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MBTA @mbtaGM IMPORTANT: ALL #MBTA Service on ALL MODES Suspended. Check here for updates. 5:58 AM - 19 Apr 13

The next morning, Blaine could barely open his eyes. Each time he tried, the light coming in from the east-facing window would cause his head to pound like the cast of “Stomp” had taken up temporary residency in his skull. His curls were haphazardly ruffled on one side, and flattened down on the other. When he was finally able to pry one eye open, he turned away from the window and saw Kurt pushing off from the bed, the sheet falling away to reveal his pale, freckled ass. He barely remembered Kurt cleaning him up last night before changing the pillowcase and tucking him in, snuggling up to be big spoon. While Blaine appreciated his vantage point as Kurt walked toward a chest of drawers, his hangover unfortunately clouded the experience.

“Ugh…where’s your cat?” Blaine finally grumbled into the pillow.

Kurt turned and eyed him warily. “What? We don’t have a cat.”

“You don’t? Then why does my mouth feel like it's full of kitty litter?”

“Yeah, that would be the cottonmouth portion of your hangover,” Kurt said as he pulled on a pair of briefs. “I’m going to the bathroom, need some water?”

“Yes, thank you.” Blaine stretched his arms above his head, working out kinks and pops in his shoulders as he woke up his muscles, then ran his fingers through his unkempt bed-head. “I’ll be out of your hair in a bit, don’t worry.”

“Eh, no problem. I’ll put some coffee on while I’m up.”

Blaine sat up and began to look around, trying to locate his clothes from the night before as Kurt padded out of the bedroom. Neither one of them tended to hang around too long the morning after a hookup, if they spent the night at all; it was never discussed, but considered bad form. Taking in his surroundings in the early light of day, he saw the nightstand was precariously tipped against the corner armchair. His pants were draped over the back, the pockets of which contained his cell phone, keys and wallet. He reached over, grabbed the top of the nightstand, and tilted it back up straight. He threw the blankets off his legs, swung them over the side, and without looking put his left foot down…right on a shard of glass.

Aaaahhhhhoooo, motherfucker!

Blaine rolled back on the bed, grabbing his foot and blanching as he saw the pool of blood welling from a sharp cut. His shout could be heard throughout the apartment; Kurt came running in, hair still askew with toothpaste on his chin.

“What the hell, Blaine? What happened?”

“Gah, must have broken a glass last night, ‘cause I just stepped on it! Argh, my foot, it fucking hurts!”

Kurt started to come around to Blaine’s side of the bed.

“Wait!” Blaine shouted. Kurt froze. “There’s probably still glass down there!”

“Shit, you’re right, hold on.” Kurt went to his closet and pulled on the closest thing he could put on fast, his running shoes. His feet protected, he sat at the foot of the bed. “Here, give me your foot, let me see it.”

Blaine gingerly let go of his foot, wincing as he took the pressure off so Kurt could take a look. Kurt cradled the heel and examined the sole; Blaine flinched, as Kurt’s ministrations were at once ticklish and stinging.

“It’s not that bad, Blaine. Probably hit more nerves than anything. I’ve heard feet tend to bleed a lot even with a little injury. See? Not even a big enough cut to need stitches.” Kurt pushed Blaine’s foot back toward him. “Grab some tissues off the nightstand, keep pressure on it…I’ll grab some gauze and peroxide, and be right back to wrap you up.”

“Hey, you may want to grab a broom and dustpan to clean the glass up,” Blaine called to Kurt as he stepped out. Soon enough, Kurt returned with the supplies, along with the promised water, and swept up the broken glass while Blaine cleaned the cut on his foot and wrapped it in gauze and a steri-pad.

“So…you think you’ll be okay? ‘Cause I’m going to get in the shower. You can let yourself out,” Kurt said as he emptied the last of the mess into the wastebasket.

“Yeah,” Blaine grunted in his second attempt at putting his feet on the floor, successful this time albeit with less pressure on his injured foot. “I should be fine getting home, I’ll just be limping more than I expected.”

“You mean other than you would have anyway…” Kurt grinned as he left.

“Ha-ha,” Blaine snarked at Kurt’s back, as he pulled on his boxer-briefs. With the door closed, Blaine drank the entire glass of water Kurt had left, finished getting dressed, then pulled out his phone and frowned at the battery indicator, taunting him with a red line and “9%” next to it. He needed to remember to plug it into his charger the second he got home, then get on his computer if he wanted to meet the 10 a.m. deadline for his column.

Dressed and with his foot bandaged, he walked down the hall, past the bathroom where he could hear the shower running, Kurt’s voice singing a Juliana Hatfield tune. He could smell the rich scent of brewing coffee wafting down the hall…damnit. Between bandaging his foot and sweeping up glass he knew Kurt didn’t have time to make coffee, so Santana must be home, and awake. He had hoped to grab his shoes from the living room and bypass her during his Walk of Shame, but no luck; she was sitting on the couch between him and the door, watching television. With the way the room was set up there was no way to not cut between her and the TV.

“Um…hi, Santana.”

“Morning, Dildo Baggins,” she grumbled over the lip of her coffee mug. “Hoping to get back to the Shire?”

Blaine cringed at the nickname. “Yeah…Kurt’s in the shower, I’m just leaving.”

“I hate to tell you this but you’re not going anywhere. None of us are,” she said as she nodded toward the TV, which Blaine now noticed was tuned to the news; it looked like a police press conference:

“…so we are asking people, do not go out to the bus stations, subway stations, if you’re there, please go home.  We also want to speak to the residents and the public within the town of Watertown and the cities and towns that are abutting Watertown, and to be specific we are speaking to the residents of Watertown, Newton, Waltham, Belmont, Cambridge, and the Austin Brighton neighborhoods of Boston. To those people we are asking you to stay indoors, stay in your homes for the time being. We are asking businesses in those areas to please cooperate and not open today until we can provide further guidance...”

Blaine stood there slack-jawed. He couldn’t leave? He had a deadline, a nearly-dead cell phone, and a foot that he was fairly certain would start bleeding again soon.

Hey, if you’re going to stand there with your mouth hanging open can you not do it right in front of the television?”

“Oh. Right, sorry.” Blaine stepped aside and sat in the side chair, still slightly in shock. It wasn’t that he was sneaking out; Kurt knew he was leaving. It wasn’t that he didn’t like hanging out with Kurt, they were friends. It was just…well, when one hung around the day after the kind of sex they had the night before, it implied there was more there than friendship. It was weird, okay?

Now they were on lockdown, at least that’s what the flashy graphic on the news was branding it as. The news crawl just made his situation worse. Couldn’t leave, go outside, or even open the door unless it was for a cop. The trains and buses weren’t running. Then Blaine suddenly realized Kurt hadn’t even heard the news yet; he was still in the shower. Oh God, Kurt was already going a little crazy with the campus closed; now he wasn’t going to be able to go anywhere. Blaine tried to imagine spending the entire day trapped in a somewhat strange apartment with a stir-crazy Kurt…maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Heck, maybe they could have sex again. Then he remembered; Santana was home. This was going to be hell. Who knew how long this search would take? On the one hand maybe they’d catch the guy in a couple of hours. But what if they didn’t find him that day? What if they didn’t find him at all?

Blaine decided to go back to Kurt’s room; when Kurt got out of the shower he’d tell him what he had just heard on the news.

(next chapter)
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