Relax, Take it Easy
Title: Relax, Take it Easy
Author: blasthisass
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Seeing that bravery in his boyfriend, the courage to be himself no matter where he was, made Blaine want to stop running.
Wordcount: 1901
Disclaimers: All characters and such property of Fox, Ryan Murphy and such. (i.e. not mine)
A/N: This is unbeta'd, so any mistakes are mine.
Spoilers: None
“You haven’t told him yet?”
“It just . . . it hasn’t really come up?”
“Really, Blaine? We’ve been dating all summer and it just never came up?”
“Kurt, I’ve told you about my dad-”
“I know, honey. I understand how hard this is for you. But, hard as it may be, you have to tell him. Especially considering the fact that you’re telling me that you want to transfer to McKinley.”
“I . . . yeah . . . I’ll talk to him tonight.”
“Do you want me there?”
“No. I can handle it.”
**
Blaine closed the front door quietly, glancing around the front entryway of his house, which was already coated in the dying light of the fall day. The house was quiet. He could hear his mom humming quietly to herself as she made her way gracefully around the kitchen. As far as he could tell, his dad wasn’t home from work yet.
Loosening his Dalton tie and dropping his bag and keys under and on the table near the door, he made his way inside, flicking on a light as he did so. His mom, whether alerted to his presence due to the complex powers that came with being a mother or simply because of the sudden additional light that entered the kitchen, glanced up and smiled pleasantly at him. He leaned against the doorway, contemplating that smile. It looked less strained than usual, which he felt was always a good sign.
She’d returned to chopping vegetables, but looked back up when he didn’t say anything but rather continued to lean in the arched doorway, watching her. “You all right, Blaine?”
He shrugged. He was nervous as hell and didn’t know whether that qualified as being all right or not. “Fine,” was what he settled on, giving her a soft smile. “Is Dad home?”
“He’s working late. Should be back soon, though.” She paused, tilting her head at him, motherly love overcoming any opinions her upbringing may have caused her to have regarding his . . . condition. “Is something wrong?”
Blaine shrugged. “No, I just wanted to talk to him.” He wondered if that was sufficient information, not wanting to talk with his mother first in case he lost his nerve before having to face his father. Besides, he felt like he should attempt to jump the higher hurtle first. “Just some school stuff. And something personal.”
He glanced up from where he’d been counting the tiles of the floor absentmindedly to find his mother’s eyes softening slightly, the smile she’d had earlier turning tender, as though he had just confirmed something she’d known for a long time. “Well, he’ll be home soon.”
“Right . . . well, I’ll be in my room,” Blaine muttered, that smile discerning him, as though he hadn’t done quite as good a job of keeping to himself as he’d hoped. He ducked back into the hallway and, grabbing his satchel off the floor, started to make his way further into the house, perfectly intent upon simply going upstairs and collapsing onto his bed to run lines over and over in his head.
In a sitting room off the right side of the main staircase stood a grand piano. Blaine used to love that piano, used to play it night and day before he’d transferred to Dalton, frequently when his parents (and sometimes their friends) were begging him not to. Somehow, after that emergency room . . . visit (for lack of a better term) on the night of that Sadie Hawkins dance, he’d never again gone back into that room. It was as though part of him just wanted to hide, just as there was another part that vowed with equal intensity never to do so. But the part that closed him in on himself had taken steps away from the main thing that had introduced him to feelings and emotions and love, as though the music that had brought him to life had somehow ended up betraying him. He hadn’t felt that feeling for a long time, not since he’d joined the Warblers and had somehow been awarded every lead in the book, but it shimmered somewhere deep within him. He hadn’t gone near that piano in years.
That being said, he didn’t quite know what made him stop at the bottom of the stairs and look into that room. Maybe it was because, in between the various things that he was contemplating telling his dad, there was the constant presence of Kurt’s gentle face and his soft voice whispering his own advice back to him. Courage, Blaine. It made him wonder whether he had any of the courage that he continuously attempting to pass onto others. The courage he needed to undertake what he was planning, to leave the only place where he’d truly felt safe until he’d met Kurt. Kurt. With Kurt, he couldn’t help but feel safe everywhere, even the most dangerous of places.
After a split second of hesitation, he dropped his bag on the top step of the grand staircase and veered right toward that familiar sitting room. The piano was at the far end of the room, near the doors that opened up onto the patio, the steps that led down to the lake that bordered their property. The windows faced west, casting a deep red light over the piano, engulfing them in that beautiful glow that Blaine had associated with magic when he’d been young.
Blaine paused in front of it, facing the outside world waiting just beyond the glass and tentatively passed his fingers over the piano’s perfectly polished frame. He closed his eyes as he walked around it, reveling at how familiar the touch was despite the fact that he’d barely gone near a piano except for that moment when he’d been swept up in singing Baby, It’s Cold Outside with Kurt over Christmas. Back when he’d been naïve enough to think that he only thought of Kurt as a friend. He chuckled somewhat at the thought, feeling his way around the musical instrument before reaching the keys again and falling gracefully onto the bench, his fingers skimming over the tops of the keys, but never pressing hard enough to make a sound. It wasn’t until he’d spent several minutes, simply sitting and breathing in the clean air and allowing the ghosts of old melodies infect his fingertips, that he finally chose to make music.
He played a tentative melody, smiling in pleasure at the familiarity of the instrument. He didn’t quite know when it morphed into an actual song or why that particular song seemed to him the appropriate one to sing.
Took a ride to the end of the line
Where no one ever goes.
Ended up on a broken train with nobody I know.
But the pain and the longing's the same.
Where the dying
Now I'm lost and I'm screaming for help.
He screwed up his face in concentration, voice soaring into falsetto tones, his eyes closed from the moment his fingertips had touched the piano, melody, key placement, emotion coming solely from memory, embedded deep within his fingertips and the steady beat of his heart.
Relax, take it easy
For there is nothing that we can do.
Relax, take it easy
Blame it on me or blame it on you.
It's as if I'm scared.
It's as if I'm terrified.
It's as if I scared.
It's as if I'm playing with fire.
Scared.
It's as if I'm terrified.
Are you scared?
Are we playing with fire?
He’d never thought Mika appropriate for a moment like this, never really bothered to listen too closely to the lyrics beyond the blatant, bubbly happiness that surrounded his songs, but somehow it had been the first song that came to him and, slowed down, it flowed beautifully throughout the room, engulfing it in a safety net lest Blaine should fall back into his fifteen-year-old self, stuck in an emergency room in the middle of the night with blood on his tuxedo and too many injuries to be recounted. He wondered, briefly, if singing this song had been a sort of “courage” message to himself.
He didn’t notice the man who’d followed the song’s melodious tones into the room and was leaning against the wall, watching his son.
Relax
There is an answer to the darkest times.
It's clear we don't understand but the last thing on my mind
Is to leave you.
I believe that we're in this together.
Don't scream - there are so many roads left.
Relax, take it easy
For there is nothing that we can do.
Relax, take it easy
Blame it on me or blame it on you.
The fingers on the keys stilled and waited for the final notes to finish vibrating throughout the room. Breathed deeply, a small smile formed on Blaine’s lips, as though his soul had forgotten how good it felt to sit at that piano and just play and was so reveling in its rediscovery that it refused to let his body hide it.
Blaine’s eyes snapped open, his heart nearly leaping out his throat in surprise at a slow clap that reverberated suddenly throughout the still room. He twisted so quickly in his seat that he almost cracked his back and found himself staring at shock at his father, how lowered his hands when he saw he’d gotten his son’s attention.
Mr. Anderson was taller than his son and his hair much straighter, but the eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses were the same shade of brown, though much sterner and less haunted than Blaine’s tended to get. He tilted his head, observing the young boy at the piano with a gaze that wasn’t quite hard, but had the practice appearance of restraining softness. “That was good,” he finally said, but didn’t quite smile. Blaine could sense his honestly, though, and allowed himself to let out an easy breath. “I’d forgotten how well you play. And sing, “ he added, almost as an afterthought.
“You wouldn’t have if you’d come see me perform,” Blaine countered, his voice accusatory. He didn’t expect his father to step foot into Dalton more often than it was required of him, but it wasn’t the only place that Blaine sang and he was aware that his father knew that.
Mr. Anderson chose not to reply to that comment with anything more than the removal of his glasses and the rubbing of his eyes, as though his exhaustion was amplified by his son’s accusations. “Your mother said you wanted to speak to me about something?”
Blaine hesitated, turning back to look at the keys of the piano, as though they held hidden answers for him. But he knew that he couldn’t run away. He knew Kurt didn’t want him to and he didn’t want to anymore. That was the whole point of this, wasn’t it? The whole idea behind him transferring. Seeing that bravery in his boyfriend, the courage to be himself no matter where he was, made Blaine want to stop running.
He turned in his seat and replied, “Two things, actually. First, I wanted to talk to you about transferring to McKinley High in Lima.”
Mr. Anderson raised his eyebrow, clearly surprised by the unexpected statement. “And the second thing?”
“I want to talk to you about my boyfriend.”
Author: blasthisass
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Seeing that bravery in his boyfriend, the courage to be himself no matter where he was, made Blaine want to stop running.
Wordcount: 1901
Disclaimers: All characters and such property of Fox, Ryan Murphy and such. (i.e. not mine)
A/N: This is unbeta'd, so any mistakes are mine.
Spoilers: None
“You haven’t told him yet?”
“It just . . . it hasn’t really come up?”
“Really, Blaine? We’ve been dating all summer and it just never came up?”
“Kurt, I’ve told you about my dad-”
“I know, honey. I understand how hard this is for you. But, hard as it may be, you have to tell him. Especially considering the fact that you’re telling me that you want to transfer to McKinley.”
“I . . . yeah . . . I’ll talk to him tonight.”
“Do you want me there?”
“No. I can handle it.”
**
Blaine closed the front door quietly, glancing around the front entryway of his house, which was already coated in the dying light of the fall day. The house was quiet. He could hear his mom humming quietly to herself as she made her way gracefully around the kitchen. As far as he could tell, his dad wasn’t home from work yet.
Loosening his Dalton tie and dropping his bag and keys under and on the table near the door, he made his way inside, flicking on a light as he did so. His mom, whether alerted to his presence due to the complex powers that came with being a mother or simply because of the sudden additional light that entered the kitchen, glanced up and smiled pleasantly at him. He leaned against the doorway, contemplating that smile. It looked less strained than usual, which he felt was always a good sign.
She’d returned to chopping vegetables, but looked back up when he didn’t say anything but rather continued to lean in the arched doorway, watching her. “You all right, Blaine?”
He shrugged. He was nervous as hell and didn’t know whether that qualified as being all right or not. “Fine,” was what he settled on, giving her a soft smile. “Is Dad home?”
“He’s working late. Should be back soon, though.” She paused, tilting her head at him, motherly love overcoming any opinions her upbringing may have caused her to have regarding his . . . condition. “Is something wrong?”
Blaine shrugged. “No, I just wanted to talk to him.” He wondered if that was sufficient information, not wanting to talk with his mother first in case he lost his nerve before having to face his father. Besides, he felt like he should attempt to jump the higher hurtle first. “Just some school stuff. And something personal.”
He glanced up from where he’d been counting the tiles of the floor absentmindedly to find his mother’s eyes softening slightly, the smile she’d had earlier turning tender, as though he had just confirmed something she’d known for a long time. “Well, he’ll be home soon.”
“Right . . . well, I’ll be in my room,” Blaine muttered, that smile discerning him, as though he hadn’t done quite as good a job of keeping to himself as he’d hoped. He ducked back into the hallway and, grabbing his satchel off the floor, started to make his way further into the house, perfectly intent upon simply going upstairs and collapsing onto his bed to run lines over and over in his head.
In a sitting room off the right side of the main staircase stood a grand piano. Blaine used to love that piano, used to play it night and day before he’d transferred to Dalton, frequently when his parents (and sometimes their friends) were begging him not to. Somehow, after that emergency room . . . visit (for lack of a better term) on the night of that Sadie Hawkins dance, he’d never again gone back into that room. It was as though part of him just wanted to hide, just as there was another part that vowed with equal intensity never to do so. But the part that closed him in on himself had taken steps away from the main thing that had introduced him to feelings and emotions and love, as though the music that had brought him to life had somehow ended up betraying him. He hadn’t felt that feeling for a long time, not since he’d joined the Warblers and had somehow been awarded every lead in the book, but it shimmered somewhere deep within him. He hadn’t gone near that piano in years.
That being said, he didn’t quite know what made him stop at the bottom of the stairs and look into that room. Maybe it was because, in between the various things that he was contemplating telling his dad, there was the constant presence of Kurt’s gentle face and his soft voice whispering his own advice back to him. Courage, Blaine. It made him wonder whether he had any of the courage that he continuously attempting to pass onto others. The courage he needed to undertake what he was planning, to leave the only place where he’d truly felt safe until he’d met Kurt. Kurt. With Kurt, he couldn’t help but feel safe everywhere, even the most dangerous of places.
After a split second of hesitation, he dropped his bag on the top step of the grand staircase and veered right toward that familiar sitting room. The piano was at the far end of the room, near the doors that opened up onto the patio, the steps that led down to the lake that bordered their property. The windows faced west, casting a deep red light over the piano, engulfing them in that beautiful glow that Blaine had associated with magic when he’d been young.
Blaine paused in front of it, facing the outside world waiting just beyond the glass and tentatively passed his fingers over the piano’s perfectly polished frame. He closed his eyes as he walked around it, reveling at how familiar the touch was despite the fact that he’d barely gone near a piano except for that moment when he’d been swept up in singing Baby, It’s Cold Outside with Kurt over Christmas. Back when he’d been naïve enough to think that he only thought of Kurt as a friend. He chuckled somewhat at the thought, feeling his way around the musical instrument before reaching the keys again and falling gracefully onto the bench, his fingers skimming over the tops of the keys, but never pressing hard enough to make a sound. It wasn’t until he’d spent several minutes, simply sitting and breathing in the clean air and allowing the ghosts of old melodies infect his fingertips, that he finally chose to make music.
He played a tentative melody, smiling in pleasure at the familiarity of the instrument. He didn’t quite know when it morphed into an actual song or why that particular song seemed to him the appropriate one to sing.
Took a ride to the end of the line
Where no one ever goes.
Ended up on a broken train with nobody I know.
But the pain and the longing's the same.
Where the dying
Now I'm lost and I'm screaming for help.
He screwed up his face in concentration, voice soaring into falsetto tones, his eyes closed from the moment his fingertips had touched the piano, melody, key placement, emotion coming solely from memory, embedded deep within his fingertips and the steady beat of his heart.
Relax, take it easy
For there is nothing that we can do.
Relax, take it easy
Blame it on me or blame it on you.
It's as if I'm scared.
It's as if I'm terrified.
It's as if I scared.
It's as if I'm playing with fire.
Scared.
It's as if I'm terrified.
Are you scared?
Are we playing with fire?
He’d never thought Mika appropriate for a moment like this, never really bothered to listen too closely to the lyrics beyond the blatant, bubbly happiness that surrounded his songs, but somehow it had been the first song that came to him and, slowed down, it flowed beautifully throughout the room, engulfing it in a safety net lest Blaine should fall back into his fifteen-year-old self, stuck in an emergency room in the middle of the night with blood on his tuxedo and too many injuries to be recounted. He wondered, briefly, if singing this song had been a sort of “courage” message to himself.
He didn’t notice the man who’d followed the song’s melodious tones into the room and was leaning against the wall, watching his son.
Relax
There is an answer to the darkest times.
It's clear we don't understand but the last thing on my mind
Is to leave you.
I believe that we're in this together.
Don't scream - there are so many roads left.
Relax, take it easy
For there is nothing that we can do.
Relax, take it easy
Blame it on me or blame it on you.
The fingers on the keys stilled and waited for the final notes to finish vibrating throughout the room. Breathed deeply, a small smile formed on Blaine’s lips, as though his soul had forgotten how good it felt to sit at that piano and just play and was so reveling in its rediscovery that it refused to let his body hide it.
Blaine’s eyes snapped open, his heart nearly leaping out his throat in surprise at a slow clap that reverberated suddenly throughout the still room. He twisted so quickly in his seat that he almost cracked his back and found himself staring at shock at his father, how lowered his hands when he saw he’d gotten his son’s attention.
Mr. Anderson was taller than his son and his hair much straighter, but the eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses were the same shade of brown, though much sterner and less haunted than Blaine’s tended to get. He tilted his head, observing the young boy at the piano with a gaze that wasn’t quite hard, but had the practice appearance of restraining softness. “That was good,” he finally said, but didn’t quite smile. Blaine could sense his honestly, though, and allowed himself to let out an easy breath. “I’d forgotten how well you play. And sing, “ he added, almost as an afterthought.
“You wouldn’t have if you’d come see me perform,” Blaine countered, his voice accusatory. He didn’t expect his father to step foot into Dalton more often than it was required of him, but it wasn’t the only place that Blaine sang and he was aware that his father knew that.
Mr. Anderson chose not to reply to that comment with anything more than the removal of his glasses and the rubbing of his eyes, as though his exhaustion was amplified by his son’s accusations. “Your mother said you wanted to speak to me about something?”
Blaine hesitated, turning back to look at the keys of the piano, as though they held hidden answers for him. But he knew that he couldn’t run away. He knew Kurt didn’t want him to and he didn’t want to anymore. That was the whole point of this, wasn’t it? The whole idea behind him transferring. Seeing that bravery in his boyfriend, the courage to be himself no matter where he was, made Blaine want to stop running.
He turned in his seat and replied, “Two things, actually. First, I wanted to talk to you about transferring to McKinley High in Lima.”
Mr. Anderson raised his eyebrow, clearly surprised by the unexpected statement. “And the second thing?”
“I want to talk to you about my boyfriend.”