A/N: Sorry, been sick, life is crazy, no excuse. But now onto more drabbles!
Kurt and Blaine are my new favourite couple, not going to lie. Even though they're not technically a couple yet. Darren Criss is my new love, and the whole Kurt/Blaine following over on LJ has swept me up and not yet let me down (not that I ever want to leave it). Anyways, I hope I did them justice in this piece! Or at least, did Kurt justice. Because this is pretty angsty, and Blaine has split personality disorder in it ... :S
But I hope you enjoy!
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He isn't sure whether he should find the obvious parallels between his current situation and Pavarotti's very existence amusing, or a cause for weariness.
As it is, he thinks it's a mixture of both, along with something else he can't seem to label – that twists uncomfortably in his gut. But it burns, and it kills, and it's the kind of feeling that he can't pop a Tylenol to make go away. It's a dull ache in his chest, a constant reminder … (he's just not quite sure what for).
It's a metaphor, he can practically hear Rachel's voice softly in his head, in that intense way of hers.
(The good kind of intense like when she's standing up for something he never thought she'd be passionate about, that leaves him pondering and bemused; or maybe like after she gives a particularly inspiring performance that leaves him feeling – oddly enough – a little bit proud of her. Not the scary kind of intense that has him raising his eyebrow concernedly at Mercedes and feeling an urge to run for hills, lest her crazy somehow become contagious.)
And metaphors are important.
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He expected to be happier.
Maybe he's judging the school too soon, maybe he's being too harsh, maybe his expectations weren't even the teensiest bit fair or realistic … but he knows deep down that he's not as happy as he'd thought he could be here, despite how wonderful it is to see Blaine every day.
Even that he has to take with a grain of salt.
Because this Blaine – the Blaine who smiles politely instead of brightly, who tells him to not try so hard next time, who talks calmly about villas and summer homes in magnificent places and trips to France over the summer with his parents, instead of passionately about Patti LuPone and Prop 8 and Katy Perry and Rent ... this isn't his Blaine. (Maybe he's being presumptuous again, but it's just how he feels.)
This Blaine looks like his Blaine, and talks with the same voice as his Blaine (albeit less enthusiastically), and has the same eyes as his Blaine ... but he's not his Blaine.
(And when it comes down to it, he thinks what he expected the most was Blaine. It wasn't a conscious expectation or something he really thought about – too much ... – but it was there, in the back of his mind; something that was supposed to go unsaid.
Now he just wants to scream it at him, though.)
He didn't expect to have to classify which Blaine he was dealing with, basically; His Blaine or Other Blaine.
He didn't expect to have to deal with more than one Blaine at all.
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