It cain't be "in between"
It cain't be "now and then"
No half and half romance will do!
The test results were taking a long time. Too long, Kurt feared. If the results were good, he reasoned, they should have heard already. He did his best to distract himself. He tried to spend time with his friends—those who had supported him through his father's first health crisis, that is. People like Mercedes.
Somehow, however, Blaine was always there, too. He'd already endured two excruciating coffee dates, and now Mercedes and Mike (thank goodness for them) were running interference as Kurt compulsively stacked his sugar packets. All the time, Kurt kept a smile plastered on his face, hoping it didn't look too fake. Whenever he looked up into Blaine's pleading eyes, he saw a black hole. After a few months with Adam, Kurt understood what lay behind that expression: neediness; desperation; self-love. And it made him nervous.
He didn't think he could take anymore of that look. Although Kurt knew he was being manipulated, he still felt his gut wrench. It was hard to eat, and he didn't know whether his loss of appetite was fear for his father, or an ever-growing anxiety about Blaine. Blaine and his obsession, his insistence that they were together, his uncanny knack for showing up on the Hudson-Hummel doorstep or at the Lima Bean whenever Kurt was there.
At least he hadn't been serenaded yet. Kurt could only assume that somewhere, deep down, Blaine had a scrap of decency. But that was debatable. Blaine had cheated. He'd diminished Kurt's talents. He'd overshadowed him at every turn, even when he didn't have to. He'd cut Kurt down to size—and now, Kurt was beginning to wonder whether Blaine had been sabotaging him on purpose.
It's hard to let go when you're always number two—when you're always hearing that this is the best you'll ever do.
Even now, as they sat at the Lima Bean, Kurt wondered: What's going on in Blaine's head? What's behind that smile when he says the things he says?
"So, Kurt, I heard that you're getting by at NYADA," Blaine commented.
"Oh?" He tried to keep his voice neutral.
"Yeah, Rachel said."
"Mmm. Rachel said. I see."
"Don't worry, sweetie." Blaine patted Kurt's hand, then grasped his fingers tightly. Kurt could no longer focus on rearranging his sugar packets. "Once I get to New York, you'll be fine," Blaine continued, "We'll get you where you deserve to be."
Swaying in the background of the Adam's Apples, he means, Kurt thought. His hand tensed, and for a moment he felt ashamed. Then, he noticed that Mercedes was giving Blaine the snake eye.
"Excuse me?" she said, her voice carrying just a little more than necessary. "Did I miss something? The part where you got into NYADA? Or the part where Kurt needs you to be able to sing and dance and wow an audience. I have two words for you: 'Celine Dion.'"
Blaine opened his mouth to protest, but he had no chance to respond.
Mike was smiling at Mercedes. "Remember the look on Mr. Schue's face when he saw Kurt's medley on YouTube?" he said. "I never understood why he wouldn't give Kurt a solo in competition, especially after that . . ."
Blaine's grip on Kurt's hand tightened. He didn't like it when the New Directions members talked about things that happened before his time. But he also couldn't let Mercedes's comment pass.
"Yeah, Kurt has always tried to excel in everything French . . ." he threw in, giving Kurt a significant look. "He just needs more practice."
Kurt squirmed, the other graduates gaped, and then they all pretended they hadn't understood Blaine's implication. Mercedes cleared her throat.
"Well," she said, "we've already hashed this out—and Mike, don't you dare make some hack hash-brown joke at me—Schue is no Sue. He always takes the safe road."
Kurt and Mike exchanged glances. There was a hard edge to her voice. Both young men knew that Mercedes was remembering all the solos she missed out on, as well as the West Side Story debacle. Suddenly—and irrationally, Kurt told himself—angry, he pulled his hand out of Blaine's clammy grasp.
Mike looked like he was going to respond to Mercedes's imprecation about Mr. Schuester, but he never had the chance.
"Not this year," Blaine blurted out. "He's not taking the safe road this year."
Everyone at the table turned to look at him.
"Oh? Pray tell, Blaine." Mercedes's voice was soft.
"No, no, let me guess," Mike interjected with a grin. "Tina and Artie are doing a duet?"
"No." Blaine made the idea sound like the height of lunacy.
"Ah. Then you mean that Joe's finally going to perform 'Jolene' on a guitar while Jake, Sugar, and Brittany do an interpretive dance?"
"No, of course not! That would be—"
"Different?" Mercedes raised an eyebrow.
"Weird and stupid and—and—and I haven't even seen Joe or Sugar for weeks. Or . . . well, Brittany for that matter." Blaine's forehead wrinkled. He hadn't noticed they were gone until Mike mentioned them.
Kurt began arranging his sugar packets in a different formation. A half-moon. Was it waxing, or waning?
"Perhaps you should be out looking for them," Kurt suggested.
"No, honey, you know I've gotta to be here for you."
As far as Kurt could tell, Blaine was at the Lima Bean for Blaine, not for him. He felt a foot brush against his calf and hoped it was Mike accidentally jiggling his leg again.
"So," Kurt pressed on, "What's the daring plan, Blaine? A Ryder-Jake duet with Unique throwing in a few power notes at the end?"
"Um . . ."
"I'll take that as a yes," Mercedes snorted. "Way to use last year's Nationals MVP."
Kurt looked up. Why could there be a boy-boy duet now, and not when he was in New Directions? Well, that was one Regionals number accounted for . . .
Mike looked thoughtful. "Marley has a sweet voice. Is she getting the traditional Rachel-solo?"
"No." For a moment, Blaine sounded like he was scoffing, but he modulated his voice and continued. "I'm singing with her—another duet. That's definitely breaking the mould."
Kurt felt a bit sick to his stomach. "I'm surprised they didn't just give it to you, Blaine."
When Kurt's ex didn't respond, the three graduates turned to stare at him.
"Oh hell to the no!" Mercedes finally said. "Mr. Schue did just give it to you, didn't he?"
Blaine nodded.
Kurt noticed his coffee was going cold, so he started to empty the sugar packets into the cup one at a time. Why had he agreed to come to the Lima Bean? He hated the place—especially after having worked there over the summer. Plus, it reminded him of Sebastian. It made him feel trapped.
"Kurt."
He looked up at Blaine.
"That's enough sugar, don't you think? You know how you get . . ."
"Yes, Blaine, I know how I get." He tried to put a hard edge into his voice. "Blaine, how did Marley get that duet?"
"Well, you know, I didn't think it was fair for me to be singing all the numbers, so . . ."
"So . . . "
"So—" Mercedes butted in, "—you went to Mr. Schue and convinced him to put Marley in."
"Yeah, well, you know, Glee Club is all about equal representation."
"Everyone," Kurt murmured, "Should have their chance to shine."
Blaine nodded enthusiastically.
Mike looked thoughtful. "So, that leaves the group number. You're singing lead?"
"No." Blaine beamed. "Sam and I decided to split it."
"Oh sweet merciful Lord, the boys are taking over. Again." Mercedes threw down her plastic fork. "Mike—finish this cheesecake, I've lost my appetite."
Kurt looked at the sugar crystals dissolving in his cup and realized that he'd lost his, too. All he'd wanted was to wait out these interminable hours with his friends—with the people who made him feel safe. Instead, he was sitting with his ex-boyfriend.
Who cheated on him.
Who took every opportunity to outshine him.
Who thought that he was floundering at NYADA without him. No, who hoped he was floundering at NYADA without him.
Who was so sure he'd pass muster with Carmen Tibideaux, despite her sadistic and inconsistent audition tactics.
Who had no qualms about hogging the spotlight while Kurt was around, but was suddenly willing to pass the torch now that his beloved boyfriend was far, far away.
Maybe, Kurt realized, Blaine always knew I was better than him. Maybe that is why he allowed all that to happen. Maybe that's why he keeps . . . pushing me down.
With that thought, Kurt felt something change inside. What was it? Rage? A sense of betrayal? Or—could it be?—a strange sense of pride that came with realizing that Blaine knew Kurt was a brighter star than he could ever be?
A phone rang. Kurt emerged from his reverie to see Blaine whispering into his cell. When he hung up, a huge smile lit his face.
"Good news, Kurt."
"Oh? Did you get another solo?"
Mercedes didn't quite manage to stifle her snicker.
"Your dad's fine. He's home from the hospital. He's got the all clear."
"What?" Kurt clenched his fist in his lap.
"I said," Blaine repeated, the same smile on his face, "That Burt is fine, at home, he's got the all-clear."
"Blaine. I was supposed to pick Dad and Carole up from the hospital. I was supposed to."
Blaine shrugged. "Sam picked them up so we could have some time alone together." He gave Mercedes and Mike a less than friendly glance. "Come on. I'll drive you home."
"No."
"Kurt, don't be unreasonable."
"No. You're not driving me home."
Blaine put on his most patient voice. "Kurt, darling, this is what I'm here for—to take care of you when you need a shoulder to cry on."
Kurt noticed he was clutching his cold coffee so tightly that the cardboard was starting to buckle. Taking a deep breath, he began to swallow down the drink. It was too sweet—too saccharine—too Blaine. But he was going to finish it anyway.
"Kurt, I told you you shouldn't drink that!" Blaine reached out his hand as if to take the cup away. "It's bad for you."
"Yeah, Blaine, we all do things that are bad for us." Kurt polished off the drink and crumpled his cup. "And then, we realize that we've been hurting ourselves, and we keep on doing it. And then, the day comes when we see what lies ahead—and it's ugly. Really ugly. And we don't do it anymore."
Kurt rose and threw his trash into the nearest receptacle. When he returned to their table, he turned to Mercedes:
"Mercedes, would you take me home, please. I don't want to be here anymore. I want to be with my father and my mother and my brother. And my friends."
Mercedes nodded and reached for her keys.
"And," Kurt added as she slid out of the booth, "I'm never coming to this place again. It makes me sick."
Mike and Blaine watched as the two friends walked out the door. After a few moments, Mike exhaled.
"Wow. That was—something else."
"Yeah," Blaine agreed. "I can't believe that happened."
"I've never seen such a train wreck in my life. Not even when Tina got in the middle of me and my parents and forged my application to Joffrey."
"That worked out well in the end."
Mike grunted. A non-committal sound.
"But—but—how was I to know?"
"Know what, Blaine?"
"That Kurt would be so . . . unreasonable? I mean, I know how he is, we've been dating for two years."
"You're not dating." A look of confusion passed over Mike's face. "Or—did I miss something?"
"Yeah, we're back together now—sorta—since the wedding."
Mike wrinkled his brow. "Oh. Funny."
"Why is it funny?"
"I just—well, I thought he was dating some guy in New York. I've seen the pictures on Facebook."
Blaine sat up a little straighter, surprise on his face.
"You didn't know?" Mike asked.
"Well, um . . . he did unfriend me. After we broke up. But those pictures must be old."
"The last one was posted just before Kurt flew here—"
"They're in the same Glee club."
"They must be very friendly in that Glee club, then." Mike lifted an eyebrow. "Look, Blaine, are you sure you're not misinterpreting things?"
"Kurt knows we're back together—he's known since the wedding—we talked about it . . . afterwards. You don't just have an . . . experience . . . like that one and throw it away like it meant nothing."
Mike blushed. This was far more information than he wanted. However, he could see that Blaine was in distress. Those hazel eyes were staring up into his, wide-eyed and moist with tears. The expression was pleading. It reminded Mike uncomfortably of the day he and Tina had broken up—and of that other time, when he'd come back to help out with West Side Story and discovered that his ex was not yet ready to be friends.
It also felt faintly seductive. But that wasn't possible. Blaine was, after all, in love with Kurt. He must be imagining things. And he couldn't help feeling bad for Blaine, even though the boy had been irritating as hell through his entire senior year. A year at Joffrey had taught Mike a lot about the business, and he knew that Blaine's star wouldn't climb much higher—if as high—than Bryan Ryan's. Kurt was all he had.
Mike's focus came back to Blaine, who was still talking.
" . . . he's all I have, you see, and I know I messed up, but I was all alone and he was off in New York living his dream and—and—and I'm just afraid that if he gets too far out there, he'll never come back."
"But," Mike paused, "I thought you said you were together?"
Blaine's jaw firmed. "We are. Now and forever."
Mike sighed. It was time for some hard truth-telling, and frankly, he didn't feel up to it. But Mercedes was gone, so he couldn't lean on her—not like he'd gotten used to over the past seven months.
"Blaine," Mike said softly. "You're wrong. Kurt's moved on. He has a boyfriend. He has a boyfriend that he's falling in love with. In New York. And even if you go there, that isn't going to change."
"You don't know anything." Blaine pushed the empty tray farther away from him, nearly knocking Mercedes's abandoned cheesecake onto the floor. "You're in Chicago."
"And I'm dating Mercedes. Mercedes Jones. Kurt's best friend. I know what I'm talking about."
Blaine crossed his arms.
"You can't bounce back from cheating."
"I forgave Kurt."
Chandler again! Mike wanted to throw his hands in the air, but he refrained from doing so. "Not everything can be forgiven. Or forgotten. Cheating especially."
"Everyone cheats."
"Not me and Tina. Not me and Mercedes." Mike was appalled—how could his classmates have turned so cynical—so certain that the whole world was twisted and dishonest? Perhaps Sue Sylvester had been right—their little club was a bit too "incestuous" for its own good. It wasn't healthy. But at least Kurt has moved on.
"Kurt has moved on," he said aloud.
Blaine shook his head slowly.
"Kurt and Adam post pictures together every week. They post pictures from each other's bedrooms."
The color drained from Blaine's face.
"I—I—I can't . . . believe it."
"Well, just take a deep breath—"
Blaine pounded a fist on the table, making the plastic utensils jump. "I can't believe he's cheating on me. Again."
"Calm down, Blaine—"
Blaine stood and straightened his bowtie. "I am calm." Methodically, he placed all the trash from their coffee gathering on the tray, stopping only to ask if Mike was done with his tea. He threw all the garbage away and wiped the table with a fresh napkin. As he shook the crumbs onto the floor, he turned to Mike again.
"See, I'm calm. Now Kurt and I are equal. He cheated on me. I cheated on him—but that was an accident. He did it on purpose. And repeatedly. And so now he has to accept my apology. All I have to do is show him just how much I care."
Blaine crumpled the napkin in his hand and headed for the door.
"Thanks for your help, Mike," he threw over his shoulder. "I know exactly what to do now."
Mike waited for Blaine to drive off before he left the coffee shop. He had a sinking feeling that he'd made things worse. So much for being the wise one on healthy relationships.
But . . . perhaps no amount of sage advice on stable relationships worked . . . if one of the people in the relationship wasn't actually stable.
Mike reached for his cell and hit number two on his speed-dial.
"Mercedes? Are you alone? We need to talk. Now."
DISCLAIMER: Glee, its universe, and its characters do not belong to me.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is inspired by the crack klaine proposals meme and the title of the final episode of the season. Reviews—and especially constructive criticism—are warmly welcomed.
OH, AND: This is my second foray into the Glee fandom. I hope you enjoy it.