#blueboxesandcats

He loves looking at his husband sleeping, making soft noises and just on the brink of waking up. Blaine acts like a cat, in that laps of time, and Kurt reaches for the back of his head almost on reflex.

As he cards his fingers through the slowly graying curls, Blaine smiles against his chest—he can feel it, and it brings a smile on his own face—and nuzzles closer, his hand sliding from Kurt’s waist to his shoulder.

"Good morning, Figaro," Kurt says quietly, voice still heavy with sleep, and Blaine purrs some more at the nickname.

Blaine looks up, cheek still firmly against Kurt’s body an, and even with his eyes still closed, he puckers his lips in an obvious demand for a kiss.

Kurt obliges, pecking Blaine’s lips and holding him against his body.

Through the window, the soft Winter sunlight peaks through the curtains and Kurt knows that it’s only a matter of time before Dan wakes up, before he starts the coffee maker and before the door closes behind him and Gypsy as they go for the dog’s morning walk.

Only a matter of time before Cecilia softly walks by to get into the living room and turns on the TV.

But for now, it’s only Blaine, him, the softness of their comforter and the comfort of their embrace.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be, Anderson?" he adds, flicking a page of his book like it personally offended him.

Instead of the dejected sigh and footsteps walking away that are the kicker's usual response to Kurt dismissing him, Kurt hears a chair being pulled and he lifts his head again, only to find Blaine sitting at his table, a frown on his face.

"What did I ever do to you," he asks, voice quiet but tense, "to deserve to be treated like shit?"

Kurt huffs and stays silent.

"I'm serious, Kurt," Blaine continues. "If I offended you, I'm sorry, ok? But otherwise you have absolutely no reason to keep on treating me like--like ..."

Kurt slams his book shut. "You're my enemy, alright?" he whisper-shouts and Blaine's eyes widen, sending his eyebrows to his hairline.

"You make zero sense, Hummel."

Kurt rolls his eyes so hard he feels like he might have pulled something. "You, as an individual, have never done anything against me, I can give you that," he explains, leaning forward. "But as a member of the football team, I can't see you as anything else than the Enemy."

"That's stereotyping," Blaine retorts, leaning forward as well.

Kurt does not pay attention to the way their hands are close enough on the table that they could touch if he moved juuust a little bit for-

Absolutely not.

"Like you wouldn't let peer pressure drive you to mock me in the hallways?" Kurt asks, expecting this to be the final word.

"Mock you?" Blaine repeats, lifting one eyebrow. "More like bully you, and no, I wouldn't. I would never do that."

There is an undeniable sincerity in his voice and Kurt wants to believe him, God knows he wants to return Blaine's polite waves and smiles.

"But you're doing it, by not saying anything," he replies instead, and he almost leans back in his chair when Blaine's eyes become dark with anger.

"First of all, that would be terrible of me to repeat a behavior that drove me out of my former school in the first place. Second of all," and there Blaine stands, pointing a finger at Kurt, "you don't know what happens in practice and in the locker room, so be careful what you accuse people of."

On those words, Blaine stalks out of the library, a blond head bobbing by his side as he walks away.

And Kurt is left wondering if he has fucked it, whatever 'it' is, up beyond repair.

(A hint : he hasn't)