Saturday June 15th 2019
Kurt
The soft cushion moves beneath me, just enough to startle my sleeping brain and wake me sheepishly. I'm confused for the briefest second, the feel of fabric and pillow soft beneath and behind me, a blanket weightless over me, puddling at my waist. My head rests on the arm rest of the sofa I've evidently fallen asleep on, and I'm surprised to find my shoes have been removed. I force my eyes open groggily; blinking momentarily in the new found brightness, although really the room is less than bright, curtains pulled tight shut and lit only by the light able to filter through. Frowning slightly I realise that I am in fact in Blaine's living room, asleep on Blaine's sofa, Blaine's favourite blanket wrapped loosely around me. And then I notice the man himself, leant against my new bed, back in line with my chest, close enough to smell, close enough to reach out and touch. Close enough that he can probably feel my breath tickling his neck.
I then notice the TV is silent in the background, subtitles flashing up as a newsreader outlines the headlines. I smile, knowing he's turned it down so as to not wake me. For a few minutes I just watch him, familiar and yet unfamiliar.
His back is pressed against the sofa, and I realise his movement is what must've woke me. His legs are bent up and tucked against his arched chest, arms wrapped tight around his shins, holding them to him. I can see faint stubble creeping along his jaw and chin, and as if at that very moment he feels my gaze lingering on his cheek bones and strong jaw, he bows his head down, resting said cheek on his bent knee's, preventing me from seeing anything but his mop of unruly morning hair.
But I'm not complaining. I've always loved his hair, especially now it's free of gel and a little longer. In the morning, as usual, it's even more curly and unruly than ever; just how I like it most. And I don't know whether it's because my mind is still foggy with sleep, or because I'm so engulfed in his world, but suddenly I have an overwhelming urge to just touch him, and I can't prevent my arm which previously lay curled around my own chest reaching out. Slowly and tentatively to trace a finger along the ridge of his arched neck; moving upwards from his white collar, over the hills and valleys of his spine before splaying my fingers and burying them gently in the thick hair at the base of his neck.
He shivers beneath my unexpected touch, the movement rippling down his spine as he groans in comfort, raising his head and pressing back against my hand, changing my touch from a gentle whisper to a hungry grasp. I see the flicker of his eyelashes as they close, mouth dropping slightly open as he rolls his head to fit more comfortably in my palm, lips curved into a gentle, peaceful smile. I move then, but instead of moving away from him, which would be expected, I move closer, something I should think about, but don't, because all I want to do these days is touch him, whenever and wherever I can get away with it. Brushing past him in the kitchen as I reach for a cup, touching his shoulder or arm or hand when I laugh, 'accidently' tripping and grabbing him for support
Pressing harder I move my hand from behind his head, back to the top of his spine, before I trail my arm around him. He groans again as my hand shivers down the muscles and tendons of his neck, tilting his head away from my hand to reveal more skin, effectively moving closer to me as I outline complex patterns on his strong neck and stubbled jaw.
We stay like this for some time, my fingertips running languorously up and down; occasional shivers running through his body when I touch particularly sensitive skin, until eventually he raises one hand and touches it to mine, stopping my movement. I watch uneasily as his dazed eyes lazily stutter open and his head turns to face me. Our eyes lock and I'm surprised by how awake I suddenly am, blood pumping rhythmically in my ear, my hand which isn't around him tensing in anticipation.
What is he going to say?
Will he ask me to stop before this goes too far, or ask me to keep going and never stop? Will he tell me he regrets singing to me last night, or that singing to me is all he's ever wanted to do with his life? Will he say the infamous six words, I think we need to talk,or the famous five words, I never stopped loving you?
"You have no ideahow good that feels," is actually what he says, breaking my trail of thoughts, momentarily surprising me after having braced myself for a kind worded rejection. His hand tightens on my own as I smile back in response. "Have I ever told you how beautiful you look when you've just woke up?" he asks casually, head falling inquisitively to the side, as if he calls me beautiful every day, as if I wake up next to him every day.
"Not in eight years," I reply semi-jokingly. He chuckles and turns his body to face me properly, kneeling with one arm still holding my hand wrapped around his neck and the other resting on the edge of the sofa next to my chest. I immediately notice the words 'Likes Boys'stapled across his shirt and can't resist a smile.
"Some things never stop being true though," he says through a reminiscent sigh, tearing his eyes from mine as his hand which rests on the sofa stretches slightly to cup my neck. He then begins tracing light patterns on the delicate skin just as I had for him, his eyes moving to follow the line of his finger, which are warm yet still send cold shivers down my spine. I smile at his touch as my eyes flicker shut. "Feels good doesn't it?" he asks through a smile as I curve more towards his hand, wanting more. I groan in response, the noise deep and throaty, no doubt tickling his fingertips where they rest. "Did you sleep okay?" he asks.
"Mmhm," I nod, nestling further into his hand, nuzzling my cheek against his palm.
"I'm glad," he whispers gently, and I can practically hear the smile in his voice as his palm moves up to cup my cheek, the rough calluses of his thumb ghosting over the thin skin of my eyelid.
"'M sorry," I mumble, slowly opening my eyes to look at him. He frowns in confusion, his hand stopping its movements and instead just resting against my pulse.
"Sorry? For what?" he asks a little too seriously.
"Sleepin' here," I mumble again, my mind addled by sleep and comfort. He laughs in response and continues to touch me, stroking new patterns behind my ear and along my hairline.
"Don't apologise, you're always welcome," he says, and I don't reply because I don't need to. I can here the sincerity in his voice; no words are needed. That's the thing with us, we can have an entire conversation in one look; we can express opinions and read each others in the twitch of an eyebrow, the nervousness of a movement, the darting of an eye. I can tell by the tone of his voice over a crackling phone line that he's had a bad day, that Ava's in a bad mood, that he wants me to go round but is too scared to ask.
My mind has wandered aimlessly, body enjoying his touch so much I could easily fall into a million day dreams. Then suddenly he stops, his hand's gone, and my neck feels far too exposed. I open my eyes to look at him, and am startled to see he's looking away sadly.
"Wha-" I begin to ask before he speaks, so quietly and gently that I have to strain to hear.
"What're we doing Kurt?" his eyes connect so forcefully with mine that I'm startled, my breath hitching in my throat, heart hammering.
"I- I don't underst-" I begin stuttering, not wanting to have this conversation.
"Don't say you don't understand, I just can't…" he speaks loudly and cuts me off, before trailing away himself, dropping his hand from where it still hold my other one round his neck, raising both to rub tiredly at his eyes, raking through his hair. He sighs loudly before starting again, "I just need to know where we stand," he finally says, looking at me expectantly.
I drop my hand from where it still rests against his shoulder, the movement not going unnoticed as he frowns at the loss of contact. "I don't know…" I say, bending my elbows and hitching my body slightly further up the sofa, slightly further from him. But he isn't deterred; he just nods knowingly, reaching out to tangle one of his hands with my own loosely, heightening my confusion.
"Do you know what you want, at all?" he finally asks; voice quiet and shaky, eyes averted to the side as if he's scared of the answer. I know he's really asking who,not what,and I know, without a shadow of a doubt. I know who I want at this moment; I know who I want for the rest of the day, for tomorrow. I know who I want next week, next year all the years that inevitably follow. I know who I want for the rest of my life. But I'm just too scared to speak, scared in case he doesn't want the same, scared in case I'm misreading the situation, just scared of being hurt.
The silence stretches on immeasurably, neither of us willing to break it.
Then he starts speaking hastily, rushing to get across everything he feels before his mind overrides his heart and stops him, "you have to understand Kurt I can't just keep- keep seeing you, allthe time. I can't keep acting like we're just old friends who sometimes hang out, because we're not and we both know that," he's shaking his head at me to emphasise his words and if I didn't know better I'd believe that I can see the hint of tears glistening in his eyes. "It's just too hard to be around you, all the time,but never able to- not able to-" He stops speaking, taking a great shuddering breath before standing and moving away from me swiftly, facing away as he once again runs slightly shaking hands through his hair.
"Not able to what, Blaine?" My voice breaks slightly as I build up enough courage to ask, swinging my legs off the sofa and sitting up properly, pushing my hands between my knees to stop them shaking as I look up at him.
A few seconds pass before he speaks, "touch you," he whispers almost inaudibly from where he's stood, still facing the wall, back to me. My head darts up. "Kiss you," he adds, equally quietly, causing me to half rise from my seat, eager to go to him. "L- Love you," he finally stutters, turning quickly to face me, eyes glazed with tears and cheeks flushed, hands fisted either side of his face in frustration, eyes blinking rapidly to hold back tears.
Standing properly I take a hesitant step towards him, arms slightly outstretched, but as I do so he steps back, the gap between us remaining the same, and dejectedly I drop my arms, instead wrapping them protectively around my stomach. "I-" I cough gently to clear my throat and swallow, licking my dry lips. "I didn't know you… you wanted… that," I end rather lamely, brows furrowed as I rack my brain for an appropriate response
"Why wouldn't I?" he asks firmly, still fisted hands dropping to his sides. "Why wouldn't I want you?" eyes darting between my own dangerously, and I watch as a slight shake builds up inside his body. "You're so incredibly beautiful, so clever, painfully witty, you have such a huge heart and you're just so… so perfect! So, so, soperfect, I can't even describe you Kurt, you're indescribable, you're beyond words. And it… it hurts me so much when I realise you're not mine, that we're…" his voice quivers as tears finally spill from his eyes, "we're you and me and not… not us," he finishes, desperation seeping into each syllable as every bone in his body shakes and he forces his fists into his eye sockets in pain and frustration and sadness.
"Blaine I-" I take another step forward, wanting nothing more than to engulf his weeping body in my arms and promise him the world, the galaxy, the entire universe. "Can I-" as I speak as I nervously place a hand on his forearm and he jumps, lowering his hands from his red eyes to shake his head, stepping away from me again.
"I- just- no- I just-" he stutters before finally forcing a sentence out, "I can't stop it Kurt," his eyes once again bore into mine as his voice grows stronger, head shaking yet eyes pleading.
"S-stop what?" I beg, confusion sweeping through me as tears begin to spill from my own eyes and the need to touch him and comfort him and love him builds up inside me even more, a fire burning out of control.
He runs a shaking hand down his face, holding it momentarily over his mouth, as if to stop words escaping, before finally whispering between parted fingers, "Seeing you," and as he says it his eyes intensify, pupils constricting in anger.
"Seeing me? I don't-" A fresh wave of confusion washes over me and I feel like I'm drowning and he's the only thing to grasp to stop myself being swept away, yet every time I take a step closer he pulls away.
"With him!" He finally yells, hands dropping from his face and fisting at his side. "I can't stop seeing you, with him.Touching him and loving him and wanting him. Moaning for him like you were supposed to moan for me! Begging and writhing and- and- and fucking!" He's shaking in earnest now, huge gasps of breath filling his lungs, tears falling like a monsoon down his flushed cheeks, teeth clamped shut. "I just… for fucks sake Kurt, it's all I see!" I open my mouth to talk, to apologise, to beg, but he speaks again, voice loud with anger and rage and sadness and I've only ever seen him like this once before, but somehow this is more terrifying, because so much time has passed since the event in question, somehow it doesn't feel as real to me, but he's evidently still raw with emotion.
"Every time I see you I see him, and I don't want to see him! God!" he screams, tearing his eyes from mine and pulling at his hair furiously, turning away from me and instead pressing into the wall. "I just want to see you! Always! Always, always, alwaysyou, but I fucking can't because he'sthere," he practically howls into the wall before he drops, knees colliding painfully with the wooden floor, entire body crumpling in on itself, shaking uncontrollably.
"Blaine I- god Blaine, please let me touch you, I can't- I can't bear to see you like this, I just-" I blubber, no longer even trying to hold back my tears and I kneel down beside him, my hand hovering uncertainly over the curve of his shaking spine. But I don't need to wait for an answer, because within seconds he drops towards me willingly, lying in the foetal position, head resting on my thighs and without a moments hesitation I curl one hand under his head and the other around his waist, lifting him slightly as I cross my legs, pulling him completely into my arms. He's small enough to fit quite snugly on my lap, head buries in the crook of my neck, hands automatically grasping at the collar of my shirt as he quivers in my arms.
"Why didn't you say something before?" I ask, because I don't know where else to begin. He doesn't respond apart from to shake his head and grasp tighter to my neck. "I didn't know it still bothered you after so many years, else I woul-"
He speaks over me, voice far quieter and muffled but considerably more powerful, "why wouldn't it still bother me Kurt? You fucked someone else and then disappeared!"
I gasp at his words, replying quickly, my own anger building, "I did not disappear! You told me you never wanted to see me again, I did what you asked!" I start to get defensive but he just shakes his head against my chest.
"I didn't mean it!" he argues as I feel a warm tear drip onto my chest and soak through the fabric of my shirt.
"How was I supposed to know that?" I ask hoarsely, realisation dawning. Does he genuinely think he meant so little to me?
"You just were! Kurt, you knew me better than anyone, you should've known I'd never not want you, you should've known that was just the anger speaking, how could I ever not want to see you again?" his shaking has calmed considerably, sobs becoming less frequent, voice less erratic, but he still burrows further into me, head still shaking defiantly.
"I… I dunno Blaine, you- you said you hated me, you never wanted to see me or hear from me again, you said I was dea-"
"Do not," he screams, "finish, that, sentence!" then his voice calms, breathing deeply between each word in an effort to contain his anger. "God Kurt, I forgave you within minutes!" his voice once again sounds pleading as my confusion spikes for the hundredth time. He starts to pull away from me slightly, and despite how desperately I cling to him, he manages to wriggle out of my grasp. Positions himself in front of me, he crosses his legs, our knees pressing together and hands so entangled I can't tell which are my own.
"Blaine I… How could you have forgiven me, I mean..." he's shaking his head in response, so I stop and allow him to speak instead.
"How could I nothave forgiven you Kurt? You were everything I ever wanted or needed in life, what we had was… It was more important to me than life itself, youwere more important to me than life itself. I was angry for like… thirty minutes," he shrugs, "and then I was just confused and depressed and alone. By that time you were gone and I- I didn't have the balls to call you and ask you to come home. I thought maybe you'd try and win me back, but you-" he hiccups, words coming out rapidly and mingling, "you didn't try and I- I think that's what hurt most. That you didn't even care enough to try and- and get me back…"
"Blaine, I didn't know!" I beg, squeezing his hands tighter and shuffling closer until my knees are resting atop his. "I didn't know! I believed what you said, I'd never seen you like that I just- I felt so fucking awful and you were so perfect to me all the time, and I- I ruined everything. Oh god I ruined every-fucking-thing," I'm shaking my head as I tug my hands free of his, they come easily, he's no longer even clinging to them. I rub them down my face and over the soreness of my eyes.
I bury my head in my own knees and instantly a hand nestles into the nape of my neck, and like usual he's comforting me, when this is completely my fault. We sit in a strained silence for a few minutes, occasional heaving breaths breaking the silence, until he speaks. "I can hear Ava getting up," he says gently, and I'm surprised for a second, having forgotten we are in fact in Blaine's living room with his daughter asleep upstairs on a Saturday morning. It just feels too much like we've become lost in our own bubble.
I nod and sit up, leaning forward to once again hold his hands, but he looks away, moving them away discretely as he pushes himself up to his feet and steps away from me, still sat huddled on the floor. I stand up slowly and hesitantly, terrified of what he's going to say. How can he go from so incredibly angry and emotional and loving to so detached and quiet?
"I erm… I think you should leave Kurt," he says eventually, voice calm and authoritative, no hint of wanting anything different. My breathing hitches and my eyes widen, it feels like he's plunged his hand into my chest, ripped out my heart and tore it to shreds in front of my eyes, and now he's kicking me out; I feel broken.
"The… the house? Or, your life?" I ask, and instantly my mind reels back to his break up with Liam and how he'd asked basically the exact same thing. I recall his answer to Liam, and my heart hammers even louder, frantically trying to beat out of my chest and leap towards Blaine, to show him that it's his. I see the recognition of the words in his eyes as well, which soften slightly round the edges.
"Just the house Kurt," he finally says and automatically my hand rises to my chest as if it can calm my frantic heart, my body relaxes and all the breath I've been holding in rushes from my lungs. He smiles shyly at me before speaking again more quietly than ever before, "I never want you to leave my life again."
I smile back unsurely, feeling emotionally and physically drained. I glance around and find my shoes on the floor, dropping quickly I shove my feet in and lace them up before walking into the hall as he follows. I pat my pockets to check I have my phone and wallet, mentally checking whether I brought anything else. But I hadn't, I have no excuses to stay any longer, so reluctantly I lean my hand out towards the front door, my fingers only a few centimetres away, when I feel his touch.
Delicate. Careful and restrained, hands brushing against my back and around my waist, coming to rest bent upwards against my chest, one splaying against my beating heart as I feel him step forward, feet aligning next to mine, legs pressing into me, chest flush against my back. The entire lengths of our bodies press together, close enough for me to feel the beat of his heart against my spine, and I relax. I relax into his touch, pressing back further to feel him more and I sense more than hear his content sigh, before he lets go and steps back, looking down nervously at the floor.
"I'll erm… I'll ring you in a few days, yeah?" he asks, and I nod slowly, terrified of how long I'll have to wait, terrified of going days without hearing from him, terrified of waiting the rest of my life only to never hear his voice again. And then, because there's so much to be said and yet no way of saying it; I leave. Turning back momentarily when I reach the end of his drive I wave gently. He waves back, a sad smile gracing his perfect features, before I bury my hands in my pockets and begin walking.
I walk the whole five miles home, desperate to not be alone but knowing I will be for at least a few days. When I finally get home, I unlock the door, kick my shoes off unceremoniously and crawl into bed, fully dressed, and weep for what feels like an eternity.
