Of Which Night Can Only Dream
The Stars Are Waiting
“How long have we been here? I’m getting a bit cold.”
Kurt’s words are mingled with a faint whisper of icy breath, which hangs in the air above the pair of them for a moment before diffusing into the night air.
“I don’t know. I don’t care,” the other boy replies, taking off his own jacket and gently wrapping it around him. “Time means nothing.” And Blaine smiles. It’s awkward, slightly wry, just another little quirk of his sheer ineptitude for romance.
Kurt laughs and props himself up on his elbow. The jacket slips off him, but he doesn’t re-adjust it.
“Stop making so much of an effort! Just, just be yourself. We’re both novices at this kind of thing.”
As they both go to lie down again, Blaine stretches out his arm to catch Kurt’s neck as it falls back onto him. Kurt’s arm decides to make its way to Blaine’s hair, a silent thank you for the gesture. He laces it amongst tangles of hair gel and shampoo and whatever else is concealed in the darkness.
Both boys roll over to look at each other, leaving the stars to their games of charades – bear, hunter, fish, bull, ram, water-carrier… Blaine doesn’t see any point to them. He can’t understand why a few stars in a line can be a pair of twins, but Kurt thinks it’s romantic. Blaine can spot his own pictures if he wants to.
They exchange a smile, before leaning in towards each other, not knowing which one is really leading the other. Their foreheads meet first, then their noses, and finally their lips, which part briefly as they pass little echoes of laughter between them, forwards and backwards, breaking apart and coming together. It’s relatively chaste, but neither know what to expect from their relationship and it’s an unspoken agreement that each will move at the other’s pace, not going any further unless the other wants to.
Blaine’s hand is curled around Kurt’s waist, while Kurt’s is still nestled amongst the wilderness of Blaine’s hair. Their torsos are touching and each can feel the familiar warmth that is human flesh, human heartbeat, radiating from the other. The fit of their bodies isn’t perfect, but still perfect in its imperfection – like two pieces from a different jigsaw that, when forced together, make a new, completely original piece of some kind of abstract art.
Lying together, there, on the grass, Kurt leans his head onto Blaine’s shoulder and both hang there, suspended in the depths of the moment by the threads of time.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it, the night sky?”
“Not as beautiful as you.” Blaine smiles the same smile. Kurt reaches down and affectionately slaps his thigh.
“What did I tell you?” and they both laugh.
Kurt’s words are mingled with a faint whisper of icy breath, which hangs in the air above the pair of them for a moment before diffusing into the night air.
“I don’t know. I don’t care,” the other boy replies, taking off his own jacket and gently wrapping it around him. “Time means nothing.” And Blaine smiles. It’s awkward, slightly wry, just another little quirk of his sheer ineptitude for romance.
Kurt laughs and props himself up on his elbow. The jacket slips off him, but he doesn’t re-adjust it.
“Stop making so much of an effort! Just, just be yourself. We’re both novices at this kind of thing.”
As they both go to lie down again, Blaine stretches out his arm to catch Kurt’s neck as it falls back onto him. Kurt’s arm decides to make its way to Blaine’s hair, a silent thank you for the gesture. He laces it amongst tangles of hair gel and shampoo and whatever else is concealed in the darkness.
Both boys roll over to look at each other, leaving the stars to their games of charades – bear, hunter, fish, bull, ram, water-carrier… Blaine doesn’t see any point to them. He can’t understand why a few stars in a line can be a pair of twins, but Kurt thinks it’s romantic. Blaine can spot his own pictures if he wants to.
They exchange a smile, before leaning in towards each other, not knowing which one is really leading the other. Their foreheads meet first, then their noses, and finally their lips, which part briefly as they pass little echoes of laughter between them, forwards and backwards, breaking apart and coming together. It’s relatively chaste, but neither know what to expect from their relationship and it’s an unspoken agreement that each will move at the other’s pace, not going any further unless the other wants to.
Blaine’s hand is curled around Kurt’s waist, while Kurt’s is still nestled amongst the wilderness of Blaine’s hair. Their torsos are touching and each can feel the familiar warmth that is human flesh, human heartbeat, radiating from the other. The fit of their bodies isn’t perfect, but still perfect in its imperfection – like two pieces from a different jigsaw that, when forced together, make a new, completely original piece of some kind of abstract art.
Lying together, there, on the grass, Kurt leans his head onto Blaine’s shoulder and both hang there, suspended in the depths of the moment by the threads of time.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it, the night sky?”
“Not as beautiful as you.” Blaine smiles the same smile. Kurt reaches down and affectionately slaps his thigh.
“What did I tell you?” and they both laugh.