{inspired by moonrise kingdom} After meeting at a church in the summer of 1965, two teenage boys make a pact, run away together and fall in love. // AO3 ~ 7k+ [notes: because elsa got me to watch moonrise kingdom and we basically headcanoned a klaine fic as we watched it. also, you don't have to have seen the film to understand this fic.]
i.
The air is still as the sun beams shine brightly across the meadow, the long dulled green grass barely moving and the tall, rustic windmill stands still in the absence of wind. The only sounds to be heard are the quiet, quiet rustling of the leaves on the trees on the surrounding perimeter and the louder crunch, crunch, crunch of the grass and leaves being squashed underneath feet; the sound deafening in the silent atmosphere.
And there, in a empty meadow stands two boys one hundred yards apart. There’s a boy scout in his green uniform, badges plastered all over along with a small crest on the arm; a navy blue shield with an artistic D inside. His yellow neck scarf is trapped underneath the bulging backpack, looking like it’s about to burst as it’s packed to the brim. A bronze compass is draped around his neck and a brown, leather case holding a water bottle is slung over his shoulder. Dark brown curls are peeking from underneath a large, furry, brown hat perched on his head with it’s tail dangling down by the side of his face, almost touching the dark, thick frames sitting atop his nose.
The other boy stands there in matching shorts reaching just above the knee and a shirt with three-quarter length sleeves. It’s an outfit entirely of pink barring the stark white of the collar and the folded white of the end of the shirt’s sleeves. He has a set of black binoculars sitting around his neck and a wicker basket, the strap slung across his body. In one hand is a brilliant blue record player along with a red tartan satchel and by his feet sits a dull, mustard yellow suitcase.
The two boys look up and catch each other’s gaze, small smiles spreading across both of their faces immediately. There’s a quiet meow, ringing through the field and the boy scout squints his eyes, smiling even brighter; “Is that a cat in there?”
The other boy nods, the smile now giddy as his eyes glisten with happiness with the suitcase in his hand as he walks forward closer and closer and closer.
“Can you read a map?”
The cat meows and the boy shrugs. “Never tried.”
“That’s okay,” the boy-scout says, “I can teach you.”
They’re face to face now, and they both look shyly away.
“Hello, Kurt Hummel,” the boy scout says, his eyes wide, as he holds the flowers in his hands out directly in front of him.
Kurt’s eyes grow bright as he realises the flowers are for him; setting his suitcase down he plucks them from the hands softly, and holds them to his nose. “They don’t smell,” Kurt says and the boy shrugs; “But that’s okay. They’re pretty enough that I can imagine their scent and I believe that if they did have a smell, they would smell beautiful.”
The other boy grins, the motion lighting up his face and subsequently Kurt’s; “Are you ready to go?”
Kurt nods his head. “With you, Blaine Anderson, always.”
Blaine grabs the dull yellow suitcase from by Kurt’s feet after giving Kurt the map tucking into his shirt pocket. As Kurt unfolds the map, Blaine tries to explain and help Kurt to understand it. They start making their way through the tall grass and into the dark trees with only spots of sunlight breaking through the gaps in leave, shining bright and looking like magic.
+
It’s in a church that it starts, in the summer of 1965; pews filled to the brim with people, flowers and candles decorating the aisle. The crowd is humming along with the song the small brunette girl is belting from the stage - her voice magnificent and sending chills through Blaine’s spine. But his attention is elsewhere - on glimmering, bright blue eyes, hidden under the black headwear of a bird. He follows the movements of the boy as he flies his way around the stage in a dance and singing back-up.
As Blaine watches, his heart beats erratically and his breath comes out in short bursts as butterflies shoot around his stomach.
By the intermission, his head in spinning and he can’t get the image of those eyes out of his head, so he sneaks away from his scout group, ducking behind the pews making his way backstage.
He knows he won’t be missed.
Blaine squeezes his way through a costume rack, emerging on the other side to a group of girls and a boy sitting in the middle. They’re all in front of the mirror in quiet whispers as they draw their eyes black and their lips red.
He takes a breath before clearing his throat.
They all turn at once and Blaine’s breath catches as his gaze connects with his. There he is. The one with the glistening blue eyes.
“What kind of bird are you?” He asks, his gaze never faltering.
“I’m a sparrow,” the brunette with the amazing voice says, pointing down the line; “She’s a dove-”
“No,” Blaine says, his eyes still caught on the boy’s. “What kind of bird,” he asks, “are you?”
And he knows that the boy understood with the way his eyes grew slightly wider in realisation. There’s a short pause and both boys hold their breath before; “I’m a blackbird.”
“Boys aren’t allowed in here,” the sparrow grumbles as she looks at Blaine pointedly.
Blaine’s eyebrows furrow in confusion; “He’s a boy,” he says, motioning towards the blackbird.
“I’m an exception,” the boy says and a small spreads across his face and Blaine can’t help but think that that is the saddest smile he’s ever seen. “You should go.”
“Ok,” Blaine says, taking one last look at the boy before stepping back through the costumes of feathers and glitter.
He doesn’t get far back down the corridor when he hears footsteps racing behind him and he smiles as he turns; “Write me,” the boy says, handing Blaine a piece of paper and by the time Blaine’s unfolded it; he’s gone.
All that’s left is a name; Kurt Hummel, and a memory.
+
“Dear Kurt, you have a superb voice even if I could only hear it in harmonies, but you also have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen. Please find enclosed -”
“Dear Blaine, thank you very much. I got replaced as the blackbird because there were complaints that - ”
“Dear Kurt, I don’t think anyone else could play the blackbird as well as you. I’m sorry people treat you like that, they don’t understand -”
“Dear Blaine, you are an excellent composer. I played ‘The Scout and the Blackbird’ on my father’s piano. I particularly enjoyed -”
“Dear Kurt, I’m trying to do what you said and make friends with my fellow Warbler Scouts but I am scared that they don’t like me and -”
“Dear Blaine, no one at my school likes me and I’m scared my dad will find out. Do you have any methods of covering bruises because -”
“Dear Kurt, I am sorry you are scared of your dad, but I am sure he still loves you. That is the most important thing, if -”
“Dear Blaine, even if I don’t believe it, it’s comforting to think of your parents watching over you and protecting you. You should think of them everyday and -”
“Dear Kurt, here is my plan -”
“Dear Blaine, my answer is yes -”
“Dear Kurt, when -”
“Dear Blaine, where -”
“Dear Kurt, I will meet you in the meadow. Yours, Blaine.”
+
“I wish I had been able to bring the piano,” Kurt says as they sit cross-legged in the middle of their camp with the record player between them. Their yellow tent is pitched under the canopy of trees, surrounded by fallen leaves and sparse patches of grass. Twigs and rocks underneath them isn’t as comfortable as Kurt had imagined, but it’s enough.
Enough to help Kurt remember how to breathe again. He’s so glad to be away from the strong arms of the football players in his school who like to throw him around and away from the judgemental eyes of the entire student body as they laugh and giggle and spread rumours (however true) that he hasn’t even told anyone about.
So he sits there on that old rug they have spread over the rocks by the sea where Blaine had taught him to catch fish and where Kurt had caught Blaine before he fell into the dark waters below. He sits and breathes and when Blaine looks over to see him smiling, the smile shining as bright as the sun glistening in the sky and thinks to himself that that smile is the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen.
“Why?” Blaine asks.
“So that I can see if you are as beautiful playing as your compositions are,” Kurt says, smiling shyly as he looks down at the ground; “Also, I want to sing to you as you play.”
Blaine smiles up at Kurt from under his eyelashes and reaches over to tangle his fingers with Kurt’s. He watches as Kurt’s eyes flicker up to Blaine’s in surprise but Blaine just keeps the smile on his face as he says, “One day, Kurt Hummel, we will.”
Kurt forgets how to breath for a split second but then he turns his palm upright, and tightens his fingers around Blaine’s in an act of affection.
Blaine sits back up straight, one hand tangled with Kurt’s, a huge grin spreading across his face, brightening his round, hazel eyes in the sunlight; “So, tell me what you brought with you?”
“Why?”
“So I can get to know you even better than I already do,” he replies as if it’s obvious.
Kurt leans away, missing the warmth of Blaine’s hand in his as he grabs his yellow suitcase and his bag, dragging them over.
“So, obviously, there’s my cat,” there’s a loud meow from the tent where she’s sitting and Kurt smiles at her, “But you’ve already met her.”
As he opens the suitcase, he reveals books upon books and looks sheepishly up at Blaine. “These are my anthologies and books of poetry,” Kurt says, watching as Blaine carefully picks one up, “My mom gave me that one.”
“It must be special to you, then,” Blaine says, placing it carefully back amongst all the other books.
“Yeah,” Kurt says, a sad smile spreads across his face so Blaine leans over and rests a hand on his knee in comfort.
“It’s okay to be sad, you know.”
“I know,” Kurt replies, “I just don’t like it.”
Blaine nods, not moving his hand until Kurt moves to open up his satchel to pull out the first few items; “I brought a comb, some spare batteries, my mini sewing kit-”
“Why?”
“If I rip this outfit, I don’t have a spare,” Kurt says, shrugging. “Also, I would like my clothes to stay in good condition.”
“You like clothes?” Blaine asks.
“Of course,” Kurt replies, tucking the kit back into his satchel, “I like to look good.”
“Why?”
“It makes me feel better.”
“Oh,” Blaine says, “Are you depressed?”
“I don’t think so,” Kurt replies, “I just get sad sometimes.”
“Why’s that?”
“Here,” Kurt shrugs, as he pulls a black leaflet out of his satchel, holding it up for Blaine to read: Coping With The Very Troubled Child. “My dad got it from school one day when I almost got suspended because I was thrown in the dumpster and late to class - they thought I skipped. I found it on the fridge the day after.”
Blaine’s lips turn up into a smile and a small bout of laughter breaks free. Kurt’s face drops in surprise; “Are you-” he begins, “Are you laughing at me?”
Blaine doesn’t say anything as Kurt gets up and storms into the tent, the leaflet still in his hand. It’s a few minutes before Kurt hears the rustling from outside and then the tent moving as a body squeezes in next to his. “I’m sorry,” Blaine says, “I didn’t mean to laugh.”
Kurt huffs, looking away from Blaine and outside, where the sun is starting to set.
“It’s just,” Blaine starts, “Kurt,” he says, lightly brushing the edge of Kurt’s jaw with his fingertips, getting his attention, “Your dad obviously cares, Kurt.”
“How do you know?” Kurt says, slowly turning his head to face Blaine, the fingertips running across his skin.
“He wants to help you, Kurt,” Blaine says, his eyes wide as he stressed his point, “Don’t you see that?”
“But, why?” Kurt asks, his breath hitching; “Why would he want to help me? Especially once he finds out what I am! How I’m sick and not worth the space on this planet; how I don’t like girls like the bible says but I like boys , Blaine.” Tears are threatening to fall from Kurt’s eyes as he tries to take deep breaths; “I am a homosexual and it’s not right.”
“Kurt,” Blaine says, softly, his own eyes glistening with wetness; “There is nothing, I repeat, there’s is absolutely nothing wrong with you.”
Kurt shakes his head, ignoring Blaine’s words as tears fall from his cheeks, dripping from his chin. Blaine lifts his hands gently, framing Kurt’s face with them, before brushing the tears away slowly with his thumbs, the barely of touch on Kurt’s skin as if he may break at any moment. “There is.”
“No,” Blaine says, his touch getting stronger, more certain; “What’s wrong with love?”
Kurt eyes grow wide and he doesn’t respond so Blaine sighs, pulling Kurt close and wrapping his arms tight around his neck. Kurt rests his head in the crook of Blaine’s neck, breathing in the sweet scent of earth and flowers and nature.
Blaine feels Kurt’s shoulders drop and his breath on his neck so he says; “So, are you going to read me some of those poems?”
He feels Kurt nod against his neck and they pull away slowly and Kurt looks down at the ground, before looking up into the hazel iris’ of Blaine’s eyes; “Thank you.”
+
“Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.”
And Kurt reads and reads, his back resting against a tree with the book propped up on his folded knees, his crystal clear voice ringing through the air like a song. It flows perfectly, punctuated and articulate as if this is what he was born to do. The summer air is a warm breeze, carrying Kurt’s voice across the dark waters.
And Blaine listens and listens, laying down with his head almost touching Kurt’s leg, watching the stars above shining brilliantly as they twinkle in the black, night sky. He feels at home, here, in a forest in the middle of the night as he listens to a now-familiar voice lull him to sleep.
He thinks to himself, as he lets Kurt’s voice and the words of poets wash over him, that maybe, just maybe, this is what love is.
+
They both wake in the early hours of the morning with the rising sun, slick with sweat in the humidity of the tent. It’s bleary eyes and sleep-ruffled hair as they yawn as stretch before making their way out of the tent. Blaine trips as he catches the edge of the tent and Kurt automatically holds out an arm for Blaine to hold onto.
They laugh as Blaine blames it on the early morning and that he hasn’t woken up properly yet. Packing up their camp doesn’t take long once they have woken up and eat the rest of their leftover dinner from the previous night for breakfast.
By the time they set off, the sun has fully risen in the sky, shining brightly and causing sweat to drip down the backs of their necks as they make their way further and further into the forest and towards their destination.
Blaine tries to explain the map once again as they walk and Kurt tries to understand but he’s much better with words. So he nods his head and agrees with everything Blaine says. Their hands brush against one another; their skin prickling as they do. They both ignore it and keep moving, keep walking as the sun rises higher and they get closer and closer to their destination (and each other).
+
Kurt watches as Blaine sets up their tent again, this time on a wooden platform in the middle of a cove. He stands by the shore, the sand sticking to his feet as the water washes over his feet every second.
He’s happy to watch - happy to see the way Blaine’s muscles moves under his shirt and watch him as he assembles the structure. Kurt knows he’ll slow it down if he tries to help, so instead he stands with his cat perched on the crook of one arm and a book in the other hand, the sun high in the sky, beaming across the bright blue waters.
He reads aloud, above the crashing of the waves around his feet;
“here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)”
Kurt doesn’t look up until he’s finished reading (even though he’s read it a hundred times before) because he loves the way it looks and the way it’s printed. And now, standing here, the words mean to much more.
When he looks up, it’s to see Blaine finished building their camp, his hat thrown in the tent along with his backpack. His sleeves are rolled above his elbows as he jumps down from the platform, walking towards Kurt.
“That sounded beautiful,” Blaine says, a blush covering his cheeks and Kurt knows that he knows that Kurt was reading it both to him and about him.
So Kurt just shrugs, looking over at Blaine with the hint of a smile on his face causing Blaine to grin a contagious smile as Kurt lets the kitten free from his arms and she runs back into her basket.
A mischievous glint sparkles in Blaine’s eyes and Kurt takes a step backwards, almost tripping backwards into the water. “Woah,” Blaine says, grabbing Kurt’s waist, and pulling him closer, “Wouldn’t want you getting wet, would we?”
Kurt squeals as he realises what Blaine’s about to do; “No! Blaine, please,” he laughs as Blaine lifts him into a fireman carry.
“Wait!” He shouts, eyes closed tight; “Let me put my book down!”
Blaine’s eyes go wide as he lowers Kurt down onto the rocky sand, away from the water; “Wha-” he begins, watching as Kurt begins to untuck his shirt from his shorts, popping the buttons as he lets the shorts fall to the floor in a heap. He ducks his head, not looking at Blaine as he bends down to grab the shorts and put them in the tent along with his book.
The shirt covers his boxers, Blaine only able to see glimpses of black fabric underneath. With his back turned to Blaine, Kurt pulls the shirt over his head, leaving him in only his boxer-briefs, the black material clinging to his body and Blaine can’t help but stare.
“Ready,” Kurt says, shrugging, a blush covering his cheeks as Blaine stares.
Blaine surges forward, touching Kurt’s face gently, tracing his cheekbones, looking into the depth of his crystal blue eyes; “You’re beautiful.”
He takes a small step backwards, unbuttoning his shirt, letting it fall open against his chest and Kurt takes a deep breath. He watches as Blaine throws the shirt into the tent and soon along with his trousers.
It’s then, that Blaine picks Kurt up, but in a bridal carry this time, and he runs towards the water, Kurt shouting and laughing as they go. Until Blaine trips when he’s waist deep, causing the both of them to fall under the water in a tangle of limbs.
As they both come up for air, gasping for breath and shivering slightly at the cold, they both have matching wide smiles plastered across their faces as they splash around in the water, laughing.
And Blaine knows for sure, this time, as the sun beams bright on the back of his neck, that this is what love is.
+
The sit on the rocks above their camp, overlooking the vast, empty sea as the sun begins to set, the sky a mixture of orange hues. Kurt’s legs are crossed, a book resting there as he reads the poems and Blaine listens from where he’s perched behind Kurt, up on his knees as he rests a daisy crown on the top of Kurt’s head. They’re back in their clothes, the cool air causing too many shivers.
Kurt reads, his voice melodic and songlike as he voices the words that aren’t his own. The sounds floating through the air, the crashing of the waves, dulled in the distance. He sits down, happy with the placement of the crown on Kurt’s head and he thinks that if there is anyone that deserves a crown, it’s Kurt.
He rests his back against Kurt’s, feeling the faint thrum of the vibration as Kurt reads;
“This lunar beauty
Has no history
Is complete and early,
If beauty later
Bear any feature
It had a lover
And is another.
This like a dream
Keeps other time
And daytime is
The loss of this,
For time is inches
And the heart's changes
Where ghost has haunted
Lost and wanted.
But this was never
A ghost's endeavor
Nor finished this,
Was ghost at ease,
And till it pass
Love shall not near
The sweetness here
Nor sorrow take
His endless look.”
Blaine looks up at the merging colours in the cloudless sky; “That’s beautiful.”
“It’s sad, Blaine,” Kurt says, as he flicks the page over, the sound loud in the quiet atmosphere.
“It’s still beautiful,” Blaine says, his head resting against Kurt’s, dark black curls tangling with short brown hair, contrasting. Blaine turns his head, looking over his shoulder at Kurt and loses his breath; forgets how to breathe as his heart beats erratically in his chest.
The setting sun in the horizon is casting a golden light over Kurt, his profile dark as he looks down as he’s reading. His cheekbones are highlighted and his eyes reflecting the orange and yellows of the sun. Blaine remembers how to breathe, catches his breath just so he can say; “You’re beautiful.”
A dark red blush spreads across Kurt’s cheeks and Blaine feels himself falling that much further in love. “Thank you,” Kurt replies, his voice soft, moving a hand so that it covers Blaine’s, their gaze catching in the soft light.
Blaine’s stare is intense, a fire burning behind those eyes as Kurt’s shine and sparkle, his heart fluttering - feeling like it’s about to take off.
“I still think that poem is beautiful,” Blaine says, “Even if it is sad, there’s a beautiful kind of sadness to it.”
Kurt furrows his eyebrows; “I love you, but you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He doesn’t even think - doesn’t have to think. It’s in the blink of an eye that he replies, before the panic begins to filter into Kurt’s eyes; “I love you, too.”
+
In the darkness of the night sky with their feet covered in sand as they try to avoid the stones and rocks buried underneath, they stand in front of their tent by the crashing waves as the music from Kurt’s record player plays loudly in the silence of the night.
Their hands are clasped as they dance together to an upbeat song, laughing as they drag each other round in circles - gasping for breath. Blaine spins Kurt under his arm before Kurt dips Blaine and they almost fall over, together.
Their giggling and laughter is louder than the music so they dance out of time, prancing and leaping, sand flicking up from their feet as they move with the occasional splash from the waters edge.
The song transitions into another, and they slow down. Blaine’s arms grasped tight on Kurt’s waist with Kurt’s draped over Blaine’s shoulders as they sway to the music. They can feel the cold water splashing up against their feet as the waves crash with varying strengths; and the only other sound to be heard is their breathing.
They’re standing close as the music plays in the background, skin on skin as they dance on the spot. Their gaze meets and they both lose their footing for a moment, standing still as Kurt’s eyes twinkle in the night as they slowly inch forward.
There’s an electricity buzzing around them, sizzling as if a single spark could set it all of.
(It does.)
Blaine pulls Kurt closer by the waist, and Kurt tilts his head so that their lips can meet. The soft press of lips on lips is all it takes for the sparks to fly as they dance together.
And for once in his life, Kurt doesn’t think - he just acts. Opening his mouth slightly, letting Blaine press his tongue forwards. They tilt their heads, pressing deeper and deeper, and closer and closer.
All Kurt wants is Blaine. Everywhere.
And he is - covering all of his senses; on his touch as Kurt tangles his fingertips into the curls on the nape of Blaine’s neck, pulling his face closer even still - feeling the touch of his eyelashes against his cheek and wonders if Blaine can feel the same. (He can.)
Blaine’s all he can smell, that sweet scent of earth and flowers and the salt from the sea. He can taste the rich juice from the berries they picked on their hike down to this cove on Blaine’s tongue as they tangle and wind together in a delicate dance.
The music has finished but they keep on kissing and kissing, neither wanting to stop; wanting to soak in this moment. Wishing it could last forever as their lips press closer, Kurt’s hands now framing Blaine’s face, his touch precious and soft, but firm as he pull him in.
Under the shining, bright stars in the night sky with water crashing at their feet, there are two boys; one still in a scout uniform missing the neck scarf and another in a matching pink outfit. Their lips dance as they fall deeper and deeper, trying their best to live in this moment forever despite knowing that it won’t. But they don’t worry and focus on the present - on what’s happening now and just live in their own magical world for the time being.
ii.
Kurt doesn’t sleep.
He sits awake all night sitting on the bench by his window with his knees tucked up to his chest. The yellow suitcase is sitting in the middle of the floor, along with the record player, his satchel and the basket.
Kurt startles as there’s a soft meow before a thump as the kitten lands on the bench. She pushes her head into Kurt’s hands from where they’re draped over his knees and he instinctively curls his hand up to stroke her.
He sighs as tears drip from his chin and stares out into the darkness; his chest aching with longing and his head spinning with fear.
For a fleeting moment he wonders if it was worth it.
But then the moment is gone and he doesn’t even think before he answers himself because, yes, of course it was.
+
The moment they get into the campsite, Blaine crawls into his tent; flopping onto his bed, flinging an arm over his eyes and tries to pretend that there aren’t tears there - that the wetness on his arm is from the sea splashing up from the side of the boat.
He waits there, waits to be called out and to be lectured by Wes, their scout leader, but it never comes. So he stays there, in his bed until he falls asleep - exhaustion from their days of hiking catching up to him.
He dreams of late night swims, dancing in the sand and that melodic voice ringing out in the darkness; making Blaine’s heart beat just that tiny bit faster in his sleep as he remembers.
+
His dad hasn’t said a word to him since they were found in their tent early in the morning. His dad with a shocked expression on his face standing in front of them with Scout Leader Wes standing next to him just as surprised.
There has been no interaction, even as they sit at the same table at breakfast, Kurt nibbling on his toast as his dad reads his newspaper.
All of a sudden, Kurt gets up - his chair scraping and screeching loudly against the tiled floor.
Kurt’s dad doesn’t even look up.
+
The morning is the same as every morning; sitting at the long wooden table underneath the large oak tree, between Thad and Jeff. Wes sits in the center - reading the paper as the boys around whisper as they eat.
The only difference is their short, darting gazes, staring at Blaine. He shakes it off as he eats his food and pretends that everything is okay - that everything is normal.
+
In the bright, early morning sun, Kurt steps outside, his head reeling as the weather outside contrasts so deeply with the feelings inside his heart. He has a book in his hand and he paces the garden as his eyes skim over it, before he starts to read, his voice starting in a soft whisper;
“I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)”
+
“Why don’t you like me?” Blaine asks, as the boys crowd around him, the questions on their tongue halted when Blaine speaks.
The boys mumble and splutter before Nick speaks; “We don’t - we didn’t.”
“But you do now?” Blaine says, a sad smile spreading across his face. “Why?”
“Because -” the boy stutters, not knowing how to respond.
+
Kurt keeps reading; his voice growing stronger and louder as he paces along the grass, leaves crunching underneath his feet and he fails to notice the open window above him and the fluttering curtain;
“The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.”
+
“Why?” Blaine repeats.
“I -” Nick stutters, “I don’t know, because we’re supposed to and because you’re wrong.”
“I’m wrong,” Blaine says; mostly to himself, taking a deep breath and looking up at the sky, and tries to take himself back to those precious moments with Kurt. (It doesn’t work.)
+
“I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)”
+
“But why don’t you like me?” Blaine says, his voice growing frantic.
“Because -”
Blaine cuts in; “Is it because of who I am?” The boys recoil at the outburst, looking at each other in confusion. “Because I’m diseased?!”
The boys shake their heads frantically, watching as Blaine’s eyes fill with tears.
+
Kurt’s voice grows in volume as he recites, frantically reading the words, passion coating every syllable;
“God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.”
His eyes begin flow with tears at the last few words and he takes a breather as the tears fall from his overflowing eyes, running tracks down his cheeks and off of his chin.
+
“I don’t want to be diseased!” Blaine shouts at them; “You think I asked for this? For my parents to die and for me to grow up wrong and unhappy. To grow up different to everyone else because of who I love and because of who I am.”
Nick steps forward, but Blaine throws an arm out to stop him; “I’m just in love, don’t you understand?” He wipes the sleeve of his shirt across his eyes, smudging the tears across his face; “We’re in love and we just want to be together. What’s wrong with that?”
+
Kurt’s shouting by now; the tears are streaming down his face as his father watches in from the kitchen - his face full of a multitude of emotions but Kurt’s too busy drowning himself that he doesn’t see;
“I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)”
+
“I think,” Blaine says, wiping his eyes of tears, “I think people forget that I’m still human.” He shrugs; “They forget that I have feelings too, just like them.”
“Blaine,” Jeff, a blond-headed scout, says, “We didn’t realise.”
“I know,” Blaine says; “No one ever does. But it’s okay.”
“Why?”
“Because I met Kurt,” Blaine says, his eyes dry; “He helped me learn how to love myself and even if, all along, we knew we would only get a few days together at most, if that’s all we could get, well, I was sure as hell going to take it.”
+
“I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.”
He closes his eyes, and lets the book drop to the ground, standing still as he breathes; the last line he knows off my heart, he’s analysed every word, every letter for years, but it’s only now that he understands it. That he truly gets it and feels his heart breaking in his heart;
“(I think I made you up inside my head.)”
Maybe he did, maybe it was all a dream because there is no way that Blaine is real - that Blaine exists. And there is no proof, except the memories in his head and the sand in his suitcase.
+
Something changes after that. Something in the atmosphere and the way that the sun doesn’t feel too hot on Blaine’s neck anymore as he works with other boys. As they build the steps up to that treehouse and try to fix Nick’s bike.
For the first time since setting foot in this camp; he feels lighter - he feels happier. And it’s not because of Kurt.
And he knows that they don’t understand him - they don’t get why he is who he is, but they’re trying and that, well, that means to world to Blaine.
Sometime during the day with the shining sun beaming down on their backs, Blaine tells Jeff that he never even got to say goodbye. They were ripped apart on the beach of their little cove and Blaine’s last memory of him is them being dragged away - to opposite sides of the beach before making their way home.
And when Jeff just tells him that “they’ll work something out,” Blaine isn’t sure how to believe him.
+
He’s so lonely in this house, as the insects crawl through the grass beside him and the leaves on the trees rustle from the wind blowing it’s way through the air, with only the words of dead poets to keep him company.
Kurt’s lonely without his dad’s familiar voice vibrating through the air - reassuring him with a certain calmness.
The silence from his dad scares Kurt, he’s scared of his dad’s opinion and he’s scared of how he’s going to react - when he reacts.
Up in the branches in their old apple tree, Kurt reads and reads and pretends to hear his mother’s voice in his head; a reassurance and a comfort. Instead of facing his own fears, he faces other people’s fears; spiders and insects and heights.
+
“Dear Mr Kurt Hummel,
We (the Warbler Scout Troop) wanted to give you -”
+
It’s in a meadow that it ends. Where the clouds are dark as they open up and rain falls down in cascades, flooding the floor and causing mud to spray up everywhere. Where the tall stems of grass are slouching with the weight of the raindrops and the large, rusty windmill at the edge of the meadow is creaking as the wind picks up causing the blades to spin and spin. Where the air is dark and there’s no hint of sun anywhere to be seen.
And there, in that empty meadow stands stands two boys one hundred yards apart. There’s a boy scout still in that green uniform with a multitude of badges plastered to his shirt. His dark, curled hair falls flat on his head with the weight of the rain. It drips off the curls and onto his already soaking wet shirt. The big, thick frames on his face are covered with rain water but he doesn’t care.
The flowers in his hand are drooping - the white daisies facing the ground as if in sadness.
The other boy stands there with his shorts and shirt matching pink - the white of the collar and the folded three-quarter length sleeves contrast brightly. The black binoculars are there as always, hanging from his neck. He wears bright yellow wellington boots; the colour of the sun (if it were out), reaching his knees and specked with mud. He holds in his hand a matching yellow umbrella - covering and protecting him from the rain.
The outfit stands out brightly on this dark and gloomy day, looking to happy to be there.
They look up and as their gazes catch, small, sad smiles appear on both of their faces, but before either moves, the boy with the curled hair takes a piece of paper from his chest pocket. The rain soaks it wet with large splatters of water, the ink starts to run, but the boy reads;
“'Love has no ending.
'I'll love you, dear, I'll love you
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street,
'I'll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.
'The years shall run like rabbits,
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
And the first love of the world.'”
“Blaine,” the brown-haired boy whispers and he’s not sure Blaine has heard it; the sound being drowned out by the roar of the rain.
Then, all of a sudden, as a flash of lightning flies through the sky and the booming rumble of thunders shouts across the air, the two boys run. Tripping and stumbling as they skid on the wet mud, brown flying everywhere as they crash. Their lips find each others instantly, pushing and pulling at one another as their lips move together; finding a rhythm.
“Kurt,” Blaine gasps as he pulls Kurt closer, his hands gripping at his face - needing the skin on skin contact, needing to know that this is real.
Kurt grasps at Blaine’s waist as Blaine reaches up on his tip-toes and their kisses deepen; Blaine opening his mouth to let Kurt’s tongue slide in. It’s soft strokes and frantic hands, closed eyes and no sense of reality. Because it feels like a dream - like something that doesn’t happen in real life. The sparks are flying around them like electricity, as Kurt’s hand goes lax and the umbrella drops, not covering either of them but they don’t care.
They kiss and kiss, as the rain falls, dripping down their faces and off of their eyelashes. There’s sighs and light moans as hands wander.
And when they pull back with their foreheads touching as water tries to fall between them, they hold each other, both knowing that this is goodbye.
“I love you,” Kurt says, “I’ll always love you.”
“And I’ll love you for all of eternity.”
+
“- and Blaine a goodbye.
Best wishes,
Warbler Nick Duvall, a fellow scout, confidant and friend of Blaine Anderson.”
+
When he gets home late that evening, the umbrella closed as he drags it along the ground - the tears in his eyes hidden by the raindrops, he slams the door shut.
The moment he does, his dad is standing in the hallway, his fists clenched together and a broken look in his eyes; “Kurt,” he croaks, rushing forward before pulling Kurt into a bonecrushing hug.
“Dad?” Kurt says, his voice breaking as he grasps his dad’s back tight.
“Don’t -” Burt says, “Don’t do that ever again.”
Kurt shudders, emotion welling up his eyes; “I’m sorry,” he whispers. There’s a few moments of silence before; “I was scared.”
“Of me?” Burt says, taking a step back so he can look Kurt in the eyes. “You were scared of me?”
Kurt nods his head in shame. “I thought -” he begins, wrapping his arms around himself; “I thought I was diseased, Dad. I thought there was something wrong with me. I thought you would hate me.”
“Kurt,” Burt says, looking him directly in his eyes, “I could never hate you. You’re my kid. I don’t care about that - I just want you to be safe and happy. I didn’t know how to handle it - it was a shock so I didn’t say anything at all. But I realise now that if I don’t want to lose you, I’m going to have to deal with it. And I don’t want to lose you again. I can’t lose you as well.”
They’re both silent for a while before Burt talks again; “I love you, kiddo.”
“Dad,” Kurt says, his voice trembling as tears fall from his eyes, relief filtering through his body and he shudders as he takes a deep breath. And for the first time in days, Kurt smiles - finally feeling that huge weight be lifted from his shoulders.
+
At breakfast the next morning, before the boys start their jobs and repair damage from the storm, Blaine gets up. He stands tall amongst the Warblers and speaks; “Thank you,” he says, not looking anyone in particular, “Thank you for everything.”
And they all know, they know that this is meant for them.
iii.
He wonders, sometimes, how he is where he is. How over the course of eighteen months, he managed to find acceptance and love when all his life he’d imagined having a lifetime of neither.
He’d expected to spend the rest of his life lying about who he is and pretending to everyone he ever met that he was someone that he’s not.
But all he needed was that catalyst - that spark - to set everything into motion and turn everything upside down. As Kurt looks in the mirror, wearing a navy blazer with red piping and his hair styled to perfection, he doesn’t recognise that boy he was before. Before the summer.
So he sets off, softly closing his dorm room door behind him as he shuts it with a click of finality. Walking down the corridor, he shivers with excitement and nervousness, a tremor making its way through his body.
He’s still smiling.
He thinks of his dad, and how much they really misunderstood each other, how they’re both trying now and that’s all that matters. Maybe things are uncomfortable and stilted even still, but it’s better - the best it’s ever been since his mom died.
He thinks of Blaine and how he hasn’t seen him since that rainy day in the field. He thinks of the way he gave Blaine his book - his one prized possession in the hopes that he will be remembered.
He wonders if Blaine still reads it and thinks of him, wonders where exactly he is and what he’s doing. If he’s okay or if he’s not. (He really hopes he is.)
The bell rings just as Kurt’s about to make his way down the staircase - his hand trailing along the cold, black railings. He knows he needs to ask someone what to do and where to go but instead he marvels at his surroundings; the paintings on the walls and the bustle of the boys running up and down the staircase.
But as he’s almost at the bottom, he taps a boy on the shoulder, the words on his lips when the boy turns round.
He looks up and … oh.
“There you are,” Kurt murmurs, his voice soft and sweet. The boy stands still with his hazel eyes wide open, sparkling and glimmering in the light, darting over Kurt’s entire body. Kurt knows that’s they’re both thinking the same thing; wondering if this is real.
And all Kurt wants to do is throw himself forward, gripping and grasping at the boy’s body and never let go - never again. He wants to attach their lips in a fierce embrace and dig his hands into his hair.
But he can’t and he knows he can’t because it’s neither the time nor place.
The is hall now void of students rushing to their next class, so he reaches forward gently and brushes his hand against Kurt’s, the slight touch of the fingertips is all Kurt needs.
It’s all that he needs to know that it is real and he lets out a soft breath of air, loud in the silence of the atmosphere watching with bated breath as Blaine’s fingers intertwine with his; “I’ve been looking for you, forever.”
Summary: Blaine is far too invested in his Pokémon game. And Kurt simply won't have that. (with kitty!kurt)
A/N: I know I said I was taking a writing break, but now I'm challenging myself to crank out as many drabbles as I can before my weekend ends.
“What is that?”
“Blaine,” Kurt says again, voice darkening, and he scoots closer toward Blaine on the couch. He places his hands on Blaine’s arm and pushes down, making the device fall from his point of view.
“Kurt -” Blaine snaps, using the tone of voice that makes the hair on Kurt’s neck stand tall. And then he promptly lifts the machine higher, eyes never trailing far, and begins to press buttons again.
He doesn’t let the hurt sink in, curiosity too powerful a feeling, and bounces in his spot, tail flicking out to brush over Blaine’s busy hands. “Blaine! Tell me what it is!”
Sounds come from the machine, beeping and chirping and weird - and then Blaine says, eyes focused on the screen, “It’s a - it’s just a game -”
“Ooh,” Kurt smiles, nearly jumping in place now. “Can I play?”
He’s not sure if Blaine actually lets him win whenever they play games, but Kurt likes to think he can take Blaine down any time, any place.
Words lazy and slow, Blaine begins to mumble, “I don’t think it’s your kind of game - YES! I caught it!”
Blaine sits up straighter, shaking the device in his hands, and he grins at Kurt and then looks back to the screen.
Kurt slumps back into the cushions, back hitting the edge hard, and crosses his arms tight over his chest.
Fine. Whatever. He’d probably beat Blaine at that game, too. Whatever.
He curls to the side, legs tucked up to his chest, tail draped carefully around him, and tries to doze off and wait for Blaine to become a normal human being again.
Except - there’s beeping. And strange, high pitched cries. And then of course Blaine’s occasional, “Oh, come on! I totally had you!”
So Kurt sits up, rubs one eye sleepily, and crawls forward. He doesn’t understand it, but if it’s got Blaine yelling like this, well, it must be something interesting . . .
He presses his cheek to Blaine’s shoulders, lets one of his ears brush Blaine’s hair, and watches. He has no idea what he’s even looking at; a figure speeding over the screen, words appearing and then disappearing, strange, tiny creatures making terrifying noises, why is Blaine so into this? and then -
“Wait. Does that say Kurt?” he asks, sitting up and fixing Blaine with a glare.
Blaine’s shoulder shrugs, and then his nose scrunches and one eyebrow raises as he says, like Kurt should already understand, “Of course, I named it after you.”
Kurt looks harder at the screen as one of those creatures does something -
“WHAT IS THAT?”
Blaine tears his gaze away, looking at Kurt with a question on his face, and then back to the game. “It’s an Eevee, Kurt.”
Shaking, eyes wide, “BUT WHAT IS IT?”
“It’s a Pokémon . .” Blaine says, slowly, shifting so the machine is in front of Kurt.
He’s a hybrid, he knows there are strange things in this world. But that - that’s some sort of cat-rat combination and Kurt doesn’t understand anything -
“What does it do?”
And why would Blaine give it Kurt’s name, like it’s some sort of honour that the cat-rat reminds him of Kurt - ?
“Aside from being the greatest - not to mention cutest - Pokémon of all time? Eevee has eight evolutions, Kurt. Eight!”
Arms back over his chest, Kurt frowns, makes a point of looking in the opposite direction. “It’s not that cute . .”
Blaine laughs, shoves the game back into Kurt’s view. “Look at it!”
He feels a spark in his chest, low in his gut, and his ears flatten against his head as he growls, “But I’m cuter.”
“Of course,” Blaine agrees, leaning over, and there’s a brief second where his lips meet Kurt’s cheek, but then he’s gone, back to his game.
The spark - bursts, ignites, a flame that Blaine started - and Kurt sits higher, leans closer to him.
He knows he’s cuter, of course he’s cuter than - what’s it called? An Eevee?
“Blaine!” Kurt whines, tugging at his shirt. “Blaine.”
Pushing his arms up, going under, and Kurt’s finally seated between his legs, settling into Blaine's lap. Except he’s still looking at that dumb game, eyes transfixed, so Kurt presses his face to Blaine’s neck and lets out a small whine, a soft mew.
And then his lips find Blaine’s ear, and he quickly nips at his earlobe before pulling away. “Blaine.”
With one hand over Blaine’s ribcage, Kurt can feel the way he groans. Low and dark, a fire of his own starting.
But his eyes still remain on the screen, annoying beeping and clicking, and Kurt bites harder.
His groan transforms into something higher, a sound that makes something in Kurt click together, burn brighter.
"Kurt."
And finally, finally, Blaine meets Kurt’s sparkling eyes, and sets the game down.
What Kurt isn’t expecting is the way Blaine moves, hands on his waist, and shifts him until he’s seated directly over Blaine’s lap, chest to chest.
“I’m cuter, right?” Kurt asks, purring.
Blaine smiles, bright, and his head tilts down as he laughs.
Then, hands squeezing tighter, jostling Kurt forward, Blaine looks up.
His lips press to Kurt’s nose, a quick peck, and he says between nose kisses, “You are the cutest thing in the entire world.”
{for kayla because she had a bad day and also for elsa because she said she wanted blaine to sing kiss me by ed sheeran and then this happened} a wintery klaine reunion with tentative smiles and cold lips dancing together in the snow under fairy lights.
He’s playing with his bow tie as he walks around the hall; trying to loosen it even slightly so that he can stop feeling like he’s suffocating. Christmas decorations are still up, tinsel and fairy tights sparkling on the walls as people dance underneath mistletoe.
He can’t avoid it anymore and he knows he can’t. He’s spoken to everyone here - everyone else but him - at least twice. He’s danced so much that his feet are aching and the night isn’t even half over yet.
So Blaine straightens his bow tie as he crosses the room, ignoring the butterflies jittering in his stomach and the way his hands won’t stop shaking. Grow up, he tells himself, be a man; But he can still feel his palms sweating as he gets closer.
His breath catches in his throat when he spots Kurt, he’s in a form fitting silver suit that’s creasing at the elbows from where he’s leaning against the wall. His eyes are still as bright as ever and the way the light is shining on him, highlighting his cheekbones makes Blaine’s heart stutter in his chest.
“Hey,” Blaine says, walking slowly towards Kurt, who turns round with surprise written all over his face.
Kurt looks down at the floor before replying; “Hey.”
“Are you - uh,” Blaine begins, stuttering and falling over his words. He takes a breath; “Are you okay?”
Kurt nods, a smile on his face that Blaine sees right through. “Yeah, and you?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
It’s awkward - so very awkward - and Blaine cringes at the way they’re catching each other’s gaze before their eyes dart quickly away, pretending it didn’t happen.
“Do you wanna go outside?”
Blaine’s eyes shoot up in surprise; “Outside?” Kurt nods and tilts his head in the direction of the doors. “Sure,” Blaine replies.
So they make their way through their old school hallways of Dalton Academy; their hands brushing before they’re both quickly moved away. Kurt pushes the door open for Blaine who follows Kurt outside - the cold air suddenly hitting them both, goosebumps prickling up on their skin but they ignore it as they sit on that old marble bench they always used to sit on in front of the hedge and under the fairy lights.
Snow is falling from the sky, piling up on the floor - untouched. All they can hear is the muted beat of the music and chatter from their former classmates, it feels like they’re in a different world.
“I lied,” Blaine says, looking down as he rubs his hands together between his knees, trying to keep himself warm. “I’m not okay.”
Kurt chokes out a breath, blowing out of his mouth in a thick cloud in the cold, winter air.
Blaine looks up at the dark sky, the fairy lights above them looking like stars and he chokes out a depreciative laugh; “I feel like I’m lost, Kurt and that I have no where to go from here, from this place. I feel trapped and I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”
Kurt grabs Blaine’s hands, pulling them into his; rubbing them together. “I want to be back in New York. I want to be at college or auditioning for roles, even working at a coffee shop and playing at small bars trying to get gigs. I want to be struggling. I don’t want this; working at my old school, teaching glee club. I don’t want to be apart from you. I don’t want to be on a break anymore, Kurt.”
His voice breaks and Kurt’s heart drops to his stomach at the pain in his voice but relief fills his head; “Me too.”
He laughs quietly; “I waited all those years; studying and performing and doing my best to get out of here, yet, here I am - still in this backwards town.”
They’re both quiet for a moment, before Blaine asks, his voice quiet; “What are we doing, Kurt?”
Kurt shrugs, neither of them knowing how to answer that question when a soft beat comes through the door and Blaine recognises it instantly. He stands up, grabbing Kurt’s hands and pulling him up along with him.
“Dance with me?” Blaine asks, his voice soft.
“Always,” Kurt replies, resting his hands on Blaine’s waist as Blaine winds his around Kurt’s neck.
Snow is drifting down from the clouds, landing in their hair, causing it to shimmer and sparkle before melting. They can feel the cold, running through their clothes and with every breath they take they can see it in the air. But they just pull each other closer as they sway to the beat.
Blaine feels his heart race at their proximity; at the way it seems so very delicate, that there’s a spell on them that could break at any moment.
So they sway, barely moving in the light of the twinkling fairy lights above them; but they’re there. They’re together and that’s all that matters.
And Blaine lifts his head, so that he’s looking at Kurt in the eyes, their noses brushing as he loses himself in the glimmering blue eyes in front of him; “We’re falling in love,” he sings. He feels Kurt’s sigh with the warm breath on his lips.
Everything is Kurt, Kurt, Kurt and Blaine feels like he can’t breathe. He feels like there is electricity flying around them, dancing as it sparks everywhere. All it needs it one spark to set it off.
So Blaine lifts himself slightly onto his tip-toes, unable to take it anymore and presses his lips to Kurt’s. It’s ice cold but Blaine just pulls Kurt tighter, brushing his fingertips against Kurt’s cheek in a soft caress.
Kurt sighs into the kiss as Blaine’s hands rest on his face. He grips Blaine’s waist tighter because he finally feels home again and he’s missed this so much.
And maybe, maybe at the time a break seemed like a good idea - that space and time would heal them. And maybe it has. Maybe it’s helped but right now, in this moment under the lights in the snow, Kurt can’t think of why they ever stopped this.
All he feels is Blaine and it’s so precious to him - so special that he doesn’t know why they didn’t keep trying because it’s worth fighting for.
They pull away slowly, only enough so that Kurt can rest his forehead onto Blaine’s. A spark of hope ignites in his chest as Kurt’s lips turn up into a tentative smile and Blaine knows that everything is going to be okay as long as Kurt looks at him like that for the rest of eternity.
{skank!kurt/nerd!blaine - somewhere in the near future of the Lumière verse} in which mike chang nominated blaine anderson to do the ice bucket challenge.
“Tell me why you’re doing this again?” Kurt asks, sitting with his feet dangling in the pool and a cigarette in his hand.
Blaine sighs from where he’s setting up the camera, fiddling with the wires as he explains, “It’s to raise money and awareness for ALS – a horrible disease that barely anyone knows about so the fact that it’s getting this much recognition is so amazing," Blaine pauses and looks up at Kurt; "I just want to help.”
Blaine shrugs, a bashful smile on his face as he watches Kurt step closer.
“Can’t you at least take your top off?”
Blaine rolls his eyes.
Kurt laughs loudly, “Okay, okay. What do you need me to do?”
“You’re going to love this,” Blaine says, as he picks up two buckets of ice water, “I want you to tip this over my head.”
“Fuck yeah,” Kurt says, smiling as he takes a bucket from Blaine. “At least your t-shirt is white.”
Blaine huffs out a laugh, stepping closer to Kurt and pressing his lips to Kurt’s in a gentle kiss; “Thank you,” he says.
Kurt just shrugs, a small blush painted across his cheeks as he puts the bucket directly in front of the camera, next to where Blaine puts the other.
“Okay,” Blaine says, jumping up and down in anticipation, “Ready?”
“To see you dripping wet in a white t-shirt?” Kurt says, smirking, “Always, beautiful.”
Blaine blushes before turning the camera on and walking back towards Kurt.
“Okay,” he says, talking to the camera, “I’m Blaine Anderson, and I got nominated by Mike Chang (thanks for that by the way). I’ve already donated, but please, if you can, donate as well, it's for an organisation that really needs it!”
Kurt picks up the bucket of water and Blaine shivers in anticipation, “Here goes.”
Laughing, Kurt holds the bucket up with his white t-shirt riding up as he tilts the bucket and the water pours out.
“Oh my god,” Blaine yells as the freezing water hits him, the cold causing him to go numb for a split second and he barely moves; barely reacts, until; “It’s so cold!”
Kurt just laughs as he watches Blaine in amusement, who starts jumping up and down on the spot.
“Okay,” Blaine says, shivering as his hair lies flat, sticking to his head and his shirt clings to his body – defining his muscles. His glasses are askew as he continues, “I nominate Sam Evans, Rachel Berry, Cooper Anderson, and –”
He pauses and picks up the other bucket of water in front of him, “my boyfriend-“
“Fuck off, Anderson,” Kurt says, backing away, before realising he’s standing at the edge of the pool, “Don’t you fucking dare.”
Blaine laughs, “Kurt Hummel!” And with that he throws the water over Kurt’s head.
“Fuck!” Kurt yells, as the ice and water drips down his hair and onto his top. His hair falls from the careful style he’d put it in and drips of pink streak down his cheeks.
“Blaine Devon Anderson,” Kurt says, looking up as he shivers, a dangerous glint in his eyes, “You did not fucking do that.”
Blaine laughs, taking a small step back, still in full view of the camera, “Oh,” he says, a wide smile on his face, “But I did.”
“I cannot believe you!”
“I always like to see you dripping wet in a white shirt, babe,” Blaine imitates as Kurt steps closer, before turning and running.
He doesn’t get far before Kurt’s grabbing him round his waist and pulling him backwards. Blaine struggles to get out of his grip but it’s pointless, Kurt’s hands tight on his waist and his breath heavy on his neck.
Blaine starts shouting between laughter as he realises where Kurt’s pulling him towards, “Don’t! Kurt, oh my god, no please!”
Kurt just huffs, “It’s your own fault!”
“Kurt,” Blaine yelps as Kurt grabs Blaine’s legs so that he’s holding him bridal style.
“My hair is dripping pink, Blaine,” Kurt grumbles before launching into a run and jumping straight into the pools.
There’s a mix of yells from the both of them as they hit the water, the warmth of the pool water heaven on their skin. They’re a tangle of limbs as they resurface gasping for breath.
“I hate you,” Blaine gasps.
As Kurt finds his glasses floating in the pool and puts them gently back on his face, he says, “No,” gently touching Blaine’s cheek, “You don’t.”
Blaine smiles shyly before lifting his eyes and catching Kurt’s; there’s a heat and intensity behind that bright blue gaze that Blaine doesn’t recognise. It’s soft and warm and it makes the butterflies turn in Blaine’s stomach.
“I love you,” Kurt says quietly, his voice soft and calm in the still air around them.
Blaine’s breath catches and he stares in shock, eyes wide as his lips begin to turn up into a smile, “I love you, too.”
Kurt surges forward, catching Blaine’s lips in a sweet kiss, their mouths moving in a tandem as they grasp onto one another.
They’re so focused on each other and being together as they kiss, they forget the camera is still recording every move. And maybe Blaine has to edit out the not-so-PG parts of that video later so that he can actually put it online but he doesn’t care as he watches the video back, listening to Kurt’s admittance.
He edits out their shared ‘I love you’s and kisses because that’s something that’s theirs.
{skank!kurt/badboy!blaine au - verse } Because Blaine needs Kurt (not just to fix his car) and Kurt can’t help but always give Blaine what he wants. // AO3 ~1.1k
With hands covered in grease and oil – the grime sticking underneath his fingernails – and his coveralls wrinkled, the bell above the door rings. His hair is a mess, sweat causing the pink strands to stick up from where he’s ruffled it.
“Sorry, I’m about to close up,” Kurt says without looking up from the car he’s working on.
“Hey,” Kurt hears and his gaze moves to the doorway where there’s a boy standing there wearing a school uniform, his hazel eyes flickering in Kurt’s direction. He’s standing with his shoulders wide; an air of confidence radiating off of him.
“Blaine,” Kurt rolls his eyes, wiping some of the grease off of his hands and onto the coveralls. “What are you doing here?”
Blaine stays silent, looking anywhere but Kurt as he shrugs his blazer off of his shoulders.
“Again?” Kurt says, slamming the hood of the car he was working on shut; “Are you serious?”
“Look, man, can you help or not?” Blaine groans; “They keyed the body and it’s not running properly - won’t accelerate.”
Kurt sighs, “Fuck, fine. You owe me though.”
Blaine smirks as Kurt walks towards him, “Don’t I always?”
Kurt smiles as he walks up to Blaine, looking down into his golden eyes, so close that he can count every eyelash and feel Blaine’s breath against his lips.
Just as Blaine leans closer, their breath tangling together, Kurt whispers, “Don’t forget it,” before stepping past him and through the door towards Blaine’s bike.
+
Fifteen minutes later finds Blaine sitting on the hard, cold floor with his legs crossed and a cigarette dangling from his lips as he watches Kurt work on his bike.
Without looking back Kurt says, “Stop staring at my ass, Anderson.”
Blaine just laughs as he takes the last drag from the cigarette before stumping it out on the ground, “Am I not allowed?”
Kurt grumbles, “No, your privileges have been revoked until you get rid of this god damn fucking bike,” he slumps down onto the ground, throwing his tools back in the box before saying; “Fuck this. I can’t fix it tonight, Blaine.”
Blaine groans, “You’re serious.” It’s not a question.
“Whoever messed with it did a good job - I need to order new parts and they won’t come until next week.”
“Fuck,” Blaine says, “I need to get back to school or I’m going to get suspended. Again.”
Kurt rolls his eyes, “Were you even supposed to be out?”
“Well, technically - no. But I signed myself out,” Blaine says; “My parents are going to fucking kill me if they suspend me.”
“For fuck sake -” Kurt says, standing up and moving towards Blaine, “Give me your phone.”
“What? Why?”
“Give me the phone, Blaine.”
Huffing out a sigh of annoyance, Kurt dials a number as Blaine hands him the phone.
“What are yo- Who are you calling?” Blaine says as Kurt holds the phone up to his ear only to get Kurt’s hand in his face, telling him to shut up.
“Hello, this is Marie Anderson,” Kurt says, holding his breath as he makes his voice even higher than usual, “I just wanted to let you know that Blaine’s staying home this weekend due to a family emergency, so he won’t be back until late Sunday evening.”
There’s a moment of silence and Kurt breathes, “Thank you for understanding. Bye,” before hanging up and throwing the phone in Blaine’s dumbstruck face.
“No need to thank me,” Kurt says, smirking as Blaine get’s up off of the floor, “You can stay at mine - Dad’s in Washington.”
Blaine laughs, “I guess your high voice does come in handy sometimes.”
Kurt punches Blaine in the arm, “Shut up, asshole.”
+
Blaine sits in that old treehouse in the back of Kurt’s garden, leaning against the wooden wall with a cigarette in hand and a half-empty bottle of whisky between his raised knees. His gaze is trained on Kurt, whose hair has gone even more of a mess, the floppy pink strands falling onto his forehead from the way he’s been running his hands through it as he paces backwards and forwards. He’s ranting about the guys that keep messing with Blaine’s bike; “You can’t keep riding that death trap, Blaine, it’s going to kill you one day.”
And Blaine just smirks lazily up at Kurt, “Babe, you’d care if I died?” He says, taking a drag from the cigarette, “I’m honoured.”
Kurt rolls his eyes, crouching down to snatch the bottle from Blaine’s knees, “Of course I do, asshole.”
He stares into Kurt’s eyes, that fire inside roaring as he shrugs.
Kurt, after taking a gulp from the bottle, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before his grabs Blaine by the collar of the leather jacket that he stole from Kurt, hauling Blaine towards him.
Before their lips touch and just as Kurt can feel the brush of Blaine’s eyelashes on his cheeks, he says, “You’re the only thing in this damn town worth caring about.”
And their lips crash together, Blaine’s hands resting on Kurt’s waist underneath the oil-stained t-shirt, skin on skin, as Kurt cups Blaine’s face, pulling him closer, closer, closer.
Kurt sighs into the kiss as Blaine opens his mouth; their breath tangling together along with their tongues. They battle for dominance - Kurt pulling his mouth closer and Blaine pulling his hips; laying his legs down flat so they can fit closer.
Kurt’s knees frame Blaine’s legs as they mouths move together, tasting whisky on Blaine’s tongue and the stubble on his neck. They kiss and kiss until they can’t feel their lips and Blaine’s grabbing at the buckle on Kurt’s belt - wanting more and more.
They keep pushing and pulling at each other until the alcoholic haze has worn off and the stars are shining bright outside and the night air is silent around. The cool air barely noticed by the two boys as they lay in a heap on the floor, gasping for breath.
They breathe in tandem; their legs tangled and Blaine’s arm thrown over Kurt’s waist until they slip away into unconsciousness.
+
And on Sunday, Kurt drives Blaine back to school, who’s wearing Kurt’s too big shirt with the sleeves rolled up and his tie is askew from the way Kurt has tugged at it because “You need a break, Kurt,” lead to making out in the backseat amongst whispered confessions of “I’ll miss you” and, “I hate that you’re so far away” - things that they don’t dare to say out in the open or away from ecstasy.
But when they finally arrive at Dalton and Blaine get’s out of the car, Kurt rolls the window down and leans out of the window slightly before tugging Blaine into a searing kiss - full of heat and passion.
When he pulls away there’s a dangerous glint in his eyes and Blaine smiles slightly. But then the spell is broken and Kurt steps on the accelerator and drives away - leaving Blaine on the steps of the school, his fellow students staring in disbelief as Blaine walks up the steps, shrugging his blazer on his shoulders, a smirk crossing his face.
Heartstrings Verse - Summary: Their studying session veers far off path when Kurt gets distracted. And then Blaine officially meets Burt.
Warnings: slight second hand embarrassment maybe?
A/N: I give up on angst. Bring forth the making out. Partly based on a message from elsa.
But having him there, with one leg that won’t stop bouncing and his constant humming, and Kurt feels at ease.
Papers and books are spread over them and between them. He’s not entirely sure if he can handle being in his bedroom with Blaine - with Blaine so close - again. Not yet. One day. Hopefully.
He can’t handle much lately.
School was - school was - he can’t even handle thinking of it. Late for every single class, sneaking out before the bell would ring.
If he didn’t have Blaine he’d be falling far behind.
If he didn’t have Blaine . . .
Blaine, who’s been bringing all Kurt’s work to his house because he knows Kurt can’t be anywhere else. Blaine, who hasn’t once implied he could be trying harder. Blaine who understands Kurt can’t even look at him in the halls at school, that Kurt has to fade into the background and make them forget. Blaine, who is just . . there.
There, next to him, with him - and a few weeks ago he wouldn’t have needed it so much.
He still kisses him. How could he not? And every touch of their lips and Kurt has to ignore the weird rhythm of his heart, the guilty sink of his stomach. How many times can you deny, lie to yourself - to him - and still have it sound true? How many times can he say he doesn’t feel it when he does?
As many times as it takes. Because he can’t.
Blaine understands it. Understands what Kurt has to do (he hopes). And he always kisses him back.
And Kurt doesn’t like to think of what that could mean.
A few weeks ago and he would have hated himself for needing it so much. And now? Now he isn’t sure.
Even if Blaine isn’t saying it, he knows he should be trying harder. It’s just difficult when there’s so many distractions. Blaine is always talking - which, he doesn’t mind. And maybe Blaine knows that - and shifting, tapping his foot against the ground to whatever song is playing in his head.
And Blaine’s phone went off an hour ago and his ringtone - he hasn’t been able to get it out of his head.
He doesn’t mean to do it. If he chose to hum it’d be to a song far better than the Pokémon theme song -
If there was a real reason to despise Blaine, he’s sure that’d be it.
He doesn’t mean to do it and he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it. Humming along under his breath, pen smacking against his paper in a similar rhythm, mind everywhere but his work.
It’s catchy, and god, it clings to his brain like glue, he can’t get rid of it. He’s going to murder Blaine -
“Kurt.” Blaine’s foot has stopped tapping. “What are you doing?”
It’s then that the silent room catches up with him. Only his breath and his clacking pen and - oh no.
Blaine is staring at him with the widest of eyes, as if a supernatural creature had jumped in front of him. Which would honestly be more likely than this but - but here they are and -
Kurt goes still, pen dropping from his hold, spine going straight.
And getting his mouth to open and his throat to work so he can speak words is proving difficult when there’s a rush of heat straight to his face.
“Nothing,” he breathes out, twisting so he’s facing the arm of the couch. “Are you on something?”
It’s Blaine, he should know better. He should expect the couch dipping and papers fluttering as Blaine bolts upright and leans closer to him, but he doesn’t.
“Kurt,” Blaine says, urgently. And there’s an intense flare to his eyes, jaw locked hard - he looks frightening like this. Even with his bright orange bowtie pulling focus from his face, he’s sending spikes down Kurt’s spine. “I’ve been watching Pokémon since I was two years old.”
Kurt swallows, clamps his teeth down hard and keeps his eyes on the couch. “So?”
“So I would recognize that tune anywhere.”
Head tipped to the ceiling now, he breathes, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The couch dips again, Blaine leaning forward on his hands, gaze - or glare, Kurt doesn’t know - burning into his face and it’s so warm, he’s going to suffocate, he really, truly does despise him -
“Work, Blaine, we should focus on our -” He holds up his textbook, lets his eyes flick over to glance at him for a second, looks back.
And what he isn’t expecting is the lash of Blaine’s hand, smacking against the book, sending it to the ground with a thud.
Except he can’t exactly hear the thud when his heartbeat is pulsing in his ears and Blaine is getting closer.
“You can’t just sing that in front of me and not - and not expect -”
Blaines cuts himself off when he lunges at him. And he doesn't know what to do except let panic grip his heart in a fist and pull it down - and then Blaine is on top of him.
Papers crunch underneath his weight, the rest of the books sliding off the couch. Blaine’s chest is pushing his down, back hitting the arm rest, and the angle is awkward, Blaine must sense this, because he blindly reaches for the side of Kurt’s thigh, tugging it up so he’s laying on the couch.
With one spare second, Kurt glances up, looks into his eyes, and then feels the veins lining his body pulse.
A few weeks ago - and wasn’t this exactly what they were doing?
Blaine understands where Kurt’s mind has been. Understands the fence Kurt had built around himself and has stayed on his side, but fences are not walls and fences are to separate. And Kurt thinks, underneath Blaine like this, that’s okay, that’s okay.
That’s okay, I want you in.
No, this is so much more.
He didn’t realize until now, but he’s never wanted anything more than to be under Blaine.
The second passes and Blaine’s lips are on his.
He should really, really stop expecting what Blaine is and isn’t going to do. He waits for the slow, hazy pull of his breath, but instead it’s yanked out. Blaine closes over his top lip, pulling, sucking it into his mouth, taking his every breath.
Kurt’s eyes are still open because how is this real, how is Blaine doing this, how is Blaine -
With his arms loose by his side, Blaine’s hands wrap around his wrists, pushing them up above his head.
And with Blaine’s knees on either side of him, Blaine surges down, mouth parting against his.
He’s confident that he doesn’t know what oxygen is. All he can do is stay still under Blaine, move with him, because if he tries to move against him, Blaine’s grip tightens, pushing down.
But because Blaine is Blaine, he is expecting this:
Blaine leans back, careful hold of his own weight, smile too victorious for Kurt’s liking, and says, “Admit it.”
But because Kurt is Kurt, he says back, “Admit what?” and grins.
There’s a flash in Blaine’s eyes, dark, chilling, and Kurt feels it everywhere; his stomach, his spine, everywhere . . .
When Blaine leans back down, Kurt leans up, meets him in an open kiss, and Blaine’s tongue slides against his. There’s something about feeling this part of Blaine, of having Blaine feel him, that he won’t, he can’t, he’ll never get past.
Then there’s another part to him being tugged, and it’s hot, boiling, blistering, constricting.
He thinks there’s a bomb inside of him, ticking down, and soon it’s going to blow, the timer loud in his head. And Blaine, Blaine must want it to go off because his teeth gently close down on his bottom lip, pulling, capturing, and then a full press of his lips against his.
If he could hear anything else besides Blaine’s ragged breathing and his own pulse, he’s sure he’d hear the moans he feels vibrating inside of him.
And Blaine is so heavy, settled on top of him, chest to his chest, his legs squeezing around Kurt.
There is a reason he builds fences, but there’s a reason why they’re broken. There’s a person.
Kurt turns his head, breaks the kiss, a gasp for air before he chokes out, “Okay, whatever, I admit it, I guess -”
When his eyes meet Blaine’s, the darkness is a flicker in the background, and instead he’s shining, smiling at him. “Kurt.”
He despises him.
Despises him especially when his mouth finds his neck. Lips over the stretched muscle, Blaine’s breath out through his nose, hot over his skin. And Kurt - jolts, body arching upwards, legs kicking out so he’s pushing himself up the couch.
As if his nerves are stars, and Blaine is making them light up with every brush of his lips.
Making them shoot through the sky with every sweep of his tongue.
There’s no will left in his body, there couldn’t possibly be. As if he never possessed strength, as if he never had bones, his arms go completely useless in Blaine’s grip.
And maybe before there would be a voice in the back of his mind. What are you doing?
Why him?
Stop.
But now he can’t hear it, can only focus on the endless chant of yes.
That night, which Kurt replays far too often in his head. Weak on top of Blaine, Blaine hard underneath him - that has nothing on this.
Blaine’s mouth moves away from him, and Kurt can’t control any sounds he’s making tonight apparently because he whines.
Blaine stares down at him, gaze darting from his eyes to his lips to his neck - no, not his neck, his collarbones.
And then back to his eyes, blinking, asking.
Kurt nods, quick jerks of his head, sweat forming at his temples.
One of Blaine’s hands lets go of his wrist, then his fingers curl around the collar of his shirt before yanking it down, exposing more of his neck. His usually pale skin is flushed red all the way down, and it burns even brighter when Blaine latches on.
His legs don’t know what to do, kicking and scrambling for purchase underneath Blaine.
Blaine never stops, tongue working in circles, sucking wetly.
If Blaine has taught him one lesson it’s to never expect one thing . . .
He didn’t even know his body would react to this, didn’t even know there were fireworks in his brain that hadn’t been set off yet, waiting and waiting for Blaine to find that spot on his neck.
His breath is punched out of his lungs and escapes in a moan.
His legs kick, thrash, push him further up the couch and Blaine follows him, not letting go, teeth scraping his flesh.
Kurt tilts his head back, breathes out through his mouth and then clenches his teeth hard as to not moan again but - but the twisting heat low in his gut might just force it out and -
He opens his eyes, blurry vision stretched before him, the room almost upside down. Upside down but the figure standing in the doorway is clear as day and Kurt’s insides drop.
His arms are too weak to push Blaine off, in fact they might be asleep with how much they’re buzzing.
Too weak but he tries, hands sliding underneath Blaine, pushing at his chest and shoving him off.
His heart almost snaps in half at the noise Blaine makes. A broken whimper as his body is torn from Kurt’s.
Even with the panic ringing through his entire system he can still focus on the way Blaine’s eyes are stuck to his lips, won’t look away, the way his body is reaching for his -
But the second Burt clears his throat Blaine jumps.
Leaps off the couch, stumbling backwards, and the noise he makes then can only be described as comical.
His mind is fogged up and his temperature is deadly but he sits up, squares his shoulders back, faces his dad and asks, “How long were you standing there?”
His dad, face red, eyes wide, says back, “A bit too long I think.”
And Blaine, who is breathing rapidly in the corner, gasps, “Sincerest apologies - I - Kurt - I -”
Shoving his glasses back up - which are clouded over, dear god - Blaine steps forward. Clearly shaking, he smiles and moves past Kurt with his hand outstretched.
“It’s a - it’s - pleasure -” Blaine tilts his head back, breathes in deep, looks back to Burt. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person, sir.”
From the couch Kurt watches as his dad stares at Blaine’s hand like it might bite him, watches as he hesitantly shakes it.
“Yeah, you too.”
Kurt - pauses. Looks between the two, one eyebrow raised. “Wait, in person?”
Trampling down the flames of panic once and for all, Kurt shifts where he’s sitting and crosses his arms. Being on the other side of somebody else’s fence, well, it’s not a feeling he likes.
Blaine looks to him, as if he’s just remembering that Kurt is there, and explains, “Oh! Your dad and I have talked on the phone. He’s been checking in from time to time.”
“Well, this is news to me,” Kurt says, though he’s not sure to who because there’s an entire conversation going on above him.
“So,” his dad says, like it’s the last thing in the world he wants to be talking about. “You guys gettin’ a lot of studying done?”
To nobody in particular, Kurt says, “- enough.”
And Blaine: “Of course, Kurt’s grades are rising exceptionally.”
His dad, with one hand gripping the back of the opposite chair tightly, jaw working, mumbles, “Isn’t that something . .”
But Blaine and his dad must have a similar brain or something, because neither of them are moving, just staring at each other, at Kurt, back to each other, as if they’re both thinking of the next thing to say with Kurt right there.
“So, kid, all this time helping Kurt here, but what about you?”
Kurt lets out a silent scream into his hand, closes his eyes.
“What are your plans for the future?”
Creating one more official reason for Kurt to despise him, Blaine sits down on the arm of the couch and smiles at Burt.
“Oh, I’m just considering Yale at the moment.”
Into his hand: “. . . of course, just Yale . . “
His dad makes that approving noise of his, like he won’t ever admit he’s happily surprised over something. “That’s a pretty big school, hey? What’s got you going there?”
Blaine crosses his legs, settles his hands into his lap, and Kurt thinks, this can’t be the first time they’re meeting each other, it can’t be.
How often do they talk on the phone?
He almost groans, screams, this entire time and his dad and his - his - and Blaine were practically exchanging wedding vows in the background.
“Oh, my dad went there, so I’m trying to follow that direction. For now.”
His dad nods at him, and this is where Kurt gets lost. What could he possibly be thinking about? What does he see when there’s this kid - in a bow tie and blue pants and a shirt with turtles on it (another reason to despise him) - kissing his son and -
Dread strikes like a match against his heart. Ignites and flickers and burns - no.
He looks to Blaine, resists the urge to jump up and grab his arm and beg him. Don’t leave don’t leave don’t leave me with him no -
As if reading Kurt’s mind and planning the exact opposite, Blaine sits up, brushes his hands off his pants and clears his throat.
“Well, Burt, I’m glad we’ve officially been introduced.”
And Kurt swallows, stares wide-eyed between them because since when are they on a first name basis - ?
“But I must be going,” Blaine finishes, shaking his dad’s hand again. And then he turns to Kurt, eyes confused behind his glasses, before he says, “And Kurt, if you’re up to it, I’d recommend taking notes on chapter seventeen before tomorrow.”
Kurt stares at Blaine’s feet and manages to nod. “Okay.”
Blaine looks over his shoulder, Kurt’s gaze following his, to his dad, who very obviously turns away, hands jammed into his pockets.
And then Blaine looks back, smile spread across his face, and puts one hand on Kurt’s neck before leaning in.
Not to his lips, which are still numb of all feeling after he pushed Blaine away, but a kiss to the top of his head. Lingering for a few seconds, and Kurt closes his eyes, breathes it in, because he knows what Blaine really means about tomorrow. All this help and he’s still falling behind . .
Blaine pulls away and grabs his fallen books with a red tint to his cheeks. He turns once, smiles at Kurt, and maybe he stares for a second too long - Kurt can’t tell, he’s staring back - and says, “Have a good night, Kurt Hummel.” and with one last wave of his hand, an awkward pull on the door before he realizes it’s locked, Blaine is gone.
His dad stares at the door, confused, as if it were a unicorn who just walked through it and not Blaine.
“He does know he can just call you Kurt, right?”
With a smile that burns, a nauseating wave over his heart, Kurt mumbles, “It’s just - he has this thing. I don’t question it . . .”
And then dread has long since engulfed Kurt in flames, and he leans back into the couch, covers his eyes and sighs. He considers grabbing his books and running for his room, but his dad is already moving to stand in front of him, arms crossed.
“Please don’t,” Kurt begs, keeping his face covered.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t - don’t ask -”
“Hey,” his dad nearly barks, and then sits back on the coffee table. “A father is allowed to ask a few questions about his son every now and then, right?
“Is that in some rule book somewhere?”
“Kurt.”
“Whatever, just - hurry up.”
He waits, waits, but nothing happens. He forces his hand down to look at him, but his dad is just - sitting there, arms crossed, leg tapping against the ground.
“Dad?”
“So is he like, your boyfriend?” his dad blurts out, face reddening by the second. “Or whatever it is you kids call it nowadays?”
And even though he was expecting this he doesn’t know what to do, what to say. Kurt covers his face again, breathes through his hand, groans, “- dad - no, he’s not - he’s not my boyfriend. He’s my tutor.”
His dad doesn’t blow out his breath, doesn’t sound relieved, and when Kurt looks through his fingers at him he looks even more red.
And then: “Because that’s what tutors do -”
“Dad!”
His dad’s hands fly up, waving in front of him. “Okay, okay, fine. I get it.”
“Thank you!” Kurt snaps.
“He’s a really nice kid.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“So I guess I wouldn’t have a problem if he was, you know, more than - that.”
His insides have stopped working, stopped moving. He thinks they never will again. At least, not properly. How could he ever live the same way again after this?
“Good to know,” he mumbles, looking down at his chest. And shit - this shirt has been stretched past the point of no return.
This shirt cost more than his soul. That is coming out of Blaine’s pay check -
“This mean you’re gonna be back to the way you used to be?” His father’s voice is . . strange. Like a question he’s afraid to ask, doesn’t know how to ask - like he’s afraid of the answer.
“And what does that mean?”
Red-faced, eyes awkwardly on the ground - he doesn’t understand why his own father is afraid to look at him sometimes - he grumbles, “You know . . show choir and . . outfits.”
Arms now tight over his chest, Kurt slowly shakes his head, eyes squinting at him. “I’m not sure I understand your point. May I leave now?”
His dad stands, hands on his hips, looks to Kurt and then to the kitchen. “Yeah, um, good idea.”
Kurt gets up, doesn’t bother to pick up his books and makes his way to the stairs. He’s halfway up before his father holds a hand up, says, “Wait.”
Leaning over the railing, he stares at his dad, swallows down the pins of panic stabbing his throat.
“You just look, well, Kurt, you look happy. And that - that’s - good.”
He doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he smiles and nods, then finishes his trek up the stairs.
His dad, who had to witness that transition from afar. To watch Kurt’s colours fade - they’re still there, he knows it, he feels it. You can’t disappear completely. A lesson he’s learned all too well recently.
He doesn’t know what his dad must really think, but it wasn’t his dad who had to live with that feeling every single day. It wasn’t his dad who had to be afraid every single day. It was Kurt.
His dad, who didn’t yell when there was the possibility that Kurt could fail. Who made a deal with the school, setting him up with a tutor, because as much as Kurt wanted to fade, and as much as his dad didn’t (doesn’t) understand why, he had to try.
Kurt likes his colours now. He likes who he is. His dad doesn’t know -
He likes who he is now. And who is he now?
He’s safe. And if his dad gets that, well, that’s all he can hope for, right?
He thinks of Blaine. He thinks of Blaine understanding, of respecting the fence - his respect for breaking the fence.
There’s a difference between walls and fences and boundaries.
Kurt still holds his boundary, a border. Running straight in front of him, keeping Blaine on the other side. Keeping everyone on the other side. Because you can’t disappear completely and if he keeps that boundary in place then nobody - not even those he could want - can get him. He hopes. He hopes too much. He doesn’t know but he hopes -
But that god awful Pokémon theme song, and it’s so goddamn catchy. He likes Blaine, but honestly, to what extent?
Finally, he thinks, with a smile he has no control over, that if Blaine doesn’t change his ringtone he's going to smash his phone into pieces.
