I'd brush the summer by - Glee drabbles, Kurt/Blaine, PG
Title: If you were coming in the Fall, I’d brush the Summer by
Fandom: Glee
Disclaimer: not my characters; the song mentioned belongs to Pink; title from Dickinson
Warnings: mostly pre-series, mentions of child abuse
Pairings: pre-Kurt/Blaine
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 550
Point of view: third
Notes: Warbler David’s pov prior to this story; I got his last name from the Glee wiki
His first semester at Dalton, Blaine Anderson didn’t really make a splash. No one noticed him much; Dalton gets a lot of quiet boys, boys in the process of healing, scarred and scared boys. Blaine was one among many.
David Thompson didn’t register anything special about the kid until the spring auditions. Blaine was clearly the best of the new talent and he sang Pink’s ‘Eventually’ like it had been written specifically for him. In their first decision as the Council, David, Wes, and Thad all voted for Blaine as their lead soloist in the upcoming semester.
Over the summer, David didn’t think any more about the kid.
The Blaine Anderson who walked into Dalton as a junior was a revelation. He was brilliant and kind and threw himself into everything he did. He embraced the Warblers and listened to criticism, always incorporating it into his performances. He was a natural showman; David delighted in watching him.
“Will your parents be coming to the concert?” Thad asked as he, David, and Blaine walked downstairs to prepare for their first performance of the semester.
“Ah, no,” Blaine said. “Dad’s away again and Mom-no.” He hurried ahead, slightly, and Thad looked at David, who shrugged.
David paid more attention after that. Blaine never mentioned his parents, and he answered direct questions with ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ He didn’t react like a stereotypically abused child, but he flinched when Wes handed him a lit candle.
A month into the school-year, Blaine was on the phone with his dad, nodding along while flipping through a magazine - Vogue, David saw. Blaine collected the issues; he had at least a year’s worth in the corner of his dorm-room.
“Yes, Dad,” Blaine was saying while David went over his history notes, trying to decide what trick Mr. Foster would put in the essay question of their next test. “Of course I’ll come home this weekend.” And then, out the corner of his eye, David saw Blaine’s hands freeze, the page of the magazine fluttering down.
“No,” Blaine said quietly. “I won’t come if she’s there.” A pause, then just as quietly, “Goodbye, Dad.”
He finished the call, turned off his phone, and set his clasped hands on the table, looking straight ahead. He sat still as a statue while David tried to think of something to say.
Finally, he just asked, “Blaine?”
“I won’t be going home this weekend,” Blaine said, going back to his magazine.
David stared at him for a few moments, until Blaine looked back up with a small, so very fake, smile. “Don’t worry, David,” he said. “My dad’s going see my mom on Saturday.” He shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Is your mom hospitalized somewhere?” David asked.
Blaine laughed. It sounded as bitter as his rendition of ‘Eventually’ had been. “Yes,” he said. “She’s hospitalized somewhere.”
David turned back to his notes. Blaine flipped through Vogue. The whole thing bugged David, but he never did figure out how to bring it up over the next few months, as Blaine settled in as lead soloist and went home no weekends at all. He even talked about it with Wes and Thad once, as they compared notes on what they’d observed about Blaine.
And then Blaine serenaded an endearing spy and it didn’t matter anymore.
Title: If you were coming in the Fall, I’d brush the Summer by
Fandom: Glee
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Dickinson
Warnings: takes place in senior year
Pairings: Kurt/Blaine, unrequited Karofsky/Kurt
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1085
Point of view: third
Note: Dave Karofsky’s pov at one point during this story
Dave has a thousand questions and internet research is good for only so much. He even calls The Trevor Project twice, but talking to a faceless voice doesn’t really help him.
He wants to talk to Kurt. But Kurt… they’re in a weird limbo, somewhere between acquaintances and friends. And Kurt may have forgiven Dave for last year, and all the years before that, but neither of them has forgotten any of it. Kurt isn’t afraid of him anymore, but Dave is terrified of Kurt.
Dave can admit to himself (and Santana) that he checks out guys fairly regularly, but his go-to fantasy is still Kurt. He still watches Kurt the most. He protects Kurt now instead of hurting him, and he really is trying to move on. Once he’s out of Lima, life will be so much better.
He wants to talk to Kurt, but that’s a bad idea. That’ll just feed his crush, and he’s almost strangled the damn thing, anyway.
Kurt’s boyfriend, though… he tried to help before, after the kiss Dave attempts to pretend he doesn’t remember. The boyfriend is still a do-gooder, and Dave’s seen him watching whenever Dave has to shove a few bullies for being too close to Kurt. The boyfriend usually looks somewhere between wary and proud, like he knows Dave likes Kurt, but he’s doing good anyway.
Of course he knows Dave likes Kurt. He was the third person to ever learn. Still the only other person who knows. (Except Santana.)
Dave wants to talk to Kurt about coming out. Kurt’s dad seems awesome, from the few interactions they’ve had. If he knew what happened last year, beyond a few words Dave didn’t even mean… well. It would be bad.
But Dave can’t talk to Kurt. Not alone.
“Why the fuck not?” Santana demands, throwing down a sub-par breadstick and choosing another. She bites off the end with a satisfied smirk at Dave’s instinctual wince. “You’re not the guy you were, Davo. Kurt would be lucky to get your teddy-bear self.”
Dave chokes on his Coke. “The boyfriend makes him smile so bright, Tana. I’ve never made him smile like that.”
Santana rolls her eyes. “Okay, so Hobbit-brows is good for him, I admit that. They are sickeningly sweet together. But that doesn’t mean you can’t talk to Kurt, you wuss.”
Dave stares down at his alfredo. “I’m not gonna ask him for help. I can’t.”
With an explosive sigh of utter disappointment, Santana breaks her breadstick in half. “Fine then. Talk to the ex-Warbler.”
So on Monday, Dave gathers his courage. He’s ready to ask the boyfriend -Blaine, Blaine, gotta remember that- to talk. But he never sees Blaine by himself; he’s either with Kurt or a crowd of the gleeks, so Dave goes home annoyed.
Tuesday, though, on the way to second period, Blaine’s on his own. Dave pauses in front of him. For a moment, looking down at the boyfriend’s brown eyes, at his tiny little frame - Dave does think about shoving him again. Beating him to a pulp for daring to be what Kurt wants.
Instead, he asks, “Can we talk after school?”
“I’m going to Kurt’s house,” Blaine says. “But if you want to meet somewhere at lunch?”
“Yeah,” Dave mutters. Better than nothing. “Choir room?”
Blaine nods. “I’ll see you then.”
Dave looks at him for one second longer; he really can’t see whatever Kurt sees. The kid’s a good guy, yeah. Good looking, but not as good as Kurt. Of course, neither is Dave. Fuck it. He walks away, hoping someone asks for a beating, but no one does.
So at lunch, Dave goes to the choir room. He gets there before Blaine and waits a little ways past the door, going over the questions he wants to ask. There are two main contenders: how on Earth did you win Kurt and did your parents look at you the same after you came out?
One of the answers is painfully obvious. There’s a better than fair chance Blaine never tossed Kurt into a dumpster or against a locker or grabbed him in the middle of an argument for a kiss.
The other answer, though, is the one that actually matters.
Blaine walks in. He stops -out of reach, Dave notices- and drops his bag, asking, “How can I help you, Dave?”
He blurts, “How did you come out to your parents?”
“I took a deep breath,” Blaine says, walking to the chairs and sitting down, so fucking smooth and calm. “I remembered that they were my family and loved me. And I thought about how much I was tired of being afraid.”
Dave stalks over and flops down in a chair. “And they didn’t flip?”
“No,” Blaine says. “My dad thanked me for trusting them and finished his steak.”
Looking at his hands, Dave asks. “And… life was easier?” He wants to stop lying. To sit down with his dad like they used to, talking about Dave’s dreams. He’s always wanted out of Lima. Wanted to travel. Before Dave was born, his parents back-packed through Europe and camped in Australia. They had adventures before settling down.
He wants to believe his parents won’t hate him.
“Yeah,” Blaine says. “Two summers ago, Dad even asked me about my type.”
Dave chuckles slightly at that, leaning back in his chair.
“You can wait until college,” Blaine continues. “Only come out when you’re ready, Dave.” He’s so earnest. If they were physically closer, Dave’s fairly certain Blaine would put a hand on his arm, just to show how serious he is.
Dave needs to think. Somewhere quiet, somewhere alone. He knows his parents. He hopes he does. So he nods his thanks and stands, shouldering his booksack. He pauses for a moment, looking down at Kurt’s knight-in-shining-armor. Blaine isn’t chubby, he doesn’t ever seem to sweat, and he probably won’t be bald in his thirties.
He makes Kurt light up with joy.
“Take care of Kurt,” he says and walks out of the room.
He’s quiet for the rest of the day. He sees Kurt once, smiles back when Kurt smiles at him. It’s such a change from this time last year. He likes it.
Practice runs over and for once Dad doesn’t work late, so both his parents are there when he gets home.
He could tell them. He wants to tell them.
Instead he says, “Hey, Dad,” and leans down when Mom kisses his cheek, and pulls out his history book.
Maybe tomorrow.
Fandom: Glee
Disclaimer: not my characters; the song mentioned belongs to Pink; title from Dickinson
Warnings: mostly pre-series, mentions of child abuse
Pairings: pre-Kurt/Blaine
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 550
Point of view: third
Notes: Warbler David’s pov prior to this story; I got his last name from the Glee wiki
His first semester at Dalton, Blaine Anderson didn’t really make a splash. No one noticed him much; Dalton gets a lot of quiet boys, boys in the process of healing, scarred and scared boys. Blaine was one among many.
David Thompson didn’t register anything special about the kid until the spring auditions. Blaine was clearly the best of the new talent and he sang Pink’s ‘Eventually’ like it had been written specifically for him. In their first decision as the Council, David, Wes, and Thad all voted for Blaine as their lead soloist in the upcoming semester.
Over the summer, David didn’t think any more about the kid.
The Blaine Anderson who walked into Dalton as a junior was a revelation. He was brilliant and kind and threw himself into everything he did. He embraced the Warblers and listened to criticism, always incorporating it into his performances. He was a natural showman; David delighted in watching him.
“Will your parents be coming to the concert?” Thad asked as he, David, and Blaine walked downstairs to prepare for their first performance of the semester.
“Ah, no,” Blaine said. “Dad’s away again and Mom-no.” He hurried ahead, slightly, and Thad looked at David, who shrugged.
David paid more attention after that. Blaine never mentioned his parents, and he answered direct questions with ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ He didn’t react like a stereotypically abused child, but he flinched when Wes handed him a lit candle.
A month into the school-year, Blaine was on the phone with his dad, nodding along while flipping through a magazine - Vogue, David saw. Blaine collected the issues; he had at least a year’s worth in the corner of his dorm-room.
“Yes, Dad,” Blaine was saying while David went over his history notes, trying to decide what trick Mr. Foster would put in the essay question of their next test. “Of course I’ll come home this weekend.” And then, out the corner of his eye, David saw Blaine’s hands freeze, the page of the magazine fluttering down.
“No,” Blaine said quietly. “I won’t come if she’s there.” A pause, then just as quietly, “Goodbye, Dad.”
He finished the call, turned off his phone, and set his clasped hands on the table, looking straight ahead. He sat still as a statue while David tried to think of something to say.
Finally, he just asked, “Blaine?”
“I won’t be going home this weekend,” Blaine said, going back to his magazine.
David stared at him for a few moments, until Blaine looked back up with a small, so very fake, smile. “Don’t worry, David,” he said. “My dad’s going see my mom on Saturday.” He shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Is your mom hospitalized somewhere?” David asked.
Blaine laughed. It sounded as bitter as his rendition of ‘Eventually’ had been. “Yes,” he said. “She’s hospitalized somewhere.”
David turned back to his notes. Blaine flipped through Vogue. The whole thing bugged David, but he never did figure out how to bring it up over the next few months, as Blaine settled in as lead soloist and went home no weekends at all. He even talked about it with Wes and Thad once, as they compared notes on what they’d observed about Blaine.
And then Blaine serenaded an endearing spy and it didn’t matter anymore.
Title: If you were coming in the Fall, I’d brush the Summer by
Fandom: Glee
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Dickinson
Warnings: takes place in senior year
Pairings: Kurt/Blaine, unrequited Karofsky/Kurt
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1085
Point of view: third
Note: Dave Karofsky’s pov at one point during this story
Dave has a thousand questions and internet research is good for only so much. He even calls The Trevor Project twice, but talking to a faceless voice doesn’t really help him.
He wants to talk to Kurt. But Kurt… they’re in a weird limbo, somewhere between acquaintances and friends. And Kurt may have forgiven Dave for last year, and all the years before that, but neither of them has forgotten any of it. Kurt isn’t afraid of him anymore, but Dave is terrified of Kurt.
Dave can admit to himself (and Santana) that he checks out guys fairly regularly, but his go-to fantasy is still Kurt. He still watches Kurt the most. He protects Kurt now instead of hurting him, and he really is trying to move on. Once he’s out of Lima, life will be so much better.
He wants to talk to Kurt, but that’s a bad idea. That’ll just feed his crush, and he’s almost strangled the damn thing, anyway.
Kurt’s boyfriend, though… he tried to help before, after the kiss Dave attempts to pretend he doesn’t remember. The boyfriend is still a do-gooder, and Dave’s seen him watching whenever Dave has to shove a few bullies for being too close to Kurt. The boyfriend usually looks somewhere between wary and proud, like he knows Dave likes Kurt, but he’s doing good anyway.
Of course he knows Dave likes Kurt. He was the third person to ever learn. Still the only other person who knows. (Except Santana.)
Dave wants to talk to Kurt about coming out. Kurt’s dad seems awesome, from the few interactions they’ve had. If he knew what happened last year, beyond a few words Dave didn’t even mean… well. It would be bad.
But Dave can’t talk to Kurt. Not alone.
“Why the fuck not?” Santana demands, throwing down a sub-par breadstick and choosing another. She bites off the end with a satisfied smirk at Dave’s instinctual wince. “You’re not the guy you were, Davo. Kurt would be lucky to get your teddy-bear self.”
Dave chokes on his Coke. “The boyfriend makes him smile so bright, Tana. I’ve never made him smile like that.”
Santana rolls her eyes. “Okay, so Hobbit-brows is good for him, I admit that. They are sickeningly sweet together. But that doesn’t mean you can’t talk to Kurt, you wuss.”
Dave stares down at his alfredo. “I’m not gonna ask him for help. I can’t.”
With an explosive sigh of utter disappointment, Santana breaks her breadstick in half. “Fine then. Talk to the ex-Warbler.”
So on Monday, Dave gathers his courage. He’s ready to ask the boyfriend -Blaine, Blaine, gotta remember that- to talk. But he never sees Blaine by himself; he’s either with Kurt or a crowd of the gleeks, so Dave goes home annoyed.
Tuesday, though, on the way to second period, Blaine’s on his own. Dave pauses in front of him. For a moment, looking down at the boyfriend’s brown eyes, at his tiny little frame - Dave does think about shoving him again. Beating him to a pulp for daring to be what Kurt wants.
Instead, he asks, “Can we talk after school?”
“I’m going to Kurt’s house,” Blaine says. “But if you want to meet somewhere at lunch?”
“Yeah,” Dave mutters. Better than nothing. “Choir room?”
Blaine nods. “I’ll see you then.”
Dave looks at him for one second longer; he really can’t see whatever Kurt sees. The kid’s a good guy, yeah. Good looking, but not as good as Kurt. Of course, neither is Dave. Fuck it. He walks away, hoping someone asks for a beating, but no one does.
So at lunch, Dave goes to the choir room. He gets there before Blaine and waits a little ways past the door, going over the questions he wants to ask. There are two main contenders: how on Earth did you win Kurt and did your parents look at you the same after you came out?
One of the answers is painfully obvious. There’s a better than fair chance Blaine never tossed Kurt into a dumpster or against a locker or grabbed him in the middle of an argument for a kiss.
The other answer, though, is the one that actually matters.
Blaine walks in. He stops -out of reach, Dave notices- and drops his bag, asking, “How can I help you, Dave?”
He blurts, “How did you come out to your parents?”
“I took a deep breath,” Blaine says, walking to the chairs and sitting down, so fucking smooth and calm. “I remembered that they were my family and loved me. And I thought about how much I was tired of being afraid.”
Dave stalks over and flops down in a chair. “And they didn’t flip?”
“No,” Blaine says. “My dad thanked me for trusting them and finished his steak.”
Looking at his hands, Dave asks. “And… life was easier?” He wants to stop lying. To sit down with his dad like they used to, talking about Dave’s dreams. He’s always wanted out of Lima. Wanted to travel. Before Dave was born, his parents back-packed through Europe and camped in Australia. They had adventures before settling down.
He wants to believe his parents won’t hate him.
“Yeah,” Blaine says. “Two summers ago, Dad even asked me about my type.”
Dave chuckles slightly at that, leaning back in his chair.
“You can wait until college,” Blaine continues. “Only come out when you’re ready, Dave.” He’s so earnest. If they were physically closer, Dave’s fairly certain Blaine would put a hand on his arm, just to show how serious he is.
Dave needs to think. Somewhere quiet, somewhere alone. He knows his parents. He hopes he does. So he nods his thanks and stands, shouldering his booksack. He pauses for a moment, looking down at Kurt’s knight-in-shining-armor. Blaine isn’t chubby, he doesn’t ever seem to sweat, and he probably won’t be bald in his thirties.
He makes Kurt light up with joy.
“Take care of Kurt,” he says and walks out of the room.
He’s quiet for the rest of the day. He sees Kurt once, smiles back when Kurt smiles at him. It’s such a change from this time last year. He likes it.
Practice runs over and for once Dad doesn’t work late, so both his parents are there when he gets home.
He could tell them. He wants to tell them.
Instead he says, “Hey, Dad,” and leans down when Mom kisses his cheek, and pulls out his history book.
Maybe tomorrow.