Five Ways that Blaine Could Have Met Kurt because Cooper Got Married, and What Really Happened (3/6)
Title: Five Ways that Blaine Could Have Met Kurt because Cooper Got Married, and What Really Happened
Rating: Ranging from G to R/NC-17 (depending on how carried away I get in later chapters)
Pairings: Klaine, Cooper/OFC
Word Count: 4,266 this chapter / 13,929 total (so far)
Spoilers: Anything through the end of S3 may be mentioned
Warnings: None that I can think of. It's a little cracky?
Summary: It's exactly what the title says. :)
Author's Notes: Many thanks to my wonderful beta shandyall! And thank you so much to colfer for being a second set of eyes and for additional help on this chapter. If you're so inclined, feel free to come say hi on Tumblr over here. Additional author's note after the cut.
Part One: It could have been at a bakery.
Part Two: Or maybe at a salon.
Blaine looks around the room, taking in the groomsmen scattered across the shabby couches and chairs, and laments again that Emily had given them strict marching orders to get to the church so far in advance of the ceremony. She and the bridesmaids are dressing and primping together in a room at the other side of the building, but Cooper, Blaine, their cousin Pete, and two of Cooper’s friends from Los Angeles had arrived in their tuxedos, as per the instructions they’d received at the rehearsal dinner, and they’ve been left with way too much time to kill.
Cooper’s friends, Tanner and Russell, are poring over something on a tablet computer, something that Blaine is fairly sure is a script. He’s not sure if they’re writing it or trying to memorize it, and he’s sort of afraid to ask. Ever since their arrival, when Russell had greeted him with a severe don’t call me Russ, Blaine has felt the need to walk on eggshells when they’re around. Cooper had explained it away dismissively (“He’s just trying to get used to his new screen name. Not all of us were lucky enough to be given something usable at birth.”), but Blaine can’t help but be wary now.
On the other side of the room, Cooper is reading his vows over and over again, while Pete watches and offers his advice. Blaine had been doing the same, but when he had the audacity to suggest that Cooper speak his vows with whatever real emotion he feels at the time, he’d been banished to a chair on the opposite wall. (“Giving my best performance shows her that I care, Blaine. Look at how much work I’m putting into this!”)
Since then, Blaine has checked both his email addresses, looked for updates at every social media site he’s ever registered for, and read all the news and sports headlines, but there are still forty minutes until the photographer needs them. When Cooper asks if he’ll go up to the lobby to wait for the florist, Blaine is only too happy to be of service. “Don’t forget your jacket!” Cooper calls as he starts to leave. “You know Emily will murder you if any of the guests see you without it before the ceremony!”
Blaine sighs, shoulders his tuxedo jacket, and makes his escape.
As he draws closer to the entrance of the church, Blaine’s surprised to hear singing. The words are familiar, although the voice is not.
“I had to let it happen… I had to change… couldn’t stay all my life down at heels…”
Bonnie the florist isn’t in the lobby - neither is anyone else for that matter - and Blaine can’t help but investigate. The voice is clear and pure, and when it releases into the chorus, soaring. Blaine peeks through the doors into the nave, and there’s a boy there - a man really, poised near the piano, slender without being slight, singing from the tips of his toes. His eyes are closed and his arms are slightly extended, like he’s commanding an audience of hundreds instead of lifting his voice in an empty church.
When the singer gathers himself to start the second verse, he opens his eyes, which catch on Blaine almost immediately. His voice cuts itself off, right in the middle of the word fortune, and he curls his arms around his chest, some of the height going out of his posture. “Sorry,” he says thinly. “I didn’t realize there was anyone else here.”
“It’s okay!” Blaine jerks forward, starting down the aisle quickly, as though moving faster will help assuage the other man’s discomfort. “I didn’t realize there was anyone here either. Other than the wedding party, I mean. You don’t have to stop on my account, especially if you’re warming up.”
“No, no. It’s too early to warm up. I was just… singing,” the man says, and wow, he gets better looking with every step Blaine takes.
“So, Evita?” Blaine asks, because he’s still getting closer and he has to say something, even if that something is a question with a blatantly obvious answer.
“Oh, you’ve… seen the movie?” the singer guesses, arching an eyebrow.
Blaine draws to a halt at the side of the piano. “No, um… actually I saw the Broadway revival.”
“Oh.” He sounds surprised, and both eyebrows are up now.
The moment slips into silence, so it seems like it’s up to Blaine to say something else. “Your voice is amazing,” he blurts out, instantly afraid that it may have been a bit over-earnest.
Whether it is or not, the other man seems mollified. “Thank you. I’m certainly no Patti LuPone. No Madonna, either, for that matter.”
“Thank god for that,” Blaine jokes.
A wrinkle appears between the singer’s eyebrows. “Why…?”
Because Patti and Madonna are both women, Blaine thinks, not attractive men with amazing hair and legs for miles and lips and eyes like yours.
He says, “Oh, well, the paparazzi would probably ruin the wedding, and I’m pretty sure they don’t allow lingerie in the church.”
His own words make him want to cringe a little, because who talks to strangers about lingerie, but there’s only a wash of relief when he sees amusement in the other man’s eyes and the twitch of his lips. “That is a shame,” he says. “Imagine how much more interesting the procession would be.”
“Not to mention the people watching,” Blaine chimes in gamely.
“There would have been much less chance that we’d show up wearing the same thing,” the singer says, motioning to Blaine’s black suit and then his own.
Blaine grins. “Oh no, I would have been wearing this no matter what. Emily picked these suits out of a magazine over five years ago.” And there’s still the distinct possibility that he’ll have to run screaming from the building if he hears that story even one more time.
“Then it’s a good thing that a good black suit never goes out of style.”
“They may have suggested some changes to the lapels at the shop,” Blaine confides.
“I’m not surprised. So, you’re in the wedding party?”
“Not only am I in the wedding party,” Blaine says grandly, “I’m the best man. Cooper is my brother. I’m Blaine.”
He extends a hand, which the other man takes in a firm grip, his skin soft and his thumb folding over the top and pressing into Blaine’s skin. “Kurt.”
“Nice to meet you, Kurt. You must be singing at the ceremony.”
“Actually, no,” Kurt says, affecting a supercilious air that crackles around the edges with mischief. “I just like dressing to the nines and sneaking into churches to try out the acoustics.”
Blaine feels buoyant, and he tries to steady himself with a hand running lightly along the curve of the piano. It’s smooth and cool. “You should stick around then. Cooper and Emily will probably put you to work.”
Kurt lets out a chuckle. “Oh, they’ve already done that. Usually I just show up and sing a couple of hymns or a ballad or two, but your brother made me a very generous offer to sing at the garden reception and even part of dinner.”
The news makes Blaine’s heels want to bounce; he keeps them in check, but his hand skates off the piano. “Does that mean that you go here? I mean, is this your church?”
“No!” Kurt says quickly, and his face tilts toward sardonic, begins to shutter off. “No. They’re not very… accepting of the type of person I am here.”
Oh. Can Blaine take that as confirmation that he’s -? Well, no, Blaine reasons. It could mean a lot of things. Like that he’s a Satanist. But really, which makes more sense? Blaine is opening his mouth, at least to say that he doesn’t feel very welcome there either, when Cooper’s voice booms out and cuts straight across his intentions. “Blaine! There you are. Didn’t I ask you to watch out for - oh! I see you’ve met Kurt!”
Blaine grits his teeth. The fragile moment vaporizes, and he’s crashing back down to earth, all the further to go when he’d been flying so high. He glances over to where Cooper is shouting at him across the nave, which seems like poor manners, the florist trailing after him with a flat box filled with colorful clusters of flowers. “You did,” he replies, trying to force his voice out normally. “I’m sorry I missed you, Bonnie, but I’m happy to help you now if you -”
“No, no, no,” Cooper says, hurrying to step in beside him, beaming. “I don’t want to interrupt. After all, you’re both singers. I’m sure you have a lot to talk about.”
“You sing?” Kurt pipes up, looking at Blaine curiously.
But it’s Cooper who answers. “He even goes to Tisch. Hey! Maybe he can give you some pointers!” Blaine’s eyes flare wide as Cooper claps him enthusiastically on the shoulder, and he can’t, he can’t look at Kurt. “Just make sure you’re back in ten minutes, Blainey.” With one last slap of his hand on Blaine’s back, he’s gone.
There’s a pointed moment of silence, during which Blaine very deliberately does not cover his face in mortification. “You don’t need tips,” he finally says, tightly. “And being done with my first year at Tisch certainly doesn’t make me any more qualified to give you any.”
“I can’t believe I used to have the FreeCreditRating.com jingle as my ring tone,” Kurt murmurs.
Blaine’s head snaps up to find that while there are flickers of annoyance in Kurt’s expression, his face mostly just registers a vague sort of disdain.
“You did?” Blaine asks, and he can’t help the sinking sensation that accompanies that bit of information.
“Oh! Um, not for long,” Kurt admits, looking sheepish. He appears to give himself a little shake, then, before he says, “You should probably get back. I don’t want to keep you from your responsibilities.”
Blaine smiles ruefully. “I don’t actually have many of those. Right now it’s mostly just hold onto the rings and make sure they don’t get lost.” He pats his jacket, feeling the telltale lump of the pouch secured inside the inner pocket. “I think we’re starting with pictures outside soon, that’s all.”
“I’d say that counts as a responsibility, and far be it from me to keep you from that,” Kurt says. “Besides, Brad’s here -” he nodded toward a man with sandy hair and wire-frame glasses who had just entered the church “- so I should probably run over a few things with him. Brad’s the pianist,” he adds.
Blaine nods. “I guess I’ll see you during the ceremony, then.”
“You’ll hear me, at least,” Kurt says with a wink.
Blaine’s breath hitches, and he feels like his heart is beating irregularly as he moves away. “Okay. I look forward to it.” He turns when he’s afraid he’s about to bump into the pews and instead almost collides with Brad, who merely gives him an exasperated look. Blaine escapes hastily.
Luckily, by the time he makes it back to the groomsmen’s holding pen, the photographer is already there. She hustles them straight out the door, and although Cooper waggles his eyebrows at Blaine, they’re soon too busy for Blaine to do anything other than roll his eyes in response.
***
Kurt is wrong; Blaine most definitely sees him during the wedding. It’s a Catholic ceremony, long and plodding and the one concession that Emily has made to her family’s wishes, so he has plenty of opportunity to look. Kurt spends most of his time sitting still in his seat beside the piano, his face as stoic as a statue, but Blaine’s favorite is watching Kurt stand tall and straight as he fills the room with his voice. The passion that Blaine had heard in it earlier is notably absent when he leads the opening hymn and the responsive portions of the service, but even without that, his voice is bright and luminous. Blaine sings along because he loves to, because he can imagine them singing together, and in his head, he hears only their voices, blending and weaving. He harmonizes without thinking, blushes a little when he wonders if Kurt can hear him over the quiet off-key murmuring of the guests.
Then it’s time for the marriage, and Blaine finds himself caught up in watching Cooper, who tearfully and honestly fumbles his vows, making Blaine’s own eyes feel heavy and damp, even though he’s smiling. He steps forward to hand off the rings, and that’s all he has to do until he gives his speech later tonight.
And just when Blaine’s heart feels full to bursting with how genuinely happy he is and how beautiful the ceremony is turning out to be, Cooper and Emily move to light the unity candle.
Kurt steps forward again to set the moment to music - a lovely but bizarre rendition of Aerosmith’s I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing, and Blaine has no choice but to chuckle to himself. It’s still Cooper’s wedding, after all.
***
The rest of the day passes in a blur. Blaine has been operating under the impression that the pressure would be off after the ceremony is over, but after that, there’s the receiving line and pictures and more pictures and the garden reception, where he barely gets a chance to listen to Kurt because he’s besieged by every aunt and uncle and second cousin he never knew he had. He tells them over and over again about New York, sings little snippets of songs, asks politely about their health and their children.
Then the guests are being herded inside for dinner while the wedding party congregates in the lobby. Blaine waits patiently for his turn, finally strutting into the room with Emily’s best friend. He catches a quick glimpse of Kurt as they pass the corner of the room where there’s another piano, and Kurt looks like he’s using his whole face to try and contain a grin. Unable to resist, Blaine shimmies at him just a little before climbing the steps to the platform elevating the long head table.
Blaine’s best man speech seems to go over well, at least if the tears in his mother’s eyes are anything to go by, and no one notices or cares that he leads the toast with a glass of real champagne. The food is delicious, and now, finally, they can all start to relax. He ribs Cooper about his vows, calls Emily Mrs. Anderson, and listens with half an ear when Kurt gets up to sing things that are quiet and jazzy and romantic. He can’t help but look over every so often, and more often than not, Kurt meets his eyes and smiles behind the microphone.
The dinner slips away quickly, and then the waiters are moving the tables away from the dance floor. The band is setting up, Kurt having sung his last song and retreated to a table in the back corner of the room to a flurry of applause. As soon as Blaine can extricate himself from everyone else, he approaches Kurt’s table with his hands stuffed in his pockets.
“Hi,” he says when he’s there, feeling suddenly bashful.
“Hi,” Kurt responds. They look at each other for a moment, and then Kurt clears his throat and looks back down at his plate, spearing a piece of asparagus. “Your speech was great.”
“Thanks. Not anywhere as good as your songs, though. Where’s Brad? Didn’t he want dinner?”
“Oh,” Kurt says, “he’s not very social.”
When Blaine drops down into the chair beside him, Kurt’s eyes dart over to him in surprise. “What are you doing?” he asks, his forehead creasing.
Blaine shrugs. “Keeping you company.”
Kurt still looks confused. “Don’t you have other things to do?”
“Nope! Now that my speech is out of the way, I’m fancy free.”
“But aren’t you here with someone? I’m not keeping you from…” Kurt waved his hand in the general direction of the dance floor. “…them?”
“Nope,” Blaine repeats. “I’m here by myself. Except for my family, of course.”
Kurt makes a little humming noise. “Oh,” he says. “I thought maybe the shorter blonde bridesmaid…”
Emily’s sister Serena, Blaine realizes. Because she’s one of the few members of the wedding party who isn’t vapid and strange, he’s found himself gravitating towards her for a respite from everyone else’s insanity. She’s quiet and sweet and likes to read, and they had ended up holed up together in a corner at the garden reception, debating whether or not poorly written fad books have any redeeming characteristics. But still… “Not my type,” Blaine says succinctly.
“No?” Kurt’s looking down at this plate again as he carefully cuts a bite of chicken.
“No. I, uh, I don’t feel all that welcome in Catholic churches either.” His heart is beating strangely in his throat all of a sudden. It feels very much like a declaration of intent - sitting down here, announcing that he’s unattached and, oh yeah, gay. It isn’t exactly how he planned to go about this.
Kurt doesn’t seem flustered, though. If anything, he relaxes a little, chewing thoughtfully on his chicken as he watches Emily’s tiny cousins run, squealing, from one end of the empty dance floor to the other. When he turns back to Blaine, he looks a little impish. “Do you know that in my illustrious career as a church soloist, I have never once been asked to perform I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing during the lighting of the unity candle?”
Surprised at the sudden change of subject, Blaine lets out an undignified snort. “It comes as no surprise to me that Cooper and Emily Anderson would want nothing less than the most over-the-top blockbuster ballad at their wedding ceremony.”
“Did your brother tell you that he reenacted several of his most famous roles when I auditioned for him?”
Blaine gapes. “He made you audition?”
“Yup.”
“That’s not standard, is it?”
“Nope.” Kurt pops another piece of asparagus into his mouth, and Blaine tries not to stare as the fork slips free of his lips.
He clears his throat. “Why did you agree to that?”
Kurt shrugs. “For practice. For fun.” He glances over with a teasing gleam in his eye. “Finally getting to meet the famous Cooper Anderson?”
Blaine props his elbows on the table and buries his face in his hands. “Oh god.”
There’s a delicate chuckle from beside him, and then Kurt’s fingers are on his wrist, tugging his hand away so that Kurt can peer in at Blaine’s eyes. “Hey, it wasn’t all bad. I particularly enjoyed seeing his role from The Walking Dead.” He does a quiet imitation of Cooper’s zombie noises and they both dissolve into hushed laughter, which ends abruptly when Kurt gives a little start and drops Blaine’s wrist.
Blaine tries to fold his hands casually on the table, but now it looks like he’s posing them no matter what he does. “So,” he says, struggling to refocus. “Just how long is this illustrious career of yours?”
“Eight months, give or take. And the winter months were slow, of course.”
“Well, you’re a natural,” Blaine says gallantly.
Kurt’s smile seems a little sad. “Thanks. I’ve been singing for years.”
“How did you get involved with weddings?” Blaine asks, distracted by watching Kurt’s hands as he carefully crosses his knife and fork over his plate and pulls his napkin from his lap.
“It’s kind of a long story,” Kurt replies. “I was living in New York until early this fall. I certainly never thought of singing in churches as a way to keep performing, but my friend Mercedes put in a few calls - she was always very involved at her church and with local Christian youth groups - and I started getting jobs right away. My reputation spread pretty quickly, and surprisingly, they care that I have a good voice more than it bothers them that I’m gay. Maybe they think that getting me into a church will help me see the error of my ways… sorry, I don’t mean to get up on a soapbox at your brother’s wedding.”
“Don’t apologize,” Blaine says at once. “Were you on stage in New York? You said keep performing.”
“Oh, no. Well, not outside of performances for school. I went to NYADA for a little over a year.”
“Kurt,” Blaine breathes. His hand shoots out almost of its own accord, lightly squeezing Kurt’s forearm before he snatches it back. “That’s amazing!”
Kurt toys with the edge of the linen napkin, rolling and unrolling it. “I suppose so. You’re at Tisch.”
Blaine scoffs. “NYADA is way more exclusive than Tisch. But… you left?”
“Family emergency,” Kurt says quietly.
“I’m so sorry.”
Kurt’s lips twitch up at the corners, more an acknowledgment of his words than anything like a real smile. “Thank you.”
They fall into an uncomfortable silence then, and Blaine isn’t really sure how to proceed. A waiter stops by to whisk Kurt’s empty plate away, and, robbed of his napkin, he curls his hands together in his lap instead. It isn’t long before Blaine can’t take it anymore. “Well!” he says heartily - probably too heartily. “I think Cooper was wrong. You should be giving me singing tips.”
“I don’t know if that’s necessary,” Kurt replies. “You sounded pretty great to me.”
“When did you hear me…?”
“At the ceremony. You harmonize very well.”
Blaine can feel the heat in his face, but before he has the chance to say anything, the room suddenly dims, and a rattling drum plays over the speakers. Belatedly, Blaine realizes that it’s the 20th Century Fox theme song, and he groans. A quick glance at Kurt reveals that he’s watching the proceedings with utmost amusement.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the lead singer of the band announces when the horns die away, “Mr. Cooper and Mrs. Emily Anderson will now dance together for the first time as husband and wife.”
Blaine expects the band to swing into something then, something romantic and appropriate, and he’s surprised when recorded music starts playing over the speakers instead. There’s a plaintive whistling and then the lyrics start. Every night in my dreams, I see you, I feel you…
“Noooo,” Blaine moan quietly. He looks over again to see that Kurt has actually pressed his knuckles against his lips and his eyes are all crinkled up. As though he senses Blaine’s attention, he tries to sober his expression, but when he returns Blaine’s gaze, his eyes are twinkling.
With a sigh, Blaine leans over so that he can speak quietly but still be heard over the music. Kurt inclines his head toward Blaine, which stretches out his neck, and Blaine’s mouth goes a little dry as he starts to speak. “I - uh - I take it back. I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing is the second most over-the-top blockbuster ballad.”
Kurt tilts into him then, and oh, they’re so close that their shoulders are pressed together. “I hate to break it to you, but if your brother is going for Hollywood glamour, he’s doing it completely wrong.”
“At least he didn’t ask you to sing this one,” Blaine shoots back, grinning.
“I might have had to refuse on the grounds of utter ridiculousness,” Kurt says, and their faces are really just a few inches apart. Blaine is fully aware that he cannot kiss the wedding singer in front of god and everyone during Cooper and Emily’s first dance, but his eyes dip down just the same. Maybe no one’s even paying any attention to us, he reasons. At least Cooper won’t see.
Before he’s decided if he really wants to go through with it, he’s interrupted when what he thought was the leg of the table that he’s been bracing his foot against suddenly presses back into him, making him jump. How long have we been sitting like that? he wonders dazedly, as Kurt cringes back. “Sorry! Sorry, I thought -”
“No!” Blaine jumps in. “I just thought you were the table leg. Here.” He chases Kurt’s foot with his own, pushes them back together firmly. “It’s fine… isn’t it?”
Kurt smiles warmly at him and returns the pressure. “It’s fine.” Blaine feels flushed all over, and it must be from something in Kurt’s expression, because it would be ridiculous to get hot from the non-contact of their feet with all the layers of leather and sock between them.
“So,” Kurt continues, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand and leaning forward into Blaine’s space, “about these singing tips. Perhaps we could discuss them over dinner sometime?”
“You mean like a date?” he asks playfully, unable to keep from grinning.
“Second date.”
Blaine’s still smiling, but his forehead wrinkles. “Second date?”
“You don’t think this counts?” Kurt’s voice is innocent. “Dinner and a show?”
“We didn’t even eat together!” Blaine protests. “And no matter how mortifying it was, I’m not sure that my brother’s first dance counts as a show.”
Kurt’s expression is almost completely wicked as he says, “I wasn’t talking about that one. I was talking about what’s going to happen when those three hit the dance floor.” He nods his head toward the bar, and Blaine turns to see his sweet Aunt Rosa buying shots for Tanner and Russell.
“Oh my god,” Blaine mumbles.
Kurt laughs and touches his arm sympathetically. “At least we got the meeting-your-family part out of the way early?”
***
But that’s not what happened either.
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Rating: Ranging from G to R/NC-17 (depending on how carried away I get in later chapters)
Pairings: Klaine, Cooper/OFC
Word Count: 4,266 this chapter / 13,929 total (so far)
Spoilers: Anything through the end of S3 may be mentioned
Warnings: None that I can think of. It's a little cracky?
Summary: It's exactly what the title says. :)
Author's Notes: Many thanks to my wonderful beta shandyall! And thank you so much to colfer for being a second set of eyes and for additional help on this chapter. If you're so inclined, feel free to come say hi on Tumblr over here. Additional author's note after the cut.
Part One: It could have been at a bakery.
Part Two: Or maybe at a salon.
- I have a confession to make. I made a fairly significant boo-boo in the previous chapter. When Kurt says he was at NYAYDA for "two months," what he actually meant was "a year and two months." D'oh. If you go back and look, though, I'm pretty sure that's what he DID say. *whistles innocently.*
Blaine looks around the room, taking in the groomsmen scattered across the shabby couches and chairs, and laments again that Emily had given them strict marching orders to get to the church so far in advance of the ceremony. She and the bridesmaids are dressing and primping together in a room at the other side of the building, but Cooper, Blaine, their cousin Pete, and two of Cooper’s friends from Los Angeles had arrived in their tuxedos, as per the instructions they’d received at the rehearsal dinner, and they’ve been left with way too much time to kill.
Cooper’s friends, Tanner and Russell, are poring over something on a tablet computer, something that Blaine is fairly sure is a script. He’s not sure if they’re writing it or trying to memorize it, and he’s sort of afraid to ask. Ever since their arrival, when Russell had greeted him with a severe don’t call me Russ, Blaine has felt the need to walk on eggshells when they’re around. Cooper had explained it away dismissively (“He’s just trying to get used to his new screen name. Not all of us were lucky enough to be given something usable at birth.”), but Blaine can’t help but be wary now.
On the other side of the room, Cooper is reading his vows over and over again, while Pete watches and offers his advice. Blaine had been doing the same, but when he had the audacity to suggest that Cooper speak his vows with whatever real emotion he feels at the time, he’d been banished to a chair on the opposite wall. (“Giving my best performance shows her that I care, Blaine. Look at how much work I’m putting into this!”)
Since then, Blaine has checked both his email addresses, looked for updates at every social media site he’s ever registered for, and read all the news and sports headlines, but there are still forty minutes until the photographer needs them. When Cooper asks if he’ll go up to the lobby to wait for the florist, Blaine is only too happy to be of service. “Don’t forget your jacket!” Cooper calls as he starts to leave. “You know Emily will murder you if any of the guests see you without it before the ceremony!”
Blaine sighs, shoulders his tuxedo jacket, and makes his escape.
As he draws closer to the entrance of the church, Blaine’s surprised to hear singing. The words are familiar, although the voice is not.
“I had to let it happen… I had to change… couldn’t stay all my life down at heels…”
Bonnie the florist isn’t in the lobby - neither is anyone else for that matter - and Blaine can’t help but investigate. The voice is clear and pure, and when it releases into the chorus, soaring. Blaine peeks through the doors into the nave, and there’s a boy there - a man really, poised near the piano, slender without being slight, singing from the tips of his toes. His eyes are closed and his arms are slightly extended, like he’s commanding an audience of hundreds instead of lifting his voice in an empty church.
When the singer gathers himself to start the second verse, he opens his eyes, which catch on Blaine almost immediately. His voice cuts itself off, right in the middle of the word fortune, and he curls his arms around his chest, some of the height going out of his posture. “Sorry,” he says thinly. “I didn’t realize there was anyone else here.”
“It’s okay!” Blaine jerks forward, starting down the aisle quickly, as though moving faster will help assuage the other man’s discomfort. “I didn’t realize there was anyone here either. Other than the wedding party, I mean. You don’t have to stop on my account, especially if you’re warming up.”
“No, no. It’s too early to warm up. I was just… singing,” the man says, and wow, he gets better looking with every step Blaine takes.
“So, Evita?” Blaine asks, because he’s still getting closer and he has to say something, even if that something is a question with a blatantly obvious answer.
“Oh, you’ve… seen the movie?” the singer guesses, arching an eyebrow.
Blaine draws to a halt at the side of the piano. “No, um… actually I saw the Broadway revival.”
“Oh.” He sounds surprised, and both eyebrows are up now.
The moment slips into silence, so it seems like it’s up to Blaine to say something else. “Your voice is amazing,” he blurts out, instantly afraid that it may have been a bit over-earnest.
Whether it is or not, the other man seems mollified. “Thank you. I’m certainly no Patti LuPone. No Madonna, either, for that matter.”
“Thank god for that,” Blaine jokes.
A wrinkle appears between the singer’s eyebrows. “Why…?”
Because Patti and Madonna are both women, Blaine thinks, not attractive men with amazing hair and legs for miles and lips and eyes like yours.
He says, “Oh, well, the paparazzi would probably ruin the wedding, and I’m pretty sure they don’t allow lingerie in the church.”
His own words make him want to cringe a little, because who talks to strangers about lingerie, but there’s only a wash of relief when he sees amusement in the other man’s eyes and the twitch of his lips. “That is a shame,” he says. “Imagine how much more interesting the procession would be.”
“Not to mention the people watching,” Blaine chimes in gamely.
“There would have been much less chance that we’d show up wearing the same thing,” the singer says, motioning to Blaine’s black suit and then his own.
Blaine grins. “Oh no, I would have been wearing this no matter what. Emily picked these suits out of a magazine over five years ago.” And there’s still the distinct possibility that he’ll have to run screaming from the building if he hears that story even one more time.
“Then it’s a good thing that a good black suit never goes out of style.”
“They may have suggested some changes to the lapels at the shop,” Blaine confides.
“I’m not surprised. So, you’re in the wedding party?”
“Not only am I in the wedding party,” Blaine says grandly, “I’m the best man. Cooper is my brother. I’m Blaine.”
He extends a hand, which the other man takes in a firm grip, his skin soft and his thumb folding over the top and pressing into Blaine’s skin. “Kurt.”
“Nice to meet you, Kurt. You must be singing at the ceremony.”
“Actually, no,” Kurt says, affecting a supercilious air that crackles around the edges with mischief. “I just like dressing to the nines and sneaking into churches to try out the acoustics.”
Blaine feels buoyant, and he tries to steady himself with a hand running lightly along the curve of the piano. It’s smooth and cool. “You should stick around then. Cooper and Emily will probably put you to work.”
Kurt lets out a chuckle. “Oh, they’ve already done that. Usually I just show up and sing a couple of hymns or a ballad or two, but your brother made me a very generous offer to sing at the garden reception and even part of dinner.”
The news makes Blaine’s heels want to bounce; he keeps them in check, but his hand skates off the piano. “Does that mean that you go here? I mean, is this your church?”
“No!” Kurt says quickly, and his face tilts toward sardonic, begins to shutter off. “No. They’re not very… accepting of the type of person I am here.”
Oh. Can Blaine take that as confirmation that he’s -? Well, no, Blaine reasons. It could mean a lot of things. Like that he’s a Satanist. But really, which makes more sense? Blaine is opening his mouth, at least to say that he doesn’t feel very welcome there either, when Cooper’s voice booms out and cuts straight across his intentions. “Blaine! There you are. Didn’t I ask you to watch out for - oh! I see you’ve met Kurt!”
Blaine grits his teeth. The fragile moment vaporizes, and he’s crashing back down to earth, all the further to go when he’d been flying so high. He glances over to where Cooper is shouting at him across the nave, which seems like poor manners, the florist trailing after him with a flat box filled with colorful clusters of flowers. “You did,” he replies, trying to force his voice out normally. “I’m sorry I missed you, Bonnie, but I’m happy to help you now if you -”
“No, no, no,” Cooper says, hurrying to step in beside him, beaming. “I don’t want to interrupt. After all, you’re both singers. I’m sure you have a lot to talk about.”
“You sing?” Kurt pipes up, looking at Blaine curiously.
But it’s Cooper who answers. “He even goes to Tisch. Hey! Maybe he can give you some pointers!” Blaine’s eyes flare wide as Cooper claps him enthusiastically on the shoulder, and he can’t, he can’t look at Kurt. “Just make sure you’re back in ten minutes, Blainey.” With one last slap of his hand on Blaine’s back, he’s gone.
There’s a pointed moment of silence, during which Blaine very deliberately does not cover his face in mortification. “You don’t need tips,” he finally says, tightly. “And being done with my first year at Tisch certainly doesn’t make me any more qualified to give you any.”
“I can’t believe I used to have the FreeCreditRating.com jingle as my ring tone,” Kurt murmurs.
Blaine’s head snaps up to find that while there are flickers of annoyance in Kurt’s expression, his face mostly just registers a vague sort of disdain.
“You did?” Blaine asks, and he can’t help the sinking sensation that accompanies that bit of information.
“Oh! Um, not for long,” Kurt admits, looking sheepish. He appears to give himself a little shake, then, before he says, “You should probably get back. I don’t want to keep you from your responsibilities.”
Blaine smiles ruefully. “I don’t actually have many of those. Right now it’s mostly just hold onto the rings and make sure they don’t get lost.” He pats his jacket, feeling the telltale lump of the pouch secured inside the inner pocket. “I think we’re starting with pictures outside soon, that’s all.”
“I’d say that counts as a responsibility, and far be it from me to keep you from that,” Kurt says. “Besides, Brad’s here -” he nodded toward a man with sandy hair and wire-frame glasses who had just entered the church “- so I should probably run over a few things with him. Brad’s the pianist,” he adds.
Blaine nods. “I guess I’ll see you during the ceremony, then.”
“You’ll hear me, at least,” Kurt says with a wink.
Blaine’s breath hitches, and he feels like his heart is beating irregularly as he moves away. “Okay. I look forward to it.” He turns when he’s afraid he’s about to bump into the pews and instead almost collides with Brad, who merely gives him an exasperated look. Blaine escapes hastily.
Luckily, by the time he makes it back to the groomsmen’s holding pen, the photographer is already there. She hustles them straight out the door, and although Cooper waggles his eyebrows at Blaine, they’re soon too busy for Blaine to do anything other than roll his eyes in response.
***
Kurt is wrong; Blaine most definitely sees him during the wedding. It’s a Catholic ceremony, long and plodding and the one concession that Emily has made to her family’s wishes, so he has plenty of opportunity to look. Kurt spends most of his time sitting still in his seat beside the piano, his face as stoic as a statue, but Blaine’s favorite is watching Kurt stand tall and straight as he fills the room with his voice. The passion that Blaine had heard in it earlier is notably absent when he leads the opening hymn and the responsive portions of the service, but even without that, his voice is bright and luminous. Blaine sings along because he loves to, because he can imagine them singing together, and in his head, he hears only their voices, blending and weaving. He harmonizes without thinking, blushes a little when he wonders if Kurt can hear him over the quiet off-key murmuring of the guests.
Then it’s time for the marriage, and Blaine finds himself caught up in watching Cooper, who tearfully and honestly fumbles his vows, making Blaine’s own eyes feel heavy and damp, even though he’s smiling. He steps forward to hand off the rings, and that’s all he has to do until he gives his speech later tonight.
And just when Blaine’s heart feels full to bursting with how genuinely happy he is and how beautiful the ceremony is turning out to be, Cooper and Emily move to light the unity candle.
Kurt steps forward again to set the moment to music - a lovely but bizarre rendition of Aerosmith’s I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing, and Blaine has no choice but to chuckle to himself. It’s still Cooper’s wedding, after all.
***
The rest of the day passes in a blur. Blaine has been operating under the impression that the pressure would be off after the ceremony is over, but after that, there’s the receiving line and pictures and more pictures and the garden reception, where he barely gets a chance to listen to Kurt because he’s besieged by every aunt and uncle and second cousin he never knew he had. He tells them over and over again about New York, sings little snippets of songs, asks politely about their health and their children.
Then the guests are being herded inside for dinner while the wedding party congregates in the lobby. Blaine waits patiently for his turn, finally strutting into the room with Emily’s best friend. He catches a quick glimpse of Kurt as they pass the corner of the room where there’s another piano, and Kurt looks like he’s using his whole face to try and contain a grin. Unable to resist, Blaine shimmies at him just a little before climbing the steps to the platform elevating the long head table.
Blaine’s best man speech seems to go over well, at least if the tears in his mother’s eyes are anything to go by, and no one notices or cares that he leads the toast with a glass of real champagne. The food is delicious, and now, finally, they can all start to relax. He ribs Cooper about his vows, calls Emily Mrs. Anderson, and listens with half an ear when Kurt gets up to sing things that are quiet and jazzy and romantic. He can’t help but look over every so often, and more often than not, Kurt meets his eyes and smiles behind the microphone.
The dinner slips away quickly, and then the waiters are moving the tables away from the dance floor. The band is setting up, Kurt having sung his last song and retreated to a table in the back corner of the room to a flurry of applause. As soon as Blaine can extricate himself from everyone else, he approaches Kurt’s table with his hands stuffed in his pockets.
“Hi,” he says when he’s there, feeling suddenly bashful.
“Hi,” Kurt responds. They look at each other for a moment, and then Kurt clears his throat and looks back down at his plate, spearing a piece of asparagus. “Your speech was great.”
“Thanks. Not anywhere as good as your songs, though. Where’s Brad? Didn’t he want dinner?”
“Oh,” Kurt says, “he’s not very social.”
When Blaine drops down into the chair beside him, Kurt’s eyes dart over to him in surprise. “What are you doing?” he asks, his forehead creasing.
Blaine shrugs. “Keeping you company.”
Kurt still looks confused. “Don’t you have other things to do?”
“Nope! Now that my speech is out of the way, I’m fancy free.”
“But aren’t you here with someone? I’m not keeping you from…” Kurt waved his hand in the general direction of the dance floor. “…them?”
“Nope,” Blaine repeats. “I’m here by myself. Except for my family, of course.”
Kurt makes a little humming noise. “Oh,” he says. “I thought maybe the shorter blonde bridesmaid…”
Emily’s sister Serena, Blaine realizes. Because she’s one of the few members of the wedding party who isn’t vapid and strange, he’s found himself gravitating towards her for a respite from everyone else’s insanity. She’s quiet and sweet and likes to read, and they had ended up holed up together in a corner at the garden reception, debating whether or not poorly written fad books have any redeeming characteristics. But still… “Not my type,” Blaine says succinctly.
“No?” Kurt’s looking down at this plate again as he carefully cuts a bite of chicken.
“No. I, uh, I don’t feel all that welcome in Catholic churches either.” His heart is beating strangely in his throat all of a sudden. It feels very much like a declaration of intent - sitting down here, announcing that he’s unattached and, oh yeah, gay. It isn’t exactly how he planned to go about this.
Kurt doesn’t seem flustered, though. If anything, he relaxes a little, chewing thoughtfully on his chicken as he watches Emily’s tiny cousins run, squealing, from one end of the empty dance floor to the other. When he turns back to Blaine, he looks a little impish. “Do you know that in my illustrious career as a church soloist, I have never once been asked to perform I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing during the lighting of the unity candle?”
Surprised at the sudden change of subject, Blaine lets out an undignified snort. “It comes as no surprise to me that Cooper and Emily Anderson would want nothing less than the most over-the-top blockbuster ballad at their wedding ceremony.”
“Did your brother tell you that he reenacted several of his most famous roles when I auditioned for him?”
Blaine gapes. “He made you audition?”
“Yup.”
“That’s not standard, is it?”
“Nope.” Kurt pops another piece of asparagus into his mouth, and Blaine tries not to stare as the fork slips free of his lips.
He clears his throat. “Why did you agree to that?”
Kurt shrugs. “For practice. For fun.” He glances over with a teasing gleam in his eye. “Finally getting to meet the famous Cooper Anderson?”
Blaine props his elbows on the table and buries his face in his hands. “Oh god.”
There’s a delicate chuckle from beside him, and then Kurt’s fingers are on his wrist, tugging his hand away so that Kurt can peer in at Blaine’s eyes. “Hey, it wasn’t all bad. I particularly enjoyed seeing his role from The Walking Dead.” He does a quiet imitation of Cooper’s zombie noises and they both dissolve into hushed laughter, which ends abruptly when Kurt gives a little start and drops Blaine’s wrist.
Blaine tries to fold his hands casually on the table, but now it looks like he’s posing them no matter what he does. “So,” he says, struggling to refocus. “Just how long is this illustrious career of yours?”
“Eight months, give or take. And the winter months were slow, of course.”
“Well, you’re a natural,” Blaine says gallantly.
Kurt’s smile seems a little sad. “Thanks. I’ve been singing for years.”
“How did you get involved with weddings?” Blaine asks, distracted by watching Kurt’s hands as he carefully crosses his knife and fork over his plate and pulls his napkin from his lap.
“It’s kind of a long story,” Kurt replies. “I was living in New York until early this fall. I certainly never thought of singing in churches as a way to keep performing, but my friend Mercedes put in a few calls - she was always very involved at her church and with local Christian youth groups - and I started getting jobs right away. My reputation spread pretty quickly, and surprisingly, they care that I have a good voice more than it bothers them that I’m gay. Maybe they think that getting me into a church will help me see the error of my ways… sorry, I don’t mean to get up on a soapbox at your brother’s wedding.”
“Don’t apologize,” Blaine says at once. “Were you on stage in New York? You said keep performing.”
“Oh, no. Well, not outside of performances for school. I went to NYADA for a little over a year.”
“Kurt,” Blaine breathes. His hand shoots out almost of its own accord, lightly squeezing Kurt’s forearm before he snatches it back. “That’s amazing!”
Kurt toys with the edge of the linen napkin, rolling and unrolling it. “I suppose so. You’re at Tisch.”
Blaine scoffs. “NYADA is way more exclusive than Tisch. But… you left?”
“Family emergency,” Kurt says quietly.
“I’m so sorry.”
Kurt’s lips twitch up at the corners, more an acknowledgment of his words than anything like a real smile. “Thank you.”
They fall into an uncomfortable silence then, and Blaine isn’t really sure how to proceed. A waiter stops by to whisk Kurt’s empty plate away, and, robbed of his napkin, he curls his hands together in his lap instead. It isn’t long before Blaine can’t take it anymore. “Well!” he says heartily - probably too heartily. “I think Cooper was wrong. You should be giving me singing tips.”
“I don’t know if that’s necessary,” Kurt replies. “You sounded pretty great to me.”
“When did you hear me…?”
“At the ceremony. You harmonize very well.”
Blaine can feel the heat in his face, but before he has the chance to say anything, the room suddenly dims, and a rattling drum plays over the speakers. Belatedly, Blaine realizes that it’s the 20th Century Fox theme song, and he groans. A quick glance at Kurt reveals that he’s watching the proceedings with utmost amusement.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the lead singer of the band announces when the horns die away, “Mr. Cooper and Mrs. Emily Anderson will now dance together for the first time as husband and wife.”
Blaine expects the band to swing into something then, something romantic and appropriate, and he’s surprised when recorded music starts playing over the speakers instead. There’s a plaintive whistling and then the lyrics start. Every night in my dreams, I see you, I feel you…
“Noooo,” Blaine moan quietly. He looks over again to see that Kurt has actually pressed his knuckles against his lips and his eyes are all crinkled up. As though he senses Blaine’s attention, he tries to sober his expression, but when he returns Blaine’s gaze, his eyes are twinkling.
With a sigh, Blaine leans over so that he can speak quietly but still be heard over the music. Kurt inclines his head toward Blaine, which stretches out his neck, and Blaine’s mouth goes a little dry as he starts to speak. “I - uh - I take it back. I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing is the second most over-the-top blockbuster ballad.”
Kurt tilts into him then, and oh, they’re so close that their shoulders are pressed together. “I hate to break it to you, but if your brother is going for Hollywood glamour, he’s doing it completely wrong.”
“At least he didn’t ask you to sing this one,” Blaine shoots back, grinning.
“I might have had to refuse on the grounds of utter ridiculousness,” Kurt says, and their faces are really just a few inches apart. Blaine is fully aware that he cannot kiss the wedding singer in front of god and everyone during Cooper and Emily’s first dance, but his eyes dip down just the same. Maybe no one’s even paying any attention to us, he reasons. At least Cooper won’t see.
Before he’s decided if he really wants to go through with it, he’s interrupted when what he thought was the leg of the table that he’s been bracing his foot against suddenly presses back into him, making him jump. How long have we been sitting like that? he wonders dazedly, as Kurt cringes back. “Sorry! Sorry, I thought -”
“No!” Blaine jumps in. “I just thought you were the table leg. Here.” He chases Kurt’s foot with his own, pushes them back together firmly. “It’s fine… isn’t it?”
Kurt smiles warmly at him and returns the pressure. “It’s fine.” Blaine feels flushed all over, and it must be from something in Kurt’s expression, because it would be ridiculous to get hot from the non-contact of their feet with all the layers of leather and sock between them.
“So,” Kurt continues, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand and leaning forward into Blaine’s space, “about these singing tips. Perhaps we could discuss them over dinner sometime?”
“You mean like a date?” he asks playfully, unable to keep from grinning.
“Second date.”
Blaine’s still smiling, but his forehead wrinkles. “Second date?”
“You don’t think this counts?” Kurt’s voice is innocent. “Dinner and a show?”
“We didn’t even eat together!” Blaine protests. “And no matter how mortifying it was, I’m not sure that my brother’s first dance counts as a show.”
Kurt’s expression is almost completely wicked as he says, “I wasn’t talking about that one. I was talking about what’s going to happen when those three hit the dance floor.” He nods his head toward the bar, and Blaine turns to see his sweet Aunt Rosa buying shots for Tanner and Russell.
“Oh my god,” Blaine mumbles.
Kurt laughs and touches his arm sympathetically. “At least we got the meeting-your-family part out of the way early?”
***
But that’s not what happened either.
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