Fic -- Drowning in Sunny Skies 6/9
Drowning in Sunny Skies
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: OMC/Kurt; Blaine/Kurt
Spoilers: up to 2.14 (BIOTA)
Word Count: ~22,000 (currently)
Warnings: HIGHLIGHT TO READ - especially if you have triggers *non-con, language*
Summary: Kurt meets someone at the Lima Bean, thinking he’s found the perfect boyfriend. He is sadly mistaken. AU branching off from BIOTA. Written for THIS prompt on the Glee angst meme.
A/N: I really want to dedicate this part to inyron , ithicajackal , geisha_kitten and jujuberry136 because their supportive comments really made me smile during a bad time. Thanks, guys! ♥
Another part should be up tomorrow - I just need to finish a little bit of it :D
On another note: if you enjoy, tell me and I’ll love you forever (seriously ♥). If you don’t enjoy, please let me know in a mature and constructive manner - that way I can take your thoughts into account as helpful advice :) thanks!
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight
~
The late evening air is brisk, the wind blowing gently to ruffle through Kurt’s hair, lifting his fringe and then dropping it. He feels numb and sensitive all at once, like he’s been blasted by so much stimulation, so much emotion, that his nerves are raw.
His father is a solid presence at his side as they walk toward the truck, the lights of the police station casting shadows before them in elongated and colourless distortions of reality. The concrete beneath his feet is cracked, small patches of dead foliage reaching upward from the crevasses with spindly projections.
The truck is just a few feet away when Burt reaches over and tightens a hand around Kurt’s upper arm, squeezing lightly as though to reassure both of them. Kurt leans into the gesture momentarily, connected and safe, and then nods gratefully at his dad and pulls away to open the door of the passenger side.
When both of their doors have slammed shut, the silence of the truck envelopes them and Kurt can’t help but think of it as a metal tomb. The exhaustion and numbness that has accompanied the past two days has taken its toll, leaving his limbs heavy and mind fuzzy.
“Five years.”
Kurt’s eyes shift to the left to look at his father, who is leaning back in his seat, keys dangling from one clenched fist. He looks just as exhausted as Kurt feels, but there is an undertone of thrumming anger, like something that is alive and writhing beneath his skin.
“What?” Kurt asks, turning his head toward his dad. “Five years?”
Burt’s lips pull down in a scowl. “They’ll probably only give that bastard five years for this.”
Kurt’s chest is suddenly tight and he wants nothing more than to close his eyes and let all of his thoughts disappear. “Oh,” he says softly.
They don’t say anything else as Burt starts the truck and drives home. Kurt stares out the window the whole time, eyes catching on objects in the landscape and then flicking to the next as they travel by. Much of Lima is cloaked in darkness, the occasional streetlamp doing little to illuminate the crevasses between buildings, and everything is silent and still. It is almost eerie.
Just as they are pulling up to the house, a figure walks up the stairs of their front porch and pulls out a cell phone, the screen a bright rectangle of white light among the dark. Kurt and his dad exchange looks as they park and shut off the engine, not able to recognize who is at their house after midnight.
Burt motions for Kurt to stay in the truck, and Kurt opens his mouth to protest when his cell buzzes in his pocket. There is a new text glaring up at him.
Will you let me in? --- Rachel
The figure on the porch has noticed their arrival and starts down the path toward them, prompting Kurt to opens his door and slide out of the seat, ignoring his father’s protest of “wait, Kurt -”.
Rachel, brown hair and pink pyjamas highlighted by the streetlight above, doesn’t even break stride as she wraps her arms around Kurt in a hug. At first Kurt doesn’t know what to do - he’s almost in shock and Rachel’s arms are locked tight on him - and he looks over the brunet’s head to his father. Burt has one brow raised and shrugs at him.
Using one hand to pat Rachel’s back gently, if not awkwardly, Kurt watches his dad move toward the house where he unlocks the front door and stands waiting for them.
Rachel pulls back with a sniff and wipes at her eyes while Kurt steps back so that there is some space between them. “What are you doing here, Rachel? Are you okay?”
“Oh my God, Kurt,” she says, eyes filling with tears again. “I’m fine - I saw that - that tape, and -”
Kurt nods once, briskly, and says, “Let’s talk inside.” He doesn’t want to talk, not to anyone right now, but he won’t leave Rachel outside alone. “How did you get here?” he asks idly, like it’s just another day.
“My dads dropped me off - they just knew how much I needed to be here. Oh no - they didn’t see,” she says, eyes wide and sincere as Kurt’s face morphs into something like horror. “I told them something was wrong, but I wouldn’t show them - that.”
Kurt pinches his lips together as they walk into his house, not quite willing to thank Rachel from saving him that embarrassment. It is bad enough that every person in McKinley and Dalton received that e-mail - he can’t imagine parents seeing it, too. But now that he thinks of it, it’s probably inevitable, really.
“Where were you?” Rachel asks.
Kurt focuses intently on the buttons of his coat as he says, “The police station.”
When both Kurt and Rachel have removed their coats and shoes, Kurt notices his dad hovering in the entryway to the kitchen, watching them from the corner of his eye. Kurt knows his dad is waiting to see if he needs him to drive Rachel home if that’s what Kurt wants, but as he looks down at the short brunette, Kurt remembers a time when Mercedes would have fought tooth and nail to be with him when he needed a friend. He can remember how her hugs would balm his pain, soothe his mind.
She isn’t here.
When Rachel looks up at him, her brown eyes bloodshot and lashes clumped with tears, he feels a jolt of loss and gain in his chest. He might have lost the intense bond he had with Mercedes - to time, to age, he doesn’t know - but he has gained a friend in Rachel. However unexpected it may be.
Rachel’s lips tremble over her words as she tries to reign in her emotions and stay calm. “I didn’t think you would want the whole glee club here. They wanted to come, but…” she trails off, brows tugging upward in the middle.
Kurt nods at the silent meaning. She’s right; if he had to face everyone right now it would be too much. He wishes that no one knew, that it had never happened at all, but now it has been spread to almost everyone that he knows.
So instead of sending Rachel on her way, Kurt gives his dad what he hopes is a reassuring smile and leads Rachel upstairs so they can talk in private. She walks in to his room and stands by his bed, arms wrapped around herself and eyes wide as Kurt all but closes the door behind them.
The air is thick with discomfiture, neither of them knowing where to start nor if they even should. Kurt, a fist filled with worry and embarrassment jammed somewhere in his throat, eventually breaks the silence, his voice quiet but steady.
“It wasn’t -” he says, then clears his throat. “I didn’t want it.”
Rachel’s eyes widen and her face takes on an expression of reassurance. “I know - we know,” she corrects. “We know.”
Nodding awkwardly, but glad that he doesn’t have to say more, Kurt crosses his arms over his chest. He wonders how they know, what they have seen that would tell them that, and then feels his face start to flush. His friends, people who he respects and loves like family, have seen him in a way that he never wanted them to.
“Do you - do you want to talk about it?” Rachel’s voice is hopeful, like if he says ‘yes’ it will mean the world to her. It makes Kurt want to snap something horridly sarcastic about her pyjamas and hug her at the same time.
“Not really,” he replies, fixing his attention on pulling a piece of lint from his sleeve.
Rachel, after a few breaths of hesitation in which Kurt is mentally preparing for a barrage, says, “Okay.”
Surprise lighting up his face, Kurt can’t help but raise his brows. “Okay?”
Rachel nods at him and offers a little smile. “Yeah.” She then gets a determined look to her, the kind of focus she usually holds in glee, and walks over to his vanity and picks up his little manicure kit. “So, Kurt, do you think orange would be a good colour with my new sundress?”
Horror at even the thought takes over Kurt’s mind -- not completely, but enough to put his mind on something else for a little while -- and he shakes his head emphatically. “No. Just no.”
He knows what she’s doing, how she’s using her inability to coordinate an outfit as a way to distract him, and the wave of gratitude that washes over him is immense. She isn’t pushing to know everything, isn’t making him go over everything in his head again and again like he thought she would have, and he wonders when she became so good at reading what he needs.
Rachel ends up staying the rest of the night, allowing Kurt to give her a (colour-coordinated) manicure and various skin-care tips. The routine of it is calming and familiar, letting Kurt focus on something that doesn’t remind him of Ian for a couple of hours.
They both know what this is, that the way Kurt is fluttering around grabbing different products and magazines, it’s all part of an elaborate distraction technique. That it is temporary. Sometimes, when there is a lull in their conversation and they fall into stillness, they will share a knowing look, and then go on to something new.
They go to bed late, just as the sun starts to rise in the eastern sky.
~
Kurt wakes to a streak of bright sunlight in his eyes and the heavy weight of an arm across his lower legs, and he sees a mop of brown hair spread at the bottom of the bed where Rachel has rested her head.
Peaceful and not wanting to get out of bed, Kurt pushes his head into his pillow, revelling in the softness, and closes his eyes. He doesn’t go back to sleep, instead choosing to enjoy the simple relaxation afforded by lying in his bed. If the feeling of Rachel’s arm grounds him better than anything he’s experienced since that morning, he doesn’t worry about it.
~
Kurt and Rachel are sitting in silence, the duvet pulled up to cover their legs as they watch the Broadway version of Rent, when Burt knocks on the door lightly and pushes it open. The scent of breakfast cooking downstairs wafts in, reminding Kurt that he is going to have to climb out of bed at some point soon.
“You have another visitor, Kurt. Do you want me to send him up?”
His dad has an apron on, the front spattered with what Kurt knows to be bacon grease - and now he definitely knows he should be the one cooking, because no way is his dad getting any of that - and a kitchen towel in the other hand. He looks so domestic, so familiar, that Kurt’s heart warms at the sight.
Unsure and surprised, Kurt runs a hand over his hair to smooth any errant strands. “Who is it?”
“That friend of yours from Dalton - the short one.”
Rachel takes in a breath of air like she’s about to speak, but stays silent. She then pushes the duvet off of her legs and stands, pulling her hair back into a quick pony-tail as she moves toward the door. “I really should be going,” she says.
Burt waves the spatula in his hand at her as he says, “Are you sure? I have the makings for a fruit salad if you want to stay for breakfast.”
Rachel smiles politely at his dad and waves at Kurt. “I’m sure - thank you anyway, Mr. Hummel. My dads will start to worry, and I really must go. See you later, Kurt.”
She pauses and looks at Kurt, her façade of busy movement falling away as she moves in to envelope Kurt in a hug. “Take care of yourself,” she whispers in his ear.
Returning the hug gratefully, Kurt nods into her shoulder. “I will. Thank you.”
She pulls away, and with one last look, is gone.
“Breakfast will be done soon,” his dad says from where he is standing. He looks at Kurt for a minute, and then offers, “I can send him away if you want.”
With only a brief consideration, Kurt shakes his head negatively. “No. It’s okay.” His eyes fall to his lap. “Can you tell him that I’ll be down shortly?” He needs to get dressed and make sure his hair is presentable.
The weight of his dad’s assessing gaze is tremendous, and Kurt sags in relief when the man simply nods and walks away.
Kurt dresses quickly and stops in front of his mirror. There are dark circles around his eyes, fitting into the contours of his orbital bones and leaving him looking sickly and tired. For the first time since he was fourteen he doesn’t have the irrepressible urge to cover them with concealer.
He walks down the stairs to his kitchen knowing that he looks like crap, that Blaine will see him looking like that, but he couldn’t cares less about that than he does about taking the time to look good.
He walks into the kitchen with lightly-padding footsteps and sees Blaine standing, looking incredibly uncomfortable, by the table. His dad has his back to them, arm shaking as he works with something over the stove.
Blaine’s steps are unsure, hesitant and slow as he moves toward Kurt. “Hey,” he says softly. “I’m sorry I didn’t call - and I know I said I’d wait, but I was so worried, and I couldn’t sleep. I had to see you.”
Kurt isn’t ready for this conversation; he just wants everything to go back to how it was before Ian. But in his mind, in the part of it that is logical, he knows that won’t happen, that he is going to have to face this.
He wishes he had more time.
“It’s fine,” he says, offering a little smile to Blaine, who takes it with a relived nod.
“Why don’t you boys go wait for breakfast in the living room? It will be another ten minutes before it’s ready.”
A sweep of appreciation for his father goes through Kurt as he gestures at Blaine to follow him.
Blaine sits on the couch, keeping his body language relaxed and easy as though trying to reassure Kurt wordlessly. Kurt remains standing, a jittery type of energy having suddenly overcome him.
Kurt watches as Blaine shifts a little and licks his lips. “You don’t have to talk about it,” the other teen says sincerely. “I won’t push anything here - I just couldn’t stay away, knowing that you weren’t okay. We could watch a movie or something.”
Taking in a deep breath and slowly letting it out through trembling lips, Kurt shakes his head. “No. I want to tell you. I don’t want to keep this inside.”
“Okay.” Blaine tilts his head and looks pointedly at the seat next to him. “Do you want to sit down?”
“Not really,” Kurt replies. He absently wonders if Blaine would have been a guidance councillor in a past life. “I just - I just want to get it out there.”
“I won’t judge you, Kurt, whatever it is.”
“Why is this so hard to say?” Kurt paces in front of Blaine, arms wrapped around his waist as though to comfort himself. “It’s not like I even remember it.”
Blaine is a silent entity as he watches Kurt pace, and Kurt doesn’t know whether to be comforted by his non-action or worried - does he already know, has he already guessed what happened? Is he waiting for Kurt to confirm it?
“He was really good to me, you know?”
Blaine’s gaze is compassionate and open as Kurt struggles to find the words to describe what happened. Kurt wants to just say it, lay it out bare between them, but his throat closes as though the word ‘raped’ is barred from use.
“I thought that - that maybe we had a chance to be happy. To have something. And - and then.” Tears are starting to choke Kurt’s throat, tightening it until his voice is high and strained. “That last night I went to his place. I figured we’d just watch a movie.”
Kurt brings one hand up to cover his mouth as his lips pull into a grimace and tears start to flow down his cheeks. “We were, you know, fooling around. And he wanted to go further, but I stopped him. And he stopped.” Kurt’s voice gives out for a moment and he swallows hard and clears his throat. “But then he brought me a drink and we started to watch a movie.”
Blaine’s eyes are starting to turn red, tears building to catch in his dark lashes.
“He - there was something in it. I don’t remember what happened, and when I woke up - when I woke up I could feel it. What he did.”
Blaine’s Adam’s apple bobs as his throat works silently, the knowledge of what he had seen settling into his mind like some rotten, festering wound. He has no words to offer.
“I feel so stupid.” Kurt’s voice dies out on the last word.
Blaine is up and moving, coming in close to Kurt. “Hey - no. Why would you feel like that?”
Kurt sniffles and allows a bitter smile to take his lips. “Because I should have seen it coming. He’s been pushing, wanting more, but - but I didn’t think -”
“I know,” says Blaine, rubbing a hand over Kurt’s back. “But you couldn’t have known, and you shouldn’t have had to suspect.”
“I understand that, I do, but - it’s so stupid.”
“What do you mean?”
“It feels like I’m using it as an excuse - like I’m taking something that happened to someone else and using it for, I don’t know, sympathy or something. Like what happened shouldn’t be the big deal I’m making it out to be.”
A clang sounds from somewhere in the kitchen, causing both of the boys to jump, and Kurt wipes at his eyes and hangs his head. He can’t help but feel that way, and saying it out loud even sounds ridiculous to him.
When Blaine leans forward and pulls him into a tight hug Kurt holds the dark-haired boy close, allowing himself a moment to soak in the feelings of friendship. His crush is still there, still simmering beneath the surface, but now he can’t see ever wanting to date anyone ever again.
His dad has heard every word, Kurt knows he has been listening from the kitchen, and it is a relief. He wants his dad to know all of this, all of the things that he just told Blaine, wants him to understand how Kurt is feeling.
“Oh, Kurt,” Blaine sighs into his shoulder. “I don’t think that, and anyone who has an ounce of humanity and compassion in them won’t either. This isn’t your fault, and how you feel? That’s because of Ian, not you.”
Kurt nods and uses his sleeve to wipe the majority of the tears from his face. “Thanks,” he whispers huskily.
Part Seven