glee: you shall above all things.
you shall above all things be glad and young.
by novelized. ~3400 words.
pairing: kurt/blaine.
summary: going to college 500 miles away isn't nearly as easy as either of them had planned.
rating: r.
you shall above all things be glad and young
for if you're young, whatever life you wear
it will become you; and if you are glad
whatever's living will yourself become.
Blaine doesn’t find time to call Kurt until after practice, after homework, after a study session in the library with a group of kids from his Bio class. He glances wearily at the clock as he settles down into his rickety desk chair; he has to keep his voice lowered, because his roommate’s already asleep. Half of him wants to skip the call and crawl into bed, because he has a test in seven hours that he’s not entirely prepared for, and he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before thanks to a rousing game of beer pong three rooms down. But more than that, he wants to talk to Kurt. He always wants to talk to Kurt. The phone rings three times before it clicks and Kurt’s voice fills the other end. Instead of sounding pleased to hear from him, though, he just sounds tired and irritated.
“Hello?”
“Kurt, hey. It’s me.”
There’s a pause on the other end. And then:
“Blaine, it’s two in the morning.”
“I know, I know. I’ve been really busy.”
Kurt sighs. “You were supposed to call me three hours ago.”
“I know, and I tried, but there’s a lot going on -”
“You could’ve at least sent me a text.”
“I know, and I’m sorry -”
“It’s fine.”
He doesn’t sound like he means it, though. Blaine tries without succeeding to rub the bleariness out of his eyes. From five feet away, Noah rustles his blankets: it’s his way of telling Blaine to shut up without seeming rude. Blaine clears his throat.
“Kurt,” he says, “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go.”
There’s no protest from the other line. “Okay. Thanks for calling.”
Blaine fumbles pathetically towards his twin-sized mattress. He collapses on top of his blankets without even bothering to kick his shoes off first. Squeezing his eyes shut, he presses the phone closer to his ear until he can just barely make out the sound of Kurt’s quiet, steady breathing. He counts the inhales and exhales and smiles against his pillow.
“I love you,” he tells him, soft and sincere, and Kurt’s breathing stutters a step.
“I love you too,” he says back, and instead of hanging up, Blaine falls asleep with the phone cradled against his ear, imagining Kurt’s there beside him instead of five hundred miles away.
**
From: Kurt
What about November 6?
From: Blaine:
can’t. rehearsal. november 14?
From: Kurt
I have two midterms. Meet halfway the 19th? We could do lunch at a park.
From: Blaine:
my dorm’s doing a camping trip that day.
From: Blaine:
kurt?
From: Blaine:
call me later. i love you.
**
“I can’t come this weekend.”
Blaine’s simultaneously reading a history textbook and spooning cereal into his mouth in the far corner of the dining hall; he pauses mid-bite, and a splash of milk drops down and splatters against his thigh.
“What?” he demands. “Wait, why?”
“I have a really big project due Monday,” Kurt explains. “It’s worth a huge portion of my grade and I’m not as prepared as I should be. I thought I’d have more done, but it’s more work than I expected.”
He lets the spoon clatter back to the bowl. “But -” he says, and his voice sounds small. He’d been looking forward to this weekend for a month. Maybe longer. They haven’t seen each other since Labor Day, and right now that seems like a torturously, impossibly long time. This weekend was supposed to be the perfect reprieve from the stress of college, of long-distance relationships. He’d even convinced Noah to stay in Ben and Colby’s room overnight, even though Ben and Colby’s room always smells like Easy Mac, and not in the good way.
“What if you bring your project?” he asks, pushing Lucky Charms around listlessly. He’s suddenly not very hungry. “I can help you work on it.”
“I wish I could, but I can’t. I have to be in the lab to work on it. I’m sorry, Blaine. I’m upset too. But we’ll reschedule.”
“We said that last month,” Blaine points out, probably unnecessarily. He frowns down at the chapter about World War I.
“I have to go. Class is about to start. But good luck on your history test today.”
Blaine doesn’t even remember telling Kurt about his history test. That, at least, makes him feel better, if only minutely.
“Thanks,” he says, gathering his things. “We can videochat tonight and see what weekend would work better for us?”
There’s a muffled noise from the other line, and Blaine hears a far-off “oh, excuse me,” before returning to the conversation, “That sounds spectacular.”
“I love you,” Blaine tells him.
Kurt sounds distracted, this time, but at least he says it back.
**
They don’t videochat that night. Blaine’s computer malfunctions, and by the time he gets it up and running again, Kurt has already gone to bed.
**
“Hello?”
“Kurt!”
Blaine’s smile is a mile wide. He feels warm and happy and warm and the sound of Kurt’s voice alone sends his stomach into twists. He plugs a pointer finger into his other ear so he can hear better; the music is turned up way too loud and a group of girls behind him are chattering about some sorority event or another. All he wants to do is talk to Kurt. Be with Kurt. Kiss him. It’s been far too long since they’ve kissed.
“Kurt, I miss you. I miss you so much.”
“Are you drunk?” Kurt’s tone wavers between annoyed and amused. Blaine can’t tell them apart just then. That’s not much of an issue, though. If he’s going to be concerned about anything, it’s the fact that his lips went numb somewhere along his fourth - fifth? - tequila shot.
“Maybe. A little bit. But I had to talk to you. Because I love you.” Blaine falls onto one of those plushy overstuffed arm chairs, letting his feet dangle over the side. “Love love love I want your love…”
“Fun party?”
“Veeery.” Blaine waves away a jello shot from a cute redheaded girl with a nose piercing. She pouts at him overdramatically but moves along to the next guy. He grips the phone tighter. “Peter told me not to call you, but I decided to anyway.”
“Who’s Peter?” Kurt asks, his voice clipped.
“Peter, you know. From Art History.”
“No, I don’t know Peter.”
“You don’t know any of my friends,” Blaine points out, and if he were a little more sober, he probably would’ve realized that this was not the best thing to say. “But you’d like Peter. He’s the best.”
“Great, well. I’ll let you get back to Peter From Art History then,” Kurt says shortly. He sounds mad, which was not the point of this phone call. It’s the complete opposite of the point. It’s so far from the point that it’s not even in the realm of pointedness, but Blaine can’t figure out how to put this into words, so instead he frowns and says, pouting:
“But I want to talk to you.”
“Then call me tomorrow. When you’re sober. Good night, Blaine.”
“I love you,” Blaine says, but by the time he gets the words out, Kurt has already hung up the phone.
**
11:13 am.
“You’ve reached Kurt’s phone. I’m not here right now, but leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you in a timely fashion.” Beep.
4:27 pm.
“You’ve reached Kurt’s phone. I’m not here right now, but leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you in a timely fashion.” Beep.
8:09 pm.
“You’ve reached Kurt’s phone. I’m not here right now, but leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you in a timely fashion.” Beep.
10:46 pm.
“You’ve reached Kurt’s phone. I’m not here right now, but leave -”
**
Blaine celebrates their one year and eight month anniversary by eating undercooked Ramen noodles out of a Styrofoam cup in his dorm room. He’s only wearing boxers and ankle socks, and his hair is a mess, and he spends all night waiting for Kurt to call him.
He doesn’t.
**
“My dad was asking about you today.”
Blaine smiles and holds a finger up to the guys; they protest at him leaving right in the middle of a particularly violent game of Call of Duty, but this is more important. He hadn’t realized how much he loved Kurt’s voice until he went three days without hearing it. He remembers when the distance between Dalton and McKinley used to seem long. He misses those days.
“Oh yeah? What’d he say?”
“He wanted to know if you prefer ham or turkey. And what kind of pie you like best. I told him apple, even though I know you like pumpkin better, but I thought your mom would probably make her pumpkin pie - he seems to think he’s going to be cooking for an entire army, but I’ve already started looking for healthier alternatives that we can all still enjoy -”
Blaine’s smile crumbles. “Kurt,” he says, quiet at first, but Kurt is still rambling on about centerpiece decorations and holiday-themed napkin holders, so Blaine raises his voice. “Kurt.”
Kurt stops chattering. He seems surprised to have been cut off. “Yes?”
“I’m…” Blaine bites down on his bottom lip. “I’m not going to be home for Thanksgiving.”
It’s quiet on the other line for so long that Blaine’s afraid he hung up. Then:
“What?”
“I was going to tell you, I swear. My cousin just had a baby, and my mom got us all plane tickets to California to see her, and you know my mom, there’s no saying no to her -”
Kurt takes a breath through his nose. Blaine usually loves that he can distinguish between the different types, but right now he hates it, because he knows Kurt only breathes in like that when he’s upset.
“How long have you known this?” he asks.
Blaine squeezes his eyes shut. “Two weeks.”
“Great. That’s just great. When were you going to tell me? Over Christmas?”
“I just didn’t want to disappoint you.”
“Oh, well, you’ve completely succeeded then. I have to go.”
“Kurt, wait -”
“Blaine, I’ve seen you twice since college began. Twice. And one of those times was for a grand total of three hours. Videochatting is nice, but it’s not enough. It can’t always be enough.”
He doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s right, of course he’s right, but what can they do?
They hang up the phone. Neither of them say I love you this time. Blaine skips the rest of videogame night, despite the taunting he gets from the guys, and he crawls into bed fully-clothed and stares at the ceiling, feeling old, wondering when, exactly, life managed to escape them both.
**
Blaine sits up at 4:03 am and puts on his shoes. He considers showering, but that would waste time, and he thinks at least about doing something with his hair, but he can’t muster up the effort. Instead, he packs his backpack quickly with anything he can think to grab: a toothbrush, clean underwear, two bags of potato chips, a half-empty water bottle. His class schedule is thumbtacked to the corkboard over his desk and he can see it in the dim light of his desk lamp. Today, he’s got biology, psychology, and a British lit quiz at noon.
He doesn’t care.
After a quick deliberation, he crouches over Noah’s bed and lightly shakes his shoulder. He never would’ve tried to wake him up under normal circumstances, but he figures it might look pretty bad if he were to get up in the morning and find his roommate had mysteriously disappeared overnight. Noah scrunches away from the touch and groans, head pressed into his pillow, before his eyes blink open.
“Wha’s going on?” he asks, voice clogged with sleep. “What time izzit?”
Blaine hasn’t slept yet. He’s still completely awake, alert. “Noah,” he whispers. “I’m leaving.”
Noah halfway struggles to sit up. “Where you going?”
There’s not even a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “To see Kurt.”
“What? Right now? Blaine, it’s the middle of the night.”
“I know. I know. But I have to see him.”
“Isn’t that like an eight hour drive? And we have class all week.”
“So I’ll get there around noon, and I’ll come back around midnight. Just in time for tomorrow’s classes.”
“You can’t drive sixteen hours in one day. Especially with no sleep.”
“I know, but I can do it. I can’t really explain it, but I have to see Kurt.”
Noah shakes his head and snuggles back down into his blankets. “You’re totally in love with that dude, aren’t you?”
“Totally,” he agrees, hitching his backpack over his shoulder. He reaches for his car keys. “I just wanted to let you know.”
“Be safe,” Noah says, a large yawn puncturing his sentence halfway through. His eyes flutter shut. “Text me when you get there so I know you’re alive. And tell your boyfriend I said hi. I can’t wait to meet the dude who’s got a hold on Blaine Anderson.”
“You will,” Blaine tells him, smiling. “You will.”
**
The first hour of the drive Blaine spends with the windows rolled down, even though it’s too cold for that, and the radio turned up high. He sings along to every song on every station, even the ones he doesn’t know. He does stupid math equations to figure out how much time can be spent kissing Kurt, and how much will have to be thrown away on stupid necessities like eating and breathing. He taps his fingers against the steering wheel. He lets the wind blow his hair in every direction. He stops at a twenty-four hour Krispy Kreme and buys a dozen donuts, and then eats half of them in the first half hour. He resists texting Kurt and spoiling the surprise, because texting while driving is dangerous and also he wants to see Kurt’s face when he shows up unannounced.
He can’t believe he’s never made this drive before, just because. His dad used to tell him that blowing gas like that was irresponsible. He’s okay with being irresponsible sometimes. He’s young; he figures there’s no better time than now.
**
The last hour is the hardest. Blaine is tired, but the thought of seeing Kurt propels him forwards. It takes all the willpower in the world to stop himself from speeding. After all, getting pulled over would only delay his trip.
**
Blaine’s been to Kurt’s campus once before, when they were helping him move in. He only vaguely remembers his way around, though, and he spends fifteen minutes circling the outer loop before finding his way to the dorms. He parks half-crookedly in the visitor parking lot. Getting inside is a whole other deal. Apparently you have to have a valid student ID. Blaine tries another tactic: he flirts with the desk assistant, who’s suddenly a lot more giggly and eager to help him out.
“Okay,” she says finally, batting her eyelashes. “But, you have to promise that you’ll come back and sign in after you surprise your brother.”
It’s not the worst lie Blaine’s ever told, but he kind of wishes he’d thought quicker before that one. Oh well. At least it worked. “I promise,” he says, drawing a cross over his heart. “Thank you so much.”
Kurt lives on the third floor. He’s got a single to himself, for which Blaine is grateful. Not that it would’ve stopped him. He coasts up the two flights of stairs on autopilot and then meanders down the hall, checking the names on the doors. Kurt’s room is second-to-last. His heart does a happy little fluttering thing before he raises his fist and knocks.
After a second, Kurt opens the door.
His face changes expressions so rapidly that Blaine has to laugh. First he’s guarded, then surprised, then delighted, then somewhere just on this side of completely and utterly shocked. “Blaine?” he says, mouth falling open. He looks amazing. He looks amazing. “I - what are you - what are you doing here?!”
Blaine doesn’t waste a second; he grabs Kurt for a hug, cupping the back of his neck with one hand, and then leans forward on his tiptoes and pulls him into one of the best, most dizzying kisses Blaine has ever had. “Hi,” he says, after a second kiss, and then a third. He can’t fight his smile back. “Surprise.”
“What’s going on?! You should be at school - how did you - did you -”
“I couldn’t wait.” Blaine curls his fingers into Kurt’s; they intertwine so loosely, so perfect, that he cannot believe he has ever doubted that this was what they were made to do. “I had to see you. So I drove all night.”
They make their way into the room, finally, but only because a group of guys come rumbling down the hall, and he doesn’t want to have this conversation in front of them. Together, still clasped at the hands, they sit down on Kurt’s bed.
“I couldn’t stand not seeing you,” Blaine tells him, pulling him closer. He doesn’t want to stop touching him. Ever. “This is more important than any of that other stuff. I… I didn’t want this to be how we looked back on this stage of our relationship. The distance, the silences. I wanted it to be you and me together. Here. Like this. I want to remember how much I love you, and how much you loved me in return.”
Kurt closes his eyes and presses his mouth against Blaine’s shoulder. He trails a line of kisses, light as dust, up to his neck and over his jawbone. “I do love you,” he whispers against his skin.
Blaine tips his head up for a proper kiss, a real one. “I know.”
He watches as Kurt reaches for the hem of his tshirt; he thinks vaguely that he should go back downstairs and check in, like he’d promised, but then he entertains the idea of her coming up after him and finding him like this with his “brother,” and it’s too priceless to ignore. Besides, he thinks. This is so much better. He doesn’t mind breaking the rules for this.
“What time do you have class?” Blaine asks, pulling his own shirt off and then starting in on Kurt’s. It was kind of crazy how much he’d been craving this, how much he’d missed this sort of skin-to-skin contact. He leans forward and sucks at the spot just above Kurt’s collarbone who, in return, gasps and slides his fingers into Blaine’s messy hair.
“It doesn’t matter,” he says, already working at his own belt buckle. “I’m skipping.”
Those, Blaine realizes, are the two best words he’s heard all week. He knocks Kurt’s hands out of the way and takes the job over for himself, crawling backwards on the bed and brushing his lips against Kurt’s chest along the way. He pushes Kurt’s pants out of the way and, with no hesitation, with no teasing at all, wraps his hand around him; Kurt groans and captures his lips in another kiss.
Their first time was sort of like this, fraught with emotion, anticipation, their hands shaking with want and need and excitement, sloppy motions, messy and inexperienced but perfect. Blaine’s extremely glad both that Kurt has a room to himself and that he keeps condoms and lube in his nightstand, because in his rush to get here, he hadn’t even really thought that far ahead. They lock eyes as he presses into Kurt, exchanging silent glances, and it’s soft and gentle and everything he could’ve wanted for their first time in too long. And even though it’s worth the wait, he doesn’t ever want to have to wait like that again.
Afterwards, Kurt curls his arms around Blaine’s stomach and rests his head against Blaine’s chest. Blaine rubs at his shoulders with just the tips of his fingers, not looking at the clock, not caring about the time. “I love you,” he tells Kurt, for the third time that day. He doesn’t get tired of saying it.
Kurt smiles and nudges his knees apart, sliding one leg between his own. “This was perfect,” he says, running his toes along Blaine’s calf. “We are perfect.”
“We are,” Blaine agrees, pulling him closer. “We definitely, definitely are.”
for if you're young, whatever life you wear
it will become you.
by novelized. ~3400 words.
pairing: kurt/blaine.
summary: going to college 500 miles away isn't nearly as easy as either of them had planned.
rating: r.
you shall above all things be glad and young
for if you're young, whatever life you wear
it will become you; and if you are glad
whatever's living will yourself become.
Blaine doesn’t find time to call Kurt until after practice, after homework, after a study session in the library with a group of kids from his Bio class. He glances wearily at the clock as he settles down into his rickety desk chair; he has to keep his voice lowered, because his roommate’s already asleep. Half of him wants to skip the call and crawl into bed, because he has a test in seven hours that he’s not entirely prepared for, and he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before thanks to a rousing game of beer pong three rooms down. But more than that, he wants to talk to Kurt. He always wants to talk to Kurt. The phone rings three times before it clicks and Kurt’s voice fills the other end. Instead of sounding pleased to hear from him, though, he just sounds tired and irritated.
“Hello?”
“Kurt, hey. It’s me.”
There’s a pause on the other end. And then:
“Blaine, it’s two in the morning.”
“I know, I know. I’ve been really busy.”
Kurt sighs. “You were supposed to call me three hours ago.”
“I know, and I tried, but there’s a lot going on -”
“You could’ve at least sent me a text.”
“I know, and I’m sorry -”
“It’s fine.”
He doesn’t sound like he means it, though. Blaine tries without succeeding to rub the bleariness out of his eyes. From five feet away, Noah rustles his blankets: it’s his way of telling Blaine to shut up without seeming rude. Blaine clears his throat.
“Kurt,” he says, “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go.”
There’s no protest from the other line. “Okay. Thanks for calling.”
Blaine fumbles pathetically towards his twin-sized mattress. He collapses on top of his blankets without even bothering to kick his shoes off first. Squeezing his eyes shut, he presses the phone closer to his ear until he can just barely make out the sound of Kurt’s quiet, steady breathing. He counts the inhales and exhales and smiles against his pillow.
“I love you,” he tells him, soft and sincere, and Kurt’s breathing stutters a step.
“I love you too,” he says back, and instead of hanging up, Blaine falls asleep with the phone cradled against his ear, imagining Kurt’s there beside him instead of five hundred miles away.
**
From: Kurt
What about November 6?
From: Blaine:
can’t. rehearsal. november 14?
From: Kurt
I have two midterms. Meet halfway the 19th? We could do lunch at a park.
From: Blaine:
my dorm’s doing a camping trip that day.
From: Blaine:
kurt?
From: Blaine:
call me later. i love you.
**
“I can’t come this weekend.”
Blaine’s simultaneously reading a history textbook and spooning cereal into his mouth in the far corner of the dining hall; he pauses mid-bite, and a splash of milk drops down and splatters against his thigh.
“What?” he demands. “Wait, why?”
“I have a really big project due Monday,” Kurt explains. “It’s worth a huge portion of my grade and I’m not as prepared as I should be. I thought I’d have more done, but it’s more work than I expected.”
He lets the spoon clatter back to the bowl. “But -” he says, and his voice sounds small. He’d been looking forward to this weekend for a month. Maybe longer. They haven’t seen each other since Labor Day, and right now that seems like a torturously, impossibly long time. This weekend was supposed to be the perfect reprieve from the stress of college, of long-distance relationships. He’d even convinced Noah to stay in Ben and Colby’s room overnight, even though Ben and Colby’s room always smells like Easy Mac, and not in the good way.
“What if you bring your project?” he asks, pushing Lucky Charms around listlessly. He’s suddenly not very hungry. “I can help you work on it.”
“I wish I could, but I can’t. I have to be in the lab to work on it. I’m sorry, Blaine. I’m upset too. But we’ll reschedule.”
“We said that last month,” Blaine points out, probably unnecessarily. He frowns down at the chapter about World War I.
“I have to go. Class is about to start. But good luck on your history test today.”
Blaine doesn’t even remember telling Kurt about his history test. That, at least, makes him feel better, if only minutely.
“Thanks,” he says, gathering his things. “We can videochat tonight and see what weekend would work better for us?”
There’s a muffled noise from the other line, and Blaine hears a far-off “oh, excuse me,” before returning to the conversation, “That sounds spectacular.”
“I love you,” Blaine tells him.
Kurt sounds distracted, this time, but at least he says it back.
**
They don’t videochat that night. Blaine’s computer malfunctions, and by the time he gets it up and running again, Kurt has already gone to bed.
**
“Hello?”
“Kurt!”
Blaine’s smile is a mile wide. He feels warm and happy and warm and the sound of Kurt’s voice alone sends his stomach into twists. He plugs a pointer finger into his other ear so he can hear better; the music is turned up way too loud and a group of girls behind him are chattering about some sorority event or another. All he wants to do is talk to Kurt. Be with Kurt. Kiss him. It’s been far too long since they’ve kissed.
“Kurt, I miss you. I miss you so much.”
“Are you drunk?” Kurt’s tone wavers between annoyed and amused. Blaine can’t tell them apart just then. That’s not much of an issue, though. If he’s going to be concerned about anything, it’s the fact that his lips went numb somewhere along his fourth - fifth? - tequila shot.
“Maybe. A little bit. But I had to talk to you. Because I love you.” Blaine falls onto one of those plushy overstuffed arm chairs, letting his feet dangle over the side. “Love love love I want your love…”
“Fun party?”
“Veeery.” Blaine waves away a jello shot from a cute redheaded girl with a nose piercing. She pouts at him overdramatically but moves along to the next guy. He grips the phone tighter. “Peter told me not to call you, but I decided to anyway.”
“Who’s Peter?” Kurt asks, his voice clipped.
“Peter, you know. From Art History.”
“No, I don’t know Peter.”
“You don’t know any of my friends,” Blaine points out, and if he were a little more sober, he probably would’ve realized that this was not the best thing to say. “But you’d like Peter. He’s the best.”
“Great, well. I’ll let you get back to Peter From Art History then,” Kurt says shortly. He sounds mad, which was not the point of this phone call. It’s the complete opposite of the point. It’s so far from the point that it’s not even in the realm of pointedness, but Blaine can’t figure out how to put this into words, so instead he frowns and says, pouting:
“But I want to talk to you.”
“Then call me tomorrow. When you’re sober. Good night, Blaine.”
“I love you,” Blaine says, but by the time he gets the words out, Kurt has already hung up the phone.
**
11:13 am.
“You’ve reached Kurt’s phone. I’m not here right now, but leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you in a timely fashion.” Beep.
4:27 pm.
“You’ve reached Kurt’s phone. I’m not here right now, but leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you in a timely fashion.” Beep.
8:09 pm.
“You’ve reached Kurt’s phone. I’m not here right now, but leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you in a timely fashion.” Beep.
10:46 pm.
“You’ve reached Kurt’s phone. I’m not here right now, but leave -”
**
Blaine celebrates their one year and eight month anniversary by eating undercooked Ramen noodles out of a Styrofoam cup in his dorm room. He’s only wearing boxers and ankle socks, and his hair is a mess, and he spends all night waiting for Kurt to call him.
He doesn’t.
**
“My dad was asking about you today.”
Blaine smiles and holds a finger up to the guys; they protest at him leaving right in the middle of a particularly violent game of Call of Duty, but this is more important. He hadn’t realized how much he loved Kurt’s voice until he went three days without hearing it. He remembers when the distance between Dalton and McKinley used to seem long. He misses those days.
“Oh yeah? What’d he say?”
“He wanted to know if you prefer ham or turkey. And what kind of pie you like best. I told him apple, even though I know you like pumpkin better, but I thought your mom would probably make her pumpkin pie - he seems to think he’s going to be cooking for an entire army, but I’ve already started looking for healthier alternatives that we can all still enjoy -”
Blaine’s smile crumbles. “Kurt,” he says, quiet at first, but Kurt is still rambling on about centerpiece decorations and holiday-themed napkin holders, so Blaine raises his voice. “Kurt.”
Kurt stops chattering. He seems surprised to have been cut off. “Yes?”
“I’m…” Blaine bites down on his bottom lip. “I’m not going to be home for Thanksgiving.”
It’s quiet on the other line for so long that Blaine’s afraid he hung up. Then:
“What?”
“I was going to tell you, I swear. My cousin just had a baby, and my mom got us all plane tickets to California to see her, and you know my mom, there’s no saying no to her -”
Kurt takes a breath through his nose. Blaine usually loves that he can distinguish between the different types, but right now he hates it, because he knows Kurt only breathes in like that when he’s upset.
“How long have you known this?” he asks.
Blaine squeezes his eyes shut. “Two weeks.”
“Great. That’s just great. When were you going to tell me? Over Christmas?”
“I just didn’t want to disappoint you.”
“Oh, well, you’ve completely succeeded then. I have to go.”
“Kurt, wait -”
“Blaine, I’ve seen you twice since college began. Twice. And one of those times was for a grand total of three hours. Videochatting is nice, but it’s not enough. It can’t always be enough.”
He doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s right, of course he’s right, but what can they do?
They hang up the phone. Neither of them say I love you this time. Blaine skips the rest of videogame night, despite the taunting he gets from the guys, and he crawls into bed fully-clothed and stares at the ceiling, feeling old, wondering when, exactly, life managed to escape them both.
**
Blaine sits up at 4:03 am and puts on his shoes. He considers showering, but that would waste time, and he thinks at least about doing something with his hair, but he can’t muster up the effort. Instead, he packs his backpack quickly with anything he can think to grab: a toothbrush, clean underwear, two bags of potato chips, a half-empty water bottle. His class schedule is thumbtacked to the corkboard over his desk and he can see it in the dim light of his desk lamp. Today, he’s got biology, psychology, and a British lit quiz at noon.
He doesn’t care.
After a quick deliberation, he crouches over Noah’s bed and lightly shakes his shoulder. He never would’ve tried to wake him up under normal circumstances, but he figures it might look pretty bad if he were to get up in the morning and find his roommate had mysteriously disappeared overnight. Noah scrunches away from the touch and groans, head pressed into his pillow, before his eyes blink open.
“Wha’s going on?” he asks, voice clogged with sleep. “What time izzit?”
Blaine hasn’t slept yet. He’s still completely awake, alert. “Noah,” he whispers. “I’m leaving.”
Noah halfway struggles to sit up. “Where you going?”
There’s not even a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “To see Kurt.”
“What? Right now? Blaine, it’s the middle of the night.”
“I know. I know. But I have to see him.”
“Isn’t that like an eight hour drive? And we have class all week.”
“So I’ll get there around noon, and I’ll come back around midnight. Just in time for tomorrow’s classes.”
“You can’t drive sixteen hours in one day. Especially with no sleep.”
“I know, but I can do it. I can’t really explain it, but I have to see Kurt.”
Noah shakes his head and snuggles back down into his blankets. “You’re totally in love with that dude, aren’t you?”
“Totally,” he agrees, hitching his backpack over his shoulder. He reaches for his car keys. “I just wanted to let you know.”
“Be safe,” Noah says, a large yawn puncturing his sentence halfway through. His eyes flutter shut. “Text me when you get there so I know you’re alive. And tell your boyfriend I said hi. I can’t wait to meet the dude who’s got a hold on Blaine Anderson.”
“You will,” Blaine tells him, smiling. “You will.”
**
The first hour of the drive Blaine spends with the windows rolled down, even though it’s too cold for that, and the radio turned up high. He sings along to every song on every station, even the ones he doesn’t know. He does stupid math equations to figure out how much time can be spent kissing Kurt, and how much will have to be thrown away on stupid necessities like eating and breathing. He taps his fingers against the steering wheel. He lets the wind blow his hair in every direction. He stops at a twenty-four hour Krispy Kreme and buys a dozen donuts, and then eats half of them in the first half hour. He resists texting Kurt and spoiling the surprise, because texting while driving is dangerous and also he wants to see Kurt’s face when he shows up unannounced.
He can’t believe he’s never made this drive before, just because. His dad used to tell him that blowing gas like that was irresponsible. He’s okay with being irresponsible sometimes. He’s young; he figures there’s no better time than now.
**
The last hour is the hardest. Blaine is tired, but the thought of seeing Kurt propels him forwards. It takes all the willpower in the world to stop himself from speeding. After all, getting pulled over would only delay his trip.
**
Blaine’s been to Kurt’s campus once before, when they were helping him move in. He only vaguely remembers his way around, though, and he spends fifteen minutes circling the outer loop before finding his way to the dorms. He parks half-crookedly in the visitor parking lot. Getting inside is a whole other deal. Apparently you have to have a valid student ID. Blaine tries another tactic: he flirts with the desk assistant, who’s suddenly a lot more giggly and eager to help him out.
“Okay,” she says finally, batting her eyelashes. “But, you have to promise that you’ll come back and sign in after you surprise your brother.”
It’s not the worst lie Blaine’s ever told, but he kind of wishes he’d thought quicker before that one. Oh well. At least it worked. “I promise,” he says, drawing a cross over his heart. “Thank you so much.”
Kurt lives on the third floor. He’s got a single to himself, for which Blaine is grateful. Not that it would’ve stopped him. He coasts up the two flights of stairs on autopilot and then meanders down the hall, checking the names on the doors. Kurt’s room is second-to-last. His heart does a happy little fluttering thing before he raises his fist and knocks.
After a second, Kurt opens the door.
His face changes expressions so rapidly that Blaine has to laugh. First he’s guarded, then surprised, then delighted, then somewhere just on this side of completely and utterly shocked. “Blaine?” he says, mouth falling open. He looks amazing. He looks amazing. “I - what are you - what are you doing here?!”
Blaine doesn’t waste a second; he grabs Kurt for a hug, cupping the back of his neck with one hand, and then leans forward on his tiptoes and pulls him into one of the best, most dizzying kisses Blaine has ever had. “Hi,” he says, after a second kiss, and then a third. He can’t fight his smile back. “Surprise.”
“What’s going on?! You should be at school - how did you - did you -”
“I couldn’t wait.” Blaine curls his fingers into Kurt’s; they intertwine so loosely, so perfect, that he cannot believe he has ever doubted that this was what they were made to do. “I had to see you. So I drove all night.”
They make their way into the room, finally, but only because a group of guys come rumbling down the hall, and he doesn’t want to have this conversation in front of them. Together, still clasped at the hands, they sit down on Kurt’s bed.
“I couldn’t stand not seeing you,” Blaine tells him, pulling him closer. He doesn’t want to stop touching him. Ever. “This is more important than any of that other stuff. I… I didn’t want this to be how we looked back on this stage of our relationship. The distance, the silences. I wanted it to be you and me together. Here. Like this. I want to remember how much I love you, and how much you loved me in return.”
Kurt closes his eyes and presses his mouth against Blaine’s shoulder. He trails a line of kisses, light as dust, up to his neck and over his jawbone. “I do love you,” he whispers against his skin.
Blaine tips his head up for a proper kiss, a real one. “I know.”
He watches as Kurt reaches for the hem of his tshirt; he thinks vaguely that he should go back downstairs and check in, like he’d promised, but then he entertains the idea of her coming up after him and finding him like this with his “brother,” and it’s too priceless to ignore. Besides, he thinks. This is so much better. He doesn’t mind breaking the rules for this.
“What time do you have class?” Blaine asks, pulling his own shirt off and then starting in on Kurt’s. It was kind of crazy how much he’d been craving this, how much he’d missed this sort of skin-to-skin contact. He leans forward and sucks at the spot just above Kurt’s collarbone who, in return, gasps and slides his fingers into Blaine’s messy hair.
“It doesn’t matter,” he says, already working at his own belt buckle. “I’m skipping.”
Those, Blaine realizes, are the two best words he’s heard all week. He knocks Kurt’s hands out of the way and takes the job over for himself, crawling backwards on the bed and brushing his lips against Kurt’s chest along the way. He pushes Kurt’s pants out of the way and, with no hesitation, with no teasing at all, wraps his hand around him; Kurt groans and captures his lips in another kiss.
Their first time was sort of like this, fraught with emotion, anticipation, their hands shaking with want and need and excitement, sloppy motions, messy and inexperienced but perfect. Blaine’s extremely glad both that Kurt has a room to himself and that he keeps condoms and lube in his nightstand, because in his rush to get here, he hadn’t even really thought that far ahead. They lock eyes as he presses into Kurt, exchanging silent glances, and it’s soft and gentle and everything he could’ve wanted for their first time in too long. And even though it’s worth the wait, he doesn’t ever want to have to wait like that again.
Afterwards, Kurt curls his arms around Blaine’s stomach and rests his head against Blaine’s chest. Blaine rubs at his shoulders with just the tips of his fingers, not looking at the clock, not caring about the time. “I love you,” he tells Kurt, for the third time that day. He doesn’t get tired of saying it.
Kurt smiles and nudges his knees apart, sliding one leg between his own. “This was perfect,” he says, running his toes along Blaine’s calf. “We are perfect.”
“We are,” Blaine agrees, pulling him closer. “We definitely, definitely are.”
for if you're young, whatever life you wear
it will become you.