Fic: Be it you outside my door
Title: Be it you outside my door
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1550
Characters/Parings: Kurt/Blaine
Spoilers: 4x04 spoiler speculation
Summary: Blaine's instincts lead him to right place at last.
I wrote another one. Somebody send help. *whimpers*
~*~
He almost doesn't read the text.
He's at the airport. He's leaving. He's trying his damnedest not to break down in the terminal while people dodge around him and give him funny looks. He's heading towards the ticketing counter to change his ticket when his phone pings in his pocket. It's Kurt's special ping. He keeps walking.
It pings again, and this time he hesitates. He promised. He can't be mad at Kurt for breaking any promises - because the only one he truly made was to never say goodbye, and he hadn't. Not even that morning as Blaine gathered his things and slipped out the door. But Blaine promised. A text is as good as a phone call. He moves out of the way and pulls his phone from the pocket of his jacket.
Meet me in Times Square at 3. On the red steps. Duffy Square. Please. There is more to say.
I'll wait for you as long as I have to.
He almost gets back in the line and changes his ticket and goes home. But he doesn't. Instead he heads outside to find the taxi stand. He gets in a car and gives the address to the driver. He doesn't answer Kurt's text.
It's not even close to three when the cab drops him off and speeds away to find another fare, and yet Kurt is already there waiting. Blaine wanders into the square, pulling the straps of his backpack up over his shoulders, glancing around at the billboards and cars and people when he spots him, sitting up high. Blaine's eyes are drawn to him like he's a beacon - the brightest, most perfect thing in the entirety of Times Square with all of its razzle dazzle.
But Kurt doesn't look how he usually does. His shoulders are rounded forward and his hair is drooping down into his eyes. Blaine wishes he was near enough to see his face, and at the same time he's terrified to move any closer. If he walks up those steps then Kurt will see him and he will talk. They will talk and whatever is going to happen will happen, and Blaine isn't sure he's ready for that. He had decided and left and now... now he hesitates. There is a spark deep down inside, one that he has been trying to vehemently ignore since he first heard the ping of Kurt's text message. He thinks it might be hope, and that terrifies him more than the worry that the aching hollowness of his heart might never go away. There are few things more frightening than hope.
Blaine swallows but the lump in his throat doesn't abate even a little. It seems to have taken up residence there and he doubts it will be leaving any time soon if he doesn't give in and let himself break down. He swallows again, might as well try, and schools his expression into something stoic before approaching Kurt where he is huddled on the red stairs, studying something he has clenched in his fist.
When he sits down next to a shocked Kurt, he thinks about making a crack, maybe ask where he can find cheap tickets for a show, seeing as the huge signs for the ticket booth beneath them are extremely obvious. But when he opens his mouth to speak there aren't any jokes on his tongue. “So what is it that you think needs to be said?” He sounds cold. He hadn't meant to. If the stricken look on Kurt's face is anything to go by, he would have preferred the stupid joke.
He freezes a little and Blaine can see him hesitate in his peripheral vision. The lump in his throat doubles in size and he attempts to swallow it down once more. He never wanted to put that look on Kurt's face. Never ever.
“I just needed to... um...” Kurt hesitates again. He clears his throat and wipes the back of his hand across his eyes before starting over. “I just needed to say I'm sorry. I realize that I can be self-centred, that I can get extremely self-involved when I'm excited about something. It's one of my numerous faults and, believe me, it's been pointed out to me enough times that I should have improved on it by now -”
“Kurt -” The last thing Blaine wants is to listen to Kurt beat himself up, to feel guilty for succeeding. It's all Blaine ever wanted for him. He only wishes he could fit in amongst those plans, those triumphs.
“It's fine, Blaine. We both know it's true. And I am sorry. I got caught up in my new job and I didn't make enough time for you, I didn't pay enough attention. I didn't mean anything by it. It doesn't mean that I don't love you. It doesn't mean that you aren't important to me. Because you are, Blaine.” He looks away from the buildings in the distance and turns his entire body towards Blaine. He's crying freely now, long streams of tears falling from both eyes and streaking down his rosy cheeks. “You're the most important. And I just - I guess I'm confused. I just don't understand how.... I don't understand how you don't know. I mean, if you had asked me... Do you want me to come home? Because I will if that's what you need. I would leave everything if you asked me to. I -”
Blaine sucks in a breath as Kurt shakes his head, his wet eyes wide and confused and hurt. As much as Blaine longs for Kurt to talk to and cuddle and kiss and love, he belongs here in New York. He fits in ways he never has in Ohio. “Kurt, I would never... I would never ask you to do that.”
“Thank you,” he says, barely more than a breath. “And I'm sorry if I haven't... if I haven't made you feel loved.” He reaches into the pocket of his jacket, fiddling with something as he breathes deeply to try and quiet his crying. Blaine swallows again, but it's no use. The prickling sensation at the backs of his eyes is getting the better of him and he feels a single tear break loose and trickle down the side of his nose.
“I had plans,” Kurt says, his voice is hushed now, almost as though he is speaking to himself and not to Blaine at all. He twists his hand in his pocket, back and forth. “I didn't want it to be too soon - especially not after what happened last year with... But I... when I saw it, it was too perfect to just leave it there.” Kurt sniffles and pulls something from his pocket. It's brown and looks like it's made of leather. He takes Blaine's right hand with his empty one, turning it over so that the open palm is facing up and places the small brown box there. “I bought it for you, so even if -” He lets out a quiet sob and wipes the flat of his hand impatiently across his wet cheek. “You should keep it. It's yours.”
Blaine tears his eyes away from Kurt's devastated face. Through his own tears which are now falling steadily, he studies the box, his heart thudding crazily in his chest, his insides churning. “Kurt - is this... is this an engagement ring?”
Kurt's breath hitches and he nods his head. He's wiping his eyes with a tissue; he's rearranging his scarf; he's picking up his satchel and slinging it across his body. He's getting ready to leave.
Panic bubbles in Blaine's gut. He can't leave. This is what Blaine needed. He needed some sort of solid proof, some sort of promise that Kurt wants this to work, that he feels it's important, that he thinks about Blaine, and about Blaine being there with him next year, the year after, all the years after. He needed some sort of gesture, something to make him feel more secure in their relationship. That they're on the same level. That they're heading in the same direction. And he has it. It's sitting in the palm of his hand.
His pushes it towards Kurt, tries to press it into his fist.
“No, it's yours, Blaine,” Kurt says. His voice breaks over the name. He goes to stand and Blaine reaches forward with his left hand, pressing the ring box at him once more with his right.
“Please, Kurt,” he whispers. “Put it on me.”
And Kurt finally stops, landing heavily back on the stairs. He looks at Blaine with hopeful eyes and Blaine opens the ring box and places it in his now slack palm. He lays his left hand on Kurt's lap and spreads his fingers. “Please,” he says.
Kurt's hands are shaking as he removes the ring from the box and slowly slides it onto Blaine's ring finger. It's a gorgeous ring, he's sure, but he doesn't spare it more than a second's glance before he's pitching himself into Kurt's arms. “You want to marry me,” he practically sobs into the side of Kurt's neck as Kurt clings to him.
“Of course I do,” Kurt sobs back, and presses a soggy kiss under Blaine's ear. “You're my Blaine.”
Hours later when they're making love, he presses the cool metal to the flushed skin at the back of Kurt's neck and twists his fingers through the silky strands of his hair. He coaxes Kurt's head forward and down, so their foreheads press together: their minds, their hearts, their bodies - all connected and in synch.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1550
Characters/Parings: Kurt/Blaine
Spoilers: 4x04 spoiler speculation
Summary: Blaine's instincts lead him to right place at last.
I wrote another one. Somebody send help. *whimpers*
~*~
He almost doesn't read the text.
He's at the airport. He's leaving. He's trying his damnedest not to break down in the terminal while people dodge around him and give him funny looks. He's heading towards the ticketing counter to change his ticket when his phone pings in his pocket. It's Kurt's special ping. He keeps walking.
It pings again, and this time he hesitates. He promised. He can't be mad at Kurt for breaking any promises - because the only one he truly made was to never say goodbye, and he hadn't. Not even that morning as Blaine gathered his things and slipped out the door. But Blaine promised. A text is as good as a phone call. He moves out of the way and pulls his phone from the pocket of his jacket.
Meet me in Times Square at 3. On the red steps. Duffy Square. Please. There is more to say.
I'll wait for you as long as I have to.
He almost gets back in the line and changes his ticket and goes home. But he doesn't. Instead he heads outside to find the taxi stand. He gets in a car and gives the address to the driver. He doesn't answer Kurt's text.
It's not even close to three when the cab drops him off and speeds away to find another fare, and yet Kurt is already there waiting. Blaine wanders into the square, pulling the straps of his backpack up over his shoulders, glancing around at the billboards and cars and people when he spots him, sitting up high. Blaine's eyes are drawn to him like he's a beacon - the brightest, most perfect thing in the entirety of Times Square with all of its razzle dazzle.
But Kurt doesn't look how he usually does. His shoulders are rounded forward and his hair is drooping down into his eyes. Blaine wishes he was near enough to see his face, and at the same time he's terrified to move any closer. If he walks up those steps then Kurt will see him and he will talk. They will talk and whatever is going to happen will happen, and Blaine isn't sure he's ready for that. He had decided and left and now... now he hesitates. There is a spark deep down inside, one that he has been trying to vehemently ignore since he first heard the ping of Kurt's text message. He thinks it might be hope, and that terrifies him more than the worry that the aching hollowness of his heart might never go away. There are few things more frightening than hope.
Blaine swallows but the lump in his throat doesn't abate even a little. It seems to have taken up residence there and he doubts it will be leaving any time soon if he doesn't give in and let himself break down. He swallows again, might as well try, and schools his expression into something stoic before approaching Kurt where he is huddled on the red stairs, studying something he has clenched in his fist.
When he sits down next to a shocked Kurt, he thinks about making a crack, maybe ask where he can find cheap tickets for a show, seeing as the huge signs for the ticket booth beneath them are extremely obvious. But when he opens his mouth to speak there aren't any jokes on his tongue. “So what is it that you think needs to be said?” He sounds cold. He hadn't meant to. If the stricken look on Kurt's face is anything to go by, he would have preferred the stupid joke.
He freezes a little and Blaine can see him hesitate in his peripheral vision. The lump in his throat doubles in size and he attempts to swallow it down once more. He never wanted to put that look on Kurt's face. Never ever.
“I just needed to... um...” Kurt hesitates again. He clears his throat and wipes the back of his hand across his eyes before starting over. “I just needed to say I'm sorry. I realize that I can be self-centred, that I can get extremely self-involved when I'm excited about something. It's one of my numerous faults and, believe me, it's been pointed out to me enough times that I should have improved on it by now -”
“Kurt -” The last thing Blaine wants is to listen to Kurt beat himself up, to feel guilty for succeeding. It's all Blaine ever wanted for him. He only wishes he could fit in amongst those plans, those triumphs.
“It's fine, Blaine. We both know it's true. And I am sorry. I got caught up in my new job and I didn't make enough time for you, I didn't pay enough attention. I didn't mean anything by it. It doesn't mean that I don't love you. It doesn't mean that you aren't important to me. Because you are, Blaine.” He looks away from the buildings in the distance and turns his entire body towards Blaine. He's crying freely now, long streams of tears falling from both eyes and streaking down his rosy cheeks. “You're the most important. And I just - I guess I'm confused. I just don't understand how.... I don't understand how you don't know. I mean, if you had asked me... Do you want me to come home? Because I will if that's what you need. I would leave everything if you asked me to. I -”
Blaine sucks in a breath as Kurt shakes his head, his wet eyes wide and confused and hurt. As much as Blaine longs for Kurt to talk to and cuddle and kiss and love, he belongs here in New York. He fits in ways he never has in Ohio. “Kurt, I would never... I would never ask you to do that.”
“Thank you,” he says, barely more than a breath. “And I'm sorry if I haven't... if I haven't made you feel loved.” He reaches into the pocket of his jacket, fiddling with something as he breathes deeply to try and quiet his crying. Blaine swallows again, but it's no use. The prickling sensation at the backs of his eyes is getting the better of him and he feels a single tear break loose and trickle down the side of his nose.
“I had plans,” Kurt says, his voice is hushed now, almost as though he is speaking to himself and not to Blaine at all. He twists his hand in his pocket, back and forth. “I didn't want it to be too soon - especially not after what happened last year with... But I... when I saw it, it was too perfect to just leave it there.” Kurt sniffles and pulls something from his pocket. It's brown and looks like it's made of leather. He takes Blaine's right hand with his empty one, turning it over so that the open palm is facing up and places the small brown box there. “I bought it for you, so even if -” He lets out a quiet sob and wipes the flat of his hand impatiently across his wet cheek. “You should keep it. It's yours.”
Blaine tears his eyes away from Kurt's devastated face. Through his own tears which are now falling steadily, he studies the box, his heart thudding crazily in his chest, his insides churning. “Kurt - is this... is this an engagement ring?”
Kurt's breath hitches and he nods his head. He's wiping his eyes with a tissue; he's rearranging his scarf; he's picking up his satchel and slinging it across his body. He's getting ready to leave.
Panic bubbles in Blaine's gut. He can't leave. This is what Blaine needed. He needed some sort of solid proof, some sort of promise that Kurt wants this to work, that he feels it's important, that he thinks about Blaine, and about Blaine being there with him next year, the year after, all the years after. He needed some sort of gesture, something to make him feel more secure in their relationship. That they're on the same level. That they're heading in the same direction. And he has it. It's sitting in the palm of his hand.
His pushes it towards Kurt, tries to press it into his fist.
“No, it's yours, Blaine,” Kurt says. His voice breaks over the name. He goes to stand and Blaine reaches forward with his left hand, pressing the ring box at him once more with his right.
“Please, Kurt,” he whispers. “Put it on me.”
And Kurt finally stops, landing heavily back on the stairs. He looks at Blaine with hopeful eyes and Blaine opens the ring box and places it in his now slack palm. He lays his left hand on Kurt's lap and spreads his fingers. “Please,” he says.
Kurt's hands are shaking as he removes the ring from the box and slowly slides it onto Blaine's ring finger. It's a gorgeous ring, he's sure, but he doesn't spare it more than a second's glance before he's pitching himself into Kurt's arms. “You want to marry me,” he practically sobs into the side of Kurt's neck as Kurt clings to him.
“Of course I do,” Kurt sobs back, and presses a soggy kiss under Blaine's ear. “You're my Blaine.”
Hours later when they're making love, he presses the cool metal to the flushed skin at the back of Kurt's neck and twists his fingers through the silky strands of his hair. He coaxes Kurt's head forward and down, so their foreheads press together: their minds, their hearts, their bodies - all connected and in synch.