![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: Boyfriend Soup
Pair: Klaine
Word Count: ~5600
Summary: S2 Post “Original Song,” pre-rest of the season. Blaine falls ill after Regionals, and Kurt wants to return the favor of caring for him. He discovers that the virus might not be his only enemy in the Anderson house.
AN: I have off and on been trying to finish this bugger since April.
Sequel to Cute Things
(Some parts might be easier to understand if this ficlet is read first.)
Dalton’s kitchens were never quiet. There were humming stainless steel refrigerators, buzzing appliances, gossiping chefs. So there was little need to slink around. Kurt just walked in, boldly going where few Daltonites had gone before. The cooks didn’t notice him for almost an hour, as he fluttered around an unused stove top, whistling to himself as he chopped, sauteed, stirred.
There were benefits to being a little baby penguin.
Once he was spotted, he gave the cook an angelic smile, told him exactly what he was doing, and for whom, and the cook helped him find some chervil from the back of the pantry. It would be the perfect addition.
When he’d finished, he packed up the efforts of his labor and thanked the staff, who smiled warmly and wished him luck. It probably didn’t hurt that Blaine was a favorite among the staff as well.
The drive to Blaine’s house wasn’t long. Just long enough for Kurt to start worrying about Blaine again. He’d told him not to give him his coat when they’d been outside the other day in the cold, but Blaine had insisted, ever the gentleman, and reminded Kurt about how sick he’d been before Regionals. And he didn’t want to relapse, did he?
Silly boy.
After spending near to every waking moment with Blaine since The Kiss, the sudden separation when he had left school was jarring. Kurt missed him with an intensity that frightened him. His mind was running away with him now, and he knew it, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how it was his fault that Blaine was sick, and what if he died, and they never had a chance to do more than kiss all over the school, and never had the chance to go on tour together, to fight for the right to get married and anti-bullying legislation and maybe get arrested, and to ask Rachel to help them have adorable babies with Blaine’s curly hair and her attitude?
Kurt pulled up to the Anderson house and wiped his eyes. He took a deep, deep breath, then got out, adjusted his red overcoat, and took the basket of goodies out of his backseat.
“Let’s do this. You can get in anywhere. The cooks helped you find ingredients. The Warblers bought you coffee. The Hipsters thought you were the lead singer’s niece.”
He’d been to the Anderson house once before. It wasn’t a palace, but it was big enough to be a little intimidating, at least to someone who had only lived in spaces that were utterly crammed with life and family. The one time he’d been here, though, Blaine had grabbed something from his room and pulled Kurt out before he could meet anyone besides Monica the Extraordinarily Tall Maid.
With a lively rap on the door, Kurt leaned to the side to peer in one of the large, heavily draped windows. To no avail. He started to knock again, but then he noticed the doorbell.
“You’re right, Blaine. I am the smart one.”
The bell jingled and jangled throughout the house. A moment later, the door opened, and there was Monica.
“Good afternoon.” Kurt’s voice lifted in such nervous cheerfulness that he almost sang the words.
“Afternoon.” Monica frowned for a moment. “I’m sorry. Blaine’s sick.” “I know. I came over to see how he was doing.” Kurt lifted his basket. “I brought Get Well paraphernalia.”
“I don’t know. The Andersons aren’t home right now.”
“All the more reason to let in a little helper to look out for him while you work!”
Monica tilted her head to the side while Kurt looked up at her with big, sad eyes.
“Oh, fine. Don’t wear him out...” She stepped back so he could come in. “And... I wouldn’t advise more contact than necessary.”
Success. He hurried up the stairs to Blaine’s room. There he cracked open the door and peeked inside to see if Blaine was sleeping. His back went ridged.
“Oh. Blaine.”
Blaine was in bed wearing blue pajamas, on his side, poking around on a laptop. That was not a surprise. What was a surprise, however, were the little pink spots all over Blaine’s face, neck, and hands. He looked up and raised his brows.
“No! Kurt!” Blaine exclaimed dramatically. He flopped over and covered his face with his pillow. “Don’t look at me! I’m hideous.”
Kurt didn’t know whether to laugh or glare at Blaine. Then Blaine coughed and Kurt hurried over to his side.
“You have the chickenpox.”
“You have the obvious.” Blaine closed his eyes for a moment, then gazed at Kurt with a smile. His pupils were a little big, and there was a bit of a frown marring his forehead, maybe from a headache. “Thanks for coming. How’d you get past Mama?”
“She wasn’t down there.” Kurt sat on the edge of Blaine’s bed and set his basket on the nightstand. “Now I’m afraid that Sue gave you chickenpox to spite me for failing to join her Regionals conspiracy.”
“Don’t be. I did some songs for the children’s group at my church a coupla weeks before Regionals. Mama thinks that’s where I got it. I mean, how can you say no to a kid who wants a hug?” Blaine lifted his head with interest. “What’d’ja get me?”
“You are a little too energetic. I think you’re faking it, Mister.” Kurt dug into the basket.
“So, are you deliberately dressed as Little Red Riding Hood, or...?”
Kurt smirked. “First off...”
He set the little stuffed penguin next to Blaine.
“Pav Jr.! Aw. But he’s yours.”
“He can visit with you while you’re sick. I’ve already had the chicken pox. Wouldn’t do for you to be lonely.”
Blaine hugged the penguin to him. He coughed again and winced. Kurt placed one hand on Blaine’s head and felt how warm he was.
“How bad is it? Have you seen a doctor?”
“Mama took me. I’ll survive, but I’m out for the count for at least a week.” Blaine pressed his cheek to the penguin. “I’m not sure how the Council is going to survive, to be honest. They must be having a Warble-down by now.”
“You’re really hot.”
“And itchy.” Blaine pouted. “And if I scratch I’ll have ugly scars, and you won’t want to touch me ever, ever again!”
“Have you eaten today?”
“I’ve had juice. And tea.”
“That’s drinking. Not eating.” Kurt reached into the basket again and pulled out two containers. “I’ve not been hungry. Is that Ben and Jerry’s?” Blaine narrowed his eyes. “And what is that?”
Kurt set the ice cream on the nightstand and displayed the warmer container in his hands gracefully. “It’s Boyfriend Soup.”
“You made me soup? As in, you made it? Without a can?”
“You make it sound like witchcraft.” Kurt took off the lid and nodded to Blaine. “Sit up.”
After balancing a bite of porcini mushroom, a few flakey bits of chicken, and brown rice in one spoonful, Kurt held the spoon to Blaine’s lips. Blaine raised one brow, then obediently opened his mouth.
“Mm. Wow.” Blaine swallowed slowly. “Did your mom teach you how to make this?”
Kurt fed him another bite. “I was seven when she died. She taught me to make mac and cheese. This is based off of her recipe, though. Brown rice has more protein and fiber than white. I also don’t think we could have gotten some of the herbs when I was a kid. We can thank Ellis in the kitchen for those.”
“Sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?”
Blaine sucked on the spoon for a second. “When I bring her up, it makes you sad.”
“It’s not all sad.” Kurt brushed some fluffy, unkempt curls out of Blaine’s face. It was cute how disobedient they were without all the gel. Try telling Blaine that, though. Kurt would ween him off his product addiction yet. “Learning to make macaroni and cheese was fun... And after she died, and the people from her church had moved on to the next week’s hard luck case, I made it for dad. You should’ve seen his face when he came home and his little boy had dinner on the table for him.”
Kurt kicked off his shoes and settled himself in the bed next to Blaine. Together they sat in silence as he fed Blaine. Kurt wondered if it had been long since Blaine had last been able to take food. Chickenpox at seventeen was a lot worse than having it at six.
“I think I love Boyfriend Soup.” Blaine’s eyes closed again and he let his head fall backward.
“Eat more.”
“I want to. I don’t think I can. I’m starting to feel weird.”
Kurt set the soup aside and petted Blaine’s hair gently. Blaine went quiet, and Kurt moved onto his side and rubbed Blaine’s chest very gently. When Blaine arched his back and moved into the motion, Kurt stopped.
“Oh, come on,” Blaine groaned.
“I’m not going to help you scratch.”
Blaine sighed. “Ugly, ugly scars.”
“Quit worrying about that. You’d still be the King of the Daltons, scars or no. And you’d still rule me in ways I don’t particularly like to dwell on.”
Blaine chuckled softly.
“Anyway, who but your boyfriend knows exactly what kind of skincare products to use to diminish the scarring? Just focus on getting better.”
“You and your moisturizers.” Blaine sucked in his lower lip. “I missed you. When I was out.”
“Me too. It’s like... they suddenly took away the sun,” Kurt whispered.
Blaine watched Kurt’s face quietly.
“What?”
“Your eyes.” Blaine gave him a dopey grin.
“Your lips,” Kurt countered.
Blaine yawned and curled his body towards Kurt.
“You should try to sleep some more.” His fingers never stopping their caresses of Blaine’s warm forehead and hair, Kurt began to sing softly, “Hey, Blaine. Don’t make it bad-”
Blaine chuckled softly.
“Take a sad song, and make it bet-ter-er. Remember, to let me into your heart, and then you can start... to make it better.”
Relaxing under Kurt’s light touches and gentle voice, Blaine began to breathe more deeply, and his lips parted slightly. Kurt could only watch him. He wryly thought that of course, the reward for singing to church kids was this pain, this fever, this misery. That was how the world worked.
He was sort of amazed and infatuated by how Blaine would never think about it that way. But with Blaine there, curled in the bed with him, the bite was taken out of his musings. The world was bad... but it did have Blaine. And even though he seemed to feel terrible, he was alive.
“Get better, Blaine. The world needs you in it.”
Later, he would wonder how he didn’t hear the heels clicking down the hallway, but in this moment, there were no thoughts whatsoever in Kurt’s mind when a smooth, stern voiced asked, “Excuse me, but who are you?”
Blaine told Kurt that he had the gift of gab. Right now, his wit seemed to have left him. His hand jerked away from Blaine’s neck.
“Um. Kurt.”
“Kurt.” The small but graceful woman with perfectly arched eyebrows and dark hair that fell in waves around her head stepped closer and set her bag down. “From Dalton, Kurt? I assume, from the tie.”
“Yes.” Kurt found his tongue and mentally shoved it back in his mouth. This was Blaine’s mother. Blaine’s gorgeous, olive-skinned mother with the slight accent, who was eyeing Kurt with a look a lot like his own ‘judging you’ look. “I heard that Blaine was sick, and I wanted to come over to help him feel better.”
“That’s sweet,” she said a bit stiffly. “Is... that a penguin?”
“It’s the one Blaine gave me when I had the flu.” Did that sound defensive? He couldn’t get catty. Not with Blaine’s mom. Kurt could feel the heat around his face and neck. He wondered if this was how Blaine felt when under the infamous Hummel Dad gaze.
“Mama?”
The two of them stopped staring at one another and fixed their attention on Blaine.
“I’m here, babe.” She sat on the other side of Blaine. “Are you feeling any better? Did you eat?”
“Yeah. Kurt made me soup, Mama.” He smiled up at his mother through his lashes. “S’good. Did you meet him? This is Kurt.”
“We met. He made you soup?”
“His mom’s recipe.” Blaine smiled over at Kurt.
“I’m glad it’s making you feel a little better, baby. I picked up your medication and a some supplies... so you can take an oatmeal bath a bit later.” She chased Kurt’s hand away and stroked Blaine’s hair. “Do you have enough water?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll put that ice cream in the freezer. Let Monica know if you want it, hm?”
She took his hand and watched her son with such a depth of attention that Kurt felt for a moment that he had become invisible. His breathing stopped as he watched Blaine with his mother.
A heartbeat later she rose, went around to the nightstand, and took the soup and the ice cream out of the room.
“Your mother is beautiful,” Kurt said quietly after a long silence.
“She is. Don’t leave.”
Kurt looked down at Blaine, who had turned to him again. “What?”
“Please? Just for awhile?”
“I’m here as long as you want me.” Kurt placed his hand back on Blaine’s head, then leaned over to kiss his forehead with a feather touch.
“Forever. But I’ll settle for another hour. Or two. Three?”
“Maybe until your mom kicks me out to give you a bath.”
“Aw.”
“But I’ll be back tomorrow,” Kurt promised.
***
Kurt jogged down the stairs and headed into the kitchen to get the Ben and Jerry’s for Blaine. After grabbing it out of the freezer, he looked around, trying to guess where the utensils would be.
His eyes fixed on the empty soup container by the sink. The rest of the soup had been poured out.
Blood rushed to Kurt’s cheeks, rising with his anger. He rifled through the drawers for a spoon, then stormed out of the kitchen.
On his way back up the stairs, he spotted Blaine’s mother, raising an eyebrow sharply at her, and sucked in his cheeks before looking away angrily. He had to calm himself before going in to talk to Blaine.
***
“Mama?” Blaine leaned on the bed as he dressed himself. It had been a little embarrassing to need his mother help him in and out of the bath, but the indignity of illness broke down a lot of barriers.
“Yes, Blaine?” She was by the nightstand, setting out his medication.
“Could you bring up some of the soup Kurt made?”
His mother stilled. Blaine looked back at her as she took a breath.
“I’m sorry. When I put it in the refrigerator, it wasn’t secure... It fell out and spilled on the floor.”
“Oh.” Blaine buttoned up his pajama top and crawled into bed.
“Can I get you anything else to eat? I could make you something.”
“No. I’m not that hungry.”
She leaned over him and kissed his forehead. “You should try to eat something. I don’t want you to get weak.”
“I’m just really tired. Maybe I can eat something tomorrow.”
A tear trickled down her cheek, and Blaine reached up to wipe it away. “Mama, it’s just the chicken pox. I’ll be okay.”
“I just... I just want the best for you, baby.” Her lips tightened and she closed her eyes for a moment. “I know you’ll be just fine. I love you. Get some rest.”
Blaine curled over on his side and wished he could steal Kurt away from the school to spend the night with him. He missed the energy of being around everyone at school, but being away from Kurt was the hardest... probably more because of his incurable romanticism than the virus that was beating him up.
He closed his eyes and considered getting his phone and calling Kurt... but now he was actually tired again, and it would suck to fall asleep on him.
Maybe just a moment. Blaine reached for his phone.
“Hey, Kurt?”
***
The second day Kurt stood outside the Anderson home with a goody basket, he lifted his chin defiantly as he rang the doorbell.
Mrs. Anderson appeared there. Their eyes locked.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Anderson,” Kurt said with a politeness that could cause hypothermia.
“Good afternoon.” She frowned up at him.
“I brought Blaine some more soup. I thought he might be having trouble keeping things down.”
“Not so much.” A chilly silence yawned between them before she spoke again. “One has to actually eat to keep something down. Come in.”
Kurt’s shoulders angled backward in surprise; he hadn’t expected her to actually let him in, but he then followed her into the house.
“He’s upstairs, of course.” Her voice was quiet and proper as she ran her eyes over him.
Kurt did a mental self-check. He wasn’t wearing anything ridiculous, or so he’d thought. He’d just changed into a fitted sweater and jeans. Maybe it was a girl’s sweater, but he didn’t think that was obvious.
Was it?
He nodded to her before heading upstairs without another word and entering Blaine’s room.
Blaine was curled over on his side, eyes half-lidded and face pale. When he spotted Kurt, there were no theatrics. He looked too tired to be silly.
“Oh, honey.” Kurt came to sit by him.
“Your top is fabulous,” Blaine croaked.
“Is it?” Kurt shook his head. “I couldn’t tone it down if I tried.”
“Why would you want to? You look great.” Blaine managed a smile and put his hand on Kurt’s leg.
“I brought some more soup,” Kurt offered. He set the basket on the nightstand and pulled out a thermos. “This should keep it warm, so you can keep it by your bed for when you get hungry.”
“Oh...” Blaine leaned forward as Kurt poured some soup into the lid.
“Eat up.”
Little by little, Kurt was able to feed Blaine some of the soup. When he could eat no more, Kurt secured the thermos and snuggled into the bed with Blaine, holding him on his chest as he hummed “Eleanor Rigby.”
“You have a love affair with The Beatles,” Blaine observed.
“They were my mother’s favorite band,” Kurt offered. He licked his lower lip, then sucked it into his mouth. “She was always singing them around the house.”
“Did you sing together?”
Kurt looked down at Blaine face, still so beautiful despite being marred by pox and pink. “Yes. We sang together... sometimes... And she was into community theatre, so she’d take me along, and sometimes I’d take parts in productions she did. Nothing big, but she enjoyed it.”
“What did you play?”
“Tiny Tim.”
Blaine giggled.
“A teacup. Little boys, mostly.”
“I want pictures.”
Kurt made a scoffing noise. “I’m sure my dad would be happy to provide whatever embarrassing photos he has.”
The sound of Mrs. Anderson’s heels alerted Kurt to her impending presence, and he began to get up.
“Where are you going?” Blaine asked, sounding disappointed.
“I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’m just...” Kurt changed his mind and resettled himself in the bed. His fingers moved over Blaine’s hair, petting and twirling the curls around his fingers. “Sorry.”
“Why?” Blaine turned his head to the doorway as his mother appeared.
“How are you doing? Did you eat?” She leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms.
“Yep. Kurt made me more soup.” Blaine almost sounded proud of him. “I think it was even better thank yesterday.”
Kurt sproinged a curl. “I’m getting my moves down. Also, I think the kitchen staff finds this whole set up so very endearing. I could have done without the illness, though, and just made you lunch.”
When Blaine’s mother chuckled, Kurt was startled, completely unprepared for her to be amused by anything he did or said. It hadn’t even been a joke really. Just smartassedness.
“Told you he was funny, Mama,” Blaine said.
She looked down at her perfect shoes and smiled, guardedly. “It’s always good to have a man around who can make you laugh.”
When she left, Kurt gazed down on his boyfriend once more, then pressed a little kiss to his hair.
“You two are close,” he observed.
“I think so.” Blaine worried his lower lip between his teeth, until Kurt touched his mouth to make him stop.
“Why don’t you talk about her? She obviously means a lot to you.”
“I don’t want to make you miss your mother.”
That earned Blaine another kiss.
“Don’t worry about that. It’s an ache, but it’s not a fresh wound.” He cuddled Blaine to his chest.
“We are close. I’ve always been her baby, and we spent a lot of time together when I was growing up. Even with me at Dalton, when I’m home, we spend evenings together. She doesn’t get out as much since dad left, unless my brother comes home for the weekend.” Blaine paused pensively and touched Kurt’s hand. “I don’t think I’d ever get over it, if something happened to her.”
Kurt interlocked their fingers. “You wouldn’t. That kind of loss leaves a hole in you.”
Blaine nodded, watching Kurt with a sympathetic frown.
“But the funny thing is, even if it feels like you can’t go on living with parts of yourself ripped away, you find... You’re stronger than you thought. And she’s the reason you have that strength.”
Blaine smiled and snuggled into Kurt. “That’s kind of beautiful.”
Kurt shrugged. “I’m glad you have her.”
“I think...” Blaine licked his lips. “Has Mama said anything to you?”
“We haven’t really spoken.” Kurt waited as Blaine went quiet. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I told her earlier that your soup had magical healing properties, and she laughed.”
Kurt smiled.
“But then she twisted her mouth, like she’d tasted something sour.” Blaine shook his head. “It made me feel ashamed... I’ve never felt that way around her before.”
Kurt petted Blaine’s hair and closed his eyes. “Let me sing to you.”
“What was your favorite song, that your mother sang?”
“I liked a lot of them. Anything Beatles. I could sing “Yellow Submarine.””
Blaine didn’t laugh this time. He probably sensed that Kurt was starting to distance himself from having to talk about his mother.
Kurt circled an arm around his shoulders. “Did your mom sing with you when you were little?”
“In Tagalog. I think she sang a few other songs, but those are the ones I remember.”
“I wonder if she’s jealous,” Kurt whispered. “My mom can’t be jealous of you and never will be. But your mom is here, and I’m the one feeding you soup and singing you to sleep.”
For a moment, Blaine just took deep breaths. “Maybe that was it. But you’re not here to replace her.”
“No, but Carole once said that when new family members are brought together, they get jealous. The new ones take over things that were special between them, thens they did for them, or with them. Like mothers fighting with their sons’ girlfriends. Would it be that much different with a mother and her son’s boyfriend?”
“I hope so.” Blaine rolled onto his side and looked up at Kurt with a pouty lower lip peeking out. “Can you sing to me anyway?”
“I was never going to deny you a song.”
***
Kurt had come down to get Blaine some more cold water and had only seen Blaine’s mother sitting on the sofa on his way back. He paused for a moment, watching her sort through the mail with exquisitely manicured hands and wicked looking letter opener with a shell handle.
“I could give you the recipe to the soup, Mrs. Anderson,” Kurt offered, his voice trespassing into the silence.
“I have plenty of recipes, sweetheart,” she said with a sigh. “Ones that he adores. Ones that are tied to our cultural heritage, and since my daughter is entirely uninterested in anything that would mark her a proper woman aside from an interest in expensive shoes, I will pass on to my bakla son.”
“Okay.” Kurt stared for a moment, then turned back toward the stairs.
“It is not so much your soup that he loves,” she said. Her eyes fixed on the letter she ripped open violently with the letter opener.
Kurt had a vision of her stabbing it into his throat. She was so Lady MacBeth.
She looked up again and tilted her head to the side. “It’s you.” She paused as he continued to stare at her. “It is you that makes him feel better.”
She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Men. And two in the relationship at the same time. Twice as bad.”
Kurt sucked in his cheeks and arched a brow at her sharply. He swallowed and managed frostily, “I’m sorry if I stepped on your toes.”
“I am sorry if I poured out your soup like a jilted thirteen year old.” She pursed her lips, but didn’t sound insincere. “Can I get anything for you boys?”
“No. I can ask Blaine if he needs anything, though.”
“Do. Work knows that my son is ill, and I am working from home this week. I can go out to get whatever you need, and when you have be back for curfew, I will be here for him.” She set down her letter opener. “You know, I can tell myself often as I like that I don’t have anything against gay people. They are part of our culture, after all. You can’t throw a rock back home without hitting parlorista who will throw it right back and insult your outfit. But when my son is in a relationship?” She shook her head as though disappointed in herself. “Call me Gabriela.”
Kurt thought on what she’d said for a moment, then offered, “My dad’s the same way. Dealing with the first boyfriend is hard.”
“And your mother?”
“She died. When I was seven.” He shrugged one shoulder.
Gabriela let her head fall back slightly, then she rose. “I’m very sorry to hear that you lost her, Kurt.”
“Thank you.” Kurt touched the back of his hair. “My stepmother doesn’t mind so much. She likes Blaine.”
Gabriela arched a brow high. “How long has she been in your home?”
“Um... She started dating my dad around this time last year. They got married in November.”
“Not quite the same as watching the baby you nurtured begin adult relationships with someone. However, I am glad she likes him. People don’t always understand him.”
“No. Um.” Kurt bit his lip. “Everyone really likes him, even if my dad is kind of stupidly protective of me.”
“Good,” she murmured, and raked her eyes over him. “I can imagine him being so.”
Kurt hurried back up the stairs, uncomfortable with how she was looking at him. He stopped halfway and looked back at her. “We don’t have to tell Blaine about what happened with the first batch of soup. I’m sure there’s been conflicts untold between mothers and the person their child was dating for centuries.”
He thought he caught a smile on her lips as he jogged back up.
***
Blaine did a twirl, then shimmied his hips. He took a breath, then leaned back on the bed while Kurt clapped his hands.
Blaine chuckled. “I think I’m... I’m done.”
“That’s okay.” Kurt came over to him and kissed his lips. “It was really good.”
“Mmm. Yay. I get kisses again!”
“You get all the kisses. And the snuggles.” Kurt petted his chest. “And... whatever else you want.”
Blaine felt his face flush. In an entirely good way, too. Not like the fever he’d broken a day before. Waking up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat had been a little disorienting. He’d felt twenty pounds lighter.
He threaded his fingers through Kurt’s and watched his lovely, pixieish face looking at him with a mixture of relief and adoration.
“You’re so adorable,” Blaine said.
“Says the handsomest Warbler in the flock,” Kurt replied automatically.
“We’d better cut this out, or I’m going to get sick again from all the sugar.” Blaine grabbed Kurt to him and squeezed.
“You’re still sick,” Kurt admonished. “Make sure to take it easy, okay? I don’t want you relapsing, or catching something else, or... I don’t know. Collapsing down the grand staircase!”
Blaine laughed again and rested his head on Kurt’s shoulder. “Can’t have that, can we?”
“It’s a dangerous set of winding steps! They are precarious.”
“That’s were we met!”
“I almost died, I’ll have you know.”
Blaine coughed a little, then forced himself to hold back his laughter. “I’ll be careful. I may get to go back to school on Monday.”
Kurt nodded and petted over Blaine’s leg slowly.
“I guess I should give you Pav Jr. back.”
“Keep him for a while. He’s good moral support in getting through a lack of energy. And pockmarks.”
Blaine touched Kurt’s chin solemnly. He didn’t know what to say. Although he felt better now, he still wanted Kurt to stay with him for a few hours. Maybe that was selfish. He’d hogged Kurt’s time all week.
“What?” Kurt cupped Blaine’s cheek, so gently.
“Nothing.”
“Oh! You’re going to be getting an influx of feathery visitors soon. I happen to have intel that the Council put in weekend passes for all the Warblers,” Kurt informed him.
“Oh? Are they gonna sing for me?”
Kurt’s eyes lit up, and he leaned in conspiratorially. “They might.”
“I dunno if I want anyone to see me yet.” Blaine cringed. “But I do miss them, even if we got our text on all week.”
“They won’t care about this.” Feather-light fingertips touched his little pocks.
“I know that you don’t, but... could you say again how you-”
“I don’t care about the pockmarks. And they are going to fade because you did not scratch them and I have a great little item on order from Sephora that you can put on them at night, and they will be gone in no time.” Kurt kissed his nose. “But I don’t care. Okay? Honey, I don’t care.”
Blaine looked down and shrugged. “I’m being silly.”
“Do you have any idea how much I would freak out if this were happening to me? You know how particular I am about stuff on my face!”
Blaine smiled again. He looked up as he saw his mother passing through the hallway. She gave them a smile and a wave, but she didn’t come into the room because she was on the phone.
They’d had an odd conversation earlier, and he didn’t really understand it. The gist of it seemed to indicate a shift from distaste for Kurt coming over to concern. Not just for him. Concern for Kurt. He wondered if she thought someone might hurt Kurt, or might hurt him because of Kurt.
As she spoke to Sherry from the office, her eyes were flickering over Kurt’s outfit, which included a bondage style sweater and a skirt with tights. It was both sexy and adorable at the same time... But her words from earlier weren’t wrong.
He does tend to draw attention, doesn’t he?
No malice, just... Her hand had moved to her chest as she thought on it, then her fingers moved to her lips. Ghosts of violence haunted her eyes.
Well, it wasn’t anything that Blaine hadn’t been aware of to begin with, though he wanted to assure her that he and Kurt were safe at Dalton. Kurt had this sense of himself that others didn’t seem to always react well to. For now, they mostly went out after school in their uniforms, and they would deal with other people when they had to. It was too bad that one discomfort had to be replaced with another. If that was the case at all. Maybe it was part of a general, complicated, momish worry for a son that had grown to encompass care for his boyfriend as well.
Blaine flopped back on the bed and pulled Kurt with him. For now, his mother seemed to have been swayed to Team Kurt, and the Warblers loved them both. And they were more than busy honeymooning and finding new things all the time to adore about one another. That was all that mattered.
And most recently, he’d learned that his boyfriend’s soup could cure pretty much anything at all.
Pair: Klaine
Word Count: ~5600
Summary: S2 Post “Original Song,” pre-rest of the season. Blaine falls ill after Regionals, and Kurt wants to return the favor of caring for him. He discovers that the virus might not be his only enemy in the Anderson house.
AN: I have off and on been trying to finish this bugger since April.
Sequel to Cute Things
(Some parts might be easier to understand if this ficlet is read first.)
Dalton’s kitchens were never quiet. There were humming stainless steel refrigerators, buzzing appliances, gossiping chefs. So there was little need to slink around. Kurt just walked in, boldly going where few Daltonites had gone before. The cooks didn’t notice him for almost an hour, as he fluttered around an unused stove top, whistling to himself as he chopped, sauteed, stirred.
There were benefits to being a little baby penguin.
Once he was spotted, he gave the cook an angelic smile, told him exactly what he was doing, and for whom, and the cook helped him find some chervil from the back of the pantry. It would be the perfect addition.
When he’d finished, he packed up the efforts of his labor and thanked the staff, who smiled warmly and wished him luck. It probably didn’t hurt that Blaine was a favorite among the staff as well.
The drive to Blaine’s house wasn’t long. Just long enough for Kurt to start worrying about Blaine again. He’d told him not to give him his coat when they’d been outside the other day in the cold, but Blaine had insisted, ever the gentleman, and reminded Kurt about how sick he’d been before Regionals. And he didn’t want to relapse, did he?
Silly boy.
After spending near to every waking moment with Blaine since The Kiss, the sudden separation when he had left school was jarring. Kurt missed him with an intensity that frightened him. His mind was running away with him now, and he knew it, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how it was his fault that Blaine was sick, and what if he died, and they never had a chance to do more than kiss all over the school, and never had the chance to go on tour together, to fight for the right to get married and anti-bullying legislation and maybe get arrested, and to ask Rachel to help them have adorable babies with Blaine’s curly hair and her attitude?
Kurt pulled up to the Anderson house and wiped his eyes. He took a deep, deep breath, then got out, adjusted his red overcoat, and took the basket of goodies out of his backseat.
“Let’s do this. You can get in anywhere. The cooks helped you find ingredients. The Warblers bought you coffee. The Hipsters thought you were the lead singer’s niece.”
He’d been to the Anderson house once before. It wasn’t a palace, but it was big enough to be a little intimidating, at least to someone who had only lived in spaces that were utterly crammed with life and family. The one time he’d been here, though, Blaine had grabbed something from his room and pulled Kurt out before he could meet anyone besides Monica the Extraordinarily Tall Maid.
With a lively rap on the door, Kurt leaned to the side to peer in one of the large, heavily draped windows. To no avail. He started to knock again, but then he noticed the doorbell.
“You’re right, Blaine. I am the smart one.”
The bell jingled and jangled throughout the house. A moment later, the door opened, and there was Monica.
“Good afternoon.” Kurt’s voice lifted in such nervous cheerfulness that he almost sang the words.
“Afternoon.” Monica frowned for a moment. “I’m sorry. Blaine’s sick.” “I know. I came over to see how he was doing.” Kurt lifted his basket. “I brought Get Well paraphernalia.”
“I don’t know. The Andersons aren’t home right now.”
“All the more reason to let in a little helper to look out for him while you work!”
Monica tilted her head to the side while Kurt looked up at her with big, sad eyes.
“Oh, fine. Don’t wear him out...” She stepped back so he could come in. “And... I wouldn’t advise more contact than necessary.”
Success. He hurried up the stairs to Blaine’s room. There he cracked open the door and peeked inside to see if Blaine was sleeping. His back went ridged.
“Oh. Blaine.”
Blaine was in bed wearing blue pajamas, on his side, poking around on a laptop. That was not a surprise. What was a surprise, however, were the little pink spots all over Blaine’s face, neck, and hands. He looked up and raised his brows.
“No! Kurt!” Blaine exclaimed dramatically. He flopped over and covered his face with his pillow. “Don’t look at me! I’m hideous.”
Kurt didn’t know whether to laugh or glare at Blaine. Then Blaine coughed and Kurt hurried over to his side.
“You have the chickenpox.”
“You have the obvious.” Blaine closed his eyes for a moment, then gazed at Kurt with a smile. His pupils were a little big, and there was a bit of a frown marring his forehead, maybe from a headache. “Thanks for coming. How’d you get past Mama?”
“She wasn’t down there.” Kurt sat on the edge of Blaine’s bed and set his basket on the nightstand. “Now I’m afraid that Sue gave you chickenpox to spite me for failing to join her Regionals conspiracy.”
“Don’t be. I did some songs for the children’s group at my church a coupla weeks before Regionals. Mama thinks that’s where I got it. I mean, how can you say no to a kid who wants a hug?” Blaine lifted his head with interest. “What’d’ja get me?”
“You are a little too energetic. I think you’re faking it, Mister.” Kurt dug into the basket.
“So, are you deliberately dressed as Little Red Riding Hood, or...?”
Kurt smirked. “First off...”
He set the little stuffed penguin next to Blaine.
“Pav Jr.! Aw. But he’s yours.”
“He can visit with you while you’re sick. I’ve already had the chicken pox. Wouldn’t do for you to be lonely.”
Blaine hugged the penguin to him. He coughed again and winced. Kurt placed one hand on Blaine’s head and felt how warm he was.
“How bad is it? Have you seen a doctor?”
“Mama took me. I’ll survive, but I’m out for the count for at least a week.” Blaine pressed his cheek to the penguin. “I’m not sure how the Council is going to survive, to be honest. They must be having a Warble-down by now.”
“You’re really hot.”
“And itchy.” Blaine pouted. “And if I scratch I’ll have ugly scars, and you won’t want to touch me ever, ever again!”
“Have you eaten today?”
“I’ve had juice. And tea.”
“That’s drinking. Not eating.” Kurt reached into the basket again and pulled out two containers. “I’ve not been hungry. Is that Ben and Jerry’s?” Blaine narrowed his eyes. “And what is that?”
Kurt set the ice cream on the nightstand and displayed the warmer container in his hands gracefully. “It’s Boyfriend Soup.”
“You made me soup? As in, you made it? Without a can?”
“You make it sound like witchcraft.” Kurt took off the lid and nodded to Blaine. “Sit up.”
After balancing a bite of porcini mushroom, a few flakey bits of chicken, and brown rice in one spoonful, Kurt held the spoon to Blaine’s lips. Blaine raised one brow, then obediently opened his mouth.
“Mm. Wow.” Blaine swallowed slowly. “Did your mom teach you how to make this?”
Kurt fed him another bite. “I was seven when she died. She taught me to make mac and cheese. This is based off of her recipe, though. Brown rice has more protein and fiber than white. I also don’t think we could have gotten some of the herbs when I was a kid. We can thank Ellis in the kitchen for those.”
“Sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?”
Blaine sucked on the spoon for a second. “When I bring her up, it makes you sad.”
“It’s not all sad.” Kurt brushed some fluffy, unkempt curls out of Blaine’s face. It was cute how disobedient they were without all the gel. Try telling Blaine that, though. Kurt would ween him off his product addiction yet. “Learning to make macaroni and cheese was fun... And after she died, and the people from her church had moved on to the next week’s hard luck case, I made it for dad. You should’ve seen his face when he came home and his little boy had dinner on the table for him.”
Kurt kicked off his shoes and settled himself in the bed next to Blaine. Together they sat in silence as he fed Blaine. Kurt wondered if it had been long since Blaine had last been able to take food. Chickenpox at seventeen was a lot worse than having it at six.
“I think I love Boyfriend Soup.” Blaine’s eyes closed again and he let his head fall backward.
“Eat more.”
“I want to. I don’t think I can. I’m starting to feel weird.”
Kurt set the soup aside and petted Blaine’s hair gently. Blaine went quiet, and Kurt moved onto his side and rubbed Blaine’s chest very gently. When Blaine arched his back and moved into the motion, Kurt stopped.
“Oh, come on,” Blaine groaned.
“I’m not going to help you scratch.”
Blaine sighed. “Ugly, ugly scars.”
“Quit worrying about that. You’d still be the King of the Daltons, scars or no. And you’d still rule me in ways I don’t particularly like to dwell on.”
Blaine chuckled softly.
“Anyway, who but your boyfriend knows exactly what kind of skincare products to use to diminish the scarring? Just focus on getting better.”
“You and your moisturizers.” Blaine sucked in his lower lip. “I missed you. When I was out.”
“Me too. It’s like... they suddenly took away the sun,” Kurt whispered.
Blaine watched Kurt’s face quietly.
“What?”
“Your eyes.” Blaine gave him a dopey grin.
“Your lips,” Kurt countered.
Blaine yawned and curled his body towards Kurt.
“You should try to sleep some more.” His fingers never stopping their caresses of Blaine’s warm forehead and hair, Kurt began to sing softly, “Hey, Blaine. Don’t make it bad-”
Blaine chuckled softly.
“Take a sad song, and make it bet-ter-er. Remember, to let me into your heart, and then you can start... to make it better.”
Relaxing under Kurt’s light touches and gentle voice, Blaine began to breathe more deeply, and his lips parted slightly. Kurt could only watch him. He wryly thought that of course, the reward for singing to church kids was this pain, this fever, this misery. That was how the world worked.
He was sort of amazed and infatuated by how Blaine would never think about it that way. But with Blaine there, curled in the bed with him, the bite was taken out of his musings. The world was bad... but it did have Blaine. And even though he seemed to feel terrible, he was alive.
“Get better, Blaine. The world needs you in it.”
Later, he would wonder how he didn’t hear the heels clicking down the hallway, but in this moment, there were no thoughts whatsoever in Kurt’s mind when a smooth, stern voiced asked, “Excuse me, but who are you?”
Blaine told Kurt that he had the gift of gab. Right now, his wit seemed to have left him. His hand jerked away from Blaine’s neck.
“Um. Kurt.”
“Kurt.” The small but graceful woman with perfectly arched eyebrows and dark hair that fell in waves around her head stepped closer and set her bag down. “From Dalton, Kurt? I assume, from the tie.”
“Yes.” Kurt found his tongue and mentally shoved it back in his mouth. This was Blaine’s mother. Blaine’s gorgeous, olive-skinned mother with the slight accent, who was eyeing Kurt with a look a lot like his own ‘judging you’ look. “I heard that Blaine was sick, and I wanted to come over to help him feel better.”
“That’s sweet,” she said a bit stiffly. “Is... that a penguin?”
“It’s the one Blaine gave me when I had the flu.” Did that sound defensive? He couldn’t get catty. Not with Blaine’s mom. Kurt could feel the heat around his face and neck. He wondered if this was how Blaine felt when under the infamous Hummel Dad gaze.
“Mama?”
The two of them stopped staring at one another and fixed their attention on Blaine.
“I’m here, babe.” She sat on the other side of Blaine. “Are you feeling any better? Did you eat?”
“Yeah. Kurt made me soup, Mama.” He smiled up at his mother through his lashes. “S’good. Did you meet him? This is Kurt.”
“We met. He made you soup?”
“His mom’s recipe.” Blaine smiled over at Kurt.
“I’m glad it’s making you feel a little better, baby. I picked up your medication and a some supplies... so you can take an oatmeal bath a bit later.” She chased Kurt’s hand away and stroked Blaine’s hair. “Do you have enough water?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll put that ice cream in the freezer. Let Monica know if you want it, hm?”
She took his hand and watched her son with such a depth of attention that Kurt felt for a moment that he had become invisible. His breathing stopped as he watched Blaine with his mother.
A heartbeat later she rose, went around to the nightstand, and took the soup and the ice cream out of the room.
“Your mother is beautiful,” Kurt said quietly after a long silence.
“She is. Don’t leave.”
Kurt looked down at Blaine, who had turned to him again. “What?”
“Please? Just for awhile?”
“I’m here as long as you want me.” Kurt placed his hand back on Blaine’s head, then leaned over to kiss his forehead with a feather touch.
“Forever. But I’ll settle for another hour. Or two. Three?”
“Maybe until your mom kicks me out to give you a bath.”
“Aw.”
“But I’ll be back tomorrow,” Kurt promised.
Kurt jogged down the stairs and headed into the kitchen to get the Ben and Jerry’s for Blaine. After grabbing it out of the freezer, he looked around, trying to guess where the utensils would be.
His eyes fixed on the empty soup container by the sink. The rest of the soup had been poured out.
Blood rushed to Kurt’s cheeks, rising with his anger. He rifled through the drawers for a spoon, then stormed out of the kitchen.
On his way back up the stairs, he spotted Blaine’s mother, raising an eyebrow sharply at her, and sucked in his cheeks before looking away angrily. He had to calm himself before going in to talk to Blaine.
“Mama?” Blaine leaned on the bed as he dressed himself. It had been a little embarrassing to need his mother help him in and out of the bath, but the indignity of illness broke down a lot of barriers.
“Yes, Blaine?” She was by the nightstand, setting out his medication.
“Could you bring up some of the soup Kurt made?”
His mother stilled. Blaine looked back at her as she took a breath.
“I’m sorry. When I put it in the refrigerator, it wasn’t secure... It fell out and spilled on the floor.”
“Oh.” Blaine buttoned up his pajama top and crawled into bed.
“Can I get you anything else to eat? I could make you something.”
“No. I’m not that hungry.”
She leaned over him and kissed his forehead. “You should try to eat something. I don’t want you to get weak.”
“I’m just really tired. Maybe I can eat something tomorrow.”
A tear trickled down her cheek, and Blaine reached up to wipe it away. “Mama, it’s just the chicken pox. I’ll be okay.”
“I just... I just want the best for you, baby.” Her lips tightened and she closed her eyes for a moment. “I know you’ll be just fine. I love you. Get some rest.”
Blaine curled over on his side and wished he could steal Kurt away from the school to spend the night with him. He missed the energy of being around everyone at school, but being away from Kurt was the hardest... probably more because of his incurable romanticism than the virus that was beating him up.
He closed his eyes and considered getting his phone and calling Kurt... but now he was actually tired again, and it would suck to fall asleep on him.
Maybe just a moment. Blaine reached for his phone.
“Hey, Kurt?”
The second day Kurt stood outside the Anderson home with a goody basket, he lifted his chin defiantly as he rang the doorbell.
Mrs. Anderson appeared there. Their eyes locked.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Anderson,” Kurt said with a politeness that could cause hypothermia.
“Good afternoon.” She frowned up at him.
“I brought Blaine some more soup. I thought he might be having trouble keeping things down.”
“Not so much.” A chilly silence yawned between them before she spoke again. “One has to actually eat to keep something down. Come in.”
Kurt’s shoulders angled backward in surprise; he hadn’t expected her to actually let him in, but he then followed her into the house.
“He’s upstairs, of course.” Her voice was quiet and proper as she ran her eyes over him.
Kurt did a mental self-check. He wasn’t wearing anything ridiculous, or so he’d thought. He’d just changed into a fitted sweater and jeans. Maybe it was a girl’s sweater, but he didn’t think that was obvious.
Was it?
He nodded to her before heading upstairs without another word and entering Blaine’s room.
Blaine was curled over on his side, eyes half-lidded and face pale. When he spotted Kurt, there were no theatrics. He looked too tired to be silly.
“Oh, honey.” Kurt came to sit by him.
“Your top is fabulous,” Blaine croaked.
“Is it?” Kurt shook his head. “I couldn’t tone it down if I tried.”
“Why would you want to? You look great.” Blaine managed a smile and put his hand on Kurt’s leg.
“I brought some more soup,” Kurt offered. He set the basket on the nightstand and pulled out a thermos. “This should keep it warm, so you can keep it by your bed for when you get hungry.”
“Oh...” Blaine leaned forward as Kurt poured some soup into the lid.
“Eat up.”
Little by little, Kurt was able to feed Blaine some of the soup. When he could eat no more, Kurt secured the thermos and snuggled into the bed with Blaine, holding him on his chest as he hummed “Eleanor Rigby.”
“You have a love affair with The Beatles,” Blaine observed.
“They were my mother’s favorite band,” Kurt offered. He licked his lower lip, then sucked it into his mouth. “She was always singing them around the house.”
“Did you sing together?”
Kurt looked down at Blaine face, still so beautiful despite being marred by pox and pink. “Yes. We sang together... sometimes... And she was into community theatre, so she’d take me along, and sometimes I’d take parts in productions she did. Nothing big, but she enjoyed it.”
“What did you play?”
“Tiny Tim.”
Blaine giggled.
“A teacup. Little boys, mostly.”
“I want pictures.”
Kurt made a scoffing noise. “I’m sure my dad would be happy to provide whatever embarrassing photos he has.”
The sound of Mrs. Anderson’s heels alerted Kurt to her impending presence, and he began to get up.
“Where are you going?” Blaine asked, sounding disappointed.
“I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’m just...” Kurt changed his mind and resettled himself in the bed. His fingers moved over Blaine’s hair, petting and twirling the curls around his fingers. “Sorry.”
“Why?” Blaine turned his head to the doorway as his mother appeared.
“How are you doing? Did you eat?” She leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms.
“Yep. Kurt made me more soup.” Blaine almost sounded proud of him. “I think it was even better thank yesterday.”
Kurt sproinged a curl. “I’m getting my moves down. Also, I think the kitchen staff finds this whole set up so very endearing. I could have done without the illness, though, and just made you lunch.”
When Blaine’s mother chuckled, Kurt was startled, completely unprepared for her to be amused by anything he did or said. It hadn’t even been a joke really. Just smartassedness.
“Told you he was funny, Mama,” Blaine said.
She looked down at her perfect shoes and smiled, guardedly. “It’s always good to have a man around who can make you laugh.”
When she left, Kurt gazed down on his boyfriend once more, then pressed a little kiss to his hair.
“You two are close,” he observed.
“I think so.” Blaine worried his lower lip between his teeth, until Kurt touched his mouth to make him stop.
“Why don’t you talk about her? She obviously means a lot to you.”
“I don’t want to make you miss your mother.”
That earned Blaine another kiss.
“Don’t worry about that. It’s an ache, but it’s not a fresh wound.” He cuddled Blaine to his chest.
“We are close. I’ve always been her baby, and we spent a lot of time together when I was growing up. Even with me at Dalton, when I’m home, we spend evenings together. She doesn’t get out as much since dad left, unless my brother comes home for the weekend.” Blaine paused pensively and touched Kurt’s hand. “I don’t think I’d ever get over it, if something happened to her.”
Kurt interlocked their fingers. “You wouldn’t. That kind of loss leaves a hole in you.”
Blaine nodded, watching Kurt with a sympathetic frown.
“But the funny thing is, even if it feels like you can’t go on living with parts of yourself ripped away, you find... You’re stronger than you thought. And she’s the reason you have that strength.”
Blaine smiled and snuggled into Kurt. “That’s kind of beautiful.”
Kurt shrugged. “I’m glad you have her.”
“I think...” Blaine licked his lips. “Has Mama said anything to you?”
“We haven’t really spoken.” Kurt waited as Blaine went quiet. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I told her earlier that your soup had magical healing properties, and she laughed.”
Kurt smiled.
“But then she twisted her mouth, like she’d tasted something sour.” Blaine shook his head. “It made me feel ashamed... I’ve never felt that way around her before.”
Kurt petted Blaine’s hair and closed his eyes. “Let me sing to you.”
“What was your favorite song, that your mother sang?”
“I liked a lot of them. Anything Beatles. I could sing “Yellow Submarine.””
Blaine didn’t laugh this time. He probably sensed that Kurt was starting to distance himself from having to talk about his mother.
Kurt circled an arm around his shoulders. “Did your mom sing with you when you were little?”
“In Tagalog. I think she sang a few other songs, but those are the ones I remember.”
“I wonder if she’s jealous,” Kurt whispered. “My mom can’t be jealous of you and never will be. But your mom is here, and I’m the one feeding you soup and singing you to sleep.”
For a moment, Blaine just took deep breaths. “Maybe that was it. But you’re not here to replace her.”
“No, but Carole once said that when new family members are brought together, they get jealous. The new ones take over things that were special between them, thens they did for them, or with them. Like mothers fighting with their sons’ girlfriends. Would it be that much different with a mother and her son’s boyfriend?”
“I hope so.” Blaine rolled onto his side and looked up at Kurt with a pouty lower lip peeking out. “Can you sing to me anyway?”
“I was never going to deny you a song.”
Kurt had come down to get Blaine some more cold water and had only seen Blaine’s mother sitting on the sofa on his way back. He paused for a moment, watching her sort through the mail with exquisitely manicured hands and wicked looking letter opener with a shell handle.
“I could give you the recipe to the soup, Mrs. Anderson,” Kurt offered, his voice trespassing into the silence.
“I have plenty of recipes, sweetheart,” she said with a sigh. “Ones that he adores. Ones that are tied to our cultural heritage, and since my daughter is entirely uninterested in anything that would mark her a proper woman aside from an interest in expensive shoes, I will pass on to my bakla son.”
“Okay.” Kurt stared for a moment, then turned back toward the stairs.
“It is not so much your soup that he loves,” she said. Her eyes fixed on the letter she ripped open violently with the letter opener.
Kurt had a vision of her stabbing it into his throat. She was so Lady MacBeth.
She looked up again and tilted her head to the side. “It’s you.” She paused as he continued to stare at her. “It is you that makes him feel better.”
She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Men. And two in the relationship at the same time. Twice as bad.”
Kurt sucked in his cheeks and arched a brow at her sharply. He swallowed and managed frostily, “I’m sorry if I stepped on your toes.”
“I am sorry if I poured out your soup like a jilted thirteen year old.” She pursed her lips, but didn’t sound insincere. “Can I get anything for you boys?”
“No. I can ask Blaine if he needs anything, though.”
“Do. Work knows that my son is ill, and I am working from home this week. I can go out to get whatever you need, and when you have be back for curfew, I will be here for him.” She set down her letter opener. “You know, I can tell myself often as I like that I don’t have anything against gay people. They are part of our culture, after all. You can’t throw a rock back home without hitting parlorista who will throw it right back and insult your outfit. But when my son is in a relationship?” She shook her head as though disappointed in herself. “Call me Gabriela.”
Kurt thought on what she’d said for a moment, then offered, “My dad’s the same way. Dealing with the first boyfriend is hard.”
“And your mother?”
“She died. When I was seven.” He shrugged one shoulder.
Gabriela let her head fall back slightly, then she rose. “I’m very sorry to hear that you lost her, Kurt.”
“Thank you.” Kurt touched the back of his hair. “My stepmother doesn’t mind so much. She likes Blaine.”
Gabriela arched a brow high. “How long has she been in your home?”
“Um... She started dating my dad around this time last year. They got married in November.”
“Not quite the same as watching the baby you nurtured begin adult relationships with someone. However, I am glad she likes him. People don’t always understand him.”
“No. Um.” Kurt bit his lip. “Everyone really likes him, even if my dad is kind of stupidly protective of me.”
“Good,” she murmured, and raked her eyes over him. “I can imagine him being so.”
Kurt hurried back up the stairs, uncomfortable with how she was looking at him. He stopped halfway and looked back at her. “We don’t have to tell Blaine about what happened with the first batch of soup. I’m sure there’s been conflicts untold between mothers and the person their child was dating for centuries.”
He thought he caught a smile on her lips as he jogged back up.
Blaine did a twirl, then shimmied his hips. He took a breath, then leaned back on the bed while Kurt clapped his hands.
Blaine chuckled. “I think I’m... I’m done.”
“That’s okay.” Kurt came over to him and kissed his lips. “It was really good.”
“Mmm. Yay. I get kisses again!”
“You get all the kisses. And the snuggles.” Kurt petted his chest. “And... whatever else you want.”
Blaine felt his face flush. In an entirely good way, too. Not like the fever he’d broken a day before. Waking up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat had been a little disorienting. He’d felt twenty pounds lighter.
He threaded his fingers through Kurt’s and watched his lovely, pixieish face looking at him with a mixture of relief and adoration.
“You’re so adorable,” Blaine said.
“Says the handsomest Warbler in the flock,” Kurt replied automatically.
“We’d better cut this out, or I’m going to get sick again from all the sugar.” Blaine grabbed Kurt to him and squeezed.
“You’re still sick,” Kurt admonished. “Make sure to take it easy, okay? I don’t want you relapsing, or catching something else, or... I don’t know. Collapsing down the grand staircase!”
Blaine laughed again and rested his head on Kurt’s shoulder. “Can’t have that, can we?”
“It’s a dangerous set of winding steps! They are precarious.”
“That’s were we met!”
“I almost died, I’ll have you know.”
Blaine coughed a little, then forced himself to hold back his laughter. “I’ll be careful. I may get to go back to school on Monday.”
Kurt nodded and petted over Blaine’s leg slowly.
“I guess I should give you Pav Jr. back.”
“Keep him for a while. He’s good moral support in getting through a lack of energy. And pockmarks.”
Blaine touched Kurt’s chin solemnly. He didn’t know what to say. Although he felt better now, he still wanted Kurt to stay with him for a few hours. Maybe that was selfish. He’d hogged Kurt’s time all week.
“What?” Kurt cupped Blaine’s cheek, so gently.
“Nothing.”
“Oh! You’re going to be getting an influx of feathery visitors soon. I happen to have intel that the Council put in weekend passes for all the Warblers,” Kurt informed him.
“Oh? Are they gonna sing for me?”
Kurt’s eyes lit up, and he leaned in conspiratorially. “They might.”
“I dunno if I want anyone to see me yet.” Blaine cringed. “But I do miss them, even if we got our text on all week.”
“They won’t care about this.” Feather-light fingertips touched his little pocks.
“I know that you don’t, but... could you say again how you-”
“I don’t care about the pockmarks. And they are going to fade because you did not scratch them and I have a great little item on order from Sephora that you can put on them at night, and they will be gone in no time.” Kurt kissed his nose. “But I don’t care. Okay? Honey, I don’t care.”
Blaine looked down and shrugged. “I’m being silly.”
“Do you have any idea how much I would freak out if this were happening to me? You know how particular I am about stuff on my face!”
Blaine smiled again. He looked up as he saw his mother passing through the hallway. She gave them a smile and a wave, but she didn’t come into the room because she was on the phone.
They’d had an odd conversation earlier, and he didn’t really understand it. The gist of it seemed to indicate a shift from distaste for Kurt coming over to concern. Not just for him. Concern for Kurt. He wondered if she thought someone might hurt Kurt, or might hurt him because of Kurt.
As she spoke to Sherry from the office, her eyes were flickering over Kurt’s outfit, which included a bondage style sweater and a skirt with tights. It was both sexy and adorable at the same time... But her words from earlier weren’t wrong.
He does tend to draw attention, doesn’t he?
No malice, just... Her hand had moved to her chest as she thought on it, then her fingers moved to her lips. Ghosts of violence haunted her eyes.
Well, it wasn’t anything that Blaine hadn’t been aware of to begin with, though he wanted to assure her that he and Kurt were safe at Dalton. Kurt had this sense of himself that others didn’t seem to always react well to. For now, they mostly went out after school in their uniforms, and they would deal with other people when they had to. It was too bad that one discomfort had to be replaced with another. If that was the case at all. Maybe it was part of a general, complicated, momish worry for a son that had grown to encompass care for his boyfriend as well.
Blaine flopped back on the bed and pulled Kurt with him. For now, his mother seemed to have been swayed to Team Kurt, and the Warblers loved them both. And they were more than busy honeymooning and finding new things all the time to adore about one another. That was all that mattered.
And most recently, he’d learned that his boyfriend’s soup could cure pretty much anything at all.
