Jitters - Epilogue
Blaine plans a picnic on the roof of his building. His first instinct had been to take Kurt somewhere fancy, try to impress him, but it’s been unseasonably warm and the view up here is spectacular and he wants it to be different. Special. He tries not to think of all the ways it could turn out, good or bad; he doesn’t get ahead of himself.
Blaine wishes the buzzer for his apartment worked when there’s a knock on his door just before 7 - he would’ve liked the notice to take some deep breaths - but it’s just as likely that he would’ve ended up using the time working himself into a panic, so maybe it’s better this way. He rolls his neck, rolls his shoulders, rolls his eyes at his shaking hands, and takes a deep breath.
Which leaves him in a gasp, like he’s been punched in the stomach, when he opens the door and Kurt is there. He looks breathtaking, of course he does, but Blaine can barely pay attention to what he’s wearing because he’s there, in reality, standing at Blaine’s door.
And probably waiting to be invited in.
“Sorry,” Blaine says when he realizes he’s just been staring. “Come on in.” He starts to reach out for Kurt’s arm, but drops his hand at the last minute. The movement isn’t lost on Kurt, though, not with how his eyes follow Blaine’s hand as it falls back to his side. Kurt bites his lip for a moment, then rolls his eyes and turns to fully face Blaine.
“Can I just--” is all he says before Blaine finds himself with an armful of Kurt, arms wrapped around his shoulders and temple pressed to his. It takes him a second to get over the shock of it, of being pressed so close together (while sober!) but when he does he locks his arms around Kurt’s waist, squeezing gently and taking another deep breath.
“You smell fantastic,” Blaine sighs, grimacing when he feels Kurt’s shoulders shake with laughter. He pulls back and Kurt’s biting his lip again, eyes twinkling.
“I was just thinking the same thing. Also, hello.”
“Hi.”
“So, what mysterious destination are we off to?” Kurt asks, finally dropping his arms back to his sides and adjusting the lapel of his peacoat. He clasps his hands together with a grin and Blaine’s stomach drops a little; maybe he should’ve made reservations somewhere nice, it’s probably what Kurt is expecting since Blaine told him their date was a surprise.
“Oh - um, I - it’s just,” he stammers, and Kurt’s smile fades a little, his head tilting as he watches Blaine with far too much curiosity. “I thought maybe you’d be tired of restaurants since you worked this weekend so I - It’s the roof. I set it up,” he points above his head and shrugs. “We can go somewhere though. Let’s go--”
“No, no,” Kurt says, grabbing Blaine’s hand as it falls again and squeezing it. “The roof sounds lovely. That was really sweet of you.”
Blaine smiles a little and swings their joined hands once before letting go. Kurt insists on helping him carry the food up, which he tries to resist but it does make more sense than leaving Kurt standing alone while he makes multiple trips, and within a few minutes they’re settled on the cushions from the loveseat, sitting across the coffee table from each other.
“This makes me feel better about silently judging your living room,” Kurt laughs, and Blaine realizes how strange it must have looked, the stripped sofa and the empty space in front of it. He’d been too busy watching Kurt to notice.
The chicken is a little overdone, the pasta slightly under. The only candles he could find were mango scented, which really doesn’t go with the food at all. And a few minutes into the meal, one of the corners of the fairy lights comes undone from where it was haphazardly wound around the electric meters (that probably wasn’t safe to do) and the strand lands in his hair. But he catches Kurt looking around at everything, and then back to him, more than once, eyes as warm as the candlelight they’re reflecting, and it feels perfect.
Blaine wishes he’d maybe taken just a little time to obsess over the possible outcomes of the evening, because his new live-in-the-moment attitude has made him forget to check the weather report. To be fair, he’s had a busy day. First he had to sweep the roof, and then pillage the apartment for furnishings. Then he had to shower, and tame his hair, and wash the gel out and start over, and then he spent some time dancing around in his towel because there was suddenly way too much latent energy building; he felt like his muscles were going to cramp with it. Then there was outfit selection. And cooking. And Kurt. There just wasn’t time for the Weather Channel.
So he isn’t surprised - annoyed, maybe, but not surprised, because of course this would happen - when halfway through dinner, the temperature plummets and a wall of angry clouds descends, threatening snow.
Luckily, Blaine brought all of the fleece blankets up to the roof this morning on a whim, so it only takes some quick maneuvering and careful, not-into-the-candles unfurling before he’s pressed shoulder to hip to ankle against Kurt under a mountain of warmth, plates balance on their knees and blushing a little more each time one of them shifts against the other.
The proximity seems to wash away whatever nerves were lingering and forcing them into slightly awkward small talk; it’s amazing how easy it is to really talk once they get started. It’s difficult to stop, really. They have so much in common, from growing up in Ohio to being in show choir to a shared unabashed reality tv obsession. And they talk about all of it.
“Oh god, I’m sorry,” Kurt says as he stifles his third yawn in as many minutes. “I don’t know why I’m so tired, it’s only - oh wow, it’s past midnight.” Blaine can see the smile he’s still covering with his hand. “Time flies, I guess.”
“I’ll walk you home.” Blaine swears he feels his bones creak when he stands, offering a hand to pull Kurt to his feet and laughing when Kurt stumbles right into him on dead legs.
“Sorry,” Kurt laughs, steadying himself with his hands on Blaine’s biceps, and Blaine’s breath catches when Kurt looks up because they’re so close, the way they have been in his head so many times.
But it’s so much better, now, because when he leans forward and presses his lips to Kurt’s he isn’t met with a dishrag to the face or Santana’s fingernails in his arm. Instead, there’s Kurt, his sharp inhale and his grip on Blaine’s arms tightening as Blaine’s hand comes up to frame his jaw, thumb stroking his wind-chilled cheek.
It’s off-center and over far too quickly when Blaine forgets how to breathe through his nose, but Kurt keeps him close when he pulls back, tilting their foreheads together and closing his eyes, and that word creeps into Blaine’s mind again. Perfect.
They kiss again at Kurt’s front door, fingers still interlaced the way they have been since they left Blaine’s building, and Blaine doesn’t hesitate when Kurt invites him up. “I’m not trying to be forward. I’m just not done talking to you yet.”
That’s fine with Blaine, because he doesn’t feel like he’ll be done talking to Kurt...well, ever.
It’s past three when they officially declare that Blaine is staying the night. They’ve both dozed off more than once, sharing a pillow and laying on top of the covers on Kurt’s soft bed as they argue original vs. revival casts for their favorite Broadway shows. Kurt keeps trailing off in the middle of impassioned arguments and then jerking awake moments later, only to pick up right where he left off, and it is possibly the cutest thing Blaine has ever seen.
“You can borrow pajamas,” Kurt offers shyly, and he waits until he’s behind the safety of the bathroom door to bury his nose in the fabric. He definitely does not scream into it. It doesn’t matter that this is his first time sleeping over at a guy’s - no, not just a guy’s, Kurt’s - apartment or that they’ve spent the past 8 hours together and he only wants more, or that he knows what Kurt’s hand feels like in his, what his lips feel like against his. He does not scream, because that would be immature. Also because Kurt’s bedroom is about ten feet away.
Kurt practically coos from the bed when he re-enters the room in a Hummel Tires & Lube shirt and soft flannel pants that he has to roll twice at the ankle to keep from tripping over. Blaine doesn’t hesitate when he lifts up the corner of the blankets, sliding in and immediately snuggling close.
Kurt has changed into pajamas, too, and he looks younger like this, hair falling over his eyes. Blaine brushes it back and kisses his forehead, then the tip of his nose, before nudging his own against it with a whispered, “Hello, you.”
“You were a very good Link Larkin,” Kurt says eventually. He closes his eyes at Blaine’s raised eyebrow and Blaine can see the blush rise on his cheeks. “I went to opening night. When you were gone that week, Santana told me about morning rehearsal and the show. And then everything went kind of haywire but...I wanted to see you. I missed you.”
“I knew I saw you,” Blaine murmurs. “Missed you, too.” There’s still so much he wants to ask, so much he wants to tell; he’s worried that when he wakes up it will have all been a dream. But he’s so comfortable, toes tucked under Kurt’s ankles and fingers laced together under the pillow they’re still sharing. He can feel himself losing the fight with sleep and it takes Kurt longer to open his eyes each time he blinks, too, so he finally gives in, managing to tilt his chin enough to brush his lips against Kurt’s one last time.
When Blaine wakes up they haven’t moved much, except Blaine has slid down just enough to tuck his face into the curve of Kurt’s neck and Kurt’s arm is now firmly around his waist, hand splayed at the small of his back. He yawns loudly, his jaw cracking, and he feels more than hears a laugh rumble like a purr through Kurt’s chest.
“Sh’up,” he mumbles. “Tired. Morning.”
“Have you been replaced with a caveman?” Kurt teases, rubbing slow circles over Blaine’s back. “You’re usually so chipper in the morning.”
“Coffee,” Blaine says. Well, grunts, really. “So much coffee.” It makes him remember that he still has to tell Santana that wants to come back to Jitters. Maybe he’ll do that today. He probably won’t go to class, though. He deserves to take a day off, and wonders if he can convince Kurt to do the same.
“We can do that,” Kurt laughs, then freezes. “I mean, if you want to. Go get coffee. With me.”
“Definitely,” Blaine nods against Kurt’s chest, then wiggles back up to meet his eye across the pillow. “Hi. You’re here.”
“It’s my bed,” Kurt teases, but Blaine thinks he understands, because he lifts his hand from Blaine’s waist and brings it up to cup the back of his neck. “You’re here, too.” Blaine doesn’t get a chance to respond, though, because suddenly Kurt’s surging forward, mouth covering his and his weight tipping Blaine onto his back.
“Morning breath,” he mumbles against Kurt’s lips, but Kurt just shakes his head and kisses him harder, the tip of his tongue brushing Blaine’s bottom’s lip tentatively. Blaine gasps at the contact and tangles a hand in the back of his hair and Kurt takes advantage, playfully licking at Blaine’s upper lip before slipping his tongue into his mouth. Blaine giggles when Kurt licks at the ticklish spot behind his front teeth, the sound melting into a groan when he sucks at Kurt’s tongue and Kurt shifts further on top of him. Blaine can feel him half hard against his thigh, which makes him realize he’s well on his way, too. His own hips jerk unconsciously and he hisses when the motion throws Kurt off balance and he lands with an elbow digging into Blaine’s ribs.
Kurt yelps when Blaine accidentally bites down on his bottom lip, shifting back to Blaine’s side and propping himself up on his elbow. “I’m so sorry.” He rubs soothingly at Blaine’s side, ducking down to press a kiss to the spot before sitting up. His pajamas are wrinkled, his hair is sticking out in a hundred directions and there’s a faint crease on his cheek from the pillow.
He’s beautiful.
“Sorry,” they both say at the same time, and after a moment they both laugh, Kurt collapsing back down to the mattress and going willingly when Blaine gathers him into his side.
“So. Coffee?” Blaine asks, and Kurt laughs again, stretching and tilting his head up until his chin rests on Blaine’s chest and he can look into his eyes. He still can’t find a word better than “blue” to describe them, but he’s looking forward to trying.
Blaine is 18 hours into his first date with Kurt. He’s in borrowed clothes and his hair is a wreck and when they passed Rachel on their way out of the apartment she winked and actually shot finger guns at them. When they get to Jitters, Santana is probably going to try to embarrass him in front of Kurt. His picnic almost got snowed out, he almost bit Kurt’s tongue off, and there is already a small bruise forming where Kurt elbowed him this morning. Absolutely nothing has gone like he planned.
But when Kurt takes his hand, interlacing their fingers like he’s been doing it for years, nothing has ever been more perfect.
