Author's Notes:
Thank you so much for reading. For anyone out there who's up for some good music: playlist?list=PLxfCJHSOib1deVvEwnw-cNcayc_owc4Zy — playlist's link (goes right after the 'dot-com' in youtube's address.) ;)
chapter 2: coffee, pizza, cigarettes, and Finn the Klaine-meister
"Good morning, Blaine," is the first thing Blaine hears when he steps into the kitchen the next morning. "Did you sleep well?" Kurt asks teasingly.
He's sitting at the island, reading something on his Kindle with a mug of coffee in his hand—Blaine gleans as much by the scent pervading the room.
Blaine's yawn dies halfway inside his throat; seeing Kurt all dressed up and perfectly coiffed suddenly makes him feel underdressed, wearing nothing but sweatpants and his time-worn Dalton T-shirt (with an emblem so faded it's barely recognizable.) Blaine forces a nervous smile and scratches the back of his curly head. Self-consciously, he walks up to the fridge, pulls the door open, and gets a mere bottle of water, his appetite suddenly gone.
"Yep. You?" Blaine asks before taking a swig. Kurt takes a sip too before he bites at his upper lip, looking past Blaine, somewhat distracted.
"Yep," he echoes him distantly. "Jesse went off to meet up with his parents."
Blaine knows. Blaine knew Jesse's parents were in town and that he'd promised to keep them company that day that they stopped by on their way south.
Blaine just didn't expect Kurt to stay.
Kurt puts his mug down before gracefully sliding off the stool and putting the Kindle in his bag. There is a breath of resolution to his movements and Blaine watches him curiously from where he stands by the counter sipping his water. Kurt picks up his emptied cup and comes up to Blaine. Close.
For a moment, Kurt just stands there in front of him, almost as if waiting for something to happen. Blaine stares at him in blank confusion.
The next thing he knows—he's swallowing down as Kurt steps intimately closer, and—unprepared—is bending back a bit, feeling himself press into the edge of the sink. His heart skips a beat as his frantic eyes search Kurt's face for some kind of explanation. What they find instead is the perfect curvature of Kurt's eyebrows, the crystal limpidity of his blue eyes, and the captivating softness of his skin. The kind of delicious softness that only comes with a long-established moisturizing routine and that makes the tips of Blaine's fingertips tingle without even having to touch it.
And it's either Blaine's body sets itself on fire or their legs touch before—a loud clank behind Blaine's back; Blaine twists where Kurt has him cornered to glance down into the sink, almost pressing their chests together in the process, and sees the cup Kurt just put there.
"Oh...m'sorry," Blaine mumbles sheepishly.
For a second or two Kurt keeps standing there, watching the line of Blaine's jaw with an inscrutable expression, Blaine still halfway turned away from him. Kurt's fingers squeeze the edge of the sink to the point of his knuckles turning white before—he pushes away, letting Blaine have his personal space back.
When Blaine turns to look at him, Kurt's stepping away. The tension in the air wanes proportionally to the growth in space between them. On his way out, Kurt grabs his bag, lets out a breathy sigh, and tells Blaine, "Get dressed."
Kurt takes Blaine to have breakfast at his favorite place. The café is cozy and modest; they're one of the earliest customers that Saturday, and it's peacefully quiet when they first get there.
Blaine looks around, taking in the abstract lines and streaks of paint on the walls—three of them colored and one having a faux brickwork—exposed ducts, large windows. Outside Blaine can see the avenue bathing in the early-morning sun.
Blaine watches Kurt's knife and fork cleave into some sophisticated vegetarian dish the name of which Blaine wouldn't have remembered even if he tried. He guesses it's some kind of seared mini-rolls that have carefully arranged greens and vegetables around them as well a small cup of hummus squeezed nearby. Blaine himself wasn't hungry, his stomach churning, so he simply got himself a cup of tea.
He felt surreal sitting across from Kurt as they were ordering, watching Kurt talk to the waiter in a genteel voice that still couldn't quite break away from that coquettish hint in it as Kurt swayed his leg relaxedly.
"When you realize just the mistake you've made I will be more than happy to share with you," Kurt hums to him in regards to his almost-lack-of order before he bites at his carrot dipped in hummus.
Unsure, Blaine makes a slight nod and leans down to take a sip of his steaming hot tea. The café is filled with a soft blues motif, peculiar in its monotony with the equally faint, almost indistinguishable lyrics.
and maybe it was nothing
too little too late
When Kurt sends the rest of his slice into his mouth, he leans back in his seat and glances up at Blaine in a way that's different from his usually piercing gazes. It's soft and careful and almost intimate—yet Blaine's clueless, his jaw propped up by his hand, eyes boring into his cup, teeth worrying his lips. Kurt studies him openly, tilting his head to side, taking in Blaine's curly head of hair.
When Blaine looks up and their eyes meet, he finds himself unable to look away. Holding this heated eye contact, Blaine feels his ears flush. And then something in Kurt's eyes changes, a smile touches his delicately carved lips.
"So tell me, Blaine," he says in a sweet, playful voice; his eyes trace the movement of his own hand that dunks one of the slim celery slices into hummus.
Blaine could tell him anything.
"What was it like studying in a school for boys?"
There is nothing out of the ordinary with this question—it need not be, yet the inflection of Kurt's silky voice when he asks it could as well make Blaine's face go red. As if there is some kind of there there—in the same way that, ever since Kurt became a part of his life, Blaine hasn't been able to shake off this gnawing feeling that there was something worth blushing for that he just didn't know about himself yet.
He clears his throat gruffly, looks down at his cup, and licks his lips, fighting the inexplicable smile.
"Not bad," he responds, nodding as he lifts the cup up to his mouth.
"Not bad?" Kurt asks him with a smile, shifting in his seat as he leans forward to rest his elbow on the table surface, then takes an impish bite at his celery slice.
"Not bad," Blaine echoes after he swallows, putting his cup down and glancing up at Kurt. For a couple of seconds they just smile at each other knowingly and this is fucking insanity.
"Mhm," Kurt hums contentedly as he chews, letting his eyelids flutter shut. "Sometimes I want to go back."
Blaine arches an eyebrow, eyeing Kurt.
"Not that there was a second I spent not wanting to leave that cow town and never look back," he clarifies in a biting tone. "But it was nice not knowing what'll happen. What exactly will happen."
Kurt stirs his thick hummus with a carrot slice. Blaine listens to him intently.
"We had the world at our feet," Kurt says and Blaine can effortlessly picture the we Kurt is talking about.
After all of Finn's references to his and Kurt's mutual past he's made in passing (which, more often than not, had a tendency to branch off into the full-fledged stories of their own,) Blaine feels as if he's been there to witness them all himself.
"Of course, it was almost like the whole world and none of it at once, but there was something about it."
Blaine nods. And smiles.
When Blaine gets the taste of what it feels like to talk to Kurt, he can't stop. In the end, he steals a few carrot slices from Kurt's plate as well as one mini-roll that, to his surprise, turns out weirdly delicious. Kurt pays for Blaine's tea which Blaine finds it adorable. Even the way Kurt can't quite quell his flirtatious side when speaking to the staff Blaine finds adorable.
This café doesn't end up being their last stop that day. When they step out, Blaine shoves his hands into his back pockets and faces the way leading home, ready to head back—yet Kurt grabs him by his elbow and tugs him in the opposite direction. So they set out on a long Downtown walk that consists of light, naturally-coming conversations, pleasant silence, gleeful laughter, and the morning sun nuzzling their faces.
Blaine facepalms when he's laughed for so long his abs start to hurt and his eyes start to water. He can't quite believe the joy coursing through his body and tingling at his insides, doesn't know what to do about it and simply turns to glance at Kurt, looking at him with a fond tilt of his head as they walk.
Their last stop is a coffee shop; Kurt's the first to make an order during which he flirts with barista shamelessly and to the common question 'What's your name?' purrs sweetly, "Blaine." Blaine watches him the whole time and feels something twist in his stomach at the way Kurt says his name.
Blaine is next in line and he musters up his best charm, putting on an equally flirtatious performance before introducing himself as Kurt.
"I'm starting to suspect you were secretly attending acting classes on top of the Glee Club," Blaine tells Kurt jokingly when they sink into the soft cushions on the couch by the open window. There is enough space between their bodies for them not to feel each other's warmth as they wait for their orders.
Kurt hums, acknowledging Blaine's remark, seemingly lost in his thoughts; his index finger traces the outline of his upper lip.
"No," Kurt says when enough time has passed for Blaine to let go of what he said and almost forget about it. Kurt shakes his head and turns to look at him. "I just really enjoyed Broadway shows."
Blaine turns to look into Kurt's face, a bit timid and a lot caring. Kurt speaks in an open, leisurely voice that without its usual coquettish quality feels...bare, somehow. Kurt shrugs indifferently, pursing his lips.
"Rach and I were going to go study dramatic arts, together. At NYADA, if you're familiar."
This is the part Finn's never told Blaine. Blaine frowns; NYADA is precisely the place Rachel is at the moment. Just as closely as Blaine is watching Kurt, Kurt's watching him.
"Ask me."
Blaine looks up into his blue eyes, gazes into them for a long time, and when he opens his mouth, he asks something else.
"Why didn't you go with him?"
Blaine knew about Jesse's plans to offer Kurt to say hi to his family and Blaine knew how much it would've meant for him. Before Blaine even met Kurt, he knew how fast his friend had fallen for him and how deep.
A brand new expression takes over Kurt's features as he straightens up his neck, studying Blaine's face in a way so unpinnable it's baffling. As if it's a wonder Blaine sees in Kurt's eyes, but he can't be sure.
"He wanted me to that much?" Kurt asks quietly, wary yet awed all at once, eyes searching Blaine's eyes.
"Blaine?" calls the barista, causing Blaine to glance his way sharply. "Your grand non-fat mocha, please."
Before he starts to stand up and before the name of the order even registers with him, Kurt is already on his feet, trying to squeeze in between Blaine's knees and the coffee table. Blaine looks up at him, shuffling his calves closer to the couch, as Kurt flashes him a smile, tousling Blaine's head of curls.
"I'm afraid you, Mr. Hummel, will have to wait."
From this day onward, Blaine decides that this is what it was all along. This was what he has been pining for, Kurt's friendship. No wonder he was so afraid to admit this to his own self; Kurt was the first guy Blaine felt a longing to become friends with, the absolute need to have him in his life. No doubt the controversy of it scared Blaine. No doubt he didn't let his mind go there for as long as he has—in fear of chancing upon something else about himself in the process.
It's just that Kurt has a unique personality, a remarkable personality, and for Blaine, as someone with a heart of a writer, it's easy to fall for everything remarkable, is all.
The realization is a weight off his shoulders he didn't know he was carrying all this time.
Kurt starts to join Blaine and Finn more often; once the three of them even do groceries. It feels so warm and family-like; Blaine loves being in the company of these two, far more so than when their trio is accompanied by Jesse. Blaine ascribes this preference of his to Kurt ceasing to participate in the conversation once Jesse's around, his mouth always busy with kissing or flirting. As callously as it may sound, Kurt just...loses his value to Blaine when he becomes like that. Kurt just ceases being Kurt.
As callously as it may have sounded, Blaine was far more at peace with this explanation than having to dig any deeper and unveil things tenfold more disturbing.
One time Kurt, Finn, and Blaine arrive at Hummel-Hudson's half an hour before the start of their practice. Blaine sits down on the steps by the garage door leading inside the house. Acoustic guitar in his arms, he lets himself a peaceful moment of solitary improvisation.
Finn is inside watching the game on TV; not long after Blaine starts playing, Kurt emerges in the doorway at the beautiful sound. That day Kurt comments on Blaine's playing for the first time.
Sits down next to him; Blaine turns to face him as they both snuggle on the narrow stairs, knees touching. Blaine keeps strumming a soft, euphonious sequence of chords, all while upholding a hushed conversation with Kurt.
He doesn't notice when his fingers fall back into reprising the piece he's composed a while back, the pattern still fresh in his mind. Kurt doesn't look at him when he plays; his eyes are distant and unfocused, staring off into the dark corner in the room. The melody is just the perfect mixture of smooth, edgy, and leisurely; knowing it by heart, Blaine doesn't need to watch his hands. He absently watches Kurt's thighs instead, wrapped in dark denim, as he half-recites, half-sings the lyrics.
His lyrics never overshadow his music, always a mere complement to it, just audible enough to help shape the melody where it's rough around the edges.
When Blaine starts to sing, Kurt looks down at his cup of hot chocolate, his hold on the ceramic mug tightening.
When Blaine is done, Kurt takes a small sip, then turns to look at him. Blaine glances up from where his fingers went back to the quiet extemporization. The unforgiving fierceness of Kurt's gaze makes Blaine's playing fade away into a startled silence.
"Why are you here?" Kurt asks him then.
Blaine's never seen him like that. His blue eyes are turbid with painful seriousness and a ruthless demand to know. Being on the receiving end of this gaze, Blaine can feel it quickly engulf his chest before crushing it the way Blaine crushed that Coke two weeks ago.
"Why are you here?" Blaine barely hears himself asking as he searches Kurt's eyes that—suddenly—glaze over with a dark, unreadable guise. Kurt's gaze keeps searing into Blaine with the same intensity, if not greater.
"Kurt!" both of them hear Jesse's singsong voice call him from the hall inside; there's a noise of Santana's, Brittany's, and Finn's voices talking in the background. Everybody's here.
Blaine glances to his right through the empty doorway, feeling a little pang of disappointment. Meanwhile, Kurt doesn't acknowledge his name being called, never taking his heavy eyes off of Blaine.
Blaine hears Jesse ask Finn where Kurt is and Finn say he doesn't know. Unsure, Blaine turns back to Kurt, and for the next ten seconds, they simply gaze at each other in silence.
Both hear Jesse ask where Blaine is and Finn tell him he doesn't know that either.
In the end, Blaine manages to ride these lies out for a whole week onward.
The thing that does it for him, the thing that becomes his last straw, is so ridiculous he would've laughed if it didn't make him want to cry.
That Friday night their group sets out on a movie marathon and decide to order pizza. Finn gave Blaine a ride on their way to the practice (since both of them had been hanging out anyway) and afterward, Britt and Santana agreed to drop Blaine off at his apartment on their own way home. As a result, he was cuffed to the girls.
He might've left earlier if he had his car with him.
They order three different pizzas: one for Blaine and Santana, one for Jesse and Kurt, and one for Brittany and Finn—just the way it happens to be in accordance to their likings. Blaine sits on the couch, squeezed in between Santana and Jesse; Kurt and Britt chill at the soft carpet in front of them; Finn rests in the armchair to their left. As they wait for the pizza, watching the movie, Jesse massages the back of Kurt's neck, whispering something sweet and low into his ear; Finn gobbles a bag of chips, Santana braids Brittany's blond hair.
For some reason, Blaine finds it hard to concentrate on the movie and fiddles with his iPhone instead, surfing social nets. When delivery guy arrives, Jesse, being the closest to the door, complies to go get it.
"My pizzawinner," Kurt purrs teasingly, watching Jesse press kisses to the back of Kurt's hands as he gets up from behind. Blaine tucks his right ankle under his right thigh as soon as he gets more room.
Finn reaches for the remote and pauses the movie while Jesse disappears into the hallway.
"So Frankenstein, when are you leaving to go bang your girlfriend in New York?"
Blaine glares at Santana next to him; Kurt lets out a sweet yawn.
"Why thanks, Santana, for caring so much about my sex life. Not very soon: first we've decided she'll visit me here."
"Rachel's coming?" Kurt asks suddenly, the last trace of playfulness flees his voice.
Blaine watches the side of Kurt's face and feels as if he can feel everything that there is to be experienced by Kurt in this moment. Blaine doesn't know where such confidence comes from because Kurt's face is void of any emotion, perfectly blank—and not in a way that's inviting.
In a way that makes Finn's face lose its color as well.
"Yeah," Finn says flatly. "I was going to tell you, sorry."
Kurt's sheer gaze seems to be doing a fantastic job of coercing all the right answers from him.
"In two weeks," Finn says. "Right when her contract with her landlady expires. We'll only spend here a week tops and then 'll go to Lima. Glee guys are talking about throwing our own mini Homecoming—on the 4th of July. To bring our families together and all," Finn rattles on. "And then Rach and I will go to New York. We haven't figured out where to stay yet, but..."
"Jesus, Hummel," Santana chimes in. "Is she even worse than you? That he feels like explaining his ass off the wagon," she muses dryly, doing Brittany's hair with gentle fingers.
As far as Blaine has been able to garner from Finn's stories, Rachel is the only friend Kurt kept since high school—and is deemed a relatively close friend at that. Santana's witty remark, however, seems to break some of the tension, making Kurt strain a sarcastic smile her way and leave it, turning back to look at his legs.
And the way the back of his neck stretches, baring itself to Blaine, as Kurt—quite literally—hangs his head, makes him for a second look—small, vulnerable and Blaine doesn't quite know if the sight is more adorable or heartbreaking. Blaine's heart aches with a sudden need to say something, be with Kurt in some ineffable way—but before he even starts to open his mouth, Jesse strides back with a stack of three pizza boxes.
And, just like that, Kurt turns to look up at Jesse with no signs of his and Finn's recent encounter on his face. Just a genuine smile as he reaches out for their box.
"Pizza!" Brittany proclaims, as if to make it official.
It happens when Blaine is halfway through his second slice. Kurt is full pretty quickly and puts his sparsely pecked slice away, back into the box.
"Those in favor of switching, guys?" Jesse asks with his mouth full.
Everyone shrugs in agreement and starts sharing. Some reach out for Britt's and Finn's box at the coffee table, some reach for Kurt's and Jesse's one on the floor; Brittany kindly offers Finn what's left of her own slice, which earns her a confused frown on Finn's part. Kurt lets his head drop back onto the edge of the sofa, gazing up at Blaine and Santana.
"Which one of you will let me take a bite?"
Santana sucks on her delicate fingers and happily holds out what's left of her slice—the crust—above Kurt's head, wiggling it like a treat for a doggie.
Kurt rolls his eyes, hauls himself up, and turns to face Blaine. Blaine freezes; he's pretty sure he forgets how to eat.
One of Kurt's hands cups Blaine's knee for better leverage; Blaine feels Kurt's palm soft and warm against the denim of his jeans. Kurt opens his mouth in a childlike manner and leans in to catch the slice Blaine holds in his hand, next to his own mouth. Blaine swallows his poorly chewed mouthful, watching Kurt with his hazel eyes now brown and glazed with heaviness.
Kurt cleaves into Blaine's pizza with his dainty teeth—Blaine's never seen his teeth before—then tugs at the slice Blaine holds, pulling away, and then his rosy tongue starts to shamelessly pick up the threads of cheese that threaten to droop down from Blaine's piece. Blaine keeps watching when Kurt, chewing with mouth now carefully closed, regards Blaine with a coy smile, pets his knee in thanks, and slides back down into the cocoon of Jesse's legs, as gracefully as he climbed up.
"I don't usually go all in," Santana picks up from the get-go, singing along from where she sits in the front passenger's seat of Britt's car with a night road racing towards them.
"Babe," Brittany follows suit from behind the steering wheel.
"Made me lose more than I could win. Babe," Santana sings, waving her index finger at Britt in a diva fashion. Both girls burst out laughing as they rock to the pulse of the bass resonating throughout the car, interfering with their heartbeats.
This manages to draw Blaine out of the trance he spent the whole ride under, sitting in the backseat, quiet, glassy-eyes, and completely out of it.
Seeing the pair light up to the definition of a pop song that came up on the radio, Blaine can't help a soft smile as he eyes them discreetly from behind.
you
keep
robbing my heart like a bank
(and i only got myself to blame)
you keep
robbing my heart like a bank
"No thank you," Santana sings, bringing her hands together for a clap.
"No thank you," Brittany echoes, spinning the steering wheel.
For the first time since the moment Britt burst the door open into Blaine's life, he suddenly realizes that it's her.
Watching Santana and her interact as the light and the shadows from the passing street lamps flit across at their smiling faces, Blaine doesn't recognize the girl he used to date half a year ago.
Jesse was the one who introduced him to Santana when he and Blaine first moved in. By far, Jesse's friendship was the luckiest one Blaine's ever had the pleasure of earning. He would've never met either Santana or Kurt and Finn if it wasn't for J.
To this day Blaine remembers how adamant Jesse was about his no-screwing policy upon the band's formation, and how Santana couldn't care less the very next day as she pushed Blaine into the bed. Blaine loved that about her, how dauntless she was, how easily she could detach herself from people that were nothing but a background noise in her life.
But this Santana, the laughing-with-her-eyes-sparking Santana, the rocking-to-the-silly-love-songs Santana, Blaine loved so much more. This Santana, he realized then, reminded him of himself that day by the coffee shop when he felt so much he didn't know what to do with it.
But somehow Blaine knew that, if he were to say anything at all, make the tiniest bit of sound regarding this new Santana—he would jeopardize all of it.
Which is why all he did was sit quietly in the backseat and watch them from afar like a ghost, stealing glances in the rear view that had Brittany's own radiant smile beaming in the dark.
i'm not above love
i just ran out of
it
"Blaine, is it this turn or next?" Britt asks him over the loud music, glancing at him in the mirror.
"You can drop me off right here, I'll walk," Blaine tells her, squeezing the back of her seat.
"Okay," she says, watching the road while she pulls up to the side. "Out, out, out," she shoos him as soon as the car halts, sending a warm smile his way.
Blaine laughs while Santana cheers up, "Yeah, get your ass out of here; we're about to have our girl time on."
He's never heard Santana's voice laced with such mirth and tenderness as she tells him to get lost.
He wished a good dose of fresh air right before bed really did ensure a healthier sleep. He would've given up everything for it to be true.
But that night he wakes up. His mind still fuzzy from the sleep, he sits up, kicks the covers off, and gets up from his bed. As he makes a drowsy way for his door in the dark, he only has one thing on his mind—bathroom, now.
...Until he reaches out for the doorknob and the sound of somebody moaning on the other side stops him dead in his tracks.
Just like that, the last vestige of dizziness and sleepiness is out the window; Blaine's back tautens and he holds his breath, frozen by the door.
He hears Jesse growl. He hears Kurt laugh a soft, breathy laugh as both of them pant in a what seem to be rocking movements on the couch less than ten feet away from Blaine's room.
That laugh, that sweet and cocky and yet somehow still warmhearted laugh of Kurt's, pierces into Blaine's ears, claws into Blaine's heart and ripples down through his insides until it reaches his crotch.
Blaine swallows down the rancid dryness in his mouth after those few hours of sleep he got. Round-eyed, he stares at the wooden door in front of him, his suddenly cold fingers clutching the knob.
They don't stop. Jesse keeps grumbling something unintelligible, more sighs and groans than actual words, but when he moans—it's all grunts and whines and Blaine feels his heart jump at those sounds in a dead, ugly sensation.
When Kurt lets himself moan—considerably less often, but just as rich and wanton in sound—he does so in pure bliss, his voice is a pure bliss, rotund and high and electrifying in its breathlessness; Blaine forces his eyes shut and has to squeeze the eyelids tighter still with each of the next sounds Kurt makes.
Blaine can hear the soft squeaking of the couch they are having sex on, can hear exactly when they kiss, huffing and puffing hotly into each other's mouths, and when they throw their heads back, chests rumbling with deep, shaking moans, fuck.
Blaine presses his knees and thighs together, puts a fist to the door as softly as he can manage and—feels the tears of desperation prick his eyes under his lids.
He needed to get to the bathroom so freaking much.
And now he doesn't fucking know what he needs, standing there with his legs buckling, his knees sinking to the floor as he grips himself through his boxers with one hand and pushes into the door with the other.
He doesn't get what they're doing here. They were planning to stay at Kurt's, this is why Santana and Britt were the ones to drop Blaine off. Blaine hangs his head and winces at the painfully twisting sensation in his belly and his bladder and his ballsack, of all places—and he doesn't fucking understand.
Kneeling in a black tank top and boxers, Blaine strains his muscles, his whole body tensing in an attempt to thwart something he hasn't even put a name to; his chest heaves, his biceps brawny and outlined as he exerts himself to the point of the ringing in his ears.
He stops, and breathes. His chest starts to shake. Shoulders tremble and Blaine doesn't quite notice the moment he lets himself feel, lets himself experience release—if in no other way but to cry, drily, quietly, more gasps than actual tears, trying to stifle even those against the breathy moans and chokes Kurt and Jesse keep making behind that door.
Just thinking about it makes Blaine's chest shake harder, with something else now—hysteria, laughter—as he lets go of the door to pinch the bridge his nose instead, laughing at his own pathetic ass sitting at the floor with no way of stepping outside to go pee and no clue about the fuck is going on with his body.
But when he notices how, with each whine of Kurt's, he feels himself clench where he shouldn't and twitch where he shouldn't, he's this close to covering his ears like a child just to escape the madness. It's encompassing him, tightening its hold on his neck and his heart all at once—until at some point, mortified, Blaine catches himself letting out small, labored whines with each of the muffled ones Kurt is making behind this door.
Not giving a flying fuck about any of this anymore, Blaine lurches away from the door, crawls in the dark, graceless and frantic, stumbles up to rake through the mess on his nightstand with shaking hands. Heart racing, he finds his iPhone and his earbuds and plunges into his bed, under his covers, under his pillow—not caring for the noise he's making for a single second.
In the dark, under his pillow, with unstable fingers, he must've taken the world's record long time to plug the earphones into the socket. As soon as it's done, Blaine scrolls his playlist rapidly for the first hardcore song he finds, presses play, then boosts the volume up to the maximum. He closes his eyes, blocks his iPhone a superfluous number of times, curls into the fetal position, hugs his knees to his chest, and lets the blasting pulse of the sturdy, vivid rhythm consume him.
oh i've been a hatchet
oh i've been lying
right from the paddle
of blood i've been taken
The rest of the night Blaine spends shaking in cold sweat, trying to get rid of the ache left smoldering somewhere deep inside his stomach.
He doesn't step outside to go to the bathroom until the wee hours, and by the sunrise—he's gone. He's gone until late night.
"Hey, Blaine," Jesse says, picking up an apple from the fruit basket.
Blaine looks up from his MacBook where he's scrolling through the Freelancer projects.
"Since you're sitting this one out, can I take your guitar?" Jesse asks, shoving the apple into the pocket of his leather jacket.
Blaine nods, quiet and careful, eyeing his friend askance.
"Thanks, brother," Jesse says as he shrugs the strap of Blaine's guitar onto his shoulder, then raises a hand goodbye. "Take care," he nods at Blaine. "And don't cram yourself into dying," he flashes a smug, broad smile at Blaine as he pulls the front door open.
A small but hopefully convincing smile tugs at Blaine's own mouth as he returns the nod; he finds some part of him wanting Jesse to hurry up and close the door from outside.
When Jesse does just that, Blaine lets out a breath he was holding, cold comfort tingling his thighs, as he turns back to the screen.
But who is he kidding? It's not like he will magically regain his ability to concentrate—the one he has particularly sucked at over the course of this past week, reading the same freaking paragraph over and over and over again. And just when he's managed those five arduous lines, the bell rings, scattering Blaine's attention away.
Blaine gets up and flashes an absent glance at the countertop where Jesse would always leave his keys, but it's empty. Nonetheless, Blaine doesn't think twice about it as he walks up to the door and opens it.
It's Kurt.
There's a beat; Blaine lets himself breathe out slowly, inaudibly, as his eyes brush down Kurt's slim figure. They haven't seen each other since the movie night. Blaine's been trying to gently turn down all of Finn's invitations to hang out, the two of them or otherwise. Despite the fact that seven days isn't that long of a time period—for Blaine, this past week has been the longest week in his entire life.
Because looking now at Kurt, his denim jacket from that day at the barbecue, his pale hands neatly tucked inside its pockets, and a cotton crew-neck T-shirt peeking from underneath—Blaine feels as if it's been forever.
Kurt's head is tilted to the side, his hair swept up into a coiffure so everlastingly perfect it hurts, the crisp blue of his eyes highlighted by the pastel denim as they watch Blaine. Level and quiet, as if patiently waiting for when Blaine is ready to face them.
"Hi," Blaine is the first to say, clearing his throat, leaning on the door that he holds open. "Jesse's just left."
Kurt keeps gazing at him, gesturing with his hands still inside his pockets—as if pointing at some obvious fact Blaine's missing.
"Exactly," Kurt breaks the silence when Blaine doesn't, and suddenly strides inside, inviting himself in.
Caught off guard, Blaine barely has enough time to react and step out of Kurt's way before their bodies brush.
"Why are you still here?" comes Kurt's question as he makes his confident way inside, Blaine's eyes tracing his back dumbly.
Blaine's absent hand pushes the front door shut.
"I'm behind in school," Blaine hears himself mumble in his defense the first thing that comes to mind.
Kurt pulls a stool out by the island and straddles it. It's like he literally lets whatever Blaine's just said wash over and right through him—without acknowledging Blaine in the slightest.
Blaine watches Kurt's hand slide under the flap of his jacket and into his back pocket to fish out his iPhone.
Standing in the middle of the room in his sweats and a T-shirt, Blaine stares at Kurt fiddling with his iPhone as nonchalantly as ever, snubbing Blaine in the most outright manner. The only thing disturbing the stark silence between them is the clicking sound of Kurt's iPhone as he types.
Everything about Kurt's firmly held posture seems to denote his determined refusal to leave without him. And when the quiet has dragged on for too long, the sound of Kurt's typing dies out and a pair of impatient blue eyes cleaves into Blaine's lost ones.
Kurt doesn't need to voice the patent question in his eyes that demands to know why Blaine is still here. The intensity of Kurt's gaze seems to spur Blaine into action as it is—before Blaine knows it, he's heading to his room to change.
Face deadpan, Kurt turns his gaze to his phone as he goes back to texting.
"Did you drive here or...?" Blaine asks Kurt in a soft voice as they jog down the stairs. Kurt is ahead of him.
"Nope."
"Then we'll take my car?" Blaine figures when they reach the first floor. Kurt makes a swift turn for another flight of stairs leading—Kurt knows—to an underground car park.
"Yep," Kurt says.
When Blaine presses the unlock button on his keys, Kurt stops abruptly—and spins to face Blaine. Unprepared, Blaine stumbles into him, then takes a few startled steps back. Kurt's lips curve into a subtle moue as he holds out a hand.
"I'll drive."
Unsure, Blaine looks up at him as he hands him over the keys, feeling when the warmth spark between their skin when their fingers touch.
Kurt turns back to the car and circles the vehicle, giving in to a private smile.
"We've all seen how easily you get distracted," he points out in a low, playful voice before he pulls the driver's door open and dives inside.
Blaine freezes, watching the top of Kurt's head disappear under the roof of Blaine's car. He tries to swallow around the thickness in his throat.
When they pull up at the sharp crest of the inclined driveway, Kurt glancing both ways before making a turn, Blaine reaches out to put something on.
Yet before his hand even makes it to the USB cable, he gets a slap on the wrist.
"Shush," Kurt intervenes. "He who's behind the wheel calls the tune." He holds out his own iPhone, keeping his eyes on the road.
Blaine lets out a voiceless chuckle, watching Kurt at moments when his attention should really be going to his hands as they blindly plug Kurt's cell phone in. He's been curious as to what kind of music Kurt listens to for a while now.
They find themselves swishing down the half-emptied road; a warm, ticklish wind caressing their faces as they drive off into the sunset with the windows rolled down. The air around them seems to be thick with the evening mist that's been left behind by another hot day in the city. Or, in the parks alongside the city's perimeter, Blaine guesses as he watches the setting sun ruddy all this smoke sprawling along the horizon.
This sight spurs an odd feeling of incompleteness, the feeling Blaine'd often get at the evenfall; akin to something he'd experience as a child first thing when he'd wake up after a daytime nap, the tint of disappointment about missing out on something important—together with the buzz over the upcoming night and all the mysterious darkness it augurs.
The opening chords of the song Kurt's put up instantly catch Blaine's ear as they blend into the perfect harmony with his visual perception at the moment; he steals a curious glance at the display of Kurt's iPhone.
At the minimalistic, electronic motif, Kurt perceptibly relaxes into his seat, letting the back of his head hit the headrest. It doesn't take long for the vocals to chime in, just as menacingly cold, weaving themselves into the simple, almost bare pattern of chords. It seems to Blaine that the only thing missing from the picture is the dusky smoke from the cigarettes.
i'm over
it
all
i got
bored
a long...
long...
time ago
Kurt mouthes the lyrics with a cold, icy glaze in his eyes as he stares off into the distance—when the stirring tension in the hitherto slow, forcibly tamed melody snaps into a sudden, fractured surge, sweeping over them in broad, repeated tides, making the blood rush and the heart race—yet when Blaine looks to his left, Kurt just sits there, just as still, just as impassive, quietly murmuring the words that the lead vocalist strains his throat over. This is enthralling to watch.
Kurt reaches out to open the built-in ashtray next to the gear shift, then fishes out his lighter from the pocket of his denim jacket before holding it out to Blaine. Blaine stares at it in stunned silence. Feeling Blaine hesitate, Kurt nods encouragingly.
Having no clue as to what gave him out, he wraps his fingers around Kurt's lighter, accepting it, as his other hand fishes out his opened pack of cigarettes. Kurt pulls the windows up for those few moments as Blaine lights one up.
When he takes his first drag, he lets his head touch the headrest in Kurt's fashion, a goofy smile tugging at his lips. He takes notice of the detour Kurt's taken to get to his and Finn's place when he could've driven straight through the town, the traffic isn't bad according to Kurt's GPS navigator above the AC control panel.
He barely makes his second drag when Kurt's gentle fingers wrap around the cigarette next to Blaine's lips. Blaine watches Kurt take it away from him and wrap his own mouth around it, keeping his eyes on the road as he makes a deep drag of his own.
Kurt lets the puff of smoke out as he starts to bob his head to the rhythm, reaching out to turn the volume up higher.
Bubbling over with an inexplicable feeling, Blaine snorts once, then twice, and before he knows it he's shaking with loud laughter that he can barely hear over the blasting music as he leans back into his seat. Kurt sees it with the corner of his eye and can't help his own silly smile that he tries to hide behind the cigarette before he finds Blaine's mouth with it and forces it in between Blaine's lips in an attempt to ward off his contagious beam.
Still laughing, Blaine takes the cigarette, makes a hungry drag, and lets out a shuddering breath, turning to watch the landscapes outside his window shift and merge.
and you
kept
twisting
(my words)
and you
kept
twisting
(orders)
"Of events that, occurred! I heard, I'm hard to love!" Kurt outright screams into the thunderous burst of the song from the car speakers.
Blaine turns to gaze at him with the same look on his face as that day in front of the coffee shop and can't help it.
Together they slam their respective doors shut. Kurt circles the front of the car, throwing the keys up into the air for Blaine to catch them.
"So, since when are you a smoker?" Blaine asks Kurt with a smile as they head for the front door. The suburban street is quiet as it bathes in the latest sunbeams, the kind of tranquility that's a stark contrast against the ear-splitting experience Kurt and Blaine had inside the car all but a few seconds ago.
"The better question is, since when I am not," Kurt counterpoints, letting out a blissful sigh. "Me smoking became the last straw for the majority of my friends," he tells Blaine as offhandedly as if they are talking about the weather, glancing back at him as they approach the stoop.
"What kind of friends were those," Blaine mumbles unsurely, eyeing Kurt's back in front of him.
Kurt shrugs, makes a blithe sigh, and turns to face Blaine as he leans on the door handle with his hand.
"Mercedes, Tina, Artie," Kurt starts naming the characters in question, eyes looking up at the sky. Blaine can't help but smile at Kurt giving a literal answer to his rhetorical question. "Pretty much the whole Glee Club," he sums it up, satisfied, leveling his gaze back at Blaine. "Except for Rachel. And Finn," he adds with a nod, pushing the door open. "Finn's a sweetheart."
Blaine chuckles, watching his feet.
"When we graduated I figured I might as well keep the desperate measures to their desperate times. Let what happened in Lima stay in Lima," Kurt says dryly, casually, as they walk deeper into the house.
Blaine lets himself eye Kurt discreetly; this is the first time he referenced those 'dark times' left in Lima.
"And what about you, sweetie?" Kurt takes on that flirty tone as he circles the corner leading into the living room, glancing back at Blaine over his shoulder, fingers tracing the wall.
Blaine returns the gaze and a disarming smile. Then shrugs, "Got tight with money, I guess."
Walking with his back to Blaine, Kurt breaks into a toothy smile, hanging his head.
"How did you know I started again?" Blaine asks him when they reach the garage door. "Do I—smell?" he wrinkles his nose, smiling.
Kurt laughs a warm, angelic laugh, turning to face Blaine as he lazily presses his back into the closed door.
"Blaine," he says in that voice of his, tilting his head. "You smell fantastic," he breathes out, throwing his head back—all but moaning the last word. Blaine feels his body tremble with unrelenting sparks; he's almost sure his vision goes black for a few seconds even though the hallway is poorly lit as it is.
"But you might want to work on your disguise," Kurt advises him before he pushes off the door and fixes the tip of Blaine's pack peeking out of his sweatshirt pocket.
They giggle when they stumble into the garage as the rest of the band performs the setups and the tuneups, a pleasant murmur of their voices filling the room as they chat.
Finn is the first one to notice them, quitting his play and grabbing his ride cymbal to stifle the din.
"Hello gang," Kurt purrs as he falls straight into Jesse's arms. Jesse smiles at him, cupping his elbows, though he doesn't miss the whiff. "Look who I brought you. Now, what would you be doing without my seduction skills?" Kurt teases as Blaine high-fives Finn; Finn beams up at him, getting up to pat Blaine on his back over the drum set.
"Thanks, Kurt, but Blaine," Jesse addresses Blaine as his hands wind their natural way around Kurt's waist. "Have you been smoking?" he asks hesitantly with a grimace. He knew Blaine only smoked when something was troubling him.
Blaine doesn't respond quite right away, scratching his nose with the back of his hand, eyeing Kurt with a secret smile. Kurt blindly feels around Jesse's pockets to fish out a huge green apple he asked for, then bites into it, challenging Blaine with an imperturbable gaze, wiggling his delicate eyebrows at him.
Blaine chortles into his fist before taking his hand away from his face.
"Yeah. But don't worry though, it was a happy cigarette," Blaine promises Jesse as he wraps the strap of his guitar—all set up and ready thanks to Jesse—around his back.
His response seems to shatter Kurt's self-contained facade as a mad smile escapes Kurt's better judgment; he has to close his eyes for a second to will it away as he bites his lips into submission and takes his face back under control.
"Amen," Blaine hears Santana's mellow timbre behind him as she tunes up her bass.
Jesse smiles—and then seems to remember something, "Oh, guys. I've been offered a gig at this place next Friday, it's like a rock club, their whole theme is cover bands."
"And I presume by 'I' he means 'we'?" Santana muses out loud dryly.
"Yes, Santana. By 'me' I mean 'all of us'," Jesse clarifies just for her.
Finn shrugs, looking between Santana and Blaine, "I think I'm down with that; you?"
"A gay club?" Kurt cranes his neck to bat his eyelashes up at Jesse.
Jesse smiles at him and murmurs uh-uh; Kurt lets out a disappointed sigh. If there was any doubt in Finn's mind as to whether Kurt'd smoked with Blaine, it's all vanished by now.
Besides, as if Kurt would just sit idly by as Blaine smoked next to him.
"So then you're not going?" Jesse asks Kurt, talking to the back of his head.
Kurt shrugs his shoulders coyly, his eyes finding Blaine.
"What do you think Blaine, should I go?" he asks blatantly, right from the circle of Jesse's arms. And yet it seems that everyone in this room—with the exception of Finn—couldn't care less, even Blaine himself—just giggles like an idiot before making a show of composing himself and responding with a solemn 'absolutely'.
Finn's gaze races between the two; he's somewhat concerned by this point. Are they trying to give themselves away?
As discreetly as he can manage, Finn glances over his shoulder were Santana is leaning on the wall, meaning to check on the savviest person in the room, yet before he casually averts his gaze back—he stares. She's texting someone with the gentlest smile on her face the world has seen perhaps anybody put on, let alone Santana.
"Then going I am," Kurt throws his head back to rest on Jesse's shoulder before biting into his apple again. Jesse beams.
Finn clears his throat, suggesting they start practicing. Much to his relief, it doesn't take everyone long to fall back into their routine as they find their respective places and start improvising, then sharing their thoughts and original pieces.
Finn honestly didn't expect everything to spiral out of control that fast as soon as the two were brought up to speed with their feelings.