fic: play my soul (2/3)
Half an hour later, he was on a bus, his heart drumming in a staccato syncopation against the fragile cage of his chest. He patted his fingers against his thigh in a similar rhythm, watching the streets wind by outside the glass.
It was an old part of town where Kurt lived. Not too far from his Father’s home, but long enough to make his anxiousness wind up tight in his chest, tighter and tighter with every street that passes them by, with every elderly lady hopping on at each stop, with every old lamppost, flickering just dimly in the dull morning light.
He listened to his iPod, playing quietly in his ears and had settled so completely between the quivers in the nervous atmosphere that he nearly missed his stop.
But he didn’t, and as the bus lurched to a stop right outside the tall, elegant length of apartment buildings, Blaine hastily thanked the driver and scurried right off.
He felt his breath stutter in his lungs as he looked up at the tall building that loomed before him. It was beautiful, and classy, and magical.
Like Kurt.
Taking a deep breath he gently pushed through the gate and made his way up to the front door, tapping in the number that Kurt had given him.
“Hello?” a soft voice rang through the receiver.
“It’s Blaine,” Blaine said nervously, his heart fluttering in his chest at the sound of Kurt’s voice.
God, he had it so bad.
“Blaine,” Kurt said and Blaine felt the warmth of his voice flow through his entire chest, spreading through his body. “I’ll let you up.”
“Thanks.”
The door unlocked and Blaine carefully pushed through, making his way through the small lobby.
The stairs creaked under his feet and he gripped the railing for support. They were high and long and he was breathless and warm by the time he reached the top of the spiral, coming face to face with the final door.
He knocked.
“Coming!” Kurt’s voice rang through the walls and something nervous and new fluttered in the cage of Blaine’s chest. His fingers tightened their hold on each other as they wrung together - a habit he’d never been able to break.
Eventually, the door swung open and Kurt smiled at him through the frame. Blaine drunk in the sight of him eagerly and his stomach lurched as he realised that this was the first time he’d seen him outside a suit.
Was it possible that he looked even more stunning now?
His jeans were black and well fitted, hugging the lines of his long, lithe legs, the ones that carried him so gracefully. A long white Henley sheathed his pale body and his feet wore clean, matching socks. He had a loose grey scarf wrapped around his neck and his hair was tidy but un-styled and his smile…
God, his smile…
“Hi,” Blaine greeted him, his voice embarrassingly squeaky. He felt blush creep up on his cheeks but Kurt didn’t seem to notice, stepping aside from the frame.
“Come on in,” he invited and Blaine carefully stepped through the threshold, waiting before Kurt closed the door gently behind him to step further into the space.
Kurt was quiet for a moment, giving him time to take it all in. Blaine’s eyes surveyed the place eagerly, drinking in the details with acute interest, unable to contain himself.
The walls were painted in soft pastels, the floorboards a clean, polished wood. There were photos in frames lining the walls and more than enough space to breathe, the furniture set out with even precision. The furniture matched the soft palette of the walls and the whole place was quite light, the classic curtains pulled off the walls, soft bursts of sunlight streaming through the neatly polished glass of the bay windows. The whole set up was impeccable, but what Blaine was looking for was something more than a beautiful living space.
He was looking for life, somewhere that had been truly ‘lived in’.
“I keep the piano in my office,” Kurt told him lightly, holding his hands out for Blaine’s coat, which he slipped off hastily, toeing off his shoes where the others stood neatly by the door. “It’s down the hall - do you want coffee or tea?”
“Coffee, thank you,” Blaine said gratefully, watching the graceful spring of Kurt’s step as he carried himself across the open room to the kitchen where a kettle was already boiling. He took out another mug to set beside his own, as well as sugar and milk.
“I’m afraid we won’t have my actual piano to work with today,” Kurt said somewhat sadly. “It’s really old and I had to send it down to James to get him to give it a bit of an overdue service. We’ll have to work on my keyboard, if that’s okay?”
“That’s fine,” Blaine said honestly. Truthfully, he was beyond gratified at the opportunity to even talk to a fellow pianist, and to get to play it again, no matter what the model, was more than he could have ever hoped for.
“Milk or sugar?” Kurt offered.
“Milk and two, thanks,” Blaine returned.
It was nice, Blaine realised, sinking a little into the palm under his chin, just to enjoy someone’s company like this. It was rare, these days, for him to get out of Dalton’s marble walls and just sit somewhere new, with someone new, with someone lovely and talented and interesting.
Not as nice, however, as Kurt’s smile, sunny with a lingering gratefulness that made Blaine wonder if he’d been lonely too.
The ceilings of his apartment were low.
Blaine wondered if he ever felt claustrophobic.
Blaine watched him work in silence, content to sit and bask in his presence, watching carefully the little poke of his tongue as he poured the milk, his concentration as he measured out the sugar. He was perfect and concise - just like his playing.
Blaine wondered if he was just an all-round perfectionist.
When he was done, Kurt picked up the mugs with a nod and smile at Blaine, gesturing for him to follow him as he forwarded out of the kitchen and down the hall. Blaine’s eyes swept over the walls once more, taking in the snippets he could catch of passing images. More photos, certificates, paintings…
At the end of the hall was a final door, already slightly ajar. Kurt kicked it open with a gentle tap of his foot and Blaine followed him in.
It was about the size of a bedroom with soft carpeted floors that sunk beneath the press of his footprints. The walls were pastel and light, like the rest of the house, but mainly clear. The rest of the room, however, unlike the rest of the house, was a mess.
Papers, sheet music, pens, folders and books lined every surface. There were chairs of all different shapes and sizes. It was almost like a storage space, but the corner by the large window was clear, a keyboard set there with two chairs. Sunlight streamed from the glass and Blaine could see the city skyline from here.
Kurt set the mugs on the table beside the keyboard and gestured to the seat closest for Blaine. Blaine took a seat, smiling privately as Kurt’s hands lingered over the back of it before he slid into his own, instantly setting to work, drawing up his music books.
“We’ll just quickly go through the basics,” he said, “and try and jog your memory.”
Blaine gave a little embarrassed laugh. “Let’s see how much my hands remember…”
Kurt shot him a quick wink that had heat drawing up under his cheeks.
“Believe me,” Kurt drawled, “musicians have fantastic muscle memory.”
--
As it turned out, Blaine, at least, did have good muscle memory and he quickly flowed through the pages, playing the exercises with perfect precision and probably too much heart for something so basic as warm up scales.
But god, he’d missed it.
“Wow,” Kurt breathed in awe, “you’re… you’re really good.”
Blaine blushed. “It’s just a few warm ups,” he mumbled.
“If this is you warming up,” Kurt laughed incredulously, “I’d like to see you play something for real.”
“For real?” Blaine teased lightly, shocked at how easy the joking fell off his tongue. Kurt rolled his eyes playfully.
“You know what I mean,” he said, reaching over for more music. “Let’s get you started on something harder, then…”
Blaine raised an eyebrow in question as Kurt sifted through the music, finally settling on apiece with a satisfied hum. He removed the music from the pack and set it on the stand in front of him.
Blaine grinned at the familiar piece laid out before him, his eyes sweeping over the notes, reading it over in his head.
“A Thousand Miles, hey?” he said, pushing up the sleeves of his sweater. “How very contemporary of you.”
“I do listen to the radio every now and again,” Kurt smirked.
Blaine nodded fairly, turning back to the music. “Looks manageable.”
“Excellent,” Kurt said pleasantly, “let’s hear it then.”
Taking a deep breath to ready himself, Blaine checked the key signature once more before bringing his hands to rest on the appropriate keys. After quietly counting himself in he began to play, the notes falling easily under his hands.
He’d always loved this song.
As he suspected, he played with ease, his technique falling under enthusiasm as he allowed himself to flitter in between notes, his body swaying in gentle rhythm. And it wasn’t long before the tune buzzed so forcefully under his chest that he had to release it.
And he was singing.
If I could fall into the sky do you think time would pass me by?
‘Coz you know I’d walk a thousand miles if I could just see you tonight
As the last notes fluttered under his fingers, the song closed and the last words died off his lips. A little shyly he peeked up to catch Kurt’s eye and his heart smacked against his chest too heavy at the look he gave him.
God, he was too beautiful.
Blaine let out a small shaky laugh to break the silence that threatened to settle between them. Blushing, he ducked his eyes as Kurt stood, taking both of their mugs up in his hands.
“That was…” Blaine waited nervously for the end of his sentence, “wow.” Kurt let out a small, breath giggle, the sound like music of its own to Blaine’s ears. “But I think it’s time we took a break, don’t you?”
Nodding in quiet agreement, Blaine rose to follow him out of the room.
“By the way,” Kurt said, turning at the door with a secret smile, “You have a lovely voice.”
Blaine blushed all the way down to his toes.
--
Blaine would have happily stayed with Kurt for the rest of the day (and the rest of the week and year and eternity), but after he let it slip how far away Dalton was, Kurt insisted he left before sunset.
He did stay a little longer, though. Kurt made him lunch and Blaine watched with rapture, the graceful command with which he set about the task.
After lunch they simply sat talking for a while, a little lost in conversation, the companionable kind you share with a person you are just discovering is etched in your kind of skin, with a heartbeat rocking to a similar rhythm.
Blaine had finally found, after so long of believing he never would, his kindred spirit.
(Oh, there you are. I’ve been looking for you forever.)
Eventually, however, Kurt insisted they get back to practice since it would be two weeks until they had another lesson.
Kurt walked him through some classics he had never been quite old enough to play before; some songs he had never heard and some he knew too well.
But too soon the sun began to melt in the sky and too soon it was time to leave.
“I’ll text you soon,” Kurt promised as he led him sadly to the door, “so you can hold up your side of the deal.”
Blaine frowned in puzzlement until it hit him.
He had promised Kurt coffee!
“Oh,” Blaine laughed, almost giddily at the realisation that he would see him sooner than he expected. “Of course.”
Kurt smiled softly, touching his arm as he drew him in for one last goodbye. And there was on opening, and then a closing of the door.
And then he was gone.
--
The ride up to Dalton was long, his self somewhat detached, stuck between the bitter aftertaste of coffee tugging along his tongue and the burn of Kurt’s hand print, smudged over his clothes. Everything else was listless, floating.
He was floating.
Eventually they came to his stop and he hopped off quickly, thanking the driver.
As he should have suspected, David was waiting for him when he got back, already asking questions before he even had the chance to put his bag down. But Blaine only smiled and took them as they came, thinking that if this was his punishment for lying then he would take it happily.
Today was the best day he’d had in a long time.
--
The next few days dragged slowly as he waited, far too eagerly, for Kurt’s text. His friends noticed, joking that they didn’t know he had a phone, let alone know how to use one.
(They were fucking hilarious).
David, of course, had taken it to his head (and this was partially Blaine’s fault for looking so damn starry eyed anytime he so much as thought of Kurt) that Blaine’s “Friday night date” had gone splendidly and that he was now anxiously awaiting his call.
Ah, Blaine thought wistfully, if only it had been a date…
But no, Kurt was taken, and no, Blaine probably couldn’t stop himself from falling in love anyway. Kurt was radiant and charming and captivating and beautiful and so unlike anyone Blaine had ever met and, at the same time, proving himself to be the very thing Blaine had been waiting for.
And Kurt was attached to another, it was true, but there was no denying he had been waiting for Blaine too. Kurt was lonely. He had alluded to it initially, before he had even asked Blaine to take lessons with him and keep him company, and then again on the phone when he spoke of his boyfriend, who was seemingly always absent.
And then meeting him proved it. The apartment ached of loneliness and Kurt was an eager companion - not that Blaine was complaining.
Blaine had never felt truly needed before.
And so he waited, two days (although it felt like more) in the end, for Kurt’s message until it came, Tuesday afternoon when he was just heading back from Warblers practice (thankfully alone).
Perhaps a little short notice but are you free tomorrow?
He had a Legal exam the following day but he would gladly fail it for even a few moments of Kurt’s company.
I’m free, he texted back, although in the non-literal sense, he really, really wasn’t.
Good, Kurt’s reply read. Would you like me to pick you up from school?
Blaine’s heart raced at the thought: Kurt’s undoubtedly beautiful car pulling up by the stone steps and his even more beautiful self emerging from behind the doors, his hair windswept and eyes smiling bright and pretty as they met Blaine’s, lifting his pretty piano fingers in a wave and -
That would be great, thanks, Blaine messaged back. We finish around four.
His heart caught at Kurt’s final reply:
Perfect.
Yes, Blaine thought, you are.
--
And so the following day Blaine’s little hummingbird spread its wings inside his chest and he was a jittery, nervous mess all afternoon (and morning and previous night and every hour since Kurt’s text). The second the all too familiar chime of the bell sounded overhead, Blaine was first out of his seat, quickly checking his reflection in the mirror, ignoring the catcalls of his friends as he dashed out into the car park.
His heart raced at the sight of him, already arrived, leaning suavely against his adorably vintage little car. Blaine didn’t know cars well enough to possibly name it, but he admired it still and moreover the charming man leaning against it, his outfit expressive, yet classy in a way that Blaine could never dream of equating to. He looked down at his own Dalton uniform and cringed.
What could a guy like Kurt possibly want with him?
But as Kurt’s eyes met his and brightened (trick of the light?), Blaine rose his arm in a wave and mustered a smile.
Whatever Kurt possibly wanted from him, he’d eagerly give it all.
(He’d give his all if he thought he’d want it).
“Hey there, handsome,” Kurt said in a way that made Blaine’s stomach lurch. Whether he’d intended it to be or not, Kurt’s tone was downright flirty.
Blaine had never been flirted with before.
“H-hi,” he stammered, smiling awkwardly, unsure whether to reach out and hug him or shake his hand or wave again but God he wanted to kiss him.
Luckily, Kurt made up his mind for him and met him halfway with a hug that sent warmth seeping all the way down to Blaine’s argyle buried toes.
“So,” Kurt said breathily, pulling back and fuck his eyes were bright and a hair had fallen out of place and Blaine wanted nothing more than to push it back, then push Kurt back against his car, wedge a thigh between his legs and card his fingers all the way through his hair and pull - “Coffee?”
Blaine smiled. “I know just the place.”
--
The Lima Bean was one of his usual haunts. He loved his lonely but lovely little corner, where the only people who bothered him were the odd over-eager waiters and waitresses, offering refills. It was back in Lima, but Blaine appreciated the distance when all he needed was space from his friends and work and the cage that was his dorm room.
So that afternoon he directed Kurt there, falling once more into easy companionship as they flittered between traffic directions and easy conversation. With Kurt’s eyes on the road, it was all too easy to take the time to admire him openly, the soft lines of his skin, the cutting junctions of his bones, all intricately framed beneath a carefully crafted ensemble. Something low tugged and swooped in his stomach as he recalled the soft, elegant curve of his neck, now sadly hidden beneath a gorgeous black scarf that contrasted with the pale colour of his skin in the loveliest way.
His stomach sunk further, now unpleasant as he realised what must have been hidden beneath it.
Suddenly feeling sick all over, he pushed all thoughts of bruises and the mouths that might have put them there out of his mind and folded his arms.
(He didn’t need this.)
Kurt, as it turned out, was a lot more contemporary than he had thought, and insisted on turning the radio up a little louder. Blaine watching in stunned, silent awe as Kurt belted out his favourite Lady Gaga tune.
Something, something about this place…
“What?” Kurt asked with an embarrassed laugh, as he caught him staring. Blaine couldn’t even bring himself to drop his eyes.
“Your voice…” he choked out, “You’re… you’re…” Kurt raised his eyebrow at Blaine’s stammering, “It’s beautiful,” he managed finally, blush shadowing over his cheeks.
Kurt’s smile broadened. “I used to want to be a singer, you know,” he informed him.
“Why didn’t you?”
Kurt shrugged. “Just the way it happened, I suppose,” he said musingly, “I auditioned for NYADA, for musical theatre and after that didn’t work out…” Kurt’s face saddened suddenly, “there was a bit of a bad spell with my… my… health,” he settled on, “and things were harder after that.”
Blaine’s face crinkled in a mixture of sympathy and puzzlement. He never wanted to push through Kurt’s comfort zone but god, he wanted to know everything.
But before he could even summon up the courage to ask, they were already there.
--
Blaine couldn’t quite find the opportunity to bring it up again while they were there, so he let it go, simply allowing himself to relax and enjoy the warm company Kurt provided. This time it was Kurt’s turn to ask the questions. He asked Blaine all about school, about his friends, his family. Blaine readily answered all of them, his heart lifting at the way Kurt snorted, unrestrained, choking on his coffee as Blaine told him all about Cooper’s escapades.
“I think you’d like him,” Blaine said musingly, tapping his fingers over the Styrofoam cup he held. Kurt smiled at him over his own.
“I’d like to meet him one day,” he said softly.
“I’d like you to meet him, too,” Blaine returned quietly, wishing he could say more, but restraining himself.
Kurt nodded, still smiling as he took a small sip of his drink.
“Maybe one day,” he said.
(Blaine wondered how long he was planning on sticking around if this was the case.)
He told Kurt all about the Warblers and the upcoming Regionals competition and the songs they wanted him to sing.
“What about the ones you want to sing?” Kurt asked, an adorably puzzled crease etched in his brow.
Blaine shrugged. “I’m just lucky they let me sing at all.”
Yes.
So lucky.
“But if you had the choice,” Kurt pushed, “what would you want to sing?”
Blaine blinked slowly, thinking through his words.
What would he want to sing?
(Whatever would make you fall in love with me, darling)
“I-I don’t know,” he stammered, still mulling over the songs that flittered through his mind. “It would have to be competition appropriate, of course, and they like… they like modern music… and classics, too, and-”
“Blaine,” Kurt cut in softly, startling Blaine by reaching out and grabbing his hand, squeezing gently, ignoring the way Blaine practically jumped out of his skin at the touch, “you’re thinking too hard again.”
Blaine blushed, ducking his head, embarrassed. “I probably do that too much,” he whispered sadly.
“You’re fine, Blaine,” Kurt said reassuringly, his thumb sweeping in methodic patterns across his skin, “you’re just fine…”
He was okay.
--
Eventually Kurt drove Blaine back up to the school and their time drew to an end.
“I’ll text you soon, okay,” Kurt promised. “I’m pretty busy for the rest of the week - my friends have decided that now they want to catch up.” Blaine laughed softly at the way Kurt rolled his eyes fondly.
“Talk to you soon, then?” Blaine checked. Kurt brushed a hand down his arm just gently and Blaine shivered into his touch.
“Soon.”
--
And yet the days trickled by, dripping down the drain of the past as Blaine waited, receiving not one text from Kurt. He passed the days by as usual, trying to hide his anxiousness better this time.
It was almost monotonous - no, it was monotonous - the routine he reassumed. He woke up at six every morning, washed himself meticulously, dressed in his uniform, tied his shoes on his feet, styled his hair neatly, packed his things, ate breakfast - warm porridge and coffee, every day -, arrived to his classes on time, went to Warbler practice on the allocated days, went back to his dorm, studied…
The days went on and on.
When the weekend came, he packed his things and Cooper picked him up as usual.
“You staying for the full weekend this time?” was Cooper’s greeting and Blaine couldn’t help but feel that the question was more like a challenge as he eyed his bag suspiciously.
Blaine simply nodded. “I am,” he said.
(“Good to see you too, I missed you too, I love you too,” - under his breath, Cooper’s back turned).
Blaine pondered, as he drove, how long he had been stuck here, in this miserable routine, and the confining cage it provided. He wondered how it had escaped his notice, how very trapped he was, and whether or not he would have ever realised he was.
He wondered if he could have been happy here.
He wondered if he still could.
Because what if Kurt never messaged him? What if Blaine tried to call him, and found he had changed his number? What if he went up to his apartment to find it empty? What if Kurt disappeared off the face of the planet without a trace?
What if none of this was real at all?
It was now, under the warm gush of heated air steaming through the vents of Cooper’s car, a Sia tune playing softly under Cooper’s voice as he told him all about his day at work, and the things Blaine was supposed to care about, that Blaine was rocked with the sad truth.
He could never be happy here again.
PTO