Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its affiliates. Slightly based off of the song Blue Lips by Regina Spektor. Which I don't own either.
It's particularly cold, even for January in New York. Still, Kurt and Blaine try to kid themselves into thinking that they are warm as they walk, glove in glove, down the boardwalk at Rockaway Beach, bundled up in parkas and scarves and boots with fur on the inside. They are leaving tracks atop the dusting of snow that starts and stops falling when it pleases.
They aren't the only ones dumb enough to go to the beach in January. Tourists from farther north come down here for vacation, for relaxation. As if New York could possibly be relaxing, Blaine scoffs.
Even in New York - even years after high school and bullies and hate - people still make it a point to look at them. They pretend not to notice because they do sort of like being looked at (especially Kurt, but this is for all the wrong reasons).
Their fingers are interlaced; Blaine's head falls on Kurt's shoulder. So what that they are both boys, right? The idea that it was an anomaly was quite old.
They like to walk around town in winter (when most people are warm in their beds, drinking their Chai Lattes and watching reruns of Desperate Housewives that they silently mouth the words to because they've seen it that many times). It makes them feel adventurous.
It makes them feel big.
Eventually, the window shopping gets tiring, and they want to do something else. Something cheap, something close. Kurt suggests the pier.
"It's gonna be four dolla's a person," a man in the booth at the front of the pier tells them when they walk up and put their hands on the money exchange, feeling the tiniest bit of heat radiating from inside the booth.
Kurt reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a wrinkled ten dollar bill, flattening it out on the counter and sliding it under the glass.
The man pops open the cash register, putting the bill into its respective place, and letting out a disgruntled laugh. "I don' know how you's kids can stand this weatha'. I'm in this booth, still freezin' ma' ass off." He's pulling out two dollar bills when Kurt and Blaine walk away.
They don't care about the change. Let the man have the extra money if the cold is that bad (which it probably is, but they choose to ignore it).
When Blaine had decided to follow Kurt to New York for college, a year behind and no idea what he wanted to major in, he'd done so with pride. He could handle the weather; it's not like Ohio was much warmer anyway.
He wasn't expecting this however. This numbness, this God-forsaken cold that bruises his skin every time the wind blows. He loves it.
He loves Kurt.
They pass a thermometer shaped like a fish that has been there for most likely decades. The sign above it reads Beware of Temperatures Under 32F. It's 14 degrees.
They reach the end of the pier, and Kurt steps up on the most bottom wooden plank on the railing, looking down at the crashing waves below them. He wonders why the water never freezes, and he's jealous of it. It could be below zero out there, and the waves would still rise and fall with the moon. The sound settles in his ears. He closes his eyes.
"How far down is it?" Kurt asks after a minute or two of silence.
Blaine doesn't know if he's referring to the top of the water from the pier or the bottom of the ocean. It doesn't matter because he doesn't know the answer either way.
"A long way," he guesses.
Kurt opens his eyes and turns to Blaine who is looking up at him with not so much more of a smirk than a lip quiver.
Blaine doesn't need to fill the silence, but he does anyway. "Your lips are blue."
Kurt nods, gazing back over the horizon. "It's cold."
The statement is so obvious, so true, that it begins to eat away at both of their minds. Their thoughts aren't exactly the same, but it doesn't matter. They both reach the same conclusion: it feels pleasant to be this cold. And they are both suddenly left craving more. To be colder. As if thinking the word alone will make them shiver.
Kurt sighs after a long pause.
"I feel naked out here, Blaine. I feel naked, and I want to go swimming." He turns back down to him again. "Is that strange?"
Blaine takes a moment, but shakes his head. "Not any stranger than wanting to go to the beach at the beginning of a snow storm, I suppose."
Kurt steps down from his wooden plank. "You'll join me, won't you? You'll go swimming with me?"
"Yes, I'll go swimming with you." What has he got to lose? If he doesn't go, Kurt will go by himself. He knows that. Kurt never lets anything stop him anymore. Not even Blaine, and sometimes, especially not Blaine.
"Right now?" Kurt prompts, getting more excited with each passing second.
Blaine swallows the moisture in his throat. He tries to add humor to the situation to calm himself down. "If that's what you so desire."
Kurt's smile starts small and shy as he reaches out to the top buttons of Blaine's coat and begins undoing them. They never take their eyes off the other's. And when Blaine's coat is completely undone and open, he feels the wind wiping even harder, almost forcing the jacket off by itself. Kurt's hands fall to his side.
"My turn," he says in a half-whisper, half-plead, as if he is tempting Blaine, forcing him to reach out his own hands and slip each round button out of its respective slot one by one until Kurt can feel the intensity of this new, meaner wind.
Blaine does just this, and he wonders if Kurt is serious. Will they go swimming? Does it make any sense? A decided yes to the first question and no to the second lets him find the strength to slip Kurt's coat off his shoulder and let it fall to the ground.
Instinctively, Kurt moves in closer to Blaine - so close that their are now touching chests, knees, noses.
"It's so cold, Blaine," he says again. He doesn't know when he's ever been colder, but he wants to find out. He wants to push the limit. He takes off his gloves, reaches up his hands, blue veins showing through his winter pale skin, and takes Blaine's coat off.
They are as close as they can be without physically wrapping their arms around the other.
Down to just sweaters and collared shirts to cover their torsos, they both turn their attention to the waves below them, each fighting for its own spot on the sand. They want to be part of those waves; they are going to be.
Blaine takes off his own gloves and swears he could get frost bite from just that shock alone. He grabs Kurt's right hand with his left and it's like rubbing two ice cubes together. No warmth is created. Any body heat in them escapes through their mouths when they breathe, a tornado of water vapor surrounding them like smoke.
They climb up quietly on to the first plank, then the second, and the third. They hear the man from the booth at the beginning of the pier shouting to them. They climb up to the top plank and look at each other. The man is now running towards them, shouting at them to stop. There is no chance he is cold anymore.
Kurt presses a careful kiss to Blaine's cheek, nods, and they jump with a deep breath.
The last thing they hear before water fills their ears is the wind rushing past their bodies, frozen with shock. When the cold really hits them, they can hardly move a muscle. They tense up, finally feeling that true, bitter, excruciatingly painful cold.
They realize they can't even exhale.
Under the water, both have their eyes open, searching for the other, wanting to smile, if only they could feel a single muscle in their faces. When they reach the surface, gasping for air, begging for their own lives, they find each other again. The waves try to pull them apart, but their fingers are molded together. They bob up and down roughly, screaming in pain, trying to simultaneously swim and hold on to the other person. Neither wants anything more than to just get out of there.
It takes a minute for the lifeboat to reach them and for the three men on board to pull them out of the water, but it feels like ten years. They feel old and worn and beaten and completely, wonderfully alive.
Fin.
A/N: Thank you for reading! Drop a review to let me know what you think. :) xoxo