Happy Wednesday, my darlings. It's time for a new chapter!
Thanks so much for all the lovely comments on the last one – you guys always spoil me with all your love and support. I'm forever grateful.
Nothing but love goes out to Christine, Queen Beta of the Glee Fandom. All my gratitude is yours.
Love to Sofi, too, for her encouragement!
The song for this chapter is Threads (part 1).
Enjoy!
Hanging by a thread connecting me to you
To who I've always been
To all we said we'd do
There was only one thing to do when you felt like you were hitting rock bottom – and Kurt was definitely close. All he could do, all he could think of was to start fixing the things in his life that had begun to break down.
It was a long, long list.
Falling in love with Blaine shouldn't have felt like something he needed to fix, but life wasn't so simple. Love should have been a reason for joy, and yet it was something that he carried on his shoulder, one more weight to deal with, one more thing keeping him up at night, because he wasn't free to love Blaine. Because everything was too complicated. Because they had promised their love to someone else, already.
But love wasn't something you chose to give. It was something that bloomed inside of you like a flower in the spring – pure and beautiful and wild, unstoppable unless there was unexpected frost falling on it, winter's last attempt to stay around.
He decided to go one step at a time. There were things he wasn't ready to face yet – Ian and Blaine and what he wanted the most and knew he couldn't have unless he made some serious changes, those things he was too scared to want, too scared to even think about. Because what if he risked it all, what if he truly went for it and he still couldn't get it? What if all he found was rejection and disappointment and more heartbreak?
He wasn't sure he was ready to face it.
So it was definitely easier not to think about that for now (he could hear his father's voice in the back of his head, telling him it was never a good idea to delay these things, but he managed to ignore it), and instead focus on the things he felt like he could actually fix.
For the first time in months, he sat in front of his computer and didn't stare at a blank document, waiting for the words to come, waiting for the story to unfold. Instead, he opened his browser and started doing his research. He opened his email inbox and started writing messages to people he hadn't talked to in years, but he hoped they would still write back – he hoped he had made a good enough impression that they wouldn't ignore him.
Isabelle Wright replied first, which was a shock, with an invitation to meet her for a cup of coffee. Kurt hadn't seen her in years – over a decade, actually, and that thought made him feel old, withered, like the world had passed him by while he wasn't paying attention.
He had been a bright-eyed kid when they met, recently arrived from Ohio, falling in love with the city all at once as he tried to figure out what he wanted to do, who he wanted to be.
It was a little discouraging that, after all these years, he still hadn't found any answers to the questions he had carried back then. He had simply pushed them away, and had let others decide because it was easier.
He didn't want to thrust the responsibility of his choices Ian's way, though. He knew he was being unfair – Ian had complimented him, had charmed him, and Kurt had decided to go with what he offered. It had seemed like the right path back then. But he had been young, and still a little lost, and he had given up everything like it was nothing. He had gone along with what was in front of him, instead of thinking whether it was going to be the right thing for him a few years down the line…
God, it was all so fucked up. And he didn't think he could deal with thinking about his marriage right now. It was easier to deal with the rest.
He walked into the coffee shop right on time, but Isabelle was already there, a huge latte in front of her, a pile of sketches on the table. She looked older, but just as beautiful and graceful as she had ever been. Her long hair was pulled back into a pony tail, a few streaks of grey in it, and she was wearing a black dress with a blazer. As soon as she saw Kurt coming towards him, she stood up, towering over him in her high heels, despite the fact that he had always been taller than she was.
"Kurt Hummel," she said with a smile, pulling him into a hug like it hadn't been fifteen years since they had seen each other. "My goodness. You've grown."
Kurt smiled as he hugged her back. "And you look just as stunning as ever. What's your secret?"
Isabelle laughed as she pulled away. She cupped his cheek gently. "Expensive skin care, of course."
Kurt laughed as well and then they both sat down. Kurt ordered a mocha and stared at the pile of sketches on the table. "Looks like you've been busy."
"Always, darling. I can't be idle for too long or I go crazy," she said. "I've been working on a new collection. I think I put it off for too long. But after how badly things went with my line, I didn't have enough courage to try again."
"You were really invested in Vogue, too," Kurt said. "It's hard to balance things sometimes."
"Yes, which is why I quit Vogue a couple of years ago," Isabelle said, and the expression on Kurt's face must have been priceless because she laughed again. "Oh Kurt, don't look so shocked. Sometimes people need a change, you know?"
Kurt knew that – he knew it deep down in his soul. It was the only thing he could think about lately. "Oh, I get that, yeah. Good for you. It's not easy to start over."
"Definitely not easy, but so worth it," she said. "But judging from what you said when you reached out to me, I have the feeling you were hoping I was still working there. Don't tell me you want back in."
Kurt sighed. "Kind of, yeah."
"I think you're well past your time of serving coffee and taking phone calls for other people, though," Isabelle commented. "I don't believe for a second that's what you wanted to do."
"Well, I have to start somewhere, and I've been out of the game for too long to ask for more than that," Kurt shrugged. He didn't care. It was daunting, to start from scratch, but it was even more scary to just let the rest of his life pass him by as he did something that didn't make him happy.
Isabelle took a long, long sip of her latte, her green eyes fixed on him over the rim of her mug. Kurt knew that look – she was studying him carefully, like he was a set of photographs she had to assess for the cover of the next issue. She was trying to find something wrong, something that didn't belong, something that made the picture less than perfect.
Kurt wondered how many flaws were visible at first sight. He wondered if she could read him just as easily as she had back then, if she could see each crack, if she could look at him and see every way in which he had made himself miserable lately.
And if she saw it all, then did that mean his own husband was going to see it soon, too? How long could he go on, hiding it all from him?
Kurt pushed that last thought away. He was on his way to figure things out. He was trying to fix and change everything. He just needed a bit more time.
"You've had such a successful career with your books," she said carefully, like she was testing the waters. "I see your face every time I wander the children's section at a bookstore. I got your books for all the kids I know – nieces, friends' kids, even my neighbors' children…"
Kurt drank his coffee and looked out the window. There was a man walking down the street, pushing a stroller, and for a wild second, he thought it was Blaine, out and about with Theo. But it wasn't him – it didn't even look like him at all, once he took a second glance at him. Still, his heart had skipped a couple of beats, anticipation crawling all over him.
He was running out of time. That was what it all felt like – he was running a race he knew he was going to lose.
"I need a change," he said, just as carefully, and it was the understatement of the century.
"Doesn't it feel like you would be going backwards if you give up something where you are well-established to start over in an industry you haven't been part of since you were in your early twenties?" She asked.
Kurt ran a hand through his hair. If he wanted her help, he needed to be honest, put all the cards on the table. "I think I made a lot of wrong decisions in the past fifteen years or so. Not just in choosing my career. But I feel like I need to try to undo all the wrong steps I took and see if there's another path I can go down. And I was so happy when I worked with you at Vogue. Fashion made me happy. Broadway made me happy, too, but I think that's a train I'll never catch again. It's a little late to be a starving actor going on endless auditions and ended up waiting tables. But I could… I don't know. I think I could pick up where I left off with this."
There was something that looked a lot like pity in Isabelle's eyes. "Kurt, what's wrong?" She asked, and even after not seeing each other in years, she could still see right through him so easily.
She probably had no idea that a question as simple as that was actually a Pandora's box.
A bitter, miserable-sounding laugh came out of him before he could stop it. "Everything?" He said, and then drank more coffee, because he didn't know what else to do.
Isabelle reached out and tapped Kurt's wedding ring with her finger, twice. "Everything?" She repeated.
He took a shaky breath. "Everything," he nodded.
Isabelle frowned as she considered him. "Want to tell me about it?"
This wasn't why Kurt had called her. It wasn't so he could talk to her about his husband, about how unhappy he had been with him for a while now. It wasn't so he could admit that he was in love with someone else and he had no idea what he was doing. It wasn't so he could tell her about the sacrifices he had made without thinking they would wear him down years later, and yet here he was, feeling like he was stretched thin, like he had to claw his way from day to day, weighed down by disappointment and sadness and loneliness.
It wasn't why Kurt had called her, but Isabelle sat there and listened to him without interrupting him once, sketches forgotten between them, coffee going cold.
She gestured for the waitress to bring them two more coffees and a cinnamon roll when he was done, and once the order had been dropped at their table, Isabelle pushed the cinnamon roll towards him.
"You need a little sweet," she said simply. She sipped her latte thoughtfully. "Okay, so… bottom line here is that you are a little lost…" she stopped when Kurt gave her a meaningful look. "Fine, you're lost as hell, you're sort of reassessing your entire life, you're sleeping with someone who isn't your husband and you have figured out that you need to make a few changes before everything goes down the drain."
Kurt groaned. "I think that's a brief way of summarizing my current nervous breakdown, yes."
"Well, I obviously can't tell you what to do when it comes to your marriage…" she said. "That's something you need to work out on your own, Kurt. You are the only one who can know what's best for you in the long run. I'm just going to say what I assume everyone who cares about you would tell you: being married to someone who doesn't make you happy shouldn't be the ultimate goal. If you don't love Ian anymore, maybe it's time you guys go your separate ways…"
Kurt sniffed. He didn't want to cry. But he rarely got his way lately. "I feel like I failed at absolutely everything."
"I'm sorry," she said kindly. "It's not easy to feel that way. But you're a human being, Kurt, and making mistakes is part of the whole experience. You made a few along the way, and that's fine. But it doesn't mean you have to resign yourself to living with them forever. Marriages can be undone, careers can be started over. You don't have to spend the rest of your life surrounded by unhappiness."
Kurt nodded slowly, picking distractedly at the cinnamon roll. "I know."
"What about this guy you're seeing?" She asked. "Does he feel the same way?"
"I don't know," he whispered. "Sometimes… sometimes he looks at me, sometimes he touches me, so gently, so sweetly, like I'm something that's so precious that should be handled with care, and his eyes get so soft, and he smiles and… and I think he might actually love me."
"Well, sweetie, I don't know what he's going to do, if he's going to leave his husband for you, if you two are actually going to work things out, but…" she sighed. "Whatever happens between you two, don't let it rob you of the opportunity to go after what you want. Maybe he was the reason to wake up from a long slumber and see that you needed more than what you had. Maybe that's the only role he has to play in this. So even if you love him, if he can't give you what you need… you need to find someone who will. But most importantly, you need to go after what you want, yourself. You can't let it all depend on someone else. You want kids? There are ways for you to have them, even without a partner. You want another career? It's never too late to start one. But whatever decision you make now, do it thinking of only yourself. Otherwise you're going to find yourself in this same predicament in a few years. And by then… I don't know, maybe it will be too late then. Maybe there just won't be enough time to get everything you deserve then."
Kurt wiped at his eyes. "I missed you, you know? I should have kept in touch."
"You really should have," she said with a grin. "But I'm glad you reached out now."
"Me too," he said.
She looked down at the sketches and then back up at him. "So. I started my own line, but it's a lot of work for only one person. I got a deal with Bergdorf to sell my stuff and I need to have the spring line ready in about a month or I'll lose it. I need another designer to share the load…"
Kurt blinked at her. "I'm not a designer, Isabelle. I never actually got a degree for that…"
"Raw talent makes up for a piece of paper," she said. "I was actually about to start interviewing people for the position when I got your email. So let's call it serendipity. I already know we're compatible and that we work great together. It's not Vogue, but…"
"Yes," Kurt said at once, so eagerly that she laughed. "Yes, Isabelle, please. I want it. I can work so hard…"
"I know you can," she said with confidence. "And I also know you can get through anything. The career thing? Consider it sorted out. Now focus on fixing everything else."
"I will," he said. He stood up, went around the table, and pulled her to her feet to he could hug her. "You won't regret it. Thank you."
She patted his back. "You're welcome. I'll text you the office address and you can be there tomorrow morning so we can go over the details."
Kurt held her tight and felt one small weight lifting from his shoulders. He balanced the remaining ones a little better, at least for now.
Now the next step was talking to his husband.
A fine thread, not tough enough to bear
The weight of desire and despair
Untended, the fibres start to fray
The long years of working as one
Were just washed away
The apartment smelled delicious. Kurt couldn't remember when it had been the last time he had bothered making a homemade meal, but the process of cooking had helped him calm down after his meeting with Isabelle. There was roasted chicken in the oven and he was finishing up the dressing for the grilled vegetables. He added a salad last minute, just to give himself something else to do. He opened a bottle of wine. He had a glass as he chopped tomatoes and lettuce and baby spinach.
He heard the sound of the front door just as he was about to pour himself a second glass, and it stopped him, which was probably a good idea, because he shouldn't be drunk when he told Ian what he was about to tell him.
Ian walked into the kitchen a few seconds later, sniffing the air like a dog following the scent of the food, ready to beg for scraps. "Well, isn't this a nice surprise," he said.
Kurt smiled briefly at him. "Dinner's almost ready. Why don't you go wash up while I take everything to the table?"
Ian leaned in to kiss his temple. "You're the best," he said, before he walked back out of the kitchen.
Kurt took a deep breath.
For a moment he thought it might be possible to patch things up with him. Ian still had tender gestures with him, still clearly cared about him even if he was too absorbed in his own thing… maybe they could learn to be happy together once more. Maybe if they talked honestly to each other, if Kurt could tell him how unhappy he was and how he needed Ian to compromise on a few things, maybe they could find their way towards each other once more…
They sat down for dinner, and the simple, opening question of how Ian's day had been launched him on yet another monologue about work, about the authors he'd had to meet that day, about the upcoming books he was so excited about, about the issues with the printing company they worked with, about Jessica's impending maternity leave, about the book fairs they had to get ready for. Maybe, eventually, Ian realized that Kurt hadn't said a word after asking him that, that he had merely sat there, moving his food around in his plate, because he chuckled to himself.
"What about you?" He asked at last. "What were you up to today?"
And here was the only opening Kurt needed. He cleared his throat and put his fork down. "Well, I met Isabelle Wright for coffee today. She was my boss when I worked at Vogue."
"Oh, that's great. How did you two find each other again?" Ian asked, as he took a bite of chicken.
"I reached out to her," Kurt replied, and there was no turning back now. He had to say this. "I wanted to know if she was still at Vogue and I could maybe get my old job back, but she quit a few years ago and she started her own brand. She offered me a job there, as a designer. I'm gonna meet her again tomorrow to get a few more details."
Ian had paused as Kurt was talking, food suddenly forgotten, and now he simply looked at him, blinking very slowly, for what felt like a very, very long time. "A job?" He said, like he had never heard of such a thing.
"Yes, I…"
"You do realize you have a publishing contract with us, right?" Ian said, slowly, like Kurt was a small child. "You're supposed to be writing your next book. How are you going to do that and have another job on the side and still meet your deadlines?"
"I don't want to write anymore," Kurt said, as plainly as he could. "I need a change."
Ian kept blinking, and it was getting a little creepy. "I… don't understand, Kurt. What are you saying?"
"I'm not happy with this anymore," Kurt said sincerely. "It was fun at first, and new and exciting, but I never wanted this, Ian. Writing and publishing and illustrating… that was always your world, not mine. And I appreciate that you've trusted me all this time with it, but… I think I'm done."
"You signed a deal for three more books," Ian retorted. "You can't breach contract."
"I'll find a way out of it," Kurt shrugged. "I understand if it takes a while and I'll cooperate in every way I can, because I don't want to screw the company over, but I…"
"Kurt, this is not a joke. You got an advanced payment for three more books, and if you don't deliver, then we're going to be in serious trouble," Ian said. "Whatever little tantrum this is, I'm sure it's not worth going to court over…"
Kurt watched him, incredulous. "Are you… are you threatening to take me to trial if I don't write more books?" He asked, stunned.
"It's not a threat," Ian said. "I'm just telling you how it works."
"Okay, so…" Kurt had to pause, and put his thoughts in order. "Let me get this straight. I, your husband, tell you that I'm unhappy with what I'm doing, and your only response is that I'm going to be in legal trouble with the company you work for? That's really all you have to say?"
Ian ran a hand down his face, like he was exhausted and Kurt was being unreasonable. "I just don't understand where all of this is coming from…"
"Well, that's what I'm trying to tell you…" Kurt said.
"This is just a writer's block or something," Ian shook his head, like he couldn't accept what Kurt was saying, like he knew better. "You've been struggling with your new book, and that's fine. It happens to everyone. But you're still on a deadline and we're still counting on you to deliver for the summer publishing calendar. You can't just back out, Kurt. You'll fuck up our entire publishing schedule…"
"Can you…" Kurt started, so frustrated that he could barely get the words out. "Can you maybe stop talking to me as my editor for a moment, and talk to me as my husband? Please, listen to what I'm trying to say…"
"Well, as your husband, I also think it's a shitty idea," Ian said. "You have a wonderful career. You're successful. You've won awards, your books are always in the bestselling lists. You make good money. Why the hell would you want to walk away from all of that?" He took a long sip of wine and shook his head. "And have you even thought about me before you did this? Do you know how badly it will look for me at the company that my own husband does this? I might lose contracts, Kurt. They won't take me seriously if you do this. You're going to ruin absolutely everything…"
Kurt sat there and looked at him and wondered how the hell he had thought they could patch things up. Ian didn't care about him – not in the way Kurt needed him to care. He only cared in the ways he knew how, in the ways that benefited him, too. Along the way, Ian had stopped being a good husband, had blurred the lines between their marriage and their work relationship, and had never looked back. And Kurt hadn't noticed until it was too late.
"Look, Kurt, I love you, but this is unacceptable," Ian said. He pushed away from the table and stood up. "Honestly, this feels like you just dropped a bucket of ice water on me. I hope you call your friend first thing in the morning to tell her you are no longer interested in that job."
"Where are you going?" Kurt asked, a little desperately.
"I need some fresh air, I'm going for a walk," Ian huffed.
The apartment was empty again before Kurt could process what had just happened.
He hid his face in his hands and tried not to fall into the black hole that kept opening underneath his feet.
There was loud music playing at the gym when Kurt went in, almost loud enough to give him a headache, but he didn't quite mind, especially not when he spotted Blaine already there, running on the treadmill, looking so good that Kurt wished they could have had time to meet at the hotel instead. But this was good, too. Just seeing Blaine made everything worth it.
"Hey!" Blaine exclaimed, grin taking over his face as soon as he saw him. "I was starting to think you wouldn't come. Is everything alright?"
"Yes, everything's fine. Sorry I'm late," Kurt said, getting on the treadmill next to Blaine's. "I lost track of time. I… I started my new job today."
Blaine's eyes widened. "Your new job?"
So as he started to run, Kurt quickly filled him in on everything he didn't know: his time at Vogue with Isabelle, and how he had emailed her recently, how she had asked him to meet her for coffee, and how she had left the magazine to start her own clothing line. Blaine listened to him so enraptured, that he had to pause the treadmill as not to fall on his face. He simply leaned against it and watched Kurt as he told him the whole story.
He didn't tell him about Ian being mad at him for wanting to break his contract with the publishing house. He wasn't ready to deal with that yet. But he did mention that there were some legal issues he had to figure out.
"But honestly, despite how crazy everything is about to be… I'm so happy I finally did this," Kurt said. "I had such a great day with Isabelle today. She got me up to speed with everything, and she wants me to help her design part of the collection, and to be in charge of the samples and the quality control because she says she trusts my judgement and that I'll make sure every piece we put out is perfect, so… I don't know, I think I'm excited for the first time ever…"
Blaine reached out to stop Kurt's treadmill and then caught him before Kurt could fall and break his neck. He yelped as Blaine wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him closer, the smell of his cologne mixed with the sweat pooling at the base of his throat, at his temples, making his clothes wet.
Kurt placed his hands on Blaine's chest for balance. "What are you doing?" He asked, biting back a laugh.
Blaine held him tightly and placed a swift kiss to his cheek – it was so rare that they shared touch in public, but neither of them seemed to care right now. "I'm just so happy for you. So proud. I know it's not easy to put everything aside and start over, but you've been so bummed about it lately and I… I just want you to be happy, Kurt. So I'm glad you went for it."
Everything seemed to make Kurt want to cry lately, and this wasn't the exception. He felt the knot in his throat, the emotion trying to climb up, the tears welling up in his eyes. His own husband was mad at him for chasing something that might give him the happiness he had lost over the years, and this man – this man who not too long ago had been a stranger, this man who had won over Kurt's heart so easily, this man Kurt loved with a fierceness he was scared of sometimes – just wanted him to be happy, no matter what.
This was how he knew his heart had chosen the right person.
He wished Blaine could have been his only choice.
It wouldn't be fair to say that Valentine's Day had sneaked up on them, because the city of New York reminded you whenever you walked down the street, with its hearts everywhere, little Cupid figures hanging from every store front, big red and pink letters telling you that love was all that mattered, that love was all around, that love what the most powerful thing.
And it wasn't that Blaine was a cynic – he believed in love, even if that belief was a little bruised up, a little more realistic, a little less magical. It was just that it felt like something staged, something fake, when he realized he and Jack had to sit down together and pretend everything between them was perfect.
So on Valentine's Day, Blaine woke up and made heart-shaped pancakes for his family and kissed his children on the cheeks until they were squealing with laughter, and smiled at his husband and put a plate in front of him and said, trying to feel like he wasn't an asshole for pretending: "Good morning, Valentine."
Jack gave him a smile that was almost perfect, but Blaine could see the effort it took for it not to become a grimace. "Good morning. This looks yummy."
"Well, eat up," Blaine said, as he went back to the counter to retrieve some pancakes for himself. "I know this is very last minute, but do we have any plans for tonight? I didn't get a babysitter for the kids and we won't be able to find anyone to stay with them today of all days."
Now Jack did grimace before he looked up at Blaine with what could only be described as apologetic guilt. "Sorry, Blaine, I'm going to be busy tonight."
"On Valentine's Day?" Blaine asked, skeptical, eyebrow arching out of its own volition.
"Yes," Jack said. "It's a, uhm, board meeting. Long one. Might end really late. So I didn't think it was smart to make any reservations or go anywhere. We could, uhm, celebrate some other day?"
It was probably the weakest lie Jack had told him so far. A board meeting at night. On Valentine's Day. That he hadn't thought to mention until this very moment.
So Eddie was back, then. Unless there was someone new.
Blaine kept his face as straight as he could, trying to show absolutely no emotion. "That's fine. We can definitely do something some other day. I'll just stay with the kids," he said, as he leaned in to drop a kiss on each of their heads. Lena beamed up at him, mouth stuffed with pancakes.
"Are you sure?" Jack muttered, and it was nice to see he at least knew he was doing something wrong, judging by the look of contrition on his face.
"A hundred percent, yeah," Blaine said nonchalantly. He wasn't going to admit it to him, but he was actually relieved. He didn't feel like pretending. And a night in with the kids sounded a lot better than sitting at some ridiculously expensive restaurant struggling to find a conversation topic that didn't include their respective lovers.
God, they were a mess.
After breakfast, he let Jack to take care of the dishes and went into their bedroom. He sat on the bed with his phone and typed a message for Kurt: Happy Valentine's Day, it said simply. He hesitated before sending it. Was it appropriate to do it? He sighed – they had crossed the line between what was appropriate and what wasn't long ago.
Kurt replied at once, like he had been waiting by the phone for him: Happy Valentine's Day to you too, my love. Can't wait to see you.
There was a tingle inside of Blaine – my love. He wished he could have just taken Kurt out today, without it feeling like it was wrong. He wished they didn't have to hide. He wished…
He wished for a lot of things he shouldn't wish for.
He texted him again: What are your plans for today?
Kurt's response was quick: Ian and I are having dinner with Santana and Brittany, which probably won't take long, because they aren't exactly eager to leave their newborn child for too long, so. What about you?
Quiet night in just me and the kids, Blaine replied. Jack has 'a meeting'.
Kurt called him at once and when Blaine accepted the call, he sounded sad. "I'm so sorry, Blaine."
"Hey, it's fine," Blaine said with a shrug. "We both know what things are like. And I'm not exactly innocent at the moment, either."
"I know, but still," Kurt murmured. "It can't be easy to know that he… well, you know."
"Is going to be fucking someone else on Valentine's Day?" Blaine completed Kurt's thought. "Sure, it's not easy. But I'm sadly getting used to it. I think… I'm kind of relieved I don't have to sit with him in a fancy restaurant and pretend all night."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Kurt whispered.
"Like I said, I'm not innocent," Blaine said. "How are you doing?"
"Not great," Kurt laughed bitterly. "It's not exactly fun to have to go out for dinner with your husband and some friends when your husband is kind of giving you the silent treatment."
"Still?" Blaine asked, incredulous. Sometimes he really wanted to punch Ian in the face, force him to see how lucky he was, making him see that he should have appreciated Kurt more. He was so lucky to have him in his life, and he didn't notice. He was too absorbed in his own fucking bullshit.
Kurt sighed. "He knows how to hold a grudge. I had to call my lawyer to get out of my contract and that didn't exactly help."
"Jesus," Blaine murmured. "That's… that's tough, Kurt. I'm so sorry."
He could have sworn Kurt was shrugging, and it hit him hard, just how well he knew him, how intimately connected they were for Blaine to know something so small just from the tone of his voice. "It is what it is, Blaine. Don't worry about it."
But he sounded really bummed about everything, and Blaine wished there was something he could do to cheer him up.
And maybe there was – if Jack could be reckless enough to go see his fuck buddy on Valentine's Day, then Blaine could do something nice for Kurt when he needed it, couldn't he?
This had to be the most dysfunctional Valentine's Day they had since they had gotten married.
Kurt had just gotten out of the shower when the doorbell rang. He tightened the bathrobe around himself before he headed to the door. When he pulled it open, he saw a huge bouquet of red and yellow roses.
"Kurt Hummel?" The delivery man said.
He accepted the bouquet and signed for it. He carried it into the living room and, as he set it down in the middle of the coffee table, he wondered if Ian was finally ready to stop being mad at him and this was the way he had chosen to show that.
He searched for the card amongst the flowers, and his heart skipped a few beats when he read it:
Kurt,
Happy Valentine's Day. I wish I could be spending it with you.
I hope these make you smile today. Thanks for being the reason I smile every day.
Yours,
B.
So this was what swooning felt like, Kurt thought. This was what it felt like to be walking on clouds. This was what it felt like when your heart tugged and tugged and tugged, like it was trying to reach the person that made it beat.
It had been a bold move – Ian could have been home, he could have opened the door, he could have found out about Blaine. But Kurt didn't care. He realized he had stopped caring about the risks, because the happiness he felt when Blaine was with him, when Blaine did something as charming as this, was so, so worth losing everything else.
Yours. Kurt reread that word a million times: yours.
It gave him hope. Maybe not everything would be lost.
Blaine's night was spent on the couch, and it was probably one of his favorite Valentine's Day ever. He and the kids had a movie marathon and ate candy that Jack had bought for the three of them (probably out of guilt – Blaine didn't care). Now the credits were rolling on the screen, Cinderella over, and both Theo and Lena were cuddled up against him, deeply asleep. They had been asleep since even before Cinderella lost her shoe.
It was getting late and there was no sign of his husband. He was almost looking forward to the insanely stupid excuse he'd create to explain why his board meeting had run so long. He grabbed his phone and reread the message Kurt had sent him that afternoon after getting his flowers: You are the reason I smile every day, too. I can't tell you how happy I am to have found you. Thank you, Blaine, for everything.
It included a beautiful picture of Kurt with the bouquet, his blue eyes bright with bliss, a gentle smile on his pink lips, and Blaine wished it was his mouth pressed against them, and not a petal. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to hold him. He could never get enough of him.
As if he'd known he was thinking of him, his phone vibrated with a new message.
[From Kurt]: Just got back home. Hope your night with the kiddos was better than my awkward dinner.
Blaine bit his lip and looked down at Lena and Theo.
[From Blaine]: Can I call you or is Ian around?
Instead of replying, Kurt simply called him.
"Not going to lie," he said in greeting. "I really needed to hear your voice."
Blaine hummed. "Yeah, me too. I couldn't stop thinking about you all day."
"Why are you whispering?" Kurt wanted to know. "Is Jack there?"
"Nope. Still not back from wherever the hell he is," Blaine replied. "The kids are sleeping half on top of me. I just don't want to wake them."
Kurt sighed almost dreamily. "Well, that's the kind of image I want to see on Valentine's Day, see? That sounds perfect."
Blaine smiled and ran his fingers through Theo's hair. "I can't complain. Although I wish I could have spent today with you, at least for a little while."
"Me too," Kurt said wistfully. "Thank you again for the flowers, though. They… they made me feel a little less alone today."
Blaine's heart squeezed painfully in his chest at the thought of Kurt feeling alone, today of all days, even when he was out with the people who were supposed to love him the most. "Maybe we can have our own little belated celebration sometime this week."
"I would love that," Kurt said, and he could hear the smile in his voice.
"How was dinner, then?" He asked.
Again, Kurt sighed, but there was heaviness in it this time. "Could have been better. I thought it'd be less awkward if we went out on a double date, but now Santana's pissed at me because she agreed to join us and it wasn't fun at all. She said she could have actually done something she wanted to do with her wife instead, for the one night they managed to leave the kids. So…"
"I'm so sorry, Kurt," Blaine said, wishing he could hold him. "That sucks."
"It is what it is," Kurt said, trying to act nonchalant. "Your flowers really were the highlight of my day. I put the card in my wallet, so I can look at it whenever I need to."
Lena moved a bit in her sleep and almost fell off the couch, so Blaine caught her and shifted her carefully away from the edge.
"I hope it didn't cause you any trouble," he commented. He hadn't realized it was very, very possible that Kurt's husband would see the bouquet until he had already sent it.
"You didn't," Kurt reassured him. "I told Ian my friend Mercedes sent it. He didn't ask, and he didn't seem interested. Like I said, he's still pissed."
It was pretty childish to give your husband the silent treatment, especially considering it was over something that made Kurt so happy. But who was Blaine to judge, when his own marriage was a disaster at the moment?
Now it was Theo who moved, and Blaine sighed. "The kids are about to fall off the couch. I should get them to bed. I'm sorry, I really want to keep talking to you…"
"Oh, no babe, that's fine," Kurt said. "Go take care of the little cuties. I'll talk to you soon?"
"Of course," Blaine replied. "Kurt, I…"
But he wasn't sure what he wanted to say. Because there were a million words he wanted to tell Kurt, and none of them felt right. He wanted to tell him how wonderful he was, how much he deserved to be happy, how he brightened up every single one of Blaine's days just by being there, how his heart went a little crazy at the sight of him…
He wanted to tell him everything. He wanted to run to him and hold him.
But he couldn't. It wasn't so simple.
It never was.
"Goodnight," he said instead, and he could have sworn he heard a little exhale of disappointment from Kurt.
"Goodnight, Blaine," he replied.
Maybe he had a million things he didn't know how to say either.
The lights were dimmed; the curtains were pulled shut. There were candles and flowers on the nightstands and soft music playing in the background. A bottle of champagne was chilling in ice. The sheets were rumpled and the kisses were plentiful.
This was what Valentine's Day was supposed to be like.
Kurt's hips kept up a slow, perfect rhythm. Blaine threw his head back, choking out a groan, hands grasping desperately at Kurt's back, asking for more without saying a single word. Kurt kissed his throat and fucked him deep and hard, but still slow, drawing it out, making it last, savoring every second.
He had touched him everywhere, he had kissed every inch of him before pushing in, before laying between Blaine's parted legs and getting lost in this special sort of pleasure, but it still felt like it wasn't enough. Kurt would never be able to get enough – being with Blaine was like being under a spell, one he never wanted to break out of.
"Right there, Kurt," Blaine said, words mixed with a whine. "God, a little harder, sweetheart. I'm so close."
His wish was Kurt's command.
Kurt held him, thumbs digging into the little gap in his hip bones, and picked up his pace, pushing as deep as he could, hard, before pulling out slow, slow, slow, tantalizingly so. Blaine whined again and caught his ear between his teeth, biting lightly at the lobe before licking it and Kurt was on fire.
He didn't mind – he always wanted to burn when it came to Blaine.
Maybe they could keep the door locked, pretend the outside world didn't exist, and just survive like this until the end of time. They had everything they needed in this room. Kurt never wanted to leave.
But the outside world always caught up. It was impossible to stay away from it, and all they could do was pretend.
Holding each other tight enough to mark the other's skin, they chased the pleasure until it became too powerful to be held back any longer, and it exploded between them – Kurt buried deep inside of him, chanting Blaine's name like a prayer into the curve of his shoulder, Blaine spilling between them, sticky white strings painting their stomachs, his mouth hanging open, a gasp swallowing the words that got stuck halfway out.
Every time. Every single time it felt like more than sex – it felt like what Kurt was pouring into him was all the love he had ever felt, the love he had collected over the years and kept safe against his chest, waiting for the person who deserved it. Every time it was overwhelming in the best possible way. Every time it made Kurt feel right, so damn right, like he had been born to love Blaine, and nothing else.
He kissed him – his lips, his eyelids, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, his temples, everywhere he could reach, the tenderness inside of him, woken up by Blaine's nearness, spilling out, unstoppable. Blaine giggled, looking exhausted and sated, and it was the most adorable thing ever.
It was getting so, so hard, having to part from him.
Loving Blaine was, at the same time, reward and punishment. Getting to be close to him felt like the reward he got for the unhappiness he'd had to carry on his shoulders, weighing him down all this time, and it made him feel full and joyful and free. But then it was also punishment, because he knew what they were doing was wrong, and having to say goodbye to Blaine, not being able to truly be with him, was the worst kind of pain. It was like having to leave his heart here, in this hotel room, and go back home with a hole in the middle of his chest, gaping and bleeding.
Home, though? No. You couldn't go back home where you didn't really feel like you belonged anymore.
It was all so fucked up.
Blaine lifted his hand and cupped his face, so lovingly, and brought him down for a kiss. His legs were wrapped around Kurt's waist, keeping him in place, like he never wanted him to pull away. "Are you okay?" He asked. "You look like you're having an existential crisis."
"I'm fine." Kurt forced himself to smile. I just love you so much, he wanted to say, but he didn't. He couldn't. "It's just that you make me come my brains out," he joked, and he watched Blaine shake with his laughter, bursting out of him, such a joyous, beautiful sound.
It ached. This love, it ached.
Blaine stopped laughing and stared at him, so intently that it started to make Kurt a little self-conscious. His thumb swiped over his cheekbone, and down to his bottom lip, Blaine's hazel eyes roaming over his face, like he was studying every inch of it.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered, a hint of awe in his voice, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
Ached, ached, ached. Kurt kissed him again, answerless, speechless. He felt like he was about to melt into it, disappear, become nothing but small particles stuck on Blaine's skin forever.
They ran out of time. They always ran out of time, the outside world that they had struggled to leave outside coming to knock at their door and bring them back to reality. It was a raw awakening. It seeped into their bones, like the cold air during a blizzard.
Something was different today. Maybe it was because it had been unhurried and perfect, more romantic than any other time they had met in that hotel room. Maybe it was the spirit of St. Valentine hanging between them. Maybe it was that it became harder and harder to pull away every time they met. But something was different, and they left the hotel room hand in hand, crowding each other in the elevator, wishing for more time – the one thing they never had.
They were still holding hands when they stepped outside the hotel into the cold February late afternoon. They were never this careless. They always kept a respectful distance in public. Today, though, they couldn't do that. Nearness was more urgent than discretion.
They stood at the curb to hail a cab, watching as the yellow cars drove by, none of them stopping, already with passengers inside. Kurt sneaked an arm around Blaine's waist and pulled him against himself, feeling needy and lost like a child. He kissed the edge of his jaw. He whispered nonsense into the scarf looped around his neck – the one he had knitted for him during Christmas break – and breathed in his scent.
"Kurt…" Blaine murmured, a little brokenly, in the same tone of voice he usually used when he couldn't take Kurt's teasing anymore, the one he used when he was only a second away from undoing Kurt's zipper and falling to his knees.
Kurt ached and burned and ached some more.
He kissed him, hoping that would take the edge of. Sometimes Blaine's kisses brought him peace. Sometimes they only brought more heat. He took his chance this time, hoping for the first.
Blaine clung to him, and gave him the latter.
This was home now. Not an apartment that was always empty, a big reminder of a failed marriage, of a family that never was. This – Blaine's arms around him, one of his hands buried in his hair, his body pressed tight against his own, nothing but warmth and urgency and desire…
"Kurt?"
His name, but most of all the voice that uttered it, broke the spell at last, the enchantment he had been under since the moment he and Blaine had stepped into the hotel room earlier today. He pulled away, not without certain difficulty, like letting go of Blaine took more effort than he had expected, and glanced aside.
And there was his husband, frozen in the middle of the sidewalk, watching him like he didn't recognize him.
"Ian," he breathed out, and at that Blaine let his arms fall and he stepped back, away from Kurt, as if a little distance would fix anything.
Ian looked from Kurt to Blaine and back again, eyes a little wider than normal, knuckles going white on the strap on his bag. "What the actual fuck," he muttered.
The ache turned to dread, and the heat turned to cold.
Time ran out. Reality came crashing in.
Well, maybe it was just our time
Forgive me, remember that I'm
A good man, just not good enough
Don't hate me, I was just in love
And hanging by a thread
I'm going to very slowly walk away and return next week!
See you then!
L.-