spirit cold ➙ writings

o come, all ye burnt dinner.

O Come, All Ye Burnt Dinner!

SUMMARY; And here Kurt was certain he was avoiding this holiday season's insanity.

PROMPT; "hi we're neighbours and omg are you alright i could smell cooking-- burning - whoaaa now that's just embarrassing? step aside i'll handle this" (holiday-themed.)

PAIRING(S); Kurt Hummel/Blaine Anderson (+mentioned Brittana and Faberry).

TRIGGER WARNINGS; N/A.

NOTE(S); An actual holiday one shot? Shook. I was afraid I wouldn't have muse to write any after recent events, but the inspiration for one struck me this morning, and thus, this AU was born. Enjoy, and thank you for reading!

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Living with Rachel and Santana could've been better, in Kurt's opinion.

During the holiday season, living conditions were exceptionally dire. Both were obsessively preparing for visits from their girlfriends, Quinn and Brittany. One slight complication, and suddenly, everything was the end of the world and they were both ready to take a torch to the entire loft. 

Rachel, being Jewish, didn't even celebrate Christmas, and yet she hadn't quit trying to perfect Kurt's decorations all week. 

Which were already perfect, thank you very much.

Rachel's defense was simple. Quinn's best friend lived in the city, too, and she was hoping to coerce Quinn into staying with them rather than the friend. Apparently, she thought cheap garland would secure that.

It was times like these Kurt was grateful he didn't have anyone special in his life. Not like that. Of course, there had been high school crushes on painfully heterosexual boys, and he'd dated a boy from his NYADA's glee club, but nothing fit. It was better that way.

More rationalism, less crazy. He could cope with the loneliness if it meant avoiding the same breakdowns his friends had. Daily. Repeatedly.

"Yes, Rachel, I'm almost home." Kurt's exasperation was blatant in his tone. Two bags were wrapped around his wrist, cutting off his circulation, as he held his phone to his ear. "I had to pick up a couple more things. Unlike you lovebirds, I have to worry about the actual meal."

"Oh, really, Kurt, no one cares about that--"

Kurt gasped. "That is a blasphemous thing to say! Ina Garten would never prioritize romance over food."

"Ina Garten needs new hobbies."

As he was choosing a comeback from an impressive repertoire, he smelled it.

Burning.

By now, he was right outside his shared loft with Santana and Rachel. Across from them, a little down the hall, a door was cracked open. When he squinted, he could see the faintest traces of smoke. Fabulous. Now someone decided to burn down the entire apartment complex. Joy to the world over the excitement of another holiday season in New York City.

"I need to go. I'll see you in a minute." Ignoring Rachel's protests, Kurt hung up, tossing the phone into his bag. Tempting as it was to leave them outside the loft if he was walking into a deadly fire, this was New York. He might as well catapult them at the homeless if he did that.

Kurt's knuckles rapt against the ajar door. "Hello? Anyone home?" 

Judging by the Christmas music playing a little too loudly and the smoke, someone was, but it was only proper etiquette to ask before walking into someone else's apartment. Which he did.