Jacobellis v. Ohio Part 5: Peace, Like a Poem
Title: Jacobellis v. Ohio Part 5: Peace, Like a Poem
Rating: R
Warnings: a bit of language, but it's fairly mild beyond that
Spoilers: Nope
Summary: Blaine wants to get on his knees and grovel, he wants to cry and tell Kurt he didn’t mean any of it, he wants to lean across the table and kiss him.
Author’s Note: One last part after this one my friends, we’re almost there.
But peace, like a poem,
is not there ahead of itself,
can’t be imagined before it is made,
can’t be known except
in the words of its making,
grammar of justice,
syntax of mutual aid.
from “Making Peace” -- Denise Levertov
If Blaine hadn’t already been completely in love with Kurt, he would have fallen irrevocably so the moment the other boy walked in the door.
He can’t describe what Kurt is wearing, but it’s bright and flamboyant and unapologetic. A week ago it would have bothered him. A week ago he would have only seen the deflection, but today he can see the defiance too. Considering Blaine spent an hour that morning trying to strike the right balance between the Dalton uniform he wanted to wear and the casual clothes he was pretty sure Kurt would want to see him in, he can’t help loving Kurt just a little bit more for his grit.
Although tradition states that Kurt should be the first to arrive for brunch, Blaine has been there for at least 45 minutes already. Kurt looks a little startled to find him sitting at their usual table. It was one of the potential disasters he’d turned over in his head the night before as he lay awake, that he would hit traffic on his way to Lima, or there would be an accident, or road construction and he would be late. Kurt would show up and wait a little while -- ten minutes in his most hopeful estimation -- but eventually he would decide that Blaine wasn’t coming and he would leave. Blaine would finally get there just as Kurt was pulling out of the parking lot, but they would miss each other and everything would be ruined. Blaine had left Westerville an hour early just to avoid it.
Kurt sits down across from him. His shoulders are straight, his head is high, and his hands are steady, but there is more than a little tightness around the edges of his face and Blaine viciously reminds himself that he was the one to put it there.
“Hey” Kurt says softly.
Blaine wants to get on his knees and grovel, he wants to cry and tell Kurt he didn’t mean any of it, he wants to lean across the table and kiss him. He doesn’t do any of those things, he winds his fingers together to stop himself from reaching out to take Kurt’s hand.
“Hi” he whispers.
They sit in awkward silence for a few minutes until the waitress brings their food. He can see Kurt eyeing his strawberry pancakes and Blaine wonders if he should have ordered the extra whipped cream. He’d considered it, wondering if it would show Kurt that he’d been listening, but he had decided against it in case it looked like Blaine was mocking him.
“I’m sorry about what I said,” Kurt directs the apology to Blaine’s pancakes, “it was a stupid accusation to make.”
“You might have been a little right,” Blaine allows because this is probably the easiest thing to fix, “but I really do just like the omelet there.”
“I know”
Kurt still isn’t looking at him and that’s never happened before. Blaine knows it’s his fault, he would order a whole plate of whipped cream, or dress in the most flamboyant clothes he could find, at this point he’d even transfer to McKinley if he thought it would help. None of those things will help though, so he launches into the apology he’d spent the whole night crafting.
“Listen, Kurt,” he’s having a hard time finding something to do with his hands, they wander from his napkin to his water glass to his silverware aimlessly, “I’m terrible unrehearsed. Seriously, I plan everything I’m going to say, I spend the drive going over it in my head. When we meet in Westerville, I sit in the parking lot. If I go off script I say stupid things but it doesn’t mean that I mean any of them.”
Kurt is looking at him again, at least, but his expression is both cautious and incredulous.
“You do mean them,” his voice is firm and steady, but his jaw is tight like he’s holding himself back, “on some level you must.”
“I don’t,” Blaine is aware that he probably sounds desperate or pathetic or both, but he doesn’t care, “maybe once, years ago I might have, but I don’t. Kurt, I said -- what I said -- because I knew it would hurt.” He closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see how close to tears Kurt is. “Maybe that’s worse.”
Blaine knows that admitting it probably makes it more likely that Kurt will walk out and never look back. Kurt is willing to put up with stupidity; he has less tolerance for cruelty. Blaine knows he risks destroying their friendship by telling him, but he would rather lose Kurt than let him think for one second that Blaine was ashamed of him. Kurt’s confidence is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, even when it falters it never breaks and Blaine could never live with himself if he destroyed that.
“I’m sorry, Kurt,” he says softly, desperately, “I’m so sorry.”
Kurt hasn’t walked out yet, but Blaine can’t allow himself to hope that it means anything. He has felt for months like someone had wrapped wire around his ribs, at Kurt’s expression and his silence it winds a little tighter. He wonders if passing out in the middle of the restaurant will sufficiently break the tension.
“You were angry the second you walked in,” Blaine can hear the edges of Kurt’s anger, and his hurt and he feels like he can’t breathe, “what was wrong?”
He wants to launch directly into a babbling explanation, but Blaine manages to stop himself. He’s painfully aware of how easy it would be to say something stupid, something that would make Kurt sneer at him, or shout, or cry, something that would make him walk out. Kurt is being overly generous by giving him a second chance, Blaine can’t screw it up.
Once he’s sure he’s not about to say something idiotic, he settles his shoulders and locks eyes with Kurt.
“I’m not an idiot Kurt,” he tries to keep his voice soft and steady, “I like to think I know you fairly well by now -- at least well enough to know when something is wrong, but you won’t tell me. You just wrap yourself up in ice an couture and never say anything. I walked in last week and you were sitting there looking so fabulous and so hurt and I couldn’t bear it any more. You use fashion to keep people at a distance, you distract them with hats and glitter and accessories and it’s kind of brilliant, but you were using it against me. I can’t stand that you think you have to keep me out, I can’t stand that you can’t trust me enough to tell me. I know the way it sounded, but all I meant was that I know the more fabulous you look the more you’re trying to protect yourself and I couldn’t just not say anything anymore.”
Kurt laughs a little, but it sounds more sad than amused.
“I was going to tell you,” Kurt says softly “that morning I was all set to tell you, and then...”
“And then I was an idiot” Blaine finishes for him, feeling a little sick.
“We both were” Kurt’s voice is earnest and for the first time Blaine lets himself hope that they might come through this intact, “Blaine I’m sorry -- for what I said and for cutting you out -- I do trust you.”
It’s like whatever had clamped so tightly around his chest suddenly lets go and for the first time in a week Blaine can breathe again. He manages to stop the tears that want to well up, but he can’t help reaching across the table and grabbing Kurt’s hand. He’s rewarded with a watery smile in return.
“Here,” Kurt says after a moment, managing to reach into his bag and pull out his phone without disengaging Blaine’s hand, “this is what I haven’t been telling you.”
Blaine takes the phone from Kurt’s hand and looks at the screen. The text history has been pulled up and there are dozens of messages from a number that’s just listed as “FFP.” He opens one of the messages and almost drops the phone to the floor.
Do not be deceived; neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor homosexuals, nor thieves, nor the covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor swindlers, shall inherit the kingdom of God.
“FFP?” he asks, because he’s still trying to find something to say about the message that isn’t just profanity.
“Fucking Fred Phelps” Kurt says softly.
He suddenly understands why Kurt’s phone has been playing “With you I’m Born Again.” Blaine wants it to be funny. It is, but only in the way that jokes about cancer are funny, you laugh because if you don’t it’s almost certain that you’ll cry.
“It wasn’t Finn calling about girlfriend troubles that day, was it?”
Kurt bites his lip and looks like he expects Blaine to be angry.
“No.”
Blaine is angry, but not at Kurt.
“Who is it?”
Kurt smiles a little sadly and shrugs his shoulders. “They’ve been leaving notes in my locker too.”
Blaine is working his way up to a fairly loud rant about ignorant idiots who have nothing better to do than selectively choose quotes from the Bible that support their ignorant idiotic views when Kurt’s phone starts to ring on the table between them.
I was half, not whole
Kurt reaches for the phone, but Blaine grabs it first and deletes the message without looking at it.
“You have to tell your father.”
Kurt shakes his head frantically, “I can’t” he sounds so devastated that Blaine almost wants to take it back, “Blaine, this would kill him.”
Blaine thinks about two months of watching Kurt disappear behind layers and fashion and silence. he thinks about the nights he spent awake wondering what could possibly be so horrible that Kurt couldn’t tell him, he thinks about the wire wound so tight around his chest for months.
“Trust me Kurt,” he say as gently as possible, “it’s already killing him.”
Kurt is silent for so long that Blaine wonders if he’s planning to answer at all. He looks about three seconds from breaking into tears and Blaine wants to take both his hands and promise to fix this himself but he can’t. He’d learned that the hard way last year, no matter how confident Blaine might convince himself to feel, he can’t fix everything.
Kurt closes his eyes and gives a little nod, “Ok.”
Blaine’s smile is probably a little too bright for the situation, but he can’t help it.
“Good,” he says, holding Kurt’s hand a little tighter “you really need to stop trying to bear everything alone.”
Kurt smiles and some of the tension slips out of his expression. His posture has lost the stiffness he came in with and Blaine feels a rush of warmth at the thought that he might have helped.
“You know,” Kurt says with some of the mischief he’s been missing since the school year started, “my father’s going to condemn me to Walmart couture for a month for not telling him sooner.”
The laughter that surges out of him is equal parts relief and humor. “You’ll pull it off famously, I’m sure.”
They move on then to more casual conversation. Kurt is detailing the most recent drama coming out of New Directions. From the careful way he avoids mentioning any song titles, Blaine is fairly certain that Rachel has had another talk with him about fraternizing with the enemy. Blaine listens and laughs and comments when he’s supposed to, but he’s distracted. He’s distracted by the way Kurt’s hands dance through the air as he’s describing a fight between Santana and Quinn, he’s distracted by the light note of Kurt’s laughter as he details the utter debacle that was Mr. Schuester’s most recent confrontation with Coach Sylvester, he’s distracted by the way Kurt’s eyes light up as he relates his most recent idea to steal a solo away from Rachel.
Blaine has worked for years to cultivate his confidence, but it’s still nothing compared to Kurt’s. They’re both young, but Kurt knows exactly who he is and he refuses to let ignorance or stupidity or cruelty change or discourage that. Blaine has changed himself to smooth away some of the sharp edges that come with being gay in small town Ohio, he’s buried bits of himself because it was safer, because it was less frightening, because it was easier. He’s masked himself so that his mother doesn’t have to fight with any more members of her family, but spending time with Kurt, watching him dismiss the sidelong glances he sometimes gets with a disdainful waive of his hand or roll of his eye, always makes Blaine feel like it might be possible for him to be that brave too. Blaine is a little in awe of the person he thinks he can be whenever Kurt is around.
He’s listening the Kurt’s story, but he’s not paying enough attention, to Kurt or himself, and somehow when he opens his mouth to agree with Kurt’s disgust for Puck’s most recent escapade what comes out is “I love you.”
Kurt stops mid-word. His whole face has frozen into an expression that’s halfway between the delight that had been softening his features seconds ago and complete shock.
“What?” he asks softly, like he’s afraid someone might overhear.
Blaine’s confidence and his courage completely unravel. He can feel his head spiral into a panic and he does the only thing he can manage in that moment: he thinks about his grandmother’s living room and her perfume and her hand and her fingers.
“I’m sorry.” he says because when someone looks at you like that you apologize, “I love you. I’m so sorry.”
The waitress stops by before he can work in another apology to ask how they’re doing.
“Everything is wonderful,” he says making sure to make eye contact and smile earnestly, “thank you. Really, thank you so much.”
She gives him a confused smile but walks away and he’s left alone with Kurt again and the mess he’s made.
“Kurt I --” Blaine isn’t sure if he is going to apologize again or not, but Kurt cuts him off.
“I have to go” Kurt’s expression is slightly panicked and Blaine thinks his hands might be shaking a little as he packs his things.
“Right,” he says because it’s impolite to insist someone stay if they’ve already indicated that they need to leave, ”of course, absolutely.”
Kurt is already standing and Blaine knows he needs to say something to fix this.
“Kurt,” he calls before the other boy can walk away and probably out of his life forever.
Kurt turns back around, he’s gripping the back of the chair so hard that not just his knuckles, but his whole hand turns white.
“I’m so sorry.”
Part 6
Rating: R
Warnings: a bit of language, but it's fairly mild beyond that
Spoilers: Nope
Summary: Blaine wants to get on his knees and grovel, he wants to cry and tell Kurt he didn’t mean any of it, he wants to lean across the table and kiss him.
Author’s Note: One last part after this one my friends, we’re almost there.
But peace, like a poem,
is not there ahead of itself,
can’t be imagined before it is made,
can’t be known except
in the words of its making,
grammar of justice,
syntax of mutual aid.
from “Making Peace” -- Denise Levertov
If Blaine hadn’t already been completely in love with Kurt, he would have fallen irrevocably so the moment the other boy walked in the door.
He can’t describe what Kurt is wearing, but it’s bright and flamboyant and unapologetic. A week ago it would have bothered him. A week ago he would have only seen the deflection, but today he can see the defiance too. Considering Blaine spent an hour that morning trying to strike the right balance between the Dalton uniform he wanted to wear and the casual clothes he was pretty sure Kurt would want to see him in, he can’t help loving Kurt just a little bit more for his grit.
Although tradition states that Kurt should be the first to arrive for brunch, Blaine has been there for at least 45 minutes already. Kurt looks a little startled to find him sitting at their usual table. It was one of the potential disasters he’d turned over in his head the night before as he lay awake, that he would hit traffic on his way to Lima, or there would be an accident, or road construction and he would be late. Kurt would show up and wait a little while -- ten minutes in his most hopeful estimation -- but eventually he would decide that Blaine wasn’t coming and he would leave. Blaine would finally get there just as Kurt was pulling out of the parking lot, but they would miss each other and everything would be ruined. Blaine had left Westerville an hour early just to avoid it.
Kurt sits down across from him. His shoulders are straight, his head is high, and his hands are steady, but there is more than a little tightness around the edges of his face and Blaine viciously reminds himself that he was the one to put it there.
“Hey” Kurt says softly.
Blaine wants to get on his knees and grovel, he wants to cry and tell Kurt he didn’t mean any of it, he wants to lean across the table and kiss him. He doesn’t do any of those things, he winds his fingers together to stop himself from reaching out to take Kurt’s hand.
“Hi” he whispers.
They sit in awkward silence for a few minutes until the waitress brings their food. He can see Kurt eyeing his strawberry pancakes and Blaine wonders if he should have ordered the extra whipped cream. He’d considered it, wondering if it would show Kurt that he’d been listening, but he had decided against it in case it looked like Blaine was mocking him.
“I’m sorry about what I said,” Kurt directs the apology to Blaine’s pancakes, “it was a stupid accusation to make.”
“You might have been a little right,” Blaine allows because this is probably the easiest thing to fix, “but I really do just like the omelet there.”
“I know”
Kurt still isn’t looking at him and that’s never happened before. Blaine knows it’s his fault, he would order a whole plate of whipped cream, or dress in the most flamboyant clothes he could find, at this point he’d even transfer to McKinley if he thought it would help. None of those things will help though, so he launches into the apology he’d spent the whole night crafting.
“Listen, Kurt,” he’s having a hard time finding something to do with his hands, they wander from his napkin to his water glass to his silverware aimlessly, “I’m terrible unrehearsed. Seriously, I plan everything I’m going to say, I spend the drive going over it in my head. When we meet in Westerville, I sit in the parking lot. If I go off script I say stupid things but it doesn’t mean that I mean any of them.”
Kurt is looking at him again, at least, but his expression is both cautious and incredulous.
“You do mean them,” his voice is firm and steady, but his jaw is tight like he’s holding himself back, “on some level you must.”
“I don’t,” Blaine is aware that he probably sounds desperate or pathetic or both, but he doesn’t care, “maybe once, years ago I might have, but I don’t. Kurt, I said -- what I said -- because I knew it would hurt.” He closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see how close to tears Kurt is. “Maybe that’s worse.”
Blaine knows that admitting it probably makes it more likely that Kurt will walk out and never look back. Kurt is willing to put up with stupidity; he has less tolerance for cruelty. Blaine knows he risks destroying their friendship by telling him, but he would rather lose Kurt than let him think for one second that Blaine was ashamed of him. Kurt’s confidence is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, even when it falters it never breaks and Blaine could never live with himself if he destroyed that.
“I’m sorry, Kurt,” he says softly, desperately, “I’m so sorry.”
Kurt hasn’t walked out yet, but Blaine can’t allow himself to hope that it means anything. He has felt for months like someone had wrapped wire around his ribs, at Kurt’s expression and his silence it winds a little tighter. He wonders if passing out in the middle of the restaurant will sufficiently break the tension.
“You were angry the second you walked in,” Blaine can hear the edges of Kurt’s anger, and his hurt and he feels like he can’t breathe, “what was wrong?”
He wants to launch directly into a babbling explanation, but Blaine manages to stop himself. He’s painfully aware of how easy it would be to say something stupid, something that would make Kurt sneer at him, or shout, or cry, something that would make him walk out. Kurt is being overly generous by giving him a second chance, Blaine can’t screw it up.
Once he’s sure he’s not about to say something idiotic, he settles his shoulders and locks eyes with Kurt.
“I’m not an idiot Kurt,” he tries to keep his voice soft and steady, “I like to think I know you fairly well by now -- at least well enough to know when something is wrong, but you won’t tell me. You just wrap yourself up in ice an couture and never say anything. I walked in last week and you were sitting there looking so fabulous and so hurt and I couldn’t bear it any more. You use fashion to keep people at a distance, you distract them with hats and glitter and accessories and it’s kind of brilliant, but you were using it against me. I can’t stand that you think you have to keep me out, I can’t stand that you can’t trust me enough to tell me. I know the way it sounded, but all I meant was that I know the more fabulous you look the more you’re trying to protect yourself and I couldn’t just not say anything anymore.”
Kurt laughs a little, but it sounds more sad than amused.
“I was going to tell you,” Kurt says softly “that morning I was all set to tell you, and then...”
“And then I was an idiot” Blaine finishes for him, feeling a little sick.
“We both were” Kurt’s voice is earnest and for the first time Blaine lets himself hope that they might come through this intact, “Blaine I’m sorry -- for what I said and for cutting you out -- I do trust you.”
It’s like whatever had clamped so tightly around his chest suddenly lets go and for the first time in a week Blaine can breathe again. He manages to stop the tears that want to well up, but he can’t help reaching across the table and grabbing Kurt’s hand. He’s rewarded with a watery smile in return.
“Here,” Kurt says after a moment, managing to reach into his bag and pull out his phone without disengaging Blaine’s hand, “this is what I haven’t been telling you.”
Blaine takes the phone from Kurt’s hand and looks at the screen. The text history has been pulled up and there are dozens of messages from a number that’s just listed as “FFP.” He opens one of the messages and almost drops the phone to the floor.
Do not be deceived; neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor homosexuals, nor thieves, nor the covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor swindlers, shall inherit the kingdom of God.
“FFP?” he asks, because he’s still trying to find something to say about the message that isn’t just profanity.
“Fucking Fred Phelps” Kurt says softly.
He suddenly understands why Kurt’s phone has been playing “With you I’m Born Again.” Blaine wants it to be funny. It is, but only in the way that jokes about cancer are funny, you laugh because if you don’t it’s almost certain that you’ll cry.
“It wasn’t Finn calling about girlfriend troubles that day, was it?”
Kurt bites his lip and looks like he expects Blaine to be angry.
“No.”
Blaine is angry, but not at Kurt.
“Who is it?”
Kurt smiles a little sadly and shrugs his shoulders. “They’ve been leaving notes in my locker too.”
Blaine is working his way up to a fairly loud rant about ignorant idiots who have nothing better to do than selectively choose quotes from the Bible that support their ignorant idiotic views when Kurt’s phone starts to ring on the table between them.
I was half, not whole
Kurt reaches for the phone, but Blaine grabs it first and deletes the message without looking at it.
“You have to tell your father.”
Kurt shakes his head frantically, “I can’t” he sounds so devastated that Blaine almost wants to take it back, “Blaine, this would kill him.”
Blaine thinks about two months of watching Kurt disappear behind layers and fashion and silence. he thinks about the nights he spent awake wondering what could possibly be so horrible that Kurt couldn’t tell him, he thinks about the wire wound so tight around his chest for months.
“Trust me Kurt,” he say as gently as possible, “it’s already killing him.”
Kurt is silent for so long that Blaine wonders if he’s planning to answer at all. He looks about three seconds from breaking into tears and Blaine wants to take both his hands and promise to fix this himself but he can’t. He’d learned that the hard way last year, no matter how confident Blaine might convince himself to feel, he can’t fix everything.
Kurt closes his eyes and gives a little nod, “Ok.”
Blaine’s smile is probably a little too bright for the situation, but he can’t help it.
“Good,” he says, holding Kurt’s hand a little tighter “you really need to stop trying to bear everything alone.”
Kurt smiles and some of the tension slips out of his expression. His posture has lost the stiffness he came in with and Blaine feels a rush of warmth at the thought that he might have helped.
“You know,” Kurt says with some of the mischief he’s been missing since the school year started, “my father’s going to condemn me to Walmart couture for a month for not telling him sooner.”
The laughter that surges out of him is equal parts relief and humor. “You’ll pull it off famously, I’m sure.”
They move on then to more casual conversation. Kurt is detailing the most recent drama coming out of New Directions. From the careful way he avoids mentioning any song titles, Blaine is fairly certain that Rachel has had another talk with him about fraternizing with the enemy. Blaine listens and laughs and comments when he’s supposed to, but he’s distracted. He’s distracted by the way Kurt’s hands dance through the air as he’s describing a fight between Santana and Quinn, he’s distracted by the light note of Kurt’s laughter as he details the utter debacle that was Mr. Schuester’s most recent confrontation with Coach Sylvester, he’s distracted by the way Kurt’s eyes light up as he relates his most recent idea to steal a solo away from Rachel.
Blaine has worked for years to cultivate his confidence, but it’s still nothing compared to Kurt’s. They’re both young, but Kurt knows exactly who he is and he refuses to let ignorance or stupidity or cruelty change or discourage that. Blaine has changed himself to smooth away some of the sharp edges that come with being gay in small town Ohio, he’s buried bits of himself because it was safer, because it was less frightening, because it was easier. He’s masked himself so that his mother doesn’t have to fight with any more members of her family, but spending time with Kurt, watching him dismiss the sidelong glances he sometimes gets with a disdainful waive of his hand or roll of his eye, always makes Blaine feel like it might be possible for him to be that brave too. Blaine is a little in awe of the person he thinks he can be whenever Kurt is around.
He’s listening the Kurt’s story, but he’s not paying enough attention, to Kurt or himself, and somehow when he opens his mouth to agree with Kurt’s disgust for Puck’s most recent escapade what comes out is “I love you.”
Kurt stops mid-word. His whole face has frozen into an expression that’s halfway between the delight that had been softening his features seconds ago and complete shock.
“What?” he asks softly, like he’s afraid someone might overhear.
Blaine’s confidence and his courage completely unravel. He can feel his head spiral into a panic and he does the only thing he can manage in that moment: he thinks about his grandmother’s living room and her perfume and her hand and her fingers.
“I’m sorry.” he says because when someone looks at you like that you apologize, “I love you. I’m so sorry.”
The waitress stops by before he can work in another apology to ask how they’re doing.
“Everything is wonderful,” he says making sure to make eye contact and smile earnestly, “thank you. Really, thank you so much.”
She gives him a confused smile but walks away and he’s left alone with Kurt again and the mess he’s made.
“Kurt I --” Blaine isn’t sure if he is going to apologize again or not, but Kurt cuts him off.
“I have to go” Kurt’s expression is slightly panicked and Blaine thinks his hands might be shaking a little as he packs his things.
“Right,” he says because it’s impolite to insist someone stay if they’ve already indicated that they need to leave, ”of course, absolutely.”
Kurt is already standing and Blaine knows he needs to say something to fix this.
“Kurt,” he calls before the other boy can walk away and probably out of his life forever.
Kurt turns back around, he’s gripping the back of the chair so hard that not just his knuckles, but his whole hand turns white.
“I’m so sorry.”
Part 6