Circle of Fifths (3b/6)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~10750
Summary: Five Glimpses into Blaine Anderson's life, plus the first glimpse ever.
Author's Note: I'd like to thank my betas preciousmellow and countess7 for talking me through yet another fic. Their patience is the stuff of wonder.
The rest of their time at the Anderson’s passes uneventfully, and all too soon, Finn and Kristin are outside picking them up very early Monday morning for the drive back to New York.
Blaine always feels a little sad leaving his parents. He’s pretty sure it’s because now that they finally have a good relationship he actually enjoys being around them. He knows that they not only love him, as anyone loves their child, but they like him. That they’re proud of him. They’re impressed with the choices he’s made and the life he’s building for himself.
He’s quiet in the car, napping on and off as the afternoon wears on. They have the rehearsal dinner tonight so he might as well be rested. They each take turns driving, because it makes the trip move faster, and Blaine offered to take the last shift.
He and Kurt are in the front seat, making a game plan for as soon as they get home. They’re turnaround time before they need to be at the rehearsal is brief.
“Can I wear my r-r-r-red pants tonight?” Blaine asks.
“They’re all wrinkled, aren’t they?”
“Nah, my mom washed and, and, and pressed them for mmm-me. She told me she was going to ask you if you w-w-w-wanted anything done.”
“She did. I just felt weird taking her up on it.”
Blaine shrugs. “She loves that shit.”
They’re quiet for a minute.
“When was the last time I went to the eye dah-dah-doctor?”
“I have no idea.”
“Maybe that’s why I’m getting sss-so many headaches. Maybe I need glasses.”
“I think you would look nice in glasses,” Kurt says looking over at Blaine.
“Then perhaps I’ll get them no mmm-matter what,” Blaine says with a grin.
~~~~~
Kurt and Blaine dash around their apartment, needing to be at the rehearsal at 6. Kristin and Finn take their time, they’re only going to the dinner at 7.
“You got everything?” Kurt asks as they’re running out the door.
“Um, what’s everything?”
“I don’t know. Wallet? Keys? Stuff like that.”
“Yeah, I got it.”
They hail a cab and head to the restaurant. The ceremony and reception are being held on a harbor cruise, but tonight they’re just practicing the processional in the back room of the restaurant where the rehearsal dinner is.
Blaine gets many a compliment on his red pants and herringbone blazer.
When it comes time to practice, the rabbi arranges them in order, and then walks down the makeshift aisle.
Puck’s nana is the only grandparent on either side. She’s followed by the groomsmen, Blaine, Matt, and Sam. They’re followed by the best man, Puck’s recently discovered half brother Jake. Then Puck, with his mom. Followed by bridesmaids, Kurt, Mercedes, and Quinn, followed by Tina, Rachel’s maid of honor. Then Rachel and her dad’s make their way down the aisle.
The rabbi runs through the ceremony, and then they practice the recessional. After lots of discussion, Rachel decided not to make Kurt her man of honor, if only so that he and Blaine could be paired together in the recessional.
“It’s just too cute to miss out on!” she had said. “Like a test run for your own wedding.”
The boys had fondly rolled their eyes, but really did appreciate her sentiment.
Blaine holds out his elbow for Kurt and they walk the short aisle with smiles on their faces. Kurt can sense a jittery tremor in Blaine though, a tension that settled in when they arrived at the restaurant.
“What’s up?” Kurt whispers, as they hang around and wait for the rest of the recessional to finish.
“Nothing,” Blaine says, frowning.
Kurt squeezes his hand.
“I wah-wah, wah, was talking to Rachel’s dah-dah-dah-dads earlier, when you were, um, you were in the, in the … mmmm-men’s room and my s-s-spa, ssss-peech was just all over the place.” Blaine pauses and shrugs. “Like it is rrrrr-right now. Hate when it’s unreliable.”
“They don’t mind.”
“No, I-I-I-I-I know. This is mmmm-more like, why can’t it just be, be, be, be okay tonight? It’s buh-buh-been good this whole week and tonight … fucked up. It’s not fair.”
Kurt winds his arm around Blaine’s waist, needing to offer him more comfort than just a squeeze of his hand. Blaine briefly accepts Kurt’s comfort by leaning his head on his shoulder, but then he pulls himself up straight and shoves his hands in pockets.
“I’m gonna get a, a, a, a drah-drah-drink. You want anything?”
“No, I’m good for now, thanks.”
It’s awfully early in the evening for drinking, Kurt thinks. It’s not like the rehearsal dinner has an open bar, just wine and beer. Kurt watches Blaine walk over to the restaurant bar, back hunched, hands still thrust deep in his pockets. He looks like a man with too much on his shoulders.
He comes back with a grin and a drink in each hand.
When he’s just about back to Kurt, Puck steps over.
“Double fisting?” Puck asks, patting him on the back.
“You know it,” Blaine responds, taking a sip from the smaller of the two drinks.
Kurt just shakes his head.
Blaine gets drunk that night. Kurt’s seen him drunk plenty of times, obviously, but never quite like this. He’s loud, gregarious, and edgy somehow. Like Kurt can’t get a hold on his mood. At times he seems almost belligerent, which isn’t something Kurt would ever have thought he would describe Blaine as. He finds himself reprimanding Blaine several times, telling him to be quieter, or to stop drinking so much. But Blaine just isn’t listening.
When the evening winds down, Kurt goes to retrieve their coats and when he returns he finds Blaine sitting sadly on a bench outside the back room.
“Blaine?”
Blaine looks at him with sad, drunk eyes.
“What’s the matter? Are you going to throw up?”
Blaine shakes his head.
Kurt sits down. “What is it?”
“I’m ssss, sssss-ad.”
“Why?”
“Cause you’re mmmm-mad at me,” he mumbles around his pouty lips.
“Why would I be mad at you?”
“Cause I, I, I, I got so drunk,” Blaine slurs.
“I’m not mad. I just want to go home.”
“You’re mmmm-ad at me,” he wails.
Kurt sucks in a cleansing breath, regretful that he didn’t get drunk tonight himself. He’s much more patient with drunk Blaine when he’s also inebriated. But he wasn’t in the mood. He was too busy socializing
“Oh my god, Blaine. Stop it. You’re embarrassing yourself,” Kurt mutters, as he stands up and puts Blaine’s coat out to help him into it.
After he struggles to get him buttoned up, Kurt pulls Blaine’s hand and yanks him out of the restaurant, failing to even say goodbye to anyone. He shoots a quick text to Finn to have him and Kristin meet them out front, saying that Blaine needed air.
Blaine pulls away from Kurt when they’re on the sidewalk. “I’m not embarrassed.”
“Okay,” Kurt says.
“You’re embarrassed.”
Kurt rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He doesn’t like this side of drunk Blaine.
“I’m going bah-bah-bah, bah-back inside, it’s too cold.”
“No! I told Finn and Kristin to meet us out here. We’re going home. You’re shitfaced and acting like a child. I’m tired, and I’m sick of being here and dealing with you. And we have to do it all over again tomorrow.”
Blaine stops short. “Dealing with mmmm-me?” Blaine finger quotes sloppily, listing a bit in his drunkenness.
“Yes.”
“Fine. Guess I’ll go b-b-b-b-back to beh-beh-beh-being your docile puh, puh, p-p-puppy dog.” Blaine walks over and takes Kurt’s hand, keeping his head down.
“You’re not my puppy dog, Blaine. I just want you to …” Kurt trails off, because the rest of that sentence ends with words like behave, listen, or be more obedient. Maybe Kurt does want Blaine to be his puppy dog. Before he can follow that thought any farther, Blaine noses his arm.
“Woof?” Blaine says, when he has Kurt’s attention.
“Are you shitting me?”
“Woof.”
Finn and Kristin walk out of the restaurant and Blaine doesn’t make another noise until they’re back at the apartment.
They go through an abbreviated nightly ritual, Kurt making sure that Blaine drinks at least a little water. Then they say good night, and Finn and Kristin settle onto the pull-out couch in the living room.
Blaine sits at the edge of the bed, carefully taking off his shoes, feeling like if he doesn’t keep his movements small, he’ll roll right off the edge.
“Are you going to shower?” Kurt asks.
“Woof,” Blaine says, shrugging.
Kurt rubs his eyes. “I’m sorry I said all that. I’m sorry I said I was tired of dealing with you. But I am just tired period, and I really want to go to sleep.”
“Woof, woof,” Blaine says, his voice tinged with a mock understanding.
“Come on, poop, seriously?”
And then Blaine’s demeanor changes. His shoulders droop and his face softens, and it’s like all of the fight goes out of him.
Blaine makes several whiny puppy noises. Now he’s standing in his undershirt and boxer shorts and crawls under the covers, making tiny “ruff, ruff” noises and nosing Kurt’s pillow.
“You know I should be so pissed at you right now?” Kurt says, crawling in next to him.
Blaine smiles, nosing Kurt’s neck, before licking him a few times and passing out.
All Kurt can think is that Blaine is going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning.
~~~~~
The sun assaults Blaine. He has no idea what time it is, he has no idea where he is, he’s not even 100% sure he’s Blaine. All of his focus is on the desert that now resides where his mouth used to be.
“Ugh,” he moans, throwing his arms out to stretch, finding the other side of the bed empty. He cracks an eye open, and sees that it’s only 7:47 am. He’s thrilled to see he didn’t sleep all day. They have pictures at 3 and the wedding’s not until 5, but he doesn’t need the wrath of Kurt yelling at him about sleeping too late, or not being ready on time. Because he was drunk last night.
He was drunk.
And he barked at Kurt. Literally.
And his speech was all messed up.
And didn’t improve even as he got drunk.
And he yelled at Kurt.
And he felt like shit.
And today he still feels like shit.
“Noooo,” he groans, rolling his face into the pillow and pulling the blankets over his head. He hears the shower turn on, and Finn and Kristin talking quietly in the living room. So it must be Kurt in the bathroom. At least he has a few more minutes of solace before he has to grovel.
He really was a shithead last night.
He can fix this though. He’ll just apologize, he’ll be good old, nice guy Blaine. Kurt will call him Poop and whatever lingering anger he has will just ooze out of his pours. He’ll take a nice long shower, and drink coffee and lots of water. Maybe Kurt will let him use some of his good moisturizer, because not only is his mouth a desert, his whole face feels like one too.
He’s thinking all of these thoughts and drifts back to sleep, telling himself just a few more minutes. Just until Kurt gets back from the shower.
“Woof,” he whispers as he dozes off, giggling to himself.
The next time he wakes up he’s not being assaulted by the sun.
Kurt’s hands are shaking him and immediately he feels like he’s going to throw up. He sits up quickly, and the feeling subsides.
“What the hell?” he mutters, rubbing at his face, feeling somehow both better and worse than he did last time he woke up.
“It’s 12 o’clock, Blaine. You gotta get up. You need to eat something and take a shower. We have to leave here by two to make sure we’re not late for pictures. And I know how you drag your ass.”
Blaine clears his throat and Kurt finally looks over at him after his tirade.
“I’m, I’m, I’m sorry about last night,” Blaine says, putting his hand out to Kurt. “I’m sorry I was b-b-b-being an idiot.”
Kurt sits on the bed and grins, taking Blaine’s hands and weaving their fingers together. “I accept your apology,” Kurt says, leaning to kiss him. After a minute, Blaine stops kissing back and pulls away.
“You don’t w-w-want to apologize?”
“I did. Last night. I said I was sorry for saying that I was tired of dealing with you.”
“Can’t you be, be, be sorry in general? Does it have to be that … ssss-spe-spe-cific? You were being kind of dick last night.”
“Me? I was being kind of a dick?” Kurt stands up.
“I mean, I know I was doing my fair share of dickery, buh-buh-buh-ut you were being like, weird and judgmental.”
“Seriously?” Kurt’s voice is bordering on something dangerous.
“Um, yeah.” Blaine stands up then, and rummages for clean underwear and some sweats to put on after his shower.
Kurt just stands there shaking his head in disbelief.
“And for the record,” Blaine begins, turning around to face Kurt, feelings bubbling to the surface that he’s been pushing down for too long. “I’m not actually your child. You don’t need to deal with me. We’re supposed to be equals in this relationship and yet somehow you love nothing more than to make me feel like I’m your five year old.” He curbs his initial desire to throw his fist in the air that he didn’t stutter on any of that, but he’s pretty sure it would ruin the effect.
“I don’t even know what to say to that.” Kurt continues shaking his head in disbelief. “I am at a complete loss for words.”
“Well, why don’t you think of sssss-some while I shower!” Blaine yells at Kurt as he slams the bedroom door behind him.
Finn and Kristin are in the living room, sitting quietly, pretending to watch tv, pretending that they didn’t hear the heated voices in the bedroom.
“Good morning,” Blaine says. “Or afternoon. Whatever, fuck, who cares.”
Blaine is seething mad. His hands shake with anger. He’s not entirely sure he’s ever been this pissed off in his entire life. He puts the shower on and slams around, looking for his razor. Kurt’s in constant state of reorganization. Why can’t he just leave Blaine’s razor out of it? Just leave it in the medicine cabinet. How many times has Blaine asked him, politely, to leave his fucking razor in the fucking medicine cabinet. He slams one of the drawers under the sink.
He stops.
Splashes water on his face.
His razor is in his bag that he hasn’t unpacked yet.
In the bedroom.
With Kurt.
He’ll figure that out later.
He steps into the shower, and turns a slow circle under the warm water. He takes a deep, cleansing breath. What’s wrong with him? Why is he acting like this? He doesn’t want to act like this. This isn’t him. Everything in his head just seems so huge, so insurmountable. He closes his eyes and strong arms the wall, bowing his head and letting the water pound on his neck.
He’s so frustrated he could cry. But he doesn’t even know what’s wrong with him.
He stands like that, breathing deeply, trying to focus his mind, but everything’s a jumble. When he finally stands up, his arms are half asleep and he spends a minute shaking them out before he can even pick up the shampoo.
He hates feeling like this.
When it becomes clear that he’s already spent far too much time in the shower, he steps out and dries off, putting on his clothes and going into the kitchen, not noticing that the living room is empty. He puts on more coffee and drinks some orange juice and as much water as humanly possible. He makes some toast but it tastes like cardboard and feels like lead in his stomach.
Kurt comes into the kitchen.
“So have you calmed down?”
“No,” Blaine says, trying to keep his face poker straight.
Kurt shakes his head and leans against the counter.
“Finn and Kristin went out for some lunch. But I think they just couldn’t handle listening to us fight one more second.”
“I don’t w-w-w-wanna fight,” Blaine says, his gaze out the window behind Kurt, face still stoic.
“Then why are we fighting?” Blaine can the relief enter Kurt’s voice. But he doesn’t want it there.
“Be-be, because I’m tired,” Blaine levels his gaze at Kurt.
Kurt puts his hands up in surrender. “Of what, Blaine?”
“Of you treating mmm-me like a child. You patronize, and condescend, and make d-d-deh-decisions for me.”
Kurt puts his hands to his face and inhales deeply.
“Well, I’m tired of you acting like a child. I’m tired of having to be the adult.”
“Oh, fuck that. I’m an adult. I’m just as adult as, as, as you are. I hold up my end of this b-b-b-bah-bargain. I pay my share of the rent and the b-b-bills. I cook, I clean. Maybe not as much as you do, but only because you have a, a, a, a certain set of ssss-stah-andards that I just can’t seem to measure up to.”
Kurt rolls his eyes.
“God forbid I-I-I-I iron your pants and p-p-put the crease even the slightest off center.”
Kurt decides not to even dignify that with a response.
But he does decide he can sink to his level. “Are you going to shave? You look like hell.”
Blaine makes a disgusted face and leaves the kitchen. He finds his razor in his bag and heads back into the bathroom to shave.
“Are you ever planning on being done in here?” Kurt asks, standing in the door of the bathroom, just minutes later.
Blaine was in the process of patting his face dry, so he wordlessly pushes past Kurt and stands for a moment in the living room. He can’t believe he has to get on a boat with Kurt and act like a happy couple for hours and hours on end.
They’ve fought before, obviously, but never like this. Never without an end in sight.
Blaine sits on the couch, turns on the tv, and decides not to go to the wedding.
Kurt ignores him for the better part of 45 minutes, until he has to say something.
“So, don’t you think it might be time to put on your tux?”
“Not going,” Blaine says, crossing his arms.
“Oh my god, I can’t handle this. You are ridiculous.”
Blaine doesn’t look at him, instead just giving him the finger.
“Yes. That helps your case.”
“I don’t wanna go. You go. Send my … r-r-r-regards. Regrets. Whatever.”
“Blaine you’re being a child.”
“I’m fulfilling your expectations of me.”
“Blaine, please. Think about what you’re doing. You’re in the wedding party. You’re one of Puck’s best friends. You really want to miss his wedding because of our bullshit?”
Blaine sighs, but doesn’t move.
“We obviously need to talk about this, but can’t we … pause? Can’t we pause this fight for Puck and Rachel, and come back to it later?”
Blaine’s jaw is set tight, but he stands up. “Fine. Buh-buh-ut it’s for Puck and Rachel. We’re not d-d-dah-done.”
“Fine.”
Blaine goes into the bedroom and gets dressed, touches up his hair and is back out into the living room in no time.
Kurt sits primly on the sofa.
“God forbid you ssss-sit comfortably and fuck up your pants crease,” Blaine says as he walks over to the door.
“You look nice too, sweetheart,” Kurt says through gritted teeth, standing up to follow.
Out on the street, they hail a cab, and once inside they sit in stony silence for several minutes, Kurt on one end of the backseat, Blaine leaning heavily on the door on the other side.
“Unpause. You know that I act like a child b-b-b-because you treat me like a child.”
“It’s a chicken and the egg phenomenon, really. Because I don’t think I treated you like a child until you started acting like one.”
Blaine barks a laugh, and for a minute Kurt thinks he’s gone back to pretending to be Kurt’s puppy.
“I sense disagreement,” Kurt remarks.
“Whatever, pause.”
They sit in silence until the cab pulls up at the edge of the dock. When they get out of cab, Blaine starts walking towards the boat.
“No, unpause,” Kurt says, reaching for Blaine’s shoulder. They’re exactly on time, but he has a request to make. “I’m going to say pause again in one minute and we’re going to march our way into that wedding and be as happy as two pigs in shit. We’ll have a good time, we’ll dance, we’ll sing if they force us to, and they probably will. But between now and the time we unpause this fight, I want you to think of five times I’ve ever treated you like a child. I want specifics. We need to resolve this.”
Blaine nods and holds out his hand to shake.
Kurt shakes, and says, “Pause.”
They let go and walk down the dock, separating once on board, Kurt to take pictures with Rachel, and Blaine to take pictures with Puck.
Next
Word Count: ~10750
Summary: Five Glimpses into Blaine Anderson's life, plus the first glimpse ever.
Author's Note: I'd like to thank my betas preciousmellow and countess7 for talking me through yet another fic. Their patience is the stuff of wonder.
The rest of their time at the Anderson’s passes uneventfully, and all too soon, Finn and Kristin are outside picking them up very early Monday morning for the drive back to New York.
Blaine always feels a little sad leaving his parents. He’s pretty sure it’s because now that they finally have a good relationship he actually enjoys being around them. He knows that they not only love him, as anyone loves their child, but they like him. That they’re proud of him. They’re impressed with the choices he’s made and the life he’s building for himself.
He’s quiet in the car, napping on and off as the afternoon wears on. They have the rehearsal dinner tonight so he might as well be rested. They each take turns driving, because it makes the trip move faster, and Blaine offered to take the last shift.
He and Kurt are in the front seat, making a game plan for as soon as they get home. They’re turnaround time before they need to be at the rehearsal is brief.
“Can I wear my r-r-r-red pants tonight?” Blaine asks.
“They’re all wrinkled, aren’t they?”
“Nah, my mom washed and, and, and pressed them for mmm-me. She told me she was going to ask you if you w-w-w-wanted anything done.”
“She did. I just felt weird taking her up on it.”
Blaine shrugs. “She loves that shit.”
They’re quiet for a minute.
“When was the last time I went to the eye dah-dah-doctor?”
“I have no idea.”
“Maybe that’s why I’m getting sss-so many headaches. Maybe I need glasses.”
“I think you would look nice in glasses,” Kurt says looking over at Blaine.
“Then perhaps I’ll get them no mmm-matter what,” Blaine says with a grin.
~~~~~
Kurt and Blaine dash around their apartment, needing to be at the rehearsal at 6. Kristin and Finn take their time, they’re only going to the dinner at 7.
“You got everything?” Kurt asks as they’re running out the door.
“Um, what’s everything?”
“I don’t know. Wallet? Keys? Stuff like that.”
“Yeah, I got it.”
They hail a cab and head to the restaurant. The ceremony and reception are being held on a harbor cruise, but tonight they’re just practicing the processional in the back room of the restaurant where the rehearsal dinner is.
Blaine gets many a compliment on his red pants and herringbone blazer.
When it comes time to practice, the rabbi arranges them in order, and then walks down the makeshift aisle.
Puck’s nana is the only grandparent on either side. She’s followed by the groomsmen, Blaine, Matt, and Sam. They’re followed by the best man, Puck’s recently discovered half brother Jake. Then Puck, with his mom. Followed by bridesmaids, Kurt, Mercedes, and Quinn, followed by Tina, Rachel’s maid of honor. Then Rachel and her dad’s make their way down the aisle.
The rabbi runs through the ceremony, and then they practice the recessional. After lots of discussion, Rachel decided not to make Kurt her man of honor, if only so that he and Blaine could be paired together in the recessional.
“It’s just too cute to miss out on!” she had said. “Like a test run for your own wedding.”
The boys had fondly rolled their eyes, but really did appreciate her sentiment.
Blaine holds out his elbow for Kurt and they walk the short aisle with smiles on their faces. Kurt can sense a jittery tremor in Blaine though, a tension that settled in when they arrived at the restaurant.
“What’s up?” Kurt whispers, as they hang around and wait for the rest of the recessional to finish.
“Nothing,” Blaine says, frowning.
Kurt squeezes his hand.
“I wah-wah, wah, was talking to Rachel’s dah-dah-dah-dads earlier, when you were, um, you were in the, in the … mmmm-men’s room and my s-s-spa, ssss-peech was just all over the place.” Blaine pauses and shrugs. “Like it is rrrrr-right now. Hate when it’s unreliable.”
“They don’t mind.”
“No, I-I-I-I-I know. This is mmmm-more like, why can’t it just be, be, be, be okay tonight? It’s buh-buh-been good this whole week and tonight … fucked up. It’s not fair.”
Kurt winds his arm around Blaine’s waist, needing to offer him more comfort than just a squeeze of his hand. Blaine briefly accepts Kurt’s comfort by leaning his head on his shoulder, but then he pulls himself up straight and shoves his hands in pockets.
“I’m gonna get a, a, a, a drah-drah-drink. You want anything?”
“No, I’m good for now, thanks.”
It’s awfully early in the evening for drinking, Kurt thinks. It’s not like the rehearsal dinner has an open bar, just wine and beer. Kurt watches Blaine walk over to the restaurant bar, back hunched, hands still thrust deep in his pockets. He looks like a man with too much on his shoulders.
He comes back with a grin and a drink in each hand.
When he’s just about back to Kurt, Puck steps over.
“Double fisting?” Puck asks, patting him on the back.
“You know it,” Blaine responds, taking a sip from the smaller of the two drinks.
Kurt just shakes his head.
Blaine gets drunk that night. Kurt’s seen him drunk plenty of times, obviously, but never quite like this. He’s loud, gregarious, and edgy somehow. Like Kurt can’t get a hold on his mood. At times he seems almost belligerent, which isn’t something Kurt would ever have thought he would describe Blaine as. He finds himself reprimanding Blaine several times, telling him to be quieter, or to stop drinking so much. But Blaine just isn’t listening.
When the evening winds down, Kurt goes to retrieve their coats and when he returns he finds Blaine sitting sadly on a bench outside the back room.
“Blaine?”
Blaine looks at him with sad, drunk eyes.
“What’s the matter? Are you going to throw up?”
Blaine shakes his head.
Kurt sits down. “What is it?”
“I’m ssss, sssss-ad.”
“Why?”
“Cause you’re mmmm-mad at me,” he mumbles around his pouty lips.
“Why would I be mad at you?”
“Cause I, I, I, I got so drunk,” Blaine slurs.
“I’m not mad. I just want to go home.”
“You’re mmmm-ad at me,” he wails.
Kurt sucks in a cleansing breath, regretful that he didn’t get drunk tonight himself. He’s much more patient with drunk Blaine when he’s also inebriated. But he wasn’t in the mood. He was too busy socializing
“Oh my god, Blaine. Stop it. You’re embarrassing yourself,” Kurt mutters, as he stands up and puts Blaine’s coat out to help him into it.
After he struggles to get him buttoned up, Kurt pulls Blaine’s hand and yanks him out of the restaurant, failing to even say goodbye to anyone. He shoots a quick text to Finn to have him and Kristin meet them out front, saying that Blaine needed air.
Blaine pulls away from Kurt when they’re on the sidewalk. “I’m not embarrassed.”
“Okay,” Kurt says.
“You’re embarrassed.”
Kurt rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He doesn’t like this side of drunk Blaine.
“I’m going bah-bah-bah, bah-back inside, it’s too cold.”
“No! I told Finn and Kristin to meet us out here. We’re going home. You’re shitfaced and acting like a child. I’m tired, and I’m sick of being here and dealing with you. And we have to do it all over again tomorrow.”
Blaine stops short. “Dealing with mmmm-me?” Blaine finger quotes sloppily, listing a bit in his drunkenness.
“Yes.”
“Fine. Guess I’ll go b-b-b-b-back to beh-beh-beh-being your docile puh, puh, p-p-puppy dog.” Blaine walks over and takes Kurt’s hand, keeping his head down.
“You’re not my puppy dog, Blaine. I just want you to …” Kurt trails off, because the rest of that sentence ends with words like behave, listen, or be more obedient. Maybe Kurt does want Blaine to be his puppy dog. Before he can follow that thought any farther, Blaine noses his arm.
“Woof?” Blaine says, when he has Kurt’s attention.
“Are you shitting me?”
“Woof.”
Finn and Kristin walk out of the restaurant and Blaine doesn’t make another noise until they’re back at the apartment.
They go through an abbreviated nightly ritual, Kurt making sure that Blaine drinks at least a little water. Then they say good night, and Finn and Kristin settle onto the pull-out couch in the living room.
Blaine sits at the edge of the bed, carefully taking off his shoes, feeling like if he doesn’t keep his movements small, he’ll roll right off the edge.
“Are you going to shower?” Kurt asks.
“Woof,” Blaine says, shrugging.
Kurt rubs his eyes. “I’m sorry I said all that. I’m sorry I said I was tired of dealing with you. But I am just tired period, and I really want to go to sleep.”
“Woof, woof,” Blaine says, his voice tinged with a mock understanding.
“Come on, poop, seriously?”
And then Blaine’s demeanor changes. His shoulders droop and his face softens, and it’s like all of the fight goes out of him.
Blaine makes several whiny puppy noises. Now he’s standing in his undershirt and boxer shorts and crawls under the covers, making tiny “ruff, ruff” noises and nosing Kurt’s pillow.
“You know I should be so pissed at you right now?” Kurt says, crawling in next to him.
Blaine smiles, nosing Kurt’s neck, before licking him a few times and passing out.
All Kurt can think is that Blaine is going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning.
~~~~~
The sun assaults Blaine. He has no idea what time it is, he has no idea where he is, he’s not even 100% sure he’s Blaine. All of his focus is on the desert that now resides where his mouth used to be.
“Ugh,” he moans, throwing his arms out to stretch, finding the other side of the bed empty. He cracks an eye open, and sees that it’s only 7:47 am. He’s thrilled to see he didn’t sleep all day. They have pictures at 3 and the wedding’s not until 5, but he doesn’t need the wrath of Kurt yelling at him about sleeping too late, or not being ready on time. Because he was drunk last night.
He was drunk.
And he barked at Kurt. Literally.
And his speech was all messed up.
And didn’t improve even as he got drunk.
And he yelled at Kurt.
And he felt like shit.
And today he still feels like shit.
“Noooo,” he groans, rolling his face into the pillow and pulling the blankets over his head. He hears the shower turn on, and Finn and Kristin talking quietly in the living room. So it must be Kurt in the bathroom. At least he has a few more minutes of solace before he has to grovel.
He really was a shithead last night.
He can fix this though. He’ll just apologize, he’ll be good old, nice guy Blaine. Kurt will call him Poop and whatever lingering anger he has will just ooze out of his pours. He’ll take a nice long shower, and drink coffee and lots of water. Maybe Kurt will let him use some of his good moisturizer, because not only is his mouth a desert, his whole face feels like one too.
He’s thinking all of these thoughts and drifts back to sleep, telling himself just a few more minutes. Just until Kurt gets back from the shower.
“Woof,” he whispers as he dozes off, giggling to himself.
The next time he wakes up he’s not being assaulted by the sun.
Kurt’s hands are shaking him and immediately he feels like he’s going to throw up. He sits up quickly, and the feeling subsides.
“What the hell?” he mutters, rubbing at his face, feeling somehow both better and worse than he did last time he woke up.
“It’s 12 o’clock, Blaine. You gotta get up. You need to eat something and take a shower. We have to leave here by two to make sure we’re not late for pictures. And I know how you drag your ass.”
Blaine clears his throat and Kurt finally looks over at him after his tirade.
“I’m, I’m, I’m sorry about last night,” Blaine says, putting his hand out to Kurt. “I’m sorry I was b-b-b-being an idiot.”
Kurt sits on the bed and grins, taking Blaine’s hands and weaving their fingers together. “I accept your apology,” Kurt says, leaning to kiss him. After a minute, Blaine stops kissing back and pulls away.
“You don’t w-w-want to apologize?”
“I did. Last night. I said I was sorry for saying that I was tired of dealing with you.”
“Can’t you be, be, be sorry in general? Does it have to be that … ssss-spe-spe-cific? You were being kind of dick last night.”
“Me? I was being kind of a dick?” Kurt stands up.
“I mean, I know I was doing my fair share of dickery, buh-buh-buh-ut you were being like, weird and judgmental.”
“Seriously?” Kurt’s voice is bordering on something dangerous.
“Um, yeah.” Blaine stands up then, and rummages for clean underwear and some sweats to put on after his shower.
Kurt just stands there shaking his head in disbelief.
“And for the record,” Blaine begins, turning around to face Kurt, feelings bubbling to the surface that he’s been pushing down for too long. “I’m not actually your child. You don’t need to deal with me. We’re supposed to be equals in this relationship and yet somehow you love nothing more than to make me feel like I’m your five year old.” He curbs his initial desire to throw his fist in the air that he didn’t stutter on any of that, but he’s pretty sure it would ruin the effect.
“I don’t even know what to say to that.” Kurt continues shaking his head in disbelief. “I am at a complete loss for words.”
“Well, why don’t you think of sssss-some while I shower!” Blaine yells at Kurt as he slams the bedroom door behind him.
Finn and Kristin are in the living room, sitting quietly, pretending to watch tv, pretending that they didn’t hear the heated voices in the bedroom.
“Good morning,” Blaine says. “Or afternoon. Whatever, fuck, who cares.”
Blaine is seething mad. His hands shake with anger. He’s not entirely sure he’s ever been this pissed off in his entire life. He puts the shower on and slams around, looking for his razor. Kurt’s in constant state of reorganization. Why can’t he just leave Blaine’s razor out of it? Just leave it in the medicine cabinet. How many times has Blaine asked him, politely, to leave his fucking razor in the fucking medicine cabinet. He slams one of the drawers under the sink.
He stops.
Splashes water on his face.
His razor is in his bag that he hasn’t unpacked yet.
In the bedroom.
With Kurt.
He’ll figure that out later.
He steps into the shower, and turns a slow circle under the warm water. He takes a deep, cleansing breath. What’s wrong with him? Why is he acting like this? He doesn’t want to act like this. This isn’t him. Everything in his head just seems so huge, so insurmountable. He closes his eyes and strong arms the wall, bowing his head and letting the water pound on his neck.
He’s so frustrated he could cry. But he doesn’t even know what’s wrong with him.
He stands like that, breathing deeply, trying to focus his mind, but everything’s a jumble. When he finally stands up, his arms are half asleep and he spends a minute shaking them out before he can even pick up the shampoo.
He hates feeling like this.
When it becomes clear that he’s already spent far too much time in the shower, he steps out and dries off, putting on his clothes and going into the kitchen, not noticing that the living room is empty. He puts on more coffee and drinks some orange juice and as much water as humanly possible. He makes some toast but it tastes like cardboard and feels like lead in his stomach.
Kurt comes into the kitchen.
“So have you calmed down?”
“No,” Blaine says, trying to keep his face poker straight.
Kurt shakes his head and leans against the counter.
“Finn and Kristin went out for some lunch. But I think they just couldn’t handle listening to us fight one more second.”
“I don’t w-w-w-wanna fight,” Blaine says, his gaze out the window behind Kurt, face still stoic.
“Then why are we fighting?” Blaine can the relief enter Kurt’s voice. But he doesn’t want it there.
“Be-be, because I’m tired,” Blaine levels his gaze at Kurt.
Kurt puts his hands up in surrender. “Of what, Blaine?”
“Of you treating mmm-me like a child. You patronize, and condescend, and make d-d-deh-decisions for me.”
Kurt puts his hands to his face and inhales deeply.
“Well, I’m tired of you acting like a child. I’m tired of having to be the adult.”
“Oh, fuck that. I’m an adult. I’m just as adult as, as, as you are. I hold up my end of this b-b-b-bah-bargain. I pay my share of the rent and the b-b-bills. I cook, I clean. Maybe not as much as you do, but only because you have a, a, a, a certain set of ssss-stah-andards that I just can’t seem to measure up to.”
Kurt rolls his eyes.
“God forbid I-I-I-I iron your pants and p-p-put the crease even the slightest off center.”
Kurt decides not to even dignify that with a response.
But he does decide he can sink to his level. “Are you going to shave? You look like hell.”
Blaine makes a disgusted face and leaves the kitchen. He finds his razor in his bag and heads back into the bathroom to shave.
“Are you ever planning on being done in here?” Kurt asks, standing in the door of the bathroom, just minutes later.
Blaine was in the process of patting his face dry, so he wordlessly pushes past Kurt and stands for a moment in the living room. He can’t believe he has to get on a boat with Kurt and act like a happy couple for hours and hours on end.
They’ve fought before, obviously, but never like this. Never without an end in sight.
Blaine sits on the couch, turns on the tv, and decides not to go to the wedding.
Kurt ignores him for the better part of 45 minutes, until he has to say something.
“So, don’t you think it might be time to put on your tux?”
“Not going,” Blaine says, crossing his arms.
“Oh my god, I can’t handle this. You are ridiculous.”
Blaine doesn’t look at him, instead just giving him the finger.
“Yes. That helps your case.”
“I don’t wanna go. You go. Send my … r-r-r-regards. Regrets. Whatever.”
“Blaine you’re being a child.”
“I’m fulfilling your expectations of me.”
“Blaine, please. Think about what you’re doing. You’re in the wedding party. You’re one of Puck’s best friends. You really want to miss his wedding because of our bullshit?”
Blaine sighs, but doesn’t move.
“We obviously need to talk about this, but can’t we … pause? Can’t we pause this fight for Puck and Rachel, and come back to it later?”
Blaine’s jaw is set tight, but he stands up. “Fine. Buh-buh-ut it’s for Puck and Rachel. We’re not d-d-dah-done.”
“Fine.”
Blaine goes into the bedroom and gets dressed, touches up his hair and is back out into the living room in no time.
Kurt sits primly on the sofa.
“God forbid you ssss-sit comfortably and fuck up your pants crease,” Blaine says as he walks over to the door.
“You look nice too, sweetheart,” Kurt says through gritted teeth, standing up to follow.
Out on the street, they hail a cab, and once inside they sit in stony silence for several minutes, Kurt on one end of the backseat, Blaine leaning heavily on the door on the other side.
“Unpause. You know that I act like a child b-b-b-because you treat me like a child.”
“It’s a chicken and the egg phenomenon, really. Because I don’t think I treated you like a child until you started acting like one.”
Blaine barks a laugh, and for a minute Kurt thinks he’s gone back to pretending to be Kurt’s puppy.
“I sense disagreement,” Kurt remarks.
“Whatever, pause.”
They sit in silence until the cab pulls up at the edge of the dock. When they get out of cab, Blaine starts walking towards the boat.
“No, unpause,” Kurt says, reaching for Blaine’s shoulder. They’re exactly on time, but he has a request to make. “I’m going to say pause again in one minute and we’re going to march our way into that wedding and be as happy as two pigs in shit. We’ll have a good time, we’ll dance, we’ll sing if they force us to, and they probably will. But between now and the time we unpause this fight, I want you to think of five times I’ve ever treated you like a child. I want specifics. We need to resolve this.”
Blaine nods and holds out his hand to shake.
Kurt shakes, and says, “Pause.”
They let go and walk down the dock, separating once on board, Kurt to take pictures with Rachel, and Blaine to take pictures with Puck.
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