Keeping Courageous & Carrying On - Part 8
Title: Keeping Courageous & Carrying On - Part 8
Rating (overall): NC-17
Pairings: Pre Blaine/Kurt, Blaine centric.
Spoilers: Aired episodes but no prom spoilers.
Warnings: Abuse, Violence, Alcoholism.
Word Count:2,983
Notes: Fill for this angst meme prompt. 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 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7
More Notes:This is a happier chapter. You know why? Because Prom Queen broke me. If I write about anyone crying, I’ll cry and I can’t cry all day. So, I give you a rare glimpse at happy!Blaine. Yes, you read that right. Blaine is happier. In a round about way, this is my obligatory post ‘Prom Queen’ post!
o~o~o
While waiting for Kurt I come to the unexpected conclusion that Dalton is at least twice as striking when it‘s deathly quiet. The empty hallways and the unfilled classrooms are crammed with nothing but peaceful, unbroken silence and soft, lustrous light.
When students aren’t indiscriminately strewn across the common room the armchairs look three times as comfortable and the cushions seem four times as plush. It’s almost a shame when people start emerging from outside and clutter the quietness with their quick conversations and abrupt bursts of laughter. There’s a lot of laughter here; it‘s a happy morning and even with the morning I’ve had I feel warmed by it all.
They’re all sharing friendly touches and gracious looks and courteous words and I’m inattentively picking cotton from my sleeve. That doesn’t last for long though, not when Kurt struts through the door. I don’t know how he manages to look so much better than the rest of us, because we’re all wearing exactly the same dreary cotton/polyester blend, but he does. Maybe it’s the way he carries himself because if you erased the setting he could easily be walking down a catwalk and the entire world could easily be staring back at him in awe. And then, I suppose, it wouldn’t just be me gawking at him like a fool, it‘d be everyone. Kurt deserves that level of recognition; he’s so honourable and so adorable and so compassionate that it almost hurts.
Watching Kurt Hummel walk towards you is an experience. My heart is pounding and it’s not hammering because I’m scared that I’ll have to lie to him because I know I wont, not anymore, it’s beating so hard because I can truly see him. In that moment I understand who Kurt really is. His flawless posture, his even gait, his enhanced confidence as he walks around this school, it all just blows me away. I know that I’m watching Kurt become the person he has always wanted to be and it’s overwhelming, if I thought about it long enough I‘d probably cry. I just want to grab his hands and say: Oh, there you are, I've been looking for you forever. And I’d mean it, oh, God I'd mean it.
Kurt falls gracefully into the chair nearest to mine and drops his designer satchel cautiously to the ground before he looks up at me. It’s still there, the look of concern he had last night, but he masks it incredibly well and with a face of absolute defiance. A stranger would never see it but I’m not a stranger, I know Kurt and I can see it a mile off. There’s something else, settling around Kurt’s eyes, and I don‘t know what to make if it. I just hope he’s not going to interrogate me because I would love to have just one single happy day. Today is my fresh start and I am going to try so hard to make it work.
“I hate Finn.” Kurt says randomly and I have to pause for a second. I have to give it time to register because I did not expect those to be his first words. It hits me then, we’re not going to talk about my father. Not yet at least. I smile, I have to, even if this is just an artful ploy or one of Kurt’s sly schemes.
This is what I need to hear right now, especially after this morning, and I think he knows that. Kurt seems to know everything when it comes down to what I need. He picks up the tiny gestures, the guarded uncertainty and the reluctance that I never know I‘m physically or emotionally showing. He sees me more clearly than I will ever see myself.
“Finn’s your brother now, Kurt, I thought you two were cool?” I offer and he rolls his eyes at me quite viciously. I can’t even imagine the depths of the dirty looks he must have been giving Finn earlier. I wonder how much damage Kurt’s new brother could have realistically done in the few hours Kurt’s been awake and in the forty-ish minutes they probably saw one another for this morning. Surely it’s not that much.
“He’s so infuriating.” Kurt sighs as his cheeks start to turn a frustration-induced red. It makes him look like a painted figurine, a perfect example of porcelain. I feel a smile tug at the corners of my mouth.
“Finn’s a good guy.” I offer genuinely, to which Kurt snorts in a mixed form of scepticism and disbelief. It’s this childish, moody, self-indulgent side of Kurt that makes me smile the most. The side of him that’s drama for the sake of palaver and diva for the sake of trying. They’re quite attractive, in a way, his ballsy mood swings. Kurt doesn’t tone himself down and something about that is utterly charming.
“Blaine, if you like him so much, please, feel free to just take him! I‘ll bring him to your house for free!” Kurt rants, he’s about to carry on because he raises a hand but he stops dead.
“I-” he begins earnestly and I just know there’s an apology about to burst past his lips because they keep opening and closing and it’s almost obscenely mechanical as a gesture.
Kurt doesn’t need to apologise to me every time the subject of home comes up, I need him to know that, I know that’s what’s going on here. It never stopped him before, it shouldn’t stop him now. I like listening to what Kurt has to say about Finn’s bad habits and his Dad’s insistence on having increasingly awkward ’talks’ with him and Carole’s wonderful food. It’s oddly grounding for me because I don’t have that and I want to treasure it for him. Maybe I live my life a little vicariously through Kurt, maybe all of it just keeps my morale up when I can‘t find anything else to hold onto. Most likely, I’ll never know, not for sure.
“It’s okay,” I say reassuringly, “You’re allowed to talk about your family, Kurt.”
I watch as the worry tries to squeeze itself from his face. He’s trying so hard to be perfect for me but he already is. Surely he knows that?
“Was your dad home last night?” He asks quietly and he looks so serious, the drama of his tiff with Finn is all but forgotten now. None of it seems to matter anymore and it appears that we need to have this conversation right now.
“No, it was quiet.” I say in reply because it’s the truth and I tell the truth about my father and my home and my life now.
“What about this morning?” He asks probingly and I look at him suspiciously then, that seems a little bit guarded. It feels like there’s a right and a wrong answer. I don’t know where this is going and it does make me a little uneasy but not so uneasy that I’m squirming in my seat. I trust him.
“He came home.” I start subtly before I think to add, “But I’m fine, Kurt.”
He nods then and something akin to relief takes over his face.
“Thank you. I’m so pleased you’re telling me the truth now.” He smiles and I can actually feel my brow furrow as he reaches out a hand for me to take. How would he know either way? Is it the way I said it? I take his hand in mine and they hang idly between our chairs, not a single soul has noticed and if they did it wouldn’t even matter, not here. These people are our friends.
“I should probably explain. I found Noah in the airing cupboard this morning.” There’s a smile playing on his lips as he recalls the memory and that makes me smile right back at him.
He squeezes my hand a little.
“You did?” I say, not entirely sure what that means. Either he’s leaving out details or my brain is especially muddled today.
“Blaine, you should have seen it, he’s was literally in the closet. Anyway, I saw him stuffing his phone into his jeans and I just assumed it was you? It was you, wasn‘t it?” He asks and his eyes meet mine as I finally understand what’s going on. That’s why everything went so quiet on Puck’s end of the phone this morning, he locked himself in a tiny, dark room so we could talk alone. A surge of emotion surges through my chest, Noah Puckerman is a gentleman.
“I’m so sorry-” I start, suddenly feeling bad about the fact that I can talk to Puck but not Kurt about my troubles. It’s not his fault, I need to tell him that, it‘s not because Puck‘s better or nicer or anything stupid like that, it‘s just because he understands. Honestly, I’m glad Kurt could never truly understand the situation because that means he’s had a better life and if anyone deserves it, it‘s Kurt.
“Hey, I’m not criticising you.” He cuts in gently, “It’s a good thing, you talking to Noah.”
He gives my hand another firm squeeze.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you, Kurt.” I continue, feeling the need to explain myself.
“I don’t care who you call, Blaine, just as long as you call someone. I care about you, a lot.” He says and the sincerity in his voice matches that in his eyes. I can feel my heart swelling.
“I care about you too, Kurt. I hope you know that?” I offer and he grins before he stands up and comes to sit on the arm of my armchair, our hands still attached. His body is so warm, I can feel it as our legs touch, the heat of him.
“Of course I know, that’s why I smile. You make me so happy.” he says and I can feel a lump forming in my throat as he touches my face. Oh, Kurt.
“You make me smile too.” I offer quietly as I try to keep my emotions in check.
“Is it this hideous uniform?” he beams as a laugh escapes him, “When I look at myself in a mirror, or in any other available shiny surface for that matter, I never quite know whether to sob or smile.”
A snort of laughter slips out of me and I think that today I fell for him. Truly fell for him. Mr Kurt Elizabeth Hummel.
o~o~o
I can remember when lunchtimes at Dalton used to be one big, bland, boring span of time. I’d spend my lunch actually studying or doing my homework or writing music or arranging a cappella’s or doing something else verging on serious academia. Not anymore. Now that Kurt’s here lunchtimes are infinitely more entertaining.
Puck has been texting me all day, it started in a totally supportive way, with him telling me that life would get better and that I should cling to those happy moments- however fleeting they feel. He’s being sweet and honest and has the tendency to text an affirmative - Dude!- when he agrees with something. I try to imagine Kurt ever sending me a text with the word ‘dude’ in it and it’s so unholy that I have to wipe the notion from my brain.
The latest texts have veered off somewhat. Now we’re just talking about whatever comes up and I think that these texts are what will make us good friends. And I hope that they do.
Dude! Kurt has his panties in a twist because Finn brought him milk. Like he does for Finn and left it on his dresser. I’m trying to understand what went on between Kurt and Finn this morning because I’m curious, I know curiosity killed the cat, but I doubt talking to Puck about this situation is going to result in my death.
That’s a problem? I text back.
When he got out of the shower there was a circular milky stain on the wood. He went mental dude. I have to laugh, I can imagine him freaking out. He probably still had a towel wrapped around his head when he started shouting.
I‘m texting Puck again when Kurt appears in the flesh, in the common room, with a huge neon blue folder clutched tightly in his hands. I can already tell where this is going. He needs help or reassurance or both.
“Blaine, please tell me you’re not busy?” He says, dropping his folder on the table with a thud. I flinch as the sound breaks the silence and Kurt obliviously takes a seat opposite me.
“I’m not busy?” I say teasingly and he shoots me a horrified glance.
“You’re not are you?” He asks again and his eyes are wide.
“No?” I try and I’m smiling because he looks so adorable when he’s all flustered.
“Blaine, this is serious!” He exclaims. He looks like a neglected puppy and I smile apologetically.
“Okay, I’m sorry. I’m not busy.” I offer seriously and he lets out a huge sigh of relief.
“I’m having a fashion and textiles crisis and it needs to be fixed by next period.” He relays quickly and it takes my brain a while to catch up with what’s actually being said.
“What’s the project?” I say eventually, watching as he flips open the folder and shows me the first sheet of paper that’s stuck in there.
“We’re designing a duvet set to a list of given specifications and it needs to be done in two days.” he’s frowning and that’s not like Kurt, he’s great at this kind of thing. He even makes his own clothes sometimes and I honestly can‘t tell the difference between Alexander McQueen and Kurt Hummel.
“What are you stuck on?” I ask, hoping it’ll illuminate me and I can wipe the look of panic off his face.
“I’m stuck on the pillow cases.” He admits with a whisper, like saying he’s stuck is a dreadful confession that need never be spoken of ever again. Never ever again.
“You’re stressing out over pillowcases?” I ask and I can’t hold back the laugh that escapes me.
“You don’t understand! Do I go for a regular cut or for an oxford cut?” Kurt says and he’s waving his hands around like someone’s asking him to something awful and unfair and ridiculous. He’s genuinely stressed out over a pillowcase.
“What’s an oxford cut?” I ask because I’m not that boy- types of pillowcases are not a priority in my life. At least, they weren’t, not until right now. Now they matter, like Kurt matters.
"An Oxford cut pillowcase has a 5cm-10cm valance round all four sides. With a hemstitched or corded decoration around the inner edge of the valance. Like this, see?" He says flipping through his folder and showing me a picture. It has a really fancy border around it’s edges and honestly it does look good.
“Oh, that is nice.” I say and Kurt grins at me. Nodding to himself as the tension starts to leave his body. His shoulders relax a little and he looks a little less terrified.
“What do you think about the filling? Do I opt for foam, feather, down or synthetic?” he asks genuinely and I have no idea what to say because he’s not even showing me accompanying pictures now.
“All of them?” I offer in blind panic and he actually gasps.
“Oh, for the love of Gaga. Blaine, seriously, I‘m not surprised you didn‘t take this class.” I think I should be offended on some level but I’m not because the look he’s giving me is priceless. It’s just another thing I love about him, I think, another part of Kurt I adore. He has so many interesting parts to him, he’s not a box and there are more than four sides to him. I respect that. I’m not a box either.
“Hey, I can sew.” I say, defending myself because it’s true, I’m not that helpless.
“Wait, really?” He stops fiddling with his folder and looks at me intently.
“Yeah, I do have some homely skills, Kurt. Just nothing too fancy.” I confirm and he gives me a huge smile. It’s breathtaking.
“Do you want to help?” He asks suggestively, like I could say no to him on anything.
“If you need me to, I’ll help you. Of course I will. Just show me what to do.” I offer and with that Kurt moves his chair around the table, lays out his folder and explains his vision. He’s talking about cord and colours and swatches and complimentary arrangements and he has never looked so alive.
I watch him as he talks excitedly and my breath halts every time he touches me and I’m not quite expecting it. I wonder if life could always be this good. If I left my house tonight or tomorrow could this be a permanent reality? Do people really live in this much harmony? I’m not sure but I do hope so.
I wonder then, if we’ll ever get together, Kurt and I, as a couple. Our Dalton friends think it’d be great, they tease us with it all the time, but I’m not so sure. Would Kurt ever truly want someone like me? I mean, I’d take Kurt in a flash, to me he’s perfect, he’s undamaged and he’s beautiful.
I’m just not sure that I can be his perfect, or anyone’s perfect, but I have to hope that I am because without hope what do I have?
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I take a quick look at it as Kurt starts rooting through his neon blue folder again. I smile to myself then and look over at the boy sitting so closely to me. Puck’s timely words echoing through my head- Stay brave, Blaine.
o~o~o
Part 9.
Rating (overall): NC-17
Pairings: Pre Blaine/Kurt, Blaine centric.
Spoilers: Aired episodes but no prom spoilers.
Warnings: Abuse, Violence, Alcoholism.
Word Count:2,983
Notes: Fill for this angst meme prompt. 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 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7
More Notes:This is a happier chapter. You know why? Because Prom Queen broke me. If I write about anyone crying, I’ll cry and I can’t cry all day. So, I give you a rare glimpse at happy!Blaine. Yes, you read that right. Blaine is happier. In a round about way, this is my obligatory post ‘Prom Queen’ post!
o~o~o
While waiting for Kurt I come to the unexpected conclusion that Dalton is at least twice as striking when it‘s deathly quiet. The empty hallways and the unfilled classrooms are crammed with nothing but peaceful, unbroken silence and soft, lustrous light.
When students aren’t indiscriminately strewn across the common room the armchairs look three times as comfortable and the cushions seem four times as plush. It’s almost a shame when people start emerging from outside and clutter the quietness with their quick conversations and abrupt bursts of laughter. There’s a lot of laughter here; it‘s a happy morning and even with the morning I’ve had I feel warmed by it all.
They’re all sharing friendly touches and gracious looks and courteous words and I’m inattentively picking cotton from my sleeve. That doesn’t last for long though, not when Kurt struts through the door. I don’t know how he manages to look so much better than the rest of us, because we’re all wearing exactly the same dreary cotton/polyester blend, but he does. Maybe it’s the way he carries himself because if you erased the setting he could easily be walking down a catwalk and the entire world could easily be staring back at him in awe. And then, I suppose, it wouldn’t just be me gawking at him like a fool, it‘d be everyone. Kurt deserves that level of recognition; he’s so honourable and so adorable and so compassionate that it almost hurts.
Watching Kurt Hummel walk towards you is an experience. My heart is pounding and it’s not hammering because I’m scared that I’ll have to lie to him because I know I wont, not anymore, it’s beating so hard because I can truly see him. In that moment I understand who Kurt really is. His flawless posture, his even gait, his enhanced confidence as he walks around this school, it all just blows me away. I know that I’m watching Kurt become the person he has always wanted to be and it’s overwhelming, if I thought about it long enough I‘d probably cry. I just want to grab his hands and say: Oh, there you are, I've been looking for you forever. And I’d mean it, oh, God I'd mean it.
Kurt falls gracefully into the chair nearest to mine and drops his designer satchel cautiously to the ground before he looks up at me. It’s still there, the look of concern he had last night, but he masks it incredibly well and with a face of absolute defiance. A stranger would never see it but I’m not a stranger, I know Kurt and I can see it a mile off. There’s something else, settling around Kurt’s eyes, and I don‘t know what to make if it. I just hope he’s not going to interrogate me because I would love to have just one single happy day. Today is my fresh start and I am going to try so hard to make it work.
“I hate Finn.” Kurt says randomly and I have to pause for a second. I have to give it time to register because I did not expect those to be his first words. It hits me then, we’re not going to talk about my father. Not yet at least. I smile, I have to, even if this is just an artful ploy or one of Kurt’s sly schemes.
This is what I need to hear right now, especially after this morning, and I think he knows that. Kurt seems to know everything when it comes down to what I need. He picks up the tiny gestures, the guarded uncertainty and the reluctance that I never know I‘m physically or emotionally showing. He sees me more clearly than I will ever see myself.
“Finn’s your brother now, Kurt, I thought you two were cool?” I offer and he rolls his eyes at me quite viciously. I can’t even imagine the depths of the dirty looks he must have been giving Finn earlier. I wonder how much damage Kurt’s new brother could have realistically done in the few hours Kurt’s been awake and in the forty-ish minutes they probably saw one another for this morning. Surely it’s not that much.
“He’s so infuriating.” Kurt sighs as his cheeks start to turn a frustration-induced red. It makes him look like a painted figurine, a perfect example of porcelain. I feel a smile tug at the corners of my mouth.
“Finn’s a good guy.” I offer genuinely, to which Kurt snorts in a mixed form of scepticism and disbelief. It’s this childish, moody, self-indulgent side of Kurt that makes me smile the most. The side of him that’s drama for the sake of palaver and diva for the sake of trying. They’re quite attractive, in a way, his ballsy mood swings. Kurt doesn’t tone himself down and something about that is utterly charming.
“Blaine, if you like him so much, please, feel free to just take him! I‘ll bring him to your house for free!” Kurt rants, he’s about to carry on because he raises a hand but he stops dead.
“I-” he begins earnestly and I just know there’s an apology about to burst past his lips because they keep opening and closing and it’s almost obscenely mechanical as a gesture.
Kurt doesn’t need to apologise to me every time the subject of home comes up, I need him to know that, I know that’s what’s going on here. It never stopped him before, it shouldn’t stop him now. I like listening to what Kurt has to say about Finn’s bad habits and his Dad’s insistence on having increasingly awkward ’talks’ with him and Carole’s wonderful food. It’s oddly grounding for me because I don’t have that and I want to treasure it for him. Maybe I live my life a little vicariously through Kurt, maybe all of it just keeps my morale up when I can‘t find anything else to hold onto. Most likely, I’ll never know, not for sure.
“It’s okay,” I say reassuringly, “You’re allowed to talk about your family, Kurt.”
I watch as the worry tries to squeeze itself from his face. He’s trying so hard to be perfect for me but he already is. Surely he knows that?
“Was your dad home last night?” He asks quietly and he looks so serious, the drama of his tiff with Finn is all but forgotten now. None of it seems to matter anymore and it appears that we need to have this conversation right now.
“No, it was quiet.” I say in reply because it’s the truth and I tell the truth about my father and my home and my life now.
“What about this morning?” He asks probingly and I look at him suspiciously then, that seems a little bit guarded. It feels like there’s a right and a wrong answer. I don’t know where this is going and it does make me a little uneasy but not so uneasy that I’m squirming in my seat. I trust him.
“He came home.” I start subtly before I think to add, “But I’m fine, Kurt.”
He nods then and something akin to relief takes over his face.
“Thank you. I’m so pleased you’re telling me the truth now.” He smiles and I can actually feel my brow furrow as he reaches out a hand for me to take. How would he know either way? Is it the way I said it? I take his hand in mine and they hang idly between our chairs, not a single soul has noticed and if they did it wouldn’t even matter, not here. These people are our friends.
“I should probably explain. I found Noah in the airing cupboard this morning.” There’s a smile playing on his lips as he recalls the memory and that makes me smile right back at him.
He squeezes my hand a little.
“You did?” I say, not entirely sure what that means. Either he’s leaving out details or my brain is especially muddled today.
“Blaine, you should have seen it, he’s was literally in the closet. Anyway, I saw him stuffing his phone into his jeans and I just assumed it was you? It was you, wasn‘t it?” He asks and his eyes meet mine as I finally understand what’s going on. That’s why everything went so quiet on Puck’s end of the phone this morning, he locked himself in a tiny, dark room so we could talk alone. A surge of emotion surges through my chest, Noah Puckerman is a gentleman.
“I’m so sorry-” I start, suddenly feeling bad about the fact that I can talk to Puck but not Kurt about my troubles. It’s not his fault, I need to tell him that, it‘s not because Puck‘s better or nicer or anything stupid like that, it‘s just because he understands. Honestly, I’m glad Kurt could never truly understand the situation because that means he’s had a better life and if anyone deserves it, it‘s Kurt.
“Hey, I’m not criticising you.” He cuts in gently, “It’s a good thing, you talking to Noah.”
He gives my hand another firm squeeze.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you, Kurt.” I continue, feeling the need to explain myself.
“I don’t care who you call, Blaine, just as long as you call someone. I care about you, a lot.” He says and the sincerity in his voice matches that in his eyes. I can feel my heart swelling.
“I care about you too, Kurt. I hope you know that?” I offer and he grins before he stands up and comes to sit on the arm of my armchair, our hands still attached. His body is so warm, I can feel it as our legs touch, the heat of him.
“Of course I know, that’s why I smile. You make me so happy.” he says and I can feel a lump forming in my throat as he touches my face. Oh, Kurt.
“You make me smile too.” I offer quietly as I try to keep my emotions in check.
“Is it this hideous uniform?” he beams as a laugh escapes him, “When I look at myself in a mirror, or in any other available shiny surface for that matter, I never quite know whether to sob or smile.”
A snort of laughter slips out of me and I think that today I fell for him. Truly fell for him. Mr Kurt Elizabeth Hummel.
o~o~o
I can remember when lunchtimes at Dalton used to be one big, bland, boring span of time. I’d spend my lunch actually studying or doing my homework or writing music or arranging a cappella’s or doing something else verging on serious academia. Not anymore. Now that Kurt’s here lunchtimes are infinitely more entertaining.
Puck has been texting me all day, it started in a totally supportive way, with him telling me that life would get better and that I should cling to those happy moments- however fleeting they feel. He’s being sweet and honest and has the tendency to text an affirmative - Dude!- when he agrees with something. I try to imagine Kurt ever sending me a text with the word ‘dude’ in it and it’s so unholy that I have to wipe the notion from my brain.
The latest texts have veered off somewhat. Now we’re just talking about whatever comes up and I think that these texts are what will make us good friends. And I hope that they do.
Dude! Kurt has his panties in a twist because Finn brought him milk. Like he does for Finn and left it on his dresser. I’m trying to understand what went on between Kurt and Finn this morning because I’m curious, I know curiosity killed the cat, but I doubt talking to Puck about this situation is going to result in my death.
That’s a problem? I text back.
When he got out of the shower there was a circular milky stain on the wood. He went mental dude. I have to laugh, I can imagine him freaking out. He probably still had a towel wrapped around his head when he started shouting.
I‘m texting Puck again when Kurt appears in the flesh, in the common room, with a huge neon blue folder clutched tightly in his hands. I can already tell where this is going. He needs help or reassurance or both.
“Blaine, please tell me you’re not busy?” He says, dropping his folder on the table with a thud. I flinch as the sound breaks the silence and Kurt obliviously takes a seat opposite me.
“I’m not busy?” I say teasingly and he shoots me a horrified glance.
“You’re not are you?” He asks again and his eyes are wide.
“No?” I try and I’m smiling because he looks so adorable when he’s all flustered.
“Blaine, this is serious!” He exclaims. He looks like a neglected puppy and I smile apologetically.
“Okay, I’m sorry. I’m not busy.” I offer seriously and he lets out a huge sigh of relief.
“I’m having a fashion and textiles crisis and it needs to be fixed by next period.” He relays quickly and it takes my brain a while to catch up with what’s actually being said.
“What’s the project?” I say eventually, watching as he flips open the folder and shows me the first sheet of paper that’s stuck in there.
“We’re designing a duvet set to a list of given specifications and it needs to be done in two days.” he’s frowning and that’s not like Kurt, he’s great at this kind of thing. He even makes his own clothes sometimes and I honestly can‘t tell the difference between Alexander McQueen and Kurt Hummel.
“What are you stuck on?” I ask, hoping it’ll illuminate me and I can wipe the look of panic off his face.
“I’m stuck on the pillow cases.” He admits with a whisper, like saying he’s stuck is a dreadful confession that need never be spoken of ever again. Never ever again.
“You’re stressing out over pillowcases?” I ask and I can’t hold back the laugh that escapes me.
“You don’t understand! Do I go for a regular cut or for an oxford cut?” Kurt says and he’s waving his hands around like someone’s asking him to something awful and unfair and ridiculous. He’s genuinely stressed out over a pillowcase.
“What’s an oxford cut?” I ask because I’m not that boy- types of pillowcases are not a priority in my life. At least, they weren’t, not until right now. Now they matter, like Kurt matters.
"An Oxford cut pillowcase has a 5cm-10cm valance round all four sides. With a hemstitched or corded decoration around the inner edge of the valance. Like this, see?" He says flipping through his folder and showing me a picture. It has a really fancy border around it’s edges and honestly it does look good.
“Oh, that is nice.” I say and Kurt grins at me. Nodding to himself as the tension starts to leave his body. His shoulders relax a little and he looks a little less terrified.
“What do you think about the filling? Do I opt for foam, feather, down or synthetic?” he asks genuinely and I have no idea what to say because he’s not even showing me accompanying pictures now.
“All of them?” I offer in blind panic and he actually gasps.
“Oh, for the love of Gaga. Blaine, seriously, I‘m not surprised you didn‘t take this class.” I think I should be offended on some level but I’m not because the look he’s giving me is priceless. It’s just another thing I love about him, I think, another part of Kurt I adore. He has so many interesting parts to him, he’s not a box and there are more than four sides to him. I respect that. I’m not a box either.
“Hey, I can sew.” I say, defending myself because it’s true, I’m not that helpless.
“Wait, really?” He stops fiddling with his folder and looks at me intently.
“Yeah, I do have some homely skills, Kurt. Just nothing too fancy.” I confirm and he gives me a huge smile. It’s breathtaking.
“Do you want to help?” He asks suggestively, like I could say no to him on anything.
“If you need me to, I’ll help you. Of course I will. Just show me what to do.” I offer and with that Kurt moves his chair around the table, lays out his folder and explains his vision. He’s talking about cord and colours and swatches and complimentary arrangements and he has never looked so alive.
I watch him as he talks excitedly and my breath halts every time he touches me and I’m not quite expecting it. I wonder if life could always be this good. If I left my house tonight or tomorrow could this be a permanent reality? Do people really live in this much harmony? I’m not sure but I do hope so.
I wonder then, if we’ll ever get together, Kurt and I, as a couple. Our Dalton friends think it’d be great, they tease us with it all the time, but I’m not so sure. Would Kurt ever truly want someone like me? I mean, I’d take Kurt in a flash, to me he’s perfect, he’s undamaged and he’s beautiful.
I’m just not sure that I can be his perfect, or anyone’s perfect, but I have to hope that I am because without hope what do I have?
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I take a quick look at it as Kurt starts rooting through his neon blue folder again. I smile to myself then and look over at the boy sitting so closely to me. Puck’s timely words echoing through my head- Stay brave, Blaine.
o~o~o
Part 9.