As a present to my followers and to my reviewers, I thought I'd write out some Christmases that Kurt and Blaine have had apart and together. Over the next few days, ending on Christmas Day, I'll post a new one-shot. Enjoy!
December 25, 2009
Blaine always got presents delivered to his room. They were stacked in a pile just outside his door. That's the way it had always been. He'd be in the hallway, joyously marveling at his wall of brightly-wrapped gifts, running a reverent finger over the creases and carefully opening them and folding the discarded paper. When he was younger, his mother would lean against the banister in her red robe, a cup of steaming coffee in her hands, and she'd watch her son open whatever Tonka truck he had been given that year. She'd return his delighted smile whenever he'd open something that particularly wonderful.
His mother hadn't watch him open gifts in years.
Sleepily, Blaine opened his bedroom door and sure enough, there was a small stacking of presents just outside. Most of them weren't wrapped; they were all obviously from Amazon, the tell-tale smile on the side of the box giving away the shipping address. A manila envelope lay on top.
He dragged the boxes into his room, closing the door with a click. He settled onto his bed, cracking his neck from side to side and set in on opening his Christmas haul, slicing open the tape with the knife his father had bought him the previous year. He hadn't wanted it, but he'd accepted it all the same.
Blaine hadn't played baseball since junior high, but there was a new Rawlings glove, the leather soft beneath his hands. He turned over the box. It was from his aunt in California, the one who invited them every summer to go to her beach house in Morro Bay. But they'd never go.
Blaine put the glove back into the packing paper and shoved it aside, slicing the next box open.
When he was finished, he was surrounded by the fits, begrudgingly bought for him by distant family members: noise-canceling headphones, a digital camera, an OSU sweatshirt, an electric shaver, and a bottle of Drakkar Noir (why? He was fifteen, where in the world would he be wearing cologne?). He ran a finger underneath the lip of the manila envelope, letting its contents fall into his lap.
It was a gift card and a note printed on card stock.
Three hundred dollars to Best Buy.
He picked up the note, scrutinizing it. It had the Anderson letterhead.
"Merry Christmas, Blaine. Your loving parents."
The house suddenly seemed unbearably quiet and cold, and he absently rubbed his hands up and down his arms, feeling gooseflesh erupt along them.
There was a brief knock upon his door, and it creaked open.
His mother stood there, immaculately made up at nine in the morning.
"You aren't dressed yet, sweetheart? We're going to mass, then your grandmother's brunch at ten-thirty, get yourself dressed," she scolded, her voice betrayingly soft. Blaine nodded, and she closed the door, the clicks of her heels on the marble sounding throughout the frigid house.
"Merry Christmas to you too, Mom," Blaine said quietly, getting off the ground and heading into the bathroom to wash the rotten taste from his mouth.
Mass was unbearable. It always was - Church on Christmas?
But the party at his grandmother's afterwards was a thousand times worse.
"You're fifteen now, aren't you, Blaine?"
Blaine nodded, his smile still upon his face. There was a building itch in his spine but he studiously ignored it.
"A fine age," said the man whose name Blaine had to know, but he just couldn't remember... "You have a girlfriend, son?"
Blaine felt his smile twitch minutely and he swallowed heavily.
"Not yet," he rasped, feeling his smile grow just a bit wider. The man chortled, wrapping his hand around the waist of his slinky wife with the draped neckline.
"You better play the field before you get tied down," the man said, smiling conspiratorially, and the woman rolled her eyes almost imperceptibly. The small circle around them laughed in social agreement, and that itch in Blaine's spine nagged at him once more.
"Excuse me," Blaine said quietly, nodding his way from the crowd and heading towards the bathroom. He pivoted as soon as he was out of the line of sight of the group, and he listened intently for their conversation to start up once more before breathing in relief. He rushed into the bathroom, locking the door and sitting on the side of the clawed-foot tub, the porcelain's cold bracing. His shoulders shook uncontrollably and he stared at his feet, covered in shiny black shoes that he hadn't bought for himself.
His hand curled around the cell phone in his pocket, wanting to pull it out, knowing he could end his misery by just shooting off a text. He had someone to talk to. He wasn't completely alone.
But he couldn't. Instead he slid to the ground, letting himself wallow on the cool tile. He picked at a pilling on his new cashmere sweater when there was a brisk knock upon the door.
Scrambling upwards, Blaine opened it a crack.
His mother stood outside, her arms crossed over her festive red cocktail dress. "You've been in here nearly fifteen minutes, Blaine," she said, her voice nearly a whisper. "Are you not feeling well?"
A way out.
"I don't feel well at all," Blaine emphasized. "Complete trash, I think I caught that stomach thing Lola had. Can I go home?"
His mother sighed, extended and annoyed. She rubbed gently at the nape of her neck. "Sweetheart, I don't think so."
"I might throw up," Blaine said, raising his eyebrows. The woman looked at him irritatedly.
"You will not, Blaine," she said sharply. "You seem fine. Come back to the party, won't you?"
Blaine shifted his weight and looked down to his hands, which were sweating. He slid them across his pants to his mother's annoyance. "I -" He looked to his mother, who looked at him questioningly. "I - Do I have to?"
"Yes, you do," she replied, a bit of a smile working onto her face. "Let's go now."
She put her hand upwards, nudging him slightly, and he took her arm, escorting her back to the crowd of people, the cell phone in his pocket feeling infinitely more heavy and there.
He felt his father's eyes upon him the entire time, intense with accusation and expectation, but he studiously looked at the faces of his grandmother's guests, letting the women dote upon him and the men lightly criticize his lack of athleticism and a girlfriend. Blaine had let his eyes drift, for only a moment, but he regretted it as soon as he did. A flash of hazel eyes and a blur of black hair, and a hand was coming, splayed, to knock him on the back.
He spluttered indignantly as Chase grinned doggishly, his eyes nearly identical to Blaine's own. "Merry Christmas, cousin," he boomed, and the adults tittered, a few of them shaking their heads. Chase was the family favorite. No matter how outlandish his actions, he'd never be reprimanded.
"You too, Chase," Blaine said chokingly, and his cousin beamed at him, but his eyes narrowed. Blaine knew how the conversation was going to go from here.
"How's your girlfriend, Chase?" his mother's cousin so-and-so asked genially. "That nice girl from last Christmas. Naomi?" Chase quirked an eyebrow and shrugged.
"Didn't go so well. I'm here with Kath this year. Kath!" Chase raised a hand and waved it towards a lithe brunette girl near the sodas, and she hesitantly waved back, smiling as she picked up a diet lemon-and-lime something-or-other. He wrapped his hand around her tiny hips, and she tucked herself into his side. "Naomi's old news."
"Looks like we have a real player in the family," So-and-so chuckled, and the group laughed with him. "I was just saying that I was surprised Blaine hasn't brought a lady friend to this annual bash yet at his age."
Shit.
Chase raised both eyebrows this time, a terrible smirk curling onto his face. His eyes grew wide and innocent. "Why would he bring a lady friend?"
Blaine shot him a panicked look, shaking his head, careful not to let any of the adults notice, but Chase paid him no mind. Neither did the guests.
"What does that mean?" What's-her-face from Blaine's father's side of the family questioned, her lips puckered. Chase gestured towards Blaine with his free hand.
"I just meant that it would be more likely for Blaine to bring a gentleman friend."
The silence of the group then was stifling, and Blaine burned bright scarlet, feeling nauseous at all the eyes that were on him. "T-that's..."
"What?" Chase said loudly over Blaine, his interruption making Blaine shrink even more. "What have you been saying, Blaine?"
Blaine swallowed, his throat feeling sticky and awful, and there was suddenly a delicate hand upon his arm, tugging him to the side with gentle urgency.
"Come, Blaine, the car's been brought around," his mother said lowly, an enormous smile still painted on her face like oil. Blaine all but dashed from the room, blood rushing in his ears, the entire building crashing upon him in heavy slabs of concrete accusation.
Once outside, Blaine kept running, his feet aching as the tight leather of his shoes scraped out harsh blisters. He finally let himself fall outside the high topiary, out of the eyeshot of anyone from the party or the country club.
He tugged the red tie into a looser noose and discarded his charcoal jacket beside him. He breathed hard, drawing his knees up, letting himself regain a bit of focus.
That weight was still there. He tugged the phone from his pocket and hit the only contact he had outside of Lola and his parents.
"Cooper?" he breathed into the phone. "Cooper, yeah, merry Christmas to you too. Where are you right now?"
The only other out gay kid from Blaine's school turned the corner half an hour later in his silver Corolla, letting Blaine get in beside him. Cooper didn't say a word. He pulled from the parking pool, turning onto the highway and letting Blaine's breathing return to normal.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Cooper asked hesitantly. Blaine shook his head.
"I don't even want to think about it."
"Well, you know, I have to get back to my family, it's Christmas."
"Yeah, I'm sorry," Blaine apologized quickly, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have called anyways. I just... I don't have anyone else."
"That's fine, you can call," Cooper said, eyes still on the road. "What are friends for?"
Blaine was silent, letting his panic quickly be overtaken by a new determination.
"Hey Coop."
"Yeah, Blaine?"
"That Sadie Hawkings dance looks like it'd be pretty fun to crash in January, don't you think?"
A tiny, slow smile wound onto Cooper's face, and he looked towards Blaine briefly. "Blaine Anderson, are you asking me out?"
"We can go as friends, right?" Blaine asked swiftly, and Cooper laughed.
"Sure, Blaine, sure."
Blaine sat back in his seat and let his head fall upon the window, his eyes following the few cars upon the road.
"Thanks," he said quietly, and Cooper hummed lightly. "You can just take me home, if that's OK."
"Sure."
When they rounded into Blaine's driveway, and Blaine began to exit the car, Cooper caught his wrist. "Wait a second, Blaine."
Blaine turned back, brows furrowed in confusion. "What?"
"I don't know what happened today," Cooper said plainly, and Blaine nodded. "Just... keep your chin up. You're a great guy, Blaine."
Blaine's face colored immediately and he shook off the initial embarrassment. "Thanks, Coop."
"I mean it," the junior asserted. "I'm going to sound like an absolute douchebag, but, you know, don't... lose yourself. Keep that courage that I know is there." Blaine nodded once more, and Cooper smiled, just a bit. "All right. Well, merry Christmas, Blaine."
Blaine chuckled at that, but it was a tired sound. "Merry Christmas, Cooper. See you in two weeks."
He watched the silver car peel from the driveway, headed to a home full of warmth and a family circled around the hearth. He jammed his hands in his pants pockets and stalked into the house, letting the heavy door slam behind him.
Merry Christmas indeed.