Chapter 11A&B/? The WHOLE CHAPTER this time, cliffhanger-free! If you've already read part A and don't want to slog through it again, scroll about halfway down, to the section that begins "Kurt had figured…"
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It took Kurt less than five minutes to notice that something was wrong. That Blaine, while not normally a paragon of exuberance on the best of days, was nevertheless being too quiet.
His Evaluation had gone spectacularly. Even mid-song, Kurt had known that switching pieces had been the right decision—besides just feeling right, Shelby's eyebrow had arched and her lips had curved, and the resulting Surprised But Pleased expression told Kurt everything he needed to know—even before she ended her critique of his performance by congratulating him on "taking a flying leap and landing on your feet."
"Make an appointment with me for next week," she had told him. "I think it's time we started discussing your goals and prospects for the year."
Screw leaping. In that moment, Kurt could have flown off the stage.
He managed to maintain his composure while thanking Shelby for her time and Sasha for her help, but couldn't stop the heady, bubbly feeling from building up in his chest as he made his way up the aisle toward the exit. He held the door open for James—Sasha's Evaluation was next on the schedule, and her boyfriend was a decent baritone—before practically dancing out the door and into the hallway.
And there was Blaine, slumped up against the wall across from the auditorium. He straightened up and took a step toward Kurt.
Kurt, who couldn't hold back his excitement any longer. Wordlessly closing the distance between them, he threw himself into Blaine's arms, wrapping his legs around Blaine's waist and burying his face in his dark hair.
Blaine's hands flew up to steady him. "Kurt, what—" he managed to get out, before Kurt was babbling incoherently in his ear, trying to tell him everything that had happened in the auditorium all at once. His bag was spilling onto the floor and Blaine's grip on his back was painfully tight and his speech was probably completely incomprehensible—even wound up, he could tell that he was talking too fast and too high-pitched and that his tendency to play fast and loose with word order when he was excited was definitely becoming a factor but he didn't care, he was just happy and relieved and excited, and he could finally stop freaking out and just breathe, and—
His vision started to swim a little as he slid back to his feet, Blaine keeping a firm grip on his arms and looking at him with concern. "Kurt, slow down," he instructed. "You're hyperventilating."
-and he was hyperventilating. Still smiling like a lunatic, Kurt took several slow, calming breaths, letting Blaine hold him in place until the lightheaded-bordering-on-unpleasant sensation faded entirely.
"Sorry, sorry," he breathed, trying to erase the stricken expression on Blaine's face. He reached up and grasped Blaine's biceps, mirroring the hold that Blaine had on him. His fingers slipped a little—they were shakier than Kurt had thought—and he redoubled his efforts. Before he could reassure Blaine that he was fine, though, that he just needed to ride the post-success euphoria out for a few more moments and then he'd be back to normal, Kurt realized something that made him pause:
He wasn't the one trembling. Blaine was.
Kurt examined Blaine carefully, trying to suppress the alarm that was growing too fast; his nerves still keyed up from the last few hours. There were a lot of little things that were making him uneasy: Blaine's normally healthy skin tone was more washed out than usual; his breathing, while nowhere near as disrupted as Kurt's, was still slightly off, as though he were forcing himself to breathe normally. The too-bright sheen in his eyes; the too-tight grip on Kurt's arms; the shaking in his limbs that had yet to abate.
Most telling, though, was the look on Blaine's face—a pained, craving expression that Kurt didn't understand.
"You're not okay right now," Kurt stated gently, rather than ask the obvious. "What happened? Something happened, are you—what do you need me to do?"
Blaine's fingers loosened on Kurt's arms.
"Nothing," Blaine replied, the unsteady smile he gave Kurt not reaching his eyes, "it's fine. I'm fine."
Kurt looked at him. Blaine's forced smile, more than anything, confirmed for him that something was wrong. He had seen that smile before, during class, or practice, or when Blaine accidently mentioned something from his old school and realized it a second too late.
But Blaine had never used it on him before.
"No," Kurt said slowly, shaking his head even as his stomach sank horribly. "No, you're not."
Blaine's eyes were worryingly unreadable. Kurt tried again: "Something happened when I was in there, and for some reason you don't want to tell me." He looked at Blaine carefully. "Blaine, you know that…"
He trailed off, blood draining out of his face as a thought occurred to him. "Nothing happened just now, did it?" he asked, dreading the answer. "Something's been wrong all day, and I was so anxious about messing up in front of Shelby that I'm just noticing now, aren't I?"
When Blaine didn't immediately deny it, Kurt's stomach lurched unpleasantly. Oh God, he was the worst boyfriend ever. And not in a 'bought tickets for the wrong movie' or 'was five minutes late for dinner because there was a line at the florist' type of way, either—he was actually a terrible boyfriend, in the Self-Centered, Emotionally Neglectful sense.
His stomach reeled again. Shit. And he was probably going to cap off the conversation by hurling on Blaine's shoes, if he wasn't careful.
Sinking into the floor really should have been an option.
Blaine's mouth was open, but he seemed to be having trouble forming words. "Blaine," Kurt entreated, before Blaine could figure out how to yell at him, "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I get unbelievably self-absorbed right before auditions and exams, anything where I'm explicitly being judged—they make me horrendously insecure, and I become this person that I don't like, and I'm working on it, I—"
"Kurt," Blaine cut him off softly. "You weren't. It's fine."
Kurt shook his head. "It's not fine," he disagreed, "not if you're not fine, and it's taken me this long to notice. Blaine, I'm so, so sorry. I—"
"Kurt," Blaine tried again, more insistently. "Just…stop for a second, okay?"
Kurt stopped.
Blaine took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "I'm not—you didn't…I was fine before," he stumbled, looking down at the floor in between them. "It's not anything like that."
Kurt felt slightly better. But only slightly. "It is something, though," he pressed gently.
Blaine didn't disagree.
Kurt bit his lip. "Blaine, please," he asked, "if something's wrong, don't shut me out, okay? Whatever it is, I can help you, or try to help you. You've got me."
Blaine let out another shaky breath. "Do I?" he asked, sounding so damn broken and unsure that Kurt wanted to cry. Wanted to reach out and stroke Blaine's cheek; to wrap him up in a hug and soothe away any insecurity.
But Blaine needed to talk. Painfully, Kurt suppressed the urge.
"I need to ask you something," Blaine continued, before Kurt could say anything. "And I need you to be honest with me, please?"
Kurt nodded, puzzled. "Sure," he agreed, "anything."
Blaine nodded back. "Okay," he breathed. "I need to know about Jesse.
"Not about him. How you feel about him," he clarified, at Kurt's mystified look.
Kurt, still reeling a bit from the Terrible Boyfriend realization (and consequent dismissal), didn't know what to make of the question. "We're friends," he replied, a little confused and wondering where exactly Blaine's train of thought was heading. "I probably want to push him in front of a bus more often than anyone I know, but still. We're friends."
Blaine looked…oddly disappointed with that answer. "You weren't always just friends, though," he clarified.
He wasn't asking Kurt; he was telling him.
Fuck.
"No," Kurt answered carefully, "we weren't."
It was clear in hindsight that Blaine had been hoping, at least in part, that Kurt would deny it. When that didn't happen, his face fell, making him look so much like a puppy that had been unexpectedly kicked that Kurt wanted to take it back, a thousand times over.
"Please," Kurt asked, trying to ignore the voice in his brain that was cursing like a particularly filthy-mouthed rapper and threatening to kill whomever it was that told Blaine about him and Jesse. With a rusty spoon. "Blaine—"
"You said," Blaine interrupted him, sounding as distressed as he looked. "I asked you before, if you two had ever—"
Kurt couldn't let him finish that sentence. "We were talking about sex," he reminded Blaine, who shuddered at the word—or maybe the idea of it as it applied to Kurt and Jesse. "I thought that's what you were asking me. And we didn't, okay?"
Blaine shook his head, refusing to meet Kurt's eyes.
Kurt pulled him in, wrapping an arm around his waist. "Blaine, listen to me, all right?" he pleaded, lifting his other hand to Blaine's cheek, gently encouraging him to look back up. Blaine allowed Kurt to move him, but kept his eyes downcast.
"Jesse and I were together last year for a couple of months—two, two and a half, at most," Kurt explained, ducking his head slightly, trying to get Blaine to really look at him. "It wasn't working out, and we both decided that it would be better for us to just be friends who occasionally wanted to rip each other's eyes out, and that's it. That's all we were, and nothing has happened since, all right? I promise."
Blaine exhaled sharply, leaning into Kurt's touch. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, blinking rapidly, but finally looking up and meeting Kurt's gaze.
Kurt shrugged helplessly. "I told you that I've dated other people," he said, trying to articulate the reasons why he kept it from Blaine that didn't include Because I didn't want him to hold it over you, because he would if you looked at him like you knew, but he's not cruel enough to taunt you with it if I kept you safe. "I didn't think you wanted to know specifics, and I didn't think it mattered—we've been over for more than a year, and he's not even the last person that I dated."
It was the wrong thing to say. Kurt knew it was the wrong thing to say even as it was leaving his mouth, even before he saw the fresh wave of pain it caused Blaine. "Blaine, please," Kurt begged again, for what felt like the hundredth time—when did the conversation get so out of control?
"I like you, okay?" he stressed. "I want to be your boyfriend, not anyone else's. I know that, Jesse knows that, and I need you to know that too, because right now? You're scaring me a little."
Blaine's face didn't change completely, but it shifted enough that Kurt could definitely read the surprise and concern in his expression.
"I'm not mad," he assured Kurt, "I'm not. I'm just…"
He exhaled sharply, looking away again. "I need to process all of this," he said finally.
Kurt shook his head. He hadn't been worried that Blaine was mad; he was worried that Blaine was hurt, or scared, or upset, or all three. And that Kurt, in his purposeful omission, had destroyed all of the progress that he'd made in earning Blaine's trust.
The bell rang before he could tell Blaine any of that.
Kurt had never been big on the destruction of public property. Still, in that moment, he would have gladly torn the PA system out of the ceiling with his bare hands.
My kingdom for a stepladder.
As other students began streaming into the hall, Blaine looked away from Kurt. When he turned back a moment later, his eyes were slightly darker, expression painfully neutral.
"I have to go home right after school," he told Kurt, taking a small step backward out of Kurt's hold. Kurt tried not to feel hurt by that, reminding himself that Blaine still wasn't entirely comfortable with PDA in front of people they knew; that he probably would have done the same thing no matter what they had been talking about.
It only helped a little bit.
Blaine wasn't done. "Can we talk about this later? After I have some time to think about everything?" he asked, his voice losing some of its impartial veneer.
Without it, he sounded…just, tired. Kurt felt his eyes prickling. He swiped at them quickly, before anyone but Blaine could see. "Okay," he croaked, trying to follow Blaine's lead. "If that's what you want. Call me whenever you're ready, okay?"
For a moment, Blaine watched him softly, looking at Kurt like he wanted to say something.
The moment passed. Instead, he nodded at Kurt, smiling sadly at him before walking away.
Kurt stood there, rooted to the spot, long after the bell rang.
Kurt skipped his last few classes, grateful for the timing of Evaluations—given the semi-chaotic state of Carmel on those three days per year, it was unlikely that he would be missed. And even if he was, his dad wouldn't be home until six, leaving him plenty of time to intercept and erase the phone message from the attendance office inquiring into his whereabouts.
He kept his mind on the road, breathing evenly and forcing himself to concentrate—a habit purposefully instilled in him by Burt over years of driving lessons. Only when he pulled into the parking lot at the grocery store, killing the ignition and stepping out of the car, did Kurt allow his thoughts to spiral.
He yanked a cart out of the haphazard formation and pushed it through the automatic doors, replaying bits and pieces of his conversation with Blaine in his head. He was trying to look at the whole encounter from a neutral perspective, but it was difficult, when the original experience was so colored by the idea of Blaine in his mind: Standing in front of Blaine, who was so fragile and expressive, it had been hard for Kurt to work out what he himself thought of the situation. Or, at least, what he thought independent of how it related to Blaine.
But maybe that's part of the problem, he realized, scanning the nutrition information on the side of a cereal box before wrinkling his nose and putting it back. He couldn't separate Blaine from the situation because the situation was inherently related to Blaine—that Kurt had been with Jesse before and had kept it from Blaine; that someone had told Blaine about their history; that Blaine wasn't reacting particularly well to finding out; that Kurt was afraid that Blaine was going to realize that Kurt was altogether too much for him and break up with him.
Something in his chest tightened.
He threw a container of steel-cut oats into the cart and veered quickly out of the aisle, heading for the produce section.
The idea of Blaine breaking up with him horrified Kurt to a depth that he didn't understand: he had only known Blaine for a little over a month, and had been dating him for less than that. Even if he had had feelings for Blaine from that first day, their relationship—in all its intensity—was still so new. The idea of losing Blaine over what had happened in the hall simply shouldn't be able to terrify Kurt to his core, the way it was doing.
Kurt's hand paused over the baby spinach. Should it?
He cast his mind back, trying to remember exactly how he had felt about the few other boyfriends he had had, a few weeks into their fledgling relationships. (And being a teenage boy at a school that encouraged hard work and athletics, there were a number of long-term crushes he could take into consideration as well.) He compared all of the feelings that he could remember having for other boys to what he was feeling for Blaine; all the terrible, wonderful highs and lows of teenage…well, infatuation—Kurt knew himself well enough to know that he had never really been in love. Had never seriously considered himself to be in love, if he was being honest with himself.
Kurt swallowed the sudden lump in his throat.
He was blessed and cursed with an exquisite memory for detail, and it was obvious—even taking into consideration that the past was all in hindsight and everything he felt for Blaine was happening right now—that whatever he was feeling, it was a lot deeper than what he would have predicted.
Maybe it was because Kurt was getting older, or because Blaine's fragility added a new dimension to their interactions—forcing Kurt to think before he acted; to avoid being careless. Maybe it was simply because the boy in question was Blaine.
Whatever it was, it was terrifying. And it made Kurt feel smaller and more vulnerable than he could ever remember feeling.
Kurt wheeled his mostly-empty cart to the cash registers. He purposely avoided a number of the open lanes, settling instead for Dottie, the oldest cashier at the grocery store—possibly the oldest cashier anywhere, though he'd never say it to her face. Kurt didn't know if Dottie's cataracts prevented her from realizing that Kurt was only in high school and always paid with his Dad's credit card, or if she was simply a holdout from the days when kids left school after they learned to read in order to help support the family. Either way, it made his life easier—he paid with a cheerful, fake smile that she probably couldn't see.
He walked out of the store with his two cloth grocery bags in his arms, wishing as he did every week that he lived anywhere but his small, Midwest cow-town. Somewhere like New York or L.A., where he could walk into any shop and buy seitan and lentils, instead of having to bulk-order organic products off of Amazon whenever he had a shipping coupon.
He shoved the groceries in the trunk of his car, slamming the door a little harder than was absolutely necessary.
Only three more years.
Starting the car, he forced thoughts of what Blaine would be doing in three years firmly out of his mind, and drove home.
Dinner that evening started out awkwardly.
Kurt was sure that his dad didn't know about him skipping school—besides the obvious lack of yelling, the only school-related message on the answering machine had been from Coach Walker, who merely wished him well on his Evaluation and asked him to stop by her office on Monday to look at the gymnastics team's competition schedule. Burt was definitely aware, however, that something was wrong with him: if the raked leaves, waxed floors, and repaired storm window in the living room hadn't tipped him off, then walking in on Kurt doctoring his burned hand over the kitchen sink, while the risotto boiled on, had certainly done the trick.
When Kurt had expressed in no uncertain terms that he was "fine, Dad", he had given Kurt a skeptical look and an ice pack and ordered him out of the kitchen. Burt had made dinner while Kurt was in the shower, dumping the ruined risotto and cutting Kurt's turkey sandwich into quarters.
When Kurt protested that he wasn't a five year old, Burt simply glanced at Kurt's left hand, bandaged and laying uselessly on the table, and asked how he planned to hold a full-sized sandwich. Kurt grudgingly conceded the point, picking at his dinner one-handed.
Burt, looking equally worn out, drank his beer in silence.
"Dad?" Kurt asked after a while, more to break the unnerving quiet than out of any genuine desire for conversation. "Is there anything you want to do on Monday? We could go somewhere, or I could make you something special for dinner."
Burt's hands stilled in mid-air. "You have school on Monday, Buddy," he reminded Kurt, putting his sandwich down, "not to mention rehearsal."
Kurt frowned slightly. "I can skip rehearsal, Dad," he pointed out, deciding it might not be prudent to bring up the possibility of skipping school as well.
It didn't matter, in any case; his dad was shaking his head. "No," Burt ordered, "you go, don't skip anything. I'm just going to go visit your mom after work; you don't have to do anything special."
His voice, while quiet, held a note of finality to it that Kurt didn't challenge.
Not until dessert, anyway.
Kurt watched, slumped on the table with his head on his arms, as his dad struggled with the overly-frozen frozen yogurt. He opened his mouth to tell Burt that it was fine, that he was full anyway.
"Dad? When did you know that Mom was special?" he found himself asking instead.
Burt's mouth twitched. "Day I met her," he answered, glancing back at Kurt before scraping at the frozen yogurt again. "It got clearer over time, obviously, but your mom was something else. You know I'm not the smartest guy, but I would have been a real idiot not to notice how special she was, right from the start."
Kurt nodded, his still-damp hair brushing over his arm. "What did Grandpa say?" he wanted to know, thinking about Burt's ornery father, who had passed away when Kurt was eleven.
His dad snorted. "He said that I was just a kid, that I didn't even know what I wanted for breakfast, let alone who I wanted to spend the rest of my life with."
He shrugged, handing Kurt his bowl and spoon before sitting back down. "He came around eventually, though," he explained, "especially after spending some time with your mom. He didn't have anything against her, he was just worried that we were too young to be making such big decisions—I was only 21 when we met, and your mom was a year younger."
"That's not so young," Kurt pointed out, toying with his spoon without bothering to sit up.
Burt laughed. "It is when you're a parent," he told Kurt.
He ruffled Kurt's hair. Kurt let him.
"I'll iron your suit tonight," Kurt promised, "and get you some flowers to bring her from both of us."
For a moment, he wasn't sure if his dad was going to answer him. After a minute though, Burt shook his head. "God, kid. You remind me so much of her," he said, looking at the window behind Kurt. "She'd be proud of you."
Kurt felt his eyes welling up with tears, yet again. He quickly looked down at the floor, blinking them back rapidly before his dad could see them.
Burt didn't notice. "Don't burn your other hand, though, all right?" he requested. "If the iron's too much to handle, just leave it."
Kurt didn't look up. "I can handle a lot," he said quietly.
He slept badly that night, images of Blaine and his mother swirling through his dreams.
Kurt had figured that if Blaine was going to call him over the weekend—a big if—he'd probably call on Sunday afternoon or evening. So when his phone rang at 12:30 on Saturday during his weekly pickup at the sub shop, he was more than a little unprepared to see Blaine's name on the caller ID.
He nearly dropped the phone in his haste to answer it. "Hi," he said breathlessly, accepting his change and bag of six sandwiches with his other hand and hurrying out of the shop.
There was a slight pause on the other end. "Hi," Blaine answered after a few seconds, sounding equally unsure. "Sorry," he offered, "I thought you were at work, so I'd psyched myself up to leave a message."
Kurt opened the door of the Navigator, tossing the subs on the passenger seat. "I'm heading back in a few minutes; I'm just picking up lunch for everyone," he explained.
He paused, leaning back against the car and cradling his ribcage with his free hand. "How are you?" he asked, really wanting to know the answer.
He could practically feel Blaine shrug over the phone. "All right," Blaine answered politely. "You?"
"Okay," Kurt lied. "A world of grease under my fingernails, but nothing half an hour and a nail brush won't fix."
He took a deep breath, not completely sure what he wanted to say. "Blaine, I—"
"Can we get coffee?" Blaine interrupted. "I-I mean," he stammered, "later. When you're done with work. Can we just…go somewhere to talk? I don't think—I want us to talk, but I don't want to do it over the phone. Is that okay?"
That, Kurt thought, depends entirely on what it is you want to say. "I'm done with work at 4:30," he offered, "there was a big transmission job Dad wanted done this morning, so I started early. I'll need to shower and get changed, but I could meet you somewhere at six?"
"Okay," Blaine agreed. "Is there—do you want to go anywhere in particular?"
Kurt shook his head, forgetting for a second that Blaine couldn't see him. "Why don't you pick?" he suggested, gripping the still-open door of the car. "What—"
He stopped himself from saying whatever you want. "I'll meet you wherever," he said instead.
If Blaine noticed his hesitation, he didn't say anything about it. "The bookstore at the mall?" he asked Kurt. "We could meet in the café"
"All right," Kurt answered, his stomach beginning to knot itself up with nerves. "I'll see you there."
After they hung up, Kurt slipped his phone back into his pocket. Closing his eyes and sighing, he banged his head softly on the side of the car a few times.
He really hoped that Blaine wasn't planning on breaking up with him that night. Besides the obvious reasons, he'd never be able to set foot in the bookstore again, and that would just be compounding tragedies.
Carefully fixing his hair where he'd hit his head, Kurt climbed back into the Navigator and started the car.
The rest of Kurt's shift at the tire shop had been torture. He'd had plenty to do, but none of it was complicated enough to distract him from thinking about Blaine; what Blaine was thinking, what Blaine wanted to talk about, etc. When 4:30 finally rolled around, Kurt was such a nervous wreck that it was all he could do just to drive home and throw himself in the shower.
Even then, he wasn't too successful—after three rounds of accidently shampooing his hair instead of using the conditioner, he decided to give up and get out before he hurt himself. Similarly, he decided that using the blow-dryer to style his hair was probably not the best idea, given his temperament.
The parking at the mall, never ideal on a Saturday, was even worse than usual. Kurt had to drive up and down the lanes several times before finding a reasonably decent spot, and it was a few minutes after the time he'd agreed to meet Blaine when he finally made it to the bookstore, rushing through the doors and making a beeline for the café.
And because the universe hated him, Blaine was already there, looking more beautiful than ever. He didn't look up when Kurt came in, entranced by the steam rising from the ceramic mug in his hands.
His eyelashes fluttered, and Kurt had never wanted to kiss anyone so badly.
Instead, breathless and far more apprehensive than he wanted to admit, Kurt made his way over to the table. "Hi," he offered gently, clutching his bag tightly and easing himself into the chair opposite Blaine.
Blaine smiled back tentatively. "Hi," he replied. He pushed a second mug across the table. "It's cinnamon," he explained. "I wasn't sure what your favorite was, but I remembered you got one of these at the music store."
Kurt softened. "Thank you," he said softly, gratefully. "You didn't have to do that."
Blaine shrugged. Kurt took a sip of his drink, not tasting it. "You got your hair cut," he observed politely.
Blaine blushed, ducking his head shyly and pulling at one of the curls, which were about an inch shorter than Kurt remembered. "Holiday card picture," he shared. "It was getting a little shaggy, so…"
He trailed off, looking unsurely at Kurt.
Kurt smiled. "I like it," he reassured Blaine, "it suits you." And it did. Kurt could tell without touching it that whomever had styled it had used some sort of taming product, smoothing Blaine's now-glossy curls without flattening them or making them greasy. It was, in all honesty, exactly the way Kurt would have done Blaine's hair, given the chance.
The thought that now he might never get the chance hit him suddenly, making his heart sink.
Blaine's eyes had dropped to the table. "I'm sorry," he apologized, "I know I called you but…" He sighed. "I'm having trouble thinking of how I want to say this," he admitted.
Kurt's mouth was dry, but taking another sip of coffee would have been impossible.
"Can I just…" he started.
Blaine looked at him.
Kurt shook his head, trying to swallow and failing.
"If you're going to break up with me, can you just do it now?" he asked, in a small voice that didn't sound like his own.
Blaine looked shocked. "You think I called you here to break up with you?" he asked, leaning forward in his chair.
Kurt shrugged weakly. "Yes. No. I don't know," he answered, breath hitching slightly. "Did you?"
Blaine gripped his coffee mug. "Are you going to leave me for Jesse?" he countered evenly.
Kurt shook his head vehemently. "No, of course not," he promised.
Blaine nodded. "Then no, I'm not breaking up with you either," he said simply.
Kurt's mug clattered to the table, coffee sloshing over the rim and running down the sides.
"Hey," Blaine said soothingly, looking at Kurt with concern. "Kurt, I—please don't cry. I'm sorry." He quickly leaned over the table and grabbed Kurt's hand with both of his own, rubbing the pad of his thumb gently over Kurt's knuckles. "I'm sorry," he repeated, "I didn't know you thought that. I wouldn't have let you think that if I'd known, I promise."
Blaine's sleeve was dragging though Kurt's spilled mocha. He didn't seem to notice.
Kurt rubbed his free hand over his face, belatedly realizing that there were tears streaming down his cheeks. "God, I'm such a mess today, I'm sorry," he apologized.
Grabbing a napkin from the table, he dabbed at his eyes. "I wasn't sure if you were going to break up with me or not, but I thought you might," he admitted. "And I wouldn't blame you, really. I haven't been a very good boyfriend to you, I don't think."
Blaine's eyebrows shot up. "Kurt, are you kidding me right now?" he asked, incredulous. "You've been a great boyfriend," he insisted, "you really have."
Kurt let out a small laugh. "Blaine," he sniffed, "I mean absolutely no disrespect when I say this. But if you actually thought I was going to cheat on you, or dump you in order to get back together with an ex, then clearly I haven't been."
He shook his head, wet eyelashes matting together. "I don't think I've been clear about this, so I'm just going to say it now, okay?" he asked. When Blaine nodded, looking slightly apprehensive, Kurt took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
"I act like I know what I'm doing," he began, "and most of the time, I do. But when it comes to us? I'm scared. I'm scared because I don't know what you've been through, just that it was bad. And I know you're getting better—I can see it, I really can—but there are still times that you're just so fragile, and even though I'd never, ever hurt you on purpose, I'm terrified that I'm going to do it by accident—just say or do the wrong thing that breaks you. And I don't ever want to be the one who does that to you."
Kurt could feel the tears streaming down his face again, but he didn't wipe them away. "I'm scared because you make me feel things," he continued, looking directly at Blaine, who was fighting tears himself. "And I'm not used to that. I love my dad, I love my friends; it's not like I'm heartless. But I just look at you and think that, God, it would be so easy to fall in love with him, and it's all just so much.
"And when you walked away yesterday, I honestly thought that that might be you leaving," he said, voice hoarse. "And it was like the floor dropped out from underneath me. Because you're special, Blaine. You're wonderful, and I think about you all the time, and I never understood how it worked, before. How any one person could just walk into your life, and—without even doing anything in particular—change it so thoroughly for the better that you couldn't imagine going back to the way things were before. And then you were there, and it was like, 'Oh. This is how it happens.'"
Kurt paused. "I'm probably coming on far too strong and creeping you out right now," he acknowledged. "But I needed to say it. If you feel like you need a restraining order now, I'd understand."
Blaine's eyes were dripping with tears.
"I thought—" he started, before shaking his head, closing his eyes with a smile. "I thought it was just me," he admitted. "That I was just making it up, because you were so nice, and I wanted to feel that way about someone. That—"
He exhaled sharply.
"I felt like I was being melodramatic and blowing things out of proportion," he explained. "Because I'm so dependent on you, Kurt. No," he added quickly, seeing that Kurt was about to protest. "It's true. Yesterday, when I thought I might lose you…I don't know," he sighed. "It blindsided me. It hurt so much more than it should have. And I can't do that, I can't be so reliant on you, like I've been. It's not fair to either of us."
He looked at Kurt, almost pleadingly. "I'm not saying this very well," he confessed. "I'm not…I'm trying to explain, and it's not really working."
Kurt reached tentatively across the table, taking Blaine's hand in his own. "I thought you were doing all right," he encouraged, making Blaine laugh self-deprecatingly. "Tell me what you need," he asked carefully, watching the tension in Blaine's beautiful, tired face shift slightly.
Blaine scoffed. "What don't I need?" he asked rhetorically.
"Okay, okay," he acquiesced, when Kurt squeezed his hand and looked at him sharply. "I need…you. I still need you, but I need to figure out a better way to do it, that doesn't make you responsible for me."
"I like being responsible for you," Kurt protested weakly.
Blaine shook his head. "But I don't," he disputed, "it doesn't work like that. You can't be everything to me like that, it's not good for either of us. I need to be responsible for myself, and not make you feel like you have to take care of me, or make you afraid that you're going to break me. You're not, Kurt."
He gripped Kurt's hand a little tighter. "We both messed this up," he admitted. "When I found out about you and Jesse, it was like my heart stopped, and then you were there and I didn't have time to deal with it. And I shouldn't have treated you like I did, not without talking to you about it first. But Kurt," he entreated, "you can't not tell me the truth about things because you think they'll upset me, okay? Because that's not being honest with me, and I need to be the one who decides what I can handle."
Kurt let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "No, you're right," he realized. "I…you're right."
He shook his head. "When did you get so introspective?" he teased, looking at Blaine wonderingly.
Blaine smiled down at the table. "I told my parents that I wasn't going to see Dr. Weinstein anymore," he told Kurt, quietly glowing. "I'm seeing someone else instead. I haven't really started—I only met her last night, and it was an intake session, so we just kind of talked—but I think she'll be better."
Kurt beamed. "Blaine, that's amazing," he said happily.
Blaine smiled back, daring to look up at Kurt. "I hope so," he admitted.
He paused. "I didn't tell her about you," he confessed. "I wanted to ask you if I could, first. I thought you should have the choice." He looked at Kurt, trying to look nonchalant but failing to completely mask the hope on his face.
Kurt felt his own face softening. "Of course you can," he reassured Blaine. "Blaine, it's your therapy, you can say whatever you want."
Blaine nodded slowly. "There's—she has a group meeting thing on Thursday nights, as well," he said, tracing the rim of his coffee mug with his free hand. "I'm not sure if I'm going to go or not, yet. If I do, though, I won't say anything about you there," he promised. "I just…it's so easy with you. But I need to learn how to connect to people again. Stop being afraid of them."
He looked sadly at Kurt. "That's stupid, isn't it?"
Kurt blinked. "That's the opposite of stupid," he disagreed. "You know what you want, and you're trying to make it happen. That's not stupid at all."
Blaine shrugged. "We'll see," he offered cryptically.
He looked down for a moment, before gazing back at Kurt. "I really am sorry about yesterday," he said sadly. "I was overwhelmed and needed to deal with things, and I didn't even think about how you were feeling."
Kurt bit his lip. "Scared, more than anything," he admitted wryly.
Blaine grimaced apologetically. "I know that now," he promised. "And I'm sorry. You told me before that you've dated other people, and it shouldn't matter to me who they were or how long it's been."
He squirmed in his chair. "I think it would have been fine, if it was anyone but Jesse," he confessed, blushing delicately and looking away. "It's—I know how close you two are, and I don't know if it was insecurity, or jealousy, or…"
"Or," Kurt cut him off. "Blaine, I know you know this, but I'm just going to say it to make sure, all right?"
Blaine nodded.
Kurt nodded back. "Okay," he breathed. "I've dated other people. I don't regret anything that I've done, or anyone that I've been with. I don't have some giant, Pretty Woman-esque past, but I haven't spent the last few years in a glass bubble, either. But I'm not with anyone else, all right? I'm with you. Just you. And that's all I want."
Blaine looked conflicted, like he wasn't sure if he wanted to smile or tear up. "That's all I want, too," he professed.
Suddenly, he started laughing.
Kurt raised an eyebrow at him. "What did I miss?" he asked dryly, mock-glaring at Blaine.
Blaine sobered up slightly. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I was just thinking that we're never going to be able to come back here ever again. Not after all of that."
Kurt thought about it. "That's…surprisingly less upsetting than I thought it would be," he admitted. "Screw them anyway. Have you had dinner yet?"
Blaine shook his head. Kurt smiled. "Good. Want to clean up in the bathroom and get out of here?" he asked, batting his eyelashes slyly. "I know this awesome Thai place that we never made it to, the last time we were at the mall."
Standing, Blaine offered Kurt his hand. "I thought you'd never ask," he replied, smiling.
Kurt woke up Monday morning with a lump in his throat.
His dad was already gone when Kurt went upstairs, a few minutes earlier than usual. There wasn't a note on the counter, but then, Kurt hadn't really expected to find one.
He drank three cups of coffee while hanging his dad's suit, picking a few dead petals off of the flower arrangement he'd chosen the day before, and ironing the lapels of his most formal, black winter coat. Even then, he left for school early and with an extra travel mug, taking care to tape the note for his dad ("Lasagna in fridge, heat 375 degrees for 45 minutes—NO TAKEOUT! Call if you want me to come home.") on the front door, where he'd be most likely to see it.
If his hands were shaking all morning, he could blame it on too much caffeine and not enough sleep, and everyone would believe him.
It was a testament to Kurt's acting ability, or to the obliviousness of his friends and classmates, that his withdrawn mood went unnoticed until 6th period. Kurt, needing an ego boost, preferred to believe the former.
Ironically, it was Shelby who first said anything.
"Oh God, tell me you're not losing your voice right now, Kurt," she insisted, looking up from her desk in the music office when Kurt knocked on the door. "Ben's already out for the week with an injury, and if I have to bench you as well, I'm not going to be happy."
Kurt shook his head. "I'm not sick," he promised.
Shelby raised an eyebrow. "You look it," she said frankly. "Talk to me."
Kurt's mouth twisted. He didn't really want to talk about it, but…it was Shelby. "It's my parent's anniversary," he admitted finally.
Shelby nodded slowly. "How many years has it been?" she wanted to know.
Kurt shrugged. "Eighteen," he replied. "Or eight, depending."
Nine times out of ten, mentioning his mother made people do one of two things: apologize, or look sympathetically at him. Shelby did neither, and Kurt felt a rush of gratitude for that.
"I have something for you," she said instead, opening her desk drawer and pulling out an oversized manila envelope with his name on it.
Kurt took it from her, looking at it curiously. Shelby smiled. "You can open it," she told him. Obediently, Kurt pulled the tab open and reached into the envelope.
Inside were several sheets of music.
Kurt looked up, eyes wide and hardly daring to believe it.
Shelby smirked at his expression. "I thought that might cheer you up," she commented lightly, tapping her pen on the edge of the stack. "Congratulations, Kurt. You're ready."
Sitting back at her desk, Shelby put on her reading glasses and consulted her day planner. "Is this your lunch period?" she asked, looking up at Kurt. He nodded, and she looked back through her schedule. "All right, have that ready to show me on Thursday," she decided. "We'll take it from there, and see how many extra rehearsals we'll need before we start working on it in front of the group."
Kurt cleared his throat. "Am I allowed to tell anyone?" he wanted to know, already thinking of Blaine, and Jesse, and God, his dad, and—
"Shut the door," Shelby requested, not unkindly. Kurt obeyed, then sat down in the chair across from Shelby when she pointed at it.
"At rehearsal today, I'm announcing our featured lineup for the coming months," she explained. "The four solo pieces I announced last week are now, at least until Jesse gets back, two duets and two solos."
Kurt nodded along, not entirely surprised—it was what Jesse had told him that he had suggested, after all.
"I'm telling you this ahead of time because when I make that announcement, two of those six names I read out are going to turn some heads," Shelby continued. "It's not every day a sophomore gets assigned a solo position in Vocal Adrenaline."
"Jesse was the youngest soloist in ten years," Kurt remembered breathlessly.
Shelby nodded seriously. "And out of the two of you, you're going to be facing the brunt of the attention," she told him. "I don't know how closely you looked at that"—she indicated the envelope—"but you're not replacing Jesse. That solo is yours."
Kurt was speechless.
Shelby looked amused. "There's a good possibility we won't be using it in competition," she warned. "It's one of the less technically challenging pieces on the roster. God knows Blaine has his work cut out for him with Bohemian Rhapsody, even with Ryleigh taking all the high notes," she mused. "But I'll expect you to work hard on it, nonetheless."
Kurt nodded enthusiastically, still not trusting himself to speak. Shelby smiled. "Keep it under your hat until rehearsal, don't talk to the press, and if you get sick, I won't even kill you myself; I'll let Dakota do it," she rattled off mechanically. "See you this afternoon."
Kurt floated out of the music office in a daze. He had a solo. He had a solo. Of course he had been angling for one and Jesse had hinted that it might happen and his Evaluation on Friday had been one of his best performances to date, but still. There was a difference between hoping for something and actually getting it. And actually getting recognized by Shelby? Felt exactly as good as he thought it would.
Not that he was completely overwhelmed with happiness and pride; gratitude to Jesse for suggesting him and Shelby for agreeing, although those feelings were certainly the most prominent—a solid 97%, if he was estimating. As usual, the tiny, recessed, hateful parts of his brain managed to make themselves known as well: smugness that he was the one to make such an incredible accomplishment; regret that Shelby couldn't have given him the music on Friday, so that he could have sang it to his mother today; annoyance at Jesse, who knew that Kurt wouldn't have needed Ryleigh's first soprano to fill in the falsetto, because he could hit every single note himself—
Kurt deliberately shut down the part of his brain that was being horrid. Stop it, he ordered himself. You have just received the best news you've gotten all year. You are going to enjoy it. You're going to wait outside Blaine's English class and walk him to Spanish, and you're going to be an excellent, supportive boyfriend. You're going to go to rehearsal and be humble and gracious, then you're going to go home and do your homework and be the model son that Dad needs today.
You're also going to stop mentally lecturing yourself, he added wryly, because you look more than a little crazy right now.
Extra bounce in his step, Kurt set off for the English hall.
