(no subject)
Media: Fic
Title: Your Love Will Be Safe With Me
Rating: pg-13?
Spoilers: everything up to 305
Warnings: unbeta'd
Word Count: ~1900
Summary: Blaine spends his sophomore and junior years sharpening the blade of his backbone for Kurt Hummel, and learning about the human heart and the different kinds of love it can carry.
A/N: I apologize for any errors or typos I may have missed. This is sort of a reaction fic to 305 because it made me feel all the feels and I just had to spit this out. The title is taken from Re: Stacks by Bon Iver.
Blaine spends his sophomore and junior years sharpening the blade of his backbone for Kurt Hummel, and learning about the human heart and the different kinds of love it can carry.
**
When his father finds him practicing for his Warbler audition and looks at Blaine like he doesn’t know where he went wrong he learns about the kind of love that burns ugly and wounding. His father drags him to the garage a week later and talks to him about cars, doesn’t look at him when he speaks and sighs heavy and impatient when Blaine asks a question he should already know, says, “Why can’t you remember these things, Blaine?” and Blaine knows from the way he says his name that he actually wants to say, Why can’t you be a man, Blaine?
That same night he studies himself in the mirror and tries to find his father through the cracks of where he’s still broken from Sadie Hawkins. Instead he finds fingerprints and whispers of his mother everywhere: the light of his eyes that reflects against hers and makes her squint like he’s Sirius, the brightest star in her sky, the shape of his lips on his own cheeks from where she used to kiss him with expensive lips, the cliff of his nose she would make her fingers jump from during bed time stories like he was her greatest adventure - the shells of his ears, his eyelashes, and the big dipper of freckles on his fore arm. He searches and wonders if maybe heredity has anything to do with love and affection.
It’s not until his hands start shaking with the burning kind of love, not until ashes cloud across both of his eyes that he finds his father, buried with the darkness underneath. He cries until he can’t and when he stops shaking it’s because he doesn’t want to be bitter and cold and afraid like his father, not because it burns any less.
He goes down for dinner later with eyes still too bloody and his fists and lips still too white, a crime scene taking over his body. He finds the light of his mother’s eyes across the table and her smile, soft and secret in a way that Blaine knows it’s just for him, feels the color returning to his lips and his hands, and learns about the kind of love that warms instead of burns.
**
He meets Kurt Hummel and learns about love without release, the kind of love that keeps Kurt’s eyes bright and his voice soft even when the universe is set on breaking him - the kind of love Kurt has to stifle because the world’s fucked up and cruel and he’s got a bruise blooming like a wilting flower from his lips to show for it. Kurt tells him about Karofsky and he learns about love that’s not love at all but lust that hides underneath beds until it builds and grows into a monster big enough to turn two lost boys into tragedies.
He takes Kurt to lunch and talks so Kurt doesn’t have to, doesn’t bring up how his house doesn’t feel like home or how he doesn’t know the first thing about kissing either because he wants Kurt to know about hope, and tries to make him laugh because there’s something inside he doesn’t yet have a name for that wants to be Kurt’s hope, his light, because he couldn’t be his own.
**
In the Winter Jeremiah smiles at him apologetically like he could have kissed him one day and meant it, and Blaine learns about love that could have been, the dandelion seed kind of love, the kind he’ll find in ten years blooming from the cracks of his mind, fragile and begging to be whispered away, and wonder, what if, what if, what if for no more than a millisecond. He spends an entire day watching people then, finding all the ways they can fit into each other, like love is simple, like it’s easy, and he wishes it could be, with his heart and all the love it carries, he wishes that for him it could be easy. Kurt stops him then, tells him with the brightness of his eyes and the tender edges of his voice that it could be, if Blaine lets him it could be, and Blaine thinks about Jeremiah and love that’s clueless, and when Kurt looks at him like he could maybe be everything, the very best thing, he trembles because the only kind of love he knows about could turn them into the worst thing, and eventually nothing, absolutely nothing at all.
**
Blaine tells his parents he’s going on a date, says “With Rachel,” and his mother looks like she could break and his father smiles at him for what Blaine feels like is the first time since I’m gay. When Rachel kisses him at Lima Bean he’s thinking of Kurt and the sharp edges his voice can have, about his father and his goddamn smile, and when he breaks away and feels nothing, absolutely nothing at all he learns about the kind of love he can’t change.
**
Kurt sings Blackbird and Blaine learns about love that hides, the kind of love that grows from a small seed, “My name’s Kurt,” and “Nobody seems to notice,” slow and silent and unnoticeable until its roots are reaching long across his body and twisting around his heart, his heart that seems bigger and bloodier and more human when he closes his eyes and sees Kurt behind his eyelids. He kisses Kurt and Kurt kisses him back like he’s everything, the very best thing, and he learns about the kind of love that burns from the outside and softens his edges, the kind of love that burns good and right instead of ugly and wounding and wrong, all wrong.
**
He tells Kurt about the Sadie Hawkins Dance at Breadsticks, reminds him about brokenness, and when Kurt brings their knees together under the table Blaine knows he’s saying, I know about darkness, but I can see Sirius, the light of the world in your eyes, too.
Later Kurt drives him home, holds his hands like it doesn’t make it harder for him to drive -- kisses him desperate and messy in a way that tells Blaine he’s unbreakable, and whispers, “I like you,” when they arrive at Blaine’s house, like it’s a secret the universe keeps inside black holes. Blaine tells his parents about prom, and when his father reminds him of Sadie Hawkins, voice cruel and superior Blaine feels his knees unhinge and learns about the kind of love that’s naïve and young and trusting.
Later that week Blaine sees the universe’s knuckles strong and bloodless in his boyfriend’s backbone and watches as Kurt, a plastic crown over his head, looks to his classmates with eyes that say Like any of you could ever break me even when they’re bloodshot and still bright, always bright. The something inside him he’s now named love and adoration and pride tells him to bury the broken boy that ran for the boy that never does, and when Kurt’s classmates look at them dancing like they’re afraid he learns about the kind of love that knows about courage, the kind that makes cowards brave.
**
In the summer Blaine learns about love that’s hellfire and sinful. He sees Kurt’s hand running across the freckle that marks the edge of his own spine like he’s trying to hide it, a boy by the edge of the lake that stares at it like he’s allowed and learns about the love that’s a jumble of lust, envy, and greed all at once. Kurt looks back at him with the sun caught in the lines of where his nose is scrunched up in laughter and Blaine remembers Karofsky and Kurt’s mother and prom and all the ways Kurt could have broken, and decides that a little bit of lust and greed and envy are okay if he can’t see God when he closes his eyes and holds the universe behind his eyelids.
**
School starts again and Blaine learns about love that’s desperate and impatient and as young as he feels when Kurt tells him I just want to see you more with a voice that has shivers free falling from the edge of his spine. Kurt says he should transfer and he does because he’s sixteen going on seventeen and Kurt’s taught him about bravado and the youthful kind of carelessness, so he shows up at McKinley with pants too red and a bowtie too bold and can’t seem to regret saying goodbye to Dalton when Kurt looks at him like he’s the magic he talked about at Lima Bean.
**
He meets Sebastian and drinks until his throat burns raw enough to say things like “Kurt, let’s just do it,” and “I want you, I want you so bad,” - until he becomes someone he wishes he didn’t have inside himself. The next night Blaine doesn’t find his father in the audience and backstage he avoids Kurt’s eyes because instead of courage in the valleys of his spine he has cowardice and shame, because he remembers how it is to feel broken and a little lost again.
Kurt finds him later, he always does, and his eyes are the softest he’s ever seen them. He says, “I was so proud to be with you,” like Blaine’s father’s empty chair means nothing, and Blaine learns about love that understands, love that’s kind and forgiving.
Kurt’s voice is steady and sure and found when he says, “I want to go to your house,” and Blaine doesn’t hold Kurt’s hand while he’s driving because it’s raining and it’s dangerous and because the world looks as breakable and small as he feels when the clouds flash, a captured moment, like they know about the two lost boys at the edge of Ohio who found each other.
Kurt stands in front of Blaine’s bed and Blaine says, “Can I kiss you,” has to ask, because Kurt looks like love -- magic and intangible. Kurt laughs because yes, yes, yes, lets Blaine kiss the freckle at the edge of his spine first, and the quiet corners of his body open mouthed and bruising like he knows about sex. He kisses Blaine on the lips then and teaches him about love that’s physical and magic, still magic even when it’s tangible.
Afterwards Kurt kisses him like he does when he wants Blaine to know they’re unbreakable, and shines a light over the white moon kisses across his body for proof, scars from lost boys and childhood and high school tragedies all covered in pale, soft glowing skin like they belong buried in the night sky. Blaine ghosts his fingers over them soft and tentative because he wants to know if they still burn, wants to see if Kurt still flinches. Kurt lets the light shine over his eye lids instead, and when he hums soft and whole Blaine exhales -- smiles - and learns, finally, about the kind of love that heals.
Title: Your Love Will Be Safe With Me
Rating: pg-13?
Spoilers: everything up to 305
Warnings: unbeta'd
Word Count: ~1900
Summary: Blaine spends his sophomore and junior years sharpening the blade of his backbone for Kurt Hummel, and learning about the human heart and the different kinds of love it can carry.
A/N: I apologize for any errors or typos I may have missed. This is sort of a reaction fic to 305 because it made me feel all the feels and I just had to spit this out. The title is taken from Re: Stacks by Bon Iver.
Blaine spends his sophomore and junior years sharpening the blade of his backbone for Kurt Hummel, and learning about the human heart and the different kinds of love it can carry.
**
When his father finds him practicing for his Warbler audition and looks at Blaine like he doesn’t know where he went wrong he learns about the kind of love that burns ugly and wounding. His father drags him to the garage a week later and talks to him about cars, doesn’t look at him when he speaks and sighs heavy and impatient when Blaine asks a question he should already know, says, “Why can’t you remember these things, Blaine?” and Blaine knows from the way he says his name that he actually wants to say, Why can’t you be a man, Blaine?
That same night he studies himself in the mirror and tries to find his father through the cracks of where he’s still broken from Sadie Hawkins. Instead he finds fingerprints and whispers of his mother everywhere: the light of his eyes that reflects against hers and makes her squint like he’s Sirius, the brightest star in her sky, the shape of his lips on his own cheeks from where she used to kiss him with expensive lips, the cliff of his nose she would make her fingers jump from during bed time stories like he was her greatest adventure - the shells of his ears, his eyelashes, and the big dipper of freckles on his fore arm. He searches and wonders if maybe heredity has anything to do with love and affection.
It’s not until his hands start shaking with the burning kind of love, not until ashes cloud across both of his eyes that he finds his father, buried with the darkness underneath. He cries until he can’t and when he stops shaking it’s because he doesn’t want to be bitter and cold and afraid like his father, not because it burns any less.
He goes down for dinner later with eyes still too bloody and his fists and lips still too white, a crime scene taking over his body. He finds the light of his mother’s eyes across the table and her smile, soft and secret in a way that Blaine knows it’s just for him, feels the color returning to his lips and his hands, and learns about the kind of love that warms instead of burns.
**
He meets Kurt Hummel and learns about love without release, the kind of love that keeps Kurt’s eyes bright and his voice soft even when the universe is set on breaking him - the kind of love Kurt has to stifle because the world’s fucked up and cruel and he’s got a bruise blooming like a wilting flower from his lips to show for it. Kurt tells him about Karofsky and he learns about love that’s not love at all but lust that hides underneath beds until it builds and grows into a monster big enough to turn two lost boys into tragedies.
He takes Kurt to lunch and talks so Kurt doesn’t have to, doesn’t bring up how his house doesn’t feel like home or how he doesn’t know the first thing about kissing either because he wants Kurt to know about hope, and tries to make him laugh because there’s something inside he doesn’t yet have a name for that wants to be Kurt’s hope, his light, because he couldn’t be his own.
**
In the Winter Jeremiah smiles at him apologetically like he could have kissed him one day and meant it, and Blaine learns about love that could have been, the dandelion seed kind of love, the kind he’ll find in ten years blooming from the cracks of his mind, fragile and begging to be whispered away, and wonder, what if, what if, what if for no more than a millisecond. He spends an entire day watching people then, finding all the ways they can fit into each other, like love is simple, like it’s easy, and he wishes it could be, with his heart and all the love it carries, he wishes that for him it could be easy. Kurt stops him then, tells him with the brightness of his eyes and the tender edges of his voice that it could be, if Blaine lets him it could be, and Blaine thinks about Jeremiah and love that’s clueless, and when Kurt looks at him like he could maybe be everything, the very best thing, he trembles because the only kind of love he knows about could turn them into the worst thing, and eventually nothing, absolutely nothing at all.
**
Blaine tells his parents he’s going on a date, says “With Rachel,” and his mother looks like she could break and his father smiles at him for what Blaine feels like is the first time since I’m gay. When Rachel kisses him at Lima Bean he’s thinking of Kurt and the sharp edges his voice can have, about his father and his goddamn smile, and when he breaks away and feels nothing, absolutely nothing at all he learns about the kind of love he can’t change.
**
Kurt sings Blackbird and Blaine learns about love that hides, the kind of love that grows from a small seed, “My name’s Kurt,” and “Nobody seems to notice,” slow and silent and unnoticeable until its roots are reaching long across his body and twisting around his heart, his heart that seems bigger and bloodier and more human when he closes his eyes and sees Kurt behind his eyelids. He kisses Kurt and Kurt kisses him back like he’s everything, the very best thing, and he learns about the kind of love that burns from the outside and softens his edges, the kind of love that burns good and right instead of ugly and wounding and wrong, all wrong.
**
He tells Kurt about the Sadie Hawkins Dance at Breadsticks, reminds him about brokenness, and when Kurt brings their knees together under the table Blaine knows he’s saying, I know about darkness, but I can see Sirius, the light of the world in your eyes, too.
Later Kurt drives him home, holds his hands like it doesn’t make it harder for him to drive -- kisses him desperate and messy in a way that tells Blaine he’s unbreakable, and whispers, “I like you,” when they arrive at Blaine’s house, like it’s a secret the universe keeps inside black holes. Blaine tells his parents about prom, and when his father reminds him of Sadie Hawkins, voice cruel and superior Blaine feels his knees unhinge and learns about the kind of love that’s naïve and young and trusting.
Later that week Blaine sees the universe’s knuckles strong and bloodless in his boyfriend’s backbone and watches as Kurt, a plastic crown over his head, looks to his classmates with eyes that say Like any of you could ever break me even when they’re bloodshot and still bright, always bright. The something inside him he’s now named love and adoration and pride tells him to bury the broken boy that ran for the boy that never does, and when Kurt’s classmates look at them dancing like they’re afraid he learns about the kind of love that knows about courage, the kind that makes cowards brave.
**
In the summer Blaine learns about love that’s hellfire and sinful. He sees Kurt’s hand running across the freckle that marks the edge of his own spine like he’s trying to hide it, a boy by the edge of the lake that stares at it like he’s allowed and learns about the love that’s a jumble of lust, envy, and greed all at once. Kurt looks back at him with the sun caught in the lines of where his nose is scrunched up in laughter and Blaine remembers Karofsky and Kurt’s mother and prom and all the ways Kurt could have broken, and decides that a little bit of lust and greed and envy are okay if he can’t see God when he closes his eyes and holds the universe behind his eyelids.
**
School starts again and Blaine learns about love that’s desperate and impatient and as young as he feels when Kurt tells him I just want to see you more with a voice that has shivers free falling from the edge of his spine. Kurt says he should transfer and he does because he’s sixteen going on seventeen and Kurt’s taught him about bravado and the youthful kind of carelessness, so he shows up at McKinley with pants too red and a bowtie too bold and can’t seem to regret saying goodbye to Dalton when Kurt looks at him like he’s the magic he talked about at Lima Bean.
**
He meets Sebastian and drinks until his throat burns raw enough to say things like “Kurt, let’s just do it,” and “I want you, I want you so bad,” - until he becomes someone he wishes he didn’t have inside himself. The next night Blaine doesn’t find his father in the audience and backstage he avoids Kurt’s eyes because instead of courage in the valleys of his spine he has cowardice and shame, because he remembers how it is to feel broken and a little lost again.
Kurt finds him later, he always does, and his eyes are the softest he’s ever seen them. He says, “I was so proud to be with you,” like Blaine’s father’s empty chair means nothing, and Blaine learns about love that understands, love that’s kind and forgiving.
Kurt’s voice is steady and sure and found when he says, “I want to go to your house,” and Blaine doesn’t hold Kurt’s hand while he’s driving because it’s raining and it’s dangerous and because the world looks as breakable and small as he feels when the clouds flash, a captured moment, like they know about the two lost boys at the edge of Ohio who found each other.
Kurt stands in front of Blaine’s bed and Blaine says, “Can I kiss you,” has to ask, because Kurt looks like love -- magic and intangible. Kurt laughs because yes, yes, yes, lets Blaine kiss the freckle at the edge of his spine first, and the quiet corners of his body open mouthed and bruising like he knows about sex. He kisses Blaine on the lips then and teaches him about love that’s physical and magic, still magic even when it’s tangible.
Afterwards Kurt kisses him like he does when he wants Blaine to know they’re unbreakable, and shines a light over the white moon kisses across his body for proof, scars from lost boys and childhood and high school tragedies all covered in pale, soft glowing skin like they belong buried in the night sky. Blaine ghosts his fingers over them soft and tentative because he wants to know if they still burn, wants to see if Kurt still flinches. Kurt lets the light shine over his eye lids instead, and when he hums soft and whole Blaine exhales -- smiles - and learns, finally, about the kind of love that heals.