A/N: In regards to what Kurt did, I have said, and all ways will say for this story; sometimes even the best of people make the worst decisions. So, try and see it from his point of view, and although not justified in any way, hopefully you'll understand how an angry, emotional, somewhat naïve 17 year old could've made that mistake. Please note date changes :)
Thursday June 20th 2019
Kurt
I haven't heard from Blaine since last Saturday, and I'm starting to worry. Before this argument we text each other everyday, even if it was just a few short, quick messages about some inane event in our lives, some funny thing Ava had said, a new scarf I'd bought, but even so we'd still been in constant contact. And as sad and as desperate and as insane as this makes me sound; I miss talking to him every day.
So I text him; I figure, why can't I take the first step and remind him that I'm still alive? It's a cowardly text, one he will haveto respond to. 'Hey, I hope you're okay… I was just wondering whether I should still come round tomorrow for dinner? I don't mind either way, I just thought I should ask :) xx'.My fingers shake as I type it out, and it takes a solid 40 minutes before I dare to press send, but eventually I do. Afterwards I promptly lock my phone in my desk and leave my office to do some work which doesn't involve my phone, being at my desk, or being within 20 feet of my office.
I manage to stay away for two hours, which I think must be some kind of record. But eventually I can't put it off any longer, so it's with slightly shaking hands that I unlock my office door and sit down. What will I do if he never wants to see me again? Hadn't he said he never wants me to leave his life again? So it's with that small sentence repeating like a broken record in my head that I pick up the phone from the drawer, and with one last breath I press the 'Home' button, and for that briefest second before the screen lights up I can feel my pulse in my fingertips where they grasp the phone.
There's no reply. I've been so terrified of what he willsay, that I haven't even considered him saying nothing at all. Shit.Now what am I supposed to do? My frustration begins to build. I've tried my best to repress it over the last few days, but this is the tipping point. Does he no longer have the common courtesy to respond to a text? I practically growl at my phone as I drop it onto the desk in anger before flipping open my laptop and turning it on. But behind the frustration is sadness and regret, this day could not be over quick enough,I think as I quickly type in my password and wait for the screen to load. When it eventually does I can't help but smile at the picture from Mother's Day I've set as my background; Ava and Blaine's grinning faces filling my screen, he's worth waiting for,I think, smiling sadly back at them as my mind quickly corrects itself, they're worth waiting for.
The rest of the day passes as I'd've expected; ruthlessly slowly. So it's many lifetimes later that I'm letting myself in home, kicking my shoes off in the hall and wandering aimlessly into my bedroom. I drop my bag on the floor beside my bed before grabbing a loose grey t-shirt to sleep in and a clean pair of boxers. I head over the hall into the bathroom, flicking on the shower. I quickly strip and step under the burning heat of the water, instantly feeling my shoulders relax under the searing heat, my muscles untensing, I can practically feel my blood pressure lowering.
I take my time, promising myself I won't rush for once in my life and just enjoy a shower. I lather up my hair with sweet smelling shampoo, followed by equally sweet conditioner, left on while I scrub my body, taking particular care to make sure I get all the pen off my hands. The smell of the conditioner and shower gel mingles in the thick fog of water particles, condensating on every surface. I stand for a few minutes, just enjoying the feel of the water. It really is too hot, but that just makes it nicer, each individual droplet burning me. I fight back the feel of my nerves protesting, telling me desperately to get out of the hot water, because for the first time in ages I feel alive. I feel refreshed and cleansed. I unhurriedly rinse the conditioner from my hair before stepping out. I wrap my towel around my waist before wiping my hand across the mirror, clearing the fog enough to take in my face as I contemplate whether to shave tonight or tomorrow morning.
I decide on tomorrow morning as my stomach makes a loud grumbling noise. Quickly I dry off and throw on my clothes, running my hands through my hair a few times to straighten it back before stepping out into the considerably colder hallway. As I pull the door open the thick fog from the bathroom sweeps out before me, quickly disappearing into the cold air. Just as I turn and angle my body towards the living room, I hear a knock on the front door. Frowning I turn slowly to face the door in question as confusion sweeps through me. I never have visitors. Especially not unarranged visitors, on a Thursday, at almost seven o'clock. Should I answer it? I question myself. Well, why not? The curiosity will eat away at me for days if I don't, so I swiftly turn and take the two strides towards the door.
I reach out and place my hand on the door knob as my mind furiously races to work out who it could be. But there is only one way to find out, so with a confused frown still wrinkling my forehead, and as my spare hand rises to run through my hair, I turn the handle, and crack the door open an inch as I peer out at my visitor.
I'm greeted by solemn looking hazel eyes, and unruly dark hair. "Blaine!" I half screech in both shock and confusion. Instantly I swing the door wide open to see him properly, and it's only then that I notice Ava stood beside him, still in her school uniform.
"Hey Kurty," She says with a little wave, an angelic smile gracing her sweet, little face.
"H-hey sweetie," I stutter in response, waving back slowly. Suddenly I feel extremely exposed. My bare legs have goose pimpled in the cool air of the summer night, the thin fabric of my shirt clinging to my still slightly damp body as I feel droplets of water fall from my hair, damping my shirt even more. My eyes leave Ava's and instead focus on Blaine as I subconsciously wrap an arm around my waist, my other hand still holding the door open.
He sees my head move and darts his eyes up to meet mine, but I don't miss the way they linger a little too long on my thighs and crotch, I don't miss the way they sweep hungrily up my torso or how they widen slightly at the sight of my exposed collarbones and shoulder where my shirt has fallen unevenly. Instinctively I tug the shirt up to cover myself, coughing lightly to clear my throat as I force myself to not look away. "Do you want to come in?" I ask after a moment's hesitation.
He nods slowly, before clearing his own throat and speaking, "if we're not disturbing you?"
I laugh nervously, "you're not disturbing me, make yourself at home," I assure them as I step to the side. Ava dashes past me, heading straight towards the living room.
"Ava!" Blaine calls after her as he steps over the threshold himself. I close the door gently as she turns expectantly to face him. "Shoes," he says, to which she dramatically rolls her eyes before slipping her black, patent school shoes off and continuing further into my home. I can't help but smile at her exuberance and his attempts to teach her manners.
"You don't have to take your shoes off," I assure him, despite him already having slipped them off and arranged them neatly beside the wall. His socks are bright red, eye catching against the variety of neutral colours which decorate my home; he has always been the most colourful part of my life. We smile nervously at each other before I speak, "I'm urm, going to er, go change. But, just y'know, help yourself to a drink and err, make yourself at home," I repeat myself, unable to think of anything else to say.
"M'kay," he says slowly as his eyes roam around my hallway. It's then that I realise he's never actually been to my house, and when I really think about it, I can't remember ever having told him my address.
"Blaine?" I say, his head darts around to face me instantly. "How'd you know my address?" I question, curiosity getting the better of me.
"Senders address on that parcel you sent for Ava," he states, as if it's that obvious. I make a small 'oh' sound in response and nod a little. The silence starts to get awkward, but we're thankfully saved by Ava shouting from the other room.
"Kurty, your TV is being silly," Blaine and I exchange a knowing smile before I lead the way into the living room. Bright sunlight shines into the room through the large windows at the end, illuminating it with a golden glow and highlighting the tiny specks of dust floating in the air. The walls are a light grey colour and the exposed floorboards are stained dark.
As I walk I become extremely aware of how tight my boxers are, and how my t-shirt doesn't cover my ass at all. I wonder whether Blaine's looking. I wonder whether I wantBlaine to look. I find Ava sat on my sofa, her tiny legs crossed underneath her, remote in hand as she pushes every single button one after another.
I lean over her and pick up the correct remote, switching the TV on before quickly finding a children's channel. She grins up at me in thanks as she snuggles further into the couch, head falling tiredly against the arm rest with a content sigh. I turn back around and find Blaine scanning the few photographs which lean against the wall above my low bookcase. I decide to take this opportunity to change, so I silently slip past him and out of the room, darting into my bedroom and noiselessly closing the door behind me.
I get changed quickly, not wanting to waste any time. I decide on some dark slightly skinny jeans, not wanting to have to struggle for ten minutes to get them on, paired with a navy blue button up. I quickly dash to my mirror and grimace at my hair, still dripping from the shower, but I don't have time to blow dry it. Instead I comb it quickly, and style it so that when it dries it won't be a complete disaster. Lastly I smudge some moisturiser onto my face and massage it in as I make my way towards the door.
Walking back into the room I notice Blaine's still stood exactly where I left him, a thick frame in hand. I walk up beside him and lean over to look at the picture. It's of Finn and Rachel, taken a few years ago in a beautifully maintained Rose garden. Finn's wearing a black tux which I'd picked out for him, a pale pink rose pressed into the button hole, while Rachel stands beside him in an elegant white, silk dress, falling beautifully over her small frame and flowing behind her magnificently. They're angled towards each other, his arm lacing around her waist while hers presses against his chest, the other loosely grasping a bouquet of matching pink and white roses. There's a sparkle in each of their eyes and a jubilant smile gracing both their faces. The pose is natural, unplanned, captured in the most perfect moment.
"They made it through college then," is all he says. It's an affirmation, not a question, as his eyes continue to take in every detail of the picture. I nod silently beside him, knowing he'll see the movement of my head out of the corner of his eye. With a small, almost imperceptible sigh he places the frame back where it belongs and turns to face me. I can see a trace of regret in his eyes, mingled with sadness. I wait in silence for him to speak, and just as he opens his mouth, his lips beginning to form words, my stomach grumbles again; embarrassingly loudly, causing both of our eyes to dart down to look at it questioningly. Then I hear his soft laughter, and I begin to laugh myself.
"Sorry," I manage between smiles, but he just shakes his head and smiles back before speaking.
"Have you not eaten yet?" I shake my head in response, and just as I open my mouth to protest that I'm fine, he speaks. "I'm so sorry, I should have called, or something, to ask if it was okay to come over, I'm sorry Kurt, I-" I know what he's going to say, and quickly interrupt.
"It's fine!" I assure him firmly, "seriously, I'm fine. I just-" I falter, unsure of what I want to say and how exactly to word it. "It's just nice to see you," I finally say with a slight aversion of my eyes and a no doubt noticeable gulp. He nods in agreement, "would you find it awfully rude if I got something to eat while you're here though?" I ask, because I really am hungry and even more so than that I'm desperate for a distraction, desperate for an excuse to not have to look into his eyes, for something to occupy my hands so as to prevent myself from reaching out and touching him, pulling him towards me.
He smiles in response and shakes his head, "of course not, we can go if you want…" he trails off lamely as I fervently shake my head, smiling faintly as I turn and wander into the kitchen area. It's sleek and modern, white cupboards reaching from floor to ceiling completely along the back wall while a stretch of grey countertop housing my sink and hob stand opposite, separating it from the living space. I decide on just a snack, something to tide me over and stop my stomach grumbling.
I busy myself in the fridge, removing things from the fridge. "You want something?" I ask, seeing his eyes follow my hands as I butter bread. He shakes his head, flicking his eyes back up to meet mine. I ask Ava as well, but she declines, saying she's already eaten too much spaghetti bolognese and that she might explode at any moment. I laughed because of how serious she sounds. "So, what brings you here anyway? Not that I'm complaining," I hurry to assure him as I nudge a drawer shut with my hip and purposely avoid eye contact.
I hear him clear his throat, that noise alone enough to make my heart rate increase, because there's no way he's just decided to pop over for a friendly visit. There's definitely a reason, and I'm about to find it out. "I erm, I wanted to talk to you Kurt, about, erm, that night. If- if you're willing to, I mean, I just… I feel like… like I deserve to know… y'know?" He speaks quickly yet falteringly, words bunching together awkwardly and falling messily from his lips.
Suddenly I have no appetite, instead a whirring sensation has taken over my stomach and I struggle to hold myself up; my heart rate having increased as he spoke, so much so that I can hear the faint humming in my ear and the frantic pulsing in my fingertips. I turn slowly to face him, leaning back against the counter for support as I nod slowly, building up enough courage to speak. "Okay, I mean, yes, of course you erm, deserve to know, I- yeah… okay," I manage to stammer.
He nods again before running a nervous hand through his hair, his eyes leaving mine to fall to the ground. Silence overwhelms us for an immeasurable amount of time as he no doubt tried to decide where to start and I focus all my energy on staying standing and not bolting from my own home.
Eventually he speaks, faint voice falling into our bubble of silence like a stone breaking the surface of a lake. "Why?" His voice is a whisper, barely audible, yet that one word ripples through me, tugging at my heart strings and making vomit rise in the back of my throat. I'm lightheaded for a moment as my vision focuses and unfocuses, the image of him swimming in front of me. "Kurt, are you okay?" I hear his voice through a wall of white noise, and then I feel his hands grip each of my elbows firmly as he holds me upright. I allow myself to sag slightly; forcing him to take most my weight as my hands instinctively cling to him for support. I'm vaguely aware of being moved, I feel a hard surface beneath me, his warm hands still clamped around my forearms as I gratefully slump my arms and upper body onto the cool table in front of me. I revel in the cool plastic pressing against my sweaty brow.
"M'sorry," I manage to mumble into the tabletop as the mini-migraine subsides.
"What was that? Are you okay?" he asks frantically. I'm faintly aware of his hands leaving my arms and the noise of a chair scraping along wood, I feel him sit down beside me, so close his entire side presses against mine, followed by a soothing hand rubbing circles on my back. I flicker my eyes open and am shocked to see so much worry etched into his features.
"Jus' a migraine," I hum exhaustedly as I push myself into an upright position.
"Are you sure? Do you need anything, what can I get you?" He's still anxious, voice loud and piercing as my head throbs.
"Food please," I manage with a smile, which seems to calm him slightly. He smiles back half heartedly before standing and moving to finish my half made sandwich. A minute later he places it in front of me along with a large glass of water. I thank him and gulp it down, wondering how long he searched for a glass in my maze of cupboards. He sits back down in the seat next to me, knocking our knees together as his thigh presses against mine. "So…" I begin, because although I'm terrified of having this conversation I know after what's just happened he won't try and initiate it again, "you asked why…" I reiterate before taking a big bite of sandwich.
"Oh right, well yeah, but if you're not feeling well we can ju-"
I cut him off, "I feel fine, and I'd rather get this over with to be honest," I look at him pleadingly while my insides churn. In truth I'd rather never have this conversation, but I know he needs to hear it, and it's worth the pain if it makes him understand more. He nods slowly, eyes darting nervously between my own; I can see fear in them. Is it remnants from what's just happened, or is it because of what he's about to hear? "Where do you want me to begin?" I ask after a few more bites of sandwich; the lightheadedness is dissolving, yet the sickness in my stomach is only increasing.
"The start? Just… tell me what happened after you left," I can see how much this is already paining him, and I hate that firstly I've caused this pain, and secondly, I'm about to add to it tenfold. But I do as he asks, just as I always have, and probably always will. I tell him everything. I tell him about how after storming away I'd gone straight to my dorm.
"You didn't go and find… him"? He asks, his brow furrowing in confusion. I notice the way he doesn't use Matt's name, and promise myself I won't either, in case that in some way makes this easier.
"Of course I didn't!" I reply, slightly hurt that he'd think that.
"Oh, sorry. I just sort of, always assumed you had… sorry, carry on," he nervously picks on the hem of his shirt, avoiding my eyes.
"Blaine," I say, his name coming out much quieter and gentler than I meant it too. He looks up, and I notice the fear I previously saw there has been replaced. It's been replaced by a void of sadness; suddenly his eyes look decades older, the eyes of someone who knows suffering. "I know this will never be any consolation, or excuse, for what happened… but I don't want you to think, in any way, shape or form, that I initiated this. I didn't leave you and go straight to him. I just- I went straight up to my dorm, and I remember laying there for what felt like a lifetime, when I heard a knock on the door…"
I continue the story. I explain how I'd thought it was him, so I'd called for my visitor to 'come in'. I tell him how surprised I'd been that it wasn't him.I speaking hurriedly in a vain attempt to try and make it less painful, like ripping off a plaster in one tug instead of picking at it slowly. But I don't think anything could make this less painful. He doesn't speak again throughout the story, instead just nodding or shaking his head, the occasional groan rumbling deep in his chest. But he manages to maintain eye contact throughout, which makes it a hundred times worse. I can see every emotion, even the slightest change between annoyance and anger, between sadness and regret. I finally finish, choosing to end at the point where I saw him in the dorm hallways; he knows what happened after that.
He's looking away at this point, probably remembering himself what happened afterwards. But even though he isn't facing me, I can still see a shimmer of liquid glazing his eyes, I can still see the deep, ragged breaths he's trying to conceal, and I can still see the slight shake in his hands where they firmly grip the table. "I still don't understand… why?" He speaks after a few minutes as he turns to face me.
I open my mouth to speak but stop myself; I have no idea what to say. I have no excuse, no reason, no idea why I ever let Matt use me like that. Because after eight years I've finally worked out that's what it was. He hadn't really wanted me like the naïve 17 year old version of me thought, he'd been using me to get to Blaine. And I'd made it a walk in the park for him. "I- I don't understand the question?" I stammer as I feel tears begin to swell in my own eyes. This is the part I've reallybeen dreading, when I have to try and explain why, when I have no idea myself.
"Why didn't you just, say no? Push him off? Scream? Anything to stop what happened?" He's almost pleading with me; as if giving me these options now will change our past.
"I wish I had," I whisper truthfully, my eyes never leaving his as I try my hardest to show him how much I mean these words.
"Just, please try and explain why this happened?" he asks desperately. And as always, I do exactly what he's asking; despite how much it's going to hurt both of us. And suddenly it's all too much, I can no longer hold my tears back and they pour from my eyes like a dam has broke, my chest quivers as I try to breath steadily and my hands shake.
"What I'm going to say… I'm not trying to use these things as an- an excuse. I have n-no excuse. I was an idiot, I was f-foolish and selfish and- and I ruined the b-best thing that's ever happened to me," I manage to say through tears as I try to stop the hiccups which comes with sobs. He nods at me and I see his eyes dart down to my hands, shaking atop the table. I move to hide them, but before I can he's reached out, taking them in his. He squeezes tightly; reassuringly, and I feel the sickness in my stomach increase even more as I realise he's trying to comfort me."I don't know where t-to start," I admit.
"Anywhere," he says calmly. I can see tears still glimmering in his eyes, yet he seems to have calmed his body. He's perfectly in control of himself, as always, whereas I'm a blubbering mess with no control over myself.
"I- well- I guess, I'd had quite a bit to drink, and I'm definitely not using that as an excuse. But, well, it probably didn't help my emotional state, and I- maybe if I hadn't drank quite so much I wouldn't have stormed away from you, and I wouldn't have let him-" He's nodding feverishly, eyes closed. "Well yeah, you know what I mean," I conclude, sensing that he doesn't need to hear what happened again. His head shaking changes to a single nod as he opens his eyes, a silent 'thank you' passes from him to me and I smile sadly. Our ability to communicate hasn't changed at least.
"Anyway," I continue taking a deep breath, "I know it's not justified, but Iwas really angry at you," he interrupts me then.
"Kurt, stop saying 'it's no excuse' and 'it's not justified'. I know you're not trying to use these things as an excuse, I just… I need to know what was going on in your head,"
I nod, "Sorry, I just- I just don't want you thinking I'm trying to make what I did okay," he nods again and motions with his hand for me to continue, so I do. "Yeah, like I said, I was angry at you for shoving me around, I remember at the time thinking about all the people who pushed me around; the jocks at McKinley, people in the streets when they'd see us holding hands… well yeah, you get what I mean. And I was just, I was so, soangry at you for thinking you could push me around as well. I see now that you were doing it for my own good, but at the time all I could think was how I was fed up of being controlled by other people. So yeah, I was angry at you, and if I wasn't then I probably wouldn't have walked off," he's nodding again so I conclude that reason.
"Then there's the fact that, apart from you, I'd never had a guy pay me even the slightest notice. And I know you should have been enough. You wereenough. But, in that stupid moment it was nice to be complimented by someone else. I know it's shallow and vain but- but it's the truth," he's nodding his again before speaking.
"I guess the fact he was so good-looking didn't help either," he says scathingly. I gulp, wondering whether he's going to continue, but he doesn't.
"I-well, no, I guess not. But, that's beside the point. I just… I was an idiot and I thought that he might actually fancy me, and for the briefest moment when he was flirting with me, it was nice to feel attractive to more than one person," I say hurriedly, my words coming out far too fast and jumbled to make a point, but he nods none the less. I can tell he's waiting for me to speak again so I take a deep breath before continuing. "It was like, I knew what was going to happen the moment he kissed me, and a massive part of me didn't want it to happen, but there was a very small part of me that did, and in my mind, at that moment, there seemed to be more reasons for than against. I can see now how stupid that was. I had so much to lose and nothing at all to gain," I'm shaking my head as if that'll prove my point more.
He's still looking at me, so I chose to carry on while my voice is still reasonably stable. "But then…I suppose, there was a point where it changed. I remember feeling really scared and- and wishing it was over. And," I wipe angrily at my eyes as I try to hold back more tears, "I remember that all I could think about was you, and what I'd done, and how I'd ruined everything, and how wonderful, and perfect and beautiful you were- you are, and- and- and-" my chest's heaving in earnest now, breath dragging from my lungs, over my sore throat, scratching like sandpaper.
"Kurt, it's okay, just calm down… just breathe," he reaches out and tentatively touches a hand to my shoulder, but I recoil, hating myself for being the cause of this, hating myself for being the one who needs comforting when it's completely my fault.
"Kurty, don't cry..." a delicate voice speaks beside me. I lift my eyes and am surprised to see Ava, her tiny brow creased in confusion and concern. "Daddy says that when I cry it makes him feel like crying," her eyes which are so similar to Blaine's dart to look at the man in question, "and Kurty, it looks like it might be the same for you." I frown in confusion and turn to look at Blaine, who himself looks close to tears, as she continues to speak, "he's pulling that face he pulls when he's trying his hardest not to cry and to be a strong daddy, but sometimes daddy's need to cry also, don't you think?" she asks innocently as she turns back to me.
I nod, "yeah, sometimes," is all I manage to say.
"Av," Blaine says, I see him smile at her and nod towards the TV, silently asking her to leave. She does as he's asked, but not before wrapping her tiny arms around one of my own and squeezing tightly.
We sit in silence for a minute as my breathing comes under control again, finally, when I'm able to speak relatively normally again, I do so, "I'm so sorry Blaine." I turn to face him as I speak. "I know I said it before, but I'm saying it again. I'm sorry.I'm sorry for ruining what w-we had, I'm sorry for h-hurting you, I'm sorry it was because of himof all p-people. I'm sorry I didn't realise what was happening before it was too l-late. I-I'm sorry that it's took eight years and a freak coincidence for us to find each other and for me to apologise again. I'm j-just so sorry, and I-I don't know what, if anything, I can ever do to make up for this, but I-I'm willing to do anything, I jus-"
"Kurt, stop!" He cuts me off, voice much louder and stronger than my own. I stop speaking abruptly, the words catching in my throat and causing me to hiccup as I struggle to hold them back. "You need to stop apologising. I told you before, and I'll tell you again; I forgive you. I forgave you almost as soon as I found out. I regret how I behaved, because if I hadn't been such a dick, then maybe we'd be sat here together under very different circumstances," he smiles sadly.
"Blaine; don't. Don't try and make this your fault. It was completely my fault. I was selfish and immature and a twat, and you had every right to react how you did and-"
"Okay, okay, I get it. Can we just please stop trying to both take all the blame and- and talk about something else?" I laugh lightly and nod, wiping at my eyes again in a vain attempt to make myself look less hysterical. "So… still up for dinner tomorrow night?" he asks, voice suddenly sounding so carefree and happy that it's almost impossible to detect the undercurrent of grief.
"Always," I confirm. We smile sadly at each other, and for the first time since thatnight eight years ago, I can sense myself starting to feel whole again.