Fic: In Sickness & In Health
Media: Fic
Rating: PG
Pairings: Kurt/Blaine
Spoilers (if any): n/a
Warnings (if any): n/a
Word Count: around 1400
Summary: But he's not sick. He refuses to believe he might be sick. Kurt Hummel? Never sick.
Author’s Note (if any): This has been sitting in my drafts for over a month, needing a little bit of editing and rewriting. Finally got inspired to finish it up! Thanks to gameboycolor for looking it over for me <3
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Kurt feels crummy. More crummy, he's certain, than he's ever felt in his entire life. He's got a fever of 101º, a scratchy throat, and everything just plain hurts. His head, his joints, even his skin feels like it's crying. And to top it all off? Judging by the way it keeps lurching up into his throat he can only assume that someone has decided to turn his stomach into a trampoline testing facility.
It is not a pleasant feeling.
But he's not sick. He refuses to believe he might be sick. Kurt Hummel? Never sick.
So he goes to school despite this overall feeling of being a walking version of the plague. He sits through each class with his elbow propped up on the desk and his chin in his hand, focusing on simply existing until the bell rings and he is forced to trudge through the halls again. By lunch time he feels worse than ever and is exhausted to boot. Eating does not seem even remotely appealing. Food. Ugh. Gross.
Skipping the meal seems like a good idea. Instead, he decides to sneak in a nap, curled up in the back seat of the Navigator.
That's where Blaine finds him. Kurt hears a tapping on the window, interrupting his light doze and forcing him to crack open a bleary, reluctant eye. Oh. He sits up and puts in the strenuous effort it takes to lean over and unlock the door before collapsing back on the seat in an undignified heap.
"What?" he croaks as Blaine enters, gaze focused on the ceiling instead of the worried crease in his boyfriend's brow.
"I couldn't find you at lunch," Blaine explains. "I was worried."
This is one of the main problems brought upon one when sick (which Kurt is decidedly not, for the record). People start to get all fussy. Kurt grunts. "M'fine," he insists, rolling on his side with a heavy sigh so he can meet the other boy's gaze with his best attempt at an appearance of total health. He doesn't need a mirror to let him know that it is not entirely convincing. "Just not hungry. Sleepy. I was up late last night."
"You went to bed at 9:30, Kurt. You always text me goodnight, remember?"
Damn it. "It felt later...?" he tries, eyebrows raised hopefully. "And I tossed and turned so, yes. Still sleepy."
Blaine's eyes narrow. It's clear that he's not buying this. "You're sick," he states with authority, and reaches out to press a hand to Kurt's forehead.
Kurt bats it away. "Am not. I'm never sick."
"Well you are now. Kurt, you're burning up!"
It's becoming obvious that Blaine has every intention of being difficult about this. Kurt suppresses a frustrated groan.
"So m'a little warm!" he grouses, eyelids fluttering shut once more. Looking healthy takes more energy than he's got right now. "So what? I was, um... running. It's important to get in some exercise every once in a while, you know. For health and, um, stuff. Also why I'm tired."
Quite a brilliant bit of quick thinking, he thinks, but Blaine just rolls his eyes.
"Running," he repeats flatly. "In those pants? I mean, they look great." Blaine is seventeen years old and can't be blamed for the way his eyes flit over Kurt's figure momentarily. Kurt can't blame him either. These pants do look great. "But you always complain that you can barely sit down when you wear them. I sincerely doubt you managed to run."
Kurt swears under his breath and forces his eyes open, but only so he can shoot a glare in Blaine's direction. If looks could kill, Blaine would be a corpse right now. "Who died and made you the exercise police?" Kurt grumbles. "I'm... okay, I might be a tiny bit under the weather. But I can handle it, all right? Now go away." He flaps his hands, shooing Blaine towards the door. "I only have fifteen more minutes and then I have to get up and go to class."
"No you don't." Blaine isn't moving. "Give me your keys."
"What? Why?!"
"So I can drive you home dummy." He holds out his hand with a no-nonsense expression on his face, and Kurt knows he's not going to be able to talk his way out of this one. It's weird, because usually he is the one directing such looks at Blaine, but Kurt knows better than anyone how stubborn his boyfriend can be. It's a trait they have in common. "You need to rest," Blaine further insists.
Kurt sighs, but honestly? Fighting this is more trouble than it’s worth. "Fiiiine," he sighs, reluctantly fishing in his pocket and handing over his car keys.
Once he's home he has to admit (to himself, he won't admit it to Blaine, not yet) that he's relieved he doesn't have to force himself through the rest of the day. He somehow finds the strength to pull himself upstairs where he strips off his boots and obscenely tight blue jeans. He pulls on a pair of faded sweats and a ratty old t-shirt before flopping, face first, onto his bed.
...Only to let out a startled, embarrassed squeak a few minutes later when Blaine walks in toting a tray of tea and toast. "You - you... I thought you left!" He exclaims, cheeks red as he quickly scurries under the covers. He likes to think he exudes the air of a person who sleeps in something sleek and luxurious and most definitely designer instead of, well, this. He doesn't want to shatter the illusion. It's too early in the relationship for that.
Blaine, however, doesn't even seem to notice. He just rolls his eyes and sets the tray on Kurt's bedside table. "Don't be silly," he tuts. "I wouldn't leave you here alone in this condition."
"But I'm disgusting!!" Kurt laments, dramatically flailing his arms in defeat. This is just not his day, it's never going to be his day. He may as well accept it. "I am disgusting, and I'm horrible company. I'm this close to falling asleep again, I hope you realize that."
"Oh no you're not," Blaine wags an admonishing finger in his face (Kurt glares at it, but Blaine doesn't seem to care) before motioning towards the toast. "You're going to eat first. I know you don't feel well, but you're not going to get any better unless you keep your strength up."
Kurt mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously close to 'you're not the boss of me', but begrudgingly complies. Blaine perches on the edge of the mattress as Kurt nibbles his way through a slice and a half of toast and drinks an entire mugful of tea.
He does feel a lot better when he's done, but you won't catch him admitting it anytime soon. That'd make Blaine far too happy. "Can I go to sleep now?"
Mr. Bossy Pants seems satisfied for the time being. He nods and moves to take the tray again. "I'll just clean this stuff up."
Kurt stops him with a hand on his arm before he quite realizes what he's doing. "No, wait! I..." he blushes and ducks his head, peeking sheepishly up at Blaine through his eyelashes. Maybe he should have been nicer about all of this. Blaine really is trying to help, and when it comes right down to it, Kurt doesn't want him to go. "Stay with me? Please? Just until I fall asleep."
Blaine's expression softens and he nods, mouth tilting up in a smile full of indulgent affection. "Of course."
Kurt relaxes and closes his eyes, leaning back against the pillows. "Thanks," he mumbles, already feeling pleasantly drowsy and not-quite-there. "You're nice. I think I'll keep you."
He feels the mattress dip as Blaine lays down beside him, scooting in close and wrapping his arms around Kurt's waist. Ah, cuddles. They really are the best medicine. "I'm glad to hear that." Kurt, distantly, feels lips pressed softly to his temple. "I want to keep you, too."
"Yaaay," Kurt whispers, and slips contentedly into sleep.