Flicker from View (8/25)
Summary: There have been stories of the Anderson house for as long as Kurt Hummel can remember: stories about music playing from the second story, and whispers of a crying boy. So when his Glee Club decides to check it out as a pre-Halloween trip, he doesn't expect anything more than some dusty floorboards and a creaky staircase. What he finds instead, will change his life.
Rating: Mostly PG-13, with some R stuff for triggers.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Except the order of the words.
Warning: Talk of death, the afterlife, religion, homophobia, and other things of a depressing nature.
A/N: Thank you so much for all your kind words! I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint, or offend anyone with the talk of religion. For those of you who care, I am a Christian, and so the views expressed by Kurt and Blaine are not my own. If anyone takes offense, I am only doing my best to portray characters from a television show.
Chapter Eight
The living room was illuminated by five lamps glowing dimly in the darkness of the night and empty house. The rug was rolled up and laid next to the cupboard of fancy dishes, and the couch had been pushed up against the wall. The couch's seat cushions had been laid on the ground, next to a mattress with three blankets spread out around them and a half-dozen pillows.
Blaine had sprawled out across the couch cushions, a set of long-sleeved pajamas on. One arm was raised high above his head, so that there was a strip of smooth, perfect skin between the blanket across the lap and where his shirt had rode up.
Kurt's eyes kept darting from that slip of skin to the lazy, comfortable look on Blaine's face. He couldn't decide which was more beautiful, which was more tempting to touch.
"This is nice," Blaine said quietly, a sleepy smile touching his lips.
Kurt's eyes jumped back to Blaine's handsome, youthful face, and felt an answering smile growing on his own lips. "It is," he agreed. "A little more violent than most, however," he added with a wry tone, narrowing his eyes at the lazy form of the boy before him.
Blaine's smile twisted into an impish grin, and he blinked open dark, playful eyes. "You're just upset that I beat you."
Kurt raised his head and shifted his shoulders with dignity. "You did not. I have an undefeated winning streak."
"You had an undefeated winning streak," Blaine corrected. "But not anymore."
Kurt sniffed and felt his lips curving into a smile against his will. He pressed them together to hide it, and said, "Fine. But this is to be kept between you and me."
Blaine's expression changed, grew more serious. "Am I just your dirty little secret?" he asked.
Kurt sighed and rolled his eyes with amusement. "You're a ghost, Blaine; what else could you be?"
Blaine's smile, already shrunken, faded completely, and the childish twinkle in his eyes disappeared. He stayed looking at Kurt, sitting by Blaine's knee with his legs curled up to his chest, arms wrapped loosely around his calves, and a blanket swept over his shoulders like a cape. Kurt felt the weight of that gaze and squirmed under it, feeling exposed and naked.
Could Blaine read him, see his thoughts and desires, written against the paleness of his skin as clearly as ink on paper? And, if so, was it worth hiding from him? Here, in this place and with this person where he could be himself and no one else, should he try to hide like he did everywhere else?
"You keep saying that," Blaine said, his free hand reaching down to play with the frayed edge of the blanket by his hips. He glanced down to his hand, then back up at Kurt. "Ghost," he clarified with a sorrowful look in his eyes.
Kurt swallowed and glanced away, fingers reaching out to pluck at his own blanket.
"I wonder why," Blaine mused, eyes still on Kurt's face. "Is it to remind me, or yourself?"
Kurt pressed his lips together and looked back, keeping his eyes on Blaine's fingers playing around the blanket. There, that brief glance of skin against the warm fuzziness of the blanket, that naked vulnerability that mirrored the inner hollowness within Kurt, he would look that it. It would remind him that Blaine felt with the same desperation that Kurt did. "Me," he admitted softly. "I forget sometimes."
And if he didn't remember that Blaine was dead, or half-dead, then he would forget himself - and fall, fall, fall.
Blaine titled his head, shifting on the pillow he had taken from off his own bed upstairs. "Would that be such a bad thing? To forget?"
Kurt simply looked at him, hoped that Blaine could read him as well as he was afraid he could.
Blaine must have seen it, must have been literate in Kurt-anese, because slowly his lips turned down into a frown, resignation sinking into his eyes, and he turned his head away, eyes falling to face the wall. "Of course it would," he whispered.
Kurt watched him and felt his heart throb and ache, like it wanted to push out of his chest and wrap itself around Blaine to comfort him. "My dad worries," he admitted quietly, drawing Blaine's eyes back to him.
He made his fingers release the blanket, and let it slip down his shoulders. He wrapped that hand back around his legs and thought about his dad, how he was probably cuddling with Carole on a couch right now. Carole, who healed the open wound Kurt's mother had left on his heart.
"He knows about this house and the stories behind it," he continued. "I think... he worries about the death here in the walls, and that, by spending time here, I'll forget how to live." He shrugged slightly, and the blanket fell off completely. He felt his face flush with embarrassment as he reached behind him to grab it and cover himself again. There was something incredibly exposing about sitting in your pajamas with an attractive ghost staring at you with dark, curious eyes.
Blaine was watching him with a very careful expression. He slowly raised his other arm over his head, then bent them so his head was pillowed on his arms. The slip of skin grew, exposed a hint of navel and the sight of it made Kurt's flush deepen.
"You and your dad are very close," he said quietly. There was a note of something terribly lonely and heavy in his voice.
Kurt gripped the blanket and tugged it firmly around him. "Yeah. We are. He's... he's all I have."
"What happened to your mom?"
Kurt exhaled slowly. "She died," he said simply. Putting it out there, in those easy, blunt words, he could feel that go into the air, solidifying, growing and adding to the death already painted on the walls.
"I am so sorry, Kurt," Blaine said, his voice hushed. "I can't even imagine-" he stopped himself, pressing his lips together.
Kurt looked down at him and thought, But your parents could. He bit his tongue on those words, and decided to consider how to word something he had been wondering since he met Blaine.
"Would she... be like you?" he asked, voice hesitant. When Blaine simply titled his head to one side, a curious light in his eyes, Kurt leaned down and in a hushed voice said, "You know." He paused for a beat and then with a wry twist to his lips, finished, "A ghost."
Blaine exhaled out a laugh, lips curving into a smile and aiming it at Kurt. "No, I don't think so. Most people don't get stuck."
Oh. Here was some new information. "Stuck?" Kurt echoed, eyebrows climbing.
"Yeah," Blaine said, as if it were obvious. "I mean, there are two worlds, Kurt. Yours," he said, pulling one hand from behind his head and gesturing at Kurt. "And the one after: the Afterworld. But, I..." His hand drifted down to rest on his chest. "I don't belong to either. I'm stuck," he clarified, attempting a smile.
Kurt angled his head to the side and said, "Like limbo?" This was all very fascinating. Maybe Kurt could write a book someday: What Happens After Death: A Blaine Anderson Memoir by Kurt Hummel.
Blaine frowned thoughtfully up at the ceiling and said, "Yeah, I guess. Although, isn't that being stuck between hell and heaven?" he asked, aiming the question at the ceiling.
Kurt shrugged slightly. "No idea. I'm not really a church-goer," he added with an eye-roll.
Blaine's smile was a little bitter, a little longing. "I used to be," he said quietly.
"And now?" Kurt asked.
"I don't know," Blaine said with an easy shrug. "I don't know what I believe."
Kurt sat up straighter and felt his eyebrows raise as disbelief swept through him. "You don't know?" he repeated, watching as Blaine's eyes returned to him. "How can you not know? Religion is a bunch of nonsense people came up with to make themselves feel better about dying. But, as you clearly stand as proof," he added, waving a hand at Blaine's sprawled out form, "nothing happens."
He rocked back, feeling like he'd just made his point and won the case.
"Nothing?" Blaine repeated, eyebrows raising. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, so his voice was clearer. "I'm nothing? Kurt, I just said that I was stuck, that there was another world out there. I can..." He pushed himself up into a sitting position, folding his legs up underneath him. "I can feel it calling me," he breathed, staring out past Kurt's shoulder. "There's something... Something out there. Is it God?" he asked; he shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. But if death was just death, then I would have died. I would have left this hell-hole of a state like I wanted-" he stopped, his voice twisted into an ugly anger. His entire expression was creased into a scar that Kurt knew would never completely heal.
Blaine breathed for a moment, then closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He seemed to hold it for a long time, then he released it and opened his eyes. "But, I didn't. I'm stuck here instead. So... there has to be a reason, or everyone would be a ghost and we would know that if that was the case. But, we don't. Because not everyone gets stuck; they move on. I..." he trailed off, a helpless look on his face.
Kurt watched him, wished he could reach out and comfort him. But he couldn't, because Kurt was alive and Blaine was not. He was stuck. And Kurt couldn't do anything to help him.
"Blaine," he said quietly.
Blaine blew out another breath and returned his gaze to Kurt. "Sorry," he said, lips quirking upwards. "I, uh, haven't been able to talk to someone for... God, I don't know-"
"Twenty-five years," Kurt answered him softly. "It's been nearly twenty-five years."
Blaine's eyes were wide and horrified. "What?"
"1987," Kurt said, feeling anxiety start to creep into his blood. "That's when you..." he trailed off and licked his bottom lip, feeling suddenly awkward. "Right? It's October of 2010."
Without saying a word, Blaine's arms wrapped themselves around his torso, and his shoulders curled inwards. Slowly, so slowly, his face began to shift and change; it grew rounder and younger, and then, like it was moving far into the distance, the edges began to fade away.
The anxiety exploded into full-out panic. He gasped and fell forward onto his knees, arms reaching out for Blaine. "No! Wait, please! We can talk about something else: music, fashion, or, or, boys!" he blurted, eyes wide and aching.
Blaine froze, snapped back into solidity, looking like a pre-teen with wide, terrified eyes. "What?" he breathed. "What did you say?"
Kurt rocked back, hands falling to his lap. He licked his lips again, trying to regain his heart and mind's balance. "Or something else," he whispered, suddenly feeling like he'd stepped into a trap. "Whatever you'd like."
Blaine kept his arms wrapped around himself. "You know?" he whispered. "About me?"
Kurt tilted his head to the side, fear shuddering into bewilderment. "That you're gay?" he asked softly, gently. It didn't matter; Blaine still flinched at the word. "Of course, I do," Kurt answered, hand twitching on his lap, wishing he could reach out and lay one tender hand on Blaine's knee. "You and this house are legends, you know?"
Blaine pressed his lips together and watched Kurt with wary eyes. His mind seemed to be racing, and after a long moment, he said, "That doesn't bother you?"
It sounded like he could barely believe it and Kurt utterly ached for him. He had thought that he was alone, but Blaine... Blaine had no one at all.
"Only if it doesn't bother you that I am," Kurt answered.
Blaine's mouth fell open a little, and his shoulders stiffened.
Kurt rolled his eyes at his surprise. "Oh, come on. Like it isn't obvious."
Blaine huffed out a small laugh, and with it he opened up like a flower or a bird spreading its wings - he grew taller and sharper and crisper. When his hands fell to the blankets and his legs stretched out against the cushions, he looked sixteen again and remarkably happy.
"Well, I, I..." he babbled, giggling slightly. "I didn't know! I've never... never met someone else, like me," he whispered, smile curving wide and beautiful.
Kurt relaxed, understanding that feeling. It was bubbling up inside of him right now. "I've never met someone like me either," he admitted quietly.
Blaine flushed a little, smile still present, and ducked his head to stare at his lap. His shoulders shifted a little, and finally he said, "It's got to be better, right? For people like us?" He lifted his head and pinned Kurt with huge, hopeful eyes.
Kurt exhaled and glanced away, thinking about the slushy he had received just yesterday. Better. Were things actually better in this lovely state of Ohio?
"They're still hard," he admitted softly, fingers pulling at his pant fabric. "People still judge us-" and oh, what it felt like to be included in an 'us'! - "Bullying still happens, and so do hate crimes. But, we're... we're still people. We can join the army, or get married, or-"
"Married?" Blaine repeated, voice hushed. His eyes lit up and started glowing in the lamplight, and his lips spread out into a wonderfully awestruck smile. "People... people get married?"
And, oh, Blaine. If only you'd held on a little bit longer. "In some states," Kurt clarified. "Not everywhere. Not here."
That didn't seem to upset Blaine. He curled his legs back into his chest and wrapped his arms around them; it was a move of childlike containment, like he needed to hold his happiness close to him, and not of defensive protection. He rested his chin on his knees and sighed, eyelashes fluttering and catching the glow of the lights, shadows dancing on his cheekbones. "Married," he breathed. "God."
Kurt's smile was warm - how could one not smile at such a beautiful sight? - but brushed with pity. Oh, all the things that Blaine had missed. "New York is safe," he continued. "That's where I'm going after graduation."
Blaine's smile strengthened and aimed right at Kurt's heart. "I've always loved New York," he admitted. "What are you gonna do there?"
Kurt raised his chin proudly. "Broadway," he announced. "I'm going to apply to NYADA next year," he added.
Blaine blinked and tilted his head to the side. "NYADA?"
"New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts," Kurt recited. "It's the very best."
"The very best, huh?" Blaine's eyes danced. "Then I'm sure you'll fit in perfectly."
Kurt felt his face flush and warmth fill his lungs so he could barely breathe from the glow from that smile. "You, you don't mean that," he whispered.
"Of course I do," Blaine argued, raising his head. "I've heard you sing; you're incredible."
Kurt ducked his head low, and stared at the toes peeking out from Blaine's pant leg. "Thank you," he breathed.
"I mean it. You're going to be famous someday; I can tell."
Kurt squirmed under the eyes he could feel watching him and the words of praise flowing from that beautiful mouth. He didn't know what to do with such praise; no one but his father ever seemed to realize how much he needed it. In fact, no one else seemed to see him at all. But here was this boy, this ghost he'd only known for about a week, who understood him and saw him and knew him...
It was more than Kurt had ever thought possible.
He breathed in shakily, then raised his head, trying for an impish smile. "Well, although I do love being the centre of attention, I think it's time for a change of subject, don't you?"
Blaine grinned and rolled his eyes playfully, releasing his legs and letting them fall back onto the cushions. "All right, Kurt. What would you like to do instead?"
Kurt glanced around, eyes darting around the room. They finally landed on a pillow near his left hip. Carefully, he began to reach for it. "Hm..." he mused, aiming to distract the ghost watching him with curious eyes. "I think... I would like... a rematch!" he snapped, fingers closing around the pillow - one of Blaine's, of course - and gripping it so he could whack Blaine with it.
It must have taken Blaine by surprise, because it actually hit him unlike half of Kurt's other attacks earlier that night. It smacked him right in the face and knocked him flat on his back, a good "Oof!" escaping his mouth with his breath.
Kurt scrambled up to his feet, pillow ready for another attack. He watched Blaine lie on the cushions, a smile splitting his face. "Bring it, Anderson," he said.
Slowly, Blaine blinked his eyes open and looked up at Kurt, a smirk growing on his lips. "Oh, it is so brought," he said, arms reaching for the other pillows.
Kurt moved quickly, feet kicking the other pillows out of Blaine's reach and then skipping around him, giving him another good swat with the pillow as he went. Blaine yelped, and rolled over with his arms covering his head. He got to his hands and knees and narrowed his eyes at Kurt.
Kurt wiggled slightly, feeling like a cat stalking its prey. "Come on, then. I'm waiting."
Blaine exhaled loudly, then dropped back to the ground, rolling until he reached a pillow. He grabbed it and pulled it underneath his chest, keeping it trapped between him and the floor. He chewed at his lip, eyes flying around the room.
Kurt sighed heavily, lowering the pillow and resting it on one hip. "Oh, come on. You are so slow," he teased.
Blaine huffed again and got to his feet, pillow held firmly in his two hands. "You should quit while you're ahead, Hummel."
Kurt scoffed. "I'll beat you this time. Even if you do cheat again," he said, narrowing his eyes and crouching low, prepared for battle.
Blaine blinked wide, faux-innocent eyes. "Cheat? Moi?"
"Oui," Kurt snapped. "You."
Blaine pursed his lips, bouncing on the heels of his feet. "Well, I guess that's just an advantage to being a ghost, now isn't it?" And then he grinned, before jumping forward, pillow whacking Kurt right in the chest.
Kurt squawked and turned to retaliate, growling when Blaine just faded through it. "Cheater!" he snapped.
Blaine's laughter rang out until he yelped when Kurt managed to hit him in the back of the legs. And then he started to laugh again when Kurt just pelted him with as many hits as he could get it.
The clock in the kitchen, frozen on 11:27, was right for the second time that day.
Rating: Mostly PG-13, with some R stuff for triggers.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Except the order of the words.
Warning: Talk of death, the afterlife, religion, homophobia, and other things of a depressing nature.
A/N: Thank you so much for all your kind words! I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint, or offend anyone with the talk of religion. For those of you who care, I am a Christian, and so the views expressed by Kurt and Blaine are not my own. If anyone takes offense, I am only doing my best to portray characters from a television show.
Chapter Eight
The living room was illuminated by five lamps glowing dimly in the darkness of the night and empty house. The rug was rolled up and laid next to the cupboard of fancy dishes, and the couch had been pushed up against the wall. The couch's seat cushions had been laid on the ground, next to a mattress with three blankets spread out around them and a half-dozen pillows.
Blaine had sprawled out across the couch cushions, a set of long-sleeved pajamas on. One arm was raised high above his head, so that there was a strip of smooth, perfect skin between the blanket across the lap and where his shirt had rode up.
Kurt's eyes kept darting from that slip of skin to the lazy, comfortable look on Blaine's face. He couldn't decide which was more beautiful, which was more tempting to touch.
"This is nice," Blaine said quietly, a sleepy smile touching his lips.
Kurt's eyes jumped back to Blaine's handsome, youthful face, and felt an answering smile growing on his own lips. "It is," he agreed. "A little more violent than most, however," he added with a wry tone, narrowing his eyes at the lazy form of the boy before him.
Blaine's smile twisted into an impish grin, and he blinked open dark, playful eyes. "You're just upset that I beat you."
Kurt raised his head and shifted his shoulders with dignity. "You did not. I have an undefeated winning streak."
"You had an undefeated winning streak," Blaine corrected. "But not anymore."
Kurt sniffed and felt his lips curving into a smile against his will. He pressed them together to hide it, and said, "Fine. But this is to be kept between you and me."
Blaine's expression changed, grew more serious. "Am I just your dirty little secret?" he asked.
Kurt sighed and rolled his eyes with amusement. "You're a ghost, Blaine; what else could you be?"
Blaine's smile, already shrunken, faded completely, and the childish twinkle in his eyes disappeared. He stayed looking at Kurt, sitting by Blaine's knee with his legs curled up to his chest, arms wrapped loosely around his calves, and a blanket swept over his shoulders like a cape. Kurt felt the weight of that gaze and squirmed under it, feeling exposed and naked.
Could Blaine read him, see his thoughts and desires, written against the paleness of his skin as clearly as ink on paper? And, if so, was it worth hiding from him? Here, in this place and with this person where he could be himself and no one else, should he try to hide like he did everywhere else?
"You keep saying that," Blaine said, his free hand reaching down to play with the frayed edge of the blanket by his hips. He glanced down to his hand, then back up at Kurt. "Ghost," he clarified with a sorrowful look in his eyes.
Kurt swallowed and glanced away, fingers reaching out to pluck at his own blanket.
"I wonder why," Blaine mused, eyes still on Kurt's face. "Is it to remind me, or yourself?"
Kurt pressed his lips together and looked back, keeping his eyes on Blaine's fingers playing around the blanket. There, that brief glance of skin against the warm fuzziness of the blanket, that naked vulnerability that mirrored the inner hollowness within Kurt, he would look that it. It would remind him that Blaine felt with the same desperation that Kurt did. "Me," he admitted softly. "I forget sometimes."
And if he didn't remember that Blaine was dead, or half-dead, then he would forget himself - and fall, fall, fall.
Blaine titled his head, shifting on the pillow he had taken from off his own bed upstairs. "Would that be such a bad thing? To forget?"
Kurt simply looked at him, hoped that Blaine could read him as well as he was afraid he could.
Blaine must have seen it, must have been literate in Kurt-anese, because slowly his lips turned down into a frown, resignation sinking into his eyes, and he turned his head away, eyes falling to face the wall. "Of course it would," he whispered.
Kurt watched him and felt his heart throb and ache, like it wanted to push out of his chest and wrap itself around Blaine to comfort him. "My dad worries," he admitted quietly, drawing Blaine's eyes back to him.
He made his fingers release the blanket, and let it slip down his shoulders. He wrapped that hand back around his legs and thought about his dad, how he was probably cuddling with Carole on a couch right now. Carole, who healed the open wound Kurt's mother had left on his heart.
"He knows about this house and the stories behind it," he continued. "I think... he worries about the death here in the walls, and that, by spending time here, I'll forget how to live." He shrugged slightly, and the blanket fell off completely. He felt his face flush with embarrassment as he reached behind him to grab it and cover himself again. There was something incredibly exposing about sitting in your pajamas with an attractive ghost staring at you with dark, curious eyes.
Blaine was watching him with a very careful expression. He slowly raised his other arm over his head, then bent them so his head was pillowed on his arms. The slip of skin grew, exposed a hint of navel and the sight of it made Kurt's flush deepen.
"You and your dad are very close," he said quietly. There was a note of something terribly lonely and heavy in his voice.
Kurt gripped the blanket and tugged it firmly around him. "Yeah. We are. He's... he's all I have."
"What happened to your mom?"
Kurt exhaled slowly. "She died," he said simply. Putting it out there, in those easy, blunt words, he could feel that go into the air, solidifying, growing and adding to the death already painted on the walls.
"I am so sorry, Kurt," Blaine said, his voice hushed. "I can't even imagine-" he stopped himself, pressing his lips together.
Kurt looked down at him and thought, But your parents could. He bit his tongue on those words, and decided to consider how to word something he had been wondering since he met Blaine.
"Would she... be like you?" he asked, voice hesitant. When Blaine simply titled his head to one side, a curious light in his eyes, Kurt leaned down and in a hushed voice said, "You know." He paused for a beat and then with a wry twist to his lips, finished, "A ghost."
Blaine exhaled out a laugh, lips curving into a smile and aiming it at Kurt. "No, I don't think so. Most people don't get stuck."
Oh. Here was some new information. "Stuck?" Kurt echoed, eyebrows climbing.
"Yeah," Blaine said, as if it were obvious. "I mean, there are two worlds, Kurt. Yours," he said, pulling one hand from behind his head and gesturing at Kurt. "And the one after: the Afterworld. But, I..." His hand drifted down to rest on his chest. "I don't belong to either. I'm stuck," he clarified, attempting a smile.
Kurt angled his head to the side and said, "Like limbo?" This was all very fascinating. Maybe Kurt could write a book someday: What Happens After Death: A Blaine Anderson Memoir by Kurt Hummel.
Blaine frowned thoughtfully up at the ceiling and said, "Yeah, I guess. Although, isn't that being stuck between hell and heaven?" he asked, aiming the question at the ceiling.
Kurt shrugged slightly. "No idea. I'm not really a church-goer," he added with an eye-roll.
Blaine's smile was a little bitter, a little longing. "I used to be," he said quietly.
"And now?" Kurt asked.
"I don't know," Blaine said with an easy shrug. "I don't know what I believe."
Kurt sat up straighter and felt his eyebrows raise as disbelief swept through him. "You don't know?" he repeated, watching as Blaine's eyes returned to him. "How can you not know? Religion is a bunch of nonsense people came up with to make themselves feel better about dying. But, as you clearly stand as proof," he added, waving a hand at Blaine's sprawled out form, "nothing happens."
He rocked back, feeling like he'd just made his point and won the case.
"Nothing?" Blaine repeated, eyebrows raising. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, so his voice was clearer. "I'm nothing? Kurt, I just said that I was stuck, that there was another world out there. I can..." He pushed himself up into a sitting position, folding his legs up underneath him. "I can feel it calling me," he breathed, staring out past Kurt's shoulder. "There's something... Something out there. Is it God?" he asked; he shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. But if death was just death, then I would have died. I would have left this hell-hole of a state like I wanted-" he stopped, his voice twisted into an ugly anger. His entire expression was creased into a scar that Kurt knew would never completely heal.
Blaine breathed for a moment, then closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He seemed to hold it for a long time, then he released it and opened his eyes. "But, I didn't. I'm stuck here instead. So... there has to be a reason, or everyone would be a ghost and we would know that if that was the case. But, we don't. Because not everyone gets stuck; they move on. I..." he trailed off, a helpless look on his face.
Kurt watched him, wished he could reach out and comfort him. But he couldn't, because Kurt was alive and Blaine was not. He was stuck. And Kurt couldn't do anything to help him.
"Blaine," he said quietly.
Blaine blew out another breath and returned his gaze to Kurt. "Sorry," he said, lips quirking upwards. "I, uh, haven't been able to talk to someone for... God, I don't know-"
"Twenty-five years," Kurt answered him softly. "It's been nearly twenty-five years."
Blaine's eyes were wide and horrified. "What?"
"1987," Kurt said, feeling anxiety start to creep into his blood. "That's when you..." he trailed off and licked his bottom lip, feeling suddenly awkward. "Right? It's October of 2010."
Without saying a word, Blaine's arms wrapped themselves around his torso, and his shoulders curled inwards. Slowly, so slowly, his face began to shift and change; it grew rounder and younger, and then, like it was moving far into the distance, the edges began to fade away.
The anxiety exploded into full-out panic. He gasped and fell forward onto his knees, arms reaching out for Blaine. "No! Wait, please! We can talk about something else: music, fashion, or, or, boys!" he blurted, eyes wide and aching.
Blaine froze, snapped back into solidity, looking like a pre-teen with wide, terrified eyes. "What?" he breathed. "What did you say?"
Kurt rocked back, hands falling to his lap. He licked his lips again, trying to regain his heart and mind's balance. "Or something else," he whispered, suddenly feeling like he'd stepped into a trap. "Whatever you'd like."
Blaine kept his arms wrapped around himself. "You know?" he whispered. "About me?"
Kurt tilted his head to the side, fear shuddering into bewilderment. "That you're gay?" he asked softly, gently. It didn't matter; Blaine still flinched at the word. "Of course, I do," Kurt answered, hand twitching on his lap, wishing he could reach out and lay one tender hand on Blaine's knee. "You and this house are legends, you know?"
Blaine pressed his lips together and watched Kurt with wary eyes. His mind seemed to be racing, and after a long moment, he said, "That doesn't bother you?"
It sounded like he could barely believe it and Kurt utterly ached for him. He had thought that he was alone, but Blaine... Blaine had no one at all.
"Only if it doesn't bother you that I am," Kurt answered.
Blaine's mouth fell open a little, and his shoulders stiffened.
Kurt rolled his eyes at his surprise. "Oh, come on. Like it isn't obvious."
Blaine huffed out a small laugh, and with it he opened up like a flower or a bird spreading its wings - he grew taller and sharper and crisper. When his hands fell to the blankets and his legs stretched out against the cushions, he looked sixteen again and remarkably happy.
"Well, I, I..." he babbled, giggling slightly. "I didn't know! I've never... never met someone else, like me," he whispered, smile curving wide and beautiful.
Kurt relaxed, understanding that feeling. It was bubbling up inside of him right now. "I've never met someone like me either," he admitted quietly.
Blaine flushed a little, smile still present, and ducked his head to stare at his lap. His shoulders shifted a little, and finally he said, "It's got to be better, right? For people like us?" He lifted his head and pinned Kurt with huge, hopeful eyes.
Kurt exhaled and glanced away, thinking about the slushy he had received just yesterday. Better. Were things actually better in this lovely state of Ohio?
"They're still hard," he admitted softly, fingers pulling at his pant fabric. "People still judge us-" and oh, what it felt like to be included in an 'us'! - "Bullying still happens, and so do hate crimes. But, we're... we're still people. We can join the army, or get married, or-"
"Married?" Blaine repeated, voice hushed. His eyes lit up and started glowing in the lamplight, and his lips spread out into a wonderfully awestruck smile. "People... people get married?"
And, oh, Blaine. If only you'd held on a little bit longer. "In some states," Kurt clarified. "Not everywhere. Not here."
That didn't seem to upset Blaine. He curled his legs back into his chest and wrapped his arms around them; it was a move of childlike containment, like he needed to hold his happiness close to him, and not of defensive protection. He rested his chin on his knees and sighed, eyelashes fluttering and catching the glow of the lights, shadows dancing on his cheekbones. "Married," he breathed. "God."
Kurt's smile was warm - how could one not smile at such a beautiful sight? - but brushed with pity. Oh, all the things that Blaine had missed. "New York is safe," he continued. "That's where I'm going after graduation."
Blaine's smile strengthened and aimed right at Kurt's heart. "I've always loved New York," he admitted. "What are you gonna do there?"
Kurt raised his chin proudly. "Broadway," he announced. "I'm going to apply to NYADA next year," he added.
Blaine blinked and tilted his head to the side. "NYADA?"
"New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts," Kurt recited. "It's the very best."
"The very best, huh?" Blaine's eyes danced. "Then I'm sure you'll fit in perfectly."
Kurt felt his face flush and warmth fill his lungs so he could barely breathe from the glow from that smile. "You, you don't mean that," he whispered.
"Of course I do," Blaine argued, raising his head. "I've heard you sing; you're incredible."
Kurt ducked his head low, and stared at the toes peeking out from Blaine's pant leg. "Thank you," he breathed.
"I mean it. You're going to be famous someday; I can tell."
Kurt squirmed under the eyes he could feel watching him and the words of praise flowing from that beautiful mouth. He didn't know what to do with such praise; no one but his father ever seemed to realize how much he needed it. In fact, no one else seemed to see him at all. But here was this boy, this ghost he'd only known for about a week, who understood him and saw him and knew him...
It was more than Kurt had ever thought possible.
He breathed in shakily, then raised his head, trying for an impish smile. "Well, although I do love being the centre of attention, I think it's time for a change of subject, don't you?"
Blaine grinned and rolled his eyes playfully, releasing his legs and letting them fall back onto the cushions. "All right, Kurt. What would you like to do instead?"
Kurt glanced around, eyes darting around the room. They finally landed on a pillow near his left hip. Carefully, he began to reach for it. "Hm..." he mused, aiming to distract the ghost watching him with curious eyes. "I think... I would like... a rematch!" he snapped, fingers closing around the pillow - one of Blaine's, of course - and gripping it so he could whack Blaine with it.
It must have taken Blaine by surprise, because it actually hit him unlike half of Kurt's other attacks earlier that night. It smacked him right in the face and knocked him flat on his back, a good "Oof!" escaping his mouth with his breath.
Kurt scrambled up to his feet, pillow ready for another attack. He watched Blaine lie on the cushions, a smile splitting his face. "Bring it, Anderson," he said.
Slowly, Blaine blinked his eyes open and looked up at Kurt, a smirk growing on his lips. "Oh, it is so brought," he said, arms reaching for the other pillows.
Kurt moved quickly, feet kicking the other pillows out of Blaine's reach and then skipping around him, giving him another good swat with the pillow as he went. Blaine yelped, and rolled over with his arms covering his head. He got to his hands and knees and narrowed his eyes at Kurt.
Kurt wiggled slightly, feeling like a cat stalking its prey. "Come on, then. I'm waiting."
Blaine exhaled loudly, then dropped back to the ground, rolling until he reached a pillow. He grabbed it and pulled it underneath his chest, keeping it trapped between him and the floor. He chewed at his lip, eyes flying around the room.
Kurt sighed heavily, lowering the pillow and resting it on one hip. "Oh, come on. You are so slow," he teased.
Blaine huffed again and got to his feet, pillow held firmly in his two hands. "You should quit while you're ahead, Hummel."
Kurt scoffed. "I'll beat you this time. Even if you do cheat again," he said, narrowing his eyes and crouching low, prepared for battle.
Blaine blinked wide, faux-innocent eyes. "Cheat? Moi?"
"Oui," Kurt snapped. "You."
Blaine pursed his lips, bouncing on the heels of his feet. "Well, I guess that's just an advantage to being a ghost, now isn't it?" And then he grinned, before jumping forward, pillow whacking Kurt right in the chest.
Kurt squawked and turned to retaliate, growling when Blaine just faded through it. "Cheater!" he snapped.
Blaine's laughter rang out until he yelped when Kurt managed to hit him in the back of the legs. And then he started to laugh again when Kurt just pelted him with as many hits as he could get it.
The clock in the kitchen, frozen on 11:27, was right for the second time that day.