Chapter Fifteen: Confrontations & Courage
Windows down, they drove towards the sun fast enough to taste the smoke that their car pumped into the air. It was the thing of childhoods in happy homes, of summer trips and luggage in trunks that clanked with every sharp turn and quick stop. Blaine's glasses had been replaced with a pair of cheap sunglasses as he turned his nose into the cold, bright air, and no one was there to tell him he looked devious wearing them inside, because the oxygen in his lungs was fresh and dangerous and he'd never felt more alive.
There was a time and place for everything.
Arm resting carelessly on the steering wheel as they cruised the empty highway, Cooper watched his brother pull a textbook from his satchel and groaned. "You can't seriously be planning on studying right now," he chided.
"I am, and you can't stop me," Blaine said, sticking his tongue out – something about being in a car with his brother, over an hour into a road trip on a free weekend, had wrenched the child inside of him to the forefront. It didn't seem to want to go away.
"This is why you have no friends," teased the doctor.
"I have friends! For one, Wes-"
"Roommate."
"Friend," Blaine corrected. "Sebastian, Marley…"
Cooper hesitated, turning his eyes back onto the barren road. "Kurt."
There it was.
Sighing, Blaine opened his textbook, sliding it open to where he had marked his page with a drawing Kurt had given him the day before. It was torn from his sketchbook, an image of a bird that had perched on the windowsill of the cafeteria one morning. Kurt had insisted with a teasing smirk that he and the creature were the same size as he'd pressed the paper into Blaine's palm like a promise.
Admiring the masterful strokes of pencil, he traced along the drawing with a pale finger, the graphite staining it a subtle grey. "Yes, I suppose so."
"He seemed happy this morning," Cooper continued, "when I told him he could go home next week."
"Did you think he wouldn't be happy?"
"Of course not." The doctor sucked in his cheeks, the cold December air nipping at his nose and ears. "It was nice that he wanted to wait for you to get there to hear the news."
"Mmm," Blaine agreed, noncommittal, appearing completely focused on the words he was reading. "Saved him the trouble of telling me later."
"Right." Cooper's fingernails drummed. "Although he could have texted you. He did mention that you two would keep in touch over the weekend, no?"
"It's only practical, in case anything were to… happen to him, while we're gone." Both brothers elected to ignore the way Blaine's voice broke at the mere thought; that was not something to be condemned for, lest they both be sent away for it. The boy had grown on the pair, it seemed.
The older Anderson waved off the seriousness, but a hint of it remained in his eyes. "We left him with Dr. Walker. He'll be fine."
"I'm sure he will be. But we were in a bit of a rush this morning, so he can contact you if he wants to talk to you about being discharged."
"Of course." Cooper cleared his throat. "That hug he gave you when I told him about it was… sweet."
Yes, Blaine thought. It had been sweet, and warm, and smooth as the boy's cheek brushed against his neck, and maybe Blaine had spent the last hour of the car ride trying to recall the nighttime routine he'd seen Kurt do in an attempt to understand just what made his skin so soft to the touch.
He certainly did not appreciate such a sweet embrace being used against him like political fodder. Blaine slammed his textbook shut with a thump, wincing immediately and reopening it to make sure the drawing was unharmed. It was, but nevertheless he smoothened the unwrinkled paper, reveling in the way it glided against his calloused fingertips.
"Yeah, Cooper, I'm glad he finally gets to go home when he's spent the last few weeks essentially in prison, and he was glad too, so he hugged me. Why does it feel like you're scolding me for it?"
Slightly but enough that they both noticed, the doctor's nostrils flared. "I'm not blind, Blaine. Maybe last week it was nothing, maybe even two days ago when I walked into his room to find you two sitting inches apart on the bed, but I saw the way you were looking at him this morning before we left. Like he hung the moon or something. And, god, don't even get me started on the way he looks at you."
"Ok, I was sitting on his bed because we were watching the video his teacher took of Sectionals the day before-"
"Come on! Do you hear yourself?" As their exit came up, Cooper pulled off the highway, slowing down the car as he slowed down his riled-up breaths. He turned to the med student, pouring all the care and concern into his eyes as he could muster. "Sectionals. I haven't heard you say that word since high school. But you need to remember that, Blaine – high school was a lifetime ago for us. For him, it's today, tomorrow..."
The expression on his brother's face tore at something in his gut that had been festering for a long time. Blaine wondered if, in another life, Cooper should have been an actor with that expressive face of his. He turned his gaze out the window where he couldn't see it.
"Talking to him is like coming home," he said simply.
Cooper frowned. "He's a kid. It can't be."
"You're right. Not that he's a kid, because he's not," Blaine contested. "You're right that it can't be. But doesn't mean it isn't."
The scratch of wheels against gravel filled in their caginess. Wanting to bury his head in his hands, Cooper stared straight ahead with a perturbed expression clouding his face like a fog rolling out over Californian sunshine. "Please tell me you don't have feelings for the kid, Blaine."
"Please don't call him that," Blaine answered. He said nothing else. Maybe he should have, pulled some words out a hat and thrown them at his brother so he would leave him alone, stop asking him questions no one in the world seemed to know the answer to.
"Is that a yes?"
"That's… I haven't known him for long."
"I'd only been dating Vivian a few months before I proposed," Cooper acknowledged. "Mom and dad dated for a year."
"And look how well that turned out for the both of you." Blaine's jaw clenched the moment the words came out of his own mouth, and he'd never regretted anything more – he wanted to sink deep into the leather seats of his brother's ancient car until he couldn't breathe, maybe stay there until it was safe to come back out, until he no longer wanted to take the wheel and run them both into a tree. He blanched. "Fuck, Cooper, I-"
"Don't ever say something like that again," his brother whispered, low and deadly. "Don't you ever talk about my wife like that."
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Shit, I didn't mean that, promise. I loved Viv. You know I did."
"I do, which is why I'm not kicking you out of this car right now." Cooper pinched the bridge of his nose, taking deep, calming breaths so he wouldn't do something he would regret. "I don't know what's going on with you and Kurt. From what I can tell, it's causing you equal parts hurt and happiness. You need to understand – you're my brother, but Kurt's my patient. I don't know what to do in this situation."
"Neither do I," Blaine replied, heart still pounding from panic. He held a hand to his chest, willing his own heartbeat to slow before it exploded. "Wednesday night, while we were listening to the competition, he sang with me, and I almost… I don't even know. In the daylight, away from all that excitement I can't even remember what…"
"Promise me something, Blaine," Cooper insisted.
The roads had narrowed as they drove further away from home, and the student's mind wandered away to the inner workings of blood vessels, narrowing further and further until they faded into one another, pumping one cell along at a time. Their car was nowhere near as small as a blood cell, and yet it felt that way as he struggled to take air into his lungs.
"I can't promise much," Blaine confessed, seemingly just realizing what would amount to an immense truth about his life, "but it wouldn't hurt to hear you out."
Cooper nodded. "Just… don't do anything about it." At Blaine's immediate and apparent discontentment, he held up a hand, asking for a chance to continue. Acknowledging Blaine's nod, he said, "If something… happens, please let Kurt be the one to start it."
Blaine pressed his lips together for a moment. "He's not going to start it. Kurt's never been in a relationship. He'd never even been kissed before until that…" Trailing off, with no wish at all to finish the sentence, the man dug his fingers into his thighs to keep from ripping his own hair out in anger and frustration.
"Jesus, Blaine," Cooper groaned. "Damn it. You really had to choose this one, huh?"
"His friend, Santana, said once that he chose me," Blaine mused.
"I don't know that he's capable of choosing anything right now," his brother warned. "He's still vulnerable. I know he's a strong kid- sorry, a strong guy. But after what he went through, you need to understand why I can't have you starting anything with him."
"I understand," Blaine said, picking at his messy fingernails. "I don't love it, but I get it. It's for his sake, and that's the most important thing." Honestly, he didn't even understand why he was dismayed at Cooper's request – there was no way he would have said anything to Kurt, anyway. Not with the age difference. Not with the circumstances. Not when he was the one with…
There were so many ways to complete that sentence, and that was what scared him the most of all.
Somewhere during Blaine's anxiety, the older brother had pulled their car into the circular driveway of the mansion they had grown up in. The exterior was off-white, antique-looking, the kind of house that was beautiful enough that it shouldn't be allowed to be where a child grew up at all. Blaine was familiar with the comforts of that house, ones that he had long since tried to banish from his memory to make his new life all the more bearable, and stepping out of the car and towards the paved front garden made his heart stutter with nostalgia.
"It's been a while," he muttered, well-aware that he hadn't stepped foot in the house since his high school graduation. Not once, which also meant he hadn't seen his niece since she'd been shipped away five months ago. Cooper had visited early last month, so he seemed less stunned, but they both had grown more somber the second they'd emerged from the car.
"She's grown since you last saw her," Cooper whispered as their footsteps echoed against the paved gravel. Snow had already been shoveled out of the way, even though it had been snowing since morning and only just stopped twenty minutes ago. "I had mom keep recording her height. Not on the door, of course, because it's-"
"Mahogany," Blaine finished, a reminiscent smile on his face. He placed a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder. "They grow quickly at that age. I know you don't want to miss any more of it."
"Mmm," Cooper hummed, hauling himself up the elegant steps to ring the doorbell. They stepped back, waiting, holding their breaths in anticipation. A few seconds later, the door flew open. Standing in the doorway, a girl with frizzy hair and eyes the colour of coffee beans reached her arms out towards the brothers.
"Daddy!" she cried, rushing into the doctor's arms. He picked her up and spun her around, the sound of her bright, twinkling laughter carrying so loudly that Blaine wondered why they hadn't heard it all the way in Lima. He stood inelegantly off to the side, wringing his hands as he wondered how she would react to seeing him again.
Cooper set her down, brushing imaginary dust off the straps of her blue overalls just to see her brilliant smile. "Hi sweetie," he cooed, bopping her nose gently as she made a face at him. "Did you miss me?"
"Um, yes!" She rolled her eyes at him before noticing Blaine. Her mouth fell open, and she turned to her dad as if to ask, is he really here? Cooper nodded, gesturing towards his brother, whispering for her to go say hi.
She walked towards him slowly, as though feeling him out, waiting for him to disappear. The sight made his heart ache as he realized she had lost her mother that way – a traumatic experience and then she was gone forever. He promised himself in that moment that he would never go so long without seeing her again, not until she was old enough to leave him herself.
"Uncle Blaine?" Lily asked, tilting her head up to stare at his face. He nodded, plastering an unthreatening grin on his lips.
"Hey bug," he answered, crouching to her level. He wanted to open his arms, but her lip had begun to quiver, and he wasn't sure if it was a good or bad cry. "You alright?"
"You didn't come," Lily whispered. She took a step away from him, and his heart broke a little more. "Where were you? How come you didn't come see me?"
"I'm so sorry, bug. I was busy with school, trying to become a doctor like your daddy, but I missed you so much. I'll come and see you whenever you want, ok?"
Her eyes were filled with tears. As she blinked, they fell gracefully down her cheeks. "You promise?"
Blaine was struck suddenly by how much she looked like her mother. He held out a hand, locking his pinky with hers. "Promise."
With that, she walked into his open arms. She'd always enjoyed hugging him when he wore his fuzzy sweaters – they reminded her of bunny rabbits, she'd once said. The girl mumbled into his sweater, "I missed you too, Uncle Blaine."
He continued to hold his niece even when the sound of a throat clearing made him look up. His mother's face was the same, but so different – the lines in her forehead were more pronounced, her hair was greyer, and the light in her eyes had dimmed ever so slightly. "Are you three planning on staying out there in the cold all day?" she asked, voice scratchy and terse.
They shook their heads, collecting their small bags and ushering the little girl inside the house. The interior was just as Blaine remembered: paintings of people they didn't know, white walls that reminded him of Kurt's hospital room, and the same chandelier hanging above the main staircase that terrified him as a child. He didn't miss the way Lily's hand tightened in his as they passed by it.
"Lily insisted on staying in my old room when she moved in, so I'm staying in the guest room," Cooper explained as they climbed the long stairs. "Your old room should be as you left it, Blaine. You can stay there."
"Sounds good," he lied. Truth be told, the thought of staying in his old room frightened him more than it should have. He barely even remembered the colour of the walls, but his mind had clung to the memory of lying in his bed, fresh from the hospital, staring at the ceiling, not being able to move as his body was broken and pained and his heart was just the same.
He hovered as Cooper put his things away in the guest room, following him and his daughter around the house until he couldn't put it off any longer. He pushed open the door to his childhood bedroom, taking it in once again; it was stately, with matching wood sets and beige curtains, the kind of room you would find in a mid-century castle, apart from one thing. The walls were blue, it turned out. Oh, how he'd had to fight to convince his mother to let him paint it – it wouldn't match the rest of the decor, but who else would be seeing it other than him? It wasn't like he'd ever brought a boyfriend home.
Blaine made quick work of putting away his things; by that, he meant unzipping his suitcase and propping it up on his desk. They wouldn't be staying long, anyway. He rejoined his family in the living room where they'd started the fireplace and were chatting, feet firmly planted on the floor. As he sat down, Blaine kicked his shoes off, tucking his legs under him on the couch in the way that had infuriated his mother when he was a teenager.
She said nothing, only looking at him with a hint of distaste before turning back to her conversation with his brother. "She's been getting into trouble lately, too. Her teacher said she hasn't done her homework in weeks, and she's getting behind despite the school's best efforts – which were a lot, considering what we're paying Crawford Country Day. It's concerning behaviour from her, really."
"Why didn't you call?" Cooper snapped angrily. "I would have…"
"You would have what?" she replied, sipping on her tea. "No offense, dear, but you haven't had much time for her lately, and calling you would have been pointless."
His nostrils flared again, and he spat, "She is my daughter. I need to know when she's having a hard time. That was not your decision, mom."
Pamela Anderson fixed a hard glare on her son. "Then why am I the one raising her?"
Cooper stormed off towards the kitchens, leaving Blaine alone in awkward silence with his mother. He coughed, and his mother poured him a cup of tea from the pot, adding two sugar cubes and a hearty amount of milk, the way he used to take it when he was a child. A small smile played on his lips at the gesture, and he kept it to himself that he drank it black these days, sipping on the sugary drink and basking in the way it warmed his stomach.
"Lily is in the kitchen. She and Donna are baking cookies, I believe." Mrs. Anderson half-smile crinkled the wrinkles around her eyes in a way that made it seem more sincere than it likely was. That was a blessing that Blaine had inherited.
"Donna came back?" Blaine asked, gratified by his mother's affirmative nod. Their nanny had been an angel, the solace of two mischievous boys in a serious home, but never once had they baked cookies together. "I'm sure she's enjoying having a little girl around. She used to complain that boys were too messy and noisy."
"Well, Lily isn't either of those things," Mrs. Anderson mused. "She's barely spoken to me in the last five months."
"She seemed happy when we got here," Blaine pointed out.
"She's only happy when you're here."
"Oh."
"Yes." Neither of them spoke for a moment as the reason for this weighed heavily on their minds. Blaine frowned, setting his empty teacup on the leather coffee table. Mrs. Anderson held hers, still half-full, and Blaine wondered if she drank it more to have something to hold than for the taste.
He diverted his attention from the porcelain cup. "Why did you push Cooper like that? You know he would have dropped everything and come visit if he knew about her school problems."
"That's the problem, darling," his mother explained, patting his arm awkwardly from her armchair. "She doesn't need him to come visit. She needs him to take her home."
"Back home to L.A.?"
"Anywhere, as long as they're together." She frowned, but somehow even that made her eyes smile. "I had hoped that antagonizing him would get him to see that. I only ever wanted what was best for you boys, and now his little girl. I love her, but she doesn't want to be here with me. And this may be a little selfish, but I definitely don't want her growing up and hating me for it."
"You could have just said that," Cooper replied from the threshold, a half-eaten chocolate chip cookie in one hand, the other on his daughter's shoulder. Clenching the cookie tray with both hands, Lily looked up at him with wide, hopeful eyes.
"Coop and I talked about it last week," Blaine clarified. "The plan was to come and see if Lily was interested in… coming to Lima with us. Transferring schools and moving back in with her dad."
"Really?" Lily stared up at Cooper, tugging at the ends of her poorly-done braid that must have been the doctor's handiwork – shoddy compared to his work in surgery but expected, nonetheless. "I can go with you?"
"If that's what you want, sweetie, then of course," Cooper answered, running a hand over her head. "I'm so sorry I didn't ask you before moving you here with grandma. I really thought it was the best for you."
"It's okay, daddy," she mumbled, pressing her face into his stomach as her little arms wrapped around him. "I love grandma, but I missed you so much."
"I missed you too, baby." His smile lit up a way Blaine hadn't seen it since last year. "We're finally going home."
"Nope, not happening," Santana snarled, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "That's a game played by middle school girls who just want an excuse to talk about themselves."
"Is not!" Tina defended, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're just pissy because you don't want to tell us your secrets."
The black-haired girl stared at her incredulously. "Is that not the entire fucking point of secrets?"
"I think it sounds fun," Mercedes chimed in. She threw a glance at Rachel, whose face had gone pale but who nodded in agreement nonetheless. The diva turned to Kurt, eyebrows raised in question. He shrugged, and her grin widened. "It's settled then. Who wants to go first?"
"I'll go," Tina said quickly before pausing a moment to choose her target. "Quinn, truth or dare?"
"Dare," she replied without hesitation, a smirk playing on her glossy lips. "Do your worst."
"Are you sure that's wise?" Rachel piped up. "I mean, whatever it is, we'd have to bring Kurt with us which would make it hard to… run away."
"Jeez, thanks for making him feel like a burden," Santana hissed, flicking the girl's forehead to a sound of protest which they all ignored. "Kurt is perfectly capable of going places, so I suggest you shut the hell up."
"She's not wrong," Kurt added, grinning at Santana, who scrunched up her nose in a way that was probably not supposed to be as adorable as it was. At times, she could be like a kitten trying to be a tiger – other times, well, Kurt pitied the tiger who tried to fight her.
Tina held up a finger. "Well, if that's settled, then I dare you to go ask out Kurt's hottie doctor."
"You're on. Dr. Anderson is sexy, in an old man kind of way. Probably rich, too," Quinn replied, cocking her head. Watching her confidence matched with stunningly delicate features and soft hair and skin made Kurt wonder if the man would have said yes.
He wasn't upset about revealing the news to them. "He's not here, actually. He went to visit family this weekend. And Dr. Walker, the one taking over until he gets back, is a fifty-year-old man with a wife and three kids."
Mercedes whistled. "Well, we all know Quinn's no homewrecker." The statement was received with a harsh glare from both Kurt and Quinn, and the girl folded her lips together but offered no apology.
Tina pouted. "Fine, then. I dare you to swap tops with Rachel."
A disgusted expression crossed Quinn's face, but she shrugged and tugged her white lace top over her head, handing it to Rachel. Kurt turned his eyes away, focusing them on the bedsheets, fire burning in his cheeks – sure he was gay, but that didn't mean he wanted to see that. When Tina tapped his shoulder, he looked back up to find the girl clad in a hideous yellow knit sweater with her lips set in a deep frown.
"That was mean," Quinn declared, narrowing her eyes at Tina. "My turn. Santana, truth or dare."
"Dare."
"Chicken," Quinn teased.
"Picking truth used to be the chicken option," Rachel mused, leaning back against her chair.
"Yeah, before life was interesting," Santana joked. "Fine, truth."
"Now we're talking," said Mercedes, patting the cheerleader on the shoulder.
Quinn smirked again, an alluring look that made everyone's stomach churn in anticipation. "Why did you and Brittany break up? And did it have anything to do with you suddenly moving in with Kurt and Finn?"
Tearing her eyes away from her suddenly unhappy girlfriend, Santana glared at Quinn, low and menacing. "Dare."
"You know the rules," Tina interrupted. "Lose some clothes."
"That rule has a very 'closeted lesbian' vibe," Santana murmured as she shucked her top over her head, left in a tank top. Winter meant layers, thankfully, not that she seems perturbed at the prospect of stripping in front of her friends. "Kurt, truth or dare."
He groaned – his position on the bed wrapped in blankets was so comfortable, he didn't want to get up. "Truth, I guess. Go easy on me. I do let you live in my house rent-free."
"That entitles you to one less snide remark a day, and nothing else." Santana's eyes gleamed mischievously as she watched his face. "How do you feel about Blaine?"
His heart stuttered at the name, and he was sure it was written all over his flaming face. "W-What?"
"You heard me."
"I'm confused," Tina declared. "Who's Blaine?"
"The guy I told you about a few weeks ago who Kurt imagined up during his coma," Rachel explained tactlessly. "I don't know why Santana would bring him up now, though. I mean, he's not even real."
"Santana, that's cruel," Quinn said, frowning. "Look at him, he's all red."
The black-haired girl quirked an eyebrow. "Trust me, that boy is as real as he is short. And annoying nice, too, except when he's calling you out on your bullshit."
"What?" Rachel cried, tugging on Kurt's sleeve. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I thought Finn already had," the boy muttered, hiding his blush in the pillow.
"Finn knew?"
"He knew before anyone else," Santana provoked. "But the question remains, porcelain."
The girls all turned to him expectantly, eyes wide and curious. He squeezed his temples between his palms, shaking his head. "I don't see how th-that's any of your business."
Tina squealed. "That means you like him!"
"It does not," he defended, pinching above his nose. He could feel a headache coming on. "He's a friend. A very nice, interesting friend."
"Who happens to be gay," Santana added, suspicious. "Come on, you seriously don't have a crush on him? He's, like, ridiculously hot."
"Aren't you a lesbian?" Rachel interrupted, hands on her hips.
Santana blinked at her, incredulous. "For someone with two dads, you're incredibly daft, not to mention unlikeable."
"Take that back!" Rachel barked.
"Nope."
"She's just saying what we're all thinking," Mercedes snarled.
The squabbling continued, growing louder and louder until it was all Kurt could hear besides the pounding in his skull. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly before shouting above all of their noise, "I think he was going to kiss me!"
Instantly, the room fell into silence. Mercedes took his hand. "Are you sure?" she asked gently. At his shrug, she smiled. "That's good, isn't it?"
"No," Rachel interrupted. "You said he was a doctor, Kurt. He's got to be at least twenty-seven!"
"He's twenty-four," Kurt muttered, eliciting a round of shocked gasps from his friends. "And he's a med student, not a doctor."
"Jeez, Kurt!" Tina shouted. "I was picturing a candy striper, not a grown ass man!"
"He's a good guy," Santana defended. "I think they're good for each other, and I've actually met him."
Mercedes grimaced. "You know I love you, boo, but he shouldn't be putting moves on you, especially since you're extra fragile right now."
"I don't appreciate being told I'm weak," Kurt fired back, anger churning in his stomach. "I'm almost eighteen, and I'm well enough th-that I can go home next week. If I wanted to never see him again, I could. And Blaine didn't even d-do anything. Even if I wanted him to."
A beat passed where no one said anything. "And you did want him to?" Santana asked gently, using that tone of voice he'd only heard from her once or twice in all the years they'd known each other. "It's not just because he's the only other gay guy you know? Because I know when you were upset with him, we pushed you two together a bit, but it's always your choice. You know that, right?"
"I know," he whispered, smiling at her appreciatively. "But it's not that. He's really… amazing."
"Yeah, he is."
Kurt thought back to the night he almost lied to the police and let his attackers get away with everything, almost let them out into the world to do it again to someone else who was special in their own way, out of anger, or frustration, or jealously. He thought of Blaine's calming and invigorating presence, his stability and volatility, his all-consuming existence that seemed to fit perfectly into where Kurt's was missing a piece. He thought of those few days he'd distanced himself from the man, how he'd felt okay most of the time until something or someone reminded him that there was this chasm in the universe that just needed to be filled.
"Can we…" He cleared his throat, desperate to get the attention off himself. "Can we continue the game, please?"
"Of course. Do you want to go next?" Quinn asked.
When he shook his head, Brittany took over for him. "Tina, what's your favourite thing about Mike?"
Tina blushed before answering, "His passion," and the game continued on relatively harmlessly for a few more rounds, questions like "have you ever hooked up at school?" and "what's the most embarrassing thing you've said to a crush?" and dares like "text Mr. Schue an eggplant emoji and say you meant to send it to Figgins" or "show us your search history". No one pushed far enough that there was any more shedding of clothes. They seemed to be avoiding asking Kurt, but he was more than okay with that, electing to sit back and listen to the fun conversations until he felt his phone buzzing under him.
He dug under his back to find it and opened it quickly.
From Blaine: Got here ok! Sorry I didn't text sooner, Cooper talked my ear off the whole ride and then my mom really laid into me about coming to visit more often.
He smiled at his phone, having been wondering why Blaine hadn't texted him during his car ride. Something about seeing his name in his phone as just Blaine felt more comfortable, more like how it should be.
To Blaine: No problem, I'm glad you're ok. The girls have been keeping me occupied. How's Lily?
He cringed as he sent the text, wondering if it came off too dependent, but the three dots indicating Blaine's typing were short-lived, and his text calmed Kurt's nerves plenty.
From Blaine: Say hi to Santana for me! I wish I were there to keep you occupied :( Lily's great, actually :) We've decided she'll be moving back to Lima for the next semester of school!
To Blaine: That's great, Blaine! Although I do feel the need to tell you that your use of emoticons is starting to creep up the generations. You're at millennial now. Congratulations.
From Blaine: Yayyy :)))))
To Blaine: I'm deducting six years for that monstrosity.
From Blaine: Jokes on you, I'm still hip and young ;)
To Blaine: Something is seriously wrong with that face.
From Blaine: Maybe it has conjunctivitis?
Kurt blinked uncomprehendingly at the screen, completely missing some joke that Rachel was telling the others.
To Blaine: Am I supposed to know what that is?
From Blaine: Sorry, pink eye!
To Blaine: Oh no, don't ever mention that again. I have horror stories.
From Blaine: Well, now that you've said that you have to elaborate.
To Blaine: I don't think I do.
From Blaine: Imagine me pouting right now.
To Blaine: It doesn't work if you're not actually here.
From Blaine: So, you admit it works when you can see me?
To Blaine: …maybe a little.
Two minutes passed before Kurt got a reply; he knew because his gaze had been alternating between the dots and the clock at the top of the screen. His phone vibrated in his hand, making him jump despite himself.
From Blaine: *attachment*
He opened the attachment, heart pounding in his chest – it was a selfie of Blaine, lips downturned in an endearing pout, honey eyes sparkling in the light of a lamp. A little girl was between him and the phone, sitting on his lap and staring at the camera with wide eyes that were a bit browner than his, one hand poking her own cheek.
Kurt thought he might melt into his bed and evaporate into thin air.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," Rachel commented, leaning over his shoulder to look at his phone screen. Her jaw slackened as she stared at the picture, and she made a noise of surprise. "Oh my god."
Santana smirked. "Did Anderson send you a dick pic?"
"No!" Kurt shrieked, pulling his phone back from where Tina had taken it out of his hands. "It's just a selfie."
"That man is gorgeous," Tina sighed, staring dreamily out the window. "I think I'm in love."
"You have a boyfriend," Kurt snapped.
She sulked in reply. "I know, and I love Mike, but damn boy. You really hit the jackpot with that one."
"I-I d-did not, because he's not mine!"
"Whatever you say, pumpkin," Mercedes comforted before stealing the phone stealthily out of his hands. Her eyes widened into saucers. "Oh, sweet Jesus, you were right."
Somehow, the phone ended up being circulated around the room before it landed in Quinn's hands. She pressed her lips together as she stared at it with utmost focus, one finger on the screen. "The girl, she's beautiful. Is she his?"
Right, Lily. Kurt had almost forgotten about her as the others had been more focused on Blaine's handsomeness. He shook his head as she handed him back the phone. "His niece. She's Dr. Anderson's daughter, actually."
"I knew she looked familiar," Rachel asserted. "I remember him showing us his wedding ring, too. I just didn't know he and Blaine were… brothers?"
"I did," Santana revealed. "Finn told me. I didn't know Straight Anderson had a kid, though."
Kurt nodded. "He and Blaine are visiting Lily in Westerville right now. That's why th-they aren't here."
"She doesn't live with her dad?" Tina asked.
He shook his head but didn't elaborate, deciding that it wasn't his place to tell their story. His phone buzzed again, and he realized it had been a while since Blaine had sent him the photo, and he hadn't replied to the message.
From Blaine: Kurt? You still there?
He held a hand up to shush the girls, pointing to his phone to indicate that he was sending a reply. They squealed in unison, and he rolled his eyes, amused at their antics and a tad pleased to finally be the one they were squealing over. For forever, it had felt like he was always going to be their cheerleader – spurring them on as they fell in love and had their hearts broken, never the one experiencing those things himself. But maybe, just maybe, Blaine would give him the chance…
To Blaine: Sorry, the girls stole my phone. That's an adorable picture.
From Blaine: You think I'm adorable?
To Blaine: I was obviously talking about your niece.
From Blaine: I'm wounded :(
To Blaine: You're almost a doctor. Fix yourself.
From Blaine: I'm not sure I'm qualified for such a complicated case.
Something in Kurt's chest tightened at the text. He wasn't certain if it was meant to be a joke, or if there was vulnerability laced between the letters the way he thought. He really hoped he was wrong, though, because alongside it was some serious pain.
From Blaine: I'm sorry. I realize that sounded...
To Blaine: Did you mean it to?
From Blaine: Maybe? Subconsciously?
To Blaine: Never apologize for that, Blaine. You know I'm here for you the way you are for me.
From Blaine: I'm good, promise. It's just being here, at my childhood home, I guess.
To Blaine: Bad memories?
From Blaine: Bad and good. I'm trying to focus on the good. Not looking forward to staying in my old bedroom, though.
To Blaine: Text me if you can't sleep?
From Blaine: That would be great. Thank you, Kurt.
To Blaine: Any time.
"So?" Rachel prodded as he clicked his phone off. "Did he ask you out?"
"Wh-What? No, of course not," Kurt barked.
Rachel shrugged. "What do you two even talk about? It's not like you have much in common. He's studying to become a doctor, and you're…"
"I'm…?" Kurt glared at her, harsh and unrelenting.
"You're not exactly a genius," she slighted. "I'm just saying that you two are worlds apart."
Kurt squeezed his eyes shut, pinching at the top of his nose. "Rachel-"
The girl rolled her eyes. "Honestly, I don't see what he wants with you. He's either trying for a quick fuck or he's got seriously bad taste."
"What. The. Fuck." Santana marched over to her, slapping her straight across the face. "You are a horrible person. Seriously, what is wrong with you?"
Rachel stood in place, one hand clutching her reddening cheek. "I…"
"Girls," Kurt interrupted, "will you give us a second?"
It took a while to convince them to leave, each giving him a look that said what are you thinking? As they filed out of the room, Rachel shifted her weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, refusing to look at him. Once the two teenagers were alone, Kurt raised an eyebrow at her. "Well?"
"What?"
He sighed. "Rachel, why are you acting like th-this?"
"Acting like what?"
"Like an ass," he snipped. "After I… woke up, for a wh-while, you were being my friend again, like you used to. But now, you're acting like I've poisoned your cat or something. Those were some awful th-things you said, and you know it."
"I'm just a bad person," she roared, throwing her arms up in frustration. "I'm a bad person, okay? You should all be used to it by now. I don't know why you even bother expecting anything from me." Tears welled up in her eyes, and she turned her head, sniffling. "Santana was right. I'm horrible. I'm horrible, and I do horrible things to the people who love me."
Kurt pulled his hand away from where he was comforting her, a hard look in his eyes. "What did you do, Rachel?"
"Nothing, just you were-"
"Rachel."
She stared at him, glassy eyed and desperate, as though he was the only person she could ever hope would love him again. Thick voiced, she whispered, "I cheated."
"What?"
She broke, falling to the ground as sobs wrecked her. "I ch-cheated on F-F-Finn."
Kurt took in a jagged breath. "Get out."
Her eyes widened, framed by blurry lines of smudged mascara. She reached her arms out towards him. "What? No, Kurt-"
He pulled back as though her skin was burning coals. "I said get out."
"I love your brother, Kurt!"
"You cheated on my brother," he snarled, backing away as far as he could. "After wh-what happened with Quinn? How can you still say you… love him?"
She fixed a sad, resigned look onto him. "Please, don't tell him. I will myself, tomorrow morning," she said, grabbing her purse. Wiping at her wet face and runny make-up, she hesitated at the door. "You never asked who."
"I d-don't want to know."
The next second, she was gone.
Kurt groaned, stuffing his face into his pillow, wishing he had his ignorance back.
The fireplace crackled soothingly as Blaine flipped through the laminated pages of an old photo album. Several others were scattered across the coffee table, from his birth to his college graduation. Bathed in fire light and warmth, he sat, legs curled under his body; the album on his lap was labelled Dalton in elegant script.
His mother sat opposite him, setting a glass of milk on the table next to the plate of cookies. "Always tastes better with milk," she explained, grabbing one of the cold cookies as she leaned over to look at the photos. "Dalton? That's one of my favourite albums. So many competition photos, although I wished we could have put the video recordings in there. I think I still have some on the old camera phone."
"Don't tell Wes. He will try to organize a reunion out of sheer nostalgia, and it hasn't even been ten years."
"That does sound like Wesley."
"Yep." Blaine flipped another page, the one dedicated to his first competition with the Warblers. His smile was wide, and he looked like the quintessence of school boyishness.
Mrs. Anderson touched his curly hair gently with one hand. "Your hair is so beautiful. It was such a shame when you slicked it back with all that gel."
"I stopped having time for all that maintenance once I graduated high school." Blaine laughed, swatting her hand away. "I still think it was… what did Wes call it? Dapper."
"Certainly dapper," his mother agreed. "And you always seemed so happy. The last few years, you've been… distant."
Blaine smiled sadly. His mother really did know him, and love him, despite her methods of showing it when he was a child. "I was lead soloist of the Warblers, the preppy and energetic schoolboy who gelled his hair and danced on tables. And it was fun, it really was – those were some of the best years of my life. But I'm an adult now, and that's not who I am anymore. It can't be who I am."
"You're twenty-four, Blaine, not forty. You can't take life so seriously," she advised, pulling him onto the couch where she tucked him into her arms, stroking his hair. "You and your brother, both. Your jobs are important, but so stressful, and I don't want to see my boys wither away so young. What you need is someone to remind you of who you were, to bring back that happiness."
"Hmm," Blaine hummed, feeling more content than he had in a very long time, relaxing in his mother's embrace. "I'm sure I'll find that someday." He fingered the edges of one of the laminated photo album pages, a picture of him at the centre of the Warblers in one of their impromptu performances in the Quad at Dalton, his mouth half open in a belted note; the thought hit him suddenly that Kurt had wanted to see a picture of him from high school, and he slipped the photo out of its covering, tucking it into his pocket.
His mother raised an eyebrow but said nothing, shifting so they were sitting up. Silently, they flipped through the rest of the pages together, breaking every now and then to comment on a particular memory or ruminate on the whereabouts of some of his old friends. Only two had made it to New York, he remembered – and one had left. What a shame. His stomach churned.
As Blaine flipped to the final page, he saw an image he barely even remembered being in: him and his father standing side by side at his high school graduation, both their lips a straight line, Blaine in his uniform for the final time. "I remember taking this one," Mrs. Anderson pondered, stroking the photograph. "You two put up such a fuss."
"I'm sorry that I wasn't overjoyed about taking a picture with him," Blaine muttered, putting his walls back up. "I doubt he even wanted to be there, mom. You know how our relationship was."
His mother frowned. "Your father loved you."
"Maybe," Blaine agreed. "For a while. Until I came out sophomore year."
She folded her lips together to hide her grief. "He tried his best."
"There shouldn't have been anything to try his best at. I was the same person as before. I was his son, who'd just survived a hate crime at a high school dance, for fuck's sake! And he decided that was the right time to tell me he was disappointed in me for being gay."
"I tried to talk to him the night of the dance," she confessed. "I told him how wicked he was acting, and he never said anything to you about it again. He promised he wouldn't."
"I never wanted a father who walked on eggshells around me and pretended to love me," Blaine fired back. "The money he left me was his final way of reminding me that he thought I was failure, mom. No father at all would have been better."
"Well, you got your wish." Mrs. Anderson grimaced, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I know he treated you poorly. I only wish the two of you could have gotten along better before he passed."
Blaine sighed. "We really tried, mom. Remember that summer we worked on that stupid car? I know he didn't need my help. Hell, he could've afforded to buy a new one. But that wasn't his way of trying to know me as I am, mom, it was his way of trying to change me into who he wanted as his son. Then, he gave up on me when we both realized it wasn't going to work. We just weren't meant to have a relationship, and maybe that's okay."
"I loved your father so much," his mother admitted. "After he said those things to you that night, I wondered why I still loved him so much. I wondered how I could love someone who thought that love between two people was wrong if they weren't like us. I wondered how he was capable of loving me back, but not you, his own son."
Blinking back tears, Blaine tried to put his feelings into words, something he'd always been awful at. "It's not like it was easy for me to hate him. I would look at him and try to remember that he thought I shouldn't be allowed to love, but all I would see was the man who carried me from the car as a kid when I pretended to fall asleep. I loved him for so long, but eventually I had to give up loving him, because he wasn't capable of giving me anything real. And that hurt more than anything he could have said to me."
"I'm so sorry," she cried, wrapping her arms around him again. "I didn't know, Blaine. I thought you were fine with him being gone. I thought it was easier for you. I don't know why I couldn't see…"
Blaine's arms came to wrap around hers, as though he was holding both of them together. "It's okay, mom. You gave me your love, and it was enough for me."
"I barely ever hugged you," she fought. "I thought it would make your father angry, and I didn't want to get into an argument with him, because I thought it might be the end of us. Then you went off to college, and we never had to talk about it again, and I never even thought about how hard all of this must have been for you. I was a coward."
"I knew how much you two loved each other. It would have ruined me if I knew I was the reason you and dad split up."
"It wouldn't have been your fault," she whispered back. They sat together that way for a few minutes, collecting themselves, knowing that once they left that room they would never speak of this again for as long as they both lived. It was a relief as much as an overwhelming realization, but at least it had been out and dealt with once.
Once was better than nothing.
Mrs. Anderson stood, picking up the empty cookie plate and stacking their cups on it. "I'm going to drop these off in the kitchen and then head off to bed," she declared, kissing the top of his head. "Goodnight, Blaine."
"Night, mom. I love you."
She didn't reply, instead smiling at him softly in the light of the fireplace. "Put that out before you go to bed," she said, gesturing to the fire. He nodded, and that was it.
He put out the fire and, dreading every step closer, made his way to his room.
Three hours passed with Blaine tossing and turning in his bed, trying desperately to fall asleep, but the pasted glowing stars on his ceiling mocked him like a hundred pairs of eyes. He'd put them up when he was thirteen, following some trend like his friends despite never loving the way they casted green light into the darkness of his bedroom; somehow, Blaine had never liked the colour green. He much preferred blue.
Grabbing his phone without thought, he clicked on a familiar name and pressed the device to his ear. Three rings passed before a click sounded. "Hello?" the voice came through groggily, yet somehow retaining its mellifluous timbre.
Blaine blinked into the soft light, his tired brain catching up to his actions. "Oh, shit. Kurt, I'm so sorry. It must be late."
His youthful laugh came through the speaker. "Not really. I'm a teenager, remember? We stay up late. Besides, I told you to call."
"You told me to text. I hear teenagers don't like talking on the phone."
"I like it. It's easier to hear what people are really th-thinking."
"Should I be scared that you can read my mind?" Blaine teased, shifting so his side was pressed against the firm mattress. The ominous glow of the stars had seemed to fade since Kurt had picked up the phone.
"Not unless you're lying t-to me about something," Kurt retorted jokingly.
Blaine scoffed. "I would never."
Kurt's voice softened. "Somehow, I believe you." A beat passed before he cleared his throat, saying, "So, is everything okay? Couldn't sleep?"
"It's these damn glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling," Blaine groaned, his frustration eased a little by Kurt's soft laugh.
"I always refused to get th-those," Kurt said. "They scare the crap out of me."
"Finally, someone who understands!"
"They're incredibly tacky, anyway. Neon green? This isn't Party City."
Blaine gasped. "I draw the line at Party City slander, Kurt!"
"You misunderstand me," the boy defended. "Party City is great f-for parties. I could literally spend hours there. J-Just… not for the bedroom, Blaine."
The man choked at the last sentence. "R-Right," he coughed, sitting up in bed as his face began to burn.
"Are you alright?" Kurt's concerned voice flooded his ears, and he nodded despite knowing that no one could see him.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry. Just swallowed some dust, I think."
"Not a spider, I hope," Kurt commented seriously. "One out of eight you swallow in your sleep."
"Don't even joke about that! Also, that's definitely not true. As a man of science, I can confirm."
"Really? Wh-What's your scientific evidence?"
Blaine laughed. "Common sense."
"Fair enough. If we're d-defining science as knowledge acquired th-through experimentation, I can confirm that you are one of very few common sense-ologists in Lima."
"You're starting to sound like my junior year philosophy teacher."
Kurt snorted, an inelegant sound that Blaine adored. "Unfortunately, I d-doubt that Ohio has updated its curriculum since then, Blaine. The likelihood that it's th-the same material is scarily high."
"You're right, as always," Blaine declared with a playful sigh. "You're way too smart for me."
Kurt didn't reply quickly or teasingly like he thought he would. In fact, the silence that followed his statement made Blaine wonder if he'd said something very wrong. His worries were worsened when Kurt replied, "I don't know about that."
"Is something wrong?" Blaine murmured, apprehension crawling up his spine, malignant.
"No, nothing serious," Kurt dismissed. "J-Just something Rachel said earlier."
"Kurt-"
"Can we d-drop it, please?" Kurt asked, and Blaine was torn between pressing further than he should and letting Kurt go through whatever it was on his own. Eventually, he settled for listening to Kurt's wishes, remembering his promise to never force him into anything.
"Alright, of course." Blaine settled back into his bed, laying on his back this time, the plastic stars suddenly losing all their scariness as he compared them to the thought of anything hurting Kurt.
"How was seeing your mom and Lily today?" Kurt changed the subject, sounding genuinely interested in Blaine's boring life.
The man smiled. "Perfect. We got to talk through some important things. Lily's transferring to Blue River next semester."
"Private elementary school?" Kurt asked, raised-eyebrows apparent in his tone. "That seems excessive for a six-year-old."
"Cooper insisted," Blaine answered. "He went to Dalton from first grade until graduation, and he loved it. That's why my parents decided to move me there once I got out of the hospital."
"They didn't send you th-there in the first place?"
"I didn't want to, and I was kind of a brat about it. My friends from kindergarten all went to public schools, so I refused to leave them." Blaine frowned. "I guess after what happened after the dance, my mom felt so guilty about it that she stopped letting me make some of my own decisions and became more strict – she didn't let me go to parties, or trips, or even date, not that I listened to the last one. It took me three years to convince her that I had to go to New York on my own."
"Must've been hard," Kurt murmured, a hint of despondency in his voice.
He hummed in agreement. "It was. But you know what got me through it?"
"What?"
"Courage." Blaine grasped his phone tightly against his ear. "Right now, it feels like a hard time for everyone, huh? But overcoming adversity is how you know you're strong."
"That's… incredibly insightful," Kurt praised.
Their conversation steered away from serious topics after that, sticking to things like songs on the radio and swapping only happy family stories. Kurt regaled the time he'd taken Carole out after she and Finn had first moved in, how they'd gone through every store at the mall until they'd found articles of clothing that they both loved – he described the smile on his step-mother's face as she'd hugged him, thanking him for showing her that clothes didn't have to be just a necessity, but they could be used to make you feel better, to help you show on the outside who you were as a person. Blaine listened attentively, making a note to himself to go shopping with Kurt once he was better, as it seemed more like a religious experience than anything else.
Then Blaine took over for a while, telling the story of his brother's wedding and how they'd planned it out perfectly months in advance, as his bride had been an event planner and had stressed over every little thing in excruciating detail, up until the day of the wedding when she'd gotten food poisoning. They'd had to delay the wedding by a week, but the way Cooper had rushed into the dressing room and held her in his arms as she cried in her half-zipped wedding dress had told of such pure love that everyone had been talking about that wedding, as minimalistic as it was in the backyard of their house with the bride's father at the grill as the catering, for years to come.
"I love talking to you," Kurt blurted out without thought as they wrapped up a conversation about whether cheesecake was a cake or a pie. "It's like talking to someone who can read my mind but never d-does. Like even when you say the wrong things, th-they're still right, because it's exactly what I need to hear, even if I d-don't want to."
Blaine blinked. "Is that a good thing?"
"The best."
"Thank you, then," Blaine replied, grinning softly despite the tightness in his lungs. "I love talking to you, as well." It's like coming home. He stopped himself short of revealing that tidbit.
Kurt's yawn carried through the speakers. "As nice as it is th-though, sometimes it makes me lose track of time."
"And that part is bad."
"I wouldn't say that." Kurt's voice was soft then, laced with admiration that made the man's heart flutter wildly like a teenager's. "Goodnight, Blaine."
"It feels like you've said that more nights than we've known each other." Blaine regretted the truthful words as soon as they escaped his lips, cringing at their honesty. He wouldn't take them back, though, because Kurt trusted him not to lie. "Goodnight, Kurt."
The click of a dead phone line lulled him to sleep at last, stomach full of butterflies and homemade chocolate chip cookies and ever-present remorse.
Two hours away, in a smaller town and in an even smaller room, Kurt Hummel drifted off to sleep, clutching a soft, knit sweater that still smelled faintly of coffee and blue raspberry shampoo.
A/N: I may have cried a little writing that speech Blaine gave to his mom. Or a lot. No one will ever know.
I've started uploading more regularly! Honestly, I'm not sure if it's stress from senior year making me need an outlet or just inspiration, but don't forget to comment to keep me motivated :) I really love hearing from you all.
Follow NayaWarbler on Instagram for notifications, previews, and more!