Happy Sunday, cuties!
Hope you're all having a wonderful weekend. Thank you so much for all the amazing comments about this fic already. It means so so so much to me!
I own nothing. Enjoy!
It was a bad day.
Well, that wasn't a fair description. Every day for the past couple of months had been bad days. There had been worst days, though, when he could barely talk himself into getting out of bed, when he had no idea what to do and he just wanted to curl up in a corner of his room and rock back and forward until this whole thing disappeared. Today was not one of those days, but it still wasn't good. The heaviness in his chest was still there; the anguish, the grief, and the sudden responsibility that weighed too much were still there, too. This was not something he could screw up.
Blaine wondered how many more bad days there would be ahead.
It had been almost two months, and still Blaine woke up every morning praying to a God he didn't believe in that it had all been just a nightmare.
Please, just let it be a nightmare.
And then the faint sound of crying came from the room next to his, and he knew no one was listening to his prayers.
The kitchen was a mess. The whole apartment seemed to have fallen into the center of a tsunami, and no matter how much Blaine tried, he still couldn't get rid of all the clutter. His notes for work got mixed with toys, pacifiers and cans of formula. It was an accurate, though still shocking representation of his life: Blaine couldn't find balance.
Max was sitting on a blanket on the floor, his big blue eyes turned towards his uncle as Blaine did his best to get ready for work. He was six months old now, and was suddenly discovering a whole new world, learning how to move by himself, how to throw things around the room to get his uncle's attention, how to spit the new food he wasn't pleased to be trying. A whole new world, and his parents weren't there to see it.
Blaine usually did his best not to think too much about it. He couldn't change the facts: Sara and Cooper were gone, and he was all Max had now. He would give his right arm for his nephew, his life, without a second's hesitation. But still, on some mornings, when nothing seemed to be falling into place and his own life seemed foreign to him, Blaine wished he could be anywhere else but here.
His work schedule was a mess as big as his kitchen. Last semester, it wouldn't even have fazed him, but right now, he had to fit babysitters into the mix and it was just not working. It didn't help that Max seemed to be going through a phase where he didn't trust anyone: he pretty much cried with every single person who tried to hold him, except for Blaine and, sometimes, if he was in the mood, Blaine's best friend Sam, who came over to help him whenever he had a chance.
Blaine had spent the past two months reading every single parenting book he had come across, but it still didn't change the fact that he would never be able to do this as perfectly as Sara and Cooper had.
Max threw a blue car across the room, hitting the oven door with it. Blaine looked down at him.
"I know, buddy," he said, because he felt like throwing things around the room a lot too, lately.
He retrieved the car, a tired look on his face, just as Max threw a red one in the opposite direction.
It, too, felt like an accurate representation of his life: whenever it felt like he was done picking up the mess, something else began to fall apart.
"You look like shit."
Blaine sighed, trying to hold on to the very little patience he had left, and took a bite of the sandwich he had brought from home. He'd forgotten to put the chicken salad on it, in the rush to change Max's diaper and get ready for work in time. So he was basically eating dry bread and lettuce. He put it aside after the one bite and reached for his cup of coffee.
"Thanks, Sam," he said. "You've been saying that every day for a couple of weeks now."
"Yeah, so when are you going to do something about it?" Sam asked, leaning across the table to look at him more closely.
"The beginning of the semester is always hard," Blaine said with a shrug. "You know that as well as I do."
"And yet I don't look like a zombie," Sam said, and raised his hands in defense when Blaine threw a murderous look his way. "Hey. You know I'm just saying this because you're my friend and I love you. I'm here to help you as much as I can. So, is Max not letting you sleep? Or what is it?"
Blaine leaned back on his chair. He was too tired to even try to ignore Sam's questions. "Max is fine, I guess. He wakes up in the night sometimes, but it's not as bad anymore. I'm just… worn out."
"I could babysit for you sometime this week so you can catch up on some sleep…" Sam offered, and Blaine smiled at him, though he knew it didn't reach his eyes. All the smiles felt wrong on his face lately.
"Thanks, Sam, but I don't think this is something that can go away with a nap," Blaine replied. He took a sip of coffee. It was a little cold but it tasted like glory to him. "I'm overwhelmed. I don't know what I'm doing. I'm worried I'm screwing everything up."
"I know," Sam clasped a gentle hand on his shoulder in comfort. "But you're doing great. Max is a happy little guy. He always smiles when you come into the room."
"I'm not his dad," Blaine muttered quietly.
Sam watched him, concern written in his light eyes. "Blaine…"
Blaine pushed his chair back. God, he didn't want to talk about this now. What was the point in discussing things he would never be able to change? "I have to go. My next class is in ten minutes and I need to cross half of campus to get there. See you later."
Sam didn't call after him, but Blaine could feel his gaze etched to his back as he walked away. He appreciated the concern, but he couldn't deal with it right now.
A year ago, Blaine's Sundays were completely different. Being a single young man in New York City, Saturday nights had been always busy for him: going out on dates, drinking a beer with a friend or two at one of his favorite bars, going out dancing when he needed to blow off some steam, and even taking a guy home at the end of the night when the dancing hadn't been enough. Then on Sunday mornings he would usually sleep in, take his time to get out of bed, stretching his arms over his head and feeling his muscles pop pleasantly. He would get out of bed and make some coffee, drink it outside in the balcony if the weather was nice, or sit on the couch with a cozy blanket and a book if it was cold. Later, he would go out for a walk, have lunch somewhere nice, and maybe go to a game with Sam. The day usually ended with a dinner at Cooper's: he would bring the wine, Sarah would cook something amazing, and after dinner he and Cooper would walk together to get desert at their favorite bakery if they were in the mood for pie, or at the ice cream parlor near the park if it was a warm night. As they walked, they usually talked about their troubles, about their worries, about their joys. Blaine had always felt like those ten minute walks with his brother gave him a deeper understanding of the man he was than the thirty years he had known him.
He had loved his weekends. He had loved the freedom of being a single man in a big city. He had loved sharing time with his family and friends.
Today, however, he could barely remember how amazing those days felt.
It wasn't just that the responsibility of raising a human being that suddenly rested on his shoulders. He missed Cooper. Missing him was a sort of permanent ache he could never get rid of, no matter how much he tried. There was a hole deep inside his chest, and he couldn't fill it.
It was still warm. Summer seemed to be clinging to the air, not ready to let go and make way for fall. Blaine had taken Max to Central Park, and the baby sat in his stroller, watching the people around him with a quiet interest. Blaine sipped coffee from a travel mug, a book opened on his lap, but almost completely forgotten as he, too, people-watched.
"He's so cute," a voice said, and he was startled as he discovered someone had sat next to him on the bench. It was a woman, probably around his own age, smiling at him gently and looking at Max like he was the most marvelous thing she had ever seen. "How old is he?"
"Six months," Blaine answered.
"He looks so much like you!" She said, an obviously flirty tone on her voice, "I bet your wife is over the moon."
Blaine sighed. If it had been a different circumstance, he would have been flattered, and probably would have felt a little awkward having to reject her. Now, he felt numb. He felt nothing. "He's my nephew. And I'm gay."
"Oh!" She exclaimed, clearly uncomfortable. "That's great! I mean, I'm…"
She was interrupted by Max, who suddenly started bawling as if his life depended on it. Blaine had never felt so grateful to hear his nephew cry before. He put down the coffee cup on the bench and leaned in to grab the baby, and started bouncing him on his knees.
"Hey buddy, it's fine. Are you hungry?" Blaine asked in a soft voice.
By the time Max stopped crying, the woman was gone, and Blaine was all alone.
Blaine thought often about the funeral. He remembered the caskets being lowered into the ground, and the warm weight of Max in his arms. He remembered the sound of people crying next to him, the feeling of people's pats on the back, the words the priest said as he tried to console the family and friends of those who were now gone.
He thought about his parents. His relationship with them had always been difficult. It had been pretty cold since he had graduated high school and moved out of the family house. Cooper had always taken his side, gaining him the same distant treatment his brother usually got. They were suddenly not invited to Christmas dinners or birthday parties, and their parents rarely visited them in New York. Blaine had been okay with it – he'd known it was the price to pay to be himself since he was fourteen years old. He felt bad for Cooper, but was so immensely grateful for his brother's support.
When Hugh and Andrea Anderson had arrived at the funeral, Blaine had felt suffocated. The grief was already heavy, but he knew nothing good could come from his parents being there.
At the small reception afterwards, Blaine did his best not to collapse: he had been awake for over 48 hours since he had received the call from the hospital. He was as polite as he could with everyone, especially with Sarah's family, which had always been nice to him. Sam was there for him the whole time, making sure he had something to eat and drink, and taking the baby out of his arms when he needed some space.
He was heading to the kitchen to heat up Max's bottle when he heard his mother's voice. It froze him to the spot.
"… of course, we'll be taking Max home with us to Ohio," she was saying. "This is no place for a baby. Blaine has no idea what he's doing."
He could feel his heart pick up speed in his chest. His sight was suddenly filled with little red spots. Before he knew what he was doing, Blaine was turning on his heels and heading straight towards his parents.
Andrea Anderson stopped talking as soon as she caught sight of her son. Her face became sour – as if she couldn't even stand the sight of him. Blaine felt sick. This was all too much.
"If you even think about taking that kid away from me, you will be hearing from my lawyer," Blaine said, as his ire made him shake. "And if you can't respect Cooper's wishes today of all days, then I think you should go."
"Blaine, we all know…" his father started saying, but Blaine was having none of it.
"We all know I'm Max's guardian. Cooper and Sarah chose me. Max knows me, I see him every week, and I love him. When is the last time you even bothered to call and ask how your grandson was? And now you come here, acting like you don't even care that your son is dead, and all you do is talk about how you're taking the baby with you? Who the hell do you think you are?" Blaine exploded. Sam appeared at his side, placing a calming hand on his shoulder, that Blaine brushed away. "You couldn't even be parents to your own two children, what makes you think you'd be any better with Max?"
Blaine has no idea what he's doing. Sometimes Blaine lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling and remembering that scene. He thought of how difficult everything was, and of how different everything could have been if his parents had taken Max with them. If he had let them win. If he had admitted that he didn't, in fact, have any idea what the hell he was doing.
And that thought filled him with disappointment. What was he even thinking? He wouldn't have condemned Max like that. It didn't matter how hard everything was now. Max was where he was supposed to be. Just knowing that kept him going for another week.
Kurt was on cash register duty when Professor Anderson crossed the door into the coffee shop on a Monday morning. It was a surprisingly slow morning, so Kurt was leaning on the counter with his chin on his hand, and thinking about an assignment due later that week. He heard the little bell above the door and forced himself to look cheerful, only to find that he knew the man who was now walking towards him.
"Professor Anderson!" He exclaimed, surprised. "Good morning!"
Professor Anderson blinked at him like he couldn't understand the words coming out of Kurt's mouth. Once again, he looked like shit, like he hadn't slept in months. Kurt felt bad for him.
"I'm Kurt Hummel, I'm in one of your classes…" He said.
"Oh! Right, Kurt. You're in my Modern Literature class," Professor Anderson nodded slowly. "I'm sorry."
"It's fine, I imagine you have way too many students to remember all of them," Kurt tried to laugh it off, but he felt awkward, for some reason. "What can I get you?"
"Give me the strongest coffee you have, please," he said, as he fished for his wallet inside his bag.
Impulsively, Kurt said, "Oh, no, please. It's on the house."
"Kurt, I couldn't…" He murmured.
"Please. You look like you need it, and you might remember my kindness if I fail to meet a deadline at some point this semester," Kurt said cheekily.
Professor Anderson must have seen the determination on Kurt's face, because he sighed and put his wallet back in his bag. "It's very nice of you. I appreciate it."
Sammi had suddenly disappeared, probably to sneak out the back for a smoke, so since there were no other customers, Kurt moved down the counter to make Professor Anderson's drink. He grabbed the largest cup and got to work, unexpectedly aware of the man's eyes on him.
"I had no idea you worked here," Professor Anderson commented, probably to fill the silence.
"Yup, for a couple of years now," Kurt said. He grabbed a lid for the cup. "Do you come here often?"
Oh my god, that sounds like such a line.
"Not really." Professor Anderson said.
There was an awkward silence.
Kurt slid the coffee towards him across the counter. Their eyes met. He had never realized Professor Anderson had such lovely eyes, with little specks of gold around the iris. "Here you are. I hope it does the trick."
Professor Anderson smiled at him. "Thank you so much. I guess I'll see you in class?"
"I'll see you in class!" Kurt confirmed, and watched as the other man walked towards the door.
He had to force himself to look away and go back to work. There was something about Professor Anderson that was certainly intriguing.
Blaine looked over his shoulder as he left the coffee shop. Kurt Hummel was wiping the counter with a white rag, his lips pursed as if he was whistling a tune. Blaine took a sip of his cup, the shot of caffeine immediately travelling though him and waking his senses.
He smiled. This unexpected little kindness had been just what he needed. Now he felt slightly more ready to face yet another week.
Blaine made his way to campus, the dark thoughts from the night before forgotten, his heart a little lighter, and the warmth of the cup of coffee in his hand spreading all over him.
Today had the potential to be a good day, after all.
Please review and let me know what you think :)
I've been getting a lot of writing done lately, so I'll do my best to update again sometime next week! Thanks for the patience!
Love,
L.-