The last Kurt-less chapter. Huzzah! Again, thanks to Flutterbypav and anartistwhoselosthertouch for being cheerleaders and just plain awesome.


viii.

{interlude:
welcome to dalton
.}

The sound of footsteps and hushed murmurs from stragglers; a bark of laughter and shuffling of shoe-clad feet meeting cold, marble flooring; doors swishing open and the sound of a phone being thrown onto its pedastal; the scuffing of footwear and the thunk-thunk-clang of coins being pushed into a slot with shaking fingers;

Ring, ring.

Ring, ring.

Ring, ring.

Ring, ri –

A cold voice that crackles through the line, tone clipped and professional.

"Hey, mom. It's me. Blaine."

Cold becomes cool; clipped becomes curious; professional becomes protected.

"Yeah, you know, bi-monthly phone call like I promised."

Exasperated mumbling.

"I – I know, mom." Exasperated sigh in response. "Yes, I understand. I'll try not to do that again."

Humming in approval and an (un)interested question.

"My grades are fine, I guess. I mean, it's a lot more difficult than any of the things I was doing in – "

Words being snapped like a whip; an audible flinch from the reciever...

"No, I haven't done anything wrong – " disapproving tone; deep inhalation from the recievee. "...Alright. I just wanted to hear your voice. Is that what you wanted to know?"

An audible bang masked by bad reception; a scolding tone turning into one of disbelief.

"Yes, I am on a payphone."

A pause. Words being hissed.

"Because I left my phone at home!"

A second bang accompanying a heavy sigh and mumbling.

"Look, mom, I'm sorry, okay? I don't mean to be such a – "

Snarling and snarky comments and irritable disgust curling through the reviever; lengthy silence punctuated by distant jeering and laboured breathing from both ends.

Apologies practically going in one ear canal and seeping through the other.

(Like normal.)

"It's fine. I know it's the job. You don't need to apologise."

Voice speaking so softly it's almost impossible to hear.

"I miss you too."

Irritable sigh; venom lacing the strained voice.

"Okay, I understand. I'll talk to you soon. Tell dad I say 'Hi'."

Response spoken in a rush, words tumbling together and not making much sense.

"I love you t – "

Dial tone.

An (Upset? Irritated? Angry? Disappointed?) expected sigh explodes in the silence; the slam of a phone on its pedastal; steps fading away from its previous spot; a light mumbling from a choked up oice that reverberates off Dalton's wooden walls.

"I wish I could prove them wrong."