GLEE: His Hair is Dreamy
title: His Hair is Dreamy
author: infraredphaeton
summary: Eric takes Rachel out. Kurt hangs with his girls. Everyone asks Pratik for musical advice.
warnings: fillerrrrr. OCs. mentions of suicide (jokingly)
rating: PG-13
A/N: next time, we should get some actual movement. My apologies, guys. It's a little filler-y.
“Wow...La Grande Forchette- this place has three Michelin stars, doesn’t it?” Rachel blinked, and Eric nodded, smirking.
“It’s the best vegetarian restaurant in the Midwest. There’s a very good vegan section, from what I’ve heard,” the ginger headed for the maitre de, pulling out his wallet.
“Reservation for two, under Lennhardt.”
La Grande Forchette was a very upmarket restaurant, all midnight blue velvet and white linen tablecloths, and Rachel felt a little under dressed in her polka dot dress and pumps as she followed Eric (who somehow seemed completely at ease in a plaid shirt, black jeans and a slightly too big blazer) and the tuxedo wearing maitre de to a table.
“One minute, sir, madam, I’ll get a candle for the table,” he said, and bowed as he left.
Eric pulled out her chair for her with a nervous smile, and she smiled back.
Rachel sat, tossing her hair back over her shoulder, and picked up a menu. So what if she was wearing a thirty dollar dress instead of a designer silk sheath? She was Rachel Berry, and that meant that even if she’d been wearing a tunic fashioned out of a bin bag, everyone else would have to be lucky to even approach her level of stylish perfection.
As she perused the menu (all in French, confusingly), Eric scrambled around to sit opposite her, watching her as she read.
“So, Eric. Tell me about how you guys are doing at Dalton.”
“Which guys?” Eric asked, “Because Lee’s moved back to Ireland and Jim is in mourning, Hummel’s trying to get used to Jim not lurking around every corner with sarcastic comments, and I think that wanna- uh, Harry- has decided to hang himself with his Doctor Who scarf.”
“Interesting,” Rachel put down the menu and folded her hands on top of it, “so things aren’t all perfect in Warbler land? Tell me more.”
Eric licked his lips, grey eyes wide, and edged his chair closer to the table.
---
“Ah, Ryan.” Dr. Kadzower, the vice principal at Dalton Academy, leaned into the choir room and smiled his most plastic smile.
“Yes?” Ryan Matthews, music teacher and choir leader, asked, taking off his reading glasses and looking up from the sheet music for King of The Mountain.
“I just want to make sure, your boys are ready for the big performance on Saturday, right?”
“Ah. That would be the...” Mr. Matthews trailed off.
“The prospective donors and alumni association dinner. The Obamas are coming.” Dr. Kadzower filled in, frowning, “You were at the staff meeting, right?”
“Of course,” Mr. Matthews lied, he’d had a headache and ducked out early, leaving the drama teacher, Anthony Carson, to remind him of any important items.
“Great. Well, the headmaster wants a rehearsal at the end of the week. You will be ready, right?”
“Oh, yes. Of course. Don’t worry about it,” he smiled, and waved Dr. Kadzower off. As soon as the other man left the room, he lunged for the intercom phone and dialled the senior commons.
---
Blaine jumped on the phone as soon as it rang.
His phone had run out of credit for the week, and he was expecting a call from Kurt setting up their next date, as he had gone back to Lima for the weekend. They hadn't decided what to do yet, and Wes and David's suggestions had been less than helpful.
"Can he come play with us again?"
"He's a pretty awesome spy," Wes agreed.
"SPAH!" David trumpeted, and Wes slapped the back of his head.
"That joke is getting old."
"That joke will never be old," David sulked, rubbing the back of his head.
"Stop acting like that hurt." Wes said, and flicked David's ear, "or I'll tell Miranda that she's a lesbian now."
"What?"
"Because she's dating a girl."
"Anyway," Blaine interrupted smoothly, "I need a place to take Kurt out to. Somewhere really nice.”
“What, you haven’t been putting in any effort up until now?” David asked, raising an eyebrow.
Anyway, that was why Blaine jumped on the phone, and answered with a suave, "Hey."
"Blaine? Is that you?"
"Mr. Matthews?" Blaine blinked.
"The very same. Can you get those Warblers who are around to come to the choir room? We're having an emergency rehearsal."
"An emergency rehearsal? Why?"
"I'll tell you all. I want you guys up here within ten minutes!"
"Yes sir!" Blaine agreed, and hung up.
"Did you just call Kurt sir?" David asked, raising an eyebrow, “That is not normal.”.
"No, Mr. Matthews just called. We need all the Warblers in the choir room within the next ten minutes," Blaine explained, "so. Eric!"
The crazy ginger haired boy writhed out from where he'd been lying under one of the couches, counting the springs.
“What do you want?”
“I need you to go-”
“What’s the password?” Eric asked, eyes widening scarily.
“...There is no password, Eric.”
“You’ve been compromised!”
"I'm not compromised, Eric. Go get Liam and Harry and meet me in the choir room, as soon as possible."
"You're not my boss." Eric complained, standing up slowly and brushing off his slacks.
"Yes I am. I'm the main soloist. Go!" Blaine nodded.
Eric rolled his eyes and saluted jokingly, stumbling out of the commons like he'd just been hit by a tranq dart.
"Alright, that's four...plus us, three. Guys, go find some more people?" Blaine turned to David and Wes. David pouted at the thought of being roused from his Wes-pillow.
"I'll take West wing, David, you take East. Blaine, we'll meet you in the choir room." Wes ordered, chivvying David up and off him and the couch.
"You're the best, guys. I'll hit the cafeteria." Blaine smiled, patting them both of the shoulder.
"We do like it when you admit you like us," David nodded, and the trio split up.
There was a group of five guys sitting in the cafeteria when Blaine skidded through the doors- Harry, Pratik, who was struggling with The Great Gatsby, Gary, who was writing frantically in a D&D sourcebook, and Jim, who was shoeless and poking Gary in the ribs whenever he stopped petting the blond.
"Guys, emergency Warblers meeting! Mr. Matthews wants us upstairs." Blaine called, and Harry nodded, beginning to usher the other guys up and out.
“What if I don’t want to go?” Jim asked, crossing his arms.
“Then you get cut off, love,” Gary said calmly, picking up his books.
“...Hurry up, Gary, we’re going to be late.”
---
By the time the Warblers were assembled in the choir room, Blaine only just made Mr. Matthews’ ten minute deadline.
He skidded in, and almost fell into Wes’ lap. Which would have been uncomfortable, because David was already leaning against his knee.
"Good job, Blaine. Impressive turn out." Mr. Matthews smiled at him briefly, but not as long as he usually would. "Boys! I want everybody's attention!"
The soft murmuring that had filled the room stopped.
"So, it turns out that we have a gig. Not paid, of course. We're an amateur group, and we need to keep that status to participate this year." Mr. Matthews explained.
"What's the gig?" Jim asked. He was sitting on the floor, up against the wall, leaning against Gary as his boyfriend continued to read, his sourcebook propped open on his knees.
"We're playing for the prospective donors and our alumni at the big dinner on Saturday!"
"...Isn't President Obama going to be there?" Wes frowned, "Mr. Nashmun made a big deal out of it at assembly."
"Yes. Yes, he is." Mr. Matthews said, smiling soothingly.
“We haven’t rehearsed anything properly, though," Pratik said quietly, "We have Teenage Dream, which isn't really suitable for a formal occasion, same with Hot N Cold. Drops of Jupiter is good, but unpolished, and Life on Mars is good, but not fantastic yet. And we haven't even started that new song. What're we going to perform?"
"Ah. Well, I was going to take a leaf out of one of our competitor’s books, for that one," Mr. Matthews said, "The Glee Club over in Lima. They often split their club up, and do several numbers a week. That means, when they get to competitive events, like sectionals and regionals, they have a lot of options, of lots of different numbers. And at least half the club has it perfectly, and is able to help the others.
"So I was thinking we could do something similar. We have several pieces from America we've got down, an English piece, and we're working on an Australian one. So I thought we could do an international themed competition. Add that to our competition winners’ duet, and we should have a pretty fun setlist!"
Blaine put his hand up.
"No, Blaine, Katy Perry doesn't count."
Blaine's hand went down.
"I want artists I haven't heard before! But, please, keep it in English." Mr. Matthews smiled, "So, guys? Good idea?"
"I've heard worse," Jim admitted grudgingly, crossing his arms.
"We have to keep this under wraps, guys," Eric announced from on top of the piano, "if McKinley finds out we're copying their technique, it's curtains for us."
"I don't think we'll be murdered, Eric," Liam said soothingly.
"Double oh Adorable would stop them," David agreed.
"And I could totally take that Berry girl. She has fury, but I have technique." Wes said, flexing his arms.
“He knows Krav Maga,” David confided, “also capoeira.”
"Honestly, guys. It's show choir, not life or death," Blaine said, crossing his arms, "and the McKinley group are perfectly reasonable. It's not like they have a copy right on splitting up the group for practice."
"You have to say that," Eric said, eyes narrowed, "your boyfriend is one of them."
"He doesn’t even go there anymore!" Blaine hissed.
"Anyway!" Mr Matthews interrupted them, "I think three groups sounds good- Blaine, you head group one, Jim, group two, Harry, group three. Get to it guys. I want results by Wednesday. And keep it appropriate. Harry, that means stick to milder classic rock."
"Yes, Mr. Matthews," Harry agreed glumly, collecting five of his friends.
"Wes, David, you're with me." Blaine called, and pointed out three other Warblers.
"As if I'd try and take them away," Jim sniffed, "They'd waste away. They'd pine. They'd spend all their time with their faces pressed to the window, wondering where you were."
"He's right, you know," David said, "We are unhealthily codependent."
"It's only unhealthy if we get separated," Wes corrected him firmly, "which we won't."
"Liam's mine, by the way," JIm announced.
"I’m not going to fight you for him." Blaine said.
"Your loss," Jim smiled cheerily, hanging on the taller boy’s arm as he collected the last few Warblers, "And, by the way, I call dibs on America."
"What? Mr. Matthews, you said no America!"
"I said no Katy Perry. Blaine, there is a limit to how much we can stand," Mr. Matthews corrected gently.
"So yes, dibs on America," Jim declared, "and if I know anything about Harry, he wants England."
"I guess I'll take Australia, then." Blaine nodded.
"No Kylie, Blaine."
Blaine tossed his head dramatically, "Kylie is no substitute for Katy, Mr. Matthews. I'll find something original."
"Work hard, boys! This is very important!" Mr. Matthews called after the retreating groups.
"Mr. Matthews?"
"Huh? Yes, Eric?"
"...Nobody picked me." Eric said, looking sad. He swung his legs where they dangled above the ground, and picked at the edge of his red sweater vest.
“Again. Why doesn’t anyone ever pick me?” His lip began to wobble, and his eyes teared up.
Mr. Matthews sighed and walked over, putting an arm around his shoulders.
“Don’t worry, kiddo. Let’s go get some jello, and we’ll figure something out.”
Eric hopped off the piano, sniffing a little, “I like jello.”
“I know, Eric.” Mr. Matthews smiled, and guided him out of the room.
---
"So, I called yesterday," Kurt said, "you didn't answer."
"Sorry. Emergency Warblers meeting." Blaine said, smiling, even though he knew that the majority of its charm was lost over a phone line. It was worth a try, anyway.
"Oh. I know what that's like. Rachel was always calling for emergency meetings. It's a major pain. So, do I need to rush back to Dalton and learn more Katy Perry?"
“No, no, we can catch you up on Monday. Enjoy your weekend.”
“Hit X to not die, Wes! Hit X!” David hissed, grabbing his friend’s arm.
“Stupid quicktime events,” Wes growled, mashing buttons. Blaine kicked him so he’d shut up, but it just made the other boy let out a wounded noise.
"Yeah. Not for us, so much." Blaine said, curling the telephone cord around his finger as he talked, "I was wondering, what are you doing on Saturday night?"
Wes rubbed his arm, mock-glaring at Blaine.
"...Nothing. I'm free."
"Great," Blaine said. His mouth then got stuck, before he could finish his question.
Wes paused the game he and David were switching off on, and leaned over, taking the telephone from him.
"Hey Kurt!"
"...Hi, Wes?"
"Blaine wants to ask you out on Saturday. Is that good with you?"
"Tell him I'd be delighted. And also that he really should get over his inability to talk to me, as we’re actually dating now."
"He'd be delighted, Blaine," Wes said, and went back to the phone, "he wants to take you to that roller rink near your place, and then out for dinner."
"Tell him that sounds great." Kurt said, muffling laughter.
"He says that sounds great, Blaine." Wes said to Blaine, "Alright, Kurt, I'm putting Blaine back on."
"Alright. Bye, Wes."
"See ya, double oh sweetheart." Wes grinned.
Wes passed the phone back to Blaine, and un-paused the game, beginning to button mash once more.
"David, am I not the best friend in the world?"
"You're totally awesome."
They fist bumped.
---
"So. Yeah. Rollerskating, then dinner?" Blaine said, trying to recover from Wes' sabotage.
"Well, I have Saturday night dinner with my family."
"Oh. No big deal. No, it's fine. Really. Family comes first," Blaine denied, and Wes patted him on the shoulder in a conciliatory yet manly way.
"I'd like to go skating with you, though?"
"Great!"
"...In fact, if you're not in a hurry, maybe you'd like to eat dinner with my family?" Kurt offered.
Blaine pulled the phone away from him, and turned to Wes and David, who had totally given up on the game and were watching him.
"He's offered if I want to meet his family?"
"You want to meet his family." David told him. Wes nodded.
Blaine pulled the phone back towards him, "Yes. That sounds good."
"Oh, great! Alright, well, I'll text you, okay?"
"Okay.”
"Bye, Blaine!"
"Bye, Kurt."
Blaine hung up, looking slightly shell shocked.
"Are you alright?" Wes asked.
"I. I'm going to meet his family?" Blaine asked the room at large, "Is that normal?"
"Yes. Calm down. That's normal. It has to happen eventually."
"Does eventually have to be now, though?"
"Simple answer: Yes." David said, "Don't worry about it. How did Kurt sound? Pissed you didn't answer yesterday?"
"No...Just, very put together. And confident. And..." Blaine trailed off, "How does he always keep his cool?"
"Oh man, he's probably asking his friends that right now, you realise?" Wes snorted.
---
“...I mean, I didn’t even know teenage boys could be that suave!” Kurt finished, waving a hand around in an airy circle.
“Oh yeah. Your problems are so tough. Your boyfriend is too caring and suave and wants to meet your parents.” Tina said, checking her dark blue nail polish for chips, “And I bet you won’t be eating Chinese food.”
"Yeah, you guys have such huge problems," Mercedes said, flicking an impatient hand at Kurt. He shook his head and picked up the file he'd been using to give her a manicure.
"Look, it's going to be the first time I’ve ever taken someone home to meet Dad. And you know he's crazy protective. I don't want to scare Blaine off."
"If Burt scares him off, he's a wimp," Mercedes said, "Your dad is a giant teddy bear."
"To you, yes, because you're a girl, and I'm gay. If you were a boy, you would have entered the house to see Dad lovingly polishing his shotgun or something."
"He has a shotgun?"
"I think he bought one in anticipation for this day." Kurt said glumly, rounding off Mercedes’ ring finger's nail.
"That's cute. My Dad never did that," Tina said meditatively, brushing hard coat over the new layer of dark blue, "I think he knew I was dating Mike before I did. My mom definitely did."
"Okay, honestly, as much as I love you both, no bitching about how hard having a love life is." Mercedes decreed.
“Hey, I heard some rumours about you and Sam,” Kurt raised an eyebrow, and Mercedes rolled her eyes.
“Stick to your own boy, boy.”
“I am perfectly happy with my own boy,” Kurt said, “in case you hadn’t noticed, he’s kind of amazing.”
"Damn straight. Have you seen that boy's ass?" Tina giggled.
"I may have noticed, yes." Kurt smiled cunningly, tapping the file against his chin, "And his hair."
"His hair is dreamy," Tina agreed.
"You did not just say dreamy," Mercedes denied, "you are better person than that, Tina Cohen-Chang."
"Okay, fine. His hair looks very touchable."
Kurt smiled and nodded.
Mercedes looked at Kurt's iPhone, which was sitting in the middle of their triangle, propped up by nail care supplies.
"He may be a little over suave, but I think that's just his M.O." Mercedes shrugged, "It's not a bad thing, is it?"
"No! Of course not. He kind of reminds me of Gene Kelly from Singing in The Rain," Kurt said.
Tina smiled, blowing on her nails, and sang, "Good morning! Good morning! It's great to stay up late!"
Kurt smiled back, joining in, "Good morning, good morning, to you!"
"Oh great. Musical sing-a-long time," Mercedes rolled her eyes.
"You know you love it," Tina smiled, and Kurt gestured Mercedes to join in.
"Good morning, good morning, to yooooo-uuuu!" Mercedes sang, adding a run to the end.
Kurt wolf whistled.
"Who wants to watch the movie?" Tina asked, scrambling off Kurt's bed and flattening the puff of her cream lace skirt.
"I have the digitally remastered version on DVD," Kurt said, and Mercedes shrugged.
"What the hell, I can live through it."
"And that is why you are my favourite," Kurt said, kissing her on the cheek, "now, are we doing french manicure, or something brighter?"
"How is that even a question, boy?"
"Right, I found this perfect opalescent maroon that will look fabulous with your new scarf."
Tina grinned and headed for Kurt's shelf of DVDs.
---
"So, we are trying to find a song by an Australian band, that is not Kylie Minogue, and is imaginative and interesting and will destroy our competition." Blaine announced, pacing their dorm room. Wes and David were lounging on Wes' bed, David's head propped up on Wes' stomach, while Gary and Nick were sitting on David's.
"Destroy the competition?" Nick asked, raising his eyebrow.
"This is important!"
"Dude, chill. You sound like Eric," Gary said, lifting his hands in surrender.
Blaine sighed, and fell onto his bed.
"Sorry guys. I just...I really want to get this sorted quickly."
"So you can call double oh adorable, and make up for standing him up on the phone earlier?" Wes asked.
"Is there a word for that?" David frowned, "Standing someone up on the phone?"
"Irrelevant!" Blaine said, "Does anyone know anything about Australian music?"
"Does it have to be Australian?" Nick asked, flicking through his iPod.
"Well, no. But it can't be English or American, and it has to be in English."
"Hmm. I'll think about it." Nick's eyes stayed glued to the iPod.
"This would be so much easier if we could just use Katy Perry," Blaine complained, tucking his hands under his head.
"There is a limit to how much Katy Perry the straight male can survive," David said, rolling his eyes.
"Then what happens? Do you explode in a fountain of confetti?"
"And rainbows. Occasionally unicorns." Wes elaborated.
Nick sniggered.
Gary, who was clicking through wikipedia and youtube so quickly they only heard a bar of music at a time, suddenly shouted, "Eureka!"
"Have you got something?" Blaine asked, shooting to his feet.
"I think so? Some eighties band called The Church. Very acoustic and mellow, lots of layered voices. I think it'll transition well." Gary nodded, and played the video.
They sat in silence and listened carefully until the last notes died away.
"Gary?" Blaine said calmly.
"Yes?"
"If you weren't dating Jim-"
"And if he wasn't hung up on our pet spy," Wes added.
"Spah!" David chirped happily, and received another head slap.
"Anyway. I would kiss you." Blaine said, "This is perfect."
"Look at your song. Then look at mine. Back at your song, now back to mine. Your song isn't mine." David piped up.
"Do you ever run out of stupid internet things?" Nick asked lazily, collecting the sheet music as it printed.
"They’re called memes. And, hopefully not," David grinned, "Look back. The song is now DIAMONDS."
---
"Hey, Ryan!" Anthony Carson sat down opposite him, opening his lunch. Mrs. Neog, the librarian, nodded at him politely, and continued to pick at her sushi.
"I am not happy with you." Ryan Matthews said, flipping the lid of his tupperware.
"What? Why?"
"The rehearsal performance for the alumni association? Ring a bell?" Ryan asked sarcastically, and Anthony blinked.
"Oh."
"Yeah. Oh." Mr. Matthews tore into his tuna sandwich with a surprising amount of violence.
"Sorry. Um. You want some of my sandwich?"
"What is it?" Ryan asked suspiciously.
"B.L.T."
"I can’t eat pork.”
“Why?”
“I’m muslim, remember?"
"Oh. Sorry?" Mr. Carson looked suitably ashamed, "I keep forgetting what you are and aren't allowed."
"I noticed." Ryan said, picking at his pita chips.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, before Anthony coughed pointedly.
"I'll swap my mars bar for your pita chips."
"You hate pita chips."
"Not as much as you do," Mr. Carson said, smiling. He offered Ryan the chocolate bar.
Ryan smiled back.
---
“So, how are things, anyway?” Tina asked, as the three of them got comfortable on Kurt’s bed, a bowl of low-salt popcorn balanced between them.
“...Things? Like, with Blaine?” Kurt asked, cueing up the DVD, “Good. Very good. With school? I’ve made some new friends, I think you’d like them. With my on going search for the perfect before bed skin routine? My room mate keeps interrupting me, so it’s slowing down the testing process.”
“New friends? Are we being replaced?” Mercedes fake gasped, taking a handful of popcorn.
“Not even slightly,” Kurt promised, “The sheer force of your fabulousness would crush Pratik into a tiny Indian pile of cinders.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Tina said, smiling, “so, what’s it like being a Warbler? Do you have special lessons where they teach you how to warble?”
“It’s...kind of like New Directions if Mr. Schue was more organised and didn’t have a disturbing mancrush on my stepbrother,” Kurt said slowly, “there’s one guy who tries to give me a rough time, but he has nothing on Coach Sylvester.”
“Nobody has anything on Coach Sylvester,” Mercedes snorted, and Kurt laughed.
“Right. He’s just...the epitome of all terrible private school cliches.”
“Snobby and posh?”
“To the extreme,” Kurt agreed, “he absolutely detests Blaine, and because I’m his...you know-”
“Boyfriend?” Tina suggested.
“Love of his life?”
“Ooh, that’s more accurate,” Tina agreed, and Kurt rolled his eyes.
“Anyway, he hates Blaine, Blaine likes me, therefore, Jim hates me.”
Kurt sighed.
“I’d almost say it’s a shame, really. I’ve seen his wardrobe, and we would have a lot to bond over if he weren’t such a... a dick.”
“Even assholes can wear YSL,” Tina agreed soberly.
---
“You look lonely.”
“I’m not,” Pratik said, busy restringing his guitar. The old strings were on their last legs, and if he was playing at the Alumni Association dinner, he wanted to be sure they wouldn’t snap mid song.
“I mean, usually you’re with your band- oh, I’m sorry, you guys broke up, didn’t you.”
“Please go away,” Pratik said, still not looking up from his guitar.
“Look, all I am saying is that there’s always space for you with us-”
“Hey, Tiki, are you bu- oh my God, Corbin, are you unable to take a hint? I mean, I already know you’re terrible at taking direction, but really, this is verging on creepy stalker.”
“Hey, Jim.”
“Jim,” Corbin smiled, turning to face the blond, “look, I just dropped by-”
“To beg Pratik to join your terrible little band. Again. He isn’t interested.”
“And to tell you that we’ve got a gig next Saturday. You should come,” Corbin said, tucking a strand of brown hair back behind his ear.
“Where?” Pratik asked quietly.
“Parrie’s. It’s a good spot.”
“That was our gig!” Jim glared, propping his hands on his hips.
“Can’t have a gig without a band,” Corbin said with a shrug, and sloped off towards the door, “See you around.”
“Remind me why I don’t punch him in the face?” Jim asked, scowling at the door as Corbin closed it behind him.
“It would ruin your manicure,” Pratik said peacefully, playing a chord to check the strings, “what did you want?”
“Your advice. Musically. Give me a cool, relatively unknown American band with which to stun and amaze our fellow warblers.”
“Hm,” Pratik set down his guitar and turned to the computer, “they aren’t relatively unknown, but...how about this?”
Jim tapped his fingers on the desk as he waited for the song to load, and then laughed brightly.
“Tiki, you’re a genius! I could kiss you!”
So he did- he cupped Pratik’s face in his hands, leaned down, and pressed a closed mouth kiss to his lips before dashing out of the room, laughing.
Pratik made a sound a little bit like a balloon deflating, and picked up his guitar again.
---
“I’m trying to decide which Beatles song I should pick,” Harry informed Pratik as the other teenager walked in.
The Japanese boy was lying on his bed, socked feet up on the wall next to his TARDIS poster, head dangling off the end of the mattress as he skipped through his music collection.
“Don’t judge me. I know it’s supposed to be a band that Mr. Matthews hasn’t heard before. But the Beatles are classic.”
Pratik sat down, pulling his guitar into his lap and playing along with Dear Prudence.
“Okay, fine. No Beatles. Maybe something from the eighties?”
Pratik hummed thoughtfully, and Harry sat up.
“Seriously? Reverend and the Makers? I don’t think I’ve heard of them... I’ll give it a shot, though.”
The guitarist just smiled, and Harry knocked his foot against Pratik’s.
“Everything alright?”
“Jim has no concept of personal space,” Pratik said quietly, and Harry smiled, moving to sit next to Pratik on his bed.
“Did he kiss you again?”
“I wish he’d stop doing that.”
“Eh. If he stopped kissing us, we’d think he was sick.”
Pratik thought for a second, then nodded slowly.
“I’d prefer if he said thank you by helping me with French, though.”
“Well, we can’t always get what we want,” Harry told him solemnly.
“But if we try sometimes, we just might find, we get what we need.”
Pratik smiled, forming a chord, “And one, two, three, go!”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XIX0ZDqDljA
author: infraredphaeton
summary: Eric takes Rachel out. Kurt hangs with his girls. Everyone asks Pratik for musical advice.
warnings: fillerrrrr. OCs. mentions of suicide (jokingly)
rating: PG-13
A/N: next time, we should get some actual movement. My apologies, guys. It's a little filler-y.
“Wow...La Grande Forchette- this place has three Michelin stars, doesn’t it?” Rachel blinked, and Eric nodded, smirking.
“It’s the best vegetarian restaurant in the Midwest. There’s a very good vegan section, from what I’ve heard,” the ginger headed for the maitre de, pulling out his wallet.
“Reservation for two, under Lennhardt.”
La Grande Forchette was a very upmarket restaurant, all midnight blue velvet and white linen tablecloths, and Rachel felt a little under dressed in her polka dot dress and pumps as she followed Eric (who somehow seemed completely at ease in a plaid shirt, black jeans and a slightly too big blazer) and the tuxedo wearing maitre de to a table.
“One minute, sir, madam, I’ll get a candle for the table,” he said, and bowed as he left.
Eric pulled out her chair for her with a nervous smile, and she smiled back.
Rachel sat, tossing her hair back over her shoulder, and picked up a menu. So what if she was wearing a thirty dollar dress instead of a designer silk sheath? She was Rachel Berry, and that meant that even if she’d been wearing a tunic fashioned out of a bin bag, everyone else would have to be lucky to even approach her level of stylish perfection.
As she perused the menu (all in French, confusingly), Eric scrambled around to sit opposite her, watching her as she read.
“So, Eric. Tell me about how you guys are doing at Dalton.”
“Which guys?” Eric asked, “Because Lee’s moved back to Ireland and Jim is in mourning, Hummel’s trying to get used to Jim not lurking around every corner with sarcastic comments, and I think that wanna- uh, Harry- has decided to hang himself with his Doctor Who scarf.”
“Interesting,” Rachel put down the menu and folded her hands on top of it, “so things aren’t all perfect in Warbler land? Tell me more.”
Eric licked his lips, grey eyes wide, and edged his chair closer to the table.
---
“Ah, Ryan.” Dr. Kadzower, the vice principal at Dalton Academy, leaned into the choir room and smiled his most plastic smile.
“Yes?” Ryan Matthews, music teacher and choir leader, asked, taking off his reading glasses and looking up from the sheet music for King of The Mountain.
“I just want to make sure, your boys are ready for the big performance on Saturday, right?”
“Ah. That would be the...” Mr. Matthews trailed off.
“The prospective donors and alumni association dinner. The Obamas are coming.” Dr. Kadzower filled in, frowning, “You were at the staff meeting, right?”
“Of course,” Mr. Matthews lied, he’d had a headache and ducked out early, leaving the drama teacher, Anthony Carson, to remind him of any important items.
“Great. Well, the headmaster wants a rehearsal at the end of the week. You will be ready, right?”
“Oh, yes. Of course. Don’t worry about it,” he smiled, and waved Dr. Kadzower off. As soon as the other man left the room, he lunged for the intercom phone and dialled the senior commons.
---
Blaine jumped on the phone as soon as it rang.
His phone had run out of credit for the week, and he was expecting a call from Kurt setting up their next date, as he had gone back to Lima for the weekend. They hadn't decided what to do yet, and Wes and David's suggestions had been less than helpful.
"Can he come play with us again?"
"He's a pretty awesome spy," Wes agreed.
"SPAH!" David trumpeted, and Wes slapped the back of his head.
"That joke is getting old."
"That joke will never be old," David sulked, rubbing the back of his head.
"Stop acting like that hurt." Wes said, and flicked David's ear, "or I'll tell Miranda that she's a lesbian now."
"What?"
"Because she's dating a girl."
"Anyway," Blaine interrupted smoothly, "I need a place to take Kurt out to. Somewhere really nice.”
“What, you haven’t been putting in any effort up until now?” David asked, raising an eyebrow.
Anyway, that was why Blaine jumped on the phone, and answered with a suave, "Hey."
"Blaine? Is that you?"
"Mr. Matthews?" Blaine blinked.
"The very same. Can you get those Warblers who are around to come to the choir room? We're having an emergency rehearsal."
"An emergency rehearsal? Why?"
"I'll tell you all. I want you guys up here within ten minutes!"
"Yes sir!" Blaine agreed, and hung up.
"Did you just call Kurt sir?" David asked, raising an eyebrow, “That is not normal.”.
"No, Mr. Matthews just called. We need all the Warblers in the choir room within the next ten minutes," Blaine explained, "so. Eric!"
The crazy ginger haired boy writhed out from where he'd been lying under one of the couches, counting the springs.
“What do you want?”
“I need you to go-”
“What’s the password?” Eric asked, eyes widening scarily.
“...There is no password, Eric.”
“You’ve been compromised!”
"I'm not compromised, Eric. Go get Liam and Harry and meet me in the choir room, as soon as possible."
"You're not my boss." Eric complained, standing up slowly and brushing off his slacks.
"Yes I am. I'm the main soloist. Go!" Blaine nodded.
Eric rolled his eyes and saluted jokingly, stumbling out of the commons like he'd just been hit by a tranq dart.
"Alright, that's four...plus us, three. Guys, go find some more people?" Blaine turned to David and Wes. David pouted at the thought of being roused from his Wes-pillow.
"I'll take West wing, David, you take East. Blaine, we'll meet you in the choir room." Wes ordered, chivvying David up and off him and the couch.
"You're the best, guys. I'll hit the cafeteria." Blaine smiled, patting them both of the shoulder.
"We do like it when you admit you like us," David nodded, and the trio split up.
There was a group of five guys sitting in the cafeteria when Blaine skidded through the doors- Harry, Pratik, who was struggling with The Great Gatsby, Gary, who was writing frantically in a D&D sourcebook, and Jim, who was shoeless and poking Gary in the ribs whenever he stopped petting the blond.
"Guys, emergency Warblers meeting! Mr. Matthews wants us upstairs." Blaine called, and Harry nodded, beginning to usher the other guys up and out.
“What if I don’t want to go?” Jim asked, crossing his arms.
“Then you get cut off, love,” Gary said calmly, picking up his books.
“...Hurry up, Gary, we’re going to be late.”
---
By the time the Warblers were assembled in the choir room, Blaine only just made Mr. Matthews’ ten minute deadline.
He skidded in, and almost fell into Wes’ lap. Which would have been uncomfortable, because David was already leaning against his knee.
"Good job, Blaine. Impressive turn out." Mr. Matthews smiled at him briefly, but not as long as he usually would. "Boys! I want everybody's attention!"
The soft murmuring that had filled the room stopped.
"So, it turns out that we have a gig. Not paid, of course. We're an amateur group, and we need to keep that status to participate this year." Mr. Matthews explained.
"What's the gig?" Jim asked. He was sitting on the floor, up against the wall, leaning against Gary as his boyfriend continued to read, his sourcebook propped open on his knees.
"We're playing for the prospective donors and our alumni at the big dinner on Saturday!"
"...Isn't President Obama going to be there?" Wes frowned, "Mr. Nashmun made a big deal out of it at assembly."
"Yes. Yes, he is." Mr. Matthews said, smiling soothingly.
“We haven’t rehearsed anything properly, though," Pratik said quietly, "We have Teenage Dream, which isn't really suitable for a formal occasion, same with Hot N Cold. Drops of Jupiter is good, but unpolished, and Life on Mars is good, but not fantastic yet. And we haven't even started that new song. What're we going to perform?"
"Ah. Well, I was going to take a leaf out of one of our competitor’s books, for that one," Mr. Matthews said, "The Glee Club over in Lima. They often split their club up, and do several numbers a week. That means, when they get to competitive events, like sectionals and regionals, they have a lot of options, of lots of different numbers. And at least half the club has it perfectly, and is able to help the others.
"So I was thinking we could do something similar. We have several pieces from America we've got down, an English piece, and we're working on an Australian one. So I thought we could do an international themed competition. Add that to our competition winners’ duet, and we should have a pretty fun setlist!"
Blaine put his hand up.
"No, Blaine, Katy Perry doesn't count."
Blaine's hand went down.
"I want artists I haven't heard before! But, please, keep it in English." Mr. Matthews smiled, "So, guys? Good idea?"
"I've heard worse," Jim admitted grudgingly, crossing his arms.
"We have to keep this under wraps, guys," Eric announced from on top of the piano, "if McKinley finds out we're copying their technique, it's curtains for us."
"I don't think we'll be murdered, Eric," Liam said soothingly.
"Double oh Adorable would stop them," David agreed.
"And I could totally take that Berry girl. She has fury, but I have technique." Wes said, flexing his arms.
“He knows Krav Maga,” David confided, “also capoeira.”
"Honestly, guys. It's show choir, not life or death," Blaine said, crossing his arms, "and the McKinley group are perfectly reasonable. It's not like they have a copy right on splitting up the group for practice."
"You have to say that," Eric said, eyes narrowed, "your boyfriend is one of them."
"He doesn’t even go there anymore!" Blaine hissed.
"Anyway!" Mr Matthews interrupted them, "I think three groups sounds good- Blaine, you head group one, Jim, group two, Harry, group three. Get to it guys. I want results by Wednesday. And keep it appropriate. Harry, that means stick to milder classic rock."
"Yes, Mr. Matthews," Harry agreed glumly, collecting five of his friends.
"Wes, David, you're with me." Blaine called, and pointed out three other Warblers.
"As if I'd try and take them away," Jim sniffed, "They'd waste away. They'd pine. They'd spend all their time with their faces pressed to the window, wondering where you were."
"He's right, you know," David said, "We are unhealthily codependent."
"It's only unhealthy if we get separated," Wes corrected him firmly, "which we won't."
"Liam's mine, by the way," JIm announced.
"I’m not going to fight you for him." Blaine said.
"Your loss," Jim smiled cheerily, hanging on the taller boy’s arm as he collected the last few Warblers, "And, by the way, I call dibs on America."
"What? Mr. Matthews, you said no America!"
"I said no Katy Perry. Blaine, there is a limit to how much we can stand," Mr. Matthews corrected gently.
"So yes, dibs on America," Jim declared, "and if I know anything about Harry, he wants England."
"I guess I'll take Australia, then." Blaine nodded.
"No Kylie, Blaine."
Blaine tossed his head dramatically, "Kylie is no substitute for Katy, Mr. Matthews. I'll find something original."
"Work hard, boys! This is very important!" Mr. Matthews called after the retreating groups.
"Mr. Matthews?"
"Huh? Yes, Eric?"
"...Nobody picked me." Eric said, looking sad. He swung his legs where they dangled above the ground, and picked at the edge of his red sweater vest.
“Again. Why doesn’t anyone ever pick me?” His lip began to wobble, and his eyes teared up.
Mr. Matthews sighed and walked over, putting an arm around his shoulders.
“Don’t worry, kiddo. Let’s go get some jello, and we’ll figure something out.”
Eric hopped off the piano, sniffing a little, “I like jello.”
“I know, Eric.” Mr. Matthews smiled, and guided him out of the room.
---
"So, I called yesterday," Kurt said, "you didn't answer."
"Sorry. Emergency Warblers meeting." Blaine said, smiling, even though he knew that the majority of its charm was lost over a phone line. It was worth a try, anyway.
"Oh. I know what that's like. Rachel was always calling for emergency meetings. It's a major pain. So, do I need to rush back to Dalton and learn more Katy Perry?"
“No, no, we can catch you up on Monday. Enjoy your weekend.”
“Hit X to not die, Wes! Hit X!” David hissed, grabbing his friend’s arm.
“Stupid quicktime events,” Wes growled, mashing buttons. Blaine kicked him so he’d shut up, but it just made the other boy let out a wounded noise.
"Yeah. Not for us, so much." Blaine said, curling the telephone cord around his finger as he talked, "I was wondering, what are you doing on Saturday night?"
Wes rubbed his arm, mock-glaring at Blaine.
"...Nothing. I'm free."
"Great," Blaine said. His mouth then got stuck, before he could finish his question.
Wes paused the game he and David were switching off on, and leaned over, taking the telephone from him.
"Hey Kurt!"
"...Hi, Wes?"
"Blaine wants to ask you out on Saturday. Is that good with you?"
"Tell him I'd be delighted. And also that he really should get over his inability to talk to me, as we’re actually dating now."
"He'd be delighted, Blaine," Wes said, and went back to the phone, "he wants to take you to that roller rink near your place, and then out for dinner."
"Tell him that sounds great." Kurt said, muffling laughter.
"He says that sounds great, Blaine." Wes said to Blaine, "Alright, Kurt, I'm putting Blaine back on."
"Alright. Bye, Wes."
"See ya, double oh sweetheart." Wes grinned.
Wes passed the phone back to Blaine, and un-paused the game, beginning to button mash once more.
"David, am I not the best friend in the world?"
"You're totally awesome."
They fist bumped.
---
"So. Yeah. Rollerskating, then dinner?" Blaine said, trying to recover from Wes' sabotage.
"Well, I have Saturday night dinner with my family."
"Oh. No big deal. No, it's fine. Really. Family comes first," Blaine denied, and Wes patted him on the shoulder in a conciliatory yet manly way.
"I'd like to go skating with you, though?"
"Great!"
"...In fact, if you're not in a hurry, maybe you'd like to eat dinner with my family?" Kurt offered.
Blaine pulled the phone away from him, and turned to Wes and David, who had totally given up on the game and were watching him.
"He's offered if I want to meet his family?"
"You want to meet his family." David told him. Wes nodded.
Blaine pulled the phone back towards him, "Yes. That sounds good."
"Oh, great! Alright, well, I'll text you, okay?"
"Okay.”
"Bye, Blaine!"
"Bye, Kurt."
Blaine hung up, looking slightly shell shocked.
"Are you alright?" Wes asked.
"I. I'm going to meet his family?" Blaine asked the room at large, "Is that normal?"
"Yes. Calm down. That's normal. It has to happen eventually."
"Does eventually have to be now, though?"
"Simple answer: Yes." David said, "Don't worry about it. How did Kurt sound? Pissed you didn't answer yesterday?"
"No...Just, very put together. And confident. And..." Blaine trailed off, "How does he always keep his cool?"
"Oh man, he's probably asking his friends that right now, you realise?" Wes snorted.
---
“...I mean, I didn’t even know teenage boys could be that suave!” Kurt finished, waving a hand around in an airy circle.
“Oh yeah. Your problems are so tough. Your boyfriend is too caring and suave and wants to meet your parents.” Tina said, checking her dark blue nail polish for chips, “And I bet you won’t be eating Chinese food.”
"Yeah, you guys have such huge problems," Mercedes said, flicking an impatient hand at Kurt. He shook his head and picked up the file he'd been using to give her a manicure.
"Look, it's going to be the first time I’ve ever taken someone home to meet Dad. And you know he's crazy protective. I don't want to scare Blaine off."
"If Burt scares him off, he's a wimp," Mercedes said, "Your dad is a giant teddy bear."
"To you, yes, because you're a girl, and I'm gay. If you were a boy, you would have entered the house to see Dad lovingly polishing his shotgun or something."
"He has a shotgun?"
"I think he bought one in anticipation for this day." Kurt said glumly, rounding off Mercedes’ ring finger's nail.
"That's cute. My Dad never did that," Tina said meditatively, brushing hard coat over the new layer of dark blue, "I think he knew I was dating Mike before I did. My mom definitely did."
"Okay, honestly, as much as I love you both, no bitching about how hard having a love life is." Mercedes decreed.
“Hey, I heard some rumours about you and Sam,” Kurt raised an eyebrow, and Mercedes rolled her eyes.
“Stick to your own boy, boy.”
“I am perfectly happy with my own boy,” Kurt said, “in case you hadn’t noticed, he’s kind of amazing.”
"Damn straight. Have you seen that boy's ass?" Tina giggled.
"I may have noticed, yes." Kurt smiled cunningly, tapping the file against his chin, "And his hair."
"His hair is dreamy," Tina agreed.
"You did not just say dreamy," Mercedes denied, "you are better person than that, Tina Cohen-Chang."
"Okay, fine. His hair looks very touchable."
Kurt smiled and nodded.
Mercedes looked at Kurt's iPhone, which was sitting in the middle of their triangle, propped up by nail care supplies.
"He may be a little over suave, but I think that's just his M.O." Mercedes shrugged, "It's not a bad thing, is it?"
"No! Of course not. He kind of reminds me of Gene Kelly from Singing in The Rain," Kurt said.
Tina smiled, blowing on her nails, and sang, "Good morning! Good morning! It's great to stay up late!"
Kurt smiled back, joining in, "Good morning, good morning, to you!"
"Oh great. Musical sing-a-long time," Mercedes rolled her eyes.
"You know you love it," Tina smiled, and Kurt gestured Mercedes to join in.
"Good morning, good morning, to yooooo-uuuu!" Mercedes sang, adding a run to the end.
Kurt wolf whistled.
"Who wants to watch the movie?" Tina asked, scrambling off Kurt's bed and flattening the puff of her cream lace skirt.
"I have the digitally remastered version on DVD," Kurt said, and Mercedes shrugged.
"What the hell, I can live through it."
"And that is why you are my favourite," Kurt said, kissing her on the cheek, "now, are we doing french manicure, or something brighter?"
"How is that even a question, boy?"
"Right, I found this perfect opalescent maroon that will look fabulous with your new scarf."
Tina grinned and headed for Kurt's shelf of DVDs.
---
"So, we are trying to find a song by an Australian band, that is not Kylie Minogue, and is imaginative and interesting and will destroy our competition." Blaine announced, pacing their dorm room. Wes and David were lounging on Wes' bed, David's head propped up on Wes' stomach, while Gary and Nick were sitting on David's.
"Destroy the competition?" Nick asked, raising his eyebrow.
"This is important!"
"Dude, chill. You sound like Eric," Gary said, lifting his hands in surrender.
Blaine sighed, and fell onto his bed.
"Sorry guys. I just...I really want to get this sorted quickly."
"So you can call double oh adorable, and make up for standing him up on the phone earlier?" Wes asked.
"Is there a word for that?" David frowned, "Standing someone up on the phone?"
"Irrelevant!" Blaine said, "Does anyone know anything about Australian music?"
"Does it have to be Australian?" Nick asked, flicking through his iPod.
"Well, no. But it can't be English or American, and it has to be in English."
"Hmm. I'll think about it." Nick's eyes stayed glued to the iPod.
"This would be so much easier if we could just use Katy Perry," Blaine complained, tucking his hands under his head.
"There is a limit to how much Katy Perry the straight male can survive," David said, rolling his eyes.
"Then what happens? Do you explode in a fountain of confetti?"
"And rainbows. Occasionally unicorns." Wes elaborated.
Nick sniggered.
Gary, who was clicking through wikipedia and youtube so quickly they only heard a bar of music at a time, suddenly shouted, "Eureka!"
"Have you got something?" Blaine asked, shooting to his feet.
"I think so? Some eighties band called The Church. Very acoustic and mellow, lots of layered voices. I think it'll transition well." Gary nodded, and played the video.
They sat in silence and listened carefully until the last notes died away.
"Gary?" Blaine said calmly.
"Yes?"
"If you weren't dating Jim-"
"And if he wasn't hung up on our pet spy," Wes added.
"Spah!" David chirped happily, and received another head slap.
"Anyway. I would kiss you." Blaine said, "This is perfect."
"Look at your song. Then look at mine. Back at your song, now back to mine. Your song isn't mine." David piped up.
"Do you ever run out of stupid internet things?" Nick asked lazily, collecting the sheet music as it printed.
"They’re called memes. And, hopefully not," David grinned, "Look back. The song is now DIAMONDS."
---
"Hey, Ryan!" Anthony Carson sat down opposite him, opening his lunch. Mrs. Neog, the librarian, nodded at him politely, and continued to pick at her sushi.
"I am not happy with you." Ryan Matthews said, flipping the lid of his tupperware.
"What? Why?"
"The rehearsal performance for the alumni association? Ring a bell?" Ryan asked sarcastically, and Anthony blinked.
"Oh."
"Yeah. Oh." Mr. Matthews tore into his tuna sandwich with a surprising amount of violence.
"Sorry. Um. You want some of my sandwich?"
"What is it?" Ryan asked suspiciously.
"B.L.T."
"I can’t eat pork.”
“Why?”
“I’m muslim, remember?"
"Oh. Sorry?" Mr. Carson looked suitably ashamed, "I keep forgetting what you are and aren't allowed."
"I noticed." Ryan said, picking at his pita chips.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, before Anthony coughed pointedly.
"I'll swap my mars bar for your pita chips."
"You hate pita chips."
"Not as much as you do," Mr. Carson said, smiling. He offered Ryan the chocolate bar.
Ryan smiled back.
---
“So, how are things, anyway?” Tina asked, as the three of them got comfortable on Kurt’s bed, a bowl of low-salt popcorn balanced between them.
“...Things? Like, with Blaine?” Kurt asked, cueing up the DVD, “Good. Very good. With school? I’ve made some new friends, I think you’d like them. With my on going search for the perfect before bed skin routine? My room mate keeps interrupting me, so it’s slowing down the testing process.”
“New friends? Are we being replaced?” Mercedes fake gasped, taking a handful of popcorn.
“Not even slightly,” Kurt promised, “The sheer force of your fabulousness would crush Pratik into a tiny Indian pile of cinders.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Tina said, smiling, “so, what’s it like being a Warbler? Do you have special lessons where they teach you how to warble?”
“It’s...kind of like New Directions if Mr. Schue was more organised and didn’t have a disturbing mancrush on my stepbrother,” Kurt said slowly, “there’s one guy who tries to give me a rough time, but he has nothing on Coach Sylvester.”
“Nobody has anything on Coach Sylvester,” Mercedes snorted, and Kurt laughed.
“Right. He’s just...the epitome of all terrible private school cliches.”
“Snobby and posh?”
“To the extreme,” Kurt agreed, “he absolutely detests Blaine, and because I’m his...you know-”
“Boyfriend?” Tina suggested.
“Love of his life?”
“Ooh, that’s more accurate,” Tina agreed, and Kurt rolled his eyes.
“Anyway, he hates Blaine, Blaine likes me, therefore, Jim hates me.”
Kurt sighed.
“I’d almost say it’s a shame, really. I’ve seen his wardrobe, and we would have a lot to bond over if he weren’t such a... a dick.”
“Even assholes can wear YSL,” Tina agreed soberly.
---
“You look lonely.”
“I’m not,” Pratik said, busy restringing his guitar. The old strings were on their last legs, and if he was playing at the Alumni Association dinner, he wanted to be sure they wouldn’t snap mid song.
“I mean, usually you’re with your band- oh, I’m sorry, you guys broke up, didn’t you.”
“Please go away,” Pratik said, still not looking up from his guitar.
“Look, all I am saying is that there’s always space for you with us-”
“Hey, Tiki, are you bu- oh my God, Corbin, are you unable to take a hint? I mean, I already know you’re terrible at taking direction, but really, this is verging on creepy stalker.”
“Hey, Jim.”
“Jim,” Corbin smiled, turning to face the blond, “look, I just dropped by-”
“To beg Pratik to join your terrible little band. Again. He isn’t interested.”
“And to tell you that we’ve got a gig next Saturday. You should come,” Corbin said, tucking a strand of brown hair back behind his ear.
“Where?” Pratik asked quietly.
“Parrie’s. It’s a good spot.”
“That was our gig!” Jim glared, propping his hands on his hips.
“Can’t have a gig without a band,” Corbin said with a shrug, and sloped off towards the door, “See you around.”
“Remind me why I don’t punch him in the face?” Jim asked, scowling at the door as Corbin closed it behind him.
“It would ruin your manicure,” Pratik said peacefully, playing a chord to check the strings, “what did you want?”
“Your advice. Musically. Give me a cool, relatively unknown American band with which to stun and amaze our fellow warblers.”
“Hm,” Pratik set down his guitar and turned to the computer, “they aren’t relatively unknown, but...how about this?”
Jim tapped his fingers on the desk as he waited for the song to load, and then laughed brightly.
“Tiki, you’re a genius! I could kiss you!”
So he did- he cupped Pratik’s face in his hands, leaned down, and pressed a closed mouth kiss to his lips before dashing out of the room, laughing.
Pratik made a sound a little bit like a balloon deflating, and picked up his guitar again.
---
“I’m trying to decide which Beatles song I should pick,” Harry informed Pratik as the other teenager walked in.
The Japanese boy was lying on his bed, socked feet up on the wall next to his TARDIS poster, head dangling off the end of the mattress as he skipped through his music collection.
“Don’t judge me. I know it’s supposed to be a band that Mr. Matthews hasn’t heard before. But the Beatles are classic.”
Pratik sat down, pulling his guitar into his lap and playing along with Dear Prudence.
“Okay, fine. No Beatles. Maybe something from the eighties?”
Pratik hummed thoughtfully, and Harry sat up.
“Seriously? Reverend and the Makers? I don’t think I’ve heard of them... I’ll give it a shot, though.”
The guitarist just smiled, and Harry knocked his foot against Pratik’s.
“Everything alright?”
“Jim has no concept of personal space,” Pratik said quietly, and Harry smiled, moving to sit next to Pratik on his bed.
“Did he kiss you again?”
“I wish he’d stop doing that.”
“Eh. If he stopped kissing us, we’d think he was sick.”
Pratik thought for a second, then nodded slowly.
“I’d prefer if he said thank you by helping me with French, though.”
“Well, we can’t always get what we want,” Harry told him solemnly.
“But if we try sometimes, we just might find, we get what we need.”
Pratik smiled, forming a chord, “And one, two, three, go!”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XIX0ZDqDljA