“Shit,” Finn says, pressing his back against the janitor closet door as soon as he gets it closed and locked. “Shit, do you think that was just Santana being scary like usual or do you think she was being zombie scary?”
“Why does this door lock from the inside?” Blaine asks. His hair hasn’t really moved at all since they started running a few hours ago, and if they all weren’t in the middle of some sort of zombie epidemic, Kurt would totally take out his journal — it’s a journal, not a diary, and Finn will never guess Kurt’s most recent hiding spot, seriously — to write something like, #42. YOUR HAIR DOESN’T MOVE WHILE UNDER ATTACK BY FLESH-EATING ZOMBIES to his list of reasons why Blaine should stop using so much gel. (Kurt was planning on giving it to him on his birthday and everything, and then probably giving him a blowjob, but now it looks like they might not make it to Blaine’s birthday, considering the state of McKinley High’s halls. Kurt knew there was a reason he originally considered carrying around that list.)
“I don’t think that’s the question to be asking,” Kurt says, trying to find a place to lean that isn’t occupied by a mop. “And Finn, unless I missed the part where Santana usually tells you she wants to eat you from limb to limb because you look like a delicious moose, I’m pretty sure that wasn’t Santana being normal.”
Finn frowns, his face shadowed in the yellow light of the little flickering bulb above their head. “Actually,” he says, “there was this one time, where we were in a hotel, and I think she may have —”
“Footsteps,” Blaine says, knocking his elbow into Finn’s stomach. Kurt leans forward and grabs Blaine’s hand, not because he’s afraid of whatever is walking outside the janitor closet, but mostly in congratulations for the elbowing thing.
“Shit,” Finn says again, staring at the door like he might be able to see through it. “Do you think my mom and your dad are, like, zombies too? Do you think everyone is? What happens if the —”
“Stop talking,” Kurt hisses. “They’ll hear us.” Blaine squeezes his hand.
Finn looks over at him, wide-eyed. “Kurt,” he says, “I can’t stop talking, I don’t understand anything right now and I’m actually really freaked out and I think you and Blaine should know that one time I had a dream about Blaine’s hair eating me and he’s standing really close and I don’t want to be eaten by anything at all, but there are zombies.“
“Hey,” Blaine says, probably offended, and if there were more time Kurt would tell him about the dream Finn had the other night where Kurt was a cat hellbent on taking over the world and the Glee club had to convince Brittany that she was the only one who could save them all. Kurt kind of wishes the whole zombie thing could be one of Finn’s dreams, too, actually.
“You just need to stop talking,” Kurt says.
Finn shakes his head.
“Were probably not going to die,” Blaine offers, patting the spot where he’d previously elbowed Finn in a consoling way. “Maybe.”
“That was reassuring,” Kurt says, rolling his eyes at the way Finn’s face twists. Blaine shrugs against his side.
“Wait,” Blaine says, too-loud over Finn’s mumbled “can a mop be used as a weapon?”
“Wait,” Blaine repeats, squeezing at Kurt’s hand and looking at him urgently, “in case we do die or turn into horrible flesh-eating things, I think we should be spending these moments making out.”
“It’s not really the time,” Kurt says, maybe a little breathless because it’s not like as soon as Blaine mentions things like that he starts picturing the past year they’d been together in vivid detail or anything. “Maybe if it would make Finn shut up.”
“I’m not even talking right now,” Finn says. “One of you should hand me that mop.”
“Which mop?” Blaine asks, and then shakes his head. “Wait, did you just suggest that I make out with Finn?”
Someone outside the door yells. Or gurgles. Or both.
“No,” Kurt says. “Possibly, but it was figurative.” He and Blaine look at each other for a moment while Finn watches, trying to reach out for a mop without moving from the door.
“What are you going to do with a mop?” Kurt says, breaking his silent communication with Blaine after the second time Finn elbows him on the head in as many seconds to grab at Finn’s wrist.
“Use it to stab zombies!” Finn says, in a sort of funny high-pitched way.
“Finn,” Blaine says, “we’re not going to fight the zombies. One of them is like half the football team on steroids and crack.”
Finn takes in a few deep breaths that almost make Kurt also want to pat him consolingly on the stomach, except then he notices Blaine is still sort of rubbing at Finn’s stomach — no, his chest now, and when did that happen and why is is kind of nice to watch - and then he slumps against the door.
“That might help, the kissing thing” Finn offers. “Maybe? Today is so weird and I’m really freaked out.”
Blaine grins up at Finn and then over at Kurt. “Come on,” he says, “look at him, he looks terrified!”
“And your mouth is going to solve that?” Kurt asks, raising an eyebrow and maybe failing to smile. It’s not like he’s thought about Blaine and Finn before. Really.
“Hey, you were the one who said all that stuff about how magical my mouth is and how I should use it for discounts at the Marc Jacob store that just opened two hundred miles away after we finished —”
“Oh my god,” Finn says, staring at Kurt.
Blaine grins. “Plus, it will shut him up!” he says. “And then you can think about how to save us with your awesome, pretty brain.” Which is a pretty good point, on top of the point where it would be kind of hot. Despite the zombies.
“You are both so weird,” Finn says. “Everything is so weird.”
“I’m going to make out with you right now, and it’s going to be awesome,” Blaine declares.
Finn pauses and briefly looks away from Blaine’s mouth — Kurt is so on to him — to Kurt for some sort of reassurance or something. Kurt waves a hand at him, accidentally hitting Finn on the chest, and then somehow his hand sort of sticks there, his fingers moving in little calming circles.
“Okay,” Finn says, “alright, I — I think.”
“Awesome,” Blaine says, tipping up onto his toes. Kurt determinedly doesn’t smile. Or breathe, but he’s pretty sure he’s supposed to be breathing.
“Wait,” Blaine says, not even an inch from Finn’s lips, and Finn and Kurt both groan. Blaine squeezes Kurt’s hand. “I’m going to make out with you, too, right after.”
“Fine,” Kurt says, more breathless than he means to. “Just —”
“Yes,” Finn agrees.
Blaine makes a happy sort of noise and then he and Finn are kissing even as someone outside lets out a creepy scream. They all ignore it, though, and Finn reaches over to hold Kurt’s hand where it’s pressed into his chest, and maybe Kurt should be thinking of a way to save them, but this is pretty good for now.