Fic: Glee: Directions (Kurt/Blaine, PG)
So I had to spend some time with Kurt in the first episode of season four, too.
Title: "Directions" [on the AO3]
Author: flaming muse
Fandom: Glee
Pairings: Kurt/Blaine
Rating: PG
Word count: 1100
Summary: A missing, introspective Kurt scene from 4x01.
Spoilers: set within 4x01 (“The New Rachel”), no spoilers beyond
Disclaimers: The characters belong to various corporate Powers That Be. I make absolutely no profit from playing with them.
Distribution: Please ask.
Feedback is lovely!
Unlike the last time he was on a plane - on the way home from Nationals his junior year - Kurt doesn’t take a picture of himself in his seat to memorialize the event. He doesn’t sigh at the tiny scratchy blanket he has to beg from the flight attendant. He doesn’t read the safety card with careful attention. He doesn’t even flip through the SkyMall magazine that’s tucked into the seat pocket in front of him.
Instead he puts his phone into flight mode, tucks his bag out of the way under the seat in front of him, buckles his seatbelt, and closes his eyes.
No matter how deeply he breathes, he can’t catch a whiff of his father’s aftershave still clinging to his skin, but he can feel the ghost of his dad’s arms around him and the familiar press of flannel against his cheek from that last tight hug in the car.
He lives in that last moment of comfort as long as he can, because he knows it will be a long time before he can have it again.
He has to save up every bit of comfort, because apart from Rachel - and she, with her own strong will and ambitions, may not fall in line with his plans - he’s going to be entirely on his own for the first time in his life. He already is.
So Kurt lets himself remember the way Carole’s hair tickled his cheek like always when he leaned down to hug her and the way she squeezed him so tightly when he’d left the house, just as tightly as she hugs Finn.
He swallows back a lump in his throat when he thinks of how Blaine had kissed him one last lingering time at his car the night before, his hands on Kurt’s face like he was precious, his mouth tender and trembling and so reluctant to leave his.
He thinks of the way the comfortable couch in the living room felt under him that morning, the couch on which he’s sat with his dad listening to Car Talk, with Finn watching American Idol, with Blaine pretending to watch old movies, with Carole dissecting home decorating shows.
He thinks of home, of the faces of his family, of the lemon detergent in the kitchen and green tea hand soap in the powder room, touches Carole never changed from his preferences when she and Finn had moved in.
Kurt thinks of the fourth to last row in the movie theater with the broken arm between the seats that he and Blaine had always taken because they could lean up against each other while out in public and the bench in the park where Blaine liked to sit because the ducks would waddle up from the pond and eat the bits of his bagel he tossed at them with delight.
He thinks of the dried flower petals from boutonnieres in their box on his dressing table, the way the light filters in through his curtains in the morning, the sound of Finn singing in the shower down the hall, the faint echoes of a football game coming up the stairs while he sorts through his closet or reads on his bed.
He thinks of Blaine beside him - at two proms, at Nationals, at graduation, at the kitchen table, on the front steps, in his bed - and all of the love that pours out of him in every breath, in every look, in every supportive word, in every heartfelt, heartbreaking serenade.
He thinks of love, not just from Blaine but also from his family. He thinks of how they’re all behind him, urging him forward, cheering him on. He thinks of how important and special that is, how it fills his heart and makes his journey just a little easier.
He thinks of how much he owes them, how much he wants them, how desperately he’s going to miss them and all that they give him every day. He feels lost and vulnerable going off into the unknown, entirely alone and without a net to catch him in a way he realizes he’s never felt before, even at his very worst lows.
His eyes sting, his chest burns, and he thinks for a long, aching moment about how awful it feels to be leaving the people who love him to strike off on his own without a plan, without a job, without anything but a bunch of dreams that don’t seem so sure of success anymore.
And then, with a wet, shuddering breath that he tries to keep silent from the passengers around him, Kurt pushes aside the doubts and wraps the rest of it all up inside of his heart - all of the love, all of the support, all of the good things his family and Blaine have given him - and tucks it deep inside where he can live on it but can’t see it, because if he looks at it too closely he’s going to go right back out of the door of the plane and take the safer route he’d planned out over the summer, staying in Lima and trying to succeed from here with the people who care about him the most.
And he can’t. He has to go. He has to go forward toward his dreams. He has to face the terror of adulthood and rejection head on and stare it down.
He has to go to New York, and he has to do it on his own.
So he lets himself feel grateful for everything everyone has given him, and then he puts it all away. Love is meant to lift him up, not drag him down.
He can’t afford to let anything drag him down.
The engines start to roar at the end of the runway, and Kurt opens his eyes as the plane surges forward and he’s pressed back in his seat. He sighs out a slow breath and watches through the window as the tarmac turns into a blur and sinks away as the plane lifts, carrying him away from the only acceptance he has ever known.
He feels the invisible threads binding him to his family, his childhood stretch and thin as he looks up, looks out, and looks forward toward New York, toward hope, toward hard work, toward the rest of his life.
He doesn’t know what will be waiting for him in the city of his dreams. He doesn’t know if it will be as wonderful and exciting as he’s always imagined or if it will just be more years of struggling and sadness.
All Kurt knows is that it’s time to go find out, and as much as he might want to - with a longing he’d never expected in all of those many years of looking ahead - he can’t let himself look back.
~end~
Friendly reminder: My journal and I are SPOILER-FREE. I don't care what you think everyone in the world knows, be it music, guest stars, plot points, or fashion choices. I DO NOT KNOW IT. I DO NOT WANT TO. PLEASE, for the love of all that is joyful in fandom, do not spoil me. Don't tell me that you're not telling me spoilers. Don't even tell me that there ARE spoilers. Thank you! :)
(I know. You think I'm crazy. Please just go along with it.)
Title: "Directions" [on the AO3]
Author: flaming muse
Fandom: Glee
Pairings: Kurt/Blaine
Rating: PG
Word count: 1100
Summary: A missing, introspective Kurt scene from 4x01.
Spoilers: set within 4x01 (“The New Rachel”), no spoilers beyond
Disclaimers: The characters belong to various corporate Powers That Be. I make absolutely no profit from playing with them.
Distribution: Please ask.
Feedback is lovely!
Unlike the last time he was on a plane - on the way home from Nationals his junior year - Kurt doesn’t take a picture of himself in his seat to memorialize the event. He doesn’t sigh at the tiny scratchy blanket he has to beg from the flight attendant. He doesn’t read the safety card with careful attention. He doesn’t even flip through the SkyMall magazine that’s tucked into the seat pocket in front of him.
Instead he puts his phone into flight mode, tucks his bag out of the way under the seat in front of him, buckles his seatbelt, and closes his eyes.
No matter how deeply he breathes, he can’t catch a whiff of his father’s aftershave still clinging to his skin, but he can feel the ghost of his dad’s arms around him and the familiar press of flannel against his cheek from that last tight hug in the car.
He lives in that last moment of comfort as long as he can, because he knows it will be a long time before he can have it again.
He has to save up every bit of comfort, because apart from Rachel - and she, with her own strong will and ambitions, may not fall in line with his plans - he’s going to be entirely on his own for the first time in his life. He already is.
So Kurt lets himself remember the way Carole’s hair tickled his cheek like always when he leaned down to hug her and the way she squeezed him so tightly when he’d left the house, just as tightly as she hugs Finn.
He swallows back a lump in his throat when he thinks of how Blaine had kissed him one last lingering time at his car the night before, his hands on Kurt’s face like he was precious, his mouth tender and trembling and so reluctant to leave his.
He thinks of the way the comfortable couch in the living room felt under him that morning, the couch on which he’s sat with his dad listening to Car Talk, with Finn watching American Idol, with Blaine pretending to watch old movies, with Carole dissecting home decorating shows.
He thinks of home, of the faces of his family, of the lemon detergent in the kitchen and green tea hand soap in the powder room, touches Carole never changed from his preferences when she and Finn had moved in.
Kurt thinks of the fourth to last row in the movie theater with the broken arm between the seats that he and Blaine had always taken because they could lean up against each other while out in public and the bench in the park where Blaine liked to sit because the ducks would waddle up from the pond and eat the bits of his bagel he tossed at them with delight.
He thinks of the dried flower petals from boutonnieres in their box on his dressing table, the way the light filters in through his curtains in the morning, the sound of Finn singing in the shower down the hall, the faint echoes of a football game coming up the stairs while he sorts through his closet or reads on his bed.
He thinks of Blaine beside him - at two proms, at Nationals, at graduation, at the kitchen table, on the front steps, in his bed - and all of the love that pours out of him in every breath, in every look, in every supportive word, in every heartfelt, heartbreaking serenade.
He thinks of love, not just from Blaine but also from his family. He thinks of how they’re all behind him, urging him forward, cheering him on. He thinks of how important and special that is, how it fills his heart and makes his journey just a little easier.
He thinks of how much he owes them, how much he wants them, how desperately he’s going to miss them and all that they give him every day. He feels lost and vulnerable going off into the unknown, entirely alone and without a net to catch him in a way he realizes he’s never felt before, even at his very worst lows.
His eyes sting, his chest burns, and he thinks for a long, aching moment about how awful it feels to be leaving the people who love him to strike off on his own without a plan, without a job, without anything but a bunch of dreams that don’t seem so sure of success anymore.
And then, with a wet, shuddering breath that he tries to keep silent from the passengers around him, Kurt pushes aside the doubts and wraps the rest of it all up inside of his heart - all of the love, all of the support, all of the good things his family and Blaine have given him - and tucks it deep inside where he can live on it but can’t see it, because if he looks at it too closely he’s going to go right back out of the door of the plane and take the safer route he’d planned out over the summer, staying in Lima and trying to succeed from here with the people who care about him the most.
And he can’t. He has to go. He has to go forward toward his dreams. He has to face the terror of adulthood and rejection head on and stare it down.
He has to go to New York, and he has to do it on his own.
So he lets himself feel grateful for everything everyone has given him, and then he puts it all away. Love is meant to lift him up, not drag him down.
He can’t afford to let anything drag him down.
The engines start to roar at the end of the runway, and Kurt opens his eyes as the plane surges forward and he’s pressed back in his seat. He sighs out a slow breath and watches through the window as the tarmac turns into a blur and sinks away as the plane lifts, carrying him away from the only acceptance he has ever known.
He feels the invisible threads binding him to his family, his childhood stretch and thin as he looks up, looks out, and looks forward toward New York, toward hope, toward hard work, toward the rest of his life.
He doesn’t know what will be waiting for him in the city of his dreams. He doesn’t know if it will be as wonderful and exciting as he’s always imagined or if it will just be more years of struggling and sadness.
All Kurt knows is that it’s time to go find out, and as much as he might want to - with a longing he’d never expected in all of those many years of looking ahead - he can’t let himself look back.
~end~
Friendly reminder: My journal and I are SPOILER-FREE. I don't care what you think everyone in the world knows, be it music, guest stars, plot points, or fashion choices. I DO NOT KNOW IT. I DO NOT WANT TO. PLEASE, for the love of all that is joyful in fandom, do not spoil me. Don't tell me that you're not telling me spoilers. Don't even tell me that there ARE spoilers. Thank you! :)
(I know. You think I'm crazy. Please just go along with it.)