Stubborn Hearts (and stubborn love): part 2 (b)
AN: Someday livejournal will sort out its issues...
June 17th, 2020
Wednesday
To Kurt [10:32 am] I miss waking up next to you
Kurt runs his fingers over the message pulled up on the phone, smiles. His knee bounces, nervous energy running through his veins with each pound of his heart.
“Kurt?” He stands quickly, leaves the waiting room and follows the figure in front of him into her cozy office, settles himself into his usual spot; an oversized armchair beside the couch. He doesn’t like the couch, it feels too… clinical. It makes him feel like he’s actually crazy, and not just here for… casual conversation. With someone who asks a lot of questions.
“How are you today, Kurt?” his therapist, Shanti, asks, settling into the chair across from him and tucking her notepad in her lap.
“Okay,” Kurt responds, keeps his back straight and his head held high. He’d started seeing her at Blaine’s insistence after his panic attack at the fireworks show, just once a month and he’s never really… opened up, never really been honest with her, just accepts her tips on managing stress and dealing with traumatic events with a nod and a smile, never looks over them again.
“You seem a little tense today,” Shanti observes, twirls the pen in her fingers. “More than usual.”
Kurt looks down at his hands, sees them clenched together tight enough to turn his knuckles white and he lets out a breath, tries to force himself to relax a little.
“Can I make you some tea?” Shanti asks, and Kurt nods, chews at his lip as she makes her way back to the Keurig in the corner of the room. She usually makes them tea, explained the first time that it can help to have something else to focus on, and Kurt wonders how many cups of tea she must drink in a day, if she drinks it with every client.
“Sleepytime?” she asks, twisting around to look at Kurt and he nods again, tries to make himself look even more relaxed.
“Blaine’s gone,” Kurt says, when Shanti sets his tea on the table beside him, the words sudden, like he can’t hold them in anymore. “He left last Friday to visit his brother in L.A.”
Shanti nods slowly, sinks back into her own chair. “When does he come back?”
“Monday,” Kurt answers, watches the steam rise from his mug of tea.
“That’s a long time,” Shanti says, jots something on her notepad before sticking her pen behind her ear. “I’d imagine it’s a bit of an adjustment?”
Kurt knee starts bouncing again. “A few of my friends said I should probably talk to you about it.” He stares at a spot on the carpet, not really seeing it, feels his heart pounding in his chest, wonders why this is so hard to talk about, the words reluctant molasses on his tongue. He sucks in a breath. “I guess I’m not… Lately, I haven’t been dealing with things… well.”
Shanti nods, tilts her head slightly. “In what way?”
Kurt blinks, swallows, considers. “I…” His throat feels tight and he tries to clear it. “I guess I always thought that things would start to get better as Blaine got better, but…” He shrugs, shifts in his seat.
“Things aren’t meeting your expectations?” Shanti suggested, tucks a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. Kurt shakes his head, not sure if he can speak around the lump in his throat. “How about we start by talking about what expectations you had, and we’ll build off that. Does that sound okay?”
Shanti’s words are gentle and Kurt likes that, how she always makes sure he’s on board with what they’re going to talk about, knows how to direct the conversation so Kurt can get his thoughts to actually make sense. He nods, takes a sip of his tea and tries to organize his thoughts.
“I think I expected that things would go back to the way they were before. That eventually we would just be able to… move on from what happened. Pick up our old lives.” Kurt gives a bitter laugh. “That was really stupid of me, wasn’t it.”
Shanti shakes her head. “It’s not stupid at all. It’s a normal feeling, after going through something traumatic, to want to return to a time where things might have seemed easier, or more familiar.”
Kurt lets his eyes flicker up to meet hers for a moment. “I guess I just… I expected I would feel better with time, you know? Not worse.”
“What makes you feel like you’re getting worse?” Shanti asks, jotting something quick on her notepad.
Kurt wets his lips with his tongue, struggles to find the right words.
“I keep having these, um… these attacks? Where I can’t breathe and all I can think about is that night and I just want it to stop,” his voice wavers, tears pricking at his eyes and he digs his nails into the chair under him. “Everything reminds me of it and I used to be able to ignore it, with Blaine but…” He lets out his breath, slowly, blinks rapidly and focuses on not crying, he’s not going to cry, not like this it’s so humiliating why can’t he do a single thing right and-
“Kurt?” His thoughts stop abruptly and he looks up at Shanti, sees her concerned face looking back.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, his voice thick and he feels pathetic, sitting here and crying to the therapist he didn’t even want to see in the first place.
“Kurt, I need to ask you something, and it might seem a little direct, but it’s something we need to address before we move on, okay?” Shanti says, voice gentle and Kurt sniffs, nods.
“Do you feel safe?” Shanti asks and Kurt blinks, doesn’t understand. “Do you have any thoughts or plans to hurt yourself?”
“Oh,” Kurt says, feels surprised. “No, I… no. I don’t want to kill myself, if that’s what you mean.”
Shanti nods. “Will you tell me, or someone close to you, if any of those feelings arise? My main concern is that you stay safe.”
“I will,” Kurt says, staring at his knees. “It’s not that I want to die or anything, I just… I want to stop feeling this way.”
“What way is that?” Shanti inquires gently.
“Like I’m drowning,” Kurt whispers. A moment passes and he takes a careful sip of his tea. “I feel like… I should be happy Blaine’s getting so much better, shouldn’t I?” Shanti doesn’t nod or shake her head, just watches Kurt patiently, waits for him to continue. “But I feel like it’s crushing me, I’ve spent so much time taking care of him, I did everything for him. Do you know what it’s like to have to feed your own fiancé through a tube because he’ll choke if he eats food? I structured my whole life around taking care of him, I fed him and dressed him and, god, I wiped his ass, and now…” he shrugs.
“You feel like he doesn’t need you like he used to?” Shanti suggests and Kurt nods, runs this thumb down the mug to catch an escaped droplet of tea.
“But I still need him,” Kurt says, voice a thin waver. “Since he left for L.A. I’ve just felt…” a rogue tear escapes, tracks down his cheek and he gives a dry laugh. “Like I can’t stop crying. Like my life is falling apart.”
Shanti lets silence fall over them for a moment and Kurt’s grateful, needs the time gather himself again, wipes his cheeks dry again.
“Blaine gave you a structure for your days,” she says and Kurt nods, sniffs pathetically.
“I feel like I don’t know how to be me anymore, you know,” he stares at the floor, jigs his leg. “And I guess I’m nervous or scared or something because…” he stops a moment, feels flustered, wonders if this is what Blaine feels like when he can’t find his words because there are a million thoughts in his head at once and he’s having trouble tracking down the ones he needs. “Blaine’s getting so much better, and I’m happy because that’s all I’ve wanted but… I think I lost myself somewhere, in the last two years.” His throat tightens, his words small and wavering. “I just want to be me again.”
Shanti nods, her face understanding. “You find it easier to focus on Blaine’s needs, than your own needs,” she observes and Kurt gives a tiny nod. “Have you talked about any of this with Blaine?”
“No,” Kurt answers quickly. “No, I… I know he would feel guilty and… I know how bad he already feels about everything.”
“Okay,” Shanti says, jots something down. “We’ve covered a lot today, and I’d like to go back to when you were talking about how sometimes you feel like you have racing thoughts and trouble breathing. Do you think we could explore that for a little while?” Shanti asks, and Kurt nods. They talk and Kurt manages to avoid having another meltdown, actually listens this time as she talks about triggers, the early stages of anxiety, how to prevent a full blown panic attack. They talk about support systems outside of Blaine, who he can talk to and what he can do and where he can go when he starts to feel this way, and for the first time in a long time Kurt starts to feel a little better. A little more in control.
“I’d like you to keep a diary that you write in when you start to feel these symptoms,” Shanti says, tucks her pen behind her ear. “To help us begin to identify situations and triggers for these anxiety attacks, so we can come up with a plan more specific for you, okay?”
Kurt nods, runs his thumb over the edge of the chair, feels the edges of nervousness creeping in.
“I think with your symptoms and the frequency of your anxiety attacks that you would benefit from a medication to help you manage your anxiety,” Shanti says, introducing the topic slowly. “I can’t prescribe it personally, but I can give you a referral to a doctor that I work with frequently who can go over any questions and concerns you have, and find the best medication for you. How do you feel about that?”
Kurt blinks, his brain struggling to process. He’s never taken any medication aside from the occasional Tylenol and an assortment of vitamins he’s never remembered to take with any sort of regularity and the thought makes him feel unsettled, like there’s actually something wrong with him. Like he’s crazy enough that even his therapist thinks he needs something more than her help, but then again, didn’t he know that already?
“You don’t have to make a decision right now, but I’ll give you the contact information before you leave so you can think about it, alright?”
“Okay,” Kurt says and his mouth feels dry, his eyes scratchy. They part and Kurt doesn’t know what else to say, feels a little whiplashed as he agrees to start seeing her every week instead of every month, sets up his next appointment with the secretary outside, the piece of paper with the doctor’s number clutched tightly in his hands as he assures Shanti he’ll stay safe and call someone for help if he feels like he needs it and all the breath is being sucked out of his lungs and he just wants to be outside.
In the parking lot he breathes, leans against his car and feels drained, heavy, but not in the exhausting way he’s been used to. It’s more like that feeling after a long workout, the sore ache in your muscles that means you’re getting stronger, that maybe not today, but someday soon you’ll be able to take on more, that you’ll be able to hold steady when the world keeps piling obstacles like weights on your shoulders.
He flexes his legs, shakes out his arms, expands his lungs and feels alive.
-
A quick stop at the store on the way home to pick up a notebook, small and leather because Kurt’s not putting his most vulnerable moments in cheap, flimsy paper. He’s on his way back to his car when he hears it, a tiny sound that has him looking around, a frown on his face. He can see movement in the bush to his left, thinks that maybe it’s a bird or a squirrel, wonders if it’s hurt, takes a step closer. The noise gets louder, and Kurt crouches, makes out a tiny kitten hiding behind the spiky branches of the shrub.
He reaches out a hand and the kitten stares at him, it’s face one of apprehension and desperation. It sniffs his stretched out fingers, takes a cautious step forward, gives a pathetic mewl.
“Well aren’t you the dirtiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Kurt says, debates whether he should actually touch the kitten or not. It’s shaggy fur is matted down with dirt, it’s nose brown with mud, but it’s eyes are wide, and Kurt can tell under all the poof the kitten is thin, and probably very hungry.
It gives another sad meow at him and he puts his dignity aside and scoops it up, stands and glances around the parking lot to see if he can spot any more kittens, or it’s mother. There’s nothing and the kitten has started licking at his fingers, looks up at him with wide, pleading eyes.
“Do you have a home, dirty kitten?” Kurt asks but the kitten goes back to licking his fingers and Kurt starts to worry that pretty soon it might try to see if he’s edible. “No? Do you have a human?” The kitten nips at his fingers and Kurt can’t help but laugh at it’s disgruntled face when it realizes that he is, in fact, not edible.
He knows he should put it down, that he doesn’t even know what to do with a kitten, but he can’t just leave it, not when it’s so hungry and looks so pathetic. There aren’t any houses close by, and Kurt figures by the state of it’s fur that it hasn’t been loved by anyone for awhile, and he’s not completely heartless. So, with a sigh, he cradles the kitten to his chest, walks back to his car.
“Do you like dog food?” he asks, setting the kitten down on the passenger seat and fishes out a few kibbles from the bag of Belle’s treats that he keeps in his car. The kitten licks at them before quickly devouring them, looking up at him with wild eyes and mewling for more.
Kurt curses his far too compassionate heart as he walks back into the store and purchases a bag of cat food (salmon, of course, because there’s no way he’s feeding any living creature something flavored like liver and giblets). The kitten cries the whole drive home, pees on the seat, and Kurt’s knuckles turn white on the steering wheel, because there’s something just so pathetically sad about this poor, abandoned kitten, left with nothing in the world except the kindness of a stranger.
Once home, he barricades the kitten in the kitchen, both to avoid cat pee on the carpet and Belle getting too excited and accidentally squishing it, and pours it a small bowl of food, which it devours with the ferocity of it’s distant cousin, the lion. Kurt sits on the floor and calls the nearby animal shelters, all of them sounding frantic while explaining to him that they’re overflowing with kittens and don’t have room for any more and Kurt’s gut twists at the thought of the poor kitten getting put to sleep for the sole crime of existing.
“Well,” he says, scratching the kitten behind it’s ears. “I guess you can stay. Just for the night though. We already have one furry creature living rent free.” The kitten purrs and then bites his fingers. “I expect you to pull your own weight though. Oh god, where are you going to poop?”
The kitten ignores him, crouches low before shaking it’s butt and launching itself at his shoelaces.
“You’re a beast,” Kurt says, but smiles anyways. Belle whines from behind the chairs blocking off the kitchen. Kurt looks between them, the kitten now staring with wide eyed amazement at Belle.
“You are a beast aren’t you. Beast. Belle and the Beast,” Kurt smiles, feeling rather clever. “My own little interspecies love story.”
He takes out his phone, snaps a picture of Beast (as he’s now decided to call the tiny lion, who has lost interest in Belle and resumed chewing on his shoelaces), before sending it to Blaine, following it with the text: help, I’ve been taken captive!
A few moments pass before his phone buzzes.
To Kurt [3:20 pm] IS THAT A KITTEN???!!???!
Kurt laughs, sending Blaine another picture of the kitten, now attacking the corner of the rug under their sink.
To Kurt [3:22 pm] PLEASE TELL ME WE’RE KEEPING IT
Kurt clutches his phone to his chest, can hear the echo of Blaine’s voice in his head.
To Blaine [3:22 pm] It’s up for debate
Kurt looks down at the kitten, who looks back up at him, a strand of carpet hanging from it’s lips, wonders if it’s a coincidence that he found this little ball of fluff when he did, wonders if this kitten was sent to annihilate the sadness that was building inside of him, wonders if the warmth he feels inside his chest whenever he looks at the scraggly, tiny animal is something similar to hope.
“Well, if we’re keeping you, little Beastie, the first thing you need is a bath.”
part 3
June 17th, 2020
Wednesday
To Kurt [10:32 am] I miss waking up next to you
Kurt runs his fingers over the message pulled up on the phone, smiles. His knee bounces, nervous energy running through his veins with each pound of his heart.
“Kurt?” He stands quickly, leaves the waiting room and follows the figure in front of him into her cozy office, settles himself into his usual spot; an oversized armchair beside the couch. He doesn’t like the couch, it feels too… clinical. It makes him feel like he’s actually crazy, and not just here for… casual conversation. With someone who asks a lot of questions.
“How are you today, Kurt?” his therapist, Shanti, asks, settling into the chair across from him and tucking her notepad in her lap.
“Okay,” Kurt responds, keeps his back straight and his head held high. He’d started seeing her at Blaine’s insistence after his panic attack at the fireworks show, just once a month and he’s never really… opened up, never really been honest with her, just accepts her tips on managing stress and dealing with traumatic events with a nod and a smile, never looks over them again.
“You seem a little tense today,” Shanti observes, twirls the pen in her fingers. “More than usual.”
Kurt looks down at his hands, sees them clenched together tight enough to turn his knuckles white and he lets out a breath, tries to force himself to relax a little.
“Can I make you some tea?” Shanti asks, and Kurt nods, chews at his lip as she makes her way back to the Keurig in the corner of the room. She usually makes them tea, explained the first time that it can help to have something else to focus on, and Kurt wonders how many cups of tea she must drink in a day, if she drinks it with every client.
“Sleepytime?” she asks, twisting around to look at Kurt and he nods again, tries to make himself look even more relaxed.
“Blaine’s gone,” Kurt says, when Shanti sets his tea on the table beside him, the words sudden, like he can’t hold them in anymore. “He left last Friday to visit his brother in L.A.”
Shanti nods slowly, sinks back into her own chair. “When does he come back?”
“Monday,” Kurt answers, watches the steam rise from his mug of tea.
“That’s a long time,” Shanti says, jots something on her notepad before sticking her pen behind her ear. “I’d imagine it’s a bit of an adjustment?”
Kurt knee starts bouncing again. “A few of my friends said I should probably talk to you about it.” He stares at a spot on the carpet, not really seeing it, feels his heart pounding in his chest, wonders why this is so hard to talk about, the words reluctant molasses on his tongue. He sucks in a breath. “I guess I’m not… Lately, I haven’t been dealing with things… well.”
Shanti nods, tilts her head slightly. “In what way?”
Kurt blinks, swallows, considers. “I…” His throat feels tight and he tries to clear it. “I guess I always thought that things would start to get better as Blaine got better, but…” He shrugs, shifts in his seat.
“Things aren’t meeting your expectations?” Shanti suggested, tucks a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. Kurt shakes his head, not sure if he can speak around the lump in his throat. “How about we start by talking about what expectations you had, and we’ll build off that. Does that sound okay?”
Shanti’s words are gentle and Kurt likes that, how she always makes sure he’s on board with what they’re going to talk about, knows how to direct the conversation so Kurt can get his thoughts to actually make sense. He nods, takes a sip of his tea and tries to organize his thoughts.
“I think I expected that things would go back to the way they were before. That eventually we would just be able to… move on from what happened. Pick up our old lives.” Kurt gives a bitter laugh. “That was really stupid of me, wasn’t it.”
Shanti shakes her head. “It’s not stupid at all. It’s a normal feeling, after going through something traumatic, to want to return to a time where things might have seemed easier, or more familiar.”
Kurt lets his eyes flicker up to meet hers for a moment. “I guess I just… I expected I would feel better with time, you know? Not worse.”
“What makes you feel like you’re getting worse?” Shanti asks, jotting something quick on her notepad.
Kurt wets his lips with his tongue, struggles to find the right words.
“I keep having these, um… these attacks? Where I can’t breathe and all I can think about is that night and I just want it to stop,” his voice wavers, tears pricking at his eyes and he digs his nails into the chair under him. “Everything reminds me of it and I used to be able to ignore it, with Blaine but…” He lets out his breath, slowly, blinks rapidly and focuses on not crying, he’s not going to cry, not like this it’s so humiliating why can’t he do a single thing right and-
“Kurt?” His thoughts stop abruptly and he looks up at Shanti, sees her concerned face looking back.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, his voice thick and he feels pathetic, sitting here and crying to the therapist he didn’t even want to see in the first place.
“Kurt, I need to ask you something, and it might seem a little direct, but it’s something we need to address before we move on, okay?” Shanti says, voice gentle and Kurt sniffs, nods.
“Do you feel safe?” Shanti asks and Kurt blinks, doesn’t understand. “Do you have any thoughts or plans to hurt yourself?”
“Oh,” Kurt says, feels surprised. “No, I… no. I don’t want to kill myself, if that’s what you mean.”
Shanti nods. “Will you tell me, or someone close to you, if any of those feelings arise? My main concern is that you stay safe.”
“I will,” Kurt says, staring at his knees. “It’s not that I want to die or anything, I just… I want to stop feeling this way.”
“What way is that?” Shanti inquires gently.
“Like I’m drowning,” Kurt whispers. A moment passes and he takes a careful sip of his tea. “I feel like… I should be happy Blaine’s getting so much better, shouldn’t I?” Shanti doesn’t nod or shake her head, just watches Kurt patiently, waits for him to continue. “But I feel like it’s crushing me, I’ve spent so much time taking care of him, I did everything for him. Do you know what it’s like to have to feed your own fiancé through a tube because he’ll choke if he eats food? I structured my whole life around taking care of him, I fed him and dressed him and, god, I wiped his ass, and now…” he shrugs.
“You feel like he doesn’t need you like he used to?” Shanti suggests and Kurt nods, runs this thumb down the mug to catch an escaped droplet of tea.
“But I still need him,” Kurt says, voice a thin waver. “Since he left for L.A. I’ve just felt…” a rogue tear escapes, tracks down his cheek and he gives a dry laugh. “Like I can’t stop crying. Like my life is falling apart.”
Shanti lets silence fall over them for a moment and Kurt’s grateful, needs the time gather himself again, wipes his cheeks dry again.
“Blaine gave you a structure for your days,” she says and Kurt nods, sniffs pathetically.
“I feel like I don’t know how to be me anymore, you know,” he stares at the floor, jigs his leg. “And I guess I’m nervous or scared or something because…” he stops a moment, feels flustered, wonders if this is what Blaine feels like when he can’t find his words because there are a million thoughts in his head at once and he’s having trouble tracking down the ones he needs. “Blaine’s getting so much better, and I’m happy because that’s all I’ve wanted but… I think I lost myself somewhere, in the last two years.” His throat tightens, his words small and wavering. “I just want to be me again.”
Shanti nods, her face understanding. “You find it easier to focus on Blaine’s needs, than your own needs,” she observes and Kurt gives a tiny nod. “Have you talked about any of this with Blaine?”
“No,” Kurt answers quickly. “No, I… I know he would feel guilty and… I know how bad he already feels about everything.”
“Okay,” Shanti says, jots something down. “We’ve covered a lot today, and I’d like to go back to when you were talking about how sometimes you feel like you have racing thoughts and trouble breathing. Do you think we could explore that for a little while?” Shanti asks, and Kurt nods. They talk and Kurt manages to avoid having another meltdown, actually listens this time as she talks about triggers, the early stages of anxiety, how to prevent a full blown panic attack. They talk about support systems outside of Blaine, who he can talk to and what he can do and where he can go when he starts to feel this way, and for the first time in a long time Kurt starts to feel a little better. A little more in control.
“I’d like you to keep a diary that you write in when you start to feel these symptoms,” Shanti says, tucks her pen behind her ear. “To help us begin to identify situations and triggers for these anxiety attacks, so we can come up with a plan more specific for you, okay?”
Kurt nods, runs his thumb over the edge of the chair, feels the edges of nervousness creeping in.
“I think with your symptoms and the frequency of your anxiety attacks that you would benefit from a medication to help you manage your anxiety,” Shanti says, introducing the topic slowly. “I can’t prescribe it personally, but I can give you a referral to a doctor that I work with frequently who can go over any questions and concerns you have, and find the best medication for you. How do you feel about that?”
Kurt blinks, his brain struggling to process. He’s never taken any medication aside from the occasional Tylenol and an assortment of vitamins he’s never remembered to take with any sort of regularity and the thought makes him feel unsettled, like there’s actually something wrong with him. Like he’s crazy enough that even his therapist thinks he needs something more than her help, but then again, didn’t he know that already?
“You don’t have to make a decision right now, but I’ll give you the contact information before you leave so you can think about it, alright?”
“Okay,” Kurt says and his mouth feels dry, his eyes scratchy. They part and Kurt doesn’t know what else to say, feels a little whiplashed as he agrees to start seeing her every week instead of every month, sets up his next appointment with the secretary outside, the piece of paper with the doctor’s number clutched tightly in his hands as he assures Shanti he’ll stay safe and call someone for help if he feels like he needs it and all the breath is being sucked out of his lungs and he just wants to be outside.
In the parking lot he breathes, leans against his car and feels drained, heavy, but not in the exhausting way he’s been used to. It’s more like that feeling after a long workout, the sore ache in your muscles that means you’re getting stronger, that maybe not today, but someday soon you’ll be able to take on more, that you’ll be able to hold steady when the world keeps piling obstacles like weights on your shoulders.
He flexes his legs, shakes out his arms, expands his lungs and feels alive.
-
A quick stop at the store on the way home to pick up a notebook, small and leather because Kurt’s not putting his most vulnerable moments in cheap, flimsy paper. He’s on his way back to his car when he hears it, a tiny sound that has him looking around, a frown on his face. He can see movement in the bush to his left, thinks that maybe it’s a bird or a squirrel, wonders if it’s hurt, takes a step closer. The noise gets louder, and Kurt crouches, makes out a tiny kitten hiding behind the spiky branches of the shrub.
He reaches out a hand and the kitten stares at him, it’s face one of apprehension and desperation. It sniffs his stretched out fingers, takes a cautious step forward, gives a pathetic mewl.
“Well aren’t you the dirtiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Kurt says, debates whether he should actually touch the kitten or not. It’s shaggy fur is matted down with dirt, it’s nose brown with mud, but it’s eyes are wide, and Kurt can tell under all the poof the kitten is thin, and probably very hungry.
It gives another sad meow at him and he puts his dignity aside and scoops it up, stands and glances around the parking lot to see if he can spot any more kittens, or it’s mother. There’s nothing and the kitten has started licking at his fingers, looks up at him with wide, pleading eyes.
“Do you have a home, dirty kitten?” Kurt asks but the kitten goes back to licking his fingers and Kurt starts to worry that pretty soon it might try to see if he’s edible. “No? Do you have a human?” The kitten nips at his fingers and Kurt can’t help but laugh at it’s disgruntled face when it realizes that he is, in fact, not edible.
He knows he should put it down, that he doesn’t even know what to do with a kitten, but he can’t just leave it, not when it’s so hungry and looks so pathetic. There aren’t any houses close by, and Kurt figures by the state of it’s fur that it hasn’t been loved by anyone for awhile, and he’s not completely heartless. So, with a sigh, he cradles the kitten to his chest, walks back to his car.
“Do you like dog food?” he asks, setting the kitten down on the passenger seat and fishes out a few kibbles from the bag of Belle’s treats that he keeps in his car. The kitten licks at them before quickly devouring them, looking up at him with wild eyes and mewling for more.
Kurt curses his far too compassionate heart as he walks back into the store and purchases a bag of cat food (salmon, of course, because there’s no way he’s feeding any living creature something flavored like liver and giblets). The kitten cries the whole drive home, pees on the seat, and Kurt’s knuckles turn white on the steering wheel, because there’s something just so pathetically sad about this poor, abandoned kitten, left with nothing in the world except the kindness of a stranger.
Once home, he barricades the kitten in the kitchen, both to avoid cat pee on the carpet and Belle getting too excited and accidentally squishing it, and pours it a small bowl of food, which it devours with the ferocity of it’s distant cousin, the lion. Kurt sits on the floor and calls the nearby animal shelters, all of them sounding frantic while explaining to him that they’re overflowing with kittens and don’t have room for any more and Kurt’s gut twists at the thought of the poor kitten getting put to sleep for the sole crime of existing.
“Well,” he says, scratching the kitten behind it’s ears. “I guess you can stay. Just for the night though. We already have one furry creature living rent free.” The kitten purrs and then bites his fingers. “I expect you to pull your own weight though. Oh god, where are you going to poop?”
The kitten ignores him, crouches low before shaking it’s butt and launching itself at his shoelaces.
“You’re a beast,” Kurt says, but smiles anyways. Belle whines from behind the chairs blocking off the kitchen. Kurt looks between them, the kitten now staring with wide eyed amazement at Belle.
“You are a beast aren’t you. Beast. Belle and the Beast,” Kurt smiles, feeling rather clever. “My own little interspecies love story.”
He takes out his phone, snaps a picture of Beast (as he’s now decided to call the tiny lion, who has lost interest in Belle and resumed chewing on his shoelaces), before sending it to Blaine, following it with the text: help, I’ve been taken captive!
A few moments pass before his phone buzzes.
To Kurt [3:20 pm] IS THAT A KITTEN???!!???!
Kurt laughs, sending Blaine another picture of the kitten, now attacking the corner of the rug under their sink.
To Kurt [3:22 pm] PLEASE TELL ME WE’RE KEEPING IT
Kurt clutches his phone to his chest, can hear the echo of Blaine’s voice in his head.
To Blaine [3:22 pm] It’s up for debate
Kurt looks down at the kitten, who looks back up at him, a strand of carpet hanging from it’s lips, wonders if it’s a coincidence that he found this little ball of fluff when he did, wonders if this kitten was sent to annihilate the sadness that was building inside of him, wonders if the warmth he feels inside his chest whenever he looks at the scraggly, tiny animal is something similar to hope.
“Well, if we’re keeping you, little Beastie, the first thing you need is a bath.”
part 3