Nothing's So Loud (7/16)
Title: Nothing's So Loud (7/16)
Media: Fic
Author: a_glass_parade (GlassParade)
Beta: BabyRosebud stepped in when I asked for a last minute beta read - thank you, Beth!
Rating: PG-13 to mild R in the future.
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine, reference to past Quinn/Finn and current Rachel/Finn
Genre: Romance, AU, Movie Adaptations
Warnings: Mentions of attempted suicide.
Spoilers: While events and references from all three seasons of Glee may be adapted and worked into the story occasionally, it's otherwise fully AU.
Word Count: Currently 35,000+
Summary: Blaine Anderson is the easy going skateboarding slacker who's carried a torch for sheltered class Valedictorian Kurt Hummel for the last year. On the day they graduate from high school, he decides to do something about it. There's no way they should work. Everything will conspire against them. Can this unlikely pairing prevail?
Additional Notes: gameboycolor and naderegen wanted 90's Klaine. I suggested updating Cameron Crowe's iconic movie "Say Anything" to 1998 and making Blaine and Kurt into an analogue of Lloyd and Diane's star-crossed romance. This very loose adaptation, for better or for worse, is the result. Title is from the song "All I Want" by Toad the Wet Sprocket. And yes, the final chapter count has indeed changed, and may change again!
“So he kissed you.” Blaine couldn't see Quinn's eyes, but he could see her eyebrows raised in two perfect honey blonde arcs of surprise over the rims of her opaque black sunglasses. “I was not expecting that.”
They were curled up together in the hammock in Quinn's back yard, swaying lazily in the warm summer breeze. She'd dragged her portable stereo outside on a long extension cord; Chrissie Hynde serenaded them while they rocked. “I got brass in pocket,” Blaine sang softly, tugging at lock of pink hair that was tickling his face. “Got bottle, I'm gonna use it.”
“Don't change the subject.” The hammock wobbled dangerously as she shifted up to lean on her elbow, tilting the sunglasses to glare at him with narrowed green eyes. “He kissed you. Not the other way around.”
“He kissed me,” Blaine confirmed with a sigh. It had been three days since Kurt had kissed him, and he could still almost feel it. He ran the pad of this thumb over his lower lip. “He kissed me.”
“Well, that's what you wanted, right?” She snapped her gum impatiently. “You were bound to get around to it sooner or later.” Reaching out, she pulled on one of his curls and let it bounce back. “Blaine. This is a good thing.”
“I'm aware,” he snapped back in irritation. “It's not that. Well, it is that. It's that I want more of it.”
Quinn's eyes rolled skyward. “He kissed you,” she said again. “I'm pretty sure that means you're going to get more of it.”
“But when?” Blaine knew he was being whiny and hated it. He also knew that if he kept it up Quinn was going to inflict physical violence upon his person. He just couldn't help it. “I had good reasons for not kissing him right away. A whole list of them! One of which was, 'If I kiss you, I am not going to want to stop.'”
“Still failing to see the problem, also getting jealous,” Quinn informed him, sticking one finger into her mouth to pull her gum out in a long, disgusting lime green string that she brought perilously close to his hair. “How many hours were you making out? It doesn't sound like he wants to stop.”
Now it was Blaine's turn to roll his eyes. “Except that we did have to eventually stop? And we haven't seen each other since, nor do I know when we will see each other again, since his schedule was already insane before his dad got sick? I can't just say, 'Hey, Kurt, any chance you can blow off your dad the heart patient and come stick your tongue in my mouth for a while?' But I also can't get mad about him taking care of his dad and studying and packing.” He blew out his breath in an annoyed huff. “I'm not saying I would have been happy if we went all summer without kissing, I just...something. I don't know.”
“Okay. Do you want Sympathetic Quinn or Ass Kicking Quinn?” She pulled back her sticky hand, sucking the finger into her mouth to get all the gum back together. “Or both? I've been practicing.”
“Both.” He flung his arm over his eyes and tensed, bracing himself for her biting commentary.
“Okay.” Quinn rolled to rest her arms over his abdomen, propping her chin on them as she spoke. “I love you, but shut up. Despite all of us telling you this was a bad idea, you followed your...heart, I guess...and it turned out pretty well for you.” When he opened his mouth to interject, she covered it with her hand. “Uh-uh. Quinn talky now.”
“Mmph,” Blaine agreed, moving his arm to look down at her. She waited a moment before removing her hand, shifting her sunglasses up on her head so that she could meet his gaze full on.
“Yes, it sucks that you don't get to spend unlimited hours kissing Kurt, but hey, at least it turns out that he does actually want to kiss you, and it's nice that you're not being a dick and bothering him about it 24-7 while he's dealing with all the complicated shit in his life.” Her mouth twitched up into a sweet, sad little smile. “More guys should be as considerate as you.”
He grinned. “Thank you, Quincy.”
“Don't let it go to your head.” She tickled him a little, giggling and squealing as his twitching threatened to up-end the hammock. When they'd settled down, she returned to laying across his chest for a moment before raising her head again, as if something had occurred to her. “Have you even called him?”
He squirmed uncomfortably. “Well...”
“Don't say it,” Quinn groaned, dropping her head back down with enough force to make Blaine grunt as her forehead impacted his stomach. “Don't say he kissed you and then you didn't call.”
Blaine thought for a moment, and then said nothing.
“Okay, you're officially stupid,” his best friend snapped, digging her fingers into his sides harder now, pinching instead of tickling. “I'm sorry, hot guy grabs you, kisses you while you're being all gentlemanly and goobery, kisses you all night long to hear you talk about it, and you don't call?” Quinn stopped when he yelped in pain, grabbing at her hands to pull them away from where she was threatening to leave bruises. “Unbelievable.”
“I'm not very good at this,” he howled indignantly, covering his face with his hands. “His dad's sick, I didn't want to bother him, I told you! You said I was being considerate!”
“That's before I knew you kissed and told and didn't even have the decency to call him!” She struggled up to her knees, holding her black cotton peasant skirt down against the breeze and carefully leaning out of the hammock to grab the cordless phone that was lying on a table along with an abandoned tray of sandwiches and glasses of lemonade. “Call him. Right now.”
“Quinn, I -”
“Now, Blaine.” She smacked the phone down onto his chest and wriggled back to lie down at his side again. “Do I need to pinch you another time?”
“No, ma'am.” He clicked the phone on and punched the number in. “I don't even know what I'm going to say.”
“'Hello' is a good place to start,” she quipped unhelpfully, smirking brightly in the face of his responding surly frown.
Blaine listened intently as the phone rang. “I don't think he's - ah, machine.” He made as if to click the phone off, but Quinn reached out to stop him.
“Don't you dare.”
“But Quinn - !” He struggled to pull the phone away from her, but she just stuck her fingers into his side again and wiggled them threateningly.
“Leave a nice message for him,” she instructed, her fierce glare making it clear that she would accept no alternatives.
Somehow, Blaine managed to bumble his way through leaving a friendly message, exchanging glances full of daggers with Quinn as he did. He hung up and tossed the phone over the side of the hammock into the grass, shoving her off of his chest and crossing his arms in a sulk. “There. Happy?”
“Hm. Yes.” Her smile was sweet as she batted her eyelashes at him. “He might even call you back. Especially if he has a thing for clumsy babblers. Better hope for your sake that he does.”
“Very supportive, Quinn.” Blaine rolled his eyes and reached to hug her despite his irritation. “So encouraging, I'm really glad I keep you around.”
“You know I'm only picking.” She snuggled up on him again, shoving her sunglasses back up on her head when they fell down over her nose. “Seriously, though, Blaine. I actually think that against all odds, this looks like it could work out for you.”
“Until he goes to England.” He sighed. “Maybe you were right, Quinn. Maybe I shouldn't have pursued this.”
“Excuse me? Are you wasting that excellent pep talk I gave you not twenty minutes ago?” Her eyebrow lifted and she moved as if she were going to tickle him again. “Where's the Blaine who refuses to worry about the future until it gets here?”
“That Blaine hadn't been kissed by a gorgeous boy...okay, you're right, you're right.” As she twitched her fingers, he hastily raised both hands in surrender before bringing them back down to wrap back around her. “Change of subject then. How are you doing?”
“I'd rather go back to talking about you being confused as to whether you want more kissing or less,” she grumbled.
“Quincy...”
“I'm okay,” Quinn sighed, picking at the black jelly bracelets that festooned her arms, hiding the brutal scars that snaked down the insides of her wrists. “Actually, my therapist wants to cut down to twice a month sessions. She says I'm making progress, I guess because I didn't sleep with Finn at the party.” Her nose wrinkled in wry confusion. “Never mind that I drank half a bottle of tequila after he asked me to.”
“Not so much 'drank' as 'didn't fight Santana when she tackled you to the ground and stuck it in your mouth,'” Blaine reminded her, sticking his tongue out in a noisy raspberry. “No one can blame you for that, who wants to turn Santana down when she's actually being nice for once? For her, anyway. I mean, giving you Cuervo is a pretty generous act from someone who told our kindergarten teacher to go fuck herself during the 'Sharing Is Caring' lesson.”
The hammock shook again with their laughter. “You do have a point,” Quinn agreed when they could talk again. She rested her head against his chest, going quiet for a long time. When she did speak again, her voice was a little shaky. “Finn hasn't even tried to call since the party. Usually he'd be apologizing the next day.”
“That's not a bad thing,” Blaine murmured to her, brushing his fingers through her hair. “Maybe he'll finally leave you alone, Quinn. I wouldn't have a problem with that, Jeff wouldn't, and I know your mom would be happy. It'll be nice for you if he does.”
Tears were leaking from her eyes, dampening his t-shirt and staining it with her black eyeliner. “It just hurts to have it all end like this,” she whispered, her fingers flexing and clenching at the fabric. “With that gross crap at the party and then he can't even apologize.”
“He probably doesn't know what to say, Quinn,” he suggested, thinking back to the little he knew about Finn, having not wanted to really get to know him after his first breakup with Quinn. Finn wasn't a bad guy, just remarkably myopic and indecisive and frankly hamfisted when it came to relationships. Blaine figured that Rachel dumping him - instead of the other way around, for once - probably finally got it through to Finn that he'd gone too far with both girls.
Of course, Blaine privately thought Finn should have come to that conclusion after Quinn slashed her wrists open last fall, but he supposed he couldn't be too picky, given that they were all lucky to still have her around in the first place. He just wanted Finn to leave his best friend alone, and he wanted her to be okay with it. It looked like the first might be happening, finally, so he'd take it and run, and try to help make the second happen.
Tears were still falling, but Quinn was breathing hard in the way Blaine knew well, the pattern that told him she was furious that she was crying at all and was trying to stop it. He tightened his arms around her. “It's okay to cry, Quinn,” he whispered, pressing his lips into her hair and just holding on. “You've earned it. Just cry, please. Get it out. Get it out, Quincy.”
“I don't want to,” she sniffled, wiping her nose on his shirt. “I don't. I don't want to cry over him anymore. I don't want it to hurt anymore. It's all so stupid, it shouldn't hurt so much. He's been so dumb and it was just really making me tired to be with him anyway...”
“I know,” Blaine soothed, running his hands up and down her arms as she shook with the effort of trying to hold back the tears. “You're better than him, Quinn. You know you are.” He knew better than to try bringing up the notion of leaving the state yet again, so he stuck with simply trying to calm her down. “It's all going to work out for you, Quincy. You're going to make awesome things happen for yourself, just like you always told us you would.”
“Doesn't feel like it,” she mumbled, face down and pressed against his stomach as she sniffled and heaved deep breaths. “Just feels like it's going to hurt forever.”
“It won't,” he assured her, but the words were hollow and they both knew it. He couldn't promise that, couldn't make the hurt go away, and he had no idea how much it hurt anyway - it wasn't like he'd ever had his heart broken. In fact, he was head over heels for someone who appeared to return the sentiment. He knew that it pained her further to know that, and he knew how much it cost her to be as supportive as she had been this afternoon.
Blaine was well aware of what a miracle it was that Quinn wasn't shoving him off and screaming for him to get the hell away from her, that he didn't understand and never would understand. Memories of her doing exactly that last fall were still fresh and painful in his mind. She'd been right, but it had still hurt, and what else could he do but just keep coming back to give whatever comfort he could until she would accept it? It was a testament to her strong will, personal growth, and an excellent therapist that she was accepting it now.
In the face of Quinn's naked heartbreak, in his helplessness in not knowing how to make it go away, Blaine reflected that in the end, knowing someone wanted to kiss him made him pretty fucking lucky, and he resolved not to worry about it anymore. At least, not for the moment.
There were more important matters.
“So, do you want to watch TV?” Kurt helped his father sit down on the couch, adjusting cushions and blankets around him until Burt swatted him away.
“Quit it, kiddo. I can manage my own comfort. I've been sittin' on this couch for longer than you've been alive.” But his smile at his son was a fond one, and he patted the boy on the arm in a silent gesture of thanks. “Why don'tcha get me the paper instead? I watched a lot of TV in the hospital, all that's worth watchin' is Oprah right now and I can do without that.” He cracked a tired smile. “I know more about that woman's personal life than I knew about your mom, and I don't think that's right.”
“Be that as it may, Oprah is undeniably an inspiration,” Kurt harrumphed, sticking his nose into the air before handing his father that day's newspaper. “I'll go warm up some soup for you.”
“Somethin' with flavor in it,” Burt called after him, a plaintive note in his voice. “Hospital food sucks. What am I payin' all that money for insurance for if they can't feed me anything decent?”
“I don't think your insurance actually covers the food, Dad.” Kurt frowned at a can of low sodium chicken noodle, vowing to find some time later to just make a few batches of soup himself. Not that he needed to add more to his already tight schedule... “I'll be out in a minute.”
As he poured the soup into a pot and heated it, he considered the most recent addition to his schedule: Blaine.
Kurt was pretty much a stranger to dating at all, but he'd seen plenty of movies. Those movies seemed to be telling him that going three days without a telephone call was bad. Maybe he should make the call? No. No, he didn't think so. He initiated the kissing, so it seemed like Blaine should call him.
On the other hand, Blaine was obviously reluctant to push things - again, going back to Kurt having to initiate the kissing, because Blaine was being chivalrous. So Blaine was politely waiting for Kurt to call him, not pushing for contact. Kurt stirred the soup, tapping his lower lip with a finger as he thought. No. That didn't work either. He was pretty sure that the chivalrous thing to do in this case was for Blaine to call Kurt.
So how come Blaine hadn't called?
They'd kissed for so long the other night that they'd actually fallen asleep still attached at each others' lips. At least, Kurt thought they had. It was the last thing he remembered, anyway, and besides, he liked to think it was because how incredibly adorable and romantic was the idea of falling asleep kissing?
When he woke up, it was to Blaine pressed up against his back, mouthing softly at the place where Kurt's neck and shoulder met, one arm around his waist and hand splayed open on his stomach. When Kurt turned his head to smile over his shoulder, he was met with bright hazel eyes and a happy, sleepy, soft smile that made his stomach flip.
They hadn't exchanged any words, just moved right into Kurt shifting around so that they faced each other and...more kissing. Soft kisses, slow, wet kisses, morning breath be damned - another one of those kisses that ended up with Blaine yanking Kurt's hips in tight against his and whimpering into his mouth. It had gone on and on until Jason had actually woken up, fortunately making enough noise as he did that they were able to shift apart and adjust themselves into some semblance of modesty before he crawled out demanding Rice Krispies.
Kurt had only been able to supply leftover chocolate cake with ganache icing from the aborted dinner party the other night, which pretty much cemented his place in Jason's affections as an awesome person.
Why had a similar event not taken place with Blaine after they kissed? Granted, buying a four year old's acceptance with chocolate cake seemed like something that would be a no-brainer, something that just about anyone could manage. An 18 year old was a different story, presumably.
But Blaine had chased him, he argued with himself. Blaine asked Kurt out. Blaine had confessed, however inadvertently, that he'd liked Kurt for some time. Blaine had admitted he wanted to kiss Kurt. Was that it? Maybe Blaine was upset because Kurt had made the first move?
That seemed unlik -
The smoke alarm went off shrilly, interrupting Kurt's thoughts and making him jump back away from the stove, where the canned soup was turning unappetizing colors as it scorched. Kurt squeaked and yanked the pan off of the burner, chucking it into the sink and turning the cold water on before hopping frantically to fan smoke away from the alarm with a dishtowel.
“What's goin' on in there?” Burt yelled out, sounding like he was trying to stand up and come investigate. Kurt raced for the kitchen doorway.
“Stay there,” he commanded, flapping his towel behind him. “It's fine. I scorched the soup - I’ll fix another can and have it out in just a minute. Sorry.”
Burt cast him a skeptical glance, but settled back down into his nest on the couch, picking the paper back up. “Uh huh. Whatever you say.”
The alarm finally shut up after Kurt opened a window and lit a vanilla candle to pull the smoke down and out of the room. He decided to play it safe with the second batch of soup and just microwaved it, though normally he - snobbishly, he knew - eschewed using the convenience device. This time the soup was heated without mishap, and he ladled a portion neatly into a bowl for his father, arranging an elegant tray with salt-free crackers, a fresh Bartlett pear, and a glass of sugarless cranberry juice.
He brought it into the living room, placing it carefully on the coffee table. Burt waited until his lunch was safely out of his son's hands and then - “So. Blaine got you distracted?”
“I don't know what you mean.” But Kurt felt his cheeks absolutely burning at the lie, even as he busied himself with straightening a perfectly placed napkin on the tray. “I'm fine.”
“You have never scorched a damn thing cooking in your life. Not even when you were first learning,” Burt scoffed. “Don't kid a kidder, Kurt. You're my kid, I know you. You never put a foot wrong unless something's wrong - so tell your ol' pop why you burned his lunch.”
“I am not having this conversation,” Kurt replied stiffly, straightening up and heading back into the kitchen to get himself a bowl of soup. Burt wasn't letting up, though.
“Look, I gotta admit it's kind of weird thinkin' of you with another guy,” he called out, words punctuated with slurps of chicken noodle. “It's not how I was raised, you know? But things are how they are, you're my son and you're starting to date. I wanna make sure it's goin' okay for you, or whether I need to have some words?”
Kurt knew his face was still a furious red as he walked back into the living room, knuckles white as he clutched at his bowl and spoon. “No, you do not need to have words with anyone,” he gritted out, perching on the edge of a chair. “Everything is fine.”
“I'm gonna remind you again that this is your second attempt at lunch,” Burt pointed out, smirking at his only child. Clearly, he found this to be the most fun he'd had in a while, and Kurt wished desperately he'd either begun dating sooner or had never gone out with Blaine at all. “Now, if your mom were still here, she'd tell me to lay off you, but she's not, and I'm not gonna coddle you. What's goin' on?”
There was nothing else to do but talk about it, even if it made him uncomfortable and squirmy. Kurt spooned a few bites into his mouth, thinking about how to put it. “I kissed Blaine,” he finally admitted, not looking his father in the eye. “I kissed him, and he hasn't called me. It's been three days.”
“You kissed him?” Burt was impressed. “Wow. Good on ya, Kurt. I gotta say, I was a little worried you were just lettin' yourself be chased -”
“Please stop,” Kurt begged, to no avail.
“But it's good you took the initiative when you wanted it.” Burt took a long swallow of cranberry juice, making a face at the taste of artificial sweetener in it. “So how come you're waitin' around for him to call you now?”
Kurt had the kindest, most supportive father in the world, and just at this very moment he wished he was a million miles away from him. No one had ever told him that beginning to date would be so awkward. Dear mom, he wished silently, scooping more soup into his mouth and pointedly avoiding his father's cheerfully curious stare, I sort of wish you'd given me a younger sibling to deflect attention from me. In the next instant, though, he'd taken the wish back - a younger brother or sister would have undoubtedly joined in on the apparent fun of teasing him about his dating life.
“I just think that since I took the big step of kissing him, he could call me,” Kurt eventually said, trying to wrest back some semblance of a casual demeanor. “That's all.”
Burt stared at him for a minute before putting down his spoon and flat out laughing at his son for several minutes, never mind that said son was turning tomato red again and seething. “Kurt,” he sputtered, shaking his head. “You've been my son for eighteen years now. And after you came out to me, I gotta say, I thought that was gonna be the last time you ever surprised me.” Burt snickered as he resumed eating.
Kurt stretched his head up and sniffed. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, no, you don't. You don't get to take that snot-nosed tone with me, kiddo.” Burt lifted his spoon to point it at his son, glaring. “Now I know I'm makin' fun of you and you never liked that, but I hope you know that I love ya and really, I'm trying to help.”
Guilt shot through Kurt, making him bow his head in shame. “Of course I know that,” he mumbled, toying with his own spoon. “I'm sorry.”
“I'm sorry, too. This's obviously a sore spot for you.” Burt finished off his soup before he picked up the thread of conversation again. “Now. You wanna know why you're surprising me?”
“Yes, please.” Kurt figured he was going to hear it one way or the other, and it behooved him to simply be polite and hear his father out. He had finished his soup by now as well, and leaned to place the bowl on the coffee table, sitting back with his hands tangled together in his lap.
Regarding his son soberly, Burt thought hard about his words before he let them loose into the room. “Kurt, you're the smartest, strongest kid I know - and I'm not just sayin' it because I'm your dad,” he said slowly, never taking his eyes off of Kurt's face. “I've never once seen you back down from going after what you wanted.” When Kurt said nothing, only watched his father, Burt shrugged and went on. “You like this boy?”
Kurt nodded, cheeks burning. “I do.”
“Then if you like him, don't wait around for him to call, jeez.” He smiled at his son, affection all over his face. “You don't have laryngitis, your fingers aren't broken, pick up the phone and ask him to do something. Or just talk, whatever.”
“You're sick, though.” Kurt frowned, twisting and untwisting his fingers. “And I have to study, and pack. I mean as much as I'd like to, maybe it isn't a good idea...”
Burt groaned. “Don't talk yourself out of it, for Christ’s sake. Call the guy. I'm sick, not broken. You don't have to babysit me. How much trouble can I get into when I'm parked here on the couch like this, anyway?”
“The mind boggles,” Kurt replied dryly, but he got to his feet all the same, moving to pick up the phone. “All right, I'll call him. I'll do it now.”
“That's my boy.” Burt picked up his pear and chomped down into it, shifting the bite over into his cheek so he could talk. “There's a message on the machine, by the way.”
Kurt paused in his journey to the end table they kept the phone on. “Is there.”
“Mmhmm.” Biting into his fruit again, this time the elder Hummel carefully chewed and swallowed it before adding, “Musta been left while you were coming to pick me up at the hospital.”
“You don't say.” Kurt had to make a conscious effort to pull his tongue out of his cheek, where it was making slow, agitated circles. “And did you listen to this message?”
“Yup. While you were burning my lunch.”
“Dad...” Kurt's eyes narrowed and he felt his mouth tightening into a thin line.
“It was really interesting,” Burt volunteered, grinning around his pear.
Kurt reached down and punched the Play button on the answering machine. “You have one new message,” it chirped helpfully in cheerful digital tones.
“Yeah, yeah, get on with it,” Kurt muttered, glaring at his still-grinning father.
“Ah, Kurt, it's Blaine,” came the hesitant, friendly voice that made Kurt fight to hide a smile. “Listen, I know it's been three days, and I'm sorry. I didn't want to bother you too much since I know you're busy and all...”
“Hmm. Interesting,” Burt commented. Kurt waved a hand to shush him.
“I know your dad's coming home soon and you're going to be taking care of him - maybe he's home now, if so, hi, Mr. Hummel, I hope you're feeling better.” Blaine's recorded voice took a deep breath. “But listen, Kurt, if you have a free moment, give me a call? I'm at Quinn's now, but you can page me if you want. I'd love to hang out again sometime. I have to work a lot of this week but just say the word, I'll find a way to see you. If you want to. I hope you do, I want to see you again. The other night...” Now Blaine's voice paused, and Kurt could almost see him groping for words. “The other night was really amazing for me. I hope it was for you, too. Um, give me a call? Okay, I'm gonna go now. Okay. Bye.”
The click and whir of a dial tone filled the room before the machine cut off. Kurt punched to save the message. He felt spots of color rising high on his cheeks and a very silly grin spreading across his face.
“Nice kid,” his father commented, lounging back into the couch cushions, “Maybe next time you can call him first instead of workin' yourself up all crazy over nothin'.”
...Chapter Eight...
Media: Fic
Author: a_glass_parade (GlassParade)
Beta: BabyRosebud stepped in when I asked for a last minute beta read - thank you, Beth!
Rating: PG-13 to mild R in the future.
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine, reference to past Quinn/Finn and current Rachel/Finn
Genre: Romance, AU, Movie Adaptations
Warnings: Mentions of attempted suicide.
Spoilers: While events and references from all three seasons of Glee may be adapted and worked into the story occasionally, it's otherwise fully AU.
Word Count: Currently 35,000+
Summary: Blaine Anderson is the easy going skateboarding slacker who's carried a torch for sheltered class Valedictorian Kurt Hummel for the last year. On the day they graduate from high school, he decides to do something about it. There's no way they should work. Everything will conspire against them. Can this unlikely pairing prevail?
Additional Notes: gameboycolor and naderegen wanted 90's Klaine. I suggested updating Cameron Crowe's iconic movie "Say Anything" to 1998 and making Blaine and Kurt into an analogue of Lloyd and Diane's star-crossed romance. This very loose adaptation, for better or for worse, is the result. Title is from the song "All I Want" by Toad the Wet Sprocket. And yes, the final chapter count has indeed changed, and may change again!
“So he kissed you.” Blaine couldn't see Quinn's eyes, but he could see her eyebrows raised in two perfect honey blonde arcs of surprise over the rims of her opaque black sunglasses. “I was not expecting that.”
They were curled up together in the hammock in Quinn's back yard, swaying lazily in the warm summer breeze. She'd dragged her portable stereo outside on a long extension cord; Chrissie Hynde serenaded them while they rocked. “I got brass in pocket,” Blaine sang softly, tugging at lock of pink hair that was tickling his face. “Got bottle, I'm gonna use it.”
“Don't change the subject.” The hammock wobbled dangerously as she shifted up to lean on her elbow, tilting the sunglasses to glare at him with narrowed green eyes. “He kissed you. Not the other way around.”
“He kissed me,” Blaine confirmed with a sigh. It had been three days since Kurt had kissed him, and he could still almost feel it. He ran the pad of this thumb over his lower lip. “He kissed me.”
“Well, that's what you wanted, right?” She snapped her gum impatiently. “You were bound to get around to it sooner or later.” Reaching out, she pulled on one of his curls and let it bounce back. “Blaine. This is a good thing.”
“I'm aware,” he snapped back in irritation. “It's not that. Well, it is that. It's that I want more of it.”
Quinn's eyes rolled skyward. “He kissed you,” she said again. “I'm pretty sure that means you're going to get more of it.”
“But when?” Blaine knew he was being whiny and hated it. He also knew that if he kept it up Quinn was going to inflict physical violence upon his person. He just couldn't help it. “I had good reasons for not kissing him right away. A whole list of them! One of which was, 'If I kiss you, I am not going to want to stop.'”
“Still failing to see the problem, also getting jealous,” Quinn informed him, sticking one finger into her mouth to pull her gum out in a long, disgusting lime green string that she brought perilously close to his hair. “How many hours were you making out? It doesn't sound like he wants to stop.”
Now it was Blaine's turn to roll his eyes. “Except that we did have to eventually stop? And we haven't seen each other since, nor do I know when we will see each other again, since his schedule was already insane before his dad got sick? I can't just say, 'Hey, Kurt, any chance you can blow off your dad the heart patient and come stick your tongue in my mouth for a while?' But I also can't get mad about him taking care of his dad and studying and packing.” He blew out his breath in an annoyed huff. “I'm not saying I would have been happy if we went all summer without kissing, I just...something. I don't know.”
“Okay. Do you want Sympathetic Quinn or Ass Kicking Quinn?” She pulled back her sticky hand, sucking the finger into her mouth to get all the gum back together. “Or both? I've been practicing.”
“Both.” He flung his arm over his eyes and tensed, bracing himself for her biting commentary.
“Okay.” Quinn rolled to rest her arms over his abdomen, propping her chin on them as she spoke. “I love you, but shut up. Despite all of us telling you this was a bad idea, you followed your...heart, I guess...and it turned out pretty well for you.” When he opened his mouth to interject, she covered it with her hand. “Uh-uh. Quinn talky now.”
“Mmph,” Blaine agreed, moving his arm to look down at her. She waited a moment before removing her hand, shifting her sunglasses up on her head so that she could meet his gaze full on.
“Yes, it sucks that you don't get to spend unlimited hours kissing Kurt, but hey, at least it turns out that he does actually want to kiss you, and it's nice that you're not being a dick and bothering him about it 24-7 while he's dealing with all the complicated shit in his life.” Her mouth twitched up into a sweet, sad little smile. “More guys should be as considerate as you.”
He grinned. “Thank you, Quincy.”
“Don't let it go to your head.” She tickled him a little, giggling and squealing as his twitching threatened to up-end the hammock. When they'd settled down, she returned to laying across his chest for a moment before raising her head again, as if something had occurred to her. “Have you even called him?”
He squirmed uncomfortably. “Well...”
“Don't say it,” Quinn groaned, dropping her head back down with enough force to make Blaine grunt as her forehead impacted his stomach. “Don't say he kissed you and then you didn't call.”
Blaine thought for a moment, and then said nothing.
“Okay, you're officially stupid,” his best friend snapped, digging her fingers into his sides harder now, pinching instead of tickling. “I'm sorry, hot guy grabs you, kisses you while you're being all gentlemanly and goobery, kisses you all night long to hear you talk about it, and you don't call?” Quinn stopped when he yelped in pain, grabbing at her hands to pull them away from where she was threatening to leave bruises. “Unbelievable.”
“I'm not very good at this,” he howled indignantly, covering his face with his hands. “His dad's sick, I didn't want to bother him, I told you! You said I was being considerate!”
“That's before I knew you kissed and told and didn't even have the decency to call him!” She struggled up to her knees, holding her black cotton peasant skirt down against the breeze and carefully leaning out of the hammock to grab the cordless phone that was lying on a table along with an abandoned tray of sandwiches and glasses of lemonade. “Call him. Right now.”
“Quinn, I -”
“Now, Blaine.” She smacked the phone down onto his chest and wriggled back to lie down at his side again. “Do I need to pinch you another time?”
“No, ma'am.” He clicked the phone on and punched the number in. “I don't even know what I'm going to say.”
“'Hello' is a good place to start,” she quipped unhelpfully, smirking brightly in the face of his responding surly frown.
Blaine listened intently as the phone rang. “I don't think he's - ah, machine.” He made as if to click the phone off, but Quinn reached out to stop him.
“Don't you dare.”
“But Quinn - !” He struggled to pull the phone away from her, but she just stuck her fingers into his side again and wiggled them threateningly.
“Leave a nice message for him,” she instructed, her fierce glare making it clear that she would accept no alternatives.
Somehow, Blaine managed to bumble his way through leaving a friendly message, exchanging glances full of daggers with Quinn as he did. He hung up and tossed the phone over the side of the hammock into the grass, shoving her off of his chest and crossing his arms in a sulk. “There. Happy?”
“Hm. Yes.” Her smile was sweet as she batted her eyelashes at him. “He might even call you back. Especially if he has a thing for clumsy babblers. Better hope for your sake that he does.”
“Very supportive, Quinn.” Blaine rolled his eyes and reached to hug her despite his irritation. “So encouraging, I'm really glad I keep you around.”
“You know I'm only picking.” She snuggled up on him again, shoving her sunglasses back up on her head when they fell down over her nose. “Seriously, though, Blaine. I actually think that against all odds, this looks like it could work out for you.”
“Until he goes to England.” He sighed. “Maybe you were right, Quinn. Maybe I shouldn't have pursued this.”
“Excuse me? Are you wasting that excellent pep talk I gave you not twenty minutes ago?” Her eyebrow lifted and she moved as if she were going to tickle him again. “Where's the Blaine who refuses to worry about the future until it gets here?”
“That Blaine hadn't been kissed by a gorgeous boy...okay, you're right, you're right.” As she twitched her fingers, he hastily raised both hands in surrender before bringing them back down to wrap back around her. “Change of subject then. How are you doing?”
“I'd rather go back to talking about you being confused as to whether you want more kissing or less,” she grumbled.
“Quincy...”
“I'm okay,” Quinn sighed, picking at the black jelly bracelets that festooned her arms, hiding the brutal scars that snaked down the insides of her wrists. “Actually, my therapist wants to cut down to twice a month sessions. She says I'm making progress, I guess because I didn't sleep with Finn at the party.” Her nose wrinkled in wry confusion. “Never mind that I drank half a bottle of tequila after he asked me to.”
“Not so much 'drank' as 'didn't fight Santana when she tackled you to the ground and stuck it in your mouth,'” Blaine reminded her, sticking his tongue out in a noisy raspberry. “No one can blame you for that, who wants to turn Santana down when she's actually being nice for once? For her, anyway. I mean, giving you Cuervo is a pretty generous act from someone who told our kindergarten teacher to go fuck herself during the 'Sharing Is Caring' lesson.”
The hammock shook again with their laughter. “You do have a point,” Quinn agreed when they could talk again. She rested her head against his chest, going quiet for a long time. When she did speak again, her voice was a little shaky. “Finn hasn't even tried to call since the party. Usually he'd be apologizing the next day.”
“That's not a bad thing,” Blaine murmured to her, brushing his fingers through her hair. “Maybe he'll finally leave you alone, Quinn. I wouldn't have a problem with that, Jeff wouldn't, and I know your mom would be happy. It'll be nice for you if he does.”
Tears were leaking from her eyes, dampening his t-shirt and staining it with her black eyeliner. “It just hurts to have it all end like this,” she whispered, her fingers flexing and clenching at the fabric. “With that gross crap at the party and then he can't even apologize.”
“He probably doesn't know what to say, Quinn,” he suggested, thinking back to the little he knew about Finn, having not wanted to really get to know him after his first breakup with Quinn. Finn wasn't a bad guy, just remarkably myopic and indecisive and frankly hamfisted when it came to relationships. Blaine figured that Rachel dumping him - instead of the other way around, for once - probably finally got it through to Finn that he'd gone too far with both girls.
Of course, Blaine privately thought Finn should have come to that conclusion after Quinn slashed her wrists open last fall, but he supposed he couldn't be too picky, given that they were all lucky to still have her around in the first place. He just wanted Finn to leave his best friend alone, and he wanted her to be okay with it. It looked like the first might be happening, finally, so he'd take it and run, and try to help make the second happen.
Tears were still falling, but Quinn was breathing hard in the way Blaine knew well, the pattern that told him she was furious that she was crying at all and was trying to stop it. He tightened his arms around her. “It's okay to cry, Quinn,” he whispered, pressing his lips into her hair and just holding on. “You've earned it. Just cry, please. Get it out. Get it out, Quincy.”
“I don't want to,” she sniffled, wiping her nose on his shirt. “I don't. I don't want to cry over him anymore. I don't want it to hurt anymore. It's all so stupid, it shouldn't hurt so much. He's been so dumb and it was just really making me tired to be with him anyway...”
“I know,” Blaine soothed, running his hands up and down her arms as she shook with the effort of trying to hold back the tears. “You're better than him, Quinn. You know you are.” He knew better than to try bringing up the notion of leaving the state yet again, so he stuck with simply trying to calm her down. “It's all going to work out for you, Quincy. You're going to make awesome things happen for yourself, just like you always told us you would.”
“Doesn't feel like it,” she mumbled, face down and pressed against his stomach as she sniffled and heaved deep breaths. “Just feels like it's going to hurt forever.”
“It won't,” he assured her, but the words were hollow and they both knew it. He couldn't promise that, couldn't make the hurt go away, and he had no idea how much it hurt anyway - it wasn't like he'd ever had his heart broken. In fact, he was head over heels for someone who appeared to return the sentiment. He knew that it pained her further to know that, and he knew how much it cost her to be as supportive as she had been this afternoon.
Blaine was well aware of what a miracle it was that Quinn wasn't shoving him off and screaming for him to get the hell away from her, that he didn't understand and never would understand. Memories of her doing exactly that last fall were still fresh and painful in his mind. She'd been right, but it had still hurt, and what else could he do but just keep coming back to give whatever comfort he could until she would accept it? It was a testament to her strong will, personal growth, and an excellent therapist that she was accepting it now.
In the face of Quinn's naked heartbreak, in his helplessness in not knowing how to make it go away, Blaine reflected that in the end, knowing someone wanted to kiss him made him pretty fucking lucky, and he resolved not to worry about it anymore. At least, not for the moment.
There were more important matters.
“So, do you want to watch TV?” Kurt helped his father sit down on the couch, adjusting cushions and blankets around him until Burt swatted him away.
“Quit it, kiddo. I can manage my own comfort. I've been sittin' on this couch for longer than you've been alive.” But his smile at his son was a fond one, and he patted the boy on the arm in a silent gesture of thanks. “Why don'tcha get me the paper instead? I watched a lot of TV in the hospital, all that's worth watchin' is Oprah right now and I can do without that.” He cracked a tired smile. “I know more about that woman's personal life than I knew about your mom, and I don't think that's right.”
“Be that as it may, Oprah is undeniably an inspiration,” Kurt harrumphed, sticking his nose into the air before handing his father that day's newspaper. “I'll go warm up some soup for you.”
“Somethin' with flavor in it,” Burt called after him, a plaintive note in his voice. “Hospital food sucks. What am I payin' all that money for insurance for if they can't feed me anything decent?”
“I don't think your insurance actually covers the food, Dad.” Kurt frowned at a can of low sodium chicken noodle, vowing to find some time later to just make a few batches of soup himself. Not that he needed to add more to his already tight schedule... “I'll be out in a minute.”
As he poured the soup into a pot and heated it, he considered the most recent addition to his schedule: Blaine.
Kurt was pretty much a stranger to dating at all, but he'd seen plenty of movies. Those movies seemed to be telling him that going three days without a telephone call was bad. Maybe he should make the call? No. No, he didn't think so. He initiated the kissing, so it seemed like Blaine should call him.
On the other hand, Blaine was obviously reluctant to push things - again, going back to Kurt having to initiate the kissing, because Blaine was being chivalrous. So Blaine was politely waiting for Kurt to call him, not pushing for contact. Kurt stirred the soup, tapping his lower lip with a finger as he thought. No. That didn't work either. He was pretty sure that the chivalrous thing to do in this case was for Blaine to call Kurt.
So how come Blaine hadn't called?
They'd kissed for so long the other night that they'd actually fallen asleep still attached at each others' lips. At least, Kurt thought they had. It was the last thing he remembered, anyway, and besides, he liked to think it was because how incredibly adorable and romantic was the idea of falling asleep kissing?
When he woke up, it was to Blaine pressed up against his back, mouthing softly at the place where Kurt's neck and shoulder met, one arm around his waist and hand splayed open on his stomach. When Kurt turned his head to smile over his shoulder, he was met with bright hazel eyes and a happy, sleepy, soft smile that made his stomach flip.
They hadn't exchanged any words, just moved right into Kurt shifting around so that they faced each other and...more kissing. Soft kisses, slow, wet kisses, morning breath be damned - another one of those kisses that ended up with Blaine yanking Kurt's hips in tight against his and whimpering into his mouth. It had gone on and on until Jason had actually woken up, fortunately making enough noise as he did that they were able to shift apart and adjust themselves into some semblance of modesty before he crawled out demanding Rice Krispies.
Kurt had only been able to supply leftover chocolate cake with ganache icing from the aborted dinner party the other night, which pretty much cemented his place in Jason's affections as an awesome person.
Why had a similar event not taken place with Blaine after they kissed? Granted, buying a four year old's acceptance with chocolate cake seemed like something that would be a no-brainer, something that just about anyone could manage. An 18 year old was a different story, presumably.
But Blaine had chased him, he argued with himself. Blaine asked Kurt out. Blaine had confessed, however inadvertently, that he'd liked Kurt for some time. Blaine had admitted he wanted to kiss Kurt. Was that it? Maybe Blaine was upset because Kurt had made the first move?
That seemed unlik -
The smoke alarm went off shrilly, interrupting Kurt's thoughts and making him jump back away from the stove, where the canned soup was turning unappetizing colors as it scorched. Kurt squeaked and yanked the pan off of the burner, chucking it into the sink and turning the cold water on before hopping frantically to fan smoke away from the alarm with a dishtowel.
“What's goin' on in there?” Burt yelled out, sounding like he was trying to stand up and come investigate. Kurt raced for the kitchen doorway.
“Stay there,” he commanded, flapping his towel behind him. “It's fine. I scorched the soup - I’ll fix another can and have it out in just a minute. Sorry.”
Burt cast him a skeptical glance, but settled back down into his nest on the couch, picking the paper back up. “Uh huh. Whatever you say.”
The alarm finally shut up after Kurt opened a window and lit a vanilla candle to pull the smoke down and out of the room. He decided to play it safe with the second batch of soup and just microwaved it, though normally he - snobbishly, he knew - eschewed using the convenience device. This time the soup was heated without mishap, and he ladled a portion neatly into a bowl for his father, arranging an elegant tray with salt-free crackers, a fresh Bartlett pear, and a glass of sugarless cranberry juice.
He brought it into the living room, placing it carefully on the coffee table. Burt waited until his lunch was safely out of his son's hands and then - “So. Blaine got you distracted?”
“I don't know what you mean.” But Kurt felt his cheeks absolutely burning at the lie, even as he busied himself with straightening a perfectly placed napkin on the tray. “I'm fine.”
“You have never scorched a damn thing cooking in your life. Not even when you were first learning,” Burt scoffed. “Don't kid a kidder, Kurt. You're my kid, I know you. You never put a foot wrong unless something's wrong - so tell your ol' pop why you burned his lunch.”
“I am not having this conversation,” Kurt replied stiffly, straightening up and heading back into the kitchen to get himself a bowl of soup. Burt wasn't letting up, though.
“Look, I gotta admit it's kind of weird thinkin' of you with another guy,” he called out, words punctuated with slurps of chicken noodle. “It's not how I was raised, you know? But things are how they are, you're my son and you're starting to date. I wanna make sure it's goin' okay for you, or whether I need to have some words?”
Kurt knew his face was still a furious red as he walked back into the living room, knuckles white as he clutched at his bowl and spoon. “No, you do not need to have words with anyone,” he gritted out, perching on the edge of a chair. “Everything is fine.”
“I'm gonna remind you again that this is your second attempt at lunch,” Burt pointed out, smirking at his only child. Clearly, he found this to be the most fun he'd had in a while, and Kurt wished desperately he'd either begun dating sooner or had never gone out with Blaine at all. “Now, if your mom were still here, she'd tell me to lay off you, but she's not, and I'm not gonna coddle you. What's goin' on?”
There was nothing else to do but talk about it, even if it made him uncomfortable and squirmy. Kurt spooned a few bites into his mouth, thinking about how to put it. “I kissed Blaine,” he finally admitted, not looking his father in the eye. “I kissed him, and he hasn't called me. It's been three days.”
“You kissed him?” Burt was impressed. “Wow. Good on ya, Kurt. I gotta say, I was a little worried you were just lettin' yourself be chased -”
“Please stop,” Kurt begged, to no avail.
“But it's good you took the initiative when you wanted it.” Burt took a long swallow of cranberry juice, making a face at the taste of artificial sweetener in it. “So how come you're waitin' around for him to call you now?”
Kurt had the kindest, most supportive father in the world, and just at this very moment he wished he was a million miles away from him. No one had ever told him that beginning to date would be so awkward. Dear mom, he wished silently, scooping more soup into his mouth and pointedly avoiding his father's cheerfully curious stare, I sort of wish you'd given me a younger sibling to deflect attention from me. In the next instant, though, he'd taken the wish back - a younger brother or sister would have undoubtedly joined in on the apparent fun of teasing him about his dating life.
“I just think that since I took the big step of kissing him, he could call me,” Kurt eventually said, trying to wrest back some semblance of a casual demeanor. “That's all.”
Burt stared at him for a minute before putting down his spoon and flat out laughing at his son for several minutes, never mind that said son was turning tomato red again and seething. “Kurt,” he sputtered, shaking his head. “You've been my son for eighteen years now. And after you came out to me, I gotta say, I thought that was gonna be the last time you ever surprised me.” Burt snickered as he resumed eating.
Kurt stretched his head up and sniffed. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, no, you don't. You don't get to take that snot-nosed tone with me, kiddo.” Burt lifted his spoon to point it at his son, glaring. “Now I know I'm makin' fun of you and you never liked that, but I hope you know that I love ya and really, I'm trying to help.”
Guilt shot through Kurt, making him bow his head in shame. “Of course I know that,” he mumbled, toying with his own spoon. “I'm sorry.”
“I'm sorry, too. This's obviously a sore spot for you.” Burt finished off his soup before he picked up the thread of conversation again. “Now. You wanna know why you're surprising me?”
“Yes, please.” Kurt figured he was going to hear it one way or the other, and it behooved him to simply be polite and hear his father out. He had finished his soup by now as well, and leaned to place the bowl on the coffee table, sitting back with his hands tangled together in his lap.
Regarding his son soberly, Burt thought hard about his words before he let them loose into the room. “Kurt, you're the smartest, strongest kid I know - and I'm not just sayin' it because I'm your dad,” he said slowly, never taking his eyes off of Kurt's face. “I've never once seen you back down from going after what you wanted.” When Kurt said nothing, only watched his father, Burt shrugged and went on. “You like this boy?”
Kurt nodded, cheeks burning. “I do.”
“Then if you like him, don't wait around for him to call, jeez.” He smiled at his son, affection all over his face. “You don't have laryngitis, your fingers aren't broken, pick up the phone and ask him to do something. Or just talk, whatever.”
“You're sick, though.” Kurt frowned, twisting and untwisting his fingers. “And I have to study, and pack. I mean as much as I'd like to, maybe it isn't a good idea...”
Burt groaned. “Don't talk yourself out of it, for Christ’s sake. Call the guy. I'm sick, not broken. You don't have to babysit me. How much trouble can I get into when I'm parked here on the couch like this, anyway?”
“The mind boggles,” Kurt replied dryly, but he got to his feet all the same, moving to pick up the phone. “All right, I'll call him. I'll do it now.”
“That's my boy.” Burt picked up his pear and chomped down into it, shifting the bite over into his cheek so he could talk. “There's a message on the machine, by the way.”
Kurt paused in his journey to the end table they kept the phone on. “Is there.”
“Mmhmm.” Biting into his fruit again, this time the elder Hummel carefully chewed and swallowed it before adding, “Musta been left while you were coming to pick me up at the hospital.”
“You don't say.” Kurt had to make a conscious effort to pull his tongue out of his cheek, where it was making slow, agitated circles. “And did you listen to this message?”
“Yup. While you were burning my lunch.”
“Dad...” Kurt's eyes narrowed and he felt his mouth tightening into a thin line.
“It was really interesting,” Burt volunteered, grinning around his pear.
Kurt reached down and punched the Play button on the answering machine. “You have one new message,” it chirped helpfully in cheerful digital tones.
“Yeah, yeah, get on with it,” Kurt muttered, glaring at his still-grinning father.
“Ah, Kurt, it's Blaine,” came the hesitant, friendly voice that made Kurt fight to hide a smile. “Listen, I know it's been three days, and I'm sorry. I didn't want to bother you too much since I know you're busy and all...”
“Hmm. Interesting,” Burt commented. Kurt waved a hand to shush him.
“I know your dad's coming home soon and you're going to be taking care of him - maybe he's home now, if so, hi, Mr. Hummel, I hope you're feeling better.” Blaine's recorded voice took a deep breath. “But listen, Kurt, if you have a free moment, give me a call? I'm at Quinn's now, but you can page me if you want. I'd love to hang out again sometime. I have to work a lot of this week but just say the word, I'll find a way to see you. If you want to. I hope you do, I want to see you again. The other night...” Now Blaine's voice paused, and Kurt could almost see him groping for words. “The other night was really amazing for me. I hope it was for you, too. Um, give me a call? Okay, I'm gonna go now. Okay. Bye.”
The click and whir of a dial tone filled the room before the machine cut off. Kurt punched to save the message. He felt spots of color rising high on his cheeks and a very silly grin spreading across his face.
“Nice kid,” his father commented, lounging back into the couch cushions, “Maybe next time you can call him first instead of workin' yourself up all crazy over nothin'.”
...Chapter Eight...