Keeping Courageous & Carrying On - Part 4
Title: Keeping Courageous & Carrying On - Part 4
Rating (overall): NC-17
Pairings: Pre Blaine/Kurt, Blaine centric.
Spoilers: Aired episodes.
Warnings: Abuse, Violence, Alcoholism.
Word Count:3,544
Notes: Fill for this angst meme prompt. Thanks to the lovely people who have left me and my Blaine wonderful comments, you inspire me. I hope this is okay for you.
Summary: Blaine’s father is abusive but he refuses to be brought down by it all. He knows that one day he’s going to make something of his life. He can cope as long as he believes in himself.
Previous:
Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3
o~o~o
I haven’t even shut the door when my father calls me into the sitting room by snarling the word ‘faggot’ in my general direction. I close my eyes as I close the door and I wonder when that vulgar word became the replacement for words like ‘Son’ and ‘Blaine’ and ‘You’ and ‘Piece of shit’. It wasn’t recently but it still shocks me every time it rushes out of his mouth so carelessly. I wonder if he knows about the other meanings of that word, like ‘bundle of sticks’ and ‘a type of meatball’ but I doubt it. To him ‘faggot’ is a derogatory term for people like me, for people like Kurt.
I walk into the sitting room and he looks a little more sober than last night, though only a little. He’s managed to change his clothes and at least he hasn’t pissed himself yet or vomited all over his shirt. I have to be thankful for that, even though it’s the type of progress I know is fleeting and sporadically inclined. I’d laugh at the situation but I can’t because just looking at him makes my body ache. I know what he can do to me and what he has done. There’s not a single funny thing about it.
“I’m going out soon.” I say carefully, making sure that I’m standing under the door frame when the words leave my mouth. I need to make sure that the front door is closer to me than he is. I won’t let him ruin tonight for me, not when he’s ruined so many other things. So many other nights. So many days.
“To fag school?” he slurs as defeat and disappointment settle harshly in my chest. He’s drunker than I thought he was. He thinks that it’s first thing in the morning when I know for a fact that the sun is about to set. I need to be careful, I need to stay back. I don’t have time for this, not now.
“School finished two hours ago.” I say purposefully, before losing my confidence halfway and whispering, “I‘m going to a- a friend‘s house, that‘s all.” He’s so unpredictable that it scares me. I’m frightened of him, I know I am and I know there‘s not a thing in the world I can do about it. I just have to keep myself focused, I just have to remember that this isn’t forever. One day I’ll look back on this situation and I’ll struggle to remember the details.
“You’re gonna fuck that filthy boy you talk to!” he shouts and I take a step backwards instinctively. I want to call him out, I want to tell him not to talk about Kurt like that, I want to tell him that he has no idea how moral and caring and grounded Kurt is but I don‘t. I’d rather see him in person tonight than say what I think, only for my father to come down on me like a ton of bricks.
When I don’t say anything his body jerks and my eyes must widen. Please, don’t get up, I think, please don‘t put your hands on me tonight. I need to be perfect. My own hand tightens around the strap of the bag that still hangs over my shoulder and my knuckles turn white. Fear does funny things to you, like draining you of the courage that everyone thinks you hold onto unwaveringly.
“I’m going for dinner, my friend asked me to go.” I say and then he does it, he gets to his feet. He’s moving much quicker than I thought would be possible, particularly in his state, and he‘s pointing at me viciously and slurring undeniably hateful, though unintelligible, words. I start ambling backwards again and my brain is screaming at me to just turn around and leave. But I can’t. I completely freeze, my legs wont go any further, in any direction, and I’m still too scared to show him my back. I’m a sitting target. I can’t even avoid this. I truly can’t.
I feel so trapped and so helpless that I just stand still and I wait for him to grab me, maybe this way, with less resistance, it won’t hurt quite as much. I feel utterly useless and I know, in this moment, that I would never ever wish this feeling on anybody else, not even my father.
“And why would they want a faggot in their home?!” He spits, his breath is wretched and he’s shouting again. I don’t know why he always has to shout at me. Or why he feel the need to consistently make me feel that little bit smaller. That little bit more useless. It’s as if being my age and this defenceless and this belittled and this beaten isn’t enough for him. Why does he need to hold so much control over me? Why does he have the ability to shut my body down with a twitch?
“Not everybody is afraid of people like me.” I finally answer and I outright refuse to cower to him on this. I have to make myself strong here because if I don’t I may never survive this and then all of it, everything, will have been for nothing. I’m getting seriously sick of him throwing the word faggot around and a part of me doesn’t care about being so daring anymore because he’s not just talking about me. He’s talking about mind-blowing people like Kurt and girls who are still searching for themselves like Santana and Brittany, he’s hurting people and he’s making them scared to be who they truly are. Those terrified, conflicted people like Dave Karofsky. People, who act like my father acts, make people like Karofsky hate themselves more than they already do, then the Karofsky’s of our world act out and start hurting others and even themselves and what for, why? Because it’s such an aberration to fall in love with someone who just happens to be the same gender? It makes me sick. It makes me sad.
“You should watch your tone, you little shit! This is my house! I‘ll put you on the fucking streets!” he screams in my face as he shoves me cruelly up the wall, my scarf slipping off my shoulders, it doesn’t hurt any less but I am not afraid of him in that moment. I can feel a remarkable jolt of defiance rush through me. I think I feel proud of myself.
“But who would you hurt then, Dad?” I ask as my head spins a little. He seems to stop in his tracks, as if me calling him ‘Dad’ has thrown him into a tailspin, as if he’s suddenly been reminded that, yes, I am his son. He stares at my neck, which makes me very self-conscious, before he storms away from me and into the kitchen. I gather my scarf and escape to my bedroom as quickly and as quietly as I can. The clanking and clunking of bottles resounding around the house.
o~o~o
By the time I’ve found myself an outfit, dressed myself and covered my neck in concealer it’s time to go and wait outside for Kurt. There is absolutely no way I am letting him knock on our front door, there is no way he is meeting my father or even getting the chance to, it‘s not safe. I can imagine what he’d say to Kurt, I can imagine the vile, repulsive words he’d use to describe him and the thought alone makes me uneasy and angry. In fact, it downright pisses me off.
I check the time before I put my phone in my jeans’ pocket alongside the concealer, I need to take it with me just in case it rubs off. I’ve never used this stuff before, I don’t know how hard or easy it is to wipe it all away. I don’t want to be left sitting there, in front of everyone, as bruises start to reappear on my skin.
I look over myself one last time, just to check that I look presentable, before I quietly creep down the stairs and out of the front door, a tiny click the only signal of my leaving. I breathe in the fresh air and I close my eyes. Every time I leave this house my troubles seem a little lighter and the burden a touch easier to carry. I feel like a freed bird but nevertheless a bird on a string because I know that eventually I’ll have to go back into my cage.
I barely make it to the end of the path when Kurt pulls up curb side, he flashes his headlights at me and starts waving before he reaches across the passenger seat and pushes the door open.
“Climb aboard.” He smiles, shamelessly looking me up and down, I’d probably feel violated if this was anyone but Kurt. He nods his approval as I climb into his car.
“Blaine, you look amazing.” He says and he hasn’t taken his eyes off me and, if I’m honest with myself, which I do try to be, I’m not sure that I want him to. He doesn’t look at me like other people do, there’s always that look in his eyes and it’s fascinating.
“Never as amazing as you.” I counter and he laughs before he starts talking about all of the designer clothing he’s wearing and why he should be looking good tonight but he‘s not entirely convinced. I’m convinced, Kurt, that‘s what I want to say. I’m convinced.
He pulls away and we start our journey to Lima. I listen to him as he goes on and on and on about his love for Marc Jacobs’ new collection and the fact the Alexander McQueen was probably too superior for this world anyway and I’m not really sure what he talks about sometimes but I just soak in his voice. I feel so free and I know why now. I’ve found the answer. Kurt frees me.
We’re sat at a set of traffic lights when Kurt appears to have an epiphany. He frowns and pulls a bizarre face and mutters to himself and then shoots me a worried glance.
“I’m so sorry.” he says and I smile at him, I don’t know why he’s sorry but it’s adorable.
“I’m being so overbearing. I’ve been talking about clothes for a whole forty minutes, Blaine. You should have said something.” He says and his voice is slightly strained, he’s genuinely upset with himself. I don’t like that. Not at all.
“It’s fine, if I really wanted to, I‘d have changed the subject. Don’t apologise to me.” I offer and he smiles gratefully as we start driving again. He lets out a sigh.
“Do you like musicals?” He asks, seemingly rather out-of-the-blue, like that time he asked me if I’d ever been fishing while we were supposed to be completing our homework on the French Revolution.
“Of course I like musicals, Kurt, I‘m gay and I‘m a Warbler.” I say cheerfully, as he continues to drive us to his house. He pulls a face that outright makes me smile, like it was so obvious that he doesn’t know why he even bothered asking me. It’s then that I get the feeling he’s just as nervous as I am about tonight. It feels like a big deal, and it is, I need them to like me. I need the approval of Burt and Finn and Carole; especially Burt.
“Well, Blaine the homosexual Warbler, it’s your lucky night because I just happen to have a Rodgers and Hammerstein CD in here waiting to be played.” He reaches out a searching hand and turns on the stereo and it makes me incredibly nervous because I need him to keep both hands on the steering wheel. Especially now it’s getting dark.
His hands are soon back in their proper place and I can relax again and before I know it the unmistakeable opening notes of You’ll Never Walk Alone vibrate around me.
I could cry as Kurt starts to sing along, his beautiful voice softly filling the silence that lies around us. I imagine that he’s singing this song to me, I imagine that he knows everything about my father and I and that he’s still here for me anyway, that he still cares. He still tells me that he loves me. My heart thunders. My eyes flood with tears and Kurt, he sings like his soul is at stake.
When you walk through the storm
Hold your head up high
And don't be afraid of the dark
At the end of the storm
There's a golden sky
And the sweet silver song of the lark
Walk on, through the wind
Walk on, through the rain
Though your dreams be tossed and blown
Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart
And you'll never walk alone
You'll never walk alone
o~o~o
I’m almost upset when we finally pull into Kurt’s driveway. I’ve been having such a wonderful, emotional and inspiring time listening to him sing beautiful songs like If I Loved You and Getting To Know You that I don’t want it to be over. The drive here has been one of those rare moments - it has been filled with so much purity that I know I could never forget it, or the feeling it has left in my chest.
Kurt’s home is incredibly beautiful, it’s humble and its unspoiled. Hard work and love have clearly built it and I can’t help but think that foundations don’t come any sturdier than that. Not a storm or an earthquake could touch what they have and I don’t think I could possibly be more contented by it all. I could flourish here. I look over to Kurt and he‘s still smiling.
“It’s not much,” he says, locking his car, “not compared to a big house like yours.”
“Kurt, it’s beautiful.” I say honestly because even though it’s smaller and older I could never have what Kurt has within these walls.
“Thank you. Carole’s been looking forward to meeting you.” Kurt informs me and my heart swells. I can’t help but wonder what Kurt has told her about me.
Kurt walks ahead of me and opens his front door, gesturing for me to step in ahead of him, like a gentleman, and so I do. His house feels incredibly different to mine, the atmosphere is alive and well and the stenches of alcohol and urine are replaced by the sweet scents of home cooking and freshly cut flowers. This is a home, I think. This is what coming home feels like. I grit my jaw as tears threaten to form again. Those songs Kurt’s been singing and the feel of this house are almost too much for me to stand. I feel so emotional tonight.
“We’re home!” Kurt shouts past me and it isn’t long before Carole emerges, from where I guess is the kitchen, wrapped in an purple and blue striped apron. She looks like the definition of a mother, shooting me rays of affection as she nears me. She simply radiates love and I can tell that she’s probably one of the people who cries when watching those sad adverts on television about sick children.
“Blaine, honey.” She beams as she reaches out to me, offering me a hug. I cannot refuse her, I feel like I’m gravitating towards her kindness and before I know what’s going on I’m wrapped in her arms. She’s so soft and she smells like jasmine.
“Thank you for having me over.” I say gratefully as she separates us and she starts to rub my shoulders gently. I wonder if, as a mother, she can tell that I’m covered in bruises because she gives me a look of concern that I can’t quite source.
“You should have been here a lot sooner, you’re all Kurt talks about.” She confides with a tiny wink and I smile behind me at Kurt, who is looking ever so slightly embarrassed. A soft red tint covering his cheeks. He straightens his shirt before he walks up next to me and leans in to kiss Carole on the cheek. Kurt has found himself a mother. I wonder if I have found one too.
“Anyway,” she says, “I better go and check on the dinner, you make yourself at home.” She says to me and she smiles at Kurt once more before she shouts up the stairs.
“Finn, honey? Come and set the table with Kurt.” I don’t even hear a single sound of resistance, I just hear footsteps overhead and then Finn emerges at the top of the stairs, Noah in tow. Noah’s here. It doesn’t surprise me, not really, because in between the forty minute fashion talk Kurt gave me in the car he said that Noah had come home with Finn and was probably staying for dinner too. It’s just strange to see him because I’ve only ever said two words to him and he tends to be quite honest and harsh- both of which make me a little nervous. That’s not his fault though, it’s all me and so I try not to judge him before I know him properly. If Burt lets him over this often he must be okay.
Kurt leans into me, “Will you be okay with Noah? I’d let Finn lay out the cutlery alone but he puts the spoons in the wrong place every single time. It drives me insane.”
“I’ll be fine.” I assure him, he waits for Finn to be down the stairs and past him before he follows him into the kitchen. Turning around briefly to roll his eyes at me.
“So, Blaine,” Noah starts inquisitively, dragging my attention away from the door that Kurt’s just vanished through, “You and my boy Kurt official now, or what?” He moves to stand next to me and clasps a hand on my shoulder and I have to admit that he’s far gentler than I imagined he would be. I also have to admit that I find his straightforward nature enthralling.
“I’m afraid not.” I say honestly because a straight talker like Noah would spot a lie ten thousand miles off. I don’t want to be known as a liar, that’s not the impression I like to give people.
“Dude, why? He’s totally into you.” Noah says and he looks genuinely bewildered.
“I respect him, I don’t want to ruin what we have.” I offer, hoping he’ll understand.
“Can’t you respect him and be with him?” He asks and it’s a sincere question. His brows are furrowed and he’s waiting for an answer now, I don’t think I expected him to care so genuinely about his best friend’s new brother. Especially with the history between them both. Noah hasn’t always been so civil to Kurt, I know that. It’s almost a relief.
“Of course, I could.” I say.
“But?” he says, waving a hand in the air and gesturing for me to carry on.
“He’s still settling into Dalton. I don’t want to add pressure to the situation.” I say carefully, hoping he’ll understand that I don’t want to make his life more complicated now it’s finally getting less complicated.
“I’m more than one thousand percent sure he’d be into that.” He offers as he raises an eyebrow. I feel like there’s something else he could tell me at this point but he doesn’t.
“Oh, really?” I ask and I’m smiling now. He nods.
“Damn straight.” He confirms with nothing but confidence in himself, “You’re a good guy from what I hear.”
“From what I hear, so are you, Noah.” I respond and he almost cringes but instead he just shakes his head in disbelief.
“Puck.” He says, with pleading eyes.
“What?” I ask. I’m a little confused.
“Please call me Puck, Only my Mom and Kurt call me Noah. It drives me insane but I can’t tell Kurt to stop in case he bursts into glittering tears.” I laugh at how he’s blatantly telling me that he doesn’t want to hurt Kurt’s feelings. I know that I’m going to like this guy.
“Blaine! Noah! Dinner’s Ready! Come and get it!” Kurt shouts from the kitchen. Puck sighs as we walk to the kitchen together, no doubt despairing at the use of his first name, I have to smile. It’s kind of endearing.
It’s then that it happens. I couldn’t see it coming and I panicked. I straight out panicked. Puck reached out an innocent hand and patted me on the back and it almost stopped me dead. My heart is pounding in my ears and my throat is throbbing.
I have to reach out to the doorframe to try and compose myself. I look into the kitchen and nobody is paying me any attention. Burt is laughing and helping Carole put food in little bowls and Kurt and Finn are pouring drinks.
I look around nervously at Puck and he’s staring at me with a level of concern that I never expected to see from him. Though, I think I made my biggest mistake when he reached out a hand and I flinched.
o~o~o
Part 5.
Rating (overall): NC-17
Pairings: Pre Blaine/Kurt, Blaine centric.
Spoilers: Aired episodes.
Warnings: Abuse, Violence, Alcoholism.
Word Count:3,544
Notes: Fill for this angst meme prompt. Thanks to the lovely people who have left me and my Blaine wonderful comments, you inspire me. I hope this is okay for you.
Summary: Blaine’s father is abusive but he refuses to be brought down by it all. He knows that one day he’s going to make something of his life. He can cope as long as he believes in himself.
Previous:
Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3
o~o~o
I haven’t even shut the door when my father calls me into the sitting room by snarling the word ‘faggot’ in my general direction. I close my eyes as I close the door and I wonder when that vulgar word became the replacement for words like ‘Son’ and ‘Blaine’ and ‘You’ and ‘Piece of shit’. It wasn’t recently but it still shocks me every time it rushes out of his mouth so carelessly. I wonder if he knows about the other meanings of that word, like ‘bundle of sticks’ and ‘a type of meatball’ but I doubt it. To him ‘faggot’ is a derogatory term for people like me, for people like Kurt.
I walk into the sitting room and he looks a little more sober than last night, though only a little. He’s managed to change his clothes and at least he hasn’t pissed himself yet or vomited all over his shirt. I have to be thankful for that, even though it’s the type of progress I know is fleeting and sporadically inclined. I’d laugh at the situation but I can’t because just looking at him makes my body ache. I know what he can do to me and what he has done. There’s not a single funny thing about it.
“I’m going out soon.” I say carefully, making sure that I’m standing under the door frame when the words leave my mouth. I need to make sure that the front door is closer to me than he is. I won’t let him ruin tonight for me, not when he’s ruined so many other things. So many other nights. So many days.
“To fag school?” he slurs as defeat and disappointment settle harshly in my chest. He’s drunker than I thought he was. He thinks that it’s first thing in the morning when I know for a fact that the sun is about to set. I need to be careful, I need to stay back. I don’t have time for this, not now.
“School finished two hours ago.” I say purposefully, before losing my confidence halfway and whispering, “I‘m going to a- a friend‘s house, that‘s all.” He’s so unpredictable that it scares me. I’m frightened of him, I know I am and I know there‘s not a thing in the world I can do about it. I just have to keep myself focused, I just have to remember that this isn’t forever. One day I’ll look back on this situation and I’ll struggle to remember the details.
“You’re gonna fuck that filthy boy you talk to!” he shouts and I take a step backwards instinctively. I want to call him out, I want to tell him not to talk about Kurt like that, I want to tell him that he has no idea how moral and caring and grounded Kurt is but I don‘t. I’d rather see him in person tonight than say what I think, only for my father to come down on me like a ton of bricks.
When I don’t say anything his body jerks and my eyes must widen. Please, don’t get up, I think, please don‘t put your hands on me tonight. I need to be perfect. My own hand tightens around the strap of the bag that still hangs over my shoulder and my knuckles turn white. Fear does funny things to you, like draining you of the courage that everyone thinks you hold onto unwaveringly.
“I’m going for dinner, my friend asked me to go.” I say and then he does it, he gets to his feet. He’s moving much quicker than I thought would be possible, particularly in his state, and he‘s pointing at me viciously and slurring undeniably hateful, though unintelligible, words. I start ambling backwards again and my brain is screaming at me to just turn around and leave. But I can’t. I completely freeze, my legs wont go any further, in any direction, and I’m still too scared to show him my back. I’m a sitting target. I can’t even avoid this. I truly can’t.
I feel so trapped and so helpless that I just stand still and I wait for him to grab me, maybe this way, with less resistance, it won’t hurt quite as much. I feel utterly useless and I know, in this moment, that I would never ever wish this feeling on anybody else, not even my father.
“And why would they want a faggot in their home?!” He spits, his breath is wretched and he’s shouting again. I don’t know why he always has to shout at me. Or why he feel the need to consistently make me feel that little bit smaller. That little bit more useless. It’s as if being my age and this defenceless and this belittled and this beaten isn’t enough for him. Why does he need to hold so much control over me? Why does he have the ability to shut my body down with a twitch?
“Not everybody is afraid of people like me.” I finally answer and I outright refuse to cower to him on this. I have to make myself strong here because if I don’t I may never survive this and then all of it, everything, will have been for nothing. I’m getting seriously sick of him throwing the word faggot around and a part of me doesn’t care about being so daring anymore because he’s not just talking about me. He’s talking about mind-blowing people like Kurt and girls who are still searching for themselves like Santana and Brittany, he’s hurting people and he’s making them scared to be who they truly are. Those terrified, conflicted people like Dave Karofsky. People, who act like my father acts, make people like Karofsky hate themselves more than they already do, then the Karofsky’s of our world act out and start hurting others and even themselves and what for, why? Because it’s such an aberration to fall in love with someone who just happens to be the same gender? It makes me sick. It makes me sad.
“You should watch your tone, you little shit! This is my house! I‘ll put you on the fucking streets!” he screams in my face as he shoves me cruelly up the wall, my scarf slipping off my shoulders, it doesn’t hurt any less but I am not afraid of him in that moment. I can feel a remarkable jolt of defiance rush through me. I think I feel proud of myself.
“But who would you hurt then, Dad?” I ask as my head spins a little. He seems to stop in his tracks, as if me calling him ‘Dad’ has thrown him into a tailspin, as if he’s suddenly been reminded that, yes, I am his son. He stares at my neck, which makes me very self-conscious, before he storms away from me and into the kitchen. I gather my scarf and escape to my bedroom as quickly and as quietly as I can. The clanking and clunking of bottles resounding around the house.
o~o~o
By the time I’ve found myself an outfit, dressed myself and covered my neck in concealer it’s time to go and wait outside for Kurt. There is absolutely no way I am letting him knock on our front door, there is no way he is meeting my father or even getting the chance to, it‘s not safe. I can imagine what he’d say to Kurt, I can imagine the vile, repulsive words he’d use to describe him and the thought alone makes me uneasy and angry. In fact, it downright pisses me off.
I check the time before I put my phone in my jeans’ pocket alongside the concealer, I need to take it with me just in case it rubs off. I’ve never used this stuff before, I don’t know how hard or easy it is to wipe it all away. I don’t want to be left sitting there, in front of everyone, as bruises start to reappear on my skin.
I look over myself one last time, just to check that I look presentable, before I quietly creep down the stairs and out of the front door, a tiny click the only signal of my leaving. I breathe in the fresh air and I close my eyes. Every time I leave this house my troubles seem a little lighter and the burden a touch easier to carry. I feel like a freed bird but nevertheless a bird on a string because I know that eventually I’ll have to go back into my cage.
I barely make it to the end of the path when Kurt pulls up curb side, he flashes his headlights at me and starts waving before he reaches across the passenger seat and pushes the door open.
“Climb aboard.” He smiles, shamelessly looking me up and down, I’d probably feel violated if this was anyone but Kurt. He nods his approval as I climb into his car.
“Blaine, you look amazing.” He says and he hasn’t taken his eyes off me and, if I’m honest with myself, which I do try to be, I’m not sure that I want him to. He doesn’t look at me like other people do, there’s always that look in his eyes and it’s fascinating.
“Never as amazing as you.” I counter and he laughs before he starts talking about all of the designer clothing he’s wearing and why he should be looking good tonight but he‘s not entirely convinced. I’m convinced, Kurt, that‘s what I want to say. I’m convinced.
He pulls away and we start our journey to Lima. I listen to him as he goes on and on and on about his love for Marc Jacobs’ new collection and the fact the Alexander McQueen was probably too superior for this world anyway and I’m not really sure what he talks about sometimes but I just soak in his voice. I feel so free and I know why now. I’ve found the answer. Kurt frees me.
We’re sat at a set of traffic lights when Kurt appears to have an epiphany. He frowns and pulls a bizarre face and mutters to himself and then shoots me a worried glance.
“I’m so sorry.” he says and I smile at him, I don’t know why he’s sorry but it’s adorable.
“I’m being so overbearing. I’ve been talking about clothes for a whole forty minutes, Blaine. You should have said something.” He says and his voice is slightly strained, he’s genuinely upset with himself. I don’t like that. Not at all.
“It’s fine, if I really wanted to, I‘d have changed the subject. Don’t apologise to me.” I offer and he smiles gratefully as we start driving again. He lets out a sigh.
“Do you like musicals?” He asks, seemingly rather out-of-the-blue, like that time he asked me if I’d ever been fishing while we were supposed to be completing our homework on the French Revolution.
“Of course I like musicals, Kurt, I‘m gay and I‘m a Warbler.” I say cheerfully, as he continues to drive us to his house. He pulls a face that outright makes me smile, like it was so obvious that he doesn’t know why he even bothered asking me. It’s then that I get the feeling he’s just as nervous as I am about tonight. It feels like a big deal, and it is, I need them to like me. I need the approval of Burt and Finn and Carole; especially Burt.
“Well, Blaine the homosexual Warbler, it’s your lucky night because I just happen to have a Rodgers and Hammerstein CD in here waiting to be played.” He reaches out a searching hand and turns on the stereo and it makes me incredibly nervous because I need him to keep both hands on the steering wheel. Especially now it’s getting dark.
His hands are soon back in their proper place and I can relax again and before I know it the unmistakeable opening notes of You’ll Never Walk Alone vibrate around me.
I could cry as Kurt starts to sing along, his beautiful voice softly filling the silence that lies around us. I imagine that he’s singing this song to me, I imagine that he knows everything about my father and I and that he’s still here for me anyway, that he still cares. He still tells me that he loves me. My heart thunders. My eyes flood with tears and Kurt, he sings like his soul is at stake.
When you walk through the storm
Hold your head up high
And don't be afraid of the dark
At the end of the storm
There's a golden sky
And the sweet silver song of the lark
Walk on, through the wind
Walk on, through the rain
Though your dreams be tossed and blown
Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart
And you'll never walk alone
You'll never walk alone
o~o~o
I’m almost upset when we finally pull into Kurt’s driveway. I’ve been having such a wonderful, emotional and inspiring time listening to him sing beautiful songs like If I Loved You and Getting To Know You that I don’t want it to be over. The drive here has been one of those rare moments - it has been filled with so much purity that I know I could never forget it, or the feeling it has left in my chest.
Kurt’s home is incredibly beautiful, it’s humble and its unspoiled. Hard work and love have clearly built it and I can’t help but think that foundations don’t come any sturdier than that. Not a storm or an earthquake could touch what they have and I don’t think I could possibly be more contented by it all. I could flourish here. I look over to Kurt and he‘s still smiling.
“It’s not much,” he says, locking his car, “not compared to a big house like yours.”
“Kurt, it’s beautiful.” I say honestly because even though it’s smaller and older I could never have what Kurt has within these walls.
“Thank you. Carole’s been looking forward to meeting you.” Kurt informs me and my heart swells. I can’t help but wonder what Kurt has told her about me.
Kurt walks ahead of me and opens his front door, gesturing for me to step in ahead of him, like a gentleman, and so I do. His house feels incredibly different to mine, the atmosphere is alive and well and the stenches of alcohol and urine are replaced by the sweet scents of home cooking and freshly cut flowers. This is a home, I think. This is what coming home feels like. I grit my jaw as tears threaten to form again. Those songs Kurt’s been singing and the feel of this house are almost too much for me to stand. I feel so emotional tonight.
“We’re home!” Kurt shouts past me and it isn’t long before Carole emerges, from where I guess is the kitchen, wrapped in an purple and blue striped apron. She looks like the definition of a mother, shooting me rays of affection as she nears me. She simply radiates love and I can tell that she’s probably one of the people who cries when watching those sad adverts on television about sick children.
“Blaine, honey.” She beams as she reaches out to me, offering me a hug. I cannot refuse her, I feel like I’m gravitating towards her kindness and before I know what’s going on I’m wrapped in her arms. She’s so soft and she smells like jasmine.
“Thank you for having me over.” I say gratefully as she separates us and she starts to rub my shoulders gently. I wonder if, as a mother, she can tell that I’m covered in bruises because she gives me a look of concern that I can’t quite source.
“You should have been here a lot sooner, you’re all Kurt talks about.” She confides with a tiny wink and I smile behind me at Kurt, who is looking ever so slightly embarrassed. A soft red tint covering his cheeks. He straightens his shirt before he walks up next to me and leans in to kiss Carole on the cheek. Kurt has found himself a mother. I wonder if I have found one too.
“Anyway,” she says, “I better go and check on the dinner, you make yourself at home.” She says to me and she smiles at Kurt once more before she shouts up the stairs.
“Finn, honey? Come and set the table with Kurt.” I don’t even hear a single sound of resistance, I just hear footsteps overhead and then Finn emerges at the top of the stairs, Noah in tow. Noah’s here. It doesn’t surprise me, not really, because in between the forty minute fashion talk Kurt gave me in the car he said that Noah had come home with Finn and was probably staying for dinner too. It’s just strange to see him because I’ve only ever said two words to him and he tends to be quite honest and harsh- both of which make me a little nervous. That’s not his fault though, it’s all me and so I try not to judge him before I know him properly. If Burt lets him over this often he must be okay.
Kurt leans into me, “Will you be okay with Noah? I’d let Finn lay out the cutlery alone but he puts the spoons in the wrong place every single time. It drives me insane.”
“I’ll be fine.” I assure him, he waits for Finn to be down the stairs and past him before he follows him into the kitchen. Turning around briefly to roll his eyes at me.
“So, Blaine,” Noah starts inquisitively, dragging my attention away from the door that Kurt’s just vanished through, “You and my boy Kurt official now, or what?” He moves to stand next to me and clasps a hand on my shoulder and I have to admit that he’s far gentler than I imagined he would be. I also have to admit that I find his straightforward nature enthralling.
“I’m afraid not.” I say honestly because a straight talker like Noah would spot a lie ten thousand miles off. I don’t want to be known as a liar, that’s not the impression I like to give people.
“Dude, why? He’s totally into you.” Noah says and he looks genuinely bewildered.
“I respect him, I don’t want to ruin what we have.” I offer, hoping he’ll understand.
“Can’t you respect him and be with him?” He asks and it’s a sincere question. His brows are furrowed and he’s waiting for an answer now, I don’t think I expected him to care so genuinely about his best friend’s new brother. Especially with the history between them both. Noah hasn’t always been so civil to Kurt, I know that. It’s almost a relief.
“Of course, I could.” I say.
“But?” he says, waving a hand in the air and gesturing for me to carry on.
“He’s still settling into Dalton. I don’t want to add pressure to the situation.” I say carefully, hoping he’ll understand that I don’t want to make his life more complicated now it’s finally getting less complicated.
“I’m more than one thousand percent sure he’d be into that.” He offers as he raises an eyebrow. I feel like there’s something else he could tell me at this point but he doesn’t.
“Oh, really?” I ask and I’m smiling now. He nods.
“Damn straight.” He confirms with nothing but confidence in himself, “You’re a good guy from what I hear.”
“From what I hear, so are you, Noah.” I respond and he almost cringes but instead he just shakes his head in disbelief.
“Puck.” He says, with pleading eyes.
“What?” I ask. I’m a little confused.
“Please call me Puck, Only my Mom and Kurt call me Noah. It drives me insane but I can’t tell Kurt to stop in case he bursts into glittering tears.” I laugh at how he’s blatantly telling me that he doesn’t want to hurt Kurt’s feelings. I know that I’m going to like this guy.
“Blaine! Noah! Dinner’s Ready! Come and get it!” Kurt shouts from the kitchen. Puck sighs as we walk to the kitchen together, no doubt despairing at the use of his first name, I have to smile. It’s kind of endearing.
It’s then that it happens. I couldn’t see it coming and I panicked. I straight out panicked. Puck reached out an innocent hand and patted me on the back and it almost stopped me dead. My heart is pounding in my ears and my throat is throbbing.
I have to reach out to the doorframe to try and compose myself. I look into the kitchen and nobody is paying me any attention. Burt is laughing and helping Carole put food in little bowls and Kurt and Finn are pouring drinks.
I look around nervously at Puck and he’s staring at me with a level of concern that I never expected to see from him. Though, I think I made my biggest mistake when he reached out a hand and I flinched.
o~o~o
Part 5.