Eighteen Again
Chapter Three
When Blaine awoke the next morning, it was to the sound of a crash in the small, rarely used kitchen. Ignoring the throbbing ache in his ribs, he leapt out of bed, rushing into the room to find his dad splayed on the ground. Ice and broken beer bottles surrounded him, the liquid seeping into his clothes and spreading on the ground. Blaine cursed and scurried around the mess to grab a towel. His father was shaking as Blaine helped him up. Blaine silently berated himself in his head. He could've left him there. It was obvious the old man hardly got any sleep, eyes rimmed red and clearly bloodshot, the aftermath of drinking one too many shots of tequila. He was already drunk off his ass, and Blaine could've left him there, helpless on the ground, unable to shout because no one would help. Blaine learned that from personal experience.
He wasn't thanked for helping the drunkard up. He was merely spat at before being left alone to clean up the growing puddle of rapidly melting ice and alcohol, shards of glass starting to creep dangerously close to his bare feet.
A disgruntled noise broke free from his throat, and he took a careful step backwards before getting on his knees and picking up the first few large pieces of the broken bottles. He was nearly finished with everything, surprisingly with minimal injury aside from a long cut down his arm that he knew he couldn't leave open and untreated (he acquired it when his left hand slipped from the towel, and he came tumbling down, running his arm along a particularly sharp piece of glass), when a bottle came flying over his head. Blaine attempted to shield the back of his neck by bringing up his shoulders, but he still winced and let out a hiss when he felt the little pinpricks of thousands of tiny pieces of glass come in contact with his back. He knew they weren't actually hurting him. There wouldn't be any obvious problems aside from a sting that would last for a couple minutes.
Awkwardly, Blaine stood. The small tinkling sound of pieces of glass hitting the floor causing him to stealthily move out of the kitchen. He stared at the new decorations of brown glass and red paint. He remained for a short amount of time before heading into his tiny bedroom, slipping off his dirty shirt in the process. After attempting to see the state of his back, he assessed the cut on his arm. It needed to be taken care of, but treatment wasn't immediately needed. Closing his eyes, he envisioned the scar that would be left there. It was inevitable.
Opening his eyes once more, he stared down at the blood gathering at the surface. He dismissed the urge to run a finger through it and quietly made his way out of the apartment. He could see his dad in his own bedroom, rummaging around most likely for some cigarettes. Blaine scrunched up his nose and turned away, exiting the building with his head down, but his eyes flicked back and forth, taking in his surroundings. He trusted no one.
He did stumble, however, when he saw bright glasz eyes and designer clothes. "Kurt," he breathed. "No, no, no. This isn't happening." He couldn't retreat back to the apartment. Kurt had seen him. And he wasn't going back to that hellhole. Then he remembered his arm. "Oh God, no." He mumbled the word to himself as he hid his wounded arm behind his back. He ran his other hand down the cut, wincing at the sting and the warm wetness coating his hand. It wasn't too much, but it was still there. It made him nauseous. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of the boy he met yesterday who gave him a promise of eighteen days and something akin to hope, no matter how much Blaine denied it.
"Kurt, hi," Blaine said, eyes looking anywhere but the boy in front of him.
"Blaine, I'm so glad I caught you," Kurt started, a relieved smile taking over his face. "When I didn't see you at the cafe, I thought you were probably here." He smiled, but it dropped when Blaine didn't return it. "Um, I have a plan, I swear. I just … wow. This is really awkward compared to yesterday, and just … yeah. Wow." He fell silent and stared at the ground.
"Kurt," Blaine sighed, exasperation clear on his face, "look: it's great that you're doing this, really, but you don't have to. No one cares about me, and that's that. Just walk away now. Don't give me or any of this a second thought. Everything is set up anyways. You know this."
"I do," Kurt agrees, "but that's why I'm doing this. That's why I made the proposition, Blaine. And I care. I'm not giving up that easily. Because I am painfully aware that you could just turn around and go back into that apartment and kill yourself, whether it be today or tomorrow. That's why I'm not giving up on this—why I'm not giving up on you, Blaine.
"And this might be a lot to take in, the fact that oh," he said, voice filled with fake shock and wonder, "someone actually cares about you, someone actually gives a damn about what happens to you, but it's true. I care about you, and that's not going to change."
One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. The time dragged on before Blaine stated something he should've known from the beginning. "You're really stubborn, did you know that?"
Kurt gave a relieved laugh. "Of course I am. You need someone who can make you see that you matter … who will make you see that you matter."
Blaine sighed and began to walk, nodding his head forward to show Kurt to follow, arm still hidden dutifully behind his back. He could deal with it later. "Kurt, I don't need anyone. I'm used to loneliness. That's how I live."
"And look where that got you: with a date and a plan for your death," Kurt's tone was flat. It was the most emotionless Blaine had ever heard Kurt sound. He stopped walking to stare at the teen. Kurt sighed and continued: "Blaine, have you ever stopped to consider that letting someone in wouldn't be so bad?"
"No one has ever wanted to be let in," Blaine murmured quietly, more to himself than Kurt. He knew the other boy had heard anyways. He looked up at him. "Sometimes you get so used to something that it becomes the only thing there is. All other ways of life disappear and leave behind only what you know, and it never changes. At first it's a bit unsettling, but then you get used to it. It doesn't matter how bad that life is, all that matters is that it's the only one."
The only sound after that was their breathing and the rustle of leaves on the trees.
Finally Kurt spoke: "I just don't get it, Blaine. Maybe it's because I haven't been in a situation like yours or maybe it's because I'm just some naive kid, but I don't understand why you can't just get that I'm trying to help you."
"I don't need your help. I don't need any help from anyone," Blaine protested. "Loneliness is comfiness."
"But it shouldn't be, Blaine," Kurt argued. "You should be feeling cheated. You should be feeling angry at life for giving you this crappy way to live. You should be getting aggravated and going out, trying to find a life on your own."
"And do you think I don't know this? You think I haven't tried that?" Blaine practically growled. "Kurt, I don't think you get it!" At that, Kurt shrunk back, like a child reprimanded by a parent. "I still have to take care of myself, so I can't just waltz out of this shitty as hell life to go party and make out with guys in dark rooms! And I can't just go get a job. It's a lot harder than that, Kurt. The world is a fucked up place, and some of us end up more like it than others. I'm one of those. And I have things that I need to keep to myself. And maybe that's because no one else is willing to listen, or maybe it's because I just can't. I can't trust people. When being alone is all you've ever known, you're bound to feel suspicious and confused and uncomfortable when someone suddenly barges in literally two days before you're about to off yourself with some pills and maybe a broken bottle if you're desperate and tells you that you won't want to die after living eighteen more days with them in your life! That's pretty weird, don't you think?" Kurt opened his mouth, but Blaine carried on: "I hate sounding cliche, but you hardly know me, Kurt. You don't know what I've been through, what I've seen, what I've lived. You know practically nothing about me other than the fact that I was going to die tomorrow before your silly little promise. I'd be lying, dead, in my room right around this time, you know. I'd have downed the pills and be gone. Think about that, Kurt. Think about it."
Kurt's face was a bright scarlet. "What do you think I've been doing all night, Blaine?" he burst out, voice shrill and anger evident on his delicate features. "Ever since you disappeared behind that door yesterday, it's all I could think about. I just kept and still keep seeing the image of you lying there or even hanging, and I just…. It makes me sick, Blaine, to think you'd even contemplate it. Things could get better."
Blaine barked out a laugh. "Better? Kurt, look around you. This is all I have!"
"You have me!" Kurt yelled.
"Sure," Blaine refrained from rolling his eyes. "What about before that though? When it was just me and misery? I had nothing, Kurt. Nothing. I still don't because one day you'll leave like every possible good thing. And I'm sure you know that." He inspected the other boy. "You want to go to college, don't you?"
Kurt sniffed, clearly confused by the sudden topic change yet not questioning it. "In New York. For music and the arts. I also want to audition for Broadway."
Blaine nodded. "Alright. So there's you, this bright, beautiful boy with hopes and dreams and ambition, and then there's me. Me with my corpse of a dad, an inconsequential life, and inconsequential existence. Kurt, I'm an obstacle. As soon as the eighteen days pass and you see that I'm fine, you might stay for a bit, just to be sure I'm not going to immediately go and kill myself, but then what? You're not going to put your dreams on hold for me."
Kurt shook his head. "You're not an obstacle, Blaine." He avoided the last sentence, and both of them knew it.
Blaine sighed and stared the other boy straight in the eyes, amber on apatite. "Kurt, I'm an obstacle, and when you find a way to pass me, you're going to do it without a second thought."
"No, you're not. And when our eighteen days are over, you'll make up your mind, and if you stay alive, I'm never letting go. No matter what."
"There's no guarantee I'll want to live."
"If you still go through with your plan, it'll hurt, but in the end, it's your decision, and I can't stop you. But I'll be damned if I don't try," Kurt held Blaine's gaze. A frown was etched into Blaine's face. Kurt frowned back. "Fine then. If you think that I only see you as a roadblock, so be it. Let me have my fun for now. If that's how you see it."
"Kurt...," Blaine shook his head.
"No, Blaine," Kurt said, voice shaky and so different from how it sounded just a few seconds ago, "I think I am starting to get it now. I should see you as nothing more than an inkspill on my essay, a piece of gum on the bottom of my shoe, a waste of space. I have no idea why you're so adamant on me believing that, but I get that you want me to."
"Kurt, no," and Blaine was annoyed because he practically repeated Kurt, but he stopped ignored it and carried on, "you just … you don't understand that I can't just open up and tell you everything, and I can't just stop wanting to die, nor can I just turn off the occasional urge to just go and end it all right then and there." He let out a breath. "You're starting to just be overdramatic."
"Right," Kurt rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I'm not giving up, you know. You are going to deal with more for eighteen days, and you're going to be so damn happy that you'll want to live for eighteen million more."
Blaine scoffed. "Sure. You know, if the rest of the days end up at all like this one, I won't even come close to hesitating when I have that bottle in my hand. This day just turned out swimmingly."
Kurt scrunched up his nose and pointed at the Sun. "For as long as that thing is up and bright, the day is not over. I'm not done with you yet. You are going to have a great day with me, and you're going to love it."
With a groan, Blaine threw his arms out in front of him. "When will you just give up?"
He was waiting for some witty, quick remark from the other boy, so when he didn't get one, he was pretty panicked. Then he remembered: he still had the cut.
Blaine's eyes flew from his exposed arm to Kurt's face. The taller boy's eyes were blown wide, eyebrows raised, mouth open. He was a perfect picture of shock. "Oh God," Blaine said, "I'm so sorry, Kurt. I wasn't thinking, and I just…. The argument was getting out of hand, and I was getting annoyed, and then I just do that, and oh God, I'm so, so, so sorry."
Kurt shook his head. "No," he stuttered, "it's fine, Blaine." A pale hand closed around Blaine's wrist, and Blaine looked up into concerned eyes. He looked away quickly; Kurt's hand remained wrapped around his wrist. "How long have you had this?"
"Since this morning," Blaine couldn't meet Kurt's eyes again. He could feel the question hanging in the air around them. "Something happened, and glass was on the floor, and I slipped and cut it. I was going to treat it later."
"Blaine," Kurt said softly, "you should've said something."
"It wasn't important. It isn't important," Blaine insisted.
Kurt sighed. "Blaine … you need to get rid of this quickness to degrade yourself and ignore basic needs." Blaine opened his mouth to protest, he ate and got water, he had a home, but Kurt continued: "And I understand that it will take some getting used to, but just try to open up a bit more. Please, Blaine. You don't even have to tell me everything."
Their gazes met, and they stayed locked for the next few seconds. Eventually Blaine gave in. "My dad. He knocked the cooler over and slipped. Bottles broke, ice everywhere. I helped him up and started cleaning. My hand slipped, and this cut happened. Not too complicated."
"There's something you're not telling me, isn't there?" Kurt questioned.
"Kurt," Blaine shook his head, "it's a start. Accept that. You wanted something; I gave you something."
There was silence before Kurt nodded. "Okay. Okay, that's fine. This is fine." His hand slipped from Blaine's wrist to his palm. "Thank you for telling me."
Blaine tensed at the contact. It was one thing to hold someone's wounded arm, but their hand? There was a hidden intimacy at that. One that Blaine wasn't sure he was ready to face. He nodded and cleared his throat. "Yeah."
Kurt dropped his hand. "We need to do something about your arm. C'mon, we can use the shop's bathroom? That's not too far away, right?"
Blaine nodded silently.
They walked in silence to the cafe.
The barista didn't even bat an eyelash when they entered.
In the restroom, Kurt carefully inspected the long cut. He winced. "And you just leave it?"
Blaine shrugged. "It's nothing. I've had worse. It's not even that deep. Really, it's not," he added at Kurt's disbelieving look. "Here, just—," using his free hand, he took some soap and water and began to clean the cut himself. Kurt visibly blanched. Blaine bit down on his lip at the sting of the soap disinfecting the injury. At Kurt's nervous look, Blaine shook his head. "Kurt, it's fine. I'm sure you know what a scratch feels like."
"Yeah, but that's all it is," Kurt argued, "a scratch. Not a three inch cut that will leave a scar." He stopped Blaine's hand from where it was working on his arm and replaced it with his own.
"Kurt," Blaine closed his eyes as Kurt began to copy his ministrations, "you're being ridiculous. Don't worry about it so much."
Kurt paused. "No. I'll worry as much as I want." He resumed his work before stopping. "Do you have anything to put pressure on this? I don't want to use toilet paper."
"Use toilet paper."
Kurt groaned and leaned over to pull some off of the stand. "Only because it's available."
Blaine snorted and leaned back against the wall as Kurt wrapped the toilet paper around his arm, covering the cut. He placed his hand over it when Kurt finished. A silence had settled over them. Blaine broke it with a soft, "thank you."
Kurt stared at him before a small smile took over his lips. "You're welcome. Well, now that we're here, why don't we get a coffee?"
"Kurt, you know I don't have any money."
"Forget about that. I'll pay again."
"Kurt, no."
"Kurt, yes," Kurt put his hand over Blaine's mouth when the boy tried to speak again. "Now stop trying to argue with the Unmovable Kurt Hummel, and join me in the pleasure of getting a coffee."
Blaine rolled his eyes, and Kurt removed his hand. "Fine."
At the counter, the barista's eyes immediately flew to Blaine's toilet paper-clad arm, but at the warning look Blaine gave him, he smartly kept his mouth shut on the matter. "What can I get you?" he asked instead.
"A grande nonfat mocha for me, and a medium drip for this lovely gentleman here," Kurt spoke cheerfully.
Blaine's eyebrows rose at the compliment.
"I have a feeling I'm going to start asking if you two want the regular the next time you guys come in here," the barista joked.
Kurt laughed and nodded. "That is highly possible."
The barista smiled and accepted the money Kurt gave him. "Thank you." He put it in the cash register, smiling when Kurt told him to keep the change. "I'm Wes by the way."
"I'm Kurt, and this is Blaine," Kurt responded, leaning up against the counter as Wes went to prepare their drinks.
"Blaine, huh?" Wes said. "I knew a Blaine a long time ago…."
Kurt's eyebrows rose, and he turned to Blaine.
Blaine shrugged and looked back. "My name is Blaine. Blaine Anderson."
"Ah, that's it," Wes spoke, turning back to the pair. "What happened to you? I haven't seen you around since at least seven years ago. The last memory I have is a ten-year-old sitting on a swing."
Blaine fell silent. Hidden behind the solid counter, Kurt grabbed his hand and laced their fingers together. Blaine wasn't sure if that helped or just made his heart pound even louder. "Personal reasons," he finally said.
Wes tsked and slid Kurt's drink over to them. Kurt inclined his head and Wes smiled. "And what is there to know about you, Kurt?"
"Well, I'm a junior at McKinley High," he started. "I'm in the school's glee club."
Wes straightened up. "Really? I'm in a glee club at Dalton. We're the Warblers."
"Dalton?" Kurt inquired. "That's in Westerville, isn't it? What're you doing over here in Lima?"
"It's nice to get away," Wes answered. "Isn't that right, Blaine?"
Blaine tensed, and Kurt dropped his hand down to their sides again. "Yeah," Blaine answered, voice gravelly. "Definitely."
Wes frowned, forehead creasing, but didn't say anything. He set Blaine's drink in front of them. "Alright. I'll leave you two to it. Enjoy." He nodded again to the duo before pulling out a rag. He started to clean the counter as Kurt and Blaine went over to the corner where they sat yesterday.
"Blaine," Kurt started when they finally sat, but Blaine held up a hand.
"It's fine," he said. "Don't worry about it."
Kurt rolled his eyes. "And I think those are your two favorite phrases."
Blaine shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee. He set down the cup and looked at the same tree he looked at every time. The leaves had begun to fall off, and a lot of the branches were visible. The bark was gnarly and a gray-ish color. The trees behind it were much younger looking. His eyes raked over the different trees.
"Ninety-two," Kurt spoke up suddenly.
"What?" Blaine turned to look at him.
Kurt readjusted himself in the chair. "I think the tree is ninety-two. Yesterday, you asked me how old it was and if it knows it's going to die one day. I can't answer the second one, but I can give a good guess on the first."
Blaine stared at him.
Kurt squirmed uncomfortably at the lack of response. "Sorry. I wasn't entirely sure if they were rhetorical, and so at first I assumed that they were, but then I thought that they might not be, but it's clear now that I wasn't supposed to answer." He rambled on before a genuine smile took over Blaine's face. That caused Kurt to close his mouth.
"I had guessed ninety-five," Blaine's voice was soft.
Kurt blushed and looked down at his lap. "Oh."
Blaine nodded and continued to stare. "I wouldn't mind having this be the day's activity."
Kurt's head shot up, eyes wide. "Oh, I, um, is that good? I just, thank you. Right?"
The same smile rested on Blaine's face as Kurt was set off into another ramble. "It's great, Kurt."
DISCLAIMER: Any characters that seem to be associated with the television series Glee belong to the show's producers, directors and the actors portraying the characters. (Mainly Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson, portrayed by Chris Colfer and Darren Criss.)
Did this chapter seem rushed to any of you? It seemed kind of rushed to me.
I like how this turned out, but I don't know if it's in the right spot. I just wanted to bring out the more determined and persistent parts of Kurt that I feel I was hiding. I can understand altering Blaine's character due to the plot of the story, but I'm not changing Kurt.
And now is the time to admit that I actually wrote part of this last night and part of it this morning. I was so tired last night, and I actually wrote the beginning of the author's note half-way asleep. It was a mess, so I went back to the document I had saved and wrote more of the story. I then erased what I had here, and copied and pasted the completed document.
Tl;dr I shouldn't write when I'm about to collapse from exhaustion. Anyways, have a great rest of the day or night, etc. Thank you for reading! xx
Emma Wants a Warbler
