I Don't Care About Anything But You
Title: I Don't Care About Anything But You
Rating: PG
Part: 1 of 1 [part of the 'Dream on, Dreamer' 'verse]
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine
Word Count: 2300[ish]
Spoilers: None
Summary: Blaine is singing. This is nothing out of the ordinary because Blaine is always singing; right now, it’s one in the morning and he is drunk and singing what seems to be his own mashed up medley, but is still perfectly in tune. Always perfectly in tune.
A/N: slightly more angsty than this ‘verse has been so far.In fact, the ‘verse as a whole is likely going to take a less fluffy turn for a while, that’s a warning for the next few parts I guess. I refuse to believe that this boys will live in a perfect little bubble of love for all of time and I firmly believe that you need the bad times to properly appreciate the good so *shrug* here you go. Thank-you for reading, you lovely people.
“Love is many a splendoured thing, all you need is love, love lifts us up where we belong.”
Blaine is singing. This is nothing out of the ordinary because Blaine is always singing; right now, it’s one in the morning and he is drunk and singing what seems to be his own mashed up medley, but is still perfectly in tune. Always perfectly in tune.
The sound of Blaine’s voice when he sings is up there very close to the top of the list of Kurt’s ‘most favourite things ever’ along with rush tickets for Broadway shows where you end up sitting next to tourists who’ve paid $80 when you’ve only paid $8, and Blaine’s mac and cheese and the way his Dad always smells like motor oil and cheap shower gel and home, and old editions of French Vogue, and that photo of Blaine and him in their Dalton blazers from when they were kids, and walking through New York in the early hours of the morning and wrapping himself up in the sights and the sounds and the smells and thinking he’s never felt this alive ever, and the guy who plays saxophone in Central Park on a Saturday morning, and the way it feels to drive into Lima and park his car on his Dad’s drive, and the way Blaine holds onto him when he sleeps. Tonight though, the sound of Blaine’s singing isn’t enough to stop Kurt from wanting to plant his fist hard in his chest. He doesn’t; Kurt has never been one for physical violence. He settles instead for one word, delivered with as much force as any punch.
“Bullshit.”
Blaine’s mouth drops open to form an ‘o’ of surprise as he stops mid-song to stare at Kurt; Kurt gets the impression that somehow this was not the response Blaine had hoped for.
Unlucky.
Blaine is not Ewan McGregor and if he thinks Kurt going to fall into his arms and let him take him dancing on the roof tops then he’s stupider than Kurt thought he was.
Which right now, Kurt thinks bitterly, would be quite the achievement because right now Kurt happens to think Blaine is really really stupid.
All you need is love?
Kurt wishes the person who first dared to voice that thought was stood in his apartment right now so he could laugh in their face.
Love, and Kurt has decided this in the months following Blaine’s move to New York, love, unless you are a character from a saccharine sweet Baz Lurhmann film is balancing precariously on the edge of a deep dark pit labelled ‘too much like hard work.’ Kurt thinks the movie business has a lot to answer for, actually, and ought to spend some serious time and energy re-thinking it’s taglines.
Santana told Kurt and Blaine once [and whatever Blaine might say about Santana who somehow seems to have become a seriously fucked up version of his BFF, Kurt still thinks she is some kind of she-devil so it says a lot about his state of mind right now that he is recalling her obnoxious attempts at advice] that if they wanted her advice [which Blaine always does because Blaine is stupid and which Kurt usually ignores] they’d do better to buy a bottle of vodka rather than be in love.
At least with vodka, Santana said, you know where you stand; you know that if you down enough of it then you’ll get drunk, and when you’re drunk you’ll be happy; you’ll be floating; you’ll be on top of the fucking world, and you know that it’s constant, it won’t fuck you over. If you want to fly then vodka will let you fly.
Love however? And here Santana had waved a half drunk bottle of vodka in the air in an illustrative fashion, oh, love lets you fly alright, it lets you fly higher than you’ve ever flown before but it has an ulterior motive that vodka doesn’t have; love wants you to fly high because the higher you fly the further you have to fall. And you will fall.
Kurt and Blaine had edged a little closer to one another then; Blaine’s nose had been cold as it pressed against Kurt’s temple breathing him in and Kurt had smiled at the sensation and rolled his eye’s at Santana’s cynicism and he’d squeezed Blaine’s gloved hand tightly as his boyfriend told Santana earnestly how he hoped that one day she’d find what him and Kurt had. Kurt had been just a little bit smug because he deserved to be didn’t he? He lived in New York and he had a gorgeous gorgeous boyfriend who loved him and he didn’t need vodka, thanks, because his life was picture-perfect.
Right now, as Blaine rolls home drunk after another stupid stupid fight, especially stupid because Kurt can’t even remember now what it was about or who started it or who he’s supposed to blame because actually, living together after a year apart and being college students and working so hard all of the time and trying to make ends meet is fucking hard, harder than either of them had ever imagined and there is nobody to take it out on really but one another, Kurt wonders if maybe Santana had a point.
Kurt still loves Blaine, of course he does but it’s never been hard to love him before, not like this and sometimes when Kurt is least expecting it, the way that just looking at Blaine has always made him feel comfortably enveloped feels a little bit more like somebody is squeezing his heart in cold hard fingers, the warmth turns icy and the butterflies in his stomach that are par for the course when Blaine Anderson is looking at you like that are replaced with knifing pains.
There are no more late night phone-calls, Kurt in bed in New York and Blaine tucked up in Ohio, that make a slow smile take over his face and instead he finds himself alone in the home he had been so desperate to build with Blaine, checking his phone almost obsessively and wanting to vomit when the screen is blank. The floaty happiness of being young and carefree and in love is replaced by a mixture of anger that he’s stormed out and left so much unsaid because where Blaine likes to slam doors and disappear, Kurt always has so much to say; fear in case something bad has happened to him, which is confusing because he thinks he’s too angry to care; self doubt because something must be wrong with him because he loves Blaine so much and they’ve waited for this for so long and why can’t they make it work, and heartache.
The heartache is the worst and it’s something Kurt thinks you can’t really appreciate unless you’ve felt it. People roll their eyes, incapable of understanding that the heart can ache in the same way as the head or the stomach or teeth. It fluctuates between a niggle that never completely dies away and an excruciating agony that floors him and no amount of Tylenol can fix it because there is no pain killer that can dull the pain that goes hand in hand with knowing that the one thing you have wanted since a boy in a blazer grabbed your hand on a private school staircase is the same thing you feel like you’re fucking up at every turn no matter how hard you’re trying not too.
“Bullshit?” Blaine parrots back and Kurt glares, getting what is probably a sick kind of satisfaction from the way Blaine raises his [adorable] eyebrows and takes a tentative step backward.
He wishes Blaine would fuck off back to where ever the hell it is he’s been.
He wishes Blaine would just hold him.
“You’re mad at me for leaving.” Blaine sighs, wearily; he hates it when he thinks Kurt is dragging things on, doesn’t understand why Kurt can’t just let him go, give things time to cool down and then just forget about it and move on. Blaine has such a huge capacity for forgiveness, is incapable of holding a grudge and it drives Kurt insane. “but Kurt, I came back.”
As though that makes it all ok.
And the thing is, the thing that really really gets to Kurt is that it does. It does make it all ok, will always always make it all ok because how can it not?
What it all boils down to is that Kurt is crazy in love with this boy with the gelled hair and the coloured jeans who looks adorable in the glasses he’s had to wear since he took a slushie for Kurt back in school but is so paranoid that he will only ever let Kurt see them; who makes the best mac and cheese Kurt ever tasted and who makes Kurt believe it’s actually full of nutritional value; who eats Kurt’s health food with an enthusiasm Kurt’s Dad never quite manages; who goes for a run with him, sprinting ahead and then jogging backwards as Kurt tries to catch him but can’t because he’s laughing so hard at this beautiful dork of a boy; who grabs him when he does catch up and kisses him hard with his hair all damp from sweat and Kurt can’t even find it in him to care about how disgusting it is; who curls up with him under a blanket and watches old re-runs of TV shows that probably should have been outdated in the 90’s but somehow just aren’t; whose eyes dance when he laughs and he is always so ready to laugh; who sits for two hours in the bath; who steals kisses from Kurt and just grins when Kurt rolls his eyes; who takes everything Kurt does seriously even though deep down Kurt knows he’s asking himself who will ever wear that; who looks for Kurt at every single one of his performances and never seems to really relax into it until he’s found Kurt’s eyes in the crowd, locking onto them as he sings as though every word is meant for him; who holds Kurt tightly, fingers gripping hard enough to leave marks, whispering Kurt’s name like a prayer as Kurt pushes deeper, deeper, deeper; who knows in a split second, before Kurt has even opened his mouth that this day has been all kinds of shit and gives him that ‘let me hold you better’ smile, and making it all ok in a heartbeat; who makes Kurt laugh like nobody else has ever made him laugh; who knows just when Kurt needs quiet and will wrap himself around Kurt like a blanket and just hold him til it all makes sense again; who works so hard, harder than anybody Kurt knows probably but who is never ever too tired to be whatever and wherever Kurt needs him; who is strong and so brave but at the same time heartbreakingly vulnerable; who makes Kurt want to wrap a designer bow around the world and just hand it to him because Blaine deserves the world a hundred times over and Kurt wants to give him everything.
Kurt has been in love with Blaine forever and so it doesn’t matter how much they fight, how many times Blaine slams the door, how many times one or the other of them has to apologise because Kurt knows that as long as Blaine comes back in the end it will always be ok.
“I was made for loving you baby.”
Blaine is singing again and despite himself Kurt has to admit it is definitely pleasing to his senses.
“You need to start watching films from this century” he snaps because it really shouldn’t make it all ok and Blaine needs to know that. Blaine shouldn’t be able to do this to him time and time again, leave him mid-fight; hurt him; break him because as pathetic as it sounds it does break him, each and every time; go out and get drunk and then turn up all pretty songs and “I love you’s” as though what came before doesn’t matter, leaving it all unresolved until the next time.
It should matter.
It should matter, but it doesn’t, and Kurt supposes that’s why that beautiful broken girl told him he’s better off not bothering with love, because love means that he’s going to be hurt, time and time again, and as long as he’s sorry he’ll forgive him time and time again, because how can he not?
It should matter but it doesn’t and Blaine knows it and Kurt knows it and it’s pointless trying to fight it because his Dad told him [and Kurt will readily admit that he values his Father’s opinions so much more than he will ever value Santana’s] that the pain is what makes it real; that there will be fights and sometimes they will be so ugly that he will wonder how they can ever come back from them but they will because they have no other choice and as long as they’re fighting, that’s ok. It’s when they stop fighting that Burt says they have to worry; they fight because they love and not instead of and it’s the imperfections that make it perfect and Kurt believes that, believes it with every fibre of his being. He believes it because he has to.
“What’re you thinking?” Blaine is pressed against him now, arms sliding round Kurt’s waist and tugging him closer, lips pressed to his jaw line, breath hot and smelling like tequila and Kurt smiles and tilts his head a little to allow Blaine better access, and he presses himself that bit closer and closes his eyes.
“Sometimes Blaine, I think I hate you.”
Blaine huffs out a laugh and whispers an apology into Kurt’s neck and pulls back and looks at him all drunk and earnest.
‘I will love you Kurt Hummel even when you have hair growing out of your ears.’
And it doesn’t matter, not really, none of it matters because it might be the most ridiculous statement but Kurt knows it’s true: Blaine will keep on loving him and Kurt will always love him right back.
Rating: PG
Part: 1 of 1 [part of the 'Dream on, Dreamer' 'verse]
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine
Word Count: 2300[ish]
Spoilers: None
Summary: Blaine is singing. This is nothing out of the ordinary because Blaine is always singing; right now, it’s one in the morning and he is drunk and singing what seems to be his own mashed up medley, but is still perfectly in tune. Always perfectly in tune.
A/N: slightly more angsty than this ‘verse has been so far.In fact, the ‘verse as a whole is likely going to take a less fluffy turn for a while, that’s a warning for the next few parts I guess. I refuse to believe that this boys will live in a perfect little bubble of love for all of time and I firmly believe that you need the bad times to properly appreciate the good so *shrug* here you go. Thank-you for reading, you lovely people.
“Love is many a splendoured thing, all you need is love, love lifts us up where we belong.”
Blaine is singing. This is nothing out of the ordinary because Blaine is always singing; right now, it’s one in the morning and he is drunk and singing what seems to be his own mashed up medley, but is still perfectly in tune. Always perfectly in tune.
The sound of Blaine’s voice when he sings is up there very close to the top of the list of Kurt’s ‘most favourite things ever’ along with rush tickets for Broadway shows where you end up sitting next to tourists who’ve paid $80 when you’ve only paid $8, and Blaine’s mac and cheese and the way his Dad always smells like motor oil and cheap shower gel and home, and old editions of French Vogue, and that photo of Blaine and him in their Dalton blazers from when they were kids, and walking through New York in the early hours of the morning and wrapping himself up in the sights and the sounds and the smells and thinking he’s never felt this alive ever, and the guy who plays saxophone in Central Park on a Saturday morning, and the way it feels to drive into Lima and park his car on his Dad’s drive, and the way Blaine holds onto him when he sleeps. Tonight though, the sound of Blaine’s singing isn’t enough to stop Kurt from wanting to plant his fist hard in his chest. He doesn’t; Kurt has never been one for physical violence. He settles instead for one word, delivered with as much force as any punch.
“Bullshit.”
Blaine’s mouth drops open to form an ‘o’ of surprise as he stops mid-song to stare at Kurt; Kurt gets the impression that somehow this was not the response Blaine had hoped for.
Unlucky.
Blaine is not Ewan McGregor and if he thinks Kurt going to fall into his arms and let him take him dancing on the roof tops then he’s stupider than Kurt thought he was.
Which right now, Kurt thinks bitterly, would be quite the achievement because right now Kurt happens to think Blaine is really really stupid.
All you need is love?
Kurt wishes the person who first dared to voice that thought was stood in his apartment right now so he could laugh in their face.
Love, and Kurt has decided this in the months following Blaine’s move to New York, love, unless you are a character from a saccharine sweet Baz Lurhmann film is balancing precariously on the edge of a deep dark pit labelled ‘too much like hard work.’ Kurt thinks the movie business has a lot to answer for, actually, and ought to spend some serious time and energy re-thinking it’s taglines.
Santana told Kurt and Blaine once [and whatever Blaine might say about Santana who somehow seems to have become a seriously fucked up version of his BFF, Kurt still thinks she is some kind of she-devil so it says a lot about his state of mind right now that he is recalling her obnoxious attempts at advice] that if they wanted her advice [which Blaine always does because Blaine is stupid and which Kurt usually ignores] they’d do better to buy a bottle of vodka rather than be in love.
At least with vodka, Santana said, you know where you stand; you know that if you down enough of it then you’ll get drunk, and when you’re drunk you’ll be happy; you’ll be floating; you’ll be on top of the fucking world, and you know that it’s constant, it won’t fuck you over. If you want to fly then vodka will let you fly.
Love however? And here Santana had waved a half drunk bottle of vodka in the air in an illustrative fashion, oh, love lets you fly alright, it lets you fly higher than you’ve ever flown before but it has an ulterior motive that vodka doesn’t have; love wants you to fly high because the higher you fly the further you have to fall. And you will fall.
Kurt and Blaine had edged a little closer to one another then; Blaine’s nose had been cold as it pressed against Kurt’s temple breathing him in and Kurt had smiled at the sensation and rolled his eye’s at Santana’s cynicism and he’d squeezed Blaine’s gloved hand tightly as his boyfriend told Santana earnestly how he hoped that one day she’d find what him and Kurt had. Kurt had been just a little bit smug because he deserved to be didn’t he? He lived in New York and he had a gorgeous gorgeous boyfriend who loved him and he didn’t need vodka, thanks, because his life was picture-perfect.
Right now, as Blaine rolls home drunk after another stupid stupid fight, especially stupid because Kurt can’t even remember now what it was about or who started it or who he’s supposed to blame because actually, living together after a year apart and being college students and working so hard all of the time and trying to make ends meet is fucking hard, harder than either of them had ever imagined and there is nobody to take it out on really but one another, Kurt wonders if maybe Santana had a point.
Kurt still loves Blaine, of course he does but it’s never been hard to love him before, not like this and sometimes when Kurt is least expecting it, the way that just looking at Blaine has always made him feel comfortably enveloped feels a little bit more like somebody is squeezing his heart in cold hard fingers, the warmth turns icy and the butterflies in his stomach that are par for the course when Blaine Anderson is looking at you like that are replaced with knifing pains.
There are no more late night phone-calls, Kurt in bed in New York and Blaine tucked up in Ohio, that make a slow smile take over his face and instead he finds himself alone in the home he had been so desperate to build with Blaine, checking his phone almost obsessively and wanting to vomit when the screen is blank. The floaty happiness of being young and carefree and in love is replaced by a mixture of anger that he’s stormed out and left so much unsaid because where Blaine likes to slam doors and disappear, Kurt always has so much to say; fear in case something bad has happened to him, which is confusing because he thinks he’s too angry to care; self doubt because something must be wrong with him because he loves Blaine so much and they’ve waited for this for so long and why can’t they make it work, and heartache.
The heartache is the worst and it’s something Kurt thinks you can’t really appreciate unless you’ve felt it. People roll their eyes, incapable of understanding that the heart can ache in the same way as the head or the stomach or teeth. It fluctuates between a niggle that never completely dies away and an excruciating agony that floors him and no amount of Tylenol can fix it because there is no pain killer that can dull the pain that goes hand in hand with knowing that the one thing you have wanted since a boy in a blazer grabbed your hand on a private school staircase is the same thing you feel like you’re fucking up at every turn no matter how hard you’re trying not too.
“Bullshit?” Blaine parrots back and Kurt glares, getting what is probably a sick kind of satisfaction from the way Blaine raises his [adorable] eyebrows and takes a tentative step backward.
He wishes Blaine would fuck off back to where ever the hell it is he’s been.
He wishes Blaine would just hold him.
“You’re mad at me for leaving.” Blaine sighs, wearily; he hates it when he thinks Kurt is dragging things on, doesn’t understand why Kurt can’t just let him go, give things time to cool down and then just forget about it and move on. Blaine has such a huge capacity for forgiveness, is incapable of holding a grudge and it drives Kurt insane. “but Kurt, I came back.”
As though that makes it all ok.
And the thing is, the thing that really really gets to Kurt is that it does. It does make it all ok, will always always make it all ok because how can it not?
What it all boils down to is that Kurt is crazy in love with this boy with the gelled hair and the coloured jeans who looks adorable in the glasses he’s had to wear since he took a slushie for Kurt back in school but is so paranoid that he will only ever let Kurt see them; who makes the best mac and cheese Kurt ever tasted and who makes Kurt believe it’s actually full of nutritional value; who eats Kurt’s health food with an enthusiasm Kurt’s Dad never quite manages; who goes for a run with him, sprinting ahead and then jogging backwards as Kurt tries to catch him but can’t because he’s laughing so hard at this beautiful dork of a boy; who grabs him when he does catch up and kisses him hard with his hair all damp from sweat and Kurt can’t even find it in him to care about how disgusting it is; who curls up with him under a blanket and watches old re-runs of TV shows that probably should have been outdated in the 90’s but somehow just aren’t; whose eyes dance when he laughs and he is always so ready to laugh; who sits for two hours in the bath; who steals kisses from Kurt and just grins when Kurt rolls his eyes; who takes everything Kurt does seriously even though deep down Kurt knows he’s asking himself who will ever wear that; who looks for Kurt at every single one of his performances and never seems to really relax into it until he’s found Kurt’s eyes in the crowd, locking onto them as he sings as though every word is meant for him; who holds Kurt tightly, fingers gripping hard enough to leave marks, whispering Kurt’s name like a prayer as Kurt pushes deeper, deeper, deeper; who knows in a split second, before Kurt has even opened his mouth that this day has been all kinds of shit and gives him that ‘let me hold you better’ smile, and making it all ok in a heartbeat; who makes Kurt laugh like nobody else has ever made him laugh; who knows just when Kurt needs quiet and will wrap himself around Kurt like a blanket and just hold him til it all makes sense again; who works so hard, harder than anybody Kurt knows probably but who is never ever too tired to be whatever and wherever Kurt needs him; who is strong and so brave but at the same time heartbreakingly vulnerable; who makes Kurt want to wrap a designer bow around the world and just hand it to him because Blaine deserves the world a hundred times over and Kurt wants to give him everything.
Kurt has been in love with Blaine forever and so it doesn’t matter how much they fight, how many times Blaine slams the door, how many times one or the other of them has to apologise because Kurt knows that as long as Blaine comes back in the end it will always be ok.
“I was made for loving you baby.”
Blaine is singing again and despite himself Kurt has to admit it is definitely pleasing to his senses.
“You need to start watching films from this century” he snaps because it really shouldn’t make it all ok and Blaine needs to know that. Blaine shouldn’t be able to do this to him time and time again, leave him mid-fight; hurt him; break him because as pathetic as it sounds it does break him, each and every time; go out and get drunk and then turn up all pretty songs and “I love you’s” as though what came before doesn’t matter, leaving it all unresolved until the next time.
It should matter.
It should matter, but it doesn’t, and Kurt supposes that’s why that beautiful broken girl told him he’s better off not bothering with love, because love means that he’s going to be hurt, time and time again, and as long as he’s sorry he’ll forgive him time and time again, because how can he not?
It should matter but it doesn’t and Blaine knows it and Kurt knows it and it’s pointless trying to fight it because his Dad told him [and Kurt will readily admit that he values his Father’s opinions so much more than he will ever value Santana’s] that the pain is what makes it real; that there will be fights and sometimes they will be so ugly that he will wonder how they can ever come back from them but they will because they have no other choice and as long as they’re fighting, that’s ok. It’s when they stop fighting that Burt says they have to worry; they fight because they love and not instead of and it’s the imperfections that make it perfect and Kurt believes that, believes it with every fibre of his being. He believes it because he has to.
“What’re you thinking?” Blaine is pressed against him now, arms sliding round Kurt’s waist and tugging him closer, lips pressed to his jaw line, breath hot and smelling like tequila and Kurt smiles and tilts his head a little to allow Blaine better access, and he presses himself that bit closer and closes his eyes.
“Sometimes Blaine, I think I hate you.”
Blaine huffs out a laugh and whispers an apology into Kurt’s neck and pulls back and looks at him all drunk and earnest.
‘I will love you Kurt Hummel even when you have hair growing out of your ears.’
And it doesn’t matter, not really, none of it matters because it might be the most ridiculous statement but Kurt knows it’s true: Blaine will keep on loving him and Kurt will always love him right back.