#Berry RUNS errands and helps everyone with props and their acts. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tungstenb · 4 years

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WIP Weekend Whenever

Tagged by @rpgwarrior4824, @ljandersen, @natsora, and @inquartata30. Thanks for the mentions, everyone!

Inq and Nat asked for fluff, so that's what I'm gonna try. I don't think my writing style is suited for fluff. But! An attempt was made. ^_-

I'm planning a bit of an intermission between SAtS and BODS — a series of vignettes from the trip to Thessia first referenced in "Cardamom and Cloves" — so here's a snippet from that (~2,500 words).

Enjoy!

Thessia: Day 2

Something's wrong.

It wasn't so much a thought but a feeling, an instinct. A surge of adrenaline to rouse her from sleep, to tense her slack muscles and propel her to act. One short intake of breath and she shot upright. Eyes keen. Mind ready.

Stillness. Early dawn.

Not wrong, only different. She'd forgotten.

Armali.

Shepard sank back down onto the plush bed, her sigh lost in the breeze rumbling with the crashing surf. Beyond the vast bedroom windows and billowing sheer curtains, new light tinted the scenery outside in a cool muted grayscale, the sky dilutely inky, the ocean mercurial, the scattered islands and jutting rock formations awaiting the colors of day, just beginning to come to life with swaying trees and flocks of birds. She sighed again. Allowed the last of her hypervigilance to bleed away. And as she shifted, turning to her left, she couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips.

Beside her, Liara slept soundly, facing away, curled up comfortably under a drape of sheets. The relaxed curve of her shoulder rose and fell slightly with her steady breathing, the gentle sheen of microscales still somehow catching the dim early light. She glowed, even in the gray.

Shaking her head, Shepard barely suppressed a quiet breathy laugh, all amazement and relief and disbelief. She never thought she could have this. Never thought her heart could feel so full. She reached out, stopping just short of running her knuckles gently over Liara's arm, or sweeping the fallen strap of her nightgown back up over her shoulder.

She wouldn't wake her.

Hand sinking into the pillowy mattress, Shepard propped herself up and swung her legs over the bed, taking a deep breath, rolling out the residual soreness and tension in her shoulders, stretching her neck, massaging her bad leg. She stood. Breathed. Stretched again. The woven rugs were soft beneath her feet and the stonework cool as she made her way to the kitchen. Priority: coffee. Leave it to the asari to perfect the tech even for that. She hummed as she scooped the fragrant grounds into the machine, tapping a few buttons to start it brewing.

By habit she brought up her omni-tool before remembering she'd decided to ditch her usual early-morning reading for the week, her daily newsfeeds and all but the highest-priority messages muted, their pinned widgets grayed-out and transparent on her homepage. She clicked her tongue over the whirring and dribbling of the coffee maker, then wandered to the refrigerator, idly appraising its contents.

The rental house had been stocked with essentials before their arrival — maybe standard Armalian fare, maybe items a bit more suited to human tastes, maybe things Liara had requested specifically, Shepard couldn't be sure. Two large glass bottles, one green juice, the other milk (or something milk-adjacent). A variety of eggs cradled in a basket, some small and pastel, some larger, textured and mottled with bluish spots. A package of dense, doughy bread, sliced, cylindrical in shape. Small blocks of what appeared to be cheese, or butter, or another sort of cultured or aged dairy product, wrapped in decorated waxy paper. Assorted vegetables in crisper compartments. A bowl of shiny berries. A jar of… whatever the hell. She grabbed it, unscrewed the top, took a whiff. Fishy.

Best wait for Liara to wake before attempting to cook. Bit out of her element, at least with these ingredients. Chances were she'd fuck it up, Liara would wake up laughing at her and her sad burnt breakfast lump, and they'd have to go out to eat. And maybe Liara'd prefer to go out anyway, head to a quaint little cafe on the waterfront that starched its cloth napkins and served fancy drinks with like, olives and celery sticks or whatever the garnish for socially acceptable breakfast/brunch booze was here. Probably best to defer to her judgment; this was her home, after all. But she could, at the very least, have tea ready for her when she woke.

Taking the milk-like bottle and setting it on the counter, she readied and leveled her translation overlay. Tapped for an audio sample. Melikhratun, said a silvery voice in her earpiece. She poured some in a glass and tasted it. It was reminiscent of melted vanilla ice cream, even in thickness, and it coated the interior of the glass. Kinda weird, oddly tasty. She shrugged and set the glass aside, skimming through the article.

Melikhratun: a sweet liquid cream/yogurt made from haavi milk, rich in… well, everything. Fat, sugar, protein, vitamins, sometimes probiotics; eezo content variable, generally ranging from 0.5 to 5.0 ppm, depending on livestock origin and feed. Ideal for the energy needs of those who make ample use of biotics. Many regional versions, cultured and uncultured, in a multitude of flavors, some seasonal, some staples, some festive varieties only making brief appearances for annual holidays, most notably porfuranq flavor, for Janiris. Either drunk straight, used in recipes, mixed with other beverages — and essential for serving arwamaasi, a tea made famous in Serrice.

She tapped the link to arwamaasi, the article popping up beside the one for melikhratun, humming a tune as she shuffled over to the pantry.

Arwamaasi, arwamaasi… that one also sounded familiar.

The hinge squeaked as she opened the pantry door, and she turned. In the sliver of the bedroom still visible from the kitchen, she found Liara still sleeping soundly, face serene, arm relaxed resting before her. Thankfully undisturbed by the squeal of oxidized hardware needing oiling — constant humidity and salty sea air would do that. With a quiet breathy chuckle — and a mental note to tend to it later — she turned back to her search.

Translation overlay active she scanned the labels, looking for a match among the tins and boxes and jars lining the shelves. The pantry was well-stocked — nonperishables left by previous guests — and she scanned over the bubbles of transliterated text that popped up in real-time.

Arwamaasi, arwamaasi, arwamaasi, she repeated, silently. Liara had said the word before, back on the Normandy, the syllables rolling off her tongue as sweetly as the scent of spice that permeated the air and lingered on her lips after she'd drunk cup after cup, counting on the kick of caffeine to keep her awake and alert long after staring at her terminal had strained her eyes and made her mind weary.

"It's just not the same without melikhratun," she'd explained to Shepard, but assured her she enjoyed it even without the rich, sweet Thessian dairy product. Not practical to keep it aboard: perishable, spendy, difficult to acquire without eezo contamination. I'll see what I can do, regardless, Shepard had thought. Errands on the Citadel. What's that stuff called again? Alone, she'd detoured on Tayseri Ward and ordered coffee from an asari-owned cafe, hoping to jog her memory. Thought to ask for something nice to put in tea, a specific kind of tea, what's-it-called? Stopped. No, just the coffee. But… god, no. The gesture would be too forward. Her omni-tool chimed as she finalized the transaction and rocked, agitated, on her heels.

Pull yourself together.

It had ached, hurt like hell back then. Soft freckled cheeks and supple lips and spiced tea and she'd punched the Normandy's elevator console just a bit too hard, because it wasn't right, all these impure thoughts she couldn't shake, but what could she do but go run on the treadmill for half an hour and blow off that steam and longing and frustration because fuck, Liara had to know what she was doing to her when she talked so smart and sucked on her teeth and licked her lips and smiled like that.

No fucking way in hell should she even think about making the first move.

But if Shepard swiveled to her left — and she did, then — there, only meters away, Liara slept, that placid comfort clear on her face in the early light, and that sight ached too, but it ached so good. Warm and full and perfect and — god, how did she get so lucky? Bouncing on her heels, she quietly hummed while her nose and her eyes crinkled in a grin she couldn't fight, and she shook her head, scoffing in disbelief.

Shepard turned back toward the pantry, peering through the hovering transparency over her forearm. And a match. She waved the translation app away, tin in hand, flicking back to the article.

Arwamaasi: developed by tea artisans in Serrice. Made with leaves soaked in concentrated spices, then expertly woven into packed shapes designed to bloom when steeped; then fermented, where they grow in pungency; and then aged, where they condense into pellets as they dessicate. High in caffeine, this tea is treasured for its distinctive flavor, heightened with the addition of melikhratun.

Making it would be simple enough, and she collected the rest of what she needed — the melikhratun already sitting out — and switched the electric kettle on. The dry, compact tea pellets rattled in the tin as she pried off the top, then stuck her nose inside. Sniffed once and pulled back at the pungent sting. Punchy. Smells like a concussion but probably tastes real good. Gingerly, she plopped a pellet into a glass teapot.

Shepard poured a mug of coffee and drank, leaning against the counter as the tea kettle heated. It was good coffee. Really good, actually. Even better in the quiet, with the gentle humid air, the soothing rhythmic crash of the waves, the incredible view. She smiled, eyes lingering on Liara, still fast asleep —

The kettle beeped shrilly and Shepard spun to turn it off, shushing and admonishing it for its disruption, and quickly poured the boiling water into the glass teapot while sneaking glances toward the bedroom.

Stupid noisy thing. Hopefully it didn't — nope, still sleeping.

The packed cluster in the teapot unfurled lazily like some sort of sea creature, releasing amber swirls as its delicate leafy arms swayed in the steaming water. Shepard sipped at her coffee, waiting for the tea to finish steeping, tapping her fingers against the countertop as she sang soundlessly. She topped off her own mug before finishing Liara's tea preparation.

Coffee in one hand, tea in the other, she returned to the bedroom, setting the tea cup down on the nightstand. And as she lingered there, smiling, the sweet scent of arwamaasi spices wafted on the humid breeze. She leaned over, kissing Liara lightly on the cheek. When she pulled back, though Liara's eyes remained closed, a sleepy smile warmed her face.

⁂

Something warm and sweet tinged Liara's fading dreams. She stirred. Yawned. Stretched, breathing deeply as she sat upright, spilling out of a loose cocoon of soft sheets. Before her, on the nightstand, was the steaming source of that familiar scent, sweetly spicy and full as it mingled with the fresh air and tickled her nose. She picked up the cup and swiveled to look behind her.

Unsurprisingly, Shepard's absence on the bed meant she was out on the balcony. There, she sat, ankle on the opposite knee, coffee in hand, staring out at the ocean.

For a moment Liara just waited, watching her, one leg tucked up on the bed as she drank her tea. She'd never seen her look so relaxed. Never had her heart felt so full.

Eventually she slid off the bed, greeting Shepard with a light brush of her hand on her shoulder and a playful tousle of her hair.

"Mornin'. How's the tea?" she asked, scooting over in her chair to make room.

"Perfect." Liara sat, their shoulders brushing.

They didn't speak for some time, Shepard resting her head on Liara's shoulder, both watching the birds and boats and waves as the sky continued to lighten and the comfort of closeness was enough. Shepard set her mug on the table first, hopping off the chair and heading down the balcony stairs before Liara could ask where she was going. Reluctantly, setting aside her own tea, she followed.

The bottom tier, at water level, served as a dock. As Shepard leaned against the partial railing, taking in the scenery, Liara nestled up beside her. "Did you see something?" she asked.

"Something?" Shepard scoffed in amazement. Gazed back out at the ocean. "Everything," she said, awed.

Liara only chuckled softly in response, the warming breeze tickling her crest and her affection leaving her speechless. Pausing, she traced the curve of Shepard's cheek, her skin soft and slightly — as she'd recently learned to say — peach-fuzzy. "What did you want to do today?"

"That's such an open-ended question." She took Liara's hand and cupped it in both her own, running her thumb over her knuckles. "Dunno. This's your home. Anything. Surprise me. I'll even close my eyes the whole way there, if you want."

Liara shook her head, amused. "I would be willing to wager a significant credit sum that you couldn't manage to keep your eyes off me for a minute," she teased.

"Oho. Oh. One whole minute."

"An entire minute." Liara smirked. Lowered her hand from her grasp. "Okay. Let's practice."

"Okay." Shepard's gaze was unwavering as she shifted her weight from foot to foot, hands at her sides.

"I'm starting a timer," Liara warned, and brought up her 'tool.

Shepard closed her eyes, the hint of her smile still there, as she took Liara's hands in her own.

Hands occupied as they were, Liara couldn't reach out and cup Shepard's cheek, run her fingertip over the scar on her brow, trace the stubbly texture of the buzzed hairs on the sides of her head. But she could, in this moment, lean forward and kiss her.

"Five seconds," Liara announced smugly, pulling away.

"Hey — uh, no!" Shepard sputtered. "Sabotage. Doesn't count."

Liara flicked up her brows. "Try again, then?"

"I have a feeling by 'try again' you mean — ahhh…"

Liara kissed her again, pulling her close. Suddenly, she gasped and staggered back — and not because Shepard's fingertips had found pressure along the ridges on her spine.

A trio of maidens skipped by on a motorized skiff, squealing and hollering their delight at the show while triumphantly waving protective hats and fishing gear. Liara clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

Shepard, shoulders rocking with silent laughter, cleared her throat. "Uh, where were we?"

"Day plans," Liara said, removing her hand from her mouth just enough to speak.

Shepard continued to rock with laughter. "Right," she deadpanned.

"Hmm." Liara gazed upward, sucking on the inside of her cheek as she thought. Looked back to Shepard, raising her brows. "Armali Natural History Museum?"

"Oh shit, dinosaurs!"

"Excuse me?"

Shepard, expectantly wide-eyed, mouth excitedly open, burst into actual laughter.

"Is that a 'yes' or a 'no'?" Liara pressed.

"It's a 'whatever you want to do today, Li.'"

"Petraaa."

That earned Liara a nose-wrinkle. "Nobody calls me that."

Liara tapped the end of Shepard's nose and shrugged, grinning. "I do."

"At the very least," Shepard said, playfully swatting the arm attached to Liara's nose-bopping-hand away, "we should talk breakfast first." She took Liara in her arm, pulled her close, kissed her shoulder. "There's some weird-ass eggs in the fridge if you know how to cook those. Or we could eat out… hey, why are you looking at me like that?"

Her grin turned devious. "I think I'd like that," she said, and she grabbed Shepard's hand and pulled her up the stairs.

#wips #SAtS #LWLS #my writing #shiara

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lilyvandersteen · 6 years

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A Rose for You

This is a short story for @fictionallylost as a birthday present. Enjoy, sweetie!

Also on AO3/Fanfiction.net.

Part Two.

Prompt: someone left me a rose backstage after opening night and I have no clue who it is because I’m not even an actor?? I’m just on set……AU

“Kurt, the backdrop is coming loose again. Where’s the staple gun?”

Kurt couldn’t answer because his mouth was full of pins, but he reached behind him for the staple gun and handed it to Sam, who thanked him and sprinted to the backdrop to secure it before it could fall on the actors.

Kurt went back to hemming the lead actor’s pants and then taking in the waist of his jacket.

“All done,” he said at last. “You can take off your costume, but be careful, there are pins everywhere!”

The guy shrugged off the jacket and hung it over the back of Kurt’s chair, and then gingerly wriggled out of the pants, folding them and handing them to Kurt.

“Thanks,” Kurt said. “I’ll make the adjustments tonight, and then the costume should be perfect. Make sure you’re here on time tomorrow, though, so that I will have time for last-minute changes if necessary.”

The guy, who was by now putting his regular clothes on again, wiggling his tush invitingly in Kurt’s direction, turned around and nodded. “I will, I promise. Thank you, Kurt.”

Mr Great Tush shot Kurt a dazzling smile before he left, and it took Kurt a full minute to shake off the effects it had on him and get back to work.

Right. Rachel.

“Rachel! Come and try on your dress!”

Rachel, who was schmoozing with Jesse, the director of the play, giggled at something Jesse had said and didn’t budge.

“Rach! Any day now?”

Still no reaction.

“Rachel Barbra Berry, if you do not want to go on stage in your undies tomorrow, get here this instant and try on your costume!”

Kurt yelled this loud enough for everyone to hear, and the stage hands and actors all sniggered.

Rachel’s head snapped up, her mouth a thin line. She whispered something to Jesse and then came towards Kurt.

“There was no need to yell like that!” she snapped.

“Oh, yes, there is. I’ve still got plenty to do before opening night, so I need you to hurry up and put this on! You can get your flirt on after.”

Rachel huffed, but took off her blouse and skirt to slip into the dress, sweeping her hair out of the way so that Kurt could pull up the zipper.

“Hmm, I’ll need to take in the bust area and the waist.”

Kurt busied himself pinning the dress until it fit like a glove, and then helped Rachel out of it.

“Okay. Send me the ensemble actors, please.”

Rachel huffed again. “What am I, your errand girl?”

“Yes. I don’t have the time to go running after everyone who needs a costume. Bring them to me.”

Rachel took a deep breath and then yelled, “Ensemble cast! Come fit your costumes!”

Kurt winced, but he guessed his ears ringing was a small price to pay for the rest of the cast hurrying towards him and eagerly trying on the clothes he handed to them.

Kurt went on pinning, and in two cases taking out the seams, for quite a while yet, and then sent everyone off while he stayed and headed to the sewing machine. The thing was ancient, and Kurt swore under his breath each time a needle broke, but he managed to get most of the work done before he started to yawn so jaw-breakingly that he knew he had to call it a day.

Sighing, he stood up and stretched to work the kinks out of his back. It was after midnight already. He should have adjusted the costumes way earlier, but he’d been kept busy prompting actors that kept forgetting their lines, painting backdrops, making props, fixing several spotlights that needed new light bulbs, and on one occasion even looking after the child of a cast member. The list of tasks he had to do was never-ending.

This was not what he’d hoped for when Rachel announced she’d signed the both of them up for theatre camp during summer. He’d been counting on getting a speaking part in the play. After all, he could act, he could sing and he could dance. And quite well, too, even if he said so himself.

But when Kurt had auditioned, Jesse had taken one look at him and frowned, and Kurt’s stellar performance of “I’m the Greatest Star” had only made the frown deepen. By the time Jesse had yelled “Next�� without even acknowledging Kurt, it had been clear that an ensemble role was as much as Kurt could hope for.

When the cast list had gone up, it had proved to be even worse. Kurt was nowhere on it. He hadn’t even gotten a small, non-speaking role. Rachel, of course, was lead.

Kurt had been furious, and had stalked to Jesse to ask his money back. “You can’t call this theatre camp when I won’t even get the chance to act! What am I supposed to do for two weeks, huh? Sit around and watch those lucky enough to make your list though they don’t have half of my talent?”

Jesse had quirked an eyebrow at Kurt. “Didn’t read the brochure, did you? If you’re not cast, you’re crew. You’re going to be helping with the lighting, the sound, the costuming, the backdrops and anything else we need done. That’s part of theatre just as much as acting is.”

Kurt had shot Jesse a death glare. “Do I look like I signed up to do menial work?”

Jesse had just shrugged. “Somebody’s got to do it. You’ll learn fast enough. Sam will teach you. He was here last year, too. Sam!!”

A tall blonde Adonis had sauntered up to them. “Yep?”

“New blood for your crew,” Jesse had told him.

“Oh, nice,” Sam had grinned, and had clapped Kurt on the shoulder. “Come on back, I’ll show you the ropes.”

Kurt, blinded by Sam’s pearly whites, had put up no more objections, and had let himself be led backstage. Now, a week and a half later, he could wield a staple gun like a pro, recite the whole play from memory and knew the lighting and sound plan forwards and backwards, timing the dramatic spotlights and sound effects to the very second. Well, it wasn’t what he’d signed up for, but it might come in handy someday, right? And getting to spend ten days with a Nordic god who worked shirtless and kept climbing on ladders so that Kurt could admire his firm ass from up close, well, that was a definite perk of being a crew member.

Kurt smiled to himself, thinking of Sam. He was straight, of course, but he didn’t seem to mind or notice Kurt ogling him, and he was friendly and funny.

I’ve had worse crushes…

Ten minutes later, he slipped into the room he shared with three other guys from theatre camp. He always made sure to be the first to leave in the morning and the last to arrive at night. He had no idea if his roommates were homophobic, but he reckoned it was better to be safe than sorry. He was too tired to go shower or do his skin care routine, choosing instead to just flop onto his bed, pull the covers over him and drift off to sleep.

Though he’d gone to bed late, he woke up at seven, like clockwork, and went to take a shower. Just as he’d stepped back into his room with a towel around his waist and was bending over to pick out a change of clothes from his suitcase, he heard a groan from one of his roommates.

Kurt quickly looked around, but everyone still appeared to be sleeping. He hurried to get dressed, though, and made his way to the campus café for breakfast.

Just when he was paying for his mocha and blueberry muffin, he heard a cheery voice behind him. “Hey Kurt! Can I join you for breakfast?”

Kurt turned around and saw Mr Great Tush, again with a blinding smile, the likes of which ought to be forbidden so early in the morning. “Uhm, hi. Actually, I’m heading backstage, there’s still plenty to do. Your costume’s ready, though, so if you have a minute, pop in to see if it fits like it should now.”

He didn’t wait for Mr Great Tush to answer. He just grabbed his drink and his muffin and headed out.

“Okay, I will!” he heard behind him. It sounded less enthusiastic than before. No doubt, Mr Great Tush was in need of coffee too.

The day went by in a whirlwind of activity. Kurt adjusted the rest of the costumes, had everyone try them on again, and then did the lighting for the dress rehearsal, while Sam did the sound.

The dress rehearsal was a disaster. Everyone was so nervous that they kept forgetting their lines and needed to be prompted, and the singing sounded flat. Halfway through, an ensemble kid bumped into the tower with a balcony Kurt and Sam had constructed out of wood and painted cardboard, just when Rachel was at the top. The tower fell over, and Rachel shrieked and fell, too. Mr Great Tush tried to catch her, but was knocked off balance. Result: the tower was ruined, Rachel sprained her ankle, and Mr Great Tush hit his head and blacked out.

Kurt hurried to the dorm kitchen and grabbed two packs of ice cubes from the freezer and two towels. On his return, he handed one to each of the injured actors and then helped Sam reassemble the wooden tower as best they could, which took the rest of the afternoon.

Jesse had thrown out the ensemble kid, who had no lines anyway, and spent his time alternating between yelling at everyone, pacing the room and doting on Rachel, bringing her tea, a scarf, painkillers, bandages and ointment for her ankle and a vegan salad.

Rachel was in tears because her ankle hurt and she could not stand on it, and kept whining until Kurt told her to please stop.

“There’s no need for you to stand, Rach. Every scene that has you standing can be done sitting. We have this sofa backstage that we could put on stage for you. And for the tower scenes, we’ll just darken the stage before and after and Sam will help you up and then help you down again. And we’ll make sure you can sit in the tower. Okay?”

As soon as the tower was up again, now with the addition of a bench for Rachel to sit on, they practised Sam lifting up Rachel and putting her into the tower, and then taking her out again. And if Kurt kind of salivated over Sam’s muscles flexing, well, he was sure everyone was too preoccupied with saving the play to notice.

The last hour before opening night, Kurt checked everyone’s costumes one last time and then did the main actors’ hair and make-up. The ensemble had to fend for themselves, he just didn’t have the time.

Five minutes before the play was to start, he slipped backstage, gave Sam a thumbs-up and got ready to do the lighting.

This time, everything went swimmingly, and nobody seemed to notice Sam helping Rachel in and out of the tower. The applause was enthusiastic and went on for a long time, prompting Rachel to stand up anyway and curtsey, only wincing a little as she did so.

As soon as the audience was gone, Kurt and Sam tidied up the auditorium, and then Kurt headed to the sewing machine to fix a tear in one of the costumes. He was surprised to find a flower next to the machine. A red-tipped yellow rose. It wasn’t a prop. It was a real flower.

“Hey Rach! Is this yours?” Kurt yelled, but Rachel was already gone, probably taken to her dorm room by Jesse.

Kurt sighed and carefully put the flower on a spare chair before threading the needle of the sewing machine for his repairs. He’d get it back to Rachel later.

“It’s for you, Kurt,” a soft voice said, and Kurt jumped in fright. He turned towards the voice, and it proved to be Mr Great Tush.

“Don’t sneak up me like that, for Pete’s sake!” Kurt snapped.

“Sorry… I just wanted to say… The rose is for you. Not for Rachel.”

Kurt gaped at Mr Great Tush, who blushed and lowered his eyes, and oh wow, how had Kurt never noticed what beautiful lashes the guy had?

“You… Why would you give me flowers?” Kurt said at last.

Mr Great Tush chuckled. “Isn’t it obvious? I like you, Kurt. I’ve liked you from the moment I saw you. Only… You never seemed to see me. I thought maybe you resented me. ‘Cause I got the lead. I saw your audition, Kurt, and you MOVED me. You were so right in calling out Jesse for not casting you. You ARE better than the rest of us combined. You deserve better than to work backstage.”

Kurt looked at Mr Great Tush with wide eyes. “Uhm…”

“So I’ve been trying to get your attention, but you never even noticed me. That’s why I thought this might be a nice gesture.”

Mr Great Tush picked up the rose and held it out to Kurt, who hesitated, and then accepted it. A warm feeling spread in his chest, and he felt the corners of his lips tugging upwards.

“Thank you.”

Mr Great Tush beamed, another of those smiles that left Kurt breathless. Why HAD Kurt never noticed him? He was stunning! He was also… speaking, so Kurt had better listen. “Would you… Would you go out with me sometime?”

Kurt huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. Yes. Sure. If you tell me your name first.”

“Oh, you don’t…? It’s Blaine. Blaine Anderson.”

Kurt tucked Blaine’s arm into the crook of his elbow. “Well, Blaine, I know it’s late, but I’m hungry for a milkshake and fries. Let me take you to Marie’s Diner, and we can play Twenty Questions. Does that sound okay?”

“Perfect,” Blaine purred, and he kissed Kurt on the cheek. “Lead the way.”

#a rose for you #klaine fanfiction #for fictionallylost #happy birthday sweetie!

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