a plate of sunny-side up eggs,
bacon, pancakes, a bottle of syrup,
and a letter on the kitchen counter
CHAPTER nine
Rush and Dial
of I'm Not Gonna Teach Him How To Dance With You
by littlemusings
disclaimer: I don't own Glee. At all. Curse you, RIB. Nor do I own any songs used in this story.
Kurt tore his hands away from the counter, running towards the foyer without a hint of qualm. He grabbed his coat and his keys from the wall and pulled his front door open, slamming it shut as he dashed down the hallway. He began to press the elevator door hastily. Come on, please, come on, hurry up! Can't you go any faster?
As the elevator zoomed up to the fifteenth floor and opened with a ding, before the door could open completely, Kurt slunk in, and began to press the "close" button violently.
"Blaine, come on, we're going to be late for our flight!" Duke exclaimed, poking his head into Blaine's hotel room. Blaine looked up from the drawers he was double-checking and nodded, standing up and rubbing his eyes tiredly. He picked up his messenger bag and grabbed the handle of his luggage bag with a sluggish motion and hurried out of the hotel room as quickly as possible.
"What took you so long to get back here?" he asked hoarsely as he met with Duke by the elevator.
"I got back earlier this morning, to be honest with you," he said tiredly, scratching his head idly. He immediately looked concerned. "You look like complete shit—and what the hell happened last night? Danielle texted me, saying that she tried to call you and you didn't pick up, so I tried to call you and again, nothing happened."
"Tell you later," Blaine muttered as they entered the elevator.
"Come on, come on," Kurt complained as he fiddled with his car keys. His head still throbbing, he managed to unlock his car. Throwing his coat onto the passenger seat, he started his car and sped out of the car park. He turned a corner sharply, looking around for police cars, and he found himself behind a large group of cars. "Goddamn it!" he shouted, hitting his steering wheel, leaning back in his seat impatiently.
He tapped his foot gently against the gas pedal with sheer impatience, his heart thumping wildly. Please be there still. Please. I need to talk to you. Blaine, please.
"Thank you for staying with us," the concierge nodded stiffly, an obviously plastic smile on his face. Duke handed him the keys to the rooms their team stayed in and turned around to see Blaine and a security guard paling at the sight of a crowd of paparazzi outside of the hotel.
"Um, well, shit," Duke blinked, standing next to Blaine. The concierge gaped, mouth wide open at the door, which security was guarding to the best of their ability. Duke turned back to the concierge. "Do you have a back door we can go through? I am not bringing him through there."
"Let's get out of here," Blaine croaked, tugging at Duke's coat sleeve. "Please, let's just go through a different entrance, come on," he said, backing up. The concierge immediately picked up the front desk phone, dialing a number.
"This is Reeve from the front desk. Angela, we're going to need you to allow Blaine Anderson and his manager, Duke Whitely to exit from the back. Yes, yes, Angela, the employee's entrance. Effective immediately, and get some security guards down here, too. I don't think only one bodyguard can effectively watch them," he said quickly, hanging up the phone. Duke nodded to him, and the guard with them hurried behind them, following a woman who popped out from one of the employee rooms in the back.
"Shit," Blaine muttered as they ran to the back door. "How are we getting to the airport now?"
Duke pulled out his cell phone and quickly texted their driver. "He'll be on his way. Just hold on," he muttered as they sat in one of the hotel employee back rooms. Some of the maids and the cooks were poking their heads into the room curiously, some of the women gaping, surprised at the fact that Blaine Anderson was there, in the same room as them. Duke's phone beeped again. "Yeah, Dylan's on his way now."
Blaine sighed in relief, running a hand through his hair groggily. Duke gave him a frown as the employee entrance door opened and their to-airport driver, Dylan, gestured for them to run into the sleek black sedan waiting outside. Blaine and Duke rushed into the car as two bellhops carried their luggage bags and loaded them in the back.
"Hurry, I think someone saw me drive here, and now the horde is on their way," Dylan exclaimed. Blaine buckled in the back with Duke, and Dylan hurried into the front seat, and pushed his foot down on the gas pedal.
Kurt finally got out of traffic, and continued to look around for traffic police as he continued to drive. Come on, baby, faster, he begged his car. The small, red car continued down the lane, and a black sedan nearly overtook it, to Kurt's irritation and chagrin. People don't know how to fucking drive—he thought angrily.
"Fuck you!" Kurt shouted as he turned a corner towards the Palace Hotel. He screeched to a halt outside of the hotel, where a group of photographers were walking away in a hurry, rushing to the numerous media trucks that were parked around him. Shit. Kurt ducked down behind his steering wheel as the cars zoomed away. He peeked through his side mirror, and saw that the majority of them had boarded their cars and trucks, and in that brief moment, he flung his car door open and ran through the entrance of the Palace Hotel, his heart racing crazily. One or two reporters turned around and snapped a photo, going crazy.
"Hey, isn't that Kurt Hummel?" one of them shouted.
Forget them. Forget them, Kurt thought to himself as the bellboy, who was obviously shell-shocked, opened the front door as quickly as possible. Kurt bound through the door, and right in front of the concierge desk. The bellboys quickly hurried to guard the door, and the concierge stared at him, wide-eyed. Kurt gripped the desk tightly, breathing heavily.
"Mr. … Mr. Hummel!" the concierge exclaimed in shock. Kurt knew his appearance was wildly surprising to the people who noticed him in the lobby.
But, he honestly didn't care.
"Please connect me to Blaine Anderson's room," he said gruffly.
The concierge's eyes softened. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hummel, but they just checked out and left and they're on their way to the air—"
Kurt turned around and ran out, pushing the paparazzo blocking his way. He dove into his car, slamming the door shut as the reporters began crowding his window. He turned his key in the ignition and zoomed down the avenue.
Blaine slunk his messenger bag over his shoulder as he and Duke walked out of the baggage check-in line and walked towards their terminal at LaGuardia.
"Thank god we got out of that mess," Duke grumbled as they put their bags and shoes in baskets as they were checked and put through metal detectors. "I thought we never would."
"Yeah," Blaine said hoarsely as they found seats near the gate. Duke frowned and looked at him.
"Blaine, what happened last night?"
Blaine shrugged and swallowed, hard. "Things. Some of it is fuzzy, but things happened."
Duke stared at him carefully. "Things."
"Don't ask," Blaine whispered as he shifted in his seat, clutching his bag tightly.
"Oh, I fucking hate you, New York traffic," Kurt groaned, honking his horn loudly.
"Flight 2340 to Chicago is now boarding."
Kurt buried his face in his hands as the traffic increased. Whatever deity is controlling my life hates me.
Duke and Blaine hurried to the gate, handing their tickets to the stewardess, and headed in.
Kurt finally arrived at LaGuardia Airport, but the only problem was to find the ideal parking space.
The two men took their seats in business class, buckling in.
He finally found a space, parked, and dashed for the main door of the airport, hurrying in and looking around. Kurt looked up at the blinking flight schedule and his heart dropped. Flight 2340 to Chicago was boarding, and was about lift off.
No, scratch that, it was already lifting off.
Kurt rubbed his eyes with his hands, his head throbbing painfully, and tried to hold back tears.
Right after take-off
Duke was fast asleep next to Blaine on the plane; his cheek pressed against the closed window, a speck of drool dripping from the edge of his mouth, the sound of a little snore emitting from him. Blaine gave him a withering look and put his headphones on, blasting his music as he tried to sleep, but he couldn't. He tried to adjust his position on the airplane seat – it was business class, for god's sake: the seats were incredibly huge – but he absolutely couldn't sleep. His head was still aching from the night before, and a foggy memory was nagging him irritably.
Blaine could only remember little fragments from the night before. He remembered the entire Savore dinner, the grocery store, and Kurt's studio, but everything else seemed like a dense fog. He could remember very few details.
Well, he had to admit to himself, he remembered all of his feelings, but not the words he said…and he kept on feeling the ghost of Kurt's lips on his own. Blaine sat up in his seat and stared at his iPod, which he was now gripping tightly. He quickly pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his inbox. Nothing.
"Sir, please put your phone away," a stewardess said gently. Blaine gave her a guilty look and complied, stuffing his phone back in his back pocket.
"Sorry," he mumbled, and to leaned back in his seat once more.
That letter you left—wow, Blaine. You shouldn't even have left a damn letter. That makes things worse. Don't do things that make situations worse! You've learned that before. Pay attention. And making breakfast for him—now that's rich. You're the King of Corny and Pathetic.
Why had he cooked Kurt breakfast? He knew that after drinking that much last night, Kurt wouldn't be up until the late afternoon, which was quite probable. It was an act of gratitude. A very simple and kind act of gratitude. Yeah, keep saying that, Blaine. Keep saying that in that curly head of yours. And did they really kiss? Blaine put his hand to his lips and touched them tentatively. They probably did, considering the fact that they woke up in the same bed. He was lucky nothing happened. He was relieved that they were still fully clothed and did nothing stupid the night before. But he knew Kurt knew how to hold his alcohol, depending on the situation.
Out of all of the words he did remember, however, he remembered the following: love, photo, younger, still, remember, and morning. None of them seemed to make sense to him.
Except for "love". Who said it, though? Him or Kurt? The word was eating at him inside, and he just wanted to take his entire plane seat and toss it out of the airplane.
"Duke," he hissed, shaking his manager by the shoulder. Duke didn't budge and just shifted his sleeping position. How can he sleep? "Duke. Whitely. Desmond."
"Dani," Duke mumbled, smiling. Blaine rolled his eyes and continued to shake him awake. "N-no, you're a bitch. You are very pretty."
When Duke came back to the Palace that morning, he was grinning like a fool, and looked absolutely ridiculous since he was still wearing his party outfit. All he told Blaine was 'Best night of my life,' and hurried to his own hotel room to pack up. That makes one of us, Blaine thought bitterly. He was happy for his younger sister, though.
Blaine nudged Duke violently, and the older man jolted in his seat and grasped the arm handles of his seat in dear life. "Are we crashing?" he hissed loudly, looking around. Blaine rolled his eyes and gave him an apathetic look. "Oh. Bad thing to say. What?" he asked tiredly, rubbing his eyes.
"Can I talk to you about something?"
"Oh, so now you want to talk. Blaine, we have one hour left on this plane ride," Duke muttered, leaning back in his seat, tucking his Yankees cap over his eyes in frustration. "We can talk when we get to Chicago. I'm a sleepy manager. I need my sleep."
Blaine pulled the hat off of his friend and manager's head and bit his lip in embarrassment. "I really need to talk to you, Duke. It's…it's about…"
Duke sat back up. "Kurt. All right. You know what? I think this is the perfect time since we've got proper privacy for the time being."
"Are you being serious, or are you still on your lover's high?"
"Yes, I am, and shut up," Duke sighed exhaustedly. "Anyway, I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. I'm sorry. That was Very Tired Desmond talking, not Duke."
"I'm sorry," Blaine mumbled, burying his face in his hands. Duke patted his back gently.
"Oh, shut up, Blaine. You've got me, always," Duke said sincerely, smiling at his best friend. "Now, since this morning you basically shut me out and packed your shit up like a zombie, you owe me information. What happened last night? Don't tell me he forced sweet moves on you, because if he did, I will seriously make this plane turn around so I can give Kurt Hummel a kick somewhere he won't like."
"I got drunk."
"Obviously. You look like shit. You have been looking shitty since this morning. So much for staying sober to set an example for your little sister."
"Oh my god." Blaine stared at him. "You and Dani really are soul mates."
"Shut up. That's the corniest thing you've ever said to me about me, and you've said a lot of corny things," Duke countered. "Please, do continue."
Blaine lowered his voice. "I woke up next to him."
Duke gave him a hard, quizzical look. "Fully clothed?"
"Yes, you idiot," Blaine snapped quietly. "I don't even remember half the things I said, and I probably said the stupidest things in the world. I need to get help."
"You're not crazy, Blaine, you're just…" Duke sighed in frustration. "You love the guy. I think he loves you back, and that's so goddamn obvious, the way he acted during the party, and the fact that he and Marksman are now splitsville. But Blaine, I don't know why the hell I'm saying this now, but you need…you need to know what you want, and possibly move on."
"I remember telling him during dinner that we should go our separate ways after last night, if that counts," Blaine said bitterly, falling back in his seat. He felt lucky the business class cabin was nearly empty.
"Well, is that what you want?"
"Yes, and no," Blaine grumbled, reassuring himself more than Duke.
Duke hit Blaine gently in the back of his head. "You need to make up your mind."
"Ouch, that hurt," Blaine muttered, rubbing the back of his head gingerly. "And yes, I do. He had so many shields up; it was impossible to tell how he actually felt. He left because he was scared of a long distance relationship. How the fuck am I supposed to respond to that? And throughout the night all he was doing was hinting that he wanted to get back together. How the fuck are we supposed to be together if he's not for a long-distance relationship?"
"You hate long distance relationships, too, idiot," Duke pointed out. Blaine rolled his eyes.
"Don't remind me."
"What I see is: if he really loves you, he's going to, for lack of a better word, fight for you. You fought for him plenty of times, it's his turn to fight."
"Yeah, you need a better word than 'fight.'"
"Shut up. Don't judge my vocabulary."
"Yeah. You're right, though," Blaine whispered. "If he really does love me—"
"—Then he will have to prove it to you. There. That's a better word. 'Prove'. He needs to prove to you that he really does 'love' you. I deserve all the awards. Anyway, you deserve no less. Kurt is a very guarded person. He needs to let those walls come down and prove it to you and he needs to stop being so proud and scared of what people will think, and you should stop that, too."
Blaine stared at his friend. He nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I see what you mean."
"God, Blaine, you can be so stupid sometimes."
"I get that a lot," Blaine said with bitter amusement.
"So, this 'separate ways' shit. Are you going to go on with that?"
Blaine shrugged. "It's so close to the top of my 'things I want' list, honestly."
"But…you love the guy."
"Oh, whatever," Blaine grumbled, folding his arms.
"Oh, the things we all do for love," Duke muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Blaine, if I were you, which would be totally weird, I suggest you wait and see."
"Point made," the shorter man agreed. "We'll just sit and wait."
"The waiting part needs to last for a bit, because you know, he just…with his fiancé—"
"—Don't remind me."
"Done. I'm done. Now, get some sleep since we'll be there soon enough, then we'll grab something to eat. Don't you have to meet one of your friends tomorrow?"
"Yeah. David."
"So get some rest, Blaine. You're going to need a lot of it."
Duke shifted into his sleeping position once more, and Blaine sighed and closed his eyes, leaning back in his seat. Prove it, Kurt. Just…prove it. He touched his lips tentatively once more, and put his headphones back on. Coincidentally, Jason Mraz's Beautiful Mess began playing, and it triggered a quick, foggy memory in the back of his head. He blinked quickly, shook his head in disbelief, and closed his eyes, falling asleep.
"Oh, and Blaine?" Duke asked, peering at his friend from under his Yankees cap. Blaine jolted and sat up.
"Yeah?"
"Just imagine what Dani would say about this. She'd really say the same thing, you know."
Blaine nodded stiffly.
"And…one question. You don't…mind, do you? The whole me and her thing?"
Blaine smiled. "No, no I don't."
"Just to let you know, she loves you very much. Don't shut her out. Call her once we land."
"I will."
And with that, Blaine went back to sleep, and his mind ventured back into the place he didn't want it to.
2016 / summer
Los Angeles, California
"Open up this goddamn door, Blaine James Anderson!"
Blaine shuffled under his sheets and put his pillow over his head in frustration. In all honesty, he didn't feel like getting off his couch to walk down the hallway to open the front door.
What was the point?
"I swear to all the fairy and dwarf deities in this universe, and on my vast collection of toe socks and K-Pop CDs, that if you don't open this door, I will go Spiderman on you and climb up the side of this fucking building and sneak in through your windows. BEE!" his younger sister kept on shouting, ramming her fist violently on his front door. "Open this door! I'm eighteen, hungry, and young, and because I am young, I shall die easily if I don't get proper nourishment or care! I flew here from fucking Ohio!"
He sat up on his couch slowly and scratched the back of his neck, frowning deeply at the door. "Hold on!" he shouted hoarsely.
"Don't tell me to fucking 'hold on,' man! Hurry up and open this door! It's only been, what, fifteen minutes! Your neighbors are going to open their doors and tell me to shut the fuck up any time soon!"
"Stop cursing, Danielle!" Blaine shouted as he put on his slippers slowly and shuffled to the door, every part of his body aching; his head throbbing madly. "I'm coming, damn it!"
"Come here faster! I'm going to call Desm—I mean, Duke, if you don't hurry up!"
Blaine angrily pulled aside his door locks and thrust the door open. His sister threw herself upon him, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug. Blaine looked down at her with a weak smile. Eighteen year-old Danielle put her hands on his shoulders and stared at him, baseball t-shirt, skinny jeans, Ray Bans and all.
She appraised him for a brief moment and said quite bluntly, "You look like total shit."
Blaine turned around and walked back to his couch and sat there, staring at the floor blankly. "I know." He looked back up at her. "What on earth are you doing in California, if you don't mind me asking?" he asked groggily.
"Mom and dad sent me. You haven't been calling or Skype-ing or texting any of us, so I decided not to go to Writing Camp back in Ohio to stay with you here in Los Angeles for two fucking weeks. Duke called me last week, saying that you haven't been calling him, either. You need to be taken care of, Bumblebee."
"I don't need to be—"
"—you obviously do!" Danielle shouted. "Look at this place! It's a pigsty! You have scruff! You never have scruff! Your hair doesn't have copious amounts of product in it! It's so weird! Good thing you still shower, because if you didn't shower at all these past two weeks, I would have been appalled to call you my dapper older brother, and I probably would have disowned you by now! You would have been a mockery to impeccably dapper and clean gay men everywhere."
She took a deep breath and stood in front of him, arms folded, biting her lower lip.
Blaine looked at her blearily, his eyes bloodshot.
"Have you been eating at all?"
He looked towards what used to be his and Kurt's kitchen and back at her. "A little, but I'm getting tired of microwaveable pasta," he said sheepishly. Danielle sighed and sat on the coffee table.
"Blaine."
"Danielle," he said sarcastically, falling back into the fetal position on his couch.
"Bee," she said gently, grabbing at his hand and holding it tightly. Blaine bit his lip tightly, trying to hold back his tears, and he let out a choking sob, the tears free-flowing down his face. Danielle closed her eyes, opened them, and sat down by her brother's head and put it on her lap and held him and stroked his hair tenderly.
"He's gone, Dani, he's really gone," he sobbed, sitting up and sobbing into her t-shirt.
She blinked back tears and rubbed his back. "You should have heard what he said, Dan, he didn't love me anymore. He's gone," he choked.
"Shhh, Bee, don't cry," she said, her voice cracking. "I'm here. Don't worry. Want me to make you some hot cocoa, with rainbow marshmallows, like old times?"
Blaine nodded, still crying, and she took his hand and pulled him off the couch and into the kitchen.
"You know, the secret to my hot cocoa recipe," she said, as she pulled out a box of Swiss Miss, "is the added awesome."
Blaine sat on one of the kitchen stools and wiped his eyes on his shirtsleeve, giving her a sloppy smile. "Yeah, right, Dee."
"You know I'm the most awesome person on this planet," she scoffed as she poured water into a kettle. "Okay, what temperature do you want your cocoa?"
"Scalding."
She frowned. "Uh, no. I am not helping you commit esophagus murder," she said indifferently, sniffing. "You're a singer. You don't want your vocal chords to be destroyed by an incredibly delicious and blistering drink."
Blaine clasped his hands together and gave her a very small smile.
"I feel pathetic."
"You're not."
"You had to fly here and skip out on writing camp for the first time because I'm a fucking mess."
"Ah, you cursed. Thank god, you finally cursed."
"That doesn't mean you should," he responded indignantly.
"I'm eighteen, and everyone fucking curses nowadays, Blaine."
"I'm twenty-two, and I don't have a sailor's mouth like you."
"Four years? I don't give a flying fuck," Danielle whistled as she searched the cabinets for mugs. "Where the hell are your mugs?"
"Top cabinet, top shelf on your right."
"Holy fuck, man. I am 5'3" and I can't reach that. You get it," she said, stepping aside, laughing. Blaine hopped off the stool and ruffled her hair gently as he opened the cabinet. His hands lingered on the cabinet door handles as he saw the color-coded mugs—the blue ones were Kurt's, and the white ones were his. He bit his lip and shut the cabinet immediately, turning his back from Danielle's view.
He heard her sigh and grab a stool to reach for the mugs. He heard the cabinet door shut and heard her pour the hot water from the kettle into the mugs and heard her mix the cocoa mix and marshmallows. He gripped the counter tightly and felt as if his heart were going to rip in two.
"Blaine."
He turned around and his sister held out one of his white mugs to him. Blaine took it graciously and blew at the steam coming from the cocoa and sipped it.
"Tastes good?"
"Like when we were kids."
They stood in silence for a few minutes.
Danielle stared at her brother as they drank their cocoa. "What did he say to you?" she asked softly.
"A lot of things," Blaine whispered back. "Just…just a lot of fucking things."
"If you also don't mind me asking, Bee…where is he now?"
"New York City, where he always wanted to go," Blaine answered bitterly. "The Big Apple."
2019, Present-Day / New York City, Upper East Side
Kurt finally arrived back at his apartment, parking his Volkswagen in the car park. He sat in the darkness for a while, his head leaning against his steering wheel as it throbbed painfully. Never driving while hung over ever again. Never pulling a stunt like that ever again. Never. Never will I ever.
He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and turned it on. He had a dozen missed calls from his parents, his assistant, Finn, and Rachel. Staring at it, he immediately called the first number—his dad's.
It began to ring, and Kurt tried to hold back tears and hide the lump in his throat as his dad answered with a very concerned "Kurt!"
"Dad," Kurt sobbed. "Daddy," he choked. He hadn't called his father 'daddy' since he was eight.
"Kurt, what's wrong, kiddo? Why haven't you been answering any of our calls?" Burt chastised, his voice firm, yet comforting.
"Daddy, I…I don't know what I'm doing anymore," Kurt whispered. "Blaine…Blaine's…"
"Look, scooter, I just want to clear something up—what happened at that party? Where are you? We're staying at the Marriott with Quinn and Finn and Rachel, and I can drive up to your apartment. Just give me the directions and—"
"—No," Kurt said hoarsely, leaning back in his seat, hugging his legs, pressing his phone tightly to his ear. "Dad, really, it's okay—I can explain to you now."
"Where's Anthony?"
Kurt gripped his phone even more tightly. "Dad…dad, we're…we're not getting married anymore. He left."
There was a brief moment of silence. Kurt suspected that he was put on speakerphone, and that Quinn, Finn, Rachel, and Carole were all in the same room.
Finn's outburst confirmed his suspicions.
"What?"
"Oh, god, I knew you all were in the same room—" Kurt groaned, his voice croaky, the tears falling down his face.
"That doesn't mean you can hide everything, Kurt," Burt snapped. "What happened? I saw that man punch you, and I can easily go look for him and punch him back. And Blaine, what happened to him? Will you please explain to me why he was the entertainment at your party?"
"I don't know, dad, Anthony was the one who hired him to perform," Kurt whispered. "And no, no, no you don't. That was justified, and to correct you, he didn't mean to punch me."
"Well, he did, so if you don't mind, I'll go look for him and punch his face in," Finn growled in the background.
"Finn, calm down," Quinn exclaimed. "Really, Kurt? An accident? Do you really think that his fist meeting your face was an accident?"
"He meant to punch Blaine. Which was what I wanted to do, but he missed because he didn't aim properly since Blaine is obviously vertically challenged," Kurt said humorlessly.
"Kurt, this is all over the news now," he heard Rachel chip in.
"Yeah, yeah…"
"And holy shit, did you seriously drive back to the Palace just now?"
"What?" Kurt asked, blinking, his eyebrows furrowing.
"It's on the news!" Carole gasped. Kurt heard the television volume being turned up in their hotel room and he could make out just a little bit of the news piece.
"Fashion designer, Kurt Hummel, was seen earlier today driving to the Palace Hotel. He was suspected of looking for Blaine Anderson, who he is rumored to have relations with. He later drove off from the Palace and in the direction of LaGuardia Domestic Airport."
Kurt groaned out loud. "Fuck!"
"Kiddo…did you…?" Burt said, taken aback.
"Oh my god," Kurt moaned. "Yes, yes I did and—"
"Dude, you have a freaking bruise on your face!" Finn exclaimed. "Oh, man, I'm seriously going to find that Anthony Marksman and—"
"Finn. No."
"You were looking for Blaine, of all people?" Rachel exclaimed. "Kurt, you are quite the romantic—"
"—I thought you broke up with him," Burt said gruffly.
There was another awkward, brief silence.
"Dad, I—"
"Kurt, kiddo, I love you to death. But really, do you want to hurt that poor guy again, right when you've broken your engagement with Anthony?"
"Correction, Anthony broke the engagement—"
"Besides the point."
"Dad, what should I do about Blaine?"
"What happened to Blaine, anyway?"
"He and I had dinner together…and he…he…stayed the night."
"WHAT?" everyone in the room shouted collectively. Kurt muttered an expletive under his breath.
"Not what you think," he said, embarrassed.
"Oh my god."
"You're insane," Finn snorted.
"You're going to have to do better than that, kiddo," Burt said gruffly.
Kurt's phone beeped. "Dad, I have another call on the line."
"Call me later, Kurt. Call me later, okay?"
"I will. I…I just wanted to hear your voice," Kurt said sheepishly. "Love you, dad, love all of you."
Shouts of "love you, too" rang around the room. Kurt hiccuped and received his next call.
"Kurt!"
"Jamie!" Kurt exclaimed.
Her voice was panicky. "Your phone has been off for ages, and we've been wondering where you are at the office, and I know it's a bad time with everything going on, but we really need to get the line done in time because the board just called me and they need something for presentation within the next two weeks—"
Kurt nearly dropped his phone.
He had to go back to work.
"I'll be at the office in one hour."
He hung up the phone, and got out of his car, rushing towards his apartment building. I need to take a goddamn shower.
Kurt hurried into the Pavarotti building quickly, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he balanced his two loaded Marc Jacobs bags and binders and various colors of cloths in his heavily laden arms. "Door," he said firmly to the doorman, who opened it immediately. Several people said 'good morning' to him, and he responded back quickly.
"Mr. Hummel!" the front-desk receptionist squawked as he passed by. Kurt stopped and turned to face her.
"Yes, Mal?"
"Miss Cervico just called, she's asking for your next article for next month's issue of Vogue, and the board just called!"
"Can you tell Marnie that I've got a shit-ton of things to do today? I have to present things to the board within the next two weeks," Kurt exclaimed as he continued to rush towards the elevator.
"Mr. Hummel, you also need to present to the board next week instead of the next two—"
Kurt spun around and gaped at her. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
Just then, Jamie exited the main elevator, and ran to Kurt immediately.
"Sorry, Kurt, but—" Mal bit her lip. Kurt groaned and handed his things to Jamie.
"Welcome back," she whispered in his ear as Kurt dug into his bag for his cell phone. He gave her a simpering look and they both walked back towards the elevator.
"Thanks, Mal!" Kurt shouted at the receptionist, who gave him a weary thumbs-up.
"I'm sorry," he muttered as they entered the elevator. Jamie shrugged. "What else have I missed besides a freaking-out Marnie and the fact that the designs for the new line have to be ready for presentation to the board by next week? Are the other designers ready to show me their stuff, because I don't think I can—"
Jamie gaped at him. "—Kurt. Breathe, Kurt. Breathe."
Kurt took a deep, shuddering breath. Jamie appraised him, gawking at his appearance. Her eyes landed on his bruise.
"You look like a mess," she exclaimed. Kurt gave her a simpering look and leaned back against the wall of the elevator.
"I didn't have time to complete my moisturizing routine—"
"It's not that, Kurt," she said hoarsely, staring at him through her glasses.
"I saw the time and realized that I shouldn't just sulk in my personal studio, that I should actually go to work and live life, just like he told me last night," he said, tearing up, his voice choking. "Oh my god, Jamie, I'm so stupid."
"You're not," she said indignantly, balancing his binders in her arms. "Kurt, I think you need to lay low for a while and take a vacation once all of the board stuff is done."
"Agreed," he nodded stiffly. He wiped his eyes quickly. "What else have I missed?"
"Media circus yesterday. Reporters were flocking the front of the building, looking for you. I told them to piss off and 'no comment,'" she muttered. "They were here earlier, too, but I told them you weren't here and that you went…abroad."
Kurt sighed in relief. "Thank you, thank you."
The elevator dinged and they finally reached the top floor, Kurt's main studio. They dropped his stuff onto the pristine white leather couch and stood at the table, beginning to sort out designs.
"Kurt…if you don't mind me asking, what happened last night?" Jamie asked hesitantly.
"He kissed me."
Her eyes widened.
"…Drunk, Jamie, drunk. He was drunk," Kurt said sullenly. "I'm so fucking stupid, I shouldn't have invited him over, and now he probably is pissed off with me and everyone and he's in Chicago and Anthony called off the engagement and now I have to find a smaller apartment for myself and re-design and Blaine and—"
"I told you Kurt, please, breathe," she said, rubbing his arm gently. Kurt slunk away from her grip and plopped down on the couch.
"I can't even think straight right now. You saw the news piece about me going to the Palace, didn't you?"
"I was thinking about going there myself and looking for Duke Whitely, but he wasn't there," she said sheepishly.
"Trust me, you should find someone else," Kurt sighed.
Jamie smirked. "Figured that out."
"What should I do?" Kurt said helplessly, throwing his hands up in defeat. "I can't just stroll into his concert and say 'Hey, Blaine, I think I really do love you…I think! I just broke up with my fiancé but sure, let's be together anyway!' Because he had enough of that last night and I really couldn't bring myself to say anything because I knew he wouldn't take me back right away and–"
"—Correction, did you hear him sing on Sunday night? Kurt, he wants you back. He really does, but—"
"I just ruin everything," Kurt grunted, flopping down on the couch.
Jamie huffed and sat on the coffee table next to him. "I have a proposition for you."
Kurt looked up at her, face blotchy.
"What?"
"I say…we fly to Chicago next week."
"Wait, what?" Kurt snorted. "Are you kidding me, after that media circus and what happened last night?"
"Do you love that man?"
"I do, I think."
"You think?" Jamie guffawed.
Kurt stared at her.
"Jamie, I think I do."
Jamie folded her arms and stared at him, hard.
"Okay, Jamie, I love him."
"Do you love him enough to fly to Chicago and admit it to him?"
Kurt sat up and thought for a minute. "Yeah."
"Let's go to Chicago. Short vacation!"
"—WAIT," Kurt exclaimed, his face darkening. "The board meeting."
Jamie groaned and lay down on the table. "Goddamn board meeting. But hey, you're the boss, so you can easily—"
"Correction, we work with a firm, the firm is our boss," Kurt said skeptically, frowning. "Oh, fuck all that is fashion, even though I love it so—"
"You can easily reschedule these things," Jamie said thoughtfully.
"No, this has been pushed back for far too long," Kurt grumbled. "Plus, I don't think he'll take me back in a heartbeat."
"You flying to Chicago will prove it to him. Just get down on a knee and tell him you love him."
Kurt blinked, thinking of the possibilities.
"Let's go to Chicago."
Author's Note: I'm sorry for not updating sooner. I've been busy with life and school and UGH LET ME DIE. Not really. Just kidding. Well, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, even with the cliffhanger-esque ending! Thank you everyone for your continued support and love. AGH I JUST WANT TO HUG BLAINE AND GIVE HIM LOVE.
And, my tumblr is littlewizardmusings if anyone wants to leave some love or hate or complaints!
Love,
Sam