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Chapter 7
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"Kurt, I know you're probably in your pyjamas and stuff . . . But . . . do you think you could come get me?"
"Just tell me where you are," Kurt said without hesitation, glancing at his clock. It was only a few minutes past eleven. He stripped off his cotton pyjama bottoms, flicking on his bedside lamp. He threw his closet open, grabbing the first pair of pants his hands touched.
"I . . . I'm not too far from my house, actually – just a few streets over, in a park." He gave Kurt a few directions, while Kurt was yanking on socks, and then shoes, all one-handed. Then he was pulling a random jacket, not even taking a second to look in the mirror to see if it was all coordinated.
"Blaine, do you want me to stay on the line with you?"
There was a long pause during which all Kurt could hear was light breathing. A minute passed, followed by a soft, "No."
Kurt bit his lip as he left his room. "Are you sure?"
"Yes." That came out stronger. "Yes. I'm sorry. I . . . I don't want to go home tonight. Please, Kurt."
"I'm on my way – give me about forty-five minutes or so to get there though." If I speed, which I will. "Are you okay? Are you hurt, or cold . . ."
"No, no, I'm fine, just sitting on the jungle gym . . . don't hurry, Kurt, I don't want you to get into an accident."
All right, so maybe I'll keep it to ten miles above the limit as opposed to the twenty I was planning. "Hold on, I'm on my way."
"Okay . . . thank you." It was so grateful, but so wearily said. Kurt felt his car keys digging painfully into his palm as he walked down the stairs, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.
"Blaine, don't even. You'd do . . . you have done the same for me."
"I'll see you soon, Kurt." And he hung up.
Kurt had to take a second to swallow, rubbing at his eyes with one hand. He shoved his phone into a pocket, running down the last few steps.
"Whoa, hey, where the hell are you goin'?"
Kurt froze, looking over to his right, seeing his father standing up from the couch, Carole turning to face him while staying seated. Another movie was playing on the TV screen but Kurt couldn't be bothered to figure out which. Both of his parents looked confused and a little alarmed, but it was his father who was coming to stand between Kurt and door, putting a staying hand on his shoulder. "Kurt? What's wrong?"
He quickly realized there was no way he was going to be able to get out that front door without telling them, so he explained rapidly in one breath, "Blaine called me just now, he wants me to pick him up – something went wrong tonight and he's not going home."
Carole was now standing too, a hand partially covering her mouth. "Is he okay? Kurt –"
"He said he was fine," Kurt rushed on. "But he's all by himself in a park, and it's the middle of the night. Please, let me go get him."
His father was flicking his gaze over to Carole, holding for a moment, then sliding back to Kurt. "You being honest with me, Kurt? Because if Blaine is in some serious trouble –"
"Dad, it's me. Please, you know I would never lie about something this important, please."
There was a long silence that was utter agony for Kurt (the adrenaline was wreaking havoc on his system, and he was consumed by the need to just go). His dad crossed his arms, staring at Kurt with an indefinable expression. "Do you need me to come with you?"
Kurt almost fell over at the question, as if he'd been struggling forwards against a barrier or grip that was quite suddenly gone. Was he actually being allowed to leave? On his own? He didn't really care one way or the other as long as Blaine was safe, with him, but maybe . . . maybe . . . Half-formed thoughts and impulses chased themselves into a whirlwind in his mind, and he went with the first instinct that claimed his mouth. "No. No, dad, I'll go alone."
"Then you have to call me, every step of the way. As soon as you get there, you let me know. As soon as you're leaving, you call me. Do not hang around any longer than you have to. You get Blaine here. I'll be waiting."
Carole approached Kurt, touching his arm above the elbow. "We'll be here."
Kurt may or may not have breathed out a 'thank you', but if he did, they probably didn't hear it as he was already running past them, throwing the door open and sprinting to the SUV.
OOOOOOOOOOOOO
Kurt called Blaine as soon as he was within ten minutes of him, making sure he had the directions right. Blaine reiterated them in a monotone before saying, "See you when you get here," and hanging up.
Kurt pressed his accelerator hard enough to give his stomach a brutal jump, only to be thwarted by a red light not two seconds later. He cursed loudly, his phone clattering from the seat next to him to the floor, but he wasn't about to reach for it now – as soon as the light turned green he took off like a shot.
Five minutes later he was at the park.
He pulled over, wheels bumping the curb, unlocking the SUV doors before he'd even come to a full stop. He reached for his phone, hitting the speed-dial for his house as he drew up, exiting in a quick series of motions, nearly falling out of the car. "Dad, I'm here, I'm looking for Blaine now." He slammed the car door shut, walking at first but soon picking up speed, locking his SUV over his shoulder with a push of a button. "I can see the swings – the slide – I see him! He's still on the jungle gym."
"Then get him and come home." It was said sternly, and Kurt nodded.
"I'll call you when we're on the road." The phone was pushed down into his pocket as he ran at a breakneck pace the rest of the way. The grass was damp and slippery beneath his shoes (was he wearing loafers?) and the smell was verging on overpowering as he inhaled to maintain his powerful strides.
Blaine had his head down, sitting on the top of a vaguely elephant shaped set of iron bars of a faded colour Kurt could hardly determine in the weak moonlight. Kurt was gasping, though not because he was tired – at least not entirely – when he reached Blaine, desperate to know, to see that he was all right. Blaine's feet were level with Kurt's chest, and he stared up at his boyfriend, frantically absorbing everything about him – the now wrinkled and slightly rust-stained slacks, the partially unbuttoned collared shirt, and the shiny black shoes that had blades of grass clinging to them. There was no jacket, though Kurt knew his outfit must have had one, or a tie. His hair wasn't glued down by pounds gel – or if it had been, Blaine had made a mess of it by running his hands through it.
Blaine was not looking at him. Or at anything really. His face was a very odd thing to behold – it was wavering between blankness and weariness and pain.
Kurt managed to get his breathing under control after a few seconds. "Blaine. Blaine, I'm here."
Blaine's eyes focused on him. In the dim silver light Kurt thought he could see dried tear tracks, but he wasn't sure. He needed to be closer and that he was sure of. He wrapped his hands around the iron bars, feeling paint crack and flake off beneath his grip, clinging to his sweaty palms. He pulled himself up, climbing until he was seated next to Blaine.
"Blaine, I need you to talk to me. Because my dad is waiting back home, and we need to get there before he sends the army after us."
Blaine finally spoke. "He knows?"
"He knows about as much as I do, which is next to nothing," Kurt explained in what he hoped was a soft and comforting tone. "He and Carole were still up, and I had to tell them or there wasn't any way I would've been allowed to leave the house."
Blaine nodded, though his grip on the bars tightened. Kurt took a chance, wiping paint chips off on his thigh and then covering that hand nearest to him with his own, overlapping their fingers. Blaine exhaled, seeming to deflate, and his free hand came up to cover his eyes. "God, I'm sorry, Kurt. This isn't, this isn't as bad as you think it is, I . . . just couldn't be around him, couldn't be in the same neighbourhood as him. Not tonight. I needed you so badly."
"And I'm here, and I – I care about you, and I want you home with me. We'll get you into some pyjamas, we'll feed you apple pie – but before that . . . do you want to tell me some of what happened?"
He waited with bated breath, but Blaine only shook his head, his shoulders hunching. "Your dad is probably going to want an explanation. And I . . . I don't want to tell this story twice. Actually, I don't want to tell it all."
"You don't have to – no one says you have to," Kurt hurried to say though it killed him to do so – he needed to know. "My dad never said anything about explanations – just getting you home, safe and sound."
Blaine choked out a laugh. "Yeah, your dad is awesome that way . . . but he deserves an explanation as to why I dragged his son out of his house in the middle of the night and I need . . . I need someone like . . . just someone to tell me that I'm not . . ." Blaine's voice was fading and thickening all at once, and he shrunk in further on himself, his frame trembling. Kurt had to force away his desperate need to understand, swallow the lump in his throat and ignore the way his heart was breaking for this boy in front of him. He lifted his hand off of Blaine's, reaching up to caress his cheek lightly. His fingers encountered wetness, but he just kept stroking, and Blaine kept shaking.
Once Blaine stopped silently crying, he sat up, looking over at Kurt, a wisp of a smile gone in a blink as he said, "Let's go."
Blaine leapt from the top, but Kurt climbed down because he did not trust his shaky legs with the landing. His feet had barely a second to get reacquainted with the ground before Blaine was sweeping him up in a crushing embrace, damp face buried where Kurt's shoulder and neck met. He stroked the messy tangle of Blaine's curls (there was still some gel containing them, but not enough), wrapping his other arm around his back tightly. "Hey, hey, it's okay. It'll be fine." And he had no idea if what he was saying was true, could be true, because he had no idea what had happened, but damn it, he would make it fine, no matter what it was.
He let Blaine be the one to pull away first, though he took the lead afterwards, grasping a hand in a firm grip and guiding Blaine back to his car. This time around the wet grass was soaking through his shoes, but he didn't quicken his pace. Blaine was walking rather slowly and Kurt wasn't going to pull him along any faster than he apparently wanted to go.
Once they reached the SUV, Kurt unlocked it and slid his phone out of his pants' pocket, speed-dialling again. It didn't even ring once.
"God, Kurt, I was just about to call you."
"We're fine, we're both fine. I'm starting the engine now, dad." He did just that once he was settled in his seat. "We're on our way back."
"Good. Be careful, and see you soon. Oh, you might wanna warn Blaine that Finn's up. Does he want us to send him back upstairs or something?"
Kurt was pulling away from the curb, glancing at Blaine. He was staring listlessly out the window, then down at his lap. "Blaine? Finn's kinda waiting up with my parents – is that . . . does that bother you?"
Blaine shrugged, and Kurt had never seen him so spiritless, so lacking in energy. "I guess he'll hear about it regardless, right?"
"Not if you don't want him to, Blaine. Remember, no one, including me, needs to know if you don't want to share."
A period of silence followed this statement and Kurt drove at a much more leisurely pace than he had on his way to the park, stopping at yellow lights and taking a full minute at stop signs.
"Can it just be your dad? And your step-mom? I don't feel like having much more of an audience. You can tell him later, if you want."
Kurt nodded. "You hear that dad?"
"Loud and clear. We'll tell Finn he can get the story out of you tomorrow."
"All right, give me another forty minutes or so to get home."
"Drive safe, kiddo."
Kurt hung up, tossing the phone onto his dashboard. Blaine was silent again and Kurt didn't dare push. He'd get the full story in less than an hour's time. While he waited he stretched a hand out and Blaine took it, intertwining their fingers. He drove like that the rest of the way home.
OOOOOOOOOOOOO
As he pulled up onto his driveway, Kurt could see his father waiting on the front porch – and in that same moment, he heard Blaine suck in a quick breath, then release it slowly, as if steadying his nerves. Kurt squeezed the fingers of the hand he'd been holding the entire ride, and opened the car door after a few seconds of silent support.
He walked around the front of his SUV, meeting up with Blaine on the other side and they walked up together to meet his dad, who had been watching them closely, rocking back on his heels once.
There wasn't any hesitation or words exchanged as his father stepped back from the open door, giving them room to walk into the house. Carole was right there to greet them, though she was hesitating, taking a half step forward, then holding back. Kurt took off his jacket, glancing down at it for the first time – it was one of his thick leather ones. He dimly acknowledged the fact that it didn't, in actuality, match with his black loafers. Carole spoke at last as Kurt hung it up on the coat rack near the door. "Oh, Blaine, you look so tired. Do you want something to eat? Drink?"
Blaine shook his head, clearing his throat before answering, "No, no thanks . . ." He flinched when Kurt's dad shut the door behind him. "I-I'm mostly just really, really tired."
"Then we can set up a bed for you right away," Carole offered, holding out a hand, smiling gently. "But that would be kind of a shame considering that I baked another apple pie earlier today and Finn actually left behind a couple of pieces for myself, though I'm sure Burt was going to sneak the other one away. One of those pieces is yours if you want it – and considering the fish-eye Kurt is currently giving his father, I would suggest eating it to prevent the poor man from getting yet another well-deserved lecture."
Kurt hadn't even realized he'd been staring at his father severely until Carole said as much, and his dad was cringing, looking over at his wife pitifully. "I can't believe you just sold me out."
"Dad! You were actually going to eat it!" Kurt instantly reprimanded, crossing his arms and glaring.
Carole sighed. "They're going to be at this for at least ten minutes, plenty of time for us two to indulge!"
Kurt was about to rip into his father when he saw the look on Blaine's face. He felt a surge of love and affection for his stepmother as Blaine cracked a real smile. She led him to the kitchen, asking him to get the plates and glasses. Kurt was turning to let his dad off easy with a simple, succinct three minute scolding, with no guilt-trip or threat to call his doctor, but his speech was lost as he saw Blaine watching them both with a heart-wrenching sadness. When he did finally face him, his dad was mid-way to taking hold of his arm, murmuring, "Kurt, now isn't the time to –"
"Yes, I know, Blaine needs me, needs all of us, and . . ." He shrugged, his father's hand dropping at the motion, smiling. "I know by this point most of my lectures are moot. A little contraband here and there isn't going to do you any great harm. So long as you keep it to here and there and not here, there and everywhere. Please refer to previous lectures on me wanting my father around for all future major milestones and we're officially good on this topic."
His dad laughed near-silently, smiling down at the floor before glancing back up at Kurt. "Yeah, okay, kiddo. Thanks. Now, about Blaine – he didn't say anything to you on the drive over?"
"Not a word." Kurt shook his head, hearing the faint sounds of Carole chatting with Blaine, though it seemed she was the one carrying the entire conversation. "He's, well, you saw."
His dad nodded, rubbing a hand over his bald head, then wrapping an arm around Kurt's shoulders as they walked towards the dining room. He didn't say anything else as they entered; Carole was sitting across from Blaine, watching him eat without touching her own slice or her glass of water, and Blaine was cutting his pie slice into small pieces, slowly and methodically. Kurt looked towards Carole and she tilted her head, indicating the seat next to Blaine while asking. "You want to share mine with me, Kurt?"
"You made me have some after dinner," Kurt reminded her. "And while my stomach and taste buds thank you, I'm sure my hips are going to pay me back for this if I give in again."
She rolled her eyes at him, but it was an expression of fond exasperation. Blaine lifted his eyes towards Kurt, frowning. "You shouldn't take anything that crazy woman said to you seriously. You're perfect." Kurt felt his heart flutter at that, and while Blaine was often responsible for such lovely (and yes, sometimes cheesy) compliments, the way his eyes kept falling away from Kurt prevented him from being able to truly bask and enjoy it. Blaine was back to being quiet and staring unseeingly at his plate of tiny apple pie pieces.
He sat down next to him, at an angle that permitted him a head-on view of Blaine's lacklustre expression. The silence was approaching unbearable levels of tension.
Thankfully, his dad tackled it with his usual straight-forwardness. "Blaine, I get that some serious things went down tonight, and from what Kurt told me, you want to tell us what those things were. Or did you want to save that for tomorrow?"
Blaine lifted a bite of apple pie to his mouth, chewed and swallowed before responding, "I . . . I'm sorry for intruding upon your hospitality like this. For making Kurt come and get me and . . ."
"Blaine, I'm just glad you look like you're okay." Kurt leaned a little closer to Blaine as his father said this because that sharp edge of panic when Blaine first called, he wouldn't be shaking that off any time soon. His dad continued, "But I gotta say I ain't one hundred percent sure on how okay you are. Did . . . did your dad do something tonight?"
That startled a brutally humourless laugh out of the boy. Kurt flinched because he remembered that harsh sound from the first time he had heard about Mr. Anderson from Blaine. He wanted to reach out and hold his boyfriend's hand again but he couldn't – somehow it felt like Blaine was beyond his grasp. Kurt reluctantly settled for simply being there.
"It's probably going to seem so stupid to all of you. You've been through so much and I –"
"Blaine, honey, please stop apologizing and acting as though we don't care about you. Because we do," Carole said forcefully, catching Blaine's gaze and holding it. "We want you to tell us. We want to listen. You say anything and everything you have to. Please."
Blaine's eyes gleamed, but he closed them quickly, pressing his thumb and index finger against his lids. He took in a wet and rattling breath, and started his story, stumbling at first, then steadying and inserting detail and emotion. Kurt immersed himself in it, watching every expression on Blaine's face, listening for every modulation in his tone.
It wasn't hard to picture it all exactly as Blaine told it . . .
The dining room had a high ceiling and warm yellow lighting; only Blaine and Claire were in it, sitting next to each other, with the rest of the small party elsewhere, chatting over some pre-dinner cocktails (nothing of the room had been described by Blaine, but Kurt had an active and creative imagination). Claire had been a snot-nosed brat, but she'd grown into a cute, sweet girl, with an interest in foreign languages and music from the big band era. Blaine had found himself pleasantly surprised by this and fell into easy discussion with her. He could feel it when his father was watching from across the large room, but he managed to ignore it and tried his best to actually have a good time.
"I wanted so badly for things to be normal between us," Blaine said quietly. "It was easy to try, easy to fall back on it, but at the same time, I wasn't going to lie to Claire, especially considering how nice she was being. I'm really bad at telling when someone is into me or not . . ." He shot a small, sheepish smile at Kurt, who couldn't help smiling back. "But I had to tell her that I was taken, at least."
"Found any guys who share your love of the Rat Pack?" Blaine asked, half-teasing, half-serious. He waited nervously for the response, hoping that the answer was yes.
Claire tossed her head back, laughing. "Are you kidding? How many kids in our generation do you know that actually recognize the names Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr. and, though it pains so very much, Frank Sinatra?"
Blaine grinned, "Actually, I know more than a handful that do. Definitely most of the Warblers. And my . . . good friend, and some of his glee club are of the enlightened sort."
The girl's smile brightened, and Blaine wasn't able to tell if it was suggestive or not, so before she could say anything in response, he cut her off with, "Actually, I'm dating said good friend, so, if you like I could ask around –"
"Blaine, relax, I wasn't about to hit on you." She blushed as she said this, and her eyes drifted to where their parents were located. "Mostly because my mom was dropping hints and anything she says, I tend to do the opposite."
Blaine felt instant relief, and was just about to relax back into the conversation when the adults, including Claire's older sister and her fiancé, came back over, announcing the start of dinner.
"My dad kept looking between me and Claire whenever we laughed together, or spoke. It was aggravating. I just kept thinking that he wouldn't have been nearly as . . . I don't know, observant, if I hadn't gone and rubbed my boyfriend in his face." Blaine shook his head, hands clenching into fists and then releasing. "I guess it was only a matter of time before it all came to a head but this wasn't what I wanted to happen."
He flicked an ashamed glance over at Kurt, "I know you think it's wrong and dysfunctional, but the whole avoiding-the-issue thing was what was working for us. But every time he looked over at Claire and I, and smiled at me . . . it wouldn't have bothered me last week, but it did then. It does now."
"It should have from the start," Kurt couldn't resist saying. "He can't mold you into something else, Blaine. He's been wrong in all this, not you."
Blaine didn't reply to that; he breathed in and out deeply, and his voice was hoarse when he spoke. Kurt gave in to temptation, grabbing one hand as Blaine rasped out the rest of his tale.
Blaine hadn't taken more than a few bites of his meal between the constant conversations and laughter. He'd forgotten how funny Claire's father, Gerard Linville, could be, and Claire's older sister, Maeve, reminded him of Kurt in some ways: she was quick with a sarcastic retort, but kind and willing to soften said sarcasm with a compliment or good-natured ribbing (Kurt's cheeks warmed at this description, and Carole flashed him a knowing smile. His dad even quirked a grin at that, though it was short-lived as Blaine shakily carried on). Her fiancé, Jake, was quiet, but he seemed to adore Maeve. Mrs. Linville also wasn't all that active in the discussions going on, but she laughed at her husband's jokes and smiled a lot. It all almost made him forget his increasing irritation with his father. His mother noticed the on-and-off staring contest, but only narrowed her eyes at them both, excusing herself to go get some more wine to replenish the empty bottle on the table, and Claire's mother followed, stopping to drop a kiss on her eldest daughter's head.
"Okay, if you're not going to eat that piece of chicken parmesan, pass it over here," Claire demanded, lifting her fork in a vaguely threatening manner. "It's getting cold, sad, and lonely on your plate, and I'm still pretty starved."
Blaine slid his plate further away. "No way. I'm savouring it. The reason as to why you're still hungry is because you wolfed yours down so fast I doubt you even chewed. Which is very unhealthy, by the way."
Claire's father chuckled. "Wow, I knew this was coming, but it's a little disconcerting. Sweetheart, keep the flirting to a minimum, okay? I'm having enough problems with your sister leaving me – if you want, you and Blaine can head over to the kitchen and eat whatever's left of the chicken there."
Claire rolled her eyes. "You and mom have to stop seeing potential romance every time I'm standing – or sitting – next to a guy. And besides, Blaine's taken."
Blaine instantly sought his father's eyes, and the man was staring at him in shock, as if he couldn't believe Blaine would dare to mention such things outside. In public. The annoyance and anger Blaine had been battling flared up painfully. He knew that his dad saw it quite plainly, because his own jaw clenched and he looked away.
"Wow, Blaine, you move pretty fast there, son – I was talking to your dad just this past week, and you were a single lad then." The man winked at Blaine, not noticing the sudden, exponential increase in tension between the two Anderson men. "Want to share about this girl, Blaine?"
"Dad probably thought I'd be too ashamed to bring it up or some idiocy like that," Blaine all but spat out. "Which, considering the way I went on about you, Kurt, he really should've realized that it's only with him that I'm . . . quiet about who I am. That with you, with my mom, with everyone else that I know, I can be myself. But my own father . . ."
The anger faded fast and Kurt squeezed his hand, blinking back tears. Carole finally crossed that miniscule distance between fingertips and clasped Blaine's other free hand. The three of them sat like that for a while before Kurt's dad asked quietly, "What happened next?"
"Dad, c'mon." Claire was waving her fork at her father this time. "Stop being so embarrassing, please, or I'll elope with the first cute hipster that crosses my path."
"Oh, I'll drink to that," Maeve chimed in. "If only to see the look on mom's face. Please, document thoroughly if it happens!"
Gerard chuckled. "I'll believe that when I see it. And hey, if you bring him home first, I'll give you my blessing."
"Don't you even joke about that, Gerard!" Mrs. Linville came back into the room, without Blaine's mother, which had him wondering where she was, though the next comment brought him jarringly back to the table. "She's headstrong enough to actually do it, or even, heaven forbid, do worse. She'll be bringing home a girlfriend next, and then you'll be sorry."
Blaine shrunk down into his chair. Claire shrugged. "Maybe, mother. After all, this is the age I'm supposed to be figuring those kinds of things out. There's this girl in my class that's pretty cool and open about being bi, maybe I'll just –"
Mrs. Linville groaned, "Claire, do not push me tonight."
"She's only kidding, don't let her rile you." Claire's father tried to placate his wife. "She has enough good sense not to be drawn in by this gay fad that's going around. I swear, I've never seen so much homosexual content and connotations as I have in recent years. Movies, TV, magazines – no wonder so many kids think they're gay, they're practically being force-fed the idea by the media."
Blaine had dealt with derogatory comments from people; he'd been told that he was less than human or going to hell (his bullies hadn't been all that creative with their insults) and he'd had others say that they were cool with it, though they still found it 'strange' or 'uncomfortable.' But this was too close to home. These were people who may not be near and dear to him at present, but had known him almost since he'd been born and were now denouncing and dismissing him without even realizing it.
His father said nothing at first, then, "Not that I don't agree with you, Gerard, but it's not something I think we should be discussing right now."
Blaine's heart clenched brutally. The combination of hurt and anger was making what little dinner he'd eaten turn in his stomach.
"In other words, father dear, you're breaking your own rules by bringing up politics and religion at the dinner table." Maeve scowled at him, and Blaine felt his hopes lift slightly because both her and her fiancé looked distinctly unamused. A side-glance at Claire had her shooting him an apologetic smile.
"It's not either of those things, only a social commentary," her father defended himself, but cheerily dropped the subject. "Besides, as I said, we've been blessed with normal and well-adjusted kids, so it's irrelevant. And Blaine, I didn't mean to put you on the spot – you should've brought your girlfriend with you, though. We would have been perfectly happy to welcome her."
Blaine stopped there, abruptly, and had to clear his throat several times before he could speak again. Kurt was holding his breath, and he could see both his parents staring at Blaine, waiting and seemingly bracing themselves.
Blaine clutched tightly at the two hands he was holding, shaking his head. "I don't know why I did it. I don't understand what the hell came over me."
"I wanted to bring the person I was seeing, but dad wouldn't let me," Blaine said lowly.
Silence. His father stared at him, eyes wide. "Blaine, this isn't the time or the place."
"Not someone you approve of then?" Gerard looked towards his friend, though he shot a quick glance at his wife, who was frowning at him, but also looking a little interested in the spark of drama.
"That wasn't it," was the protest his father made. Blaine clutched at his napkin, balling it up in his fist as his father lied. "They've only been dating for a week –"
"Actually, we've been dating for almost two months now," Blaine cut him off, staring at him unforgivingly. "But I didn't want to tell dad because I knew he would see it as . . . how did you put it?" He switched his gaze over to Gerard, restraining a scowl, trying to keep up a calm and indifferent front. " 'An idea force-fed by the media'? A 'gay fad'?"
He was very proud of not stumbling over that last one, and maintaining unflinching eye contact with the man who he'd once thought of as an uncle.
Claire gasped, but he didn't turn to see what her facial reaction was. Maeve only raised an eyebrow and her fiancé looked mortified, though for who, Blaine couldn't tell. But Claire's mother and father looked absolutely gobsmacked.
Blaine figured he might as well go for broke. "My boyfriend is a great guy named Kurt, and I would have loved to introduce him to all of you." He now turned to Claire, who had a hand coming down from her mouth. She looked shocked too, but a smile was starting to form. "He's definitely familiar with Frank Sinatra and other singers you'd love. We should get together some time, all three of us, for coffee. You'd like him."
"I think that'd be nice," Claire agreed softly. "Name the time and place."
"Claire, what are you doing?" her mother asked in faraway voice, the shock not having faded yet.
Claire didn't respond immediately, exchanging glances Blaine couldn't begin to understand with her sister before replying casually, "Making a coffee date with Blaine – this is what you and dad wanted, right? Though, you know, with Blaine's boyfriend coming along, it probably isn't quite what you were going for."
Gerard turned to Blaine's father, frowning, good humour gone from his face. "Why didn't you tell me about this before?"
"I didn't want to discuss private family matters, Gerard, I'm sorry."
"Well, considering that I was inviting you beneath my roof, and implying that our kids would be great together, don't you think this might have been relevant?"
"I still think Blaine and Claire would be great together," Blaine's father insisted, and Blaine could not let that go by without comment.
"Dad! I'm gay. As in, my orientation is one that points to the male gender, with no deviations. Not in my case."
"Blaine," Gerard broke in, speaking kindly and sounding so understanding that Blaine couldn't reconcile the tone with the words that came next. "Look, son, I know that you're going through a confusing time, but there's no way that you can be so sure about something like that at your age. And you'll see, once you're older and married, with kids, you'll look back on this and laugh."
"For Christ's sake, Dad, could you be more antiquated!" Maeve snapped.
"I'm sorry, sir, but that's just not true. I don't find any of this funny. I'm sure when my future husband and I look back on this, we'll agree on that."
His father had gone mute, eyes flicking back and forth between all the occupants of the table.
"Blaine, you will not be marrying a man in the state of Ohio." Claire's mother snorted, coming alive and shooting Blaine a sad and pitying look. She then turned to Blaine's still-mute father. "Listen, a good friend of mine had a nephew that went all" – she waved vaguely at Blaine – "on her too. She sent him to this great camp. We'll look up the information for you."
Blaine's stomach pitched and rolled. He could not believe what the evening was turning into. Mrs. Linville and her husband discussed this with such calm, while Maeve and her sister quietly seethed, then not so quietly seethed, and Jake the fiancé was suggesting they just leave.
Through out it all, not a word passed his father's lips and Blaine felt despair welling up in him. But if his father wouldn't . . .
"Hey!" That brought silence back at last. He stood up, glaring down at everyone, though everything inside of him was shaking as if he was about shatter into a thousand pieces at any second. "This has gone far past the point of rudeness, and cleared offensiveness a while ago. I'm done listening to you judge me and debate ways in which to correct my 'mistakes' or 'delusions.' I like men. I am dating a man. I will continue to like men all my life. And it has nothing to do with any of you."
"Blaine." Claire's father appeared to finally be losing his patience. "You used to be such a bright, fun kid. I can't stand to think of you losing yourself like this. Don't you feel even the slightest bit wrong about it all? Or maybe it's just that you don't know what it's like to be with a girl," he mused. Blaine breathed in, ready to counter this argument, but the man continued on relentlessly. "You can't possibly have seriously considered a future with this boy you're 'dating,' or indeed any man. Don't you realize what two men get up to? It's not safe, and it's not right – in fact, it's all kinds of depraved. I'm telling you, you're just confused. You can't be that –"
"I'm well aware of what two men 'get up to' as you so charmingly put it. Like any teenaged boy, I've done some secret porn watching, sir. While pornography as a whole can be categorized as 'depraved' in some ways, I'm pretty sure I'll be partaking in some of that depravity at some point in my life. Though assuming I'm lucky enough to be with someone I love, I wouldn't consider it depravity." Despite all the turmoil inside him, Blaine felt a distinct pride in having said all of that unwaveringly and without shame.
Mrs. Linville recoiled. "You need help, Blaine. Something must have brought this on. I've read that abuse from teachers, or what have you, can be a factor – is that why you suddenly transferred over to Dalton Academy? Your mother never fully explained that decision to me."
Blaine's jaw dropped. He could not believe the level to which these people he'd known for years were sinking. His glanced desperately towards his father, who stared back at Blaine – however, it wasn't he who spoke, but the person entering the room behind him.
"That's because I considered it none of your business, and I'm now certain that I made the right decision."
Blaine had never heard his mother sound so cold, even throughout some of his parents' worst fights. It was wonderful to have her come out and support him, defend him, but he was still staring at his father, waiting, wanting, wishing.
"What's the matter with you, Bels?" demanded Mrs. Linville. "How can you neglect your son like this? Pretending that this is normal, or that it will simply go away will not –"
"Harriet, stop this nonsense. Bernard, don't you have anything to say? Have you been sitting here this whole time letting these people tear down our son?" There was next to no anger in her tone, just that same coldness.
His father opened his mouth, but it seemed he had nothing to offer but silence.
Blaine's lungs were constricting. It was too much for him to bear and even the quiet and not-very-quiet support of others, including his mom, wasn't easing the burden. His mother was staring at her husband, her icy expression fading into despair and disappointment. It cut at Blaine to see his mother hurting – because of him, because of his dad.
"He can't defend what he knows to be wrong," Mr. Linville said with a frown. "I'm sorry, Belinda, but your son is sick, and if you don't put a stop to this he's going to end up in dire straits – he could be taken advantage of by older perverts, or get AIDS or . . ."
"Bernard!" His mother raised her voice. "You better not let this go on a moment longer!"
"Belinda, he can't!" Mr. Linville put a supportive hand on his friend's shoulder. "It's all right. Harriet and I will get you the name of that camp, and you can talk with Bels about it later, calmly and . . ."
And nothing. Nothing, nothing. His father had watched and listened to these people attack him, attack his son and nothing. Was this it? Was every horrible thing coming from the mouths of these so-called friends what his father truly thought of him? Or not? Why wouldn't he just say something! Oh God.
"Oh God." There had been tears sliding down Blaine's face for the last portions of this story. Kurt inhaled wetly, his own face damp, and he let go of Blaine's hand, coming in for a hug. He hesitated, not sure if Blaine wanted to be touched right now, but Blaine turned to him, folding himself into Kurt's embrace, his face finding that same spot between neck and shoulder, more hot tears escaping and soaking the collar of Kurt's thin, white-cotton sleep shirt.
Kurt's lungs ached due to the number of times his breath had hitched, or he'd simply forgotten to take in air. His imagination had gone every which way as Blaine told his story, but any minute relief he felt that things hadn't gone down any of the terrible paths he'd been envisioning, it evaporated all too soon because here was Blaine, broken and crying in his arms, and it was so, so much. Too much. It was brutal and gut-wrenching, and he just wanted to do something, anything to fix it, damn it. He looked over his boyfriend's head through blurred eyes, gazing at his parents.
His father was nearly expressionless, a hard edge to his eyes Kurt had seen only a handful of times in his life. Carole was wiping at her face with a napkin, though she exchanged a similarly harsh stare with his dad.
Blaine's sobs were quiet and quick to end. He lingered in the circle of Kurt's arms despite the awkward position, with their legs and chairs preventing true comfort. But he clutched at Kurt, and Kurt hugged him tightly, not even bothering with words – there was nothing he could think of to say and he didn't want to make things worse by trying.
Blaine slowly began unraveling their hug, starting with lifting his head, then pulling away until he was back to sitting upright in his chair, though he had one of Kurt's hands in a death grip.
It didn't take much longer for him to compose himself, and once he'd cleaned the remnants of tears, swallowed some of the water he'd touched less than he'd touched his pie, and cleared his throat, he even looked close to normal – if one ignored the redness circling his eyes and nose, and the pinched expression on his face.
"Is . . ." Kurt had to clear his own throat as his voice came out as barely a rasp. "Is there more?"
Blaine breathed in deeply. "Not really. A few more suggestions for my rehabilitation, and I couldn't handle it anymore. I ran. It's a good thing my phone was in my pants' pocket and not my dinner jacket. I left that behind. And my coat. I ran the entire way to the park and then I called you."
"Have you called your mother?" Carole asked, frowning. "Blaine, she must be worrying her head off."
Blaine pushed back further into his chair, licking his lips while shaking his head. "She . . . she's been calling. But I don't want her to try and convince me to go home. I can't. I don't want to. Please understand."
Carole let loose a shaky breath, her eyes gleaming. "I do understand, honey. But I can't let your mom – and your father – go an entire night not knowing where you are. What if they call the police? Here, give me your phone, I'll call them for you."
"But what if –"
"I'll tell them you're staying with us tonight, and we'll let them know when they can come over tomorrow . . . well, today, once everyone's gotten some sleep," she said with a small smile. "Is that okay?"
Blaine shifted uneasily in his seat, but he nodded, pulling his phone out. Kurt could see him bringing up his parents' number before handing it to Carole. She took it, standing and heading to the kitchen, briefly pressing a hand onto Kurt's father's shoulder. When she was gone, his father braced his arms on the table, crossing them and leaning into Blaine's space, his eyes boring into his. "Blaine, you're not wrong, or sick, or depraved. Everything those assholes said was the result of some seriously old-fashioned thinking, and a stupid lack of information."
"I know that," Blaine said tonelessly.
"Yeah, well, it feels like someone other than you should be saying it tonight. I've got no business trying to figure things out between you and your father, but I'll tell you right now that nothing that happened tonight was your fault, okay?" Kurt watched with pride even as his father struggled to find words. "It was a bad situation and you reacted. You did the right thing calling Kurt to come get you and bring you to us. And I know it was hard, telling us all that, but thank you for doing it."
Blaine seemed at a loss, and his eyes started watering again. "Thank you, sir."
Kurt could see that his father wanted to say more, but he only shook his head, standing up and putting a hand on Blaine's shoulder, looking towards Kurt. "Wanna help me set up the couch?"
Kurt braced himself for the reaction he knew was coming as he asked, tentatively, "Dad, can Blaine stay in my room tonight?"
Blaine's head whipped toward him, a bizarre mixture of gratitude and incredulity crossing his features. Kurt couldn't believe he'd been able to ask that out loud either, but he couldn't stand the idea of Blaine downstairs, alone, after the night he'd just had.
His father paused for a second before responding, "Yeah, sure."
Blaine's eyes widened and Kurt's jaw dropped. "Really?" He may have squeaked, but holy crap, really?
"It's not a problem, your bed is big enough," his dad said easily.
Carole came back then, handing Blaine his phone. "It's all done. Your mother says that she loves you."
Blaine didn't react at all to that, simply saying, "Thank you," and pocketing his cell.
"Blaine's gonna be staying in Kurt's room," his dad said, and Kurt was still having problems comprehending this. Did he really just say that? That I can have my boyfriend in my bed?
"Good. C'mon Blaine, I'll get you one of Finn's shirts, I think you're a little too broad in the shoulder for one of Kurt's. Though I suppose for pants, one of Kurt's would be a better fit?" She flicked her gaze toward Kurt, silently asking permission and Kurt gave it with a nod.
"Is there an extra toothbrush I can use?" Blaine asked, standing on trembling legs. Kurt stood up immediately, reaching to wrap an arm around his waist. Blaine leaned back into him, gifting him with a warm, loving glance. It gave Kurt a pleasant shiver before reality struck yet again, intruding upon their moment.
"Definitely, don't worry, I've got it all. Follow me."
And then Blaine was gone, following Carole upstairs.
He whipped towards his father once they were alone, mouth opening, but his dad beat him to it. "Kurt, I trust you. I've told you this before, and this is me showing you that I mean it. Blaine's hurting badly – I'm sure neither of you is gonna get up to anything . . . inappropriate tonight. You just make sure he's okay, get him to sleep."
Kurt mouthed silently and then reached for his father, all but tackling him with a hug. "Thank you," he murmured into his shoulder.
Those sturdy arms came up around him, and he felt the faint impression of a kiss being pressed to the top of his head. "You don't gotta thank me for this, Kurt. You're a good kid. And so's Blaine."
Kurt laughed shortly, trying to keep tears at bay. "No, actually I mean . . ." He pulled back a little. "I meant . . . you know what? Never mind."
But it looked like his dad understood the unspoken words because his eyes went hard again, and his voice was a low growl. "Kurt, I may've had my problems over the years dealin' with you, but never, even when I was still figuring things out and being an idiot about the whole gay thing, never would I have let anyone get away with saying things like that to you in front of me. That Gerard asshole would have been picking up his teeth from the floor if I'd been there."
"Maybe we could still arrange that?" Kurt asked with a hopeful little grin.
His dad nudged him, laughing a bit. "Yeah, sure. Except that I don't think you want to be bailing your old man out of jail for assault."
Kurt wrinkled his nose. "No, I suppose not. And the stress isn't good for your heart."
His father rolled his eyes. "Okay, get going. You put that worrying head of yours to good use with your boyfriend. And we'll see you in the morning."
"Good night, dad," Kurt said with a soft, tender smile.
"Good night, Kurt."
As Kurt climbed the stairs, he saw Carole about to climb down. He reached her on the topmost step, biting his lip and asking, "Is he . . ."
"He's cleaned up and ready for bed," Carole said, stroking his arm with a gentle hand. Her eyes were heavy and dark, but she didn't look overly anxious. "He's just exhausted. Get over there and finish taking care of him for me. I think he'd rather be tucked into bed by you, in any case." She gave him a small wink, but Kurt knew that there wasn't any innuendo behind those words.
He gave her a hug similar to the one he'd just given his father. "Thank you for everything."
Another kiss was pressed to his head. "Anytime, Kurt, you know that. Get some sleep, honey."
He took a deep breath as he parted from her, walking into his room with a certain amount of trepidation. Blaine was sitting up in bed, apparently waiting for him. The bedside lamp was on, and Kurt could see that the dark grey shirt Carole had picked out was slightly too big on Blaine – he couldn't see which pyjama bottoms he'd chosen, but that didn't really matter. His eyes locked onto Kurt's as soon as he crossed the threshold.
"Give me a second to get ready and I'll join you," Kurt said in a shockingly even tone, though it was coupled with a shaky smile.
Blaine nodded, sliding beneath the covers and Kurt grabbed the pyjamas pants he'd tossed aside a few hours ago. He dug up a new shirt because the one he was in had been soaked through with sweat that had long since dried and he didn't really want to sleep in it anymore.
He disappeared into the small area where his vanity sat, undressing and then re-dressing quickly. He stared at his bottles of creams and soaps, contemplating going through some of the basics of his night regimen, but decided to forget it. A glance at the clock revealed the time to be just short of three in the morning and he was bone-tired, with his boyfriend waiting for him . . . in bed.
Taking a few deep breaths to steady himself, to banish unwelcome thoughts, he walked back out. Blaine looked up at him and nearly every bit of anxiety that had gripped him was let go, vanishing into the ether. "Would you mind turning off the light?" he said as he crawled into bed next to Blaine, sliding under the covers.
Blaine nodded, turning to flick the lamp off. It took Kurt a minute to adjust to the sudden darkness, but soon he could make out shapes and vague details from the combined light of the moon and the street lamps. Blaine was huddled, his back to him, pulling the blankets up to his shoulder. Kurt wasn't sure if he was supposed to mirror him and try to get some sleep . . . but no, he couldn't. He reached over, gripping his boyfriend's upper arm with one hand. "Blaine?"
He didn't turn over, but he made a soft noise of acknowledgement.
"Blaine, did you want to . . ." Kurt floundered for a moment. "Talk, with me? About, well, anything?"
Blaine answered slowly, "I think it was all covered downstairs, don't you?"
"I know. But this is me. Just me."
There was a lengthy pause. Kurt decided to keep talking. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to. But I can't stand seeing you like this. So, if you don't want to talk to me . . ." He pulled on his shoulder, and Blaine flipped over without much struggle, looking up at Kurt with a few new, shining streaks on his face that were catching the faint light permeating the darkness around them.
"Come here," was all Kurt said. He wrapped a hand around one of Blaine's forearms, tugging until his boyfriend was safely ensconced in his embrace. Once again, Blaine was crying – quietly, the barest of gasps escaping between sobs – and Kurt was holding him to his chest. Blaine's arms went around him in a grip that was a shade too tight, but Kurt didn't flinch. He just kissed Blaine's temple periodically, and hummed – it wasn't a specific song, or at least, he didn't think it was – until the crying tapered off. Blaine was breathing so deeply and evenly that Kurt thought he'd fallen asleep, and was closing his own eyes to do the same.
"A long time ago, my dad punched my little league coach out."
Kurt blinked into the near blackness. He stared down at the top of his boyfriend's head. "What?"
Blaine huffed, his hold loosening though he didn't move from his position on Kurt's chest, and as he spoke, his hot breath warmed Kurt's skin beneath the thin cotton. "I played baseball when I was seven, but only for a couple of months. The coach was a real prick – he was the type that liked to hurl abuse at the kids. He truly believed that being called fat, slow, a pansy and a girl, was the way to motivate us. He was smart enough not to do it at games, but man, he could be really damn frightening at practice."
Kurt shook his head, hardly believing the behaviour of these sorts of people, but then he remembered his brief stay on the Cheerios – Sue Sylvester was a category unto herself. And then some.
"So, what happened to the jerk?"
Blaine inhaled, and Kurt felt a wave of tenderness at the way their rib cages pressed together, the way he could feel the slightest change in the rhythm of Blaine's breath and heartbeat. It was his kind of romantic intimacy and he loved it. He impulsively kissed the crown of Blaine's head. Blaine returned the favour, kissing Kurt's chest through his shirt.
"We were too scared to tell our parents, but eventually they found out. My dad was pissed, so he came, without telling me, to my next practise. I have no idea where he was sitting, but just as the coach started in on his usual angry tirade, my dad popped up and started reaming him out."
"And the punching?"
"Came when he told my dad that I was the worst ball player he'd ever seen, and told me that I was a little, whining bitch."
Kurt gasped. "Holy hell, he didn't!"
"He did," Blaine confirmed. "And my dad delivered a very impressive right hook. Knocked him flat on his ass. Then he took all of us home for an impromptu barbeque. I never found out what happened to that coach, but I'm sure it's safe to assume he never coached little league in our town ever again."
They were both quiet as Blaine wrapped up his tale.
It took several minutes, but Blaine's breath started coming out in shudders again, and Kurt knew why, just as he knew why Blaine had been thinking of a summer day, years ago, when his father punched out his coach. When his dad stood up and defended his child, just like any good parent should – like anyone would defend someone they loved.
Blaine's tears were noisier this time, too powerful for him to keep them buried chest-deep. Kurt used his arms and his lips to try and reassure Blaine that everything would be all right in the end, murmuring all the things that he had on his mind – he reminded Blaine that his mother had come in to knock some sense into everyone, that his father hadn't actually agreed with any of the crap being said, and that he had so many others in his life that cared deeply for him.
Kurt thought he might have let out several whispered, 'I love you's as he muttered this endless stream of assurances. But he didn't care – he wasn't sure if he was honest-to-goodness in love with Blaine, though he wouldn't know how else to describe the boundless feeling within him, but at the moment, he was trying to ease his boyfriend's pain with any and all words that provided soothing warmth and comfort.
And this time, Blaine did fall asleep, heavy and hot on Kurt's chest, making him tug down the blankets as best he could while pinned under his weight. He managed to get them down to waist level, and then raised his arms back up and around Blaine, staring out towards his windows, catching sight of a sliver of the moon through his partially open curtains.
He tried not to imagine his own father laying Gerard Linville flat, or even Mr. Anderson sporting a black-eye and begging for his son's forgiveness. He tried not to think of Blaine facing his parents tomorrow, or re-telling the whole ordeal to Finn, but the thoughts loomed, leaden and immovable in his mind. His brain did remind him of the last time Blaine had fallen asleep on his chest and how he'd tried (unsuccessfully) to keep himself awake . . .
It was too dark to count individual lashes, so Kurt focused on Blaine's heartbeat. He counted, focusing on the rhythm that he could feel against his own ribs, and he made it up to thirty . . . something . . . when he started to drift off, and then his own exhaustion finally succeeded in triumphing over his restless mind, pulling him down to his much-needed rest.
OOOOOOOOOOOO
Author's Note: I swear this is the lowest it gets! Things will cheer-up significantly in the next installment.
I know this was a long wait, considering the cliffhanger I inflicted upon all of you last chapter, but I decided to insert Blaine's POV in the middle of all this, instead of just having him tell the story without much embellishment . . . I know it kicked the angst up a few levels, but it reads a lot better to me that way.
I hope I haven't lost any of you with this heavy chapter, but, as I said, the worst is over! :)
Thank you for all the love you gave me for the previous chapter – while I did reply to all of you, I can't say 'thank you' enough! *hugs*
