A/N: Wow, it's been awhile – this will be the first thing I've written/posted since being forced into a hiatus by my life. But I was starting to get a little uninspired by "Glee" (I mean, seriously, "Comeback" was terrible) until "Blame It on the Alcohol" aired and then my angst-ridden muse flapped her wings and reappeared to declare: "Bitch, thou shalt write!"
Note: Blaine pissed me off in this episode. I consider this a good thing – he's getting really good character development lately so that he's an actual flawed character which makes him even more appealing. Still, I thought what he said to Kurt was fairly inexcusable and I saw huge potential for Kurt/Blaine angst in "Blame", so I decided to offer this: the Kurt/Blaine-centric redo of "Blame It on the Alcohol", replete with more angst than the original!
Title: The Next Best Thing
Author: The Drowned World
Universe: Glee
Rating: T (for underage drinking, some language, general teen)
Spoilers: Season Two start to present (from Ep. 1 "Auditions" all the way through tonight's episode "Blame It on the Alcohol")
Summary: When Kurt said 'yes' to Rachel's party invitation, he had no idea the consequences he was going to bring down, or how he was going to get back up again after this. Episode 14 Kurt/Blaine-centric rewrite.
Title taken from Madonna's "Time Stood Still" from the soundtrack to "The Next Best Thing"
Glee
The Next Best Thing
Of all the universally accepted truths, Kurt Hummel was fairly certain that his falling in love with Blaine Anderson had been an inevitability. Blaine had entered into Kurt's life like the sun burning through storm clouds, had given him a hand to help himself up and ground to stand on when it felt like his entire world had fallen apart. When Kurt had felt like he'd lost all of his friends, Blaine had shown him differently; when Kurt had felt alone, Blaine had been there for him. Out, proud, and successful, Blaine was like a breathing example of everything Kurt wanted to be.
Of course, it didn't hurt that the boy was unbelievably good-looking and had a voice like an angel, Kurt mused with a slight smile. The smile dimmed around the edges, though, as he looked around. He was really starting to hate this damn coffee shop.
One of the many things transferring to Dalton Academy had required some adjusting to was this coffee place – gone were the morning Starbucks drive-through runs; every student who was anybody (read: a Warbler) got their coffee at the Westerville Coffee Shoppe, a pretentious little place with airs of being a local 'classic' that really just brewed the same swill as any small time coffee chain trying to buck the Star, so to speak. The service was lousy and none of the baristas had bothered trying to learn Kurt's name or his favourite order, so he never scored the occasional discount or customer loyalty coupon. Not to mention the tacky decorating and the too-small tables, the uncomfortable chairs…
Kurt felt like banging his head on the table as he was once again forced to confront the fact that the only reason he kept coming to this damn place was yet again Blaine, and that was the dumbest decision of all. The memory of his humiliating conversation with the other boy after the debacle that was this year's Valentine's Day still rung fresh in Kurt's ears and he took a sip of his coffee to try to quell the burning blush he could feel building in his cheeks. Blaine had made it very clear that he might have some sort of confused feelings about Kurt but that he was perfectly comfortable staying friends and had since taken to pointing out cute guys like he wished Kurt would go flirt with one of them. Things had been awkward between them ever since.
And really, wasn't coffee just that cliché? Even Buffy the Vampire Slayer had commented on it – coffee is black, bitter and hot like a relationship but it was the official non-relationship drink of choice. He and Blaine had done nothing but get coffee together since Kurt had met him. A little hurt and a little angry, Kurt steadfastly threw back the rest of the coffee and made a firm mental note to take Quinn out for a real coffee the next time he was in Lima; Mercedes and he still weren't really recovering from their drifting apart this year and Quinn could use the boost as much as he could.
"Wow – going for the world record there?" Blaine asked cheerfully, showing up at 3:30 like clockwork. He held two cups – one for Kurt, one for himself. Of course he knew Kurt's coffee order. Kurt had to fight the urge to bang his head on the table again so he simply smiled and accepted the drink.
"Just because some of us are caffeine lightweights doesn't mean it's a lethal drug for the rest of us," Kurt joked lightly. He reached into the bag by his feet and purposefully pulled out some of his English revisions – the Dalton homework standards were far more rigorous than McKinley's laughable ones, and he was having to stretch a bit harder to maintain his straight-A average than he'd ever had to before. Also, even pretending to get work done was better than ever getting caught staring dreamily into Blaine's gorgeous chocolate eyes again.
"I'm wounded. Hurt!" Blaine protested, taking a sip of what had to be the weakest mocha Kurt had ever tasted.
"I'm sure," Kurt nodded.
"English again?" Blaine asked, leaning forward. Kurt's breath caught in his throat as Blaine's knees brushed casually against Kurt's own. Gaga, why did Blaine have to be so touchy-feely? To Kurt, after years of being treated like a carrier of the plague at McKinley, to be touched so casually was still almost a privilege; but for it to be Blaine...
The other boy, of course, remained completely oblivious to Kurt's reaction as he gently took the pen from Kurt's hand and corrected a couple of minor syntax errors on Kurt's paper. No wonder Mrs. Bradley was so disappointed in this, Kurt thought. He was lucky that he was being given an opportunity to correct it. A small, rebellious part of him was angry at himself – he had, of course, been thinking about Blaine when he'd half-assed this paper. Jeeze, I haven't let a boy interfere with my schoolwork ever…The last thing Kurt needed was to end up with Santana's grade average.
"You been okay? This seems like stuff you wouldn't miss," Blaine pointed out, all concern and beautiful, doe eyes…Kurt really did bang his head on the table in front of him. Now Blaine was probably staring at him, but it had been worth it, Kurt insisted to himself stubbornly.
"I know. I'm actually a little ashamed of this," he admitted.
"You've been really stressed out lately," Blaine diagnosed. Kurt shot him his best 'duh' face, and Blaine smirked. "What I mean is, you need to relax. How about you take a trip back home to Lima this weekend? You could do some shopping or hang out with your dad; you've been staying at Dalton the last month or so, really."
"You're probably right," Kurt nodded. "I could use with getting away for a day or two."
"It's the schoolwork," Blaine nodded, sitting back confidently. Kurt envied the easy grace the boy seemed to exhibit. Kurt worked hard to look graceful and confident in every situation; Blaine seemed perfectly comfortable everywhere he went and it was a trick Kurt would practically kill to replicate. Even though Blaine had admitted as much that he wasn't quite as confident as he seemed, which to Kurt seemed like nonsense. Blaine was one of the most confident people he knew. Even if he wasn't crushing on Blaine, the other boy would be like a motivational poster for the modern gay teen.
"When I first transferred here, I was completely under water," Blaine continued. Kurt nodded encouragingly, but Blaine just gave a tight smile and took another sip of his drink. "Speaking of being under water, did you hear Jacob's bass attempt at practice yesterday? He needs to get over that cold fast, or we'll have to shuffle some of the other members around; Wes was talking about it at dinner last night."
"I'm sure he was," Kurt muttered. "Nothing," he said when Blaine shot him an odd look. "I was just thinking of seeing if Luke could maybe lower his voice an octave or so. If he could, he could help Jacob through it." As Blaine nodded, Kurt thought back to his first humiliating day with the Warbler Council. It'd made him miss Mr. Schuester more than ever – the sheer pretentiousness of the seemingly power-mad council members had Kurt itching to breed Pavarotti with other impure strands and unleash them upon the Warbler room, cackling madly like the gargoyle from The Hunchback of Notre Dame screaming 'Fly, my pretties, fly, fly!'
Blaine had turned the conversation back to Regionals, and Kurt listened with half an ear. To be honest, he wasn't too concerned about Regionals – he was sure that the Warblers were good enough to be strong competitors, and Aural Intensity had absolutely no hope without ingratiating themselves to celebrity judges like they'd done last year. As long as New Directions placed at Regionals, they'd be free to go on for another year, and Kurt wouldn't feel guilty on the way to Nationals. But there wasn't any excitement thinking about it – sure, he wanted to go to New York City and see the sights, but there was no way he was getting a solo for Regionals, much less Nationals, and the Warbler's version of interesting dancing was an a cappella shuffle that kept everyone in sync save for one or two stronger dancers who got to show off mid-number. There wasn't anything to spark the fire of Kurt's creative interest – not anything like the "Defying Gravity" diva-off or duets competitions or…well, individuality at all.
He nodded along in a non-committal sort of way with one of Blaine's segues into wishing the Warblers could do more Broadway. Of course Kurt agreed with him – he'd auditioned with "Don't Cry for Me Argentina" for a reason, after all (and he'd killed it, thank you very much). But there was no way the Warblers would ever cover anything like that, and there was also no way – especially after the Gap fiasco – that Blaine would ever defy the council enough to suggest it, anyway. Kurt winced when the door opened and Wes walked in.
Wesley Kim seemed to absolutely dislike him, and Kurt could not for the life of him understand why. But the thing that Kurt absolutely hated about Wes was what his presence did to Blaine – how Blaine seemed to grow more dapper, more suave, around Wes or the other Warblers. No more gushing about Vogue, or arguing if Madonna had made a good Evita (and screw Blaine on that one, Kurt thought sourly, she was absolutely magnificent in that film), or anything remotely interesting. Now it was back to sombre smiles and self-effacing charm. Kurt drained the rest of his coffee and nodded at Wes as he approached.
"Afternoon, gentlemen," Wes said in his particularly pompous sort of way. "Discussing anything important?"
"Kurt had a great idea that we should get Luke to practice some lower parts, to help Jacob out if he doesn't get better soon," Blaine explained, taking a polite sip of his drink. Wes nodded, considering.
"That's not a bad idea, Mr. Hummel," he said with a polite nod in Kurt's direction. "Blaine, what did you think of the calculus test today?" Firmly excluded from the eleventh-grade conversation, Kurt kept his polite, frosty smile in place and checked his text messages. He frowned as he went through the description of what was sure to be an absolute train wreck. There's no way that any sane member of the team actually agreed to show up to this, he thought, but, sure enough, Mercedes, Quinn, Finn, and Rachel herself had all extended invitations (there may have been one from Sam but his texts were so garbled that Kurt had politely never asked him to stop sending him messages once Sam's dyslexia made it clear that texting the boy would be close to impossible).
Hearing laughter, Kurt glanced up and met Blaine's pained glance as he forced a laugh at Wes' math joke. Kurt resolutely refused to contemplate the fact that he recognised the difference between Blaine's real and his fake laughs. He glanced down at his texts and felt the spark of an idea glowing to life in his mind. Really, what did he have to lose? He wasn't sure how long he could stand being in this standstill; it was killing him. This would be perfect, he was sure of it. He fired off a quick text to Rachel and waited until she responded before he glanced back up at Blaine, tapping his foot impatiently until Wes finally nodded politely at both of them and headed off to wherever it was that that bat went to roost.
"Sorry about that," Blaine said.
"Oh, nonsense," Kurt returned, waving his hand airily. "So, listen, I have this absolutely crazy idea I wanted to run by you." Blaine smiled that special smile he only seemed to smile around Kurt, the one that made Kurt's heart flutter madly in his chest as Blaine's eyes lit up. Resolutely ploughing on, Kurt continued, "Do you remember my horrid friend Rachel from New Directions?"
"Well, I certainly remember the stories," Blaine agreed.
"Yes, well. In an effort to apparently seize on the fact that she is in fact a teenager – despite the fact that she dresses like some bizarre, horrific cross between a vomiting toddler and a grandmother in desperate need of Depends – and is hosting a party at her house while her dads are away. It's a New Directions thing, technically, but that's because they're the only people who will put up with her long enough that she can count them as friends. I've been invited, and, if you're interested, she said that there's plenty of room for you as well…provided you don't ply her with alcohol and attempt to steal New Directions' secrets. Not that there are any." Kurt took a deep breath and played with the fringe of his Givenchy scarf under the table.
"I don't know…I don't really drink well," Blaine said after a moment.
"Well, I don't drink at all, so if you're worried about needing to be looked after I can most definitely assure you that I'll be completely sober the entire night," Kurt assured him. Gaga yes sobriety, Kurt thought fervently as a vivid memory of the Bambi Incident, as he had come to call it, sprang to the forefront of his mind.
"Well, then…sure, yeah! It'll be a blast!" Blaine nodded decisively. He clasped Kurt's hand across the table warmly. "What time?"
"It starts at Rachel's house at ten on Friday night," Kurt said, trying desperately to not let his hand tremble. "So if we meet up for a quick dinner in the commons at about seven that'll give us plenty of time to get there at a fashionable time."
"I will, of course, trust fashionableness to you," Blaine joked.
"I'd hope!" Kurt laughed. For just a moment, as bitter as it was sweet, Kurt could almost taste the fantasy that they were really boyfriends. Then Blaine drew his hand back, nodded decisively, and finished his drink.
"Very cool. I've got to go meet up with some guys to study, so – see you Friday?"
"Friday," Kurt confirmed. After Blaine left, Kurt took a moment to contemplate the fact that this was either going to go very, very well or it was going to blow up in his face worse than Tiger Woods' decision to cheat on his wife. Pushing the thought away, Kurt shoved his English paper back into his bag and hurried off to plan his outfit.
888
By the time Friday rolled around, Kurt was a nervous wreck. Blaine liked him – he'd all but said it, hadn't he? But what if Blaine didn't like his outfit? What if the party was a disaster and Blaine decided that they shouldn't even be friends, much less maybe-sort-of-something-more? What if this strange limbo they'd stuck themselves in never sorted itself out? Kurt hadn't been able to focus on his classes at all, much more worried about the party. There was, of course, the chance that it was going to be completely lame anyway – during his stint as a Cheerio Kurt had managed to wrangle some invites to some real parties and he was certain that Rachel Berry's was going to disappoint.
(Mercedes was certain that if Rachel's party was a success the apocalypse was imminent; Kurt had texted back his sacred agreement.)
And besides, Mercedes really was the only member of New Directions who had actually met Blaine, and that night would forever stick out in Kurt's mind as being the final sign that his and his once absolute bestie's relationship really was smashing into that proverbial iceberg. What if tonight was just like that? What if Finn's latent homophobia reared its ugly head again? Since the wedding things between the two of them had reached fairly friendly heights, but still…and of course there was always Puck and Santana, who could be counted on for classless jokes…Kurt moaned and resisted dramatically throwing his hands in the air; it'd wrinkle his shirt and he'd pressed it for tonight.
Thankfully that routine bit of snooping in Finn's web browser for his not-so-hidden porn was keeping Finn sober tonight so Kurt could count on someone else to not be drunk. This was going to be a disaster – why the hell had suggesting this seemed like such a brilliant idea?
The knock on the door caught Kurt off-guard and he hissed in surprise as he realised that he'd been freaking out so long that it was time for dinner with Blaine. He viciously bit down on the giddiness inside him at the thought. Tonight might work out well for him in the endgame, but he and Blaine were not going out on a date tonight and he needed to get himself together. He planted himself in front of the mirror, carefully adjusted his hair, and grabbed his Prada shoulder bag before he opened the door.
"Very nice," Blaine complimented him. Kurt smiled and returned the compliment – which was warranted. Blaine hadn't really dressed up, but it was so unusual to see him out of uniform that he just looked…nice. Casual chic. Kurt fell into step beside him as they walked down Dalton's emptying halls, revelling in the way that Blaine's voice went unguarded as they discussed Burlesque's impending DVD release date, celebrity gossip, and whether or not the Spider-Man musical would be worth seeing if the Warblers made it to New York for Nationals.
By the time they'd eaten dinner Kurt's anxiety levels were almost non-existent. Being with Blaine was so easy, and fun, that the time always seemed to sort of fly by like they were living in a musical and the conversation flowed as easily as one song to the next. Kurt was driving the two of them so they headed off to his car, joking and occasionally brushing hands. Kurt couldn't be imagining the heat between the two of them – there was no way this was all in his head like with Finn. Finn had been straight, but Blaine was definitely gay. The flirty duets, the hand-holding and ease of conversation, the looks and the talks…
He'd been stupid for doubting, Kurt figured as he flipped his iPod to random and grinned in something like nostalgic embarrassment as the Promises, Promises revival soundtrack started playing and "One Less Bell to Answer / A House Is Not a Home" came on. This was nothing like Finn, and tonight was going to prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt.
888
In his defence, Kurt really had tried to warn Blaine about the appalling décor of the Berry household. It was almost comical to watch Blaine's inner-gentleman duke it out with his inner-gay man across his face before his lips settled into a nice smile as he thanked Rachel for inviting him. Kurt took a moment to 'forget' something in his car and smacked himself in the forehead repeatedly for a moment or two, trying to beat out the lovely image of stripping Rachel nude, shoving her into a closet and burning all of her clothes in a bonfire after dipping them one by one in acid wash. Once the clothing-homicide urge passed, he pasted on a big, bright smile and followed them down into the basement, rolling his eyes fondly as Blaine doofily reassured Rachel that he wasn't there to spy.
"Oof!" Kurt moaned as Mercedes, Quinn, Tina and Brittany all tried to hug him at once. He nodded in a friendly way at Lauren Zizes, before fist-bumping Artie and Sam and nodding at Puck. Blaine didn't seem too lost on his own, introducing himself in his crowd-pleasing way to each member, and Kurt lost himself for a moment in a sea of memories, pulled along by his friends as they babbled in his ears. Quinn had a hold of his hand and she looked like she was trying to paste on a smile as Santana hauled Sam into a rather nasty-looking kiss on the sofa. Kurt squeezed back and they shared a small look before Mercedes hissed in something like horror.
Rachel was saying something about drinking tickets (honestly) while standing proudly before…wine coolers. Wine. Coolers. Kurt almost felt sorry for her, really he did, but he was too busy fighting down the urge to start twitching in a maniacal way toward the monstrosity she was wearing. What blind deaf retard designed that garbage?
It was to the general relief of everyone in the room as Puck and Finn joined forces to break into the Berrys' liquor cabinet upstairs, and Kurt joined Blaine on the sofa as the boys headed upstairs for the raid. "So, getting introduced?" he asked.
"Yeah – I always forget how tall Finn is," Blaine confided. "It's totally different in pictures and then in person."
"There's a reason Coach Sylvester dubbed him 'Frankenteen'," Kurt agreed wryly.
"I want to meet this woman," Blaine mused with a grin.
"Not unless you enjoy jokes at your own expense. Or, you know, general agony," Kurt joked back.
"You're not kidding," Quinn joined in. Kurt tactfully refused to think about the fact that the sofa he and Blaine were occupying was pointed away from the Santana show. "I'm Quinn, by the way – you must be Blaine; Kurt's told us all a lot about how you helped him through…the bad stuff, this year." She didn't really meet Kurt's eyes, and he tried to not think badly of her for it. Really, even if any of them had been really aware of how bad it'd gotten for him, what could they have done? McKinley was insane, and Karofsky certainly wasn't the only bully Kurt had run away from.
"Oh, he likes to talk his friends up," Blaine said, blushing. "I've heard a bit about you as well. Kurt wasn't lying when he said you were pretty."
"Thank you," Quinn said, charmed, and Kurt grinned as they fell into chatting before the basement was interrupted by the sounds of whooping and yelling as Puck led the alcohol boat into the room. Kurt watched, mesmerised, as Blaine threw back his first shot of the night, the smooth column of his throat working wonders to slide it back, and New Directions cheered as they followed suit.
888
The party was insane, and Kurt was not going to be the first to admit to Rachel out loud that he was kind of enjoying himself. Actual good music was blasting over the sound system – the kind of music you could party to. Santana was leading the charge in body shots and it had been kind of hot to watch Blaine take one off of Sam's killer abs (it still shocked Kurt sometimes how completely not homophobic Sam was). Brittany and Artie had formed their own party while Tina and Mike sucked face. Lauren was yelling at Puck, and it was completely amusing to watch el Puckerone getting turned on by a woman who could use him as a basketball verbally abusing him.
Blaine, however, was absolutely hilarious to watch. Blaine was a happy drunk – the kind of drunk where everything and everyone is your best friend. He'd shed his vest and was bopping around like a tool on the dance floor, fist pumping with Puck and slinging his arm around Finn to yell in his ear about how tall he was, before heading back to dance with Tina and Mercedes (who were cackling so hard Kurt had the sneaking suspicion that Puck had packed more of his pot brownies in with the booze he'd brought). Kurt had been swept up into more than one hug, and it was kind of gross but wildly exhilarating how sweaty Blaine had been, and how it had made that distinctive smell of Blaine that much more strong in Kurt's nostrils.
He was back with the people who had made more than five years of hell on earth seem a little more bearable, if only for awhile, and it was almost shameful how seeing them together made him acutely aware of the fact that he didn't miss any of the Warblers at all. He danced as flamboyantly as he wanted down here with Tina and Brittany and nobody looked twice or gestured for him to 'tone it down' or 'blend with the others'. Kurt had gotten Quinn smiling, at least a little, and as they danced Blaine crowded in with them, grinning like a lunatic, his chocolate eyes shining like the brightest of stars.
It was a magical night.
8
In hindsight, it should have been much easier to predict that this night would blow up so spectacularly in his face. After all, what plan of Kurt's didn't? Sinking down on the porch, Kurt rested his head against the cold wood and slowly breathed, letting the tears flow out here where no one but the rose bushes could see him. Kurt had always loved roses – his mother had tended to them, of course, but they also made him think of The Phantom of the Opera. It was the first and the last musical his mother had managed to take him to see when a touring company had performed it in Columbus. Kurt realised much later that she'd splurged on the trip and the play when Kurt had expressed interest very soon after she was first diagnosed with cancer, but at the time none of that had mattered. Kurt had fallen a little in love with the young man playing Raoul, and he'd first inadvertently come out to his mother by telling her he'd wanted to be Christine during "All I Ask of You" with the blonde boy.
She hadn't been surprised, of course. She'd given him their commemorative rose, the program, and a cheap Phantom mask replica, all of which he still had in a protective case in the bottom of his hope chest. Kurt breathed in the scent of roses, the scent of his mother, and wished more than anything for her arms around him.
As if called by magic, Quinn's arm slid around his back as she settled in next to him on the porch. "Are you okay?"
"Not really, no," Kurt said after a minute.
"Me neither," she said. She set a bottle of Southern Comfort down next to her, but Kurt could tell she hadn't had too much to drink. Quinn didn't drink a lot after what had happened with Puck. Kurt closed his eyes and wished desperately that he could unsee the images behind them. Rachel suggesting that idiotic game of Spin the Bottle. Her spin landing on Blaine, of course. Rachel somehow always managed to steal everything from him, didn't she? She wasn't happy just taking Elphaba from him – she had to have Fiyero as well. He shouldn't have been surprised. That kiss had been everything that Kurt had wanted his first kiss with Blaine to be – long, passionate…fireworks. He could see it in both of their eyes as he'd looked on, stunned, hurt, alone. Forgotten, just like always.
Sitting to the side like a tossed-aside rag doll, he'd managed to make it through half of their wonderfully well-done duet of "Don't You Want Me?" before the bitter irony had been too much for him and he'd escaped, unnoticed. Of course Blaine could knock a duet out of the park with Rachel – never mind their "Baby, It's Cold Outside" intermission. That was out of sight of others and thus out of mind. Kurt reached next to Quinn and took the bottle of Southern Comfort, taking one small sip – not enough to really affect him, but enough that he could taste the sour burn of the whiskey. He wanted it to hurt, as much as the hole in his chest where his heart used to be was busy living.
"I really, really hate myself right now," Quinn commented. "I have absolutely no one but myself to blame for losing Sam."
"Oh, please," Kurt snapped. "Don't let Finn get off, okay? You told me that whole story and there's no way I'm letting you sit out here punishing yourself when he spent half a week trying to convince you to do it with him even while he was still on his soap box about Rachel and Puck. He just led you on, and then he ditched you when he realised that what he really wanted was Rachel, everyone's darling," Kurt said bitterly, dragging his fingers along the edge of the porch.
"Are we talking about Finn or Blaine?" Quinn asked archly.
"Men are assholes. Including me." Kurt thought about this in the moonlight. "Especially me. Well, bitch more than an asshole. But it still stands."
"We all really have missed you," Quinn said, threading their fingers together. They leaned on each other for comfort, for warmth, for forgetfulness as they stared out over blood-red roses with thorns as sharp as jagged edges of mirrors broken over and over again.
"You know, Gaga, trust is like a mirror," Kurt quoted quietly. Quinn laughed humourlessly and continued it.
"You can fix it if it's broke…" she took a swig of the bottle and passed it to Kurt, who took one more tiny sip before setting it down firmly.
"…but you can still see the cracks in that motherfucker's reflection," he finished bitterly, before he stood up to go see if Blaine had managed to finish drinking himself into a stupor. Quinn didn't try to stop him; he watched as she stood up and walked further into the garden, taking the bottle with her.
888
Finn and Kurt headed home together – well, Finn rounded up the other members and dropped them off at home while Kurt guided a cheerily gushing Blaine into the backseat of his car with dire threats about vomiting on his baby, but his heart wasn't really in it. At the most, he felt…blank. The anger had passed, and the tears had dried on his face. He was kind of used to this feeling – it had come quite a bit when the bullying had gotten bad and he'd had to accept that it wasn't a Friday yet and he had to go through one more day of it before the weekend inched closer.
He really had never, ever thought that he'd associate that numb feeling with Blaine, who was lightly snoring in his backseat. A week ago, Kurt would have thought that the sight would be adorable.
It was well past two in the morning by the time they made it to the Hummel-Hudson residence, a nice new two-story with an attic bedroom that they'd invested in after Christmas. Kurt still sometimes mourned the loss of his massive private basement space, but he really did love the cosy little room at the very top of the stairs that he'd claimed for his own. Getting Blaine up there was a bit of a pain in the ass, but once he'd flopped the other boy down on his bed, Blaine was out for the night and there was really nothing left to do but drape a blanket over him and figure out where he was going to sleep.
A small, sick, pathetic part of him wanted to snuggle in next to Blaine and drape Blaine's arm over him in some parody of togetherness, and the thought made bitter tears rise in Kurt's eyes as he carefully left the room and shut the door behind him.
He could sleep on the couch.
888
Kurt's cell phone alarm woke him up as it did daily to start his bathroom routine. He half-heartedly slogged up the stairs, thanking the ghosts of Marilyn Monroe and Judy Garland that he'd avoided alcohol almost completely and only had a little cotton mouth. He couldn't picture adding a hangover on top of how completely miserable he felt. This feeling was why he'd made a solemn vow after the Finn Fiasco to never, ever get his hopes up that a guy would like him back until he'd gotten out of Ohio – heartbreak. Despair. Shame. Self-pity, self-loathing…
Kurt viciously avoided looking at the tangled lump under the blankets that was Blaine and instead began doing the abbreviated version of his moisturising and revitalising routine, letting the simple familiarity of the rinses and creams and washes distract him from thinking. This was automatic, this was easy. He plugged his headphones in and turned the volume down low enough that he'd hear it if Blaine stirred or if anyone else woke up and clicked through to Lady Gaga, pressing Randomise. As soon as the piano ballad started up, he knew he'd made the biggest mistake of the morning, but he really couldn't stop at this point. He sat back and stared at his pale, scared face in the mirror, covered in creams, and wondered what he was looking at.
In your brown eyes, I walked away If everything was everything but everything is over
In your brown eyes, I couldn't stay
In your brown eyes, you'll watch her go
Then turn the record on and wonder what went wrong
What went wrong
Everything could be everything if only we were older
I guess it's just a silly song about you
And how I lost you—and your brown eyes
Kurt miserably washed his creams away, not bothering to finish. Who was he even trying for, anyway? He felt the tears welling up in his eyes and he reached for a tissue to wipe them away automatically. His eyes itched with too many tears and his heart ached from one too many bruises. Kurt closed his eyes and dreamed himself away, to a stage in New York, dressed to the nines, an adoring audience, a loving boyfriend, more money to his name than someone like David Karofsky could even dream of possessing, crooning into the microphone over the baby grand, thinking of this morning.
It didn't make the reality hurt any less when he opened his eyes.
In your brown eyes, I was feeling low Where everything was everything but everything is over Everything was everything but baby, it's the last show
'Cause they're brown eyes, and you never know
Got some brown eyes, but I saw her face
I knew that it was wrong
So baby, turn the record on, play that song
Everything could be everything if only we were older
I guess it's just a silly song about you
And how I lost you and your brown eyes, brown eyes
Everything could be everything but it's time to say goodbye, so
Get your last fix and your last hit
Grab your old girl with her new tricks
Honey, yeah, it's no surprise that I got lost in your brown eyes
When Kurt opened his eyes, his frosty, Ice Queen expression had settled back onto his face, and his muscles nearly ached to wear it – it was a look he hadn't had to sport for some time now, and it wasn't going to be easy putting all of his shields back up where they belonged. But this would be a lesson to him to never, ever let them down again, especially not around people like Blaine who had the power to hurt him so much with one word, with one kiss. The only way he was going to make it through today was to be as fake as Barbie and Ken combined. Hearing his father coming up the stairs saying something about eggs that Kurt was going to have to translate later, he called down a greeting and spent another minute running through his stage smiles, until he was fairly satisfied that he was going to be able to hold it all together.
He grabbed a little bit of anti-acne cream and started rubbing it in as his dad cheerfully reminded him about their brunch-bonding date, and Kurt cursed softly to himself. He'd completely forgotten, of course, and it had been the one thing he'd actually been looking forward to this week before that damn it to hell party invitation. He leaned around the partition separating his bathroom and said "I'll be down in just a minute." His father shot a very confused look to the bed, and Kurt watched in something like horror as a ridiculously unfairly cutely rumpled Blaine emerged from Kurt's bed like some kind of bedding zombie to blink curiously, mutter "Where am I?" and then flop back down, whimpering in agony. The small, vicious part of Kurt's inner diva was cackling at Blaine's suffering. Kurt chose to ignore this part of himself rather than chastise it.
Catching the wide-eyed look of confusion on his dad's face, Kurt shrugged and went back to what he was doing. It wasn't like anything had happened, he thought, bitter, and scrubbed his face clean hard enough to exfoliate.
888
It took a good two hours to get Blaine up and over his hangover enough to get driven back up to Westerville. Kurt took a rain check on his dad to do brunch once he got back, and he guessed the guilt on his face for skipping out must have shown because Burt agreed without much fuss. Blaine looked like he felt much more at ease back in his Dalton uniform. Kurt wondered with just a touch of bitter anger if it felt like a shield – the uniform went back on and suddenly the night before was a big joke and Kurt shouldn't take it so seriously. Kurt tightened his hands on the wheel and fought back the urge to go through with New Directions' Ke$ha plan and absolutely blast that god-awful excuse for a song "We R Who We R" right into Blaine's eardrums, but the more logical part of him said that that form of revenge, while providing short-term satisfaction, would only give him a migraine later. There was a reason he'd been thankful when Mercedes had expressed regrets he couldn't be part of "Tik Tok" with them, because, seriously, Ke$ha?
They made it to the coffee shop in record time, and by the time Blaine had gone ahead and ordered both of their drinks Kurt had fixed his light, carefree stage-face back on. He could do this – he could laugh and joke about this and then be alone in his room later. He'd be fine. "I'm surprised your bladder can hold this coffee after last night," he joked lightly, keeping the conversation going. Blaine, of course, didn't seem to notice that a thing was wrong with Kurt and he shot Kurt a fondly exasperated grin.
"I didn't drink that much," he offered in terms of token protest.
"Are you kidding me? You spent half the night sucking face with Rachel Berry – that, sir, was hitting rock bottom," Kurt bit out, smiling sweetly. Blaine gave him an odd look, but before either of them could comment Blaine's phone went off.
"Speak of the devil," Blaine said, smiling brightly as he connected. "Rachel, hi!" Kurt stared at him in disbelief. This could not be happening. He'd only managed to find that .mp3 leak of "Born This Way" a day and a half early and he'd paid for the iTunes download to support Lady Gaga the minute it officially dropped; he hadn't done a thing to deserve this! He listened in mute horror as Blaine chuckled, and he heard an obnoxiously loud whining sound from the phone. Is she drunk? he mouthed at Blaine. Blaine waved him off a tad condescendingly, and Kurt subsided, taking his seat.
"Okay. Yeah. Definitely! Okay. Bye!" Blaine signed off cheerily. He turned to Kurt with a massive grin, showing off his gorgeous mouth. Kurt wanted to slap himself in the face. He settled for asking what was up. "You're never going to believe this – Rachel just asked me out," Blaine sang out cheerily.
Kurt laughed. He couldn't help himself – on the one hand, it was too cliché to fit into this horrific day, anyway, but also…really, Rachel? She had two gay dads, Kurt thought angrily, you'd think she'd at least have heard of the concept of a line-crossing fag-hag syndrome. "Oh my god, that's terrible," he said, fixing his smile on a little brighter. "She has a girl-crush on you!" Blaine grinned as he got up to grab some fixings for his coffee. Kurt checked to make sure the coffee was cool enough to drink (they never got it hot enough here). He was just thinking of joining Blaine at the fixings table to grab some milk when the full impact of what he'd just heard hit him like a freight train.
"Wait…Why did you say yes?" he asked slowly, his heart pounding. "You can't lead her on like that." Not after Jesse – and not after what he went through with Finn. He wouldn't wish the shattering of that lovely little illusion on anyone, not even Rachel Berry. Well. Unless it granted him full access to her closet and her house to completely make both of them over and burn the leftovers and then salt the ashes and bury them underneath a Catholic church just for good measure. He'd have to be forgiven for those circumstances.
"Who says I'm leading her on?" Blaine asked, sounding affronted, and Kurt froze. There was no way he'd just heard that. This was not happening.
"You can't be serious," he said finally, carefully.
Blaine shrugged, easily dumping sugar in his coffee. "When we kissed, it felt good," he said as casually as if he wasn't taking a sledgehammer to the carefully maintained glass menagerie in Kurt's mind, and god, Kurt hated Tennyson.
"It felt good because you were drunk," Kurt said, trying for calm as his palms shook and sweated on his coffee cup.
"What's the harm in going out on one crummy little date?" Blaine asked, as if he genuinely couldn't understand Kurt's feelings on this. Kurt was frozen. Kurt didn't get to go on dates; Blaine wasn't going to be able to treat this so casually.
"You're gay, Blaine," he spit out incredulously. His coffee was going colder in his hand.
"Well, I thought I was," Blaine said, and Kurt felt like what was left of his mangled heart that morning just got dunked in the acid of Pandora's tears. Please, if there is a god, make this nightmare stop right now. "I mean, I've never even had a boyfriend before. Isn't this the time when we're supposed to be figuring stuff out right now?"
"I'm not hearing this right now," Kurt whispered, like that would somehow make this go away. Blaine ploughed on, oblivious.
"Maybe I'm bi, I don't know—"
"Bisexual is just a term that gay guys use in high school when they want to hold hands with girls and act 'normal' for a change," Kurt spat out viciously, his self-control completely slipping.
"Hold on – wait," Blaine said, frowning. "Why are you so angry?"
"Because I look up to you!" Kurt ejaculated, his fists clenching. "Because I admire how proud you are of who you are! I know exactly what it's like to be in the closet, and here you are about to tiptoe back in—"
"I'm really sorry," Blaine interrupted, his face going tighter than Kurt had ever seen it, and Kurt's heart clenched in something like fear, "if this hurts your feelings, or your pride or whatever." And there it was – how casually he could toss out Kurt confessing his feelings, or how proud Kurt was to be out, how he'd held on to that one piece of himself he'd never let the jocks get to. Like Blaine didn't care. "But however confusing this is for you, it's a lot more confusing for me. You're 100% certain of who you are – well, fantastic. Maybe not all of us can be so lucky."
He sounded so…venomous, so casually cruel and callous. Kurt was reeling on the inside, his face a careful, calm mask. If Blaine was really looking, really seeing, he would see that Kurt was hiding from him. Because right now, Kurt was a million miles away, to his safe haven, his basement, the one room where he could get away from the jocks at school and their constant abuse and Finn Hudson standing in the middle of it all telling him that he was a faggot who needed to tone it down. Illusions were so beautiful. It was the shattering of them that could break you into a million pieces. Kurt had learnt that lesson a long time ago. He wondered why he'd ever been stupid enough to forget it.
"Yeah, I've had a lot of luck, Blaine, you know, being chased out of a high school by a bully who threatened to kill me," Kurt said softly.
"And why did he do that?" Blaine asked unexpectedly, and Kurt froze.
"Because he didn't like who I was," Kurt said carefully, wondering if that was the answer that Blaine was going for. Apparently it was.
"Sort of like exactly what you're saying to me right now," Blaine said. Kurt shattered. Hands on him, big hands, too big, too much, locker cold metal hard against his back over and over and over, bruises too big to hide too much to handle, hurts to walk, hurts to sit, eyes following him everywhere, hate him hate him hate him, slushies to the face, ruined clothes, hands, hands on him, big hands, too big, lips, mouth, raping taking invading too much—He jerked away from that locker room with a shuddering gasp that Blaine didn't even seem to notice. "I am…searching, okay?" Blaine asked defensively, bringing Kurt back down to earth with a horrible thud. "I'm honestly just trying to figure out who I am," he continued lecturing Kurt as one would a misbehaving child. "And for you of all people to get down on me for that?" He eyed Kurt as if Kurt were in the wrong for the entire conversation, everything. "I didn't think that was who you were."
The look in his eyes was like a parent on a child, and Kurt felt dirty. He almost felt like it was his fault, the same way…the same way he'd felt when Karofsky had touched him after taking that cake topper…
And just like that, the ice was gone. It was fire, it was rage. How dare Blaine say those things to him – to say after one drunken kiss that he was all of a sudden bisexual and for Kurt to even question that put him on the same playing field as Karofsky? Suddenly, it was all made abundantly clear – Kurt's Blaine was just the same as Finn's Blaine: an illusion, pretty to look at, cold to the touch, and sharp as knives when it broke. Kurt thought of breaking down in the basement, alone, cold, faggy fag faggot ringing in his ears like poison and he would not be the victim or the bully or the bad guy here and FUCK Blaine.
"I'd say 'bye' but I wouldn't want to offend you," Blaine sneered as he stood to leave, and that was all it took.
"I wouldn't bother," Kurt said icily, and Blaine turned to him just in time for Kurt to finish unscrewing his lid so he could throw every single ounce of the coffee Blaine had bought him right in Blaine's face, all over his hair, in his stupid brown eyes, his ridiculous mouth, and that absolute eyesore of a Dalton uniform.
The entire café had gone deathly silent as every single human being in the store turned to stare at them. Kurt felt like he should be heaving; he was as tired suddenly as if he'd run a mile, but also kind of on a high. But he stood as calm and cold as a statue, because that was all the emotion this bastard deserved from him. Blaine was standing in absolute shock, his eyes wider than Kurt had ever seen him, his hair breaking free of the gel to spring into those ridiculous curls, and Kurt showed him the power of a true sneer, raking in everything from his feet to his face. "If you ever talk to me again after what you just said to me, I swear to Gaga I will quit the Warblers just to get away from you," he said coldly, before reaching in his pocket and pulling out a five to toss down on the table like an elegant slap to the face. "For the coffee."
He turned on his fabulous heel and left the store without a backward glance.
888
He sobbed all the way home, his resolve lasting as long as his feet were on the ground. As soon as he'd hit the car, it had been all he could do to actually start the damn thing and pull out of the parking lot. One last glance through the windows and he could see that Blaine was still standing there, staring at the space where he'd been in shock, coffee dripping all over him, ruining his clothes and forming a puddle on the floor. Kurt had made it to the entrance ramp to the highway before the first tear fell, and then that was it.
Despair, regret, and tenderness You read my mind, you made me cry
Is what I feel for you
I loved you from the very start
What else could I do?
Time stood still
And now I know the reasons why
Time stood still
Kurt was smart, was the thing. Not just book smart – but Madonna knew that there was that, too. But no. With the minor exception of his idiocy in regards to his approach to Finn (and he still couldn't entirely regret finding Carole for his father), Kurt had always had logic on his side. He knew intellectually that wearing his clothes would get him bullied, but they were what made him him, and he knew that the more outrageous outfits usually got him left alone because it made bullies uncomfortable. He knew that he couldn't out Karofsky because it could make Karofsky a suicide risk. He knew not to apply to California schools no matter how much he wanted to see San Francisco because their economy was too rocky to provide stability. He could take apart a car engine in minutes and reassemble it and he could also tell you every single piece of Alexander McQueen's final collection from start to finish.
But – and Kurt had always loved his father, so very much – ever since his mother had died he'd been so alone. A merman in a sea full of dull fish, Kurt had never fit in, never made friends, at least not until glee. He had his crush on Finn Hudson because Finn was unattainable and always would have been, until he'd joined glee and Kurt had taken leave of his senses. Kurt was guilty, always guilty, of seeing the absolute best in those he loved until they hurt him. Finn was a self-obsessed jerk who was petrified of not being popular and wasn't a small bit homophobic, though that was improving. Sam was just as obsessed with popularity and had not a small case of body dimorphic disorder. Mercedes substituted food for love and didn't like to focus on other peoples' problems when they interrupted her own. And Blaine was a scared little boy hiding behind a cardboard, Gene Kelly/Fred Astaire dapper Hollywood gentleman cut-out of a real man.
Maybe you're the next best thing to happen Our flame becomes a fading light You made me laugh, you gave me hope
All the things we might have been
That burns inside my heart
And like a castle in the sand
It had to fall apart
It's over now
Our happiness went up in smoke
It's over now
Kurt was absolutely finished with illusions. He was finished with being miserable and alone. He was strong. He was smart. He could dance expertly in three styles and competently in an additional four. He had a voice to die for, fashion sense to kill, good acting skills, ambition, and a practically guaranteed acceptance letter from either Julliard or the Tisch School of the Arts. He would achieve his dreams of Broadway, and if he had to do it alone, who cared? Letting people in only got you hurt. And Mercedes was absolutely right, that night in Rachel's wretched bedroom. He was better off alone, anyway.
He was still crying when he walked upstairs.
Maybe you're the next best thing to happen
All the things we might have been
888
The next day Kurt had washed his face and tried to paste his stage-face back on, but it just wasn't working, and by the time his father called him out on being a bitch Kurt couldn't even deny it. The ensuing conversation, complete with horrific Brokeback Mountain sex scene references, was one Kurt was hoping to repress to the day he died. The quiche they made was damn good, which was why he'd wrapped it in Tupperware and was carrying it with him when he knocked on the door of the fancy studio apartments in the town centre. Quinn opened the door looking surprised.
"Kurt, hi!" she said. "What's that?"
"Quiche," he said proudly. "And it's good, too."
"You're so modest I could die," Quinn said dryly.
"Are you free, at all?" he asked hopefully. She smiled at him, took the quiche, and hurried into the kitchen to shove it in the fridge.
"Mom, I'll be back in a minute," she called, and grabbed a coat to join him outside. She didn't ask and he didn't say a word; they just walked. By mutual unspoken agreement they headed to the park. It was still far too cold for anyone but walkers to be out, and they were the only two. She smiled. "I love it when it's empty here. It's so much easier to think."
"I know. They don't have enough parks around here."
"So…" She nudged him slightly. "I'm just going to come out and say that Rachel's been gushing to anyone who'll listen – including Finn, who is very confused at this point – that her date with Blaine went so well I'm surprised she hasn't puked out a gay baby." Kurt laughed hollowly, and she sighed. "No offence, Kurt, but he really seemed kind of…gayer than a box of birds at the party, so, what the hell?"
"Do you want the whole story or just the dramatics?" Kurt asked dryly.
Quinn arched an eyebrow at him in a move eerily reminiscent of Sue Sylvester and they both chuckled a little. Kurt sighed and launched into the story of the coffee confrontation (he really needed to stop his inner alliteration machine), including every single important detail. Quinn nodded and never interrupted. By the end of it, Kurt almost felt better – like getting it out of him had helped slightly.
"Well…from a friend's perspective, throwing hot coffee on him—" Kurt shot her an indignant look, and she sighed irritably as she amended, "—okay, lukewarm coffee on him in public probably didn't help your argument. As one of your best friends? Right on, he deserved every last drop and I hope he got some café au lait right in the eye." Kurt burst out laughing and she joined him, her voice chiming like bells. "I know that you're probably never going to tell any of us the whole story with Karofsky, but from what I saw of it, for him to tell you that questioning his bisexual idea makes you like that animal in any way shape or form? I hope you told him to kiss your ass. If he wants to tangle with a real bisexual he should talk to Santana."
"We'd want him to exit the conversation alive, and she's coming out of the closet officially just this side of never," Kurt noted. "It's just…god, I feel so stupid about all of this!"
"So, then, why don't you tell me what's really bothering you?" Quinn encouraged.
"Am I…ugly?" Kurt whispered, and she stopped. The pity in her eyes was horrifying, and he felt bile rise in his throat as she pulled him into a fierce hug.
"No," she said flatly. "This is not your fault."
"But it is," he whispered. "Finn wasn't gay. Sam…okay, Sam I know is a touchy subject for you but frankly I have my questions still over whether he's completely on your team or not. But anyway. There's Sam. But Blaine? He's gay. And available. And my age. And he'd rather make out with Rachel than actually take the leap with me. There must be something so wrong with me that I'm such an unattractive offer that I've made him turn straight, you know?"
Quinn pulled back from the hug after he'd cried for a little bit. She locked arms with him and they kept walking. "Do you know why I wanted to be a Cheerio so bad, even after Sylvester treated me so badly last year?" Kurt shook his head. "Part of it was the popularity, yes. But you know as well as I do that we don't have any ugly Cheerios. She wants us to look good for the judges, you know? And before I got pregnant, I was the queen of that place. Every guy wanted to be with me. But then I made one mistake and it was like I had the plague. Like, I guess, how you felt before you moved. But the second that uniform was on again, the boys started to stare.
"I tried dating one or two of them before Sam, but you know what I realised? I was beautiful when I was pregnant, fat stomach and gas and all." Kurt wrinkled his nose in disgust, and she laughed again. "No one should ever have the power to make you feel ugly. If they do, then it's not a healthy relationship. And if Blaine makes you feel ugly, then he's not worth your time. You'll find someone, even if it isn't now."
"For the record, I think you're beautiful, nasty girl parts and all," Kurt deadpanned, trying to lighten the mood.
"For the record, if you were straight, I'd be pinching your ass right now," she tossed back loftily. "And you totally owe me coffee for coming out to support you in this weather. And if you pour it on me I'm going to kill you."
"Scout's honour," Kurt promised.
"Didn't they kick the gays out of their organisation?" Quinn said innocently.
"I think you're starting to see the picture," Kurt intoned. She shrieked and chased him all the way out of the park.
888
Kurt heard through the grapevine that Rachel and Blaine had shared a sober kiss and promptly broken up right after. He rolled his eyes and went back to eating his grapefruit.
They'd been back at school for four days now and he and Blaine had avoided each other like opposing magnets. Kurt had found it surprisingly restful – out of mind, out of sight. He studied like mad at the same time as he put together new outfit plans, tracked down Lady Gaga remixes to make dance routines to, sang along in his room at the top of his lungs until his neighbours yelled at him, and went through his DVD collection. Cathartically, he'd taken each and every page doodled with Blaine's name, his own name, and hearts in any way shape or form and fed them one by one into a paper shredder.
His room was back the way he wanted it and in perfect order, and he was just finishing up the revised edition of his English essay when the knock came on his door. Blaine had a particular knock with a soft cadence. Kurt called out, "Give me one minute," and feverishly finished off the last sentence with a sense of grim satisfaction. Smiling in triumph, he saved the document and put his Mac into standby before turning the volume down on his iPod. The song he'd been listening to really hit him as he opened the door.
I traded fame for love I got exactly what I asked for And now I find
Without a second thought
It all became a silly a game
Some things cannot be bought
Wanted it so badly
Running, rushing back for more
I suffered fools so gladly
I've changed my mind
Blaine was still unbelievably good-looking, dapper and suave and put-together, and Kurt felt a momentary pang. It passed quicker than he'd thought it would, and the thought was enough to make him smile slightly. "Hello, Blaine. Is there something that I can help you with?"
"Can I come in?" Blaine asked, sounding nervous. Kurt nodded magnanimously. Blaine was, of course, wearing his uniform, his curly hair slicked back, the very image of a Dalton student. It was all so…boring.
The face of you
My substitute for love
My substitute for love
Should I wait for you?
My substitute for love
My substitute for love
"Look, Kurt," Blaine began. He paused, looking around. "You've changed things around in here."
"You could say I've been reorganising," Kurt allowed. He sat down in his desk chair and carefully folded his legs primly as the situation dictated.
"So, I'm just going to hopefully start this off on the right foot and say, I was an unbelievable jerk in The Coffee Shoppe the other day. I'm not really sure I deserved the coffee, but, I still wanted to apologise. You were totally right – we kissed when we were sober and there was just…nothing. She wasn't really upset about it; she said something about giving her great songwriting opportunities before she threw me out." Blaine chuckled softly and Kurt nodded.
"That sounds like Rachel," Kurt nodded. "Well. I'm very glad that you aren't confused anymore; it must be a bit of a relief."
"Definitely," Blaine agreed. "And, jeeze, Kurt, I've missed hanging out with you so much these last few days, but I wasn't sure if you were still angry enough to quit the Warblers if I tried to talk to you, and so I didn't text…" he trailed off.
"No, that was one of my more hollow threats. I love performing too much," Kurt reminded him gently. "Once the annual school play is produced, however, I must warn you that all bets are off if I land a lead role," he joked.
"I'll keep that in mind," Blaine said with a grin. Kurt felt a real pang of nostalgia for the ease of conversation and the excited fluttering butterflies he'd had once. "So, listen. There's a marvellous-sounding new Korean deli opening up about half an hour from here, according to Wes, and they're supposed to have great lunch specials. I figured, you know, since we're both sorry and moving on, that we could—"
"I'm not," Kurt interrupted him gently, still smiling softly.
"Not what? Not free for lunch anytime soon?" Blaine asked, confused. Kurt considered. He'd never, ever actually said 'no' to Blaine before, had he? It was kind of empowering, in a mean sort of way. He pushed that thought aside. This was something that really needed to be said.
"I'm not sorry," he enunciated clearly. "You deserved everything I said in that store. I'll grant you that the coffee might have been a bit much, but, really, these blazers are such crimes against my eyes after wearing nothing but them for weeks that I can't muster up much apology within my for that, either. Besides, your hair looks better curly." Blaine wasn't smiling anymore with the joke.
Kurt smiled.
I travelled round the world I had so many lovers
Looking for a home
I found myself in crowded rooms
Feeling so alone
Who settled for the thrill
Of basking in my spotlight
I never felt so happy
"Kurt…" Blaine said uncertainly. Kurt stood up slowly.
"Let me speak, please, and then say whatever you want," Kurt offered, and Blaine nodded, sitting down slowly on Kurt's bed. "We don't really argue much, and I know that we were both hurt by what the other was saying," he started calmly. He'd rehearsed some of this, but he was trying to speak from the heart. Blaine deserved that at least. "But you're the only person who knows the full extent of the hell I went through in that school, and for questioning some weird question of bisexuality you actually compared me to the boy who molested me in an empty locker room and then stalked me through the halls for weeks afterwards and threatened to kill me if I told anyone." He let that sink in for a moment.
"You've all but told me that you have feelings for me, and you know how I feel about you, but you've been absolutely showering me with presents, dates, movies, couple-things, like you're dangling what we could be just out of my reach, and you don't really seem to understand that you're leading me on. It's hurting me, Blaine – what happened at that party really hurt my feelings, but what hurt worse is that you didn't seem to notice or to care. Aside from the crush that I have on you, I really do look up to you, Blaine, and I just couldn't believe that you wouldn't notice how much it hurts to be around you sometimes when you're constantly flirting with me but then outright telling me you'll never do anything with it.
"And then there's just…there are two yous, Blaine, and that's one Blaine too many." Kurt took a breath. Blaine was staring at him like he'd just gotten hit with coffee again, and Kurt sighed as he took the seat next to Blaine, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I don't know what happened at your school – hell, I don't even know your old school's name – because you've never told me any of it before. But it's like when you came here you turned yourself into this idea of the Dalton wunderkind, and you've been splitting yourself up. I'll get the good you, the fun you, but then he vanishes as soon as someone like Wes walks into the room."
Kurt leaned in daringly and kissed Blaine on the cheek. Blaine smelled amazing, and the rough stubble on his cheeks filled Kurt with a delicious sense of possibility. "I'm in love with you, Blaine. I think I have been a little bit ever since I met you. But I can't do this anymore – dating you and not dating you at the same time. I can't let you hurt me like that, not anymore. I've accepted the fact that this perfect, ideal version of you isn't real, because you're not perfect, and that's a good thing. But I can't be friends with you like we have been anymore because it just hurts too badly.
"I want you to take some time to yourself. See if you can't figure out which version of Blaine is the better one. Because I'm done struggling with this. If this is something worth fighting for, you're going to have to do some work here, because I've done all that I can." Kurt sat back, primly, and folded his hands in his lap. His heart was pounding as Blaine stared at him in something like mute shock.
"I don't…I don't know…what do you want me to say?" Blaine finally whispered hoarsely. Kurt smiled sadly.
"I don't think there's anything to say, is there?" Kurt asked.
"Kurt…please, don't do this," Blaine said quietly.
"I'm not doing anything; not anymore," Kurt said firmly. "I'd love to go get lunch on Friday, but only if other people are there. I can't do this date-that's-not-a-date thing anymore." Blaine nodded, still looking a little dazed, and Kurt smiled slightly. "I'll see you at the Warblers' table at dinner tonight, Blaine."
"Alright," Blaine whispered, getting to his feet. Kurt politely escorted him to the door before Blaine turned around, his eyes sparkling with a look Kurt couldn't easily identify. "What…it is worth fighting for, Kurt, but I'm not who you think I am…I don't know that I can fight for it."
"Then you should know that I have faith in you," Kurt said. "I've already told you I've accepted that you aren't perfect. No one is. But it's the people that learn from their mistakes that keep going. Look at me – I have to learn from at least one new mistake every day. By the time I'm 100 I'll have 1,000,000 live lessons to impart." They shared a laugh, Blaine's a little more hard-edged and desperate.
"Just…can you wait for me?" he finally whispered.
"I'm not going anywhere," Kurt said after a moment. Blaine smiled and slowly, his hand trembling, he brought Kurt's hand up to his lips and pressed a gentle, reverent kiss to it, before he hurried out the door. Kurt watched him leave, before he closed his eyes, conjuring up the perfect, illuminated, Kurt's Blaine version of Blaine he'd once held close to his heart, never seeing that the real boy in front of him was nearly as broken as Kurt himself. He kissed the dream Blaine goodbye as he headed to the library to use the printer. Imperfection was more exciting anyway – it made the perfect moments shine like diamonds.
The face of you
My substitute for love
My substitute for love
Should I wait for you?
My substitute for love
My substitute for love
888
Kurt walked confidently into Mrs. Bradley's English class the next morning, holding a nearly nineteen page paper with perfect grammar detailing the origins of the Swan Lake fairy tale, the Tchaikovsky ballet version, and the modern film Black Swan and how the psychology remained the same in all three despite apparent changes. She took one look at the first page and broke into a wide grin.
"Welcome back, Mr. Hummel," she said, patting him on the back as he walked past. "Perhaps you wouldn't mind demonstrating the Black Swan? I hear you're quite the dancer. And I need some time killed for lessons today." They met each others' eyes in a smile. Kurt felt a buzzing in his pocket and glanced down to see a text from Blaine.
From BLAINE: omg no gel 2day
From BLAINE: im trying
"I'd absolutely love to, Mrs. Bradley. Can I retrieve my shoes from upstairs?"
"Yes, please," she said, replacing his old paper with the revised edition. "And you can be sure to write down your extra credit assignment – I like the direction you took from this and I want you to give me a smaller paper discussing Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, the Disney cartoon Alice in Wonderland and the new Tim Burton film that just came out. Compare and contrast the heroines – less than ten pages. It will more than put you ahead before exam two."
"I suppose the Alice composition notebook was a bit of a giveaway," Kurt smiled. She winked at him as he walked out, and waited until she wasn't looking to fist-pump the air in joy. Plugging his headphones back in, he smiled as his song came back on.
Famous faces, far off places
Trinkets I can buy
No handsome stranger, heady danger
Drug that I can try
No Ferris wheel, no heart to steal
No laughter in the dark
No one-night stand, no far-off land
No fire that I can spark
The face of you
My substitute for love
My substitute for love
Should I wait for you?
My substitute for love
My substitute for love
Now I find I've changed my mind
This is my religion.
New Message to BLAINE: Courage.
FINIS.
Songs Used/Mentioned in This Story:
"Defying Gravity" by Glee Cast
"Don't Cry for Me Argentina (Kurt's Version)" by Glee Cast
"One Less Bell to Answer / A House Is Not a Home" by Glee Cast
"All I Ask of You" from The Phantom of the Opera
"Don't You Want Me?" by Glee Cast
"Tik Tok" by Glee Cast
"Brown Eyes" by Lady Gaga
"Time Stood Still" by Madonna
"Drowned World / Substitute for Love" by Madonna
Some dialogue adapted directly from "Blame It on the Alcohol"
Two lines shamelessly pilfered from the absolutely epic "Telephone" music video by Lady Gaga
A/N: So – love it? Hate it? Shout out if you want to tell me it was good or to shut my computer down, whichever. I'm pretty proud of this for how fast it's out!