Kurt flopped into the all-too familiar chair in the corner of the room. He shifted, his legs jiggling up and down as he thrummed his fingers over and over against the arm of the chair. The soft tap tap tap of his fingertips against the faux-leather was just audible over the loud whirrings from the other side of the room, subconsciously falling in time with the rhythmic clickings.
He propped himself up with one elbow, but that didn't feel right, so he switched arms and scooted backwards in his chair to lean forward, staring intently down at the ground. He scuffed the vinyl tiles of the floor with his foot, the thick sole of his boots leaving satisfying grazes of black against the grain of the worn pattern.
He ground his teeth as the swooshing of the ventilator interrupted his thoughts. He was sick of this fucking hospital and every fucking person in it.
He was startled from his bitter reverie as the door banged open. A very red-faced Carole stood in the doorway, her eyes zoning in on him immediately. He settled carefully back in his chair, ignoring the thump of his heart in his chest.
"Carole," he said with a small quirk of his eyebrows. "How nice of you to drop in. Can't say it's a pleasure."
Carole clenched her hand around the door handle, steadying herself. She stood still for a moment, breathing heavily.
Kurt rolled his eyes as that irritating nurse came into view behind Carole and reached forward to tug on her sleeve. "Carole, honey, come on. Let's just go talk in the nurse's lounge for a sec."
Carole shrugged her off and stepped into the room. "Why didn't you tell me?" Her voice shook with either anger or emotion; Kurt couldn't tell which. He found he didn't really care.
He shrugged with a jerk of the shoulder and a twitch of his lips.
She swallowed forcefully and took another small prowling step towards him. "It's been nearly twenty-four hours since this happened."
"Wow, has it really been that long?" Kurt said, in a bored, monotonous voice. "What can I say? Time flies when you're having fun."
Carole spluttered and looked away from him, running a shaky hand through her hair. Her eyes fell on the bed on the other side of the room. Kurt watched with a sense of detachment as her expression froze and then slipped, slowly at first, but then faster until it was falling with abandon, the lines on her face getting deeper and deeper as her now red-rimmed eyes roved over the prone figure on the bed.
With a visible effort, she shifted her gaze back to Kurt. Kurt tilted his head to the side in silent challenge.
She sent him a pleading look. "Please, Kurt, don't you think I at least deserved to know?"
Kurt regarded her for a moment. "No," he replied coolly.
She recoiled slightly, her head pulling back away from him in shock. "Kurt," she rasped. She cleared her throat. "I get that we're not close, that you don't want me in your life. Trust me, I got that. And I understand that this must be so unimaginably hard for you-"
"Bullshit," Kurt interrupted bluntly. "You don't understand anything about any of this. So don't even try."
A hard look came into Carole's eye and she stepped forward once more, with purpose this time. "If you had bothered to get to know me, I think you would find that actually yes, I do understand quite a bit about this. I understand loss. I understand pain. I might not perfectly understand your situation, but I do understand what it's like to have the most important person in your life wrenched away from you so hard and so sudden that you could swear that they've ripped away a huge part of you and taken it with them."
She continued to look at him imploringly. Kurt made sure to keep his expression blank. "Someone break out the violins; we've got a sob story up in here."
Carole choked on a sob and took a step back, clenching a hand to her mouth.
"This man," she said with a low shudder to her voice. "Your father, has been trying so hard with you. He's been working himself to the bone for you. He's strained himself every single day to try and makes things right. But you give him nothing."
Kurt was frozen. He kept his eyes on the soles of his shoes in front of him. He could feel the hammering of his heart all the way to his fingertips and he gritted his teeth, fighting to keep his breathing steady.
Tears were leaking unchecked down Carole's face but she made no more motions towards him.
"Mom?" a voice from the door asked. "Mom, what's wrong?"
Finn was hovering just outside the room next to the nurse. Kurt came unstuck and raised his eyes to the ceiling, heaving a great breath. "What the fuck is this? What are you doing here?" He rose to his feet and brought his hands up in front of him. "You know what?" He asked, swallowing thickly and rising to his feet. "I'm over this. I'll leave you to it. He's all yours." He gestured vaguely behind him and strode to the door.
Finn stepped in front of him, blocking his way out of the room. "No, dude. What the hell did you say to my mom?"
"Fuck off, Finn, let me past," Kurt spat. Finn didn't move. Kurt shouldered his way forcefully past him, his head bowed low as he headed back to the waiting room.
Carole's voice came after him, quiet but managing to ring through his ears, "You can't keep running from this, Kurt. It doesn't work like that."
His stride stuttered but he didn't look back. He set his jaw and focussed on the figure of Blaine in front of him, silhouetted against the bright waiting room behind him. The strangling squeezing in his chest eased a fraction at the sight. The shadows on Blaine's face were chased away as Kurt got closer and closer, stepping forward into the glare. Blaine's worried eyes caught Kurt's and Kurt shook his head, just a fraction.
Blaine gave a ghost of a nod and reached out his hand. Kurt gripped it tightly, clinging on to the one small thread of comfort he could allow himself to have.
Kurt settled back against the seat and closed his eyes on the journey home. He could feel Blaine's glances at every stoplight, knew that questions were queued up one after the other on his lips. Kurt tensed with anticipation the whole ride, his hands wound together on his lap, but thankfully Blaine managed to refrain from letting the words slip and contaminate the air between them.
The car came to a stop on the slight incline that Kurt knew meant they were home. He blinked his eyes open wearily, squinting against the light. He reached out for the door handle, pausing as Blaine didn't do the same.
"Are you not coming?" he asked, accusation creeping into his voice.
There was a pause and he felt the weight of Blaine's gaze again. "I wasn't sure," Blaine said, "What you wanted."
Kurt pushed open the door and swung around in his seat away from Blaine. "It's fine if you don't."
Blaine turned to him and touched a gentle hand to his arm. Kurt didn't move. "Kurt, I want to come in with you. I wasn't sure if you wanted to be by yourself or not."
"Come in with me," Kurt said, letting his chin fall to his chest and staring down at the rough concrete of the drive. "Please."
Kurt felt a gentle squeeze to his arm. "Okay."
They made their way into the house, the silence washing over them the second they crossed the threshold. The soft click of the door drew the house into a vacuum, the rustling of their coats dampened by the suffocating pressure that seemed to be pressing Kurt into the floor. The air felt thick in his lungs and he struggled to keep his breathing steady, but at the same time his limbs seemed to be moving with no resistance, his head heavy on his shoulders.
Kurt kicked off his shoes and waited impatiently as Blaine untied his shoes in that meticulous way of his; tucking in the laces carefully and lining them up against the wall. He straightened up and Kurt immediately launched himself at him, pressing him against the wall and sealing their mouths together in a hot embrace. Blaine let out a small gasp of surprise against Kurt's lips and then melted into him, running his hands up Kurt's back and tugging him closer.
Their bodies were pressed fully together. Kurt could feel Blaine's chest against his, the small, soft swell of his stomach and the solid strength of his thighs. He felt like he could breathe again. The blanketing security of just being with Blaine managed to keep everything else at bay, all thoughts apart from Blaine Blaine Blaine shoved unceremoniously to the back of his mind.
Blaine pulled back with a smack, his head dropping against the wall with a gentle thump. A rush of breath escaped his lips. Kurt immediately moved to suck on the exposed stretch of skin under Blaine's jaw.
Blaine ran his hands around Kurt's sides to push gently at his chest. "Kurt-"
Kurt cut him off with another kiss. "Uh-mm," he mumbled against his lips. "No talking."
He nudged his thigh between Blaine's legs. Kurt had to bend his head to keep kissing Blaine as he slid down the wall a few inches, determined to keep the warm press of lips constant against his own. Heat shot to his stomach as he felt the hot length of Blaine against him. Blaine let out a delicious moan and Kurt pressed closer, hips instinctively rolling together as he chased the hot rush of oblivion. Everything became fuzzy and unimportant apart from the smell, feel and touch of Blaine all around him.
All too suddenly, the warmth was gone and Kurt again felt a soft force on his chest. He blinked his eyes open.
"Wait," Blaine said, his voice parched and ragged. "No, wait a second."
Kurt took a step back away from Blaine, wrapping his arms around his hollow chest. "Why?" he asked in a small voice. "You don't want...?"
"No," Blaine said immediately. "No, I don't."
Kurt hunched his shoulders forward, curling in on himself and squeezing his fingers tightly into his sides. He looked away down the dark hallway, blinking in irritation at the heat inexplicably building up behind his eyes.
He felt fingers prying at his hands where they clutched his t-shirt. Blaine gripped his fingers tightly and stepped towards him. "At least," he continued, searching out Kurt's eyes, "Not like this."
Kurt drew his teeth over his bottom lip in confusion, his chest tight. "Like what?" he asked. His voice was breathy and nervous. "I don't-. We're together. This feels good. I don't see the problem."
Blaine squeezed his hands. If he could feel the trembling of Kurt's fingers, he never said a word. "Of course I want to do... things with you, Kurt, that's not the problem. The problem is that we haven't even talked about any of this, about where we are in our relationship. Not to mention that I am not a hundred percent sure that this is really about me, or even us."
Kurt looked away again, deliberately avoiding Blaine's imploring gaze.
"I need a cigarette," Kurt muttered, turning on his heel. He could hear Blaine's sigh following after him as he strode determinately down the hallway and out through the door onto the back deck.
Kurt sat on the steps, the evening chill prickling at his skin. The air was sharp in his lungs, piercing through the dense fog clouding his brain.
The deck beneath him trembled, soft footfalls getting closer and closer. Kurt didn't move as Blaine lowered himself down so he was perched on the edge of the step, their arms pressed together.
Kurt took a deeper, gasping breath.
Blaine didn't attempt speak, didn't even look at him.
And so they waited, side by side.
Kurt didn't know what for.
A car rumbled down the street nearby.
Blaine still didn't move even an inch.
The breeze nipped at the trees across the backyard, the leaves shivering and whispering against each other.
Kurt could feel himself teetering on the edge, his whole body juddering forward with every squeezing lungful of air.
A spike of fear punctured his chest and he slumped forward, dropping his head to rest on his knees.
A warm hand settled on the small of his back, rubbing small circles in his skin.
He swallowed thickly, his hands clenching into fists on his legs.
Slowly, he raised his head, gave a small cough to clear his throat and spoke into the dark, "She said it was my fault."
He couldn't move his eyes from the tree at the bottom of the garden.
Blaine kept his touch steady on Kurt's back. "Carole?"
Kurt nodded shortly.
"Are you sure that's what she said?"
Kurt dipped his chin again in assent.
Blaine let out a slow breath and turned to face him, one hand on the back of his neck. "I guess people... say things they don't mean when they're upset. It's just-, you know that it's not true, right?"
Kurt continued to stare ahead.
"Kurt," Blaine said softly. "I'm not a mind-reader. I wish I could just know exactly how you feel and how to help you. But I don't know what to do. I just want to help you in any way I can."
Kurt shook his head, pressing his fingers hard into his forehead. Blaine reached for his hand but Kurt pushed it away and jumped up onto the grass. He paced back and forth, eyes wildly roving over the ground in front of him.
"Kurt, please." Blaine sounded desperate.
Anger boiled low in Kurt's stomach and he whirled around to face Blaine. "I don't know, okay?" he spat. "I don't fucking know how I feel, Blaine. Everything is so jumbled up I have no fucking idea what the fuck is going on. Mostly I'm just pissed. At everything. At Carole, for always shoving her nose in where it isn't wanted; at you, for trying to be so fucking understanding all the fucking time; at my dad, for being in a fucking coma; at me, for being bothered that my shitty father is in a coma; at my fucking mom, for leaving me here in this fucking place all on fucking my own."
Before he could even shudder in a breath Blaine slammed into him in a hard, tight hug, locking his arms around Kurt. Kurt froze for a moment in shock, all the anger startled out of him just as quickly as it had arrived.
He let himself be held. He wound his arms around Blaine's neck, bringing a hand up to wipe at his eyes.
Blaine pulled back so he could look Kurt in the eye. "I know this will probably sound trite and whatever, but trust me, you are not alone. I'm here, and I'll continue to be here as long as you'll let me."
Kurt squeezed his arms tighter around Blaine in response, not trusting his voice. He hoped Blaine understood.
"And anyway, your dad hasn't gone anywhere yet. It's not too late. The doctor said he's stable and it's only a matter of time," Blaine continued, in a softer voice. "It's always worth a try, right? Worth trying to sort things out?" He sighed. "I'm sorry I know this sounds cliched."
Kurt buried his nose in Blaine's neck and breathed in his familiar scent. He pressed a soft kiss just behind his ear. "You're doing okay." He pulled away for a second. "You know I'm not actually annoyed at you, right?"
Something eased in Blaine's eyes, a breath of relief escaping his lips. "Right."
Kurt dropped his head to Blaine's shoulder and slumped back into the close embrace. "Can you stay tonight?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "Just to sleep."
Kurt could hear the gentle smile in Blaine's voice as he answered, the sound muffled against Kurt's skin, "Of course."
Kurt stared at the watercolour of weak light beginning to brush the bottom of the curtains. He hadn't slept for a second, had stared up unseeingly at the ceiling the entire night, trying not move at all, lest he might disturb Blaine.
He had an arm flung over Blaine, who was curled on his side next to him, snoring lightly in his sleep. Kurt shuffled closer to him so that he could feel the gentle caress of his breath on his cheek, taking a moment to breathe in the warmth and familiarity of Blaine next to him.
But he could feel a tug within him, pulling him away from the comfort and security that Blaine gave so naturally. Kurt slipped his arm off Blaine with a soft sigh and shuffled as softly as he could back and out of the bed. He couldn't resist leaning forward to press a soft kiss to Blaine's forehead, threading his fingers back through his sleep-ruffled curls. Blaine pressed back subconsciously into the touch, smacking his lips together and wiggling down into the bed further.
Kurt let a smile flicker across his face and ran his hand around the curve of Blaine's ear in a lingering caress. He slowly drew his hand back and retreated silently across the room. He tugged on his clothes, barely noticing what he was picking out. Abandoning his sweats on the chair of his desk he caught sight of his notepad on top of it. He reached over and scribbled out a quick note to Blaine, glancing back at the peaceful form of Blaine once more before slipping out into the hall. He tiptoed through the dormant house and down the stairs, reluctant to make noise even though he knew Blaine was a deep sleeper.
The front door clicked closed behind him and he looked out over the silent street. It was still too early for the school run, too early for the morning joggers, too early even for the few commuters heading to Columbus. But Kurt was late.
He walked around to the garage, clutching the keys tightly in his palm. Inside, his car was waiting patiently for him, as it had for the past four years. He froze, staring at it, the keys digging into his clammy hands.
He bit out a quiet curse and dragged a hand back through his hair. He span on the spot in desperation, trying to quell the rising wave of irrational fury and hopelessness threatening to engulf him.
Letting out a breath, he caught sight of a bike against the wall. He darted over and slung a leg over it. He pedalled furiously down the drive and out into the street.
The hospital was already buzzing by the time he got there. He didn't pause to cool down after the ride. Stopping wasn't an option. The idea of waiting, of having to sit down and have nothing to do but think was terrifying. He had to keep moving.
He pushed the bike against a fence and strode the now familiar route to the ICU, ignoring the bustle of people around him. He gave the girl at reception a pointed look and jerk of the head towards the room, and she replied with a wave of the hand, gesturing for him to go on in.
Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. His pace slowed as he approached the door, pausing in front of it, chest heaving, and reached forward to grasp the handle. He stared at it for a few seconds and let his forehead fall forward to rest against the wood. His eyelids fluttered closed and he sucked in a lungful of air. Somehow, he forced himself to push down on the handle. The door fell away from him.
He took two cautious steps into the room, his eyes still trained on the ground just in front of his feet. The door swept closed behind him. The draft lifted the hairs on the back of his neck and he shivered against the sudden chill.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he tracked the path of the floor with his eyes to the foot of the bed and the plethora of machines surrounding it. Wires, cables and tubes wound around each other across the room towards their shared target at the centre.
Kurt drew the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands and wrapped his arms around his body, taking another step closer to the bed. Finally, he let his gaze fall upon the figure lying motionless on the bed.
Kurt let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding. His father was pale, his entire body lax and weighing into the bed. His face was sunken, skin slumping down into his bones. His arms were at his side, palm down. Kurt couldn't help but notice the left-hand was again devoid of the wedding ring. A feeble spark of hope flicked in his chest as he considered that it could be the hospital that had taken it off him.
That hope was snuffed when he saw a chair pulled up close to the bedside that hadn't been there when he had left the day before. Kurt lowered himself into it, his legs weak beneath him.
He settled into the chair, primly folding his ankles together underneath him and smoothing down the fabric of his smart shorts. Warm grass brushed at his bare feet and he scrunched his toes at the sensation, reaching forward with a start when he realised Miss Doolittle was threatening to fall off her own chair. Kurt straightened her with a gentle hand and quiet words of reassurance into her fuzzy ears.
He sat up straight again. "Mommy," he called impatiently. "Tea's ready."
The soft lilt of his mother's voice drifted out from the house, "Coming, sweetie."
Kurt huffed. He scrutinised the table one last time, trailing a finger over the dainty china. He tweaked his bowtie and was just smoothing his hair when his mother pushed open the back door and stepped out onto the deck, her sundress swirling around her legs and her hair flying out behind her.
"Sorry, pumpkin," she said, rushing over to him. She ran a hand over his hair and leant down to press a kiss to the top of his head. "I was just talking to daddy."
He huffed again, a little more exaggerated this time, and gestured to the one empty chair. "Please take a seat and I'll serve you."
His mom's eyes sparkled across at him and she nodded graciously in thanks.
Burt came out from the house, a baseball mitt and ball in his hand. Kurt ignored him, tongue poking out the side of his mouth as he concentrated on pouring the tea out for his guests.
"Hey, kiddo." Burt jogged down the steps and out into the yard. "You wanna come play some ball with your old man?"
"No, thank you," Kurt said quietly. "We're having tea."
He glanced up, just for a second. His mom and dad seemed to having one of their silent conversations over his head again, communicating with their eyes and tiny head movements. Kurt turned his attention back to the tea cups lined up in front of him.
"Why doesn't Daddy join us, Kurt?" his mom said brightly. "We could have a nice family tea time together."
Kurt sent her a look. "There's no room left. I don't have enough cups."
His mom seemed to consider for a moment, and then reached out for Miss Doolittle and tugged her onto her lap. "I can share with Miss Doolittle," she said. "We don't mind."
Kurt flicked his gaze from her to his dad, biting his lip.
"Miss Doolittle?" Burt grunted. "Like the movie with the talking animals?"
"No," Kurt said impatiently. "Like in My Fair Lady. And no, Daddy, you can't join us. You broke the teacup last time and ruined everything. Your hands are too big."
"He'll be extra careful this time. Won't you, Daddy?" she said pointedly, looking over to Burt.
Burt cleared his throat. "Uh, yes, yes, of course. "
Kurt narrowed his eyes at him but reluctantly filled up his cup. Burt picked it up gently with just his thumb and forefinger, a look of deep concentration on his face. Kurt kept a close eye on him as he sipped his own tea.
"Relax, sweetheart," his mom said, smoothing his shirt down his back. "It's not the end of the world if he breaks a cup. Just enjoy it."
Kurt sat at the table in the garden, staring down at a silk scarf folded carefully in his lap. Tears carved searing paths down his face. He closed his eyes and bent his head up to face the sun. He could close his eyes and see her face, feel the ghost of her touch on his cheek and the gentle press of her lips to his forehead. He could hear her voice clearly, musical and so often full of laughter.
But he will now always have to open his eyes and the feelings would fade once again to memories as quickly as the warmth of her touch cooled on his skin.
He pulled at the tie around his neck. For once, dressing up felt like too much. The collar was strangling him and he couldn't breathe.
But he knew she would like it if he did make the effort. Would have liked it. Dressing up together had been their thing. Or rather, him dressing her up. They had spent many hours in her closet, analysing this blouse with this skirt, this dress with these heels and this lipstick. She had taken him on trips to the mall where they perused the stores as the fancy took them, his hand firmly wrapped in hers the whole time.
The yard was quiet around him; the summer heat a heavy blanket stifling any echoes of a past life of tea parties and exuberance. Everything looked faded and dull, the sounds of summer muffled and unimportant. His stomach churned as his shirt stuck to his body, clinging to his skin, his palms were clammy as he ran a shaking hand over his forehead.
The back door creaked open. He didn't look around. He didn't need to anymore.
"Come on, son," the low and worn voice of his father reached him. "Time to head to the church."
Kurt tucked the scarf in his inner pocket and slowly got to his feet, swiping at his eyes and blinking rapidly.
Burt stood in the doorway, a hand reached out towards him. Kurt walked straight past him without so much as looking at the extended hand. He didn't need anyone anymore.
Kurt stared at his dad's hand, limp on the bed in front of him. He leant forwards in his chair, propping up his elbows on his knees. He twisted his own hands together, running his thumb over his knuckles again and again.
He realised vacantly that people were moving around him. He noticed Carole, the nurse, the doctor. He blinked, tucking his hands safely back in his lap and looked around him curiously. Carole was crying, tears pouring down her cheeks and hand over her mouth as she looked at the bed.
Kurt turned slowly back to the bed, unease creeping into his stomach.
Burt was twitching his fingers, his face scrunched up. The nurses were all swarming around the bed, changing the equipment Burt was on. One of them chivvied at Kurt to move away.
He rose in a daze, standing still for a moment as dots of light danced in front of his eyes. He felt lightheaded and woozy.
Burt cracked open his eyes on the bed just as Kurt began to back away. His gaze darted all over the room, finally resting on Kurt. Burt squinted at him, confusion clouding his face. They locked eyes, just for a moment. There was a question in his father's pale gaze, an unmasked pleading in his eye that was vulnerable after so long being closed to the world.
Kurt wrenched his eyes from his father's and turned on the spot, striding away through the hallway, the soft lilt of the hospital radio playing out over the speakers.
When I feel that something
I want to hold your hand
I want to hold your hand
I want to hold your hand
I want to hold your hand.
A/N: Thank you for the continued support, lovelies. Just a month left until exams are done! So close to graduating waaaaah.