fic: play my soul (2/3)
PART 2
For a full minute Blaine simply stared, dumbfounded at the sudden request, his jaw slackening and eyes widening. Here was Kurt Hummel, the greatest musician he had ever heard (well… except for her) offering him piano lessons.
He was beautiful and talented and charismatic and he cared and-
What the fuck else was Blaine supposed to say?
“Yes,” he managed at last, his voice surprisingly even, “I would… that would be…” Kurt pursed his lips together, pressing back an amused smile as Blaine stammered awkwardly, “I would like that,” he finished shyly.
Kurt’s lips melted into a genuine smile now, his hand sliding across the bar to rest again on Blaine’s.
“I would like that, too.”
--
By the time Blaine snuck back into his dorm room, closing the door ever so gently beside him, the hour was beyond late, closer to early and his whole body felt light and slightly dizzy. Too much excitement, his father would have said.
He toed off his shoes at the door and quietly changed into his pyjamas before climbing into bed, snuggling deep under his covers although he was much too restless to sleep.
He and Kurt had talked for nearly another hour after his proposition and Blaine was in utter awe of how interesting and well-cultured and intelligent the man was. Blaine was sure he’d never get tired of hearing him talk, but eventually it was clear that Kurt was growing sleepy. He’d had a long night, with the performance and all, and although Blaine had been a little sorry when Kurt had said it was time for him to go home, he was still giddy with excitement because not only did Kurt hug him goodbye (he actually wrapped his arms around Blaine and held him for a full seven seconds - Blaine counted) but he slipped him his number.
“Call me sometime during the waking hours,” Kurt said with a small wink, “and we’ll talk about those lessons, hey?”
Blaine could only nod.
Now, in the safety of his own dorm room, he allowed himself to grin full blast, trying hard not to be too loud with his kickyfeeting. He clutched at his pillow, his entire chest feeling full and his heart lifting.
He hadn’t felt this happy in so long.
He had missed it.
--
The next morning he lay in bed until the sun stroked lazily through the curtains, casting the entire room into light. It was way later than he usually slept, and the exact time he didn’t even care to know. He allowed himself to yawn and stretch languidly before falling back against his sheets and revelling in the memories of the previous night.
Last night was a dream he was happy to remember.
David was out so he had the space to himself and he took his time in the bathroom, running soap across his body in soothing patterns, humming happily under his breath. He washed his hair, letting his eyes fall shut and just let himself feel and imagine - imagine another’s hands, another’s loving strokes pulling him under.
Nimble fingers…
Piano hands.
Eventually he pulled himself from the shower, dressed in the comfiest clothes he owned and made himself a cup of coffee before tucking himself back under his bed covers with his phone and laptop. He took a few nervous sips of coffee as he contemplated the new number slotted in his contacts, reading the same ten digits over and over until he practically had them memorised.
“Come on, Blaine,” he mumbled to himself, taking a deep breath, “you can do this.”
A little shakily, he dialled Kurt’s number, his whole stomach swooping as ringing trills sounded down the receiver.
One ring…
Two rings…
Three rings…
“Hello?”
His voice was slightly breathless and curious as he answered and Blaine’s somewhat sweaty hands gripped his phone a little tighter.
It was him. He answered.
“Hi,” he managed, willing his voice not to come out squeaky or anything equally embarrassing, “it’s Blaine… from last night…I-”
“Blaine,” Kurt said warmly, effectively cutting him off (thankfully) before he started awkwardly stammering, “you called.”
“I… I did,” Blaine answered softly, not sure if that was a good thing or not. “Is that… okay?”
“Of course,” Kurt said happily, and god, Blaine could practically see him, sprawled out on a soft mattress in his undoubtedly gorgeous apartment, rolling onto his perfect flat stomach, his bright eyes peering up at some nostalgic hipster photos that surely decorated the space - or maybe sheet music or something; he was an artist, after all. “I was hoping you would.”
Oh and if that didn’t make smatters of Blaine’s poor, tired heart flash across the pit of his chest like reignited shooting stars…
“To organise your lesson,” Kurt continued, quite oblivious to Blaine’s heart palpitations.
“Y-yes,” Blaine managed in return, “lesson. Yes.”
Oh god.
“Well, I’m pretty much free for the next week,” Kurt said with a small, but not entirely humorous laugh. “Funny, how my friends pretty much beg me to stay and yet make no time to see me whatsoever.”
Blaine couldn’t imagine that at all - who wouldn’t want to spend every single moment with Kurt?
“I-well, I have school,” Blaine admitted, a little shyly - god, he was just a schoolboy -, “so weekends would probably be best.”
“Weekends are fine,” Kurt said and Blaine could hear a light scratching (maybe a pen?) in the background. “Saturday or Sunday?”
Blaine considered this. “Probably Sunday,” he decided. So he could have something to look forward to when he was done with all his work.
“Sunday works for me,” Kurt said brightly, and the scratching was more prominent now.
“Planning dates without me?” another voice said dimly in the background.
“Not a date, no,” Kurt said honestly and Blaine’s heart stuttered a little feebly at the notion. “A music lesson.”
As fucking if.
“But Babe,” the voice pleaded, “Sunday is my day off.”
Blaine felt a sudden tightness cording in his chest.
No.
“But you’re always out with your friends, anyway,” Kurt shot back, and Blaine could hear the twinge of annoyance in his tone.
“Babe,” the voice said again, a little softer now, “don’t be like that.”
Kurt sighed. “I’m not,” he promised. He sighed again, softer now, before returning his attention to Blaine. “Sorry about that,” he excused, sounding almost embarrassed, “my boyfriend doesn’t like the Sunday idea.”
And just like that Blaine’s heart sunk back down in his stomach with a graceless plethunk.
“Well, I don’t want to get in the way…” Blaine mumbled, feeling close to being sick all of a sudden.
“You’re not getting in the way,” Kurt objected.
“Every second Sunday,” the other voice interjected once more. “How’s that?”
“Every second Sunday,” Kurt repeated to Blaine, “would that work?”
“Sure,” Blaine agreed.
It was the best he was ever going to get.
--
Eventually they worked out that Blaine’s first lesson would be the next Sunday and they would meet at Kurt’s apartment uptown.
“It’ll be for the best,” Kurt said, “I already have plenty of sheet music and theory books, if you need them, and a piano,” he added on as an afterthought, “of course.”
They had agreed on an hour and said goodbye with the promise of speaking again soon.
But still, for Blaine, at least, it wouldn’t be soon enough.
He managed to buckle down and do some much needed studying for the rest of the day, just finishing before David returned.
“Hey, lover boy,” he greeted Blaine with a grin, “nice to see you made it out of bed.”
Blaine blushed. “Hey, David,” he returned evenly, stacking his textbooks beside the bed, “how are you?”
“I’m good, I’m good,” David said teasingly, eyes light as he shrugged off his sweater, hanging it over the back of his own chair, “yourself? Feeling okay? Not…” his eyes sparkled, “sore?”
“David,” Blaine said tersely, teeth gritting a little as David chuckled at his own joke, “stop it, please.”
David stopped laughing at his tone, his eyes softening.
“Hey,” he said gently, “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean anything by that I just-” he sighed a little, pulling the desk chair out and straddling it, shooting Blaine a suddenly serious look, “I want you to be having fun. It’s good - you should get to go out, get laid, do teenage shit. I was just teasing.”
“I know,” Blaine huffed a little, pressing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. David gave him an endeared smile.
“You’re adorable, Blaine,” he said fondly, “you know that?” Blaine’s blush darkened. “Any guy would be lucky to have you.”
“Thanks, David,” Blaine whispered softly, suddenly overwhelmed.
David only smiled in returned.
“You’re welcome, Blaine.”
--
Eventually David slipped out again, heading out to see his ‘lady love’ before the weekend was through and Blaine was left on his own again. He supposed he could do some more study for his upcoming chemistry exam, or even call his father or Cooper like he should. But he didn’t want to do either of those things.
So with unsure hands he reached out for his laptop once more, tapping into YouTube: Kurt Hummel.
Videos - a plethora of videos popped up. How could his magic have been here for so long, right within reach and yet, Blaine had never reached for it?
So as the night fell by, he immersed himself in Kurt’s wonder again, crying too many tears over the soul spilling out from under a pair of beautiful fingers that had once held his own.
And as he fell asleep, it was with Kurt’s song on his ears, drifting slowly in and out of the blurred walls of his mind, the crevices of his cells folding in on each other.
Until darkness.
--
The only thing that got him through the next week was the promise of Kurt’s piano lesson.
His assessment came crashing down on him day after day. He had made the effort, done the work, and yet he still wanted to cry with everything he handed in.
It was never enough.
(Some days he felt like he was drowning.)
(Some days he wished he would just drown already.)
He received calls from both his father and Cooper during the week, which were both more upsetting than they should have been. He had missed them both dearly, but the sounds of their voices brought no comfort.
Just more hurt.
He could tell they were disappointed in him for not coming home this weekend and there was a part of him, no matter how small, that was infuriated by it.
Just this once, couldn’t he be a little selfish?
But eventually, the drag came to a halt and finally it was Friday. He had been restless with the wait, staying up until early mornings with his studies and not sleeping even when he laid down to rest. But it finally came, and Cooper picked him up as usual at the car park, frowning a little as he took in Blaine’s small bag of luggage.
“Where’s the rest of your stuff?”
Blaine pouted. “Good to see you, too, Cooper,” he grumbled, swinging the bag back over his shoulder and ignoring Cooper’s offer to take it from him. “I’m only staying for one night.”
“What?” Cooper asked, shocked, his entire face falling, along with Blaine’s sinking heart.
“I’ve got a lot of assessment, and David said he’d help me with my Chemistry,” Blaine lied smoothly. Cooper’s brow furrowed once more.
“I could help you,” he protested.
Blaine smiled a little weakly. “Thanks, Cooper,” he said, stabs of guilt shooting up his chest, “but David’s kind of acing it and I really need his help.”
Finally they reached his car and Cooper held open the door for Blaine.
“Thanks,” Blaine mumbled, sliding in. Cooper shut the door with a gentle click behind him before rounding the other side and slipping into the driver’s seat.
“Just promise me, Blaine,” Cooper said seriously, catching his eye across the console, “that this isn’t you pulling away.”
(There was a lump in his throat, clawing, building, suffocating-)
“I’m not,” Blaine promised, “I’m really not.”
(You know you’ve messed up your story when you can’t tell your own lies from the truth.)
--
The ride home was comparatively quiet to the ones they usually shared. Blaine had never really been one for blabbering animatedly about school but Cooper, at least, kept the conversation going and could pry a few stories from Blaine.
Tonight, he didn’t really bother.
The music played on in attempt to fill the uncomfortable silence between them. Cooper hummed a little under his breath but Blaine was silent, letting the lyrics roll over him and fighting to extract the instrumental underneath, always searching for something.
Any tie for him to hold onto.
It was sad, that he felt such a strong connection to someone who was barely more than a stranger.
But it was there and it was tangible and he felt it.
It was real to him.
In the end they made it home, and Cooper pulled the ignition, turning over to face Blaine with a soft, surprisingly sad expression.
“At least try and look happy,” he said wistfully, “for Dad’s sake, if not mine.”
Blaine nodded.
He would try.
--
Cooper let them both in without bothering to knock, singing out in an instantly cheerful voice, “Father! We’re home!”
“Boys!” a voice called back.
His father’s footfalls sounded down the hall in his familiar quick staccato, and a soft warmth spread through Blaine’s chest as he stepped into view. In that moment, Blaine felt slightly rocked with the reality that was just how old Mr Anderson was growing, the sleeves of his white collar shirt neatly folded up to his elbows, his wearing legs confined in straight leg slacks, his ever polished shoes poking out under them. His smile was as welcoming and broad as ever and Blaine felt a pang of admiration for the man, one not wholly unfamiliar.
Most days Blaine was overwhelmed by his father’s courage to still smile, even after-
(Holes smashed through the walls and blood on her fist and screams ringing through the holes she left in the wall in their hearts in the thinning fabric of their lives and why won’t she stop screaming)
-everything he’d been through.
He held out his arms and Blaine fell into them immediately, letting his father squeeze him tight and even ruffle his hair (although he did let out a grudging little huff at that).
“It’s good to see you, son.”
He let Blaine go a fraction of a second longer than he usually hugged him and then gave him a strange look, but didn't say anything.
Blaine swung his bag over his shoulder and headed into the hall, his father and brother’s murmurs just reaching his ears.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“I-”
“He doesn’t look okay, Cooper, what did you do to him?”
“I didn’t do anything, sir; he was like that when I picked him up.”
A pause.
“We have to fix this.”
Blaine bit back a bitter laugh.
If only they knew.
This was the fucking happiest he’d been in months.
--
Blaine went straight upstairs, a small smile curling on his lips as he embraced the familiarity of it all. Not a single slip of paper was out of place.
One of the best things about his father - he respected their privacy. The man knew what it was like to hide things, and he would never trespass where the boys were supposed to feel most safe.
He didn’t bother packing away his things, just sat down at his desk to pull out his books, sitting down with his latest piece for English until Cooper called dinner.
They had already set the table, waiting for him. Blaine smiled privately to himself at the alikeness in their features as they glanced up, eyes expectant.
He looked more like his mother, they always told him.
(He was never sure if this was a good or bad thing.)
“So, Blaine,” his father began, clearing his throat a little curtly, making Blaine’s stomach twist in worry. He only ever used that voice when he had something important to say. “Your brother says you’re just staying tonight…?”
“Oh,” Blaine said with a small blush, of course he told you that, sir, “yeah. David’s helping me with my chemistry.”
Mr Anderson’s face split into a dry smile. “I do have a medical certificate, Blaine.”
Asshole.
“Yeah, well…” Blaine shrugged a little, fighting for a way to amend his excuse, “I guess the curriculum has… er… changed a bit, since your day.”
Cooper choked on his soup.
To both of their surprise, their father only smiled.
“Very well,” he said calmly. “It’s your call, son.”
Blushing a little, Blaine ducked his head. “Thank you, sir.”
“But how will you get back?” Cooper asked, his brow slightly furrowed.
“I… I was hoping you could still take me?” Blaine asked hopefully. Cooper was usually the one to drive him back to school.
Cooper shook his head. “Sorry, kid. I’ve got work.”
“Work?” Blaine repeated, confused. “When did you get a job?”
“Didn’t your brother tell you?” his father cut in coolly. Blaine shook his head.
Cooper looked momentarily guilty, pursing his lips together before answering.
“I’m apprenticing at dad’s practice,” he admitted. “I’ve been taking a course in medicine.”
Blaine felt his entire jaw slacken at the revelation, shock thrilling cold and hard through him.
“But Coop…” Blaine’s sad words fell softly, “you never wanted to be a Doctor…”
Cooper tensed his jaw, looking down at him importantly.
“I know, squirt,” he said. “But sometimes you gotta do things you don’t want to.”
Blaine felt another sudden stab of guilt and he instantly rose in his seat.
“May I be excused?” he requested tensely. “I don’t feel well.”
“Blaine,” his father pressed gently, his eyes wide and near damp in that helpless way Blaine had seen him wear too many times before.
(Don’t look at me like that - the puppy dog look didn’t work ten years ago and it won’t work now. Crying isn’t going to save me, now, is it?)
He pushed away from the table and took to the stairs as far as his little feet would let him.
He was vomiting into the toilet bowl before the door could fall shut behind him.
(Birds fallen from their perch in the sycamore tree poised outside his window, dead on the rotten ground below them, the clouds rolling across the dawning morning, cool air circulating the room as the echoes of her coughs and wretches sound him from his restless sleep.)
--
Eventually, he came down and found his brother and father in the kitchen, dishes cleaned and dried by hand, now stacked neatly back in the cupboard as if nothing had happened at all.
The typical Anderson way.
They were talking in low murmurs, both of their brows furrowed. It was like a mirror image, watching the way they were together.
A very sad image, at that.
Blaine made a small noise in the back of his throat and successfully alerted them to his presence. In tandem, their heads shot up quickly, the murmurs dying off their tight lips.
His father spoke first.
“Blaine,” he said gently, moving towards him with slow, careful steps as if worried any sudden movement might cause an outburst, “are you-?“
“I’m fine, Father,” Blaine insisted. “I’m just…” his eyes flickered to Cooper’s, whose were staring desperately back at him, “I’m very tired.” He turned back to his father, nodding.
Mr Anderson considered his words for a few moments, lips pursed, brow furrowed deeper as he contemplated.
And Cooper.
Cooper was silent.
“Okay,” his Father settled, letting out a small sigh as he seemingly accepted Blaine’s words. “I understand…” he placed a gentle hand on Blaine’s shoulder, squeezing just slightly, “is there anything we can do?”
Blaine shook his head.
“No,” he said (and there wasn’t), “I just need to rest…” his eyes fell on Cooper again who was staring resolutely at the ground, refusing to meet his eyes, “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’ll catch a bus back in the morning… I’m-”
“It’s okay, Blaine,” his father said, drawing him back with another reassuring squeeze to his shoulder, smiling gently. “Just…” he sighed once more. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
Blaine nodded.
(Well, he would try.)
--
He climbed the stairs two at a time before slipping into the bathroom and turning on the hot water before he even stripped down. He practically tore his clothes off before hauling his aching body into tiled space, sliding the door shut behind him and pressing his face against the foggy glass.
When he was a kid he used to make little smiley faces in the condensation. One time, in the car, he’d seen Cooper make an obnoxiously large heart around the initials H.H. who was his crush at the time, as he’d explained to Blaine. He wondered why he’d done that. Blaine had never really been one to talk about his feelings. He’d never really had anyone to do that with, no one he thought who would truly be interested. He knew he could tell people, but the only people he could imagine being genuinely concerned with his feelings or life happenings would be his father or Cooper but, as he saw tonight, any time they got a glimpse at how he was truly feeling they were terrified.
No, it was best he kept these things to himself.
But oh, how he ached to be a child again, who’s biggest worry was whether he’d beat Cooper to picking the first batch of May flowers for his momma.
Like a child now, he pressed his fingers to the glass, drawing through the condensation that lined across it, in sloppy letters; K.H.
--
And as he fell to sleep that night, it was with the stain of those letters etched on his memory, swirling in absent shapes among the imaginary touches that smudged across his skin, and the absent whispers he’d longed for, for so very long, tickling against his ear.
(You’re so loved, honey.
I love you.)
--
He woke in the morning to the shrill trill of his phone’s alarm. He rolled over silently to flick it to silent and pulled himself into a sitting position, knowing that if he didn’t he’d fall straight back asleep.
And then, as it dawned on him (spreading through his stomach like an open cage, hummingbirds fluttering about frantically, dancing up the walls of his torso) he sat up suddenly straighter.
He was going to see Kurt today.
A nervous, but gleeful smile spread across his face and excitement drummed under his skin. Swiftly wakening, he pulled himself properly to his feet, making his bed as fast as he could (although he always tossed and turned in the night, so it was a fucking mess) before taking a shower.
He cleaned himself meticulously, running soap over all the crevices and dips in his skin and bones. It seemed important to take the best possible care of himself today, if he wanted to look good for Kurt.
Kurt always looked so lovely.
(Even in the short time he’d known him.)
After showering, he carefully styled his hair the same way his father had taught him when he was just a little boy. Most days he felt like a clumsy, unsure twelve year old anyways, so it really made no difference when he got it wrong again.
Better too much than too little, his father had said sternly, taking in the dishevelled state of his attempted gelled curls.
(He’d taken it to heart.)
He dressed in the clothes he had spent too long picking out the previous night - just preppy casual in neat jeans and a pressed sweater, his usual loafers as clean as the day he’d bought them. He offered himself a smile in the mirror and was pleased at the result.
“I’m not sad today,” he whispered under his breath, still smiling as he turned away.
The rest of the house was lonely and sad as he made his way downstairs. At this hour Cooper would have usually been asleep, and his father long gone, but he found them both in the kitchen, sitting at the counters, practically a mirror image as they read their papers, murmuring quietly to each other and taking mediative sips of their coffee between speech.
“Morning,” Blaine said quietly, as quietly as he always felt so compelled to speak when there was no music, or laughter, or excessive sound to fill the gaps.
What was louder, he wondered, the still, aching silence that fell between them, or the cacophony of sounds that haunted the memories he had of this very room?
He remembered baking cupcakes with Cooper before he should have been old enough to know how.
He remembered pattering at his mother’s feet, watching the way the light caught on the too loose ring, poised once so elegantly on her frail fingers, and how the sun shot rainbows through the glass.
He remembered Sunday mornings, sitting at the counter with his father, spooning porridge into his mouth as he read the newspaper beside him - not an image completely dissimilar from now, but the bruises had faded and there was no blood shot to his eyes.
But now, he shook those memories from his mind, forcing himself back into the present as both his father and Cooper looked up, smiling.
“Morning, kid,” Cooper spoke first. “Are you going to eat before you go?”
Blaine nodded, heading for the coffee pot to pour some for himself. “Can I make you guys anything?”
“No, I think we’re good,” Cooper answered. “Pops wanted to stop at his favourite bagel place-“
“No,” his father corrected with a small laugh, “Cooper wanted to stop at the bagel place…”
Blaine rolled his eyes playfully, smiling softly to himself as he listened to their easy bickering. He did envy that about their relationship. Blaine knew he would never be truly comfortable addressing his father so casually, let alone work under him.
Cooper had courage where Blaine had insecurity.
It had always been that way.
“My, my,” Cooper said as Blaine slid into the seat across from them, nursing a cup of coffee and a piece of bread he’d taken from the pantry. Cooper’s eyes slid over him appraisingly as he spoke. “Don’t you look dressed up?”
Blaine’s father gave a small smile, tilting his head slightly. “You do look handsome,” he said contemplatively. “A true Anderson boy.”
He wasn’t sure why, but the sentiment sent venom sinking through his bones.
Fucking fantastic, just like he’d always wanted to be, right?
No.
He hid his bitter grimace behind his coffee mug, taking a deep sip in an attempt to calm himself before answering.
“Thank you,” he said, mustering up a small smile. “I… I think you bought me this sweater, Dad.”
His father looked surprisingly pleased, taking a smug sip of his coffee.
“Of course I did,” he said, setting his mug back down, that strange smile still in place. “My taste is impeccable.”
If only you’d picked your wives as carefully as your sweaters.
Blaine only smiled.
“Of course, Father.”
PTO