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“Okay, class. Settle down. Put your books, notes, and flashcards away - if you don’t know it by now, it’s too late for you to learn it. I’m going to start passing out the quiz in about one minute, as soon as it is officially 9:00,” Professor Francesca announces, her tone as cold and imperious as always. “You’ll have ten minutes to complete it and then we’ll start our new material in chapter four once they’ve all been turned in.”
Blaine shoves the color-coded note cards for his History of Theater course into his backpack, stealing a glance towards the door as he does. The seat next to his is still vacant which bodes very, very poorly for Kurt, the cute sophomore that sits beside Blaine typically. After all, their professor is a notorious stickler for punctuality. Anyone not in his seat at 9:00 am on the dot is marked absent and doesn’t get to take the quiz. And barring a catastrophic illness or injury, there are no makeups either.
It’s a legend at NYADA that once a student claimed a death in the family as the reason for needing to make up the final exam, even bringing in a funeral service program as proof. He might have gotten away with it, except that Professor Francesca checked the local obituaries and found out that his grandfather had already died three years prior. She absolutely terrifies Blaine which is why he’s spent the entire weekend frantically studying for a silly ten question quiz instead of rehearsing his audition monologue or preparing for his acting fundamentals and music theory midterms.
Blaine checks the wall clock and sees there are a mere thirty seconds until class is scheduled to begin. His stomach flips nervously, both with anticipation of how difficult this week’s quiz will be, but also with concern for Kurt. Blaine’s still new to New York and to NYADA and Kurt’s one of the few friendly people he’s encountered so far. They’ve only chatted a few times at the beginning and end of class, but that’s been more than enough to fan the flames of a growing (but sadly unrequited) crush.
Suddenly, there’s a loud noise as the classroom doors fly open and Kurt bursts through them, books and papers tumbling to the ground in his wake. The entire class seems to swivel to gawk at Kurt in unison and a nervous tittering of laughter goes through the room.
“Alright, alright, enough giggling,” Professor Francesca silences them. “Cutting it a little close, aren’t we, Mr. Hummel?”
Blaine watches Kurt blush beet red as he scrambles to pick up his books and flashcards and shove them back into his messenger bag. “Yes, I’m so sorry, Professor. Won’t happen again,” he squeaks.
“See that it doesn’t. Now, once we all take our seats,” she says with a pointed glare at Kurt, “I’ll begin passing out the quiz. We’ve got a lot of lecture material to get through today, so you’ll have ten minutes and ten minutes only to complete the questions. No exceptions.”
Blaine decides to risk the ire of their professor just this once and gets out of his seat to help Kurt gather the rest of his things. He bends down next to Kurt in the aisle, noticing for the first time that Kurt’s wearing plaid flannel pajama bottoms which are tucked into snow boots. His hair is disheveled, his fair complexion is marred by dark purple circles under his eyes, and Blaine thinks he sees a smear of toothpaste left behind on Kurt’s chin. All together, it’s a bit of a shock given how impeccably dressed and groomed Kurt usually is. “Rough night?” he whispers as he hands Kurt a few pens and pencils that rolled underneath the table.
“Rough week, more like,” Kurt groans, still blushing adorably.
“But it’s Monday,” Blaine says, confused.
“Exactly,” Kurt sighs. He jams the last handful of papers into his bag and zips it up. “Thanks, by the way.”
“Any time,” Blaine replies. The grateful smile Kurt gives him is enough to warm his very bones. Blaine’s sure he’ll be swooningly replaying it in his head for days if not weeks on end. He hops to his feet and slides into his chair with Kurt right behind him. One of the teaching assistants follows soon after with a stack of quizzes that she passes out to everyone on their row, complete with a glare of condescension for Kurt and Blaine.
“Tough crowd,” Kurt whispers to Blaine as he passes a quiz to him with a snort.
Blaine’s stomach flips pleasantly at the idea of having an inside joke with the great Kurt Hummel.
Okay, so maybe Blaine had asked around about him a month into the semester, during one of his all to frequent days of self-loathing and homesickness when he found himself wondering why he’d ever kidded himself into believing he could cut it in the Big Apple and at one of the premiere schools for the performing arts, no less. In his defense, it turned out that Kurt already had quite the reputation for a sophomore. Almost all of it was praise and breathless awe for the student who’d managed to win a spot at NYADA after being invited to perform at the Winter Showcase by no less than Carmen herself, despite not even being a student at the time. Not to mention that he was also the first guy to win not one but two diva-offs back to back. There hasn’t been another one since then, because no one was brave enough to challenge the great Kurt Hummel, fearing the embarrassment and humiliation of losing.
Blaine’s startled from his daydreams back to his senses by the sound of a loud sneeze. He glances at the clock in the front of the room and winces when he sees that he’s wasted three whole minutes without answering a single question. He quickly reads and responds to the first two questions, gaining confidence until he gets stumped on question three. He’s got it narrowed down to two possible options when there’s another sneeze, loud and practically foghorn-like in its intensity. Next to Blaine, Kurt breaks into a fit of helpless giggles.
Blaine glances over at him, wondering what’s so funny. Kurt just shrugs, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. Someone farther down their row shoots Kurt and Blaine an icy glare, obviously not pleased to have Kurt’s laughter distracting from their quiz-taking.
Blaine tries to focus on the paper in front of him, moving through the remaining questions with plodding efficiency. With two minutes left to go, he selects a multiple choice answer for question ten and then places his pencil back on his desk. He’s confident in all but two of his answers which means that his weekend long studying binge has clearly paid off. Even if the two questions he deliberated over are both marked as incorrect, that still gives him an 80% - a more than respectable grade for one of Professor Francesca's quizzes.
Blaine turns his quiz face down on his desk to signal that he’s done and then hazards a glance over at Kurt. To his horror, he sees Kurt’s chin is drifting down towards his chest as he starts to nod off. There’s a moment of silence before Kurt’s cheek slides off of where it has been resting against his fist and he comes to with a jerk, his pencil point snapping in two as he startles back to consciousness.
Kurt shakes his head a little in shock as he takes in his surroundings. He checks the clock in the room, realizing with a wince that there are less than two minutes until quizzes must be turned in. Blaine sees the look of stunned panic on Kurt’s face and passes him a spare pencil, wordlessly mouthing “hurry” to him as encouragingly as he can without drawing the attention of their professor or teaching assistant.
Kurt nods once as he accepts the pencil and quickly circles responses for the remaining four questions on the quiz. Blaine’s not sure if he even had time to read the questions, but he assumes an educated guess is better than no guess at all.
“Please pass your papers in,” Professor Francesca calls out from the front of the room, signaling the students at the end of the row nearest the aisle to collect them for the teaching assistant. “And then I want everyone to get out your textbooks and turn to the beginning of chapter five on page 109.”
Blaine follows her instructions on autopilot, retrieving his textbook and notebook from his backpack. Next to him, he hears Kurt curse low under his breath as he rummages through his messenger bag. “What’s wrong?” Blaine asks him in a hushed whisper.
“Oh, I just managed to forget my textbook on top of everything else because this has to be the worst Monday of my entire college career,” Kurt mumbles dejectedly.
“Here,” Blaine offers shyly, angling his book in Kurt’s direction, “I don’t mind sharing.”
“You’re a lifesaver,” Kurt sighs gratefully as he leans towards Blaine, resting one hand on the table between them.
Kurt’s sitting close enough now that Blaine can smell the mint of the toothpaste on his breath and the faint vestiges of cologne, probably hastily applied the night before. There’s also the slightest trace of something familiar and comforting that reminds Blaine of home - specifically rainy weekend afternoons spent baking cakes, pies, and cookies with his mother. Is he smelling vanilla, maybe? Or perhaps cinnamon? Nutmeg? It hardly seems fair that Kurt should roll out of bed in his pajamas with unwashed hair and still smell so deliciously appealing to Blaine.
Meanwhile, Blaine has started waking up an extra hour early before class to carefully choose his outfits and gel his naturally wavy hair into submission and yet he still can’t hold a candle to the great Kurt Hummel. Some guys just have all the luck.
Blaine passes the next ten minutes in a quiet panic, trying to scribble down notes fast enough to keep up with Professor Francesca's rapid fire lecture while also so painfully aware of Kurt’s closeness. Blaine feels like everything he does is awkward and clumsy, practically putting his crush on display for the whole class to see: is he breathing too loudly? What does he usually do with his other hand that isn’t taking notes? Does he have coffee breath? Why can’t he seem to sit still? Is Kurt silently judging him for his messy handwriting?
Needless to say, Blaine’s mind is quite cluttered.
That’s probably why it takes him a few minutes to notice the fact that Kurt’s starting to nod off again, his head listing towards Blaine.
Blaine tries tapping the textbook quietly, hoping that will be enough of a sound to jolt Kurt awake, but he doesn’t even stir. Blaine considers shaking Kurt by the shoulder or hand, but he doesn’t want to startle him or creep him out with an uninvited touch. “Hey,” he whispers instead. Kurt’s only response is a soft exhalation of breath that sounds unmistakably like the beginning of a snore. Blaine winces as a student a few rows in front of them turns her head to look in their direction curiously. “Kurt, wake up,” Blaine says, louder and more insistent this time.
Kurt jolts at the noise and his pencil drops to the table between them with a muted clatter. “Fuck,” he breathes as he comes to, eyes glassy and clouded over with obvious exhaustion.
“You okay?” Blaine asks, handing him back his pencil.
“No, I’m dying,” Kurt groans under his breath. “So tired I’m practically hallucinating.”
“Sorry,” Blaine whispers in apology because he doesn’t know what else to say or do. “Not much longer, though.”
“Yeah okay,” Kurt breathes, scrubbing a hand over his face as he tries to focus on the projector screen at the front of the lecture hall.
Kurt barely makes it four minutes before he starts to nod off again, mumbling something about cotton candy underneath his breath as his head starts to sway. Blaine watches, equal parts sympathetic at how obviously exhausted Kurt is and terrified that Professor Francesca will notice that Kurt’s sleeping and decide to make an example out of him. Or worse still, she’ll decide to make an example out of both of them.
So, when Kurt’s head finds his shoulder a minute later, Blaine doesn’t make any attempt to move him or wake him up. He just holds his breath while Kurt’s face nuzzles into the curve of his neck, shivering at the brush of damp lips against his overheated skin. Kurt sighs out a soft breath and snuggles in closer, as if Blaine is the most sumptuous down filled pillow he’s ever slept upon.
Blaine is scared to breathe, scared to move, scared to make eye contact with any other student in the classroom lest he call any more attention to the situation than he already has. Even as it terrifies him, knowing that it could all go wrong in a million different ways, it thrills him as well, to be in such a close embrace with someone he has a massive crush on. Thankfully, Kurt appears to be dead to the world, the only sound coming from noisy breathing through his stuffed up nose. Blaine is also grateful that their assigned seats are near the back of the classroom, out of direct view of their professor and the majority of their peers.
Just as Blaine starts to adjust to Kurt’s nearness and get a handle on his panic about what might go wrong, Kurt starts moving restlessly. His hand migrates from the table up to where his cheek is resting on Blaine’s shoulder and his fingers tangle in the curls at the nape of Blaine’s neck. Blaine winces at the sharp tug to his hair as Kurt resettles himself, burying his face in Blaine’s shoulder to block out the bright fluorescent light overhead.
“Mmm, don’t forget the donuts,” Kurt mumbles into Blaine’s shirt, his voice muffled by the thick cotton. “I can smell the raspberry filling.”
“Shh, okay, I won’t,” he whispers. He helplessly strokes his free hand up and down Kurt’s upper arm a few times, trying to settle him down and encourage him back into sleep. It seems the easiest way to keep him quiet until class ends since Blaine is still desperate to avoid the embarrassment of being called out by Professor Francesca in front of the entire class. He couldn’t imagine anything more mortifying than that.
There’s a minute or two of blissful silence, during which Blaine starts to think that maybe, just possibly, he’s going to manage to make it until the end of the class without something going horribly, horribly wrong. Kurt’s still and quiet, his face buried in Blaine’s shirt as he snores softly. Professor Francesca is on some rant about the importance of the proscenium arch in 15th century Parma and seems utterly unaware of the Blaine’s inner turmoil in the back row of the classroom.
And then everything all starts to go wrong. Again.
Blaine’s not sure what Kurt’s dreaming about but it must not be good because all of the sudden he flails once, managing to whack Blaine directly in the jaw with his hand. Somehow, against all odds, Blaine manages to keep quiet at the flash of pain but the dull thud of hand hitting flesh is enough to echo up several aisles, causing a few students to turn around and look in their direction. Blaine drops his head as low as he can, for once not cursing his height since it makes it easier to hide, and grips Kurt’s shoulder more firmly to hopefully keep him still. Apparently the embossed cotton of his printed button down shirt is not a stable surface to nap on, though, because Kurt’s face starts to slide down the slope of Blaine’s shoulder, and it seems like there’s no way to avoid certain disaster.
“And on Wednesday, we’ll be beginning our material on different approaches to the role of the audience, from ancient Greece to modern day Broadway,” Professor Francesca announces, clearly wrapping up for the day, as evidenced by students starting to gather their things.
“Broadway, yeah right. She could never,” Kurt giggles into Blaine’s ear.
“Uh,” Blaine squeaks, panicked gaze darting back and forth from their professor to Kurt clinging onto his shoulder for dear life.
“I’m so hungry. Can I have some of your raspberries?” Kurt slurs, face nuzzled into Blaine’s neck. “They smell so good.”
Blaine’s a little miffed by why Kurt keeps asking him for raspberries until he remembers that the Coverboy hair gel he uses by the vat is Raspberry Rain scented. That must be what Kurt’s smelling, even in his semi-conscious state.
“Don’t forget papers are due a week from Friday. Class dismissed,” their professor blessedly says at last.
“Oh thank god,” Blaine breathes. All around him, students gather their books and begin heading for the exit, but he stays motionless, trying to figure out the best way to detach himself from Kurt without embarrassing himself or calling additional attention to his massive crush.
“Hey. Hey, Kurt. Class is over,” Blaine announces softly. When he doesn’t get a reaction, he decides touch is probably in order. He lets his fingers trail up from his grip on Kurt’s shoulder towards his face. “Kurt, it’s time to wake up, okay? Don’t you want to go sleep it off in your dorm?”
Kurt groans and tries to bury his face in Blaine’s shoulder again. “Five more minutes,” he whines.
“No, we’ve got to go now. The next class will be meeting in here soon,” Blaine tries again, more insistently this time.
Kurt pouts, even with his eyes still closed. He turns his head, causing it to slide down Blaine’s slippery shirt and towards the table, jerking him fully awake.
“What? Shit,” Kurt gasps as his eyes finally blink open just as he narrowly avoids slamming his face into the textbooks piled in front of him on the table. He looks around wildly, eyes finally focusing on Blaine sitting next to him. He wipes at the corner of his mouth, eyes widening as he notices the dark spot on Blaine’s shirt where he obviously drooled on him. “Um, whoops. So, that happened.”
“Hello there,” Blaine says, his tone light and teasing. “Welcome back to the land of semi-consciousness.”
Kurt buries his face in his hands, cheeks flushing. “God, I’m so embarrassed. I fell asleep on you, didn’t I?”
“You did.”
Kurt sighs deeply. “Did our prof see?”
Blaine shrugs helplessly. “I don’t think so, but I’m not 100% sure. You were a little loud at one point and a few students noticed, but I don’t think Professor Francesca did. I assume we both would have gotten kicked out if she had.”
“I’m so sorry,” Kurt apologizes, still blushing furiously. He looks like he wants to stay more, but then the door to the lecture hall opens and students start filing in for their next class. “Crap, we should probably go,” he adds, reaching for his bag and stumbling to his feet.
Blaine hops up, knowing he’ll never have a better opening than this to get to know Kurt a bit better. “Hey, you seem a little, um, unsteady on your feet,” Blaine comments, trying for casual. “Do you need a hand getting back to your dorm so you can take a nap? Wouldn’t want you to fall asleep on another stranger’s shoulder, after all.”
Kurt shoots him a weak smile. “You’re not a stranger.”
“I’m not?”
“Of course not. You’re Blaine Anderson, you’re a freshman, you’re always early, and you have an obvious addiction to bow ties,” Kurt says fondly, ticking the various facts off on his fingers. It must be too much to coordinate given how tired he is because he nearly trips over his own two feet and faceplants on the sidewalk seconds later.
“Careful,” Blaine warns, throwing out a hand to steady Kurt.
“Yeah okay, about that assistance...” Kurt laughs. “Still offering?”
“Absolutely,” Blaine replies instantly. He reaches out and links his arm with Kurt’s, then after a second’s hesitation he tentatively wraps his free arm around Kurt’s waist for extra support. “Better?”
“Much,” Kurt slurs, leaning heavily into Blaine.
“It’s not an addiction, by the way,” Blaine adds after a moment of comfortable silence.
“Hmm?”
“I’m not addicted to bow ties. It’s just an... affinity,” Blaine clarifies.
Kurt chuckles. “Keep telling yourself that, kid. And I say this as someone who’s had to make my peace with my designer scarf addiction and the thousands of dollars I’ve spent on them over the years.”
Blaine’s noticed Kurt’s collection on more than one occasion already this semester. He has excellent, if expensive, tastes. “Well, scarves are good, too.”
“Accessories make the man. Or something...” Kurt trails off, obviously struggling to keep his eyes open.
“Hey, gotta stay awake just a little longer, okay?” Blaine encourages. “Otherwise you’re going to wind up taking a nasty spill on the sidewalk and I’m not going to be able to do anything to prevent it.”
“I fall all the time. S’okay, I’ll live. God, I’m tired, though,” Kurt grumbles, his head drifting towards Blaine’s shoulder again. “You smell so delicious.”
“Uh, thanks, I think?” Blaine manages.
“It’s a compliment and you’re welcome,” Kurt giggles. “I can’t quite put my finger on what it is but it’s yummy.”
“Raspberries?” Blaine guesses.
“Yeah, raspberries,” Kurt sighs in contentment. “Why do you always smell like raspberries, Freshman Blaine Anderson?”
Blaine has to snicker at the wording. He spots a nearby unoccupied bench on the corner of the quad and starts carefully steering Kurt towards it since he’s dead on his feet. Besides, Blaine has no idea where they are even supposed to be headed right now. Given how aimlessly they’ve been wandering since they left class, he’s not sure if Kurt knows either.
“My hair gel is raspberry scented, Sophomore Kurt Hummel,” he replies fondly. They make it to the bench and Blaine eases Kurt down onto it and sits beside him, one arm still wrapped securely around Kurt’s waist.
“It smells like donuts. The raspberry filled ones my dad used to get me on Saturday mornings,” Kurt murmurs. “Oh, we’re sitting,” he marvels, letting his head rest on Blaine’s shoulder again.
“Yeah, at least temporarily. Wasn’t sure if you wanted to go back to your dorm now or what?”
“Hmm, what’s wrong with right here?” Kurt asks, tucking his face into the curve of where Blaine’s shoulder and neck meet to block out the mid-morning sunlight.
“You really want to nap out here on the quad? Doesn’t seem like a very comfy place to sleep,” Blaine remarks.
“You’re the comfy place to sleep,” Kurt mumbles. “Warm. Smells good. Nice. Soft.”
“Oh,” Blaine squeaks because he has absolutely no idea what else to say or do. “Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable in your own bed, though?” he checks.
“Don’t live on campus. My apartment is two subway rides away from here. Can’t go yet,” Kurt explains slowly and with great effort.
“Would you...” Blaine trails off mid-question, wondering if even suggesting it would be presumptuous, though it’s intended as a totally innocent offer.
Kurt sighs and turns his head slightly so he can peer up at Blaine. “Would I what?”
“Um, I live on campus. I mean, if you wanted a bed that you could crash in for a brief nap? You could have mine. Borrow mine,” Blaine stutters.
“Hmm, that depends,” Kurt says softly.
“On?”
“How often do you change your sheets? Because most boys I know are absolutely filthy. Like seriously, if you saw the state of my stepbrother’s dorm room...” Kurt shudders in disgust.
“Oh, I change them every Sunday without fail,” Blaine promises. It’s the truth.
Kurt nods absently into Blaine’s shoulder but doesn’t reply, at least not right away.
“Kurt?” Blaine tries, nudging him gently in the ribs with his elbow. “Is that a yes or a no to a nap in a real bed?”
“Yes,” Kurt breathes. He snuggles down a little so his face is tucked into Blaine’s chest. “But right now I’m pretty comfy here. Five more minutes?”
Blaine smiles down at him. He settles his cheek against Kurt’s hair and lets his own eyes drift shut. “Sure, five more minutes.”