Glee Fic: Trinitarian Formula
Title: Trinitarian Formula
Characters/Pairings: Blaine, Quinn; pre-Blaine/Kurt
Rating: T/PG-13
Summary: Blaine and Quinn encounter each other in church.
A/N: These two don’t have a portmanteau, do they? Fabranderson, maybe? And I’m really curious to see if anyone else has written these two - definitely comment if you know!
A/N #2: Am I going to be known as that random writer who tries to force Blaine into weird friendships with everyone? Probably.
Trinitarian Formula
Blaine’s not quite sure why he’s here, especially since he hasn’t set foot on “holy grounds” since his Confirmation when he was about five-foot-five and fourteen years old with hair just on the side of unruly. But his conversation with Kurt’s dad just has him thinking about things he really shouldn’t be thinking about, like Sunday morning masses and stuffy suits, his parents on either side of him, and all gays go to Hell preachers who also say in the same breath that God loves all His children.
He wonders if any of them have seen the hypocrisy and what an oxymoron it all is.
He enters Lima’s only Catholic church, which is small but cozy and everything is done on autopilot: dipping his fingers into the bowl of holy water by the doors and making the sign of the cross on his body. Afterwards, he feels awkward and wrong; he doesn’t consider himself a Catholic anymore and yet going through the motions is still second nature.
The five o’clock mass doesn’t start for another hour, but there are a few people scattered in the rows. Some are on their knees; some are just sitting and staring at the large crucifix at the end of the aisle.
Christ’s face on this one disturbs Blaine.
He slowly walks inside, unwrapping his scarf from around his neck, trying to keep his breathing even as he takes a seat in one of the back rows. Closing his eyes, he allows himself to revel in the peaceful quiet surrounding him. He really didn’t hate Church growing up; some of the sermons and the people who attended just made the experience so awful that he stopped going.
When he opens his eyes, he spots a Bible in a wooden sleeve in front of him. The last time Blaine opened a Bible was three months ago for an English Lit assignment. But the last time he opened one for himself was over three years ago when he tried to find passages that legitimized his existence.
He goes to Proverbs because it has some of his favorite writing, but he skips too far ahead and finds himself in Romans, a section he despises and automatically finds the quote he used in Sunday School that got him kicked out of class for the day:
“‘Welcome one another, therefore, just as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God.’ Doesn’t that mean we should accept everyone? Including the people whom the Church refuses to accept, like homosexuals?”
“‘Read this passage in the main office while we call your parents and you’ll have your answer.’”
He slams the Bible shut rather loudly, attracting a few people’s attention. He smiles at them apologetically and flushes in embarrassment. He looks down at his hands, which are gripping the book too tightly.
(“Do you not know that wrongdoers will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived! Fornicators, idolaters, adulterers, male prostitutes, sodomites, thieves, the greedy, drunkards, revilers, robbers - none of these will inherit the kingdom of God.”)
Sodomy? All he ever wanted was to hold hands with a boy, to love someone and feel loved - would he be denied the kingdom of God for that, sent directly to Hell to burn for eternity?
“Blaine?”
Blaine glances up and then to his right to see Quinn Fabray standing in the aisle, her arms crossed over her stomach, looking pretty in a dress that matches the green in her eyes.
He smiles in greeting, “Hi.”
She smiles back. “What are you doing here?” she inquires.
He looks away and scrapes his bottom lip with his teeth in a rare moment of visible vulnerability before shifting down the bench to give her room to sit down. “My full name is Blaine William Paul Anderson,” he answers with just a hint of faux pomposity.
She laughs softly, her eyes wide as she gracefully slides into the bench, crossing her ankles. “Quinn Isabella Hope Fabray.”
“Pretty.”
“Yeah, I like it. My parents really wanted my Confirmation name to be Martha or Mary, though.” Her face contorts into something more bitter and wry. “That would’ve made the pregnancy so much worse,” she mutters, making sure no one can overhear them.
Kurt had explained to Blaine a while ago that Quinn, the head cheerleader and president of the celibacy club, had gotten pregnant the year before and how it caused a huge scandal since the father was her boyfriend’s best friend. It’s something out of a soap opera, but the girl sitting beside him is far from a caricature that the world seems to force her to be (that she allows herself to be?).
“My parents wanted me to choose Paul, after my grandfather who died before I was born. And for a while I really liked it, mostly because of Paul McCartney, my favorite Beatle, but then when I really started reading the Bible…his words just made me sick.”
“People say he’s misunderstood and misinterpreted,” she retorts, but it’s hollow. “So…why did you pick it in the end?”
He frowns. “Because I wanted to make them happy.”
Her hand twitches, as if she’s about to place it on top of his, but she changes her mind and picks off imaginary lint from her dress.
This is so awkward now. Especially since he all of a sudden remembers Quinn wearing his scarf around her head for a lot of Rachel’s party and how reluctant she was to give it back. Judging by the sudden blush of her cheeks, she seems to recall that as well.
“What would you have chosen instead?” she asks, clearly hoping to ease the discomfort.
He exhales through his nose. “Jude.”
She raises an eyebrow at him. “Beatles fixation, much?”
He laughs a little. “No. Well, sort of. But really because he’s the saint of lost causes.” He flips open the Bible and begins thumbing the pages without any section in mind. “I just imagined it being some subtle, yet cinematic way of saying that I can’t change who I am and neither can they, even though they want to. At least my father does, anyway. But I chickened out,” he finishes, trying to keep the sullenness out of his voice, but some of it still manages to bleed through.
She sighs. “Why can’t parents understand that Confirmation is for us? It’s when we as individuals become full members of the Church, or perfect Christ or whatever they tell us in Sunday School. It has nothing to do with them.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice if they practiced what they preached.”
She hums in agreement, looking down at the Bible in his lap. He offers it to her and watches her flip through pages with the kind of mastery that only comes when the Catholic Church has successfully taught you for many years.
“It’s such a cliché, but it’s still my favorite section,” she says, placing the Bible so it rests across their thighs.
“‘Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude…’” he mutters before a hint of a smile graces his face. “Yeah, I still kind of like it. Even though Mandy Moore ruined it for me.”
She gasps. “I love that movie.”
“I love Shane West, but he didn’t make it good - the book is still a million times better.”
“Not really a Nicholas Sparks fan,” she admits, “But I have a soft spot for that movie.”
“Really?”
She shrugs. “I’m a Christian cheerleader who listens to rap and hates almost all sappy romance movies. I’m not that easily read.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean -”
She grins at his stuttering. “It’s fine. Really. I’m used to it. And to be fair, I thought you’d be a sucker for that kind of movie.”
“Because I’m gay?”
“You just seem rather…idealistically romantic,” she offers, not admitting that he was half right.
“You got that from my drunken exploits at Rachel’s party?” he inquires, genuinely curious because they only spoke briefly at the party (just introductions) and that was the extent of their getting to know one another (besides her stealing his scarf, anyway).
“I do vaguely remember your chanting ‘I’m such a romantic, it’s so tragic’ during the last hour or so along with something about the Gap.”
Blaine blushes a deep red and Quinn covers her laughter with her hand.
“Well…I did admit to reading Nicholas Sparks, so…” he murmurs, a faint smile on his face. “And I do love romantic movies, but they have to have happy endings. There’s enough misery in the world.”
“And yet you’ll read depressing books?”
Oh, right, he kind of remembers lamenting (rather loudly) to Kurt about how Love in the Time of Cholera is depressing the hell out of him, but it’s so good and you have to read it when I’m done at the party as well. At this rate, he’s rather afraid that he spilled every secret of his during that night.
“Well, with movies, I feel like if I’m going to be engrossed in another world for two hours, I’d rather it be a happy one,” he explains, trying not to think about what else he said a few weeks ago.
“…That makes sense, I guess.”
He shrugs. “You’re complicated, I’m complicated. It’s just how it is.”
She smiles and Blaine can definitely understand why all the boys in New Directions would fall in love with her.
“Are you staying for mass, or…?”
He furrows his brow. “I wasn’t planning on it. It’s my first time in a church for a few years, so…”
Quinn emits a strangled gasp before pulling Blaine’s arm. “Get on your knees!” she hisses.
It’s such a dirty comment and if he weren’t such a gentleman, he’d be tempted to chime “That’s what he said!” (because those sexual comments can always go both ways), but his brain stops functioning properly when he sees Karofsky and his father enter the church from the side entrance.
He quickly falls to the ground and laces his hands together tightly, resting his head against his knuckles, pretending to pray. But he quickly finds himself actually praying, which he hasn’t done in so long.
(Dear God, please don’t let him see me here, please, please, please, I know I haven’t acknowledged you in a while but -)
“You know what really makes me sick,” Quinn says in a low voice, her position mirroring his, but her face filled with fury and grief, “Is that a person like you was driven from the Church while a monster like him can still walk in here without shame and be accepted.”
He wants to point out that it was ultimately his choice that he stopped going after his Confirmation, that it felt right at the time, but he can’t breathe anymore because she’s right, at least a little bit.
“When he sits down, tell me so I can sneak out,” he murmurs, his eyes closed because he needs the tears in his eyes to go away.
When he opens them, her head is turned to properly face him. Her eyes are shining. “Okay.”
He’s biting the inside of his cheek in anticipation, the church suddenly feeling too constricting for everything that’s passing through his mind (a hot summer and motor oil staining his favorite pair of jeans; Kurt admitting to looking up porn and the route Blaine’s mind took at that moment; admitting to his parents in the car after being Confirmed that I’m gay because it was about time it was just said).
After less than a minute, Quinn whispers “Go” and stands up, allowing him to pass. He squeezes her shoulder in thanks and walks out without looking back (why should he when he didn’t the first time?).
He gets into his car and inhales sharply, gripping the wheel tightly and resting his forehead against it as he screws his eyes shut, hot tears still managing to fall down his face. Exhaling shakily, he lets go of the wheel to wipe his face dry.
Then he realizes he left his scarf in the church. He groans, knowing he can’t go back inside now. Besides, it’s not like he’ll never see it again - he’s sure he’ll see more of New Directions in the future.
…But he really does love that scarf.
Let it go, Blaine, he thinks to himself as he starts his car.
But before he can leave, he catches Quinn running out of the church, clutching his scarf. Swallowing, he lowers his window down. She’s out of breath when she hands him the scarf. “I didn’t want you to think that it’s my thing to steal people’s scarves.”
He laughs, sniffling once as he loops it around his neck. “Thank you.” He nods his head to the church. “Sorry for making you run out.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t sit through mass right now. Not with him there.” Her eyes are burning with quiet rage.
He wants to say that she shouldn’t concern herself with him because they barely know each other, but he’s kind of grateful in a very selfish way.
She smiles. “I’ll see you around, I’m sure,” she finishes, “Take care of Kurt. And yourself.”
The corner of his mouth quirks up with fondness. “I will. You too.”
With one last parting smile, she walks away. He makes sure she’s in her car before he leaves the parking lot because sometimes he can be too much of a gentleman (he’s also seen enough horror films at sleepovers to know what can happen in a small space of time).
As he drives home, he remembers the rest of the passage Quinn likes, phrases like love never ends and rejoices with truth sticking out for him. Kurt is naturally weaving into these and he better put on the radio right now because this isn’t okay. Yes, he loves Kurt and this shouldn’t feel wrong, but it does since he’s always associated that passage with romantic love (damn you, Mandy Moore!).
He inhales and exhales slowly, trying to think about this logically. Obviously, the passage can refer to many types of love, like familial and friendship along with romantic; it’s as simple as that.
His phone vibrates in his cup holder, causing him to jump. Quickly glancing at the screen, he sees it’s Kurt and rushes to pull over. Kurt has been understandably keeping his distance for the past day or so and Blaine’s been respecting that, even though he’s been missing him.
Kurt’s text reads: Please tell me you saw that GOD AWFUL YouTube video with that girl and a certain day of the week. If you haven’t, check your Facebook and be prepared for your life to be RUINED because there’s no way I’m going to be the only scarred one.
He laughs, quickly typing out his answer, making a few spelling mistakes in his haste. Eventually, he sends: I can’t wait.
If his religion deems this friendship, the bond that these two gay boys share, and even Kurt's existence can’t be the most beautiful things in Blaine’s life, then God can just suck it up and deal with it.
Characters/Pairings: Blaine, Quinn; pre-Blaine/Kurt
Rating: T/PG-13
Summary: Blaine and Quinn encounter each other in church.
A/N: These two don’t have a portmanteau, do they? Fabranderson, maybe? And I’m really curious to see if anyone else has written these two - definitely comment if you know!
A/N #2: Am I going to be known as that random writer who tries to force Blaine into weird friendships with everyone? Probably.
Trinitarian Formula
Blaine’s not quite sure why he’s here, especially since he hasn’t set foot on “holy grounds” since his Confirmation when he was about five-foot-five and fourteen years old with hair just on the side of unruly. But his conversation with Kurt’s dad just has him thinking about things he really shouldn’t be thinking about, like Sunday morning masses and stuffy suits, his parents on either side of him, and all gays go to Hell preachers who also say in the same breath that God loves all His children.
He wonders if any of them have seen the hypocrisy and what an oxymoron it all is.
He enters Lima’s only Catholic church, which is small but cozy and everything is done on autopilot: dipping his fingers into the bowl of holy water by the doors and making the sign of the cross on his body. Afterwards, he feels awkward and wrong; he doesn’t consider himself a Catholic anymore and yet going through the motions is still second nature.
The five o’clock mass doesn’t start for another hour, but there are a few people scattered in the rows. Some are on their knees; some are just sitting and staring at the large crucifix at the end of the aisle.
Christ’s face on this one disturbs Blaine.
He slowly walks inside, unwrapping his scarf from around his neck, trying to keep his breathing even as he takes a seat in one of the back rows. Closing his eyes, he allows himself to revel in the peaceful quiet surrounding him. He really didn’t hate Church growing up; some of the sermons and the people who attended just made the experience so awful that he stopped going.
When he opens his eyes, he spots a Bible in a wooden sleeve in front of him. The last time Blaine opened a Bible was three months ago for an English Lit assignment. But the last time he opened one for himself was over three years ago when he tried to find passages that legitimized his existence.
He goes to Proverbs because it has some of his favorite writing, but he skips too far ahead and finds himself in Romans, a section he despises and automatically finds the quote he used in Sunday School that got him kicked out of class for the day:
“‘Welcome one another, therefore, just as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God.’ Doesn’t that mean we should accept everyone? Including the people whom the Church refuses to accept, like homosexuals?”
“‘Read this passage in the main office while we call your parents and you’ll have your answer.’”
He slams the Bible shut rather loudly, attracting a few people’s attention. He smiles at them apologetically and flushes in embarrassment. He looks down at his hands, which are gripping the book too tightly.
(“Do you not know that wrongdoers will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived! Fornicators, idolaters, adulterers, male prostitutes, sodomites, thieves, the greedy, drunkards, revilers, robbers - none of these will inherit the kingdom of God.”)
Sodomy? All he ever wanted was to hold hands with a boy, to love someone and feel loved - would he be denied the kingdom of God for that, sent directly to Hell to burn for eternity?
“Blaine?”
Blaine glances up and then to his right to see Quinn Fabray standing in the aisle, her arms crossed over her stomach, looking pretty in a dress that matches the green in her eyes.
He smiles in greeting, “Hi.”
She smiles back. “What are you doing here?” she inquires.
He looks away and scrapes his bottom lip with his teeth in a rare moment of visible vulnerability before shifting down the bench to give her room to sit down. “My full name is Blaine William Paul Anderson,” he answers with just a hint of faux pomposity.
She laughs softly, her eyes wide as she gracefully slides into the bench, crossing her ankles. “Quinn Isabella Hope Fabray.”
“Pretty.”
“Yeah, I like it. My parents really wanted my Confirmation name to be Martha or Mary, though.” Her face contorts into something more bitter and wry. “That would’ve made the pregnancy so much worse,” she mutters, making sure no one can overhear them.
Kurt had explained to Blaine a while ago that Quinn, the head cheerleader and president of the celibacy club, had gotten pregnant the year before and how it caused a huge scandal since the father was her boyfriend’s best friend. It’s something out of a soap opera, but the girl sitting beside him is far from a caricature that the world seems to force her to be (that she allows herself to be?).
“My parents wanted me to choose Paul, after my grandfather who died before I was born. And for a while I really liked it, mostly because of Paul McCartney, my favorite Beatle, but then when I really started reading the Bible…his words just made me sick.”
“People say he’s misunderstood and misinterpreted,” she retorts, but it’s hollow. “So…why did you pick it in the end?”
He frowns. “Because I wanted to make them happy.”
Her hand twitches, as if she’s about to place it on top of his, but she changes her mind and picks off imaginary lint from her dress.
This is so awkward now. Especially since he all of a sudden remembers Quinn wearing his scarf around her head for a lot of Rachel’s party and how reluctant she was to give it back. Judging by the sudden blush of her cheeks, she seems to recall that as well.
“What would you have chosen instead?” she asks, clearly hoping to ease the discomfort.
He exhales through his nose. “Jude.”
She raises an eyebrow at him. “Beatles fixation, much?”
He laughs a little. “No. Well, sort of. But really because he’s the saint of lost causes.” He flips open the Bible and begins thumbing the pages without any section in mind. “I just imagined it being some subtle, yet cinematic way of saying that I can’t change who I am and neither can they, even though they want to. At least my father does, anyway. But I chickened out,” he finishes, trying to keep the sullenness out of his voice, but some of it still manages to bleed through.
She sighs. “Why can’t parents understand that Confirmation is for us? It’s when we as individuals become full members of the Church, or perfect Christ or whatever they tell us in Sunday School. It has nothing to do with them.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice if they practiced what they preached.”
She hums in agreement, looking down at the Bible in his lap. He offers it to her and watches her flip through pages with the kind of mastery that only comes when the Catholic Church has successfully taught you for many years.
“It’s such a cliché, but it’s still my favorite section,” she says, placing the Bible so it rests across their thighs.
“‘Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude…’” he mutters before a hint of a smile graces his face. “Yeah, I still kind of like it. Even though Mandy Moore ruined it for me.”
She gasps. “I love that movie.”
“I love Shane West, but he didn’t make it good - the book is still a million times better.”
“Not really a Nicholas Sparks fan,” she admits, “But I have a soft spot for that movie.”
“Really?”
She shrugs. “I’m a Christian cheerleader who listens to rap and hates almost all sappy romance movies. I’m not that easily read.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean -”
She grins at his stuttering. “It’s fine. Really. I’m used to it. And to be fair, I thought you’d be a sucker for that kind of movie.”
“Because I’m gay?”
“You just seem rather…idealistically romantic,” she offers, not admitting that he was half right.
“You got that from my drunken exploits at Rachel’s party?” he inquires, genuinely curious because they only spoke briefly at the party (just introductions) and that was the extent of their getting to know one another (besides her stealing his scarf, anyway).
“I do vaguely remember your chanting ‘I’m such a romantic, it’s so tragic’ during the last hour or so along with something about the Gap.”
Blaine blushes a deep red and Quinn covers her laughter with her hand.
“Well…I did admit to reading Nicholas Sparks, so…” he murmurs, a faint smile on his face. “And I do love romantic movies, but they have to have happy endings. There’s enough misery in the world.”
“And yet you’ll read depressing books?”
Oh, right, he kind of remembers lamenting (rather loudly) to Kurt about how Love in the Time of Cholera is depressing the hell out of him, but it’s so good and you have to read it when I’m done at the party as well. At this rate, he’s rather afraid that he spilled every secret of his during that night.
“Well, with movies, I feel like if I’m going to be engrossed in another world for two hours, I’d rather it be a happy one,” he explains, trying not to think about what else he said a few weeks ago.
“…That makes sense, I guess.”
He shrugs. “You’re complicated, I’m complicated. It’s just how it is.”
She smiles and Blaine can definitely understand why all the boys in New Directions would fall in love with her.
“Are you staying for mass, or…?”
He furrows his brow. “I wasn’t planning on it. It’s my first time in a church for a few years, so…”
Quinn emits a strangled gasp before pulling Blaine’s arm. “Get on your knees!” she hisses.
It’s such a dirty comment and if he weren’t such a gentleman, he’d be tempted to chime “That’s what he said!” (because those sexual comments can always go both ways), but his brain stops functioning properly when he sees Karofsky and his father enter the church from the side entrance.
He quickly falls to the ground and laces his hands together tightly, resting his head against his knuckles, pretending to pray. But he quickly finds himself actually praying, which he hasn’t done in so long.
(Dear God, please don’t let him see me here, please, please, please, I know I haven’t acknowledged you in a while but -)
“You know what really makes me sick,” Quinn says in a low voice, her position mirroring his, but her face filled with fury and grief, “Is that a person like you was driven from the Church while a monster like him can still walk in here without shame and be accepted.”
He wants to point out that it was ultimately his choice that he stopped going after his Confirmation, that it felt right at the time, but he can’t breathe anymore because she’s right, at least a little bit.
“When he sits down, tell me so I can sneak out,” he murmurs, his eyes closed because he needs the tears in his eyes to go away.
When he opens them, her head is turned to properly face him. Her eyes are shining. “Okay.”
He’s biting the inside of his cheek in anticipation, the church suddenly feeling too constricting for everything that’s passing through his mind (a hot summer and motor oil staining his favorite pair of jeans; Kurt admitting to looking up porn and the route Blaine’s mind took at that moment; admitting to his parents in the car after being Confirmed that I’m gay because it was about time it was just said).
After less than a minute, Quinn whispers “Go” and stands up, allowing him to pass. He squeezes her shoulder in thanks and walks out without looking back (why should he when he didn’t the first time?).
He gets into his car and inhales sharply, gripping the wheel tightly and resting his forehead against it as he screws his eyes shut, hot tears still managing to fall down his face. Exhaling shakily, he lets go of the wheel to wipe his face dry.
Then he realizes he left his scarf in the church. He groans, knowing he can’t go back inside now. Besides, it’s not like he’ll never see it again - he’s sure he’ll see more of New Directions in the future.
…But he really does love that scarf.
Let it go, Blaine, he thinks to himself as he starts his car.
But before he can leave, he catches Quinn running out of the church, clutching his scarf. Swallowing, he lowers his window down. She’s out of breath when she hands him the scarf. “I didn’t want you to think that it’s my thing to steal people’s scarves.”
He laughs, sniffling once as he loops it around his neck. “Thank you.” He nods his head to the church. “Sorry for making you run out.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t sit through mass right now. Not with him there.” Her eyes are burning with quiet rage.
He wants to say that she shouldn’t concern herself with him because they barely know each other, but he’s kind of grateful in a very selfish way.
She smiles. “I’ll see you around, I’m sure,” she finishes, “Take care of Kurt. And yourself.”
The corner of his mouth quirks up with fondness. “I will. You too.”
With one last parting smile, she walks away. He makes sure she’s in her car before he leaves the parking lot because sometimes he can be too much of a gentleman (he’s also seen enough horror films at sleepovers to know what can happen in a small space of time).
As he drives home, he remembers the rest of the passage Quinn likes, phrases like love never ends and rejoices with truth sticking out for him. Kurt is naturally weaving into these and he better put on the radio right now because this isn’t okay. Yes, he loves Kurt and this shouldn’t feel wrong, but it does since he’s always associated that passage with romantic love (damn you, Mandy Moore!).
He inhales and exhales slowly, trying to think about this logically. Obviously, the passage can refer to many types of love, like familial and friendship along with romantic; it’s as simple as that.
His phone vibrates in his cup holder, causing him to jump. Quickly glancing at the screen, he sees it’s Kurt and rushes to pull over. Kurt has been understandably keeping his distance for the past day or so and Blaine’s been respecting that, even though he’s been missing him.
Kurt’s text reads: Please tell me you saw that GOD AWFUL YouTube video with that girl and a certain day of the week. If you haven’t, check your Facebook and be prepared for your life to be RUINED because there’s no way I’m going to be the only scarred one.
He laughs, quickly typing out his answer, making a few spelling mistakes in his haste. Eventually, he sends: I can’t wait.
If his religion deems this friendship, the bond that these two gay boys share, and even Kurt's existence can’t be the most beautiful things in Blaine’s life, then God can just suck it up and deal with it.