Fire and Silk Verse, in which Blaine is a fire-eater and Kurt is a silk flyer in the circus
All good things must come to an end. Or, at least, people will try and end them.
"It’s so cute!" Kurt giggled, laying on Blaine’s chest and playing with his curls.
"And it’s getting too long," Blaine grumbled. "I should probably cut it at some point."
"No, keep it," Kurt insisted, twisting a curl around his finger. "And when it gets long enough, you can put it in a super sexy ponytail."
"Oh hush," Blaine grinned, fingers flying up to mess with Kurt’s coif. Kurt yelled and they rolled over, laughing.
Blaine stood in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection blankly. It was nearly two in the morning.
Slowly, he raised the scissors to his hair and cut each lock, letting them all fall into the cracked white porcelain of the sink.
"I love these, you know," Blaine said softly, trailing a finger across the swirly iridescent scales and feathers across Kurt’s back.
"I love yours too," Kurt mumbled sleepily, bringing a hand up to the right side of Blaine’s chest to touch the head of the dragon briefly. "Very fitting."
Blaine chuckled softly, wrapping an arm around Kurt’s waist and leaning back. “Have you ever thought of getting another one?”
Kurt hesitated before adopting a nonchalant tone. “I mean sure, objectively I suppose. Don’t really know what I’d get.”
"Yeah…" Blaine echoed. "Me too."
Kurt uselessly stirred his mocha as he sat at the Lima Bean—his one respite from the jocks who were apparently too cool to ever go near a coffee shop, whatever that meant—and doodled on his paper.
It was a rough sketch of the tattoo on his back and the flaming flower that he’d wanted to add to it.
And then it hit him all at once how stupid he’d been. Running away to the circus—despite the things that had happened—and falling for someone older and assuming that he’d just live out the rest of his life like it was a fairytale or something stupid like that.
He really needed to let it go.
"What are you drawing? It’s really pretty."
Kurt jumped looking up. A college-aged looking blonde guy was staring down at his drawing. Kurt opened his mouth to reply before considering briefly and shutting the notebook, turning his full attention to the guy.
"Nothing. Well, nothing important, really." He was supposed to be moving on, right? Why not take a leap of faith. He stuck his hand out. "I’m Kurt."
"Hello Kurt, the artist of nothing important, really,” the guy grinned, and Kurt was instantly charmed. “I’m Jeremiah.”