Four
"Shifting"
"Kurt, I can't go in there looking like this!" Blaine protested.
Kurt peered over his shoulder and conceded that Blaine did look in bad shape, which meant he probably did as well. Walking through the country club looking like this would do nothing but draw attention to them, and prying eyes was the last thing they needed right now.
The countertenor made a detour to the parking lot. As Blaine unlocked the doors at Kurt's request, he wondered how much longer the Mustang would be around and if the next time Blaine came to his house he would be behind the wheel of a modern, air conditioned sedan.
Kurt pulled his duffel bag from the backseat of the car and rummaged through the neatly folded workout clothes he'd danced in this morning until he found the small bag of toiletries at the bottom. Among the miniature bottles of shampoo, moist towelettes, conceaer, antiseptic, bandages, tissues, and nail care kit, he found the bottle of eye drops.
"Sit."
Blaine let himself be guided onto the front seat, and Kurt tipped his boyfriend's head back. He let several droplets fall into Blaine's right eye, let his boyfriend blink at the foreign moisture, and then did his left eye.
"Why do you have eye drops?" Blaine asked, brushing off the saline tears from his cheeks.
"Only someone who has never had a slushie thrown in their face would ask that. But it comes in handy in glee too. You have no idea how often our rehearsals involve tears."
Kurt tipped his own head back and squirted the solution into his eyes. He screwed the cap back on and threw it into the handbag, and then drew out the moist towelettes. Really, washing their faces would take care of the puffiness much better, but the water bottle in his bag had gone too warm to do any good.
Blaine started when Kurt first swiped the moist cloth along his jaw. Kurt took his time cleaning each part of Blaine's face. His boyfriend looked so innocent and young with his eyes closed, face tilted up. He paid special attention to the soft, tender skin under Blaine's eyes and his red cheeks.
"You don't have to take care of me, Kurt," Blaine murmured.
"No, I don't have to. But sometimes I get to."
Kurt worked a fresh towelette around his own face next while Blaine watched with an unreadable expression. It made Kurt self-conscious under that kind of scrutiny. The look reminded him of the one Blaine had worn during "Blackbird." But he didn't know why it would be back now, and Blaine wasn't offering up any information.
"So where is this piano?"
Neither of the boys looked daisy fresh, but neither did they draw unwanted attention inside the clubhouse. Kurt feared more than anything running into Mr. Anderson inside and almost wanted to suggest driving to Dalton, which wasn't that far away, and using the piano there, but he wasn't sure the choir room would be unlocked or if they could find a janitor willing to cooperate.
They didn't run into Mr. Anderson or any of Blaine's family, however. Blaine led Kurt on a seemingly circuitous route around the clubhouse to a small lounge at the west end of the building. A smallish room decorated in rich browns contained several plush couches to the right and an open space on the left. An upright piano faced the room.
"This is where the performing musical groups warm up," Blaine explained. "The Warblers sang here a couple times last year."
The window faced the road and woods, and when Blaine closed the door behind them, it cut them off visually from the rest of the country club. He took up Kurt's hand again and led him around to the narrow piano bench.
"This song is normally sung on the guitar, but of course I don't have one with me."
"That's all right. You played "One Fine Day" on the guitar, and that's for a piano. I'm sure you can make this song work on the piano."
Blaine placed his fingers over the keys and breathed deeply. Kurt knew those moments just before beginning a song too well. Even when alone, the hesitancy to pour out your soul into the words and melody was sometimes overwhelming. But at a moment like this, when the words and melody were the only way you had to express yourself, it was that much harder to begin. The inclination to wait, to hold in the pain for just another second overpowered even the love of singing sometimes.
"Do you want me to play?" Kurt offered.
He wasn't fantastic on piano like Blaine was, but he could play well enough. Blaine shook his head, however. Another few seconds passed before Blaine began playing. His fingers moved tentatively, picking out a soft, simple melody Kurt had never heard before. When Blaine sang, his voice was light and full of hurt.
"In the chilly hours and minutes,
Of uncertainty, I want to be,
In the warm hold of your loving mind.
To feel you all around me,
And to take your hand, along the sand,
Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind."
Kurt's fingers found his lips. The last line of the chorus hit him like a lead weight, and the anguish in Blaine's voice brought fresh tears to his eyes. During the rainstorm, Kurt had thought hearing Blaine sing "One Fine Day" was the most tortured performance he'd ever seen, not just from Blaine, but from anyone. But "One Fine Day" was a song about hope; "Catch the Wind" was a song about losing hope.
"When sundown pales the sky,
I wanna hide a while, behind your smile,
And everywhere I'd look, your eyes I'd find.
For me to love you now,
Would be the sweetest thing, 'twould make me sing,
Ah, but I may as well, try and catch the wind."
He stared at his boyfriend, who leaned so low over the keys Kurt almost couldn't see his deeply furrowed brow and eyes screwed shut in agony when he sang about love. Kurt wondered, was that line meant for Mr. Anderson? Or had Blaine's feelings towards his father changed?
"When rain has hung the leaves with tears,
I want you near, to kill my fears
To help me to leave all my blues behind.
For standin' in your heart,
Is where I want to be, and I long to be,
Ah, but I may as well, try and catch the wind."
The song trailed off with Blaine's voice fading out. His eyes stayed fixated on his lap. Kurt rubbed comforting circles on his boyfriend's back. He didn't know what to say after hearing the song Blaine had chosen to give voice to the turmoil he must be feeling. So he waited for the moment to pass and to gain a glimmer of wisdom about where to go from here.
"Thank you, Kurt. I know you probably just wanted to leave, but this really helped."
"I understand. Not too long before I met you, when I thought I was about to become an orphan, I sang "I Want to Hold Your Hand" in glee. It didn't change the situation at all, and it dredged up a lot of memories, but it let me share with my friends how much I hurt, and that was some comfort."
Blaine nodded and grinned sadly. "I knew you'd understand, Kurt. That story makes me wish my song choice hadn't been so on-the-nose."
"Sometimes it can't be helped. You still have left over bonus points for making "Candles" a love song and for "One Fine Day." I'm not judging you."
Blaine tilted his head and pressed his lips to Kurt's. They were too emotionally exhausted to put much passion into the kiss, so they moved over to the couches and cuddled up together on the largest sofa. To Kurt's surprise, Blaine wanted to be the big spoon.
"Is this your Napoleon complex kicking in again?" he teased.
Blaine rolled his eyes playfully and pulled Kurt against his body. He felt so warm, pleasantly so again the chilly air pumping into the small room from the ceiling vents, and so solid. Kurt snuggled into his chest, and Blaine hummed contentedly.
"Kurt."
"Hmm?"
"I'm glad you were here with me today. I mean, I hate what you had to go through." Kurt opened his mouth to protest again, but Blaine rushed on. "But I – Sometimes I feel like you're the only person in the world I can really be myself around. My friends are wonderful, but they don't understand everything about me. It's not their fault, and they try, but they're not gay. So there's another reason same sex relationships are better – more shared experiences."
Kurt smiled into Blaine's chest. "I feel the same way, Blaine. No matter how much my friends and family emphasize and do an amazing job of it, there are some parts I can only share with you."
"I hate that you had to see me like that, though. I feel like all I do around you lately is cry."
"Welcome to my world," Kurt said with a chuckle. "That's what I felt like when we first met. But things got better for me, and they will for you too. God, I sound like an afterschool special."
"Kurt …. There's this local gang harassing me to join, and I'm afraid to say no because – " Kurt smacked his arm lightly. "No, seriously, Kurt. These guys are badass. They do big musical numbers and everything. Just like in Grease."
"Oh my God. The Warblers as a 1950's greaser gang. Someone should write a musical about that. Maybe I'll get to it after I finish the one I'm writing about Pippa Middleton."
"So you're really going to write that one, huh?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"That I'm sure it will be fabulous and a huge success."
Kurt made a derisive sound in his throat, but let it go. Bitching at his boyfriend was just not going to happen today. Instead, he settled back against Blaine's chest and focused on their steady heartbeats thumping in time. The rhythmic lull teased his eyelids into fluttering shut.
o o o
When Kurt woke up, he sensed something was very wrong. There was a sharp, metallic taste in the air like static electricity. What he had at first mistaken for out of tune piano keys was actually hail pinging against the window. Kurt pushed himself into a sitting position and rubbed at his eyes to clear the last vestiges of sleep clinging to his muddled brain.
"It's been like this for about an hour," Blaine said.
Kurt started. His boyfriend lay stretched out on the couch gazing at him perfectly cogent, which Kurt knew from experience meant he hadn't slept at all. Blaine was a zombie when he woke up, whether in the morning or after a nap.
"Why did you let me sleep?"
"Because I'm not a jerk who makes his sleepy boyfriend stay awake? You looked so peaceful. I like watching you sleep." His face shifted into something like panic. "Oh, okay. That sounded a lot less creepy in my head."
Kurt laughed and trotted over to the window. "It's fine. I – Oh my God!"
Blaine leapt up from the couch and joined Kurt at the window. Clouds raced across the sky which had turned a sickly greenish color. Both boys groaned. This weather was too common in late spring and early summer.
"I'll bet you an Yves St. Laurent scarf when we go into the lobby we'll find out there's a tornado warning for Columbus," Blaine said.
"Like I'm going to take those odds. Come on. Let's get away from the window."
They ran into very few people in the clubhouse, and through the glimpses of the parking lot they caught in the windows, most of the county clubbers had gone home when the weather began to turn. A clutch of golfers on the back nine had been stranded, though.
"I'll go talk to the front desk and find out what's going on," Blaine said. "You should call your dad so he doesn't worry."
Kurt pulled out his phone while his boyfriend hurried over to an employee. He had seventeen missed calls. He'd been too preoccupied after lunch to turn his phone back on, and all the calls had gone straight to voicemail. Kurt didn't bother listening to them; he knew they'd all be from his dad. Burt answered on the first ring.
"Kurt! Thank God! We were worried sick about you! Why did you have your phone off? You know it's supposed to be on when you're away from home. I've been – "
"Dad! I'm sorry," Kurt interjected. He made sure Blaine was still across the lobby before saying anything more. "Things didn't go well at lunch. I forgot to turn my phone back on."
"What happened?" Burt's worried voice had gone cold and hard.
"I don't have time to tell you right now, but it was so much worse than I thought. But, listen, I'm safe, okay? Blaine is talking to someone now about what's going on. I'll call you back and let you know if we can make it home."
"No, Kurt. You stay there. There's not a warning for Westerville yet, but it's getting worse there. Don't try to make it home. The storms are moving this way."
"Okay. But eventually the country club is going to close, and we're going to have to leave."
"Then stay the night at Dalton."
Kurt arched an eyebrow. "Dad, did you just give me permission to stay overnight in my boyfriend's dorm room?"
"No!" Burt practically bellowed. "Stay in Nick or Jeff's room. I'm serious, Kurt."
"Okay! Okay! Geez. I was joking, you know."
"I'm not okay with joking about my son's virginity."
Kurt went beet red and pressed his palm over the speaker in his phone while he glanced around furtively to make sure no one had heard that thunderous remark. His silence indicated something other than embarrassment to his father.
"Oh, God," Burt groaned. "You at least read the pamphlets, right?"
"No! Yes, I did. But no …. Dad … Dad, this is not the appropriate time." Kurt turned his back on the room, hunched over, and hissed into the phone. "I'm still a virgin!"
"Yeah. Okay. Just … stay safe." Kurt flushed deeply. "In the storm! And, you know, when the time comes, you be safe then too. But, for right now, don't get sucked up into a funnel cloud. Or at all."
It took Kurt a minute to get that one, and when he did, he kind of wanted to curl up into a ball and die right there. He mumbled a good-bye to his father and turned around to find Blaine standing right behind him with an arched eyebrow and shit-eating grin.
"I don't know how a conversation about tornadoes turns into a declaration of virginity, but …" Blaine gazed off into the middle distance. "Oh, no, wait. I think I get it."
If Kurt wasn't burning head to toe having this conversation over the phone with his dad, he certainly was right now. He jammed the phone back into his pocket angrily. Blaine's expression softened, and he cocked his head to the side.
"Aw. I'm sorry, Kurt. I know better than to say stuff like that." He allowed the briefest pause to pass to indicate a change in topic. "There's a tornado watch, and the state police are recommending we stay here until this passes. We could try to make it to Dalton. It's about ten minutes away."
Kurt's cheeks burned at the idea of having to tell his dad he did, in fact, spend the night at Dalton.
"Uh, no. No, we should stay here. My dad asked us not to leave if we could avoid it."
Blaine nodded. "Then we'll stay here. Do you want to get dinner?"
"Yeah. I'm starving."
They walked into the dining room close together, but not holding hands. The soft caresses and kisses from this afternoon had passed. Now that Blaine had calmed down, he didn't need to be constantly touched. Prom had broken down some of these barriers, but not all of them, and Kurt respected his boyfriend's wishes to not purposefully draw attention in public any more than they already did.
"Will you be eating with your father?" the hostess asked when Blaine gave his name.
"M-my father is still here?"
"A lot of the golfers on the back nine got in late and decided to wait the storm out here."
The woman turned and pointed to a table where John sat with Alec and two other men in hideous salmon golf pants. Kurt saw the panic and indecision in Blaine's eyes. If they didn't eat with John, that would cause problems, but neither boy wanted to sit down to another meal with Blaine's dad.
"Table for three." Lydia said, walking up behind the boys. "If I have to sit through another meal with your father I'll go to jail for premeditated murder."
Kurt wanted to laugh, except the hatred in Lydia's eyes made it appear that she was serious. Nevertheless, he was grateful for any excuse to avoid Mr. Anderson. From what Blaine had said, she wasn't the most affectionate or involved mother, but she didn't hate her son, and that, sadly, made her a pretty good parent by Anderson standards.