WIP - Perfect Sky is Torn
Title: Perfect Sky is Torn
Author: dark_dreymer
Part: 10/10 (So far)
Word Count: 5910
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst, Language, Mild Sexual Content
Finn had never felt entirely comfortable in sharing Kurt's bedroom. A large part of his unease in their first attempt at cohabitation was in Kurt's obvious, intense attraction to him, leading to him being tense and defensive in a place that should have been his sanctuary. It was that problem that led to his explosive rant about Kurt's flamboyant expression of his homosexuality and the steady progress the Hudson/Hummel collective had been making towards 'Happy Families' screeching to a halt.
Will helped calm the sexuality crisis bubbling away dangerously inside Finn a short while later and with much of his guilt and consternation assuaged, he greeted renewed attempts at merging into a 2.4 family unit with greater hospitality. The prospect of the two families coming together under one roof had not been raised again but there had been a few instances where Finn and Carole had stayed at the Hummel household, so he had become familiar with Kurt's bedroom.
However, even with his major concern set aside, Finn still found little comfort there, a wide array of smaller concerns piling up instead. To begin with, the basement got rather cold at night and Kurt's Egyptian cotton percale bedsheets offered very little thermal insulation. The mattress too was problematic, made of memory foam to supposedly mold to the user's body and provide comfort, Finn found it nowhere near as comfortable as his own mattress which had molded to his body throughout his pubescent years by simple endurance.
The familiar, hypnotic midnight chorus of the leaky bathroom faucet and the rustling branches of the tree outside his window were replaced by the irritating wheezy breathing of his slumbering friend. For as much as Kurt maintained a flawlessly cherubic appearance, when his consciousness faded there was a cacophony left in its place and one night had been enough to leave Finn comparatively pining for the shrill insults a mismatched outfit would inspire.
Turning onto his side yet again, making his total revolutions thus far that night a respectable 900º, and twisting the sheets into what was resembling a cocoon more and more with each frustrated attempt to find a comfortable sleeping position, Finn looked across to the alarm clock, the illuminated red digits informing him that it was still the dead of night.
Sighing and turning his attention to the ceiling, Finn reflected on the many childhood nights that he had spent waiting upon the arrival of Santa Claus, only to succumb to the machinations of the Sandman. The joy and excitement were no longer the root of his Christmas insomnia and he contemplated whether that meant he had been robbed of his innocence as Dr. Harper liked to claim. It didn't take long for Finn to dismiss the thought because while his veins weren't filled with fire at the mere thought of the upcoming festivities, he knew that a moment spent with Will, a moment of total, mutual love and affection, brought the same warmth as a mug of hot cocoa before bed on Christmas Eve and that the first time he had dared to press his lips to Will's a whole chorus of angels must have earned their wings because he could hear their joyous celebration all around him.
Disentangling his legs from the clutches of his cotton cocoon with a series of short jerks and spastic flails, Finn swung his freed body upright and moved to sit on the edge of the mattress. Reaching down in the dark to the bottom drawer of the bedside cabinet, he pulled Will's gift from where he'd hidden it beneath a pile of his clothes and cradled it to his chest like a baby.
“God,” Finn cursed quietly to himself, shaking his head with mirth. “I'm missing you already.” He let the present fall to his lap and fumbled with the ritzy, stick-on bow that he'd added on a whim. He knew that for the time he spent at the Hummel house his contact with Will would be cut off and while they had endured longer periods of silence before, Finn was in no hurry to prolong their separation.
Returning the gift to its hiding place, he flopped back into the impersonal embrace of the guest bed and resumed his attempt at sleep.
*
Will woke to the feel of fingers running through his hair. Smiling lazily, he stretched into the embrace but didn't open his eyes, “You should be sleeping.”
His smile grew as he felt Finn press his nose against his cheek affectionately, “Sorry, did I wake you?”
“No,” Will dismissed the concern swiftly, concluding with drowsy logic that as he was awake it didn't really matter what had woken him. Shifting out from under Finn so that they could lie beside one another instead, he opened his eyes and was greeted by the sight of his lover looking sheepish, “You should be asleep,” He repeated.
“I like watching you,” Finn answered, running his hands through Will's hair again and tucking a displaced curl behind his ear. “We don't get to do this often. Why would I waste time sleeping when I can spend it with you?”
“I'm sure I'm very good company,” Will responded drolly. “What with all the snoring.”
“And the moaning,” Finn added teasingly, shifting to move over his lover again and adopting a husky imitation his voice. “Oh Finn!” He leaned his head back, baring his neck with a breathy exhale, “Oh yes, fuck me all night long with your big, hard-”
“Uh-huh, sure,” Will interrupted disbelievingly, lightly slapping Finn's shoulder and rolling away.
A second later Finn slumped back down to the mattress with a light thump and cuddled up close to his lover's back, letting Will feel his cock, big as he'd claimed and on its way to hard, pressed against him.
“You know I'm only teasing,” He mumbled against Will's neck, his arm settling comfortably around his lover's waist.
“Horny kid,” Will snorted playfully.
“Well if you can't keep up with me, old man.” His cock pulsed between them, in parallel to his spoken challenge.
Will barreled backwards, knocking Finn and the blankets away and sat astride him an instant later, “Don't get cocky, boy.” His eyes shone with delight at his deliberate use of the word, “You're still the student here.”
Finn reached up to catch Will's hand as it ventured down towards his cock. Will gave him a strange look as his wrist was circled and his movement halted, so he explained quickly, “I like watching you.”
Will retreated, sitting on his haunches between the younger man's thighs, leaving Finn's movement free. He watched impartially, entirely trusting of Finn's desires and willing to lend himself to them in any way. Finn's cock hardened to its full size, flush against his belly as he took in the mussed curls and the sheen of silver moonlight across soft skin, broken only by blossoming patches of discoloration left earlier that night by his eager lips and teeth. He ached with the want to touch himself, to pleasure himself to his lover's form so that Will could witness the depth of his desire. Yet he refrained, instead his hands went to Will's shoulders and pulled him down to the mattress once more.
“I like watching you,” Finn repeated his earlier sentiment, running the bud of his thumb across Will's cheek tenderly and then reaching down to pull the blankets over them once more.
“Are you sure you don't-” Will's question was interrupted by a yawn.
“I'm sure,” Finn assured, the blood from his erection already beginning to segue. “You should sleep.”
Will's sleepy features screwed up into a playful frown, “That's my line.”
“Am I you now?” Finn inquired, “Um... Show choir is about fun and joy over winning, and also glitter.”
“That didn't sound at all like me,” Will critiqued.
“We need someone to sing the lead. I know, Rachel!”
“Now that's a little harsh,” He pouted at the satire.
“Sweater-vests are swell.”
“I may be older than you but I wasn't born in the 50s.”
“I was going with the illiteratation,” Finn defended.
“Alliteration,” Will corrected. “Also, I'm not talking to you,” He added, turning away dramatically.
“Okay, whatever, groovy,” Finn answered.
“I wasn't born in the 60s either,” Will retorted immediately.
“I'm bad at history,” Finn answered, cuddling close to his lover again, confident that the irritation was only a surface. “So what would you say?”
“Goodnight Finn, I'm trying to sleep.”
“'Goodnight Finn, I'm trying to sleep',” He parroted.
Will turned round again, his frustration burning out and producing a return to amusement, “You are impossible.”
“Will impossible win me an Oscar someday?” Finn queried.
“Not in a million years.”
“Damn.” He pouted melodramatically, including puppy-dog eyes.
Will rolled his eyes in response and pressed a kiss to the flush lower lip presented to him so enticingly, “Consolation prize.” Finn grinned and let Will settle against him, resuming his original action of running his fingers through Will's hair and listened to the sound of his breaths getting steadier. “You still need to sleep,” Will insisted.
“I will,” He answered vaguely. “Will?” He repeated in a whisper a few moments later.
When Will didn't reply, he ran his fingers through his hair a few more times and then gently shifted the man to the other side of the bed. Settling down beside him, Finn watched the peaceful smile on Will's face until he too fell asleep.
*
Finn woke with a head full of fog and his face buried in the pillow, retreating through the thick haze at the border of dreams and reality, he turned away from the memory of a night with Will long past and found himself with a face full of Kurt Hummel.
“Jesus Christ, Kurt!” Jumping back in alarm, he pulled the covers around him self-consciously, painfully aware of his morning wood and eager to keep it out of his friend's sight.
“Good, you're awake,” Kurt remarked, entirely unapologetic about startling him. “We're supposed to be upstairs in half an hour.”
“What for?” Finn inquired, sitting up tiredly and fighting a yawn. Keeping the sheets carefully concealing his lower half as he arranged his pajama pants into a more comfortable position, he noticed the alarm clock, “It's only ten in the morning. Isn't this supposed to be a holiday?”
“Grandma is getting here at midday,” Kurt explained from his perch in front of his vanity table. “So we all have to be up and ready before she gets here.”
Falling back into a reclined position with a distinct thud, Finn rubbed his hands across his tired eyes and tried to calculate roughly how much sleep he'd had, “Does part of meeting your grandmother include freakish monster paint?”
“Freakish monster paint?” Kurt repeated, perplexed.
“So you just regularly wake people up with half your face peeling?”
“Oh, you mean my morning exfoliating mask,” Kurt answered, adopting the intellectually superior tone of voice that Finn had learned to recognize in second grade. It was a voice that said 'You couldn't possibly understand' and he got the feeling that Kurt had probably been dishing it out since second grade. “You might be more familiar with my morning skincare ritual if you actually got out of bed in the morning, like normal people.”
“Mm-hmm,” Finn hummed an unconcerned confirmation. Confident that he'd provided an explanation for having been startled, he tuned Kurt's rambling out and turned his mind to his dream. The sequence of events had never happened as a whole, of that he was certain. The dream seemed to be a patchwork of moments he'd shared with Will, framed in the safe environment of his bed and centering on the act of silent, visual appreciation.
He chose not to sleep at the times he had Will and now that his lover was taken from him he couldn't sleep. There was probably some sort of irony in that.
“Finn,” Kurt snapped his friend back to reality for the second time that morning. The facial mask was gone, replaced with shower-fresh droplets of water; “I said, the bathroom's free.”
“Oh.” Blinking and rubbing his eyes to rouse himself again, Finn turned his gaze towards the open door to the bathroom, “Right. Thanks.”
“Don't take too long, we've gotta be upstairs in ten minutes,” Kurt advised, turning away to begin his ritual application of scents.
Taking account of Kurt's distraction, Finn felt brave enough to retreat from beneath the covers and make a dash for the seclusion of the bathroom. His still aroused cock bounced freely in his loose pajama pants but he made the short distance without attracting Kurt's eye. On the other side of the door he stood still for a moment, considering his retained hormonal high from the nighttime memory. In the past he had forsaken physical gratification in favor of simple affection, but isolation had injured Finn's patience and he knew that if Will were offered to him at that moment, there would be no strength in his body to deny. Shunning the sacrifice of a cold shower, Finn stepped beneath the warm spray and coaxed an orgasm from his eager cock, bitter tears joining his semen in the stream washing into the drain, both to be left behind in the isolation of the shower.
*
Arriving in the kitchen three minutes behind the schedule Kurt had informed him of, Finn made his way directly to the coffee pot and poured himself a mug.
“You're awake,” Carole remarked.
“Almost,” Finn answered, testing the temperature of the coffee with a small sip. Finding it agreeable he drained the entire cup, before placing it down on the counter to pour another and smile beatifically at his mother.
“Is that what you're wearing?” She asked, a touch of disapproval evident in her voice.
Finn glanced down at the hooded sweatshirt his Aunt Kathy had bought him the year before, “Yeah, I was planning on wearing it. Why?”
“We were hoping you'd wear something a little smarter,” Carole answered, looking across to Burt for support.
Collecting a stack of toast, Finn followed her eye-line and found both the Hummel men looking appropriately dressed for a formal dinner, looking back to his mom he registered for the first time that she was wearing earrings and make-up, “It's just Aunt Kathy and Uncle Jim,” He remarked warily. “Who are we trying to impress?”
“Kurt, honey, could you maybe help him pick something out?” Carole suggested as she and Finn joined the table.
“I like what I'm wearing,” Finn argued, biting into his first piece of toast.
“Don't worry, I'll work my magic,” Kurt answered as if Finn hadn't interjected at all.
A short stack of toast later, Finn found himself digging through the contents of his dresser looking for something that would meet the new standards. Having pulled the entire contents of the bottom drawer out to inspect, he'd once again unearthed his gift to Will and was playing with it idly when he heard the sound of feet on the steps. Shoving the box back into the drawer and slamming it shut hastily, he turned to see Kurt striding confidently into the room.
“I don't need your help, Kurt,” He insisted, standing up and turning to face the bundle of clothes laid out on the bed. “I can dress myself.”
“You can clothe yourself,” Kurt corrected. “It only takes muscular contraction and fine motor function to achieve that.” Picking up a t-shirt from the bed and instantly discarding it, he continued, “Dressing requires a sense of style and a lot of careful consideration.”
“I don't understand the big deal,” Finn continued his earlier line of thought, watching uncomfortably while Kurt appraised each individual garment.
“Grandma Hummel is the big deal,” Kurt answered. “Dad really wants her to like Carole, so he's making a really big show to try and win her approval.”
“Oh.” Given the answer, Finn wondered why he hadn't thought of it himself, “Do you think she will?”
“You ever hear of the term 'battleaxe'?” Kurt inquired, frowning pessimistically, “Still, no harm in trying. Best behavior, big smiles, no gayness.”
“No gayness?” Finn repeated.
“I came out to Bamps at Easter. When I asked Dad if I should tell Grandma he asked me not to, didn't want to risk upsetting her,” Kurt explained, holding up a shirt for appraisal for a moment before deciding that it didn't make the grade.
“Bamps?” Finn repeated inquisitively.
Kurt looked away from the clothes, his expression bashful, “When I was little I couldn't say 'grandpa', I used to say 'bampa' and it just kinda stuck.” Further explanation wasn't really needed, Finn could tell from the difference in the tone of Kurt's voice that his grandfather was a relative for whom he felt great affection.
“So, he's your mom's dad?” Finn guessed.
“Yeah,” Kurt confirmed, turning back to the mound of clothes to resume his search. “Grandma Hummel had a huge falling out with my mom's parents before I was even born, so my whole life she's visited for Christmas while Granny and Bamps got my birthday, Easter and the fourth of July. Then for the past few years it's only been Bamps and... Oh my Gaga, these are the most hideous boxers I have ever seen!” Holding the offending clothing aloft, Kurt stared open-mouthed at the bright cartoon print.
“Those are my lucky underwear,” Finn answered with a grin.
“Like 'four-leaf clover' lucky, not 'I just got lucky' lucky, right?” Kurt asked, dropping the underwear with a cringe of distaste.
“Clover lucky,” Finn confirmed.
He'd owned a pair of 'just got lucky' undies once. Early into his romance with Will, back during Sophomore year and his first bedroom escapades, when he'd still spent most of his time in the bedroom praying to Mercury. Will had kindly loaned him a pair of boxers to wear home and promised to wash the stained pair and return them the following weekend. In the week that passed Will's underwear became a veteran in the war of Finn's hormones and he found himself in a dilemma, reluctant to return the underwear while it so clearly bore the marks of its usage but also too embarrassed at the prospect of asking his mom to wash them for him. Finn found his way to the laundromat, concealing the boxers among an assortment of perfectly clean t-shirts. The end result, due to an inability to use the machine, was a pile of shrunken clothing. Will took the entire scenario in good humor and paid for a pack of polo shirts to replace those lost.
“Why are you looking at my boxer shorts anyway?” Finn challenged, “I don't need you to pick out underwear for me.”
“Right,” Kurt answered a little dazed. “I just need to reconsider my organization. The 'Yes' pile.” He indicated an empty space on the bed. “'Maybe' pile.” A solitary shirt. “'No' pile.” Every other piece of clothing he had considered thus far. “And finally, the 'Burn at the first possible opportunity' pile.” He set the underwear down decisively in the newly created fourth pile.
“You're not burning my underwear, Kurt,” Finn argued decisively, snatching the boxers up and returning them to the bottom drawer alongside his gift for Will.
When he turned back, Kurt was holding up a light blue shirt with a soft smile, “This with some slacks would work fine. Did you bring slacks?”
“Check the pile,” Finn answered.
“You don't know?” Kurt frowned, his cheer vanishing in place of further fashion disapproval.
“In my world 'pack some clothes' involves picking a bundle of clothing out of the dresser and packing it straight into the bag,” He explained.
Pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes pressed shut, Kurt let the pose go with a dramatic hand wave, “Try the shirt on, I'll find a tie to match.”
Pulling the warm sweatshirt over his head, Finn shivered at the chill of the basement and reluctantly put it aside to try on the shirt.
*
Once they had finally found an outfit that received Kurt's approval, Finn found himself subject to a fastidious inspection courtesy of his mother, the likes of which he had not endured since her thorough check of his button alignment before he went to pick up his date for the Junior High prom.
“You look great,” She declared at last, tweaking his collar and then letting her hands fall to rest on his shoulders.
“Thanks,” He mumbled in reply, resisting his instinct to fidget away. She was smiling proudly at him, but now that Kurt had pointed it out he noticed the anxiety lurking underneath, “It's gonna be fine, Mom.”
“I know,” She answered irresolutely and retreated to continue fretting somewhere else.
“Is it really gonna be this bad?” Finn questioned Kurt as their parents repeated the same minor corrections they had been performing for some time already.
“How bad does it look?” Kurt queried, busy collecting framed photographs of family members who would not meet his grandmother's approval.
“Like we're preparing for war.”
“Then yeah,” Kurt answered, flipping his bangs out of his face and turning to take the photos out of the lounge, “It is gonna be that bad.”
Finn took a moment to call up the few memories he had of his own grandma. He remembered her floral-pattern armchair, with a bundle of wool on the floor beside, and a half finished oven-mitt leaning over one arm with the knitting needles still attached. He remembered the delicate way she would perch on the edge, her squinting eyes behind enormous glasses panning the room and observing everything. He remembered the clouds of smoke, as gray as her hair, trailing from the cigarettes that would eventually claim her life. Most of all he remembered that the hardest thing about her was the boiled candy she always had in her pockets.
How could Kurt's grandma be so different from the kindly woman who used to read him and his cousins Thomas the Tank Engine books? Finn's mind simply couldn't comprehend.
*
It took less than ten minutes for the dreaded woman to reveal to Finn the reasons for the haze of uncertainty hanging over the house.
Upon her immediate arrival Burt had greeted her at the door, she responded with the irritation one might express towards an overly perky member of the hospitality staff at a hotel and gruffly insisted upon carrying her own cases up to the guest bedroom.
When she returned downstairs several minutes later and entered the lounge, Finn got his first good look at her. Judith Hummel was short and stocky, yet somehow managed to be an imposing figure. She gave the impression of an old Juggernaut who had been condensed over time into the surly figure before them.
“Mama, there's some people I'd like you to meet,” Burt announced as he and Carole edged forward, like naughty children before the headmistress.
“Sure thing.” Judith turned her eye on Carole, “You must be the gal Burton's been raving about.”
“Yes,” Burt supplied promptly. “This is Carole.”
“Well, you seem nice enough,” She stated, though it was hardly worded as a compliment. The two women shook hands, or rather Carole's hand was crushed in a vice-like grip.
“And this is her son, Finn,” Burt introduced.
Finn took his cue, towering above the old woman, he held out his hand politely, “It's nice to meet you ma'am.”
Judith looked up at him, the expression in her eyes was one Finn found all too familiar, it was a look that showed she was aware of the difference in their heights and was holding him personally responsible for every inch.
“You too.” She took his hand and squeezed tightly, her teeth bared in a feral smile reminiscent of the illustration of the Cheshire cat that had given Finn nightmares for a month when he was younger.
“Well...” Beating her hands together with a sound like a thunderclap, Judith turned her attention towards her son. “Do we have plans?”
“We're heading to the church at seven,” Burt answered.
“So there's time for a drink,” She answered cheerily. “You got bourbon?”
“Mama, you know I don't-”
“Never mind, brought my own,” She interrupted, turning to leave the room, and presumably collect the alcohol from her belongings. “You're mine, born and raised, but you still drink like a woman, son.”
Burt sighed heavily and turned apologetic eyes towards Carole, who was gingerly flexing the fingers of her injured hand.
“That went... well.” Kurt hesitantly broke the silence that was left in his grandmother's wake.
“Yeah, I think... sort of,” Burt answered, smiling forcefully.
“She's lovely,” Carole answered, her words obviously false.
“She's kinda scary,” Finn responded more honestly.
“She's my mother,” Burt stated. “There's nothing scarier in the world than your own mother.”
Finn looked across to his mom thoughtfully.
“It's a matter of perspective, Finn,” Kurt explained, noticing his confusion. “Imagine having to bring someone you really like home to meet your mom-” Kurt paused to smile winningly at Carole, “-knowing full well that she could totally disapprove and that it would put your relationship in jeopardy.”
“Yeah,” Finn commented sardonically. “Imagine that.”
Walking away from his family with the heavy weight from the morning returning to him, Finn slumped down at the dining room table and turned his thoughts to what might have been. Rather than a self-indulgent retreat into a world where everyone had remained ignorant to the nature of his relationship with Will, for the first time he began to see the true inevitability of their predicament. He allowed himself to think of a dinner with Will's parents, where they brushed aside his youth, his sex and all the other stigma that made him an unsuitable partner for their son, and he knew full well that there was no reality where that reaction could have been expected.
*
Will trudged up the snow-laden path to his parent's house with a bag full of his belongings that felt surprisingly light. He tried to gather his wits in the space between ringing the bell and when the door was answered, but his mom proved herself faster than he had anticipated and he was still drawing in breath and uttering a hopeless prayer when he found himself seized around the midsection and dragged into a merry hug.
“Happy Christmas, William. Welcome home!”
“Hi Mom,” Will answered, gently extricating himself from her grip.
“Well don't just stand there on the porch all night. Come in, come in.” She stood aside and beckoned with one hand. Will knew that some people would suggest a metaphorical way to bottle his mother's enthusiasm but he was also burdened with the knowledge that her enthusiasm came from a bottle in the first place. “Your father's in the den with Daniel, why don't you drop by and tell them you're here?” She suggested.
“Dan's here?” He asked as he unwound his scarf, “I thought he was busy.”
“His schedule cleared up,” She explained, taking his coat from him to hang up in the hall closet.
Peering into the den, Will found his younger brother sitting on the couch beside his wife. His idea of casual wear still appeared to be a business suit, sans tie, with comfortable shoes and his dark hair could be from the lack of sunlight bleaching it or his ridiculously vain notion that entrepreneurs needed to conform to a particular image. He smiled with genuine warmth at the sight of him and when Dan turned his head and spotted Will in the doorway a matching grin appeared on his face.
“Will.” Dan was on his feet in an instant and the brothers fell easily into a fond hug, “Man, how have you been?”
“Not bad,” Will lied.
“I heard about what happened,” Dan stated, his face and voice taking on a serious note as his hand squeezed Will's shoulder. “That stuff's just fucked up man,” He whispered conspiratorially and with clear distaste.
Will felt his stomach curl in on itself and tried to pull in some air to smooth out the distortion, but his throat was preoccupied with an uptake of bile and he couldn't gulp any oxygen past it. Dan's accusatory gaze stayed fixed for a few painful seconds, before it collapsed into the cheesy grin that always made him look even younger and clapped Will on the shoulder once again, “Honestly though, you're better off without her.”
The bile slithered downwards again and precious oxygen was able to slip through and save him, he breathed heavily and tried to blink back the moisture that had gathered in the corner of his eyes, “Yeah, Terri... I mean-” He breathed deeply again to chase out the squeak that had taken over his voice and recover his regular timbre, “What are you doing here anyway, I thought you had to work?”
“Well when Mom told me that you were going to be here for the holidays, I thought about 'How rare it is for us all to spend time together as a family?', so I said screw it and took two weeks off. I needed a vacation anyway.” As he spoke, Dan turned and pulled his brother further into the room.
“Oniisan.” The young woman on the couch beamed up at Will and got unsteadily to her feet, having to hold both hands to her back to support herself for a moment, then spread her arms in a vibrant request.
“Mei,” Will returned the greeting and stooped down to hug his petite sister-in-law, pointedly gentle due to her swollen belly. “You look fantastic.”
“That's what everyone tells me,” She replied, dropping one hand to her stomach. “It makes me wonder, if I look so gorgeous then why are there no pregnant supermodels?”
Will chuckled at her joke but in his heart there was a bitter twisting. He couldn't deny that Mei truly did look fantastic, her face was aglow with joy and she stood with her hands massaging her baby bump, so clearly full of pride and love for the child growing inside her. Seeing those clear signs of what a pregnant woman looked like made him wonder how Terri had fooled him for so long and that thought inspired a dozen self-loathing thoughts to burrow into his mind.
“Come sit down, we've got catching up to do,” Dan insisted, turning to attentively help his pregnant wife back into her seat.
“In a second,” Will deflected, fingering the strap of his bag pointedly. “I'm just gonna unpack.”
“Your mother got your room ready for you,” His father spoke up, turning away from the television momentarily.
“Great.” Will held the smile until he made it into the hall, letting his features return to their weary default as he counted the familiar creaks on the stairs.
The room had been his teenage bedroom. Not his childhood room, the shelter of his innocent years, a home to action figure wars and the monster lurking in his closet. That room had burned to the ground along with the rest of the house. The room he was standing on the threshold of was the one he returned to every night throughout high school, and though the posters had been pulled down and the walls returned to a creamy shade with several coats of paint, it was still full of spent hormones and the ghosts of pubescent angst.
Will put his spare clothes away in the empty dresser and then sank onto the bed, looking around the room and recollecting. He thought back to the boy he'd been when the room first became his and all the moments he'd gone through within its walls: practiced conversations as he tried to work up the nerve to ask out the cute blonde cheerleader, hours spent agonizing over which (hideous in hindsight) shirt to wear to their first date when Terri said yes, their sixth make out session where he'd been nervous of his parents interrupting at any moment but she had finally let him get to second base, the numerous times they'd made it all the way as high school came to an end and their whole future was uncertain.
Their fears of change and of losing each other had finally come true. The room had laid the foundation of his marriage and now that relationship had cracked and crumbled into dust while his younger brother was in love and about to become a father, everything that he had wanted.
Turning onto his side on the bed as he curled into a miserable ball, Will found himself facing the wall and even that was another bitter sting. No longer the sight of someone he loved, someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, on the other side of the bed, only the empty stare of the wall.
Bouncing a fist off the mattress, Will turned onto his back again and started cataloging the fresh cracks in the ceiling since his last visit. As he did so he found himself recollecting another event that had unfolded within those four walls, a night spent counting those same cracks after he had woken up with sticky sheets and images of Kurt Cobain filtering through as remnants of a dream he didn't fully understand. A night of soul searching, with many more to follow as he tried to convince himself that his feelings towards the cool jerk in Glee club meant nothing because he had a girlfriend. Before finally he'd come to accept his interest in members of both sexes, only to cling to his high school sweetheart and never explore his other half.
Will turned his mind to Finn and came to the instantaneous and intuitive decision that he wanted his young lover to see this room in the future. He couldn't explain why he wanted Finn to see the room that had been the starting point of his marriage, but it went beyond that. He wanted Finn to be there in the future, to meet his parents, Dan and Mei and their son or daughter who'd be born in a few of months time. He wanted Finn to be as welcome in his life as Terri had been all those years ago.
Lying content, with a head full of pleasant, faraway daydreams for several minutes, Will eventually pulled himself up off the bed and trudged back downstairs to spend time with his family.
~
A/N: That's all for now, folks! Feedback, especially concrit, is welcomed and appreciated.
Author: dark_dreymer
Part: 10/10 (So far)
Word Count: 5910
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst, Language, Mild Sexual Content
Finn had never felt entirely comfortable in sharing Kurt's bedroom. A large part of his unease in their first attempt at cohabitation was in Kurt's obvious, intense attraction to him, leading to him being tense and defensive in a place that should have been his sanctuary. It was that problem that led to his explosive rant about Kurt's flamboyant expression of his homosexuality and the steady progress the Hudson/Hummel collective had been making towards 'Happy Families' screeching to a halt.
Will helped calm the sexuality crisis bubbling away dangerously inside Finn a short while later and with much of his guilt and consternation assuaged, he greeted renewed attempts at merging into a 2.4 family unit with greater hospitality. The prospect of the two families coming together under one roof had not been raised again but there had been a few instances where Finn and Carole had stayed at the Hummel household, so he had become familiar with Kurt's bedroom.
However, even with his major concern set aside, Finn still found little comfort there, a wide array of smaller concerns piling up instead. To begin with, the basement got rather cold at night and Kurt's Egyptian cotton percale bedsheets offered very little thermal insulation. The mattress too was problematic, made of memory foam to supposedly mold to the user's body and provide comfort, Finn found it nowhere near as comfortable as his own mattress which had molded to his body throughout his pubescent years by simple endurance.
The familiar, hypnotic midnight chorus of the leaky bathroom faucet and the rustling branches of the tree outside his window were replaced by the irritating wheezy breathing of his slumbering friend. For as much as Kurt maintained a flawlessly cherubic appearance, when his consciousness faded there was a cacophony left in its place and one night had been enough to leave Finn comparatively pining for the shrill insults a mismatched outfit would inspire.
Turning onto his side yet again, making his total revolutions thus far that night a respectable 900º, and twisting the sheets into what was resembling a cocoon more and more with each frustrated attempt to find a comfortable sleeping position, Finn looked across to the alarm clock, the illuminated red digits informing him that it was still the dead of night.
Sighing and turning his attention to the ceiling, Finn reflected on the many childhood nights that he had spent waiting upon the arrival of Santa Claus, only to succumb to the machinations of the Sandman. The joy and excitement were no longer the root of his Christmas insomnia and he contemplated whether that meant he had been robbed of his innocence as Dr. Harper liked to claim. It didn't take long for Finn to dismiss the thought because while his veins weren't filled with fire at the mere thought of the upcoming festivities, he knew that a moment spent with Will, a moment of total, mutual love and affection, brought the same warmth as a mug of hot cocoa before bed on Christmas Eve and that the first time he had dared to press his lips to Will's a whole chorus of angels must have earned their wings because he could hear their joyous celebration all around him.
Disentangling his legs from the clutches of his cotton cocoon with a series of short jerks and spastic flails, Finn swung his freed body upright and moved to sit on the edge of the mattress. Reaching down in the dark to the bottom drawer of the bedside cabinet, he pulled Will's gift from where he'd hidden it beneath a pile of his clothes and cradled it to his chest like a baby.
“God,” Finn cursed quietly to himself, shaking his head with mirth. “I'm missing you already.” He let the present fall to his lap and fumbled with the ritzy, stick-on bow that he'd added on a whim. He knew that for the time he spent at the Hummel house his contact with Will would be cut off and while they had endured longer periods of silence before, Finn was in no hurry to prolong their separation.
Returning the gift to its hiding place, he flopped back into the impersonal embrace of the guest bed and resumed his attempt at sleep.
*
Will woke to the feel of fingers running through his hair. Smiling lazily, he stretched into the embrace but didn't open his eyes, “You should be sleeping.”
His smile grew as he felt Finn press his nose against his cheek affectionately, “Sorry, did I wake you?”
“No,” Will dismissed the concern swiftly, concluding with drowsy logic that as he was awake it didn't really matter what had woken him. Shifting out from under Finn so that they could lie beside one another instead, he opened his eyes and was greeted by the sight of his lover looking sheepish, “You should be asleep,” He repeated.
“I like watching you,” Finn answered, running his hands through Will's hair again and tucking a displaced curl behind his ear. “We don't get to do this often. Why would I waste time sleeping when I can spend it with you?”
“I'm sure I'm very good company,” Will responded drolly. “What with all the snoring.”
“And the moaning,” Finn added teasingly, shifting to move over his lover again and adopting a husky imitation his voice. “Oh Finn!” He leaned his head back, baring his neck with a breathy exhale, “Oh yes, fuck me all night long with your big, hard-”
“Uh-huh, sure,” Will interrupted disbelievingly, lightly slapping Finn's shoulder and rolling away.
A second later Finn slumped back down to the mattress with a light thump and cuddled up close to his lover's back, letting Will feel his cock, big as he'd claimed and on its way to hard, pressed against him.
“You know I'm only teasing,” He mumbled against Will's neck, his arm settling comfortably around his lover's waist.
“Horny kid,” Will snorted playfully.
“Well if you can't keep up with me, old man.” His cock pulsed between them, in parallel to his spoken challenge.
Will barreled backwards, knocking Finn and the blankets away and sat astride him an instant later, “Don't get cocky, boy.” His eyes shone with delight at his deliberate use of the word, “You're still the student here.”
Finn reached up to catch Will's hand as it ventured down towards his cock. Will gave him a strange look as his wrist was circled and his movement halted, so he explained quickly, “I like watching you.”
Will retreated, sitting on his haunches between the younger man's thighs, leaving Finn's movement free. He watched impartially, entirely trusting of Finn's desires and willing to lend himself to them in any way. Finn's cock hardened to its full size, flush against his belly as he took in the mussed curls and the sheen of silver moonlight across soft skin, broken only by blossoming patches of discoloration left earlier that night by his eager lips and teeth. He ached with the want to touch himself, to pleasure himself to his lover's form so that Will could witness the depth of his desire. Yet he refrained, instead his hands went to Will's shoulders and pulled him down to the mattress once more.
“I like watching you,” Finn repeated his earlier sentiment, running the bud of his thumb across Will's cheek tenderly and then reaching down to pull the blankets over them once more.
“Are you sure you don't-” Will's question was interrupted by a yawn.
“I'm sure,” Finn assured, the blood from his erection already beginning to segue. “You should sleep.”
Will's sleepy features screwed up into a playful frown, “That's my line.”
“Am I you now?” Finn inquired, “Um... Show choir is about fun and joy over winning, and also glitter.”
“That didn't sound at all like me,” Will critiqued.
“We need someone to sing the lead. I know, Rachel!”
“Now that's a little harsh,” He pouted at the satire.
“Sweater-vests are swell.”
“I may be older than you but I wasn't born in the 50s.”
“I was going with the illiteratation,” Finn defended.
“Alliteration,” Will corrected. “Also, I'm not talking to you,” He added, turning away dramatically.
“Okay, whatever, groovy,” Finn answered.
“I wasn't born in the 60s either,” Will retorted immediately.
“I'm bad at history,” Finn answered, cuddling close to his lover again, confident that the irritation was only a surface. “So what would you say?”
“Goodnight Finn, I'm trying to sleep.”
“'Goodnight Finn, I'm trying to sleep',” He parroted.
Will turned round again, his frustration burning out and producing a return to amusement, “You are impossible.”
“Will impossible win me an Oscar someday?” Finn queried.
“Not in a million years.”
“Damn.” He pouted melodramatically, including puppy-dog eyes.
Will rolled his eyes in response and pressed a kiss to the flush lower lip presented to him so enticingly, “Consolation prize.” Finn grinned and let Will settle against him, resuming his original action of running his fingers through Will's hair and listened to the sound of his breaths getting steadier. “You still need to sleep,” Will insisted.
“I will,” He answered vaguely. “Will?” He repeated in a whisper a few moments later.
When Will didn't reply, he ran his fingers through his hair a few more times and then gently shifted the man to the other side of the bed. Settling down beside him, Finn watched the peaceful smile on Will's face until he too fell asleep.
*
Finn woke with a head full of fog and his face buried in the pillow, retreating through the thick haze at the border of dreams and reality, he turned away from the memory of a night with Will long past and found himself with a face full of Kurt Hummel.
“Jesus Christ, Kurt!” Jumping back in alarm, he pulled the covers around him self-consciously, painfully aware of his morning wood and eager to keep it out of his friend's sight.
“Good, you're awake,” Kurt remarked, entirely unapologetic about startling him. “We're supposed to be upstairs in half an hour.”
“What for?” Finn inquired, sitting up tiredly and fighting a yawn. Keeping the sheets carefully concealing his lower half as he arranged his pajama pants into a more comfortable position, he noticed the alarm clock, “It's only ten in the morning. Isn't this supposed to be a holiday?”
“Grandma is getting here at midday,” Kurt explained from his perch in front of his vanity table. “So we all have to be up and ready before she gets here.”
Falling back into a reclined position with a distinct thud, Finn rubbed his hands across his tired eyes and tried to calculate roughly how much sleep he'd had, “Does part of meeting your grandmother include freakish monster paint?”
“Freakish monster paint?” Kurt repeated, perplexed.
“So you just regularly wake people up with half your face peeling?”
“Oh, you mean my morning exfoliating mask,” Kurt answered, adopting the intellectually superior tone of voice that Finn had learned to recognize in second grade. It was a voice that said 'You couldn't possibly understand' and he got the feeling that Kurt had probably been dishing it out since second grade. “You might be more familiar with my morning skincare ritual if you actually got out of bed in the morning, like normal people.”
“Mm-hmm,” Finn hummed an unconcerned confirmation. Confident that he'd provided an explanation for having been startled, he tuned Kurt's rambling out and turned his mind to his dream. The sequence of events had never happened as a whole, of that he was certain. The dream seemed to be a patchwork of moments he'd shared with Will, framed in the safe environment of his bed and centering on the act of silent, visual appreciation.
He chose not to sleep at the times he had Will and now that his lover was taken from him he couldn't sleep. There was probably some sort of irony in that.
“Finn,” Kurt snapped his friend back to reality for the second time that morning. The facial mask was gone, replaced with shower-fresh droplets of water; “I said, the bathroom's free.”
“Oh.” Blinking and rubbing his eyes to rouse himself again, Finn turned his gaze towards the open door to the bathroom, “Right. Thanks.”
“Don't take too long, we've gotta be upstairs in ten minutes,” Kurt advised, turning away to begin his ritual application of scents.
Taking account of Kurt's distraction, Finn felt brave enough to retreat from beneath the covers and make a dash for the seclusion of the bathroom. His still aroused cock bounced freely in his loose pajama pants but he made the short distance without attracting Kurt's eye. On the other side of the door he stood still for a moment, considering his retained hormonal high from the nighttime memory. In the past he had forsaken physical gratification in favor of simple affection, but isolation had injured Finn's patience and he knew that if Will were offered to him at that moment, there would be no strength in his body to deny. Shunning the sacrifice of a cold shower, Finn stepped beneath the warm spray and coaxed an orgasm from his eager cock, bitter tears joining his semen in the stream washing into the drain, both to be left behind in the isolation of the shower.
*
Arriving in the kitchen three minutes behind the schedule Kurt had informed him of, Finn made his way directly to the coffee pot and poured himself a mug.
“You're awake,” Carole remarked.
“Almost,” Finn answered, testing the temperature of the coffee with a small sip. Finding it agreeable he drained the entire cup, before placing it down on the counter to pour another and smile beatifically at his mother.
“Is that what you're wearing?” She asked, a touch of disapproval evident in her voice.
Finn glanced down at the hooded sweatshirt his Aunt Kathy had bought him the year before, “Yeah, I was planning on wearing it. Why?”
“We were hoping you'd wear something a little smarter,” Carole answered, looking across to Burt for support.
Collecting a stack of toast, Finn followed her eye-line and found both the Hummel men looking appropriately dressed for a formal dinner, looking back to his mom he registered for the first time that she was wearing earrings and make-up, “It's just Aunt Kathy and Uncle Jim,” He remarked warily. “Who are we trying to impress?”
“Kurt, honey, could you maybe help him pick something out?” Carole suggested as she and Finn joined the table.
“I like what I'm wearing,” Finn argued, biting into his first piece of toast.
“Don't worry, I'll work my magic,” Kurt answered as if Finn hadn't interjected at all.
A short stack of toast later, Finn found himself digging through the contents of his dresser looking for something that would meet the new standards. Having pulled the entire contents of the bottom drawer out to inspect, he'd once again unearthed his gift to Will and was playing with it idly when he heard the sound of feet on the steps. Shoving the box back into the drawer and slamming it shut hastily, he turned to see Kurt striding confidently into the room.
“I don't need your help, Kurt,” He insisted, standing up and turning to face the bundle of clothes laid out on the bed. “I can dress myself.”
“You can clothe yourself,” Kurt corrected. “It only takes muscular contraction and fine motor function to achieve that.” Picking up a t-shirt from the bed and instantly discarding it, he continued, “Dressing requires a sense of style and a lot of careful consideration.”
“I don't understand the big deal,” Finn continued his earlier line of thought, watching uncomfortably while Kurt appraised each individual garment.
“Grandma Hummel is the big deal,” Kurt answered. “Dad really wants her to like Carole, so he's making a really big show to try and win her approval.”
“Oh.” Given the answer, Finn wondered why he hadn't thought of it himself, “Do you think she will?”
“You ever hear of the term 'battleaxe'?” Kurt inquired, frowning pessimistically, “Still, no harm in trying. Best behavior, big smiles, no gayness.”
“No gayness?” Finn repeated.
“I came out to Bamps at Easter. When I asked Dad if I should tell Grandma he asked me not to, didn't want to risk upsetting her,” Kurt explained, holding up a shirt for appraisal for a moment before deciding that it didn't make the grade.
“Bamps?” Finn repeated inquisitively.
Kurt looked away from the clothes, his expression bashful, “When I was little I couldn't say 'grandpa', I used to say 'bampa' and it just kinda stuck.” Further explanation wasn't really needed, Finn could tell from the difference in the tone of Kurt's voice that his grandfather was a relative for whom he felt great affection.
“So, he's your mom's dad?” Finn guessed.
“Yeah,” Kurt confirmed, turning back to the mound of clothes to resume his search. “Grandma Hummel had a huge falling out with my mom's parents before I was even born, so my whole life she's visited for Christmas while Granny and Bamps got my birthday, Easter and the fourth of July. Then for the past few years it's only been Bamps and... Oh my Gaga, these are the most hideous boxers I have ever seen!” Holding the offending clothing aloft, Kurt stared open-mouthed at the bright cartoon print.
“Those are my lucky underwear,” Finn answered with a grin.
“Like 'four-leaf clover' lucky, not 'I just got lucky' lucky, right?” Kurt asked, dropping the underwear with a cringe of distaste.
“Clover lucky,” Finn confirmed.
He'd owned a pair of 'just got lucky' undies once. Early into his romance with Will, back during Sophomore year and his first bedroom escapades, when he'd still spent most of his time in the bedroom praying to Mercury. Will had kindly loaned him a pair of boxers to wear home and promised to wash the stained pair and return them the following weekend. In the week that passed Will's underwear became a veteran in the war of Finn's hormones and he found himself in a dilemma, reluctant to return the underwear while it so clearly bore the marks of its usage but also too embarrassed at the prospect of asking his mom to wash them for him. Finn found his way to the laundromat, concealing the boxers among an assortment of perfectly clean t-shirts. The end result, due to an inability to use the machine, was a pile of shrunken clothing. Will took the entire scenario in good humor and paid for a pack of polo shirts to replace those lost.
“Why are you looking at my boxer shorts anyway?” Finn challenged, “I don't need you to pick out underwear for me.”
“Right,” Kurt answered a little dazed. “I just need to reconsider my organization. The 'Yes' pile.” He indicated an empty space on the bed. “'Maybe' pile.” A solitary shirt. “'No' pile.” Every other piece of clothing he had considered thus far. “And finally, the 'Burn at the first possible opportunity' pile.” He set the underwear down decisively in the newly created fourth pile.
“You're not burning my underwear, Kurt,” Finn argued decisively, snatching the boxers up and returning them to the bottom drawer alongside his gift for Will.
When he turned back, Kurt was holding up a light blue shirt with a soft smile, “This with some slacks would work fine. Did you bring slacks?”
“Check the pile,” Finn answered.
“You don't know?” Kurt frowned, his cheer vanishing in place of further fashion disapproval.
“In my world 'pack some clothes' involves picking a bundle of clothing out of the dresser and packing it straight into the bag,” He explained.
Pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes pressed shut, Kurt let the pose go with a dramatic hand wave, “Try the shirt on, I'll find a tie to match.”
Pulling the warm sweatshirt over his head, Finn shivered at the chill of the basement and reluctantly put it aside to try on the shirt.
*
Once they had finally found an outfit that received Kurt's approval, Finn found himself subject to a fastidious inspection courtesy of his mother, the likes of which he had not endured since her thorough check of his button alignment before he went to pick up his date for the Junior High prom.
“You look great,” She declared at last, tweaking his collar and then letting her hands fall to rest on his shoulders.
“Thanks,” He mumbled in reply, resisting his instinct to fidget away. She was smiling proudly at him, but now that Kurt had pointed it out he noticed the anxiety lurking underneath, “It's gonna be fine, Mom.”
“I know,” She answered irresolutely and retreated to continue fretting somewhere else.
“Is it really gonna be this bad?” Finn questioned Kurt as their parents repeated the same minor corrections they had been performing for some time already.
“How bad does it look?” Kurt queried, busy collecting framed photographs of family members who would not meet his grandmother's approval.
“Like we're preparing for war.”
“Then yeah,” Kurt answered, flipping his bangs out of his face and turning to take the photos out of the lounge, “It is gonna be that bad.”
Finn took a moment to call up the few memories he had of his own grandma. He remembered her floral-pattern armchair, with a bundle of wool on the floor beside, and a half finished oven-mitt leaning over one arm with the knitting needles still attached. He remembered the delicate way she would perch on the edge, her squinting eyes behind enormous glasses panning the room and observing everything. He remembered the clouds of smoke, as gray as her hair, trailing from the cigarettes that would eventually claim her life. Most of all he remembered that the hardest thing about her was the boiled candy she always had in her pockets.
How could Kurt's grandma be so different from the kindly woman who used to read him and his cousins Thomas the Tank Engine books? Finn's mind simply couldn't comprehend.
*
It took less than ten minutes for the dreaded woman to reveal to Finn the reasons for the haze of uncertainty hanging over the house.
Upon her immediate arrival Burt had greeted her at the door, she responded with the irritation one might express towards an overly perky member of the hospitality staff at a hotel and gruffly insisted upon carrying her own cases up to the guest bedroom.
When she returned downstairs several minutes later and entered the lounge, Finn got his first good look at her. Judith Hummel was short and stocky, yet somehow managed to be an imposing figure. She gave the impression of an old Juggernaut who had been condensed over time into the surly figure before them.
“Mama, there's some people I'd like you to meet,” Burt announced as he and Carole edged forward, like naughty children before the headmistress.
“Sure thing.” Judith turned her eye on Carole, “You must be the gal Burton's been raving about.”
“Yes,” Burt supplied promptly. “This is Carole.”
“Well, you seem nice enough,” She stated, though it was hardly worded as a compliment. The two women shook hands, or rather Carole's hand was crushed in a vice-like grip.
“And this is her son, Finn,” Burt introduced.
Finn took his cue, towering above the old woman, he held out his hand politely, “It's nice to meet you ma'am.”
Judith looked up at him, the expression in her eyes was one Finn found all too familiar, it was a look that showed she was aware of the difference in their heights and was holding him personally responsible for every inch.
“You too.” She took his hand and squeezed tightly, her teeth bared in a feral smile reminiscent of the illustration of the Cheshire cat that had given Finn nightmares for a month when he was younger.
“Well...” Beating her hands together with a sound like a thunderclap, Judith turned her attention towards her son. “Do we have plans?”
“We're heading to the church at seven,” Burt answered.
“So there's time for a drink,” She answered cheerily. “You got bourbon?”
“Mama, you know I don't-”
“Never mind, brought my own,” She interrupted, turning to leave the room, and presumably collect the alcohol from her belongings. “You're mine, born and raised, but you still drink like a woman, son.”
Burt sighed heavily and turned apologetic eyes towards Carole, who was gingerly flexing the fingers of her injured hand.
“That went... well.” Kurt hesitantly broke the silence that was left in his grandmother's wake.
“Yeah, I think... sort of,” Burt answered, smiling forcefully.
“She's lovely,” Carole answered, her words obviously false.
“She's kinda scary,” Finn responded more honestly.
“She's my mother,” Burt stated. “There's nothing scarier in the world than your own mother.”
Finn looked across to his mom thoughtfully.
“It's a matter of perspective, Finn,” Kurt explained, noticing his confusion. “Imagine having to bring someone you really like home to meet your mom-” Kurt paused to smile winningly at Carole, “-knowing full well that she could totally disapprove and that it would put your relationship in jeopardy.”
“Yeah,” Finn commented sardonically. “Imagine that.”
Walking away from his family with the heavy weight from the morning returning to him, Finn slumped down at the dining room table and turned his thoughts to what might have been. Rather than a self-indulgent retreat into a world where everyone had remained ignorant to the nature of his relationship with Will, for the first time he began to see the true inevitability of their predicament. He allowed himself to think of a dinner with Will's parents, where they brushed aside his youth, his sex and all the other stigma that made him an unsuitable partner for their son, and he knew full well that there was no reality where that reaction could have been expected.
*
Will trudged up the snow-laden path to his parent's house with a bag full of his belongings that felt surprisingly light. He tried to gather his wits in the space between ringing the bell and when the door was answered, but his mom proved herself faster than he had anticipated and he was still drawing in breath and uttering a hopeless prayer when he found himself seized around the midsection and dragged into a merry hug.
“Happy Christmas, William. Welcome home!”
“Hi Mom,” Will answered, gently extricating himself from her grip.
“Well don't just stand there on the porch all night. Come in, come in.” She stood aside and beckoned with one hand. Will knew that some people would suggest a metaphorical way to bottle his mother's enthusiasm but he was also burdened with the knowledge that her enthusiasm came from a bottle in the first place. “Your father's in the den with Daniel, why don't you drop by and tell them you're here?” She suggested.
“Dan's here?” He asked as he unwound his scarf, “I thought he was busy.”
“His schedule cleared up,” She explained, taking his coat from him to hang up in the hall closet.
Peering into the den, Will found his younger brother sitting on the couch beside his wife. His idea of casual wear still appeared to be a business suit, sans tie, with comfortable shoes and his dark hair could be from the lack of sunlight bleaching it or his ridiculously vain notion that entrepreneurs needed to conform to a particular image. He smiled with genuine warmth at the sight of him and when Dan turned his head and spotted Will in the doorway a matching grin appeared on his face.
“Will.” Dan was on his feet in an instant and the brothers fell easily into a fond hug, “Man, how have you been?”
“Not bad,” Will lied.
“I heard about what happened,” Dan stated, his face and voice taking on a serious note as his hand squeezed Will's shoulder. “That stuff's just fucked up man,” He whispered conspiratorially and with clear distaste.
Will felt his stomach curl in on itself and tried to pull in some air to smooth out the distortion, but his throat was preoccupied with an uptake of bile and he couldn't gulp any oxygen past it. Dan's accusatory gaze stayed fixed for a few painful seconds, before it collapsed into the cheesy grin that always made him look even younger and clapped Will on the shoulder once again, “Honestly though, you're better off without her.”
The bile slithered downwards again and precious oxygen was able to slip through and save him, he breathed heavily and tried to blink back the moisture that had gathered in the corner of his eyes, “Yeah, Terri... I mean-” He breathed deeply again to chase out the squeak that had taken over his voice and recover his regular timbre, “What are you doing here anyway, I thought you had to work?”
“Well when Mom told me that you were going to be here for the holidays, I thought about 'How rare it is for us all to spend time together as a family?', so I said screw it and took two weeks off. I needed a vacation anyway.” As he spoke, Dan turned and pulled his brother further into the room.
“Oniisan.” The young woman on the couch beamed up at Will and got unsteadily to her feet, having to hold both hands to her back to support herself for a moment, then spread her arms in a vibrant request.
“Mei,” Will returned the greeting and stooped down to hug his petite sister-in-law, pointedly gentle due to her swollen belly. “You look fantastic.”
“That's what everyone tells me,” She replied, dropping one hand to her stomach. “It makes me wonder, if I look so gorgeous then why are there no pregnant supermodels?”
Will chuckled at her joke but in his heart there was a bitter twisting. He couldn't deny that Mei truly did look fantastic, her face was aglow with joy and she stood with her hands massaging her baby bump, so clearly full of pride and love for the child growing inside her. Seeing those clear signs of what a pregnant woman looked like made him wonder how Terri had fooled him for so long and that thought inspired a dozen self-loathing thoughts to burrow into his mind.
“Come sit down, we've got catching up to do,” Dan insisted, turning to attentively help his pregnant wife back into her seat.
“In a second,” Will deflected, fingering the strap of his bag pointedly. “I'm just gonna unpack.”
“Your mother got your room ready for you,” His father spoke up, turning away from the television momentarily.
“Great.” Will held the smile until he made it into the hall, letting his features return to their weary default as he counted the familiar creaks on the stairs.
The room had been his teenage bedroom. Not his childhood room, the shelter of his innocent years, a home to action figure wars and the monster lurking in his closet. That room had burned to the ground along with the rest of the house. The room he was standing on the threshold of was the one he returned to every night throughout high school, and though the posters had been pulled down and the walls returned to a creamy shade with several coats of paint, it was still full of spent hormones and the ghosts of pubescent angst.
Will put his spare clothes away in the empty dresser and then sank onto the bed, looking around the room and recollecting. He thought back to the boy he'd been when the room first became his and all the moments he'd gone through within its walls: practiced conversations as he tried to work up the nerve to ask out the cute blonde cheerleader, hours spent agonizing over which (hideous in hindsight) shirt to wear to their first date when Terri said yes, their sixth make out session where he'd been nervous of his parents interrupting at any moment but she had finally let him get to second base, the numerous times they'd made it all the way as high school came to an end and their whole future was uncertain.
Their fears of change and of losing each other had finally come true. The room had laid the foundation of his marriage and now that relationship had cracked and crumbled into dust while his younger brother was in love and about to become a father, everything that he had wanted.
Turning onto his side on the bed as he curled into a miserable ball, Will found himself facing the wall and even that was another bitter sting. No longer the sight of someone he loved, someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, on the other side of the bed, only the empty stare of the wall.
Bouncing a fist off the mattress, Will turned onto his back again and started cataloging the fresh cracks in the ceiling since his last visit. As he did so he found himself recollecting another event that had unfolded within those four walls, a night spent counting those same cracks after he had woken up with sticky sheets and images of Kurt Cobain filtering through as remnants of a dream he didn't fully understand. A night of soul searching, with many more to follow as he tried to convince himself that his feelings towards the cool jerk in Glee club meant nothing because he had a girlfriend. Before finally he'd come to accept his interest in members of both sexes, only to cling to his high school sweetheart and never explore his other half.
Will turned his mind to Finn and came to the instantaneous and intuitive decision that he wanted his young lover to see this room in the future. He couldn't explain why he wanted Finn to see the room that had been the starting point of his marriage, but it went beyond that. He wanted Finn to be there in the future, to meet his parents, Dan and Mei and their son or daughter who'd be born in a few of months time. He wanted Finn to be as welcome in his life as Terri had been all those years ago.
Lying content, with a head full of pleasant, faraway daydreams for several minutes, Will eventually pulled himself up off the bed and trudged back downstairs to spend time with his family.
~
A/N: That's all for now, folks! Feedback, especially concrit, is welcomed and appreciated.