Too in Love to Let it Go, Chapter 16
Author: gingerandfair/lavender_love00
Genre: AU/Married!Klaine/future-fic
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 4800/200,000
Spoilers: none
Chapter summary: In which Kurt throws himself into work, Blaine has a hard time being alone (and a harder time in certain company), and pulling themselves back together might be a little more difficult than they thought.
Prologue (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 1 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 2 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 3 ( LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 4 ( LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 5 ( LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 6 ( LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 7 ( LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 8 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) Chapter 9 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 10 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 11 ( LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 12 ( LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 13 ( LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 14 ( LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 15 on (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C)
Read Chapter 16 on AO3/Tumblr/S&C
Chapter 16
Thursday, July 20th, 2023
Kurt sat at his design table, bent low over the fabric spread out before him. His neck ached and his eyes burned - he'd been working for hours with no break, focused intensely on perfecting every cut, every stitch he made.
He'd been back at work for a week and a half. What had started as two days a week when he'd talked with Blaine had immediately turned into every other day when he talked with Marc. He notified Blaine via text message which, in hindsight, hadn't been the best idea after he came home to a silent Blaine with a very cold shoulder. But the more he worked, cold Blaine turned into a very clingy Blaine, and it became harder and harder to be in the house with him. By Friday, every other day had turned into every day, and by his second Tuesday back, Kurt was already going in early and staying late.
Kurt knew that Blaine was upset with him, but design was such a welcome relief. Blaine was smothering him when he was home, angry when he wasn't. An empty look washed over his eyes anytime Kurt had to leave his side, even if it was just to take Romeo for a walk. The studio let him breathe and gave him space, and the fabric bent to his whims, gave him control. Fabric - carefully crafted into a bomber jacket, a crisp pair of pants - could never break his heart.
He took a deep breath as he made the final cut, fingers cramping in the scissors he held, and he stood, twisting his neck from side to side to try and loosen it. Only then did his hands begin to shake, did his stomach roll with the nausea that never fully went away.
He made his way to the break room, dug in the fridge for the 6 oz. carton of blueberry yogurt he'd brought with him - the only thing he'd eat all day, other than the pretzels he’d choked down that morning. He scraped his plastic spoon over the cold yogurt, gathering the top layer into a small, precise bite, and licked it off the spoon. He continued in this manner for the next five minutes, until Tori, one of his fellow designers, burst into the room.
"You look crazy eating that way, you know," she said, grabbing a carton of Ben & Jerry's out of the freezer and digging into it.
"I have to take little bites when I’m stressed," Kurt explained, licking another bite from his spoon. "I feel like I'm gagging if I have too much in my mouth."
Tori raised her eyebrows. "Strange," she said.
"Yeah, well …" Kurt trailed off, shrugging his shoulders. He glanced at his watch - ten minutes left.
"Oh, I almost forgot - that jacket you were working on earlier? Marc says he wants you to come by his office at nine tomorrow morning so he can discuss it with you."
Kurt felt like he was wilting. If he couldn't have this, his only means of sanity… "Oh god - how upset is he?"
"He didn't seem to be upset at all," Tori said. "Just asked me to pass along the message. He had a Louis Vuitton meeting that he had to leave early for today."
Kurt sighed. "Thanks for telling me."
"Sure." She rose to leave, taking her ice cream with her. "Oh, and Hummel?"
He looked up.
"Take care of yourself, okay? You look like shit."
"Thank you, Tori." Kurt rolled his eyes and licked his spoon again.
"No, seriously - we need you around here, and I don't want you keeling over on us. I'm just worried, okay?"
"You don't need to worry about me."
Tori's eyes darted around the break room, and she stalked forward, leaning against the table Kurt sat at, the tattooed flowers curling up her arm and over her shoulder staring him in the face. "You repeat this to no one," she said, a menacing expression on her face. "I try to keep a badass rep around here, you know that."
Kurt nodded.
"I lost a baby a couple years ago," Tori continued. "I know how hard it is, even when you tell yourself it's not. You came back to work really fast, which I get, believe me - but don't be afraid to take more time off, or ask for help if you need it. I won't mention it to anybody else, but I'm serious, Kurt - take care of yourself."
He sighed, and gave her a little salute with his first two fingers. "Aye-aye, Captain."
The door shut behind her, and he closed his eyes, letting his tongue drag over the curve of the spoon, the yogurt dissolving in his mouth.
* * *
He left me.
Blaine lay on his back on the couch, listlessly throwing Romeo's tennis ball for him, a mindless, repetitive movement as he tried not to watch the seconds tick by on their large wall clock. He was miserable.
He left me for clothes.
He hadn't even tried to fight it when Kurt said he needed to go back to work. It wasn't fair, the way he'd presented the idea without pretense, when Blaine was pliant and agreeable after the best sex they'd had in a long time.
Logically, Blaine knew that Kurt wasn't leaving him by himself out of spite, but as the tennis ball hit the floor for the thirtieth time that afternoon, echoing through their too-quiet living room, it felt like he was.
It was just that Blaine had nothing to do but sleep - he'd slept until ten that morning, barely remembering the kiss that Kurt dropped on his forehead as he rushed out the door. Blaine had cracked open his eyes as the door clicked shut. The sun hadn't even risen yet. He'd groaned, rolled back over, and went back to sleep for another four hours or so.
Naps were becoming more and more frequent, showers less so, and the last two days, Blaine hadn't even changed out of his pajamas. What was the point? He wasn't leaving the house, hadn’t been outside in three days, hadn't talked to anyone except Kurt in four. He'd tried to write, especially in those first days that Kurt had been gone - tried to inspire himself to some form of the motivation that Kurt seemed to inherently possess, but he soon got tired of staring at blank Word documents. Feeling like a failure, he gave up.
A cold, wet nose nudging his hand brought Blaine out of his thoughts and back to reality, and he realized he hadn't thrown the ball in several minutes. He reached down to grab it, but his hand instead felt the soft, worn leather of Romeo's leash. The puppy was sitting obediently at the foot of the couch, leash in his mouth, looking up at Blaine with expectant eyes.
Blaine sighed heavily. "Romeo, bud, I just really don't feel like it today," he said, feeling guilty as the puppy whined and nudged him with his paw.
"I promise I'll make it up to you," Blaine said, reaching down to scratch behind Romeo's ears. "Don't you want to come up here on the couch with me? We can watch a movie," he prodded gently, patting the open space in front of his chest.
Romeo whined once again, but dropped the leash and jumped up, curling against Blaine's torso. He licked his hand a few times, then let out a sigh and rested his head on Blaine's arm. The warm, furry little body gave Blaine a bit of comfort, and he pulled Romeo closer to him and nuzzled his face into the puppy's fur. "I'm sorry," he breathed, and got a lick to the face in reply. "You understand, yeah?"
Reaching over to the coffee table, Blaine grabbed the remote and his phone. He turned on the TV for background noise, then tapped out a text with one hand.
To: Kurt
Do you know what time you'll be home tonight?
He had to wait half an hour for a reply, dozing in and out of consciousness as the Italian and Spanish soccer teams battled it out on the field. Finally, his phone buzzed, and he jerked awake.
From: Kurt
Late probably. Still a lot to get done. I want to
finish the look I'm working on.
Blaine sighed, and texted back with sleepy fingers.
To: Kurt
Can you give me an estimate or something? I'm
really lonely and I'd like to see you.
From: Kurt
I really don't know, Blaine. You can bring dinner
by if you want, though.
To: Kurt
That'd be nice if you'd actually eat something for
a change.
From: Kurt
What's THAT supposed to mean?
Blaine didn't reply, not wanting to get into an argument. He set the phone on the floor and shifted into a more comfortable position, nuzzling into Romeo's fur again as the puppy snuffled in his sleep.
* * *
Friday, July 21st, 2023
After a tense and quiet night with Blaine, Kurt awoke an hour early the next morning. He wanted time to physically and mentally prepare for his meeting with Marc - he couldn't just waltz in with wrinkled clothes and no vision for the look he was working on.
After a long shower, Kurt styled his hair to perfection - every strand was held in place by either pomade or spray - and went through four different combinations of outfits before he finally deemed one appropriate.
He planned his strategy over a handful of pretzels at the kitchen table, his typical breakfast now. He had to find the perfect combination of flexible but firm, sure in his plans for the jacket, but willing to compromise if his boss wanted him to.
Kurt was waiting outside of Marc's office when he arrived.
"What's this?" he asked as Kurt pressed a Starbucks cup into his hand.
"Grande nonfat caramel and honey half-caf latte with whipped cream and extra caramel sauce," Kurt recited.
"You must've talked to the interns," Marc said with a smile. "You look wonderful today, by the way."
Kurt swelled with pride - this was going well. He gave himself a mental pat on the back for thinking to put on under-eye concealer that morning, and for remembering his boss's favorite coffee order.
"Come on in," Marc offered, unlocking the door.
"You wanted to speak with me about the bomber jacket? With the yellow jeans?" Kurt asked, breathing slow and deep to quiet his nerves.
"Well, partly - why don't you have a seat?" Marc said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.
The meeting went well, for the most part - Marc praised him for his excellent work, even predicting that Kurt would be his competition in the future. But there was an edge of concern to his voice that Kurt wasn't used to hearing - and it wasn't concern for Kurt's work, but for his and Blaine's wellbeing. He left Marc's office half an hour later feeling confused, unsure of whether he was expected to take more time off, or to continue working like he had been.
"How'd it go?" Tori asked when she saw him in the hall, walking toward his workstation.
"Okay, I think," Kurt said, frowning at the glances everyone in the studio was giving him. "He's worried."
"We're all worried, Kurt," Tori said softly.
"Well, you shouldn't be. I'm fine," he said coldly, and wandered off to find a bolt of silk fabric.
* * *
From: Alex
Have you fallen off the face of the
earth or something?
Blaine jerked awake to the sound of his phone buzzing impatiently on the desk. Bored, he'd tried his hand at writing again, and he must've fallen asleep at the computer. He looked up to his screen and saw the lone words on the screen.
I suck at this.
He sighed, closed his laptop, and picked up his phone.
To: Alex
Basically. Might as well have, anyway.
From: Alex
You hanging in there? Any new stuff I
should know about?
Blaine only wished that Kurt would reply to his texts as quickly as his agent did.
To: Alex
Nothing. Can't write. Not feeling great
about much of anything these days, tbh.
From: Alex
You should come out with me tomorrow
night! You need to get out of the house.
Blaine narrowed his eyes at the screen. Going out and being social was the last thing he wanted to do.
To: Alex
I don't know - I'm not very good company
lately…
From: Alex
I bet you would be if you got enough liquor
in you. Don't you want to just get away for
a little while?
Blaine rubbed his hand over his face tiredly. Going out didn't sound particularly appealing, but getting away - that sounded perfect. It wasn't like Kurt was going to do anything with him on Saturday night anyway.
To: Alex
…Okay. I guess. But I'm warning you now,
I'm kind of a party-pooper these days.
From: Alex
Excellent! I'll pick you up at seven.
* * *
Saturday, July 22nd, 2023
"See, don't you feel better?" Alex asked, clapping Blaine on the back.
Three beers in, and Blaine did feel better. He felt lighter than he had in a month, actually, in spite of his heavy, clumsy limbs that didn't seem to want to do what they were supposed to. The bar they were sitting in - one he'd never been to - was the welcomest escape he could've ever imagined.
"Yeah, I do," he nodded, and time was either slowing down or speeding up, because his head seemed to be moving a lot faster than the rest of the room. "A little dizzy, but - yeah. Better."
"Good," Alex said, pushing another beer in front of him. "I'm really digging the beard, by the way. What're you going for, like beat poet-meets-hipster or something?"
Blaine rubbed his face, feeling the scraggly dark hairs under his fingers. "Oh. I wasn't really going for anything - I just haven't felt like shaving lately. Kurt hates it."
"Well, it looks good on you." Alex took a big gulp of beer. "So, you say you can't write lately?"
"No, but I think I could if I felt like this - we need to do this more often," Blaine said, taking a long draw from his drink. He leaned his head back, and it was like the world was rolling out from underneath him. He threw an arm out to balance himself, but Alex caught him by the shoulder.
"Damn, you're kind of a lightweight, aren't you?" Alex commented with a smirk.
Blaine smiled sheepishly. "I can't help it that I'm small."
"Nah, I'm not talking about that - I know a bunch of little guys that can keep up with me just fine," he said. "You just don't drink much, do you? I mean, I've never been to a bar with you before -"
"I drink with Kurt," Blaine said defensively.
"Yeah, and I know exactly where that leads," Alex smirked. "I bet you guys don't even get through a whole bottle of wine before you're fucking like rabbits."
Blaine's face burned crimson, mainly because it was true. "God, Alex …" he said. "I can hold my alcohol just fine." He got up from the table to prove his point and staggered to the bar. "Shot of bourbon, straight up," he told the bartender.
"Blaine, that might not be the best -" Alex started to say as he followed Blaine to the bar, but Blaine ignored him, wincing sharply as the bourbon burned all the way down his throat.
"Jesus," he hissed, coughing a little. He didn't even like bourbon.
"Look, you don't have to proveanything to me, alright?" Alex said as he grasped Blaine's shoulders and steered him away from the bar. "I get it - you drink, okay. Just - no more shots. I don't want you getting sick."
"I'm not gonna get sick," Blaine retorted, feeling petulant.
"Whatever you say, man. How is Kurt, anyway? Is he holding up alright?" Alex was clearly changing the subject, and part of Blaine wanted to smile at the can of worms that he had no idea he'd just opened. Most of Blaine just felt irritable.
"If holding up alright means not eating and cleaning like obsessively, then sure," Blaine said sarcastically. "He was mopping the whole fucking house when I left." His eyes widened as a burp escaped his lips. "All he said when I left was -" he paused, not really wanting to repeat what Kurt had said when he left. "You know what? Let's not talk about Kurt. It's killing my buzz."
"Okay," Alex said jovially. "What do you want to talk about, then?"
Blaine couldn't think of anything he wanted to talk about. Everything in his life seemed sad, and he didn't want to talk or think about sad things. "Actually - Alex, let's sing. Can we sing? Can you sing?"
"Oh my god, you're one of those drunks?" Alex groaned. "Fuck. You should've warned me."
"What's wrong with singing?" Blaine said, surprised when the words came out a little slurred. He blinked slowly as the shot began to hit him harder. "Music makes me happy."
Alex looked at him for a long moment. "Makes you happy, huh? Well, shit, that's what we're going for, I guess."
"Then we can?"
"There's a karaoke bar down the street," Alex said with a sigh. "Think you can walk?"
"Think I can walk," Blaine scoffed, letting go of the bar. He promptly tipped to the side, and had to grab Alex's arm to keep from falling. "Oops."
"Dammit, I'm going to regret this, aren't I?" Alex muttered, and Blaine felt himself being half-dragged through the bar and out into the warm summer night.
Staggering down the sidewalk, Blaine felt as free as a bird. He threw his arms above his head and spun in a dizzy circle. "The lights, Alex. God, I love this city!" Everything felt beautiful and rich and more, and part of him wished that Kurt were there with him to feel it, too.
But once they got in the karaoke bar, smoky and dark and crowded, he felt a little less like he could fly away. "I need another beer," he muttered, and made his way toward the bar, chugging down half a glass before Alex could even get to him. The minute he started to sober up, all the bad feelings came rushing back. He just needed to stay right on the edge of drunk, and he'd feel fine …
Alex's hand fell heavy on his arm. "Blaine, man, I know I said I was going to get you wasted, but it might be time to slow down a little bit."
"I'm fine, Alex. Now - karaoke!" Blaine announced happily, shrugging Alex's hand off and stumbling to the stage. He selected his song and finished his beer while he waited for the two people in front of him to finish singing.
By the time he took the stage, he felt as if he'd been hit in the head with a large brick. The lights made him feel strangely disoriented, the floor seemed to be moving under his feet and whenever he tried to move, it was as if he was swimming through Jell-O. But then the music started. Blaine carefully made his way to the mic, and he suddenly felt better - he'd always felt more at home with a microphone in his hand, after all. It'd been a long time.
"She's into superstition, black cats and voodoo dolls," he sang, and a few catcalls rang out in the bar. "I feel a premonition - that girl's gonna make me fall."
And just like that, Blaine Warbler was back. The alcohol made him loose, and he didn't hold back, rolling his hips through the verse. His voice grew stronger and stronger as he sang. By the first chorus, a group of girls gathered at the foot of the stage, reaching up toward him and loudly singing along with him.
"Her lips are devil-red and her skin's the color mocha, she will wear you out, livin' la vida loca … livin' la vida loca …"
When the music break came, Blaine pulled out the best salsa moves he had, but he tripped over the microphone cord and almost landed on his ass on the stage. He managed to recover, laughing it off, but by the end of the song, his head was spinning.
"Oh, god," he moaned to Alex as he staggered off the stage. "I'm so dizzy. I might've over-due - over-did - over - fuck."
"Okay, Tiger," Alex said. "Let's get you outside - I think you need some air."
Blaine felt claustrophobic as they exited, Alex's hands under his armpits, prodding him to move forward. Several of the girls that had been dancing at the foot of the stage grabbed at him, their too-long fingernails stroking down his arm and making him entirely uncomfortable, and one of them actually smacked his ass.
"Not on your team," Alex said, annoyed, and pushed Blaine toward the back of the bar.
Once they were outside, the fresh air helped a little. Blaine took slow, deep breaths, closing his eyes, then opened them again when that didn't help at all. He tried to keep his eyes focused as Alex held up three pieces of paper. "You would've been a very successful straight guy. Numbers," he said. "All girls. You made quite the impression in there, Casanova. I'm kind of jealous."
"You call them, then," Blaine mumbled, not sure whether to clutch at his head or his stomach, which was beginning to feel rather unsettled. "I'm ready to go home."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm working on it," Alex said, hailing a cab. "Hold your damn horses."
* * *
"Kurt - gonna be so mad," Blaine mumbled as Alex half-carried him into their building. His whole 'stay on the edge of drunk' plan hadn't quite worked the way he'd hoped. That last beer had been a really bad idea, and drinking it as fast as he had was a worse one.
"Don't worry - I'm sure I'll take most of the shit," Alex said, manhandling him into the elevator.
The doors closed and the elevator started to rise, too fast. Blaine was feeling greener by the second. He swallowing hard as he lurched out of the elevator, digging his key out of his pocket to hand to Alex.
"Kurt!" Alex shouted into the condo as he kicked the door open, dragging Blaine inside. "Get up - you're probably gonna need a bucket in a minute!"
Kurt's face appeared from around the corner, red and shiny with exertion, a bandana tied around his forehead. "What?"
Alex cocked his head, confused. "Are you still cleaning?" he asked.
Blaine swallowed hard again. The room was tilting hard to the right under his feet, and he grabbed the wall trying to keep himself upright. His stomach churned, and he closed his eyes.
"Yeah, just the inside of the oven," Kurt answered. "What about a bucket?"
"Wellll," Alex drawled, "Blaine's a little -"
Blaine cursed, interrupting him. He bent low, resting his hands on his knees and, in one large heave, emptied the contents of his stomach all over their clean hardwoods.
Kurt's eyes widened. "You are fucking kidding me."
Blaine was shaking violently. He didn't feel any better at all - weren't you supposed to feel better after throwing up? He felt worse. He fell to his hands and knees, trying his best to avoid landing in his own vomit.
"Sorry, man - I didn't realize he was such a lightweight. You got some towels we can clean that up with somewhere?" Alex asked.
"You are going to throw him in the bed and put a trash can next to him and tell him I will burn all of his bowties if he pukes anywhere but there," Kurt snarled in Blaine's direction. "I will clean up this mess."
"Kurt - I'm sorry -" Blaine croaked, but Kurt was having none of it.
"I will deal with you later," he glowered, "after I have wiped all of your vomit off my clean floor."
"Kurt -"
"Bed!" Kurt thundered, and Blaine felt himself being picked up and carried down the hall. The whole world was spinning, and the happy, buzzed feeling he had earlier was long gone.
Alex set him gently in the bed. "Good luck, man," he said softly as he tugged Blaine's shoes off and placed a trashcan next to his head. "I'm sorry you got so sick. We'll have to do this again sometime. Just - less alcohol, okay?"
"Deal," Blaine managed. "Oh, fuck …" He leaned over the side of the bed and threw up in the trashcan again. He felt like he was going to die.
Alex sighed. "Here, let me get that for you," he said, but Blaine held a hand up, shaking his head, and threw up a third time.
"Fuck," he groaned again, laying his head back down on the cool pillow. Alex retreated, and Blaine could hear him asking Kurt if he needed to stay and help.
"You have done plenty," came Kurt's brusque answer. "I can take care of my husband just fine, thank you. You're free to go."
Blaine heard the door shut, and soon after, Kurt's footsteps approaching the bedroom.
"I hope you're happy," he said sharply, opening the door. "I hope you had a fantastic time tonight, Blaine."
"I'm sorry," Blaine grunted, "I didn't -"
"I don't care what you did or didn't mean to do," Kurt snapped. "I care that there's a huge puddle of puke on the floor that I just cleaned and waxed, Blaine. I care that you were gone all night when I maybe could've used some company -"
"You use company? You left me, Kurt - I'm miserable -"
"Of course you're miserable. You're drunk, Blaine." Kurt set a tall glass of water and two pills on Blaine's nightstand. "Drink this, take those, and don't say a damn word about the hangover you're going to have tomorrow. I'm going to go finish cleaning up after you, and you'd better be asleep when I come to bed."
"Kurt -"
"We're done talking about this right now. Goodnight."
Blaine wanted to cry when the door slammed shut. He fumbled around on the dresser, almost knocking the water over, and took a hesitant sip when he finally managed to get his hand around the glass. Seconds later, he was bending again, coughing, heaving what little he had left in his stomach into the trashcan. There was no way he was going to be able to keep the pills down.
He managed to swish some water around in his mouth, ridding himself of the sour taste, and rolled over, pulling the blankets up over his head. He deserved every moment of the hangover he was sure to have the next morning.
* * *
Angry tears sprang to Kurt's eyes as he swiped at the floor with an old towel, batting Romeo away from the mess.
A bitter sense of resentment rose in his chest. He wondered when (and if) it was ever going to be Blaine's turn to take care of him, if he would ever just be allowed to sleep the day and the night away. He wondered what would happen if he fell ill, if he couldn't do chores or go to work or clean up Blaine's vomit.
He chuckled darkly to himself as he picked up the soiled towels and threw them in the washing machine. The answer was obvious: they wouldn’t get done. The washing machine began to rumble, and he sighed as he headed back into the hallway to spray Lysol on the floor.
This is what her first stomach bug might have felt like, a small voice in the back of his head said as Kurt got down on his knees to better clean the floor.
"No," he said, out loud and sharp, surprising himself. It wouldn't have felt like this, because the Blaine Kurt married - not this Blaine, wasted without him in their bed - would have had Violet in the bath already, singing her soothing songs while she cried, and he'd be making sippy-cups of Pedialyte to keep in the fridge for her to drink when she was ready. It wouldn't have felt like this because he'd be hurrying to pet her hair and fret over her rather than stewing over soiled towels and snarling at Alex.
It wouldn't have felt like this, because if Violet was there, they wouldn't have a crater in the middle of their lives, wrecking everything they once held dear.
Chapter 17