Chapter Text
July, 2017
“How’s the ice feel?” Kurt asks, poking his head into the bedroom.
“Good, it’s helping,” Blaine tells him.
Kurt smiles and then walks away. Blaine hears him in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, probably doing his usual complicated skin routine. Blaine smiles as he hobbles into the kitchen to get rid of the ice pack Kurt made him put on the hamstring he pulled while pushing their new couch all over the living room.
He’s settled back on their bed, flipping through a magazine when Kurt enters their bedroom.
“Do you ever think about your funeral?” Blaine asks.
“Oh, come on, poop. I just gave you a wonderful bathtub handjob, the least you can do is cuddle me until we pass out,” Kurt says as he sits on the bed next to Blaine.
Blaine gives him a meaningful look as he tosses the magazine on the floor. They still need to get a table for his side of the bed.
“I’m ssss-serious. I just feel like, be-be-because we moved in together, I don’t know. I’ve never told anyone any of my wishes. Not that I think about it all, all, all the time or anything,” Blaine is quick to add. “But it’s something I www-would wah-want to tell you. So sssss-someone knows. And like …” Blaine pauses and shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s dumb. You’re right. I’m sorry.”
Blaine’s cheeks have darkened, and now Kurt feels a little bad. Even after all these years, Blaine takes any kind of … rejection so to heart. And this isn’t even rejection from Kurt; this is merely exhaustion after a long day.
“It’s not dumb, poop,” Kurt sighs. “It’s been a very long day. Not really a great time for a ‘big talk.’” Kurt adds finger quotes.
Kurt turns off the bedside lamp, and they roll towards each other, nose to nose in the dark. Blaine finds Kurt’s hand and squeezes it.
“I know.” Blaine shakes his head, trying to clear it. “I guess sometimes I, I, I rrrrr-remember that we’re going to get old someday.”
“We are,” Kurt agrees.
“Or maybe ssss-sick buh, before we’re old.”
“That could happen. I’m very much aware that those things can happen.”
Blaine brings Kurt’s hand to his mouth and kisses his knuckles. “Do me one favor?” Blaine asks.
“Of course,” Kurt answers.
“Don’t waste a lot of mmmm-money on my funeral.”
Kurt’s jaw drops. “No way. No way. First of all, giving you a nice funeral wouldn’t be a waste of money. And second of all, I’m totally dying before you anyway. Like statistically.”
“Nope. If I’m like 75% of my grandparents I’m going to die of cancer within ssss-several years b-before or after my 70th birthday.”
“Well, half of my parents died before their 35th birthday.”
Blaine nods solemnly. “This is why it’s not the w-w-w-worst idea to talk about it.”
“Okay,” Kurt says. He pulls in a deep breath. “I don’t have great life insurance, but I figure that should improve over the next couple years. I mean, I’ve only been working full time for like 13 months. So, don’t worry too much about buying me a fabulous coffin or anything. Um, what else. Don’t let Rachel sing at my funeral.”
Blaine makes a face. Kurt should know Blaine doesn’t have the wherewithal to stop Rachel from doing anything once she sets her mind to it.
“Okay, fine. She can sing at my funeral. But not The Wind Beneath My Wings or anything like that.”
“Do you have a preferred ssss-song, or, or, or … should I just guess when the time comes?”
“You can guess if need be. I suppose the song will change over time. I'm not sure what it is at the moment.”
Blaine nods, and strokes his fingers through Kurt’s hair.
“Okay, now you,” Kurt prompts.
“Hmm. Well, I wasn’t joking. Don’t ssss-pend money on my funeral. Cremate me.”
“Keep you on the mantle?” Kurt asks with a grin.
“Oh, please dah-don’t. That’s terrible. Really awful.”
“It is.”
“And find some young, hot sssss-tallion to take my place and to, to, to, to help you forget.”
Kurt leans in to kiss Blaine. “You’re not allowed to die,” he says into his lips.
“Neither are you.”
“Good. I’m glad we’re agreed.”
Despite the sad topic, the boys drift off with smiles on their faces.
~~~~~
Blaine takes a deep breath, his mind just waking up. He keeps his eyes closed for a few more seconds and breathes out. He lets his thoughts drift a bit, and they catch on the edge of the dream he was having before he surfaced.
And he smiles.
Not because of the dream, but because it’s the first morning of waking up with Kurt in their first apartment.
Kurt.
“What,” Kurt murmurs into his pillow.
Blaine rolls towards Kurt. “I didn’t realize I said it out loud,” he whispers, running his fingers along Kurt’s bicep.
“Go back to sleep Blaine.”
“Okay,” Blaine agrees, squeezing his eyes shut.
“That was easier than I expected,” Kurt says, as they snuggle in closer and fall back to sleep.
They’re woken up again about 45 minutes later.
“I think a monster is chewing the sidewalk,” Kurt mutters.
“What the hell is that noise?” Blaine groans at almost the same time.
Blaine rolls onto his back and stretches, flexing and testing his hamstring. It feels pretty okay.
Kurt perches his chin on Blaine’s chest and twines their fingers together.
“Hi,” Kurt says.
“Hi,” Blaine answers.
They’ve woken up together hundreds of times; obviously this isn’t really a novelty. But yet it is. The first morning in their first apartment. They both can feel it, the thrum of excitement because they’re really starting their life together.
Or that might be the vibrations from the jackhammer below. Either way.
Blaine takes his free hand to smooth down Kurt’s bed head.
“How’s your thumb?” he asks.
Kurt wiggles it. “Absolutely fine. How about your leg?”
“Not gonna lie, it’s a, a, a, a little s-s-s-sore.”
Kurt pouts.
“Buh-buh-ut I’ll live. And most of the heavy lifting is dah-dah-d-d-done. Today’s mmmm-more about sorting, and placing, and, and, and, uh, organizing.”
“And food shopping.”
“Yes. It would definitely feel mmm-more like home if we had some food.”
“Are we done with the creepy death talk from last night?”
“Oh! Oh man. I had the weirdest fucking dah-dah-drah-eam,” Blaine groans, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes.
“That weird, huh?” Kurt asks. He trails a finger down Blaine’s chest.
“So weird. We were living in an, an, an old age community, and we were like 90 sss-something.”
“Was it a nice old age community?”
“I guess? Lots of pastels.”
“Pastels don’t necessarily mean nice,” Kurt reminds him. “Most often they’re just insipid.”
“Insipid is such a great www-word.”
Kurt can’t help but laugh at that. “You’ve taught me well. So. Pastels.”
“Oh yeah. It was Florida. And an old folks home. So, the pastels come www-with the territory. And the color scheme isn’t the point. We were pah-part of some kind of, of, of like old age suicide pact.”
“That sounds depressing,” Kurt says.
“It was. And it wasn’t. It was sweet, in a morbid sort of way. Like no one w-w-wah-wanted to leave each other bah-bah-hind.”
“I’m not going to leave you behind.”
“Exactly, that’s the b-br-br-brilliance of a geriatric suicide pact. Our dream selves are geniuses.”
“I think you might be insane from your hamstring injury.”
Blaine makes a so-so gesture with his hand. “You should probably mmmm-massage it.”
“I’m like 900% sure that I’m the one that deserves a massage right now.”
“Yeah, but you want a cock massage and I-I-I want, and also medically might need, a therapeutic mmmmm-massage. I’m pretty sure I win.”
“I never said one word about a cock massage. You brought it up,” Kurt says, getting out of bed.
“I could bah-bah-ring it up,” Blaine replies wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
“I like it when you think you’re a porn star.”
“I could be a porn sssss-tar,” Blaine tells him, again wiggling his eyebrows.
Kurt gives him a withering look filled with fond exasperation.
Blaine stands, wincing a bit on his sore leg. He turns around to look at Kurt, grinning. “If I ever b-b-b-become a porn star, I’m going to have to rrrrrr-re-re-member to stretch.”
Kurt looks at him sympathetically and nods.
Blaine takes a tentative step. “Oh, god, it hurts right up into my b-b-buh-butt.”
“Stop it with your sexy talk,” Kurt says.
“Stop teasing me,” Blaine retorts, hopping around the bed. “You know you could help me, you could be more ssss-sympathetic.”
“You’re the one who said he could move the couch all by himself.”
Kurt turns to leave the bedroom, and Blaine follows him out into the kitchen, his leg feeling better as he walks off the soreness in his muscles. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself to make sure his gait is as normal as possible so Kurt won’t force him to go get it checked out.
“I don’t know why you believed me.” Blaine stands in front of Kurt with a small smile on his face.
Kurt picks up Blaine’s arm and holds it limply. “Well, I mean, look at this bicep. This is the kind of bicep that could do … almost anything. The world is your oyster when you have a bicep like this.”
“Now you’re teasing again. And that’s nnnn-not fair, I-I-I wasn’t flexing.” Blaine flexes.
“I think you’re getting soft. You turned 23 and you’ve lost all of your youthful vigor.” Kurt pokes at Blaine’s pec, while Blaine tries valiantly to give his chest some definition.
Blaine shrugs when he realizes it’s an impossible dream and then leans against the kitchen counter as Kurt starts to make coffee. “I figure I’ll rrrr-retire soon.”
“Good idea. Retire before you even start a real job.”
“I think it’s a, a, a fantastic idea.”
Kurt turns after finishing messing around with the coffee maker, his face serious. “Really is your leg and/or butt okay?”
“It’s fine, it’s feeling b-b-b-better already.”
“Let me see it.”
Blaine gives him a questioning look.
“It might be bruised or something, let me look at it.”
Blaine turns, lifting the hem of his boxers. Kurt kneels down to get a better look and runs his hand over Blaine’s leg. “Is this the leg you broke when you were a kid?”
Blaine has to think about that for a full minute. “Yes. No. Yes? I didn’t know mmmm-my right from my left then. So, um. Maybe?”
Kurt laughs. “But you know you’re right from your left now.”
“I do. I-I-I think this was it, but it was mmm-much lower than this pulled mmm-muscle.”
“Well, yeah, but I was just inquiring. Not saying one had anything to do with the other,” Kurt says, then he leans over and kisses the back of Blaine’s thigh.
When he stands up, and Blaine turns around, Kurt makes a show of pretending to spit hair out of his mouth. “Stupid hirsute guy thigh,” he mutters.
Blaine cackles. “Hirsute and insipid in one mmm-morning. This is amazing.”
They kiss until the coffee pot overflows, and Blaine gets a charlie horse.
“So, now what?” Kurt asks after he finishes mopping up the coffee.
Blaine shrugs from his spot on the floor where he’s still massaging out his leg cramp. It’s an eat-in kitchen, but they don’t have any furniture for it yet. That’s part of their to-do list.
“I’m not entirely sold on the idea that you don’t need to go to the doctor for your leg.”
“Well,” Blaine starts. “Um. I kinda don’t have health insurance rrrr-right now?”
“What?” Kurt shrieks.
“That was a, a, a b-b-b-bit dramatic, Kurt.”
“Why don’t you have health insurance right now?”
“Well, I, I, I was only on my parent’s plan until I was 23 right? And I w-w-wah-won’t get it with my new job until September, so, um, yeah.”
“You’re not allowed to cross the street. You’re not even allowed to leave the apartment. For the rest of the summer.”
Blaine thinks that over. “There are p-p-lenty of household accidents that can occur.”
“I am rolling you in the leftover bubble wrap and bungee cording you to the couch.”
“How are wwww-we going to explain that to the, to the, to the cable guy that’s coming this afternoon?”
“I don’t care. Let him think we’re into weird, kinky, bubble wrap sex.”
“How would that even wwww-work?” Blaine muses.
“Stop laughing at me!”
Blaine puts his hands up in surrender. “It’s just two months.”
“Wait a second. Did you talk to you parents about this?”
“Um, no, I, I, I just assumed.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re not immediately off their insurance on like the day of your 23rd birthday.”
“Really?”
“Pretty sure.”
“Maybe I, I, I should ask them about that?”
“I think you should. I think that’s a sound and mature decision.”
“Like, right now? Or …” Blaine trails off.
“Well, it’s 9:47 on a Saturday morning. They’re probably awake and home.”
“Cool, yeah.” Blaine bobs his head and looks around the room. “Any chance you feel like getting mmm-my phone for me?”
Kurt huffs out a breath and goes to the bedroom to grab Blaine’s phone. When he returns to the kitchen and hands it to him, Blaine starts typing rather than making a phone call.
“What are you doing?”
“Um, d-d-d-diagnosing myself on WebMD?” he says, looking up at Kurt with an innocent squint to his eyes.
“No. Call your mom.”
“No, honestly, I, I, I think I’m fine. And look, it says the usual. Rest, ice, compression, elevation. Let’s RICE it up!”
Kurt shakes his head and puts his hand out to help lift Blaine off the floor.
“You really should find out about health insurance,” Kurt urges after he settles Blaine on the couch.
“I will. Not today. I don’t want to p-p-p-piss my mom off.”
Blaine continues tapping at his phone, the tip of his tongue flicking out of the corner of his mouth and then squinting at his screen.
“Now what are you looking up?”
“Erotic uses for b-b-b-bubble wrap.”
Kurt rolls his eyes. “I suppose I’ll go get the bungee cords.”
Kurt settles down onto the couch next to Blaine and his eyes fill with tears.
“What, what’s wrong?” Blaine asks.
Kurt shakes his head and swipes at his eyes.
“Dumdum?” Blaine says, voice unsure.
“I just realized this is how life is now,” Kurt tells him. “Like we’re going to get to do this every day for the rest of our lives. Like this is our forever.”
“I like the ssss-sound of that.”
“Me too,” Kurt agrees.
“I’m glad I didn’t die before I met you,” Blaine sings in a whisper into Kurt’s ear.
It’s all so corny and wonderful, he just can’t help himself.