Things That Straight People Don't Have to Understand - Part I
Title: Things That Straight People Don't Have to Understand - Part I
Rating: PG
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine
Summary: Blaine had always been a tactile person.
Word Count: 1471
Author's Note: This is from early July, because someone (ahem samzgurl ahem) was egging me on. It's the first part of what looks, currently, to be a four part series, with alternating perspectives. A little more thinky, but still pretty damn fluffy. Because that's how I roll.
Blaine had always been a tactile person. At two, his mother had taught him to stay away from the stove by bringing his tiny fingers close enough to a hot burner to feel the residual heat.
“That’s hot, Blaine. Don’t touch it, ok?” she’d said, holding his hand firmly so he wouldn’t get burned.
“Ow, hot,” he’d responded, and she’d smiled.
“Exactly, sweetie. Ow, hot. Keep your fingers away.” He’d nodded slowly, his attention already being drawn away to the cool smoothness of her palm under his.
In elementary school, math had made no sense to him for the longest time, until his teacher had sent him off to play with the blocks and shapes. Suddenly, piling objects into groups, combining and separating them, he’d gotten it. Math wasn’t just squiggles on a page. It was things he could hold and move. Math was something he could touch.
He’d gotten into playing instruments because his dad thought it might still his busy hands. His mother just hoped he’d pick at his guitar instead of his new sweaters. And so he discovered music, and the way his hands could make beautiful sounds.
Singing had been a natural addition, a way to engage his entire being in music-making. Blaine didn’t do anything halfway. He played and sang and danced around, because when there was music on, or music he was creating, he couldn’t just sit there and listen. He had to experience it with his entire body. He was the music, and it could be hot or cold. It could be a tight, perfect equation or the loose comfort of his favorite wool sweater. It was him, in all his variations.
He was a passionate person - about music and about everything. When he got excited, he would clap and bounce a little, or throw his arms around the neck of whoever was closest. His mother thought it was endearing, and his father at least tolerated his enthusiasm. It wasn’t until halfway through middle school that he realized his passion made him stand out, and not always in a good way.
He learned, quickly, that hugging and holding hands and cuddling were things that boys didn’t do. He learned to make a face when his mother kissed him in public and to give high fives or pats on the shoulder to show his teammates they’d done a good job. He learned to keep his eyes to himself and change in his shower stall after gym class. He learned that who he was - a hugger, a cuddler, a boy who thought other boys were prettier than girls - was someone he couldn’t outwardly be.
He began thinking about every motion he made. He walked instead of skipping. He grinned wryly instead of laughing out loud. He hugged the girls he was friends with and occasionally bumped shoulders with the boys. He still hugged his mother, but only when no one else was around to see.
When he got to high school, he decided it was time to be brave. He told his mother, and then his father, what he’d discovered about himself. Telling them was helpful, though they didn’t know how to be. It meant he could feel a little bit more like himself, even if he couldn’t show it much to the outside world. Because every time he tried - when he stared a little too long, or smiled a little too wide, or invited a boy when it was supposed to be a girl - the world reminded him forcibly that he wasn’t normal, and it wasn’t ok.
It turned out that being gay wasn’t the problem - it was being gay and being him. Even once he got to Dalton, where there was no bullying and no one cared that he liked boys and they liked girls, he felt like he was wearing a straightjacket, with all that stupid little pun implied. It was ok to roughhouse, to flail around and squish six teenage boys on a couch that usually held three. He could shake hands with a firm grip and get slapped on the back after a great performance. But no one was there to hug him, to pat his hand, or to let him drop his head on their shoulder while they watched reruns. There was no one around with whom he felt he could just be him, Blaine, the kid who liked to hold hands with his friends and who just so happened to like boys.
Which was why the advent of Kurt in his life was more like a hurricane than a breath of fresh air. Kurt, who wore pants that looked painted on and sang like an angel. Kurt, who had sleepovers with his girlfriends and who hugged his dad and told him he loved him every day. The first time he saw Kurt casually loop his arm through David’s as he walked ahead to ask him a question, Blaine’s eyes about popped out of his head. He was even more surprised when he realized that he was the only one who had found it surprising.
Over the first weeks of their friendship, Kurt continued to be a revelation. He talked openly about the crushes he’d had on a few boys who’d turned out to be straight. He was even friends with some of them, and it seemed to be a vaguely embarrassing but funny running joke between them. Once, when he was running late to Warblers’ rehearsal and most of the seats were taken, he slid down onto the couch between Blaine and Wes, smiling at Blaine and patting Wes absently on the knee. Wes had just shrugged and left his arm stretched out on the couch behind Kurt’s head. Like it happened every day. Like it didn’t matter at all.
Even before Blaine got his act together and they started dating, Kurt was always affectionate with him. He hugged and cuddled and generally made it ok for Blaine to act like Blaine. From their first meeting, Blaine had sensed that instinctively, and had been more himself. And with each day that passed incident free, Blaine felt like Kurt was the one giving him courage. Kurt was the one showing him how to live in the world as the person he really was.
He talked to Kurt about all of it after they’d been together for a while. About how he could make grand gestures, but hugging his closest friends still kind of freaked him out. About how he couldn’t reconcile being out with acting out. About the millions of tiny decisions and adjustments and compromises he made every day, as he decided how much was too much, and what he felt like he could handle.
“I do that too, you know,” Kurt told him, stroking the back of his hand. “But a lot of the time I just think ‘screw it’ and do whatever the hell I want.” He smiled, that adorable wicked twinkle in his eye that always made Blaine’s breath clog in his throat.
Blaine just murmured his agreement and turned his palm up to meet Kurt’s.
“Some people will always think you have it easier, because you’re not so obvious. I mean, you’re not wearing a giant, designer sign that screams ‘I like boys!’” Kurt swept a hand out, indicating himself. “But in some ways, I think you’ll always have a harder time, because fewer people are going to assume. Which means you always have to decide.”
“Yeah,” Blaine blew out a short breath. “It’s like coming out, all day, every day, in a million little ways.”
“Perhaps you could have business cards drawn up. ‘Blaine Anderson. Likes boys.’”
“Will you give them out for me?” Blaine grinned and gave in to the desire to cuddle into Kurt’s side.
“I’ll do you one better. I’ll just walk around clinging to your hand so they don’t even have to ask.”
“Mmmm…you’re so selfless.” The teasing quality of Blaine’s comment was somewhat lost because his words were spoken into Kurt’s shoulder.
“I do what I can.” Kurt laughed, then pulled back to look at Blaine. “But seriously, I get it. This is one of those things that straight people don’t have to understand. But I do. And I always will.”
“I know. And I’m really grateful.” Blaine leaned up to kiss Kurt, a simple brush of lips, before snuggling back into his embrace.
He was grateful for so many things: a safe school, good friends, and a boyfriend who understood him, sometimes better than he understood himself. But most of all, he was grateful that he was finding a way back to himself, the little boy who knew his world through the touch of his hands and knew he was loved through the touch of another’s. He was who he’d always been. And now, finally, he wasn’t alone.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine
Summary: Blaine had always been a tactile person.
Word Count: 1471
Author's Note: This is from early July, because someone (ahem samzgurl ahem) was egging me on. It's the first part of what looks, currently, to be a four part series, with alternating perspectives. A little more thinky, but still pretty damn fluffy. Because that's how I roll.
Blaine had always been a tactile person. At two, his mother had taught him to stay away from the stove by bringing his tiny fingers close enough to a hot burner to feel the residual heat.
“That’s hot, Blaine. Don’t touch it, ok?” she’d said, holding his hand firmly so he wouldn’t get burned.
“Ow, hot,” he’d responded, and she’d smiled.
“Exactly, sweetie. Ow, hot. Keep your fingers away.” He’d nodded slowly, his attention already being drawn away to the cool smoothness of her palm under his.
In elementary school, math had made no sense to him for the longest time, until his teacher had sent him off to play with the blocks and shapes. Suddenly, piling objects into groups, combining and separating them, he’d gotten it. Math wasn’t just squiggles on a page. It was things he could hold and move. Math was something he could touch.
He’d gotten into playing instruments because his dad thought it might still his busy hands. His mother just hoped he’d pick at his guitar instead of his new sweaters. And so he discovered music, and the way his hands could make beautiful sounds.
Singing had been a natural addition, a way to engage his entire being in music-making. Blaine didn’t do anything halfway. He played and sang and danced around, because when there was music on, or music he was creating, he couldn’t just sit there and listen. He had to experience it with his entire body. He was the music, and it could be hot or cold. It could be a tight, perfect equation or the loose comfort of his favorite wool sweater. It was him, in all his variations.
He was a passionate person - about music and about everything. When he got excited, he would clap and bounce a little, or throw his arms around the neck of whoever was closest. His mother thought it was endearing, and his father at least tolerated his enthusiasm. It wasn’t until halfway through middle school that he realized his passion made him stand out, and not always in a good way.
He learned, quickly, that hugging and holding hands and cuddling were things that boys didn’t do. He learned to make a face when his mother kissed him in public and to give high fives or pats on the shoulder to show his teammates they’d done a good job. He learned to keep his eyes to himself and change in his shower stall after gym class. He learned that who he was - a hugger, a cuddler, a boy who thought other boys were prettier than girls - was someone he couldn’t outwardly be.
He began thinking about every motion he made. He walked instead of skipping. He grinned wryly instead of laughing out loud. He hugged the girls he was friends with and occasionally bumped shoulders with the boys. He still hugged his mother, but only when no one else was around to see.
When he got to high school, he decided it was time to be brave. He told his mother, and then his father, what he’d discovered about himself. Telling them was helpful, though they didn’t know how to be. It meant he could feel a little bit more like himself, even if he couldn’t show it much to the outside world. Because every time he tried - when he stared a little too long, or smiled a little too wide, or invited a boy when it was supposed to be a girl - the world reminded him forcibly that he wasn’t normal, and it wasn’t ok.
It turned out that being gay wasn’t the problem - it was being gay and being him. Even once he got to Dalton, where there was no bullying and no one cared that he liked boys and they liked girls, he felt like he was wearing a straightjacket, with all that stupid little pun implied. It was ok to roughhouse, to flail around and squish six teenage boys on a couch that usually held three. He could shake hands with a firm grip and get slapped on the back after a great performance. But no one was there to hug him, to pat his hand, or to let him drop his head on their shoulder while they watched reruns. There was no one around with whom he felt he could just be him, Blaine, the kid who liked to hold hands with his friends and who just so happened to like boys.
Which was why the advent of Kurt in his life was more like a hurricane than a breath of fresh air. Kurt, who wore pants that looked painted on and sang like an angel. Kurt, who had sleepovers with his girlfriends and who hugged his dad and told him he loved him every day. The first time he saw Kurt casually loop his arm through David’s as he walked ahead to ask him a question, Blaine’s eyes about popped out of his head. He was even more surprised when he realized that he was the only one who had found it surprising.
Over the first weeks of their friendship, Kurt continued to be a revelation. He talked openly about the crushes he’d had on a few boys who’d turned out to be straight. He was even friends with some of them, and it seemed to be a vaguely embarrassing but funny running joke between them. Once, when he was running late to Warblers’ rehearsal and most of the seats were taken, he slid down onto the couch between Blaine and Wes, smiling at Blaine and patting Wes absently on the knee. Wes had just shrugged and left his arm stretched out on the couch behind Kurt’s head. Like it happened every day. Like it didn’t matter at all.
Even before Blaine got his act together and they started dating, Kurt was always affectionate with him. He hugged and cuddled and generally made it ok for Blaine to act like Blaine. From their first meeting, Blaine had sensed that instinctively, and had been more himself. And with each day that passed incident free, Blaine felt like Kurt was the one giving him courage. Kurt was the one showing him how to live in the world as the person he really was.
He talked to Kurt about all of it after they’d been together for a while. About how he could make grand gestures, but hugging his closest friends still kind of freaked him out. About how he couldn’t reconcile being out with acting out. About the millions of tiny decisions and adjustments and compromises he made every day, as he decided how much was too much, and what he felt like he could handle.
“I do that too, you know,” Kurt told him, stroking the back of his hand. “But a lot of the time I just think ‘screw it’ and do whatever the hell I want.” He smiled, that adorable wicked twinkle in his eye that always made Blaine’s breath clog in his throat.
Blaine just murmured his agreement and turned his palm up to meet Kurt’s.
“Some people will always think you have it easier, because you’re not so obvious. I mean, you’re not wearing a giant, designer sign that screams ‘I like boys!’” Kurt swept a hand out, indicating himself. “But in some ways, I think you’ll always have a harder time, because fewer people are going to assume. Which means you always have to decide.”
“Yeah,” Blaine blew out a short breath. “It’s like coming out, all day, every day, in a million little ways.”
“Perhaps you could have business cards drawn up. ‘Blaine Anderson. Likes boys.’”
“Will you give them out for me?” Blaine grinned and gave in to the desire to cuddle into Kurt’s side.
“I’ll do you one better. I’ll just walk around clinging to your hand so they don’t even have to ask.”
“Mmmm…you’re so selfless.” The teasing quality of Blaine’s comment was somewhat lost because his words were spoken into Kurt’s shoulder.
“I do what I can.” Kurt laughed, then pulled back to look at Blaine. “But seriously, I get it. This is one of those things that straight people don’t have to understand. But I do. And I always will.”
“I know. And I’m really grateful.” Blaine leaned up to kiss Kurt, a simple brush of lips, before snuggling back into his embrace.
He was grateful for so many things: a safe school, good friends, and a boyfriend who understood him, sometimes better than he understood himself. But most of all, he was grateful that he was finding a way back to himself, the little boy who knew his world through the touch of his hands and knew he was loved through the touch of another’s. He was who he’d always been. And now, finally, he wasn’t alone.