The Perils of Being Yoda
Title: The Perils of Being Yoda
Author: lennoxave
Pairing,Character(s): Kurt/Blaine
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,446
Spoilers: Through 2.09, "Special Education"
Summary: Kurt realizes that Blaine sucks at giving advice. But then there's kissing, so it's all okay.
The Perils of Being Yoda
Kurt was laying on his bed looking at the ceiling when he heard a knock on the doorframe to his room.
"Hey," Blaine said.
"Hey," Kurt said back, but rather than sit up and look at his friend, he stayed staring at the ceiling.
"Is something wrong?" Blaine asked, strolling (Kurt didn’t have to see it to know it was happening; that was the only way Blaine got anywhere) into his room and leaning against the dresser at the foot of his bed.
Kurt sighed and propped himself up on his elbow. "I just talked to Finn. You know, my step-brother?"
Blaine nodded.
"Well, he just broke up with his girlfriend, and I’m . . . sort of friends with her, too, I guess, and they both . . ." Kurt paused to think about how to condense the situation. "They both did stupid things to each other, things they knew would hurt the other person, and what Rachel did was way worse, but she only did it because Finn hurt her first and--" he sighed and dropped his head back onto his pillow in frustration. "They’re both idiots, and it’s pissing me off."
Blaine made a sympathetic noise and smiled. "Understandable. But you know what would be the best thing you could do in this situation?"
"Hmm?"
"Lock them in a room together. Make them hash it out."
Kurt looked at Blaine. "That’s . . ." He thought about it in his head. Locked in a room together, they would have to talk about things. The choir room would work. It was a safe place for both of them, and if things got heated . . . Finn would punch a wall and break his hand, then throw a chair through the back windows and climb out. Rachel would cry endlessly and scream for help so much that she’d ruin her vocal cords and lose her voice, which, no matter how many times he had idly wished for Rachel Berry to be suddenly struck dumb, wouldn’t actually make Kurt happy. He frowned.
". . . That’s terrible advice." Something clicked in his head, and he suddenly sat straight up on his bed. "You give terrible advice."
"What?" Blaine said, half-laughing it off and half-looking completely flustered. "What are you talking about?"
"You!" Kurt said. "You, and your terrible advice."
"I don’t--"
"You told me to confront Karofsky! Karofsky, who could, and there is a distant possibility might, kill me! That was a horrible idea!" Kurt stood up.
"I’m sorry, I didn’t--"
"And what was that crap you told me after the audition, about ‘we wear uniforms here’ and ‘you’re trying too hard’? What the hell difference does trying too hard make in a group that competes? Telling me to try to fit in? And completely lose my identity in the process? I’d almost rather take the abuse at McKinley!" Kurt’s voice was both rising and getting louder, and while he didn’t feel angry at Blaine, exactly, his body had apparently decided to let out all of its lingering resentments at once.
"I--" Blaine had his hands up in a show of defense (or perhaps surrender), but Kurt wasn’t through yet.
"You act like you’re some big gay boarding school sensei, but you know what? You SUCK at it." With that Kurt, feeling suddenly drained, dropped back onto the bed again.
There was silence for a few moments.
"Are you finished?" Blaine asked, somewhat meekly.
". . . Yes," Kurt said. He realized, somewhat belatedly, that he may have just alienated his closest friend here beyond the level of forgiveness, and he was not looking forward to the fallout.
"Okay." Blaine sat down next to Kurt on the bed. ". . . You’re right."
Kurt gaped. "I am?"
"Yeah," Blaine laughed a little bit. "I’m terrible, awful, horrible, downright hopeless at giving people advice." He looked so dejected that Kurt felt the need to backtrack a little on his statement.
"You were right about Pavarotti," he said, gesturing to the bird that was now happily eating birdseed in its cage on the windowsill. "At least, in the literal sense, if not the heavy-handed-metaphor-for-my-life way. That still remains to be seen." Blaine just shook his head. "And, and the ‘courage’ thing!" Kurt tried again. "That was helpful, even if your practical advice wasn’t."
"No, it’s true," Blaine said. "Last year, Wes crashed his car into the statue of Dalton Academy founder Andrew Dalton just outside the front gates. I told him not to worry about it, that he could just drive away and no one would ever suspect."
"I take it that didn’t work out well?"
"Dude is still serving Saturday detentions. I’m good at the comforting listener part of friendship, but not so much the advice stuff."
"Well, then," Kurt asked the obvious question, "if you know you’re not good at giving advice, why do you keep trying to give it to me?"
Blaine looked at the floor. "I . . . uh . . ." He looked at Kurt and then back at the floor.
"What?"
Blaine sighed. "When I first saw you here, on the spiral staircase? In your laughably apparent spy get-up? I was . . . I felt . . ." He gulped. "I found you really attractive. Like, really attractive." Kurt felt a blush run up his cheeks. "But then I got to talking to you, and--" you weren’t attractive to me anymore, Kurt thought he'd say "--I realized that you needed a friend, a mentor, even, more than a boyfriend."
Oh.
"You were just so . . . lost, and you seemed so unhappy, that . . ." Blaine sighed again. "I wanted to help you. I tried to help you, but I suck at it, so--" He paused and got up to leave. "I’m sorry."
"Wait!" Kurt got up, and Blaine stopped in his tracks. He turned to face Kurt.
"Your heart was in the right place," Kurt said. "And, you’re right; I did need a guide then, someone to . . . give me hope." He took a step forward. "But I’m here now, you know? And I need someone to show me where the library is, not instruct me on how to act, on who to be."
He placed both of his hands on Blaine’s chest, and he could hear his heart beating in his ears. Blaine, for his part, stood frozen in place, his eyes wide but inviting.
"And that someone could be a boyfriend," Kurt finished, and he grabbed Blaine by his god-awful lapel and pulled him into a kiss.
It was short, and it was chaste. But the feeling of kissing Blaine, and of Blaine kissing back, made him weak in the knees and shaky all over. In the best way possible.
"Are you sure?" Blaine asked when they pulled apart.
Kurt took Blaine’s face in his hands. "Let me make my own decision on this one, okay? No input from you." Smiling, Blaine put his arms around Kurt’s waist and came in for a second kiss.
"It wasn’t because you were trying too hard," Blaine said, after a more . . . heated kiss.
"Wait, what?" Kurt asked, breathing a little heavily. Whatever conversation they had just been having was the farthest thing from his mind at that moment.
"That audition? You were amazing," Blaine said, stepping back and taking Kurt’s hands. "But solos usually go to the guys who have been here the longest. It’s not fair, but . . ." He made an annoyed noise. "God, I don’t know why I didn’t just tell you that, instead of making you feel bad . . ."
Kurt put a finger to Blaine’s lips. "Warbler pride, I understand. I will bitch about Will Schuester’s methods of solo and song selection until the day I die, but I would defend him and that club against an army of hungry Anna Wintours if I had to."
Blaine smirked. "Isn’t ‘hungry Anna Wintour’ sort of redundant?"
"Hush, you."
Blaine leaned over and gave him a peck on the lips. "I wish I could stay, but I was supposed to meet David to study for history, and I was already running late when I got here."
"Oh, I suppose that’s all right," Kurt smiled.
"Seriously, though, you’re sure you want this? I mean, now that you’ve figured out that I’m not perfect?"
Kurt thought back on the last crush he had, on a well-meaning but often clueless brunette. He began to wonder if maybe he had a type.
"Trust me; it only makes me like you more."
Author: lennoxave
Pairing,Character(s): Kurt/Blaine
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,446
Spoilers: Through 2.09, "Special Education"
Summary: Kurt realizes that Blaine sucks at giving advice. But then there's kissing, so it's all okay.
The Perils of Being Yoda
Kurt was laying on his bed looking at the ceiling when he heard a knock on the doorframe to his room.
"Hey," Blaine said.
"Hey," Kurt said back, but rather than sit up and look at his friend, he stayed staring at the ceiling.
"Is something wrong?" Blaine asked, strolling (Kurt didn’t have to see it to know it was happening; that was the only way Blaine got anywhere) into his room and leaning against the dresser at the foot of his bed.
Kurt sighed and propped himself up on his elbow. "I just talked to Finn. You know, my step-brother?"
Blaine nodded.
"Well, he just broke up with his girlfriend, and I’m . . . sort of friends with her, too, I guess, and they both . . ." Kurt paused to think about how to condense the situation. "They both did stupid things to each other, things they knew would hurt the other person, and what Rachel did was way worse, but she only did it because Finn hurt her first and--" he sighed and dropped his head back onto his pillow in frustration. "They’re both idiots, and it’s pissing me off."
Blaine made a sympathetic noise and smiled. "Understandable. But you know what would be the best thing you could do in this situation?"
"Hmm?"
"Lock them in a room together. Make them hash it out."
Kurt looked at Blaine. "That’s . . ." He thought about it in his head. Locked in a room together, they would have to talk about things. The choir room would work. It was a safe place for both of them, and if things got heated . . . Finn would punch a wall and break his hand, then throw a chair through the back windows and climb out. Rachel would cry endlessly and scream for help so much that she’d ruin her vocal cords and lose her voice, which, no matter how many times he had idly wished for Rachel Berry to be suddenly struck dumb, wouldn’t actually make Kurt happy. He frowned.
". . . That’s terrible advice." Something clicked in his head, and he suddenly sat straight up on his bed. "You give terrible advice."
"What?" Blaine said, half-laughing it off and half-looking completely flustered. "What are you talking about?"
"You!" Kurt said. "You, and your terrible advice."
"I don’t--"
"You told me to confront Karofsky! Karofsky, who could, and there is a distant possibility might, kill me! That was a horrible idea!" Kurt stood up.
"I’m sorry, I didn’t--"
"And what was that crap you told me after the audition, about ‘we wear uniforms here’ and ‘you’re trying too hard’? What the hell difference does trying too hard make in a group that competes? Telling me to try to fit in? And completely lose my identity in the process? I’d almost rather take the abuse at McKinley!" Kurt’s voice was both rising and getting louder, and while he didn’t feel angry at Blaine, exactly, his body had apparently decided to let out all of its lingering resentments at once.
"I--" Blaine had his hands up in a show of defense (or perhaps surrender), but Kurt wasn’t through yet.
"You act like you’re some big gay boarding school sensei, but you know what? You SUCK at it." With that Kurt, feeling suddenly drained, dropped back onto the bed again.
There was silence for a few moments.
"Are you finished?" Blaine asked, somewhat meekly.
". . . Yes," Kurt said. He realized, somewhat belatedly, that he may have just alienated his closest friend here beyond the level of forgiveness, and he was not looking forward to the fallout.
"Okay." Blaine sat down next to Kurt on the bed. ". . . You’re right."
Kurt gaped. "I am?"
"Yeah," Blaine laughed a little bit. "I’m terrible, awful, horrible, downright hopeless at giving people advice." He looked so dejected that Kurt felt the need to backtrack a little on his statement.
"You were right about Pavarotti," he said, gesturing to the bird that was now happily eating birdseed in its cage on the windowsill. "At least, in the literal sense, if not the heavy-handed-metaphor-for-my-life way. That still remains to be seen." Blaine just shook his head. "And, and the ‘courage’ thing!" Kurt tried again. "That was helpful, even if your practical advice wasn’t."
"No, it’s true," Blaine said. "Last year, Wes crashed his car into the statue of Dalton Academy founder Andrew Dalton just outside the front gates. I told him not to worry about it, that he could just drive away and no one would ever suspect."
"I take it that didn’t work out well?"
"Dude is still serving Saturday detentions. I’m good at the comforting listener part of friendship, but not so much the advice stuff."
"Well, then," Kurt asked the obvious question, "if you know you’re not good at giving advice, why do you keep trying to give it to me?"
Blaine looked at the floor. "I . . . uh . . ." He looked at Kurt and then back at the floor.
"What?"
Blaine sighed. "When I first saw you here, on the spiral staircase? In your laughably apparent spy get-up? I was . . . I felt . . ." He gulped. "I found you really attractive. Like, really attractive." Kurt felt a blush run up his cheeks. "But then I got to talking to you, and--" you weren’t attractive to me anymore, Kurt thought he'd say "--I realized that you needed a friend, a mentor, even, more than a boyfriend."
Oh.
"You were just so . . . lost, and you seemed so unhappy, that . . ." Blaine sighed again. "I wanted to help you. I tried to help you, but I suck at it, so--" He paused and got up to leave. "I’m sorry."
"Wait!" Kurt got up, and Blaine stopped in his tracks. He turned to face Kurt.
"Your heart was in the right place," Kurt said. "And, you’re right; I did need a guide then, someone to . . . give me hope." He took a step forward. "But I’m here now, you know? And I need someone to show me where the library is, not instruct me on how to act, on who to be."
He placed both of his hands on Blaine’s chest, and he could hear his heart beating in his ears. Blaine, for his part, stood frozen in place, his eyes wide but inviting.
"And that someone could be a boyfriend," Kurt finished, and he grabbed Blaine by his god-awful lapel and pulled him into a kiss.
It was short, and it was chaste. But the feeling of kissing Blaine, and of Blaine kissing back, made him weak in the knees and shaky all over. In the best way possible.
"Are you sure?" Blaine asked when they pulled apart.
Kurt took Blaine’s face in his hands. "Let me make my own decision on this one, okay? No input from you." Smiling, Blaine put his arms around Kurt’s waist and came in for a second kiss.
"It wasn’t because you were trying too hard," Blaine said, after a more . . . heated kiss.
"Wait, what?" Kurt asked, breathing a little heavily. Whatever conversation they had just been having was the farthest thing from his mind at that moment.
"That audition? You were amazing," Blaine said, stepping back and taking Kurt’s hands. "But solos usually go to the guys who have been here the longest. It’s not fair, but . . ." He made an annoyed noise. "God, I don’t know why I didn’t just tell you that, instead of making you feel bad . . ."
Kurt put a finger to Blaine’s lips. "Warbler pride, I understand. I will bitch about Will Schuester’s methods of solo and song selection until the day I die, but I would defend him and that club against an army of hungry Anna Wintours if I had to."
Blaine smirked. "Isn’t ‘hungry Anna Wintour’ sort of redundant?"
"Hush, you."
Blaine leaned over and gave him a peck on the lips. "I wish I could stay, but I was supposed to meet David to study for history, and I was already running late when I got here."
"Oh, I suppose that’s all right," Kurt smiled.
"Seriously, though, you’re sure you want this? I mean, now that you’ve figured out that I’m not perfect?"
Kurt thought back on the last crush he had, on a well-meaning but often clueless brunette. He began to wonder if maybe he had a type.
"Trust me; it only makes me like you more."