Fic: Hold onto the Sun
Title: Hold onto the Sun
Rating: R
Warnings: Future fic. Brain injuries. Hospitals and medical situations. Brief flashback with blood/violence
Word Count: 5,246
Summary: "You've always been a fighter. This is just one more fight, okay? You can, I know you can."
A hate crime leaves Blaine damaged and Kurt refuses to let it bring them down.
Part of the Lovesong verse
A/N: Previous parts after the cut, because the list is just getting way too long. As a quick reference, Blaine's actual attack was April 22nd, 2018. I'm not sure if that was confusing anyone, since I never really state it. Another quick reminder, the first part of this takes place a few hours after Kurt's call to Burt in A Father's Eyes and the middle part shortly after the first part of Of Hurt and Hope. Just to avoid any confusion!
Huge, huge thanks to shandyall for her amazing beta work, to fides_rationem for playing guinea pig to my crazy ideas, and to Bea over on tumblr for her lovely photoshop skills! (you can find me on tumblr here if you wish!)
Also, this is actually the only chapter to make me cry while writing it, so I'd say you should probably prepare your tissues before hand. (Only one more note under the cut!)
A/N 2: If anyone is interested, I have also posted a bonus blueprint of Kurt and Blaine's house in Lovesong, if you'd like to better visualize their humble abode! It's this way! Okay, I'm done talking now, promise.
Together (September 15th, 2018)
Of Hurt and Hope (June 20th, 2018; July 13th, 2018)
A Time of Firsts (November 24th, 2018; December 25th, 2018; March 16th, 2019)
To Sleep, To Wake (May 7th, 2018)
(fear) (June 5th, 2018)
Coffee is a Bitter Drink (June 22nd, 2019)
A Father's Eyes (April 23rd, 2018; October 19th, 2018; February 15th, 2019; October 12th, 2019 )
Resolution, Evolution (November 5th, 2019; December 2nd-3rd, 2019)
(feel) (November 16th, 2018)
Resolution, Evolution: a continuation (December 3rd, 2019)
Shatter (January 23rd, 2019)
Let Me(December 17th, 2019)
Let Me: a continuation (December 20th, 2019)
Sometimes (a sandwich is all it takes) (January 17th, 2019)
And When I Wait, All I See is You (May 2nd, 2018; May 9th, 2018)
Bonus: Letters
-
April 23rd, 2018
He’s not sure if it’s exhaustion or an inability to cope that has him drifting in his chair. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s the pain meds floating through his system, making everything around him both hyperactive and muted, sounds and colors running together and he can’t anymore, he can’t take it. His cheeks feel swollen, his eyes puffy from crying, and everything in him seems to have seeped out, anchoring him into the uncomfortable hospital chair until his head dips, and he lets go.
Until a hand rubs his shoulder, his head snapping up and he groans because his brain is pounding and his arm throbs and where is he?
“Easy hun,” a voice soothes, and Kurt blinks. Takes in the tacky carpet, the uniform chairs, the neat stacks of magazines. A nurse kneels in front of him, offers him a Styrofoam cup. Kurt takes it in his good hand gratefully, sips the cold water, willing his head to stop spinning.
“How are you feeling?”
“Okay,” Kurt mumbles and everything snaps in place. Last night, Blaine, the ambulance, the shouting and rushing and being separated and surgery and- “Blaine, how is he? Is he… god, is he okay?”
“That’s what I’m here for,” the nurse says, only her small smile keeping Kurt from panicking completely. “The doctor says he’s stable enough if you would like to go see him. It can only be for a few minutes, until he has the second surgery.”
Kurt nods, standing and swaying as the world bottoms out under his feet.
“Careful,” the nurse rests a hand on Kurt’s elbow, steadying him. “You need to take it easy.”
Kurt stares at her, uncomprehending. “I need to see him, please. I need… he’ll be okay, right? He’ll… he’ll live?”
The nurse meets his eyes, her gaze warm. “The doctor will talk to you about everything soon, but he’s still critical. We’re still working on getting his brain swelling down, right now.”
Kurt just nods, doesn’t trust himself to speak, just needs to see Blaine, to see that he’s alive. The nurse seems to understand, leads him out of the waiting room and through the doors of the intensive care unit. She stops at the end of the hall, in front of a room situated differently from the others, rubs his arm in a manner he supposes is supposed to be comforting. It’s not, really.
“I’m going to ask you to put on a mask, and to wash your hands before we enter. Because his head is still open to relieve the swelling he’s very susceptible to infection right now.”
There’s a sink at the station beside the room and the nurse takes Kurt’s uncasted hand, gently washes it under the warm water, before helping him to secure the mask on his face. It’s stifling and hot, but Kurt can’t even think to complain.
“And Kurt, it might look a little frightening, but we’re doing everything we can for him, okay?”
“Y-yeah,” Kurt manages, feels hot pressure behind his eyes and tries to swallow it down, figures he shouldn’t let his mask get wet.
“Come with me.”
Everything is too fast and too slow. Each moment, each step inside takes a thousand years yet is over in a second and Kurt’s not sure he can even breathe, stifled behind the mask, the warm ICU air all around him.
The room is dark, the lights dim, filled with a quiet whirring and a steady beeping. Kurt can feel his heart pounding in his chest, his mouth suddenly dry as the nurse releases his arm and he takes a step forward. There’s an impossible number of machines and Blaine looks dwarfed, unnatural, notBlaine. His face is pale, the left side covered in bandages, his head hidden from Kurt’s view by drapes and bandages and Kurt’s glad, doesn’t think he could handle that. Just knowing what’s there, what’s happening to the man he loves more than anything, is enough to make his throat tighten painfully, his chest constrict.
A ventilator parts Blaine’s lips, his chest rising and falling with equal, rhythmic whirs, IVs line his arms, wires snaking under his hospital gown. Kurt hesitates, an arm’s reach from the bed, unsure. It’s Blaine but it’s not, everything completely changed and foreign from hours ago when they were laughing in the park, feeding each other gyros and kissing on the bench. It seems impossible that things could change so quickly, like this is all a ridiculous dream that Kurt is sure to wake from, that everything will be okay. But the ache in his chest, the way his lungs don’t seem to want to expand like they’re supposed to, the way he can’t tear his eyes away from Blaine’s face, battered and bruised and broken, it’s all too real to be a dream. In the worst possible way.
“You can touch him, if you want,” the nurse says, voice soft and understanding. Kurt looks up at her, sees the way she smiles at him, before taking a step forward, closing the space between him and the bed. Blaine’s hand is right there, and Kurt doesn’t know why he feels so nervous, knows it’s probably the machines and the feeling of fragile that makes his breath stop in his throat, his whole body feel heavier than it actually is. Blaine’s skin is cold, remembers how the doctor told him Blaine was chilled during surgery, his hand unnaturally still. Even in sleep, Blaine’s hand would find Kurt’s, their fingers linking and curling together naturally. A reflex.
Not now.
“I’m…” Kurt’s voice cracks when he speaks, his fingers curling around Blaine’s tighter. “I’m so sorry.”
Blaine’s chest rises, falls, in, out.
“This is all my fault Blaine, you’re so hurt, god… and it’s all my fault.” Kurt closes his eyes, doesn’t trust himself not to break down right there. Hours of waiting, of uncertainties, of not knowing what is going to happen and now being here, seeing Blaine for the first time since they were separated out of the ambulance, since he was torn away from Kurt, and it’s too much.
“I’m sorry.” Pause. Kurt swipes his thumb across the back of Blaine’s knuckles, vaguely notices the nurse has left them alone.
“Please, Blaine. Fight, okay? I need you here. I need you with me, I…” He takes a deep breath, drawing in warm air through his mask. “I can’t do this without you. I need you, Blaine, and I’m so sorry. God, words can’t…”
A tear slips down his cheeks, soaks into the mask.
“You’ve always been a fighter. This is just one more fight, okay? You can, I know you can.”
He squeezes Blaine’s hand, wills some of his strength through their grip, wishes he could do more than watch helplessly as his fiancé suffers for Kurt’s stupid mistake. He stands there for a moment, silent and stroking Blaine’s hand, eyes moving from the rhythmic movements of Blaine’s chest to the monitor that shows his heart, still beating, still pumping, still fighting.
“Kurt?” A voice draws his attention from Blaine, the nurse standing in the door, a look of regret on her face. “I’m sorry hun, it’s been ten minutes.”
Kurt nods, everything in him screaming to protest, to stay here with Blaine, but he knows this is in Blaine’s best interest, that Kurt being here won’t help him heal, only puts him more at risk.
“Okay, yeah,” he says before looking back to Blaine, giving his hand one last squeeze. “I have to go, Blaine, but I’ll be back as soon as they let me after your surgery, okay? You keep fighting.”
His hand is shaking as he loosens it from Blaine’s, it feels empty and cold.
“I love you, I love you, I love you.”
-
He goes home, after. It’s not really a conscious choice. It’s nearly four in the morning and the nurse calls him a cab, tells him to get some sleep and a shower, try and eat something if he can. Blaine’s surgery won’t be for awhile and it won’t do Kurt any good to run himself ragged.
Kurt doesn’t protest, doesn’t really have it in him to protest, just gets in the cab, spouts off his address, the city moving by him in a blur. Despite the early hour, there are cars out, headlights catching the light flurries of snow, the occasional person braving the cold on the sidewalk. Kurt wonders how they can go on with their day, like today is any other normal day, like the world wasn’t spun off orbit last night.
He rests his head against the cool glass, closes his eyes, unable to bear it.
He pays the cab when it comes to a stop, feels weightless and heavy as he takes the elevator up to their apartment. Everything is the same as they left it. The reminder for Blaine’s school concert stuck to the fridge, his sweatshirt thrown across the back of the couch despite Kurt’s constant reminders that they have a perfectly functional closet in the bedroom, his keys thrown on the countertop because Blaine is always forgetting them.
The keys jingle slightly as Kurt picks them up, moves them to the hook next to the door, installed for that very reason. He grabs Blaine’s sweatshirt, the fabric worn and thin in his hand, drapes it over his arm as he makes his way through the tiny apartment to the bedroom. Everything is too quiet, too empty, Blaine’s absence making everything feel wrong, like this isn’t the same place they’ve called home for the past three years.
He pauses in front of the closet, the sweatshirt gripped tightly in his hand as he tries to locate a hanger. Instead he finds memories; Kurt’s insistence on an evening stroll, Blaine rolling his eyes but happily stripping off the sweatshirt and changing into something more to Kurt’s standards. Blaine pressing a kiss to his cheek as they link hands and bundle up for a New York winter. Their breath misting the air as they strolled to the part, the tang of the onions in their gyros, lingering on their lips as they kissed. Kurt, too eager to get home, pulling Blaine along, fingers sliding where they shouldn’t, the alley, pressing up against the wall, the shouting, the grabbing. Blaine, so, so angry, the fighting, the rusted pipe, the blood, the fear.
He pulls off his clothes, awkward with only one working arm, blood (Blaine’s blood, oh god) still splattered along the sleeves, marking his jeans, and slips on Blaine’s sweatshirt. Blaine’s scent, earthy, warm, and right there surrounding him. He feels heavy, numb, his ears ringing, and he collapses onto the bed, the note Blaine left this morning sliding off his pillow. Kurt strokes his thumb over it, clinging to the hope that this won’t be the last note Blaine ever leaves. He pulls Blaine’s pillow to his chest, buries his face in the scent of Blaine, and drifts into a restless sleep.
-
He wakes to the sound of banging in the kitchen. At first he thinks it’s Blaine making coffee, Blaine always makes sure there’s a big pot of coffee ready for Kurt in the morning, but the weigh to the cast on his arm, the throbbing in his head, reminds him of otherwise.
The alarm clock is too bright beside his bed, betraying it to only be seven-thirty in the morning, what could someone possibly be doing in his apartment? Kurt slips from the bed, too exhausted to be worried, makes his way from the bedroom.
“Cooper?”
Blaine’s brother looks up from where he’s messing with the coffee maker; there are bags under his eyes and worry lines on his face but he smiles at Kurt.
“Hey Kurt. You um, forgot to lock the door and I thought you might want some coffee when you woke up so…”
“What… what are you doing here?”
Cooper’s face turns serious. “I caught a flight as soon as I heard.”
“Oh.”
“How’s he doing? Blaine?” His voice is nearly a whisper, as if afraid for Kurt’s answer.
“His brain is still swelling. They don’t… they won’t really know anything until they can get it under control I guess. They’re… he’s going to have another surgery today, to put his skull back together, once the swelling goes down.”
Cooper’s forehead wrinkles in concern and Kurt can see his eyes are red, like he’s been crying. Kurt’s sure he doesn’t look any better.
“What do they say, about his… his chances? Is he going to be okay?”
“It depends on the swelling,” Kurt says, closing his eyes, already exhausted. “They think he’ll have brain damage, if he does make it.”
He can still remember the crack that echoed through the alley when the pipe hit Blaine’s head, the way Blaine had dropped, immediately limp. The way Kurt had screamed until his voice gave out, the sound muffled behind a meaty hand, the pain in his arm as it was twisted, the way their attacker didn’t even care, had landed one, two, three more blows on the side of Blaine’s head. He can still see the blood, staining the pipe and spreading across the ground, so much that Kurt didn’t know how Blaine could still be alive. It matted Blaine’s hair, coated his ear, his face, his neck.
He could still feel the scrap in his knees when their attackers finally released him as he fell to the ground beside Blaine, hands hovering, not sure where to touch, what to do. How his throat had tightened and he couldn’t even breathe because Blaine was dead, god, he was deaddeaddead. And then shouting, a bright light illuminating them and everything had moved in a blur, a police officer checking Blaine’s pulse, calling for help, for an ambulance, and that was good right? That meant Blaine was still alive, Blaine could be okay, the ambulance would come and they would save him. Kurt hadn’t cared about the blood, soaking into his knees, staining his sleeves, he’d just grabbed Blaine’s hand, held on with all his might, refused to let go until he’d been ripped away by the paramedics.
“Kurt?” Kurt blinks, sees Cooper looking at him, eyes worried.
“I’m going to take a shower,” Kurt whisper, and Cooper nods, understands.
Only when the water’s beating down on him, too hot, steam curling around him and fogging the mirrors, does he let himself break down, salty tears mixing with water and washing down the drain.
Cooper doesn’t say anything when Kurt returns, still dressed in Blaine’s sweatshirt and a loose pair of jeans, just slides him a cup of coffee.
“Mom and dad’s flight is coming in at ten, they’ll catch a cab straight to the hospital.”
“Okay,” Kurt nods, takes a sip of his coffee. It’s too bitter, not the way that Blaine makes it.
“How’s your arm?”
Kurt looks at his arm, the white plaster keeping it immobile, supposes it hurts but he doesn’t really feel it.
“It’s fine. Just a minor fracture. I’m fine.”
He knows Cooper doesn’t believe him, but he doesn’t say anything else, and they both pretend to drink their coffee.
“I was going to go back, to the hospital,” Kurt says after awhile and Cooper nods. “They won’t let us be with him yet but, I just… I can’t be anywhere else.”
“I understand,” Cooper says and helps Kurt to his feet. “I’ll call a cab.”
the next day
“Hey Blaine,” Cooper whispers. It’s the first they’ve been allowed in his room, the surgery done and Blaine’s head all in one piece. It just Cooper and Kurt in the room, Blaine’s parent’s had gone in first; Blaine’s condition is still critical and they didn’t want to many people in at once.
“Hey squirt,” Cooper speaks again, settles nervously into the chair next to the bed. Blaine’s still on the ventilator, still hooked up to a million machines, still covered in bandages. Now there’s a bolt screwed into the side of his head, to measure the pressure in his brain, the doctors had explained. Kurt doesn’t like it. It looks unnatural. Wrong.
Kurt stands on the opposite side, can’t bring himself to sit, not yet. He draws Blaine’s hand into his own, can’t help the suffocating disappointment when the hand is just as limp as before, just as still. The moment feels delicate, fragile, like glass that’s already started cracking. Cooper meets Kurt’s eyes before flickering back to Blaine, swallowing thickly.
“Do you remember after Sadie Hawkins?” Cooper starts, voice wavering at the end. “You wanted to get out of bed right away, even though you had a concussion and a broken leg. I kept telling you to take it easy, not to push things. I remember the way you looked at me,” Cooper gives a small laugh, strokes a hand on Blaine’s arm, “like I was completely crazy. You told me that you couldn’t waste any time. That you needed to get stronger, that you weren’t going to let them push you around anymore.”
Pause.
“Of course, Dalton was the best option for you, but I remember, Blaine. You made me start teaching you how to box in your hospital bed. You didn’t know, you already were strong. You’ve always been so strong, Blaine.”
Kurt smiles a little, Cooper’s words ringing so true and he hopes that somehow, Blaine can hear them.
“This is just like last time, baby brother. You can pull through, I know you can.”
Kurt sits, finally, presses his lips to the ends of Blaine’s fingers, wants more than anything for Cooper to be right.
June 20th, 2018
It’s strange, having Blaine home. It’s only been a few hours but Kurt still feels charged, ready to jump at everything, doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Blaine’s parents return with food, just a few boxes of Chinese but Kurt doesn’t think he can eat. Not now. Not with everything so new and scary.
Blaine mostly watches Kurt, eyes following as Kurt makes himself too busy, talks without really saying anything, straightens the pillows for the twelfth time. Kurt knows if Blaine could he’d tell him to calm down. He’d put his hands on Kurt’s shoulders, push him onto the couch and sit on his lap until Kurt settled down, and Kurt would chuckle, would know he was acting ridiculous. But Blaine can’t. Can’t do anything except sit there and watch as Kurt stresses, as he fumbles without a routine.
They’ve been waiting for this day for so long, Kurt so excited to have Blaine back home, that now… he doesn’t know what to do. Jennifer helps Kurt hook up Blaine’s feeding tube, Blaine pressing his hand reassuringly against Kurt’s arm. Jennifer kisses Blaine’s cheek as she pours his meal replacer into the syringe Kurt’s holding. Blaine’s patient, just waits, doesn’t react to the way Kurt’s hands are shaking, the way he squeezes Blaine’s hand a little too tight.
“You’re doing perfect, honey,” Jennifer says, smoothing a hand over Blaine’s short hair and Blaine rolls his eyes, gives Kurt a pointed look and Kurt’s not sure if he should be laughing or crying. Despite everything, he’s still just so Blaine.
After they’re done Kurt disconnects the tubing, adjusts Blaine’s shirt, cleans everything exactly the way he was taught. Jennifer’s still stroking Blaine’s arm, and Kurt knows it’s because she cares, she cares so much for her son, but he can see the way Blaine looks vaguely annoyed and uncomfortable.
“Do you want to see outside?” Kurt asks, wringing his hands. “We have a porch swing.”
Blaine’s mouth turns up into his little smile and he nods, eyes meeting Kurt’s, grateful. Kurt wraps his hands around the handles of Blaine’s wheelchair, wonders how long it will take for the grooves of his fingers to form, how long it will take before the action of pushing Blaine becomes natural.
It’s warm outside, a summer wind drifting through the trees, blowing Kurt’s hair slightly out of place. Kurt pushes them onto the porch, Jennifer hesitating just inside the door, watching with a knowing smile. Blaine’s eyes close and he lifts his face in the direction of the setting sun, exhaling slowly. Kurt pauses, stands there for a silent moment, lets the breeze drift over them.
“You missed this, in the hospital,” Kurt says quietly. “Being outside.”
Blaine nods.
“Do you want to sit on the swing?”
Blaine nods again.
Kurt’s moved Blaine before, on his own, from his hospital bed to the chair. He’s done it but he still feels clumsy, still unsure, always worried about doing something wrong, hurting Blaine more. But he’s determined. This is it. This is their life now. He needs to get used to it, can’t rely on Blaine’s parents being here to help forever.
It’s a simple wood porch swing, big enough to fit two and padded with dark green pillows, connected to the overhang by two thick chains. Blaine takes it in, looks up at Kurt with a smile on his face and Kurt feels almost giddy, not sure if it’s the fact that Blaine’s finally, finally, home, or if it’s just Blaine that makes him feel like this. Probably both.
Kurt’s awkward, doesn’t have it quite down yet, holds Blaine too tight under the arms, lifts him a little too slow to be comfortable, and his grip slips a few inches but they make it. Kurt makes sure Blaine is settled and comfortable before plopping down beside him, pushing off the ground with his feet so the swing drifts back and forth.
“I know it’s not like our apartment back in New York, but I think it’s nice here.”
Blaine shifts to look at Kurt, his hand searching until Kurt twines their fingers, leans to press up against Blaine’s arm. He lets his head fall to Blaine’s shoulder, strokes a pattern on his knee with his free hand.
“I hope it’s okay.”
The sun is dipping below the horizon, streaking the sky a pale pink, sending long shadows across the lawn. The sounds of traffic drift with the wind, quieter than it was in the city, and birds chirp a simple melody from the trees. Blaine lets his cheek rest on the top of Kurt’s head, squeezes Kurt’s hand as best as he can.
It feels right, having Blaine home, sitting outside together, hands linked. For the first time in two months, Kurt feels whole, like the piece of his life that’s been missing has finally been put back in place. He hums, for the first time since the attack, the sound vibrating through his cheek and into Blaine. The noise that Kurt’s come to recognize as Blaine’s broken chuckle sounds in his throat when he recognizes the chorus of Here Comes The Sun.
Kurt tilts his head to press a kiss just below Blaine’s earlobe.
“We’re going to make it.” He settles his head back onto Blaine’s shoulder. “We’ll make it.”
-
That night, Jennifer kisses them both goodbye, Robert clapping Kurt’s shoulder and they leave for their hotel. Blaine yawns, looks at Kurt sheepishly. Kurt understands, feels exhausted as well, the stress and worry of the day weighing his limbs and pulling at his eyelids.
He helps Blaine get ready for bed, has been over the routine hundreds of times in the hospital, practicing and committing everything to memory. He knows it’s embarrassing for Blaine, to need someone to brush his teeth, to help him use the bathroom, but he doesn’t protest, just lets Kurt busy himself, fussing over his pajamas and pulling back the covers of the bed.
It takes some maneuvering but Kurt gets Blaine situated in bed, on the left side like before, Kurt changing into his own pajamas before crawling in beside him. It’s familiar and not; two months of sleeping alone, Blaine’s half of the bed untouched and empty, and Kurt’s not sure what to do now, what’s okay. He settles into his side, wants so badly to touch Blaine, to move closer to where to bed dips under Blaine’s weight. But he doesn’t know what Blaine’s wants, can’t ask him, doesn’t know what will make him uncomfortable.
Until Blaine attempts to roll, groaning slightly at his awkward movements, and Kurt startles up, sees the way Blaine’s eyes look into his, pleading for something. And Kurt knows, smiles as he scoots closer until his body presses to Blaine’s, too warm and yet just right. He pulls Blaine into his arms, Blaine’s back against Kurt’s chest, his legs tangling with Kurt’s. Kurt finds Blaine’s hand, laces their fingers and presses a soft kiss to the back of Blaine’s neck, just under his hairline.
“I missed this,” he whispers and can feel the way Blaine relaxes against him, knows Blaine did too. “I’m so glad you’re home, Blaine. I missed you so much.”
Blaine’s thumb jerks over his hand and Kurt touches another kiss to Blaine’s neck, remembers how Blaine used to stroke his thumb over Kurt’s hand when they would lie awake in bed together, the movement almost second nature. It’s different now, everything is a little different, but lying here, with Blaine finally in his arms, everything seems pretty much perfect.
“Goodnight Blaine,” Kurt murmurs, eyelids finally drifting shut. “I love you.”
They sleep.
February 8th, 2020
Kurt wakes. He stifles a yawn as he stretches his arms above his head, reaches over to find Blaine, lands instead on a scrap of paper. Blinking the sleep from his eyes he scans the words, smiling and falling back in bed. The writing is shakier than normal and Kurt can picture Blaine, scribbling the words, excited as Cooper fakes impatience, ready for a morning out of the house with his brother.
Kurt knew Cooper was going to be in town, knew that he would invite Kurt along, but really just wanted to spend time with his little brother. It’s good for Blaine, Kurt thinks as he settles back under his covers, content to spend a lazy Saturday morning in bed. Since Blaine’s setback, since the disappointment of not being able to return to work this semester, Kurt’s been worried. The drive that had been keeping Blaine going, that had been pushing him to do better, better, better was slowly disappearing.
The way Blaine had screamed in frustration, anger, had taken it out on Kurt even though Kurt knew he didn’t mean it. Kurt was just there, was the easiest target, and Blaine had been holding onto this for so long, and now it was ripped away from him. Of course he was going to be angry. That night Kurt had held him while Blaine whispered apologies into his shirt, silent tears soaking through the fabric and Kurt had stroked his back, told him everything would be alright. They would get through this, just like they’d gotten through every other setback. Just because this one was a little bigger than most didn’t mean they wouldn’t fight. Didn’t mean they wouldn’t make it.
Kurt had called Cooper the next day, knew he was between jobs at the moment. I think Blaine needs his brother right now, he had said and Cooper hadn’t hesitated, had booked a flight immediately. Kurt tries, he does as much as he can, but sometimes it’s just not enough, and in light of new disappointments, he knows Blaine needs to get out. He wishes he had enough time off to go somewhere with Blaine (when the spring line is done, he figures, they’ll escape for a week or two) but for now, a few meals out with his brother will have to do.
His hand searches the bedside table for his phone, sends Blaine a text telling him to take his time and enjoy his morning, Blaine responding with a simple heart a few minutes later.
They don’t get back until nearly three, Kurt pretending to work on his designs on the couch. He can hear movement outside the door, voices bickering, a wave of cold as the door opens.
“Honey, we’re home,” Cooper calls and Kurt shakes his head, pulling himself off the couch to meander to the entrance. He leans against the wall, smiling. Blaine’s eyes are wide, excited as Cooper pushes him onto the bench at the entrance, kneels down to untie Blaine’s shoes.
“Kurt,” Blaine smiles up at him before frowning. “I got you pancakes but… um… Coop got hungry and…”
Cooper just shrugs, easing Blaine’s shoes off his feet. Kurt rests his hand over his heart in mock indignation, sighs deeply.
“I think I’ll survive… somehow.”
Cooper pulls Blaine back up to his feet, holds his elbow when he wavers slightly, ruffles his hair.
“Where’s your walker?” Kurt asks, raising an eyebrow. Blaine looks down sheepishly.
“Someone made me leave it in the car all day,” Cooper says, looking at Blaine.
“I felt good today,” Blaine mumbles. He knows Kurt won’t approve, Blaine pushing himself too hard is what set him back in the first place, expects Kurt to reprimand him.
“Don’t you worry yourself,” Cooper winks at Kurt. “I piggybacked him through the park.”
Red creeps into Blaine’s cheeks and Kurt can’t help but chuckle, leans forward to press a quick kiss to Blaine’s lips.
“I’m glad you had fun.”
Cooper elbows Blaine and Blaine glares up at him before turning back to Kurt.
“I got you… something,” Blaine says, digs in his pocket. He has something closed in his palm, Cooper releasing his grip on Blaine and he walks the few steps to Kurt, presses their hands together. Kurt can feel something cool, sharp between their palms, doesn’t look just yet. He’s too wrapped up in Blaine, in the unaided steps Blaine took toward him, in the way he wavers slightly against him, the way he smells like a mix of cinnamon rolls and coffee and too long spent in a car, the way he’s smiling at Kurt, so warm and happy.
“God, I love you so much,” Kurt whispers, the words falling from his lips without his conscious thought, and Blaine lights up, eyes sparkling and vibrant and so, so alive.
“Do you need me to step outside?” Cooper asks from behind them, raising an eyebrow and Kurt looks away from Blaine long enough to send Cooper a glare. The hand in his shifts and Kurt glances down, sees a glint of gold in his palm. It’s a pin, in the shape of a sun, a small red stone sparkling in the center.
“We went to an an-antique store,” Blaine explains, watching Kurt closely. “It made me think of you.”
Blaine’s wrong though, Kurt knows. Because Blaine’s always been the sun. Blaine’s been the one to shine so bright, to never go out even when he wavers, to anchor Kurt to the here and now.
“It’s beautiful,” Kurt says and he means it, closes his fingers around the metal, now warm from the heat of their bodies. “Thank you.”
Blaine beams, opens his mouth to say something when he’s stopped abruptly, Cooper sweeping in behind him, wrapping his arms under his Blaine’s armpits and lifting him up off the floor, no doubt a replica of when they were kids.
“I believe you promised me a death match of scrabble,” Cooper says as he hauls Blaine away. Blaine looks back at Kurt helplessly, and Kurt just shakes his head, follows them into the living room, holding onto the sun.
Next part: Hold onto the Sun: a continuation