fic: there's a tangled thread inside his head
media: fic
title: there's a tangled thread inside his head
rating: pg-13
word count: 1000
warnings: eating disorders
summary: There is an exchange involving Burberry-esque cage covers and Kurt worries that their once meaningful conversations will be reduced to superficial pleasantries forever. He wants to shake him by the shoulders and tell him to stop. He wants Blaine to talk to him.
author's note: this story was originally posted on the k/bl community over the summer, so i apologize if you have seen it before. it has since turned into a series. over the course of the series, it had become clear to me that it's more of a blaine story than a klaine one, so i have decided to post it here over the next couple of days. if you would like to follow me on tumblr, you can find me here. :)
previous: a place where i can breathe
He spends a lot of time trying to understand Blaine. Kurt himself is no stranger to calorie consciousness, but that doesn’t mean he grasps the level his friend has taken things to. He wonders what Blaine sees when he looks in the mirror.
Because there’s no way he’s seeing anything close to the truth.
&
There are several reasons Kurt finds himself feeling mildly annoyed when asked for his opinion on the Warblers’ impromptu performance of ‘Misery.’ Most of these reasons involve the fact that the post-performance chats are the closest they’ve been to having an actual conversation in weeks. He knows he’s supposed to be disarmed by that smile and the way he seems to be singing to him like he’s the only person in the room, but he still feels the unmistakable prick of annoyance in his chest.
“So, what did you think?” he asks, his smile resembling something hopeful and bright.
“It was.. fine, Blaine,” he replies dismissively, covering up Pavarotti’s cage. There is an exchange involving Burberry-esque cage covers and Kurt worries that their once meaningful conversations will be reduced to superficial pleasantries forever. He wants to shake him by the shoulders and tell him to stop. He wants Blaine to talk to him. He wants Blaine to feel like he can talk to him.
He worries he ruined any chance of that ever happening that day in the coffee shop.
&
When Pavarotti dies, Kurt starts to wonder if he’s cursed. Every living thing around him seems to have fallen to an ailment at some point in time.
Or maybe the canary is some sort of schoolboy prank. Give the new kid an ancient, dying bird and tell them their voice depends on whether or not the bird thrives in their care.
Jeff confirms it. Pavarotti was seven years old.
He still can’t shake the feeling that it was somehow his fault.
&
Singing for Pavarotti is the first thing he has done that was exclusively for himself in a very long time. He’s not trying to impress his classmates, or Blaine for once.
He doesn’t miss the twinkle in Mercedes’s eye when he recruits her assistance in picking out a proper mourning outfit. She knows it has nothing to do with her fashion input, just that he wants someone there.
He just wants someone there.
Just like Blaine had.
And oh god, he has never felt so stupid in his life. Attacking someone who needed his help. Blaine was looking for a listening ear and all he did in turn was scream in his. Because that’s what he does when he sees the people around him not taking care of themselves. Whether it’s his dad’s vile penchant for slim jims and soda or the way Blaine toys with his food during lunch, rearranging the plate to look like he has made more of a dent in it than he actually has - Kurt never knows how to deal with it. So he snaps. He’s loud.
He’s used having to be loud to be heard.
&
Kurt can’t ignore the way Blaine’s been looking at him for the past few days. There’s a sort of veiled wonderment dancing behind his eyes, brighter than he’s seen them in months.
He doesn’t know what he’s expecting when Blaine finds him in the breakfast room, where he is presently hard at work on Pavarotti’s coffin. He hasn’t has an excuse to pull out glitter glue in ages, and a funeral for a bird is as good as any.
“They’re giving the solo to you at the next meeting, and you’re going to say yes,” he starts, more focused on the rhinestones scattered across the tables than him.
“And what makes you think I’ll say yes?” he replies, raising a brow. Blaine finally looks up at him with a crooked smile, as if to say ‘really?’ Because this is Kurt he’s dealing with. “You’re right. But I’m not singing that godawful Pink medley. Her songs do nothing to showcase my range.”
“I’m sure you can sway the council if you try hard enough. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve gotten someone to see things in a different light,” he chuckles, gaze falling to the table once again. There’s a silence - it’s not comfortable, exactly, but it’s not unbearable either. “You were right, you know. About...”
For once, Kurt doesn’t jump to his feet to scoff something along the lines of ‘of course I was right.’ He just listens.
“I’m not.. okay,” he says slowly. It’s not the outright confession Kurt had been hoping for, but it’s a good start. He takes Blaine hand, giving it a small squeeze as encouragement to continue. “You’re so brave, Kurt. I admire you so much. I mean, it’s more than that, of course, but I don’t think I can really handle that right now.” And Kurt gets that. He can’t lie to himself. It’s disappointing.
But he gets it.
“You make everything brighter.”
His heart stutters. He thinks of private smiles and scribbling notes in the margins of their textbooks to each other. The things that have been, the things that could be if it weren’t for the foreboding tone of their current conversation.
“I’m getting help. I can’t.. do this on my own anymore. I haven’t been able to for awhile, actually.” Kurt already knew that, but he nods anyway. “But I’m not doing this for you,” he says, his voice breaking. “I’m doing this for me.”
It’s good. It’s great, even. Kurt doesn’t know if he can take the pressure of being the sole reason for Blaine to choose recovery over the mess he’s gotten himself into. He knows it’s selfish, but he feels relieved.
He also knows there’s no magical solution to Blaine’s problems. No sleeping beauty kiss will pull him out of the prison of his mind. This is something he has to do on his own.
“I’m glad, Blaine,” he smiles, curling his fingers around the other boy’s hand. He needs to let him know he’s there, and he’ll still be there when he’s ready. “You’re braver than you think, you know.”
“I hope so.”
title: there's a tangled thread inside his head
rating: pg-13
word count: 1000
warnings: eating disorders
summary: There is an exchange involving Burberry-esque cage covers and Kurt worries that their once meaningful conversations will be reduced to superficial pleasantries forever. He wants to shake him by the shoulders and tell him to stop. He wants Blaine to talk to him.
author's note: this story was originally posted on the k/bl community over the summer, so i apologize if you have seen it before. it has since turned into a series. over the course of the series, it had become clear to me that it's more of a blaine story than a klaine one, so i have decided to post it here over the next couple of days. if you would like to follow me on tumblr, you can find me here. :)
previous: a place where i can breathe
He spends a lot of time trying to understand Blaine. Kurt himself is no stranger to calorie consciousness, but that doesn’t mean he grasps the level his friend has taken things to. He wonders what Blaine sees when he looks in the mirror.
Because there’s no way he’s seeing anything close to the truth.
&
There are several reasons Kurt finds himself feeling mildly annoyed when asked for his opinion on the Warblers’ impromptu performance of ‘Misery.’ Most of these reasons involve the fact that the post-performance chats are the closest they’ve been to having an actual conversation in weeks. He knows he’s supposed to be disarmed by that smile and the way he seems to be singing to him like he’s the only person in the room, but he still feels the unmistakable prick of annoyance in his chest.
“So, what did you think?” he asks, his smile resembling something hopeful and bright.
“It was.. fine, Blaine,” he replies dismissively, covering up Pavarotti’s cage. There is an exchange involving Burberry-esque cage covers and Kurt worries that their once meaningful conversations will be reduced to superficial pleasantries forever. He wants to shake him by the shoulders and tell him to stop. He wants Blaine to talk to him. He wants Blaine to feel like he can talk to him.
He worries he ruined any chance of that ever happening that day in the coffee shop.
&
When Pavarotti dies, Kurt starts to wonder if he’s cursed. Every living thing around him seems to have fallen to an ailment at some point in time.
Or maybe the canary is some sort of schoolboy prank. Give the new kid an ancient, dying bird and tell them their voice depends on whether or not the bird thrives in their care.
Jeff confirms it. Pavarotti was seven years old.
He still can’t shake the feeling that it was somehow his fault.
&
Singing for Pavarotti is the first thing he has done that was exclusively for himself in a very long time. He’s not trying to impress his classmates, or Blaine for once.
He doesn’t miss the twinkle in Mercedes’s eye when he recruits her assistance in picking out a proper mourning outfit. She knows it has nothing to do with her fashion input, just that he wants someone there.
He just wants someone there.
Just like Blaine had.
And oh god, he has never felt so stupid in his life. Attacking someone who needed his help. Blaine was looking for a listening ear and all he did in turn was scream in his. Because that’s what he does when he sees the people around him not taking care of themselves. Whether it’s his dad’s vile penchant for slim jims and soda or the way Blaine toys with his food during lunch, rearranging the plate to look like he has made more of a dent in it than he actually has - Kurt never knows how to deal with it. So he snaps. He’s loud.
He’s used having to be loud to be heard.
&
Kurt can’t ignore the way Blaine’s been looking at him for the past few days. There’s a sort of veiled wonderment dancing behind his eyes, brighter than he’s seen them in months.
He doesn’t know what he’s expecting when Blaine finds him in the breakfast room, where he is presently hard at work on Pavarotti’s coffin. He hasn’t has an excuse to pull out glitter glue in ages, and a funeral for a bird is as good as any.
“They’re giving the solo to you at the next meeting, and you’re going to say yes,” he starts, more focused on the rhinestones scattered across the tables than him.
“And what makes you think I’ll say yes?” he replies, raising a brow. Blaine finally looks up at him with a crooked smile, as if to say ‘really?’ Because this is Kurt he’s dealing with. “You’re right. But I’m not singing that godawful Pink medley. Her songs do nothing to showcase my range.”
“I’m sure you can sway the council if you try hard enough. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve gotten someone to see things in a different light,” he chuckles, gaze falling to the table once again. There’s a silence - it’s not comfortable, exactly, but it’s not unbearable either. “You were right, you know. About...”
For once, Kurt doesn’t jump to his feet to scoff something along the lines of ‘of course I was right.’ He just listens.
“I’m not.. okay,” he says slowly. It’s not the outright confession Kurt had been hoping for, but it’s a good start. He takes Blaine hand, giving it a small squeeze as encouragement to continue. “You’re so brave, Kurt. I admire you so much. I mean, it’s more than that, of course, but I don’t think I can really handle that right now.” And Kurt gets that. He can’t lie to himself. It’s disappointing.
But he gets it.
“You make everything brighter.”
His heart stutters. He thinks of private smiles and scribbling notes in the margins of their textbooks to each other. The things that have been, the things that could be if it weren’t for the foreboding tone of their current conversation.
“I’m getting help. I can’t.. do this on my own anymore. I haven’t been able to for awhile, actually.” Kurt already knew that, but he nods anyway. “But I’m not doing this for you,” he says, his voice breaking. “I’m doing this for me.”
It’s good. It’s great, even. Kurt doesn’t know if he can take the pressure of being the sole reason for Blaine to choose recovery over the mess he’s gotten himself into. He knows it’s selfish, but he feels relieved.
He also knows there’s no magical solution to Blaine’s problems. No sleeping beauty kiss will pull him out of the prison of his mind. This is something he has to do on his own.
“I’m glad, Blaine,” he smiles, curling his fingers around the other boy’s hand. He needs to let him know he’s there, and he’ll still be there when he’s ready. “You’re braver than you think, you know.”
“I hope so.”