fic - Thursdays and I have a history (2/?)
Title: Thursdays and I have a history. (2/?)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: approx. 3045
Spoilers: up to AVGC, but none of the spoilers for upcoming episodes
Summary: The breaking and subsequent making of Kurt Hummel. Follows him through high school, college, and the basic sense of growing up.
Chapter One
Notes: Hello again! First of all, I want to say thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, alerted, and enjoyed! I'm so thrilled with the response I've gotten so far and I hope you all continue to like this story. This section is shorter than the last, but hopefully that's not too much of a problem. I will post the third section as soon as I get it back from my lovely, lovely beta. :D
And a big thank you to my beta, lextempus!
Three rehearsals in, the novelty of Kurt's return has faded to the background of Glee Club.
Rachel waves music sheets around, brandishing them like a new lawful decree, her voice grating against Mr. Schue's complacent attempts to rein her in. Kurt watches Finn grapple with the seemingly tough decision to back Rachel up while keeping his distance from the passionate girl.
Beside him, Mercedes braids Tina's fuchsia-streaked hair, the Asian girl wincing occasionally through her conversation with Mike as Mercedes accidentally yanks too hard. Brittany and Santana talk over each other, their voices light and soft as they only are when together. Kurt can smell the delicate perfume Quinn always wears and the heady scent of the locker rooms lingering on Puck's gym bag where he always tosses it under the piano, just to aggravate Rachel who yells about the musical vibrations.
The room still feels the same, loud and large and never enough for the sheer amount of people and the vocal quality bouncing off the walls. More colors than Kurt can count in a single glance fill his vision as he watches everyone talk and move around each other, each person easily identifiable by the stark red of their skirts, the stripes on their shirts, the pitch-perfect shrieks, the shining gold of their hair, the uninhibited laughter.
And just when Kurt thinks nothing has changed, Karofsky appears in the window and the Glee Club, his friends, crowd around the glass pane. Santana is particularly menacing with her shark teeth baring through her vicious leer, Finn cracks his knuckles with an uncharacteristically ugly look on face, and even sweet Tina has a hardness to her eyes that surprises Kurt. They all pitch in, each with a menacing glare or vicious words of scorn.
Karofsky leaves without a second glance, his eyes no longer threatening Kurt and freezing the small boy to his seat, paralyzing him with fear.
They all stand their ground, their heads moving minutely as they watch Karofsky descend down the hallway. Then they turn around as one, each staring at Kurt, waiting for his reaction. Kurt smiles like it's the first time he's ever really known how to use those muscles.
Then they go back to yelling and singing and laughing and arguing, flitting about and spinning around, joking and pushing and loving and teasing. Like nothing's happened at all.
But the world has changed in a heartbeat and Kurt has never felt so protected.
The computer screen illuminates the basement, blue light finding its way against the edges and planes of Kurt's bedroom. His hands pause above his keyboard as the clock chimes midnight on the floor above him, marking the new day as Thursday.
The brisk click of the keyboard mingles with the clock's cry as Kurt types out a hastened message. He doesn't scan it, doesn't read it over, only hits "send" before his nerves get the best of him.
Good luck at nationals.
-Kurt
(&)
Thank you. Wish you could help us to victory.
-Blaine
Ever the gentleman, Kurt thinks with a half-smile.
(&)
"I now present to you, The Warblers from Dalton Academy from Westerville, Ohio!"
The curtains open to reveal rows of boys with the yellow stage lights softening their straightened lines. Kurt's eyes immediately seek out Blaine, trim and sweet and handsome and so far away.
Sweet disposition, never too soon. Oh, reckless abandon like no one's watching you.
Sitting in the audience, it's easy to pretend that he's never met Blaine. That he never kissed those crooning, singing lips. That he was never held in those swaying arms.
And while our blood's still young, it's so young. It runs and we won't stop until it's over… Won't stop to surrender…
And while he's pretending, he doesn't imagine what Blaine's thinking as he sings or if there are any lyrics Blaine would direct just to him if they were both on stage. He doesn't wonder where he would have stood in the line-up or if Blaine would have hugged him before the performance for good luck.
A moment, a love, a dream aloud, a kiss, a cry, our rights, our wrongs…
Two hours later, the Warblers lose, and Kurt doesn't allow himself a single second to feel his stomach plummet or his heart twist. He pretends not to see Blaine's expression shatter and then reform with a forced congratulatory smile that he's sure only he can read through. He doesn't wonder at all what it would be like to wait outside and surprise Blaine or hurry and buy consolatory flowers for the Warblers.
And the biggest pretend is when Kurt tells himself he doesn't want to see Blaine at all.
Kurt leaves without ever saying hello.
(&)
The three and a half hour drive back to Lima from Chicago ends up taking four hours.
The sky looks as though it's covered in newspaper, everything a faded gray and white. Rain-darkened clouds hide the sun with no shadows on the ground. The roads are smooth beneath his tires, the steering wheel tight within his grip. Kurt stares ahead with his reactions careful and measured and his mouth formed into a straight line.
He pulls over just once, sobbing into his open palms pressed into his face before gasping for air once more.
Twenty minutes later, he drives off and pretends he never stopped at all.