I’ll sell my soul to anyone who writes a Rane drabble this
The morning light had woken Shane Anderson some time ago, but he had spent the last few minutes lost in his boyfriend’s hair. His left arm stayed looped around the artist’s waist, but the fingers of his right hand swayed the curls in different directions and allowed them to wrap around his knuckles.
He made sure not to disturb the sleeping boy, because although his fingers were busy in the sea of curls, his eyes were drowning in the peacefulness of Reed’s face. The color of his eyelids, and how they were a shade darker then they were during the day. The tremble of the blushed bottom lip as air was drawn in and out of the sleepy form. The pigment in Reed’s cheeks always seems to stand out more when he wasn’t awake. Shane takes his time memorizing the features his eyes trace every morning during this time, and it makes him smile when he remembers he will never get tired of doing so.
Mornings are one Shane anderson’s favorite parts of the day, because he is always the first to wake. He is the first to become aware of the tangled limbs and warm breaths being let out by the skin on his neck. He is the first to wrap them both in the sheets a little tighter.
It’s morning like this that Shane craves, the ones where he knows by the pattern of Reed’s breathing that he has all the time in the world to bask in the perfection of the boy laying in his arms. The taste of Reed’s collar bone is still on the tip of his tongue, and the smell of Reed’s shampoo is right under his nose. He can go through the scenes of the nights before and blush when he becomes aware of the hips his hands were caressing in their sleep. The sheets are allowed to lay askew and don’t have to cover them completely, because they are flushed enough to keep each other warm.
Sometimes Shane doesn’t have a lot of time to do this, and Reed will open his eyes almost immediately after Shane does, but he doesn’t mind, because he likes it better when Reed can actually hear him whisper “I love you."
After leaving the kitchen, Kurt dusted himself off as he headed down the Windsor halls towards the dormitory. His legs carried him down the hallway as quickly as they could, passing the blue and golden yellow colors in a bit of a blur, finding the start of the steps. Kurt’s hand ran along the railing as he nearly ran up them, his boots clacking against the marble stairway the faster he moved. He was in a hurry, mostly because Reed needed him, and he knew the other well enough to know that it wasn’t a good thing. Whatever happened had gone wrong, and Kurt had to be there for his best friend; He felt bad, despite how many times Reed had told him not to, because he was just off in the rabbit hole, so to speak, while Reed was having a break down in their dorm room. Kurt couldn’t believe he’d been so selfish. He knew it wasn’t his fault he’d made plans before this happened, but still. His worry caused him to move his legs faster, pulling up the last step and beelining down the hallway to his door.
Grasping the brass handle with his hand, Kurt turned it quietly, careful not to stir anything in the room. Reed was already frenzied enough; He didn’t need any more commotion. Kurt carefully inched in the room without opening the door too wide, shutting it without a sound behind him, his fingertips feeling the wood of the door pulling to the threshold. His eyes scanned the room, seeing the mess that was somewhat cleaned up; The paint that had been splattered everywhere, but had been wiped up carefully.. for the most part. Kurt tried not to get too compulsive about their room at the moment, putting off the fact that his things weren’t in their proper place on his desk.. He’d worry about that later.
Without a second thought, Kurt took hold of the closet door, sliding it into an open, wide enough for him to scoot himself in. He immediately crouched so his knees were in a bend, his eyes falling on a very frazzled Reed. “What’s the matter?” He said with concern, his hand reaching out to touch his shoulder. “I’m here, I’m here. We can hide out here as long as you need us to; Just tell me what happened.”
I have a horrible desire to pull Reed out of Dalton and just play with him in a mental playground.
Not even Reed so much because his backstory is a bit too cliché for my tastes, more like the barest sketches of Reed. Adorable little pocket fashionista with curly strawberry blond hair. I have no desire to work with the rest of the Dalton ‘verse (it’s adorable, but not at all my writing style), I just want to throw Reed into a 'verse of my own making. It’s mildly annoying.