Part 1 – They Meet
Blaine watches Emmy for a moment to make sure she's fallen asleep, before he turns his attention to the phone in his hand, eyes scanning the park and crowd around him quickly, as he unlocks the screen, scrolls through his apps and then stops, thumb hovering over the tinder logo. He feels self-conscious already and, even though he knows no one is looking (and even if they were, how would they know?), his cheeks burn slightly. He'd installed it in a fit of loneliness two months ago, but hadn't had the guts to open it again. That night he'd been under the influence of feelings and alcohol, numbing him to the sensation that he was sweeping through a catalogue of objects, and allowing him to instead celebrate every match he got and somehow follow them through with a conversation.
He knows that by now the few guys that he had exchanged messages with have probably forgotten all about him, and he'd have to find new ones. But how do you start a conversation with a person whose golden hard abs (would it really hurt these guys to put on a shirt?) are all you have to go on? Maybe, if he's lucky, there'll be a shared interest or two but most of the time it's incredibly generic things like The New Yorker.
"Hey, how about that article on Rachel Dolezal? Riveting, right?" Just doesn't sound like a good pick-up line.
His thumb hovers for a second more before he sighs and locks the screen again. Might as well admit defeat: between his practice and a three-year-old girl, his dating life is dead and there's nothing he can do about it. He can't bring himself to have anonymous sex in a club bathroom stall, or even "order" it via grindr. And he can't even make himself swipe through a few pictures of men to see if there's anything that catches his eye because it just feels so incredibly superficial, in a way that he's never been – not even when he was teenager, let alone now that he's closer to thirty than he'd care to admit. He doesn't want a one-night stand, and no one wants anything more than that with him anymore. So, he's just going to keep spending eight hours a day in his office, and the rest of his time with Emmy – who is a woman magnet, for sure, but definitely not a single twenty-something gay guy magnet.
Loud barks of teenage laughter startle him back to reality and he notices the group of, presumably, high school students sitting down not too far from his little spot in the shade. Blaine twists his nose. They're loud enough to wake Emmy up, and they're reminding Blaine of years long gone when his life wasn't upside down.
He doesn't leave, though, and settles into watching them for a bit – it's nearing the end of the school year and they're clearly decompressing after finals or something like that. It's a diverse bunch, from a couple of them dressed all in black with combat boots, to girls in short, colorful skirts and knee high socks. It's kind of nice to see a mix like that and it leaves Blaine a little nostalgic for days when the Warblers would hang out, outside the school, blazers forgotten and he'd get to witness how different they really were.
He picks his phone back up again, but instead opens his recently used contacts.
"Hey." Wes picks up on the third ring.
"Hey!"
"What's up?"
"Remember that time Jeff came to school with his uniform shirt pink because he decided to do laundry for the first time in his life and he mixed the whites with the colors?" He sighs.
Wes chuckles, "I'm pretty sure that happened more than once, actually."
"Probably still happens."
"Probably."
"We should call the guys. Have a get together… catch up with everyone else."
"We're adults now, Blaine," Wes tells him, but he's amused. "We're all busy, and most of us left Ohio."
"Ugh." He lets his head fall against the tree he's been sitting against.
"Oh, it's one of those days, then."
"I'm sorry."
"No," Wes tells him. "It's okay. It's been a while since the last one, and you have a right to them."
"I don't know. It kind of feels like I'm betraying Emmy, you know?" Blaine sighs, sparing a glance to the girl curled up on the blanket.
"Blaine, you didn't plan for her. And, okay, kids are a joy and fill our lives with love and purpose, yadda yadda yadda, but they also mean a lot of sacrifice, that sometimes we weren't quite ready to make. You gave up a dream residency for her. You gave up your dream city for her. I think you've proven your dedication to raising that kid enough that you can allow yourself a few days of wallowing in what you've had to give up for it, once in a while."
Blaine sighs and pulls his legs a little closer to his chest, "I think I'm applying again next year."
"You should."
"I'll have enough money saved up, that I can afford New York, and the kid, and babysitters and everything else."
"I think that's a solid plan."
"Yeah. I think so too. I just… I'm just worried about uprooting her after-"
"Blaine. She's three years old. She's barely going to remember anything before now. If you want to move this is actually a good time. Before she starts making friends she can actually get attached to. I know you'll be losing your parents' help, but… If you came to New York, I could help, too."
"I know. I know… Thanks… I'm definitely applying. Maybe I shouldn't even be worried, though – maybe I'll never get in-"
"You got in before, why wouldn't you get in now? Come on, don't be stupid. You're coming back."
Blaine laughs, "Thanks. Anyway, I'll let you go now... I'll let you get back to… whatever I interrupted."
"Paperwork. Exciting. Talk to you soon."
"Bye." Blaine sighs as he ends the call and smiles to himself. He breathes a little deeper, spirits a little better, and turns towards his sleeping baby only to have his heart stop in his chest. She's gone.
He scrambles to look around, scream ready right at the base of his throat, when he sees Emmy jogging her way to the group of teenagers, her precious, only slightly wobbly, jog unmistakable. His relief freezes him just as much as his panic had and he can only watch as she plops herself next to a boy dressed in tight black jeans, a black tank top and combat boots. His hair is dyed with strips of pink, and he's holding a lit cigarette between his lips. He notices her out of the corner of his eye and startles for a moment.
Blaine is already halfway to his feet, cringing at all the possible outcomes of this, when the boy blows the smoke, turning his face completely away from her, and then making sure the cigarette is out of sight.
"Hi there," the boy tells her, looking slightly amused.
"Pink hair!" Emmy points at his hair, just as Blaine reaches them. "Very pretty!"
"Oh gosh, I'm so sorry!" Blaine breathes bending low to pick her up and standing back up again, Emmy tight in his arms and slightly alarmed at being taken away from the shiny new toy.
The boy's eyes follow his movement – he doesn't bring the cigarette back to his lips, even though he's silent for a moment, squinting slightly against the sun as he looks up at Blaine.
"It's fine," he says. "She just wanted to express her good taste in hair colors."
Emmy struggles slightly against Blaine's hold, reaching for the boy.
"Yes, she's very into bright colors. It's like catnip to her. She just goes straight towards it, doesn't even think twice."
"Good taste and ambition, I'd say," the boy nods. The hand holding the cigarette twitches, but he still doesn't move it.
Blaine smiles politely. "Probably a good thing for her future. Although, for now it's just very exhausting for me." He takes a step back. "Anyway, I'll let you get back to…" Blaine notices for the first time this boy is sitting ever so slightly out of his circle of friends, ignoring them for the most part. "…your afternoon."
The boy smiles, amused, eyes flicking over to the other teens. "Thanks. I appreciate it. I never seem to get enough time for staring off into nothing. I'd hate to be interrupted again."
Blaine's not quite sure what to say to that so he just gives him a polite nod and goes back to his little corner. Emmy settled on his lap.
"Honey, can we not go wander off and invade other people's personal space, please?"
She looks at him with excited blue eyes before she grins, "Wanna pink hair."
Blaine snorts. "That's a solid no, hon."
She squints her eyes.
"No, hon."
She pouts.
"Still a no."
"You could always buy her a pink wig." A voice calls from slightly afar.
Blaine looks over to see that the boy is sitting back down, significantly closer – no cigarette in sight.
"She'd go insane with the itching," Blaine says, trying to keep the frown and confusion off his face.
"Yes, and she'll give up on that pink hair real fast," he shrugs. "You don't have to be polite for my sake. I know pink hair is scandalous and big no-no for the general population – especially the preppy bowtie wearing kind."
Blaine chuckles. He lets Emmy slip out his lap towards the boy. "My name's Blaine. That's Emmy."
The boy glances towards Blaine at her name, his lip twitch with amusement. "Like the TV award?"
Blaine laughs. "Exactly like the TV award."
Emmy reaches the boy and stretches high for his hair. "Kurt," he says as he bends a little towards her fingers, outstretched to grab and pull, and he lets her. It's not a newborn or baby toddler kind of tug. She's clearly studying it, trying to decipher how he managed it and probably thinking of her pink crayons back home, wondering if it'll work.
"Emmy – please-" Blaine starts, reaching over.
Kurt holds out a hand and twists his head just enough to squint at Blaine. "'S fine. A little hair pulling never hurt anyone," he says with a kind of smirk that has Blaine reaching around his collar. "So you're the babysitter, or something?"
"I'm – huh, no. She's- she's mine."
"Huh." Kurt nods, straightening back up.
Blaine's not quite sure what that's supposed to mean. "Oh, please, do tell me I look too young to be her father…" he jokes, halfheartedly.
Kurt shrugs slightly, "I mean… You'd pass for closeted teenage pregnancy mistake, I guess."
Blaine sputters. Once he recovers he doesn't quite know if he should laugh, but he does. Kurt looks a little smug at that.
"Do you want me to braid your hair, Emmy?"
She beams, nodding enthusiastically and immediately sits on Kurt's lap. His hands bury into her soft and silky looking chocolate brown hair.
"That was me casing to make sure you were gay, by the way." Kurt says, voice casual and neutral – maybe too casual.
Blaine manages to keep himself together this time, somehow. His eyes flick down towards Emmy, but she's happy with the hands pulling and twisting her hair artfully.
"You're a kid," he says, trying to keep his tone just as neutral.
Kurt quirks an eyebrow and remains silent for a while. "And you're not?"
"I'm twenty seven."
Kurt considers the information for a moment, "See, when I came over I was sure you were the babysitter."
"Huh." Blaine says, for lack of something better. "So, why did you stay?"
Kurt smirks. "She's cute," his eyes, however, remain glued on Blaine's, and it makes him slightly uncomfortable.
"This is without a doubt, the weirdest interaction I've ever had." Blaine chuckles, because he's not quite sure what else he can do or say.
"I try to leave a mark." Kurt shrugs, still looking a little smug.
"I'll remember you, that's for sure."
Emmy's bright eyes are watching the conversation like a Ping-Pong match. Kurt finally takes his eyes off Blaine to look at his work. He snorts, "This looks like sh-," he stops himself just in time. "This looks like crap...?" he adds a question mark, glancing up at Blaine, who's trying to keep the laughter within.
"Almost…" he mutters, before he adds, referring to the hair-do, "Maybe next time you should actually look at what you're doing."
"As opposed to looking at what I wanna be doing," Kurt quips and Blaine freezes. Kurt laughs. "I'm sorry, subtlety was never my forte," the boy gestures to his hair, nose ring and pierced ears as if they were evidence.
"I can see that." Blaine manages.
They fall into a small, strange silence. Kurt deftly undoes all of his previous work.
"She's quiet for such a forward little beastie." Kurt says. Emmy glances up at him, making it clear that she's aware they're now talking about her, and turns back to Blaine with pinched lips. She's trusting him to keep her looking cool in front of the new acquaintance.
"She's not talkative." Blaine nods. He doesn't continue. Kurt doesn't want to know about how Blaine is worried that maybe she's falling behind, for her age. That maybe it's his fault, because up until recently he'd been having trouble keeping words in his own mouth, let alone coax them out of hers. "But she's curious, and she likes to observe. She loves listening to conversations."
Kurt nods, his smile a little more genuine. "Seems like a smart thing to do," he says. "Lull them into a false sense of security, and then bam. Knows everything about everyone and is the queen on campus. She'll have them wrapped around her little finger."
Blaine can't help feeling a little warmer at that.
"Much better!" Kurt considers her hair, and she grins, all excited and pink cheeked as she throws her hands to her head, trying to feel the result. Kurt, though, turns his attention fully back to Blaine, "So, about me hitting on you…"
Blaine tries not to let his cheeks go hotter. "What about it?"
"Did it work?"
Chuckling, Blaine shakes his head, "You're a kid."
"I'm eighteen. Plus, what does that matter? I'm not looking for a boyfriend. Especially not one with a kid."
The blow hits Blaine a little more than he'd care to admit. "But I am," he says.
"Huh." Kurt looks Blaine in the eye for a moment longer, and then looks down to consider his work on Emmy's hair. He pats her gently on her expertly braided head, before he gently puts her on the grass and starts to stand. "Good luck with that," he says as he leaves, pulling a cigarette pack out of his back pocket.
Blaine can't tell if he was being sarcastic or genuine, but he knows he shouldn't care.
-x-
Blaine scrubs the exhaustion off his face before he stands and opens his door, checking his clipboard, "Burt…?" he smiles as the other man stands on the other end of the waiting room and walks over. They shake hands as they go inside and Blaine closes the door quietly.
"How've you been, Burt?" He asks moving back to his chair behind the desk.
"Good. How've you been, doc?" The older man's tone is slightly teasing and Blaine finds himself smiling easily.
"Pretty good. I've been eating my veggies and getting some exercise."
Burt laughs. "I have, too. My kid doesn't let me stray, you know how it is. He eats a whole cheesecake by himself, but god forbid I have a French fry – because the doctor said no."
Blaine smiles sympathetically. "You can have a French fry."
"Just one?"
Blaine tilts his head from side to side. "Four…?"
With another laugh, Burt winks at him. "Second time here and I already like you better than the old dinosaur before you, doc."
"He did have abnormally small arms, didn't he?" Blaine half-whispers, before the two of them chuckle some more. "Okay, enough chit chat. I actually have to do my job at some point today," he says, as he pulls out his stethoscope and gestures for Burt to lose the jacket.
They keep chatting and what could have been a five-minute consultation turns into twenty minutes, as usual. Blaine hates making his patients feel like numbers, and never spares any energy on making them feel accompanied and important – but it does come at price. By the end of the day, usually, he is not only exhausted, but also running a little behind.
Blaine puts his instruments away and sits back behind his desk, pulling his keyboard closer and jarring the pre-historic computer back to life with a nudge to the mouse. "So, everything seems normal, Burt. I don't think you should be worried, but, just to make sure, I want to have you take some tests, get updated info, and when you come back with those results we'll discuss how many French fries you can have." He talks as he types.
"We'll have to have it in writing or the offspring won't take my word for it, though."
Blaine smiles, "Bring him along, I'll tell him myself."
"I will do it." Burt says with a playfully warning tone.
"And I look forward to meeting him." Blaine shrugs easily, as the printer whirs to life.
"You'll regret it – the moment he knows you're telling me I can eat junk food, he's going to shred you to pieces."
Blaine laughs, "Wow, he does sound like a charmer. I'll just have to remind him I'm the one who went to medical school."
Blaine's surprised to find Burt's chuckles wavering, and his smile turning a little duller, "He's a good kid, don't get me wrong. But lately, I think he's been pretending he's not… It gets me worried that… this heart situation isn't helping. He's been through a lot – it's just one thing piling and piling after the one before… being the only out gay kid at his school got him bullied like hell, his mother died when he was young, and then my heart attack, beginning of his junior year…? I guess I can be thankful he finished high school in one piece."
"Oh," Blaine breathes. This is new. He's not used to this kind of conversation, and it makes him think of Emmy and how long it'll be before he's this person confiding his worries to semi-strangers. "Well, I think you should definitely bring him along, next time, and we'll go through your situation together, okay? Maybe it'll get him a little less worried."
"That really sounds great. Thanks, doc." Burt holds his hands out for the exam prescriptions, taking his cue to leave.
Blaine smiles handing it over as he stands to walk him out, "Anything to help out a fellow single dad."
-x-
Blaine watches his last patient leave and goes back to his desk for a long, end of the day sigh.
Well, definitely not end of the day. There is no end of the day when you're single parenting a three year old. He allows himself another sigh before he stands back up, drapes his white coat over the chair, organizes his desk and grabs the files for his receptionist. He hands them over with a bright smile and a kiss to her forehead on his way out.
His walk to the small day care center is quick. Parents are like rock stars in it, coming into this place to clamoring shouts of their children – but, in a small town like Lima, dads… dads coming to pick up children are mythical creatures, and Blaine has to pretend he doesn't notice the way moms and the female employees swoon, every day, like clockwork, at the sight of him as he walks through the door and looks through the knee high jungle of kids clamoring for the adults' attention to find Emmy. He finds her amidst crayons and coloring books, picks her up and winces slightly at the state of her hands, as usual. He holds his cheek close to her face so she can kiss it and smiles warmly when she does, holding on tight to him.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he tells the girl in charge of Emmy's little battalion of kids, and the girl nods, smiles and blushes, as if that wasn't the same thing he'd been telling her every day for the past two months.
The moment they step outside, the bright sun blinding them both momentarily, Blaine relaxes somewhat. Being with Emmy, whatever it may be, is still much easier without a dozen eyes on them – on him. He kisses her and holds her a little tighter.
"Well, it's been a long day," he says, readjusting the grip on her and starting down the street. She likes it when he holds her, even though she walks perfectly. "Then again, lately, every day's been a long day."
She tugs slightly at his hair – I agree, she says– and he smiles.
"So, how about we get some ice-cream? We always go past that adorable little ice-cream shop, and I think today is the day to try it."
She nods with a big smile. "Please, daddy!" Emmy loves ice-cream, and Blaine doesn't feel the need to complain about finishing hers when she's had enough.
"So, how was your day?" he asks, not really expecting more than one syllable as an answer but knowing he should try nonetheless.
"Good," she tells him, like almost always, and leaves it at that. She's smiling, though, looking around them and apparently enamored with the not-that-busy streets of Lima. So, he lets it go.
"Well, mine was pretty good, too. I had lots of patients today," he starts, and she listens. That's the way they work – he tells her all about his days, and she truly listens. At least he thinks she does, because most of the time she's looking at him with big, bright, interested eyes, and sometimes, on the few occasions she says more than three words in a row, she'll mention something or someone from Blaine's long tales.
Everybody acts like this is some disaster waiting to happen – and yet, for as worried as he feels sometimes, he can't bring himself to pressure her into anything. To get her to speech therapy, or to force her to say more than she wants to. She's three years old, and while it's true that most kids her age are blabbermouths, he's convinced that it's too soon to be putting any kind of label or expectations on the kid. Especially after what she's been through.
He sees the little ice-cream parlor up ahead. A godsend, as it is, because sweat is starting to pool at his lower back – he hopes it's not showing on his shirt – and he can use the air conditioned break of walking home.
The moment he walks through the door, though, he stops. Torn between gasping and laughing, he does something in between.
Kurt, from the other day at the park, stands behind the counter, clad in a baby blue t-shirt with a nametag, pressed white shorts, and most of this facial piercings removed.
"Oh," Kurt quirks an eyebrow, clearly doing a better job of masking his surprise, "Look, who it is. I'm so sorry, but we don't offer senior discount."
Blaine can't help chuckling at that, "That's fine. I'll just have two small cups, with two flavors each."
Kurt register's the purchase while Blaine puts Emmy down and fishes out his wallet to pay. Emmy goes straight to the display of flavors, her little nose pressed against the glass as she considers her colorful options on tiptoes. He reaches to pull her head back before she French kisses the glass, but as soon as he lets go of her little ponytail, her nose is right back on that glass and he admits defeat.
"So," Blaine says, after a moment of awkward silence as he hands out a ten-dollar bill, "Turns out the pink hair was to match the strawberry ice-cream."
Kurt glances up, keeping his face stoic and not at all amused. There are traces of poorly removed eyeliner around his eyes. "Yeah. I dye it to match flavor of the week. Anything to win employee of the month."
Blaine nods and leaves it at that, dumping his entire change on the tip jar and making Kurt eye it with a small frown while he moves on to peruse his options.
Kurt turns to look at Emmy, lowering down until their faces are level and she sees him through the glass.
"What's it gonna be, Golden Globe?"
She eyes the display again, and turns to Blaine, "How many?"
He holds up two fingers, "Two."
She turns back, and says, "Pink and blue!"
Kurt's lips twist in a smile as he scoops up strawberry and blue mint ice cream. He jams a spoon on it before he hands it over to Blaine who immediately passes it on to Emmy's eager, outstretched hands.
"What about you? Vanilla and vanilla?" Kurt eyes him with challenge and Blaine refrains from laughing.
He peruses his options for a short moment before he shrugs and says, "Rum and hazelnut, please."
"How very adult of you," Kurt comments as he scoops the first flavor, and Blaine ignores it to the best of his ability.
He takes the cup from Kurt with a polite smile. "Thank you, have a nice day."
Kurt squints slightly before he says in a dull voice, "Enjoy, come back again in the short time you have left before you die of old age."
Blaine refrains from saying anything else before he walks over and holds the door open for Emmy.
He walks slightly behind her, appreciating the way she's completely focused on her treat, eating eagerly by the spoonful. He spots a small street bench just outside the shop and tells her to go there and they sit together, people watching while ice-cream eating.
"I think Kurt is angry with me," Blaine says after a few minutes. Emmy turns to him. There's pink and blue on pretty much any skin in close proximity of her mouth. He bites his lip and keeps himself from cleaning it all – might as well wait until she's done.
After a moment she prompts. "Why?" She's exasperated she even had to ask it.
"Because he wanted to spend time with me and I said no, I think."
"Why?"
"I don't know. Maybe he thought I looked fun or nice." Blaine shrugs.
"No," she shakes her head. "Why you sayed no?"
"Oh." Because he's not even out of high school and it'd be extremely weird sleeping with an eighteen year old punkster – or whatever he calls himself – even if I was looking for one night stands, which I'm not. "Because I'm very busy right now."
She frowns. Blaine has a fleeting moment of panic where he thinks she's going to point out it's barely five in the evening and they're sitting on a street bench, eating ice-cream on a whim. Instead she decides the conversation is over and hops off the bench. Blaine startles as she starts to go back, practically at a sprint.
"Emmy, wait." He jogs to catch her, grabs her arm, careful to hold her but not hurt her, "Where are you going?"
"Not busy now," she smiles brightly, fulfilling his fear (and basically destroying every idiot who ever dared to hint at the possibility that she might be intellectually challenged just because she avoids speaking). She turns back and tugs him toward the ice-cream shop.
He groans and face-palms, but her hand is already pushing the door. It doesn't budge thankfully, and Blaine begins the process of wracking his brain for another reason why this can't happen now.
"Honey, Kurt is working right no-"
The door is pulled open and Kurt looks at the two of them. There's a cigarette pack in his hand, one already halfway out.
"Time!" She says happily, throwing her arms out like she's generously offering Blaine to Kurt.
Kurt frowns and sidesteps her until he's outside and the door is closed – the Open sign flipped to Be Right Back.
"Very cryptic," he tells her, before he turns to Blaine and gestures in the general direction of her face, "You missed a spot, daddy."
Blaine rolls his eyes and kneels down to her height, taking out a small pack of moist toilettes out of his bag. "Are you finished with your ice-cream, honey?"
She holds her cup upside down. Liquid, melted ice-cream pours over the sidewalk.
He winces, "Don't do that, Emmy." He takes the cup away, sets it down on the sidewalk, next to his mostly full one and takes out a toilette, dabbing it over her face to wipe out the dried, sticky colors off her face.
Blaine can see Kurt leaning against the wall from the corner of his eye, but the click of a lighter or the smell of a cigarette hasn't hit yet.
"I appreciate you not smoking around kids," Blaine says, because he should be saying something.
"I do smoke around myself, and I am a kid."
Blaine winces and turns to look up at Kurt. His eyes are turned away, catching the sun and shining a bright, vivid blue. Their skyward gaze holds the contempt and purposefulness of him refusing to look Blaine in the eye. "You're mad I said no, aren't you?"
He breaks and looks, eyebrow quirked. "Did you want me to be happy about it? Oh, wow, this guy thinks I still have too much baby fat on me, he's so nice."
Blaine frowns. "It's not about what you look like, Kurt. It's just that… I mean. You're in high school."
Kurt shakes his head. There's a smile there that Blaine can't tell if it's genuine amusement or bitterness. "Graduated yesterday."
"Oh, congratulations!" he can't help the bright smile.
Kurt quirks an eyebrow. There's a flicker of confusion, and Blaine realizes that might not have been the best way to respond, given the contextual dialogue before it. "Thanks," he shrugs, his fingers impatiently twirling a cigarette. His eyes finally return to the horizon, all the while losing none of their intensity. They're taking a toll on Blaine's appropriateness. "Are you gonna tell me to call you after college?"
Blaine can't help chuckling. "I don't know what to tell you Kurt."
Kurt gives him a short nod and points to his ice-cream. "That's mostly melted goo, right now."
Blaine looks at it – true. "Still pretty delicious." Blaine shrugs, picking it up as he stands back up. "Emmy, let's go home."
"Kurt is not mad, now?" Emmy asks, looking between the two of them.
Kurt raises an eyebrow before he smirks and says, "I'm a kid, I'm in combat boots and I work at an ice-cream shop, there's always something I'm mad about."
Blaine sighs, giving him a half-hearted eye roll before he reaches for Emmys hand. "See you around, Kurt."
With a mock salute, Kurt finally takes the cigarette to his lips and gives him a snarky smile.
-x-
Two weeks later and Blaine is still thinking about it. Obviously, it's not the fact that Kurt graduated that changes anything. It doesn't change his age – ridiculously young. It doesn't change his piercings and his clothes – and call Blaine prejudiced all you want, but those don't usually mean well-adjusted, stable and sane. And it certainly doesn't change that Blaine needs more than a fuck, and that that was apparently what Kurt wanted out of him.
He knows it's his loneliness talking – this small part of himself that can't quite get over the fact that not a year ago he was in New York with thousands of opportunities for dating every time he stepped out of his apartment. That part of himself hates Lima, and its hilariously limited collection of gays. Oh yes, he'd been to Scandals. And there were plenty of scandalous things about it, including how empty it was, how not-at-all-fabulous it was, and how overall disappointing the LGBTQ community of any slightly larger city would find it. That part of Blaine is pinging with excitement that apparently there are still gay men under 50 out there for him to try.
Blaine deeply wishes that that part of himself would just shut up and let him live the single life in peace.
He finishes his tuna sandwich and wraps up the napkin. It's kind of sad, when you think about it. A sandwich for lunch, alone in his starkly white office.
He sighs and shakes his head. Maybe he can ask the owner of the clinic if he can redecorate his office. It really isn't Blaine's at all, and maybe that would really help him feel a little more at home.
He throws the napkin in his wastebasket, and brushes the crumbs from his desk carefully onto his palm, throwing those out as well, before he gets up and leaves to the bathroom, to quickly brush his teeth before his first appointment of the afternoon. It's only as he's coming out, already scanning the waiting room for his next patient that he sees him. In all his pink-haired, black-dressed, combat booted glory.
He frowns – Kurt has his mouth hanging open, as well. He's about to let his name drop out of his mouth in surprise when Burt Hummel stands and smiles, "Hey, doc!"
"H-hey!" Blaine tries to smile, probably fails. Points to his ajar office door and says, "Shall we?", all the while praying Kurt doesn't actually stand up and follow Burt. But he does.
Holy shit.
Kurt walks as if approaching a very tall cliff, and Blaine knows exactly how he feels.
Once the two of them are inside Blaine slaps himself discreetly and goes inside as well, only turning to face them once the door is closed and he has no other way of delaying it.
"So, Burt, how've you been?"
"Stellar!" Burt grins, "As promised, the offspring is here."
"I can see that." Blaine barely manages not to whimper, he debates if he should be honest, but in the end he holds out his hand for Kurt to shake and says, "I'm Doctor Anderson."
"Kurt." Kurt says, clipped and short, his cheeks beyond red.
"So." Blaine clears his throat and forces himself to sit behind his desk and carry on. "You have something to show me?"
Burt happily produces a stack of papers and envelopes and Blaine takes it, hoping his hands look steadier than they feel. He starts going through it, words going out of his head faster than he can read them until he has to stop himself from freaking out. He clears his throat, rolls his shoulders and tries again.
"Right," he says, looking up after a while. Burt is frowning slightly, clearly having been immersed in some sort of silent conversation with his son. "Well, there's reason for optimism. I think, given your past and your age, these are looking pretty good. About as good as they could ever look, actually. So, you can definitely have four French fries a week, Burt."
Burt laughs. Kurt scowls.
"This isn't a joke."
Blaine frowns, "I'm sorry…?"
"Kurt." Burt's tone is a warning.
"Look, if the tests came back with good results it's because every single day I'm there to keep the French fries, and the burgers, and the bacon, and the fat cheese, and… and everything else off his mouth."
"Kurt. I understand where you're coming from, and while it's commendable the help you've been giving your dad, what I'm saying is that his diet doesn't need to be that strict. It-"
"I've been taking care of him for years now, effectively saving his life, and you waltz in and start mouthing off about-"
"Kurt!"
"Hey, hey." Blaine raises his hands, "No one's saying your work's been useless. Of course your father needs to eat healthy on a daily basis. I'm simply suggesting that you introduce a cheat day, for instance. A meal a week, where he gets to eat what he really wants. It helps with the motivation to keep on diets, and-"
"Not dying is motivation enough, I think." Kurt squints his eyes and leans forward, "You're a kid fresh outta college, and you're not even a cardiologist -what do you know about long term treatments and results, about-"
"Seriously?" Blaine gasps, sardonic laughter seeping through. "I really don't want to fight with you. We want the same thing, Kurt."
"I knew this was a bad idea…" Burt sighs, hand on his forehead. "I told you, he was difficult."
"I'm difficult?!" Kurt gasps, standing up in an angry motion. "I spend high school worrying over you, making sure you have the right kind of food on your plate – making sure you don't have another heart attack and keel over, and all the while listening to you moaning and complaining about not enough salt and not enough flavor and bitching about it to whoever's listening, making it seem like I'm this big bad guy torturing you. And now you go out and pick the most gullible child straight out of med school to help your idiotic case and I'm difficult?" He eyes them both, his face is red, but now with contempt, "Fuck you both."
Blaine gapes as Kurt walks out.
-x-
Blaine pushes the door to the clinic open, and sighs as he spots Kurt sitting on the curb, legs stretched out to the road. He walks slowly and sits carefully next to him.
"I think maybe I was wrong," Blaine says carefully. Kurt turns to him but doesn't say anything. "You're not really a kid, are you?"
Kurt scoffs and turns away.
"Are you working at the ice-cream shop today?" Kurt nods. "What time do you get off?"
"What?" he gapes at Blaine like he's insane. "I don't actually wanna fuck you anymore."
Blaine can't help the laughter that escapes him. He shakes his head and sighs softly. "I just want to talk. But right now wouldn't work, because I still have like… a lot of patients to see. But, I really want us to talk, Kurt."
Kurt gives him a scathing, slightly curious look. "I close it up at ten."
Blaine nods. "I'll be there," he says and stands up with a soft squeeze to Kurt's shoulder. "Your dad will be right out. I'll be quick, finishing up."
-x-
Blaine still feels weird leaving Emmy at his parents'. A lot of people still think she should be with them and not him, and he can't shake the feeling that his parents feel that way as well, and that, one day soon, he'll drop her off for the evening, like tonight, they'll just tell him he's doing a lousy job and that they're kindly keeping her. Kindly – because that's always how they operate, out of "kindness".
Blaine closes his eyes and berates himself for going there. It's not fair to them. Sure, sometimes they can be difficult, and god knows growing up with them wasn't always easy, but this is not productive.
He sighs and starts the car, watching as, upstairs, the nursery's light go out. It still amazes him, how quickly Emmy became most of his world – how quickly he became uncomfortable with the sight of the empty space in her car chair, when she isn't there, coming home with him.
He drives back to Lima, and parks right next to the little ice-cream shop at nine fifty five pm.
Kurt is already wiping the counter, cloth in one hand, and detergent in the other.
"Hi." Blaine says as he pushes the door open. Kurt glances up, and looks surprised to see him there, freezing mid-motion.
"I'm still confused about what's going on here," he says after a moment of silence where he just looked at Blaine, evaluating the situation.
Blaine shrugs, before he points to the sign on the door, "Should I…? um, flip it?"
Kurt frowns before he shrugs and nods. When Blaine turns back Kurt has stopped cleaning. "And you don't wanna fuck?"
It makes Blaine's cheeks burn, but he smiles and chuckles. If it comes out a little breathless he just hopes Kurt doesn't notice. "Not at all."
"Oh wow."
"No, I don't mean it like that. I mean.. Oh, I just…" he stops and takes a long breath. "Let's try again. I realize you're going through a rough patch. Your dad confided some of it to me – I mean, besides his health issues. I just thought you might want someone to talk to. Someone who'll understand."
"And you do?" Kurt looks skeptical.
"I once grew up gay in Lima too. I was once the only out gay kid at my school, too," he pauses. Considers it. Decides, what the hell. "Until I wasn't, and there were two of us, and we decided to go the school dance together, and then we got the crap beat out of us, and he moved somewhere far, far away, and I was back to being alone, in that same school, and with broken bones to add to wounded pride."
Kurt looks startled. Like he has no idea how to react. Blaine imagines he's trying to hold onto the last string of contempt and rage he has left and finding them feeble. Blaine knows from experience, there's nothing quite like finding someone who might understand you, for your walls to come collapsing in the biggest spectacle of demolition known to mankind.
"So, I thought maybe I could be a friendly ear."
"You mean, a walking, talking It Gets Better video?"
Blaine chuckles. "Something like that."
Kurt eyes him for a moment. He doesn't soften or sigh, or even, god forbid, smile, but he does shrug and ask "Do you want some ice-cream?"
"Sure."
"Rum and hazelnut?"
Blaine smiles and bites his lip to keep himself from teasing Kurt about still remembering such a silly detail. "Whatever. Surprise me," he says instead, as he takes a seat at one of the tables further from the window.
After a minute there's a cup with chocolate, peppermint and a spoon shoved on it. Kurt slides easily into the seat in front of him, the exact same combination. For some reason, Blaine feels like it fits Kurt.
"So… what happened? You got the crap beat out of you, the doctors saved you and you decided to become one, but you're too lame to be an actual cool doctor like a surgeon, so you're taking care of old people and hypochondriac housewives?"
Blaine takes a spoonful of ice-cream, letting it dissolve in his mouth while he works on his answer. "A lot of things happened. My parents expected me to become something reputable. Mostly they wanted me to follow in my dad's footsteps and become a lawyer. Doctor was something we could all agree on. My brother had gone into acting and it wasn't working out too well for him, so a career in the arts was out of the question for me."
"Or what?"
"Or a lot of things… I'd lose their support, financial or otherwise. They'd take me out of the very expensive, very good private school they'd finally agreed to enroll me in for my senior year, which was the only thing keeping me from getting bullied and beaten over and over again. And I was worried about my brother. Wondering how long my parents would keep financing his exploits. Knowing it wouldn't be long till they'd say he needed to learn for himself what responsibility felt like, and stop giving him money. For his own good, you know?" Blaine shrugs. "But yeah, mostly, I felt like I had my life saved by doctors, and I wanted to be that person too. The one that did the saving."
Kurt looks surprised by the candor. And Blaine feels surprised by how good it felt to share all of it.
"So, I went to Med School… And no, I'm not too lame to become a cool doctor. I was going to, but… things got off track. I'll go back to it next year."
"Tony Award?" Kurt quirks an eyebrow.
Blaine smiles at the joke and nods, but doesn't expound on it.
"Where is she?"
"With my parents for the night."
Kurt nods. A small silence settles between them and they both pick at their ice-creams before Kurt speaks again. His voice inquisitive, but that careful tone of casual indifference. Like he's doing Blaine a favor, acting interested. "So what happened there? With BAFTA, I mean… If you've been out for so long, I don't get it. You got drunk one night and mistook a vagina for an asshole?"
Blaine swallows the ice-cream in his mouth. Takes another spoonful, swallows again. He does it five times before he shrugs. "My brother died. I'm her uncle, technically. Her godfather. But I guess, for all intents and purposes, I'm her dad. Just not her father."
Kurt freezes. Not that he was moving before, but something about his posture and expression just freezes. It's like when Blaine told him about being beaten up, but three times harsher. He can sense Kurt's near panic, trying to come up with something to say and coming up empty.
"That sucks," he finally says.
"Yeah." Blaine nods, eating some more ice-cream, and trying to keep his eyes from burning and his throat from closing.
"When?"
"Six months ago."
"Shit…" it's whispered and probably not meant to have come out, so Blaine pretends he didn't hear it and lets the silence stretch a bit more because he's afraid if he speaks now his voice might break. "I guess… I guess I'm sorry I was an ass to you… in your office. I'm sorry."
"It's fine." Blaine shakes his head. "You're scared for him."
"I'm scared for me, too." Kurt murmurs. He keeps his eyes on his ice-cream but he has stopped eating it. "He's kind of... all I have."
Blaine nods his understanding, but doesn't say anything, knowing that what Kurt needs now is a listening ear. The advice, if it exists, can come later.
"I don't… I didn't even apply to any college, I just… I'm scared to leave him, but then... if I don't and he still… dies. I have nothing left. Nothing. And I don't want him to know this – how scared I am, of losing him, of losing everything, of being held back… And I just don't know what to do anymore."
Blaine reaches out to touch his hand, puts a finger over Kurt's knuckles. "Well, right at this moment, you can just… talk. To me. Anything you tell me stays between us, I promise. But your dad's worried about you. With good reason. It's not healthy to keep all of it bottled up."
"I…"
"If you don't want to talk to me, then… I don't know, find a friend."
He huffs. "They wouldn't understand. They think because they sang me songs in glee club, all of my problems magically disappeared. Like my dad isn't sick anymore, or my mom came back to life, or Karofsky stopped looking at me like he wanted to kill and fuck me at the same time…"
Blaine feels a stab of ice-cold dread at those last words, but he keeps his reaction in check.
"Well, like I said, talk to me," he touches his hand again. "You really don't have to be alone."
Kurt looks up to meet his eyes, and for a moment the guard is absolutely and completely down. Blaine offers him a smile and Kurt pauses a moment before he nods and returns it.
Blaine smiles a little wider before he pulls back and gets a contact card and a pen out of his bag. He flips the card to its back and writes down his personal cell phone number. Sliding it across the table, towards Kurt, he can't help be a little nervous. He's not quite sure about what this will turn out to be.
He imagines he may be embarking on some sort of adventure and he's not sure what kind it is, and what kind he wants it to be.