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letterboxd but it’s seasons 1 and 2 kurt hummel

by: @kurtsascot

day 1, day 2, day 3

POLL AT END DECIDES BLAINES NEXT MOVE

———

“Music Theory,” Blaine says, and, senseless, he continues, “I go to NYU.”

He regrets the confession instantaneously.

Giving Kurt all the ammunition necessary to remember him isn’t his best idea.

He braces himself, wanting to be anywhere but alone in his apartment with Kurt, awaiting his inevitable rejection.

But, the rejection doesn’t come. Instead, a baby pink tinge dusts across Kurt’s cheeks and neck. It’s a similar hue to his lips; a bit sweeter, a tad lighter, but the color’s just as distracting, and Blaine latches onto how the tint smolders under tender overhead light.

“I know,” Kurt says through a laugh, the skin at the corners of his eyes creasing.

Blaine feels himself marginally relax. Okay. Maybe his crush isn’t as obvious as he thought. Maybe Kurt really doesn’t remember him from last semester, and this skittish, jumpy stranger is his first impression of who Blaine is.

Are either of those better options?

Blaine’s not sure.

“Oh?” He prompts, partially lost, partially just wanting to hear Kurt’s voice again.

Kurt rubs his lips together and nods, thoroughly pleased. He throws a puckish glance towards Blaine’s hands.

Following Kurt’s eyes, Blaine finds that the top paper in the pile he holds is decorated with NYU’s crest, offensively enlarged and in full color. His laptop, beneath the assortment of paper, has a Bobcat sticker on the protective case, directly in Kurt’s line of sight, and, his school bag, next to Kurt and by the door, has a pin from NYU’s most recent Choral Arts concert…

“Right.” Blaine ducks his head. He regroups, trying to save himself from further embarrassment. “What about you? Are you in college?”

Blaine watches Kurt adjust his hold on his coat, his fingers clenching and unclenching, the faint squeak of polyester pricking the air. “Yeah,” he starts, treading carefully. “I go to NYU for theater. I graduate at the end of the semester.”

Blaine smiles. “That’s weird, that’s my major too-,” He takes his clutter to the entryway, shoving the assortment into his schoolbag. “I can’t believe I haven’t seen you around.”

There’s a pregnant pause.

Blaine looks up as he zips his bag closed.

He can’t decipher what expression Kurt wears. He’s searching for something to say.

Something’s off.

His smile doesn’t fill his face like it did before.

“Yeah...” Kurt pulls the garment closer to his chest, clears his throat and looks past Blaine, past the couch and down the hallway that leads to his bedroom. “Laundry?” He avoids Blaine’s eyes.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Blaine scrambles to stand. He dusts off his knees and takes a few steps forward, before stopping in the hall. He doesn’t have to guide Kurt- his apartment isn’t that big. He shouldn’t hover. “Down the hall, to the right,” he points. “Everything you need should be in there.”

“Thanks,” Kurt mutters. He scoots past Blaine, steps into the laundry room, and clicks the door shut behind him.

Blaine returns to the kitchen and collapses on one of the island’s bar stools, unable to escape the onset of awkward energy that is smothering his apartment.

He sits in his discomfort and fidgets. His foot runs along one of the chair rungs. He listens to the distant echo of Kurt working his way through detergent and topical stain treatments, of water turning on and off.

He doesn’t sound like he’s in a hurry to get out of here, but, it also doesn’t sound like he’s taking his time…

Blaine groans. This is a disaster. He ruined everything, and he’s being a terrible host.

He needs to get himself together.

One day he will. — When?