fic: Adagio
Title: Adagio
Rating: PG-ish
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine
Spoilers: 2x08, I guess
Warnings: Crack.
Word Count: ~600
Disclaimer: Disclaimed!
Summary: Slow-mo hallway gives some insightful commentary.
You know, I've seen a lot in my day. I'm not by any means young. Not to say that I'm old, but I do, if I dare say, have a sense of wisdom and magnificence surrounding me. I'm incredibly well-furnished, according to my latest decorator and those responsible for my upkeep. It only makes sense that I should be treated with the utmost respect and tenderness. I should be revered and looked upon in awe.
But, well, no. I'm constantly traversed by graceless and heavy-handed boys, and while some people may be into that sort of thing, I am most certainly not. Every day it's loud, clomping dress shoes and obnoxious conversation. It's maddening, that. My only relief comes at night or between classes, when those horrible young men are busy learning and sleeping. My kinfolk upstairs and the staircases leading to them inform me that it's the same everywhere. I don't envy the dormitory rooms, bless their souls. They're exposed to terrible, graphic scenes of teenaged self-love and experimental sex nearly every night.
The worst I get is the running. Maybe occasional public displays of affection, but it's never anything too terrible. The running is absolutely infuriating. It's rare, because running isn't looked too kindly upon at Dalton (boys are awkward and break things when they run, typically), but it prevails in boys who are late to class or trying to get across campus during lunch or other off hours. The terrible thing is when the running is romantic. You know, hands linked or arm in arm, dashing off and giggling about something or other. Everything seems to slow down in those moments, and every excruciating footfall takes twice its normal time. It was hilarious the first time, but it got really, really old after watching the twentieth hormonal, starry-eyed couple gallop their way through me.
I will admit, however, that it recently became funny again. A boy notorious for using not-so-short shortcuts as a means of flirtation took another boy, who was unfamiliar and obviously displaced, on a drawn-out jog through my fellow corridors and me. It felt surprisingly good to once again be admired like the architectural masterpiece I truly am. I developed a liking for this unknown character, and was delighted upon his return (this time in the proper uniform).
What's odd, though, is the way everything seems to work in that painfully drawn-out pace when the new boy steps foot inside me. His first official day here, time quite literally slowed as he oh-so-confidently strode through me, high-fiving others as he did so. It is quite possibly the most baffling anomaly I have witnessed.
At present, as I articulate this lament during a typical dinner session in the cafeteria (and oh, does that poor room have stories), I find myself observing two young gentlemen hurrying towards me. The urge to sigh is almost overwhelming. Shortcut boy and Sir Slow-motion have tucked themselves into one of my corners, and are, for lack of a better term, sucking face. Downtempo, naturally. The kiss is obviously frantic, even through its default haze of frame-by-frame movement, and if I were capable of feelings on par with people, I would probably be feeling some rather enthralling things. As it is, I'm not on that plane of sentience, so I decide to settle for watching them go at it with an odd sense of self-satisfaction. I'm where it began, after all.
Rating: PG-ish
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine
Spoilers: 2x08, I guess
Warnings: Crack.
Word Count: ~600
Disclaimer: Disclaimed!
Summary: Slow-mo hallway gives some insightful commentary.
You know, I've seen a lot in my day. I'm not by any means young. Not to say that I'm old, but I do, if I dare say, have a sense of wisdom and magnificence surrounding me. I'm incredibly well-furnished, according to my latest decorator and those responsible for my upkeep. It only makes sense that I should be treated with the utmost respect and tenderness. I should be revered and looked upon in awe.
But, well, no. I'm constantly traversed by graceless and heavy-handed boys, and while some people may be into that sort of thing, I am most certainly not. Every day it's loud, clomping dress shoes and obnoxious conversation. It's maddening, that. My only relief comes at night or between classes, when those horrible young men are busy learning and sleeping. My kinfolk upstairs and the staircases leading to them inform me that it's the same everywhere. I don't envy the dormitory rooms, bless their souls. They're exposed to terrible, graphic scenes of teenaged self-love and experimental sex nearly every night.
The worst I get is the running. Maybe occasional public displays of affection, but it's never anything too terrible. The running is absolutely infuriating. It's rare, because running isn't looked too kindly upon at Dalton (boys are awkward and break things when they run, typically), but it prevails in boys who are late to class or trying to get across campus during lunch or other off hours. The terrible thing is when the running is romantic. You know, hands linked or arm in arm, dashing off and giggling about something or other. Everything seems to slow down in those moments, and every excruciating footfall takes twice its normal time. It was hilarious the first time, but it got really, really old after watching the twentieth hormonal, starry-eyed couple gallop their way through me.
I will admit, however, that it recently became funny again. A boy notorious for using not-so-short shortcuts as a means of flirtation took another boy, who was unfamiliar and obviously displaced, on a drawn-out jog through my fellow corridors and me. It felt surprisingly good to once again be admired like the architectural masterpiece I truly am. I developed a liking for this unknown character, and was delighted upon his return (this time in the proper uniform).
What's odd, though, is the way everything seems to work in that painfully drawn-out pace when the new boy steps foot inside me. His first official day here, time quite literally slowed as he oh-so-confidently strode through me, high-fiving others as he did so. It is quite possibly the most baffling anomaly I have witnessed.
At present, as I articulate this lament during a typical dinner session in the cafeteria (and oh, does that poor room have stories), I find myself observing two young gentlemen hurrying towards me. The urge to sigh is almost overwhelming. Shortcut boy and Sir Slow-motion have tucked themselves into one of my corners, and are, for lack of a better term, sucking face. Downtempo, naturally. The kiss is obviously frantic, even through its default haze of frame-by-frame movement, and if I were capable of feelings on par with people, I would probably be feeling some rather enthralling things. As it is, I'm not on that plane of sentience, so I decide to settle for watching them go at it with an odd sense of self-satisfaction. I'm where it began, after all.