blaine rebel anderson. 22. singer. songwriter. musician. in love with my best friend and the keeper of my heart, kurt elizabeth hummel.
(NOT real. I do not own Glee, its characters or the actors that portray them. I am simply using Blaine Anderson for my own entertainment.)
Save for the doctor’s appointments and the disastrous attempt at going to his work, Kurt hadn’t left the apartment since coming home from the hospital. Even in broad daylight, he felt like he could be jumped just going to check the mailbox at the side of their building. More and more, however, he was feeling like he was cooped up, and that his agoraphobia that had developed as a result of his attack needed to be conquered. He knew he couldn’t do it alone, so, swallowing his fear, he had tweeted Blaine, asking his fiancé if they could perhaps get out of the apartment.
After Blaine had suggested they stay at a hotel for the weekend, Kurt had readily agreed. He would find a place close by, and they could walk or ride the subway there together. In turn, Kurt could also gauge his readiness to be out in the world again, and even if he wasn’t ready, they’d be able to get to the hotel rather quickly.
Cameron, of course, had caught him looking at hotels and had taken offense. (“What the hell are you doing? Are you kicking Ev and me out? That’s not fair, Kurt, kicking your own brother and, and…his boyfriend…out.”) Kurt had silently made a note of the fact that Cameron had referred to Everett as his boyfriend, before calmly explaining to his twin that Blaine and himself would be merely leaving for the weekend just to get out of the apartment, and to please not have sex on their bed (he knew Cameron had tuned him out after “leaving for the weekend,” but still, he had to try). Kurt found a place only a few stops on the subway away, and immediately booked a room for two nights. It was a little pricey, but he and Blaine deserved it, right?
After packing a bag for the two of them with only a few essentials—just because they would be in a hotel didn’t mean Kurt wasn’t going to keep up with his skincare regimen, and just because they wouldn’t be leaving the room didn’t mean they shouldn’t have at least one change of clothes for when they left—Kurt made his way down the hall to the office where his fiancé was still hard at work, scribbling notes on various pieces of paper strewn around the desk.
“Hey, B,” He says softly, leaning against the doorframe, a little smile on his face. “I’m ready to go whenever you are.”
Kurt’s attack and the tension between the two of them had left Blaine more than a little scatterbrained, his focus and drive completely non-existent. Inability to stay focused wasn’t too terribly bad when he had to run errands for his boss, a list clenched between his white knuckles, completely wrinkled and sweat-smeared by the time he returned back to the office, but when it came to studio time, that was a whole other matter.
Blaine wasn’t actually recording any of his own stuff - and maybe that just made his lack of focus and input even more alarming and worrisome - but he couldn’t even bring himself to give valuable concrit or focus long enough to help record some of the individual instrumental tracks. His boss finally pulled him aside and ordered him to go home, telling him that he wasn’t allowed to come back until at least things between him and Kurt were fixed, but to take as much time as he needed to be with Kurt. Blaine suspects that it’s about 40% concern for Blaine and Kurt and 60% concern that Blaine will blow their chances at signing some big name artists. He figures he should be lucky that Ron even cares at all.
Being at home has made him absolutely stir-crazy, though. He’s done more than his fair share of pacing and aimless wandering through the loft (he’s pretty sure that he could totally win an Olympic medal, were it a sport.) When the tension got too thick and his dark thoughts threatened to consume, he forced himself to go outside and do the grocery shopping or spend a couple hours in Central Park.
Now that he and Kurt are on good terms again, it hasn’t been so bad in the apartment because he gets to cuddle his fiancé as much as he wants and spend hours in bed wrapped around him. He’d even found some of his inspiration again, much to his relief.
Which is why he’s spent the last however many
hours days up to his nose in sheet music, constantly scribbling notations and chords here and erasing and re-writing who sections there. Blaine’s hardly left his office, save for necessary bathroom breaks and more often than not, he falls asleep over his guitar, only to wake up on the leather couch they’d placed in there for moments exactly like this, still half-asleep as he scrambles to get down the thread of song that’s looping through his head. He’s pretty sure that he hasn’t eaten, his stomach growling loudly to attest to that, and he’s not sure if he’s showered recently.
Kurt’s voice startles him and he looks up, glasses perched on his nose, brows furrowed in slight confusion. “It’s time to go already?” He glances at his watch, eyes widening. “Oh, shit. Kurt, I’m so sorry. I just lost track of time.”
Blaine stands and sets the guitar he was holding on its stand, taking a moment to stretch, arms high above his head, shirt riding up a little. He surveys the tornado-y hot mess that is creative process, mouth twitching a little at the corner. He’s made a lot of progress in a short amount of time, completely five songs and in the middle of three more. They don’t all have lyrics and he doesn’t think they’ll all fit for his personal album that he’s working on, but he’s looking forward to showing them to Ron.
Turning off the lamp on his desk, Blaine steps away from it before he’s tempted to add just a little more to the song he’d been working on, shutting the door behind him with a ‘click’ as he crowds into Kurt’s personal space, face lifting up for a quick kiss.
“I just need to shower real quick. Then we can go.” He wraps an arm around Kurt’s waist to pull him in to another, deeper kiss before letting him go and shuffling into their bedroom, pulling his clothes off as he heads for the bathroom. “Ten minutes!”