fic: An End (or something even better)
Title: An End (0r something even better)
Rating: PG (NC-17 overall)
Warnings: Brain injuries
Word Count: 16,041
Summary: He's exhausted to the bone, feels like he could sleep for years but he's excited also, knows he can do this, that he can be good at this, that he hasn't lost everything. For the first time, he feels like he's really getting his life back.
A hate crime leaves Blaine damaged and Kurt refuses to let it bring them down.
Part of the Lovesong verse
AN: This is it, the very end of a story that's been so close to me for over two years. Writing this was such a learning experience for me, and I have been completely humbled and awed by the response this has gotten. A special thanks to every single one of you for reading and sending me such amazing comments, and for making me feel like maybe this little story meant something to so many of you. Thank you.
And as always, a very huge thanks to Sandy shandyall for her amazing beta skills, and to Courtney, andercas, for always listening to me when I ramble away about plot and dialogue and other things that don't make sense.
It's been great.
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 Eye 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
Hold onto the Sun April 23rd, 2018; June 20th, 2018; February 8th, 2020
Hold onto the Sun: a continuation February 8th, 2020
(found) February 19th, 2020; February 28th, 2020
At the End of the Day December 4th, 2018
Slow Dancing April 26th, 2019; September 2nd, 2019; January 6th, 2020
Each and Every June 6th, 2018; June 19th, 2018; December 25th, 2018; February 20th, 2019
Under These Fluorescent Lights June 1st, 2017; May 13th-15th, 25th 2018; June 1st, 2018
Stubborn Hearts (and stubborn love): June 12th-22nd, 2020 part 2, part 3, part 4
July 22nd, 2017
Blaine’s planned and planned and planned. He’s sat up late, watching Kurt sleeping, curled up on the couch beside him, head nuzzled into Blaine lap or his shoulder. Sometimes his feet are draped over Blaine’s lap, a blanket pulled over both of them, a movie playing forgotten in the background. Blaine lightly draws lines over Kurt’s arm, hearts and flowers and music notes, smiling when Kurt sighs, his lips making that little smack that he does when he’s having a good dream.
Blaine’s planned and he needs it to be perfect. Because Kurt is perfect, and he’s so in love and Kurt needs to know how much this means to him. How much he wants this and wants Kurt and wants a life together, just the two of them. He’s already called Burt, stuttered his way through his speech, because getting Burt’s approval just felt right. And Burt had given it to him, had laughed and told Blaine he’s already part of the family and it’s about time they do something to make it official.
He has it all planned out. Tomorrow. He has tickets to Wicked, and after, a romantic dinner at their favorite restaurant. He’s got a song picked out, a speech written and memorized, and there’s no way he’s going to screw up because it’s going to be perfect.
And he’s already nervous, can’t stop looking at Kurt and smiling, their hands linked as they make their way across the park, to the street fair Kurt’s been dying to go to.
“What’s gotten into you?” Kurt asks, a smile lighting his own face, eyes crinkling at the corners as he bumps shoulders with Blaine. Blaine shrugs, tries not to think about the ring hidden back at the apartment, bumps shoulders back with Kurt.
“Nothing.”
“Why are you smiling so much?” Kurt asks, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
“Am I not allowed to smile anymore?” Blaine asks, voice teasing. Kurt chuckles, shaking his head.
“Nope, I forbid it.”
Blaine pouts and Kurt pokes his bottom lip, Blaine snapping at his finger playfully.
“Remind me why I still love you?” Kurt asks and Blaine’s stomach flips in a way he’d have thought he’d have gotten used to years ago.
“Because I make you breakfast?” Blaine tries and Kurt narrows his eyes, face serious, before nodding.
“It helps that you’ve decided clothing is optional while cooking,” Kurt adds, a smile tugging at his lips.
“The kitchen gets hot!” Blaine exclaims, crossing his arms. “Maybe if you stopped moving the fan onto the porch I wouldn’t be forced to cook naked.”
“Hmm,” Kurt hums, darting a kiss to Blaine’s cheek. “Maybe that’s why I keep moving the fan to the porch.”
Blaine side-eyes Kurt before returning the kiss. They turn the corner and everything is a flurry of activity and color and music. Tables line the street, filled with bright assortments of jewelry and clothes and pottery and everything that Blaine could possibly imagine. The air smells sweet of cotton candy and roasted almonds and children run shrieking with joy around them, musicians playing guitars and maracas at every corner.
Kurt’s face lights up, eyes darting to take everything in, and Blaine knows this is why Kurt moved to New York, a city where everyone can come together and they can walk down the busy street, their fingers intertwined and not worry about anything except how much cash they have leftover from their last ATM visit, or if they really need to add another scarf to their ever-growing collection. It’s times like this that Blaine thinks New York really feels like home.
Kurt leads Blaine around the market, stopping to examine homemade jewelry more critically than he should, using Blaine as a prop to try scarf and hat combinations, chatting enthusiastically with a few people they recognize from their area. Blaine sneaks off at one point to buy some cotton candy and Kurt steals all of the blue side, laughing when Blaine pouts. They share a kiss in the shade of a tree, their lips sweet and sticky.
“I think you might be my favorite,” Kurt says when they make their way slowly back through the market, the shadows starting to grow long around them in the setting sun.
“Your favorite?” Blaine asks, raising his eyebrows and looking at Kurt, his skin glowing in the golden light.
“Yup,” Kurt says with a nod, reaching to grasp Blaine’s hand, swinging it between them. “My favorite.”
“Good,” Blaine says thoughtfully. “I think I like being your favorite.”
They’re at the edge of the market, music and laughter an echo behind them and Kurt pulls Blaine into the park, his smile vibrant.
“Your lips are blue,” Blaine points out, pokes his finger against Kurt’s bottom lips and Kurt nips at him.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have bought cotton candy then,” Kurt says, still smiling.
“Maybe I like you with blue lips,” Blaine counters, leans in for a kiss. They linger just a touch, still aware of the crowd around them, but unwilling to let the moment end so soon. It’s been a busy year, their schedules not always matching up, social obligations filling up their empty days and it’s been awhile since they’ve had a day like this, open and free and just them. Blaine only wishes it could last a little longer.
Kurt pulls back, his eyes darting over Blaine’s face, reaches to brush a strand of hair off Blaine’s forehead.
“Marry me,” Kurt whispers, voice completely serious and Blaine feels something like panic drop in his stomach.
“What?” The word falls out of Blaine’s lips and he takes a step back, acutely aware of the ring nestled in his underwear drawer.
“Marry me?” Kurt repeats, shuffles his feet. “I mean, I know this isn’t very romantic and it’s terribly unplanned but…” he pauses, smiles. “But it seems right. I want you to marry me. Pretty please?”
Blaine gapes, knows he looks silly but he can’t help it, he can’t believe it, all his careful planning and secrets and this is how his proposal gets spoiled? By Kurt asking first?
“No,” Blaine starts before he realizes how that sounds and snaps his mouth shut, Kurt’s smile falling.
“No?” He echoes, eyes searching Blaine’s face, misinterpreting his panic. “Okay… I guess I just thought, after six years…”
“No,” Blaine rushes to repeat, steps forward and grabs Kurt’s hands in his, his grip tight. “No, that’s not what I meant.”
Kurt draws his hands away, puts them firmly on his hips and tilts his head. “Then please enlighten me on what else no could mean?”
“It’s just…” Blaine throws his hands up helplessly, shrugs and looks pleadingly at Kurt. “I was going to propose to you. Tomorrow. I have a ring and everything.”
Now it’s Kurt’s turn for his mouth to drop open, his eyes blink like he’s trying to understand what Blaine’s saying.
“I got tickets to Wicked and your favorite restaurant,” Blaine says meekly, feeling a bit like an idiot. He should have just asked, weeks ago, months ago, instead of spending all this time agonizing about it being perfect. Because, really, when do things ever go the way he expects them to?
“Oh.” Kurt says, licks his lip and steps closer to Blaine. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Blaine says, looks down, cheeks burning.
“I see.” There’s a hand on his face, gentle, lifting it until he can see Kurt’s face. “You’ve been planning this for awhile, haven’t you?”
Blaine nods, feeling rather pathetic.
“I bet it was a really romantic plan,” Kurt continues, lips twitching into a smile. “Very thought out. A sweep-me-off-my-feet plan.” He leans forward, presses his lips to Blaine’s, the warm summer wind rustling their hair.
“It was,” Blaine breathes against Kurt’s lips, his hand slipping into Kurt’s.
“And I just ruined it,” Kurt states, and a laugh bubbles in Blaine’s chest, shakes his shoulders. Kurt chuckles, draws Blaine into his arms, Blaine’s head falling against Kurt’s shoulder.
“Didn’t ruin it,” he murmurs, nuzzles into the warmth of Kurt before drawing back. “Just expedited it.”
“At least we’re on the same page?” Kurt offers and they both dissolve into giggles. Kurt tugs Blaine’s hand, and they start slowly walking back towards their apartment.
“I promise I’ll forget everything,” Kurt says, nudging his shoulder against Blaine. “I’ll act totally surprised.”
He presses a kiss to Blaine’s cheek, lingering to whisper in his ear. “And I promise I’ll say yes.”
And really, Blaine thinks, this could have gone a lot worse.
(He knows, with Kurt’s hand in his, he’s ready for forever)
August 3rd, 2020
Kurt opens the door, exhausted after a long day at work, only to be shoved against the wall, something warm and solid against him. Something warm and solid and alive, his tired brain tells him, with curly hair and soft lips pressing firmly to his neck, his jaw, his cheek.
“Blaine,” Kurt breathes, his bag falling to the floor as his hands reach to grab Blaine’s waist, holds him firm. “Blaine, what…”
“Shhh,” Blaine cuts him off, his lips finding Kurt’s, swallowing anything Kurt was planning on saying. And Kurt lets him, lets Blaine kiss him with an urgency he doesn’t really understand, lets Blaine grip his shoulders tight, fingers crumpling the material of his shirt. They’ve been exploring more lately, Blaine finding some confidence in intimacy, and Kurt figures this spontaneity is just Blaine finding his footing.
Until Blaine pulls back slightly and Kurt sees red rimmed eyes, feels the tremor in Blaine’s hands, and he knows something is wrong, Blaine’s pressing too hard, his lips too urgent, a desperation in his movements. Kurt doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know if there’s anything he could say right now, just lets his arms wrap around Blaine, pulls him in, lets Blaine’s head tuck into the curve of his neck. Blaine stills, his lungs expanding with a shaky breath, his body sinking into Kurt’s.
“It’s okay,” Kurt whispers after a moment, hands strong on Blaine’s back. “Just breathe.”
Blaine does for a moment, Kurt’s skin tingling with the heat of it, his hand running a soothing circle on Blaine’s back. Then Blaine nuzzles, lips pressing soft to Kurt’s neck, and Kurt can’t help but smile a little. He slides his hand from Blaine’s back, nudges his fingers just under Blaine’s jaw, lifts his lips to meet his own, a gentle kiss.
“I’m glad you’re home,” Blaine says, voice thick like he’d been crying.
“I’m glad to be home,” Kurt says after another kiss, pulls back slightly to get a better look at his fiancé. “Do you maybe want to talk about what’s going on?”
Blaine looks down, chews at his lip and Kurt thinks he looks tired, the week too long for both of them.
“How about I put my stuff down and you start some water for tea and then we’ll talk?” Kurt suggests at the hesitation, and Blaine nods, cheeks tinging red.
“You don’t…” he shakes his head, clears his throat. “Never mind.”
He turns to move to the kitchen, limping on his bad leg more than he has been lately, something defeated in the way he holds himself. Kurt sighs, closes his eyes before picking up his briefcase and making his way back to the bedroom. A photo album is open on the bed, the sheets an unmade jumble, the closet door wide open and laundry half folded on the bench.
Kurt sets his briefcase down in the corner, toes off his shoes and gathers up some of the laundry, folds it neatly before placing it back on the bench. They don’t need to be put away right now, but he’ll be damned if he has to wear wrinkly clothes for the next two weeks. He changes into a pair of lounging pants and a light shirt, the residual heat of summer still heavy in the house, straightens the sheets as best as he can. The photo album begins to slip and Kurt catches it just before it can fall to the ground. It’s not particularly heavy, the cover a deep red, and something clenches uncomfortably in Kurt’s gut. He’d started this when Blaine was in the hospital; he’d needed an outlet, his hands always needing to do something, his brain never turning off and it had been almost therapeutic. Going through old pictures, picking out his favorite memories from high school, college. From vacations and nights out and lazy days spent in the park. From holidays and family reunions, a handful of pictures pasted in the book with tickets and reminders of everything they used to have.
Everything they’d lost.
The pages turn, the sound of stiff paper rustling under Kurt’s fingers, the pictures turning from the happy memories to the trying ones. A copy of Blaine’s brain scan, a picture they’d given him of the injury. It had been helpful at the time, a way for Kurt to process, to think of everything in an organized, clinical way. They’d taken a picture when Blaine had woken up, leaning against Kurt’s shoulder and Kurt feels his breath catch, runs his finger over the edge where photo meets paper. He’d forgotten how much Blaine’s changed since then, the Blaine in the picture barely recognizable as the man he’d come home to today.
There are a few more pictures, a few more pamphlets from the doctors and social workers, a picture of Janessa and Olivia, a we’ll miss you card signed by the nurses when Blaine had been moved to the neuro hospital and Kurt glances at them before slowly closing the book, holding it against his chest. It’s not like he’d been hiding it from Blaine, it’s not like he thought Blaine couldn’t handle it, or that he was ashamed of it, he’d just… never seen the need to bring it up. It wasn’t a big deal. Just a scrapbook of a difficult time, a way to organize his muddled thoughts.
But to Blaine, he can’t imagine what he must be feeling. He knows Blaine’s never seen the pictures of him in the hospital, hasn’t even seen the scan of his brain at it’s worst, knows he barely even remembers what happened before he was discharged home.
The sound of a kettle screaming breaks through Kurt’s thoughts and he makes his way back into the living room, sees Blaine carefully pouring hot water into two mugs. Blaine looks up, his eyes darting from the book in Kurt’s arms back up to his face, an unreadable expression on his face.
“I made you chamomile,” Blaine says, pushes the mug toward Kurt.
“Thank you,” Kurt says, carefully takes the handle and tries not to burn himself. Blaine holds his own cup and they hesitate.
“Table?” Kurt asks and Blaine nods, walks the short distance to the table, settles himself into a chair. It’s silent for a moment, Blaine blowing on his tea, the setting sun illuminating the room in golden light.
“Blaine, I didn’t mean…” Kurt starts but Blaine holds up a hand, cuts him off.
“I’m not upset,” he says, and Kurt can hear the honesty in his words. “I’m not… mad, about the pictures. I promise.”
“Okay,” Kurt says, takes a tiny sip of tea and frowns when he burns his tongue.
“I just want this to stop owning me,” Blaine says, voice quiet, eyes fixed on the table. “One day I feel like I’m over it and ready to move… to move on and then the next I…” He falters, his fingers curling around his cup before pulling away from the heat.
“I’m tired of this always following us and…” a breathe, a pause and Blaine sits up straighter. “I feel like we’ve talked this to death, and we always talk about how it’s going to get better and how we’re stronger but… but I don’t feel that way and most of the time…”
Kurt nods, encourages Blaine to go on, impressed that Blaine’s getting his thoughts out so clearly.
“Most of the time I feel like a small piece of the person I was before. Like an echo.”
“Blaine…” Kurt starts, reaches out to grab Blaine’s hand in his own.
“And I can’t make my brain stop telling me that you deserve someone better than me, that maybe I wasn’t supposed to live through this and…”
“None of that is true,” Kurt says when Blaine pauses, squeezes his hand tight.
“I know,” Blaine says, gives a shaky laugh, his eyes starting to shine with tears. “I know and I want to just be done with it and, um, I want to set a date. For the wedding.”
Kurt blinks, tries to catch up with the turn in conversation.
“A date?”
“I’d like… if it’s okay with you… April 22nd.”
Kurt stares at Blaine for a moment.
“The day of the attack?”
Blaine nods, looks nervous.
“I understand if you don’t…if you don’t want to but I just thought… I don’t want that day to define us anymore and I thought if we turned it into something good instead maybe… maybe it wouldn’t drag us down so much.”
Kurt bites his lip, feels a lump growing in his throat.
“We don’t… I understand,” Blaine says quietly. “I just thought we could make something so hateful into something happy instead. That we could be done with these reminders hanging over us.”
Kurt sucks in a breath, feels a tear overflow and he wipes it from his cheek.
“It was just an idea, I’m sorry,” Blaine says, his jaw clenching. “It was silly, I’m thinking too much.”
Kurt shakes his head, pushes his tea aside to draw both of Blaine’s hands into his.
“It’s not silly,” Kurt says, tries to catch Blaine’s gaze. “I’m just a little overwhelmed, I think.”
Blaine’s eyes search Kurt’s, his face so open, so hopeful, so determined and Kurt gives a slow nod.
“April 22nd,” he says, tests the words out on his tongue. A date that had always loomed like a dark cloud in front of them, a date that even the slightest mention of was enough to make his heart race and his stomach churn. A date that had symbolized all the pain and discrimination and suffering they’ve ever had to endure.
A date that could mean something completely different.
“I’ve always wanted a spring wedding,” Kurt says, laughs a little and already he feels the weight lifting, just a little, but even the smallest reprieve gives him more room to breathe.
“We don’t have to set it in stone,” Blaine says, his face serious but his lips start to twitch into a smile.
“I think I like it,” Kurt says with a determined nod. “I like the idea of turning something awful into something beautiful. It’s very symbolic.”
Blaine smiles, his eyes scrunching with it. “So symbolic it will make all our friends groan.”
“Probably,” Kurt agrees, leans back in his seat. “A spring wedding. That’s barely eight months away.”
“I guess we’ll be busy,” Blaine says, knocks his foot against Kurt’s playfully.
“Good thing I’ve been planning our wedding since the day after we met,” Kurt says with a wink and Blaine laughs, shakes his head in mock disdain.
And Kurt knows this won’t fix everything, there will still be memories that hang over them, there will always be demons for them to work through, but feels a warmth spreading through him, at the knowledge that the bad will never take over the good.
That they will always come out on top.
September 9th, 2020
There are cupcakes in the teacher’s lounge when Blaine gets to work, a small sign that says Welcome Back Blaine! in cheesy yellow word art that makes Blaine chuckle and shake his head. He sets his bag down and runs his thumb over the sign, jumps when the door swings open.
“We actually have a much more thoughtful welcome back party planned for you on Friday,” a voice says and Blaine turns to see Lucille, the Principle, standing near the doorway, a wide smile on her face.
“This is more than enough,” Blaine says, tries to push down the knot of anxiety growing inside him. “I’m just happy to be back.”
“We’re all very happy to have you back,” she says, her eyes glancing to the cane in his hand, and Blaine clutches it self-consciously, knows she means nothing by it but he’s just so nervous, it’s his first day back at work in two years and despite how anxious he was to come back here, he feels out of place, unsure.
“I was just going to check my box and meet Abbi in the music room,” Blaine says, motions towards the mail slot that has his name on it. “I think that’s where she said to meet.”
He can hear the sounds of kids racing down the hall, a teacher calling at them to stop running, the chatter of a day beginning. The door swings open and Matt and Britta, both second grade teachers, walk in, stopping suddenly.
“Blaine?” Britta says, her voice high with surprise. “Oh my gosh, I didn’t know you would be back this year!”
“Hi, Britta,” Blaine greets as she gives him a quick hug. “Hey, Matt.”
Matt nods back. “It’s good to see you back,” he says, his smile genuine and Blaine feels the knot loosen slightly with the comfort of familiar faces.
“You look so good,” Britta says, gives his arm a quick squeeze. “I’m so glad you’re back, I know the kids really missed you.”
Blaine feels his cheeks growing hot as he blushes.
“Thank you, I’m excited to be back. A little nervous, but excited.”
“You’ll do great,” Lucille chimes in as she pours herself a cup from the coffee maker that always smells like it’s been left on too long. “Remember, it is the first day of school so the kids have absolutely no expectations.”
“The first day is either the best or worst day of the year,” Matt says seriously, shoves his paper sack lunch in the fridge.
“Let’s hope for the best,” Blaine says with a smile, feels a little more ready for the day than he had before.
-
The music room is mostly empty when Blaine enters, a single inhabitant hunched over the teacher’s desk in the back.
“Hi,” Blaine says, can’t help but feel like he’s intruding. “This spot taken?” He motions to the second chair pulled up to the desk. Abbi looks up, a wide smile parting her lips.
“Blaine!” she exclaimed, standing and wrapping Blaine in a hug.
“Abbi,” Blaine greets into her shoulder. “It’s great to see you again.”
“I’m so excited to teach with you this year,” Abbi says, voice rich with the accent of her home country. At six foot one, with hair adding another four inches, Abbi has a commanding presence that the kids seem to both fear and admire. She had come to New York for college from Nigeria, had been Blaine’s student teacher the year before the attack, afterwards serving as a reliable substitute teacher whom he often kept in contact with. Contact that had stopped after the attack, and when he heard she had taken over his position in his absence, he hadn’t felt anything except happiness for her.
“Still as short as ever, I see,” Abbi pulls back and looks Blaine over. Blaine laughs, shakes his head.
“The one things that hasn’t changed,” he says, leans slightly on his cane, his bad leg beginning to ache.
“You’re still devilishly handsome,” Abbi says with a wink.
“And you still have your sense of humor,” Blaine says back, sets his bag down by the desk, takes a seat in the extra chair. Abbi returns to her own seat, raises an eyebrow at Blaine.
“My wit keeps me strong,” she says, organizes some papers on her desk.
“I know we emailed a bit,” Blaine says, looks at the desk, his old desk, arranged in a startling different way from when he taught here. “And you know I’m just…um, just doing half days for now, and I’m not, uh, not…” the sentence flies from his head and he puffs a breath, closes his eyes, steals himself to try again. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy, he knew he’d have to fight for this, and he’s not going to let himself get upset over one little slip.
“I’m not here to try and take this job back from you,” he manages, regaining a bit of his footing. Abbi furrows her brow in confusion.
“I didn’t think that you were,” Abbi says, resting her hand neatly on her lap, looking at Blaine seriously. “I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through the past few years and I was so excited to hear you were coming back this year. I am more than happy to share this job with you, Blaine, and I think we’re going to make a great team.”
Blaine offers her a smile, unsure of what to say.
“And besides,” Abbi starts, looks down at her lap, “I’m going back home to Abuja at the end of the school year. So the job will be yours again, if you want it.”
“Abbi…” Blaine starts, and Abbi looks back up at him and smiles.
“My sisters are growing up and I miss my family.” She shrugs, like the decision was that simple.
“Well, we’ll have to make sure this year is a special one,” Blaine says, still not quite sure what to do with the information. “So you can remember us crazy Americans fondly.”
Abbi snorts, her voice amused. “Something like that.”
Silence, for a moment, Blaine presses his palms into his knees.
“You let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” Abbi says slowly, carefully. “If you ever need to step out or need a break or anything, okay?”
Blaine forces a strained smile. “Thank you.” He knows it’s not going to be the same as before, he’s not even the same person as before, there’s no way he’s going to slip back into his role as a teacher as effortlessly as before, there’s no way he can manage this without help, but it’s still frustrating, rubs at him like a sandpaper reminder of everything he can’t do anymore.
But he pushes it aside because there’s nothing he can do about it, this is what’s real, and he’s working to be okay with it.
“So what do you have in mind for the year?” he asks, his smile more genuine, the dark thoughts a barely lingering echo in the back of his mind.
“I was planning on having the kids explore music from around the world, with a section of each at the winter concert?” Abbi says, looking at Blaine like she’s gauging his reaction. And Blaine fumbles to open his bag, pulls out music books, feels excitement bubbling up inside of him, because he’s doing this, he’s getting his life back, he’s going to be a teacher again.
And he’s ready.
-
They don’t have a class the first hour of the day, and they spend it outlining ideas for the year, going over lesson plans and music and organizing the room for the day. Abbi gets them some weak coffee from the lounge and proceeds to complain about it, Blaine laughing and agreeing with her.
They teach first grade first, kids that Blaine doesn’t recognize filing through the door. They don’t look interested when Abbi introduces them, only perking up a little when she teaches them how to pronounces her last name, the room filled with tiny mouths fumbling over “Chedjou” in a way that makes back smile. Their attention is mostly captured by the instruments around the room, by the posters of famous musicians on the walls, by the window with sunlight streaming through.
Abbi has them talk about all the different instruments they know, has them mimic the sounds they make and soon the kids are giggling while pretending to be cellos, french horns, flutes. Blaine watches, still feels a little reserved and nervous, but he smiles when Abbi looks at him, gives her a small thumbs up.
He drags a stool to the front after the first graders leave, his leg too sore to keep standing on it, and Abbi mimics him, pulling up her own stool until they’re sitting side by side. Blaine won’t admit it, but he’s already feeling exhausted, the stress of the day wearing him down. But he only has two more classes and then he’s done for the day and he’s determined to make it through.
The second graders are next, the class as relatively uneventful as the first. It’s when the fifth graders are up that Blaine nervously bounces a knee as familiar faces stroll into the room, the boys shoving each other playfully, the girls grouped together. Blaine recognizes most of them, though is memory for names is not what it used to be, and he waves at a girl who looks over at him, her eyes widening.
“Mr. A!” she exclaims, quite loudly, and everyone turns to looks, excited chattering starting up. And then the kids are around them, a few girls wrapping him in cautious hugs, a million questions directed at him, one boy to his side saying “wait, I thought you died.”
Blaine laughs, he can’t help it, hugs the girls back and sends a wink to the confused boy.
“It’s nice to see you guys too,” he says, Abbi ushering them all back to their spots.
“I didn’t die,” Blaine continues, once their seated and the questions start up again, “as you can tell.” Quiet laughter a few of the students looking embarrassed and surprised.
“You were hit in the head, right?” A girl says, and Blaine tries really hard to remember her name… something that started with a B he thinks, or was it a P?
“Yes,” he nods, and he can see the students attention peaking with interest, like he’s going to give them all the details. “And it took me a little while to recover from it, but Miss Chedjou and I are going to work with you guys together this year.”
Several of the kids nod, one boy raising his hand.
“What was it like?” he asks, and Blaine can tell he has everyone’s attention, twenty sets of eyes all on him.
He glances at Abbi, who looks like she’s ready to change the subject if he needs, before looking down at his hands and back at the kids.
“It was pretty difficult,” he says, “and I’m still not a hundred percent better, but it helped knowing I had you guys to come back and teach.”
Some of the girls sigh, and Blaine remembers Kurt telling him it was pretty obvious the majority of the female students in his class had a crush on him, so he gives Abbi a little nod, doesn’t want to ignore the subject, but doesn’t want to dwell on it either.
She takes over, gets the kids to divide into groups and talk about what they remember from last year, Blaine a little more involved than last time, but he can tell the kids are still bursting with questions. He answers a few here and there, tries to keep the kids focused on what they’re doing, but he finds he doesn’t really mind, it’s only natural for kids to be curious about things like this, and as long as they’re not being mean about it, he doesn’t see the harm in answering questions.
It’s when class is over and the kids are filing out, excited for lunch and recess, when a girl, Clara, Blaine remembers from introductions, comes up to him and smiles shyly, gives him another hug and says, “You’re my favorite teacher, Mr. A,” that Blaine finally gets emotional, eyes misting and he pats her back, thanks her and tells her she better get to lunch before all the good food is gone.
“They missed you,” Abbi says and Blaine gives a shaky laugh, turns around to compose himself for a minute.
“I missed them,” he replies after he’s gotten himself mostly back under control, turns back to see Abbi looking at him fondly.
“That wasn’t such a bad first day back, was it?”
Blaine shakes his head, smooths his hands down the front of his sweater.
“It was great,” he says and means it. He’s exhausted to the bone, feels like he could sleep for years but he’s excited also, knows now that he can do this, that he can be good at this, that he hasn’t lost everything. For the first time, he feels like he’s really getting his life back.
-
Kurt has a myriad of plans for tonight, to celebrate Blaine’s first day back at work. He has champagne in the back seat, a bouquet of flowers and sushi from Blaine’s favorite restaurant. He has colorful bubbles for the hot tub, music queued up on his iPod on the back porch, a bottle of lube and some of their favorite toys carefully hidden in the bedside table.
He has a million plans and all of them leave his mind when he gets home shortly after six, the house quiet and warm. Belle greets him at the door, wagging her tail but running back to the living room before Kurt can even get his shoes off. He follows her once he’s in his socks, can hear the sound of gentle snoring, sets the champagne and sushi on the kitchen counter before making his way into the living room, flowers in hand.
Blaine’s sprawled on the couch, music books on the coffee table, Beast curled up in a tiny ball on his chest, his mouth open as he sleeps. A smile pulls at Kurt’s lips and he straightens up the mess, Beast looking up at him with the sleepy, mildly-interested eyes that only cats have before he tucks his head back under a paw. Belle’s curled up on the floor next to the couch, her ears perking when Kurt hums quietly, tucks the flowers into Blaine’s side before following him into the bedroom where Kurt changes from his stiff, unyielding work clothes into some loose sweats and a t-shirt.
He lets Belle out into the back yard, does some stretches, puts the sushi in the fridge, watches as Blaine sleeps on. The flowers are still tucked under his arm, Beast’s paw stretched out to touch his chin and it pulls at Kurt’s heart, the sight so adorable he can’t help but take a quick picture on his phone before leaning forward, pressing a soft kiss to Blaine’s forehead, running his fingers through his curls. Blaine stirs, smacks his lips and opens on eye, his lips turning down.
He mumbles something that sounds vaguely like Kurt’s name, and Kurt kisses him once more, strokes his finger over Blaine’s cheek.
“Wake up, sleepy head,” he says, Blaine grumbling in response. “You need to be able to sleep tonight.”
“Sleep forever,” Blaine murmurs, turning over before Beast bolts off his chest, flowers crinkling against him. That gets Blaine to open his eyes the rest of the way, mouth widening in a loud yawn as he blearily takes in what’s happening around him.
“What’re the flowers for?” he asks once he’s pushed himself up, shirt rumpled and hair a mess.
“To celebrate your first day back at work,” Kurt responds, flopping onto the couch next to him. “It went well I hope?”
Blaine nods, thumbs the petal of a rose, a smile on his lips.
“It went really well,” he says, lets his head fall against Kurt’s shoulder and Kurt can feel the exhaustion in him, knows today was a long day for him, but he feels so happy and relieved that it was a good day, he knows not every day will be, and he just wants so much for Blaine to succeed, for Blaine to feel good about things again. He deserves this, so much, deserves to be happy and conquer the challenges before him. He deserves flowers and sushi every day, Kurt thinks, presses a kiss to to top of Blaine’s head, feels Blaine hum against him.
“Thanks for the flowers,” Blaine says, voice soft and Kurt can tell he’s not going to last long tonight.
“You’re welcome,” he says back, his fingers intertwining with Blaine’s. “We’ll have a bigger celebration soon, okay?”
“‘Kay,” Blaine responds, already drifting back to sleep.
Kurt smiles.
part two
Rating: PG (NC-17 overall)
Warnings: Brain injuries
Word Count: 16,041
Summary: He's exhausted to the bone, feels like he could sleep for years but he's excited also, knows he can do this, that he can be good at this, that he hasn't lost everything. For the first time, he feels like he's really getting his life back.
A hate crime leaves Blaine damaged and Kurt refuses to let it bring them down.
Part of the Lovesong verse
AN: This is it, the very end of a story that's been so close to me for over two years. Writing this was such a learning experience for me, and I have been completely humbled and awed by the response this has gotten. A special thanks to every single one of you for reading and sending me such amazing comments, and for making me feel like maybe this little story meant something to so many of you. Thank you.
And as always, a very huge thanks to Sandy shandyall for her amazing beta skills, and to Courtney, andercas, for always listening to me when I ramble away about plot and dialogue and other things that don't make sense.
It's been great.
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 Eye 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
Hold onto the Sun April 23rd, 2018; June 20th, 2018; February 8th, 2020
Hold onto the Sun: a continuation February 8th, 2020
(found) February 19th, 2020; February 28th, 2020
At the End of the Day December 4th, 2018
Slow Dancing April 26th, 2019; September 2nd, 2019; January 6th, 2020
Each and Every June 6th, 2018; June 19th, 2018; December 25th, 2018; February 20th, 2019
Under These Fluorescent Lights June 1st, 2017; May 13th-15th, 25th 2018; June 1st, 2018
Stubborn Hearts (and stubborn love): June 12th-22nd, 2020 part 2, part 3, part 4
July 22nd, 2017
Blaine’s planned and planned and planned. He’s sat up late, watching Kurt sleeping, curled up on the couch beside him, head nuzzled into Blaine lap or his shoulder. Sometimes his feet are draped over Blaine’s lap, a blanket pulled over both of them, a movie playing forgotten in the background. Blaine lightly draws lines over Kurt’s arm, hearts and flowers and music notes, smiling when Kurt sighs, his lips making that little smack that he does when he’s having a good dream.
Blaine’s planned and he needs it to be perfect. Because Kurt is perfect, and he’s so in love and Kurt needs to know how much this means to him. How much he wants this and wants Kurt and wants a life together, just the two of them. He’s already called Burt, stuttered his way through his speech, because getting Burt’s approval just felt right. And Burt had given it to him, had laughed and told Blaine he’s already part of the family and it’s about time they do something to make it official.
He has it all planned out. Tomorrow. He has tickets to Wicked, and after, a romantic dinner at their favorite restaurant. He’s got a song picked out, a speech written and memorized, and there’s no way he’s going to screw up because it’s going to be perfect.
And he’s already nervous, can’t stop looking at Kurt and smiling, their hands linked as they make their way across the park, to the street fair Kurt’s been dying to go to.
“What’s gotten into you?” Kurt asks, a smile lighting his own face, eyes crinkling at the corners as he bumps shoulders with Blaine. Blaine shrugs, tries not to think about the ring hidden back at the apartment, bumps shoulders back with Kurt.
“Nothing.”
“Why are you smiling so much?” Kurt asks, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
“Am I not allowed to smile anymore?” Blaine asks, voice teasing. Kurt chuckles, shaking his head.
“Nope, I forbid it.”
Blaine pouts and Kurt pokes his bottom lip, Blaine snapping at his finger playfully.
“Remind me why I still love you?” Kurt asks and Blaine’s stomach flips in a way he’d have thought he’d have gotten used to years ago.
“Because I make you breakfast?” Blaine tries and Kurt narrows his eyes, face serious, before nodding.
“It helps that you’ve decided clothing is optional while cooking,” Kurt adds, a smile tugging at his lips.
“The kitchen gets hot!” Blaine exclaims, crossing his arms. “Maybe if you stopped moving the fan onto the porch I wouldn’t be forced to cook naked.”
“Hmm,” Kurt hums, darting a kiss to Blaine’s cheek. “Maybe that’s why I keep moving the fan to the porch.”
Blaine side-eyes Kurt before returning the kiss. They turn the corner and everything is a flurry of activity and color and music. Tables line the street, filled with bright assortments of jewelry and clothes and pottery and everything that Blaine could possibly imagine. The air smells sweet of cotton candy and roasted almonds and children run shrieking with joy around them, musicians playing guitars and maracas at every corner.
Kurt’s face lights up, eyes darting to take everything in, and Blaine knows this is why Kurt moved to New York, a city where everyone can come together and they can walk down the busy street, their fingers intertwined and not worry about anything except how much cash they have leftover from their last ATM visit, or if they really need to add another scarf to their ever-growing collection. It’s times like this that Blaine thinks New York really feels like home.
Kurt leads Blaine around the market, stopping to examine homemade jewelry more critically than he should, using Blaine as a prop to try scarf and hat combinations, chatting enthusiastically with a few people they recognize from their area. Blaine sneaks off at one point to buy some cotton candy and Kurt steals all of the blue side, laughing when Blaine pouts. They share a kiss in the shade of a tree, their lips sweet and sticky.
“I think you might be my favorite,” Kurt says when they make their way slowly back through the market, the shadows starting to grow long around them in the setting sun.
“Your favorite?” Blaine asks, raising his eyebrows and looking at Kurt, his skin glowing in the golden light.
“Yup,” Kurt says with a nod, reaching to grasp Blaine’s hand, swinging it between them. “My favorite.”
“Good,” Blaine says thoughtfully. “I think I like being your favorite.”
They’re at the edge of the market, music and laughter an echo behind them and Kurt pulls Blaine into the park, his smile vibrant.
“Your lips are blue,” Blaine points out, pokes his finger against Kurt’s bottom lips and Kurt nips at him.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have bought cotton candy then,” Kurt says, still smiling.
“Maybe I like you with blue lips,” Blaine counters, leans in for a kiss. They linger just a touch, still aware of the crowd around them, but unwilling to let the moment end so soon. It’s been a busy year, their schedules not always matching up, social obligations filling up their empty days and it’s been awhile since they’ve had a day like this, open and free and just them. Blaine only wishes it could last a little longer.
Kurt pulls back, his eyes darting over Blaine’s face, reaches to brush a strand of hair off Blaine’s forehead.
“Marry me,” Kurt whispers, voice completely serious and Blaine feels something like panic drop in his stomach.
“What?” The word falls out of Blaine’s lips and he takes a step back, acutely aware of the ring nestled in his underwear drawer.
“Marry me?” Kurt repeats, shuffles his feet. “I mean, I know this isn’t very romantic and it’s terribly unplanned but…” he pauses, smiles. “But it seems right. I want you to marry me. Pretty please?”
Blaine gapes, knows he looks silly but he can’t help it, he can’t believe it, all his careful planning and secrets and this is how his proposal gets spoiled? By Kurt asking first?
“No,” Blaine starts before he realizes how that sounds and snaps his mouth shut, Kurt’s smile falling.
“No?” He echoes, eyes searching Blaine’s face, misinterpreting his panic. “Okay… I guess I just thought, after six years…”
“No,” Blaine rushes to repeat, steps forward and grabs Kurt’s hands in his, his grip tight. “No, that’s not what I meant.”
Kurt draws his hands away, puts them firmly on his hips and tilts his head. “Then please enlighten me on what else no could mean?”
“It’s just…” Blaine throws his hands up helplessly, shrugs and looks pleadingly at Kurt. “I was going to propose to you. Tomorrow. I have a ring and everything.”
Now it’s Kurt’s turn for his mouth to drop open, his eyes blink like he’s trying to understand what Blaine’s saying.
“I got tickets to Wicked and your favorite restaurant,” Blaine says meekly, feeling a bit like an idiot. He should have just asked, weeks ago, months ago, instead of spending all this time agonizing about it being perfect. Because, really, when do things ever go the way he expects them to?
“Oh.” Kurt says, licks his lip and steps closer to Blaine. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Blaine says, looks down, cheeks burning.
“I see.” There’s a hand on his face, gentle, lifting it until he can see Kurt’s face. “You’ve been planning this for awhile, haven’t you?”
Blaine nods, feeling rather pathetic.
“I bet it was a really romantic plan,” Kurt continues, lips twitching into a smile. “Very thought out. A sweep-me-off-my-feet plan.” He leans forward, presses his lips to Blaine’s, the warm summer wind rustling their hair.
“It was,” Blaine breathes against Kurt’s lips, his hand slipping into Kurt’s.
“And I just ruined it,” Kurt states, and a laugh bubbles in Blaine’s chest, shakes his shoulders. Kurt chuckles, draws Blaine into his arms, Blaine’s head falling against Kurt’s shoulder.
“Didn’t ruin it,” he murmurs, nuzzles into the warmth of Kurt before drawing back. “Just expedited it.”
“At least we’re on the same page?” Kurt offers and they both dissolve into giggles. Kurt tugs Blaine’s hand, and they start slowly walking back towards their apartment.
“I promise I’ll forget everything,” Kurt says, nudging his shoulder against Blaine. “I’ll act totally surprised.”
He presses a kiss to Blaine’s cheek, lingering to whisper in his ear. “And I promise I’ll say yes.”
And really, Blaine thinks, this could have gone a lot worse.
(He knows, with Kurt’s hand in his, he’s ready for forever)
August 3rd, 2020
Kurt opens the door, exhausted after a long day at work, only to be shoved against the wall, something warm and solid against him. Something warm and solid and alive, his tired brain tells him, with curly hair and soft lips pressing firmly to his neck, his jaw, his cheek.
“Blaine,” Kurt breathes, his bag falling to the floor as his hands reach to grab Blaine’s waist, holds him firm. “Blaine, what…”
“Shhh,” Blaine cuts him off, his lips finding Kurt’s, swallowing anything Kurt was planning on saying. And Kurt lets him, lets Blaine kiss him with an urgency he doesn’t really understand, lets Blaine grip his shoulders tight, fingers crumpling the material of his shirt. They’ve been exploring more lately, Blaine finding some confidence in intimacy, and Kurt figures this spontaneity is just Blaine finding his footing.
Until Blaine pulls back slightly and Kurt sees red rimmed eyes, feels the tremor in Blaine’s hands, and he knows something is wrong, Blaine’s pressing too hard, his lips too urgent, a desperation in his movements. Kurt doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know if there’s anything he could say right now, just lets his arms wrap around Blaine, pulls him in, lets Blaine’s head tuck into the curve of his neck. Blaine stills, his lungs expanding with a shaky breath, his body sinking into Kurt’s.
“It’s okay,” Kurt whispers after a moment, hands strong on Blaine’s back. “Just breathe.”
Blaine does for a moment, Kurt’s skin tingling with the heat of it, his hand running a soothing circle on Blaine’s back. Then Blaine nuzzles, lips pressing soft to Kurt’s neck, and Kurt can’t help but smile a little. He slides his hand from Blaine’s back, nudges his fingers just under Blaine’s jaw, lifts his lips to meet his own, a gentle kiss.
“I’m glad you’re home,” Blaine says, voice thick like he’d been crying.
“I’m glad to be home,” Kurt says after another kiss, pulls back slightly to get a better look at his fiancé. “Do you maybe want to talk about what’s going on?”
Blaine looks down, chews at his lip and Kurt thinks he looks tired, the week too long for both of them.
“How about I put my stuff down and you start some water for tea and then we’ll talk?” Kurt suggests at the hesitation, and Blaine nods, cheeks tinging red.
“You don’t…” he shakes his head, clears his throat. “Never mind.”
He turns to move to the kitchen, limping on his bad leg more than he has been lately, something defeated in the way he holds himself. Kurt sighs, closes his eyes before picking up his briefcase and making his way back to the bedroom. A photo album is open on the bed, the sheets an unmade jumble, the closet door wide open and laundry half folded on the bench.
Kurt sets his briefcase down in the corner, toes off his shoes and gathers up some of the laundry, folds it neatly before placing it back on the bench. They don’t need to be put away right now, but he’ll be damned if he has to wear wrinkly clothes for the next two weeks. He changes into a pair of lounging pants and a light shirt, the residual heat of summer still heavy in the house, straightens the sheets as best as he can. The photo album begins to slip and Kurt catches it just before it can fall to the ground. It’s not particularly heavy, the cover a deep red, and something clenches uncomfortably in Kurt’s gut. He’d started this when Blaine was in the hospital; he’d needed an outlet, his hands always needing to do something, his brain never turning off and it had been almost therapeutic. Going through old pictures, picking out his favorite memories from high school, college. From vacations and nights out and lazy days spent in the park. From holidays and family reunions, a handful of pictures pasted in the book with tickets and reminders of everything they used to have.
Everything they’d lost.
The pages turn, the sound of stiff paper rustling under Kurt’s fingers, the pictures turning from the happy memories to the trying ones. A copy of Blaine’s brain scan, a picture they’d given him of the injury. It had been helpful at the time, a way for Kurt to process, to think of everything in an organized, clinical way. They’d taken a picture when Blaine had woken up, leaning against Kurt’s shoulder and Kurt feels his breath catch, runs his finger over the edge where photo meets paper. He’d forgotten how much Blaine’s changed since then, the Blaine in the picture barely recognizable as the man he’d come home to today.
There are a few more pictures, a few more pamphlets from the doctors and social workers, a picture of Janessa and Olivia, a we’ll miss you card signed by the nurses when Blaine had been moved to the neuro hospital and Kurt glances at them before slowly closing the book, holding it against his chest. It’s not like he’d been hiding it from Blaine, it’s not like he thought Blaine couldn’t handle it, or that he was ashamed of it, he’d just… never seen the need to bring it up. It wasn’t a big deal. Just a scrapbook of a difficult time, a way to organize his muddled thoughts.
But to Blaine, he can’t imagine what he must be feeling. He knows Blaine’s never seen the pictures of him in the hospital, hasn’t even seen the scan of his brain at it’s worst, knows he barely even remembers what happened before he was discharged home.
The sound of a kettle screaming breaks through Kurt’s thoughts and he makes his way back into the living room, sees Blaine carefully pouring hot water into two mugs. Blaine looks up, his eyes darting from the book in Kurt’s arms back up to his face, an unreadable expression on his face.
“I made you chamomile,” Blaine says, pushes the mug toward Kurt.
“Thank you,” Kurt says, carefully takes the handle and tries not to burn himself. Blaine holds his own cup and they hesitate.
“Table?” Kurt asks and Blaine nods, walks the short distance to the table, settles himself into a chair. It’s silent for a moment, Blaine blowing on his tea, the setting sun illuminating the room in golden light.
“Blaine, I didn’t mean…” Kurt starts but Blaine holds up a hand, cuts him off.
“I’m not upset,” he says, and Kurt can hear the honesty in his words. “I’m not… mad, about the pictures. I promise.”
“Okay,” Kurt says, takes a tiny sip of tea and frowns when he burns his tongue.
“I just want this to stop owning me,” Blaine says, voice quiet, eyes fixed on the table. “One day I feel like I’m over it and ready to move… to move on and then the next I…” He falters, his fingers curling around his cup before pulling away from the heat.
“I’m tired of this always following us and…” a breathe, a pause and Blaine sits up straighter. “I feel like we’ve talked this to death, and we always talk about how it’s going to get better and how we’re stronger but… but I don’t feel that way and most of the time…”
Kurt nods, encourages Blaine to go on, impressed that Blaine’s getting his thoughts out so clearly.
“Most of the time I feel like a small piece of the person I was before. Like an echo.”
“Blaine…” Kurt starts, reaches out to grab Blaine’s hand in his own.
“And I can’t make my brain stop telling me that you deserve someone better than me, that maybe I wasn’t supposed to live through this and…”
“None of that is true,” Kurt says when Blaine pauses, squeezes his hand tight.
“I know,” Blaine says, gives a shaky laugh, his eyes starting to shine with tears. “I know and I want to just be done with it and, um, I want to set a date. For the wedding.”
Kurt blinks, tries to catch up with the turn in conversation.
“A date?”
“I’d like… if it’s okay with you… April 22nd.”
Kurt stares at Blaine for a moment.
“The day of the attack?”
Blaine nods, looks nervous.
“I understand if you don’t…if you don’t want to but I just thought… I don’t want that day to define us anymore and I thought if we turned it into something good instead maybe… maybe it wouldn’t drag us down so much.”
Kurt bites his lip, feels a lump growing in his throat.
“We don’t… I understand,” Blaine says quietly. “I just thought we could make something so hateful into something happy instead. That we could be done with these reminders hanging over us.”
Kurt sucks in a breath, feels a tear overflow and he wipes it from his cheek.
“It was just an idea, I’m sorry,” Blaine says, his jaw clenching. “It was silly, I’m thinking too much.”
Kurt shakes his head, pushes his tea aside to draw both of Blaine’s hands into his.
“It’s not silly,” Kurt says, tries to catch Blaine’s gaze. “I’m just a little overwhelmed, I think.”
Blaine’s eyes search Kurt’s, his face so open, so hopeful, so determined and Kurt gives a slow nod.
“April 22nd,” he says, tests the words out on his tongue. A date that had always loomed like a dark cloud in front of them, a date that even the slightest mention of was enough to make his heart race and his stomach churn. A date that had symbolized all the pain and discrimination and suffering they’ve ever had to endure.
A date that could mean something completely different.
“I’ve always wanted a spring wedding,” Kurt says, laughs a little and already he feels the weight lifting, just a little, but even the smallest reprieve gives him more room to breathe.
“We don’t have to set it in stone,” Blaine says, his face serious but his lips start to twitch into a smile.
“I think I like it,” Kurt says with a determined nod. “I like the idea of turning something awful into something beautiful. It’s very symbolic.”
Blaine smiles, his eyes scrunching with it. “So symbolic it will make all our friends groan.”
“Probably,” Kurt agrees, leans back in his seat. “A spring wedding. That’s barely eight months away.”
“I guess we’ll be busy,” Blaine says, knocks his foot against Kurt’s playfully.
“Good thing I’ve been planning our wedding since the day after we met,” Kurt says with a wink and Blaine laughs, shakes his head in mock disdain.
And Kurt knows this won’t fix everything, there will still be memories that hang over them, there will always be demons for them to work through, but feels a warmth spreading through him, at the knowledge that the bad will never take over the good.
That they will always come out on top.
September 9th, 2020
There are cupcakes in the teacher’s lounge when Blaine gets to work, a small sign that says Welcome Back Blaine! in cheesy yellow word art that makes Blaine chuckle and shake his head. He sets his bag down and runs his thumb over the sign, jumps when the door swings open.
“We actually have a much more thoughtful welcome back party planned for you on Friday,” a voice says and Blaine turns to see Lucille, the Principle, standing near the doorway, a wide smile on her face.
“This is more than enough,” Blaine says, tries to push down the knot of anxiety growing inside him. “I’m just happy to be back.”
“We’re all very happy to have you back,” she says, her eyes glancing to the cane in his hand, and Blaine clutches it self-consciously, knows she means nothing by it but he’s just so nervous, it’s his first day back at work in two years and despite how anxious he was to come back here, he feels out of place, unsure.
“I was just going to check my box and meet Abbi in the music room,” Blaine says, motions towards the mail slot that has his name on it. “I think that’s where she said to meet.”
He can hear the sounds of kids racing down the hall, a teacher calling at them to stop running, the chatter of a day beginning. The door swings open and Matt and Britta, both second grade teachers, walk in, stopping suddenly.
“Blaine?” Britta says, her voice high with surprise. “Oh my gosh, I didn’t know you would be back this year!”
“Hi, Britta,” Blaine greets as she gives him a quick hug. “Hey, Matt.”
Matt nods back. “It’s good to see you back,” he says, his smile genuine and Blaine feels the knot loosen slightly with the comfort of familiar faces.
“You look so good,” Britta says, gives his arm a quick squeeze. “I’m so glad you’re back, I know the kids really missed you.”
Blaine feels his cheeks growing hot as he blushes.
“Thank you, I’m excited to be back. A little nervous, but excited.”
“You’ll do great,” Lucille chimes in as she pours herself a cup from the coffee maker that always smells like it’s been left on too long. “Remember, it is the first day of school so the kids have absolutely no expectations.”
“The first day is either the best or worst day of the year,” Matt says seriously, shoves his paper sack lunch in the fridge.
“Let’s hope for the best,” Blaine says with a smile, feels a little more ready for the day than he had before.
-
The music room is mostly empty when Blaine enters, a single inhabitant hunched over the teacher’s desk in the back.
“Hi,” Blaine says, can’t help but feel like he’s intruding. “This spot taken?” He motions to the second chair pulled up to the desk. Abbi looks up, a wide smile parting her lips.
“Blaine!” she exclaimed, standing and wrapping Blaine in a hug.
“Abbi,” Blaine greets into her shoulder. “It’s great to see you again.”
“I’m so excited to teach with you this year,” Abbi says, voice rich with the accent of her home country. At six foot one, with hair adding another four inches, Abbi has a commanding presence that the kids seem to both fear and admire. She had come to New York for college from Nigeria, had been Blaine’s student teacher the year before the attack, afterwards serving as a reliable substitute teacher whom he often kept in contact with. Contact that had stopped after the attack, and when he heard she had taken over his position in his absence, he hadn’t felt anything except happiness for her.
“Still as short as ever, I see,” Abbi pulls back and looks Blaine over. Blaine laughs, shakes his head.
“The one things that hasn’t changed,” he says, leans slightly on his cane, his bad leg beginning to ache.
“You’re still devilishly handsome,” Abbi says with a wink.
“And you still have your sense of humor,” Blaine says back, sets his bag down by the desk, takes a seat in the extra chair. Abbi returns to her own seat, raises an eyebrow at Blaine.
“My wit keeps me strong,” she says, organizes some papers on her desk.
“I know we emailed a bit,” Blaine says, looks at the desk, his old desk, arranged in a startling different way from when he taught here. “And you know I’m just…um, just doing half days for now, and I’m not, uh, not…” the sentence flies from his head and he puffs a breath, closes his eyes, steals himself to try again. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy, he knew he’d have to fight for this, and he’s not going to let himself get upset over one little slip.
“I’m not here to try and take this job back from you,” he manages, regaining a bit of his footing. Abbi furrows her brow in confusion.
“I didn’t think that you were,” Abbi says, resting her hand neatly on her lap, looking at Blaine seriously. “I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through the past few years and I was so excited to hear you were coming back this year. I am more than happy to share this job with you, Blaine, and I think we’re going to make a great team.”
Blaine offers her a smile, unsure of what to say.
“And besides,” Abbi starts, looks down at her lap, “I’m going back home to Abuja at the end of the school year. So the job will be yours again, if you want it.”
“Abbi…” Blaine starts, and Abbi looks back up at him and smiles.
“My sisters are growing up and I miss my family.” She shrugs, like the decision was that simple.
“Well, we’ll have to make sure this year is a special one,” Blaine says, still not quite sure what to do with the information. “So you can remember us crazy Americans fondly.”
Abbi snorts, her voice amused. “Something like that.”
Silence, for a moment, Blaine presses his palms into his knees.
“You let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” Abbi says slowly, carefully. “If you ever need to step out or need a break or anything, okay?”
Blaine forces a strained smile. “Thank you.” He knows it’s not going to be the same as before, he’s not even the same person as before, there’s no way he’s going to slip back into his role as a teacher as effortlessly as before, there’s no way he can manage this without help, but it’s still frustrating, rubs at him like a sandpaper reminder of everything he can’t do anymore.
But he pushes it aside because there’s nothing he can do about it, this is what’s real, and he’s working to be okay with it.
“So what do you have in mind for the year?” he asks, his smile more genuine, the dark thoughts a barely lingering echo in the back of his mind.
“I was planning on having the kids explore music from around the world, with a section of each at the winter concert?” Abbi says, looking at Blaine like she’s gauging his reaction. And Blaine fumbles to open his bag, pulls out music books, feels excitement bubbling up inside of him, because he’s doing this, he’s getting his life back, he’s going to be a teacher again.
And he’s ready.
-
They don’t have a class the first hour of the day, and they spend it outlining ideas for the year, going over lesson plans and music and organizing the room for the day. Abbi gets them some weak coffee from the lounge and proceeds to complain about it, Blaine laughing and agreeing with her.
They teach first grade first, kids that Blaine doesn’t recognize filing through the door. They don’t look interested when Abbi introduces them, only perking up a little when she teaches them how to pronounces her last name, the room filled with tiny mouths fumbling over “Chedjou” in a way that makes back smile. Their attention is mostly captured by the instruments around the room, by the posters of famous musicians on the walls, by the window with sunlight streaming through.
Abbi has them talk about all the different instruments they know, has them mimic the sounds they make and soon the kids are giggling while pretending to be cellos, french horns, flutes. Blaine watches, still feels a little reserved and nervous, but he smiles when Abbi looks at him, gives her a small thumbs up.
He drags a stool to the front after the first graders leave, his leg too sore to keep standing on it, and Abbi mimics him, pulling up her own stool until they’re sitting side by side. Blaine won’t admit it, but he’s already feeling exhausted, the stress of the day wearing him down. But he only has two more classes and then he’s done for the day and he’s determined to make it through.
The second graders are next, the class as relatively uneventful as the first. It’s when the fifth graders are up that Blaine nervously bounces a knee as familiar faces stroll into the room, the boys shoving each other playfully, the girls grouped together. Blaine recognizes most of them, though is memory for names is not what it used to be, and he waves at a girl who looks over at him, her eyes widening.
“Mr. A!” she exclaims, quite loudly, and everyone turns to looks, excited chattering starting up. And then the kids are around them, a few girls wrapping him in cautious hugs, a million questions directed at him, one boy to his side saying “wait, I thought you died.”
Blaine laughs, he can’t help it, hugs the girls back and sends a wink to the confused boy.
“It’s nice to see you guys too,” he says, Abbi ushering them all back to their spots.
“I didn’t die,” Blaine continues, once their seated and the questions start up again, “as you can tell.” Quiet laughter a few of the students looking embarrassed and surprised.
“You were hit in the head, right?” A girl says, and Blaine tries really hard to remember her name… something that started with a B he thinks, or was it a P?
“Yes,” he nods, and he can see the students attention peaking with interest, like he’s going to give them all the details. “And it took me a little while to recover from it, but Miss Chedjou and I are going to work with you guys together this year.”
Several of the kids nod, one boy raising his hand.
“What was it like?” he asks, and Blaine can tell he has everyone’s attention, twenty sets of eyes all on him.
He glances at Abbi, who looks like she’s ready to change the subject if he needs, before looking down at his hands and back at the kids.
“It was pretty difficult,” he says, “and I’m still not a hundred percent better, but it helped knowing I had you guys to come back and teach.”
Some of the girls sigh, and Blaine remembers Kurt telling him it was pretty obvious the majority of the female students in his class had a crush on him, so he gives Abbi a little nod, doesn’t want to ignore the subject, but doesn’t want to dwell on it either.
She takes over, gets the kids to divide into groups and talk about what they remember from last year, Blaine a little more involved than last time, but he can tell the kids are still bursting with questions. He answers a few here and there, tries to keep the kids focused on what they’re doing, but he finds he doesn’t really mind, it’s only natural for kids to be curious about things like this, and as long as they’re not being mean about it, he doesn’t see the harm in answering questions.
It’s when class is over and the kids are filing out, excited for lunch and recess, when a girl, Clara, Blaine remembers from introductions, comes up to him and smiles shyly, gives him another hug and says, “You’re my favorite teacher, Mr. A,” that Blaine finally gets emotional, eyes misting and he pats her back, thanks her and tells her she better get to lunch before all the good food is gone.
“They missed you,” Abbi says and Blaine gives a shaky laugh, turns around to compose himself for a minute.
“I missed them,” he replies after he’s gotten himself mostly back under control, turns back to see Abbi looking at him fondly.
“That wasn’t such a bad first day back, was it?”
Blaine shakes his head, smooths his hands down the front of his sweater.
“It was great,” he says and means it. He’s exhausted to the bone, feels like he could sleep for years but he’s excited also, knows now that he can do this, that he can be good at this, that he hasn’t lost everything. For the first time, he feels like he’s really getting his life back.
-
Kurt has a myriad of plans for tonight, to celebrate Blaine’s first day back at work. He has champagne in the back seat, a bouquet of flowers and sushi from Blaine’s favorite restaurant. He has colorful bubbles for the hot tub, music queued up on his iPod on the back porch, a bottle of lube and some of their favorite toys carefully hidden in the bedside table.
He has a million plans and all of them leave his mind when he gets home shortly after six, the house quiet and warm. Belle greets him at the door, wagging her tail but running back to the living room before Kurt can even get his shoes off. He follows her once he’s in his socks, can hear the sound of gentle snoring, sets the champagne and sushi on the kitchen counter before making his way into the living room, flowers in hand.
Blaine’s sprawled on the couch, music books on the coffee table, Beast curled up in a tiny ball on his chest, his mouth open as he sleeps. A smile pulls at Kurt’s lips and he straightens up the mess, Beast looking up at him with the sleepy, mildly-interested eyes that only cats have before he tucks his head back under a paw. Belle’s curled up on the floor next to the couch, her ears perking when Kurt hums quietly, tucks the flowers into Blaine’s side before following him into the bedroom where Kurt changes from his stiff, unyielding work clothes into some loose sweats and a t-shirt.
He lets Belle out into the back yard, does some stretches, puts the sushi in the fridge, watches as Blaine sleeps on. The flowers are still tucked under his arm, Beast’s paw stretched out to touch his chin and it pulls at Kurt’s heart, the sight so adorable he can’t help but take a quick picture on his phone before leaning forward, pressing a soft kiss to Blaine’s forehead, running his fingers through his curls. Blaine stirs, smacks his lips and opens on eye, his lips turning down.
He mumbles something that sounds vaguely like Kurt’s name, and Kurt kisses him once more, strokes his finger over Blaine’s cheek.
“Wake up, sleepy head,” he says, Blaine grumbling in response. “You need to be able to sleep tonight.”
“Sleep forever,” Blaine murmurs, turning over before Beast bolts off his chest, flowers crinkling against him. That gets Blaine to open his eyes the rest of the way, mouth widening in a loud yawn as he blearily takes in what’s happening around him.
“What’re the flowers for?” he asks once he’s pushed himself up, shirt rumpled and hair a mess.
“To celebrate your first day back at work,” Kurt responds, flopping onto the couch next to him. “It went well I hope?”
Blaine nods, thumbs the petal of a rose, a smile on his lips.
“It went really well,” he says, lets his head fall against Kurt’s shoulder and Kurt can feel the exhaustion in him, knows today was a long day for him, but he feels so happy and relieved that it was a good day, he knows not every day will be, and he just wants so much for Blaine to succeed, for Blaine to feel good about things again. He deserves this, so much, deserves to be happy and conquer the challenges before him. He deserves flowers and sushi every day, Kurt thinks, presses a kiss to to top of Blaine’s head, feels Blaine hum against him.
“Thanks for the flowers,” Blaine says, voice soft and Kurt can tell he’s not going to last long tonight.
“You’re welcome,” he says back, his fingers intertwining with Blaine’s. “We’ll have a bigger celebration soon, okay?”
“‘Kay,” Blaine responds, already drifting back to sleep.
Kurt smiles.
part two