Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. I don't know why anyone would think that I do.
Summary: When Kurt is feeling down, Blaine takes it upon himself to put together a week-end that he hopes will make him happy again.
Note: Again, still easing back into fic writing. If it's not the most precise, I apologize. This story will probably be no more than four or five chapters. I hope you will stick with me until the end, and please leave honest feedback. You won't offend me!
Kurt was practically bouncing up and down, not caring how ridiculous he looked. "Really, Dad? Are you serious right now?"
"Part of me wishes I wasn't," Burt said with a laugh as he slid his credit card under the box-office Plexiglas. The double feature, Kurt and Blaine had come to find, was back-to-back Barbra Streisand. Funny Girl was first, followed by The Way We Were; two favorites. Kurt though he might explode. Beside him, Blaine seemed to be just as excited, though more composed.
"I'd be happy to wait while you change," he said, accenting his words a little.
Kurt was positively beaming as he replied, "I'd have to change too much; nobody could wait that long!"
Carole laughed, putting her hand to her chest, "This is going to be hilarious, I can already tell. I can't believe Finn's missing it." After dinner, they'd gone back to the Hummel house to unload their luggage and relax for a while, and when they'd left for the theatre, Finn stayed behind. He'd said it was because of the mountain of homework piling up in his room, but there was reason to believe that (surprise, surprise) a straight, seventeen-year-old boy didn't want to spend his Friday night watching Barbra Streisand movies with two adults and two flamboyant adolescents.
After they'd collected their concessions and made their way to the appropriate screening room (Lima wasn't overrun with Streisand fans, so they had no problem getting quality seats), Kurt sighed contently, and it was the happiest he'd seemed in over a month. "I have both of these movies on DVD, but there's something about watching them in the theatre that makes them even more amazing."
"I know what you mean," Blaine agreed, taking the seat next to him and balancing their popcorn bucket on his knee. He took a quick look around and raised his eyebrows, "There are only three other people in here; I'm having serious concerns about the world."
"Someday," Blaine and Kurt sang along with the movie, not caring if they were disturbing the whole five other patrons, "They'll clamor for my drama. Have you guessed yet, whose the best yet? If you ain't, I'll tell you one more time." Carole chuckled, leaning against her husband as she watched the boys. Burt, on the other hand, was slumped down in his seat, trying his best to keep from falling asleep. "You'll bet your last dime - in all of the world, so far - I'm the greatest, greatest star."
Blaine laughed as the song ended, "God, I forgot how much I loved this movie."
Kurt glanced at him, glad that the theatre was dark enough so he wouldn't be discovered studying the boy, taking a moment to appreciate him. It would have been enough, eventually, just knowing that he cared enough to ask what was wrong when he found the younger boy staring out at the snow at one in the morning. But the fact that he'd gone above and beyond and arranged this trip to his hometown - and stay the entire week-end with him, to boot - and was now sitting next to him, singing along to Funny Girl… It was almost surreal. No one could be that caring. No one could be that perfect.
He wanted to reach out to him. Take his hand, the way he'd taken his before, but he was nowhere near brave enough. Not when it came to Blaine.
Over an hour later, Kurt didn't need to summon that courage; Blaine did it for him.
"If I push too hard, it's because I want things to be better," Barbra's character - Katie - was saying. It wasn't an easy transition, from Funny Girl to The Way We Were; the energy was so opposite. "I want us to be better. I want you to be better. Sure, I make waves - I mean, you have to - and I'll keep making them 'til you're everything you should be, and will be. You'll never find anyone as good for you as I am, to believe in you as much as I do, or to love you as much."
Blaine's hand closed over Kurt's, tight, urgent somehow. When Kurt glanced at him, his face was pale and there were tears glistening in his eyes. He was sure he was in a similar state, but something about seeing someone as strong as Blaine like that broke his heart. He situated his hand so he could lace their fingers together, and squeezed.
"I know," Robert Redford's character - Katie's husband, Hubbell - replied sadly.
"Well, then why?"
"Do you think, if I come back, it's going to be okay by magic? What's going to change? What's going to be different? We'll both be wrong. We'll both lose."
There was a choking sob on Kurt's other side, and he looked to find Carole with tears streaming down her face. Without really thinking about it, he reached out and took her hand in his free one, and she held on to it tightly, eyes never leaving the screen. It was a foreign, unbelievable feeling, being a pillar of strength for once. Even if it was only for a few short moments, in a dark movie theatre, where the only comfort a person could really offer was a soft touch and an understood closeness.
"You are the beautiful reflection," Blaine sang softly - absently - late that night, as he helped Carole put some sheets on the fold-out mattress, "Of his love's affection. A walking illustration of his adoration. His love makes you beautiful; so beautiful."
Carole smiled as she tucked in the last corner and straightened up, hands on her hips. "That's some voice you've got on you. No wonder you get all the solos."
He smirked, "Did Kurt tell you I get all the solos?"
She nodded, retrieving a thick blanket from the linen closet and tossing it on the mattress. "Yes, but he also assures us that you deserve them."
"I'm coming into the room," Kurt called from the hallway, "So if you're talking about me, please stop." Carole zipped her fingers across her lips as her stepson shuffled through in his cloth boots and pastel-blue flannel pajamas. "I'm going to make some cocoa," he said, sweeping his dirty-blonde hair across his forehead, "Do you guys want some?"
"Sure," Blaine nodded, spreading the blanket over the mattress and folding the top over.
"None for me, honey," Carole said, holding up one hand. "What with all the excitement, and then the laughing, and then the crying," she yawned, "I'm ready for bed. But don't you boys rush off to do anything in the morning," she said sternly, "I'm going all out for breakfast."
Blaine smiled, "Sounds great, Mrs. Hummel." She waved goodnight to both of them and started down the hall to her bedroom, and the older boy unzipped his suitcase. "I'm going to change real quick," he told Kurt, taking out a set of pajamas, "Be right back." While he headed for the bathroom, Kurt went to the kitchen, filling the kettle with water and setting it on the stove to boil.
"Kurt?" His father's voice said quietly behind him, and he turned to face the man.
"Yeah, Dad?"
"I, um," he scratched the back of his neck nervously, "I need to ask you about something, and it's a little awkward, but I want you to answer me honestly."
Kurt could already tell where this was going, but he held his composure, "Of course. What is it?"
"It's just that," Burt shrugged, "I sort of noticed you and Blaine holding hands at the movie, and I just gotta ask: Are you two, you know…an item now? Or something?"
"That wasn't just awkward; that was painful," Kurt said with a good-humored roll of the eyes. "No, we're not an item. Just friends. The hand-holding was strictly sad-movie comfort; I was holding Carole's too, but we're not involved either."
Burt studied him for a moment, then smirked, satisfied, "Okay. Yeah, I figure you'd tell me if you were dating someone, anyway; I just wanted to double-check."
"I would tell you, Dad," his son said with a definitive nod, "You'd be the first to know."
Burt smiled, "I believe that. Okay, well," he looked over his shoulder as he heard the bathroom door open, "I guess I should hit the sack. You guys don't stay up too late, okay? Busy day tomorrow."
"We won't. Goodnight," Kurt gave his father a quick hug, then turned back to make the mugs of cocoa when the kettle whistled. He dumped a few marshmallows in each and started back for the living room, stopping short when his eyes found his guest.
Blaine was already on the bed, leaned back against the pillows, and watching an infomercial on the flatscreen. He was wearing a pair of black workout pants and a white v-neck, exposing muscles Kurt never even knew he had. He looked up then, raising an eyebrow and smirking, "Glued to the floor?"
Kurt's cheeks flushed and he cleared his throat, "Sorry, I was just in my head again," he lied, moving forward to hand him one of the mugs and sitting on the bed, as far away from the other boy as he could get.
"Really?" Blaine's brow furrowed, "I thought that you'd be happy, being back home."
"Oh, I am," Kurt said quickly, "I was just thinking of what other embarrassing things my parents are going to put me through tomorrow."
The older boy laughed, plucking a marshmallow out of his cocoa and popping it into his mouth. "Your parents are great," he said as he chewed. "They're hilarious, and they love you a lot. It was really nice of them to let me stay here," he added thoughtfully. "Between you and me, I didn't really want to stay at the hotel; I know it's not a manly thing to admit, but I get kind of freaked out by myself."
"Really?" Kurt said, a little more eagerly than he meant to. It was just so strange, hearing Blaine admit that he was afraid of something as trivial as being alone for a night. He'd never really admitted to being afraid of anything.
He nodded, "Totally. When I was ten, my parents left me alone in our house for a few hours one night, and I managed to convince myself that someone was trying to break in. I ran down the stairs to get the phone so I could call my mom, and I ended up losing my balance and falling. Broke my leg in two places. It kind of had a lasting mental effect, I guess." He looked at the other boy, who had his lips pressed tightly together and was starting to turn a little pink. "It's okay," he said with a smile, "You can laugh."
With that blessing, Kurt exploded in laughter, body shaking so hard that he had to set his drink down on the end table so it wouldn't be spilled. "I'm sorry," he said as soon as he could breathe again, "It' just, I can't imagine you being so frazzled about something."
"I was ten," Blaine repeated, taking a drink and setting his mug to the side, trading it for the remote. "Anything in particular you want to watch?"
Kurt shrugged, still smiling, and shook his head, "I don't watch a lot of TV, so whatever you want is fine." After a few moments of flipping, the older boy finally settled on a rerun of Fosters Home For Imaginary Friends and set the remote back down. Kurt couldn't help but keep a mental count of all of the things he'd learned about Blaine in a few hours; things that hadn't even crossed his mind in the months since they'd met. 1) He was great with parents, 2) he was a sucker for Streisand, 3) he cried during sad movies, 4) he had muscles, 5) he was afraid of being alone, and 6) he liked cartoons. Kurt could only imagine how many more he would add to the list before they returned to Dalton.
After some silence, broken only by their laughter over Bloo's maniacal "hot in Topeka" rant, Blaine shifted a little so that he was facing Kurt more fully. "So is this doing the trick?"
Kurt froze, not sure what he meant. "What?"
"Being here," he waved his hand aimlessly, "Is it getting you out of your depression?"
"Oh." Kurt's fingers traced over the threads in his pajama pants, and he shrugged, "Yeah, being home is definitely something I needed. But, I mean," he sighed, "Being homesick isn't the only issue I'm dealing with at Dalton."
"What else is bothering you?" Blaine asked gently, "I'll beat it with a shovel."
Kurt snorted, then quickly covered his mouth and nose with his hand, hoping his friend would ignore the graceless noise. When his hand fell away, he was biting on his bottom lip, and he said, "Classes, for one. I've always been an A-student, even through all the drama at McKinley, but at Dalton - where I don't even have bullying on my mind when I'm trying to study - I'm struggling to keep Bs. And then there's," he cleared his throat, "The Warblers. I don't think I'm adjusting very well to how you guys do things."
Blaine scooted a little bit closer, laying his hand over Kurt's and telling him with a smile, "How about this: If you promise to put all of that out of your head this week-end, I will promise to help you with your classes, and try to get the other Warblers to incorporate some of your New Directions style into a few of our numbers."
Kurt just blinked at him, "You'd really do that?"
"Absolutely."
"Just to make me happy?"
"Just to make you happy," Blaine confirmed, squeezing his hand as he did so. "We're friends, Kurt, and I don't like seeing you as miserable as you've been. So do we have a deal?"
Kurt looked down at their hands, then back up at Blaine. "Sure," he said, though his throat was dry now, "We have a deal."
"Good," Blaine said with a soft smile, releasing his hand and glancing at the clock on the wall. "We should probably get to bed; I heard your dad say that you're going to have a busy day tomorrow."
Oh, god, Kurt thought with horror, If he heard that, what else did he hear? But he decided it was better not to ask. So he simply nodded and stood from the mattress, "Goodnight, Blaine." He gave him a short wave before excusing himself to the basement bedroom that was still technically half his, and collapsed onto his bed.
"Kurt?" Finn grunted sleepily from his side, though Kurt couldn't see him in the dark.
"Yeah, it's me."
"Everything okay?"
"Actually, I think it is."
"Okay, cool." There were several moments of silence, and then, "Kurt?"
"Yes?"
A pause. "I like that Blaine kid. It's good to know that someone's there for you, when we can't be."
Kurt couldn't help but smile.