Cirque de Joie- Chapter V.
Chapter V.
Will smiled happily to himself, twirling his golden cane expertly around his index finger. Everything was going splendidly.
He’d just checked on Mike practicing with the new aerialist, Kurt. He seemed to be learning quickly, and anything he wasn’t getting he was practicing relentlessly until he got it right. Will liked to see that spirit in his performers. He just hoped that Kurt didn’t crack when opening night came around.
As he rounded a corner outside the fortune teller’s tent stationed a ways from the big top, he came across the figures of Brittany and Santana, who currently seemed like they were having a contest on who could suck the other’s face off first. Santana seemed to be winning.
“Excuse you!” Will exclaimed, rapping the two in the head with the bottom of his cane. They came apart with a ghastly ‘pop’ and promptly moved three feet away from each other, hands behind their back and eyes pointed towards the ground. Will pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
“Next time you want to explore what it’s like to be a leech,” he said, placing his gloved hands on his hips, “perhaps it would be wise to do it someplace private?” Santana rolled her eyes and Brittany rolled back and forth on her heels, twiddling her thumbs behind her back. They both apologized with a quiet “sorry” before walking past Will, heading towards Brittany’s tent. No doubt to explore their newfound interest of pretending to be blood-sucking leeches. Will shook his head, continuing on his stroll throughout the circus.
It was beginning slip into dusk, the sun departing ways with the sky. The grass was still wet from yesterday’s downpour of rain. Will chuckled to himself, remembering Blaine’s outrage that morning at having to replace all of the streamers and decorations he had so painstakingly put up yesterday. Will was thankful for Blaine though, he always made sure that everything was perfect. Whistling a cheery tune to himself, Will disembarked on the last stretch of his afternoon stroll.
Meanwhile, Blaine was sitting in his tent, brooding. He hadn’t gotten to witness any practice from the aerialists these past two days. Every time he had tried to slip into the big top, he had been thwarted on some way or another. The last time he tried he’d been tackled to the ground by Santana. He’d have bruises on his back for weeks.
Opening night was only two days from now. Blaine hoped he wouldn’t be too busy to watch the show, which he always was. Maybe this time he’d get lucky.
With that thought, Blaine reached out and wrapped his hand around the neck of his guitar. He set it on his lap and ran the fingers of his left hand over the fret board, feeling the steel strings under his calloused fingertips. He quietly began to strum, fingering chords he knew by memory from playing guitar for years. He hummed the melody of a song he didn’t know to himself, not quite sure if it was an actual song or one he made up in his head. Either way, it felt soothing to sit and do something he loved without having to worry if it was perfect in the eyes of anyone else. His music grew in volume, flowing through his hands, his lips, and his heart. It was an old folk song he’d heard many a time, called All the Pretty Little Horses. It was a haunting melody, but beautiful and rich and soothing to Blaine’s ears. Blaine closed his eyes and sung softly as he strummed, a small smile playing his lips.
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Kurt half walked, half stumbled across the circus towards the little encampment where all of the performers' tents were located. Everything hurt. His hair was drenched with sweat and his arms and thighs screamed from being stretched and pulled in ways they shouldn’t in any normal circumstances. His eyes strained to focus in the darkening light, nearly tripping on a rope that wound across the damp grass. As he made is way over to his tent, he heard a soft, almost haunting melody flow through the air. Curious, he followed the sound.
His quest found him standing by a tent he knew as Blaine’s. He tried to keep quiet as he leaned his ear close to the side of the tent, straining to hear the sound of guitar and soft tenor resonating through the dusk.
“Black and bays, dapples, grays, all the pretty little horses. Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,
go to sleep my little baby…” Kurt’s eyes softened at the words. It was a lullaby, one he’d heard when he was young. He was touched by Blaine’s soft tone, as if he were singing it to someone. Kurt wondered if there was someone in the tent with Blaine, but something told him that he was alone. Maybe it was the way Blaine sung, as if he were in his own little world.
Kurt didn’t know this boy very well, but he made a note of asking him about his musical skills in the future, or at least to ask him to sing for him sometime. He really had a lovely voice. Kurt smiled to himself.
He heard Blaine’s voice dwindling down, the strums of his guitar becoming slower and softer. Kurt took that as his cue to get a move on before he got caught. As quietly as he could, he stepped around the tent. He felt the coolness of the damp grass beneath his bare feet. He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. As he placed his foot down for another step he felt his heel slip on the slick grass. He let out a yelp as he came crashing down to the ground. He heard movement in Blaine’s tent before seeing a head topped with thick, curly hair pop out the front, looking around in the dark. Eyes squinted in the dim light before they spotted Kurt lying dazed in the grass.
Blaine hurried towards the boy, careful not to fall himself. He came to a halt beside Kurt, bending down and looking over the boy, making sure he hadn’t injured himself when he fell.
“Are you okay?” he asked, holding his hand out. Kurt stared at Blaine’s hand for a moment before taking it. Blaine pulled him up, brushing the wet blades of grass off Kurt’s shoulders. Kurt blushed and assured that he was alright.
“I wasn’t watching where I was going,” he said sheepishly. Blaine chuckled and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, resisting the urge to brush his hand across Kurt’s forehead to move the hair that had fallen into his face.
“It’s alright,” he said, shrugging. “It happens when you walk around bare foot in wet grass.” Kurt laughed and nodded, looking down at his feet, which were now covered in grass and mud. Blaine smiled and then looked up to the sky, noting how dark it was becoming.
“Would you like to come in for a minute?” he asked, pointing to his tent with his thumbs. “Just to kind of orient yourself after that fight with gravity?” Kurt seemed to think it over for a moment before shaking his head, smiling apologetically.
“I’d really like to, but I should get some rest,” he said, trying to ignore the way Blaine’s eyes briefly lost their playful glint. “Mike wants me back on the silks at seven thirty in the morning, so I’d really like to get some rest.” He gave Blaine another apologetic look, hoping he hadn’t offended him.
“It’s okay,” Blaine said, laughter bubbling from his throat. He patted Kurt on the shoulder. “Hope you get some sleep. Try not to slip on any more grass on the way, okay?” Kurt smiled and nodded, bidding Blaine goodnight. He watched as Blaine walked back into his tent, noticing as, one by one, lights illuminated from inside. Kurt stepped carefully as he made his way over to his own tent stationed a ways from Blaine’s.
As he stepped inside he fumbled around to find his lamp, finally feeling the cool glass underneath his hand. He felt around for his lighter, lighting the oil lamp. He lowered the flame before stripping off his sweat-soaked and now grass covered clothes. He knew he should wash out his hair, but he was so tired. He opted for a dry-shampoo, applying it generously to his hair before rubbing it with a towel. He quickly dressed himself in a pair of plaid sleep pants and a shirt. He flopped himself on his cot and burrowed himself under a mountain of blankets. He lay in silence, listening for Blaine’s guitar. But the night was silent save for insects. He sighed, extinguishing the flame in his lamp before rolling over, closing his eyes to sleep.
Across from Kurt’s tent, Blaine placed his guitar in its case, gingerly closing the lid. He sat down on his cot, sliding his fingers into his hair. His shoulders rose as he took a deep breath. He exhaled slowly, his warm breath ghosting over his lips. He felt stupid for asking Kurt to come into his tent, but he knew Kurt was genuine when he said he needed to rest. Blaine could only imagine how tiring it was practicing aerial stunts all day. He hoped all of Kurt’s hard work would pay off when the Cirque opened its arms in two days time.
Knowing that he’d be put to work tomorrow, Blaine extinguished the lights in his tent and lay down on his cot, placing his hands behind his head. Soon his breathing slowed, chest rising and falling slowly. He moaned softly in his sleep, a soft smile gracing his lips.
In Kurt’s tent, Kurt tossed restlessly, mind plaguing him with thoughts of everything that could go wrong during his performance. He finally fell into a fitful sleep, comforted only by the thought of Blaine’s soft lullaby.