But But I Will Only Love You More [Kurt/Blaine] - 3/?
Title: But I Will Only Love You More 3/?Author: Lily M Richards
Summary:Ten years ago, they made a promise. Ten years ago, they experienced heartbreak for a purpose they suddenly can't seem to remember when they meet again in the middle of a crowded coffee shop in New York. Kurt/Blaine futurefic
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Glee and its characters belong to Ryan Murphy and FOX
Warnings: Slight swearing
Chapter 3
November 2018
Kate looks at him almost pityingly when he shakes his head again, his mind ending its wanderings. For now, at least. “Come on, I make kick-ass Mojitos!” She doesn’t even listen to his half-hearted protests as she pours the various liquors together and holds out a cocktail glass to him a few minutes later. He accepts it only grudgingly.
“I do hope you aren’t trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me.”
“If I was, do you really think cocktails would be the right way for me to go through with it?”
He can taste the bitter-sweet flavour on his tongue and, when he swallows the liquid, that familiar burning sensation parching his throat in impatience for more to numb the intensity.
“So… ‘I’m gay’. That’s either the worst chat-up line in history or a defence mechanism. What happened?”
Blaine stares off into space, his thoughts asking him the same thing.
“I don’t know. It… doesn’t seem like my kind of bar, I guess… that and, um, someone used to tell me that I get mistaken for being straight almost too much for his liking.”
“Ex?”
She takes his silence as a hint to not press this issue any further. In his mind, the small two-letter word echoes as he plays with the glass, tipping it over just enough to let the liquid lick the top of it. He always hated calling Kurt that, no matter how true the definition was. One of the smallest words in the world and it burned holes into Blaine’s being, filled him with a dread and with a sadness that served only to lower his lashes to conceal the building up tears in his eyes.
So, with the liberation of thoughts and barriers around them from the dizzying alcohol, they talk without prohibitions until the morning sun greets them coldly and almost mockingly of their sleep deprivation and Blaine simply can’t find the power to regret it, because despite having to work later in the afternoon, he hasn’t really spoken with anyone in years.
When inevitable farewells come closer, they arrange to meet for dinner later, because Kate has nothing at all to do, and Blaine needs to see the city.
And many more such ‘rendezvous’ ultimately lead to the asked aloud question of whether Blaine is still looking for a permanent place. And whether he would much mind having a roommate.
September 2022
When a shrill, almost nasal version of The Beatles’ Blackbird starts vibrating through the apartment, the boy picks himself up, blinking stupidly for a few seconds and swaying as he waits for the immediate blackness that covers his vision to pass.
“And that’s work calling”
“Remember that you owe me a pantsuit! You still haven’t replaced the one that is now adorned with the lovely remnants of what I can still smell as a Pina Colada and the people I have to interview tend to frown at drunken journalists!”
“Right. You, me and Fifth Avenue have just booked an appointment for five if that works? There’s also a coffee shop I particularly adore right next to the store I am planning on taking you to. Trust me you’ll stop moping after your so-called favourite suit when we’re through there.”
“Oh you men. You always promise such high ends and you always fail to deliver.”
“I don’t fail, my dear. I never fail.” And when Blaine raises his eyebrow and smirks to conclude their morning banter, snatches his jacket up in a move reminiscent of the all the movies that include someone making a quick getaway and bolts out the door, all his thoughts do is work themselves through the memories again.
June 2011
“I will kill him.”
“Blaine-“
“No, Kurt. I swear to god he’s dead for this!”
Surprisingly strong arms wind themselves around his waist from behind. A strength he has been caught off guard by before. But then, he knows that while Kurt may look as effeminate as a man can get, there are qualities about him only few jocks can even hope to surpass.
He holds Blaine like that until his boyfriend’s harsh breathing subsides.
“Please, Blaine. Don’t”
Had he said it more forcefully, Blaine would have stormed out of there in a heartbeat as soon as he feels the grip loosening. But it’s that soft plead, with its dual undertone of ‘let it go’ and ‘don’t leave me’ that keeps him in place, twisting around so he can wrap his arms around Kurt.
“You should be in bed.” He murmurs against the younger boy’s hair.
“No. I should be resting.”
And that’s all the explanation Blaine needs to keep the boy there, because he can feel Kurt’s need for this closeness. Slowly, his muscles relax in Blaine’s embrace, slowly Kurt’s body unstiffens and goes almost completely limp and when Blaine carefully moves him toward the bed and lays him down on the soft, white pillow that smells of disinfectant and the perfume Kurt tried to mask the smell with, the younger boy is already asleep in his arms.
“I’ll take care of you Kurt.” He whispers, his fingers trailing soft patterns into the messy, light brown hair. “I won’t fail you again. I promise.”
September 2022
He makes it through the meetings, through the endless process of greeting clients and listening to their life stories as they try to ask him to fix something for him, ask him to somehow mend their life and why he wonders, why do they think I can fix it? Because so far, he hasn’t even fixed his own life, but as every day, he goes along with it. He appears in courts, he files papers, he clicks those little buttons on the computer that reinstate hope and comfort in his clients’ hearts.
Because at best, he can at least fix others.
As time rolls by, his craving for that cup of coffee he can only get at a particular coffee shop heightens. His colleagues know when to hand him a Styrofoam cup with scorching, black liquid, when his voice deepens, his temper shortens, but it’s never the same as an actual well-brewed coffee and yes, he may sound like a snob or strangely obsessed, but he just happens to like his coffee a certain way.
“I’m out” he announces curtly, flashing short smiles at friends as he jumps out of his chair and scoops up what paperwork he will need to work on tonight before exiting his work, glancing at his watch and hoping that Kate will make it to their meeting point as late as he will be. But as always, she fails to disappoint and skips up to him from the bench she had been occupying in the road, in her hand two identical paper cups and the smell emanating from them is that delicious scent that he’s been craving for hours now, so much that half of it disappears even before a “Hello” is exchanged.
“I’ve missed you my precious.” He murmurs in-between sips, lashes cutting off his vision from everything that isn’t a dark pool of addictive flavour.
“Okay then, Gollum. No shops with shiny displays for you.”
“What-Hey!”
“No. I am not encouraging your Bowie phase again. I still can’t believe you managed to get me to come out with you that night.”
“You were the one who decided to use the rest of the vodka we had, to ‘strengthen’ the cocktails. Only alcohol would make me pull that move, Kate.” Alcohol and a picture he found in a long-forgotten compartment in his bag of a certain boy.
With matching stride, they set off, linked arms and laughter emanating through the streets as they head for their favourite shops, soon forgetting the pressing need and original plan of acquiring a suit and simply relishing in the freedom of having time to try on and buy absolutely anything.
“No.”
“But Kate-“
“I look ridiculous.”
“You look hot!”
“No. I do not. This is the worst colour on me!”
“No wonder you don’t get any numbers when we go out. You look fabulous.”
“No. I’m telling you, I’m not getting this… piece of fabric! I could get a gigantic poncho for half the price, made with ten times the amount of material this has!”
“Yes… and if you ever find someone to be with, you are welcome to go buy that gigantic poncho to repel other potential suitors, but until then, you will have to suffer through the media-induced overpricing of hook-up clothes.”
Blaine buys it anyway, ignoring her protests because he reasons that the shop is having a “buy one get one 10% off” sale that less than impresses Kate, and that the pant suit she tried on earlier and decided to get is a present from him and he can therefore do what he pleases.
“I’m telling you. I’m not ever going to wear the dress. If you like it so much, why don’t you put it on?”
“Well, go through an alcohol clearance at home again and you never know I might just.”
“Are you going to finish that coffee?” Kate asks, rolling her eyes.
“Empty. It’s just there to remind me to get more.”
“Yes, because you need a reminder to get coffee.” She scoffs, rolling her eyes visibly.
“Why, I do. You have ameliorated your ability to divert my attention from important things such as coffee in favour of getting home sooner. I am not letting that happen.”
“Well, in that case, I’ll see you at home. I have to go change for this interview. I’ll be on television, have to look my best.” She winks, stooping down to peck Blaine’s cheek and adding “I’ll set it to record.”
“Your faith in my willingness to watch it later is astounding.”
“Oh I’m not relying on willingness here. You’ll watch it no matter what. Don’t forget I have the power to wipe the drive clean of the entire first Project Runway season.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“I won’t. Because you’ll watch me on TV.”
There’s a skip in her step as she leaves, an elation the girl seems to have been born with and it’s like therapy to the boy sometimes. He needs someone happy around him. Someone who doesn’t grill him to tell her his darkest, deepest secrets, someone who knows him well enough to be able to live with him and not well enough to question him.
The day is slowly drawing to a close. Blaine can see the sun as its cold gaze on the earth stifles, slowly gets overpowered by the ever growing grey clouds and the dark blue that washes over the sky. Between a coffee shop and countless bars that offer to take away his worries of the day, the thought of work persuades his footsteps to alter, to move toward the small sign that proclaims to him the maker of the best coffee he has found so far.
The familiar strong aroma of coffee invades his senses as he enters the small café, scrambling through his wallet to extract the dollars he needs for his usual and when he walks up toward the counter, a momentary lapse in mind makes him lose concentration enough to frown down at the batch of bills, his vision covering only the leather interior of the wallet and the frosty green dollar bills and-
“Oh god I am so sorry.”
And the voice makes him freeze. And his hands loosen around what he is holding, thoughts connecting, colliding and clashing. And that scent that suddenly falls over him, that painfully delicious scent of chocolate and coffee and milk and a perfume he recognises from far too long ago.
But he can do this. He can- and then, when he lifts his eyes, there’s those two green-blue pools and what? He thinks, what can I do again?, because right now, nothing is making any goddamn sense and the only word that falls from his lips, something between a shocked whisper and a sound of relish in being able to say it, is Kurt and I-, before his mind fails him again and he’s not sure he’s even said it out aloud.
The silence is heavy. Like a raincloud over only them in the middle of the packed coffee shop. Blaine can only smell that chocolaty-coffee flavour that spreads over his soaked shirt and Kurt can only vaguely remember that he is holding a half-empty cup of coffee in a position that isn’t entirely safe from further embarrassment, but it’s Blaine standing in front of him. Blaine, who had gone to California and so made Kurt think coming to New fucking York was a good idea.
TBC