Fic: "My Body Betrays Me," Chapter Three. Kurt/Karofsky, Kurt/Blaine
Here is Chapter Three, all! :) Again, apologies for the long wait. Mr. Darling and I had a friend stay with us for three weeks, which made it quite hard to find time to write. Rest assured, I am still neck-deep in this story and shan't be stopping until it is complete.
That being said: this chapter was hard to write, in some ways, because Blaine is so very separate from the main conflict of the story at first. I hope you all enjoy his perspective. :)
Title: "My Body Betrays Me" (Chapter Three: Blaine)
Author: emilianadarling
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: non-con/dub-con Kurt/Karofsky, Kurt/Blaine
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Vaguely explained magic, non-con, dub-con, angst, clueless misinterpretations, awful situations, manipulation, crack prompt gone serious.
Length: 10,000 words for this chapter.
Spoilers: This is an AU, so not really.
Story Summary: Kurt’s been in a secret relationship with his roommate at Dalton for months. That would be fine... if he wanted any of it. If he could say no, and if Dave would listen. If he were with Blaine, his wonderful friend from the school’s glee club, instead.
Prompt: Written for a prompt on the kinkmeme. Kurt is magically compelled to follow orders. Dave takes advantage. Blaine just wants to make everything all right again.
Notes: I don't even know what to say. I'm so sorry. I blame the kinkmeme for putting ideas in my head.
Chapter One: Dave
Chapter Two: Kurt
The room the Warbler Council uses to meet is as proudly antiquated as any other classroom at Dalton. The wood paneling along the walls is handsome and dark, but the soft light streaming in through the quietly expensive sheer curtains never allows it to overpower the room. Instead, it serves to highlight other details. The handsomely-bound books that line the shelves, the intricate molding along the fireplace. The many brown leather couches, all well-stuffed and comfortable, that have grown well-worn over many years’ worth of use. It is a serene space, designed to encourage quiet contemplation and the creation beautiful music.
The room itself is currently in complete contrast with the argument taking place within its walls.
“I just think we have to consider our image,” insists Thad, throwing his hands up into the air in obvious frustration. “A change in uniform design this close to the competition makes us look frantic, as though we have something to prove.”
“Well, excuse us if we want to try something a little more professional,” spits Nick, and the room bursts into furious titters. Wes bangs his gavel loudly several times over.
“Order, gentlemen,” Wes insists sternly, but it only takes a few moments before the whole room is bursting at the seams once more.
Blaine, perched on one of the couches in the back-most corner of the room, reaches a hand up to rub unobtrusively at his temple. He can feel a tension headache building. The argument over what to wear to Regionals continues to swirl around him like a whirlwind, but for once Blaine simply cannot manage to get engaged. He knows that the uniform question is an important one: every tiny detail is crucial to how the audience will perceive you, after all, and should be paid its due amount of attention.
But somehow, the debate seems... pettier than normal. Needlessly long and drawn-out. Blaine finds himself surreptitiously reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone and check the time practically every other minute, and it’s taking all of his willpower to stop himself from letting out an impatient sigh. He never would, of course. It’s an honour, being chosen to sing the lead on so many of the choir’s songs when he’s not even a senior, and any sign of lack of interest would be a grave insult.
Despite everything, all Blaine can think about is how much he wants the meeting to finish so he can join Kurt in the library for one of their twice-weekly meetings.
Don’t go there, Anderson, a voice cautions him in the back of his head. Blaine has to admit, it has a point. He stealthily slides his phone from his pocket, presses the button on the side - and has to restrain himself from groaning out loud at the fact that only a three minutes have passed since his last check. Next to him, Nick is getting extremely riled up about something involving blue piping.
When Kurt had first joined the Warblers at the beginning of the semester, he and Blaine had hit it off almost immediately. Kurt was tremendously... enthusiastic, yes, and his preferred styles of music didn’t tend to match up with the Warbler’s usual repertoire. It was readily apparent, too, that Kurt was used to a very different glee club environment at his old school. But he was friendly and keen had an amazing voice, and Blaine had been happy to give him a few pointers about how to properly sing acapella. Kurt had adjusted quickly enough, and Blaine had found a new friend.
The speed at which their friendship had progressed was astonishing in hindsight. It had seemed as though they could talk for hours without ever running out of things to say, and off-campus coffee shop excursions quickly became a regular occurrence. Kurt had needed a friend who understood what he was going through after the bullying debacle at his old school, and Blaine... Blaine had needed a friend he could talk to at all. Wes and David were incredible people, but they were both fairly involved with friends from their hometowns. Surface-based friends, to casually hang out with and sing beside but never truly let in.
And if Kurt ever stared at him a little too longingly, or sat a little too straight in his chair, or responded strangely to things Blaine said... well. It was a small price to have someone to really talk to.
And quicker than Blaine had thought possible, Kurt Hummel had become the most important person to him at Dalton.
Things had changed, though, with Kurt’s family crisis.
Suddenly, Kurt had claimed he had work to do and insisted on curtailing their coffee hangouts. Blaine had almost protested - but the tired, fragile set of Kurt’s face had killed the question before it ever left his lips. In and of itself, that would have been acceptable: Dalton had a challenging curriculum, and many new students were unaccustomed to the heavy work load. But after a week of only seeing Kurt in Warbler practice, Kurt had started skipping rehearsals. Just a few, at first - but soon enough, he was missing them every other day. And then most days.
Before long, Kurt simply stopped coming altogether.
Of course, Blaine had asked him about it. Had learned about his schedule from Thad, who was in most of Kurt’s classes, and cornered him after his French lecture one day. Kurt was his friend, after all, and if Blaine could help it was important for Kurt to know he would be there for him. Kurt had stepped out of his class with an armful of books and was met with the sight of Blaine Anderson leaning against the corridor wall, an encouraging smile on his face and a speech half-prepared already.
To Blaine’s surprise, Kurt had gone pale as a sheet. Had rebuffed any of Blaine’s insistence that he could help Kurt with his schoolwork if it meant Kurt could come back to glee club again - before grabbing Blaine’s hand, eyes darting around the bustling hallway, and pulling Blaine into an empty classroom. And when he explained - about the family emergency, about not having time for clubs or coffee dates anymore - Blaine understood. Because he still remembered Kurt telling him about his father’s heart attack earlier in the year; he could put two and two together.
But when Blaine had tried to comfort him, Kurt had stilled. Tensed and shook his head, staring down at the ground. And Blaine had realized that this was Kurt coping. Cutting people out. Harder, sharper. Turning into himself. It wasn’t the Kurt Blaine had come to know, but... it had made Blaine realize there was more to Kurt Hummel than met the eye. The change in attitude made Blaine want to know more about him, not drift away. To help, if he could.
When Kurt had offered the chance to meet him in private one of two times a week during his free period, Blaine had practically leapt at the chance.
Suddenly Wes’s voice, hard and authoritative, cuts into Blaine’s train of thought.
“Warbler Blaine, what is your opinion on this matter?”
Blaine blinks out of his reverie, eyes darting quickly around the room. Every single person in the room appears to be hanging on his next words; some even seem to be crossing their fingers.
“Oh, I agree with Nick one hundred per cent,” Blaine enthuses, attempting to sound entirely earnest and convicted. Next to him, Nick lets out a tiny whoop of joy. Wes’s brow furrows, and Blaine frantically tries to remember what they were talking about.
“Well,” hums Wes. “In that case...” And within another minute, the entire room is thoroughly embroiled in conversation again. Blaine works hard on keeping a big grin on his face while simultaneously nodding as interestedly as possible. He sits up straight, hands on his knees, and tries to look attentive. Butit only takes a few minutes before his concentration begins to droop; before his mind begins to wander to the time, and how quickly he can get out of here and find Kurt.
Kurt, who is still himself - but somehow... different. Quiet and tentative, almost mysterious. A complex puzzle waiting for Blaine to put him together. And Blaine knows that if he keeps trying, keeps patiently waiting, that Kurt will open up to him. It’s only a matter of time.
And if Blaine is completely honest with himself...
He knows that when he falls, he falls hard. Jeremiah was not an isolated incident; once someone has Blaine’s attention, it doesn’t take long before they are everything he can see. And lately, all Blaine can think about is Kurt. The fact that even though he barely smiles when Blaine sees him in the hallway, when they’re alone together Blaine can almost always coax one onto his face. The way he playfully pokes fun at Blaine’s musical taste, the way Blaine can sometimes get him to laugh in that head-back, mouth-open way he’s always trying to avoid. His eyes. God, his eyes. So blue it’s sometimes like a punch to Blaine’s stomach, heavily lashed and completely gorgeous. The curve of his neck; the flatness of his stomach beneath the unflattering Dalton blazer. His hands, so soft that Blaine sometimes can’t stop himself from touching them...
If Blaine is completely honest with himself, he is falling for Kurt Hummel. And maybe... maybe Kurt just might like him right back.
Stop that, he chastises himself. Kurt is vulnerable right now, you know that. The last thing he needs is you ruining his support system. What Kurt needs right now is a friend, not someone taking advantage of his situation. Let him be. Let him come to you.
“Meeting adjourned,” declares Wes with a bang of his gavel, and the words register properly with Blaine for the first time in the past half-hour. Blaine’s bag is on his shoulder and he’s heading out the door before any of his fellow Warblers have even managed to get to their feet. Blaine sends a hopefully-dazzling smile at Wes as he rushes out the door, which Wes returns with a knowing raise of his eyebrows.
Almost snorting with laughter, Blaine quickly heads out the door toward the library. He generally arrives before Kurt, it’s true, but the quick pace is just to be sure. He and Kurt only get to spend perhaps an hour and a half a week together, and Blaine doesn’t want to waste a minute of it. He’s so caught up in his flurry of excitement, in fact, that he charges right into a large, broad figure when he turns the corner.
“Woah!” cries the other boy, steadying Blaine with his hands. “Easy there, tiger.”
Blaine blinks up at him, smiling bashfully. “Sorry about that, man.”
“No worries,” says Dave Karofsky cheerfully, giving him a pat on the shoulder before continuing down the hallway. Blaine is careful to watch where he’s going after that, lest running into someone else might actually make him late. Dodging and weaving between the many individual fish in a navy blue sea.
The thing is, though, that it’s getting harder and harder for Blaine to hold back when it comes to Kurt. He’s a decisive person - a trait his father attempted to drill into him since childhood. Knowing that he wants Kurt and not doing anything about it... well. It’s difficult. The need to tell Kurt how he feels, to make a bold move and know for sure has grown to a near-constant itch beneath his skin. Sitting back and waiting has never been his forte.
Be a good friend, Blaine, he reiterates, before continuing down the hall.
--
Despite the delay, Blaine still manages to get to the library with enough time to grab their usual study room, spread a few of his things out on the table, and begin leafing through his law textbook before Kurt arrives. He does have a midterm next week, after all. Even if he does find himself looking up hopefully at the door every thirty seconds or so, hoping for a glimpse of bright blue eyes or a pale length of neck. A few long minutes pass, and Blaine is on the brink of actually getting engaged with his chapter (‘Statues of Limitations and their International Variance’) when the door slowly edges open.
And when Kurt steps inside and sends him a tentative smile, something warm and pleasant twists in the bottom of Blaine’s stomach.
“Hey, Kurt,” says Blaine, and he can feel his mouth pulling into an uncontrollable grin at the sight of him. He probably looks like an idiot, but he can’t quite find it in himself to care.
“Why, hello there,” Kurt responds, hooking the strap of his book bag over the back of the empty chair beside Blaine before lowering himself down into it. Once seated, he props up an elbow on the table and rests his head in his hand. The movement helps a few strands of his soft-looking brown hair to escape from his understated hairdo; they fall across his cheek and stay there, unnoticed. Blaine wants nothing more than to reach out and push them behind Kurt’s ear.
“How was your test?” asks Blaine, bookmarking and closing his law book for later consideration. Ostensibly, these meetings are supposed to be study sessions. Somehow, though, the two of them seem to consume their entire free block without reading a single paragraph. Kurt blinks at him without any comprehension, and after a moment Blaine elaborates. “Your French midterm? You said it was today, and you always have French before you come here...”
“Oh. Yes, it was today.” There’s a note of surprise in Kurt’s voice that Blaine doesn’t quite understand. “It just finished up. Sorry, I... I didn’t think you’d remember I told you that.”
“Of course I remember, Kurt. You were worried about it.” Blaine remembers everything Kurt tells him. “How did it go?”
“Well, I think. I definitely aced the oral and reading comprehension portions. The written was a bit trickier, but I think I did pretty well.” Kurt shrugs, but Blaine knows from their old coffee dates just how much doing well in school means to him.
“That’s awesome!” says Blaine, and he reaches into his bag to pull out the ‘surprise’ he had angsted over bringing this morning. It had taken him ten whole minutes to convince himself to slip it into his bag. “I thought you’d say that, so I brought this to celebrate. Just... hide it if the librarian comes by to check on us, yeah?”
Friends bring each other presents all the time, so bringing along a large bar of ever-so-decadent-and-slightly-too-expensive chocolate is a completely legitimate thing to do. Dark chocolate is Kurt’s favourite; he told Blaine once, in a conversation about Elizabeth Hummel teaching her son to bake as a child. Plus, Kurt’s cheeks have been getting gaunter and gaunter every time they meet. It makes Blaine worried, and fretful, and want to sit Kurt down in front of a large slab of cake and tell him to eat. Hopefully this method is slightly more subtle.
Kurt’s delicate eyebrows fly up into his hairline. He opens his mouth for a moment as if to speak, catches Blaine’s eye - before closing it again. He lets out a small laugh instead, reaching forward to take the bar from Blaine’s hand. Their fingers brush for the briefest of moments.
“Organic Fair-Trade dark chocolate. I must say, I’m impressed.” Kurt sends him a small, happy smile. “Thank you,” he says, and there is almost something sad about how earnest he sounds.
Swallowing nervously, Blaine suppresses the urge to run a hand through his hair. The strands are gelled back in the way he usually styles it for school, anyways. And it would make him look as though the gesture means more than it should.
“It’s nothing,” he mutters, feeling caught off-guard. There is electrical energy tingling in the tips of Blaine’s fingers, making them twitch and stutter on the tabletop. The way Kurt looks at him, sometimes... it’s as though Blaine is the only person in the world who matters.
He gives himself a little mental shake as Kurt carefully unwraps the dark green wrapper, peeling the corners away slowly so that they don’t tear. His long fingers gently unfold the aluminum foil, leaving the bar exposed. Kurt breaks off two tiny pieces, keeping one for himself and handing one to Blaine.
“You let it melt,” he explains. “Don’t bite down.”
Mimicking Kurt, Blaine places the small piece of chocolate on his tongue and closes his mouth. The taste is strong; almost bitter, with a slight hint of fruitiness that plays at the edges of Blaine’s tongue. Dark chocolate isn’t Blaine’s favourite: he prefers the simple creaminess of milk chocolate, sweet and uncomplicated in its flavour.
But Kurt’s eyes flutter closed in delight as the chocolate melts over his tongue, so Blaine supposes he must have made a good choice. He takes the opportunity to guiltily memorize the way Kurt’s face looks like this; eyes gently shut, with a look of contented pleasure on his face. Kurt barely ever looks relaxed like this anymore.
It takes almost a minute before the chocolate is fully dissolved, and Blaine finally allows himself to swallow when he sees Kurt do so first.
“Mm,” murmurs Kurt, opening his eyes and sending a smile in Blaine’s direction. “Very good choice, Mr. Anderson.” There is something almost cat-like in the way Kurt is holding himself; contented and sated, practically purring with pleasure. He tilts his head to one side. “How are you doing, by the way? You never said.”
“I’m fine,” says Blaine, trying not to stare at Kurt’s lips. There is a small smudge of chocolate streaked across the soft pink. “I had a Warblers meeting just now, but I kinda have no idea what we were talking about.”
At that, Kurt laughs. “Blaine! Aren’t you the one who told me how important all those little details are? You used to say how crucial it was to concen-”
Blaine doesn’t consciously think about what he’s doing. Before he even knows what is happening, he reaches forward, cradles Kurt’s cheek in his hand, and cuts off the rest of Kurt’s sentence with a firm but gentle kiss. Excited sparks are going off in the base of Blaine’s stomach, and he closes his eyes at how good Kurt’s lips feel pressed against his. Soft and warm and quietly masculine, just like he’s been imagining for weeks now. Kurt makes a small noise against his lips, so Blaine leans in and holds him tight. The skin of Kurt’s cheek is soft beneath his palm, and every tiny movement of his lips against Blaine’s is just too good to bear. It’s incredible, and wonderful, and perfect.
He tastes like chocolate, bitter and dark.
When Blaine finally pulls away, heart pounding in his chest, he nervously peers up into Kurt’s face. Expecting to see surprise, or pleasure, or maybe even embarrassment. Instead, the look on Kurt’s face makes his heart plummet into his shoes. There is an expression of absolute horror on his beautiful face. Dismay and disappointment, and even a hint of... fear?
“Kurt,” says Blaine, feeling confused and wrong-footed. “Kurt, what’s wrong?”
All at once, Kurt stands. Stumbling slightly and flinching as Blaine moves to follow him. “I can’t,” chokes Kurt, and guilt hits Blaine square in the chest when he realizes that there are tears welling up in Kurt’s eyes. Kurt is beginning to shake. “I can’t, I just... I have to go.”
“What? You don’t have to... Kurt, please,” entreats Blaine as Kurt scrambles to grab his bag. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to... I mean, I don’t know why I - Kurt!”
But with one last desperate look over his shoulder, Kurt is gone. Practically running out of the room and slamming the door behind him at a volume far too loud for the silence of the library. Leaving Blaine alone with his books spread out before him on the table. An almost-untouched bar of chocolate still laid out on the table like an accusation.
“Fuck,” says Blaine weakly to the empty room, the word echoing dully off the walls.
--
“I am such an idiot,” Blaine groans pathetically, slumping forward in Wes’s computer chair with his head in his hands.
Next to him, Wes sits propped up against a pillow on his own bed. He sits, cross-legged and stiff, with a laptop on the sheets in front of him. Both his posture and expression speak of someone whose patience has been tried far too many times to count. Wes makes a confirmatory noise in response.
“Yep,” says Wes distractedly, eyes firmly fixed on the computer screen in front of him. “Sure sounds like.”
After the complete disaster that was Blaine’s meeting with Kurt, Blaine had stumbled to Physics with twenty minutes to spare with a look of dull shock burned onto his face. He’d barely managed to sit through the entirety of the class, tuning out every one of Ms. Dunning’s words, before rushing out of the classroom and over to Wes’s residence building as quickly as possible.
While Wes isn’t the most sympathetic person Blaine knows, he has the duel appeal of: a) always telling it like it is; and, b) having seen Blaine in situations that very nearly rival this one in terms of soul-destroying embarrassment. Like the Jeremiah Gap Serenade Incident, for example.
Blaine lets out a small wretched noise, and moves to run his hands through his hair. Unfortunately, as it is currently gelled to within an inch of its life, all he manages to do is mangle the style. He gives up after a moment of trying to shove his hands through anyways, letting his hands fall down to his sides.
“I can’t believe I did that,” says Blaine, dumbfounded and furious with himself. “Kurt’s had such a hard time of it lately, and he trusted me to be there for him. He trusted me to help, and what did I do? I had to go and make everything confusing and awful for him and - and, god, I suck.”
Wes nods, reaching over to grab his can of Dr. Pepper from the bedside table. He takes a long sip.
Inside, Blaine is roiling. Humiliation and self-hatred are twisting in his gut like poison, and he’s practically choking on how stupid he feels. He had known that all Kurt needed was a friend; had emphasized the point to himself a million times over the past few weeks. But the way Kurt had looked, soft-eyed and with a tiny smear of chocolate on his lip... it had been the most incredibly inviting sight Blaine could imagine. Now, all of it is ruined; their easy friendship, their library meetings, the hope of when all this is over maybe he’ll want me.
And all because some stupid part of him had thought that some completely innocent conversation had been the perfect moment.
“It’s just - ” begins Blaine, before cutting himself off. He takes a deep, shuddering breath and glances up at the room around him. Wes’s dorm is nice, constantly neat and tidy, and - best of all - a single room. There are only a couple of posters adorning the walls; one mocking various economic models with the visual aid of cows, the other a full-length depiction of John Maynard Keynes.
“It’s just that Kurt means so much to me,” Blaine starts again quietly, the words full of calm conviction. He stares determinedly ahead as he speaks. “I don’t even know when it happened, but... since Kurt came to Dalton, he’s become my best friend here. I’ve told him things... things I’ve never told anyone else before. He’s funny, and smart, and so much fun to be with...” Blaine laughs softly. “... even if he pokes fun at me sometimes, you know? I just... I really like him. A lot.”
Blaine shakes his head, sighing heavily. “And I don’t know what on earth possessed me to mess up what we have like that. It was probably the worst thing I could’ve done, wasn’t it?”
“Mmmhmm,” says Wes. “Completely uncalled for. Pretty much a total douchebag move.”
“Oh, god,” exclaims Blaine dully, eyes blown wide as a new horror dawns. “I took total advantage of him, didn’t I? He’s vulnerable and hurting, and I had to go and kiss him.”
“... basically, yeah.”
‘Oh, god.” Blaine buries his face in his hands again, cheeks burning and feeling like the biggest jerk in the world.
Wes lets out a heavy sigh and closes his laptop with a soft click, moving it aside. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, leans forward, and pokes Blaine once on the knee. It gets Blaine’s attention; Wes’s fingers may be long and thin, but it’s jabbed in with plenty of force.
“Ow,” says Blaine pitifully, despite the fact that it didn’t actually hurt.
“Hey,” says Wes, ignoring him. “You haven’t screwed everything up, okay? So stop acting like you have.”
“...I haven’t?”
“No.” Wes gives him a little half-smile. “I know it can feel that way, though. Jessica says I can be blunt sometimes; when I hurt her feelings, I feel like the worst person in existence. But you can make it better.”
Blaine stifles a grin at the mention of Wes’s girlfriend. Jessica, almost comically tiny at all of five foot nothing, is probably one of his favourite people. Sweet and loving but with a no-nonsense attitude, whenever Jessica comes to visit the school for a few days she does so in a mighty swoop of bright red hair and tiptoed hugs for all of the boys. Blaine rather suspects that Wes has learned the ability to crook an eyebrow in a fashion that perfectly straddles exasperated and affectionate from her.
“Okay,” exhales Blaine. “What do I do?”
“Well,” says Wes. “For starters, you should find him and apologize.”
“Okay. And then?”
Wes shrugs. “Say that you’re really sorry that you didn’t think about him, or how his family crisis would be affecting how he’s doing right now. Say that you can be there for him as a friend, that he doesn’t have to worry about your relationship on top of everything else. And then I’d say you should see how that family situation is going; any new developments, or whatever.” Wes pause, wrinkling his nose. “Actually, Blaine... what is Kurt’s family emergency?”
“I...” trails Blaine, furrowing his brow. “You know, he never actually said. I kinda assumed it had something to do with his dad’s health, but... I don’t know for sure.”
“That’s a bit odd,” says Wes slowly, tilting his head to one side. “I mean, you used to talk about how you two told each other everything.”
“We did,” says Blaine dully, looking down at the floor. “Or at least... I thought we did.”
Wes shakes his head. “I know Kurt, too. And when he was in the Warblers with us, that boy was dedicated. He didn’t miss a single rehearsal for the first few months, and he tried harder than anyone to stand out and do well. I can’t believe he would drop us for anything less than serious business.” He pokes Blaine in the knee again. “You need to talk to him. Apologize for what happened today and offer to really be there for him with whatever’s going on right now. He probably just didn’t want to burden you with everything before.”
“It would never be a burden,” says Blaine immediately, looking up into Wes’s eyes for the first time during the conversation. The other boy’s brown eyes are warm, to his surprise. Quietly affectionate, despite his still-rigid posture.
Sometimes, Blaine forgets that Wes actually does truly care for his friends.
A reluctant smile steals across Wes’s face, and he gives Blaine am encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Just go talk to him, yeah? Figure stuff out between you two. And stop looking like kicked puppy, okay?”
Blaine laughs out loud, feeling some of the tension leave him. Of course it will be okay. He and Kurt have been friends for months; something stupid like a kiss isn’t going to ruin that.
“I’ll try,” says Blaine, sending Wes a grateful look before rising to his feet.
“You’re going to go now?” asks Wes in surprise, raising an eyebrow. He glances at the clock. It reads 3:32pm in softly-glowing red numbers.
“Kurt’ll be back from class by now, and there’s no time like the present,” says Blaine, sounding bolder than he feels. “I don’t want him to stew on this. To think he has to start acting differently around me, or anything. I... I want him to know that we can still be friends, however I might feel. That I’ll still be there for him.”
Blaine takes a deep breath and lets it out, straightening his hair as best he can and smoothing out any wrinkles in his uniform. When he’s as presentable as he’s going to get, he heads determinedly for the door.
“Wish me luck!” he exclaims, and heads off toward Kurt’s residence building.
--
Walking between Tower Residence - where both Wes and Blaine’s dorm rooms are - and the Milward-Hopkins Building where Kurt lives only takes about five minutes in total. Dalton’s campus isn’t very large, and the number of students who attend is tiny in comparison to some of the public high schools in nearby towns. It isn’t until the door of Kurt’s building is within eyeshot, however, that Blaine remembers the fact that the Milward-Hopkins building doesn’t have an intercom system.
Reluctantly, Blaine pulls his smartphone out of his blazer pocket and begins to type out a text: Hey, Kurt. I’m outside your building right now, and we really need to talk. Come let me in? -Blaine. His finger is just hovering over the green ‘send’ button when Blaine hears his own name being called out.
“Blaine!” comes the voice again. Blaine turns to see Jeff Jones waving at him, a heavy book bag slung over his shoulder and his mop of dirty blond hair ruffling in the wind. He’s carrying a large poster board, obviously a project having been handed back. As he gets closer, Blaine can make out the teacher’s writing in neat red pen: Good effort, need to stay on topic. B+
“Hey, Jeff!” says Blaine, trying to sound enthusiastic. Jeff is a great guy; a wonderful sportsman and a valuable Warbler, if a bit ridiculous occasionally. Now that Blaine has decided to confront Kurt about the kiss, however, any distraction is an unwelcome one. Even as he speaks the words, inside his mind Blaine is rehearsing and rehashing exactly what he’s going to say to Kurt in a few minutes’ time. Trying to prepare for it as he would a solo.
“What brings you to this neck of the woods?” asks Jeff as he approaches, expression open and friendly.
“I’m visiting someone,” says Blaine. When Jeff pulls out a set of keys from his pocket a moment later, his eyes widen. “Actually, man - would you mind letting me in?”
“Sure thing,” says Jeff, and Blaine pockets his phone with the unsent text to Kurt still on its screen. Jeff fidgets with the lock for a moment - the Milward-Hopkins Building is old enough to be worn around the edges - before letting them both inside.
Blaine lets Jeff go first, and the two of them ascend the stairs in silence for a few moments. It doesn’t take long, though, before the silence becomes too much for Jeff.
“Who are you visiting?” asks Jeff after a minute, glancing over his shoulder to smile at Blaine as he does so.
“Kurt,” says Blaine. “Kurt Hummel, on the third floor? He was in the Warblers with us for a while; brown hair, countertenor...?”
“Oh,” says Jeff, and they continue up.
But as they reach the second floor landing, Jeff turns - and Blaine realizes that his smile has become strangely fixed. False, even. A remnant of a feeling that isn’t there anymore still laid out across his expression.
“I know Kurt,” says Jeff, reaching up to run a hand through his already-too-messy mop of hair. He bites down on his lower lip. “He’s been acting really weird lately. Actually... he’s been kind of a jerk.”
Unreasonable irritation floods Blaine’s chest, and he feels his fingertips twitch. For a second, all he wants to do is verbally rip Jeff apart. Say he’s dealing with some things, okay? And you’re a bit of a fair-weather friend and if you really knew him you wouldn’t say things like that. And I’d rather hang out with him than you any day of the week.
Blaine blinks, surprised at the intensity of thoughts. Jeff is still standing in front of him, looking slightly awkward. There’s a twist of something in his expression that Blaine isn’t used to seeing; hurt.
“Kurt’s a good guy,” Blaine says at last, sounding stilted even to himself. “I’m sure he’s just going through some stuff.”
“... yeah.” Jeff hesitates, then nods. “You’re probably right.” He gestures awkwardly toward the second floor landing entrance. “This is me.”
“Cool,” says Blaine, and he feels a little guilty. Jeff did let him in, after all. “Thanks - and I’ll see you in practice, yeah?”
“For sure.” Jeff smiles, gives a little wave, and walks through the door to his floor.
Shaking his head, Blaine turns and begins to head up the last flight of stairs to Kurt’s floor. He’s never been inside Kurt’s room before, but in Kurt’s first few weeks at Dalton he had taken Blaine up to wait outside a couple of times. Once to wait for Kurt to grab a change of tie after Thad had accidentally spilled ravioli on him at lunch, and the other time to drop off one set of books and pick up another for a study session. Blaine remembers which room is his, turning right and then heading straight until practically the very end of the hallway. Before long, he is standing right outside Kurt’s door.
He is just debating whether it would be more polite to send Kurt an ‘are you there?’ text message or to knock directly when he hears... something drift out from behind the closed door. He freezes in place, whole body tensing up, every nerve on edge as he waits for the sound to come again. But after long moments pass and he hears nothing, Blaine finally lets out the breath he’s been holding in. Blaine gives himself a shake; he must have imagined it.
He’s just raising his hand to knock when he hears the sound again - for sure this time. A high, clear voice drawn out in a long groan of pain. Addled and frantic and wretched; a voice Blaine couldn’t mistake if he tried. Coming from inside Kurt’s room.
Panic spasms in Blaine’s chest. “Kurt!” he shouts, trying the doorknob with shaking hands as his heart pounds in his chest. Imagining Kurt -- beautiful Kurt -- injured somehow; hurt and alone and no one to help him. The door isn’t locked; it swings open easily.
“Kurt, are you -?!”
It takes Blaine several long moments to fully comprehend the sight that greets him.
There are two people splayed out on the bed directly across from the door. A tangle of limbs and naked skin, twisting and clenching and straining against one another. The sight is blunt and raw, like walking into some sort of too-real porno. Both figures on the bed are male; one large and broad, the other small and slender.
Dave Karofsky, Blaine realizes dully as the figure on top rocks his hips forward and turns his head sideways in a groan. Recognition dawns through a haze of horrified embarrassment; they share the same first-period Math class. Dave’s eyes are clenched shut, face flushed dark brown hair damp with sweat. And below him...
Below him is Kurt. Lying on the bed with his head tilted back against the headboard in obvious ecstasy, his long-fingered hands gripping the solid wooden headboard so tightly they are white around the knuckles. Eyes shut, mouth hanging open and panting as Dave grips his thighs and spreads his legs wide. As Dave thrusts in and out of him, leaning his whole body into the movement. Too shocked to look away at first, Blaine can actually see Dave’s cock pumping in and out of Kurt’s body. The sight is so utterly obscene that Blaine must make some kind of choked noise, because Dave glances over in his direction - and his eyes fly wide open in shocked horror. He stops moving immediately.
They must not have heard me calling out, some distant part of Blaine’s mind realizes. They must not have, over the sound of... of...
“Oh, god,” chokes Blaine, quickly looking down at the floor with burning cheeks. He doesn’t see Kurt’s face when he realizes what happened; Blaine does, however, get to hear him. Gets to hear the desperate little mewl Kurt makes when Dave stops fucking him, the dazed little murmur that comes after. Gets to hear Kurt’s sharp inhale of breath when he finally sees Blaine standing there in the door, all the while staring fixedly down at the wooden floors with his heart pounding in his chest.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t - I shouldn’t have,” splutters Blaine as he backs slowly out of the room. “I thought... God, I don’t know what I thought. I’m so sorry.”
“Anderson!” calls out Dave, but Blaine has already shut the door and started half-running down the hallway, eyes stinging and the image of the two boys together seared onto his mind.
And the small, desperate noise he hears Kurt make as he flees down the hall is just too much. Too awful.
Blaine is leaning against the stairwell door, shaking with shock and hurt and revolted embarrassment, when Dave finds him less than a minute later. Jogging down the hall with a pair of sweatpants slung low on his hips and a white collared shirt left unbuttoned, flapping in the air as he comes toward him. Dave’s face red; flushed from exertion. Blaine feels something awful twist in the base of his stomach as he remembers what from.
“Anderson, wait up,” calls Dave, slowing down as he reaches the stairwell entrance.
Kurt didn’t even bother to come after me. The thought hits with another distant pang to his chest.
They stand like that, staring at one another, for a few long moments that hang between them like an insurmountable wall. For a half-second, Blaine wants - no, expects - Dave to apologize to him, as though Dave had done anything wrong. And then -
“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” blurts Dave at last, and Blaine sees at once how full of nervous tension Dave is. Fingers twitching and brown eyes full of frightened worry; but for the life of him, Blaine can’t figure out why. His thoughts are a whirl of shock and upset, and Blaine can barely focus on Dave’s words at all.
“What?” asks Blaine after a too-large pause. “About... about Kurt?” His voice breaks on the last word, but he pushes that thought down.
“No - yes, I mean -” Dave shifts awkwardly, looking around the hall and licking his lips before continuing. “You won’t tell anyone that I’m - that I’m like that, will you?”
“Oh,” says Blaine awkwardly, realization hitting. “Right. That. I mean - of course I won’t, Dave. I wouldn’t... I wouldn’t do that to you.”
The fact that Dave Karofsky is gay is the single least important thing on Blaine’s mind right now, but Dave’s face floods with sharp relief anyways. He lets out a huge, cathartic breath.
“Thanks, dude. I owe you one.” Dave reaches forward and slaps Blaine firmly on the shoulder, practically sending him flying sideways with the force of it. All Blaine can think about is the fact that Kurt’s... lover? Fuck-buddy? Just touched him. The boy who was just touchingtakinghavingloving Kurt just patted him on the shoulder like it was nothing. Like it didn’t matter.
He hadn’t even known Kurt and Dave knew one another, before.
Dave winces. “And... sorry you had to see that, man.”
Blaine manages a shrug, and before he knows what’s going on Dave is jogging back down the hallway again. Shirtsleeves flapping as he goes, running back to Kurt’s room. To Kurt. To finish what he and Kurt were doing before Blaine barged in like some kind of complete moron.
Feeling sick to his stomach and heart aching, Blaine stumbles down the stairs and out the residence hall door. He goes straight to his own dorm and shuts the door.
--
That night, Blaine can’t sleep. He lies awake instead, staring at the ceiling and listening to the sound of his roommate’s snores, trying to push down the thrumming of humiliation and hurt along his skin. Wes sent him a “how’d it go? ” text hours ago, but Blaine couldn’t find it in himself to respond. He doesn’t want Wes to know how badly he misjudged the situation, or the nauseating sight he walked in on.
Instead, Blaine lies in the dark and goes over everything he must have misconstrued. Every touch, every smile, every playful word Kurt flung his way. Every conversation that lasted for hours.
Because he’d thought... he’d really, really thought...
And Blaine can’t even think about what kind of fool Kurt must think him to be without wanting to twist into the covers in humiliation. When Blaine had kissed him and he had run off, horrified... it was because he had someone else. Someone he wanted more than Blaine. Someone he never told Blaine about.
An image drifts into his mind; a twist of limbs and the steady thrust of hips, a groan. And suddenly Blaine’s mind is assaulted with similar-but-different images of Kurt Hummel and Dave Karofsky. Kissing and touching and twinedtogether, as explicit and obscene as the scene he walked in on today. And all of them feature Kurt with his head thrown back, the same picture of complete ecstasy on his face. He wants to curl up and hide forever in a pit of disappointment and hurt.
The imagined images burn at the corners of his mind. It takes hours for his mind to simmer into an uneasy sleep.
--
When Blaine wakes up, he wakes up angry.
As a rule, Blaine is slow to anger. Generally easygoing and friendly, it takes a lot for him to go from ‘frustrated’ or ‘upset’ to actually, properly angry. And in the haze of the train wreck of yesterday afternoon, something very important had slipped his mind.
As hurtful as it was to find out about Kurt being in a relationship that way, it was Kurt’s decision not to tell him. And as frustrated as he is with himself, that isn’t the issue.
But Blaine is almost completely sure that Dave is taking advantage of Kurt’s emotional situation, and that simply isn’t okay.
So later that morning, when the bell rings to signal the end of first period and Blaine’s Math class begins to pack up their things and head toward the door, Blaine walks straight up to Dave Karofsky with his biggest and friendliest grin on his face and asks him if he has a minute to talk.
“Sure, man,” says Dave uneasily, eyes darting from side to side as if to spot any hidden eavesdroppers.
“Awesome.” Blaine’s smile remains determinedly fixed in place as the few stragglers empty out, leaving the two of them alone in Room B21 for at least five minutes until people will start to trickle in for second period. Mr. Morgan, their teacher, gives them a little wave as he leaves with a stack of papers in hand - and then they are alone.
Dave’s arms are crossed in front of his torso in a way that is probably meant to look casual; it gives him an air of defensiveness instead. Every few seconds Dave's eyes flick to the door. He looks profoundly uncomfortable.
“I just wanted to talk about last night,” Blaine begins, in the tone of voice his father has referred to more than once as ‘oily non-confrontational’. It is somehow incredibly satisfying when the words make Dave’s eyes fly wide open.
Dave coughs uneasily, shuffling on his feet. “What about it? Anderson, you said you wouldn’t tell -”
“Woah now,” exclaims Blaine, raising his hands in the air in an expression of mock-surrender. “I’m not going to say anything. I understand, David; believe me when I say I do.”
At this, Dave gives him a quick once over from head to toe. Quietly and quickly assessing his hair, his stature, his posture, his voice. Blaine knows this look; knows Dave is trying to give him the once-over and come up with a definitive sexuality. Good luck, thinks Blaine, because he can pass as straight pretty easily to people who don’t know him very well.
“But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about,” continues Blaine, feeling his face settle into a more serious expression. “It’s about Kurt.”
“... Kurt?” Dave’s voice strains slightly on the word, and all at once there is a strange shift in his demeanour. He draws himself up, a strange tension immediately apparent in the way he holds himself. Dave tilts his head to one side, eyes fixed - for the first time since the conversation began - unfalteringly on Blaine.
“Now, Kurt’s a very good friend of mine,” begins Blaine, still smiling. Open-looking and friendly. “I care about him a lot, and I know you must too. So I can’t help but worry about him rushing into a new relationship at a time like this in his life.”
The pause that comes next hangs between them like a physical presence. Dave’s lips tense, and there is something in his eyes that Blaine can’t identify. Just when the silence has grown so long that Blaine is about to continue without any prompting, Dave breaks the silence.
“Uh-huh,” Dave manages eventually, the words drawn-out and carefully enunciated. It’s all the response Blaine needs.
“Because you must know that Kurt’s going through some very sensitive family issues right now. He’s talked to you about that, right?” asks Blaine. Dave inclines his head barely-perceptibly. “He probably feels vulnerable. I know that you’re a good guy, David. You wouldn’t want to take advantage.” Blaine says the last part in an understandingly amicable fashion.
There is a long, long pause. Internally, Blaine is practically cheering himself on for taking the plunge and standing up for Kurt so quickly. He’s a good friend, after all, even if Kurt doesn’t want him as anything else. And eventually, Dave gives his head a small shake - and smiles.
“Of course not, man,” says Dave, his grin rivaling Blaine’s own. With one large hand, he reaches down and pats Blaine firmly on the back. “Kurt’s a great guy; you know, we transferred at the same time? And we’ve been roomies ever since.” He glances around, then leans down conspiratorially, grinning all the while. “You know, between you and me? Kurt and I - we’ve been together for a while now. I’m still working up the courage to be, you know, public out it - and he’s a real private person, but...” He smiles. “I like to think of myself as a pretty good support system, you know?”
“... oh,” Blaine manages at last, smile beginning to droop.
It is as though there is an entirely new person standing in front of him. Confident, charismatic, friendly. And it feels as though Blaine has been hit over the head with a two-by-four, because he never once even considered that theirs was a long-term relationship. That Kurt had been hiding Dave from him all this time. Over a period of weeks, or months.
Jesus Christ, Kurt never even mentioned his roommate’s name.
“But I totally appreciate the concern, you know? You’re obviously a good guy,” says Dave, parroting Blaine’s earlier words. He gives Blaine’s shoulder a squeeze. “Now, I have to head to Calculus. We cool?”
And Blaine can only nod as Dave sends him a grin and heads out the door. He is left standing there alone and stock-still, with no idea what to believe about the person he called his friend anymore.
--
To: Kurt Hummel
May 7th, 2011, 10:32am
I’m really sorry about last night. But, Kurt... we need to talk. When do you get off class today? - Blaine
To: Kurt Hummel
May 7th, 2011, 12:14pm
Did you get my last text? Sometimes this phone can be stupid... We need to talk about something. When are you free? I need to see you. - Blaine
To: Kurt Hummel
May 7th, 2011, 1:05pm
Kurt? What’s going on? - Blaine
--
The real kicker comes after fifth period. Blaine is just stepping out of his Introductory Law class, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone to try texting Kurt one last time, when he happens to glance up - and sees a familiar face coming down the hallway.
“Kurt!” he shouts, fumbling to wave with his phone still in hand. Blaine can feel his face light up instinctively at the sight of the curve of Kurt’s cheek, the blue of his eyes. The way he picks his way carefully down the crowded hallway, managing to weave his way through the herd of people without ever getting mussed up. “Kurt, hey!”
Kurt glances up. Bright blue eyes meet hazel as their eyes meet across the hall, Kurt clutching a large binder to his chest and staring at Blaine as though there is nothing else left in the world. And all at once, Blaine is completely willing to forgive the secrets, the disinterest, the fleet of unanswered texts as long as Kurt will keep on looking at him that way. Kurt falters, tenses for a long moment -
- before turning his gaze toward the ground and walking away.
Blaine is left with his hand in the air, mid-wave. Blinking at the hunched figure rushing away from him down the crowded hall, mouth open in wordless shock. The noise of the many young boys chatting and laughing and walking falls away, and all Blaine can hear is the empty buzz of hurt along his skin.
--
By the next day, Blaine has no idea what to do. He’s sent more text messages to Kurt in the past twenty-four hours than he has in the rest of the four months of their friendship combined. Some upset, some angry, some entreating. And Kurt has responded to none of them. He’s tried calling, Skyping, sending Kurt a message over Facebook. Nothing.
Kurt has, practically speaking, entirely cut himself off from him.
In the middle of the day’s Warblers’ meeting, completely conspicuous and not even attempting to hide his phone, Blaine sends Kurt one last text. Fingers almost tingling with dull numbness, he types out the words as he tones out Wes’s voice:
To: Kurt Hummel
May 8th, 2011, 11:41am
I’ll be in the library today like always. Same place, same time, to wait for you. I hope you’ll come. - Blaine
He lets out a shuddering breath, hits the ‘send’ button, and holds his phone in the palm of his hand for the rest of the meeting to make sure he’ll feel the vibrations right away if Kurt responds.
Once the meeting ends, Blaine packs up his things and heads for the library without saying goodbye to any of his fellow Warblers. Takes his seat in their usual room, in his usual chair, and waits. Waits for Kurt to come and make everything all right again, to explain. To say sorry, and apologize for the way he’s been acting. To tell Blaine that he does care about him, that they are friends. That Blaine’s friendship matters to Kurt at all.
Blaine waits the whole hour.
Kurt never shows.
--
The breaking point comes the day after that.
In the morning, Blaine shamelessly skips his second period History class. No doctor’s note, no excuse. He doesn’t care about what his father will say if the school phones him to alert him of his absence, doesn’t care how disappointed his mother will be. None of that matters, in comparison, because Blaine needs to know. Had never realized how fucking important Kurt Hummel was to him until he pulled out of Blaine’s life all at once and left him dangling in the dark without any explanation whatsoever. Had never realized how empty and superficial and lonely his life at Dalton was before Kurt came along.
So instead of learning about post-Revolutionary America, Blaine stands outside what he knows to be Kurt’s Chemistry classroom for fifty whole minutes. Leaning against the wall silently, sending a happy-go-lucky grin at any teachers who happen down the hallway in that yes-I-definitely-am-allowed-to-be-here sort of way until they smile back and continue on their way. He waits, and waits, and waits - until eventually, the bell rings and the class lets out.
Kurt is among the last of the students to emerge, not part of the initial rush. It is thus incredibly easy for Blaine to dart forward and grab hold of his too-bony shoulder through his Dalton blazer. To tug him off to the side as Kurt’s eyes fly wide open with shock.
“Kurt, come with me,” says Blaine, sounding far more commanding than he feels. He almost entirely expects Kurt to pull out of his grip; to give Blaine a nasty look and continue on his way, continuing down the hallway as though Blaine had never deigned to speak to him.
But he doesn’t. Instead, a small involuntary noise works its way out of Kurt’s throat. And when Blaine moves to pull him into a classroom two doors down he knows for a fact will be unoccupied next period, Kurt actually takes his hand to let Blaine guide him easier. The gesture should be comforting; instead, it makes Blaine even more confused. Mish-mashed signals clogging his brain and flipping his heart in circles. He guides them quickly into the abandoned classroom and closes the door.
When Blaine turns to face Kurt, he cannot for the life of him identify the emotions on the other boy’s face. Anxiety, yes. Nervousness. But also a certain... tension. It almost looks like anticipation in Kurt’s so-blue eyes; waiting on utter edge for... something. He is clutching his notebook tight to his chest, and his mouth is slightly open.
And Blaine finally, finally has Kurt to himself.
“What’s going on?” asks Blaine desperately, hearing the hitch in his voice even as he tries to conceal it. He can’t help it, though; the past three days have been some of his worst since he transferred here. Bewildering and agonizing and so, so hurtful. “I sent you about a million text messages, Kurt, and you didn’t respond to one of them.” He lets out a tiny breath of air. “I know... it was awful, walking in on you like that. I honestly didn’t mean to, you have to know that. I never would’ve come in if I’d known. I know it must have been embarrassing and awful, and I’m so sorry. But... you ignored me. Walked right past me like you didn’t know who I was, and... and I don’t even know you anymore, Kurt.”
Kurt makes a tiny noise in the back of his throat, and Blaine notices absently that Kurt’s hands are clenched white around his notebook. But he’s on a roll.
“I can’t believe I had to drag you away just to talk to you for five seconds. Do you know how much that hurts? I thought we were friends.” Blaine licks his lips, feeling embarrassment flare up in his cheeks and looking down at the ground to be able to manage the last part. “I’m... I’m so sorry that I kissed you, Kurt. That wasn’t my place, and I know that more than ever now. But I can’t even believe the way you’ve reacted to all this. It’s... it’s been so hurtful to me, you don’t even...”
Blaine takes a deep breath, and then lets it out slowly. Still staring at the floor. “If you don’t want to be friends anymore, that’s... that’s fine. But... tell me that, okay? Just tell me what’s wrong. Tell me and we can figure it out together. But acting this way is so unfair. To both of us.”
He waits for the inevitable blow-up, the incredible wave of fury and disdain he’s almost sure will follow.
But it doesn’t come. Instead, there is silence - broken by the tiniest of choked-off sounds. Brows furrowing, Blaine looks up. Kurt is standing in front of him, chest heaving and breath starting to come in ragged pants. His eyes are wide, and all of the blood seems to have left his face at once. There is a loud thud as Kurt’s now-boneless hands drop the notebook to the floor.
“Kurt?” asks Blaine, real worry flaring up hard and strong in his chest. “Kurt, what’s wrong?”
But Kurt seems to be having some sort of silent panic attack in front of him. He clutches at the front of his blazer, panting hard, and stumbles back until his back collides with the wood-panelled wall. Squeezing the fabric and panting hard, fast, too much, too frantic. Gulping for air and shaking like a leaf in the wind.
“Blaine,” Kurt chokes out at last, and his voice. It’s full of something raw and hard and Blaine doesn’t understand. “Blaine, tell me I can cry.”
“What?” asks Blaine, completely taken aback, because his friend seems to be having a full-fledged breakdown in front of him and none of this makes any sense.
“Tell me I can cry,” Kurt practically shouts, bottom lip trembling and staring at Blaine with frantic need.
“You can cry,” says Blaine, and Kurt shatters.
Crumpling in on himself and sliding down the wall onto the floor, tears streaking down his face in a matter of seconds. Heaving and panting and gasping into the stillness of the room; loud, desperate sobs that wrack his small form and leave him trembling and out of breath.
And before Blaine even knows what he is doing, he is on the floor next to him. Wrapping his arms around Kurt’s shaking shoulders as he cries, and wails, and weeps with some suppressed anguish that Blaine cannot even guess at. Kurt clings to him like a lifeline. He sobs into Blaine’s shirt as Blaine holds him close and whispers nonsense words in his ear. I’m here and it’s all okay now and shhhh, sweetheart, everything’s going to be all right.
Kurt cries, and cries. Lying on the classroom floor in a tangled heap, Blaine holds him close - and has absolutely no idea what to do.
Next -- Chapter Four: Kurt -- Part One
That being said: this chapter was hard to write, in some ways, because Blaine is so very separate from the main conflict of the story at first. I hope you all enjoy his perspective. :)
Title: "My Body Betrays Me" (Chapter Three: Blaine)
Author: emilianadarling
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: non-con/dub-con Kurt/Karofsky, Kurt/Blaine
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Vaguely explained magic, non-con, dub-con, angst, clueless misinterpretations, awful situations, manipulation, crack prompt gone serious.
Length: 10,000 words for this chapter.
Spoilers: This is an AU, so not really.
Story Summary: Kurt’s been in a secret relationship with his roommate at Dalton for months. That would be fine... if he wanted any of it. If he could say no, and if Dave would listen. If he were with Blaine, his wonderful friend from the school’s glee club, instead.
Prompt: Written for a prompt on the kinkmeme. Kurt is magically compelled to follow orders. Dave takes advantage. Blaine just wants to make everything all right again.
Notes: I don't even know what to say. I'm so sorry. I blame the kinkmeme for putting ideas in my head.
Chapter One: Dave
Chapter Two: Kurt
The room the Warbler Council uses to meet is as proudly antiquated as any other classroom at Dalton. The wood paneling along the walls is handsome and dark, but the soft light streaming in through the quietly expensive sheer curtains never allows it to overpower the room. Instead, it serves to highlight other details. The handsomely-bound books that line the shelves, the intricate molding along the fireplace. The many brown leather couches, all well-stuffed and comfortable, that have grown well-worn over many years’ worth of use. It is a serene space, designed to encourage quiet contemplation and the creation beautiful music.
The room itself is currently in complete contrast with the argument taking place within its walls.
“I just think we have to consider our image,” insists Thad, throwing his hands up into the air in obvious frustration. “A change in uniform design this close to the competition makes us look frantic, as though we have something to prove.”
“Well, excuse us if we want to try something a little more professional,” spits Nick, and the room bursts into furious titters. Wes bangs his gavel loudly several times over.
“Order, gentlemen,” Wes insists sternly, but it only takes a few moments before the whole room is bursting at the seams once more.
Blaine, perched on one of the couches in the back-most corner of the room, reaches a hand up to rub unobtrusively at his temple. He can feel a tension headache building. The argument over what to wear to Regionals continues to swirl around him like a whirlwind, but for once Blaine simply cannot manage to get engaged. He knows that the uniform question is an important one: every tiny detail is crucial to how the audience will perceive you, after all, and should be paid its due amount of attention.
But somehow, the debate seems... pettier than normal. Needlessly long and drawn-out. Blaine finds himself surreptitiously reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone and check the time practically every other minute, and it’s taking all of his willpower to stop himself from letting out an impatient sigh. He never would, of course. It’s an honour, being chosen to sing the lead on so many of the choir’s songs when he’s not even a senior, and any sign of lack of interest would be a grave insult.
Despite everything, all Blaine can think about is how much he wants the meeting to finish so he can join Kurt in the library for one of their twice-weekly meetings.
Don’t go there, Anderson, a voice cautions him in the back of his head. Blaine has to admit, it has a point. He stealthily slides his phone from his pocket, presses the button on the side - and has to restrain himself from groaning out loud at the fact that only a three minutes have passed since his last check. Next to him, Nick is getting extremely riled up about something involving blue piping.
When Kurt had first joined the Warblers at the beginning of the semester, he and Blaine had hit it off almost immediately. Kurt was tremendously... enthusiastic, yes, and his preferred styles of music didn’t tend to match up with the Warbler’s usual repertoire. It was readily apparent, too, that Kurt was used to a very different glee club environment at his old school. But he was friendly and keen had an amazing voice, and Blaine had been happy to give him a few pointers about how to properly sing acapella. Kurt had adjusted quickly enough, and Blaine had found a new friend.
The speed at which their friendship had progressed was astonishing in hindsight. It had seemed as though they could talk for hours without ever running out of things to say, and off-campus coffee shop excursions quickly became a regular occurrence. Kurt had needed a friend who understood what he was going through after the bullying debacle at his old school, and Blaine... Blaine had needed a friend he could talk to at all. Wes and David were incredible people, but they were both fairly involved with friends from their hometowns. Surface-based friends, to casually hang out with and sing beside but never truly let in.
And if Kurt ever stared at him a little too longingly, or sat a little too straight in his chair, or responded strangely to things Blaine said... well. It was a small price to have someone to really talk to.
And quicker than Blaine had thought possible, Kurt Hummel had become the most important person to him at Dalton.
Things had changed, though, with Kurt’s family crisis.
Suddenly, Kurt had claimed he had work to do and insisted on curtailing their coffee hangouts. Blaine had almost protested - but the tired, fragile set of Kurt’s face had killed the question before it ever left his lips. In and of itself, that would have been acceptable: Dalton had a challenging curriculum, and many new students were unaccustomed to the heavy work load. But after a week of only seeing Kurt in Warbler practice, Kurt had started skipping rehearsals. Just a few, at first - but soon enough, he was missing them every other day. And then most days.
Before long, Kurt simply stopped coming altogether.
Of course, Blaine had asked him about it. Had learned about his schedule from Thad, who was in most of Kurt’s classes, and cornered him after his French lecture one day. Kurt was his friend, after all, and if Blaine could help it was important for Kurt to know he would be there for him. Kurt had stepped out of his class with an armful of books and was met with the sight of Blaine Anderson leaning against the corridor wall, an encouraging smile on his face and a speech half-prepared already.
To Blaine’s surprise, Kurt had gone pale as a sheet. Had rebuffed any of Blaine’s insistence that he could help Kurt with his schoolwork if it meant Kurt could come back to glee club again - before grabbing Blaine’s hand, eyes darting around the bustling hallway, and pulling Blaine into an empty classroom. And when he explained - about the family emergency, about not having time for clubs or coffee dates anymore - Blaine understood. Because he still remembered Kurt telling him about his father’s heart attack earlier in the year; he could put two and two together.
But when Blaine had tried to comfort him, Kurt had stilled. Tensed and shook his head, staring down at the ground. And Blaine had realized that this was Kurt coping. Cutting people out. Harder, sharper. Turning into himself. It wasn’t the Kurt Blaine had come to know, but... it had made Blaine realize there was more to Kurt Hummel than met the eye. The change in attitude made Blaine want to know more about him, not drift away. To help, if he could.
When Kurt had offered the chance to meet him in private one of two times a week during his free period, Blaine had practically leapt at the chance.
Suddenly Wes’s voice, hard and authoritative, cuts into Blaine’s train of thought.
“Warbler Blaine, what is your opinion on this matter?”
Blaine blinks out of his reverie, eyes darting quickly around the room. Every single person in the room appears to be hanging on his next words; some even seem to be crossing their fingers.
“Oh, I agree with Nick one hundred per cent,” Blaine enthuses, attempting to sound entirely earnest and convicted. Next to him, Nick lets out a tiny whoop of joy. Wes’s brow furrows, and Blaine frantically tries to remember what they were talking about.
“Well,” hums Wes. “In that case...” And within another minute, the entire room is thoroughly embroiled in conversation again. Blaine works hard on keeping a big grin on his face while simultaneously nodding as interestedly as possible. He sits up straight, hands on his knees, and tries to look attentive. Butit only takes a few minutes before his concentration begins to droop; before his mind begins to wander to the time, and how quickly he can get out of here and find Kurt.
Kurt, who is still himself - but somehow... different. Quiet and tentative, almost mysterious. A complex puzzle waiting for Blaine to put him together. And Blaine knows that if he keeps trying, keeps patiently waiting, that Kurt will open up to him. It’s only a matter of time.
And if Blaine is completely honest with himself...
He knows that when he falls, he falls hard. Jeremiah was not an isolated incident; once someone has Blaine’s attention, it doesn’t take long before they are everything he can see. And lately, all Blaine can think about is Kurt. The fact that even though he barely smiles when Blaine sees him in the hallway, when they’re alone together Blaine can almost always coax one onto his face. The way he playfully pokes fun at Blaine’s musical taste, the way Blaine can sometimes get him to laugh in that head-back, mouth-open way he’s always trying to avoid. His eyes. God, his eyes. So blue it’s sometimes like a punch to Blaine’s stomach, heavily lashed and completely gorgeous. The curve of his neck; the flatness of his stomach beneath the unflattering Dalton blazer. His hands, so soft that Blaine sometimes can’t stop himself from touching them...
If Blaine is completely honest with himself, he is falling for Kurt Hummel. And maybe... maybe Kurt just might like him right back.
Stop that, he chastises himself. Kurt is vulnerable right now, you know that. The last thing he needs is you ruining his support system. What Kurt needs right now is a friend, not someone taking advantage of his situation. Let him be. Let him come to you.
“Meeting adjourned,” declares Wes with a bang of his gavel, and the words register properly with Blaine for the first time in the past half-hour. Blaine’s bag is on his shoulder and he’s heading out the door before any of his fellow Warblers have even managed to get to their feet. Blaine sends a hopefully-dazzling smile at Wes as he rushes out the door, which Wes returns with a knowing raise of his eyebrows.
Almost snorting with laughter, Blaine quickly heads out the door toward the library. He generally arrives before Kurt, it’s true, but the quick pace is just to be sure. He and Kurt only get to spend perhaps an hour and a half a week together, and Blaine doesn’t want to waste a minute of it. He’s so caught up in his flurry of excitement, in fact, that he charges right into a large, broad figure when he turns the corner.
“Woah!” cries the other boy, steadying Blaine with his hands. “Easy there, tiger.”
Blaine blinks up at him, smiling bashfully. “Sorry about that, man.”
“No worries,” says Dave Karofsky cheerfully, giving him a pat on the shoulder before continuing down the hallway. Blaine is careful to watch where he’s going after that, lest running into someone else might actually make him late. Dodging and weaving between the many individual fish in a navy blue sea.
The thing is, though, that it’s getting harder and harder for Blaine to hold back when it comes to Kurt. He’s a decisive person - a trait his father attempted to drill into him since childhood. Knowing that he wants Kurt and not doing anything about it... well. It’s difficult. The need to tell Kurt how he feels, to make a bold move and know for sure has grown to a near-constant itch beneath his skin. Sitting back and waiting has never been his forte.
Be a good friend, Blaine, he reiterates, before continuing down the hall.
--
Despite the delay, Blaine still manages to get to the library with enough time to grab their usual study room, spread a few of his things out on the table, and begin leafing through his law textbook before Kurt arrives. He does have a midterm next week, after all. Even if he does find himself looking up hopefully at the door every thirty seconds or so, hoping for a glimpse of bright blue eyes or a pale length of neck. A few long minutes pass, and Blaine is on the brink of actually getting engaged with his chapter (‘Statues of Limitations and their International Variance’) when the door slowly edges open.
And when Kurt steps inside and sends him a tentative smile, something warm and pleasant twists in the bottom of Blaine’s stomach.
“Hey, Kurt,” says Blaine, and he can feel his mouth pulling into an uncontrollable grin at the sight of him. He probably looks like an idiot, but he can’t quite find it in himself to care.
“Why, hello there,” Kurt responds, hooking the strap of his book bag over the back of the empty chair beside Blaine before lowering himself down into it. Once seated, he props up an elbow on the table and rests his head in his hand. The movement helps a few strands of his soft-looking brown hair to escape from his understated hairdo; they fall across his cheek and stay there, unnoticed. Blaine wants nothing more than to reach out and push them behind Kurt’s ear.
“How was your test?” asks Blaine, bookmarking and closing his law book for later consideration. Ostensibly, these meetings are supposed to be study sessions. Somehow, though, the two of them seem to consume their entire free block without reading a single paragraph. Kurt blinks at him without any comprehension, and after a moment Blaine elaborates. “Your French midterm? You said it was today, and you always have French before you come here...”
“Oh. Yes, it was today.” There’s a note of surprise in Kurt’s voice that Blaine doesn’t quite understand. “It just finished up. Sorry, I... I didn’t think you’d remember I told you that.”
“Of course I remember, Kurt. You were worried about it.” Blaine remembers everything Kurt tells him. “How did it go?”
“Well, I think. I definitely aced the oral and reading comprehension portions. The written was a bit trickier, but I think I did pretty well.” Kurt shrugs, but Blaine knows from their old coffee dates just how much doing well in school means to him.
“That’s awesome!” says Blaine, and he reaches into his bag to pull out the ‘surprise’ he had angsted over bringing this morning. It had taken him ten whole minutes to convince himself to slip it into his bag. “I thought you’d say that, so I brought this to celebrate. Just... hide it if the librarian comes by to check on us, yeah?”
Friends bring each other presents all the time, so bringing along a large bar of ever-so-decadent-and-slightly-too-expensive chocolate is a completely legitimate thing to do. Dark chocolate is Kurt’s favourite; he told Blaine once, in a conversation about Elizabeth Hummel teaching her son to bake as a child. Plus, Kurt’s cheeks have been getting gaunter and gaunter every time they meet. It makes Blaine worried, and fretful, and want to sit Kurt down in front of a large slab of cake and tell him to eat. Hopefully this method is slightly more subtle.
Kurt’s delicate eyebrows fly up into his hairline. He opens his mouth for a moment as if to speak, catches Blaine’s eye - before closing it again. He lets out a small laugh instead, reaching forward to take the bar from Blaine’s hand. Their fingers brush for the briefest of moments.
“Organic Fair-Trade dark chocolate. I must say, I’m impressed.” Kurt sends him a small, happy smile. “Thank you,” he says, and there is almost something sad about how earnest he sounds.
Swallowing nervously, Blaine suppresses the urge to run a hand through his hair. The strands are gelled back in the way he usually styles it for school, anyways. And it would make him look as though the gesture means more than it should.
“It’s nothing,” he mutters, feeling caught off-guard. There is electrical energy tingling in the tips of Blaine’s fingers, making them twitch and stutter on the tabletop. The way Kurt looks at him, sometimes... it’s as though Blaine is the only person in the world who matters.
He gives himself a little mental shake as Kurt carefully unwraps the dark green wrapper, peeling the corners away slowly so that they don’t tear. His long fingers gently unfold the aluminum foil, leaving the bar exposed. Kurt breaks off two tiny pieces, keeping one for himself and handing one to Blaine.
“You let it melt,” he explains. “Don’t bite down.”
Mimicking Kurt, Blaine places the small piece of chocolate on his tongue and closes his mouth. The taste is strong; almost bitter, with a slight hint of fruitiness that plays at the edges of Blaine’s tongue. Dark chocolate isn’t Blaine’s favourite: he prefers the simple creaminess of milk chocolate, sweet and uncomplicated in its flavour.
But Kurt’s eyes flutter closed in delight as the chocolate melts over his tongue, so Blaine supposes he must have made a good choice. He takes the opportunity to guiltily memorize the way Kurt’s face looks like this; eyes gently shut, with a look of contented pleasure on his face. Kurt barely ever looks relaxed like this anymore.
It takes almost a minute before the chocolate is fully dissolved, and Blaine finally allows himself to swallow when he sees Kurt do so first.
“Mm,” murmurs Kurt, opening his eyes and sending a smile in Blaine’s direction. “Very good choice, Mr. Anderson.” There is something almost cat-like in the way Kurt is holding himself; contented and sated, practically purring with pleasure. He tilts his head to one side. “How are you doing, by the way? You never said.”
“I’m fine,” says Blaine, trying not to stare at Kurt’s lips. There is a small smudge of chocolate streaked across the soft pink. “I had a Warblers meeting just now, but I kinda have no idea what we were talking about.”
At that, Kurt laughs. “Blaine! Aren’t you the one who told me how important all those little details are? You used to say how crucial it was to concen-”
Blaine doesn’t consciously think about what he’s doing. Before he even knows what is happening, he reaches forward, cradles Kurt’s cheek in his hand, and cuts off the rest of Kurt’s sentence with a firm but gentle kiss. Excited sparks are going off in the base of Blaine’s stomach, and he closes his eyes at how good Kurt’s lips feel pressed against his. Soft and warm and quietly masculine, just like he’s been imagining for weeks now. Kurt makes a small noise against his lips, so Blaine leans in and holds him tight. The skin of Kurt’s cheek is soft beneath his palm, and every tiny movement of his lips against Blaine’s is just too good to bear. It’s incredible, and wonderful, and perfect.
He tastes like chocolate, bitter and dark.
When Blaine finally pulls away, heart pounding in his chest, he nervously peers up into Kurt’s face. Expecting to see surprise, or pleasure, or maybe even embarrassment. Instead, the look on Kurt’s face makes his heart plummet into his shoes. There is an expression of absolute horror on his beautiful face. Dismay and disappointment, and even a hint of... fear?
“Kurt,” says Blaine, feeling confused and wrong-footed. “Kurt, what’s wrong?”
All at once, Kurt stands. Stumbling slightly and flinching as Blaine moves to follow him. “I can’t,” chokes Kurt, and guilt hits Blaine square in the chest when he realizes that there are tears welling up in Kurt’s eyes. Kurt is beginning to shake. “I can’t, I just... I have to go.”
“What? You don’t have to... Kurt, please,” entreats Blaine as Kurt scrambles to grab his bag. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to... I mean, I don’t know why I - Kurt!”
But with one last desperate look over his shoulder, Kurt is gone. Practically running out of the room and slamming the door behind him at a volume far too loud for the silence of the library. Leaving Blaine alone with his books spread out before him on the table. An almost-untouched bar of chocolate still laid out on the table like an accusation.
“Fuck,” says Blaine weakly to the empty room, the word echoing dully off the walls.
--
“I am such an idiot,” Blaine groans pathetically, slumping forward in Wes’s computer chair with his head in his hands.
Next to him, Wes sits propped up against a pillow on his own bed. He sits, cross-legged and stiff, with a laptop on the sheets in front of him. Both his posture and expression speak of someone whose patience has been tried far too many times to count. Wes makes a confirmatory noise in response.
“Yep,” says Wes distractedly, eyes firmly fixed on the computer screen in front of him. “Sure sounds like.”
After the complete disaster that was Blaine’s meeting with Kurt, Blaine had stumbled to Physics with twenty minutes to spare with a look of dull shock burned onto his face. He’d barely managed to sit through the entirety of the class, tuning out every one of Ms. Dunning’s words, before rushing out of the classroom and over to Wes’s residence building as quickly as possible.
While Wes isn’t the most sympathetic person Blaine knows, he has the duel appeal of: a) always telling it like it is; and, b) having seen Blaine in situations that very nearly rival this one in terms of soul-destroying embarrassment. Like the Jeremiah Gap Serenade Incident, for example.
Blaine lets out a small wretched noise, and moves to run his hands through his hair. Unfortunately, as it is currently gelled to within an inch of its life, all he manages to do is mangle the style. He gives up after a moment of trying to shove his hands through anyways, letting his hands fall down to his sides.
“I can’t believe I did that,” says Blaine, dumbfounded and furious with himself. “Kurt’s had such a hard time of it lately, and he trusted me to be there for him. He trusted me to help, and what did I do? I had to go and make everything confusing and awful for him and - and, god, I suck.”
Wes nods, reaching over to grab his can of Dr. Pepper from the bedside table. He takes a long sip.
Inside, Blaine is roiling. Humiliation and self-hatred are twisting in his gut like poison, and he’s practically choking on how stupid he feels. He had known that all Kurt needed was a friend; had emphasized the point to himself a million times over the past few weeks. But the way Kurt had looked, soft-eyed and with a tiny smear of chocolate on his lip... it had been the most incredibly inviting sight Blaine could imagine. Now, all of it is ruined; their easy friendship, their library meetings, the hope of when all this is over maybe he’ll want me.
And all because some stupid part of him had thought that some completely innocent conversation had been the perfect moment.
“It’s just - ” begins Blaine, before cutting himself off. He takes a deep, shuddering breath and glances up at the room around him. Wes’s dorm is nice, constantly neat and tidy, and - best of all - a single room. There are only a couple of posters adorning the walls; one mocking various economic models with the visual aid of cows, the other a full-length depiction of John Maynard Keynes.
“It’s just that Kurt means so much to me,” Blaine starts again quietly, the words full of calm conviction. He stares determinedly ahead as he speaks. “I don’t even know when it happened, but... since Kurt came to Dalton, he’s become my best friend here. I’ve told him things... things I’ve never told anyone else before. He’s funny, and smart, and so much fun to be with...” Blaine laughs softly. “... even if he pokes fun at me sometimes, you know? I just... I really like him. A lot.”
Blaine shakes his head, sighing heavily. “And I don’t know what on earth possessed me to mess up what we have like that. It was probably the worst thing I could’ve done, wasn’t it?”
“Mmmhmm,” says Wes. “Completely uncalled for. Pretty much a total douchebag move.”
“Oh, god,” exclaims Blaine dully, eyes blown wide as a new horror dawns. “I took total advantage of him, didn’t I? He’s vulnerable and hurting, and I had to go and kiss him.”
“... basically, yeah.”
‘Oh, god.” Blaine buries his face in his hands again, cheeks burning and feeling like the biggest jerk in the world.
Wes lets out a heavy sigh and closes his laptop with a soft click, moving it aside. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, leans forward, and pokes Blaine once on the knee. It gets Blaine’s attention; Wes’s fingers may be long and thin, but it’s jabbed in with plenty of force.
“Ow,” says Blaine pitifully, despite the fact that it didn’t actually hurt.
“Hey,” says Wes, ignoring him. “You haven’t screwed everything up, okay? So stop acting like you have.”
“...I haven’t?”
“No.” Wes gives him a little half-smile. “I know it can feel that way, though. Jessica says I can be blunt sometimes; when I hurt her feelings, I feel like the worst person in existence. But you can make it better.”
Blaine stifles a grin at the mention of Wes’s girlfriend. Jessica, almost comically tiny at all of five foot nothing, is probably one of his favourite people. Sweet and loving but with a no-nonsense attitude, whenever Jessica comes to visit the school for a few days she does so in a mighty swoop of bright red hair and tiptoed hugs for all of the boys. Blaine rather suspects that Wes has learned the ability to crook an eyebrow in a fashion that perfectly straddles exasperated and affectionate from her.
“Okay,” exhales Blaine. “What do I do?”
“Well,” says Wes. “For starters, you should find him and apologize.”
“Okay. And then?”
Wes shrugs. “Say that you’re really sorry that you didn’t think about him, or how his family crisis would be affecting how he’s doing right now. Say that you can be there for him as a friend, that he doesn’t have to worry about your relationship on top of everything else. And then I’d say you should see how that family situation is going; any new developments, or whatever.” Wes pause, wrinkling his nose. “Actually, Blaine... what is Kurt’s family emergency?”
“I...” trails Blaine, furrowing his brow. “You know, he never actually said. I kinda assumed it had something to do with his dad’s health, but... I don’t know for sure.”
“That’s a bit odd,” says Wes slowly, tilting his head to one side. “I mean, you used to talk about how you two told each other everything.”
“We did,” says Blaine dully, looking down at the floor. “Or at least... I thought we did.”
Wes shakes his head. “I know Kurt, too. And when he was in the Warblers with us, that boy was dedicated. He didn’t miss a single rehearsal for the first few months, and he tried harder than anyone to stand out and do well. I can’t believe he would drop us for anything less than serious business.” He pokes Blaine in the knee again. “You need to talk to him. Apologize for what happened today and offer to really be there for him with whatever’s going on right now. He probably just didn’t want to burden you with everything before.”
“It would never be a burden,” says Blaine immediately, looking up into Wes’s eyes for the first time during the conversation. The other boy’s brown eyes are warm, to his surprise. Quietly affectionate, despite his still-rigid posture.
Sometimes, Blaine forgets that Wes actually does truly care for his friends.
A reluctant smile steals across Wes’s face, and he gives Blaine am encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Just go talk to him, yeah? Figure stuff out between you two. And stop looking like kicked puppy, okay?”
Blaine laughs out loud, feeling some of the tension leave him. Of course it will be okay. He and Kurt have been friends for months; something stupid like a kiss isn’t going to ruin that.
“I’ll try,” says Blaine, sending Wes a grateful look before rising to his feet.
“You’re going to go now?” asks Wes in surprise, raising an eyebrow. He glances at the clock. It reads 3:32pm in softly-glowing red numbers.
“Kurt’ll be back from class by now, and there’s no time like the present,” says Blaine, sounding bolder than he feels. “I don’t want him to stew on this. To think he has to start acting differently around me, or anything. I... I want him to know that we can still be friends, however I might feel. That I’ll still be there for him.”
Blaine takes a deep breath and lets it out, straightening his hair as best he can and smoothing out any wrinkles in his uniform. When he’s as presentable as he’s going to get, he heads determinedly for the door.
“Wish me luck!” he exclaims, and heads off toward Kurt’s residence building.
--
Walking between Tower Residence - where both Wes and Blaine’s dorm rooms are - and the Milward-Hopkins Building where Kurt lives only takes about five minutes in total. Dalton’s campus isn’t very large, and the number of students who attend is tiny in comparison to some of the public high schools in nearby towns. It isn’t until the door of Kurt’s building is within eyeshot, however, that Blaine remembers the fact that the Milward-Hopkins building doesn’t have an intercom system.
Reluctantly, Blaine pulls his smartphone out of his blazer pocket and begins to type out a text: Hey, Kurt. I’m outside your building right now, and we really need to talk. Come let me in? -Blaine. His finger is just hovering over the green ‘send’ button when Blaine hears his own name being called out.
“Blaine!” comes the voice again. Blaine turns to see Jeff Jones waving at him, a heavy book bag slung over his shoulder and his mop of dirty blond hair ruffling in the wind. He’s carrying a large poster board, obviously a project having been handed back. As he gets closer, Blaine can make out the teacher’s writing in neat red pen: Good effort, need to stay on topic. B+
“Hey, Jeff!” says Blaine, trying to sound enthusiastic. Jeff is a great guy; a wonderful sportsman and a valuable Warbler, if a bit ridiculous occasionally. Now that Blaine has decided to confront Kurt about the kiss, however, any distraction is an unwelcome one. Even as he speaks the words, inside his mind Blaine is rehearsing and rehashing exactly what he’s going to say to Kurt in a few minutes’ time. Trying to prepare for it as he would a solo.
“What brings you to this neck of the woods?” asks Jeff as he approaches, expression open and friendly.
“I’m visiting someone,” says Blaine. When Jeff pulls out a set of keys from his pocket a moment later, his eyes widen. “Actually, man - would you mind letting me in?”
“Sure thing,” says Jeff, and Blaine pockets his phone with the unsent text to Kurt still on its screen. Jeff fidgets with the lock for a moment - the Milward-Hopkins Building is old enough to be worn around the edges - before letting them both inside.
Blaine lets Jeff go first, and the two of them ascend the stairs in silence for a few moments. It doesn’t take long, though, before the silence becomes too much for Jeff.
“Who are you visiting?” asks Jeff after a minute, glancing over his shoulder to smile at Blaine as he does so.
“Kurt,” says Blaine. “Kurt Hummel, on the third floor? He was in the Warblers with us for a while; brown hair, countertenor...?”
“Oh,” says Jeff, and they continue up.
But as they reach the second floor landing, Jeff turns - and Blaine realizes that his smile has become strangely fixed. False, even. A remnant of a feeling that isn’t there anymore still laid out across his expression.
“I know Kurt,” says Jeff, reaching up to run a hand through his already-too-messy mop of hair. He bites down on his lower lip. “He’s been acting really weird lately. Actually... he’s been kind of a jerk.”
Unreasonable irritation floods Blaine’s chest, and he feels his fingertips twitch. For a second, all he wants to do is verbally rip Jeff apart. Say he’s dealing with some things, okay? And you’re a bit of a fair-weather friend and if you really knew him you wouldn’t say things like that. And I’d rather hang out with him than you any day of the week.
Blaine blinks, surprised at the intensity of thoughts. Jeff is still standing in front of him, looking slightly awkward. There’s a twist of something in his expression that Blaine isn’t used to seeing; hurt.
“Kurt’s a good guy,” Blaine says at last, sounding stilted even to himself. “I’m sure he’s just going through some stuff.”
“... yeah.” Jeff hesitates, then nods. “You’re probably right.” He gestures awkwardly toward the second floor landing entrance. “This is me.”
“Cool,” says Blaine, and he feels a little guilty. Jeff did let him in, after all. “Thanks - and I’ll see you in practice, yeah?”
“For sure.” Jeff smiles, gives a little wave, and walks through the door to his floor.
Shaking his head, Blaine turns and begins to head up the last flight of stairs to Kurt’s floor. He’s never been inside Kurt’s room before, but in Kurt’s first few weeks at Dalton he had taken Blaine up to wait outside a couple of times. Once to wait for Kurt to grab a change of tie after Thad had accidentally spilled ravioli on him at lunch, and the other time to drop off one set of books and pick up another for a study session. Blaine remembers which room is his, turning right and then heading straight until practically the very end of the hallway. Before long, he is standing right outside Kurt’s door.
He is just debating whether it would be more polite to send Kurt an ‘are you there?’ text message or to knock directly when he hears... something drift out from behind the closed door. He freezes in place, whole body tensing up, every nerve on edge as he waits for the sound to come again. But after long moments pass and he hears nothing, Blaine finally lets out the breath he’s been holding in. Blaine gives himself a shake; he must have imagined it.
He’s just raising his hand to knock when he hears the sound again - for sure this time. A high, clear voice drawn out in a long groan of pain. Addled and frantic and wretched; a voice Blaine couldn’t mistake if he tried. Coming from inside Kurt’s room.
Panic spasms in Blaine’s chest. “Kurt!” he shouts, trying the doorknob with shaking hands as his heart pounds in his chest. Imagining Kurt -- beautiful Kurt -- injured somehow; hurt and alone and no one to help him. The door isn’t locked; it swings open easily.
“Kurt, are you -?!”
It takes Blaine several long moments to fully comprehend the sight that greets him.
There are two people splayed out on the bed directly across from the door. A tangle of limbs and naked skin, twisting and clenching and straining against one another. The sight is blunt and raw, like walking into some sort of too-real porno. Both figures on the bed are male; one large and broad, the other small and slender.
Dave Karofsky, Blaine realizes dully as the figure on top rocks his hips forward and turns his head sideways in a groan. Recognition dawns through a haze of horrified embarrassment; they share the same first-period Math class. Dave’s eyes are clenched shut, face flushed dark brown hair damp with sweat. And below him...
Below him is Kurt. Lying on the bed with his head tilted back against the headboard in obvious ecstasy, his long-fingered hands gripping the solid wooden headboard so tightly they are white around the knuckles. Eyes shut, mouth hanging open and panting as Dave grips his thighs and spreads his legs wide. As Dave thrusts in and out of him, leaning his whole body into the movement. Too shocked to look away at first, Blaine can actually see Dave’s cock pumping in and out of Kurt’s body. The sight is so utterly obscene that Blaine must make some kind of choked noise, because Dave glances over in his direction - and his eyes fly wide open in shocked horror. He stops moving immediately.
They must not have heard me calling out, some distant part of Blaine’s mind realizes. They must not have, over the sound of... of...
“Oh, god,” chokes Blaine, quickly looking down at the floor with burning cheeks. He doesn’t see Kurt’s face when he realizes what happened; Blaine does, however, get to hear him. Gets to hear the desperate little mewl Kurt makes when Dave stops fucking him, the dazed little murmur that comes after. Gets to hear Kurt’s sharp inhale of breath when he finally sees Blaine standing there in the door, all the while staring fixedly down at the wooden floors with his heart pounding in his chest.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t - I shouldn’t have,” splutters Blaine as he backs slowly out of the room. “I thought... God, I don’t know what I thought. I’m so sorry.”
“Anderson!” calls out Dave, but Blaine has already shut the door and started half-running down the hallway, eyes stinging and the image of the two boys together seared onto his mind.
And the small, desperate noise he hears Kurt make as he flees down the hall is just too much. Too awful.
Blaine is leaning against the stairwell door, shaking with shock and hurt and revolted embarrassment, when Dave finds him less than a minute later. Jogging down the hall with a pair of sweatpants slung low on his hips and a white collared shirt left unbuttoned, flapping in the air as he comes toward him. Dave’s face red; flushed from exertion. Blaine feels something awful twist in the base of his stomach as he remembers what from.
“Anderson, wait up,” calls Dave, slowing down as he reaches the stairwell entrance.
Kurt didn’t even bother to come after me. The thought hits with another distant pang to his chest.
They stand like that, staring at one another, for a few long moments that hang between them like an insurmountable wall. For a half-second, Blaine wants - no, expects - Dave to apologize to him, as though Dave had done anything wrong. And then -
“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” blurts Dave at last, and Blaine sees at once how full of nervous tension Dave is. Fingers twitching and brown eyes full of frightened worry; but for the life of him, Blaine can’t figure out why. His thoughts are a whirl of shock and upset, and Blaine can barely focus on Dave’s words at all.
“What?” asks Blaine after a too-large pause. “About... about Kurt?” His voice breaks on the last word, but he pushes that thought down.
“No - yes, I mean -” Dave shifts awkwardly, looking around the hall and licking his lips before continuing. “You won’t tell anyone that I’m - that I’m like that, will you?”
“Oh,” says Blaine awkwardly, realization hitting. “Right. That. I mean - of course I won’t, Dave. I wouldn’t... I wouldn’t do that to you.”
The fact that Dave Karofsky is gay is the single least important thing on Blaine’s mind right now, but Dave’s face floods with sharp relief anyways. He lets out a huge, cathartic breath.
“Thanks, dude. I owe you one.” Dave reaches forward and slaps Blaine firmly on the shoulder, practically sending him flying sideways with the force of it. All Blaine can think about is the fact that Kurt’s... lover? Fuck-buddy? Just touched him. The boy who was just touchingtakinghavingloving Kurt just patted him on the shoulder like it was nothing. Like it didn’t matter.
He hadn’t even known Kurt and Dave knew one another, before.
Dave winces. “And... sorry you had to see that, man.”
Blaine manages a shrug, and before he knows what’s going on Dave is jogging back down the hallway again. Shirtsleeves flapping as he goes, running back to Kurt’s room. To Kurt. To finish what he and Kurt were doing before Blaine barged in like some kind of complete moron.
Feeling sick to his stomach and heart aching, Blaine stumbles down the stairs and out the residence hall door. He goes straight to his own dorm and shuts the door.
--
That night, Blaine can’t sleep. He lies awake instead, staring at the ceiling and listening to the sound of his roommate’s snores, trying to push down the thrumming of humiliation and hurt along his skin. Wes sent him a “how’d it go? ” text hours ago, but Blaine couldn’t find it in himself to respond. He doesn’t want Wes to know how badly he misjudged the situation, or the nauseating sight he walked in on.
Instead, Blaine lies in the dark and goes over everything he must have misconstrued. Every touch, every smile, every playful word Kurt flung his way. Every conversation that lasted for hours.
Because he’d thought... he’d really, really thought...
And Blaine can’t even think about what kind of fool Kurt must think him to be without wanting to twist into the covers in humiliation. When Blaine had kissed him and he had run off, horrified... it was because he had someone else. Someone he wanted more than Blaine. Someone he never told Blaine about.
An image drifts into his mind; a twist of limbs and the steady thrust of hips, a groan. And suddenly Blaine’s mind is assaulted with similar-but-different images of Kurt Hummel and Dave Karofsky. Kissing and touching and twinedtogether, as explicit and obscene as the scene he walked in on today. And all of them feature Kurt with his head thrown back, the same picture of complete ecstasy on his face. He wants to curl up and hide forever in a pit of disappointment and hurt.
The imagined images burn at the corners of his mind. It takes hours for his mind to simmer into an uneasy sleep.
--
When Blaine wakes up, he wakes up angry.
As a rule, Blaine is slow to anger. Generally easygoing and friendly, it takes a lot for him to go from ‘frustrated’ or ‘upset’ to actually, properly angry. And in the haze of the train wreck of yesterday afternoon, something very important had slipped his mind.
As hurtful as it was to find out about Kurt being in a relationship that way, it was Kurt’s decision not to tell him. And as frustrated as he is with himself, that isn’t the issue.
But Blaine is almost completely sure that Dave is taking advantage of Kurt’s emotional situation, and that simply isn’t okay.
So later that morning, when the bell rings to signal the end of first period and Blaine’s Math class begins to pack up their things and head toward the door, Blaine walks straight up to Dave Karofsky with his biggest and friendliest grin on his face and asks him if he has a minute to talk.
“Sure, man,” says Dave uneasily, eyes darting from side to side as if to spot any hidden eavesdroppers.
“Awesome.” Blaine’s smile remains determinedly fixed in place as the few stragglers empty out, leaving the two of them alone in Room B21 for at least five minutes until people will start to trickle in for second period. Mr. Morgan, their teacher, gives them a little wave as he leaves with a stack of papers in hand - and then they are alone.
Dave’s arms are crossed in front of his torso in a way that is probably meant to look casual; it gives him an air of defensiveness instead. Every few seconds Dave's eyes flick to the door. He looks profoundly uncomfortable.
“I just wanted to talk about last night,” Blaine begins, in the tone of voice his father has referred to more than once as ‘oily non-confrontational’. It is somehow incredibly satisfying when the words make Dave’s eyes fly wide open.
Dave coughs uneasily, shuffling on his feet. “What about it? Anderson, you said you wouldn’t tell -”
“Woah now,” exclaims Blaine, raising his hands in the air in an expression of mock-surrender. “I’m not going to say anything. I understand, David; believe me when I say I do.”
At this, Dave gives him a quick once over from head to toe. Quietly and quickly assessing his hair, his stature, his posture, his voice. Blaine knows this look; knows Dave is trying to give him the once-over and come up with a definitive sexuality. Good luck, thinks Blaine, because he can pass as straight pretty easily to people who don’t know him very well.
“But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about,” continues Blaine, feeling his face settle into a more serious expression. “It’s about Kurt.”
“... Kurt?” Dave’s voice strains slightly on the word, and all at once there is a strange shift in his demeanour. He draws himself up, a strange tension immediately apparent in the way he holds himself. Dave tilts his head to one side, eyes fixed - for the first time since the conversation began - unfalteringly on Blaine.
“Now, Kurt’s a very good friend of mine,” begins Blaine, still smiling. Open-looking and friendly. “I care about him a lot, and I know you must too. So I can’t help but worry about him rushing into a new relationship at a time like this in his life.”
The pause that comes next hangs between them like a physical presence. Dave’s lips tense, and there is something in his eyes that Blaine can’t identify. Just when the silence has grown so long that Blaine is about to continue without any prompting, Dave breaks the silence.
“Uh-huh,” Dave manages eventually, the words drawn-out and carefully enunciated. It’s all the response Blaine needs.
“Because you must know that Kurt’s going through some very sensitive family issues right now. He’s talked to you about that, right?” asks Blaine. Dave inclines his head barely-perceptibly. “He probably feels vulnerable. I know that you’re a good guy, David. You wouldn’t want to take advantage.” Blaine says the last part in an understandingly amicable fashion.
There is a long, long pause. Internally, Blaine is practically cheering himself on for taking the plunge and standing up for Kurt so quickly. He’s a good friend, after all, even if Kurt doesn’t want him as anything else. And eventually, Dave gives his head a small shake - and smiles.
“Of course not, man,” says Dave, his grin rivaling Blaine’s own. With one large hand, he reaches down and pats Blaine firmly on the back. “Kurt’s a great guy; you know, we transferred at the same time? And we’ve been roomies ever since.” He glances around, then leans down conspiratorially, grinning all the while. “You know, between you and me? Kurt and I - we’ve been together for a while now. I’m still working up the courage to be, you know, public out it - and he’s a real private person, but...” He smiles. “I like to think of myself as a pretty good support system, you know?”
“... oh,” Blaine manages at last, smile beginning to droop.
It is as though there is an entirely new person standing in front of him. Confident, charismatic, friendly. And it feels as though Blaine has been hit over the head with a two-by-four, because he never once even considered that theirs was a long-term relationship. That Kurt had been hiding Dave from him all this time. Over a period of weeks, or months.
Jesus Christ, Kurt never even mentioned his roommate’s name.
“But I totally appreciate the concern, you know? You’re obviously a good guy,” says Dave, parroting Blaine’s earlier words. He gives Blaine’s shoulder a squeeze. “Now, I have to head to Calculus. We cool?”
And Blaine can only nod as Dave sends him a grin and heads out the door. He is left standing there alone and stock-still, with no idea what to believe about the person he called his friend anymore.
--
To: Kurt Hummel
May 7th, 2011, 10:32am
I’m really sorry about last night. But, Kurt... we need to talk. When do you get off class today? - Blaine
To: Kurt Hummel
May 7th, 2011, 12:14pm
Did you get my last text? Sometimes this phone can be stupid... We need to talk about something. When are you free? I need to see you. - Blaine
To: Kurt Hummel
May 7th, 2011, 1:05pm
Kurt? What’s going on? - Blaine
--
The real kicker comes after fifth period. Blaine is just stepping out of his Introductory Law class, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone to try texting Kurt one last time, when he happens to glance up - and sees a familiar face coming down the hallway.
“Kurt!” he shouts, fumbling to wave with his phone still in hand. Blaine can feel his face light up instinctively at the sight of the curve of Kurt’s cheek, the blue of his eyes. The way he picks his way carefully down the crowded hallway, managing to weave his way through the herd of people without ever getting mussed up. “Kurt, hey!”
Kurt glances up. Bright blue eyes meet hazel as their eyes meet across the hall, Kurt clutching a large binder to his chest and staring at Blaine as though there is nothing else left in the world. And all at once, Blaine is completely willing to forgive the secrets, the disinterest, the fleet of unanswered texts as long as Kurt will keep on looking at him that way. Kurt falters, tenses for a long moment -
- before turning his gaze toward the ground and walking away.
Blaine is left with his hand in the air, mid-wave. Blinking at the hunched figure rushing away from him down the crowded hall, mouth open in wordless shock. The noise of the many young boys chatting and laughing and walking falls away, and all Blaine can hear is the empty buzz of hurt along his skin.
--
By the next day, Blaine has no idea what to do. He’s sent more text messages to Kurt in the past twenty-four hours than he has in the rest of the four months of their friendship combined. Some upset, some angry, some entreating. And Kurt has responded to none of them. He’s tried calling, Skyping, sending Kurt a message over Facebook. Nothing.
Kurt has, practically speaking, entirely cut himself off from him.
In the middle of the day’s Warblers’ meeting, completely conspicuous and not even attempting to hide his phone, Blaine sends Kurt one last text. Fingers almost tingling with dull numbness, he types out the words as he tones out Wes’s voice:
To: Kurt Hummel
May 8th, 2011, 11:41am
I’ll be in the library today like always. Same place, same time, to wait for you. I hope you’ll come. - Blaine
He lets out a shuddering breath, hits the ‘send’ button, and holds his phone in the palm of his hand for the rest of the meeting to make sure he’ll feel the vibrations right away if Kurt responds.
Once the meeting ends, Blaine packs up his things and heads for the library without saying goodbye to any of his fellow Warblers. Takes his seat in their usual room, in his usual chair, and waits. Waits for Kurt to come and make everything all right again, to explain. To say sorry, and apologize for the way he’s been acting. To tell Blaine that he does care about him, that they are friends. That Blaine’s friendship matters to Kurt at all.
Blaine waits the whole hour.
Kurt never shows.
--
The breaking point comes the day after that.
In the morning, Blaine shamelessly skips his second period History class. No doctor’s note, no excuse. He doesn’t care about what his father will say if the school phones him to alert him of his absence, doesn’t care how disappointed his mother will be. None of that matters, in comparison, because Blaine needs to know. Had never realized how fucking important Kurt Hummel was to him until he pulled out of Blaine’s life all at once and left him dangling in the dark without any explanation whatsoever. Had never realized how empty and superficial and lonely his life at Dalton was before Kurt came along.
So instead of learning about post-Revolutionary America, Blaine stands outside what he knows to be Kurt’s Chemistry classroom for fifty whole minutes. Leaning against the wall silently, sending a happy-go-lucky grin at any teachers who happen down the hallway in that yes-I-definitely-am-allowed-to-be-here sort of way until they smile back and continue on their way. He waits, and waits, and waits - until eventually, the bell rings and the class lets out.
Kurt is among the last of the students to emerge, not part of the initial rush. It is thus incredibly easy for Blaine to dart forward and grab hold of his too-bony shoulder through his Dalton blazer. To tug him off to the side as Kurt’s eyes fly wide open with shock.
“Kurt, come with me,” says Blaine, sounding far more commanding than he feels. He almost entirely expects Kurt to pull out of his grip; to give Blaine a nasty look and continue on his way, continuing down the hallway as though Blaine had never deigned to speak to him.
But he doesn’t. Instead, a small involuntary noise works its way out of Kurt’s throat. And when Blaine moves to pull him into a classroom two doors down he knows for a fact will be unoccupied next period, Kurt actually takes his hand to let Blaine guide him easier. The gesture should be comforting; instead, it makes Blaine even more confused. Mish-mashed signals clogging his brain and flipping his heart in circles. He guides them quickly into the abandoned classroom and closes the door.
When Blaine turns to face Kurt, he cannot for the life of him identify the emotions on the other boy’s face. Anxiety, yes. Nervousness. But also a certain... tension. It almost looks like anticipation in Kurt’s so-blue eyes; waiting on utter edge for... something. He is clutching his notebook tight to his chest, and his mouth is slightly open.
And Blaine finally, finally has Kurt to himself.
“What’s going on?” asks Blaine desperately, hearing the hitch in his voice even as he tries to conceal it. He can’t help it, though; the past three days have been some of his worst since he transferred here. Bewildering and agonizing and so, so hurtful. “I sent you about a million text messages, Kurt, and you didn’t respond to one of them.” He lets out a tiny breath of air. “I know... it was awful, walking in on you like that. I honestly didn’t mean to, you have to know that. I never would’ve come in if I’d known. I know it must have been embarrassing and awful, and I’m so sorry. But... you ignored me. Walked right past me like you didn’t know who I was, and... and I don’t even know you anymore, Kurt.”
Kurt makes a tiny noise in the back of his throat, and Blaine notices absently that Kurt’s hands are clenched white around his notebook. But he’s on a roll.
“I can’t believe I had to drag you away just to talk to you for five seconds. Do you know how much that hurts? I thought we were friends.” Blaine licks his lips, feeling embarrassment flare up in his cheeks and looking down at the ground to be able to manage the last part. “I’m... I’m so sorry that I kissed you, Kurt. That wasn’t my place, and I know that more than ever now. But I can’t even believe the way you’ve reacted to all this. It’s... it’s been so hurtful to me, you don’t even...”
Blaine takes a deep breath, and then lets it out slowly. Still staring at the floor. “If you don’t want to be friends anymore, that’s... that’s fine. But... tell me that, okay? Just tell me what’s wrong. Tell me and we can figure it out together. But acting this way is so unfair. To both of us.”
He waits for the inevitable blow-up, the incredible wave of fury and disdain he’s almost sure will follow.
But it doesn’t come. Instead, there is silence - broken by the tiniest of choked-off sounds. Brows furrowing, Blaine looks up. Kurt is standing in front of him, chest heaving and breath starting to come in ragged pants. His eyes are wide, and all of the blood seems to have left his face at once. There is a loud thud as Kurt’s now-boneless hands drop the notebook to the floor.
“Kurt?” asks Blaine, real worry flaring up hard and strong in his chest. “Kurt, what’s wrong?”
But Kurt seems to be having some sort of silent panic attack in front of him. He clutches at the front of his blazer, panting hard, and stumbles back until his back collides with the wood-panelled wall. Squeezing the fabric and panting hard, fast, too much, too frantic. Gulping for air and shaking like a leaf in the wind.
“Blaine,” Kurt chokes out at last, and his voice. It’s full of something raw and hard and Blaine doesn’t understand. “Blaine, tell me I can cry.”
“What?” asks Blaine, completely taken aback, because his friend seems to be having a full-fledged breakdown in front of him and none of this makes any sense.
“Tell me I can cry,” Kurt practically shouts, bottom lip trembling and staring at Blaine with frantic need.
“You can cry,” says Blaine, and Kurt shatters.
Crumpling in on himself and sliding down the wall onto the floor, tears streaking down his face in a matter of seconds. Heaving and panting and gasping into the stillness of the room; loud, desperate sobs that wrack his small form and leave him trembling and out of breath.
And before Blaine even knows what he is doing, he is on the floor next to him. Wrapping his arms around Kurt’s shaking shoulders as he cries, and wails, and weeps with some suppressed anguish that Blaine cannot even guess at. Kurt clings to him like a lifeline. He sobs into Blaine’s shirt as Blaine holds him close and whispers nonsense words in his ear. I’m here and it’s all okay now and shhhh, sweetheart, everything’s going to be all right.
Kurt cries, and cries. Lying on the classroom floor in a tangled heap, Blaine holds him close - and has absolutely no idea what to do.
Next -- Chapter Four: Kurt -- Part One