chapter iv
"I just realised, you never told me how the rest of the duets competition went," Blaine said the Tuesday after the event in question ended. "Who did you end up singing with?"
Kurt stilled.
"Kurt, what's wrong?" Blaine asked, concern colouring his voice. Kurt looked up through his lashes and shrugged.
"I'm fine," he assured him, "it just . . . isn't a big deal."
"But you were so excited about it." Blaine's face screwed up in confusion.
Kurt bit his lip, pulled up a few blades of grass and twisted them in his fingers. He rarely wanted to keep anything from Blaine but the few occasions he did, the other boy had so far always managed to get it out of him sooner or later anyway. It was the lack of distractions – in a place with no extra coffee runs or CD players or changing scenery or other people (combined with Blaine's attentiveness), Kurt found it much harder to deflect the attention away from himself.
"Sam partnered up with Quinn," he eventually said, "and their nauseatingly sweet, heterosexual, Aryan duet won them a dinner at Breadstix. Oh!" He perked up and turned to face Blaine, gossipy snark in his voice and humour in his eyes. "I didn't tell you about Finn and Rachel's duet!" Without waiting for confirmation from Blaine, he launched into a detailed account of their wardrobe and performance. Blaine dropped the subject (for now, Kurt knew, but at least he'd bought himself some time) to become fully absorbed in Kurt's story. He gasped and bemoaned and criticised and laughed in all the right places, and when Kurt had drawn that out for as long as he could, he told Blaine in an equal amount of detail Rachel's music video for Run, Joey, Run the previous year.
They spent the rest of the night discussing the New Directions' almost incestuous affairs, commiserating over Vocal Adrenaline's tyranny and discussing the most offensive songs in musical theatre.
"Great news, guys," Mr Schue announced as he walked into the choir room, saving Kurt from thinking of a response to Brittany (how does one dress up as a peanut allergy?) that would neither hurt her feelings or make Santana come after him with a shiv, "I've had a little inspiration: this week's lesson isn't really a lesson – it's a musical." He paused for dramatic effect. "Rocky Horror."
"Oh, my god, that's one of my favourite musicals," Kurt said excitedly to Brittany.
"I always get a Rocky Horror at Chuck-E-Cheese," she replied.
Rachel started speaking then, getting the attention of the whole room, once again saving Kurt from responding to Brittany. "Um, Mr Schue? While I admire your choice of the ground-breaking seventies musical, aren't you worried that the adult themes might be a point of controversy?"
It made Kurt uncomfortable to agree with Rachel, even after she stepped up to try and make him feel better last week, but what she said reminded him of an article he'd read online a few weeks ago. "There's a school in Texas that couldn't even do RENT. It caused an outrage and they had to cancel the show."
"Isn't that the whole point of the arts?" Mr Schue said. "Pushing boundaries? Doing things people say you can't do for the sake of self expression? Look, I've got it all figured out. I cut out some of the more risqué sections, and I'm sending home permission slips to all your parents to make sure they're okay with it, and we're going to charge admission, and use the proceeds to help pay for transport to Nationals in New York." The room buzzed behind Kurt as he scanned through the permission slip and tried to think of a way to spin this to his dad. No way would Burt let him do this if he mentioned all the sexual deviancy.
The club started talking about casting. Rachel and Finn claimed Janet and Brad immediately, of course, and Artie could only be the Criminologist, but then Mr Schue suggested that Kurt play Frank-N-Furter and he had to put a stop to that train of thought right away.
"No, there is no way I am playing a transvestite in high heels and fishnets and wearing lipstick."
"Why? 'Cause that look was last season?" Santana interrupted.
As Mike spoke up and the casting continued, Kurt pushed down his frustration at Santana clearly missing the point. Would he like to play Frank? Hell yeah. It was a lead role and he would sound and look fantastic. But could he? No. He'd had a double slushy and almost had his fingers broken because the brutes at the top of the social food chain had heard he was singing with another guy. If they caught wind of what he'd have to wear as Frank, they'd probably reinstate his daily dumpster toss and roll him in a porta potty.
And then the conversation turned to Sam's abs, and the memory of Blaine's softly defined muscles after one of their swims was more than enough to distract Kurt from his upset.
That night, Kurt managed to distract Blaine again by telling about about Rocky Horror.
"Why is your principal allowing it?" Blaine asked, bemused.
"Mr Schue said he'd cut out some of the more risqué parts."
Blaine looked incredulous and just a little annoyed. "But that'll ruin what little integrity and plot Rocky Horror has!"
Kurt couldn't help but giggle through his shrug.
"I honestly have no idea what's going through his head. We're struggling as it is to keep the glee club running and there are much safer musicals to perform."
Blaine shook his head, crossed his legs and then rested his elbows on his knees and his head in one of his hands to look at Kurt. "So who are you cast as?"
Mentioning superfluous details and going off on calculated tangents, Kurt told Blaine about everyone's assumptions that he'd be Frank-N-Furter and how Quinn had come over after school and they'd spent hours working on their costumes and hanging out like they were friends, not a cheerleader and the gay kid (which led to Kurt telling Blaine about how close they had been last year when her pregnancy knocked off the social ladder).
Neither of them felt the time passing, in the moving-yet-standing-still way it usually did, so when Kurt blinked and was back in his bedroom mid-sentence, he felt bizarrely disoriented. He forced himself out of bed and was surprised at the three tears which dropped in quick succession onto the journal pages.
He hated not getting the chance to say goodbye to Blaine, or at least give their conversation closure. And god knew how Blaine was feeling!
The last thought put Kurt in a terrible mood for the entire day. He fussed over Quinn's costume during glee, which made him feel a little better, but then he remembered that Blaine was probably worried, and then Karofsky dumped Kurt's Riffraff wig in a toilet and then pushed Kurt into it as well, probably giving his chest a lovely bruise and bending his wrist awkwardly. He gasped at the pain but managed to hold back the tears, at least until he was alone.
By the time he got home, his wrist was swollen and starting to bruise.
Fortunately, his dad was back to working full-time now, even though he was still doing more paperwork than anything else. This wasn't Kurt's first sprain – he was equally likely to get hurt being thrown in and then climbing out a dumpster – and it wasn't the worst either, and by the time his dad had arrived home Kurt had wrapped himself up and covered up the bandage with a pair of fingerless gloves.
"Are Carole and Finn coming over for dinner?" he asked as Burt hung up his jacket and took off his shoes.
"Just Carole tonight. I think she said somethin' about Finn going over his girlfriend's house for that musical you're doing."
"Oh, good! I found this burger recipe online – real meat, you'll be pleased to know, but it's heart-healthy and it'll taste amazing with that relish I've been dying to try."
"How about you leave that for next time Finn comes over, too?" Burt suggested. "Make some of your fancy French stuff tonight. Oh, but Carole's bringing dessert so you don't have to worry about that."
Kurt smiled at him, only a little indulgently. "Italian, Dad. I was thinking just a simple alfredo for tonight."
"So long as it tastes good, I'm not complaining."
Kurt was barely aware of his change of location before he was tackled to the ground. It took a few moments for him to get his breathe back, and then he registered babbling.
"—so worried, god, Kurt. What happened?"
Kurt brought up his arms – or as much as he could, since Blaine was wrapped around his chest – and patted Blaine's back comfortingly. Blaine pulled back, allowing Kurt to sit up, and then held his shoulders and looked intensely into his eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked.
Kurt nodded, bringing a hand up to hold one of Blaine's. "I'm fine," he answered. Blaine's body relaxed slightly and he breathed out a sigh of relief. "Are you okay?"
Blaine smiled; it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm fine."
Kurt moved their hands off his shoulder to squeeze it. "What's wrong?"
Blaine shook his head and laughed shakily. "Nothing's wrong, I promise."
"Then what was wrong?"
"You just . . . disappeared, Kurt. I didn't . . . I didn't know if you were gonna come back."
Kurt gasped. "Oh my god, I didn't even think of that!" Blaine shrugged. "Blaine, I promise that I will never, ever leave you here on your own, okay? I will do whatever it takes to get back to you."
Blaine smiled – a real one this time, though small – and squeezed Kurt's hand. "Okay." He sat up properly and his smile widened as he asked, "So how's Rocky Horror coming along?"
Kurt's chest loosened at the return of the shine in Blaine's eyes, and he couldn't help but smile back. "Well, our guidance counsellor's dentist boyfriend is Eddie, and now Mercedes is playing Frank! She and Tina went shopping today – Tina knows all the all the best places to buy leather and fishnets – to get her costume and apparently she's gonna look fierce. My girl's gonna steal the show," Kurt said proudly.
"Even more than the Creature's gold shorts?" Blaine teased. Kurt flushed lightly – he was still, even after four months, getting used to having another boy to talk about other boys with.
"Sam keeps coming up with these ridiculous puns about how awesome his abs are—" Blaine laughed. "—but I'll bet they're still not as good as Mercedes' voice. She's like the love child of Aretha Franklin and Beyoncé."
"She sounds amazing."
"She is."
They fell silent again, and Kurt realised they were still holding hands. Actually, Blaine was holding on quite tightly. Kurt's chest ached with all their potential.
"Come on," he said suddenly, getting to his feet without dropping Blaine's hand. Blaine scrambled to followed him immediately and with nothing more than a curious look. "We should walk around a bit. I have a feeling you haven't really moved all day."
Blaine looked abashed, and his cheeks pinked a little. Kurt resisted the urge to coo at him – that was just patronising; he smiled toothily instead. (He ignored the swoop in his stomach at Blaine's silent admission.)
"Who would you want to be in Rocky?"
"Honestly, I don't mind. Anyone who doesn't have to wear heels."
"But you'd be so much taller!"
"For all of three seconds before I fall on my face, yeah."
"How is walking in heels any different to walking along the back of a couch?"
"It's a different kind of balance!"
Kurt looked at Blaine out of the corner of his eye and gave him a sly smile.
"Have I told you about the week I wore ten-inch heels for a Glee assignment?"
Blaine looked torn between amused, awed and intrigued. "I can't say you have – please, tell me more!"
Sticking to the lighter parts of the week, Kurt filled Blaine in on the New Directions' foray into the theatricality of Lady Gaga and Kiss. He then delved into the Rachel/Shelby drama, which in turn led Kurt to filling in more of the romantic drama surrounding Rachel and Finn. (It was, after all, a saga too convoluted and lengthy to be told in one sitting, even a sitting as long as eight hours.)
"Are you sure your school isn't actually some kind of reality show?" Blaine asked, bemused.
"God, I hope not," Kurt groaned. "Because then I'd be Truman and it would be cruel to make me into the least popular kid in school."
"True." Blaine looked thoughtful. "Besides, it'd take more than a road block and a piddly lightning storm to keep you in Lima."
"Not even a giant dome could keep me from leaving."
"You never struck me as a Simpsons fan."
Kurt smiled nostalgically, and a little sadly. "After my mom died, Dad and I sort of . . . stopped for a while. Our first Friday night dinner after, he tried to make chicken, like she did, but when he cut into it, the inside was completely raw. So we ordered Chinese and curled up in front of the TV, and The Simpsons was on. We couldn't help but laugh – although I didn't understand half the jokes then." He gave a self-conscious smile and half-shrug to Blaine, who was looking up at him softly. "It was never something we had with Mom; it kind of helped . . . settle into our, um, well, new normal, I guess." He laughed and finished lightly, "Although now, I just watch it because I like it."
"That's really nice."
Kurt sighed and shook his head. "I swear not everything about me has a profound origin story. For example, my love for Sixteen and Pregnant is because trashy television is hilarious and subtly reminds my dad that it could always be worse."
"Are you sure it's not because of some deep-rooted desire for people to notice you for all the wrong reasons?"
"I'm afraid my life lacks the appropriate amount of scandal to keep the general audience interested."
"Maybe the Glee club in general then."
They walked for a while in easy silence, and then Blaine disentangled their hands to lean back against a tree. Kurt sat against a nearby trunk, so he was neither directly opposite nor directly next to Blaine, playfully kicking at the other boy's legs as he passed. He plucked up some longer blades of grass and started to plait them for something to do with his hands.
"So." Kurt looked up. Blaine was watching him closely. "If Sam went with Quinn, what did you do for the duets competition?"
Kurt's fingers faltered for a moment, and then he answered, his tone dismissive in a way he knew Blaine would see straight through, "Oh, I did a duet with myself – Le Jazz Hot from Victor/Victoria. The show is about embracing the masculine and the feminine, which makes this the perfect duet for me to sing by myself. Plus, my costume was unquestionably fabulous."
"I wouldn't expect anything less," Blaine said. Then he sighed and hung his head in his hands. "But you should have sung with Sam. I'm so, so sorry, Kurt."
"We've been through this already; it's not your fault. It's really for the best in the end, anyway. Everyone tends to pick singing partners who they're dating."
"I would've sung with you." Blaine peered through his eyelashes; Kurt's breath caught. "We sound so good together. I'd always sing with you."
"Everyone would assume we were dating," Kurt reminded him, shooting for scorn but landing amongst breathless.
Blaine shrugged. He looked composed but for the pink tint on his cheeks. "Honestly? If I knew you in the Real World? I would've asked you out by now." Kurt's face immediately burned, and his heartbeat rocketed. "Sorry," Blaine muttered, looking away, "that was probably . . ."
"It's fine," Kurt interrupted. He mentally winced at how high-pitched his voice had gone. "I, um, I would've accepted."
Blaine beamed at him, his eyes crinkled and shining. Kurt's pulse jumped erratically, and he couldn't stop the responding smile from spreading across his face.
That night, they parted with a tight hug, and Kurt dared to press a quick kiss to Blaine's heated cheek.