Cheers, Darlin'
Title: Cheers, Darlin'
Rating: PG-13, due to language
Pairings: Kurt/OC, mentions of Kurt/Blaine (also mentions of Finn/Rachel, Sam/Mercedes, Santana/Brittany)
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Angst. Scotch. Weddings. Did I mention angst?
Word Count: 1,392
Summary: Blaine Anderson doesn't regret much. But he does regret letting Kurt go. And as he looks at the silver ring glinting on Kurt's finger, he finally realizes it. It's too late.
For some reason, I felt super angsty today. So, I put my Damien Rice playlist on repeat and just sat there with a glass of wine. When Cheers, Darlin' came on, I immediately just put that on repeat and wrote this depressing piece. I wouldn't necessarily call it a songfic, but it is much more effective if you have that particular song on as you read. Click here for the song! Seriously. And I also suggest listening to at least a few minutes of it first to get a feel for it. Enjoy, darlings! Well... as much as you can, of course.
Cheers, darlin'
Here's to you and your loverboy
Cheers, darlin'
I've got your wedding bells in my ear
He remembers growing up and watching this show called ‘How I Met Your Mother.’ Originally, he had started watching it because Neil Patrick Harris, one of its stars, was his first celebrity crush. But it was actually a really good show.
Anyway, there was this entire episode about how you should never, absolutely never invite your ex to a wedding. And yeah, Blaine had laughed hysterically at the mishaps and antics on his television screen at the time, but now that he’s living it? It’s not exactly funny.
As he orders another scotch, he wonders who the biggest idiot here is: Kurt, for inviting him, or himself, for actually showing up.
He downs the smoky, harsh liquid, ignoring the burn in his throat, and turns his eye back to the dance floor. He sees Finn and Rachel slow-dancing to every song despite the fact a fast one is currently playing. He sees Santana and Brittany owning every step, every hip pop, every sultry glance, knowing that everyone wants them but they only want each other. Sam and Mercedes are there, too, sitting at a table, cooing over their new-born son.
It seems everyone has found happiness.
Except for me.
He scoffs at his own bitterness and orders a fourth drink, ignoring the eyebrow raise of the bartender.
At this point, the scotch kind of tastes like a spiced water, and his face is numb. But that’s what he wants right now, isn’t it? To be numb?
He sees Kurt hug Finn and Rachel, glowing and slightly red from dancing, alcohol, and genuine happiness. His tux fitting him like a dream, the silver glinting from his finger and practically blinding Blaine.
Yeah. Numb sounds great.
And then, the awful happens. Kurt catches his eye and steps back in surprise, like seeing Blaine is the last thing he expected. And that’s probably the truth. Without breaking eye contact, Kurt excuses himself from his guests and makes his way to the bar. Blaine drains his old fashioned glass, searching for courage or an exit or something. He’s not even sure what he’s searching for anymore.
“You came,” Kurt states softly, his eyes wide with wonder.
“You invited me,” Blaine answers coldly, ordering another drink and shooting the bartender a glare before the man objects.
“Well, yes, but I didn’t… You never answered…”
Blaine looks over at Kurt and those eyes. Those eyes. Those beautiful eyes, blue with bits of green and gold, mixed with only what Blaine can place as pity. He squeezes his own eyes shut and looks away as he begins to hate himself.
They sit in silence as Blaine knocks back another scotch. He’s sweating slightly from the alcohol, and despite the fact that he’s lost all feeling in his nose, he can feel how red his cheeks are. He’s well on his way to drunk, if he’s not there already. He chuckles bitterly, thinking of all the times he was drunk with Kurt. The passionate, sloppy kisses in the back of a cab, the grinding on a dance floor, the giggles as clothes were haphazardly dropped onto the cold hardwood floor.
”What are you laughing at?” Kurt asks, almost timidly, as if he’s afraid to intrude on whatever Blaine is thinking.
“Are you happy?” Blaine blurts out, not removing his eyes from the bartop.
“I… excuse me?”
“I said, are you happy?”
By now, the bartender has given up on getting Blaine to stop, so he just brings him another scotch. Blaine lazily nods his head in thanks, taking it from the man’s hands before he even sets it down.
Blaine remembers the last time he was at a wedding with Kurt. It had been Finn and Rachel’s wedding, with Kurt and Blaine sitting at the wedding party table, playing footsie and stealing kisses, dreaming of their day. They had still been in love, still so young, only in their early 20s. Bright eyes looking forward to their future in New York. A shit apartment with a brick wall. A closet the size of a kitchen cabinet. A bedroom that could barely fit their mattress. But it was theirs. All theirs. And they were happy.
And then everything had fallen to shit.
“Yes,” Kurt eventually answers, and then clears his throat. “Yeah, I’m really happy, Blaine.”
Blaine just scoffs, angrier at himself than Kurt. It’s not Kurt’s fault that he just gave up. It’s not Kurt’s fault that he left everything in a heap, his own idiocy and stubbornness the match that set it all on fire.
“Don’t scoff at me,” Kurt presses, bristling. He’s trying to remain calm. Keep up a front since this is his wedding after all, but Blaine’s obviously hit a nerve. “Don’t you dare. You had your chance, and you blew it.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Blaine hisses, his words dripping venom, before turning back to his drink and Kurt just sits there, almost dumb-founded.
Kurt’s right, though. About a year ago, they had ended up in the same bar because of some mutual friends that they didn’t know they had.
Kurt had been upfront, saying that he had just started seeing someone, Blaine had sarcastically replied that it was okay, he wasn’t seeing anyone either, to which Kurt just rolled his eyes. As the shots kept coming, so did the shameless innuendos, the soft touches, the lingering glances. Kurt had all but invited Blaine back to his place, but for some reason, for some fucking stupid reason, Blaine had denied, saying that they should catch up again soon. That soon never came.
It was his last chance, and Kurt’s right; Blaine blew it.
“Blaine, I miss you, too,” Kurt leans in and whispers and Blaine feels all that scotch in his stomach viciously turn.
“Don’t. Just… don’t.”
“But Blaine, it’s true, I-“
“Babe, there you are!”
Blaine cringes at that voice, cringes at the way Kurt’s eyes immediately turn away from him to the man in the matching suit and ring, and he wants to disappear. He raises his finger and is immediately greeted with another scotch.
“Sorry, darling, I was just-“
That’s when the man, Kurt’s husband, sees him and raises a controlled, surprised eyebrow.
”Blaine.”
“Ian.”
Ian. Fucking Ian. Even just the name makes Blaine want to punch something. His lip immediately curls.
Ian is the entire reason this is happening, really. Sure, maybe it’s true that Kurt and Ian weren’t fooling around when Kurt and Blaine were together like Blaine had originally thought and insisted on. And maybe Blaine wasn’t exactly the nicest boyfriend during that time when he constantly felt jealous. But as soon as he and Kurt decided on a break, as soon as Kurt moved that last box out of their apartment, fucking Ian had swooped in to be a shoulder for Kurt to cry on. And that was it.
Kurt, to this day, swears that he didn’t start dating Ian until about a year after they had broken up. And Blaine believes him. But Ian. Fucking Ian. His mere existence is what is making Blaine hate his own.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Ian greets cordially, and Blaine clenches his fist to resist knocking him in the face. “It’s lovely to see you.”
Blaine glares at him as he takes another large gulp from his glass, and Ian clears his throat awkwardly before he turns back to Kurt.
“Come on, darling, let’s get back to our guests.”
Ian holds out his hand for Kurt to take and Kurt nods as he places his left hand in his husband’s, the silver taunting Blaine, and hops off the barstool.
Kurt then turns to Blaine, ignoring that Ian is obviously eager to get away from the crazy-haired, drunken man. He grabs Blaine’s shoulder and squeezes gently.
“Goodbye, Blaine,” Kurt whispers before leaning in and pressing a light kiss to his temple.
And then he’s gone. That’s it.
Kurt, the love of his life. Kurt, who is now Hummel-Enright. Kurt’s gone. Is off to enjoy the rest of his reception with his new husband, who is so very obviously not Blaine.
Regret sinks low in Blaine’s stomach and tears sting his eyes.
“Cheers,” he says to himself, bitterly, knocking back the rest of the scotch in his glass just in time for everything to turn black.
And I die when you mention his name.
And I lied, I should have kissed you when we were running the reins.
What am I, darlin'?
A whisper in your ear? A piece of your cake?
What am I, darlin'?
A boy you can fear? Or your biggest mistake?
Rating: PG-13, due to language
Pairings: Kurt/OC, mentions of Kurt/Blaine (also mentions of Finn/Rachel, Sam/Mercedes, Santana/Brittany)
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Angst. Scotch. Weddings. Did I mention angst?
Word Count: 1,392
Summary: Blaine Anderson doesn't regret much. But he does regret letting Kurt go. And as he looks at the silver ring glinting on Kurt's finger, he finally realizes it. It's too late.
For some reason, I felt super angsty today. So, I put my Damien Rice playlist on repeat and just sat there with a glass of wine. When Cheers, Darlin' came on, I immediately just put that on repeat and wrote this depressing piece. I wouldn't necessarily call it a songfic, but it is much more effective if you have that particular song on as you read. Click here for the song! Seriously. And I also suggest listening to at least a few minutes of it first to get a feel for it. Enjoy, darlings! Well... as much as you can, of course.
Cheers, darlin'
Here's to you and your loverboy
Cheers, darlin'
I've got your wedding bells in my ear
He remembers growing up and watching this show called ‘How I Met Your Mother.’ Originally, he had started watching it because Neil Patrick Harris, one of its stars, was his first celebrity crush. But it was actually a really good show.
Anyway, there was this entire episode about how you should never, absolutely never invite your ex to a wedding. And yeah, Blaine had laughed hysterically at the mishaps and antics on his television screen at the time, but now that he’s living it? It’s not exactly funny.
As he orders another scotch, he wonders who the biggest idiot here is: Kurt, for inviting him, or himself, for actually showing up.
He downs the smoky, harsh liquid, ignoring the burn in his throat, and turns his eye back to the dance floor. He sees Finn and Rachel slow-dancing to every song despite the fact a fast one is currently playing. He sees Santana and Brittany owning every step, every hip pop, every sultry glance, knowing that everyone wants them but they only want each other. Sam and Mercedes are there, too, sitting at a table, cooing over their new-born son.
It seems everyone has found happiness.
Except for me.
He scoffs at his own bitterness and orders a fourth drink, ignoring the eyebrow raise of the bartender.
At this point, the scotch kind of tastes like a spiced water, and his face is numb. But that’s what he wants right now, isn’t it? To be numb?
He sees Kurt hug Finn and Rachel, glowing and slightly red from dancing, alcohol, and genuine happiness. His tux fitting him like a dream, the silver glinting from his finger and practically blinding Blaine.
Yeah. Numb sounds great.
And then, the awful happens. Kurt catches his eye and steps back in surprise, like seeing Blaine is the last thing he expected. And that’s probably the truth. Without breaking eye contact, Kurt excuses himself from his guests and makes his way to the bar. Blaine drains his old fashioned glass, searching for courage or an exit or something. He’s not even sure what he’s searching for anymore.
“You came,” Kurt states softly, his eyes wide with wonder.
“You invited me,” Blaine answers coldly, ordering another drink and shooting the bartender a glare before the man objects.
“Well, yes, but I didn’t… You never answered…”
Blaine looks over at Kurt and those eyes. Those eyes. Those beautiful eyes, blue with bits of green and gold, mixed with only what Blaine can place as pity. He squeezes his own eyes shut and looks away as he begins to hate himself.
They sit in silence as Blaine knocks back another scotch. He’s sweating slightly from the alcohol, and despite the fact that he’s lost all feeling in his nose, he can feel how red his cheeks are. He’s well on his way to drunk, if he’s not there already. He chuckles bitterly, thinking of all the times he was drunk with Kurt. The passionate, sloppy kisses in the back of a cab, the grinding on a dance floor, the giggles as clothes were haphazardly dropped onto the cold hardwood floor.
”What are you laughing at?” Kurt asks, almost timidly, as if he’s afraid to intrude on whatever Blaine is thinking.
“Are you happy?” Blaine blurts out, not removing his eyes from the bartop.
“I… excuse me?”
“I said, are you happy?”
By now, the bartender has given up on getting Blaine to stop, so he just brings him another scotch. Blaine lazily nods his head in thanks, taking it from the man’s hands before he even sets it down.
Blaine remembers the last time he was at a wedding with Kurt. It had been Finn and Rachel’s wedding, with Kurt and Blaine sitting at the wedding party table, playing footsie and stealing kisses, dreaming of their day. They had still been in love, still so young, only in their early 20s. Bright eyes looking forward to their future in New York. A shit apartment with a brick wall. A closet the size of a kitchen cabinet. A bedroom that could barely fit their mattress. But it was theirs. All theirs. And they were happy.
And then everything had fallen to shit.
“Yes,” Kurt eventually answers, and then clears his throat. “Yeah, I’m really happy, Blaine.”
Blaine just scoffs, angrier at himself than Kurt. It’s not Kurt’s fault that he just gave up. It’s not Kurt’s fault that he left everything in a heap, his own idiocy and stubbornness the match that set it all on fire.
“Don’t scoff at me,” Kurt presses, bristling. He’s trying to remain calm. Keep up a front since this is his wedding after all, but Blaine’s obviously hit a nerve. “Don’t you dare. You had your chance, and you blew it.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Blaine hisses, his words dripping venom, before turning back to his drink and Kurt just sits there, almost dumb-founded.
Kurt’s right, though. About a year ago, they had ended up in the same bar because of some mutual friends that they didn’t know they had.
Kurt had been upfront, saying that he had just started seeing someone, Blaine had sarcastically replied that it was okay, he wasn’t seeing anyone either, to which Kurt just rolled his eyes. As the shots kept coming, so did the shameless innuendos, the soft touches, the lingering glances. Kurt had all but invited Blaine back to his place, but for some reason, for some fucking stupid reason, Blaine had denied, saying that they should catch up again soon. That soon never came.
It was his last chance, and Kurt’s right; Blaine blew it.
“Blaine, I miss you, too,” Kurt leans in and whispers and Blaine feels all that scotch in his stomach viciously turn.
“Don’t. Just… don’t.”
“But Blaine, it’s true, I-“
“Babe, there you are!”
Blaine cringes at that voice, cringes at the way Kurt’s eyes immediately turn away from him to the man in the matching suit and ring, and he wants to disappear. He raises his finger and is immediately greeted with another scotch.
“Sorry, darling, I was just-“
That’s when the man, Kurt’s husband, sees him and raises a controlled, surprised eyebrow.
”Blaine.”
“Ian.”
Ian. Fucking Ian. Even just the name makes Blaine want to punch something. His lip immediately curls.
Ian is the entire reason this is happening, really. Sure, maybe it’s true that Kurt and Ian weren’t fooling around when Kurt and Blaine were together like Blaine had originally thought and insisted on. And maybe Blaine wasn’t exactly the nicest boyfriend during that time when he constantly felt jealous. But as soon as he and Kurt decided on a break, as soon as Kurt moved that last box out of their apartment, fucking Ian had swooped in to be a shoulder for Kurt to cry on. And that was it.
Kurt, to this day, swears that he didn’t start dating Ian until about a year after they had broken up. And Blaine believes him. But Ian. Fucking Ian. His mere existence is what is making Blaine hate his own.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Ian greets cordially, and Blaine clenches his fist to resist knocking him in the face. “It’s lovely to see you.”
Blaine glares at him as he takes another large gulp from his glass, and Ian clears his throat awkwardly before he turns back to Kurt.
“Come on, darling, let’s get back to our guests.”
Ian holds out his hand for Kurt to take and Kurt nods as he places his left hand in his husband’s, the silver taunting Blaine, and hops off the barstool.
Kurt then turns to Blaine, ignoring that Ian is obviously eager to get away from the crazy-haired, drunken man. He grabs Blaine’s shoulder and squeezes gently.
“Goodbye, Blaine,” Kurt whispers before leaning in and pressing a light kiss to his temple.
And then he’s gone. That’s it.
Kurt, the love of his life. Kurt, who is now Hummel-Enright. Kurt’s gone. Is off to enjoy the rest of his reception with his new husband, who is so very obviously not Blaine.
Regret sinks low in Blaine’s stomach and tears sting his eyes.
“Cheers,” he says to himself, bitterly, knocking back the rest of the scotch in his glass just in time for everything to turn black.
And I die when you mention his name.
And I lied, I should have kissed you when we were running the reins.
What am I, darlin'?
A whisper in your ear? A piece of your cake?
What am I, darlin'?
A boy you can fear? Or your biggest mistake?