Kickin' Through the Autumn Leaves
Title: Kickin’ Through the Autumn Leaves
Spoilers: based around what we know of season 4
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1800
Warnings: none?
Pairings: Kurt/Blaine
Disclaimer: really though? I don’t even own the title.
Summary: Kurt had been the one to tell Blaine they’d make it, ‘I told you, I’m never saying goodbye to you’ so it makes little sense for him to be the one feeling the way that he does.
Just a little ficlet born of a bad day at the office! Thankyou thankyou thankyou insatiablyyours for looking this over, you are *such* a doll <33333
Title stolen shamelessly from David Grey’s ‘Babylon.’
It’s fall in New York; the world is changing. Lima to bright lights, sunshine to cloudier skies, green on the trees to gold underfoot.
Kurt’s never lived in the city at this time of year - hell, he’s never lived in the city at all - has visited only a handful of times and has never been able to really see it before, so when he could catch the subway instead he goes by foot; sets off a half hour earlier and pounds the sidewalk, the cement heavy and grounding beneath his feet. He walks and he walks and he walks, miles farther than his not-so-sensible shoes should take him, unbothered by the sting that warns of blisters or the wind that sneaks through his too thin jacket; Manhattan and Central Park and the West Village; Ground Zero makes his heart thunder and Times Square does the same but for another reason entirely; Chinatown and NoHo and Little Italy. Everything so different and yet coming together as one beneath a sky full of stars, not one of which he can see.
The words to songs from musicals dance in his head, telling him he’s going to be just fine: flying solo, flying free.
He’s not quite sure how to start believing it.
He’d felt like he was suffocating back home in Ohio, like there wasn’t enough air in that entire state to fill his lungs. He’d had to break away, pull himself free from all the things that felt like they were holding him back and prove to himself that a few choice words typed out in Arial 10-pt. text on crisp letterhead didn’t hold the power to shatter his dreams. He can’t keep singing about defying gravity forever; at some point he has to live it, take a deep breath and make a leap of faith, give himself a chance to grow.
New York Academy of Dramatic Arts, you can’t bring Kurt Hummel down.
He had packed his bag and he had prepared himself - over-prepared, really - for alone but not at all for lonely and they are two very different things, he sees now. It riles him that he misses the things he’d been so desperate to get away from, misses people that don’t seem to missing him in return... and that’s entirely unexpected and unfair. The distance feels greater than it had looked on the map and he feels like he’s holding on while they slip away: he’s gripping as tightly as he can and he’s floundering but they’re falling and they’re not fighting it, they’re becoming specks in the distance and he screams in his sleep. “Wait, wait, what about me?” but they’re gone and he wakes alone and sweating in tangled sheets and he wonders if they’ll even remember his name when the time comes.
The door sticks, too big for the frame - he has to knock it with his hip to gain entry, as though the place he is now supposed to call home doesn’t want to let him in, get out get out imposter, this is not your life, you don’t belong did you not get the memo? He swears under his breath and curls his hands into fists, the perfectly trimmed nails leaving half moon reminders of how hard this is as he blinks away another lot of tears that he is determined to not to shed.
I do belong, I do and I can show you and he wonders if his forcing himself to believe that is allowing a fairy somewhere to live another day.
He drops the mail into a pile in the tiny kitchen - somehow he always returns to the apartment before Rachel - and his eye catches on a postcard... as if he needs a postcard of Lima, he lived there his whole life and the whole point was to get away, darling. It’s been photoshopped to within an inch of its life, the vibrant colors making the hellhole of his former life seem very nearly appealing. It makes his breath catch as he runs a finger over it gently, homehomehome, before turning it over, mouth curling in a ghost of a smile at the slanted writing, the grand “B” and those unforgettable slanted loops, the carefully drawn tiny love heart above the “i” of his name.
Home.
Do you miss me this much? He reads quickly for an answer but the words on the card feel like a “no” - everything is good except for the weather; fall in Ohio is cold and dull. He got a solo in Glee Club, and Kurt thinks of course and then hates himself right after; it’s full of banalities and lacking in wish-you-were-here’s and even though they agreed that they wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t make it harder by stating the obvious, he needs to hear it so much that it makes him double over, the card falling forgotten to the laminate flooring. It’s not obvious anymore and he needs to see it in black and white.
Kurt wonders if Blaine knows his first thought every morning is of him, that he falls asleep at night to the memory of Blaine’s lips against his and his whispered promises of you’re all I want, ever, Kurt and that every night he whispers into the darkness, hoping his words can make it across state lines and into Blaine’s dreams as he sleeps, the BFG hand delivering dreams on Kurt’s behalf: you’re all I’ll ever need, Blaine.
He reaches for his cell and presses call. Hits number one on his speed dial - and please, God, don’t tell his dad that - simply has to hear his voice. Don’t forget me. I beg.
Blaine’s voice is raised in surprise when he answers, “Kurt?” and Kurt apologises (so sorry, didn’t mean to disturb you.) It’s not that he feels bad for calling because he always hears that smile in Blaine’s voice when they talk, but he feels bad for needing to; for the fact that he misses Blaine so much it’s like a solid weight in his chest that makes it difficult to breathe. Kurt is supposed to be ok, he is supposed to be able to do this but maybe he just can’t. He can’t help the fact that while he wants Blaine to be okay, needs Blaine to be ok because that’s what gets Kurt through the day sometimes, it pains him sometimes that Blaine appears to not be struggling in the way he is; Kurt wants to be missed and doesn’t want Blaine to hurt, just wishes he himself hurt less; maybe his pain and Blaine’s pain would cancel each other out. Kurt was never much good at math. On the other end he hears Blaine settling down, bed or sofa; his own or someone else’s - Blaine has so many friends now, most of them Kurt’s, and all Kurt has is Rachel.
I miss you he doesn’t say, I spend so much time working, walking, killing time ‘til I can talk to you and all I do is miss you.
“How are you?” Kurt says, “I got your card and I wanted to hear your voice,” and, “yeah, it’s great here, you’d love it” but (but, but, but, but, but) I am so lonely now I can’t bear it and I miss the way your fingers always feel so warm against my skin and is there anybody on the line? hello hello I’m still here.
The conversation is like a game but Kurt doesn’t know if Blaine is playing, read between the lines Kurt wants to say, the game is to listen to what I’m not saying and tell me that the rhythm of your heart is still in time with mine because being without you is so much harder than I ever dreamt it could be. You said it would be hard and I brushed your concerns aside like their taunts or their blows...
“I’m having the time of my life, Blaine,” he says forcing a laugh, hears Blaine’s voice break a little as he murmurs, “Oh Kurt” and Kurt swallows hard, because if it’s a game then of course Blaine is playing, Blaine will always play along and Kurt will never need to ask.
“I can’t wait to see you, Blaine. When can I?” and please say soon, because I can’t take much more of this, I need to touch you, feel you, remind myself that you’re real before I break into more pieces than you’ll ever be able to put back together.
“Enough about me. Tell me what’s new. How have you been? How’s school?” and then, because he just can’t not, “Have I told you today that I love you?”
“Oh Kurt,” and Blaine sounds almost desperate. Kurt can picture the expression on his face and it makes his gut wrench. “I love you, too,” is what Blaine says.
Kurt wishes he had more words, never thought he’d see the day when I love you felt insignificant but there it is. He feels things so deeply but the words don’t come, all he can manage is BlaineBlaineBlaine pounding in his head like his soles on the pavement. Everything else twists and gasps and chokes, refuses to become anything more incoherent than a sob that he tries to swallow back down. Kurt wishes that technology were more advanced than it is, that he could reach down the phone to Blaine, could touch him and feel him. He closes his eyes, tries to let Blaine’s words be a balm, to let them soothe him, to wrap himself in that last moment with arms and legs entangled and Blaine’s hand tight in his. Moments he holds tight; moments he’ll never let go.
Blaine talks on and it’s a temporary fix. You can’t make this right with just words.
Be here, I need you to be here.
Kurt lives in New York City and works at Vogue and lives his life in letters to his boyfriend that he doesn’t know if he’ll ever send. He stays up too late and he drinks too much; it never fails to surprise him how many people will turn a blind eye to the details on your license if you have friends in the right places. He dresses with flair and he fakes confidence like office gossip tells him some girls fake orgasms and he wishes he was a little less awkward. He wishes he was everything Blaine believes he is, he wishes that New York was everything Kurt had believed it was and in every beat of his heart against his ribs he longs for everything that he has left miles away.
Spoilers: based around what we know of season 4
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1800
Warnings: none?
Pairings: Kurt/Blaine
Disclaimer: really though? I don’t even own the title.
Summary: Kurt had been the one to tell Blaine they’d make it, ‘I told you, I’m never saying goodbye to you’ so it makes little sense for him to be the one feeling the way that he does.
Just a little ficlet born of a bad day at the office! Thankyou thankyou thankyou insatiablyyours for looking this over, you are *such* a doll <33333
Title stolen shamelessly from David Grey’s ‘Babylon.’
It’s fall in New York; the world is changing. Lima to bright lights, sunshine to cloudier skies, green on the trees to gold underfoot.
Kurt’s never lived in the city at this time of year - hell, he’s never lived in the city at all - has visited only a handful of times and has never been able to really see it before, so when he could catch the subway instead he goes by foot; sets off a half hour earlier and pounds the sidewalk, the cement heavy and grounding beneath his feet. He walks and he walks and he walks, miles farther than his not-so-sensible shoes should take him, unbothered by the sting that warns of blisters or the wind that sneaks through his too thin jacket; Manhattan and Central Park and the West Village; Ground Zero makes his heart thunder and Times Square does the same but for another reason entirely; Chinatown and NoHo and Little Italy. Everything so different and yet coming together as one beneath a sky full of stars, not one of which he can see.
The words to songs from musicals dance in his head, telling him he’s going to be just fine: flying solo, flying free.
He’s not quite sure how to start believing it.
He’d felt like he was suffocating back home in Ohio, like there wasn’t enough air in that entire state to fill his lungs. He’d had to break away, pull himself free from all the things that felt like they were holding him back and prove to himself that a few choice words typed out in Arial 10-pt. text on crisp letterhead didn’t hold the power to shatter his dreams. He can’t keep singing about defying gravity forever; at some point he has to live it, take a deep breath and make a leap of faith, give himself a chance to grow.
New York Academy of Dramatic Arts, you can’t bring Kurt Hummel down.
He had packed his bag and he had prepared himself - over-prepared, really - for alone but not at all for lonely and they are two very different things, he sees now. It riles him that he misses the things he’d been so desperate to get away from, misses people that don’t seem to missing him in return... and that’s entirely unexpected and unfair. The distance feels greater than it had looked on the map and he feels like he’s holding on while they slip away: he’s gripping as tightly as he can and he’s floundering but they’re falling and they’re not fighting it, they’re becoming specks in the distance and he screams in his sleep. “Wait, wait, what about me?” but they’re gone and he wakes alone and sweating in tangled sheets and he wonders if they’ll even remember his name when the time comes.
The door sticks, too big for the frame - he has to knock it with his hip to gain entry, as though the place he is now supposed to call home doesn’t want to let him in, get out get out imposter, this is not your life, you don’t belong did you not get the memo? He swears under his breath and curls his hands into fists, the perfectly trimmed nails leaving half moon reminders of how hard this is as he blinks away another lot of tears that he is determined to not to shed.
I do belong, I do and I can show you and he wonders if his forcing himself to believe that is allowing a fairy somewhere to live another day.
He drops the mail into a pile in the tiny kitchen - somehow he always returns to the apartment before Rachel - and his eye catches on a postcard... as if he needs a postcard of Lima, he lived there his whole life and the whole point was to get away, darling. It’s been photoshopped to within an inch of its life, the vibrant colors making the hellhole of his former life seem very nearly appealing. It makes his breath catch as he runs a finger over it gently, homehomehome, before turning it over, mouth curling in a ghost of a smile at the slanted writing, the grand “B” and those unforgettable slanted loops, the carefully drawn tiny love heart above the “i” of his name.
Home.
Do you miss me this much? He reads quickly for an answer but the words on the card feel like a “no” - everything is good except for the weather; fall in Ohio is cold and dull. He got a solo in Glee Club, and Kurt thinks of course and then hates himself right after; it’s full of banalities and lacking in wish-you-were-here’s and even though they agreed that they wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t make it harder by stating the obvious, he needs to hear it so much that it makes him double over, the card falling forgotten to the laminate flooring. It’s not obvious anymore and he needs to see it in black and white.
Kurt wonders if Blaine knows his first thought every morning is of him, that he falls asleep at night to the memory of Blaine’s lips against his and his whispered promises of you’re all I want, ever, Kurt and that every night he whispers into the darkness, hoping his words can make it across state lines and into Blaine’s dreams as he sleeps, the BFG hand delivering dreams on Kurt’s behalf: you’re all I’ll ever need, Blaine.
He reaches for his cell and presses call. Hits number one on his speed dial - and please, God, don’t tell his dad that - simply has to hear his voice. Don’t forget me. I beg.
Blaine’s voice is raised in surprise when he answers, “Kurt?” and Kurt apologises (so sorry, didn’t mean to disturb you.) It’s not that he feels bad for calling because he always hears that smile in Blaine’s voice when they talk, but he feels bad for needing to; for the fact that he misses Blaine so much it’s like a solid weight in his chest that makes it difficult to breathe. Kurt is supposed to be ok, he is supposed to be able to do this but maybe he just can’t. He can’t help the fact that while he wants Blaine to be okay, needs Blaine to be ok because that’s what gets Kurt through the day sometimes, it pains him sometimes that Blaine appears to not be struggling in the way he is; Kurt wants to be missed and doesn’t want Blaine to hurt, just wishes he himself hurt less; maybe his pain and Blaine’s pain would cancel each other out. Kurt was never much good at math. On the other end he hears Blaine settling down, bed or sofa; his own or someone else’s - Blaine has so many friends now, most of them Kurt’s, and all Kurt has is Rachel.
I miss you he doesn’t say, I spend so much time working, walking, killing time ‘til I can talk to you and all I do is miss you.
“How are you?” Kurt says, “I got your card and I wanted to hear your voice,” and, “yeah, it’s great here, you’d love it” but (but, but, but, but, but) I am so lonely now I can’t bear it and I miss the way your fingers always feel so warm against my skin and is there anybody on the line? hello hello I’m still here.
The conversation is like a game but Kurt doesn’t know if Blaine is playing, read between the lines Kurt wants to say, the game is to listen to what I’m not saying and tell me that the rhythm of your heart is still in time with mine because being without you is so much harder than I ever dreamt it could be. You said it would be hard and I brushed your concerns aside like their taunts or their blows...
“I’m having the time of my life, Blaine,” he says forcing a laugh, hears Blaine’s voice break a little as he murmurs, “Oh Kurt” and Kurt swallows hard, because if it’s a game then of course Blaine is playing, Blaine will always play along and Kurt will never need to ask.
“I can’t wait to see you, Blaine. When can I?” and please say soon, because I can’t take much more of this, I need to touch you, feel you, remind myself that you’re real before I break into more pieces than you’ll ever be able to put back together.
“Enough about me. Tell me what’s new. How have you been? How’s school?” and then, because he just can’t not, “Have I told you today that I love you?”
“Oh Kurt,” and Blaine sounds almost desperate. Kurt can picture the expression on his face and it makes his gut wrench. “I love you, too,” is what Blaine says.
Kurt wishes he had more words, never thought he’d see the day when I love you felt insignificant but there it is. He feels things so deeply but the words don’t come, all he can manage is BlaineBlaineBlaine pounding in his head like his soles on the pavement. Everything else twists and gasps and chokes, refuses to become anything more incoherent than a sob that he tries to swallow back down. Kurt wishes that technology were more advanced than it is, that he could reach down the phone to Blaine, could touch him and feel him. He closes his eyes, tries to let Blaine’s words be a balm, to let them soothe him, to wrap himself in that last moment with arms and legs entangled and Blaine’s hand tight in his. Moments he holds tight; moments he’ll never let go.
Blaine talks on and it’s a temporary fix. You can’t make this right with just words.
Be here, I need you to be here.
Kurt lives in New York City and works at Vogue and lives his life in letters to his boyfriend that he doesn’t know if he’ll ever send. He stays up too late and he drinks too much; it never fails to surprise him how many people will turn a blind eye to the details on your license if you have friends in the right places. He dresses with flair and he fakes confidence like office gossip tells him some girls fake orgasms and he wishes he was a little less awkward. He wishes he was everything Blaine believes he is, he wishes that New York was everything Kurt had believed it was and in every beat of his heart against his ribs he longs for everything that he has left miles away.