Bridging the GAP
Title: Bridging the GAP
Genre: Romance
Pairing: Klaine
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,046
Spoilers: Inspired by the February 8 episode spoilers and how I'd like to see them play out. So if you have scrupulously avoided the spoilers for that episode up to now and want to keep it that way, don't read this.
Summary: Blaine has a question.
Blaine drained the dregs of his latte, grimacing at the cold, gritty taste, and morosely tossed the empty cup in a trashcan. He liked Mercedes. He really did. He liked the Warblers, too, and ordinarily he'd be more than fine with spending an afternoon singing vaguely suggestive duets with Kurt in front of the Sunday Lima Mall shoppers with eight-part harmony backup, followed by a round of window-shopping, but he'd hoped for a few special moments alone with him today and it was looking less and less like that was going to happen. Kurt seemed contented enough with his two best friends, one on each side, as he and Mercedes gamely tagged along on his quest for discount designer clothes and allowed themselves to be subjected to simultaneous makeovers that they neither asked for nor felt they needed. The Warblers' next set was in ten minutes and Mercedes showed no signs of taking any of his hints that he'd like her to go get some tater tots by herself before then, or Blaine would lose yet another chance to broach a very delicate subject with Kurt.
The Warblers were gathering on the risers on the stage in front of the GAP store already, and Blaine was feeling a little desperate. They would be getting on the bus right after the last set, with no chance to talk privately to be had there. Grasping at straws, he cleared his throat and tapped Kurt's arm.
"Speaking of clothes ... uh, could you give me some more pointers before we go on? I, uh ... I need jeans," he improvised, grabbing a pair of acid-washed jeans from a table in front of the GAP and a v-neck tee shirt from beside it.
Kurt looked horrified, and shook his head firmly, extracting the jeans from his grasp, holding them with the tips of his fingers with evident distaste. "Nobody needs those," he said pityingly, folding them and placing them on the table. "Not to mention they're a 44 ... they'd come up to your neck." He rummaged busily and selected three pairs of jeans. "Here. They're ... okay, if you must shop here. I like the tee shirt," he said encouragingly.
"Shouldn't I try them on?" Blaine pleaded. "And ... and you need to tell me if they fit right," he said. "Come to the dressing room with me," he finished, looking sideways at Mercedes.
"I don't know if we have time, Blaine..." Kurt started, but seeing Blaine pouting slightly, he sighed. "Oh, all right. I guess I dragged you to a lot of stores today, least I can do is go into ... this place ... with you."
Blaine seized his hand and gave a triumphant look back at Mercedes, who looked back mystified and shrugged. Dragging Kurt to the dressing rooms, he felt the cold grip of nerves take hold of his stomach when the waited-for opportunity finally was here. Instead of saying what he had to say, he found himself inside one of the cubicles trying on the jeans and tee-shirt while Kurt sat down at the end of the dressing room by the three-way mirror. Blaine yanked on the tee-shirt and craned his head over the edge of the cubicle door and saw Kurt admiring himself at various angles in the mirror, and paused, staring. So pretty, Blaine thought despondently, wiping sweaty palms thoughtlessly on the new jeans. I can't do this ... but if I don't say something this weekend of all weekends, I'll be in 'friend zone' forever along with ... with that cockblocking Mercedes, he thought bitterly.
"C'mon, Blaine, let's get a look, that's why we're here," Kurt chirped, and Blaine silently emerged from the cubicle. Kurt got up and started over, smiling appreciatively ... at least, Blaine thought Kurt looked like he liked what he saw ... or was he just hoping that was it? Does he like me - like that - or is it just that I want him to?
"Not bad, not bad at all ... that tee shirt fits perfectly - you have really nice arms," Kurt was saying, and then he reached out and brushed a hand over the sleeve gently. "And it looks like I was right on target about your jean size too," he said proudly.
And then out of nowhere ... he blushed. No doubt about it ... Kurt was blushing, Blaine thought incoherently, before he realized that Kurt was now turning away with an embarrassed little smile and saying something about meeting him at the register ... and without thinking, Blaine reached frantically for Kurt's arm and pulled him into the cubicle, slamming the door shut and turning to face his astonished friend, this time determined.
"I ... I have another question," he plowed ahead, and when Kurt's gray-blue eyes stared uncomprehendingly at him, the words died in his throat and Blaine put a hand on the cubicle wall to steady himself and try again, but found himself stammering nonsense about what a good friend Kurt was and he wasn't sure if he was reading certain signals wrong, but he hoped he wasn't, and Kurt's eyes were dimming with tears and it wasn't coming out the way it was supposed to, not at all, and finally in despair Blaine picked up his uniform jacket and yanked out the goddamned envelope and held it out with a shaking hand.
"It's in there. The question," he blathered, and Kurt took the envelope and fumbled at it with clumsy, trembling fingers, and Blaine bit his immaculate nails as Kurt drew out the pink-and-red heart shaped card and studied it.
"Will You Be Mine?" was written in flowy script over the face of the card, and Blaine watched Kurt open it and run his fingers wonderingly over the "Dear Kurt" and the "Love, Blaine" written inside, big round tears welling up and making his eyes turn from cloudy gray to a bright aquamarine. Those beautiful eyes left the card and met his.
"That's a stupid question," Kurt said shakily, and Blaine's heart sank with a nauseated sensation of disappointment before Kurt slipped his arms around his neck and finished in a half-sob, "I've been yours since you held my hand the first day on the stairs."