Well, here is part 4... only one more after this! Hope you all enjoy!
Kurt is in hell, he's sure of it, and it looks a lot like Rachel Berry's basement. He wants to kick himself for coming, and worse, for asking Blaine to tag along. The moment he notices Puck and Santana scheming in the corner, he knows this evening is going to end one of two ways - he's either going to make a fool of himself and reveal everything he's worked so hard to hide (except from the exceptionally nosy ogre known as his step-brother) or he's going to contemplate the pros and cons of murder/suicide. Neither option is ideal.
They both walk over to him, Santana waving a red cup under his nose. His stomach turns. "Come on, Hummel, relax! Have a drink!"
"No thanks," he tries to push past her, but Puck grabs his shoulder and spins him around.
"Everyone's drinking," Puck tries.
"I'm not," they turn around to where Finn is towering over Santana. "He doesn't want to drink, leave him alone, man."
The conversation is deafening, only drowned out by the karaoke machine and Rachel. Mercedes and Tina cackle continuously and loudly in the corner, Santana is shouting at Sam, Lauren and Quinn round in on Puck, who tries to duck away. Kurt is positively miserable, having tucked himself into the couch, torn between screaming and beating the cushions until his fists bleed with fabric burn.
"Kurt! Kurt!" Rachel drops herself onto the couch next to him. He winces when her sweet-smelling breath hits his nose. "Kurt, are you having fun? You don't look like you're having fun."
"It's the time of my life, Rachel," he forces out as she wraps her arms around his shoulders, pulling him to her. "Don't," he grabs her hands, extracting himself from her grip. He looks around, spots Blaine hanging onto Finn. Finn catches his gaze, looking terrified at the puppy-eyes Blaine is giving him, and walk-runs as fast as he can to the couch. Kurt jumps up, relocates to the edge of the stage, keeping a wary eye on touchy-feely Rachel, throwing a thankful look to Finn.
Blaine falls next to him, leaning his head on Kurt's shoulder.
"Hi. Having fun?" he grips dopily up at Kurt, who looks away and nods.
"Yup," he says shortly. Blaine seems satisfied. Across the room, Rachel is arguing with Finn, and when she yells "Let's play spin the bottle!" the entire group congregates to the center of the room. Blaine steadies himself with a hand on Kurt's thigh and pushes himself up, grabbing Kurt's hand and dragging him down with the group. Kurt wills himself to disappear, not for the first time that night.
Kurt wants to bleach away everything he sees for the next twenty-three minutes. Blaine and Rachel sucking face is just the icing on the fucking cake of Kurt's terrible evening. For the rest of the night, Blaine and Rachel stick side by side, occasionally holding hands when they think no one is watching, and Finn's eyes don t leave Kurt. Kurt wants to hyperventilate until his chest explodes, leaving his body a mess for everyone else to clean up.
"Hummel."
He closes his eyes, not wanting to meet the face that voice belongs to. He receives a hard jab in the ribs.
"What the hell, Puckerman?"
Puck holds his hands up, smiling. "Whoa, Tiger. You need to loosen the fuck up. Have a drink, seriously."
"Seriously, no." He glares up at him, mustering his best angry face. Santana saunters over, two red cups in her hands, smiles sweetly down at him.
"Come on. One drink isn t going to kill you. It's not like you can get addicted to this stuff."
The words reverberate in his head. He shoves them both away from him, pushes past where Brittany is dancing around Artie, and stomps up the stairs. He ignores Finn yelling his name, slams the front door shut behind him and sits in the backseat of his car, palms to his eyelids, breathing heavily, his breath clouding in the cold air around him.
He hears the front door open and close and, seconds later, feels a heavy hand on his shoulder. He looks up through his tears and the look on Finn's face is one he's never seen. It's the most full of concern and emotional he's ever seen his step-brother. He squeezes Kurt's shoulder and ruffles his hair.
"Do you want to go?"
Immediately, Kurt nods. "Please."
"I'll get Blaine". He squeezes Kurt s shoulder again and disappears into the house.
He was wrong, before, when he thought spending an evening with his former glee club was hell. Clearly, dragging a drunk, nearly-immobile Blaine into his house, Finn running ahead to check for parents, is as bad as it could ever get.
He gets Blaine situated on his bed, throws Finn as thankful a look he can muster given the events of the evening, and quietly clicks his door closed. He turns to the boy in his bed, unlaces the sneakers off of his wiggling feet and pulls the duvet up to his shoulders. Blaine lightly grips the pillow underneath his head, curls falling across his face.
Kurt wants to be so angry, is so angry, though he knows Blaine doesn t deserve it. It doesn't stop him from feeling it. What Kurt would give to be able to just have fun, let loose, drunkenly make out with a friend (he turns away from Blaine when this thought enters his head) and laugh and afterwards, sing a stupid song together.
It seems so easy in his head, to just stop. But he's tried that before, and it ended with him in Figgins' office; it's just easier to make himself numb until he doesn't have to care anymore. As much as he hates who he is when he's drunk, he hates sober Kurt even more - afraid and weak, asking to be preyed upon. At least with the alcohol he can smile even if he feels like a total fraud later.
He toes off his shoes, strips down to his undershirt and boxers; he crawls into his closet and carefully, quietly, finds a mostly empty bottle.
A break in Blaine's breathing, and Kurt looks up at his bed, bottle lifted halfway to his mouth. He gapes, stupidly thinking that if he doesn't move, Blaine won't notice him. Blaine blinks, narrows his eyes.
"Kurt?" He repositions himself, pushing his arm beneath the pillow. "What're you doing?"
Kurt licks his lips, doesn't say anything.
"Are we in your room?" Blaine's eyes roam, taking in his surroundings without moving his head.
"Yes," Kurt clears his throat.
"What time is it?"
"It's late. Go back to sleep, Blaine."
That seems as good a reason as any to sleep, and Blaine rolls onto his side, sighing deeply as his breath evens back out.
Kurt closes his eyes and wills his heart to slow down from its current rat-a-tat in his chest. He takes another swig, thinks ironically to himself - courage - and twists the cap back on, putting it back in its hiding place.
As he climbs into his bed, he is sure to leave a few inches of space between himself and Blaine. As much as he wants to turn onto his side, fit himself behind Blaine and cling, he reminds himself that he's angry. At Blaine, at Blaine's choices, at alcohol and at everyone who can enjoy it without simultaneously self-destructing. At himself, mostly.
For now, his brain is too exhausted from the night. He sleeps.
Two days later, Blaine isn't speaking to him. The fight they have is ridiculous, isn't even the beginning of why Kurt is angry. Maybe I'm bi, I don t know. It hurt to see Blaine kiss Rachel, he isn't denying it. But the underlying issue, Blaine being drunk and kissing Rachel, isn't something he can even articulate.
But Blaine was immediately defensive, and he made it easy for Kurt to run with that line. Allowed him to spit out all the venom he felt. Now he just feels like shit. Without his best friend around, his life feels empty. It feels wrong, somehow, to drink when he is angry at Blaine for the same reason.
He finds classes barely tolerable without alcohol; and he is so used to spending every moment with Blaine. Warblers rehearsals are awkward at best, and as the days go by, Blaine seems more and more agitated, unable to sit still - which is not unusual by Blaine's standards, but Kurt recognizes the pained look on Blaine's face.
Blaine grabs onto his wrist after rehearsal and waits for the room to empty before apologizing - for losing his cool, for getting way too drunk at Rachel's, for the brief lapse in his homosexuality. Kurt focuses on the second, and accepts the others for what they are. He reciprocates the apology; they fall back into their usual routines, for which Kurt is grateful, because he feels it. The slightly slipping grades. The itch under his skin. He needs Blaine.
He hears a quiet knock through the open window. The door to his room creaks open and a quiet "Kurt?" sounds out.
From his place on the roof, Kurt smiles to himself. "Out here." Blaine's head appears in the window.
"What are you doing out there?"
"Just..." Kurt sighs dreamily. "Looking."
He points vaguely to the night sky, cloudless, beautifully starry.
After the weeks of ups and downs, adjusting to the new school, new schedule, the senseless fight with Blaine, he hadn't had the time or energy to drink more than he'd usually allotted himself. Now he is back to his self-prescribed dosage. Just enough to take off the sharp edges but enough to keep him lucid and happy. He feels now like he felt after that first talk with April all those months ago.
He looks up behind him to where Blaine is carefully stepping out onto the roof, keeping a hand on the sill. Kurt reaches up and Blaine grasps onto his hand, watching his footing as he settles in next to Kurt.
He lays back, arms behind his head. Kurt can't take his eyes off of him. Blaine looks as beautiful as ever, moonlight washing pleasantly over his tan skin.
They sit in silence for what seems like hours. Kurt's buzz is wearing off to a light tingle, sleep heavy in his brain. There's a sudden chill in the air and a shiver overtakes him. Blaine glances over and pulls an arm out from behind his head, offering to Kurt. He couldn't say no to Blaine if he wanted to.
Kurt rolls into Blaine's embrace, breathing deeply the second he's wrapped in warmth. He fists his fingers into Blaine's shirt; Blaine is intoxicating, moreso than anything Kurt has ever put into his body. Blaine gives him the best kind of buzz.
"You're my best friend, Blaine," he sighs. Blaine's arm tightens around his shoulders.
"You're mine too, Kurt."
Kurt can hear the smile in his voice and lets his eyes drift closed.
I've been looking for you forever. The words play on a loop in Kurt's head. Blaine is kissing him. Blaine is kissing him.
And i' s totally different from everything he's experienced in his life. The tentative kisses with Brittany last year, when he was imagining she was a boy. He remembers with a shudder the weight of Karofsky against him and how at the time he'd vaguely enjoyed it, if only as a connection with someone.
But the way Karofsky kissed him is completely different from the way Blaine is kissing him. His lips are soft against his, his hand comes up to cup his cheek, fingertips on his neck. They breathe in hard through their noses, unwilling to part their mouths. Blaine digs into the kiss, pouring out all of the emotion from his confession.
He wonders what he would have felt if he had been sober when Karofsky had kissed him, if he would have protested, pushed him away instead of the other way around. His skin feels like it's on fire, but it's a different burn than he's used to; he feels this one fire every synapse in his brain. Blaine's skin is warm under his fingers; he wants to dig his fingers into Blaine's hair, grab his collar and pull him impossibly close.
He is suddenly so glad to be sober at this moment. His body feel like it's filling with molten lead. When Blaine pulls away, Kurt pants to catch his breath, mourns the loss of body heat. Blaine laughs nervously to himself, looks back at Kurt, and launches himself at him again. They melt into each other, like magnets are pulling them together, until the need to breathe becomes too much. They reluctantly break the kiss and look shyly around the room.
Kurt's face in on fire, he's sure of it. Part of him still can't believe that just happened. It's all he's wanted from Blaine for months; Kurt's been so wrapped up in his brain lately, though, that he's had little spare room for pining after Blaine. And he's been so wonderfully, fantastically blindsided.
They are backstage, waiting for the usher to grab them from the dressing room, when it happens.
There is nervous chatter, polished shoes tapping impatiently on the faded carpet, Wes trying in vain to get them to work on scales and harmonies one last time. Kurt is sitting on one of the many couches, water bottle by his feet, listening to Jeff ramble nervously to his left about his solo. Kurt brings the bottle from the floor, needing just a sip to calm his nerves, and is shocked momentarily when the bottle is plucked from his fingers.
"Can I-" Blaine unscrews the cap without finishing his question and throws back the bottle. Kurt scrambles out of his seat, reaching for Blaine's hands, but when Blaine starts sputtering and coughing, he can't do anything but stare at the red-faced shock looking back at him.
Wes comes over and thumps Blaine on the back, "Drink much?"
Blaine coughs to catch his breath, "Just- just went down the wrong pipe." He looks at Kurt but doesn't say anything. Kurt feels his stomach twisting, something he knows has nothing to do with the fact they are about to be on stage. His skin erupts in goosebumps, he feels the blood rush from his face. He wants to curl up behind the couch and die. Blaine screws the cap to the bottle back on and hands it to Kurt without a word.
On the long ride back to Dalton, Kurt feels miles away from sleep. He pulls his blazer over his head, hiding the shame he feels. He knows it isn't his fault they lost, but he can't shake the image of Blaine s eyes boring into his, trying to work out his secret.
He should have been honest when Blaine told him about his feelings, when Blaine kissed him and he kissed back. He can only thank a god he doesn't believe in that he hadn't been drinking that day, that there was nothing for Blaine to taste on his tongue.
Not that that matters much anymore.
The Warblers quiet conversations on the bus dull down until just the symphony of tinny music through headphones is left.
Kurt feels his eyelids grow heavy when his blazer is pulled from over his head. He squints up into the darkness, his questions answered when Blaine plops into the empty seat next to him.
Kurt takes a deep breath and turns to the window, studiously ignoring him.
"Kurt," he starts quietly. "Kurt, you're my best friend." He takes Kurt's hand, running his fingers around his wrist, over his palm. "That stuff I told you last week, I meant every word of it. And - hey. Please look at me." His free hand cups Kurt's cheek, turning him to face Blaine.
Kurt can't help, curses, the tear that runs unbidden down his cheek.
"Why are you crying?" Blaine whispers, wiping the tear away. He isn't angry, isn't upset; his voice is dripping with concern. Kurt can only close his eyes and shake his head in reply.
Blaine takes a breath. "What I mean, Kurt, is that telling you that was the most honest I've ever been with anyone, and I was terrified going into it, but it was so easy because it was you. I just want you to know that you can always be that honest with me."
Kurt meets Blaine's gaze, sniffles quietly.
"Blaine..." He isn't sure what to say - what he wants to say. How much does he tell Blaine? The secret he's been carrying alone for so long weighs less and less as the months go by, becoming a part of him rather than a burden on his shoulders.
"Is something going on that necessitated you having that in your water bottle? Bringing it to competition?"
Kurt sits up ramrod straight, checking the seats around him.
Blaine squeezes his hand. "They're all asleep." He turns sideways to face Kurt, his cheek resting against the scratchy fabric of the bus seat.
Kurt stays quiet for a long time, just staring at Blaine, willing him to somehow know that he wants to tell him, but can't find the words. After a long moment, his voice rasps and he can only whisper, "It's not just the competition. Blaine..."
He looks away, can't stand those eyes digging into him. "You know the phrase actions speak louder than words?"
Blaine nods, curiosity written on his face.
"For the better part of a year now I-I feel like I've been jumping up and down, waving my arms and just screaming. And no one's noticed. And that's why I- why I had it. Why I drink."
"So people will notice you?"
"So it hurts less when they don't."
Neither of them says anything for several minutes.
"I don't-" Blaine laces his fingers through Kurt's, leaning his head on his shoulder. "A year?"
Kurt leans his cheek against Blaine's hair. "It's not exactly something I'm proud of," he says quietly. He can feel his resolve cracking; these are words he's never said aloud, even when Finn found out. "And it's not as bad now as it used to be." He can almost believe himself when he says it.
"You have been a little different lately," Blaine says thoughtfully. "Like sometimes it seems like you're upset for no reason, or something little sets you off. Does it affect your mood that much?"
Kurt closes his eyes, admonishing himself for being so transparent. "You could tell?"
"Not at the time. But thinking back on it, yeah. A little. Sometimes I don t know whether to expect happy, bubbly Kurt or angry, sad Kurt. I don t know which one is the real you."
"Sometimes I don't know either."
They go silent again when a loud snore erupts from a few seats up.
"This is crazy. I can't believe I'm telling you this," Kurt lets out a breath.
Blaine stretches his fingers between Kurt's, "But I'm glad you are." He presses his nose into Kurt's neck, breath ghosting over his skin. "Kurt, I-" He sits up, rolling his shoulders, looking out the window past Kurt. "Maybe we should hold off on-on us, until you can figure out which Kurt is the real Kurt. Get things straight in your life. Find a different way to deal with-with this."
Kurt nods, not trusting his voice. He pulls his hand away from Blaine's, folding his arms. He lets out a shaky breath, looking into Blaine's eyes, shining despite the dark. He feels a tear track down his cheek, tickling onto his neck, but doesn t move to wipe it.
"Will you-" The words on his tongue are foreign, ones he's never had the guts to ask. "Will you help me?"
A slow smile spreads over Blaine s features. He grabs Kurt's hand back and tucks it between his.
"Of course."
They don't talk for the rest of the ride back to Dalton, but hold onto each others hands, making silent promises.
To quit.
To help.
"What are you doing?"
Kurt stops in his tracks, water bottle lifted halfway to his mouth. Blaine stomps up to him, ignoring the fact that they are in a crowded hallway. Kurt screws the cap back onto the bottle and tries to push past Blaine. It's been a couple of weeks since their talk on the bus from regionals. He isn't in the mood for it today, for the speeches and the pitiful smiles and warm touches.
Insomnia has hit him, and he's feeling it. The clawing at the back of his eyes, the desperation for sleep. Everything is irritating.
"Kurt, what are you doing?" Blaine is following him despite the fact that his next class is in the opposite direction.
Only when Blaine attempts to swipe the bottle away from him does he stop walking.
"Knock it off, Blaine."
Another attempt, this time successful. Kurt scrambles, nearly tackling Blaine to get it back. He doesn't, and Blaine sniffs it, sighs, finds the nearest water fountain and dumps the contents, running the water to rinse the basin. Kurt stares as Blaine screws the cap back on and casually hands it back to Kurt.
"What the hell?"
"I thought you were stopping this," Blaine eyebrows narrow, though there is sadness on his face, and he puts his hand on Kurt's arm, squeezes encouragingly.
Kurt shrugs off the touch, "Maybe I don't want to, Blaine." He realizes the attention they are drawing and turns away, marching down the hall.
"Kurt-" he chases him, pulling on his shoulder to turn him.
"Knock it off," Kurt hisses, pushing him away. Blaine licks his lips, sighs.
"Fine. You either want my help or you don't, Kurt," he sticks an accusatory finger in Kurt's face. "But don't come crying to me when you start failing classes again and get kicked out of here too."
Kurt winces; it was a low blow, and for a split second, regret shows on Blaine's face.
"You know, for someone who is always so worried about disappointing his dad, you have a pretty fucked up way to repay him for everything he's done for you."
"Don't talk about my dad."
A small crowd of students stops, watching their interaction with interest.
"You think your mom would be proud of you, seeing you like this?"
Kurt's vision goes white as he rushes toward Blaine, pushing him against the wall. They are both breathing hard, eyes narrowed toward one another.
"Do not talk about my mother, Blaine. You don t know anything about her."
Blaine looks straight at Kurt, "I don't have to know her to know she'd be disappointed in you."
Crack.
The sound rings out, and suddenly the hallway is silent. The pain reverberates through his arm, and he shakes out his fist, wincing in pain. He looks up at Blaine s shocked face, angry red mark blossoming on his jaw.
"Mr. Hummel?" He turns his body but doesn't look away from Blaine, from the hurt in his eyes. A teacher who has stepped out of his classroom at the commotion waits, staring daggers into Kurt, who just nods, swallows hard.
Tears blur his vision as he makes his way to the Dean's office. He ignores the shocked whispers around him, the other boys staring, wide-eyed, slack-jawed. Blaine hasn't moved except to bring a hand up to his stinging cheek, watching Kurt walk dejectedly down the hall.
"Dad- I didn't-"
"Damnit, Kurt, I don't want to hear it. What I need to know right now is why I got a phone call explaining that you punched another student and got yourself expelled."
Kurt sighs, uses his free hand to wipe his cheeks, pinch the bridge of his nose. He can feel a headache coming on; he can tell it's going to be a bad one.
"I'm waiting."
"Blaine. It was Blaine-"
"You punched Blaine?"
He squeezes his eyes closed; his dad's disappointment is apparent, and it stings, physically hurts Kurt to hear it, not that it wasn' t expected.
"I just- we got into an argument and I-I lost it. It was stupid. I hit him."
"Kurt, violence is never-"
"Never the answer, yeah, Dad, I know."
Burt sighs heavily into the phone. "You'd better hope McKinley lets you back in, kiddo. Or I don't know what the hell we're gonna do."
"Dad, I- I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Kurt sits heavily on his bed, amongst piles of clothes and books that he's already started packing.
Burt is silent for a long moment. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, gentler, "Look, I don't know what's going on with you, Kurt, but you've gotta get it sorted out okay? This just isn't acceptable behavior."
Kurt nods, "I know, Dad. I know. And I'm sorry."
"Alright, pack up. I'll see you in a few hours."
They hang up, and Kurt clears his face, turning and pulling things from his closet.
There is a knock at the door. He stares at it dumbly for a moment, and the knob turns, opening slightly. Blaine's worried face is visible through the open crack.
"Can I come in?" he asks softly.
"Yeah," Kurt croaks.
Blaine sweeps into the room, stopping just a foot away from Kurt. Kurt looks up at his face, the welt visible on his cheek; he brings his hand up to it, not quite touching, but he can't take his eyes off it. Blaine doesn't say anything. Kurt breaks.
His face crumples and he feels everything he's held in release like a dam was opened. "Blaine, I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry." Blaine's arms are instantly around his waist, his chin hooked over his shoulder, holding him as close as he can.
"No. No, I'm sorry. That- what I said was completely out of line, Kurt. I'm supposed to be helping you and be there for you and all I did was antagonize you and that was so wrong of me." Kurt buries his face into Blaine's hair, errant curls tickling his cheek. He is heaving with silent sobs, tears streaming, pressing himself into Blaine.
After a long moment, Blaine peels himself away from Kurt, keeping his hands on his shoulders, holding him steady. Kurt sniffles, smiling sadly.
"So you- just like that? Gone?"
"Zero-tolerance. I am a bully," he laughs humorlessly. The laugh turns into another sob and he looks back at Blaine. "I don't know how I'm supposed to do this without you," his face falls again, and he gracelessly tumbles onto his bed. Blaine sits next to him, arm slung low around Kurt's waist. "I don't know if I can."
"You can. I know you can. I see you getting better every day, Kurt."
Kurt gives him a look that clearly says look around at the packing going on in my room but Blaine ignores it. "You'll have ups. You'll have downs. And I'm less than two hours away. Anytime you feel yourself slipping, call me and I'll be on the road."
Kurt leans against him, shaking. "I just- I don't know how-" He sighs, burying his face in his hands. "This was supposed to be the thing I could control, you know? I couldn't stop people treating me differently, but I could stop caring. I could drink, and stop caring." He looks up at Blaine. "I could control it. And I don't know when it started controlling me instead."
"You know," Blaine starts quietly. "Your dad would never turn you away if you wanted to talk to him."
Kurt is shaking his head before Blaine even finishes the sentence.
They appeal to the Allen County School Board. When they agree to allow Kurt to return to McKinley High on academic suspension, he silently thanks Blaine for pushing him so hard in his classes at Dalton, for not allowing him to slack.
The first person he calls is Mercedes, and she is ecstatic at the news, though Kurt comes up with a quick lie about why he is leaving Dalton; it's convenient that Carole and his dad are by no means rich - it makes for a decent cover.
After his tearful goodbye to Blaine and the Warblers, he returns to McKinley with little fanfare.
The first time he sees Karofsky, he stand still at his locker, trying not to shake, waiting for him to pass.
He doesn't slow down, but glances at him, mumbles, "Hummel," by way of greeting. Kurt raises an eyebrow and slowly turns as Karofsky passes him. Santana is at his side and looks back, giving Kurt a quick wink.
Because of his academic suspension, he is barred from rejoining New Directions. He tries to feel sad about this, but just can't bring himself to do it.
If there's one thing that he truly regrets about beginning to drink at all, it s the way that his voice has been affected. He's lost so much of his range, the burning of the alcohol down his throat. He shrugs them off when Rachel and Mercedes ask when is suspension his over?, when can he rejoin New Directions? He has things to focus on now - sobriety, which, without Blaine conveniently down the hall, requires all of the attention he can spare.
But he's determined. And he knows it won't be easy.