Going for Broke

Chapter 3

It feels good, being happy again. He's forgotten what it was like. Blaine passes the rest of the evening with Wes and David, a smile permanently stuck on his face and his hand still tingling with the sensation of Kurt's cool skin. His friends exchange bewildered glances at his sudden change in demeanor, but Blaine doesn't care. For the first time in months, he has something to look forward to.

He's going to go see Kurt again.

Blaine goes to work the next day, and the purple sharpie is still stained on his hand, a harsh contrast to the formality of his suit. Other people congratulate each other in the halls of his building, hail the New Year, and that's something that Blaine has never understood in the past. Why did people welcome another year? But when he makes a fist, the letters on his hand stretch and burn as a constant reminder and suddenly Blaine understands why others might be excited to have a new year come upon them. It's a celebration they survived the last. It's a hope for new things to come.

All day he feels elated, excited, and it is its own sort of oblivion in a way, but one he's managed to reach without copious amounts of alcohol. He goes back to his apartment that night, still euphoric, and cooks himself a proper meal, his first in weeks. Later, he goes out into the city, finds the nearest art supply store, and buys exactly seventy-two dollars and thirty cents worth of fine quality oil paints, and twenty of the best stretched canvases they have. He throws in a new package of brushes as well. Back in his apartment, he wraps everything up in a neat package and sets it by his door to wait. He knows that Kurt will probably catch on, give him that wide-eyed look of surprise when Blaine gives the package to him, but, to be perfectly honest, Blaine has never been good at waiting around. When he does something, he does it with all his heart. He can't stop himself from remembering Kurt's soft face in the dim light of the apartment, and his heart jolts a little each time. He knows it's dangerous, falling so hard so fast, but there's something so different about Kurt that won't let Blaine go. So unpredictable, so puzzling, so strong, so fragile, so everything Blaine has never encountered before.

It's almost like a slap in the fact to his father's expectations, falling for a boy like that, and Blaine revels in it.

It's three days later when he decides he can finally visit Kurt without seeming like an overeager fool. He microwaves dinner and eats quickly as soon as he gets home, not even bothering to change out of his suit. It's not important. He can't remember feeling this excited for something in years, probably not since high school, when he'd allowed his childish fantasies to control his life. This feels like one of those fantasies, in a way, something his fevered teenage brain would come up with in the depths of his hopeless romanticism, but the fact that it's all real, that Kurt is corporeal and solid and there makes everything all the better. When he dreams, there is an element of reality to it.

He almost forgets the package on the way out, but remembers it because he nearly forgets a winter jacket as well. When he turns back to grab his coat, the bright red wrapping snags his attention, and Blaine rolls his eyes at his own stupidity before gathering the present into his arms and heading for the elevator.

Rush hour is just ending when he reaches the ground, so there are plenty of taxis threading their way among the streets as the cabbies look for stragglers in need of a lift home. Blaine stands at the edge of the sidewalk and waves one down, jumping out the way to avoid being hit by slush when the cab pulls up to the curb.

The driver needs to look up Darling Street, and grumbles good-naturedly the entire time about traffic, who won the World Series and teenagers in general. Blaine hums and haws through it all, tapping his fingers nervously on the seat beside him. When the cabbie begins to glare pointedly at his fingers through the rear-view mirror, Blaine doodles in the condensation on the window instead. His flowers and stick figures are childish and sloppy compared to what he knows he can do, when he has Kurt wrapped around his back, but the drawings sap away some of his nervous energy, and by the time the cab reaches its destination, he has achieved a level head. He pays the cabbie—a little too much in fact, which makes the man grin and brighten instantly—and hops out of the car. His newly shined shoes land in the snow, instantly soaking through to his socks. He bought these for looks, not for practicality. But it doesn't bother Blaine now. He hikes the package higher in his arms and starts walking.