So, here is a little plot bunny that's been stuck in my head for most of the weekend. It should be noted that it takes place after Prom but before New York, so somewhere in there.
This is the first time that I've written such pointed angst and not tried to make a bigger story out of it. There were several moments I rewrote because the intimacy felt too rushed or too forced, and it ultimately infringed upon the delicacy of the feelings of the injured party in the room. It is entirely opposite of what I set out to write, which is both good and bad I guess. You can't have fluff all of the time, or it would make the tender moments less special.
I would really, really appreciate it if people wrote me reviews. I take everything I get to heart and try to use it to make my future writing better, especially because I don't have as many opportunities as I used to to sit down and write. But, enough rambling. Enjoy the story!
Kurt Hummel was not prone to curling up in his bed after a particularly hard day and crying his eyes out like he belonged in some unrequited harlequin romance novel. Whenever things became too much, yes, he would sometimes cry, but then he would move on. He would call Mercedes, get coffee, help his dad at the shop, sing, bake, or whatever else he could find to take his mind off of things. Somewhere deep inside, the activity made him deal with the stress in a way that his mind could not on its own. He didn't shut himself off from the world and cry until his eyes were red and sore and until his face hurt from contorting into pained expressions.
Not today. All of the drapes in his room were pulled, creating a hazed afternoon glow throughout the room. His door was shut, and to all indications for others in the house, he could have been asleep or even not home. The young man was curled on his bed, no longer caring if he rumpled his already dirty and mussed clothing, clutching a pillow tightly to his chest to muffle his cries. Kurt hadn't moved from his place since coming home from school, skipping Glee practice entirely. His friends had understood when they heard what had happened, but he still had to shut off his phone in order to keep them from intruding on his solitary sorrow. He knew they meant well, but honestly he could do without the attempts at comfort.
Words simply couldn't fix what happened, and anything said to him right now felt hollow and forced.
He didn't know when he fell asleep. Kurt shifted back into consciousness when he realized that a weight had settled itself across his stomach that was much heavier than the pillow he still clutched. Warmth pressed tightly across his back and when he opened his eyes, he saw an arm disappearing under the pillow, the hand attached to it resting gently on his chest over his heart. Kurt's grip on the pillow loosened as he turned his body over to come face to face with a curly haired man. His Dalton blazer was discarded on the desk along with his red and blue striped tie, and his white shirt was partially unbuttoned to reveal a smattering of chest hair. The arm not wrapped around Kurt was exposed under the rolled up sleeves of his shirt and being used as a pillow. His gaze trailed along the arm to the man's face, seeing deep hazel eyes staring back at him.
"Hi," Blaine whispered, his hand coming out from under his head to stroke the side of a soft cheek.
The soft sensation of Blaine's fingers against the raw feeling in Kurt felt in his face was his undoing. Tears clouded his vision once more and he surged forward, burying his face in Blaine's neck and gripping the white shirt. Blaine sighed, pulling his bottom arm around Kurt's neck to stroke the young man's hair while using his other to press against his boyfriend's back, pulling him as tightly as he dared against his body. The Warbler pressed light kisses, more than anything ghosts of his lips across skin, along any part of Kurt he could reach while continuing his attempts to soothe and comfort. "Shhh. I've got you," he murmured in between kisses. "I won't let anyone else hurt you."
Eventually, Kurt calmed down enough to pull back to look at Blaine's face once more. Still unsure of what to say, he settled for leaning in and grazing Blaine's lips with his own. Strong fingers held Kurt's head in place as more kisses were settled over his cheeks, his swollen eyes, his nose, before finally coming back to his lips. Kurt let out a small sigh and let himself be pulled back onto Blaine's strong chest, soaking in the warmth and smell and feeling a little more content than he did a few hours ago. "Who told you?" Kurt whispered, his voice cracking slightly from the strain of the afternoon.
"Mercedes called me. She said that you left right after and that no one could get you to answer your phone." Blaine continued to run his fingers through Kurt's hair, "Everyone is pretty worried about you."
Kurt sniffed and clutched a little tighter to his boyfriend, taking in the information. The feeling of Blaine's fingers in his hair and the tight hold around his body slowly began to relax him, and he vaguely wondered if he was going to fall back asleep. For some reason, he couldn't stop himself from asking, "And you?"
"I don't think I've ever broken so many traffic laws trying to get to you fast enough."
Romantic my ass.
"I would like it if you felt comfortable enough to tell me what happened. All Mercedes would tell say was that you were extremely upset and that you needed me." Blaine stopped his ministrations on Kurt's hair and tilted the countertenor's body upwards enough to look into his eyes. The blue orbs that gazed back at him were lined with red and slightly misty. Blaine used the arm that was wrapped around Kurt's waist to pull him even closer; his arm circled over Kurt's shoulders so that his knuckles could rub against the same soft cheek. Their foreheads rested together, brushing each other as both boys refused to break eye-contact. "What happened?"
Kurt paused for a few moments, wetting his lips with a mostly dry tongue before beginning, "Well..."
They put him back in the closet... literally.
Kurt could feel the darkness closing in around him, the only light in the room coming from a few vent slits at the bottom of the doorway. He was slumped down against the wall, his legs cramping painfully and pushed against his chest. Pieces of disassembled desks and bookshelves dug into his back and side, and the air was growing uncomfortably hot. His breath came out in little gasps and tear tracks marred his face, creating lines through the dust and dirt covering his cheeks. He wasn't sobbing, but he was scared.
He hated small spaces like this. He wasn't claustrophobic per se, but he hated being in small spaces that he had no control of or inadequate light. It was like he was a prisoner in jail, forced into solitary confinement.
It had been at least an hour since he had been yanked out of the main hallways and shoved in this cell by a group of people in McKinley red. He had been too shocked and slightly scared to take the time to register the faces of the people responsible beyond the description of "jocks."
What an un-fucking-helpful way to describe essentially a couple hundred students at the school.
They had taken his bag and his phone, throwing it to the floor by the closet door before shoving him in and jimmying the lock closed. There was nothing but a knob on the inside, leaving Kurt with virtually no way to try and unhinge it, let alone light to work with. He remembered one of the perpetrators lowering himself to the vent to cruelly taunt:
"Homos like you should stay in the closet. No one wants to see you and your fucking boyfriend spreading your disease in this school."
Then they left him. They left him in one of the most secluded hallways at McKinley high. He was surrounded by an out-of-date bathroom, two other storage closets used by the janitorial staff, and the old gymnasium that was occasionally used when all of the gym classes were held inside on the same day. Few students and even fewer teachers passed this way daily. He could hear his phone vibrating in his bag and had lost count of how many text messages he had missed. Hopefully his friends were smart enough to figure out that if he wasn't answering his messages something wasn't right and would come looking for him.
At first he had pounded at the door and shouted for someone to hear him and come to his rescue, but he hadn't seen anyone come through and classes were still in session. His palms hurt from banging against the solid wood and his voice had gone scratchy from the yelling. Finally, he settled himself on the floor with the hope of grabbing someone's attention if he heard nearby noises.
Kurt ran his fingers through his hair, not caring about keeping it's perfect style in place. Why couldn't people just leave him alone? What had he ever done to other students in the school? He kept (for the most part) to himself, hung out with his friends, and spent time with Blaine after school and on the weekends. After the prom incident, he had sworn to not let the jibes of people that he wouldn't see after he left Lima bother him. Now, he felt his indifference to his peers' actions crumbling. Fresh, hot tears created more marks across his face and he huffed in the stifling air. He tried to keep his chest from heaving, knowing that the more he panicked, the worse he was going to feel. The light from the vents failed to do more than illuminate part of the inside of the door and tantalize him with the thought of being free from his cage.
He had tried to look around the closet to see if there was anything he could use to get the door open from the inside, but it was so dark he couldn't see his hand in front of his face unless he was by the vent. Every time he thought he heard someone's footsteps close, he would begin to painfully slap the door and cry out, now more brokenly, for someone to hear him. Either he was imagining things, or the people nearby couldn't hear him. Finally, he gave up trying when he heard footsteps, because it seemed as though there was no point in calling out for help. His hands ached painfully and he had nothing to show for it anyway.
Kurt's stupid iPhone was mocking him from it's place barely three feet away. It continued to vibrate with messages sporadically, constantly reminding him of the easiest resource he could use for help that was just beyond reach. His gaze remained on what little white floor he could see through the vents while his hands throbbed with the tempo of his heartbeat.
"Mercedes said she and the other Glee girls were worried when I wasn't answering my phone and they went and talked to Coach Sylvester. She saw my bag and put two and two together." Kurt sighed and continued stroking a finger across the part of Blaine's chest that was exposed by the shirt. It was not done in a way to distract or arouse, rather, Kurt took comfort in the fact that he was with another person who cared about him. Touching was a tactile way for him to feel connected and safe when he was with Blaine. "She took me to her office and had me tell her what happened. Mercedes was with her. I just...After I told her I just needed to leave; I couldn't stand the thought of going back to class and pretending like nothing happened while the people that did it to me were sniggering at me in the halls or bragging about it so everyone could hear.
"Mercedes wanted to come with me, but I felt like I couldn't say anything. I just walked away and ignored her."
"She's not mad, if that's what you're thinking," Blaine murmured, continuing to stroke Kurt's cheek. "She's really worried, but she understands that you needed to remove yourself from the situation for awhile."
"Still, I should call her and apologize."
"Later. I told her I would make sure that you're alright for the night."
Kurt stilled his hand and closed his eyes as he felt a fresh round of tears come to his face. These accompanied a different feeling other than sadness, however, and he could feel his heart swell with each breath. "Thank you for coming."
Blaine rocked his forehead against Kurt's gently until the younger man opened his eyes, "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."
Both of them paused, even in breath. These were one of the moments where they felt so utterly connected, it was hard to tell where they individually stopped and began again. Nothing needed to be said, although Blaine certainly felt the sentiment that he wished to express. Now was not the right time, however. When he was ready to express vocally his love for his boyfriend, he wanted to do it as a moment of happiness and content, not angst. He wanted the first time it was said to be a memorable occasion, without the twinge of the day's events overhanging the joy of the moment.
As for the rest of the night, the Warbler decided that there was some serious cheering up to be done. After ordering Kurt to take a shower (no, not because he smelled bad, but because the cleansing would make him feel better after the emotionally charged day), and change into a T-shirt and sweat pants (stolen from Finn), he sent Kurt to his movie case to pick out a few things for them to watch. While Kurt showered, Blaine ordered his and Kurt's favorite chinese food. He even got some for Finn who would no doubt be salivating at the smell when it entered the doorway. He also got Finn to agree to fill Burt and Carol in on what happened, well the short version anyway, and to give Kurt some space for the evening. There would be time for questioning, anger, and consequences at the school later. For now, Blaine's only mission was to let Kurt relax in a stress free environment. Luckily, it was Friday, so Blaine's curfew was later than usual. After eating and chatting mildly through the first half of Chicago, Kurt finally picked up his phone and sent messages to those inquiring about him, and letting his friends know he was in good hands.
It was well past midnight when Burt decided that curfew or no curfew, it was time for respectable boyfriends to make their way home. He tiredly made his way up the stairs, scratching his head under his hat and groaning to himself about how glad he was that it was finally the weekend. He wouldn't be able to meet with Principal Figgins about what happened until Monday, but he had no wish to push off Kurt giving him the full details. He was angry enough now from hearing the shortened version that he knew he would need the next couple of days to cool off and talk in a civilized manner.
Going all ape crazy just didn't seem to get through to the school.
He knocked on the partially closed door, "Kurt? It's time for B-"
Burt stopped in his tracks.
The main menu for Breakfast at Tiffany's kept replaying on Kurt's DVD player, but the two on the bed were completely oblivious to the repetitive music. Discarded chinese food containers were lined up across Kurt's desk, and the lamp near the bed was glowing faintly in the dim room. Burt, however, failed to see many of these details as he focused on the pair in his son's bed.
Blaine was on his back, turned very slightly more to his left side as he held Kurt halfway across his chest. Both boys' legs were intertwined above the covers. Kurt's left hand was resting over Blaine's heart, and the dark haired boy clutched behind Kurt's head and around his back, as if daring anyone else to come near and separate them.
Both were completely asleep.
Burt was caught in a conundrum. Should he let the boys be for the night or wake up Blaine and send him on his way? He remembered a conversation he and Kurt had had after Rachel's party about not being inappropriate with other boys, but that was before these two even started dating, and this was not in any way what he had imagined could have gone on that night. Now he felt like the world's biggest hypocrite if he let Blaine stay the night, or if he didn't at least move the other boy to the guest room or couch.
But then he remembered another conversation with Kurt about guarding his heart and giving it away only when he was ready and when it was right. Now, But was not a stupid man. He knew that having a boyfriend in the house meant that certain things were going to go down (hopefully not EVER in a tent). He knows that his son is skittish about sex, and that Kurt was the kind of person to not rush into things that he wasn't ready for. He also knew that Blaine saw the same things in Kurt.
Kurt was the most moral and compassionate person they both knew. He gave love easily, but was much more slow in taking it from another. They both knew he had been burned by that trait in the past. But Kurt was like his mother, strong and resilient. He would keep giving his heart to others in the hopes that someone would give theirs in return.
Burt was knocked out of his thought when a whimpering sound came from the bed. Kurt was obviously having a nightmare. His brow furrowed and his body began to become restless in his sleep. The elder Hummel was saddened to think that it could be a nightmare not only of today's events, but of the countless other times his son had been bullied at that stupid school. It was times like these that he felt the most helpless to defend his boy.
He was about to wake his son and spare him further pain when the next sight stopped him again in his tracks.
Blaine, still asleep, visibly tightened his hold on Kurt and murmured intelligible words into the countertenor's ear. Burt vaguely thought he heard something to the effect of, "...got you...safe with me...here..." And, to his surprise, Kurt immediately relaxed into sleep once more.
Well that settled it. Maybe Kurt wasn't the only moral and compassionate person in the duo. He had suspected before, with the way Blaine had sought him out at the repair shop to seek help for his friend at the time. It is another thing entirely to see it in action with his son's boyfriend, especially in a setting where it was the two of them, acting exactly how they would with each other. No pressure, no expectations. Just pure, sweet...
Love.
Burt would deny forever that he teared a little at the beauty of the sight. Not wanting to disturb the scene further, he grabbed a throw blanket from the end of Kurt's bed and settled it over the two boys, taking the time to pull their socks off (he certainly hated sleeping with socks on, so he didn't know how anyone else could either). He shut the DVD player and the television off and turned back to the couple. Because he was a father, and no amount of time with his son was ever enough, he leaned over and kissed the boy's brow. Not knowing how to say goodnight to Blaine, he rested his hand on the boy's hair momentarily, the curls long-freed from their gel confinement.
He would call Blaine's parents and let them know that their son was too tired to drive at this time of night. Everything else could be dealt with in the morning.
Burt stole once last glimpse of the couple before shutting the door quietly and making his way to his own bedroom.
Kurt may give his heart too easily, but at least he had found someone who would take care of it like a father always hoped