stretching out. "You won't die frizzy. I promise."
Blaine shifted to fit himself against Kurt, snuggling against the other man's taller frame. He whimpered a little when he finally found a comfortable spot, sniffling and grabbing a Kleenex to wipe at his nose. "I'm really glad I have you right now, Kurt," he said quietly. "I mean, after everything that's happened, feeling really alone here, and … thinking I'd never get back together with you, this is really all I want."
"Me too." It was hard to nuzzle into Blaine's hair when he was all stuffy, but he wrapped an arm around him, enveloping both of them in the blanket. "I don't know if I could handle this with anyone but you. I missed you."
They hadn't spoken about their future marriage. Not in depth. Kurt wasn't sure if they could handle it yet.
"I missed you, too." Blaine wasn't going to speak ill of Dave. They'd had a good relationship, and Blaine had really cared about him, but everyone knew that Kurt was the love of Blaine's life and there was really no way that anyone else could take his place. They were trying to take things slow this time, though it felt impossible to take steps back when they'd already come so far. Blaine was wary about coming back, afraid to talk about marriage or a wedding when Kurt had dumped him in the middle of planning things.
It was sort of the elephant in the room.
"I need you in my life. Call me stupid, but I do."
Kurt rested his head on Blaine's shoulder, rubbing his cheek against it. It was hard to have this conversation when they felt like death, but being wedged in between Blaine and the couch helped a little. "Sorry for messing it up so bad," he replied, possibly for the hundredth time. Moving forward was difficult, but Kurt was still quick to take ownership, if only to keep Blaine from leaving him.
"I get it, you were scared." It was a sort of stock answer at this point. Blaine had told Kurt that he'd never forgive him for what happened, and while he clearly had forgiven him by now, it still stung any time he remembered that night, breaking up at an outdoor cafe table. In public, of all places, at the tail end of yet another argument. "I know you like your space and having things just-so, and I keep getting in the way."
"You aren't in the way," Kurt murmured. "You were never in the way. You're definitely not in the way now."
Truthfully, he thought about marriage all the time, especially the one in their immediate future if they ever went home. He wondered if it worked out, if they handled it better, if being impulsive about it helped with the jitters and the nerves. Kurt wanted to be married, but for some reason getting over that line gave him such anxiety that it was so easy to talk himself out of it.
"We'll talk about how 'in the way' I am if I ever move back in." Blaine reached for another tissue, and just draped his over his face rather than taking the time to do anything with it.
"Well… I mean. It's not like it's set in stone that you'd be moving here instead of the other way around." Kurt reached around Blaine to grab for a tissue and fell a little short. "Can I have one?"
Blaine reached for a tissue, but ended up grabbing the box and just tossing it over his head to smack Kurt in the shoulder. "There. We're almost out. Someone's going to have to go get the napkins."
Kurt groped for the box and caught it before it fell again. He pulled away as much as he could to blow his nose, tossing the tissue out before he asked, "Why do you sound mad at me?"
"I'm so not mad at you," Blaine mumbled, snuggling in with a whine. "I just hate life so much right now that I'm going to sound mad no matter what. This is terrible. This is worse than the time we got food poisoning at that Chinese place I told you we needed to try. This is worse than that time I got my eye gouged out by a slushie."
"I did tell you that Chinese place was a terrible idea. It was run by Italians." Kurt still had nightmares about those dumplings. Ugh.
"I thought it was fusion," Blaine insisted, tossing up a hand. "I said I was sorry about the Chinese place, oh my God."
"I was teasing you." Kurt nudged him and reached for another tissue. "Even if it was horrible."
Blaine would have smiled, but he felt too much like crap. Really. "I love you."
"I love you, too." It sounded like a moan (and not the good kind). "God, I feel gross."
Blaine reached back and gave Kurt an awkward pat on the cheek. "At least … we feel gross together."