A/N: Something about my story was bugging me. Things that we now know in season three about Klaine didn't match up. So I think this will fix it.
It's a bit of a shift. Usually I write from Kurt's POV because it's easier for me, but I tried out Blaine for this one because it makes more sense for the scenario. I'm a little worried about posting it. I've never written anything quite like it before. Anyway, here goes.
Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is from Glee.
WARNING: If you don't like Klaine relationship angst, don't read. I made it so the rest of the stories will make sense without this oneshot. It does have a happy ending, though, I promise.
5. Fights
Blaine smiled brightly, clasping hands with some castmates, clapping others on the back. He walked formally to his director and shook hands with her, thanking her for putting together such a fantastic show. This was their penultimate rehearsal, and they had rocked it.
He was tackle-hugged simultaneously by Jake and Ian.
"Oh man, this is going to be awesome!" Ian, his bruises faded to grey on his pale skin, whooped, laughing with abandon that Blaine had missed.
"Blaine, dude, you have to come over to my house for the HP movie marathon. There'll be soda and chips. It's gonna be wild." Jake was grinning, shining from being singled out with praise by their usually strict director.
"Thanks, but I've got to head out. I've got a Dalton reunion. I'll come to one of them, soon," he promised, glancing across the space to Jeff, who nodded.
"Is that code for you going off to an undisclosed location with the boyfriend?" Jake asked, pursing his lips. "Bro, you are so whipped." Blaine shrugged and grinned.
"It's true that I am an exceptionally great boyfriend. But this is actually a school reunion. And Jeff and I are going to be late. See you guys in three days."
"At the actual venue!" Ian whooped again, high-fiving Jerome. Blaine did an excited little jig, then turned and walked swiftly out of the building, shoulder-to-shoulder with Jeff. They fell into step with ease, shoulders back, hips forward. Once, when Jake had seen them do it out of instinct, called it the "straight-guy-gangster."
"Where are we?" Jeff's tone, so carefree three minutes earlier, turned serious. Blaine passed him his second phone, their routine memorized down to the smooth motion of fingertips. The phone was a crappy old clunker, unused except for evenings like this.
"Nathan's taking us there. Got a text five minutes ago. He's here."
They pushed open the double doors together, jogging down the steps and weaving between the cars until they found Nathan's black SUV. They slid in by Trent and Connor.
"Blaine. Nice to see you've finally shown up." Connor threw him a nasty look. Blaine kept his face impassive, staring at the back of Nathan's seat.
"He's been busy with his Kurt," Jeff smirked.
"You kept him then? Planning on telling him any time soon?" Blaine felt anger ripple through him, humming just under his skin.
"Don't start something in the car, Connor."
"Wait, you haven't told him?" Nathan's tone was unreadable. All of their tones were. Good Dalton boys with big smiles and opening arms turned impassive without supervision.
"No." Honestly, it had been so long since he'd participated, what with their blossoming relationship and then Twelfth Night, that he'd simply forgotten. But after the attack, he felt the familiar pull, the taut thread, fueled by fear and anger, that kept him fit. Despite Kurt's best efforts, the nightmares hadn't gone away. He couldn't lean on Kurt forever, and so he'd texted Nathan to let him know about the next meetup. Then he'd waited a week, told Kurt his parents could drive him, and only went to Kurt's if invited. Jeff, the most expressive, frowned at him.
"You should. Don't you two have an honesty rule or something?" Blaine felt his jaw tense, and clasped his hands together on his legs. He almost hadn't said anything about Kurt's job at the GAP – his secret was so much bigger – but it had bothered him so much that Kurt had decided not to tell him, and so he'd caused him to spill the beans. Guilt, unrepentant and vicious, had been gnawing at him since then.
"Leave it, Jeff." He huffed out a breath, schooling his features once more, before asking, "Who's the medic on site?"
"Jonathan said he'd show up after ten minutes. He was stopping to grab supplies." Nathan parked the car outside a commercial eight-story parking lot. "We walk from here. The elevators broken, and it's three stories up."
"Nothing like a run up steep concrete steps to get the blood pumping," Trent muttered, pushing the boys cramming him in the middle out either side of the car. Blaine jogged ahead of them, stripping his jacket off and tying it around his waist as he went. He was wearing a light undershirt and khaki shorts for rehearsal; for this. The insides of his many pockets were stuffed with bandages and expensive concealer.
Halfway past the second floor, a good twenty seconds in front of his classmates, Blaine began wrapping his hands, tucking the concealer into a leg strap that wouldn't hinder him. His breathing fell out of its regular pattern; long breaths in through the nose, out through the mouth. He began to stretch as he reached the top, slowing, trying to become more graceful. He rounded the top step with his arms over his head, blood warm and thrumming through him.
A circle was drawn in plain white chalk in the center of the lot. A few others dressed in casual gear stood off to the right. They greeted him with a nods and glances. Blaine had started the fight club, but he was no longer the leader of it. As soon as he had become lead soloist for the Warblers – one month before he met Kurt – he had passed the reigns over to Nathan.
That didn't mean he'd let anyone ever beat him.
He stood by Derek, one of the bigger guys in their group. Blaine finished up the knots on the bandages and glanced up at him.
"You're back."
"Yes."
"Been a while."
"Mm."
"You may have been replaced."
"Really?"
"Mm. New guy. Wouldn't give his name. Asked about you, though. Heard about you through the Warbler council. Apparently, he's been hanging out with them over the last few weeks."
"How'd he find out?"
"Dunno. The council didn't tell him, though. They don't know. He's good though. Like you, but taller."
Blaine felt the others congregate around him. They nodded in agreement.
"He's not coming this time, though. He had other matters to attend to."
"Shame."
"Next time, though."
Blaine nodded, feeling uneasy. He'd been gone too long. If tonight went bad, he wouldn't be coming back.
Then he'd never have to tell Kurt.
"You want to be up first, Blaine?" Nathan asked. Blaine nodded again, appreciating the courtesy Nathan offered him. He dumped his jacket off to the side as Nathan began to yell out the rules. Blaine looked on appreciatively. Nathan's voice had gotten a lot stronger since last he'd been here.
"Remember." Nathan's voice rang out. "Nothing to the face."
Nathan was being friendly, so it seemed, pairing Blaine with Connor. Connor didn't like Blaine, and the feeling was reciprocated. But Blaine was faster and sturdier than Connor. And Connor wasn't plagued by fears that brought him here, he did it for fun. Blaine won easily, tension falling off him in waves, heat thrumming through him. When Connor went down, Blaine walked out of the circle, stretching out.
Derek, all brawn, came at him next. Blaine twisted fluidly away from each crashing blow, slapping his fists away, moving, moving.
Ian! Jerome! H-Help! Help!
Derek was so big that Blaine could slide under him as he came running, tripping and twisting his ankle. It was a move Derek had taught him, but he hardly ever expected it.
Who's this? Your boyfriend, Blaine?
Quick jabs to the solar plexus, pancreas, liver.
It's girls' choice. Why'd you ask him?
Blaine? Blaine!
Derek's limbs, slick with sweat, shone in the dimming light.
Oh, god. They have bats. Duck!
Blaine crouched too soon, Derek's heavy weight pushing into an old bruise on his shoulder.
Blaine?
He reacted blindly, right palm to Derek's lungs, winding him, left fist under his gut.
You've got to stop this!
Blaine stumbled back as Derek went down, breathing heavily.
"Blaine?"
He didn't notice at first, caught up the memories, Kurt's voice intermingling with Wren's, his middle school tormentors, and the guys from the fight not long ago. He noticed an unusual quiet. Usually, the boys were wild by now, drunk off adrenaline. Silence.
When he figured out why, lead weight settled low within him, dragging his knees, his shoulder, his head down. Not to the ground, just down. Swallowing felt like lifting a car. Turning felt like slamming into a brick wall at fifty miles an hour. He could see the black suede shoes with a slight heel. He thought if he had to lift his head, it just might kill him. Shame washed through him. Bile rose in his throat.
It took an eternity to lift his head. His classmates were so, so quiet. Say something! he wanted to scream. Help me!
For the longest time, he'd fancied himself Kurt's mentor, his friend, his confidant, his boyfriend. Kurt had always been there, before Blaine had even thought about reciprocating his feelings. To talk over coffee, to rehearse a duet, to help him pick up props after a particularly rambunctious Warbler performance. Kurt, who had loved him since he'd met him. Who he'd never seen happier than when talking about New York, until Blaine told him that he loved him. Kurt, who was on his way to becoming Blaine's everything.
His everything was looking at him with the expression Blaine thought was reserved for Karofsky.
He tried to talk. Kurt's name clogged up his throat like rubber. Please. Please let me explain.
"My god. He was right. He – Blaine." His classmates were quiet. So quiet. Jeff cleared his throat.
"Kurt, how did you get here?" Jeff asked. Kurt's gaze flickered to Jeff, then back to Blaine. The hurt in his eyes clawed at Blaine's insides.
"Someone called me. Some – they called me, and said Blaine was in trouble. And I – I came. And. Blaine? What's going on? Is this . . . Is this a fight club?" The venom that dripped from those two words shot through him. At some point, Blaine had ended up on his knees. Somehow, Blaine forced his mouth to work.
"Kurt – " He stuttered to a halt, not knowing what to say.
"Blaine." Nathan's voice was a command. "I think you'd better go." Firm hands gripped under his arms, lifting him to his feet and pushing him to Kurt. Blaine suddenly felt exhausted, the last of his adrenaline draining out of him as he stumbled towards his boyfriend. Kurt took just as many steps back, motioning with his arm for Blaine to walk in front.
A choking noise reached Blaine's ears as he reached the stairs, Kurt's heels clicking on the concrete behind him. It took him half a story to realize that it was him. He tried closing his mouth to stop the noise, but found he couldn't breathe.
KurtdoyoustilllovemeKurtI''msorrypleaseforgiveme.
Blaine saw Kurt's Navigator and stopped, unsure if he was welcome. The look Kurt had given him and his classmates had shaken him to his core. The animosity there was like something he'd never seen. And betrayal. Betrayal had definitely been there too.
"Blaine." Kurt sounded winded. "Get in the car. I'm taking you home." Blaine nodded, unable to respond, his insides eating at him.
When they'd pulled onto the main road, Kurt said, his voice steadier, "If you'd like to redeem yourself, now's probably your best chance."
Blaine opened his mouth, determined to at least try. "I. Um." He coughed, blinking tears down his face. "I don't know what to say. I'm. I'm so sorry, Kurt."
"Sorry you were participating in a fight club, or sorry you got caught?" Blaine curled in on himself, feeling like a child, a scared, helpless child about to lose something precious.
"All of it. I'm sorry. I'm s. . . I didn't – I'm sorry." Blaine didn't count the number of times his voice cracked, too aware of Kurt. Kurt, whose voice remained steely and unforgiving.
"What I don't understand," Kurt began tersely, taking the freeway straight to Blaine's house. "Is how you could possibly give me grief about having a job at the GAP while you were beating people up by night and not telling me about it."
"I – "
"What I don't understand," he continued, zipping through the cars with practiced ease. "Is how you could go so long without telling me you whale on people and still have such a reaction to getting beaten up."
"Kurt – "
"And I don't understand how you can be so f-f-freaking bipolar. Where's my Blaine? Is he just some sort of front? Jesus, Blaine, how long has this been going on?"
Blaine watched as Kurt swerved dangerously off the highway at the wrong exit, turning off the service road and into the parking lot of a deserted supermarket. "Get out."
Rejection washed through him like ice. "W – What?"
"Get. Out. I'm having a conversation with you and I want to look at you instead of driving dangerously. Get out." Numbly, Blaine exited the Navigator, leaning against the cool metal in the summer heat. Kurt was on him in seconds.
"Kurt, I lo – "
"Don't say it." The words died in his mouth. Blaine felt like all the air was gone. Kurt had his arms wrapped around himself, his lips pressed together. He took a shuddering breath before continuing in a watery voice.
"I'd like to think I'm a pretty good boyfriend. I don't have much to compare myself to, not really. But . . . Maybe I haven't been? Maybe I'm not good enough and so you needed this – this outlet, I guess."
"No, Kurt, please." Blaine took a halting step toward Kurt. Kurt shook his head, backing up. Blaine slumped against the car door. Tears drenched his face. He would cough, but he worried that then he'd never stop.
"I just don't get why you didn't tell me. Why?"
"I haven't . . .In so long, Kurt. I haven't gone in so long. Not since we got together, but I just got . . . I got so scared that – "
"That you needed to beat people up to make you feel better?" Blaine cringed, looking down at his hands, at the sign of the store, at his feet. "Explain it to me, Blaine. What's the appeal?"
Liquid rubber coated his mouth, but Blaine was determined to save what little he could. "When . . .When I got to Dalton, I wasn't – I couldn't. . . I took up boxing, because I was hurt so much at . . . Anyway. I started the – uh – " Keep breathing. Keep breathing. "The fight club. At Dalton. And it made me less scared. I could – um – I could control just a little bit of what was going on. And I was good. It made me f-feel like I could defend myself, y'know?" He took in a choked breath. "Like if it ever happened again, I would be ready." He couldn't bear to look at Kurt, but he couldn't keep looking at his shoes. He covered his face in his hands. "I stopped as soon as we got together. And . . . And before we met, I'd given the leadership to Nathan. I just . . . Two weeks ago, they were so big, and I was so"—he laughed bitterly, unable to stop himself—"out of practice. I got scared and called Nathan. I'm so . . . I'm just . . ." He clenched his teeth together. He had to say it, no matter how much of him was screaming at him not to. Kurt had been quiet this whole time. YouhavetoYouhavetoYouhaveto. "I get it if you don't. . . I mean, if you want to stop seeing each other, I'd underst – " He was sobbing then, crouching in on himself, arms around his knees, rocking. He felt pathetic and oddly used up, crying and about to get dumped by the love of his life for being an idiot.
Heels clicked along the tarmac until they were under his nose. Pale hands lifted him up by the waist. Instinctively, Blaine latched onto Kurt, curling up against his chest, his knees and back awkwardly bent to make the angle work.
"I'm going to take you home, okay, Blaine?" The hands were gently holding him to Kurt's chest as he opened the car door, but the words seemed devoid of feeling. Blaine squeezed more tears out of his eyes, sitting in the car and buckling his seat belt. The door shut softly next to him.
Kurt didn't speak the entire way to his house. When they pulled up, he shrugged off his jacket and handed it to Blaine, who looked up, confused.
"You have a nasty bruise on your shoulder; this'll hide it from your parents." Blaine's eyes grew wide, in awe of someone who could be so kind to someone who'd done what he had. He pulled it on, trying not to breathe Kurt's scent in too deeply before unbuckling himself and opening the door. He chanced one last look back, but Kurt wasn't watching him.
"I'll call you, okay? I need to think for a bit." Blaine nodded numbly, slipping off the seat and onto the driveway. Blaine sucked in the last of his courage to say,
"Kurt, if . . . if, when you're thinking. Between you and fight club. There's no choice. I've stopped. I'm not going back, I promise." Kurt nodded, his eyes straight ahead.
"Thank you for telling me. Good night, Blaine." Knowing a dismissal when he heard one, Blaine shut the door with a soft click and backed away, watching as the Navigator pulled out and hummed down his street, brake lights fading into the dark.
Blaine wasn't sure how he made it to his bed that night, but he woke up still in Kurt's jacket with his phone clutched to his chest. There were no missed calls.
Blaine turned the volume up as far as it would go and plugged it into the wall, his limbs stiff and unresponsive. He clambered out of bed and across his room to the adjoining bathroom, picking up some clean underwear and jeans as he went.
Slowly, he stripped in front of the mirror, feeling sore and sorry for himself. His first thought was that he could swallow his weight in painkillers, but for that he'd have to go downstairs, and his parents would probably be up by now. Instead, he surveyed last night's damage. The bruise on his shoulder was an ugly purple, but Blaine decided that it was probably the red, sunken eyes that would cause the most concern. Groaning, he switched on the cold tap and splashed his face with water to wake up fully. Shivering at the cold, Blaine shook himself and turned the shower on the hottest it would go.
Any other day, he would've shrieked at the temperature, his tan skin turning pink under the spray.
Blaine toweled dry and began applying the concealer to his bruise and under his eyes. His skin was more dry than usual, and it took him a while to figure out why. Kurt-approved moisturizers and creams crowded the left side of the sink. Blaine swallowed roughly and continued dabbing at the dark patches on his skin.
He dressed and put Kurt's jacket back on, then fell right back into bed. If his parents wanted him, they would have no qualms about coming and getting him up.
Kurt didn't call that day.
Or the next.
The day after was his first dress rehearsal, and Blaine put on his best happy-Dalton-boy face, ignoring the looks Jeff shot him. At break, Blaine spent his time chatting with Jake, and when Jake grew tired of him, Jerome, and then Ian. Jeff tried, once while he was with Jake, to come up and talk to him. Blaine greeted him with a cheery smile and a clap on the back.
"Oh, how did your reunion go?" Jake asked. "I'm just saying it would've had to have been insane to even compare to the HP marathon you missed."
Blaine shrugged, keeping a steel grip on his composure. "It was a reunion. We talked about stuff, chatted about how cool the lack of schoolwork was, talked about internships and camp. Stuff like that." Blaine shrugged again. "Pretty regular." Jeff, his eyes on Blaine the entire time, nodded in agreement.
Blaine felt himself cracking when his director cornered him after most of the cast had begun to leave.
"Blaine, is something wrong?" He shook his head and smiled tiredly.
"No, ma'am. Nothing's wrong. Just feeling a little off. Must be being in the new venue." He nodded to himself. His director – Valerie – fixed him with an unconvinced stare.
"You're one of the best performers we have, Blaine. A natural. Things like new venues don't bother you. Your mask is fine for social interactions, but it's screwing with your acting. Whatever's going on, get it fixed, and soon. We open in two weeks." Blaine nodded hurriedly, glancing at the exit. Any second now he was going to break down in front of the lady he was hoping for a shining recommendation from.
"Go ahead."
Blaine did his best not to run.
He got into his car and checked his phone. His heart stopped. One missed call. One text.
I remembered you were at rehearsal too late. I'll be at the Lima Bean until 8.
Blaine checked his watch. 6:30. He'd never driven so fast in his life.
When he got there, Kurt was sitting at a secluded table with two coffee cups in front of him. Kurt checked his watch, looking around. Blaine moved and sat down at the table, rushing out explanations.
"I'm sorry, the director kept me after, and I didn't see the call until I got in my car."
"It's fine Blaine." Blaine searched Kurt's face. He looked tired, he concluded, but not angry or hurt. "I got you your medium drip. Did you want anything else?" Blaine blinked, stunned.
"You're – " Kurt raised his eyebrows. "You're being so nice."
Kurt took a long sip of his coffee, looking at Blaine over the rim.
"I've decided what we're going to do." Blaine couldn't help the little flutter he felt when Kurt used the word we. "I've decided that I'm going to quit my job at the GAP. The people irritated me regardless. It would've happened eventually, but anyway, I'm going to quit my job and you are never going to speak of your fight club again. You will disconnect yourself entirely from them, throw away whatever device you were using to connect with that group. I will do the same with my job, because they both represent things that we didn't tell each other." Blaine was nodding before Kurt had finished. He hadn't touched his coffee, fidgeting restlessly, desperate to comply with Kurt. "Instead of signing up for the next gathering when you're angry or scared, you're going to call me and we will go to the nearest gym with punching bags. And we will work it out together. Okay?" Blaine realized he'd never stopped nodding along to what Kurt was saying, and stopped, his hand flexing on the table.
Kurt sighed. "I know you've got issues, Blaine. I used to think you were infallible, but the fact that you have a past that interferes with the way you are now won't make me stop loving you." After glancing around the near-empty room, Kurt took Blaine's hand from across the table. Blaine couldn't take his eyes off his beautiful, kind boyfriend. He slid his fingers against Kurt's, tangling them together, reveling in the contact he'd missed so much. He watched as Kurt gathered up his breath for the next part of what felt like an almost-rehearsed speech. "We've both got pasts, Blaine. You know mine, and you took me anyway, and I'm going to return the favor. Because despite your past, you're still my goofy boyfriend who dances around to Bryan Ferry in the middle of my bedroom, right? By the way, you completely wrecked my rug that time."
"As I recall, it was a team effort," Blaine cut in, a hopeful smile covering his face. Kurt's lips quirked, and he raised their joined hands to his face, resting them against his cheek.
"I like it when we're a team. Though I really do need a new rug. Finn is starting to judge me." Blaine barked out a laugh for the first time since leaving the rehearsal space three days ago.
"Do you want to get a new rug? IKEA should still be open." Blaine paused, smoothing the pads of his fingers along Kurt's jaw. "I'll buy it, since I convinced you to dance with me." Kurt gazed at him warmly, hearing what he wasn't saying.
"Sure. Drink up. Then we'll go buy a new rug."
Blaine took a long gulp, before considering a part of Kurt's talk that he hadn't thought about before.
"Before you quit, can I pick out some new bow-ties?"
The question startled a laugh out of Kurt, and Blaine relished the accomplishment. Kurt nodded once through his quiet hiccups, his eyes alight with mirth.
They finished their coffee in silence, glancing up at each other every few seconds, Blaine grinning bashfully and Kurt blushing under the warmth of the liquid. Blaine wasn't quite sure when it turned into a finishing contest, but Kurt won hands-down.
They walked out together, shoulder to shoulder, in what Jake would no doubt call "gay-boys-in-love." They pushed open the double doors in unison and walked out into the parking lot, where Blaine stalled, turning to his boyfriend – who he could still call his boyfriend – and asking,
"Which car?"
But Kurt was smiling at him, wide and toothy, his tongue poking between his lips.
"I got my dad to drive me."
A/N: So, this oneshot was basically me addressing these topics:
-Blaine starting a fight club
-Klaine using "we" more commonly than anything else
-The complete adoration Blaine has in his eyes whenever Kurt's in the room
-Blaine's need to impress Kurt (swapped from season 2, where it was the other way around)
-I always thought there was more to Kurt and Sebastian, so I added him a bit here and a bit in Jobs. He's the one who called Kurt and told him where Blaine was.