Fic: Dreams that you dare to dream
Fic: Dreams that you dare to dream
Author: invalidattempt
Characters/Pairings: Kurt/Mike, Mr Schuester, mentions of Mercedes, Finn, glee club
Rating: G
Disclaimer: "There can only be one Lord of the Copyright. Only one. And he does not share power." Gandalf was so right. I own nothing.
Summary: The week leading up to Regionals kinda sucks. Luckily for Kurt, there's a smile waiting to brighten his days.
“My favourite part of Glee is when we get on stage, and everything falls into place. You know? For once, everything goes right.”
“I love when Mr Schue gives us an assignment, but never really explains why it’s important.”
“The costumes are choice, man. Our KISS number rocked. Seriously, I make a damn fine Gene Simmons.”
“Remember the Vitamin D debacle? The boys’ number? Artie, boy, your expressions, they were one-of-a-kind.”
“I liked when Mr Schue put a duck in his hat. Much better than a rabbit.”
In the silence that followed Brittany’s statement, Kurt excused himself to get a glass of water. Once inside the kitchen, he took a moment to gather his composure. Leaning back, head falling against the wall with a light thud, he closed his eyes and tried hard not to picture the scene in the living room. Mr Schuester had just looked so desperate, having completely lost control of the situation as the kids began premature mourning for the certain loss of their beloved club. Just thinking about it made Kurt’s breath hitch uncomfortably. His eyes were stinging hard, reminding him of the first time he tried on eyeliner and accidentally stabbed himself.
His quiet haven was disturbed by a slight cough. Eyes slamming open and wide, he saw Mike Chang standing in the doorway. As Kurt watched, Mike made his way to the cupboards, searching until he found a glass. Filling it from the tap, he handed it to Kurt. With a tiny nod of thanks, Kurt tipped his head back and drank. Rehydrated, he felt slightly better, or so he told himself. He turned around to put down his half-empty glass (and to discreetly dry his eyes) before turning back to Mike.
He was lounging against the opposite counter, one foot tapping a beat against the floor, eyes searching the night sky through the window as he gave Kurt some privacy. When he noticed Kurt watching him, Mike stopped the indoor stargazing and gave him a cheery grin.
“You don’t look very upset,” Kurt said, eyeing him. Was Mike completely unaffected by the impending doom of the Glee Club?
Mike gave a tiny shrug. “I just think it’s a little soon to start to panic. Don’t count your losses before they... hatch.”
“You think we have a chance? With Sue Sylvester against us? I’m on her team, I know how ruthless she can be.”
The shrug made another appearance. “Coach Sylvester is only one woman; there are still three other judges. Remember how she tricked the juvies and the blind kids into cheating? We still pulled through then. We thought there was no hope, but we won anyway.”
Kurt quirked an eyebrow in response to that, but nodded, conceding the point. With a patented Kurt Hummel half-smile, he replied, “I honestly think this is the most I’ve ever heard you say. In seven years of elementary and three years of high school, I think you’ve said a grand total of three sentences in my presence.”
Side by side, chuckling, they returned to their crying friends, hearts a little brighter and a little more determined despite the gloom surrounding them.
***
“Alright, guys, here is your new and improved sheet music for Don’t Stop Believin’. We’re going to share the solos around, because we have something Vocal Adrenaline can only dream of: an ensemble of unique, incredible voices that are all capable of taking the lead. And we are going to capitalize on that, and we are going to wow the judges. Tina, could you pass these around?”
Kurt scanned his copy briefly. Rachel and Finn taking the intro, no surprise there. Next up was Santana and Puck; that came as a bit of a shock, as he was certain they were no longer an item- he’d heard the catalyst of their ‘not-dating’ break up was Puck’s negligible credit score, and sidebar: why in the name of Judy Garland had Puck’s poor grades been a surprise to Santana? Kurt gave that line of thought a genteel mental shrug, locking the question away to be re-evaluated on some far away rainy day, then resumed flipping through the music.
Kurt and Finn?
From a distance he heard Mr Schue call, “From the top, guys!”
He listened half-heartedly as the others sang, keeping harmony with the chorus easily. As his solo approached, his feelings and reservations declared out-and-out war on each other, and he ended up singing as though in a dream, barely even realising that he had just sung with his high school crush for the first time.
He was lifted from his fog by Mercedes nudging him with an encouraging thumbs-up, a wink, and a subtle grin. For the life of him, he wasn’t sure if he agreed with her assessment of the situation.
***
The mad rush into the emergency ward had left him tired and anxious. Performing on stage gave him an adrenaline rush; having a pregnant team-mate announce she was giving birth immediately after performing on stage was heart attack inducing. With an exhausted flounce, Kurt dropped into a chair, grabbing a fashion magazine (from 2003- at least he would be able to laugh at the ridiculously passé designs).
The room was utterly chaotic, as the kids dealt with their stress in different and strange ways. Finn was pacing back and forth, long legs carrying him speedily across the room. Matt, on the other hand, seemed to be meditating from his place on the couch. Tina was amusing Artie with a series of dirty jokes all delivered with a hyped-up stutter, and Brittany knelt on the floor, trying to understand how giving birth was even possible as Santana looked on with fond bemusement.
Kurt watched all this in a daze. He was worried and excited and fatigued all at the same time. He knew they had performed brilliantly: the mash-up of ‘Lovin’ Touchin’ Squeezin’’ and ‘Anyway You Want it’ had the audience on their feet, and their rendition of ‘Don’t Stop Believin’’ had indeed been worth a ten, as Mr Schuester had foreseen. And with the genius input of the unstoppable duo he and Mercedes formed, their costumes - although cheap - had been gorgeous. The entire day had been exhausted, and he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep, but even in his less-than-aware state of mind he knew that they were going to place. And that was all that mattered.
There was a plop as a new weight settled down on the arm of the chair he was lounging in. Glancing up, he sent Mike a grin of acknowledgement.
“You know,” Kurt said, “I’m starting to think maybe you were right. Maybe Ms. Sylvester doesn’t have the power to crush us.”
He paused, adjusting his bangs, then admitted, “I’m still nervous though.”
Mike chuckled quietly. “Don’t worry, no one can tell. You look totally chill, compared to the rest of these nutcases.”
“You don’t seem particularly anxious,” the smaller boy observed. “I hate to sound melodramatic, because it makes me sound like our conspicuously absent female lead, but the fate of the one good thing that has happened all year relies on our placing tonight. And that fate rests, at least partially, in the hands of a psychotic, polyester-tracksuit-wearing, bloodthirsty, Bitca with a capital ‘B’ cheerleading coach. Aren’t you even the least bit worried?”
“Nope!”
Kurt stared at him, disbelief etched in his wide eyes. “Why ever not?”
For a moment, Mike became uncharacteristically serious, the grin fading. His eyes stared off into space for a second, before returning to Kurt’s face.
“Because I refuse to believe that I’ll never dance again. So I know that Glee club won’t end tonight.”
With that, Mike stood up, moving to sit beside his meditating friend. Kurt returned to his magazine, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed as he thought.
***
“And the 2010 Mid-West Regional Show Choir Champion is: Vocal Adrenaline!”
***
What?
“Come on, we have another year!”
Oh my God.
In the cacophony that followed as the singers rejoiced, all grudges and vendettas were dropped for the sake of celebration. The revelation of Glee Club’s renewal had dissipated all the bad feelings left in the wake of a long year. Indeed, as Mr Schuester and Puck sang together, Kurt couldn’t even bring himself to hate Rachel (although he really did hate her sweater.)
As the song ended, Mr Schuester bid everyone a good summer. Invitations spread like the flu, to a pool party, to someone’s cabin, for a movie marathon next weekend, but eventually they could no longer continue delaying, so, with a goodbye to Mr Schuester, the club began to leave the choir room.
Kurt and Mercedes were walking arm-in-arm and side-by-side as per usual, discussing why exactly purple and orange should never be worn together during their ‘Rachel’s Most Barf-Hat Inducing Outfit of the Week’ commentary, when, following a brief scan of the hall, Kurt realised there was something he was forgetting to do. He promised Mercedes he would be quick, but it really was important, so he would meet her at her house afterwards to start their Summer Bitchapalooza. As she waved a ‘See you soon,’ Kurt veered off to the left, towards a boy standing by his locker.
Kurt chuckled nervously. “We match.”
Starting slightly with surprise, Mike glanced at him in confusion until Kurt gestured to his chest. Taking a short look, Mike’s bemusement melted away, and he echoed Kurt’s chuckle (albeit somewhat less nervously). They were both wearing red sweaters.
“Well, you wear it better, don’t worry,” Mike promised teasingly.
Kurt gave him a tiny smile, fidgeting with the hem of his aforementioned sweater, gathering his thoughts. Finally, he met Mike’s eyes.
“I just- I want to thank you. Over the past week, you’ve been really amazing, and it really helped me keep it together, that you had so much confidence in us.”
He paused, unsure of whether he should go on, and Mike gave him a wide, encouraging grin. Heartened, Kurt continued, “You really believed we wouldn’t lose, and in the end I guess you were right. We didn’t lose, except in the traditional sense. And I really admire your optimism.”
Mike leaned in, as though he were about to tell Kurt a secret. He said, “I’ve always liked to believe the glass is half full.”
“Mr Chang, you wouldn’t be so coarse as to sip champagne from a glass, would you? You must have meant the flute was half full.”
There was a brief moment of confused silence, before Kurt clarified, jerkily brushing his bangs into place, “Champagne. I thought it would be appropriate given that everyone's celebrating New Directions’ triumph.”
Mike grinned. Kurt was noticing that he liked to do that a lot. He made it work for him, too.
“Well, Kurt,” Mike began, grin widening and eyes glinting, “If the glass - sorry - the flute is half full, that means you must have drunk the other half. Do you feel kind of tipsy?”
Kurt blinked, shocked, before explaining, “No, Mike, it’s an idiom, the champagne was just an embellishment. I assure you, I am completely sober - ”
Mike took another step closer, one hand coming up to settle on Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt froze, before continuing.
“- but, now that you mention it, I do feel a little-” Mike’s hand left Kurt’s shoulder, reaching up to align his bangs once again. “Breathless.”
Mike’s head dipped almost imperceptibly. With a sigh, Kurt’s face lifted up to meet him.
After a moment, Kurt pulled away. His eyes fluttered open slowly, and his tongue slipped up to lick his lips lightly, still savouring the moment. Mike was beaming down at him, and his hand still hadn’t moved from where it was gently cupping Kurt’s cheek.
“Did you know I would do that?”
Mike looked him directly in the eyes, and replied honestly, “I hoped.”
Kurt chuckled, his own hand coming up to adjust Mike’s sweater minutely. Then, frowning slightly, he asked, “But you didn’t think I would?”
“I knew you liked Finn.”
And there it was. Kurt stepped back, hand falling away from Mike’s chest. He wrapped his arms around himself defensively, for once not worrying that it was making his Alexander McQueen sweater lie totally wrong. He couldn’t believe he’d been so foolish.
“Hey, wait, Kurt,” Mike was scrambling for words, clearly unsure of how to fix whatever had just happened. Open mouth, insert foot wasn’t his normal M.O. “I’m sorry, I just- I know Finn was your dream boyfriend or something.”
“Finn wasn’t a dream. If we’re still talking metaphors, a mirage would be more apt.”
“I’m not sure I understand...”
Kurt seemed to hunch in on himself. He desperately hated talking about his own mistakes. “A mirage. The obvious example is the oasis in the desert. Following a hard journey across harsh terrain, the suffering traveller pictures refuge, but it’s nothing more than wishful thinking.
For me, that’s what Finn was. He was the first guy to show me kindness, really. I guess that just blinded me to his faults. I knew that Finn wasn’t right for me; he’s awkward, bumbling, academically-challenged, and he really can’t dress properly. And he’s also straight. But it was safe, for me. Living in Lima, I never thought anyone would like me.”
Mike stepped forward once again. “And now?”
Kurt’s hand drifted shakily up to wrap around Mike’s neck.
“I guess I’ve started believing.”
Mike’s smile became even wider as he leaned down to meet Kurt halfway.
***
AN: There you have it; my first ever Kurt/Mike fic, yay! It was a little cheesy, but, hey, fluff! I’d love to hear what you people think, particularly in terms of advice on my writing or characterisation, because I found Mike hella hard to write. Cheers!
Also, because it wasn’t necessary plot wise but I thought it was too cute a tidbit to leave out...
***
PS Ten years later:
“...Five... Four... Three... Two... One... HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
Cheering along with their friends, who had assembled from across the country to celebrate ten years of music and friendship, two lovers clinked their champagne flutes together in a toast.
“You know, you’ve drunk half your glass, Kurt. Do you feel tipsy?”
“It’s a flute, and yes, I feel horribly tipsy. Honestly, I could fall over and hurt myself at any moment. Worse, I could vomit all over Rachel’s outfit, not that you’d be able to tell, given that its' color scheme calls to mind the ninth level of Fashion Hell. You should take me home and put me to bed right now.”
The familiar wide smile beamed out. “I live to obey.”
Author: invalidattempt
Characters/Pairings: Kurt/Mike, Mr Schuester, mentions of Mercedes, Finn, glee club
Rating: G
Disclaimer: "There can only be one Lord of the Copyright. Only one. And he does not share power." Gandalf was so right. I own nothing.
Summary: The week leading up to Regionals kinda sucks. Luckily for Kurt, there's a smile waiting to brighten his days.
“My favourite part of Glee is when we get on stage, and everything falls into place. You know? For once, everything goes right.”
“I love when Mr Schue gives us an assignment, but never really explains why it’s important.”
“The costumes are choice, man. Our KISS number rocked. Seriously, I make a damn fine Gene Simmons.”
“Remember the Vitamin D debacle? The boys’ number? Artie, boy, your expressions, they were one-of-a-kind.”
“I liked when Mr Schue put a duck in his hat. Much better than a rabbit.”
In the silence that followed Brittany’s statement, Kurt excused himself to get a glass of water. Once inside the kitchen, he took a moment to gather his composure. Leaning back, head falling against the wall with a light thud, he closed his eyes and tried hard not to picture the scene in the living room. Mr Schuester had just looked so desperate, having completely lost control of the situation as the kids began premature mourning for the certain loss of their beloved club. Just thinking about it made Kurt’s breath hitch uncomfortably. His eyes were stinging hard, reminding him of the first time he tried on eyeliner and accidentally stabbed himself.
His quiet haven was disturbed by a slight cough. Eyes slamming open and wide, he saw Mike Chang standing in the doorway. As Kurt watched, Mike made his way to the cupboards, searching until he found a glass. Filling it from the tap, he handed it to Kurt. With a tiny nod of thanks, Kurt tipped his head back and drank. Rehydrated, he felt slightly better, or so he told himself. He turned around to put down his half-empty glass (and to discreetly dry his eyes) before turning back to Mike.
He was lounging against the opposite counter, one foot tapping a beat against the floor, eyes searching the night sky through the window as he gave Kurt some privacy. When he noticed Kurt watching him, Mike stopped the indoor stargazing and gave him a cheery grin.
“You don’t look very upset,” Kurt said, eyeing him. Was Mike completely unaffected by the impending doom of the Glee Club?
Mike gave a tiny shrug. “I just think it’s a little soon to start to panic. Don’t count your losses before they... hatch.”
“You think we have a chance? With Sue Sylvester against us? I’m on her team, I know how ruthless she can be.”
The shrug made another appearance. “Coach Sylvester is only one woman; there are still three other judges. Remember how she tricked the juvies and the blind kids into cheating? We still pulled through then. We thought there was no hope, but we won anyway.”
Kurt quirked an eyebrow in response to that, but nodded, conceding the point. With a patented Kurt Hummel half-smile, he replied, “I honestly think this is the most I’ve ever heard you say. In seven years of elementary and three years of high school, I think you’ve said a grand total of three sentences in my presence.”
Side by side, chuckling, they returned to their crying friends, hearts a little brighter and a little more determined despite the gloom surrounding them.
***
“Alright, guys, here is your new and improved sheet music for Don’t Stop Believin’. We’re going to share the solos around, because we have something Vocal Adrenaline can only dream of: an ensemble of unique, incredible voices that are all capable of taking the lead. And we are going to capitalize on that, and we are going to wow the judges. Tina, could you pass these around?”
Kurt scanned his copy briefly. Rachel and Finn taking the intro, no surprise there. Next up was Santana and Puck; that came as a bit of a shock, as he was certain they were no longer an item- he’d heard the catalyst of their ‘not-dating’ break up was Puck’s negligible credit score, and sidebar: why in the name of Judy Garland had Puck’s poor grades been a surprise to Santana? Kurt gave that line of thought a genteel mental shrug, locking the question away to be re-evaluated on some far away rainy day, then resumed flipping through the music.
Kurt and Finn?
From a distance he heard Mr Schue call, “From the top, guys!”
He listened half-heartedly as the others sang, keeping harmony with the chorus easily. As his solo approached, his feelings and reservations declared out-and-out war on each other, and he ended up singing as though in a dream, barely even realising that he had just sung with his high school crush for the first time.
He was lifted from his fog by Mercedes nudging him with an encouraging thumbs-up, a wink, and a subtle grin. For the life of him, he wasn’t sure if he agreed with her assessment of the situation.
***
The mad rush into the emergency ward had left him tired and anxious. Performing on stage gave him an adrenaline rush; having a pregnant team-mate announce she was giving birth immediately after performing on stage was heart attack inducing. With an exhausted flounce, Kurt dropped into a chair, grabbing a fashion magazine (from 2003- at least he would be able to laugh at the ridiculously passé designs).
The room was utterly chaotic, as the kids dealt with their stress in different and strange ways. Finn was pacing back and forth, long legs carrying him speedily across the room. Matt, on the other hand, seemed to be meditating from his place on the couch. Tina was amusing Artie with a series of dirty jokes all delivered with a hyped-up stutter, and Brittany knelt on the floor, trying to understand how giving birth was even possible as Santana looked on with fond bemusement.
Kurt watched all this in a daze. He was worried and excited and fatigued all at the same time. He knew they had performed brilliantly: the mash-up of ‘Lovin’ Touchin’ Squeezin’’ and ‘Anyway You Want it’ had the audience on their feet, and their rendition of ‘Don’t Stop Believin’’ had indeed been worth a ten, as Mr Schuester had foreseen. And with the genius input of the unstoppable duo he and Mercedes formed, their costumes - although cheap - had been gorgeous. The entire day had been exhausted, and he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep, but even in his less-than-aware state of mind he knew that they were going to place. And that was all that mattered.
There was a plop as a new weight settled down on the arm of the chair he was lounging in. Glancing up, he sent Mike a grin of acknowledgement.
“You know,” Kurt said, “I’m starting to think maybe you were right. Maybe Ms. Sylvester doesn’t have the power to crush us.”
He paused, adjusting his bangs, then admitted, “I’m still nervous though.”
Mike chuckled quietly. “Don’t worry, no one can tell. You look totally chill, compared to the rest of these nutcases.”
“You don’t seem particularly anxious,” the smaller boy observed. “I hate to sound melodramatic, because it makes me sound like our conspicuously absent female lead, but the fate of the one good thing that has happened all year relies on our placing tonight. And that fate rests, at least partially, in the hands of a psychotic, polyester-tracksuit-wearing, bloodthirsty, Bitca with a capital ‘B’ cheerleading coach. Aren’t you even the least bit worried?”
“Nope!”
Kurt stared at him, disbelief etched in his wide eyes. “Why ever not?”
For a moment, Mike became uncharacteristically serious, the grin fading. His eyes stared off into space for a second, before returning to Kurt’s face.
“Because I refuse to believe that I’ll never dance again. So I know that Glee club won’t end tonight.”
With that, Mike stood up, moving to sit beside his meditating friend. Kurt returned to his magazine, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed as he thought.
***
“And the 2010 Mid-West Regional Show Choir Champion is: Vocal Adrenaline!”
***
What?
“Come on, we have another year!”
Oh my God.
In the cacophony that followed as the singers rejoiced, all grudges and vendettas were dropped for the sake of celebration. The revelation of Glee Club’s renewal had dissipated all the bad feelings left in the wake of a long year. Indeed, as Mr Schuester and Puck sang together, Kurt couldn’t even bring himself to hate Rachel (although he really did hate her sweater.)
As the song ended, Mr Schuester bid everyone a good summer. Invitations spread like the flu, to a pool party, to someone’s cabin, for a movie marathon next weekend, but eventually they could no longer continue delaying, so, with a goodbye to Mr Schuester, the club began to leave the choir room.
Kurt and Mercedes were walking arm-in-arm and side-by-side as per usual, discussing why exactly purple and orange should never be worn together during their ‘Rachel’s Most Barf-Hat Inducing Outfit of the Week’ commentary, when, following a brief scan of the hall, Kurt realised there was something he was forgetting to do. He promised Mercedes he would be quick, but it really was important, so he would meet her at her house afterwards to start their Summer Bitchapalooza. As she waved a ‘See you soon,’ Kurt veered off to the left, towards a boy standing by his locker.
Kurt chuckled nervously. “We match.”
Starting slightly with surprise, Mike glanced at him in confusion until Kurt gestured to his chest. Taking a short look, Mike’s bemusement melted away, and he echoed Kurt’s chuckle (albeit somewhat less nervously). They were both wearing red sweaters.
“Well, you wear it better, don’t worry,” Mike promised teasingly.
Kurt gave him a tiny smile, fidgeting with the hem of his aforementioned sweater, gathering his thoughts. Finally, he met Mike’s eyes.
“I just- I want to thank you. Over the past week, you’ve been really amazing, and it really helped me keep it together, that you had so much confidence in us.”
He paused, unsure of whether he should go on, and Mike gave him a wide, encouraging grin. Heartened, Kurt continued, “You really believed we wouldn’t lose, and in the end I guess you were right. We didn’t lose, except in the traditional sense. And I really admire your optimism.”
Mike leaned in, as though he were about to tell Kurt a secret. He said, “I’ve always liked to believe the glass is half full.”
“Mr Chang, you wouldn’t be so coarse as to sip champagne from a glass, would you? You must have meant the flute was half full.”
There was a brief moment of confused silence, before Kurt clarified, jerkily brushing his bangs into place, “Champagne. I thought it would be appropriate given that everyone's celebrating New Directions’ triumph.”
Mike grinned. Kurt was noticing that he liked to do that a lot. He made it work for him, too.
“Well, Kurt,” Mike began, grin widening and eyes glinting, “If the glass - sorry - the flute is half full, that means you must have drunk the other half. Do you feel kind of tipsy?”
Kurt blinked, shocked, before explaining, “No, Mike, it’s an idiom, the champagne was just an embellishment. I assure you, I am completely sober - ”
Mike took another step closer, one hand coming up to settle on Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt froze, before continuing.
“- but, now that you mention it, I do feel a little-” Mike’s hand left Kurt’s shoulder, reaching up to align his bangs once again. “Breathless.”
Mike’s head dipped almost imperceptibly. With a sigh, Kurt’s face lifted up to meet him.
After a moment, Kurt pulled away. His eyes fluttered open slowly, and his tongue slipped up to lick his lips lightly, still savouring the moment. Mike was beaming down at him, and his hand still hadn’t moved from where it was gently cupping Kurt’s cheek.
“Did you know I would do that?”
Mike looked him directly in the eyes, and replied honestly, “I hoped.”
Kurt chuckled, his own hand coming up to adjust Mike’s sweater minutely. Then, frowning slightly, he asked, “But you didn’t think I would?”
“I knew you liked Finn.”
And there it was. Kurt stepped back, hand falling away from Mike’s chest. He wrapped his arms around himself defensively, for once not worrying that it was making his Alexander McQueen sweater lie totally wrong. He couldn’t believe he’d been so foolish.
“Hey, wait, Kurt,” Mike was scrambling for words, clearly unsure of how to fix whatever had just happened. Open mouth, insert foot wasn’t his normal M.O. “I’m sorry, I just- I know Finn was your dream boyfriend or something.”
“Finn wasn’t a dream. If we’re still talking metaphors, a mirage would be more apt.”
“I’m not sure I understand...”
Kurt seemed to hunch in on himself. He desperately hated talking about his own mistakes. “A mirage. The obvious example is the oasis in the desert. Following a hard journey across harsh terrain, the suffering traveller pictures refuge, but it’s nothing more than wishful thinking.
For me, that’s what Finn was. He was the first guy to show me kindness, really. I guess that just blinded me to his faults. I knew that Finn wasn’t right for me; he’s awkward, bumbling, academically-challenged, and he really can’t dress properly. And he’s also straight. But it was safe, for me. Living in Lima, I never thought anyone would like me.”
Mike stepped forward once again. “And now?”
Kurt’s hand drifted shakily up to wrap around Mike’s neck.
“I guess I’ve started believing.”
Mike’s smile became even wider as he leaned down to meet Kurt halfway.
***
AN: There you have it; my first ever Kurt/Mike fic, yay! It was a little cheesy, but, hey, fluff! I’d love to hear what you people think, particularly in terms of advice on my writing or characterisation, because I found Mike hella hard to write. Cheers!
Also, because it wasn’t necessary plot wise but I thought it was too cute a tidbit to leave out...
***
PS Ten years later:
“...Five... Four... Three... Two... One... HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
Cheering along with their friends, who had assembled from across the country to celebrate ten years of music and friendship, two lovers clinked their champagne flutes together in a toast.
“You know, you’ve drunk half your glass, Kurt. Do you feel tipsy?”
“It’s a flute, and yes, I feel horribly tipsy. Honestly, I could fall over and hurt myself at any moment. Worse, I could vomit all over Rachel’s outfit, not that you’d be able to tell, given that its' color scheme calls to mind the ninth level of Fashion Hell. You should take me home and put me to bed right now.”
The familiar wide smile beamed out. “I live to obey.”