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December 21, 9:53 p.m.
“I swear, if you interfere with my getting some at this party, you’re doing the dishes for an entire month.”
Kurt knew she expected him to roll his eyes, so he cackled instead, just to be contrary. “Considering that I end up washing most of your stuff anyway because you leave it in the sink for days on end, that’s not much of a punishment, Lopez.”
“Fine!” Santana replied huffily, stopping in her tracks and turning away from him to check her eye makeup in a storefront window. “You can do all my laundry, then. Including hand-washing my delicates.” She gave him a sweet smile in the glass, then whipped out her lip gloss for a touch-up.
“I'm not going to interfere, but okay, you’re on,” Kurt sighed, and checked the time on his phone. ‘Fashionably late’ had passed at least half an hour ago -- not that it really mattered, as neither he nor Santana actually knew the host of the party -- and he was impatient. He waited another minute, then crossed his arms and glared at her reflection. “You look fabulous, can we please just get there already?”
She scoffed and stepped away from the window at last, putting a hand on his shoulder for balance while she adjusted one of her stilettos, and just when he thought they were finally ready to get moving again, she switched legs to fix the other shoe, too. Kurt was ready to seize her around the waist, haul her onto his shoulder, and carry her the rest of the way.
They made it to the loft at last, though, and both of them pretended to be unimpressed by its elegance and size, which was quite apparent in spite of how many people were crammed inside. Santana took his hand, as she always did when they were somewhere crowded and didn’t want to lose him, and led him straight to the bar. “Stoli and tonic,” she snapped at anyone working who would listen, then glanced at Kurt, who nodded. “Make it two!”
Once they had their drinks, however, Santana seemed to decide that she had no more use for him and wandered off -- sashayed off, actually, the tiny dress she wore displaying her hips and ass perfectly. Kurt chuckled into his glass; there was no way she wouldn’t have at least six girls hanging all over her within the hour.
Of course, this meant that he now had to fend for himself. That was okay, because there was plenty to hold his interest -- dozens of beautiful people in all manner of holiday get-ups. It made him wish he’d chosen something a bit more Christmas-y to wear, but his tightest red pants counted for something, right?
He just wove in and out of the crowd for a while, listening to bits of conversation but not actually getting involved in any of them. He didn’t see a single person that he knew, which didn’t surprise him. Santana had heard about this party from... well, somebody, and had been told that any and all were welcome, so why not? He’d have a few drinks, maybe have a few nice chats with people, then find Santana and hopefully head back home before three a.m. since he had to work in the morning. That also meant that he couldn’t get too sloppy, but he discovered that his glass was empty sooner than he’d anticipated and circled back around to the bar for another one.
He’d just been handed a fresh drink when he heard the opening notes of Cyndi Lauper's cover of "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" and grimaced. It was such a terrible cover -- but someone quite close to him obviously disagreed and let out a whoop. Kurt turned slightly to look at whoever it was, an eyebrow raised.
"Sorry," the guy said brightly, and Kurt was amused to see that he had a length of silver garland draped around his neck like a scarf. He had a bottle of Stella in one hand and laid the other on Kurt’s forearm without preamble. "Hey, wow, I've been looking for you all night! Listen, I absolutely have to go dance to this song and I need you to come with me. I don’t know what happened to my friend -- he got distracted and went chasing after something, he does it a lot, he’s kind of like a big golden retriever puppy. Anyway, I can't dance to this alone. You won't leave me all alone on Christmas, right?"
Kurt just stared at him, unable to help smiling. “How many have you had, honey?” he asked, before closing his lips around the end of the stir stick of his own drink and taking a sip.
"Enough to make me totally willing to bother a cute guy into dancing with me, but not so many that I can't still impress him with my moves," he said, wiggling his shoulders a bit to the beat of the music to demonstrate. Now that Kurt was really looking at him, he realized how incredibly adorable he was. Huge, soft eyes with lashes for days, a gorgeous mouth, and dark hair slicked back with more gel than should really be allowed, but it suited him, somehow. Before Kurt could get too involved in ogling, the guy let go of Kurt’s arm and adjusted the garland around his neck, tossing one dangling end over his shoulder. Then he pulled himself to his full height and beamed, offering his hand, palm-up. "So. May I have this dance?"
Dancing by himself or in a group might have been vaguely on Kurt’s list of plans for this evening, but dancing one-on-one hadn’t been -- and flirting certainly hadn’t been. He would have been stupid to walk away from the opportunity, though, especially with someone as hot as this. “Sure,” he replied, tipping his head back to down the rest of his drink before abandoning the glass on a table and taking the man’s hand. Shaking his hips a little, he winked as he lifted their hands above his head and did a half-turn, leading him to where there was a bit more space for them to move.
“She sounds more wasted than you,” Kurt said, gesturing toward the ceiling, and the music, and then letting his hand drop to his dance partner’s waist. “Who decided it was a good idea to actually release this song?” Belatedly, he realized that it might have sounded a little catty, so he grinned to make up for it.
The guy laughed, looping one arm over Kurt’s shoulder and leaning in closer so he could be heard over the music. "Cyndi's a national treasure, mister. She got you out on the floor, didn't she?"
“Actually, it was you who got me out here,” Kurt said boldly, still smiling. “And this, too,” he added, picking up one end of the garland and lightly tickling his new friend’s nose with it. “Very festive.”
“Yeah, some girl just gave it to me a minute ago! For no reason! That’s the kind of party this is, though, and I love it! Christmas in New York, everything's amazing -- and okay, whoever’s in charge of the music is clearly a genius.” He hummed cheerfully along with Cyndi, swaying exaggeratedly to the music and, since his arm was still around Kurt’s shoulder, pulling Kurt along with him.
Oh, this one was a keeper. “I think a gold one would look even better on you,” Kurt told him, twitching the garland again. “You’ll have to see if you can snag one from somebody else tonight. Maybe add a string of lights?”
"Does this end with an angel on top of me?" the man -- Kurt decided to call him ‘Tinsel’ until they were properly introduced -- countered, waggling his eyebrows for emphasis. "Because that's what I'm hearing."
Before Kurt had a chance to react, he added, "Oh god, I'm sorry," giggling helplessly and hiding his face in his shoulder. "That was terrible. Sometimes my mouth gets ahead of me."
“It’s okay,” Kurt said, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. The guy glanced quickly back at him with the cutest smile, obviously relieved that Kurt wasn’t offended. “Aside from that, have you been a good boy this year? Is Santa going to bring you something nice? If not, you still have a few days to get in his good graces.” He still had the end of the garland in his hand and was twining it between his fingers -- and he’d slid his other arm over the guy’s shoulder, but wasn’t exactly sure when that had happened.
The song was winding down, Cyndi’s voice fading out (and thank goodness for that, because she’d descended into a weird yodeling thing and it was rather unpleasant to listen to) and some female’s version of “Jingle Bell Rock” came on right after it. Kurt made no move to leave, just smiled and kept dancing. “Unless you like lumps of coal in your stocking? Some people do. Weird fetishes or what have you.”
"I'll have you know that I'm a permanent fixture on Santa's Nice list," Tinsel said with a little wink. "So far he's already been pretty good to me this year. I mean, I'm not sure that he's hosting this party, but I have to say I'm definitely enjoying the guests."
Kurt’s eyebrows shot up. “Fashionable and a charmer, look at you.” He gave the guy’s bright red bowtie a little tweak. “I don’t have a date for New Year’s, so maybe I should give you a call.” Wow, maybe he was a little drunk, too. He’d downed those two vodka tonics in less than 30 minutes and was now asking out someone whose name he didn’t even know yet, which was definitely not like him. He was about to finally introduce himself, but just as he opened his mouth, a blur of movement caught his eye. Some dude in a Santa hat had run into the room carrying a long stick with something green and white on the end, and after a few seconds of squinting Kurt realized it was mistletoe. He seemed to be stopping at various people and holding it over them. Uh-oh.
Before Kurt knew it, he was right next to them, waving his stick in the air above their heads. "Ho ho ho," he said, nudging Kurt’s dance partner with his elbow. "Merrrrrry Kiss-mas!"
"Oh, wow," his new friend said, turning to face Kurt again. He huffed out a laugh, blushing and bashful and god, he was cute. "I guess I really have been a good boy this year. Would you -- is this okay?"
Normally Kurt would have been sort of mortified, but this guy? This guy? Bring it on. “Come here, Tinsel,” he said, grinning, and leaned in without hesitation. It was a quick, closed-lipped kiss, but sweet and warm and yeah, Kurt wasn’t upset at all about being chosen by The World’s Drunkest Santa. “You can keep holding it over us if you want,” he said to their matchmaker, only half-joking (and maybe not even that much).
“One kiss per couple, go find your own,” Drunk Santa slurred, then clapped Kurt on the shoulder and lurched off to find his next victims.
Kurt snorted with laughter, and he knew he was blushing like crazy, but he met his dance partner’s eyes anyway. “I could be very improper and ask if you want to follow his advice, but...” He trailed off, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling and laughing at himself again. Too much alcohol, yup.
But the cute guy tilted his head and smiled with obvious delight. "I see that someone is on Santa's Naughty list," he teased, his eyes flickering down to Kurt’s lips. "I love it. And did I hear something about New Ye-- oh my god," he exclaimed, interrupting himself as the next song started playing. Then he laughed softly, shaking his head and resting one hand against Kurt’s chest. "Sorry, I just... 'Wonderful Christmastime'! I haven't heard this song in ages -- my old glee club used to perform it at nursing homes every year at Christmas and it just took me back for a second. What was I saying?"
“Hang on, you were in glee club?” Kurt’s embarrassment vanished instantly. “So was I!” He grabbed the hand on his chest without thinking, squeezing his fingers in his excitement. “Okay, this has to be fate or something. Next you’ll tell me it was in Ohio, too.”
The guy’s eyes lit up, sparkled, even, and Kurt knew he was on the verge of saying that it actually had been in Ohio, are you kidding with this, but he never got to hear it. Santana suddenly appeared out of nowhere, a tornado of hair and legs and angrily flashing eyes, and her nails were digging into Kurt’s arm before he even knew what was happening. “We’re leaving, come on!” she shouted, and -- wait, was she crying?
“San--”
“Now!” She was yanking him away, literally dragging him by the arm away from his gorgeous new friend with the soft lips and the garland scarf, and what would have probably been a great New Year’s date, by the sound of things. Damn.
“I’m sorry!” Kurt called, waving with the arm Santana wasn’t trying to rip right out of its socket. She was his best friend in the entire world but at that moment he didn’t even care what had upset her so much. Then, feeling ridiculous, he blew a kiss into the crowd, and just before Santana pulled him through the loft’s front door, he saw Tinsel’s adorable face one last time as he reached up to catch it.
December 24, 2:06 p.m.
"I can't believe I didn't get my shopping done before now," Blaine said woefully, bumping into Sam for the third time in as many minutes as they fought their way through the crowded Fifth Avenue sidewalk. "Midtown on Christmas Eve day? This is a nightmare."
"You should've let me order presents for the kids while I was getting Stevie and Stacey's," Sam said. "I kicked Amazon.com's ass like a month ago, dude."
"I know, I know," Blaine sighed, burrowing further into the scarf he had wrapped up nearly to his nose -- it was freezing out. "I just wanted to go pick things out myself, but then I was so busy with school, and getting ready for the Winter Showcase, and time kind of got away from me."
"Well, we have almost three hours before we have to get on the PATH," Sam said, checking his cell phone. "It's just your three cousins, right? We can totally pull this off."
"Just the three of them," Blaine confirmed, mentally running through them in his mind and trying to visualize appropriate gifts. "Megan just turned ten, and the twins are seven. My aunt said not to worry about getting anything for her and Uncle Mark -- she said our presence is more than enough. I think she mostly meant your presence, though," he added, nudging Sam with his elbow. His aunt's crush on Sam wasn't any secret -- the previous Christmas, she'd gotten a little tipsy and flirted outrageously, much to the amusement of her husband... and everyone, really, including Sam.
"What can I say, the ladies love White Chocolate," Sam drawled, grinning down at Blaine.
"Speaking of which," Blaine said as they squeezed their way into FAO Schwarz, which looked like a war zone set inside Santa's workshop, "did you call that girl from the party the other night, Brittany? She seemed sweet."
"She did," Sam agreed, grabbing a Transformers playset off the nearest table and holding it up so Blaine could see it. "Check this out."
"For the twins?" Blaine asked.
"No, man, for me," Sam said seriously, and Blaine glared at him until he cracked up. "Okay, fine, for the twins." He snatched another box off the same table. "Look, this set has all different ones, they can mix and match."
"Perfect," Blaine said, breathing a small sigh of relief. Now they just needed to find something for Megan, and then pray that the checkout line wouldn't be a total disaster. Which it probably would be, but if they moved quickly, he figured they could still make it out to New Jersey in time for dinner. He stuck close behind Sam as they moved further into the store, letting his larger friend clear a bit of a path for him through the harried shoppers. "So anyway, Brittany?"
"Yeah, she was cool," Sam said, nodding. "I kind of forgot to get her number, though."
"You forgot?"
"I seem to recall getting distracted by someone complaining about having the man of their dreams ripped away from him by an angry Latina," Sam said, throwing a grin at Blaine over his shoulder.
Blaine pouted. "I may have been being slightly overdramatic, but he was really cute, Sam. And he seemed so nice, and he was funny, and well-dressed, and..."
"And then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone," Sam intoned dramatically. Blaine poked him between the shoulder blades.
"This is far too serious for Movie Trailer Guy, Sam," he said, but he smiled despite himself, and smiled further when he spotted a display of chocolate fondue sets for kids. He picked one up and showed it to Sam. "Thematic gifts! Milk chocolate for Megan and White Chocolate for her mother!"
"And Merry Christmas to all, and to all let's get the hell in line so we can get out of here," Sam said, pointing toward the cash registers.
The line did, in fact, take approximately forever, but they stayed amused by watching all the shoppers, and Blaine tried not to dwell on the handsome stranger he'd met -- and kissed, oh god, it had been so nice -- a few days earlier. Sure, he'd had beautiful eyes and a melodious voice and his hands had been really soft, but he was gone, and that was that. There were eight million people in New York City, and Blaine didn't even know the guy's name, let alone how to find him.
When they finally made their way out of the store, they headed toward the subway station a few blocks up. While they were waiting to cross 59th Street, their packages tucked securely under Sam's arms -- hey, that's part of the point of having a big, muscular friend -- a few strummed guitar chords caught Blaine's attention, and he whipped his head around to find the source of the music. A pretty dreadlocked girl in a Santa hat was sitting nearby with her guitar in her lap, and when she started singing, Blaine couldn't help but sigh, because obviously he wouldn't be forgetting his handsome stranger at least until the holidays were over.
"Rockin' around the Christmas tree, at the Christmas party hop..."
He reached for his wallet and pulled out a five, then scurried over to drop it into her open guitar case.
"Thanks man, Merry Christmas," she said, giving him a little wave.
"Merry Christmas," Blaine said, and followed Sam across the street and down into the subway station.
December 24, 2:38 p.m.
It didn’t matter that they’d spent the entire morning working together, nor that they’d just had a three-hour lunch; Isabelle still spent a good ten minutes saying goodbye to Kurt on the sidewalk outside The Plaza. She was much more tipsy than Kurt himself, almost drunk, and her cheeks were rosy as much from the alcohol as the cold. “Are you sure you don’t want to come to my place tomorrow?” she asked for the fourth time, pressing her cashmere-gloved hands to his face, her eyes bright.
Kurt chuckled, taking her hands in his. “Positive. Santana and I will be just fine, but thank you.”
She put on a theatrical pout but nodded. “Okay, but if she gets too loud, you call me.” She extracted her right hand and pointed right at his nose, close enough that he instinctively crossed his eyes to look at it. “You call me!”
“I will, I promise!” He stared at her for a moment, squeezing the hand he still held. “I’m going to get you a cab, all right?”
“Don’t be silly, I can walk!”
“Noooo, no no, not today. Look how busy it is! And you’re... you’re small, so you’d get jostled around and yeah, let me just get a cab,” he said hastily, turning his head toward Central Park South and putting his arm up. Isabelle had been one of his closest confidantes for more than two years, but she was still his boss, and he wasn’t about to tell her that she’d had too much to drink to walk home.
A taxi slid to a stop right in front of them and Kurt bundled her into it, telling the driver her address as she leaned against the back of the seat and gazed at him silently. Kurt hoped she would still be awake when they got to her apartment. “I love you!” she declared just before he closed the door.
“You too,” he said, smiling sincerely, and tapped the taxi’s roof after shutting the door.
He heaved a deep sigh as he watched the cab pull back into traffic, then extracted his phone from his coat pocket. He’d been waiting almost an hour to check the voicemail his father had left during lunch.
”Hey, Kurt. Just wanted to let you know that your package finally got here today. Carole loves the earrings, but she told me to tell you that she knows you spent way too much on them. And thanks for all the stuff you got for me. Thanks a bunch. Call us tomorrow, okay? Love you.”
Kurt bit his lip and blinked away tears as he listened to the message, barely noticing the throngs of last-minute Christmas shoppers around him. All of a sudden, tomorrow was too far away, and he quickly scrolled through his contacts to find his dad’s number.
“Merry Christmas Eve!” he said gaily, a little too gaily, probably, when Burt answered.
“Well, hey there. What’s going on?”
“Oh, Isabelle took us all to lunch at The Oak Room and I’m just now leaving. Got your message.” Kurt headed east, toward the subway station that would take him home to Queens. “I didn’t feel like waiting until tomorrow, I miss you guys.”
“We miss you too, Kurt. You’re not still feeling bad about not coming home, are you? ‘Cause I told you that you shouldn’t.”
“I know, I know. I’m not... really.”
“We saw you at Thanksgiving! And we will again sometime soon, don’t worry about it.” His dad laughed, that same familiar long-suffering laugh Kurt had never known how much he’d miss until he’d left home. “How’s Santana?”
Kurt sniffled quickly and replied, “She’s fine, she’s making tamales for us tomorrow. And I asked for churros but she yelled at me and said she has to do these traditional fritter things, I forget what they’re called.”
Laughing again, Burt said, “She’s still yelling at you, huh?”
“She’ll never stop.”
“Uh-huh. And what about you, anything new with you?”
Kurt knew exactly what that meant. “Actually...” He paused, wondering if it was even worth it to bring up Tinsel. But he’d already started, so he might as well just spit it out. “I danced with somebody at this party, a really sweet, charming guy, but we didn’t have a chance to...” Realizing how silly and futile it was to even discuss, he let out a snort and shook his head. “Nevermind. I danced with somebody. But Santana saw her ex-girlfriend making out with a boy, so she got really upset and made us leave.”
His father was silent, and Kurt took the phone away from his ear to make sure the call hadn’t dropped. “Dad?”
“Yeah, sorry. Just thinking again about how toxic that friendship is.”
“It’s not, it’s really not. Santana and I love each other to death. It wasn’t like that, it was just lousy timing, that’s all.”
Speaking of timing, he suddenly heard a guitar nearby playing the last few notes of “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” and couldn’t help smiling at the busker playing it. She was entirely engrossed in the instrument, her dreadlocks falling over her face as she hunched over it. Then she launched right into the familiar melody of “Wonderful Christmastime” and Kurt’s heart lurched -- wasn’t that the song that Tinsel had said he used to do with his glee club?
“Hang on a second, Dad,” he said slowly, and pulled out his wallet as he hurried over to her. He only had a twenty and some singles, so he dropped four dollars into her case and she grinned at him, nodding happily without interrupting her singing. Kurt beamed back at her, instantly feeling better. “Sorry,” he said into the phone as he waved goodbye to the girl. “Just spreading a little bit more Christmas cheer.”
December 27, 6:14 p.m.
"How many episodes of that are you going to watch, dude?"
Blaine glanced away from the Real Housewives of Miami marathon that he'd been glued to for the past couple of hours and grinned at Sam. "As many as I want. I'm on vacation!"
Despite Blaine's natural inclination to be bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and wearing actual clothes at all times, a year and a half of college had taught him to appreciate a lazy day spent entirely in his underwear, parked on the couch with his laptop and the TV remote. It was too chilly in their apartment to actually lounge in his underwear, unfortunately, but his yoga pants, oversized NYADA hoodie, and fuzzy Christmas socks were just as good, as far as Blaine was concerned. He stretched, making a big, lazy of show of it and even throwing in a yawn for good measure, and Sam laughed.
"Okay, I guess you're allowed to have a lazy day," he said, zipping up his overcoat. "Some of us still have responsibilities even at Christmas, though."
"Aren't you going to the gym?" Blaine asked.
"Looking good is my responsibility," Sam said earnestly, pulling a hat down over his ears. "The better my abs, the better my tips; you know that."
"Or you could just get a gig playing guitar with your shirt on," Blaine suggested mildly, not for the first time. "You're good enough."
"And deprive my many fans? No way," Sam said. He grabbed his keys off the table by the door. "I'm performing a public service for the ladies and gay men of New York, Blaine, and don't you forget it."
"Noted," Blaine said with a chuckle, returning the wave Sam gave him as he walked out the door. He turned back to the TV, and finding it on a commercial, grabbed his laptop so he could check his email and see if he'd heard back about the stage combat class he was trying to get into for next semester. When he refreshed his account, a new email popped up, although it wasn't anything from the professor he'd been trying to sweet-talk.
Harmony Pearce tagged you in a photo on Facebook
Blaine clicked the link in the email, wondering if it would be an actual photo of him, maybe from the dance class they'd been in together last semester, or just one of those "Tag 10 People!" things that went around Facebook all the time and that Harmony was overly fond of doing. He glanced back at the TV while the page loaded, and when he looked back down, his jaw dropped.
It was him... it was them. Blaine and the handsome stranger from the party the other night, kissing. Harmony had captioned the photo "making the yuletide gay!!! ♥", because of course she had, but Blaine couldn't even bring himself to care, because there it was, visual proof that the boy with the swoopy hair and delicious lips existed, and it had happened, and oh oh oh maybe Harmony knew him! She'd only tagged Blaine in the photo, but maybe the other guy just didn't have Facebook, some people didn't. Blaine clicked over to Harmony's profile immediately and sent her a message, his heartbeat speeding up as he typed quickly.
Hey, do you know the other guy in that picture of me you just tagged from that loft party the other night?!
Her reply was almost instantaneous. no, but he's super hot, nice job! :D who is he???
Blaine bit his lip. He hadn't really expected her to know, he supposed, but it had seemed like fate, like a sign that he and his cute mystery boy were meant to find each other, even though Blaine had mostly accepted that he wasn't likely to ever see him again. At least he had the photo; he guessed that was better than nothing.
Just a guy, he sent back, and he closed his laptop with a frown, then turned back to the Real Housewives. He was totally watching at least two more hours. Maybe three.
December 27, 4:38 p.m.
“No more tamales,” Kurt groaned, pushing his plate away and leaning back heavily into the sofa. “Why did you make so many?”
“It was Christmas dinner, you’re supposed to have leftovers!” Santana sounded like her usual abrasive self, but with a touch of genuine hurt underneath.
“Yeah, but with a traditional Christmas dinner there’s variety. Turkey and ham and sweet potatoes and stuffing...” Kurt let out another moan, this one longing and envious, and slowly let his head drop onto Santana’s shoulder.
She snickered, just gently, and slid her arm between the sofa and the back of Kurt’s neck so she could lay her hand against the side of his head. “Okay, next year you can make us your traditional Puritan Christmas dinner. Have all the yams you want.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I love you and everything, but next year I want to have Christmas with a boy.” Tinsel’s sweet smiling face sprang to mind at once -- again, Jesus, it’s been almost a week, just get over it already, Hummel. “Or at home in Ohio,” he added hastily. “And you could come too if you wanted.”
Santana hummed and patted his head. “You can’t fool me. I totally caught that.” She moved slightly so her lips were pressed to his hairline and murmured, “You’ll find somebody. You deserve it more than anyone I know and it’s time and yeah, you will. You will.”
Moments of tenderness were so rare with her that Kurt couldn’t help feeling a little suspicious. “I’m not still mad at you for dragging me out of that party, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“You aren’t? Oh, thank god.” She shoved him away hard enough that he flopped all the way down on his side, which made him squawk in protest. Laughing, Santana said, “I’ve been being so nice to you all week because I thought you were pissed!”
“I was, for a couple of days!” Kurt huffed loudly, sitting back up and checking his hair with his fingers. “And you haven’t been nice all week, you’re still at about 60 percent bitch mode.” Pretending to pout, he slouched down and crossed his arms, and for good measure he gave his half-full plate of tamales on the coffee table an indignant nudge with his toes.
“Okay, good, if you’re not still mad then I can tell you -- Brittany texted me the day after the party.” Kurt whipped his head to the side to stare at her, not at all surprised to see that she was smiling smugly. “What happened was, she had seen me there and she’s not over me yet either, so when she saw me looking totally hot and flirting with that redhead with the septum piercing, she grabbed the first guy she could and started making out with him.”
“The blond guy with the fish lips,” Kurt said, mimicking the way Santana had described him on the train home that night.
She nodded. “So it was just this big misunderstanding or whatever, and we’ve been talking, and...” A smile crept over her face again, much softer than the previous one, and her eyes grew hazy as she stared at something near Kurt’s knee. “Yeah, we’ve been talking. I don’t know. We’ll see.”
As if on cue, Santana’s phone chirped and she snatched it up from the coffee table. Kurt couldn’t help beaming at the look on her face as she read the message, since her expression made it plain who it was from. “Good timing strikes again,” he said to himself, and impulsively leaned over to kiss her cheek.
“No peeking!” she exclaimed, holding the phone high out of his reach.
“I wasn’t! You have Brittany, I’ll just stick with Marysol and Elaine here.” He nodded toward the TV, which had been tuned to the Real Housewives of Miami marathon all day. “I think they’re finally going to work things out. It’s very exciting.”
Santana just snorted at him as she stood up with her phone and started to walk away, but abruptly turned around and picked up his plate from the coffee table. He watched her in slightly awed silence as she took it into the sink and actually washed it, then set it in the dish drainer to dry. She caught his eye when she left the kitchen area, arching an eyebrow.
“It’s a holiday miracle,” he whispered solemnly, then collapsed with laughter as she gave him the finger and stalked to her bedroom.
December 31, 11:03 a.m.
"Not to be judgmental or anything, but these people are all nuts," Sam said, shaking his head in disbelief. He fussed with his gloves for a minute, then shoved his hands into his pockets. "They have another, like, thirteen hours of waiting around ahead of them, plus it's supposed to get down into the 20s tonight."
"Hey, if you didn't have to go pick up your check and I wasn't such an awesome friend as to accompany you, I wouldn't even be anywhere near here now," Blaine said, surveying the already-gathering crowds with a grimace. He liked the idea of a big, once-in-a-lifetime party as much as anyone, but Times Square was a neon-lit, tourist-clogged hell even on a normal evening. "There's nothing in the world that would make me want to be here tonight."
"Not even Jesse St. James?" Sam asked with a sly grin, jerking his head back in the direction of the giant billboard they'd just seen for Nightsong, the blockbuster vampire movie musical starring the man in question.
"Not even if he invited me personally," Blaine said. He paused to consider, pondering just what form that personal invitation could take, but then he nodded. "Yeah, I don't even think a personal invite would be enough. He'll be just as attractive on TV, and it's going to be a madhouse down here. You couldn't pay me to wade into it."
"I wouldn't pay you anyway, dude," Sam said cheerfully, patting Blaine on the shoulder. "I'm all set with our Rockin' Astoria New Year's Eve."
"Me, too," Blaine agreed, rubbing his hands together in excitement. "I may not have a date, but at least when I'm drunkenly stumbling home alone, I'll only have to make it down the hall to our apartment."
"I won't let you stumble alone," Sam said, holding out his gloved fist for Blaine to bump, which he did. "Maybe I'll even carry you like I did after that Warblers Halloween party!"
"That was one time, and we were in high school," Blaine said, rolling his eyes. "I think I can handle myself a little better these days."
"We'll see," Sam said, glancing up at the sky. "Oh, crap, it's starting to snow!"
"I'm dreaming of a white New Year's," Blaine sing-songed, then he pointed at the Starbucks across the street. "Let's go inside so I can get a coffee -- I need another cup to make sure I stay awake until midnight."
"Sure thing, Grandpa," Sam said with a grin. He shook his head at Blaine's offer to buy him a cup of cocoa -- since Sam wasn't a coffee drinker -- or a Frappuccino. "Nah, saving my calories for beer tonight."
Starbucks was, unsurprisingly, pretty much packed, but Sam snagged an empty table near a window while Blaine stood in line, and since the employees were like a well-oiled machine, the line moved quickly. Blaine tugged his scarf so it was a little looser around his neck as he ordered a grande Pike Place roast, returning the smile that the perky girl behind the cash register flashed him. He pulled out his wallet, but to his surprise, she refused to let him pay.
"It's on the house," she said, her cheeks coloring a faint pink as she waved away his credit card. "One of my regulars told me to buy the coffee of the next cute guy who came through my line; he thought I might land myself a date for tonight. Not that I'm hinting or anything. Unless you're interested, in which case my name is Amy and I totally am hinting," she added, wrinkling her nose adorably.
"Oh god, you are so cute, and I'm really flattered, but I'm also really gay," Blaine said, trying to hand her his credit card again. "Here, please... I don't want to take free coffee under false pretenses."
She laughed, bright and bubbly, and shook her head. "Well, you're still the first cute guy who came through my line. You earned it fair and square."
"Well, if you don't have plans, you could be my date tonight anyway," Blaine offered, partially out of his instinctive response to be polite, and partially because she did seem like a nice girl. "My neighbors in Astoria are having a party, and I'm told that there will be cocktails, and possibly some karaoke, and I'm going stag, so..."
"Ooh, thanks for the invite, but I'm going to have to pass," the girl said, giggling. "I mean, I know I said you were cute, but for anything outside of Manhattan, you'd have to be at least bisexual."
"Fair enough," Blaine said, chuckling a bit himself. "But thank you for the coffee, and Happy New Year, almost!"
"Happy New Year to you, too," she replied, handing him his cup. "I hope you have fun tonight -- kiss someone awesome at midnight!"
"I'll do my best," Blaine said, and if he sounded a little wistful, it definitely wasn't because he was mooning over a boy he'd only known for ten minutes, even if they'd been ten really great minutes, because that would be absurd.
Absurd, he told himself sternly.
December 31, 10:55 a.m.
“Kurt! I can’t believe you’re working today!”
He grinned at Amy, the perpetually cheerful barista who’d been preparing his mid-morning mocha nearly every weekday for more than a year now. “Fashion never takes a vacation,” he said in a mockingly sophisticated tone, his nose in the air, and then he smiled at her again. “Anyway, we’re technically only working until four or so, and then most people are running home to change for the party tonight. And I could say the same thing about you working today!”
She nodded solemnly, but her eyes were twinkling. “I always work on holidays when I can. The tips are better.” She curled her finger at him, inviting him to lean closer, and added in a stage whisper, “Half the people I’ve served today have already had a little...” She gave the universal gesture for a glass of alcohol being tilted toward the mouth, crossing her eyes, and both she and Kurt began to laugh. “I know. It’s not even noon yet!”
“Crazy world. Um, my usual, obviously, and I need a soy chai tea for Isabelle. She’s going to sneak some whiskey into it, I think. Zac Posen cancelled on the party just before I left, so she’s cranky.”
“Coming up,” Amy said smoothly, tapping his arm and then moving away to set to work.
Kurt glanced toward the windows, hoping the snow that was obviously on its way would hold off until he’d made it back to the office. It was only a block, but his hair wouldn't appreciate it.
“So you’ll technically be in Times Square for New Year’s, but not in Times Square.” Amy clicked her tongue. “That’s got to be worse than actually being one of the nut jobs who go out there.”
“Hey, there’s going to be lots of free booze. And every year they say Donatella is rumored to show up -- she never actually has, but everyone still has hope.”
She giggled again, and Kurt dropped a five into the tip jar before handing over enough cash for his drinks. “That’s yours, so fish it out of there before somebody else grabs it. Have one on me tonight, okay? Do you have a hot date?”
“Sadly, no, but thanks! What about you?”
Kurt’s mind flashed once again on the adorable guy from the Christmas party and a brief, sad smile crossed his face, but he shook his head. “Maybe we’ll both meet the men of our dreams today. Stranger things have happened. You know what...” He pulled out his wallet again and handed her another five-dollar bill. “Here, use that to pay for the order of the next hot guy who comes in here. Conversation starter.”
She grinned and made a show of tucking the bill down the front of her shirt. “You’re a doll. Don’t work too hard!”
With a cup in each hand, Kurt waved with his pinky and ring fingers as he leaned against the door to open it, then took a fortifying sip of his coffee to combat the bitter cold outside. Amy had made it perfectly, just like always.
And of course, he’d barely taken five steps before it began to snow. Cursing under his breath, he abruptly shifted course so he could set both cups down on a newspaper dispenser and tuck his scarf more securely around his neck. He wasn't surprised to see several people heading into Starbucks out of the corner of his eye -- the snow was driving them inside. For a second he considered going back in himself, but instead he picked up his cups and hurried on his way.
Isabelle was already in a better mood when he got back to the office, but she accepted her tea gratefully and thanked him before he headed to his desk. He saw that he’d received seven new emails while he’d been gone, all of them work-related, naturally. With a sigh, he stuck his Bluetooth onto his ear and took another long sip from his mocha before diving in. Just another day.
The good thing about being busy all day was that it would distract him from having self-pitying thoughts about how he could have had a fantastic date tonight. A sweet, funny, darling date who would probably be just as impeccably dressed as he had been at the Christmas party, and just as much of an adorably handsy drunk, too. Kurt heaved another sigh, allowed himself exactly two more minutes of brooding over what could have been, then buckled down to work.
Just before four o’clock Isabelle sauntered over, already wearing her coat. “You deserve a break.”
“I took my lunch a little while ago,” Kurt said absentmindedly, eyes glued to his computer screen.
“No, a rest-of-the-night break. Hey, look at me for a minute.” When he glanced up at her, he saw her devilish little smile. “You’re not working the party tonight. I got you something.” She had her iPhone in her hand and made a little ‘doop’ sound as she tapped the screen. “Check your email.”
Curious, Kurt switched tabs on his monitor and clicked the new message from her. His eyes grew huge as he scanned it, his mouth dropping open. A VIP press pass for Jesse St. James’s appearance on “New Year’s Rockin’ Eve with Ryan Seacrest”. “Shut up.”
“No, you shut up. I know how much you love him, so go! Have a blast!”
Kurt covered his mouth to keep a cackle of laughter from escaping, gazing up at her with astonishment. “Do I really talk about him that much?”
Isabelle rolled her eyes affectionately. “Come on, two of the new people in Marketing have asked me if that Jesse guy you’re always mentioning is your boyfriend. I bet you know what he eats for breakfast.”
Well... “Oh my god, thank you!” Kurt said hastily, standing up and throwing his arms around her. “You’re just-- oh, you’re the best.”
“Like I said, you deserve it,” she said, gamely allowing him to rock her back and forth, and when he finally let go of her she patted her hair back into place like the seasoned pro she was. “And listen, I know it’s technically only good for one person, but bring a friend if you want to, just call me if they give you a problem when you show up.” She glanced at her phone and winced. “Damn, I’m gonna be late -- okay, do me a favor and put those mock-ups on my desk before you go, please?” Kurt nodded, physically unable to stop grinning, and Isabelle smiled back at him and blew him a kiss, already walking backward. “Okay, have fun and be safe. I know you’ve never been out there on New Year’s because you’re smart but be safe. See you on the third!”
She twiddled her fingers in a wave and disappeared around the corner, and as soon as she was gone Kurt bounced on his toes with excitement. Never mind that every last one of his friends had plans already for tonight and he’d be going by himself, never mind that it would be freezing and packed with hundreds of thousands of people -- Jesse St. James, for heaven’s sake. One of the most popular new celebrities of the year, hot and talented and Kurt would be mere feet away from him and he’d probably be able to maneuver himself to be seen in the camera shot and--
Oh god, what was he going to wear?!
December 31, 11:17 p.m.
Blaine and Lauren were just settling in to watch Jesse St. James's appearance on Ryan Seacrest -- the New Year's Eve "party" Blaine had been expecting had turned out to just be him and Sam, along with Lauren and her boyfriend, Puck -- when Blaine saw him.
"Oh my god," he yelled, jumping up from his spot on the couch to stand directly in front of the TV, ignoring Lauren's grumbling about his ass being cute as hell but really hard to see past. "Sam, Sam, it's him!"
Blaine wasn't usually one to make a scene, and in this case, he couldn't even blame his freakout on having had too much to drink, since he'd been nursing the same White Russian for close to an hour. No, the reason why he was doing something that Blaine was pretty sure a less refined man would describe as losing his shit was one hundred percent the familiar, handsome face on the TV.
"It's who?" Sam called back, popping his head around the wall that divided the living room and the kitchen. Blaine gestured frantically toward the television, and Sam squinted at the picture on the screen, then walked over, throwing an arm around Blaine's shoulders and yanking him close. "Who am I looking at?"
"My dream boy," Blaine said, his voice muffled by Sam's chest. He turned his head so he could see the TV, letting out a swoony little sigh as he leaned into Sam. Those lips, those eyes...
"Jesse St. James? Dude, I don't think that's gonna happen," Sam said, patting Blaine's cheek and then stroking absently over his cheekbone with a thumb, which made Blaine finally break through his haze of oh my god it's him it's him it's him long enough to notice that while he may have been more or less sober, Sam was most definitely not, because Sam never got quite this touchy with him unless he was at least tipsy (well, except for that one time). "He's straight for one thing, and I mean yeah, you're hot and you know I would, but he's also really famous, so..."
"No, Sam," Blaine said, too giddy to pay much attention to Sam's whole handsy drunk thing. He squeezed his friend briefly around the waist instead, then wriggled free so he could touch the TV screen, tapping his fingertip directly on the face that had stopped him in his tracks. "It's him, the guy from that party in Soho last week."
"Dude! The one you kissed?" Sam asked, stepping closer to the TV and ducking down so he could get a better look.
"You kissed that guy?" Puck chimed in, appearing on Sam's other side. "Nice going, Blaine."
"They kissed but then Blaine didn't get his number, he's been moping about it for like a week," Sam said.
"I have not!"
"You totally have."
"Oh my god, I totally have," Blaine said, his eyes widening. He totally had been moping. And mooning. And, like, pining, even, a little bit. "I have to go down there."
"What?!" Lauren said. "Now?"
"I thought you wouldn't go down there for any amount of money," Sam said, gaping at Blaine as he headed toward the apartment door and started bundling himself up.
"This is fate," Blaine said, buttoning up his coat. "Eight million people in this city, and he's right there on the TV. I know exactly where he, is at this exact moment." Blaine glanced back at the TV, checking the time left on the countdown. "It's 11:21 on New Year's Eve, and I have thirty-nine minutes to get to Times Square, find the guy who should've been my date tonight, and kiss him. And that's exactly what I'm going to do."
"Yes," Puck said, suddenly misty-eyed. He solemnly pumped one fist in the air. "You are. You have to."
"You sappy bitch," Lauren said cheerfully, standing up from the couch and planting a loud kiss on Puck's cheek.
"Dude, this is insane, there are like a million people down there," Sam said. He paused, then grinned, wrapping his arms around Blaine again and hugging him so enthusiastically that Blaine's feet left the ground. "You'd better hurry!"
"Go get yo' man!" Lauren added, holding up her beer in a gesture of salute. Blaine nodded and gave the three of them a quick thumbs-up before he pulled the door open and stepped out into the hall.
"This is happening," he promised, bouncing a little on his toes. "Watch for me on TV!"
Fate, it turned out, was somewhat less on Blaine's side than he'd thought, and thirty-eight minutes later, he found himself sending Sam a text. Can't get anywhere close to where he is. :( still see him?
Sam's reply came through in about ten seconds -- he'd obviously been waiting eagerly to hear from Blaine. yea he's still there, laughing and smiling, he still seems like he's alone???
the countdown is starting, I'm not going to make it :(
"...7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1..."
happy new year, b!!! a girl is hugging him...she just kissed him on the cheek, i think he's trying to leave now
yeah he's gone already, wow sneaky
Four blocks away from the heart of Times Square, Blaine groaned.
January 1, 1:08 a.m.
The subway car was jammed with people, of course, but Blaine managed to squeeze in just before the doors closed. He sighed and slumped back against the door, allowing himself to wallow in defeat for a few minutes. It had been a ridiculous idea, he'd known that, but even so there'd been a large part of him that had been convinced that he'd get to The Guy in time. Or get to him at all, for that matter, Blaine amended sadly, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Nearly an hour of wandering around, weaving through the crowd, and dodging kisses from two drunk girls, one drunk guy, and one possibly sober person of indeterminate gender hadn't brought him any closer to finding his dream boy.
He'd finally given up, walking up to 49th Street to catch the subway at a slightly-less-packed station. The first few stops only crowded the train further, but when they hit Queensboro Plaza, things cleared out considerably. Blaine stepped off the train to allow people to get past him, then stepped back on, glancing toward the end of the car to see if he could spot an empty seat.
He found something much better.
Hair and eyes and lips and Him, yes, capital-H Him, slouched slightly on a seat with his long legs stretched out in front of him and his eyes closed. Blaine pinched himself hard on the arm to make sure he wasn't dreaming. Or hallucinating. (Although he supposed a pinch would still hurt even if he was hallucinating.) The pinch hurt, and this, surely this was fate, so Blaine walked over to the handsome stranger as quickly as he could, weaving through the still somewhat-crowded train car until he was standing right beside those long legs in outstandingly tight pants.
Blaine took a deep breath -- this was less dramatic than he'd really imagined, no countdown or confetti to dress things up, just two tired almost-strangers on an N train at 1:13 a.m. -- and nudged his knee against the other man's, just hard enough to make it clear he'd done it intentionally. "Hi."
The guy blinked a couple of times, obviously startled, and flashed Blaine a quick smile - the sort you’d give to anybody who accidentally nudged you on a crowded subway. Then he very slowly tilted his head up to stare at Blaine with wide, disbelieving eyes, his mouth open, and couldn’t seem to yank out his earbuds fast enough. “Oh my god,” he blurted out, continuing to gape up at him, and broke into a huge smile. “I know you.”
"You do," Blaine agreed, warmth flooding his chest as he took in the bright smile on this gorgeous man's face. He really couldn't have hoped for a better reaction, so he forged ahead, positively beaming -- and flirting shamelessly, too. "And I know you, too, Extremely Cute Former Glee Club Guy from Ohio Who Gives Really Nice Kisses. Which is actually sort of a cumbersome name, now that I've said it out loud, so maybe we should introduce ourselves properly?" He pulled off his gloves and tucked them into his coat pockets, then extended a hand for the guy to shake. "My name is Blaine."
His grin had softened a little -- flattered by the compliment, maybe -- but it was definitely still there as he took Blaine’s offered hand. “Kurt.” He held onto Blaine’s hand perhaps a second or two longer than necessary, then seemed to realize what he was doing and dropped it quickly, looking flustered. “Wow, this is-- what a crazy coincidence, huh? Were you in Times Square, too?”
Blaine felt himself blushing as he thought about his frantic dash to Times Square, and he nodded quickly, before he ended up breaking into hysterical giggles over how completely ridiculous it had all been. "I wasn't planning to go down there at all, but at the last minute I just decided to go check it out," he said, figuring he could save the full story for their first date, at which point he hoped Kurt would find it charming and not completely insane. "I didn't have a date," he added, sighing dramatically, "so I didn't really have anywhere I had to be."
"I didn't end up with a date either," the guy -- Kurt, oh, knowing his name at last was wonderful -- said, and then he heaved a sigh that was exactly identical to Blaine's. "If only we'd had each other's numbers..." He sighed again, and began tapping his finger pointedly against his phone, which was sitting on his leg, the earbud wire still plugged in.
Blaine cracked up. "I like the subtlety," he said, reaching down to scoop up Kurt's phone. "May I?" he asked, and when Kurt nodded, he quickly keyed in his name and number, then added his email and his home address to the contact listing, just in case. "There," he said, presenting Kurt's phone back to him with a flourish. "Next New Year's Eve, we're on." He grinned. "Or sooner. Sooner would be nice."
"Sooner would be fantastic," Kurt agreed, holding out his hand for Blaine's phone so he could enter all of his info, too. As he typed, he asked, "When's your stop? If it's the same as mine I might just scream because you’ve been so close all week and I’ve been thinking about you this whole time. Well," he added hastily, giving Blaine a quick, slightly embarrassed-looking smile. "Not the whole time, not every minute or anything. But some. More than I should have, maybe."
"I've been thinking about you, too," Blaine said softly, his heart giving a little flutter. He purposely let his fingers brush against Kurt's as he took his phone back, smiling down at the new entry in his contacts. Kurt Hummel. "A lot, actually. You're memorable." Kurt's eyes were so warm, and his smile so sweet, that Blaine lapsed into silence, just gazing back at him dreamily. He only snapped out of it when the train stopped again, and he was dismayed to realize they were already at Broadway, which meant he only had about a minute left before his stop. "Oh, and I didn't answer your question, sorry -- I'm by 30th Ave, so... next stop, unfortunately. You?"
Kurt breathed in sharply. “Of course,” he murmured, shaking his head and laughing to himself. “Mine’s the one right after that. We’ve been just a couple blocks apart this whole time.” He bit his lip, his eyes seeming to search Blaine’s for a moment, looking as if he wanted to say something more, but then he just smiled again. “Well, I’ll definitely be using this,” he said, raising his phone and giving it a little twitch. “As soon as I figure out when is not too soon to be creepy and not too long for you to think I’m a jerk.”
The train was already slowing down again and Blaine glanced toward the windows, but he was startled by Kurt suddenly grabbing his hand. “I’m really, really glad I saw you again,” Kurt said earnestly. “Weird stuff with timing has been happening lately, so I probably shouldn’t be surprised that it happened tonight.”
"I'm really glad, too; you have no idea," Blaine said, impulsively ducking his head so he could brush a light kiss across Kurt's knuckles as the doors of the train rattled open and then stepping away, even though the last thing he wanted to do was leave. "Call me," he said hopefully, giving Kurt one last smile. "There's no such thing as too soon, I promise!"
The last words were called over his shoulder as he slipped out the door of the train and onto the platform, and he sighed as he joined the small line of people waiting to go down the stairs. He was mostly elated to have reconnected with Kurt, but there was a not-insignificant part of him that was pouting massively, because while he'd spent a lovely five minutes chatting with Kurt on the train, it hadn't been nearly enough.
Still, Blaine knew he had plenty to celebrate. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he checked to make sure Kurt's number was still there -- it was -- and then pulled up his text conversation with Sam. Found him on the train!!!, he sent as he made his way down the first flight of stairs. He was almost to the bottom of the second flight when his phone buzzed in his pocket, but he was distracted from Sam's reply by a voice behind him.
“Blaine! Wait a minute, wait!”
Blaine turned, not quite believing-- but yes, it was definitely Kurt. He was descending the stairs so quickly that Blaine worried for a second that he might fall, but then he grabbed the railing and stopped himself, just a few steps above where Blaine stood.
“Sorry, I just...” Kurt took a moment to catch his breath, his cheeks flushed from what had to be more than just exertion. “Hi. I didn-- well, I didn’t kiss anybody at midnight, so I was wondering... I mean I know it’s way after midnight now, but...” He trailed off, biting his lip and looking at Blaine with such a sweetly hopeful expression that Blaine was in motion almost before Kurt had finished speaking, practically leaping onto the step just below Kurt. Stretching up on his toes, Blaine slid both hands over Kurt's cheeks and tugged him down until their lips met, and it may have been Queens, and 1:22 a.m. at that, but as far as Blaine could tell, the neon lights and confetti of Times Square had nothing on this kiss.
He stretched it out for probably longer than was really polite, but when he started to pull away Kurt cupped his jaw and held him there for just a few more seconds, so when they finally broke apart Blaine actually felt a bit dizzy. He must've looked completely dazed, but Kurt just kept smiling down at him, brushing his thumb gently over his cheek. “Happy New Year,” he whispered.
"It really is," Blaine said, staring up at Kurt's face; the curve of his lips, the cut of his jaw, his bright, sparkling eyes. "As a matter of fact, so far? I think it's been pretty spectacular."
“Listen,” Kurt said, color starting to rise in his face again. “I feel like I’m just begging for you to think I’m a total weirdo with all this, but if I don’t ask I’ll regret it. My roommate isn’t home tonight, so do you want to come to my place and talk, hang out, whatever? It’s not far...” He gestured vaguely over Blaine’s shoulder, more or less north, but Blaine knew it had to be close, since Kurt had said he was getting off on the next subway stop. “That’s so presumptuous, I know.”
“I would love to,” Blaine said firmly, taking both of Kurt’s hands into his. "I'll tell you all about my old glee club -- which was, by the way, in Ohio -- and you can tell me about yours, and about what you do here in New York, and I'll tell you about school, and then hopefully if I play my cards right you'll kiss me again before the night is over."
Beaming now, Kurt moved down one step so he was level with Blaine, and leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth. "It seems to me like you're a hell of a card player," he said with a light chuckle, squeezing Blaine's hands and then dropping one, while giving the other a gentle tug.
"Pure luck; I was just dealt a really great hand tonight," Blaine said, grinning and letting Kurt steer him along. They moved quickly down the rest of the stairs and onto the sidewalk, hands still clasped, and had only gone a few feet when it began to snow -- thick, fat flakes, a perfect end to a perfect night.
Apparently, Kurt didn’t entirely agree. “Again?!” he almost wailed. “The same thing happened to me this morning. I must be pushing some secret button.”
“Look how pretty it is, though!” Blaine held out his free hand to catch a few snowflakes, and had to blink rapidly when a couple fell right onto his eyelashes. He couldn’t help laughing with delight over just everything, everything about this moment. When Kurt’s exasperated expression slowly gave way to another of those beautiful smiles, Blaine was tempted to stop and kiss him one more time, but tugged at his hand instead. “Come on, we can make a run for it!"
Kurt laughed out loud, shaking his head but letting Blaine pull him along. "You don't even know where I live, why are you the one dragging me along?"
"Oh, right," Blaine said cheerfully, slowing down to bump his shoulder lightly against Kurt's as they hurried, hand-in-hand, along the sidewalk. "I guess you'd better take the lead here, then."
"Okay," Kurt said breathlessly. He stopped on the corner, pulled Blaine close, and kissed him again.
It lasted for almost a full minute, and after Kurt finally pulled back, Blaine asked teasingly, "I thought you wanted to get in out of the cold?"
“Funny,” Kurt whispered, already leaning in for another kiss, “I don’t feel cold at all.”