Too in Love to Let it Go, Chapter 22
Author: gingerandfair/lavender_love00
Genre: AU/Married!Klaine/future-fic
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 10,800/200,000
Spoilers: none
Chapter summary: In which Blaine hits rock bottom and slowly tries to claw his way back up, Kurt and Rachel have a fight, and baby steps are better than no steps at all.
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) - Chapter 16 on ( LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 17 on ( LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 18 on (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 19 on ( LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 20 on ( LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 21 on (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C)
Read Chapter 22 on AO3/Tumblr/S&C
Chapter 22
Wednesday, September 13th, 2023
Blaine -
We're out of beer, sandwich bread, cereal and milk. I hate to ask, but could you run by Fine Fare and get that plus anything else you want while I'm at work today? And maybe get some chicken, too - I've been wanting to grill out while it's still warm enough in the evenings. See you tonight!
-Nick
Blaine blinked blearily as he read the note again, then looked at the clock.
10:30.
Well. He'd slept late again. Some days were just barely worth getting out of bed for. It appeared that this was one of them.
He trudged to the bathroom and reluctantly took a quick, hot shower, letting the water roll through his curls and down his face in rivulets. He'd begun to hate showering lately - the scents were so painfully familiar that he'd actually bought different soap and shampoo, but the steamy, quiet room still allowed too much time and space for his mind to wander.
Once he was just clean enough for it to count, he yanked on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a cardigan and made the walk to the market. It was a brisk day. Fall was certainly seeping its way into the city, and the air held a crisp sharpness that Blaine still likened to gray dress pants, navy blazers, and his grandma's secret-recipe pumpkin muffins. Soon it would be time to break out the scarves, and -
No. Scarves made him think of Kurt and their conversation a few days ago, but thinking of Kurt and home also made him think of Violet. He couldn't think of Violet, couldn't let his heart tear open like that, wouldn't expose himself to anguish like he'd never felt, so …
He thought of his grocery list instead. Beer. Milk. Cereal. Bread. Chicken.
He repeated the five items in his head over and over until the thought of scarves and Kurt and Violet had disappeared, and he was in front of the supermarket. He picked up a basket, turned around, and promptly collided with Rachel.
She shrieked, her hand going immediately inside her purse where he knew she kept her little tube of mace, and he held up his hands.
"Rach! Calm down! It's just me," Blaine said, backing away from her.
"Oh. Blaine," she said, withdrawing her hand. She blinked at him. "Where have you been?"
"I'm at Nick's … I thought Kurt would've told you," Blaine said.
"He has. It's just - he needs you home. Did you know I'm staying with him right now?"
Beer. Milk. Cereal. Bread. Chicken.
"Yeah. Thanks for keeping an eye on him. I, um, I have some shopping to do, so -"
"Do you really think you're just going to walk away from me?" Rachel asked indignantly. "Do you even realize what you've done to him?"
"Rachel, please don't," Blaine said. "Please." Beer. Milk. Cereal. Bread.
"Huh, that must sound familiar. Isn't that exactly what Kurt said when you were leaving? And did you listen to him?"
"Rach -"
"Don’t 'Rach' me. You have thrown my very best friend into a tailspin that I'm not sure he's ever going to come out of. You told him that it was his fault. You told him you wished he'd never wanted a baby in the first place and then you left him. I honestly thought you were a better person than that, Blaine."
Beer. Milk. …Bread? What else was there?
"Rachel, you know I -"
"The only reason he is eating anything," she said, stepping close to him and lowering her voice, "is because I'm force-feeding him protein shakes. He was killing himself, and you were just standing by and letting it happen. You say you love him?Then why did you string him along on the phone the other day, like you're ever actually coming back? Why did you leave in the first place?"
Blaine closed his eyes and tried very, very hard not to cry in the middle of the supermarket.
Beer.
He could still get beer.
But Rachel wasn’t done. "What kind of husband just sits there and watches the man he's loved for thirteen years starve himself to death, and then leaves when things get harder?"
"One who doesn't deserve him, I guess," Blaine said, his voice hollow.
Beer. Or vodka. Or whiskey. Or scotch.
"Damn right, you don't deserve him -"
"I have to go." He placed the empty basket back in its holder and trudged out the door, walking the three and a half blocks to the liquor store. His eyes never left his feet.
His own head felt haunted, swarmed by ghosts and demons and, loudest of all, his own voice. You're killing your husband, it yelled, Did you hear what she said? You're killing him, and it's all your fault. Of course you don’t deserve him. You never deserved him.
Blaine pushed the door to the liquor store open, grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a two-liter Coke, and threw some money on the counter. He practically ran back to Nick's apartment, desperate to drown out both Rachel's voice and his own. He wanted to sink beneath the surface just far enough that everything was muffled and still. He wanted to escape into a medicated stupor, because nothing else in the world could quell the pain he was feeling.
He banged open the door, headed straight to the kitchen for a glass, opened the bottles and began to drink.
* * *
"Blaine?" Nick called as he burst through the door of his apartment while simultaneously trying to shrug off his jacket and his messenger bag. "Hey, I'll only be home for a second, but -"
He stopped in his tracks. Blaine was sitting at his Yamaha keyboard, pounding the keys and singing loudly, completely oblivious to Nick's presence. A bottle of Jack Daniels was balanced precariously on the bench beside him, almost half of it gone, and a bottle of soda sat open in the kitchen. But judging by the amber-colored liquid in Blaine's glass, he'd foregone the soda at some point and was drinking his whiskey straight.
Blaine didn't even like whiskey.
"Blaine?"
"You loved me 'cause I'm fragile," Blaine was singing, more off-key than Nick had ever heard him, "When I thought that I was strong - but you touch me for a little while, and all my fragile strength is gone …"
In the time it took for Nick to cross his tiny living room, Blaine missed three notes on the keyboard and slammed all ten fingers down hard on the keys, creating more noise than music.
Nick felt like he was trying to approach a wounded animal. "Blaine."
Blaine jumped like he'd been shot. "Wha -"
"I came home for lunch to marinate the chicken."
"There is no chicken."
"Yeah, I think I've just gathered that. How long have you been drinking?" Nick asked.
"Long enough," Blaine said with a shrug.
"What's wrong?"
Inexplicably, he laughed. "What isn't?"
Nick sighed. "Okay, man. Let's get you to bed." Blaine grabbed his glass and downed the rest of the whiskey in it. "Hey, slow down a little, there," Nick said, grabbing the bottle of whiskey before Blaine could pour any more of it. "I don't want to have to take you to the hospital for alcohol poisoning."
"Bring it on."
"Okay, no. I don't know what happened, but I've never seen you like this before," Nick said, scared of the lack of life in his friend's eyes. "Will you please tell me what's going on?"
"I do not care," Blaine said, pointing his finger at nothing, trying to sound articulate and failing miserably, "if I don't wake up in the morning. The sky could fall down, right on top of me, and as long as I stop feeling like this I'd probably be fine with it."
Nick stared at him.
"I don't care - I just want it to stop, Nick," he said, big, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. "I want somebody to pinch me and wake me up from this fucking nightmare. I've lost everything I've ever had, and it's my fault -" He broke off, his hands and knees quivering.
"Okay," Nick said, trying to stay calm. "Okay." He put his hands under Blaine's arms and tugged, and nearly fell over as Blaine's full weight fell on him. He was as floppy as a rag doll. "Bed, now."
"Have to piss first," Blaine slurred.
They made a detour to the bathroom, where Blaine managed to throw up all over himself and the toilet while he peed. While Nick was mopping up the mess, he threw up again, this time in the floor, then threw up a third time and actually managed to make it to the toilet bowl. By then, he was on the floor, spouting halfway incoherent apologies. "Just go," he begged, his hand landing in the puddle of vomit as he tried to support himself, his whole body shaking hard. "You've done enough - 'm not worth the trouble."
Nick felt his hand make contact with the side of Blaine's face before he fully realized what he'd done. "Stop that," he said harshly as Blaine temple started to redden. "I don't ever want to hear that come out of your mouth again, do you hear me? There's no way in hell I'd leave you like this."
Blaine began to cry again.
"I'm sorry, I just - Blaine, I wish you could see what you're doing to yourself."
"I want to die, some days," Blaine said, his face twisting as he sobbed. "I mean - I wouldn't - I just hate myself …"
Nick sighed. "Arms up," he said, and Blaine looked up at him, confused. "I'm getting you out of these clothes. Now, arms up." He tugged Blaine's disgusting t-shirt off over his head, undid his pants, pulled them down his legs. "Okay, can you walk?" he asked as Blaine fumbled out of his jeans.
"Dunno. I guess we'll see," Blaine said, standing on trembling legs. Nick turned on the faucet and thrust Blaine's hands under the spray of water. He helped Blaine to the bedroom and tucked his covers under Blaine's chin.
"Go to sleep," Nick sighed. "If you need to puke, please try to puke in the trash can. I'll be checking on you, but I'm in the living room if you need me."
Blaine nodded, looking pitiful and small in his bed. "Tell Kurt I'm sorry," he whispered. "I don't want him to die."
"You don't want him to what?"Nick asked, perplexed, but Blaine had already slipped into a deep sleep before he could answer.
* * *
"How do you feel about pumpkin in your protein shakes?"
Kurt looked from the box of summer scarves he was putting away. "Skeptical."
"Don't count it out yet - I can put nutmeg and cinnamon in them …" Rachel said.
"Still. A pumpkin shake? That sounds - potentially less than appetizing." He happened upon the scarf he'd worn as an ascot the day they brought Violet home from the hospital, and an insane desire to throw it away passed over him. He held it out to Rachel. "Do you know anyone who might want this?"
Her eyes lit up. "I love that ascot! Oh, there's a guy in the show who would die over it - but why are you giving it away?"
"I'm tired of it," Kurt lied.
"Well, one person's trash …" Rachel said, grabbing it and tucking it into her bag. "Oh, I almost forgot to tell you - I saw Blaine at the store today."
Kurt snapped to attention. "What?"
"Yes - did you know he's growing a beard?"
Kurt couldn't help himself - he snorted out loud at Rachel's disgusted face.
"It doesn't suit him at all. Anyway, I had a whole speech planned, explaining exactly what a terrible husband he's been to you, but he didn't even let me finish -"
Kurt looked at her, horrified. "Please, please tell me you did not actually do that …" If she did, it would mean disaster. Blaine didn't take criticism well on a good day, but right now …
"Well of course I did! No one treats you like that and gets away with it, Kurt, not even him. I just felt I needed to step in -"
"Do you have any idea," Kurt snapped, his temper flaring, "how unstable he is right now? What did you say to him?"
"I told him how awful I thought it was that you were practically killing yourself in front of him, and he stood by and did nothing. And I gave him a taste of his own medicine."
"You had no right -"
"I had every right, Kurt! He left you!"
"He isn't Blaine right now!" Kurt exclaimed. "You don't actually think that my Blaine - the Blaine I fell in love with and married - would do any of the things that he's been doing? Do you think I'm acting like myself right now? Because neither one of us are in our right minds, Rachel. Do you understand that at all?"
She shrunk back. "I was just trying to help."
"Well you didn't!" he shouted. "We'll be lucky if he doesn't just go off the deep end after that - I can't believe you insinuated that it was his fault that I wasn't eating!"
"Well I can't believe you're defending him, after what he did to you!" Rachel shouted right back. "And I can't believe that you're mad at me when I'm the only reason you aren't losing weight anymore!"
Kurt glared at her. "Rachel, he is my husband. Of course he's not perfect. Of course I thought it would kill me when he left that day, but I haven't died yet. We've been through hell over the last three months, and I think you should cut him some slack. And don't act like you're the only one holding me together, either. I appreciate what you've done, but nothing you did today was okay. None of it."
"Well pardon me for moving into your house and caring about you enough to chew out your deadbeat of a husband -"
"Get out," Kurt ordered, pointing his finger toward the door. "Now."
"Fine. Fine," she said, breathing deep, and Kurt could tell she was trying not to cry. "You want to kick your best friend, who's done nothing but take care of you for the past two weeks, fine. Butyou're on your own, now."
He held his stance as she stomped out the door, but as soon as it shut behind her, he sank down onto the bed and held his head in his hands. He couldn't do this anymore.
I give up, he silently screamed. I give up, I give up, I give up - I don't know what else you want from me, but there's nothing left. You've taken everything. He didn't even know who he was talking to.
He crawled under the covers, not even bothering to move the box of scarves on the bed, and prayed with everything he had that someone, somewhere would remember how to love him again soon.
* * *
Nick was sitting on the couch in front of the TV, in between one of his every-thirty-minute checks to make sure Blaine was still breathing, and wasn't in the process of slitting his wrists open or swallowing down every medication Nick had in his medicine cabinet. He was half-watching an old CSI rerun, tapping out a text message to Jeff to update him on the situation, when his phone buzzed in his hand. Kurt was calling him.
"Hey, Kurt." He knew he sounded exhausted, but tried to keep it from his voice - it would only make Kurt worry more.
"Is Blaine with you? Please tell me he's with you -"
"He is," Nick assured him. "He's sleeping off about a half a bottle of Jack Daniels right now, but he'll be fine."
"Oh, god." Kurt's voice cracked on the other end of the line.
"Hey, hey, don't you fall apart on me, too. I can only be in one place at once," Nick said as lightly as he could, wishing desperately that Jeff was there to be his second set of hands. "Where's Rachel?"
"Gone," Kurt answered thickly.
Nick was puzzled. "Where'd she go? And how did you know -"
"She is the reason -" Kurt started, then was quiet. "She - I can't do this, Nick. I can't."
"Okay, okay, calm down. You're fine. He's fine. We're gonna figure it out, okay? Is she coming back?"
"No."
Nick sighed. "Well, will you be alright by yourself tonight, or do I need to call someone?"
"I - I'll be fine. Just keep him safe for me, please …"
"I swear, he will be in one piece come tomorrow morning. You've got my word on that, okay?" Kurt didn't say anything. "Listen," Nick said, "Blaine said something really weird right before he went to sleep - something about not wanting you to die -"
Kurt laughed darkly. "You've got Rachel to thank for that, too. I don’t want to talk about it anymore."
" …Okay," Nick said, still completely perplexed. "So, you're okay, then?"
"I'm not dying tomorrow if that's what you mean," Kurt told him. "Not to cut you off, but I think I'm gonna go to sleep. I feel like hell. When Blaine wakes up, tell him I'm sorry, that it wasn't me, okay?"
"Sure, Kurt, anything you want …"
"Thanks. I - Nick - thank you for letting him stay with you. I can't even imagine what he'd be like if he'd gone somewhere else -"
Nick ran his hand through his shaggy hair. "I keep telling both of you, it's nothing. I'm happy to let him have my couch. Really, he's keeping me company as much as I am him. Go take your nap, okay? I'll text you an update before I go to bed."
"Thank you so much," Kurt said, his voice filled with gratitude. "He's all - he's -" He broke off just before he started crying again.
"I know, Kurt. I know he is."
* * *
Thursday, September 14th, 2023
Blaine slept himself sober and straight through a horrific hangover, only waking twice until early Thursday morning - once to throw up in a trash can, and once to drag himself to the couch so that Nick could sleep in his own bed.
But now it was three AM, and after fifteen hours of the heaviest sleep he'd had in a long time, his body was very awake.
He crept across the room, trying to be both steady on his feet and quiet as well, and made it to Nick's living room window.
He stared down the street and pondered how oddly inspiring it was that in the wee hours of the morning, before the sun even began to show its face, that his beloved city found a way to shine so brightly it could be seen from space.
There was a metaphor to be found there, but try as he might, Blaine couldn't pinpoint it. In fact, the only thing he could see was the idea's mirror image, that in spite of the things that could make his life a little brighter, he was always shrouded in darkness.
Blaine realized in that moment, watching the city continue its pell-mell but stubbornly persistent forward motion, that forward motion was the only option he really had left. It was that, or cease to function altogether. And he still had so much life ahead of him. He wasn't even thirty yet, after all - though he would be in a couple of weeks.
He looked out the window, watching cabs go by and people walking home, laughing loudly, from bars and clubs and late nights out. And Blaine understood with a burst of clarity that this was no way to turn thirty. That he was very, very tired of being in the dark.
And with more resolve than he'd felt in ages, he turned, opened his laptop, and started the long journey back toward the light.
* * *
Kurt awoke to the sound of a pigeon cooing outside his window. The first rays of sunlight peeked through his blinds, casting a faint glow in his dark room. He rolled over and immediately rolled back, shocked at how cold the empty side of his bed was with neither Blaine's solid heat nor Rachel's soft warmth there through the night.
He tried to go back to sleep, but the pigeon's gentle cooing became a song as other birds joined in. Grumpily, he dragged himself out of bed and raised the blinds to find the pigeon and two little, fat, yellow warblers chirping away on his window ledge. His heart clenched painfully as he thought of Blaine, and with a jerk he raised the window and shooed the birds away. Their song stopped as they darted away on the wind, flying in the direction of Tomkins Square Park, and he was left in silence, shivering from the cool early-morning breeze blowing over his face.
Closing the window with a loud thunk, Kurt turned and pulled the quilt off the bed, wrapping it around his shoulders and letting it drag the ground behind him. He closed his eyes, remembering when he'd drape blankets over his shoulders as a child, pretending they were capes. (The Queen of England kind of cape, he'd corrected his father, not the Superman kind of cape. People couldn't fly, but they could carry scepters and wear crowns, and he wanted one of each.)
He trudged into the kitchen while memories of his childhood trailed behind him, hanging onto the tail of the quilt and refusing to let go. The sight of his mother's back as she played the piano while he played with his toys in the floor. The smell of motor oil. The feel of a tiny teacup handle between his fingers as he taught his dad how to properly drink tea. The taste of his mom's secret-recipe spice cookies that he nor his dad could ever figure out how to replicate. The sound of his mother and father, laughing together quietly in their room at night when they thought he was asleep.
And, as he began to brew a large pot of coffee, he suddenly ached for home worse than he had in a long, long while.
When the coffee was done, he poured a large mug of it and curled up in the recliner. Pulling the blanket tighter around him, he picked up his phone.
"Hummel Tire and Lube."
Kurt's fragile resolve broke at the familiar voice speaking the familiar words - how many times had he called the tire shop in his life and heard that exact phrase?
"Daddy?"
Burt's voice took on an urgent tone. "Kurt? What's wrong? Are you alright? Is Blaine alright?"
"I miss you," Kurt said, his voice cracking as the tears fell fast from his eyes.
"I miss you too, kiddo," his dad said gently, and Kurt could hear him murmuring something to one of the guys at the shop. "Hang on, let me get to my office."
Kurt tried to sip his coffee as he waited, but his tears were falling into the mug and his hand was shaking so badly that he could barely get it to his lips.
"Okay, what's going on? There's more to this than homesickness - you haven't been homesick in years. Not bad enough to cry over."
"I lied to you," Kurt said, too exhausted and broken to tell his dad anything but the truth.
"Okay," Burt said uneasily. "What about?"
"Everything." Kurt began to cry harder. "That we were okay. That I was okay. That we went to get counseling -"
"Wait, you never saw anybody?" his dad interrupted.
"No," Kurt answered, his voice cracking through the tears.
Burt sighed into the phone. "Okay, shhhh, it's okay."
"No Dad, it's not. Nothing's okay…"
"Hey, hey, it is. It will be. Put Blaine on the phone for a minute, okay?"
"He's gone," Kurt whispered.
"He's what?"
"Gone, Dad," Kurt said. All it took was a listening ear from his father, and the floodgates opened - he spilled out the whole story, from beginning to end, from his loss of appetite to Blaine walking out after the nursery fiasco, ending with the fight he and Rachel had the night before. And slowly, as more and more of the stress and burden lifted from him, his tears began to subside.
Burt whistled low into the phone. "So, what now? You wanna come home for a while? You want me there? Knock some sense into that husband of yours?"
"No," Kurt said quietly. "That's not what I want. I want him to come back when he's ready and because he wants to. If he came back now, I think we'd be worse off than before."
"Shit," his dad breathed, "I can't even be mad at him. I feel like I'm supposed to be furious at anybody who just walks out of your life, but - damn, Kurt. It's Blaine. I just can't."
"I know, Dad," Kurt said. "He's miserable - maybe even more than I am."
"Well - you know you can always come here, if he needs time to figure stuff out. You working right now?"
"I took a leave of absence."
"Good. Come home, then - you know I always want you here, and Carole would love to see you. Maybe you two could go to Columbus for a day and go shopping or something …"
Kurt considered this - home, where things were familiar, where hugs were plentiful and forgiveness was easy, where he'd be doted on and cooked for. But - what if Blaine came home only to find an empty house? What would he do with Romeo?
"Let me think about it a while, okay?"
"Sure thing. You just let me know," Burt said. "And Kurt? Please, whether you come home or not, please consider getting some help. You can't expect yourself to do this on your own."
"Okay," Kurt said softly. "I will. I love you, Dad."
"I love you too, son."
Kurt hung up the phone and sighed, sipping his cooling coffee while he gazed out the window. The trees that lined the sidewalks were just beginning to turn, hints of yellow and orange and red appearing among the branches. He couldn't help but hope that Blaine might be back before the leaves began to fall.
* * *
Nick groaned as bright sunlight streamed through his bedroom window and a truck beeping loudly as it backed up outside. What time was it? It couldn't possibly be morning already …
He rolled over and had nearly dozed off again when he remembered the afternoon and evening before and why he wasn't going into work that morning. Stumbling out of bed, he haphazardly pulled a t-shirt over his head, worried that he'd find Blaine drinking again, or something much worse.
Instead, when he'd burst into his own living room a little more dramatically than necessary, he saw Blaine sitting cross-legged on the couch, looking very subdued with his laptop perched on his knees.
"Oh. Uh, morning," Nick said, rubbing his eyes.
"You slept in today," Blaine said softly. "Do you have a late meeting scheduled or something?"
Nick shook his head, a little irked that Blaine would think that he'd actually leave him at home alone after the stunt he'd pulled the afternoon before. "I called in."
"You can't keep doing that," Blaine sighed. "I really don't want to lose your job over me -"
"And I don't want to lose you, period!" Nick said hotly, his pent-up worry and frustration finally bubbling to the surface. He hated to yell at his friend, but god, Blaine could be dense sometimes. "I don't want to have to call Kurt and tell him you're in the hospital having your stomach pumped! I don't want to have to tell him you're in some sort of liver failure because you drank yourself to death! And I definitely don't want to come home and find you laying on the ground, bleeding out of your wrists, or hanging in my closet, or -"
Blaine seemed to shrink even smaller on the couch. "You know I'd never do that," he mumbled.
"You said you wanted to die yesterday!" Nick exclaimed.
Blaine flushed. "Did I? I don't remember that … but I don't remember much, I guess. It's all kind of hazy."
"Well, whether you meant that or not, you wanted to a long time ago." Nick perched on the couch, softening his tone and putting an arm around Blaine's slight shoulders. "You told me, remember?"
"That was - I was fifteen, I was terrified, I wouldn't have -"
"You knew how you would've done it," Nick reminded him. "And it's not like teenagers are the only ones who kill themselves, you know?"
Blaine nodded minutely. "I know. But that's not - I can't do this anymore," he said softly. "I can't - it's not living, what I'm doing."
"No shit."
"I'm sorry you've had to put up with the worst of me, Nick."
He smiled sadly. "You know, even the worst of you isn't all that bad. The Blaine I know is still somewhere under there," he said, poking Blaine in the side.
"Great. You wanna find him for me?" Blaine sighed. "I just - I don't know. It took me a while to realize how not okay I really am. I -" he cut himself off, and Nick wondered exactly what it was that he couldn't manage to say. "I - yeah. Not okay."
"So what are you going to do about it?"
"I found this lady …" Blaine said, turning the laptop screen toward him.
Nick skimmed over the website. "That's awesome," he said slowly. "But - you're going to see a hippie? She looks like a hippie, Blaine."
"If she's a hippie, she's a hippie with a doctoral degree, and I don't care about her terrible taste in clothing - although Kurt might, now that I think about it - as long as she can help. She's all the way in Chelsea, but she's LGBT-friendly and she does bereavement, and -"
"Blaine," Nick said, placing his hands firmly on his friend's shoulders and squeezing them, "I am so proud of you." He hadn't seen this much nervous excitement from Blaine since the first time he'd seen Violet's ultrasound picture.
But suddenly the excitement fell, and Blaine was left in a bundle of nerves. "If my dad ever found out -"
Nick wanted to punch something. He'd hated Blaine's dad ever since their first parent weekend at Dalton, when he realized that none of Blaine's complaints about him were exaggerations. "Screw your dad. Screw his obsession with image and his archaic beliefs and his bigoted ideas and get yourself some help, Blaine."
"I think I've needed it longer than I'd like to admit," he said reluctantly.
"Have you made an appointment yet?" Nick asked.
"No. I - I'd like to call Kurt first. She does couple's counseling, too."
"Good. Good," Nick said, feeling the worry start to lift for the first time in days.
"Nick." Blaine's hand clenched firmly around his wrist. "What if he doesn't even want to try?"
"He will."
"How do you know?"
Nick shrugged. "I just do. Because it's you. Because it's him."
Blaine looked up with round, sad orbs for eyes. "Does it make me a horrible person that you have more faith in us than I do right now?"
Nick smiled sadly at him. "I don't think anything could make me think you're a horrible person, Blaine. I just don't think you can see the forest for the trees."
Blaine grunted.
"I'm gonna go take a shower now. I can make it an extra-long one if you want me to," Nick offered.
"I'm just going to call to see if he wants to meet for coffee," Blaine said, shaking his head. "I want to have this conversation in person."
"Probably best," Nick said, standing up. "You know," he said, looking over his shoulder as he walked back to his room, "you're free to stay here for a while longer. If you guys still need time to work things out."
Blaine rose from the couch and strode over to Nick, wrapping him in a tight hug. "Thank you," he said as Nick clapped him on the back. "You have no idea what this means -"
"You'd do the same thing for me. Go call your husband, okay?" Nick walked off to his bedroom, leaving Blaine to stare at his contact list. He had half a mind to text Blaine the Courage message, but he left it alone. That was Kurt and Blaine's thing, had always been, and he didn't want to step inside an in-joke that didn't belong to him.
Instead, he whispered a quiet prayer, drilled into his memory from his childhood church, that god - in whatever form Kurt and Blaine chose to embrace - would bring them both comfort and peace and healing.
* * *
Kurt was buried in Blaine's novel, still bundled in the quilt, when his phone started to ring on the coffee table. He laughed as Romeo woke with a start and began growling at it from his dog bed.
Expecting his dad, he picked it up without even looking at the screen.
"If you're calling about the plane tickets, I still haven't made up my mind yet," he said.
"Kurt?"
He nearly dropped the phone. "Blaine?"
"Yeah … hey."
"… Hi." Kurt's heart was a stampeding horse in his chest - what was this about? Was it Blaine calling to tell him that he was fine after his bender the day before? To yell at him for what Rachel said? To say he was coming home, or - oh god, never coming home? He took a deep breath, yanked on the reins to his heart. "I'm sorry - I thought you were my dad calling -"
"What was that about plane tickets? Plane tickets to where? Are you - Kurt, are you leaving?"
The panic in Blaine's voice stunned Kurt enough to make a tiny voice in his head whisper maybe this will be okay, and his mind was made up, after all."No," Kurt said, blessedly confident. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Okay," and for all of Kurt's confidence, Blaine still sounded awfully uncertain.
"So …" Why are you calling? What is this strange dance we're doing? What in the hell, Blaine? "Um, how are you today?" he asked, willing himself to be civil. "Nick told me you were a little - uh -"
"Wasted? Plastered out of my mind? Yeah, I'm never drinking Jack Daniels ever again." Kurt could hear the shiver in Blaine's voice.
"Listen, about what Rachel said …" Kurt started, but Blaine cut him off.
"If you don't mind, I really don't want to talk about what Rachel said, Kurt."
"Okay, we don't have to, but I'm so sorry, Blaine, I hope you know I'd never encourage her to say things like -"
"No," he said softly. "No, she made it very clear that was all coming from her. But I do need to talk to you about something that isn't that …"
Kurt blinked three times, slowly. "Yes?"
A breath, and it sounded like Blaine was trying to inhale all the air in the world into two too-small lungs. "I want to have coffee with you."
A body couldn't handle so many emotions at once. Kurt told himself that was why his eyes were welling, why his stomach jumped. "Blaine, please," he said, closing his eyes, "please, if you're showing up with divorce papers, you have to let me know now."
"Div- really? Kurt, no, not at all. Please, please don't worry about that. It's just more of an in-person conversation, and -" He paused. "And I miss you."
Oh god, don't cry. Do not cry, Kurt … "I miss you, too."
"So … coffee?"
"Where, at Bean Me Up?" Kurt asked, pinching the bridge of his nose, making a valiant effort to compose himself so his voice wouldn't sound so watery.
"No - no, I don't want to be where people know me."
"What?"
"I mean," Blaine quickly tried to recover, "god, that didn't sound how I meant it. I don't want anyone listening to our conversation. If Wendy or Braxton is there, they'll just make assumptions, and I want to be able to talk with you without being interrupted."
"Okay," Kurt said, dizzy with too many feelings, like Blaine had locked him in the cab of an emotional Tilt-A-Whirl. "What about the Starbucks on 2nd and 9th, then? And we can walk and talk, maybe?"
"That sounds great. When do you want to meet?"
"Soon." There was no way Kurt was waiting more than a few hours to find out what this was about. "You know I'm not good with anticipation, Blaine."
"Okay. That's - good, yeah, soon. Um - what about two this afternoon?"
Kurt glanced at the clock, which read 10:30. It would leave him plenty of time to get ready. "Two's fine."
"Great! And, um - I know this is a lot to ask," Blaine hesitated, "but could you bring Romeo? I really miss him …"
"Of course I can. He misses you, too." Kurt stopped, hoping what he was about to say wasn't going too far, wouldn't sound like he was begging. "He looks for you everywhere."
"Really?"
So do I. "Really. Mostly at night, before bed. And when we wake up in the morning."
"I - I didn't know, I'm sorry -"
"Blaine, it's fine." It was anything but fine, but Blaine sounded too out of sorts for Kurt to point that out. "I'll see you at two, okay?"
"Yeah, see you then."
* * *
"Nick?"
"Yeah?"
"What do you wear on a date with your husband that isn't really a date, but where you're planning to beg for forgiveness and tell him that you think both of you need to see a therapist?"
"…A bulletproof vest? Or wait, maybe chainmail. Kurt seems more like a traditionalist."
"Nick?"
"Yeah?"
"You aren't as funny as you think you are."
* * *
Who could that be? Kurt thought silently as he tripped over three pairs of boots on his way to answer his front door. He'd been propelled into action by Blaine's phone call, and was standing in the middle of their bedroom with half of his fall wardrobe laid out on the bed. Come hell or high water, he would look perfect when he met with Blaine that afternoon.
He was so consumed with visions of ascots dancing in his head that it took him a moment to react when he opened the door.
There stood Rachel, tears in her eyes, and a small cake box in her hands. "Someone very wise once told me that cake is the cure for loneliness. I don't know if you can eat it, but … here." She held the box out to him.
"Rach -"
"I know you asked me to leave," she said, her voice quavering, "and I know I said really, really awful things, but Kurt, I'm so sorry. I never meant any of it. I don't want you to be on your own."
He tipped his head and sighed. "Well, I guess it's a good thing you're here," he said, the corners of his mouth quirking upward, "because I'm in the middle of a fashion crisis, and I really need another set of eyes."
Rachel smiled a watery smile and he wrapped her in a tight hug, squashing the box between them.
"I'm so glad you came back," he whispered in her ear.
"How could I leave you? New York's not New York without you."
He buried his nose in her hair and forgave her for everything she'd said the night before, for everything she'd said to Blaine. It wasn't the first fight they'd ever had and it wasn't the first time that Rachel had spoken before she'd thought, but they'd been through worse fights before, and they'd probably have worse fights again.
"What kind of cake did you bring me?" he asked when they'd finally parted.
"It's a chocolate chiffon cake. I thought it would be nice and light, but still comforting."
Kurt smiled. "Well, it's worth a shot. Let's crack it open, and then you can help me decide what to wear when I meet Blaine for coffee in a couple hours."
The look on Rachel's face was almost worth all the tears that Kurt had shed over the last day and a half. "Coffee? With Blaine? When were you planning on telling me this?" She pushed past him, setting the cake on the table, and sat in a chair. "Um, details, please."
"Well, I don't know exactly what it's about, but he called about an hour ago …"
Cont'd...
Genre: AU/Married!Klaine/future-fic
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 10,800/200,000
Spoilers: none
Chapter summary: In which Blaine hits rock bottom and slowly tries to claw his way back up, Kurt and Rachel have a fight, and baby steps are better than no steps at all.
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) - Chapter 16 on ( LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 17 on ( LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 18 on (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 19 on ( LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 20 on ( LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 21 on (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C)
Read Chapter 22 on AO3/Tumblr/S&C
Chapter 22
Wednesday, September 13th, 2023
Blaine -
We're out of beer, sandwich bread, cereal and milk. I hate to ask, but could you run by Fine Fare and get that plus anything else you want while I'm at work today? And maybe get some chicken, too - I've been wanting to grill out while it's still warm enough in the evenings. See you tonight!
-Nick
Blaine blinked blearily as he read the note again, then looked at the clock.
10:30.
Well. He'd slept late again. Some days were just barely worth getting out of bed for. It appeared that this was one of them.
He trudged to the bathroom and reluctantly took a quick, hot shower, letting the water roll through his curls and down his face in rivulets. He'd begun to hate showering lately - the scents were so painfully familiar that he'd actually bought different soap and shampoo, but the steamy, quiet room still allowed too much time and space for his mind to wander.
Once he was just clean enough for it to count, he yanked on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a cardigan and made the walk to the market. It was a brisk day. Fall was certainly seeping its way into the city, and the air held a crisp sharpness that Blaine still likened to gray dress pants, navy blazers, and his grandma's secret-recipe pumpkin muffins. Soon it would be time to break out the scarves, and -
No. Scarves made him think of Kurt and their conversation a few days ago, but thinking of Kurt and home also made him think of Violet. He couldn't think of Violet, couldn't let his heart tear open like that, wouldn't expose himself to anguish like he'd never felt, so …
He thought of his grocery list instead. Beer. Milk. Cereal. Bread. Chicken.
He repeated the five items in his head over and over until the thought of scarves and Kurt and Violet had disappeared, and he was in front of the supermarket. He picked up a basket, turned around, and promptly collided with Rachel.
She shrieked, her hand going immediately inside her purse where he knew she kept her little tube of mace, and he held up his hands.
"Rach! Calm down! It's just me," Blaine said, backing away from her.
"Oh. Blaine," she said, withdrawing her hand. She blinked at him. "Where have you been?"
"I'm at Nick's … I thought Kurt would've told you," Blaine said.
"He has. It's just - he needs you home. Did you know I'm staying with him right now?"
Beer. Milk. Cereal. Bread. Chicken.
"Yeah. Thanks for keeping an eye on him. I, um, I have some shopping to do, so -"
"Do you really think you're just going to walk away from me?" Rachel asked indignantly. "Do you even realize what you've done to him?"
"Rachel, please don't," Blaine said. "Please." Beer. Milk. Cereal. Bread.
"Huh, that must sound familiar. Isn't that exactly what Kurt said when you were leaving? And did you listen to him?"
"Rach -"
"Don’t 'Rach' me. You have thrown my very best friend into a tailspin that I'm not sure he's ever going to come out of. You told him that it was his fault. You told him you wished he'd never wanted a baby in the first place and then you left him. I honestly thought you were a better person than that, Blaine."
Beer. Milk. …Bread? What else was there?
"Rachel, you know I -"
"The only reason he is eating anything," she said, stepping close to him and lowering her voice, "is because I'm force-feeding him protein shakes. He was killing himself, and you were just standing by and letting it happen. You say you love him?Then why did you string him along on the phone the other day, like you're ever actually coming back? Why did you leave in the first place?"
Blaine closed his eyes and tried very, very hard not to cry in the middle of the supermarket.
Beer.
He could still get beer.
But Rachel wasn’t done. "What kind of husband just sits there and watches the man he's loved for thirteen years starve himself to death, and then leaves when things get harder?"
"One who doesn't deserve him, I guess," Blaine said, his voice hollow.
Beer. Or vodka. Or whiskey. Or scotch.
"Damn right, you don't deserve him -"
"I have to go." He placed the empty basket back in its holder and trudged out the door, walking the three and a half blocks to the liquor store. His eyes never left his feet.
His own head felt haunted, swarmed by ghosts and demons and, loudest of all, his own voice. You're killing your husband, it yelled, Did you hear what she said? You're killing him, and it's all your fault. Of course you don’t deserve him. You never deserved him.
Blaine pushed the door to the liquor store open, grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a two-liter Coke, and threw some money on the counter. He practically ran back to Nick's apartment, desperate to drown out both Rachel's voice and his own. He wanted to sink beneath the surface just far enough that everything was muffled and still. He wanted to escape into a medicated stupor, because nothing else in the world could quell the pain he was feeling.
He banged open the door, headed straight to the kitchen for a glass, opened the bottles and began to drink.
* * *
"Blaine?" Nick called as he burst through the door of his apartment while simultaneously trying to shrug off his jacket and his messenger bag. "Hey, I'll only be home for a second, but -"
He stopped in his tracks. Blaine was sitting at his Yamaha keyboard, pounding the keys and singing loudly, completely oblivious to Nick's presence. A bottle of Jack Daniels was balanced precariously on the bench beside him, almost half of it gone, and a bottle of soda sat open in the kitchen. But judging by the amber-colored liquid in Blaine's glass, he'd foregone the soda at some point and was drinking his whiskey straight.
Blaine didn't even like whiskey.
"Blaine?"
"You loved me 'cause I'm fragile," Blaine was singing, more off-key than Nick had ever heard him, "When I thought that I was strong - but you touch me for a little while, and all my fragile strength is gone …"
In the time it took for Nick to cross his tiny living room, Blaine missed three notes on the keyboard and slammed all ten fingers down hard on the keys, creating more noise than music.
Nick felt like he was trying to approach a wounded animal. "Blaine."
Blaine jumped like he'd been shot. "Wha -"
"I came home for lunch to marinate the chicken."
"There is no chicken."
"Yeah, I think I've just gathered that. How long have you been drinking?" Nick asked.
"Long enough," Blaine said with a shrug.
"What's wrong?"
Inexplicably, he laughed. "What isn't?"
Nick sighed. "Okay, man. Let's get you to bed." Blaine grabbed his glass and downed the rest of the whiskey in it. "Hey, slow down a little, there," Nick said, grabbing the bottle of whiskey before Blaine could pour any more of it. "I don't want to have to take you to the hospital for alcohol poisoning."
"Bring it on."
"Okay, no. I don't know what happened, but I've never seen you like this before," Nick said, scared of the lack of life in his friend's eyes. "Will you please tell me what's going on?"
"I do not care," Blaine said, pointing his finger at nothing, trying to sound articulate and failing miserably, "if I don't wake up in the morning. The sky could fall down, right on top of me, and as long as I stop feeling like this I'd probably be fine with it."
Nick stared at him.
"I don't care - I just want it to stop, Nick," he said, big, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. "I want somebody to pinch me and wake me up from this fucking nightmare. I've lost everything I've ever had, and it's my fault -" He broke off, his hands and knees quivering.
"Okay," Nick said, trying to stay calm. "Okay." He put his hands under Blaine's arms and tugged, and nearly fell over as Blaine's full weight fell on him. He was as floppy as a rag doll. "Bed, now."
"Have to piss first," Blaine slurred.
They made a detour to the bathroom, where Blaine managed to throw up all over himself and the toilet while he peed. While Nick was mopping up the mess, he threw up again, this time in the floor, then threw up a third time and actually managed to make it to the toilet bowl. By then, he was on the floor, spouting halfway incoherent apologies. "Just go," he begged, his hand landing in the puddle of vomit as he tried to support himself, his whole body shaking hard. "You've done enough - 'm not worth the trouble."
Nick felt his hand make contact with the side of Blaine's face before he fully realized what he'd done. "Stop that," he said harshly as Blaine temple started to redden. "I don't ever want to hear that come out of your mouth again, do you hear me? There's no way in hell I'd leave you like this."
Blaine began to cry again.
"I'm sorry, I just - Blaine, I wish you could see what you're doing to yourself."
"I want to die, some days," Blaine said, his face twisting as he sobbed. "I mean - I wouldn't - I just hate myself …"
Nick sighed. "Arms up," he said, and Blaine looked up at him, confused. "I'm getting you out of these clothes. Now, arms up." He tugged Blaine's disgusting t-shirt off over his head, undid his pants, pulled them down his legs. "Okay, can you walk?" he asked as Blaine fumbled out of his jeans.
"Dunno. I guess we'll see," Blaine said, standing on trembling legs. Nick turned on the faucet and thrust Blaine's hands under the spray of water. He helped Blaine to the bedroom and tucked his covers under Blaine's chin.
"Go to sleep," Nick sighed. "If you need to puke, please try to puke in the trash can. I'll be checking on you, but I'm in the living room if you need me."
Blaine nodded, looking pitiful and small in his bed. "Tell Kurt I'm sorry," he whispered. "I don't want him to die."
"You don't want him to what?"Nick asked, perplexed, but Blaine had already slipped into a deep sleep before he could answer.
* * *
"How do you feel about pumpkin in your protein shakes?"
Kurt looked from the box of summer scarves he was putting away. "Skeptical."
"Don't count it out yet - I can put nutmeg and cinnamon in them …" Rachel said.
"Still. A pumpkin shake? That sounds - potentially less than appetizing." He happened upon the scarf he'd worn as an ascot the day they brought Violet home from the hospital, and an insane desire to throw it away passed over him. He held it out to Rachel. "Do you know anyone who might want this?"
Her eyes lit up. "I love that ascot! Oh, there's a guy in the show who would die over it - but why are you giving it away?"
"I'm tired of it," Kurt lied.
"Well, one person's trash …" Rachel said, grabbing it and tucking it into her bag. "Oh, I almost forgot to tell you - I saw Blaine at the store today."
Kurt snapped to attention. "What?"
"Yes - did you know he's growing a beard?"
Kurt couldn't help himself - he snorted out loud at Rachel's disgusted face.
"It doesn't suit him at all. Anyway, I had a whole speech planned, explaining exactly what a terrible husband he's been to you, but he didn't even let me finish -"
Kurt looked at her, horrified. "Please, please tell me you did not actually do that …" If she did, it would mean disaster. Blaine didn't take criticism well on a good day, but right now …
"Well of course I did! No one treats you like that and gets away with it, Kurt, not even him. I just felt I needed to step in -"
"Do you have any idea," Kurt snapped, his temper flaring, "how unstable he is right now? What did you say to him?"
"I told him how awful I thought it was that you were practically killing yourself in front of him, and he stood by and did nothing. And I gave him a taste of his own medicine."
"You had no right -"
"I had every right, Kurt! He left you!"
"He isn't Blaine right now!" Kurt exclaimed. "You don't actually think that my Blaine - the Blaine I fell in love with and married - would do any of the things that he's been doing? Do you think I'm acting like myself right now? Because neither one of us are in our right minds, Rachel. Do you understand that at all?"
She shrunk back. "I was just trying to help."
"Well you didn't!" he shouted. "We'll be lucky if he doesn't just go off the deep end after that - I can't believe you insinuated that it was his fault that I wasn't eating!"
"Well I can't believe you're defending him, after what he did to you!" Rachel shouted right back. "And I can't believe that you're mad at me when I'm the only reason you aren't losing weight anymore!"
Kurt glared at her. "Rachel, he is my husband. Of course he's not perfect. Of course I thought it would kill me when he left that day, but I haven't died yet. We've been through hell over the last three months, and I think you should cut him some slack. And don't act like you're the only one holding me together, either. I appreciate what you've done, but nothing you did today was okay. None of it."
"Well pardon me for moving into your house and caring about you enough to chew out your deadbeat of a husband -"
"Get out," Kurt ordered, pointing his finger toward the door. "Now."
"Fine. Fine," she said, breathing deep, and Kurt could tell she was trying not to cry. "You want to kick your best friend, who's done nothing but take care of you for the past two weeks, fine. Butyou're on your own, now."
He held his stance as she stomped out the door, but as soon as it shut behind her, he sank down onto the bed and held his head in his hands. He couldn't do this anymore.
I give up, he silently screamed. I give up, I give up, I give up - I don't know what else you want from me, but there's nothing left. You've taken everything. He didn't even know who he was talking to.
He crawled under the covers, not even bothering to move the box of scarves on the bed, and prayed with everything he had that someone, somewhere would remember how to love him again soon.
* * *
Nick was sitting on the couch in front of the TV, in between one of his every-thirty-minute checks to make sure Blaine was still breathing, and wasn't in the process of slitting his wrists open or swallowing down every medication Nick had in his medicine cabinet. He was half-watching an old CSI rerun, tapping out a text message to Jeff to update him on the situation, when his phone buzzed in his hand. Kurt was calling him.
"Hey, Kurt." He knew he sounded exhausted, but tried to keep it from his voice - it would only make Kurt worry more.
"Is Blaine with you? Please tell me he's with you -"
"He is," Nick assured him. "He's sleeping off about a half a bottle of Jack Daniels right now, but he'll be fine."
"Oh, god." Kurt's voice cracked on the other end of the line.
"Hey, hey, don't you fall apart on me, too. I can only be in one place at once," Nick said as lightly as he could, wishing desperately that Jeff was there to be his second set of hands. "Where's Rachel?"
"Gone," Kurt answered thickly.
Nick was puzzled. "Where'd she go? And how did you know -"
"She is the reason -" Kurt started, then was quiet. "She - I can't do this, Nick. I can't."
"Okay, okay, calm down. You're fine. He's fine. We're gonna figure it out, okay? Is she coming back?"
"No."
Nick sighed. "Well, will you be alright by yourself tonight, or do I need to call someone?"
"I - I'll be fine. Just keep him safe for me, please …"
"I swear, he will be in one piece come tomorrow morning. You've got my word on that, okay?" Kurt didn't say anything. "Listen," Nick said, "Blaine said something really weird right before he went to sleep - something about not wanting you to die -"
Kurt laughed darkly. "You've got Rachel to thank for that, too. I don’t want to talk about it anymore."
" …Okay," Nick said, still completely perplexed. "So, you're okay, then?"
"I'm not dying tomorrow if that's what you mean," Kurt told him. "Not to cut you off, but I think I'm gonna go to sleep. I feel like hell. When Blaine wakes up, tell him I'm sorry, that it wasn't me, okay?"
"Sure, Kurt, anything you want …"
"Thanks. I - Nick - thank you for letting him stay with you. I can't even imagine what he'd be like if he'd gone somewhere else -"
Nick ran his hand through his shaggy hair. "I keep telling both of you, it's nothing. I'm happy to let him have my couch. Really, he's keeping me company as much as I am him. Go take your nap, okay? I'll text you an update before I go to bed."
"Thank you so much," Kurt said, his voice filled with gratitude. "He's all - he's -" He broke off just before he started crying again.
"I know, Kurt. I know he is."
* * *
Thursday, September 14th, 2023
Blaine slept himself sober and straight through a horrific hangover, only waking twice until early Thursday morning - once to throw up in a trash can, and once to drag himself to the couch so that Nick could sleep in his own bed.
But now it was three AM, and after fifteen hours of the heaviest sleep he'd had in a long time, his body was very awake.
He crept across the room, trying to be both steady on his feet and quiet as well, and made it to Nick's living room window.
He stared down the street and pondered how oddly inspiring it was that in the wee hours of the morning, before the sun even began to show its face, that his beloved city found a way to shine so brightly it could be seen from space.
There was a metaphor to be found there, but try as he might, Blaine couldn't pinpoint it. In fact, the only thing he could see was the idea's mirror image, that in spite of the things that could make his life a little brighter, he was always shrouded in darkness.
Blaine realized in that moment, watching the city continue its pell-mell but stubbornly persistent forward motion, that forward motion was the only option he really had left. It was that, or cease to function altogether. And he still had so much life ahead of him. He wasn't even thirty yet, after all - though he would be in a couple of weeks.
He looked out the window, watching cabs go by and people walking home, laughing loudly, from bars and clubs and late nights out. And Blaine understood with a burst of clarity that this was no way to turn thirty. That he was very, very tired of being in the dark.
And with more resolve than he'd felt in ages, he turned, opened his laptop, and started the long journey back toward the light.
* * *
Kurt awoke to the sound of a pigeon cooing outside his window. The first rays of sunlight peeked through his blinds, casting a faint glow in his dark room. He rolled over and immediately rolled back, shocked at how cold the empty side of his bed was with neither Blaine's solid heat nor Rachel's soft warmth there through the night.
He tried to go back to sleep, but the pigeon's gentle cooing became a song as other birds joined in. Grumpily, he dragged himself out of bed and raised the blinds to find the pigeon and two little, fat, yellow warblers chirping away on his window ledge. His heart clenched painfully as he thought of Blaine, and with a jerk he raised the window and shooed the birds away. Their song stopped as they darted away on the wind, flying in the direction of Tomkins Square Park, and he was left in silence, shivering from the cool early-morning breeze blowing over his face.
Closing the window with a loud thunk, Kurt turned and pulled the quilt off the bed, wrapping it around his shoulders and letting it drag the ground behind him. He closed his eyes, remembering when he'd drape blankets over his shoulders as a child, pretending they were capes. (The Queen of England kind of cape, he'd corrected his father, not the Superman kind of cape. People couldn't fly, but they could carry scepters and wear crowns, and he wanted one of each.)
He trudged into the kitchen while memories of his childhood trailed behind him, hanging onto the tail of the quilt and refusing to let go. The sight of his mother's back as she played the piano while he played with his toys in the floor. The smell of motor oil. The feel of a tiny teacup handle between his fingers as he taught his dad how to properly drink tea. The taste of his mom's secret-recipe spice cookies that he nor his dad could ever figure out how to replicate. The sound of his mother and father, laughing together quietly in their room at night when they thought he was asleep.
And, as he began to brew a large pot of coffee, he suddenly ached for home worse than he had in a long, long while.
When the coffee was done, he poured a large mug of it and curled up in the recliner. Pulling the blanket tighter around him, he picked up his phone.
"Hummel Tire and Lube."
Kurt's fragile resolve broke at the familiar voice speaking the familiar words - how many times had he called the tire shop in his life and heard that exact phrase?
"Daddy?"
Burt's voice took on an urgent tone. "Kurt? What's wrong? Are you alright? Is Blaine alright?"
"I miss you," Kurt said, his voice cracking as the tears fell fast from his eyes.
"I miss you too, kiddo," his dad said gently, and Kurt could hear him murmuring something to one of the guys at the shop. "Hang on, let me get to my office."
Kurt tried to sip his coffee as he waited, but his tears were falling into the mug and his hand was shaking so badly that he could barely get it to his lips.
"Okay, what's going on? There's more to this than homesickness - you haven't been homesick in years. Not bad enough to cry over."
"I lied to you," Kurt said, too exhausted and broken to tell his dad anything but the truth.
"Okay," Burt said uneasily. "What about?"
"Everything." Kurt began to cry harder. "That we were okay. That I was okay. That we went to get counseling -"
"Wait, you never saw anybody?" his dad interrupted.
"No," Kurt answered, his voice cracking through the tears.
Burt sighed into the phone. "Okay, shhhh, it's okay."
"No Dad, it's not. Nothing's okay…"
"Hey, hey, it is. It will be. Put Blaine on the phone for a minute, okay?"
"He's gone," Kurt whispered.
"He's what?"
"Gone, Dad," Kurt said. All it took was a listening ear from his father, and the floodgates opened - he spilled out the whole story, from beginning to end, from his loss of appetite to Blaine walking out after the nursery fiasco, ending with the fight he and Rachel had the night before. And slowly, as more and more of the stress and burden lifted from him, his tears began to subside.
Burt whistled low into the phone. "So, what now? You wanna come home for a while? You want me there? Knock some sense into that husband of yours?"
"No," Kurt said quietly. "That's not what I want. I want him to come back when he's ready and because he wants to. If he came back now, I think we'd be worse off than before."
"Shit," his dad breathed, "I can't even be mad at him. I feel like I'm supposed to be furious at anybody who just walks out of your life, but - damn, Kurt. It's Blaine. I just can't."
"I know, Dad," Kurt said. "He's miserable - maybe even more than I am."
"Well - you know you can always come here, if he needs time to figure stuff out. You working right now?"
"I took a leave of absence."
"Good. Come home, then - you know I always want you here, and Carole would love to see you. Maybe you two could go to Columbus for a day and go shopping or something …"
Kurt considered this - home, where things were familiar, where hugs were plentiful and forgiveness was easy, where he'd be doted on and cooked for. But - what if Blaine came home only to find an empty house? What would he do with Romeo?
"Let me think about it a while, okay?"
"Sure thing. You just let me know," Burt said. "And Kurt? Please, whether you come home or not, please consider getting some help. You can't expect yourself to do this on your own."
"Okay," Kurt said softly. "I will. I love you, Dad."
"I love you too, son."
Kurt hung up the phone and sighed, sipping his cooling coffee while he gazed out the window. The trees that lined the sidewalks were just beginning to turn, hints of yellow and orange and red appearing among the branches. He couldn't help but hope that Blaine might be back before the leaves began to fall.
* * *
Nick groaned as bright sunlight streamed through his bedroom window and a truck beeping loudly as it backed up outside. What time was it? It couldn't possibly be morning already …
He rolled over and had nearly dozed off again when he remembered the afternoon and evening before and why he wasn't going into work that morning. Stumbling out of bed, he haphazardly pulled a t-shirt over his head, worried that he'd find Blaine drinking again, or something much worse.
Instead, when he'd burst into his own living room a little more dramatically than necessary, he saw Blaine sitting cross-legged on the couch, looking very subdued with his laptop perched on his knees.
"Oh. Uh, morning," Nick said, rubbing his eyes.
"You slept in today," Blaine said softly. "Do you have a late meeting scheduled or something?"
Nick shook his head, a little irked that Blaine would think that he'd actually leave him at home alone after the stunt he'd pulled the afternoon before. "I called in."
"You can't keep doing that," Blaine sighed. "I really don't want to lose your job over me -"
"And I don't want to lose you, period!" Nick said hotly, his pent-up worry and frustration finally bubbling to the surface. He hated to yell at his friend, but god, Blaine could be dense sometimes. "I don't want to have to call Kurt and tell him you're in the hospital having your stomach pumped! I don't want to have to tell him you're in some sort of liver failure because you drank yourself to death! And I definitely don't want to come home and find you laying on the ground, bleeding out of your wrists, or hanging in my closet, or -"
Blaine seemed to shrink even smaller on the couch. "You know I'd never do that," he mumbled.
"You said you wanted to die yesterday!" Nick exclaimed.
Blaine flushed. "Did I? I don't remember that … but I don't remember much, I guess. It's all kind of hazy."
"Well, whether you meant that or not, you wanted to a long time ago." Nick perched on the couch, softening his tone and putting an arm around Blaine's slight shoulders. "You told me, remember?"
"That was - I was fifteen, I was terrified, I wouldn't have -"
"You knew how you would've done it," Nick reminded him. "And it's not like teenagers are the only ones who kill themselves, you know?"
Blaine nodded minutely. "I know. But that's not - I can't do this anymore," he said softly. "I can't - it's not living, what I'm doing."
"No shit."
"I'm sorry you've had to put up with the worst of me, Nick."
He smiled sadly. "You know, even the worst of you isn't all that bad. The Blaine I know is still somewhere under there," he said, poking Blaine in the side.
"Great. You wanna find him for me?" Blaine sighed. "I just - I don't know. It took me a while to realize how not okay I really am. I -" he cut himself off, and Nick wondered exactly what it was that he couldn't manage to say. "I - yeah. Not okay."
"So what are you going to do about it?"
"I found this lady …" Blaine said, turning the laptop screen toward him.
Nick skimmed over the website. "That's awesome," he said slowly. "But - you're going to see a hippie? She looks like a hippie, Blaine."
"If she's a hippie, she's a hippie with a doctoral degree, and I don't care about her terrible taste in clothing - although Kurt might, now that I think about it - as long as she can help. She's all the way in Chelsea, but she's LGBT-friendly and she does bereavement, and -"
"Blaine," Nick said, placing his hands firmly on his friend's shoulders and squeezing them, "I am so proud of you." He hadn't seen this much nervous excitement from Blaine since the first time he'd seen Violet's ultrasound picture.
But suddenly the excitement fell, and Blaine was left in a bundle of nerves. "If my dad ever found out -"
Nick wanted to punch something. He'd hated Blaine's dad ever since their first parent weekend at Dalton, when he realized that none of Blaine's complaints about him were exaggerations. "Screw your dad. Screw his obsession with image and his archaic beliefs and his bigoted ideas and get yourself some help, Blaine."
"I think I've needed it longer than I'd like to admit," he said reluctantly.
"Have you made an appointment yet?" Nick asked.
"No. I - I'd like to call Kurt first. She does couple's counseling, too."
"Good. Good," Nick said, feeling the worry start to lift for the first time in days.
"Nick." Blaine's hand clenched firmly around his wrist. "What if he doesn't even want to try?"
"He will."
"How do you know?"
Nick shrugged. "I just do. Because it's you. Because it's him."
Blaine looked up with round, sad orbs for eyes. "Does it make me a horrible person that you have more faith in us than I do right now?"
Nick smiled sadly at him. "I don't think anything could make me think you're a horrible person, Blaine. I just don't think you can see the forest for the trees."
Blaine grunted.
"I'm gonna go take a shower now. I can make it an extra-long one if you want me to," Nick offered.
"I'm just going to call to see if he wants to meet for coffee," Blaine said, shaking his head. "I want to have this conversation in person."
"Probably best," Nick said, standing up. "You know," he said, looking over his shoulder as he walked back to his room, "you're free to stay here for a while longer. If you guys still need time to work things out."
Blaine rose from the couch and strode over to Nick, wrapping him in a tight hug. "Thank you," he said as Nick clapped him on the back. "You have no idea what this means -"
"You'd do the same thing for me. Go call your husband, okay?" Nick walked off to his bedroom, leaving Blaine to stare at his contact list. He had half a mind to text Blaine the Courage message, but he left it alone. That was Kurt and Blaine's thing, had always been, and he didn't want to step inside an in-joke that didn't belong to him.
Instead, he whispered a quiet prayer, drilled into his memory from his childhood church, that god - in whatever form Kurt and Blaine chose to embrace - would bring them both comfort and peace and healing.
* * *
Kurt was buried in Blaine's novel, still bundled in the quilt, when his phone started to ring on the coffee table. He laughed as Romeo woke with a start and began growling at it from his dog bed.
Expecting his dad, he picked it up without even looking at the screen.
"If you're calling about the plane tickets, I still haven't made up my mind yet," he said.
"Kurt?"
He nearly dropped the phone. "Blaine?"
"Yeah … hey."
"… Hi." Kurt's heart was a stampeding horse in his chest - what was this about? Was it Blaine calling to tell him that he was fine after his bender the day before? To yell at him for what Rachel said? To say he was coming home, or - oh god, never coming home? He took a deep breath, yanked on the reins to his heart. "I'm sorry - I thought you were my dad calling -"
"What was that about plane tickets? Plane tickets to where? Are you - Kurt, are you leaving?"
The panic in Blaine's voice stunned Kurt enough to make a tiny voice in his head whisper maybe this will be okay, and his mind was made up, after all."No," Kurt said, blessedly confident. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Okay," and for all of Kurt's confidence, Blaine still sounded awfully uncertain.
"So …" Why are you calling? What is this strange dance we're doing? What in the hell, Blaine? "Um, how are you today?" he asked, willing himself to be civil. "Nick told me you were a little - uh -"
"Wasted? Plastered out of my mind? Yeah, I'm never drinking Jack Daniels ever again." Kurt could hear the shiver in Blaine's voice.
"Listen, about what Rachel said …" Kurt started, but Blaine cut him off.
"If you don't mind, I really don't want to talk about what Rachel said, Kurt."
"Okay, we don't have to, but I'm so sorry, Blaine, I hope you know I'd never encourage her to say things like -"
"No," he said softly. "No, she made it very clear that was all coming from her. But I do need to talk to you about something that isn't that …"
Kurt blinked three times, slowly. "Yes?"
A breath, and it sounded like Blaine was trying to inhale all the air in the world into two too-small lungs. "I want to have coffee with you."
A body couldn't handle so many emotions at once. Kurt told himself that was why his eyes were welling, why his stomach jumped. "Blaine, please," he said, closing his eyes, "please, if you're showing up with divorce papers, you have to let me know now."
"Div- really? Kurt, no, not at all. Please, please don't worry about that. It's just more of an in-person conversation, and -" He paused. "And I miss you."
Oh god, don't cry. Do not cry, Kurt … "I miss you, too."
"So … coffee?"
"Where, at Bean Me Up?" Kurt asked, pinching the bridge of his nose, making a valiant effort to compose himself so his voice wouldn't sound so watery.
"No - no, I don't want to be where people know me."
"What?"
"I mean," Blaine quickly tried to recover, "god, that didn't sound how I meant it. I don't want anyone listening to our conversation. If Wendy or Braxton is there, they'll just make assumptions, and I want to be able to talk with you without being interrupted."
"Okay," Kurt said, dizzy with too many feelings, like Blaine had locked him in the cab of an emotional Tilt-A-Whirl. "What about the Starbucks on 2nd and 9th, then? And we can walk and talk, maybe?"
"That sounds great. When do you want to meet?"
"Soon." There was no way Kurt was waiting more than a few hours to find out what this was about. "You know I'm not good with anticipation, Blaine."
"Okay. That's - good, yeah, soon. Um - what about two this afternoon?"
Kurt glanced at the clock, which read 10:30. It would leave him plenty of time to get ready. "Two's fine."
"Great! And, um - I know this is a lot to ask," Blaine hesitated, "but could you bring Romeo? I really miss him …"
"Of course I can. He misses you, too." Kurt stopped, hoping what he was about to say wasn't going too far, wouldn't sound like he was begging. "He looks for you everywhere."
"Really?"
So do I. "Really. Mostly at night, before bed. And when we wake up in the morning."
"I - I didn't know, I'm sorry -"
"Blaine, it's fine." It was anything but fine, but Blaine sounded too out of sorts for Kurt to point that out. "I'll see you at two, okay?"
"Yeah, see you then."
* * *
"Nick?"
"Yeah?"
"What do you wear on a date with your husband that isn't really a date, but where you're planning to beg for forgiveness and tell him that you think both of you need to see a therapist?"
"…A bulletproof vest? Or wait, maybe chainmail. Kurt seems more like a traditionalist."
"Nick?"
"Yeah?"
"You aren't as funny as you think you are."
* * *
Who could that be? Kurt thought silently as he tripped over three pairs of boots on his way to answer his front door. He'd been propelled into action by Blaine's phone call, and was standing in the middle of their bedroom with half of his fall wardrobe laid out on the bed. Come hell or high water, he would look perfect when he met with Blaine that afternoon.
He was so consumed with visions of ascots dancing in his head that it took him a moment to react when he opened the door.
There stood Rachel, tears in her eyes, and a small cake box in her hands. "Someone very wise once told me that cake is the cure for loneliness. I don't know if you can eat it, but … here." She held the box out to him.
"Rach -"
"I know you asked me to leave," she said, her voice quavering, "and I know I said really, really awful things, but Kurt, I'm so sorry. I never meant any of it. I don't want you to be on your own."
He tipped his head and sighed. "Well, I guess it's a good thing you're here," he said, the corners of his mouth quirking upward, "because I'm in the middle of a fashion crisis, and I really need another set of eyes."
Rachel smiled a watery smile and he wrapped her in a tight hug, squashing the box between them.
"I'm so glad you came back," he whispered in her ear.
"How could I leave you? New York's not New York without you."
He buried his nose in her hair and forgave her for everything she'd said the night before, for everything she'd said to Blaine. It wasn't the first fight they'd ever had and it wasn't the first time that Rachel had spoken before she'd thought, but they'd been through worse fights before, and they'd probably have worse fights again.
"What kind of cake did you bring me?" he asked when they'd finally parted.
"It's a chocolate chiffon cake. I thought it would be nice and light, but still comforting."
Kurt smiled. "Well, it's worth a shot. Let's crack it open, and then you can help me decide what to wear when I meet Blaine for coffee in a couple hours."
The look on Rachel's face was almost worth all the tears that Kurt had shed over the last day and a half. "Coffee? With Blaine? When were you planning on telling me this?" She pushed past him, setting the cake on the table, and sat in a chair. "Um, details, please."
"Well, I don't know exactly what it's about, but he called about an hour ago …"
Cont'd...