Glee Fic: Learning a New Language
Title: Learning a New Language
Author:
lookninjas
Fandoms: Glee
Pairing/Character(s): Blaine/Kurt
Rating: PG-13 for language and some very gentle making out, although there's not nearly enough to make it fun.
Warnings: Fluff. Some angst. Then more fluff. Lots and lots of fluff.
Word Count: 7100. I have no idea how this got so long, guys.
Spoilers: Potential spoilers for the rest of the freaking season, including one song, one amazing outfit, and one returning character.
Standard-Issue Short-Form Disclaimer: I do not hold copyright to Glee, make no claims to such, and am not profiting from this. I have never used olive oil to remove gum from my hair, but, in retrospect, it does sound a lot better than just reaching for the scissors every time.
Summary: Not all communication has to be verbal. You can say a lot in the way you touch someone's arm, brush their hair out of their eyes, nudge them with your elbow. (Or: Five times words weren't enough, and one time words were all they had.)
Author's Notes: Title comes from Leif Erikson by Interpol, because clearly the moody shoegaze stylings of Paul Banks are what you need to inspire fluffy fluffness. This is pretty much pure id-fic. (Yes, actually, my id is a place where puppies and kittens cuddle underneath rainbows, and everything sparkles and everyone is nice and all of the clouds are fluffy and the trees are happy. Seriously, you guys, sometimes I worry myself.)
Kurt's still a firm believer in the brushing of fingertips, particularly when it's his fingertips brushing against Blaine's. The circumstances are immaterial; it's every bit as romantic to feel Blaine's hand just grazing against his own when they're sitting together in Warblers rehearsal as it is to reach out and run his thumb along Blaine's as they share a table at the Lima Bean. It's such a small gesture, but it says so many things: I'm here and I'm crazy about you and I'm so glad you finally figured this out because I was really about to go out of my mind waiting for you and Did I mention I'm crazy about you? Because I am. Completely.
Fortunately for Kurt, Blaine has enthusiastically jumped onto the fingertip-brushing bandwagon. He's always been a fan of physical contact, nudging Kurt with his shoulder, resting a broad hand on his knee, hurrying Kurt along with both hands on his back and thumbs pressing in, and he still does all of those things (and Kurt still enjoys them, enjoys them even more, really, because Blaine is his boyfriend and he can), but this is something else entirely, a lot less showy, a lot more personal. Blaine's knuckles will graze the back of Kurt's hand as they walk together, and when Kurt looks over, he sees Blaine turned away, ears pink at the tips, suddenly shy and awkward, and he falls just that little bit more every time.
Because, for all Kurt's dad's lectures about how sex makes you vulnerable, it's hard to imagine Blaine being any more open than he is in those small moments of connection, his skin just barely touching Kurt's, whispering I'm sorry. I'm an idiot. Please say you forgive me. Please say you still want this. Please.
And Kurt has to reach out and twine his fingers with Blaine's, squeeze his hand hard, because Yes. Yes. Yes.
*
They still tell each other everything; Kurt doesn't see that changing any time soon. He hopes it doesn't change any time soon. It's the best thing about their relationship, that they're honest with each other even when it hurts. Kurt's seen what happened with Finn and Rachel, and Finn and Quinn, and Quinn and Sam, and... well, pretty much everyone who's ever dated anyone at McKinley High (except maybe Mike and Tina, and even they had that stupid cheating drama right before Sectionals.) So he knows how important good communication is. Really, it's the foundation of every successful relationship.
Still, not all communication has to be verbal. You can say a lot in the way you touch someone's arm, brush their hair out of their eyes, nudge them with your elbow. Or the way you kiss someone, maybe. That can say a lot, too.
So it's not like he and Blaine have given up on this particular conversation in favor of making out. They're still talking. Just in kind of a different way.
Blaine is heavy and warm on Kurt's lap, his arms clutching tight, his lips slick and fierce, demanding, desperate. He's pinning Kurt down, caging him with his body, and Kurt feels like he should be a lot less comfortable with this than he is. Like he maybe he should be pushing Blaine away rather than wrapping both hands around his collar and pulling him down even further, their bodies pressed together so tightly that it's a little hard to breathe. But he is comfortable, and he doesn't want to push Blaine away, so he tugs Blaine down and kisses him back and does his level best to reassure Blaine that he still wants this, wants him.
"'M gonna miss you," Blaine groans, breaking away, and Kurt kisses reassurances along the line of his jaw, reaching up with both hands to angle Blaine's head down so he can keep climbing, lips grazing Blaine's temple, his closed eyelids, his forehead. "I'm gonna miss you so much. Kurt--"
"I'm not leaving you," Kurt promises, nuzzling his way back down, pressing chaste little pecks against the corner of Blaine's mouth. "We'll still see each other. As often as we can."
"Still," Blaine grumbles, chasing Kurt's lips.
Kurt's hands drift down to splay across Blaine's back, pressing him in closer, closer, wishing they could just melt into each other and then they would never, ever have to be lonely. "I know," he whispers, just breathing it into Blaine's skin. "I'll miss you too. So much."
Blaine kisses him again, softer now, lingering. His hands cup the sides of Kurt's face, thumbs stroking along Kurt's cheekbones. "But you'll call me," he says, quietly. "And we'll go out. And we'll see each other."
"All the time," Kurt says, and it's his turn to chase Blaine's lips, pressing kiss after kiss into them, each one a silent promise. "You won't even notice I'm gone."
"I will," Blaine argues, but he doesn't press the point. Or if he does, he does it silently, with his hands on Kurt's waist and his lips memorizing every detail of Kurt's face, making memories for the two of them to hold on to when Kurt is back at McKinley and Blaine is still at Dalton and they miss each other beyond words.
*
Kurt's been waiting ages for an opportunity to really tangle his fingers into Blaine's hair, feel the curls underneath his fingers, tug and pull to his heart's content. It's a little silly, maybe, but Kurt's like every other straight-haired person on the planet, and curls fascinate him. Especially Blaine's curls. Because they're Blaine's, and he could be burying his hands in them every day and pulling just a little, light but firm, just enough to tilt Blaine's head to the side and expose his neck and kiss his way down and make Blaine make those little noises that he makes when...
But he can't, is the thing, because Blaine wears too much gel, and although Kurt appreciates the Cary Grant aesthetic as much as anyone else, it's really starting to get irritating.
And maybe Kurt shouldn't be kind of enjoying the fact that Azimio decided to ruin Blaine's big serenading moment out there in the courtyard with a well-timed slushie, but it's hard to be too upset when it's given him this kind of chance. Because now Kurt and Blaine are all alone in the first floor girls' bathroom, and Blaine is slouching on an upturned trashcan, his head tilted back into the sink while Kurt carefully rinses the worst of the corn syrup out of it. Because Blaine's tie and blazer are gone, and his shirt is open, and his hair is admittedly kind of gross but still -- Blaine's hair -- and it's not like Kurt's going to do anything about this, but he can still enjoy the moment.
"It could have been worse," Blaine says, cheerfully, and hey, maybe Kurt's not the only one who's enjoying this. At the very least, Blaine's not nearly as much of a baby as Puck and Finn were. Kurt's kind of impressed. "People used to stick gum in my hair at my old school. Like, whoever was sitting behind me in class would just reach up and..." He actually laughs a little. "Now that was hard to get out."
Kurt blinks down at him for a second, glad that Blaine's eyes are closed, that he can't see the look on his face. It's funny how Kurt forgets about it so often, forgets that Blaine wasn't always a Dalton boy in a red-trimmed blazer. That he was taunted, bullied, badly enough that he had to run away to Dalton just to be safe. It's just one of those things -- Blaine doesn't really bring it up, and Kurt doesn't pry, because he's always assumed it was this big, sensitive thing.
Except now Blaine's sitting here, covered in sticky purple syrup, and talking about how people used to stick gum in his hair, like it's no big deal at all. Like he almost kind of misses it. And Kurt doesn't know what to do about that.
He reaches for the shampoo, pours a generous amount into his hand, and starts carefully working it into Blaine's sticky hair, fingernails scratching at Blaine's scalp, just gently tugging at Blaine's curls. "You must have smelled like peanut butter all the time," he says, trying to keep his tone light, make it easier for Blaine to keep talking. If he wants to. "I'm surprised you can still eat so much of it."
"That's because my mom didn't use peanut butter to get the gum out." Blaine sort of presses his head back into Kurt's hands, and Kurt almost laughs at him. He's like a cat being scratched behind the ears, shamelessly begging for more. "She used olive oil. Take a little bit, rub it in, comb it through..." He shrugs and spreads his hands out. "Voila. Gets the gum out and it's a fantastic, all-natural conditioner. I actually used to keep a bottle of it in my locker, in case the gum attacks started early in the day. I wasn't great at getting it out by myself, but I could get most of it."
"Mmm," Kurt says, tilting Blaine's head so he can rinse the sides, the back. It's a little awkward -- the sinks at McKinley aren't really designed to wash someone's hair in. Still, it's not the first time Kurt's had to do this, and at least Blaine's got a lot less hair than Rachel. And Blaine's right -- this is much easier than trying to get gum out.
Kurt wonders if it was just one piece at a time. He wonders if some days Blaine went home with his hair full of the stuff. He wonders that no one at McKinley has ever thought to do that to Jacob Ben-Israel.
The weird, sharp tang of artificial grape flavoring mixes oddly with the herbal scent of Kurt's shampoo, and the suds sliding down the drain are tinted purple. Most of the slushie is gone, but not all of it. Kurt reaches for the shampoo bottle again. "It is a good conditioner, though," he says, when the silence has stretched on too long. "The olive oil, I mean. Bet your hair felt amazing."
"Oh, it was the best," Blaine says. "I actually had really great hair there, for a little while, gum or no gum. Getting it cut off really sucked."
Kurt's fingers still in Blaine's hair. "You cut it off?" he asks. "Why?"
Blaine just shrugs. "My parents said there was no point in me making myself a target like that." When his laugh comes out again, it's a little bitter this time, a little hurt. "You know, because the only reason I was getting bullied was my hair, and not my --- And not me, I guess. So they took me to Dad's barber and --" Blaine makes a little bzzt sound, and Kurt is grateful that Blaine's eyes are closed, that he can't see Kurt wincing. "It was awful. I looked like some kind of... I don't know. Like I'd escaped from reform school or something."
"I can't imagine," Kurt says, trying to keep his fingers slow and soothing in Blaine's hair. The water is finally rinsing clean now, and that awful grape smell is fading; Kurt turns the taps off and then carefully coaxes Blaine's head back up and out of the sink. "I'm glad you grew it out again, at least a little bit."
There's a faint smile tugging at the corner of Blaine's lips, something a little nostalgic and sad -- it broadens as Kurt gives his hair a few quick scrunches with the towel, getting the excess moisture out before he starts to work the conditioner in. "I figured it wouldn't be so bad if I just kept it gelled down, you know? Like making a smaller target, or something. But sometimes I..." He shrugs. "I don't know. I kind of liked my hair that way, you know? It was obnoxious, but... Sometimes I think I should let it get long again. Except it'd probably look pretty silly with the uniform. Like a clown or something."
Kurt doesn't suggest that maybe, just maybe, the uniform should be the thing that Blaine gives up. Anyway, he's not at all sure he's ready to have Blaine at McKinley with him. There's a comfort in knowing that at least one of them is safe. "You could grow it out a little, just to see," Kurt suggests, as his fingers trace a careful path up from the nape of Blaine's neck to the very edge of his hairline, then down along to his temples, and he wonders absently if his father would have made him cut his hair off. He doesn't think so, somehow. "Leave it alone until prom, at least."
This time, Blaine's laugh is whole-hearted. "Yes, because if the hair cloud is too informal for the Dalton uniform, it'll be great with a tux," he says. "Perfect, really. Not embarrassing at all."
"Oh, ye of little faith." Kurt reluctantly withdraws his hands from Blaine's hair (tugging at the curls a little bit so he can watch them snap back into place one last time), turning to rinse the conditioner off his skin. "If you're that worried about your hair, I'll do it for you. You'll be flawless, trust me."
"I think flawless is kind of pushing it," Blaine huffs, slouching back against the sink, like he can't hold himself up without Kurt's hands there to help him. Then he tenses, lifting his chin so he can stare at Kurt, hazel eyes wide. "Wait," he says. "Wait. Did... Did you just ask me to go to prom with you?"
Kurt dries his hands as nonchalantly as he can, trying to act like they aren't shaking. Like he isn't shaking. Because he did, didn't he? He just asked Blaine to go to prom with him. Except that he kind of didn't ask. He kind of more assumed. Which he very, very much should not have done. Especially not in the first floor girls' bathroom at McKinley. With Blaine sitting on a garbage can. Covered in slushie.
On the plus side, Kurt's outfit couldn't have been more perfect if he had planned this, so that's something. He knew there was a reason he put on a top hat today.
The point is, there are a million things that Kurt could and probably should be saying right now, like I did and I'm sorry and Ha ha! Just joking! Just a silly, silly joke!, but when his mouth opens, what comes out is this: "You've already told me that I get to do your hair. You're not allowed to back out now." Which would be fine if he sounded nonchalant and teasing about it, but even he can tell that his voice has gone absurdly high, almost hysterical-sounding, and he shouldn't have brought prom up in the first place, but his hands were in Blaine's hair, and they were so comfortable, and he just --
"Kurt," Blaine says, his eyes still huge and earnest and sincere, and Kurt can feel the corners of his mouth turning up just a little bit, because damp hair and slushie-stained uniform and all, Blaine is just adorable sometimes. And freaked out as he might be, Kurt can't help but respond to that. "I'm not backing out. I want to go to prom with you. Seriously, I'm tempted to grab you and start jumping up and down and screaming right now, but I don't want to get purple dye on that coat, because I'm pretty sure it won't come off."
Kurt lets the smile take over, then, broader than it should be, because he's thrilled and relieved and because he likes it when Blaine treats his clothing with the respect it deserves. "Blaine, we're going to prom together," he points out. "To McKinley's prom. As dates. I'm going to spend the rest of my life getting slushied for this; I might as well start getting used to the stains now."
Blaine swallows hard, pushing slowly up to his feet; Kurt's gym towel slides off his shoulders and pools onto the floor. "Yeah," he says, reaching out to brush the back of Kurt's hand with stained fingers. "I mean, if I got slushied just for singing to you, the first time we dance together is probably going to be like... like Carrie or something."
"I wish you didn't sound like you were enjoying the idea so much," Kurt says, but he wraps his fingers around Blaine's and pulls him forward, wrapping his arms around Blaine's waist and grinning when Blaine clutches him tightly. Blaine's damp curls, slippery with conditioner, brush up against Kurt's cheek, and all the excess oil is sure to give Kurt a breakout, and there will be huge purple splotches on Kurt's white jacket where he and Blaine are pressed together, chest to chest, and Kurt doesn't even care right now. And prom will be almost certainly be awful, and Blaine's inevitable transfer to McKinley will be worse, and there will be slushies and dumpsters and they will probably spend most of their senior year of high school cleaning each other up in this same bathroom, and Kurt still doesn't care. Not one bit.
"Maybe I like getting slushied for you," Blaine says, and Kurt shivers a little bit, pulling him closer. "Ever think of that?"
Kurt reaches up and buries his hands in Blaine's hair again, because screw it. Nothing's stopping him. The whole football team could burst into this bathroom right now, and it still wouldn't stop him. "You just want me to wash your hair for you again," he suggests, and the way Blaine groans into his shoulder suggests that he's not entirely wrong.
"I'll wash yours, too," Blaine says. "We'll have, like, a post-prom hair-washing party. It'll be great."
"Yeah," Kurt sighs, and doesn't even try playing it cool anymore, because he is going to prom with his boyfriend, and it will destroy any chance he has of ever being accepted at this school, and the next year is going to be purest hell, and he just doesn't care. "Yeah, it'll be awesome."
Blaine smiles next to Kurt's ear; Kurt can feel his lips curving upward, and he shivers again. "I'll start growing my hair out right now," he promises.
*
It's been at least ten minutes since the last time Blaine spoke, since Burt ushered him into Kurt's room and muttered something about warm milk before fleeing, and Blaine looked at Kurt with heartbreak all over his face and said "Kurt, I --"
(He must have been outside for a long time before Burt brought him in, too, because he was soaked -- dripping all over Kurt's white carpet, his hair plastered to his face and his clothes hanging limp against him, heavy with rain. Every inch of him looked bedraggled, forlorn. Lost. And Kurt had pushed himself up off his bed, reaching out, and whatever else Blaine was going to say wound up buried in Kurt's shoulder, along with his tears. He didn't even attempt to say why he'd come, and Kurt didn't ask; the most important thing at that moment was just holding on.)
"I'm so sorry," Blaine says again, but he's still clinging tightly to Kurt as the two of them sit on the bed, and he doesn't even try to pick his head up; his words vibrate low and sad into Kurt's collarbones, each one hitting Kurt square in the heart, where it hurts the most. "Kurt, I -- I'm really, really sorry for this."
"Don't be," Kurt says, still cradling Blaine close, one hand on the back of his head, fingertips pressing into the nape of Blaine's neck, his other hand low and firm along Blaine's back, holding him tightly. His own clothes are every bit as soaked as Blaine's by now, and he knows that he should disentangle himself from Blaine's grasp at least long enough to grab some towels or something, but he can't let go, not just yet. "You have nothing to be sorry for."
"But I should have -- And I know it's late, but I just couldn't -- I didn't know where else to go, and I --"
And it's strange, really, to feel Blaine tense and release in his arms, fighting so hard to pull himself together and then falling apart again, because whatever's hurting him is too much to take. He's still crying, his breath unsteady and ragged, and honestly, Kurt is kind of starting to freak out a little bit. It's not like he doesn't know what's going on, because he does: Blaine had a fight with his parents. Again. Blaine hasn't said as much, but he doesn't need to; Kurt's seen how he gets. He knows how much it hurts. But it has never, ever been this bad, and Kurt doesn't really know what to do about that.
"No, hey," Kurt says, fumbling for something to say, something to fix this. He looks up, like he'll find some kind of inspiration standing in the doorway, and finds his father there, a mug in each hand and a towel slung over his shoulder, watching the two of them with worried eyes. He doesn't seem mad or anything, not suspicious, or awkward, or whatever else a father might be under the circumstances. Just... just worried. Like he wants to help, but he doesn't know how. And somehow, that's just the thing Kurt needed to get his brain working again. "It's not even that late," he points out. "And even if it was, I wouldn't care. No one would. You can... You can come over whenever. Always. You know that."
It's a bold statement, especially with his father right there, but Burt just nods, because that's the kind of dad he is, really. He's always been good like that. Blaine, however, stiffens in Kurt's arms, sucking in a deep, surprised breath. Like the idea of being welcome somewhere, anywhere, is suddenly too much for him to take. "Kurt, you don't have to --"
"I know I don't have to," Kurt says, as firmly as he can. "But I want to. I want you here, Blaine. And if your parents don't --" He cuts himself off before he can say something they'll both wind up regretting. "You can always come here," he repeats. "Always. I mean that."
Blaine takes another deep breath in, lets it out. "I --" Another deep breath, then another, and the dam just bursts. "I just don't understand why they don't --" His voice is sharp, angry, wounded. "I'm not doing anything wrong! My grades, and the Warblers, and I just... I'm not doing anything, so why do they keep acting like I'm so -- I don't understand it, Kurt."
Kurt buries his face in Blaine's hair, and doesn't look at his father at that moment, because he can't. "I'm sorry," he whispers, and "I know," and "I'm sorry," again, because there's nothing else to say; he holds Blaine close and rubs circles into his back and tries to let him know, wordlessly, that it's okay. That there's nothing wrong with him.
"And I know they're just going to be even more mad at me when I get home, because I shouldn't have left in the first place, and it's just one more... just me screwing up again, running away, and it's stupid and it's childish but Kurt, I just don't know if I..." He shakes a little bit with it, fighting with himself, and Kurt can do nothing but hold on, waiting, until Blaine finally breaks and goes limp in his arms. "I'm so tired," Blaine whispers. "Of everything. And I can't... I can't go back. I know I have to, but I just... I can't."
"Then don't." Kurt forces himself to look up at his father, still standing in the doorway, and his dad doesn't exactly look happy, but at the same time, he seems kind of... relieved, maybe? Not arguing, at least. "Stay here. I'll... I'll talk to my dad. He'll be okay with it. You can sleep on the couch or something. Or I'll sleep on the couch. It's okay, Blaine. It's fine. You can just stay."
"Kurt, I couldn't. My -- They don't know where I am; they might get worried, or they might..." But Blaine is pressed tightly to Kurt, his head tucked under Kurt's chin, his arms snug around Kurt's waist, and it's obvious he could stay like this all night. And maybe he should, maybe he needs to; maybe he needs this solid, physical proof that someone out there actually likes him just the way he is, no matter what.
And even if that's not what he needs, Kurt's already made his mind up. Blaine is staying where Kurt can keep an eye on him, at least for tonight, and that's that.
"My dad can call your parents for you," he says, and Blaine shivers a little, tucking his head more firmly into Kurt's neck, like he can't even hear the word right now without getting upset. "He'll tell them you're here. You won't get in any trouble. Just stay, Blaine. Just... Just stay."
Kurt looks up at his dad; after a long, uncertain pause, Burt sets the mugs down on Kurt's vanity, drapes the towel over the top of the mirror, and quietly leaves the room, without Blaine even knowing that Burt was there.
Of course, he's been a little preoccupied.
He's still crying, weakly now, worn down from everything. He's limp in Kurt's hold, easy to move and manipulate; Kurt shifts them both around until Blaine is mostly in his lap, his head to Kurt's chest, and Kurt can curl around him like a shield. "It's okay," he whispers, kissing Blaine's hair. "You can stay. You can stay here. It'll be okay." And he rocks back and forth a little bit, and pets Blaine's back, his shoulders, his arms, and tries to make it as obvious as he can that Blaine is safe now. That Blaine is welcome. That Blaine is, perhaps, home.
*
It's not like this is going to be the first time he's danced with someone. Kurt's had more than his fair share of awkward slow-dance moments, with Mercedes at homecoming, with Finn at his father's wedding, and even once with Santana (gentler than he'd expected, sad and sweet like something borne out of mutual loneliness, and although it didn't make him like her, it might have made her easier to understand). He knows how to lead, if that's how things end up; he knows how to follow, too. And he's thought about this, dreamed about it, for so long. He is so, so ready for this.
Except for the fact that he's not. At all.
Yes, Kurt has danced with people. Lots of people. Some of them were even boys. But all of them were friends, and Blaine is... Blaine is different. Special. More. Blaine touches the back of Kurt's hand like that small patch of skin is something sacred; Blaine pushes Kurt into dark corners, pins him against the wall, and proceeds to kiss him breathless. Blaine has taken slushies for Kurt, stood up to bullies for him, held his hand; he's come to Kurt needy and miserable, sobbed himself to sleep on Kurt's shoulder. He screws up a lot and sometimes Kurt despairs over him, and then sometimes he's so proud of Blaine that he can hardly stand it. Blaine is his friend and his mentor and his student and his duet partner and his prom date and his boyfriend, and Kurt has never tried to be so many things to the same person all at once, and he has no idea how all of this is going to translate to the dance floor.
Will they be awkward together, like middle schoolers who are terrified of touching each other and spend long, anxious minutes staring at their shoes, wishing the dance were over? Will it be stiff and formal? Will Blaine want to... well, to grind? Because while that actually sounds kind of fun, it'll almost certainly get them kicked out of prom, if not thrown into the nearest dumpster.
And who's going to lead? How do you choose? The height rule seems so arbitrary, and Blaine's not even really that much shorter than Kurt, and his shoulders are definitely broader, so there's that to consider. But it's still a rule, and Blaine seems to like rules. And it's not like Kurt even cares, really, because he doesn't, but he just doesn't want to fumble around trying to figure it out and miss half of his first real dance with his first real boyfriend because he's not sure which Kurt he's supposed to be, and which Blaine he's supposed to be with.
And he keeps thinking about it and thinking about it, until it finally supplants corsages and cummerbunds as his number one prom-related concern, and even though he's not really planning on mentioning it to Blaine because he knows he's being silly, he snaps and does it anyway in the middle of a late-night phone call, cutting Blaine off mid-Thad impression and launching into a rambling monologue about heternormative gender roles and stifling expectations and how incredibly repressive and frustrating the whole culture of high school dances can be, particularly when it comes to the needs of gay teens. It is almost certainly the most embarrassing thing Kurt has said to Blaine since they've known each other; it may, in fact, be the most embarrassing thing Kurt has said in his entire life. And he's pretty sure he managed to get it all out in one sentence, and honestly, he probably just sounds deranged.
Blaine, bless him, listens to the whole thing without laughing once. And when it's all over, he says very calmly that if Kurt is worried about how the dancing will go, maybe they should get together the weekend before prom to practice.
And that's how Kurt winds up in Blaine's living room, in Blaine's arms, the two of them rocking from foot to foot in the absolute silence of Blaine's empty house.
Blaine's parents are out doing... something, Kurt didn't bother asking what it was. They're just "out," like they are so often these days, and although it makes Kurt ache a little bit on Blaine's behalf, right now he kind of likes that it's just him and Blaine, with no need to worry who might barge in at an inopportune moment. It's good sometimes just to have this, this little pocket of silence.
There isn't any music playing, but really, they don't need music. They don't need colored lights or streamers, corsages or chaperones. They don't need anything at all. Kurt's arms are draped around Blaine's waist, and Blaine's arms wrap around Kurt's back; Blaine tucks his head into Kurt's neck and Kurt rests his cheek on Blaine's hair and they rock gently in place, neither one leading or following.
Really, Kurt has no idea why he was so nervous about this, why he ever had any doubts. Because it was always going to be this way, the two of them moving in harmony, balanced and complete. Yes, he and Blaine are ridiculously complicated at the best of times, and yes, this silent dance is nothing if not simple, but still. This is who they are, and how they communicate, this is the language they speak to each other.
He closes his eyes and smiles into Blaine's hair.
*
"I should let you go," Blaine says, his voice tinny and distant through the phone; and Kurt wishes, not for the first time, that Blaine was here. He hates trying to work out what Blaine is feeling when he can't see his face, when he can't reach out and place his hand over Blaine's, feel it steady and sure or just faintly trembling beneath his touch. "You've probably got, like, a million things to do before tomorrow."
Kurt groans. "Don't remind me," he sighs. "Seriously, Rachel is freaking out and Mike and Brittany keep coming up with things they want to add to the choreography and Mr. Schue will not shut up about when he went to Nationals for the first time, and..." He groans again, throwing one arm dramatically over his eyes even though Blaine isn't there to see it. Which, incidentally, sucks. Because he wishes Blaine were here.
"Ugh, I wish I was there," Blaine says, a little wistfully. Then he laughs. "I mean, maybe. I think. Just how much is Rachel freaking out? Because that might change my mind."
"She's freaking out a lot," Kurt says, ominously. "Even for her, and that's saying something. And having Jesse around is only making it worse, and Finn's sulking even though he dumped her, back at Christmas, and... Please, Blaine, please tell me that we will never be like that, because I don't think I could stand it. Seriously, I think I'd rather commit hara-kiri right now than deal with that."
"Don't commit hara-kiri," Blaine says. "At least not until after you've won Nationals." Kurt makes an irritated noise, and Blaine laughs harder than ever. "I'm joking," he adds. "Come on, Kurt. You know I --"
Blaine stops short, then, and Kurt raises his eyebrow, which does him no good, because Blaine still isn't there. "I know you what?"
There's an awkward pause, and then Blaine clears his throat. "I just... I've been thinking, you know, about how I feel about things, about you, and I..."
Another silence, and it probably isn't a very long one, but it kind of feels like forever from Kurt's end of the line. "Blaine, seriously, you're freaking me out right now," he says, with a little laugh that he hopes doesn't sound too nervous, even though it totally is. "Seriously, what on earth could be so bad that you --"
"It's not bad, I promise," Blaine says, quickly. "I mean, I don't think it's bad? I hope it's not bad, although I guess maybe... I mean I know it's kind of soon and I'm not expecting you to say it back or anything, but I really did want to tell you that I --" Blaine lets out a frustrated noise, and Kurt is pretty much on the edge of his seat right now. Or he would be, if he were in a chair instead of being slumped on his bed in this hotel room that's roughly the same size as his closet back at home, and he has never wished he were in Ohio the way he does right this second, because Blaine wants to tell him something and then he wants Kurt to say it back, and oh my God. "I just... I guess I don't want to do it like this, you know? I want to say it to you, not a phone. At least the first time, I mean. Because once I've said it, I'll probably just keep saying it all the time, but the first time, it needs to be... You know. Romantic."
Oh. My. God.
"And you don't have any top-secret plans to fly out in time for Nationals and say... whatever to me in front of an auditorium full of people, do you?" Kurt asks, and it's a joke, but honestly, it would be kind of nice. Not that he's expecting it, though. Just making a joke. "Because that would definitely qualify as romantic, in case you were wondering. Very romantic."
"Yeah, it would be, wouldn't it?" Blaine sighs. "Sadly, though." And Kurt isn't disappointed, not really, because it was just a joke, and at least Blaine really does sound sad. Points for that. "But. You know what I mean, though? About what I'm trying to say, or to not say, or --"
Kurt takes a deep breath, and wonders, dimly, if he's glowing. He feels like he's glowing. He feels like his head might explode, he's glowing so hard. "I do," Kurt says. "At least, I think I do. You did say that it was good, right?"
"Kurt, it's wonderful," Blaine says, all warmth and sincerity. "It absolutely is, so please don't freak out. You're not freaking out, right? Because I don't want to freak you out, and you don't have to say it back if you don't feel it, but I really do want you to know that I... I want you to know how I feel. About you."
"I do," Kurt whispers, and his face is all heat, and he's actually kind of shaking a little bit, tearing up, because he does know. Because that's how he feels, too. "It's okay. It's only a few more days, right? And then I'll be home, and you can say it. We can both say it. When I'm home."
"Okay," Blaine says. "Yeah, okay, great." And then, "So you'd better not skip the flight home and stay in New York, then. Because I'll really be upset if you do."
"I'll come back for you," Kurt promises. "And we'll have our talk, and then we can run away and be homeless in New York together. It'll be great."
"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds amazing." Blaine sounds suddenly breathless, pleased and excited, and it's not like Kurt isn't totally in love with New York, because he is, really, and if he could stay in this city forever he totally would, but right now he wants nothing more than to be in Lima, in his own bedroom, with Blaine. Because he's waited forever to get to this city, but he's also waited forever for Blaine, and now -- Well. Hello.
Still, though. "I'll be home Sunday night," Kurt says, and he's talking a little bit to Blaine, but a lot to himself. "I think my dad will probably want me to stay home, though. But Monday, for sure. We can hang out. And talk. And say... things."
"We'll say a lot of things," Blaine says, stupidly earnest and sincere, and Kurt loves him, is the thing. He loves Blaine. And Blaine loves him back, and it really is wonderful. Everything is wonderful. Right now, even Rachel Berry is wonderful. Even Jesse St. James is --
No, Jesse St. James is still a dick.
Everything else, though, is wonderful.
"On Monday," Kurt repeats, collapsing back into his bed, dazed and happy and completely in love. "When I see you. On Monday."
"I can't wait," Blaine says. "Really, Kurt, you have no idea how long I've been wanting to... And I didn't want to rush things, but I've been thinking about it so much, lately, and I just wanted to say how much I --"
"Monday, Blaine," Kurt repeats, because he loves Blaine and he wants to say it and he wants to hear Blaine say it too, but he wants to at least be holding hands when it happens. Cuddling would be preferable, and making out would be cliched but awesome, but he will at least be holding Blaine's hand when they finally say it.
Blaine laughs a little, awkwardly. "Right. Of course. I'll... um. I'll see you Monday, then."
"See you then," Kurt says, and he's already trying to figure out whether it'll be easier to get permission to go to Blaine's house Sunday or have Blaine come over to his house on Sunday. Probably the latter, because his dad seems to like Blaine well enough, and although things are better with Blaine's parents, Kurt still feels incredibly awkward being over there, and tries to do it as little as possible. But he's not sure he can wait until Monday; he is, after all, only so strong.
"See you," Blaine says. "On Monday."
Kurt sighs, but it's a ridiculously fond and adoring sigh, the kind he used to reserve for Finn. "Blaine," he says. "Hang up the phone."
There's a long silence. "I'm not sure I can," Blaine admits, finally.
"Oh, for --" Kurt takes a deep breath. "Right. I'm hanging up now. I'll see you on Monday. I lo--" And he just barely catches himself before the words are out, cuts off short and hangs up the phone.
Which, in retrospect, was kind of bitchy of him. But he doesn't dare call Blaine back, so he settles for punching in a quick text message instead.
SORRY! That was an accident, I swear.
Blaine's response is immediate.
:(
Kurt smiles despite himself.
I really am sorry. <3
Roughly ten seconds later, his phone chimes again.
<3 :)
Still grinning, Kurt lets his phone fall to his side, and thinks about all the things that he and Blaine have yet to say to one another.
Author:
lookninjas
Fandoms: Glee
Pairing/Character(s): Blaine/Kurt
Rating: PG-13 for language and some very gentle making out, although there's not nearly enough to make it fun.
Warnings: Fluff. Some angst. Then more fluff. Lots and lots of fluff.
Word Count: 7100. I have no idea how this got so long, guys.
Spoilers: Potential spoilers for the rest of the freaking season, including one song, one amazing outfit, and one returning character.
Standard-Issue Short-Form Disclaimer: I do not hold copyright to Glee, make no claims to such, and am not profiting from this. I have never used olive oil to remove gum from my hair, but, in retrospect, it does sound a lot better than just reaching for the scissors every time.
Summary: Not all communication has to be verbal. You can say a lot in the way you touch someone's arm, brush their hair out of their eyes, nudge them with your elbow. (Or: Five times words weren't enough, and one time words were all they had.)
Author's Notes: Title comes from Leif Erikson by Interpol, because clearly the moody shoegaze stylings of Paul Banks are what you need to inspire fluffy fluffness. This is pretty much pure id-fic. (Yes, actually, my id is a place where puppies and kittens cuddle underneath rainbows, and everything sparkles and everyone is nice and all of the clouds are fluffy and the trees are happy. Seriously, you guys, sometimes I worry myself.)
Kurt's still a firm believer in the brushing of fingertips, particularly when it's his fingertips brushing against Blaine's. The circumstances are immaterial; it's every bit as romantic to feel Blaine's hand just grazing against his own when they're sitting together in Warblers rehearsal as it is to reach out and run his thumb along Blaine's as they share a table at the Lima Bean. It's such a small gesture, but it says so many things: I'm here and I'm crazy about you and I'm so glad you finally figured this out because I was really about to go out of my mind waiting for you and Did I mention I'm crazy about you? Because I am. Completely.
Fortunately for Kurt, Blaine has enthusiastically jumped onto the fingertip-brushing bandwagon. He's always been a fan of physical contact, nudging Kurt with his shoulder, resting a broad hand on his knee, hurrying Kurt along with both hands on his back and thumbs pressing in, and he still does all of those things (and Kurt still enjoys them, enjoys them even more, really, because Blaine is his boyfriend and he can), but this is something else entirely, a lot less showy, a lot more personal. Blaine's knuckles will graze the back of Kurt's hand as they walk together, and when Kurt looks over, he sees Blaine turned away, ears pink at the tips, suddenly shy and awkward, and he falls just that little bit more every time.
Because, for all Kurt's dad's lectures about how sex makes you vulnerable, it's hard to imagine Blaine being any more open than he is in those small moments of connection, his skin just barely touching Kurt's, whispering I'm sorry. I'm an idiot. Please say you forgive me. Please say you still want this. Please.
And Kurt has to reach out and twine his fingers with Blaine's, squeeze his hand hard, because Yes. Yes. Yes.
*
They still tell each other everything; Kurt doesn't see that changing any time soon. He hopes it doesn't change any time soon. It's the best thing about their relationship, that they're honest with each other even when it hurts. Kurt's seen what happened with Finn and Rachel, and Finn and Quinn, and Quinn and Sam, and... well, pretty much everyone who's ever dated anyone at McKinley High (except maybe Mike and Tina, and even they had that stupid cheating drama right before Sectionals.) So he knows how important good communication is. Really, it's the foundation of every successful relationship.
Still, not all communication has to be verbal. You can say a lot in the way you touch someone's arm, brush their hair out of their eyes, nudge them with your elbow. Or the way you kiss someone, maybe. That can say a lot, too.
So it's not like he and Blaine have given up on this particular conversation in favor of making out. They're still talking. Just in kind of a different way.
Blaine is heavy and warm on Kurt's lap, his arms clutching tight, his lips slick and fierce, demanding, desperate. He's pinning Kurt down, caging him with his body, and Kurt feels like he should be a lot less comfortable with this than he is. Like he maybe he should be pushing Blaine away rather than wrapping both hands around his collar and pulling him down even further, their bodies pressed together so tightly that it's a little hard to breathe. But he is comfortable, and he doesn't want to push Blaine away, so he tugs Blaine down and kisses him back and does his level best to reassure Blaine that he still wants this, wants him.
"'M gonna miss you," Blaine groans, breaking away, and Kurt kisses reassurances along the line of his jaw, reaching up with both hands to angle Blaine's head down so he can keep climbing, lips grazing Blaine's temple, his closed eyelids, his forehead. "I'm gonna miss you so much. Kurt--"
"I'm not leaving you," Kurt promises, nuzzling his way back down, pressing chaste little pecks against the corner of Blaine's mouth. "We'll still see each other. As often as we can."
"Still," Blaine grumbles, chasing Kurt's lips.
Kurt's hands drift down to splay across Blaine's back, pressing him in closer, closer, wishing they could just melt into each other and then they would never, ever have to be lonely. "I know," he whispers, just breathing it into Blaine's skin. "I'll miss you too. So much."
Blaine kisses him again, softer now, lingering. His hands cup the sides of Kurt's face, thumbs stroking along Kurt's cheekbones. "But you'll call me," he says, quietly. "And we'll go out. And we'll see each other."
"All the time," Kurt says, and it's his turn to chase Blaine's lips, pressing kiss after kiss into them, each one a silent promise. "You won't even notice I'm gone."
"I will," Blaine argues, but he doesn't press the point. Or if he does, he does it silently, with his hands on Kurt's waist and his lips memorizing every detail of Kurt's face, making memories for the two of them to hold on to when Kurt is back at McKinley and Blaine is still at Dalton and they miss each other beyond words.
*
Kurt's been waiting ages for an opportunity to really tangle his fingers into Blaine's hair, feel the curls underneath his fingers, tug and pull to his heart's content. It's a little silly, maybe, but Kurt's like every other straight-haired person on the planet, and curls fascinate him. Especially Blaine's curls. Because they're Blaine's, and he could be burying his hands in them every day and pulling just a little, light but firm, just enough to tilt Blaine's head to the side and expose his neck and kiss his way down and make Blaine make those little noises that he makes when...
But he can't, is the thing, because Blaine wears too much gel, and although Kurt appreciates the Cary Grant aesthetic as much as anyone else, it's really starting to get irritating.
And maybe Kurt shouldn't be kind of enjoying the fact that Azimio decided to ruin Blaine's big serenading moment out there in the courtyard with a well-timed slushie, but it's hard to be too upset when it's given him this kind of chance. Because now Kurt and Blaine are all alone in the first floor girls' bathroom, and Blaine is slouching on an upturned trashcan, his head tilted back into the sink while Kurt carefully rinses the worst of the corn syrup out of it. Because Blaine's tie and blazer are gone, and his shirt is open, and his hair is admittedly kind of gross but still -- Blaine's hair -- and it's not like Kurt's going to do anything about this, but he can still enjoy the moment.
"It could have been worse," Blaine says, cheerfully, and hey, maybe Kurt's not the only one who's enjoying this. At the very least, Blaine's not nearly as much of a baby as Puck and Finn were. Kurt's kind of impressed. "People used to stick gum in my hair at my old school. Like, whoever was sitting behind me in class would just reach up and..." He actually laughs a little. "Now that was hard to get out."
Kurt blinks down at him for a second, glad that Blaine's eyes are closed, that he can't see the look on his face. It's funny how Kurt forgets about it so often, forgets that Blaine wasn't always a Dalton boy in a red-trimmed blazer. That he was taunted, bullied, badly enough that he had to run away to Dalton just to be safe. It's just one of those things -- Blaine doesn't really bring it up, and Kurt doesn't pry, because he's always assumed it was this big, sensitive thing.
Except now Blaine's sitting here, covered in sticky purple syrup, and talking about how people used to stick gum in his hair, like it's no big deal at all. Like he almost kind of misses it. And Kurt doesn't know what to do about that.
He reaches for the shampoo, pours a generous amount into his hand, and starts carefully working it into Blaine's sticky hair, fingernails scratching at Blaine's scalp, just gently tugging at Blaine's curls. "You must have smelled like peanut butter all the time," he says, trying to keep his tone light, make it easier for Blaine to keep talking. If he wants to. "I'm surprised you can still eat so much of it."
"That's because my mom didn't use peanut butter to get the gum out." Blaine sort of presses his head back into Kurt's hands, and Kurt almost laughs at him. He's like a cat being scratched behind the ears, shamelessly begging for more. "She used olive oil. Take a little bit, rub it in, comb it through..." He shrugs and spreads his hands out. "Voila. Gets the gum out and it's a fantastic, all-natural conditioner. I actually used to keep a bottle of it in my locker, in case the gum attacks started early in the day. I wasn't great at getting it out by myself, but I could get most of it."
"Mmm," Kurt says, tilting Blaine's head so he can rinse the sides, the back. It's a little awkward -- the sinks at McKinley aren't really designed to wash someone's hair in. Still, it's not the first time Kurt's had to do this, and at least Blaine's got a lot less hair than Rachel. And Blaine's right -- this is much easier than trying to get gum out.
Kurt wonders if it was just one piece at a time. He wonders if some days Blaine went home with his hair full of the stuff. He wonders that no one at McKinley has ever thought to do that to Jacob Ben-Israel.
The weird, sharp tang of artificial grape flavoring mixes oddly with the herbal scent of Kurt's shampoo, and the suds sliding down the drain are tinted purple. Most of the slushie is gone, but not all of it. Kurt reaches for the shampoo bottle again. "It is a good conditioner, though," he says, when the silence has stretched on too long. "The olive oil, I mean. Bet your hair felt amazing."
"Oh, it was the best," Blaine says. "I actually had really great hair there, for a little while, gum or no gum. Getting it cut off really sucked."
Kurt's fingers still in Blaine's hair. "You cut it off?" he asks. "Why?"
Blaine just shrugs. "My parents said there was no point in me making myself a target like that." When his laugh comes out again, it's a little bitter this time, a little hurt. "You know, because the only reason I was getting bullied was my hair, and not my --- And not me, I guess. So they took me to Dad's barber and --" Blaine makes a little bzzt sound, and Kurt is grateful that Blaine's eyes are closed, that he can't see Kurt wincing. "It was awful. I looked like some kind of... I don't know. Like I'd escaped from reform school or something."
"I can't imagine," Kurt says, trying to keep his fingers slow and soothing in Blaine's hair. The water is finally rinsing clean now, and that awful grape smell is fading; Kurt turns the taps off and then carefully coaxes Blaine's head back up and out of the sink. "I'm glad you grew it out again, at least a little bit."
There's a faint smile tugging at the corner of Blaine's lips, something a little nostalgic and sad -- it broadens as Kurt gives his hair a few quick scrunches with the towel, getting the excess moisture out before he starts to work the conditioner in. "I figured it wouldn't be so bad if I just kept it gelled down, you know? Like making a smaller target, or something. But sometimes I..." He shrugs. "I don't know. I kind of liked my hair that way, you know? It was obnoxious, but... Sometimes I think I should let it get long again. Except it'd probably look pretty silly with the uniform. Like a clown or something."
Kurt doesn't suggest that maybe, just maybe, the uniform should be the thing that Blaine gives up. Anyway, he's not at all sure he's ready to have Blaine at McKinley with him. There's a comfort in knowing that at least one of them is safe. "You could grow it out a little, just to see," Kurt suggests, as his fingers trace a careful path up from the nape of Blaine's neck to the very edge of his hairline, then down along to his temples, and he wonders absently if his father would have made him cut his hair off. He doesn't think so, somehow. "Leave it alone until prom, at least."
This time, Blaine's laugh is whole-hearted. "Yes, because if the hair cloud is too informal for the Dalton uniform, it'll be great with a tux," he says. "Perfect, really. Not embarrassing at all."
"Oh, ye of little faith." Kurt reluctantly withdraws his hands from Blaine's hair (tugging at the curls a little bit so he can watch them snap back into place one last time), turning to rinse the conditioner off his skin. "If you're that worried about your hair, I'll do it for you. You'll be flawless, trust me."
"I think flawless is kind of pushing it," Blaine huffs, slouching back against the sink, like he can't hold himself up without Kurt's hands there to help him. Then he tenses, lifting his chin so he can stare at Kurt, hazel eyes wide. "Wait," he says. "Wait. Did... Did you just ask me to go to prom with you?"
Kurt dries his hands as nonchalantly as he can, trying to act like they aren't shaking. Like he isn't shaking. Because he did, didn't he? He just asked Blaine to go to prom with him. Except that he kind of didn't ask. He kind of more assumed. Which he very, very much should not have done. Especially not in the first floor girls' bathroom at McKinley. With Blaine sitting on a garbage can. Covered in slushie.
On the plus side, Kurt's outfit couldn't have been more perfect if he had planned this, so that's something. He knew there was a reason he put on a top hat today.
The point is, there are a million things that Kurt could and probably should be saying right now, like I did and I'm sorry and Ha ha! Just joking! Just a silly, silly joke!, but when his mouth opens, what comes out is this: "You've already told me that I get to do your hair. You're not allowed to back out now." Which would be fine if he sounded nonchalant and teasing about it, but even he can tell that his voice has gone absurdly high, almost hysterical-sounding, and he shouldn't have brought prom up in the first place, but his hands were in Blaine's hair, and they were so comfortable, and he just --
"Kurt," Blaine says, his eyes still huge and earnest and sincere, and Kurt can feel the corners of his mouth turning up just a little bit, because damp hair and slushie-stained uniform and all, Blaine is just adorable sometimes. And freaked out as he might be, Kurt can't help but respond to that. "I'm not backing out. I want to go to prom with you. Seriously, I'm tempted to grab you and start jumping up and down and screaming right now, but I don't want to get purple dye on that coat, because I'm pretty sure it won't come off."
Kurt lets the smile take over, then, broader than it should be, because he's thrilled and relieved and because he likes it when Blaine treats his clothing with the respect it deserves. "Blaine, we're going to prom together," he points out. "To McKinley's prom. As dates. I'm going to spend the rest of my life getting slushied for this; I might as well start getting used to the stains now."
Blaine swallows hard, pushing slowly up to his feet; Kurt's gym towel slides off his shoulders and pools onto the floor. "Yeah," he says, reaching out to brush the back of Kurt's hand with stained fingers. "I mean, if I got slushied just for singing to you, the first time we dance together is probably going to be like... like Carrie or something."
"I wish you didn't sound like you were enjoying the idea so much," Kurt says, but he wraps his fingers around Blaine's and pulls him forward, wrapping his arms around Blaine's waist and grinning when Blaine clutches him tightly. Blaine's damp curls, slippery with conditioner, brush up against Kurt's cheek, and all the excess oil is sure to give Kurt a breakout, and there will be huge purple splotches on Kurt's white jacket where he and Blaine are pressed together, chest to chest, and Kurt doesn't even care right now. And prom will be almost certainly be awful, and Blaine's inevitable transfer to McKinley will be worse, and there will be slushies and dumpsters and they will probably spend most of their senior year of high school cleaning each other up in this same bathroom, and Kurt still doesn't care. Not one bit.
"Maybe I like getting slushied for you," Blaine says, and Kurt shivers a little bit, pulling him closer. "Ever think of that?"
Kurt reaches up and buries his hands in Blaine's hair again, because screw it. Nothing's stopping him. The whole football team could burst into this bathroom right now, and it still wouldn't stop him. "You just want me to wash your hair for you again," he suggests, and the way Blaine groans into his shoulder suggests that he's not entirely wrong.
"I'll wash yours, too," Blaine says. "We'll have, like, a post-prom hair-washing party. It'll be great."
"Yeah," Kurt sighs, and doesn't even try playing it cool anymore, because he is going to prom with his boyfriend, and it will destroy any chance he has of ever being accepted at this school, and the next year is going to be purest hell, and he just doesn't care. "Yeah, it'll be awesome."
Blaine smiles next to Kurt's ear; Kurt can feel his lips curving upward, and he shivers again. "I'll start growing my hair out right now," he promises.
*
It's been at least ten minutes since the last time Blaine spoke, since Burt ushered him into Kurt's room and muttered something about warm milk before fleeing, and Blaine looked at Kurt with heartbreak all over his face and said "Kurt, I --"
(He must have been outside for a long time before Burt brought him in, too, because he was soaked -- dripping all over Kurt's white carpet, his hair plastered to his face and his clothes hanging limp against him, heavy with rain. Every inch of him looked bedraggled, forlorn. Lost. And Kurt had pushed himself up off his bed, reaching out, and whatever else Blaine was going to say wound up buried in Kurt's shoulder, along with his tears. He didn't even attempt to say why he'd come, and Kurt didn't ask; the most important thing at that moment was just holding on.)
"I'm so sorry," Blaine says again, but he's still clinging tightly to Kurt as the two of them sit on the bed, and he doesn't even try to pick his head up; his words vibrate low and sad into Kurt's collarbones, each one hitting Kurt square in the heart, where it hurts the most. "Kurt, I -- I'm really, really sorry for this."
"Don't be," Kurt says, still cradling Blaine close, one hand on the back of his head, fingertips pressing into the nape of Blaine's neck, his other hand low and firm along Blaine's back, holding him tightly. His own clothes are every bit as soaked as Blaine's by now, and he knows that he should disentangle himself from Blaine's grasp at least long enough to grab some towels or something, but he can't let go, not just yet. "You have nothing to be sorry for."
"But I should have -- And I know it's late, but I just couldn't -- I didn't know where else to go, and I --"
And it's strange, really, to feel Blaine tense and release in his arms, fighting so hard to pull himself together and then falling apart again, because whatever's hurting him is too much to take. He's still crying, his breath unsteady and ragged, and honestly, Kurt is kind of starting to freak out a little bit. It's not like he doesn't know what's going on, because he does: Blaine had a fight with his parents. Again. Blaine hasn't said as much, but he doesn't need to; Kurt's seen how he gets. He knows how much it hurts. But it has never, ever been this bad, and Kurt doesn't really know what to do about that.
"No, hey," Kurt says, fumbling for something to say, something to fix this. He looks up, like he'll find some kind of inspiration standing in the doorway, and finds his father there, a mug in each hand and a towel slung over his shoulder, watching the two of them with worried eyes. He doesn't seem mad or anything, not suspicious, or awkward, or whatever else a father might be under the circumstances. Just... just worried. Like he wants to help, but he doesn't know how. And somehow, that's just the thing Kurt needed to get his brain working again. "It's not even that late," he points out. "And even if it was, I wouldn't care. No one would. You can... You can come over whenever. Always. You know that."
It's a bold statement, especially with his father right there, but Burt just nods, because that's the kind of dad he is, really. He's always been good like that. Blaine, however, stiffens in Kurt's arms, sucking in a deep, surprised breath. Like the idea of being welcome somewhere, anywhere, is suddenly too much for him to take. "Kurt, you don't have to --"
"I know I don't have to," Kurt says, as firmly as he can. "But I want to. I want you here, Blaine. And if your parents don't --" He cuts himself off before he can say something they'll both wind up regretting. "You can always come here," he repeats. "Always. I mean that."
Blaine takes another deep breath in, lets it out. "I --" Another deep breath, then another, and the dam just bursts. "I just don't understand why they don't --" His voice is sharp, angry, wounded. "I'm not doing anything wrong! My grades, and the Warblers, and I just... I'm not doing anything, so why do they keep acting like I'm so -- I don't understand it, Kurt."
Kurt buries his face in Blaine's hair, and doesn't look at his father at that moment, because he can't. "I'm sorry," he whispers, and "I know," and "I'm sorry," again, because there's nothing else to say; he holds Blaine close and rubs circles into his back and tries to let him know, wordlessly, that it's okay. That there's nothing wrong with him.
"And I know they're just going to be even more mad at me when I get home, because I shouldn't have left in the first place, and it's just one more... just me screwing up again, running away, and it's stupid and it's childish but Kurt, I just don't know if I..." He shakes a little bit with it, fighting with himself, and Kurt can do nothing but hold on, waiting, until Blaine finally breaks and goes limp in his arms. "I'm so tired," Blaine whispers. "Of everything. And I can't... I can't go back. I know I have to, but I just... I can't."
"Then don't." Kurt forces himself to look up at his father, still standing in the doorway, and his dad doesn't exactly look happy, but at the same time, he seems kind of... relieved, maybe? Not arguing, at least. "Stay here. I'll... I'll talk to my dad. He'll be okay with it. You can sleep on the couch or something. Or I'll sleep on the couch. It's okay, Blaine. It's fine. You can just stay."
"Kurt, I couldn't. My -- They don't know where I am; they might get worried, or they might..." But Blaine is pressed tightly to Kurt, his head tucked under Kurt's chin, his arms snug around Kurt's waist, and it's obvious he could stay like this all night. And maybe he should, maybe he needs to; maybe he needs this solid, physical proof that someone out there actually likes him just the way he is, no matter what.
And even if that's not what he needs, Kurt's already made his mind up. Blaine is staying where Kurt can keep an eye on him, at least for tonight, and that's that.
"My dad can call your parents for you," he says, and Blaine shivers a little, tucking his head more firmly into Kurt's neck, like he can't even hear the word right now without getting upset. "He'll tell them you're here. You won't get in any trouble. Just stay, Blaine. Just... Just stay."
Kurt looks up at his dad; after a long, uncertain pause, Burt sets the mugs down on Kurt's vanity, drapes the towel over the top of the mirror, and quietly leaves the room, without Blaine even knowing that Burt was there.
Of course, he's been a little preoccupied.
He's still crying, weakly now, worn down from everything. He's limp in Kurt's hold, easy to move and manipulate; Kurt shifts them both around until Blaine is mostly in his lap, his head to Kurt's chest, and Kurt can curl around him like a shield. "It's okay," he whispers, kissing Blaine's hair. "You can stay. You can stay here. It'll be okay." And he rocks back and forth a little bit, and pets Blaine's back, his shoulders, his arms, and tries to make it as obvious as he can that Blaine is safe now. That Blaine is welcome. That Blaine is, perhaps, home.
*
It's not like this is going to be the first time he's danced with someone. Kurt's had more than his fair share of awkward slow-dance moments, with Mercedes at homecoming, with Finn at his father's wedding, and even once with Santana (gentler than he'd expected, sad and sweet like something borne out of mutual loneliness, and although it didn't make him like her, it might have made her easier to understand). He knows how to lead, if that's how things end up; he knows how to follow, too. And he's thought about this, dreamed about it, for so long. He is so, so ready for this.
Except for the fact that he's not. At all.
Yes, Kurt has danced with people. Lots of people. Some of them were even boys. But all of them were friends, and Blaine is... Blaine is different. Special. More. Blaine touches the back of Kurt's hand like that small patch of skin is something sacred; Blaine pushes Kurt into dark corners, pins him against the wall, and proceeds to kiss him breathless. Blaine has taken slushies for Kurt, stood up to bullies for him, held his hand; he's come to Kurt needy and miserable, sobbed himself to sleep on Kurt's shoulder. He screws up a lot and sometimes Kurt despairs over him, and then sometimes he's so proud of Blaine that he can hardly stand it. Blaine is his friend and his mentor and his student and his duet partner and his prom date and his boyfriend, and Kurt has never tried to be so many things to the same person all at once, and he has no idea how all of this is going to translate to the dance floor.
Will they be awkward together, like middle schoolers who are terrified of touching each other and spend long, anxious minutes staring at their shoes, wishing the dance were over? Will it be stiff and formal? Will Blaine want to... well, to grind? Because while that actually sounds kind of fun, it'll almost certainly get them kicked out of prom, if not thrown into the nearest dumpster.
And who's going to lead? How do you choose? The height rule seems so arbitrary, and Blaine's not even really that much shorter than Kurt, and his shoulders are definitely broader, so there's that to consider. But it's still a rule, and Blaine seems to like rules. And it's not like Kurt even cares, really, because he doesn't, but he just doesn't want to fumble around trying to figure it out and miss half of his first real dance with his first real boyfriend because he's not sure which Kurt he's supposed to be, and which Blaine he's supposed to be with.
And he keeps thinking about it and thinking about it, until it finally supplants corsages and cummerbunds as his number one prom-related concern, and even though he's not really planning on mentioning it to Blaine because he knows he's being silly, he snaps and does it anyway in the middle of a late-night phone call, cutting Blaine off mid-Thad impression and launching into a rambling monologue about heternormative gender roles and stifling expectations and how incredibly repressive and frustrating the whole culture of high school dances can be, particularly when it comes to the needs of gay teens. It is almost certainly the most embarrassing thing Kurt has said to Blaine since they've known each other; it may, in fact, be the most embarrassing thing Kurt has said in his entire life. And he's pretty sure he managed to get it all out in one sentence, and honestly, he probably just sounds deranged.
Blaine, bless him, listens to the whole thing without laughing once. And when it's all over, he says very calmly that if Kurt is worried about how the dancing will go, maybe they should get together the weekend before prom to practice.
And that's how Kurt winds up in Blaine's living room, in Blaine's arms, the two of them rocking from foot to foot in the absolute silence of Blaine's empty house.
Blaine's parents are out doing... something, Kurt didn't bother asking what it was. They're just "out," like they are so often these days, and although it makes Kurt ache a little bit on Blaine's behalf, right now he kind of likes that it's just him and Blaine, with no need to worry who might barge in at an inopportune moment. It's good sometimes just to have this, this little pocket of silence.
There isn't any music playing, but really, they don't need music. They don't need colored lights or streamers, corsages or chaperones. They don't need anything at all. Kurt's arms are draped around Blaine's waist, and Blaine's arms wrap around Kurt's back; Blaine tucks his head into Kurt's neck and Kurt rests his cheek on Blaine's hair and they rock gently in place, neither one leading or following.
Really, Kurt has no idea why he was so nervous about this, why he ever had any doubts. Because it was always going to be this way, the two of them moving in harmony, balanced and complete. Yes, he and Blaine are ridiculously complicated at the best of times, and yes, this silent dance is nothing if not simple, but still. This is who they are, and how they communicate, this is the language they speak to each other.
He closes his eyes and smiles into Blaine's hair.
*
"I should let you go," Blaine says, his voice tinny and distant through the phone; and Kurt wishes, not for the first time, that Blaine was here. He hates trying to work out what Blaine is feeling when he can't see his face, when he can't reach out and place his hand over Blaine's, feel it steady and sure or just faintly trembling beneath his touch. "You've probably got, like, a million things to do before tomorrow."
Kurt groans. "Don't remind me," he sighs. "Seriously, Rachel is freaking out and Mike and Brittany keep coming up with things they want to add to the choreography and Mr. Schue will not shut up about when he went to Nationals for the first time, and..." He groans again, throwing one arm dramatically over his eyes even though Blaine isn't there to see it. Which, incidentally, sucks. Because he wishes Blaine were here.
"Ugh, I wish I was there," Blaine says, a little wistfully. Then he laughs. "I mean, maybe. I think. Just how much is Rachel freaking out? Because that might change my mind."
"She's freaking out a lot," Kurt says, ominously. "Even for her, and that's saying something. And having Jesse around is only making it worse, and Finn's sulking even though he dumped her, back at Christmas, and... Please, Blaine, please tell me that we will never be like that, because I don't think I could stand it. Seriously, I think I'd rather commit hara-kiri right now than deal with that."
"Don't commit hara-kiri," Blaine says. "At least not until after you've won Nationals." Kurt makes an irritated noise, and Blaine laughs harder than ever. "I'm joking," he adds. "Come on, Kurt. You know I --"
Blaine stops short, then, and Kurt raises his eyebrow, which does him no good, because Blaine still isn't there. "I know you what?"
There's an awkward pause, and then Blaine clears his throat. "I just... I've been thinking, you know, about how I feel about things, about you, and I..."
Another silence, and it probably isn't a very long one, but it kind of feels like forever from Kurt's end of the line. "Blaine, seriously, you're freaking me out right now," he says, with a little laugh that he hopes doesn't sound too nervous, even though it totally is. "Seriously, what on earth could be so bad that you --"
"It's not bad, I promise," Blaine says, quickly. "I mean, I don't think it's bad? I hope it's not bad, although I guess maybe... I mean I know it's kind of soon and I'm not expecting you to say it back or anything, but I really did want to tell you that I --" Blaine lets out a frustrated noise, and Kurt is pretty much on the edge of his seat right now. Or he would be, if he were in a chair instead of being slumped on his bed in this hotel room that's roughly the same size as his closet back at home, and he has never wished he were in Ohio the way he does right this second, because Blaine wants to tell him something and then he wants Kurt to say it back, and oh my God. "I just... I guess I don't want to do it like this, you know? I want to say it to you, not a phone. At least the first time, I mean. Because once I've said it, I'll probably just keep saying it all the time, but the first time, it needs to be... You know. Romantic."
Oh. My. God.
"And you don't have any top-secret plans to fly out in time for Nationals and say... whatever to me in front of an auditorium full of people, do you?" Kurt asks, and it's a joke, but honestly, it would be kind of nice. Not that he's expecting it, though. Just making a joke. "Because that would definitely qualify as romantic, in case you were wondering. Very romantic."
"Yeah, it would be, wouldn't it?" Blaine sighs. "Sadly, though." And Kurt isn't disappointed, not really, because it was just a joke, and at least Blaine really does sound sad. Points for that. "But. You know what I mean, though? About what I'm trying to say, or to not say, or --"
Kurt takes a deep breath, and wonders, dimly, if he's glowing. He feels like he's glowing. He feels like his head might explode, he's glowing so hard. "I do," Kurt says. "At least, I think I do. You did say that it was good, right?"
"Kurt, it's wonderful," Blaine says, all warmth and sincerity. "It absolutely is, so please don't freak out. You're not freaking out, right? Because I don't want to freak you out, and you don't have to say it back if you don't feel it, but I really do want you to know that I... I want you to know how I feel. About you."
"I do," Kurt whispers, and his face is all heat, and he's actually kind of shaking a little bit, tearing up, because he does know. Because that's how he feels, too. "It's okay. It's only a few more days, right? And then I'll be home, and you can say it. We can both say it. When I'm home."
"Okay," Blaine says. "Yeah, okay, great." And then, "So you'd better not skip the flight home and stay in New York, then. Because I'll really be upset if you do."
"I'll come back for you," Kurt promises. "And we'll have our talk, and then we can run away and be homeless in New York together. It'll be great."
"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds amazing." Blaine sounds suddenly breathless, pleased and excited, and it's not like Kurt isn't totally in love with New York, because he is, really, and if he could stay in this city forever he totally would, but right now he wants nothing more than to be in Lima, in his own bedroom, with Blaine. Because he's waited forever to get to this city, but he's also waited forever for Blaine, and now -- Well. Hello.
Still, though. "I'll be home Sunday night," Kurt says, and he's talking a little bit to Blaine, but a lot to himself. "I think my dad will probably want me to stay home, though. But Monday, for sure. We can hang out. And talk. And say... things."
"We'll say a lot of things," Blaine says, stupidly earnest and sincere, and Kurt loves him, is the thing. He loves Blaine. And Blaine loves him back, and it really is wonderful. Everything is wonderful. Right now, even Rachel Berry is wonderful. Even Jesse St. James is --
No, Jesse St. James is still a dick.
Everything else, though, is wonderful.
"On Monday," Kurt repeats, collapsing back into his bed, dazed and happy and completely in love. "When I see you. On Monday."
"I can't wait," Blaine says. "Really, Kurt, you have no idea how long I've been wanting to... And I didn't want to rush things, but I've been thinking about it so much, lately, and I just wanted to say how much I --"
"Monday, Blaine," Kurt repeats, because he loves Blaine and he wants to say it and he wants to hear Blaine say it too, but he wants to at least be holding hands when it happens. Cuddling would be preferable, and making out would be cliched but awesome, but he will at least be holding Blaine's hand when they finally say it.
Blaine laughs a little, awkwardly. "Right. Of course. I'll... um. I'll see you Monday, then."
"See you then," Kurt says, and he's already trying to figure out whether it'll be easier to get permission to go to Blaine's house Sunday or have Blaine come over to his house on Sunday. Probably the latter, because his dad seems to like Blaine well enough, and although things are better with Blaine's parents, Kurt still feels incredibly awkward being over there, and tries to do it as little as possible. But he's not sure he can wait until Monday; he is, after all, only so strong.
"See you," Blaine says. "On Monday."
Kurt sighs, but it's a ridiculously fond and adoring sigh, the kind he used to reserve for Finn. "Blaine," he says. "Hang up the phone."
There's a long silence. "I'm not sure I can," Blaine admits, finally.
"Oh, for --" Kurt takes a deep breath. "Right. I'm hanging up now. I'll see you on Monday. I lo--" And he just barely catches himself before the words are out, cuts off short and hangs up the phone.
Which, in retrospect, was kind of bitchy of him. But he doesn't dare call Blaine back, so he settles for punching in a quick text message instead.
SORRY! That was an accident, I swear.
Blaine's response is immediate.
:(
Kurt smiles despite himself.
I really am sorry. <3
Roughly ten seconds later, his phone chimes again.
<3 :)
Still grinning, Kurt lets his phone fall to his side, and thinks about all the things that he and Blaine have yet to say to one another.