Flicker from View (15/25)
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.
A/N: I AM SO SORRY. This is crunch time for me, and I was trying to write, but I've been writing two papers plus a script, and still have another two papers and a film project to go, plus a dog in heat and brothers on a trip; and my life is really busy right now. I know that these are excuses and not reasons, but it's still the truth.
I wrote this and meant to post it last night, but got called in to work instead. -_- So. Here's this chapter. It's fairly cute, I think. Um. Next time you guys see me, it's going to be because I have everything school-related done. Which means you may have to wait another two weeks for an update.
BUT I SWEAR THIS WILL BE FINISHED BY APRIL 24TH. Even if it means I stay up late writing - I'm leaving for three weeks the next day and I will not do that to you. Especially since after this chapter, we hit a stride. So, it's probably better I'm doing it this way (I'm trying to convince myself.)
(Song used is "Make Damn Sure" by Taking Back Sunday. Because it was appropriate.)
Long author's note is long and over.
Chapter Fifteen
The newly combined family of the Hudson-Hummels may not have had a lot of money, but they had managed to find enough to kick the new couple out to Columbus for a short ("But passionate," Carole had chirped; turning her son green, her near-step-son's nose up, and her fiancé's eyes unfocused) weekend. Thankfully, they trusted their sixteen year old sons to keep the house in one piece and not murder each other in the course of three days.
This was helped by Finn likely spending much of it at his friends's houses, and Kurt having different sleepovers with his girls.
Except tonight. Tonight, Kurt had pled exhaustion - planning a wedding had actually made him quite weary - and sworn that he needed a night to himself. Finn was "spending the night at Puck's", which really meant that he and Rachel would go on a date and push her curfew to the limit as the oaf was determined to touch her bra.
Kurt really didn't see the appeal. Bras were very odd. He supposed he could appreciate the synthetic aspect of their construction - some of them were positively gorgeous with the lace and print and fabric - but he wouldn't want to touch them. Or what they supported.
(That was probably why he was gay.)
But, needless to say, Kurt was being left alone. And since he had promised Blaine a visit as soon as the wedding was over (the boy had proved surprisingly helpful on a couple last-minute decisions for a boy raised in the 70s and 80s), Kurt was planning another sleepover. Which was why he had charged up his iPod, dug out his oil lamps, grabbed a couple of huge blankets, collected his favourite issues of Vogue, and climbed into his Navigator.
The drive over was practically second-nature by now, and Kurt tried to block Mrs. Pierce's voice still murmuring in his mind by turning the stereo up. But every song seemed to involve love in one way or another, and then one song even had the nerve to go: I'm gonna make damn sure that you can't ever leave; no, you won't ever get too far from me, you won't ever get too far from me...
Kurt didn't even like that song, for God's sake. Tina was the one who had snuck that one onto his iPod.
By the time he pulled up near the curb, across the street from the Anderson house, his nerves were fairly fried. He sat there for a long moment, letting the silence reign loud and free, his hands flexing on the steering wheel.
To help Blaine move on, to let him go when all he wanted was to keep Blaine close... God, what a job to give him! If he hadn't have already been all too aware of how unfair life was, he would have known it now.
Slowly, taking his time because he was tired and aching and afraid that if he looked at Blaine he would start to cry (but if he didn't see Blaine he was just going to worry and worry and worry), he dragged the blankets, the entertainment, and finally the lamps into the house. He didn't call out to Blaine, not like last time. Instead, he let his thoughts drift as he prepared the area: he pushed the couch to one side, grabbed the cushions off it, threw the blankets over it, lit all the lamps, set up his iPod at a place near at hand, and then organized the magazines into the appropriate order.
While he worked on this last chore, he heard something like a door closing high above his head. He paused for a moment, waited for a voice, and then felt his heart do a twisted flip when he heard (like the sound of the wind) a soft, "Ah ha!"
He settled in and waited. Blaine would come when Blaine was ready.
Blaine took longer to get ready than Kurt thought he would, but that was all right. He flipped through his favourite issue of Vogue and let the easy, soft light of the lamps calm his anxious heart. Finally, there was a soft cough above him, and he raised his head. What he saw made his breath catch in his throat, surrounding the heart that leapt up at the same time.
Blaine stood in the doorway of the living room, in a crisp, clean suit. His hair was gelled back - almost forcefully - and in his hand was a paper flower, folded into a rose-like shape. His foot, covered in a dress shoe, toed the floor, the only visible sign of his nerves.
"Blaine," Kurt breathed. "What..."
Blaine's lips pressed together, and then he exhaled. "Hi, Kurt." He stepped forward, and with every step Kurt's heart hammered harder and louder than the step before. When he was just one step away from Kurt and his cushion bed, he held out the flower. "This is for you."
So carefully, his hands shaking from emotion, he reached up for the flower. Gently, he took it from Blaine's hand - so close and yet so far - and brought it towards his chest, cradling it close to his heart.
"I thought that you should get something for designing such a wonderful wedding," Blaine said, bringing Kurt's attention back up to him. Blaine's jaw did a little twitch, and his hands - now empty - were shoved into his pockets. "I know it's only paper-" he started.
"It's beautiful," Kurt breathed, not sure whether he should look at Blaine and his wonderful eyes, or this beautiful perfect flower that Blaine had made just for him. He finally decided on Blaine, because he could take the flower home with him and stare at it then. Blaine's eyes were lit up and his face happy and relieved, and then Kurt said, "But how do you know the wedding was wonderful?"
Blaine's look was one of incredulous insult. "Because you designed it, dummy. Of course it was wonderful."
And there was the quick thump, thump of a heart, an action that Kurt should have been used to, but still took his breath away every time. Slowly, he swallowed and glanced down at the flower, the slightly yellowed paper with black ink printed. He frowned, curious, and then looked back up at Blaine. "There's writing on this," he said dumbly.
Blaine flushed just a little and shrugged. "Well, I didn't exactly have a lot of choice," he replied, his tone off a little. "So, I improvised."
A beat, and with realization crawling up his spine like a spider, Kurt said, "Blaine, is this from a book?"
Another beat. "Maybe?"
Kurt gaped at him. "Blaine, you ripped a page out of your book to make me a flower?"
Who did that sort of thing? No one that Kurt had ever heard of. It was too much, too big for plain, pale, nobody Kurt Hummel.
Blaine shrugged again. "It's fine, Kurt. I wanted to do something for you."
"This, this is too much," Kurt breathed, gaping at the flower. He had thought it beautiful before, but now it was precious. Priceless.
"Kurt." And suddenly Blaine was right there, kneeling on the cushion with his face scant inches from Kurt's, eyes huge and honest and pleading in all their multicoloured glory. "Please. Just take it."
How to deny him?
"Okay," Kurt breathed, trapped by the green and gold swirling in the brown depths of Blaine's eyes. And then Blaine smiled; and the way his face lit up stabbed Kurt somewhere between his heart and his stomach, stealing his breath away. It took him a moment to rebalance himself, but once he did, he said, "I'll make it up to you."
Blaine raised an unamused eyebrow. "Kurt. You brought me a sleepover. A flower is nothing in comparison."
Kurt looked back down at the flower cupped so gently in his hands, and promised that he would never let anything happen to it. He would put it some place safe, some place where no one else could touch it; and when Blaine left and broke his heart, Kurt would still have it to remind him of these perfect days.
"Thank you," he breathed finally. He swallowed down the wonder until it was safe and tucked up inside of him, then lifted his head. "You know origami?" he asked.
Blaine shrugged a little, changing positions so his legs were folded up under him. "Only a little. Cooper made me learn when he did."
Kurt tilted his head a little, recognition making a small chime in his memory. "You mention him a lot," he said quietly. When Blaine frowned lightly, Kurt clarified with, "Cooper."
Blaine blinked like a small child, wondering and uncertain. "Oh. I... I didn't notice," he said, eyes glancing down. He frowned softly at the blanket he sat on, and reached out with long fingers to play with the somewhat scratchy fabric. He didn't say anything for a long moment, and then suddenly scoffed a little. "I bet he's loving that," he muttered.
There was something decidedly bitter about the way Blaine said that; it was enough to send worry spiking through Kurt. "Who is he?" he asked, lowering his head to try to meet Blaine's eyes.
Blaine raised his head; it was so sudden Kurt actually had to lean back so he didn't crowd the ghost. He sent Kurt another blink of long, full lashes that made something in Kurt's stomach twist, and then that bitter frown curved his lips down again. "My brother," Blaine answered with an eye roll.
Kurt blinked once, then twice, and felt the shock of the picture he thought he'd uncovered shift and break apart again. His brother?
"Your brother?" Kurt echoed, mouth falling open a little.
Blaine nodded, mouth twisting into something less than pleased. "Yeah." He looked over his shoulder and pointed at the room Puckerman had tried to open that lonely night weeks before. "That's his room. As you can see, it's right next to the bathroom. And the kitchen. And the television."
Again, the bitterness. "You and Cooper didn't get along?"
Blaine huffed out a breath. Shifting his shoulders, he changed positions, curling his legs up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his shins. Kurt winced inwardly for the wrinkles that would cause Blaine's suit, but then he noticed the hurt shining through Blaine's skin and sat up a little straighter. "Blaine?" he asked, shifting a little closer.
Blaine sighed and looked away. "Cooper was nine when I was born," he said softly. "Mom got a new job about a year before that, and Dad had just gotten promoted at work." He glanced up, eyes dark and knowing and far too sad. "It's not hard to put two and two together."
Kurt frowned, not quite sure what he meant by that. Something achingly terrible, judging by the look in his eyes. "Are you saying... You weren't planned?" he guessed.
"I wasn't planned," Blaine echoed. "And I wasn't wanted," he added, eyes falling to the floor.
Kurt's jaw dropped a little, and his heart cringed away. He couldn't imagine what it must feel like to think your own family didn't want you. Even at the worst times, even when Kurt had no friends, when Karofsky's shoves were a little harder than usual, when Puckerman's words had been a little bit sharper, he'd known that his dad had loved and wanted him. And every single memory he had of his mother confirmed how much she had loved him, loved him until the moment she died.
And this was Blaine! Precious, perfect, absolutely beautiful Blaine. How could he not be wanted?
"That's why I'm upstairs," Blaine added quietly. "It was the guest room; far away from the bathroom and pretty much everything else."
"Except the music room," Kurt reminded him softly, wishing more than ever that he could touch Blaine. Maybe his love would be able to seep through that way then.
Something glowed soft and wonderful inside of Blaine, and he lifted his head, smiling a soft, pleased smile. "Yeah. At least they gave me that."
Kurt gnawed his bottom lip, trying to think of what he could possibly say. Some words he could say to make Blaine feel like he was wanted, like he was loved. "Why would Cooper teach you origami, if he didn't love you?"
Blaine gave a soft laugh. "Cooper didn't teach me," he said, shaking his head. "We just learned together."
"The difference being?" Kurt asked, raising an eyebrow.
Blaine raised his own triangular eyebrows in response, then straightened, dropping his legs and folding them back under him. He raised his chin, twisted his lips and then, very loudly, in a different voice said, "Squirt! Hey, Blainey! Guess what? We're gonna learn origami!"
He slumped a little, shrinking slightly, and widened his eyes. Suddenly, like the rippling of a sheet in the wind, Blaine changed into a younger, preteen version of himself. "Origami?" he said, his voice higher but just as skeptical as the older one had seemed of his brother's motifs. "The art of paper folding?"
Blaine shifted, changed rapidly like the slow blink of an eye - older Blaine, sitting tall and proud. "Yes; that grand Japanese tradition! We're gonna learn it: just you and I, squirt!"
Younger Blaine, small and annoyed. "I told you not to call me that. And why, Coop? I've got this math test tomorrow-"
Older Blaine, and the vicious mockery of a man Kurt was gaping at. "Math? Blainey, in the real world, you don't use math! You use art."
Smaller Blaine, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Is this for a role?"
Blaine back to pretending to be Cooper. "Blaine. Everything is for a role. Have you learned nothing?"
And then, softly, Blaine shimmered, turned from seventeen and in a suit, to a little younger, a little more insecure (maybe sixteen?) in a pair of loose pajamas, eyes downcast and hair only loosely gelled. He exhaled long and soft before he raised his eyes and asked, "Get the picture?"
"He sounds like quite the character," Kurt said, hearing the stunned quality of his voice.
Blaine rolled his eyes. "Yeah. That's one way to describe him." He shuffled a little, curling deeper into the blanket and, with a strange sense of hesitancy about him, asked, "Can we talk about something else now?"
Kurt blinked, taken by surprised at first followed immediately by being ashamed for not seeing how uncomfortable Blaine was. "Oh! Of course! Um..." He pressed his lips together, glanced around the room and finally landed back on Blaine. "Those are, uh, quite... striking pajamas."
Blaine raised his head, mouth open a little and staring at Kurt. Finally, he pressed his lips together and his eyes glimmered with happiness; his shoulders began to shake and, after another moment, squeaky giggles escaped his mouth.
"Oh, go ahead and laugh!" Kurt snapped, feeling the blush rise in him. "I dare you to do better."
Blaine snorted, a wet, loud sound that was followed by a couple of gasping sobs of laughter. He bent his head, shoulders still shaking, and took several seconds to get himself under control. "Kurt," he finally said. "Thank you."
He raised his head and his eyes were dark and reflecting the flicker of the flames around them. Kurt was suddenly struck by the romantic atmosphere around them: the candles and blankets and soft, wondering eyes. Instead of being scared, though, he felt everything in him soften and calm - like Blaine was the balm to his heart.
He winced inwardly. God, that was cheesy.
"For what?" he asked, curious for the answer, but not desperate for it.
"Being here," Blaine answered promptly. "I was... so lonely for so long, and now... I'm not any more. I can... breathe again. And it's all thanks to you."
Kurt knew he was blushing, and wasn't even ashamed of that fact. "It's my pleasure," he said. "Believe me."
Blaine smiled again, wonderful and soft like the lighting around them, and then slowly leaned back until he fell backwards onto the blankets. With a low groan that made heat spike through Kurt - desire and wanting rising up like a flood - he spread his limbs out so he resembled a starfish, or a child creating a snow angel. He wiggled slightly as Kurt watched with face on fire and heart amused, before he sighed in contentment.
"Sometimes," Blaine said very softly, "life is good."
And Kurt gazed down at this lovely ghost, this ghost that was his for the moment, this boy who thought no one wanted him and still found it within himself to smile, and found his own smile forming on his lips. "Sometimes," he agreed. "And sometimes, it's rather wonderful," he added in a soft voice.
If the way Blaine's head turned slightly to shine a small, glowing smile at him was any indication, then maybe Kurt wasn't as subtle as he thought he was. But, if the firelight in Blaine's eyes was anything to go by, then maybe Blaine felt the same as Kurt. If that was the case, maybe Kurt could be forgiven for being so obvious.
Maybe.
Rating: Mostly PG-13, with some R stuff for triggers.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Except the order of the words.
A/N: I AM SO SORRY. This is crunch time for me, and I was trying to write, but I've been writing two papers plus a script, and still have another two papers and a film project to go, plus a dog in heat and brothers on a trip; and my life is really busy right now. I know that these are excuses and not reasons, but it's still the truth.
I wrote this and meant to post it last night, but got called in to work instead. -_- So. Here's this chapter. It's fairly cute, I think. Um. Next time you guys see me, it's going to be because I have everything school-related done. Which means you may have to wait another two weeks for an update.
BUT I SWEAR THIS WILL BE FINISHED BY APRIL 24TH. Even if it means I stay up late writing - I'm leaving for three weeks the next day and I will not do that to you. Especially since after this chapter, we hit a stride. So, it's probably better I'm doing it this way (I'm trying to convince myself.)
(Song used is "Make Damn Sure" by Taking Back Sunday. Because it was appropriate.)
Long author's note is long and over.
Chapter Fifteen
The newly combined family of the Hudson-Hummels may not have had a lot of money, but they had managed to find enough to kick the new couple out to Columbus for a short ("But passionate," Carole had chirped; turning her son green, her near-step-son's nose up, and her fiancé's eyes unfocused) weekend. Thankfully, they trusted their sixteen year old sons to keep the house in one piece and not murder each other in the course of three days.
This was helped by Finn likely spending much of it at his friends's houses, and Kurt having different sleepovers with his girls.
Except tonight. Tonight, Kurt had pled exhaustion - planning a wedding had actually made him quite weary - and sworn that he needed a night to himself. Finn was "spending the night at Puck's", which really meant that he and Rachel would go on a date and push her curfew to the limit as the oaf was determined to touch her bra.
Kurt really didn't see the appeal. Bras were very odd. He supposed he could appreciate the synthetic aspect of their construction - some of them were positively gorgeous with the lace and print and fabric - but he wouldn't want to touch them. Or what they supported.
(That was probably why he was gay.)
But, needless to say, Kurt was being left alone. And since he had promised Blaine a visit as soon as the wedding was over (the boy had proved surprisingly helpful on a couple last-minute decisions for a boy raised in the 70s and 80s), Kurt was planning another sleepover. Which was why he had charged up his iPod, dug out his oil lamps, grabbed a couple of huge blankets, collected his favourite issues of Vogue, and climbed into his Navigator.
The drive over was practically second-nature by now, and Kurt tried to block Mrs. Pierce's voice still murmuring in his mind by turning the stereo up. But every song seemed to involve love in one way or another, and then one song even had the nerve to go: I'm gonna make damn sure that you can't ever leave; no, you won't ever get too far from me, you won't ever get too far from me...
Kurt didn't even like that song, for God's sake. Tina was the one who had snuck that one onto his iPod.
By the time he pulled up near the curb, across the street from the Anderson house, his nerves were fairly fried. He sat there for a long moment, letting the silence reign loud and free, his hands flexing on the steering wheel.
To help Blaine move on, to let him go when all he wanted was to keep Blaine close... God, what a job to give him! If he hadn't have already been all too aware of how unfair life was, he would have known it now.
Slowly, taking his time because he was tired and aching and afraid that if he looked at Blaine he would start to cry (but if he didn't see Blaine he was just going to worry and worry and worry), he dragged the blankets, the entertainment, and finally the lamps into the house. He didn't call out to Blaine, not like last time. Instead, he let his thoughts drift as he prepared the area: he pushed the couch to one side, grabbed the cushions off it, threw the blankets over it, lit all the lamps, set up his iPod at a place near at hand, and then organized the magazines into the appropriate order.
While he worked on this last chore, he heard something like a door closing high above his head. He paused for a moment, waited for a voice, and then felt his heart do a twisted flip when he heard (like the sound of the wind) a soft, "Ah ha!"
He settled in and waited. Blaine would come when Blaine was ready.
Blaine took longer to get ready than Kurt thought he would, but that was all right. He flipped through his favourite issue of Vogue and let the easy, soft light of the lamps calm his anxious heart. Finally, there was a soft cough above him, and he raised his head. What he saw made his breath catch in his throat, surrounding the heart that leapt up at the same time.
Blaine stood in the doorway of the living room, in a crisp, clean suit. His hair was gelled back - almost forcefully - and in his hand was a paper flower, folded into a rose-like shape. His foot, covered in a dress shoe, toed the floor, the only visible sign of his nerves.
"Blaine," Kurt breathed. "What..."
Blaine's lips pressed together, and then he exhaled. "Hi, Kurt." He stepped forward, and with every step Kurt's heart hammered harder and louder than the step before. When he was just one step away from Kurt and his cushion bed, he held out the flower. "This is for you."
So carefully, his hands shaking from emotion, he reached up for the flower. Gently, he took it from Blaine's hand - so close and yet so far - and brought it towards his chest, cradling it close to his heart.
"I thought that you should get something for designing such a wonderful wedding," Blaine said, bringing Kurt's attention back up to him. Blaine's jaw did a little twitch, and his hands - now empty - were shoved into his pockets. "I know it's only paper-" he started.
"It's beautiful," Kurt breathed, not sure whether he should look at Blaine and his wonderful eyes, or this beautiful perfect flower that Blaine had made just for him. He finally decided on Blaine, because he could take the flower home with him and stare at it then. Blaine's eyes were lit up and his face happy and relieved, and then Kurt said, "But how do you know the wedding was wonderful?"
Blaine's look was one of incredulous insult. "Because you designed it, dummy. Of course it was wonderful."
And there was the quick thump, thump of a heart, an action that Kurt should have been used to, but still took his breath away every time. Slowly, he swallowed and glanced down at the flower, the slightly yellowed paper with black ink printed. He frowned, curious, and then looked back up at Blaine. "There's writing on this," he said dumbly.
Blaine flushed just a little and shrugged. "Well, I didn't exactly have a lot of choice," he replied, his tone off a little. "So, I improvised."
A beat, and with realization crawling up his spine like a spider, Kurt said, "Blaine, is this from a book?"
Another beat. "Maybe?"
Kurt gaped at him. "Blaine, you ripped a page out of your book to make me a flower?"
Who did that sort of thing? No one that Kurt had ever heard of. It was too much, too big for plain, pale, nobody Kurt Hummel.
Blaine shrugged again. "It's fine, Kurt. I wanted to do something for you."
"This, this is too much," Kurt breathed, gaping at the flower. He had thought it beautiful before, but now it was precious. Priceless.
"Kurt." And suddenly Blaine was right there, kneeling on the cushion with his face scant inches from Kurt's, eyes huge and honest and pleading in all their multicoloured glory. "Please. Just take it."
How to deny him?
"Okay," Kurt breathed, trapped by the green and gold swirling in the brown depths of Blaine's eyes. And then Blaine smiled; and the way his face lit up stabbed Kurt somewhere between his heart and his stomach, stealing his breath away. It took him a moment to rebalance himself, but once he did, he said, "I'll make it up to you."
Blaine raised an unamused eyebrow. "Kurt. You brought me a sleepover. A flower is nothing in comparison."
Kurt looked back down at the flower cupped so gently in his hands, and promised that he would never let anything happen to it. He would put it some place safe, some place where no one else could touch it; and when Blaine left and broke his heart, Kurt would still have it to remind him of these perfect days.
"Thank you," he breathed finally. He swallowed down the wonder until it was safe and tucked up inside of him, then lifted his head. "You know origami?" he asked.
Blaine shrugged a little, changing positions so his legs were folded up under him. "Only a little. Cooper made me learn when he did."
Kurt tilted his head a little, recognition making a small chime in his memory. "You mention him a lot," he said quietly. When Blaine frowned lightly, Kurt clarified with, "Cooper."
Blaine blinked like a small child, wondering and uncertain. "Oh. I... I didn't notice," he said, eyes glancing down. He frowned softly at the blanket he sat on, and reached out with long fingers to play with the somewhat scratchy fabric. He didn't say anything for a long moment, and then suddenly scoffed a little. "I bet he's loving that," he muttered.
There was something decidedly bitter about the way Blaine said that; it was enough to send worry spiking through Kurt. "Who is he?" he asked, lowering his head to try to meet Blaine's eyes.
Blaine raised his head; it was so sudden Kurt actually had to lean back so he didn't crowd the ghost. He sent Kurt another blink of long, full lashes that made something in Kurt's stomach twist, and then that bitter frown curved his lips down again. "My brother," Blaine answered with an eye roll.
Kurt blinked once, then twice, and felt the shock of the picture he thought he'd uncovered shift and break apart again. His brother?
"Your brother?" Kurt echoed, mouth falling open a little.
Blaine nodded, mouth twisting into something less than pleased. "Yeah." He looked over his shoulder and pointed at the room Puckerman had tried to open that lonely night weeks before. "That's his room. As you can see, it's right next to the bathroom. And the kitchen. And the television."
Again, the bitterness. "You and Cooper didn't get along?"
Blaine huffed out a breath. Shifting his shoulders, he changed positions, curling his legs up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his shins. Kurt winced inwardly for the wrinkles that would cause Blaine's suit, but then he noticed the hurt shining through Blaine's skin and sat up a little straighter. "Blaine?" he asked, shifting a little closer.
Blaine sighed and looked away. "Cooper was nine when I was born," he said softly. "Mom got a new job about a year before that, and Dad had just gotten promoted at work." He glanced up, eyes dark and knowing and far too sad. "It's not hard to put two and two together."
Kurt frowned, not quite sure what he meant by that. Something achingly terrible, judging by the look in his eyes. "Are you saying... You weren't planned?" he guessed.
"I wasn't planned," Blaine echoed. "And I wasn't wanted," he added, eyes falling to the floor.
Kurt's jaw dropped a little, and his heart cringed away. He couldn't imagine what it must feel like to think your own family didn't want you. Even at the worst times, even when Kurt had no friends, when Karofsky's shoves were a little harder than usual, when Puckerman's words had been a little bit sharper, he'd known that his dad had loved and wanted him. And every single memory he had of his mother confirmed how much she had loved him, loved him until the moment she died.
And this was Blaine! Precious, perfect, absolutely beautiful Blaine. How could he not be wanted?
"That's why I'm upstairs," Blaine added quietly. "It was the guest room; far away from the bathroom and pretty much everything else."
"Except the music room," Kurt reminded him softly, wishing more than ever that he could touch Blaine. Maybe his love would be able to seep through that way then.
Something glowed soft and wonderful inside of Blaine, and he lifted his head, smiling a soft, pleased smile. "Yeah. At least they gave me that."
Kurt gnawed his bottom lip, trying to think of what he could possibly say. Some words he could say to make Blaine feel like he was wanted, like he was loved. "Why would Cooper teach you origami, if he didn't love you?"
Blaine gave a soft laugh. "Cooper didn't teach me," he said, shaking his head. "We just learned together."
"The difference being?" Kurt asked, raising an eyebrow.
Blaine raised his own triangular eyebrows in response, then straightened, dropping his legs and folding them back under him. He raised his chin, twisted his lips and then, very loudly, in a different voice said, "Squirt! Hey, Blainey! Guess what? We're gonna learn origami!"
He slumped a little, shrinking slightly, and widened his eyes. Suddenly, like the rippling of a sheet in the wind, Blaine changed into a younger, preteen version of himself. "Origami?" he said, his voice higher but just as skeptical as the older one had seemed of his brother's motifs. "The art of paper folding?"
Blaine shifted, changed rapidly like the slow blink of an eye - older Blaine, sitting tall and proud. "Yes; that grand Japanese tradition! We're gonna learn it: just you and I, squirt!"
Younger Blaine, small and annoyed. "I told you not to call me that. And why, Coop? I've got this math test tomorrow-"
Older Blaine, and the vicious mockery of a man Kurt was gaping at. "Math? Blainey, in the real world, you don't use math! You use art."
Smaller Blaine, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Is this for a role?"
Blaine back to pretending to be Cooper. "Blaine. Everything is for a role. Have you learned nothing?"
And then, softly, Blaine shimmered, turned from seventeen and in a suit, to a little younger, a little more insecure (maybe sixteen?) in a pair of loose pajamas, eyes downcast and hair only loosely gelled. He exhaled long and soft before he raised his eyes and asked, "Get the picture?"
"He sounds like quite the character," Kurt said, hearing the stunned quality of his voice.
Blaine rolled his eyes. "Yeah. That's one way to describe him." He shuffled a little, curling deeper into the blanket and, with a strange sense of hesitancy about him, asked, "Can we talk about something else now?"
Kurt blinked, taken by surprised at first followed immediately by being ashamed for not seeing how uncomfortable Blaine was. "Oh! Of course! Um..." He pressed his lips together, glanced around the room and finally landed back on Blaine. "Those are, uh, quite... striking pajamas."
Blaine raised his head, mouth open a little and staring at Kurt. Finally, he pressed his lips together and his eyes glimmered with happiness; his shoulders began to shake and, after another moment, squeaky giggles escaped his mouth.
"Oh, go ahead and laugh!" Kurt snapped, feeling the blush rise in him. "I dare you to do better."
Blaine snorted, a wet, loud sound that was followed by a couple of gasping sobs of laughter. He bent his head, shoulders still shaking, and took several seconds to get himself under control. "Kurt," he finally said. "Thank you."
He raised his head and his eyes were dark and reflecting the flicker of the flames around them. Kurt was suddenly struck by the romantic atmosphere around them: the candles and blankets and soft, wondering eyes. Instead of being scared, though, he felt everything in him soften and calm - like Blaine was the balm to his heart.
He winced inwardly. God, that was cheesy.
"For what?" he asked, curious for the answer, but not desperate for it.
"Being here," Blaine answered promptly. "I was... so lonely for so long, and now... I'm not any more. I can... breathe again. And it's all thanks to you."
Kurt knew he was blushing, and wasn't even ashamed of that fact. "It's my pleasure," he said. "Believe me."
Blaine smiled again, wonderful and soft like the lighting around them, and then slowly leaned back until he fell backwards onto the blankets. With a low groan that made heat spike through Kurt - desire and wanting rising up like a flood - he spread his limbs out so he resembled a starfish, or a child creating a snow angel. He wiggled slightly as Kurt watched with face on fire and heart amused, before he sighed in contentment.
"Sometimes," Blaine said very softly, "life is good."
And Kurt gazed down at this lovely ghost, this ghost that was his for the moment, this boy who thought no one wanted him and still found it within himself to smile, and found his own smile forming on his lips. "Sometimes," he agreed. "And sometimes, it's rather wonderful," he added in a soft voice.
If the way Blaine's head turned slightly to shine a small, glowing smile at him was any indication, then maybe Kurt wasn't as subtle as he thought he was. But, if the firelight in Blaine's eyes was anything to go by, then maybe Blaine felt the same as Kurt. If that was the case, maybe Kurt could be forgiven for being so obvious.
Maybe.