Blaine Anderson has been at Dalton his whole life. Some would say he’s privileged, but most would describe him as honourable to a fault. When a misunderstanding sees him kicked out of home and Dalton, he has to seek his cousin’s help to rebuild his life. But Mike has plans and a life of his own. Enrolling at McKinley was inevitable for Blaine, but exams, parties, summer camp, and someone falling in love with him weren’t on the agenda. Surely if he can get through this, he can get through anything. Courage.
About 30,000 words, one-shot, low rating. On AO3.
Inspired by this gifset by gleeddicted; with cover art by buckeyegrrl.
Trip the Light Fantastic (Tango) by pureklaination
Kurt Hummel’s life was relatively simple. Finding a quiet place to draw in NYC not so much. Once he thought he found it, he never expected what came next.
Written for the Kurt/Blaine Reverse Bang over on LJ to this art by the magnificent pencilpushingenthusiast.
About 15,000 words, one-shot, low rating. On AO3 and LJ.
It inspired a secondary “scene” illustration by pencilpushingenthusiast, too.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~30,170
Summary: Blaine Anderson has been at Dalton his whole life. Some would say he’s privileged, but most would describe him as honourable to a fault. When a misunderstanding sees him kicked out of home and Dalton, he has to seek his cousin’s help to rebuild his life. But Mike has plans and a life of his own. Enrolling at McKinley was inevitable for Blaine, but exams, parties, summer camp, and someone falling in love with him weren't on the agenda. Surely if he can get through this, he can get through anything. Courage.
A/N: This is a Valentine's day gift for the lovely Cass who means the world to me. Here's to many more! <3 Until then, have a Klaine pick-up line fic!
~-~
It started as a joke. It started with a snarky yet fond comment from Santana about them being cheesy.
It started with deliberately obvious notes on the fridge, ridiculous flirty one-liners put there for Santana more than anything. It started with trying to make her roll her eyes as violently as possible.
During the three months after Blaine moved to New York, into the Bushwick apartment, they would look up the cheesiest quotes and lines and leave them on post-it notes for her to see every morning before she could even reach coffee. Even with their busy schedule either Kurt or Blaine always managed to leave one under the charade of it being for the other, a romantic gesture they were actually in on.
After they got their own place, it stopped being a pretense.
At first they only did it when Santana would come over, which was often since living together for so long had left them with a certain dependency they took a while to wean off of.
Then, when Kurt’s job at Vogue took off and turned into a full-blown career, they really started doing it. Just for them.
In the early hours of the morning, just before taking an airport shuttle, Kurt would find a little note on the coffee machine.
“You’re like a dictionary, you add meaning to my life.”
Kurt would grin against the rim of his travel cup before quickly taking the paper and slipping it in between the pages of his sketch-pad.
It wouldn’t happen again until it was Blaine’s turn to have to leave for a few days to see Cooper in LA.
It’s with a smile that he finds a neon green mitten-shaped note rolled up in his sleep mask. He barely manages to keep his giggle in as he reads it:
“Hey you’re pretty and I’m cute, together we’d be pretty cute.”
And so on and so forth.
After a year or so they found more excuses to leave notes, like during the eight month period when Blaine had to leave the house two hours before Kurt. Nearly every day he would find little messages hidden within his papers or belongings. Sometimes it was words or lines of poetry and sometimes it was just drawn hearts.
Even when they would fight, whether it was little snarky comments on off days or the rare times they had full blown arguments that turned into yelling matches, they would never leave it like that and sometimes the notes were the temporary stitches they needed.
The time they fought over being invited to Thanksgiving with Blaine’s family and Blaine left to sleep over at Mike’s for the night; Kurt sent him a text message:
“I lost my teddy bear, can I sleep with you?”
Blaine came home and rang the doorbell which broke Kurt’s heart when he opened the door and pulled Blaine into his arms with tears in his eyes. He didn’t need a post-it then to remind Blaine that it was their home, “ours” he whispered against Blaine’s neck.
The next time they had a huge blowout was a cover for how much they missed each other when neither dared say anything about it out of fear that they would hurt or insult the other and what they were doing.
Upset and frustrated they took it out by yelling over the smallest things, letting everything get to them until they came to a boiling point. Their fight ended with clothes thrown all over the living room and scratches down their backs.
Naked and spent on the floor by the couch, Blaine reached up for the paper and a pen they kept by the phone and wrote out a note:
“Nickel for your thoughts?”
Kurt, still out of breath, an arm under his head, laughed softly “Isn’t it supposed to be penny?”
Blaine turned the paper over and wrote something else down before handing it to Kurt who settled on his stomach, on his elbows, so he could read it out loud;
“I think your thoughts are worth more.”
He stayed silent after that, only speaking again when Blaine leaned in and kissed his shoulder where he mumbled a desperate “Talk to me.”
So they talked. Right there, in their living room where the sun was rising and their phones laid near their pants about to ring their alarms because it was the middle of the week and they had work.
Later, they used those phones to call in sick.
Hours after that they finally moved to the bedroom.
A few years after that Kurt was asked to help set up a fashion auction in Rome, Blaine was supposed to join him there after a week but couldn’t make it so they resorted to skyping whenever timezones allowed and texting silly things throughout the day. More often than usual.
Kurt: 4:54pm “If kisses were snowflakes I would send you Finland.”
Blaine: 10:54am “I tried to send you something sexy last night but the mailman told me to get out of the mailbox.”
Kurt: 4:55pm “Did you sit in a pile of sugar? Because you have a pretty sweet ass.”
Blaine: 10:57am “Are you balding because you sure do shine!”
Kurt: 4:57pm “Blaine Devon Anderson, too far!”
Blaine: 10:58am “You’re too far. Come home.”
Kurt got a flight home the next day, vowing to find a replacement for the auction as soon as he got back. Give or take three hours.
It was their thing. Even if years later they stopped doing it as often, only leaving notes on anniversaries or birthdays (or visits from Santana) it was still theirs.
Over the years they kept quite a few of the notes, long after the glue on the backs had faded or the coffee stains had become permanent, keeping them between the pages of notebooks or photo-albums.
But the one that meant the most to them, the one they had had framed and put up in their bedroom, the one that was written on the napkins that were used at their wedding, the one that Blaine had written out the morning of the ceremony and slipped in Kurt’s suit instead of a pocket square with the strict instruction to wait until they were at the altar to read it.
That was the most important one. The one Kurt read to himself before reading it out to their friends and families with a silly grin and tears in his eyes. The one that was followed up with “I do”s:
“You stole my heart so let me steal your last name.”
Summary: The world goes dark. Communication included, leaving Kurt and Blaine miles apart without a goodbye.
~-~-~
Nineteenth day:
It was Santana’s day. In the vicious circle that was their breakdown calendar, today was Santana’s. Kurt sort of wished he had grown numb to her hysterical yelling but it still resonated the same way that it had the first time one of them had cracked.
It’d been a week since he’d had a day, too drained to match either of his roommate’s anger and despair.
It’d been nineteen days since everything fell apart.
At first there were jokes about a repeat government shutdown but then the effects started growing, reaching every part of the country, wiping everything out from records to communication. The world went dark after that.
Luckily New York had some competency in dealing with citywide panic while every light and network shut down block by block.
Kurt and Santana had been watching some new talk show when the emergency broadcast had been sent out, playing for less than a minute before their lights clicked off, taking the tv with them.
Santana had started screaming, the reality of the situation hitting right away, pulling Kurt down with her as his throat locked up. As soon as he could move again he reached for his phone and dialed Blaine’s number.
It took a dozen tries before he got put through. The phone rang twice. Blaine picked up. The line went dead.
He spent the first four days of the blackout trying to call Ohio but every cell tower in America was down. There was no way to reach anyone, let alone across the country.
On day five they were delivered some rations, some kind of system had been put in place in their city after every grocery store was ransacked.
On the ninth day the cycle of breakdowns started, in the light of hundreds of candles they all took turns screaming out their frustrations before crumbling into each others arms, crying about how grateful they were for each other.
But Kurt didn’t want to be there, he loved his roommates but he wanted out, he wanted to leave the city, find Blaine.
On the thirteenth day he tried to leave New York. That’s when he found out that the city was on lockdown. No one was allowed in, or out.
Kurt went quiet after that.
~
Twentieth day:
Blaine found that one of the worst things about the blackout was the utter crushing darkness. During the day it was fine - as fine as it could be - but at night, when the sun went down and everything went jet black, Blaine felt like he was drowning.
The whole glee club had set up camp at the school along with half the population of Lima, but Blaine couldn’t deal with everyone else, not during the night, so he slept in his bathroom where the moon reflected off every porcelain surface and created a pseudo chamber of not-completely-dark.
During the first few days of the blackout he could use his phone as a nightlight but he used up all his battery trying to call and text Kurt, none of which went through. So the darkness had taken over without the comforting green computer charging lights or the streetlamp outside his window.
Now, nearly three weeks later, his only comfort came from the reflective surface of his bathtub where he spent his nights still clutching his dead phone.
Sam, and even Ryder, had tried to stay in there with him the first week but Blaine stopped trying to follow conversation on the thirteenth day.
~
Forty-second day:
Things in New York were getting somewhat better, there was some order left, some justice.
That’s when the Light Sickness started.
It didn’t kill people but it weakened them enough that if they weren’t healthy it could be fatal.
The light of the sun was hurting people.
The streets were empty during the day after that.
~
Sixty-third day:
After two months of whispers and sources and gathering, Blaine finally got in touch with someone who claimed to be able to get him into Pennsylvania. He had been warned that getting into New York after that was going to be next to impossible, but he didn’t care.
He left that night.
~
Eighty-fourth day:
Their apartment was taken over. Hundreds of sick New Yorkers had been moved in, forcing Kurt, Rachel, and Santana out. Thankfully one of the nurses that had been relocated from one of the closed-down hospitals to their loft told them where they could go.
She suggested somewhere big and public where the windows had already been boarded up, to trade their way in. Over the weeks they had taught themselves basic first aid, they had gathered enough information about the Light Sickness to come in handy if anyone got sick, like Rachel temporarily had.
So they moved out with the promise that their apartment would be theirs again once the Darkness was over.
It took two full nights - including an uncomfortable day hidden in the tool shed of a park - but they were finally let in somewhere; the Museum of the City of New York. It had been a long shot, suggested sarcastically by Kurt when they went through the Upper East Side looking for occupied but not-threatening buildings.
Somehow, they managed to talk their way inside where they met a group of about a dozen people, all from various areas of New York. None of them had ever actually visited the museum they were staying in before they had moved in. They bonded over the irony.
Kurt, Rachel and Santana quickly adapted to their new surroundings, glad to have other people to talk to. They spent their days playing board games, and hanging out with the other survivors - as they called themselves, somewhat jokingly - and their nights exploring the museum, finding more livable parts to board over.
But even as life became slightly easier, Kurt still didn’t sleep a full night without a nightmare, he didn’t smile a single time without it vanishing a second later. This wasn’t his home. Even when he was back in their apartment, it still wasn’t home.
His home was with Blaine and he had no idea where Blaine was.
So he started focusing on helping more. They began going out during the day in protective gear and finding those who hadn’t made it back to their living areas and bringing them home where they brought them back to full health.
It took up most of his time, keeping him from thinking about how much nothing felt right.
Soon enough most of the people staying at the museum got in on their mission, helping them turn the foyer into a miniature medical bay.
They were sent out in teams for a few hours before swapping with another group, giving everyone time to recuperate if the sun had been too much.
There were days when no one was found. Those ones were the worst.
~
One hundred and twentieth day:
Blaine started feeling sick halfway across the state of New York. He wondered briefly how long ago the symptoms had started without him noticing. Staying out until the last possible minute before the sun rose stopped being an option.
He was getting closer and closer to Manhattan but his strength was faltering. Getting over the border into New York had been the hard part and yet getting up every evening was starting to feel the same.
He had enough food left, enough water, normally he shouldn’t have been feeling sick no matter how many minutes he spent in the sunlight. Something about it seemed wrong, it shouldn’t have been enough but somehow all the signs were there.
Despite that, he kept going.
He reached Manhattan, somehow managed to get onto the main island through the top.
Halfway through the upper side of the city he collapsed.
~
One hundred and forty-seventh day:
“We found another one!”
The words echoed the time of a silent heartbeat before everyone jumped into action. Like a livewire had gone through them all at once, they were rushing down to the front entrance where light from the outside was shining through for a few dusty, bright and terrifying seconds.
Kurt grabbed the supplies others couldn’t carry and followed after them. He couldn’t see anyone yet, just silhouettes against the glow of a rising day.
Their group was relatively small but when they were all active it became a mess. One they had perfected over the weeks, making them fast and efficient.
By the time Kurt reached the foyer, the doors had already been barricaded shut again and the survivor that had been brought in was covered enough to keep warm but the legs were left bare to check for Light Poisoning.
All Kurt could see as he set up the battery operated heating pads was how weak they were, being held up by two of theirs with difficulty.
He walked around them to place the pads around their waist until they reached the edge of the room.
He froze, machine nearly falling from his grip as he caught a glimpse of unruly black hair beneath a sheet and eyes he knew more than anyone else’s.
“Blaine,” He whispered but in the silent rush it was still heard.
“Your boy?” One of the girls holding Blaine up asked. No one answered her.
Santana who was carrying the hydration supplies behind them stopped dead in her tracks.
Kurt felt like he couldn’t breathe as he rushed forward, gently taking Blaine’s face between his palms to check for sure, to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating out of desperation.
But it was him, his warm eyes, the same fire behind them, even the slightest bit dimmed it was still him; it was still his Blaine.
Kurt watched Blaine’s lips form his name without making a sound and he nodded, distantly realizing he was crying but Blaine was there, in front of him, real beneath his fingers.
Without him noticing Rachel had been called from wherever she was working in the building and she came running down the stairs, she was crying, nearly hysterical and he could hear Santana comfort her despite being close to the same state.
But Kurt kept his calm, he kept his touch steady as he checked over every inch of Blaine’s face, as he felt his heartbeat, hard and quick but healthy, the creases of his tired smile under his fingertips.
He didn’t care that everyone was watching them with curious or confused or relieved eyes, his Blaine was alive, he was here, he had somehow found his way back to him.
“I’m here,” Blaine croaked and Kurt almost broke, forcing his eyes shut for a second to regain the composure he needed to continue. “I’m here, love.”
So he kissed him, eyes still closed he leaned forward and pressed his lips against Blaine’s. Despite the cold weather they were still warm and soft like he remembered.
No one stopped him, no one pulled him away out of caution in case Blaine was sick, no one dared.
When Kurt did lean away all he could do was laugh because Blaine still had the same shell-shocked look of awe on his face that he always had when Kurt kissed him like it was the first time all over again.
“Hummel,” One of the survivors gently reminded. “We need to get him washed up so we can make sure he’s not injured.”
Kurt nodded, smile still present, even as he felt Blaine’s shaky hand wipe away his tears.
The rest of the group had discretely gone away, leaving only four people with them in the entrance hall, including the two holding Blaine up, the one who had spoken and Santana.
Kurt settled himself at Blaine’s side without being asked but he knew they would understand as they adjusted him against Kurt so that he could support his weight on his own.
No one followed them as he half-carried Blaine towards the showers.
Kurt carefully helped Blaine sit down against one of the walls in the big open room so he could go turn on the water and check on the fire that heated the small boiler they had set up. It had already been set to high.
Settling on his knees in front of Blaine, Kurt started helping him out of his clothes in silence. He could feel Blaine watching him, like he knew Kurt didn’t dare speak in case it would shatter the dream he thought he was maybe having.
Blaine’s hands were steadier than his when they grabbed them at the hem of his third shirt layer.
“You’re not dreaming, this is real; I found you.”
Kurt looked up at him, “Stop reading my mind.”
Blaine smiled - grinned, even - at him. “Finally, he speaks.”
“Shut up and get naked,” Kurt mumbled with a smile.
His cheeks felt sore, like not using his muscles to smile for so long had had an effect. He wondered if that was also the reason his heart seemed to ache.
Soon enough every item of clothing had been removed, by then Blaine could almost get up on his own. Kurt led him under the now-warm spray, letting himself be pulled under as well where Blaine wrapped his arms around his shoulders.
He wanted to ask. He wanted to ask how Blaine got out of Ohio, how he crossed the state and how he made it into the city. He wanted to know how long he had been on the road, how long he had been sick and how he kept himself alive.
But instead he let Blaine undress him, let each layer fall off his body onto the wet floor. He held Blaine close when it was done, he buried his face in Blaine’s neck and felt rather than heard the sound of their heartbeats.
“I love you,” He whispered there, hearing it be drowned out by the water.
But Blaine said it back because he had heard, he knew. “I love you, too.”
When they got out, towels and dry clothes were waiting for them near the doorway. It was with giddy smiles and worry-free teasing that they dried each other and got dressed, just like no time had passed, like they hadn’t been separated for so long.
There was no rediscovering, no moments of unknown because it was still them. Their kisses may have been slightly harder, their “I love you’s” more frequent and their touches more incessant but it was still them.
A few days later they got word that electricity was slowly going to start coming back, starting with major cities, including theirs. About a week after that, medicine was sent out across the country to cure Light Poisoning but by then it had stopped affecting people, enough that they were able to go outside during the day without problem.
The promises that the world was getting better, that things would slowly return to normal suddenly meant something, they weren’t just empty assurances from a terrified government anymore.
Before long phones were working again and everyone was allowed to go back home, it took a while for the barriers at the edge of each city to be taken down but finally they were.
Blaine didn’t go back to Ohio. Rachel and Santana didn’t move back into the apartment, deciding it was time to find another home for which Kurt was grateful.
After everything had almost entirely returned to the normal they knew, Kurt and Blaine stayed inside for a week. They knew it should have been the opposite, they should have been outside with everyone else, rejoicing in the streets.
But instead they stayed in, stacked up on food and forewent clothes.
After all, they had twenty-one weeks to catch up on.
