Warnings: Mentions of homophobic bullying and gay bashing, but mainly as passing thoughts. Lots of Blaine mentally waxing lyrical about how Kurt is perfect in every way using lots of cheesy, sappy, ridiculously romantic clichés (you have officially been warned). One use of the c-word for 'penis' for the super sensitive.
Summary: It's April which means it's time for the annual Ohio Gathering Ball, and this year, it's a masquerade.
Notes: This is a one shot that got away from me (and turned into a two shot). I did intend a sort of Cinderella-esque story (without the curfew, abrupt running away and subsequent search for The One... which is actually pretty much the plot of Cinderella so I don't even know what I was thinking), but then I actually thought of a plot, and then 9,000+ words happened and I could only stare dumbfounded at the longest chapter I've ever written.
AU only in that Blaine and Kurt never met. So... the Warblers have faced Vocal Adrenaline at Sectionals every year for the past three years and lost, so they've never faced New Directions. Good? Good. And it's probably best if you head into this story knowing that this is 'set' during series 3. Also, remember that the ball starts at, like, seven, so the sun is still up at the beginning of the story. I totally intended for this story to be just one giant scene but it gave me a headache writing it so no.
(The Ohio Gathering Ball does not exist. I made it up as some sort of middle-upper-class group of people who like to pretend they're more important than they really are, and I couldn't be bothered thinking of a better name.)
(Also please forgive the cheesy chapter names. ¬¬)
"Change your tie."
"But—"
"I won't tell you again, Blaine."
Trying not to let his dad see how upset he is, Blaine pulls off his black-and-white polka-dotted bow tie and replaces it with the thin lavender (and really, lavender? How is that less gay than the bow tie? Aside from the fact that lavender is so not his colour) cravat his father is holding out to him. He stands straight and allows his mother the straighten the tie and tuck it into his vest. He wishes Cooper were here; or, even better, that he were with Cooper, hundreds of miles away on a too-hot beach so he wouldn't have to attend this stuffy ball on his own.
When his mother steps back and coos happily, Blaine gives her a small, insincere smile. Mr Anderson nods approvingly (or as approvingly as he can, since he can't look at Blaine without looking like he has something foul-smelling right under his nose), says he'll be waiting for them in the vestibule and leaves.
"Now, where did you put your mask?" Mrs Anderson asks, flipping through Blaine's closet before he can answer.
"Mom!" He hurries to her side before she disorganises his clothes. "I gave it to you last week, remember? I think you put it in your room."
"That's my good boy." Mrs Anderson pats Blaine's cheek before going back to her and her husband's room. Blaine sighs, forces himself not to fall onto his bed and rumple his outfit, decides he's mad at Cooper for forgetting about this stupid ball and booking a holiday with his girlfriend. Now Blaine will be by himself, left with stuffy, upper-middle class businessmen and -women and socialites who pretend they're upper class and pretend Blaine isn't gay just as much as his parents. This is the first year Cooper won't be by his side to mock the other attendees, and Blaine can't help but resent him a little.
Eventually, his mother whirls back into his room like a tornado. She has obviously taken the time to touch up her hair and make up, and then helps Blaine put his mask on. It's based on the Phantom of the Opera's, not that his father has realised this, resting on his right cheek with an almost invisible wire holding it in place; it is a beautiful mask, black with gold swirls expanding from the eye holes. His mother fusses with his hair, trying in vain to flatten his curls (he'd decided, for once, to use shaping mousse instead of gel, and was pleased to see his hair actually manageable while retaining its shape), and then the two head down to the foyer where Mr Anderson leads the way to the limo. (Oh, how Blaine and Cooper would have scoffed at a stretch limousine in Ohio.)
The Andersons, as always, arrive fashionably late. Every year there is an argument between his father the punctual businessman and his mother the socialite, and every year his mother wins; so they leave ten minutes before the ball officially begins and arrive twenty-two minutes late. When they register at the hosting hotel in Columbus, Blaine sees that almost all of the guests have already been signed in.
Holding in another sigh, Blaine mutely follows his parents into the ballroom.
It's an impressive place to be sure. Dark, expensive woods make up the structure, patterned beams and paintings of landscapes and long-dead men decorate the walls at intervals between long windows, two large glass chandeliers light the room even though the sun isn't due to set for another hour. At the far end of the room, the clear double doors lead out onto a balcony which leads down into the gardens. This year, there are tables covered with white clothes and finger foods pushed against one of the walls, and smaller tables surrounded by chairs, in lieu of a formal dinner. Blaine smiles in relief; the dinners always went on for far too long and he was always stuck next to someone boring who would try to set him up with his or her daughter. In a corner near the balcony doors, a group of string players are sitting next to a piano and they're playing a sedate piece to accompany the low buzz of conversation.
Blaine thinks how awesome it would be to replace the band with a DJ.
Mr Anderson immediately strides over to a group of men in black suits. Most of them are wearing simple black masks similar to his father's; one is wearing a white mask that covers his entire face, bar his eyes and a slip around his mouth, and Blaine finds it unnerving. He turns away and suppresses a shudder.
"Go and find a dance partner, Blaine," Mrs Anderson says. Her eyes glitter at him and a small, warm smile curves her lips. But Blaine knows better.
Go and find a nice, pretty girl to dance with. Make your father proud.
"There's no dance floor," he replies evasively, thinking there would definitely be a dance floor if this ball had a DJ.
"Then make one. You're a teenager; you need to have some fun."
Fun would be dancing to Pink and Katy Perry. Fun would be watching Wicked and joining in with every song, laughing when he fails miserably to hit the high notes. Fun would be at Nick's house playing MarioKart until they're too tired to know if they were driving in the right direction. Fun would be annoying Cooper by constantly interrupting him and his girlfriend.
Fun is not moving in tiny circles with a girl pressing into him.
"Maybe you should see if you can find Melissa," she continues pointedly, and Blaine pretends he doesn't notice her watching him carefully. "I remember you got on rather well last year."
"I'll try," he says. His mother gives him a little push in the direction of a group of teenage girls (very subtle, Mom) and then disappears to search out her own friends.
For a moment, Blaine stands there, a couple of feet into the ballroom. He closes his eyes, pulls his persona together.
When he opens his eyes again, he is Blaine Anderson, son of a CEO.
Blaine has long perfected the art of mingling and polite conversation. Most of the guests he recognises from previous years – the event is invitation-only and the people are pretentious and quite a tight circle, despite their willingness to stab each other in the back if need be – so he finds it very easy to slip from conversation to conversation.
It was Cooper who came up with the rules, developed them as a way to survive the boredom and not get on their father's bad side. First, no more than fifteen minutes to a conversation, ten if you can get away with it. Second, stray as little as possible from talk about school, Dad's company, what the other person does for a living. (As a bonus, remember this to laugh about later.) Third, if possible, try not to get stuck in a one-on-one, as they force attention on you and are harder to slip away from. Fourth, the older the person, the more you should try to avoid them. Fifth, only try and escape from the ballroom after an hour and a half or one full circuit.
For what feels like the hundredth time, Blaine pulls back his cuffs and looks at his watch. (He's wearing his Formal Watch, which is black leather and gold-plated metal and very discrete. His favourite watch is bright red and has fish swimming around the band.)
It's been four minutes.
"Blaine!" a happy voice calls from behind him. He turns and smiles wanly at Melissa. She doesn't notice his discomfort, too busy babbling about how good he looks and how her dress was custom-made by Alexandra McQueen herself (it takes everything Blaine has not to burst out laughing) and how she can't wait for the band to play a waltz—
Blaine looks at his watch again. Six more minutes have passed. Trying not to mouth his sums, Blaine works out that he still has forty-five minutes before he can make his escape.
"—Mother paid for me to have private lessons and my instructor says that I am a positively excellent waltz partner," she finishes with a not-so-subtle wink.
Maybe next year Blaine will wear a sandwich board saying, I'M GAY. I LIKE OTHER BOYS. I WANT TO SUCK COCK.
He amuses himself for a brief moment imagining everyone's reactions. The outrage. The scandal. Maybe someone would even faint and he'd have to bring out the smelling salts.
Then he remembers he's in the middle of a conversation and offers Melissa an insincerely apologetic smile. "I'm sure you are," he says, and falls silent. He pretends not to notice her hints, doesn't suggest they dance together, doesn't flirtatiously say that he'll have to see for himself; and she is too much of a gentlelady to outright propose the idea herself.
For once, Blaine is glad of the outdated, overly formal rules of the wannabe upper class.
He slips his eyes away from her face, desperately searching for someone he might recognise under a mask, someone he can use to escape Melissa before she can drop more heavy-handed hints and Blaine will be forced to ask her to dance – because god forbid he mar the good Anderson name.
And that's when he sees him.
Well, first he sees a giant who looks awkwardly out of place in a simple fitted tux and a nondescript half-mask as he simultaneously piles food onto his plate and into his mouth.
And then he sees him.
His half-mask is shiny white with turquoise around the edges and decorating the eyes, and thin beaded tassels dangle to frame his right cheek. His suit is a light grey Italian cut; the pants are snug, showing off the smooth curves of his ass and thighs, and Blaine can see thick sashes pulling his jacket to shape his chest, shoulders and slim waist. His hair is light brown and styled to sweep away from his forehead.
From this distance, it looks like he's scolding the giant. Blaine hopes they're not boyfriends.
"Blaine! Are you listening to me?"
Melissa's annoyed voice snaps him out of his daze, causing Blaine to realise that the reason that the reason he can see the two so clearly, despite them being thirty metres away, is because the other attendees are giving them a wide berth. And then he recognises the sidelong glances and the curled lips directed at the two boys and his stomach twists.
"Blaine!" Melissa snaps, viciously jabbing his arm. Blaine bites back an 'ouch' and forces his eyes back to her.
"My apologies for ignoring you, Melissa, but if you'll excuse me." He inclines his head and barely even gives her time to form a frown before turning away and heading for the buffet table.
As he gets closer, Blaine wonders what he should do. He doesn't recognise either of the boys (he knows he would recognise that height) so he can't start with his usual ball talk. Would it be rude of him to interrupt? Would they even want to talk to him? Would he even want to talk to him, or is Blaine just going to make a massive fool out of himself?
"How can you still be hungry? You had half a chicken to yourself and I don't even want to think about all those Doritos you ate in the car," the boy is saying. His voice is clear and higher pitched than most boys'. Blaine thinks he sounds beautiful.
"But look, dude, it's too small to fill me up or anything." The giant holds up an hors d'oeuvres for a moment and then stuffs it in his mouth.
"First of all, you are disgusting." Blaine bites back a laugh. "Second, food doesn't work like that. Just because everything here is infinitesimally smaller than everything else you eat, it will still fill you up eventually."
Blaine draws in a deep breath and quickly steps into the conversation before he can lose his nerve.
"Excuse me for interrupting," he says, smiling apologetically – if sincerely, for the the first time tonight – and glad his voice is coming out smoothly. The giant looks at him blankly but, thankfully, the other boy (oh, god, he's beautiful) nods slightly and gives him a small, abashed smile.
"It's not a problem. Was my stepbrother bothering you?"
The boy's eyes flash over to the giant, and Blaine's breath catches in his throat. Because his eyes are beautiful, an unnameable mixture of blue and green and grey, and the turquoise ribbon draws out every single hue.
"Not at all," Blaine says, and then he blushes when he realises how high his voice has gone. He clears his throat and hurries on, "I'm Blaine," and holds out his hand.
"Kurt," the boy returns. He takes Blaine's hand and Blaine marvels at how soft his skin is. He also notices how firmly he grips and stops his thoughts going further than thinking about how a strong handshake is a sign of a confident man. "This is my stepbrother, Finn."
"Hey." Finn nods, but doesn't move to take Blaine's hand himself. He's relieved; Finn's free hand is covered in food. Then he realises he's still holding Kurt's hand and drops it quickly, flushing.
"Don't speak with food in your mouth!" Kurt admonishes, the pitch of his voice raising slightly. Blaine sees his eyes widen and dart between himself and Finn, and he suddenly remembers that they're surrounded by uptight businessmen and -women who have never encountered a teenage boy in his natural state.
"Don't worry about it," Blaine assures them, grinning. "My brother's even worse."
"I didn't think that was possible," Kurt says, looking a little horrified.
"Every movie is a challenge to see if he can fit more popcorn in his mouth than last time. I have the scoreboard on my wall." Blaine refrains from saying it's actually a competition between them and he's currently winning. He also resolutely ignores the voice in his head which is telling blowjob jokes (this voice sounds suspiciously like Cooper).
Kurt laughs. It lasts all of about two seconds but Blaine is pretty sure he's fallen in love.
"So where is he?" Finn asks, looking around as if there'll be a guy with BLAINE'S BROTHER flashing above his head.
"California, I think. Definitely somewhere warm and with a beach."
Kurt makes a sympathetic noise. "And you're stuck here."
Blaine shrugs and meets Kurt's eyes as he says, "It's not so bad."
They look at each other for what seems like an age. Blaine decides not to try and figure out what colour exactly Kurt's eyes are – they're beautiful and that's all that matters. He can see Kurt's lips twitch as he tries not to smile but Blaine doesn't bother, smiling widely because here's a gorgeous boy who isn't rejecting his advances. (He can almost hear Cooper gagging in his head.)
"I'm gonna go see what Mom's up to," Finn says, and Blaine jumps because he's forgotten again that there are other people around.
Kurt nods and Blaine offers him a 'nice to meet you'. Finn looks at him seriously for a moment and then it's just Kurt and Blaine and why can't Blaine think of anything to say?
"I wasn't aware it was in the Angel of Music's job description to relieve me of stepbrother duty," Kurt says, eyes twinkling.
God, I could kiss you! Blaine thinks in relief, and now he's thought that, he really does want to kiss him.
"It's in the fine print," he replies, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. He raises it to normal level to add, "I have to say, I am glad he wasn't your boyfriend. I don't think I'm prepared for a duel with a guy twice my size." Stop talking stop talking stop talking.
Kurt looks at him appraisingly. There's something about him that seems cautious now, although Blaine can't figure out what because nothing in his body language or facial expression has changed. He scolds himself for the boyfriend line – yeah, he's pretty sure Kurt is gay but he shouldn't just assume.
"I did have a crush on him before our parents dated," Kurt says lightly. Blaine feels like he's being tested and his palms start to sweat. "Actually, that's how they met."
"That sounds... really awkward?" And crap, where has his confidence gone? He's hiding half his face and he's never been more nervous.
"It was surprisingly easy to get over him when I saw how happy my dad was."
There's a happy little flutter that rises from Blaine's chest to his stomach and he can't help but smile.
"I don't know how good at that I'd be, so it's probably a good thing there's never been an opportunity for a crush to become my stepbrother."
"Are you, um...?"
"I'm gay." Blaine nods.
"Oh," Kurt says. His voice is breathier and higher than before and the happy flutter returns.
"How many straight Ohioan boys do you think have even heard of Phantom of the Opera?" Blaine adds teasingly. Kurt relaxes and smiles.
"That's true. The straight boys of Ohio are woefully uncultured. They can't even tell the difference between a Marc Jacobs jacket and a cheap knock-off from their local Gap."
Blaine manages not to wince (it has been over a year since that disastrous Valentine's Day, after all).
"I'm not an avid follower of fashion myself but I do have a subscription to Vogue."
Kurt's eyes light up and Blaine can't help but smile.
The taller boy immediately starts talking about the newly released spring collections, criticises the choices of a new designer ("though I can definitely see some potential – she's one to keep an eye on"). He pauses periodically to allow Blaine to give his opinion (a comment about a particular colour scheme launches them into a detailed and occasionally almost-heated discussion about the pros and cons of grey) but Blaine is mostly happy to let Kurt's voice wash over him. He realises that the more Kurt talks, the more relaxed and animated he gets. Blaine wonders how often the other boy is able to let go like this, and surmises it probably isn't very often, if at all. Even if Blaine isn't a fashionista, they both know he can at least keep up.
Blaine has completely forgotten that they're not alone when an older man and woman come up to them and interrupt. Kurt looks startled too, and Blaine hopes it's because he was as caught up in Blaine and Blaine was in him.
"Hey there, Kurt, we were wondering what had happened to you," the man says not unkindly, clapping Kurt's shoulder.
"Hi, Dad." Kurt smiles warmly (Blaine's heart skips a beat; this is a new smile that softens his face and it's slightly disconcerting how much he wants it directed at him) and then shifts so that he's midway between his parents and Blaine. This leaves only a couple of inches between their shoulders and the mixture of Kurt's warmth and Kurt's cologne makes Blaine's head spin, and he almost misses it when Kurt introduces everyone. "Dad, Carole, this is Blaine; Blaine, this is my father, Burt, and my stepmom, Carole."
This is the first time Kurt's said his name, and it sounds wonderful.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," Blaine says, holding out a hand. Burt grips it tightly (perhaps a little too tightly and for a few moments too long) and replies, and then Blaine is able to turn to Carole. "And of course, you too, ma'am." He kisses the back of her hand (he sees Kurt trying not to laugh out the corner of his eye; Burt, clearly having no qualms, snorts).
"Lovely to meet you too, Blaine," Carole replies. Her smile is pleased and embarrassed. "Please, call me Carole."
Blaine smiles his most charming smile at her and says, "Thank you."
"So," Burt says, suddenly sounding much more intimidating than before, "are you gay or straight or what?"
"Dad!"
"I-I'm definitely gay, sir," Blaine stammers. His eyes flick over to Kurt before he can stop them and, when he's again looking at Burt, he knows that the man didn't miss a thing.
Burt looks like he's about to say more – maybe ask what Blaine's intentions are towards Kurt, maybe make a threat concerning Kurt's heart and a shotgun – when Kurt hurriedly says, his voice more shrill than before, "Have either of you seen Finn? He went looking for you about half an hour ago."
"Yeah, he asked some girl to dance," Burt replies, jabbing a finger in the direction of the dance floor. Blaine wants to see who Finn's dancing with but he can't shake the feeling that if he looks away, Burt will be on him like a shark on a bloody carcass. (Wow, that's a bit far, don't you think? he asks himself.)
Kurt huffs a laugh. "That poor girl."
Blaine licks his lips and then clears his throat, drawing everyone's attention back to him. His palms feel a little clammy so he presses his hands against his lips.
"I was wondering if it would be alright to ask Kurt to accompany me to the garden," he says, talking mostly to Burt but continuously glancing over at Kurt to make sure he's not overstepping his boundaries. To his relief, Kurt looks pleased; to his surprise, Burt just looks at Kurt.
"I'd love to," Kurt says breathlessly, and Blaine can't stop the grin that breaks across his face.
"Awesome," he says, and then clears his throat, glancing embarrassedly at Kurt's amused parents. He holds his arm out and his heart swells at how utterly delighted Kurt's smile is, and not even his confusion when Kurt changes around their arms so his own is looped through Kurt's can lessen it.
"Sorry," he says quietly, eyes wide and sparkling, "it's just much more comfortable this way."
"I'm not complaining." He has no reason to complain: the heat of Kurt's body pressing into his side is oddly comforting.
They both jump when Burt clears his throat. Blaine feels hot beneath his mask, embarrassed to have yet again been caught up in Kurt by his dad.
"You kids go have fun," Burt says, voice low but not gruff.
"Thanks, Dad," Kurt says quietly as Blaine nods. Burt asks Carole to dance and they head off to join the couples near the band. Blaine looks up at Kurt, sees the small smile playing on his lips; his chest flutters as he smiles to himself and squeezes Kurt's arm.
"Shall we go?" he asks once he has Kurt's attention again, gesturing to the double doors. Kurt nods and is the one to lead them; it feels strange, not being in control, but Blaine realises he doesn't mind. He wonders if it's because it's Kurt.
They walk in relative silence. Blaine focuses on Kurt's warmth, on the silk of Kurt's suit under his hand, on the solidness of his forearm under that. He doesn't look away from the stone wall of the balcony, just in case he catches his father's eye or the judgemental stares. He doesn't particularly care; he just wants plausible deniability when his father inevitably corners him later and asks him if he knew what people were thinking of his walking arm-in-arm with another boy.
Blaine pulls Kurt down the left set of steps (down the left, up the right; it's the same every year and Blaine is strangely reluctant to break habit) and by the time they reach the patio, the only sound which carries from the ballroom is the band playing 'To A Wild Rose'.
He leads Kurt slowly along the path, giving him time to look around and take in the flora and ornaments. Their silence is comfortable, until Blaine realises that he wants to talk but has no idea what to say and then the silence is incredibly awkward on his part.
"Sooooo," he says, flounders for a moment, and then lamely finishes, "come here often?"
Kurt bursts into laughter. "Really, Blaine?"
"It's a perfectly valid question," he argues.
"Alright. No, I don't come here often. This is my family's first year."
Blaine can't help the bounce in his step when he realises Kurt is playing along.
"What about you?"
He nods, pulling a face. "Every year since I was four."
"Is it always so..."
"Boring? Stuffy? Pretentious?" Blaine supplies, and Kurt squeezes his arm, and Blaine's brain flat for a moment. "But then I get to come out here and it's worth it."
"It's very peaceful."
Blaine grins. "It gets better."
Kurt levels his eyes at him. "I don't like surprises," he says, slowly and enunciating everything. Blaine gets the impression he's being warned and maybe ought to be a bit concerned, but he only stretches his smile wider.
"You'll like this one, I promise."
"Why should I believe you?"
Despite only having met the other boy half an hour ago, that hurts more than Blaine would like to admit.
"Everyone romantically inclined likes this surprise," he assures Kurt.
"Oh." There's a pregnant nanosecond and Blaine feels the awkwardness begin to seep back into their conversation. "Do you show many boys this surprise?"
Blaine's stomach drops with realisation and words tumble quickly and thoughtlessly out of his mouth.
"No, no, god, no – Kurt – Kurt, I swear I never – I mean, you're – just Cooper and me—"
"Is Cooper your brother?" Kurt interrupts. Blaine hurriedly nods and his whole body relaxes (when had he even tensed?) when Kurt looks at him again with the corners of his lips turned up in an almost-smile. "How much older is he?"
"Six years." Blaine suspects that he was a slightly unwelcome surprise to his parents (or at least, slightly unwelcome after he came out).
They fall into silence again and Blaine feels guilty for ending the conversation so abruptly.
"Well," he says awkwardly, trying for a jokey tone and surreptitiously rubbing his free palm on his trousers, "since you can probably infer plenty from that, I think it's fair you tell me something about yourself."
"Like what?" Kurt asks carefully, and Blaine could kick himself for his phrasing. It's not hard to figure out that Kurt is reserved and cautious, keeps his cards close to his chest, and for some reason Blaine just can't stop putting his foot in his mouth.
"Hmm. What's your favourite musical?"
Kurt laughs. His arm is loose and relaxed and Blaine finds the courage from somewhere to shift his arm so that their fingers are linked. Kurt looks momentarily startled, and then he breathlessly counters, "What makes you think I like musicals?"
"How easily you guessed my mask's inspiration. No one who likes Phantom can not like musicals in general."
"Wicked."
Blaine raises an amused eyebrow. "Gnarly?"
"What?"
"Aren't we having an eighties slang-off?"
Kurt laughs again; Blaine thinks he would be happy if he could even listen to that laugh for the rest of his life.
"No, Wicked is my favourite musical. I have a shrine in the back of my closet and an iPod dedicated to selections from it." Kurt's eyes widen. "O-or at least I did. Not anymore. That was years ago now. Please don't judge me."
Blaine grins, feeling a little giddy because Kurt is nervous in front of him. "I would never judge you, Kurt." And yeah, he realises that he really never would. "Besides that I think it's adorable, it would be majorly hypocritical of me; I went through a High School Musical phase a few years ago and I was basically convinced I'd meet Zac Efron and we'd fall in love, get married and have two-point-five children."
Kurt presses his free hand to his mouth and his body shakes as he stifles his laughter. Eventually, when he's calmed down, he says, "For such a dapper gentleman, you sure play a mean game of One-Up."
He contemplates comparing himself to an onion but he doesn't know if Kurt will know the reference so he goes with the more impressive, "I am a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. Good luck figuring me out," and tops it off with a cheery wink.
Kurt just gives him a small smile and looks at him, and Blaine realises his eyes are a piercing shade of blue in this light. Beautiful.
"You give yourself too much credit," he teases, though the effect is lost on the gentleness of his tone. "You have many sides but you're so expressive I can read you like a book."
A chill churns low in his stomach. Is he really obvious? What has Kurt figured out already that Blaine hasn't said?
"I wouldn't worry too much, though," Kurt continues, and Blaine wonders if he intended to carry on in the first place or if he can see Blaine's concerns. "People as a whole are generally unobservant and, while I won't insult you by pretending to know what you've gone through, our experiences as gay teens in Ohio are probably not entirely dissimilar."
Blaine smiles at Kurt, turns his words over in his head, and is surprised to realise that his muscles remained relaxed. As they keep up eye contact, Blaine watches Kurt's eyes change to an almost translucently pale blue; he forces himself to look around and notices they're near their destination.
"Ah! Just over here." He tugs Kurt into something a little faster than a walk but definitely not a jog until they have passed the last of the flower beds and are standing atop a grassy knoll.
"What's over here?"
"Look."
Blaine shifts them, with the occasional assuring squeeze to Kurt's hand, so they're facing west. He's timed it perfectly this year; the sun is low enough to the horizon that the sky is a blazing spread of blues and oranges and yellows yet not high enough so that they'll get bored.
Kurt lets out a soft 'oh', his grip on Blaine's hand tightens. Blaine skims his thumb across Kurt's palm and thinks that this, watching a gorgeous sunset while he holds hands with a gorgeous gay boy, is what paradise must be.
Then he turns his head and his breath catches in his throat. Kurt's mask may well as not exist because it's so obvious how entranced Kurt is: his lips are ever-so-slightly parted and his eyes are wide and shining. Blaine drinks in his expression, becomes completely spellbound at how the departing light plays on Kurt's face, colouring his pale complexion and reflecting in his eyes.
Blaine only knows that the sun is almost completely set because the rosy tint has gone from Kurt's cheeks and thinks again, Beautiful.
When Kurt looks at him, startled, Blaine realises he actually spoke aloud.
"What?" Kurt gasps. Blaine feels his face heat up and is glad they're so far away from the lights that Kurt can't see his blush.
"You're beautiful," he says, his voice clear even as it quavers. "Thank you – for coming out here with me."
"I should be thanking you for such a wonderful surprise," Kurt responds sincerely. His eyes dart around, avoiding looking at Blaine for more than a fraction of a second. "You were right; I loved it."
"Kurt, hey." Blaine pulls on Kurt's arm until their bodies are pointing towards each other; after a moment's hesitation, he lifts his other hand to rest lightly on the curve of Kurt's neck and shoulder. Kurt's eyes widen at the same moment Blaine realises how too-intimate the gesture is so he slides his hand down to Kurt's chest, but he can faintly feel Kurt's heart thudding quickly at the base of his palm and suddenly breathing is too intimate. "I – can I ask you something – personal?"
"You may, but that doesn't mean I'll answer," he replies haughtily, though Blaine can see right through it.
"Have you ever had a boyfriend?"
"I'm the only out gay guy at my school."
Blaine keeps his gaze on Kurt, and Kurt keeps looking back and looking away and rinse and repeat, and neither of them say anything more. Instead, Blaine thinks; but he doesn't even really need to because he understands what Kurt is saying immediately. He's never had a boyfriend, he's never had someone to combat the bullies' words, he's never had someone want him.
"Can I tell you something personal?" he eventually asks. He feels strangely calm, all of a sudden; perhaps the decrease of nerves correlates with the rising need to make Kurt feel... wanted? comfortable? appreciated? (He doesn't let himself think the word 'loved'.)
"If you like."
Kurt's impossible eyes finally settle and both their heartbeats speed up a little. Somewhere at the back of his mind, Blaine is aware that they're beating slightly out of rhythm, but the offset pulsing reminds him of an old song.
"I've never had a boyfriend either. And I—" He hesitates, almost moves his hand to cup Kurt's face but changes his mind at the last minute. Instead, he momentarily presses his hand a little harder into Kurt's chest, and he feels the other boy's breath hitch. Blaine mouths words for a second before dropping his eyes to study his hand because he needs Kurt to know how sincere he is but to keep up eye contact feels too intense too quickly. "You're honestly the most beautiful boy I've ever seen, and the wittiest I've ever met," he finishes honestly.
"Blaine," Kurt whispers, his voice cracking on the single syllable, and Blaine wonders how at deeply connected they already seem to be. Is this normal? Isn't he supposed to be too young, too immature, to feel like this? Is he supposed to feel scared since an hour ago they didn't even know of each other's existence, and even now they know hardly anything about each other?
Kurt huffs a laugh and says self-deprecatingly, "But I'm wearing a mask."
Blaine shrugs. "I can see enough." He hopes Kurt doesn't misunderstand.
The silence between them is dense, flooded with unspoken words and admissions and confessions and meaning, heavy with feelings that shouldn't exist so soon and they don't understand because they'll always be too young.
Blaine steps back, takes his hand off Kurt's chest and places it by his side, drops his other hand so he and Kurt aren't touching and have a friendly distance between them. He draws a deep breath, and it's only then he can look back up to meet Kurt's eyes. He grins widely – it feels too light but he is so not ready to deal with heavy – and gestures back the way they came.
"Do we wanna see some hot spots?" His voice is too loud and he wants to cringe but Kurt is smiling a little as he raises on eyebrow.
"'Hot spots'? What, do the roses throw wild parties?"
Blaine scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous, roses are boring." A beat. "It's the hydrangeas you've got to watch out for."
"Of course."
The solemnity of a few moments ago lingers quietly at the edges of their conversation, reminds Blaine it's there in the careful way he tries not to touch Kurt again, but it's mostly ignorable as they walk back towards the flower beds.
"What has been your most embarrassing crush?" Kurt asks apropos of nothing. Blaine looks at him, startled and trying very hard not to start blushing. Kurt rolls his eyes.
"Well, you know about Finn so it's only fair."
"Um, pretty much all my crushes have been embarrassing," Blaine says, though it comes out more as a question.
"But what's at the top of the list?"
The Warblers' Gap Attack. Without question. But definitely far too mortifying to even think about for at least another seven years.
"In kindergarten, I guess, then. I tried to kiss one of the other boys, but I slipped on the ice and broke his nose."
It's at that moment Blaine stumbles over a raised patio tile, and Kurt's lips quirk in amusement. Blaine is glad when Kurt ignores his stumble (because he's not usually clumsy, honestly, it's just that he got a little distracted).
"I'm disappointed," is what Kurt says instead. "That's hardly humiliating at all."
Blaine shifts his feet and can't quite bring himself to meet Kurt's eyes as he offers, "We both ended up in hospital?" Except Kurt is studying him and, when he lets out a small gasp, Blaine knows he's figured it out.
"No, what's your real most embarrassing crush?" Kurt asks delightedly.
"Kuuurt," Blaine whines before he can remember that he's not five years old. "But it's so mortifying!"
"That's the whole point of the question. Really, can it be more embarrassing than mine?"
"It's probably about the same, but concentrated into twenty minutes."
"Do tell."
Blaine groans but knows he's beat.
"Fine." They stop walking so Blaine can hide behind his hands, and then he says as says as quickly as he can, "Last year I tried serenading a guy for Valentine's Day at his workplace but then he got fired and rejected me 'cause I'd been making up the whole thing in my head all along."
Kurt, at least, has the decency to laugh silently and behind his hand.
"He got fired?" he says instead, his voice high with amusement.
"My glee club sang back up. It was quite the spectacle."
Kurt has to hide his laughter again.
"Would you stop laughing?" Blaine complains without malice. "Haven't you ever tried serenading a guy?"
"No."
Blaine peers at him through his fingers, and his hands drop when he realises, "Oh my god, you've serenaded Finn, haven't you?"
Kurt's ears go bright red. He splutters for a moment before regaining his composure saying, "No, absolutely not."
"What did you sing?" Blaine's face feels like it's going to break from how widely he's smiling.
"Why do you want to know?"
"I need a getaway driver for all my planned bank robberies. How about – I tell you what I sang and then you can. Because I promise you, mine is much, much worse."
After a few moments, Kurt says, "I'm not promising anything," and then looks at Blaine expectantly. He flushes, looks away and mumbles, "'When I Get You Alone'."
"Let me get this straight: you sang a song rife with innuendo to a guy in his workplace as a way to ask him out?" Kurt asks incredulously.
"I was sixteen!" Blaine protests, his face heating up even more. "Come on, your turn now."
"'A House Is Not a Home'," Kurt mutters, and then they're both bright red and avoiding each other's eyes, and then suddenly they're both laughing. Blaine's eyes are watering, he can barely breathe, his legs are shaking, and he'd be embarrassed by how hard he's laughing but Kurt's exactly the same, and their laughter builds off each other until a lack of air forces them to calm down. Blaine allows himself to slump onto one of the raised borders while Kurt just leans on it heavily, the silence only broken by heavy gasps and the occasional giggle.
Eventually, Kurt straightens up. He eyes the wall for a few moments, seems to come to a decision, and looks back up at Blaine who is still sitting on it.
"So how did you convince your glee club that 'When I Get You Alone' was a good idea?"
"God only knows," Blaine groans. "But they decided the appropriate way to punish me would be for me to tidy up our practice room all by myself."
"That's a lot kinder than a punishment I would give you for that kind of humiliation."
Blaine ignores the wholly inappropriate spike of arousal that shoots down his spine.
"Did I mention it was for the rest of the semester?"
"I can only say you deserved it." Blaine pouts and Kurt smiles innocently back. "I'm in a glee club too," he says.
"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me. Hey, we should duet!"
"Oh, I don't know. I only sing with people who have talent." Kurt quirks his lips into a flirty half-smile. Blaine's heart thuds erratically in his chest.
"I have talent. Didn't I mention that I'm basically the lead soloist?"
"How nice for you," Kurt deadpans, and Blaine thinks he might be overstepping some kind of boundary.
"Alright, I'll prove it." He jumps up onto the wall. "What do you want me to sing?"
Kurt smirks. "'Defying Gravity'."
Blaine sighs melodramatically. "Is that my punishment for 'When I Get You Alone'? I can't hit a high F, Kurt."
"I can."
Blaine gapes at his smug face. "Oh my god, seriously? Can you sing that for me, then? Please?" He tries to pout again but, damn, Kurt really does seem to be immune to it.
"We'll see," he says, and then looks thoughtful. "So you know 'Check Yes Juliet'?"
Blaine nods, smiling, but warns, "I don't remember all of it so I can only offer you the first two verses."
"That's fine." Kurt waves his hand as if to say 'begin'. Blaine clears his throat, bounces a couple of times to loosen his body, and then sings.
Check yes, Juliet, are you with me? Rain is falling down on the sidewalk...
There's no question that loves being a part of the Warblers but he does find the simple two-step shuffle limiting; he doesn't just love to sing – his blood thrums from performing. So he dances and emotes on top of the wall, very likely looking like a complete fool and crushing some unsuspecting flowers, but the wide smile on Kurt's face (he's showing teeth! This has got to be the best smile yet!) as Blaine finishes what he knows of the song with a spin makes everything worth it. (He has admittedly been told off by the council for his literal dancing but they haven't banned him from solos yet so.)
He takes an exaggerated bow as Kurt applauds enthusiastically.
"Bravo, Blaine. I concede; you deserve those solos."
Blaine's grin widens, and his heart feels so swollen with happiness that it might burst. "Thank you," he says, not even trying to damp down his spirits. Then he leans forward, grabs Kurt's hands, and pulls him closer. "Your turn now!" he exclaims. "Come on, come up here. 'Defying Gravity', right?"
"'Defying Gravity'," Kurt agrees, "but I'll leave the wall-climbing to you."
Kurt breathes deeply, making Blaine's eyes flicker to his chest, and then he starts to sing, and Blaine's jaw hits the floor because there's no two ways about it – Kurt must be an angel. (Never mind that Blaine hasn't believed in angels since he was nine; the beautiful boy in front of him is challenging everything.) As Kurt sings, he slowly walks around, and he drops Blaine's hand when he's moved too far away but Blaine hardly notices: everything is Kurt's voice, Kurt's performance, Kurt's strength and vulnerability coming out in the song.
... And you won't bring me down!
Kurt finishes the song with flourish, raising his arms and closing his eyes, and then he opens them again to look at Blaine expectantly.
"Damn," Blaine eventually says, his voice cracking. He realises how close he is to tears and clears his throat, tries again. "Kurt, that was... amazing. You're amazing. I..." There's so much he wants to say, so much he needs Kurt to know, but he can't find the words. He shakes his head, hopes Kurt understands. He meets his eyes and smiles widely, says sincerely, "You have the most beautiful voice I've ever heard."
Kurt flushes and beams, his lips drawing back to show his teeth and his ears stained red. Blaine wonders if his cheeks are blushing too and suddenly wants to take off Kurt's mask.
"Please tell me you get lots of solos."
Kurt sighs wistfully. "Unfortunately not. Rachel is the biggest diva known to mankind and threatens to quit the club whenever she's denied one. She never would but it gives our director an excuse to continue giving her every single solo."
Blaine frowns. "Wow. That's... wow."
"So you're given all the solos because of your dapper charm?" Kurt teases.
"I go to an all-boys private school; we're all dapper and charming there," he says, smirking playfully as jumps off the wall and walks over to Kurt. They link arms again and Blaine guides them towards a white-washed, wooden gazebo while he explains, "We have a council of three seniors who decide each solo after an audition."
"Do a lot of people audition?"
"We only hold open auditions if we're planning in-school performances – concerts, impromptu performances, assemblies, things like that. A member can only audition for a competition solo if they've been invited by the council."
"Impressive," Kurt says thoughtfully, and then gives Blaine a little half-smile as they reach the gazebo. The lanterns (unfortunately only fake flames) cast a warm glow over Kurt's skin and Blaine almost misses as he continues, "We could never be so organised. So I suppose it's a good thing we're not encouraged to do school performances."
They sit down on one of the benches and look at the stationary flowers, since there is a depressingly lack of fireflies.
"Why not?"
"Hm?"
"Why aren't you encouraged to do school performances?"
"Oh, Glee club is at the very bottom of the social hierarchy," Kurt says breezily. "If we're not the cause of a sex riot, we're getting things thrown at us."
"What?" Blaine gapes at him. "Don't the teachers do anything?" And what was that about sex riots?
"Blaine." Kurt lays a hand on Blaine's arm and looks at him sympathetically, and Blaine feels very much like a naive child being told the ways of the world by his parent. "Last year when we went carolling, a teacher threw a shoe at us. And..." He clears his throat, removes his hand, and looks ahead again. "So I doubt they really care if the other students are throwing things at us."
Blaine's heart breaks at resignation in Kurt's tone.
"Kurt..."
"It doesn't matter. I'm graduating in a few months and then I'm going to New York. And when I'm a famous Broadway-Blockbuster actor, they'll be stuck in miserable, dead-end jobs in some backwards Ohioan cow town."
Blaine looks at Kurt, sees the emotion swimming in his eyes, the defiant jut of his chin, the strong, firm lines of his stance.
The words tumble out of his mouth before he can even think about them (and that seems to happen far too much around Kurt): "You're amazing."
Kurt huffs a startled laugh and looks back at him. "How'd you get to that from my rant? Um, sorry about that, by the way."
"No, don't apologise," Blaine says, resting one of his legs on the bench so he can face Kurt fully. He grasps one of Kurt's hands in his and ignores the heat in his face. "Kurt, I have never met anyone as strong as you. You're out in Ohio and your club is bullied by even the teachers, and you haven't let them beat you down or dictate who you are. You're incredible!"
Kurt opens and closes his mouth a few times, face pink, and then lets out a shaky breath.
"I'm not very good at accepting compliments," he says.
"All you have to do is say 'thank you'."
"Thank you," Kurt breathes.
Blaine squeezes his hand and smiles. "You should start practising that for when you're a bigshot Broadway star."
Kurt laughs, and eagerly starts talking about New York. Blaine is happy to join in ("Yeah, New York is where I'm headed after graduation, too.") and they talk about university plans (Blaine is shocked to find out Kurt is planning to find an apartment with Rachel the Solo Hog) and what will be the first thing they see on Broadway ("It has to be Wicked. Rachel and I broke into the Gershwin Theatre when we were in New York last year so aside from it being my favourite musical, it feels very poetic for Wicked to officially introduce me to Broadway." "You broke into the Gershwin Theatre?"). From there it turns to musicals in general, and then devolves into a debate of Moulin Rouge versus Rent.
"I'm not saying 'Come What May' isn't a beautiful song – it makes me cry every single time I listen to it," Blaine placates (unsuccessfully), "but 'I'll Cover You' is about actively looking out for each other instead of just weathering the storm."
Kurt's eyes flash and he lifts his jaw. "You're delusional, Blaine, delusional. 'Come What May' is about surviving through anything because their love is strong enough to survive it."
Blaine shakes his head. "'I'll Cover You' is more fun to dance to."
"Oh, and you've danced to both of them, I suppose."
"Well, no..."
Kurt smirks. "I'll think you'll find, mon chou, that 'Come What May' is indeed better than 'Come What May'."
"Did... did you just call me a cabbage?"
Kurt blushes. "If you're translating it literally, yes, but it's really just a standard term of endearment in France."
Blaine smiles. "Really?"
After a few moments of silence, Blaine stands and holds out a hand. "Would you do me the honour of a dance, mon chéri?"
"What?" Kurt squeaks, then clears his throat. "But there's no music."
"Does it matter?" He smiles even brighter at Kurt, but when the taller boy shifts in his seat and glances away, Blaine's smile fades and his hand drops. "We, um, we don't have to. If you don't want to."
"No, Blaine, no, it's not that. It's just..." Kurt draws a deep breath, looks down as he quietly says, "I was just wondering... why we couldn't dance in the ballroom."
"Well – in movies – and stuff – they always—" Blaine clears his throat. "It's romantic, right?" He pulls a face and laughs self-deprecatingly. "Sorry. I'm really not very good at romance."
"It is. Romantic, I mean," Kurt says softly. "Sorry; I didn't mean to ruin..." He trails off and Blaine shakes his head.
"You didn't ruin anything, Kurt, I promise. I shouldn't have been so presumptuous."
"You weren't."
"Pardon?"
Kurt chuckles, mouths 'dapper' with a slight shake of his head, repeats, "You weren't being presumptuous. I want to dance with you. I just..." He looks sidelong at Blaine, blushing furiously as he slowly says, "I've always wanted to slow dance with a boy at my prom."
It takes Blaine a few moments to realise that Kurt wants to dance with him – slow dance, his mind corrects unhelpfully – in front of other people. Two boys dancing together where other people can see them.
(His mind flashes to a Sadie Hawkins dance – two boys on the ground surrounded by juniors – a mother's grey face backed by a white hospital wall—)
Blaine smiles and shakes his head with wonderment.
"You really are incredible," he says, and then holds out his hand before Kurt even has the chance to get flustered. "And in that case, would you like to join me for a dance inside? I'm pretty good at waltzing, if I do say so myself."
Kurt takes Blaine's hand (oh god so soft) and pulls himself up with a small smile. "I'd like that."
As they reach the stairs up to the balcony, Kurt stops them.
"If you don't want to dance in front of everyone, we don't have to," he says quickly. "I don't wanna force you into doing something you're not comfortable with."
Blaine squeezes his hand and smiles brightly. "Of course I do! How am I meant to show you off if there's no one to show you off to?"
Kurt raises an amused eyebrow. Blaine sees his ears turn a faint pink.
"Okay then," is all he says, and then they start up the steps. Blaine laughs when he figures out the music (an instrumental, slowed-down cover of Sum 41's 'In Too Deep'), and Kurt smiles when he tells him.
They stay near the door, on the fringe of the people who are already dancing. As the song moves into the first chorus, both boys go to bow to each other. They smile, and Blaine lightly touches his lips to the back of Kurt's hand (he's rewarded with a quick intake of breath) and, after another funny moment where they both move, takes the lead.
Blaine's slow danced with girls before, and he's danced with a couple of other boys from Dalton, but nothing quite compares to dancing now with Kurt. Kurt's arms are wrapped loosely around his shoulders; his arms are wrapped tightly around Kurt's waist, pulling their bodies close enough together that Blaine can't tell body heat apart. The murmurs of conversation fall away and it's only him and Kurt – blue-grey-green eyes shining, a small warm smile tugging on his lips – and the paradoxically smooth rasp of bow on string.
Kurt lowers his head the two inches necessary to rest his forehead against Blaine's. They smile at each other as they turn in small circles, and Blaine closes his eyes to breathe in the alluring scent of perfume and Kurt.
"Thank you," Kurt whispers.
"Kurt..." Blaine murmurs, opening his eyes again and glancing down at Kurt's lips. There's a slight pause, and Blaine tilts his head upwards—
And then there's a fierce grip on his bicep, tugging him backwards. He trips over his feet and he sees Kurt stumble, and then he manages to look around and see his father, his lips pulled into a thin line.
"Dad, what—"
"We will talk about your – behaviour – later," he spits.
Blaine tries to put his feet down but his dress shoes slip along the floor. They reach the doors at the same time as Blaine's mother, who looks sorrowful, and Blaine rips his arm out of Mr Anderson's hand.
"What's wrong with you?" he asks, voice rising, and then whirls around without waiting for an answer. He needs to find Kurt – he needs to apologise and ask for his number or his surname or something – he needs to kiss him—
But Mr Anderson has his arm in an iron hold now, and Mrs Anderson puts a hand between his shoulder blades and pushes him gently in the wrong direction.
"Let me say goodbye to Kurt!" he demands, and then gasps in pain when Mr Anderson tightens his grip further.
He tries pulling his dad backwards, craning his neck for any sign of Kurt, but then the doors to the entrance hall are shut, and the quiet thud sounds like the end of a story.
End notes: Whew! What a beast! Christ, I can't believe this turned out so long... eesh. I hope you all enjoyed it – there were a lot of fine lines I was toeing in this: telling personal things without giving away details; making relationship development at least semi-realistic (they have only known each other for one evening after all) while still retaining a sense of fairy tale... And I hope I managed to keep our boys in character (hooray for dapper!Blaine! :D).
Anyway! The next chapter is the final chapter (and significantly shorter), and you can all probably guess what the focus of that one's gonna be. :P It'll probably be out in the next couple of days. There is bonus Cooper!