#klaineweek2013

            “What? You’d really think I’d miss my old high school glee club led by my ex-boyfriend in a silly show choir competition?” Kurt asked jokingly, evoking a chuckle from Blaine. Kurt dug the toe of his boot into the floor before adding,” You really were amazing, you know.”

            “Thank you,” Blaine choked. “It means a lot, really. That we can still, you know, do stuff like this. Support each other.” With each word spoken, his voice quivered, and he noticed Kurt’s shoulders dropping in a disheartening manner. “Is everything okay, Kurt?”

            Kurt glanced up at Blaine, and Blaine was surprised to see the boy’s eyes gleaming with the appearance of fresh tears. Blaine took a wary step forward, nervously reaching out to place a comforting grasp on Kurt’s shoulder, confused by his wistful expression.

            “I don’t think I can do this anymore,” Kurt breathed out, shying away from Blaine’s touch.

            Having normally anticipated the worst in the past, Blaine ironically did not expect those words to escape Kurt’s lips. He was fearful, but he let Kurt continue. “I know we’ve been trying to be friends and things have seemed to be working out, but I don’t think we can do this anymore. I don’t think we can be friends.”

            It seemed as if Blaine’s heart had just shattered into a million pieces. He had absolutely no idea where this was coming from.

            “I have never wanted to be “just friends” with you Blaine,” Kurt deduced. “Even the moment I met you, I always wanted something more. And I’m scared right now. I’ve had five months to move on, and I’m still scared about how I feel when I’m around you to the point where I have to convince myself daily why we broke up in the first place. I have to remind myself that things will never be the same again.”

            “So, wh-what are you saying?” Blaine asked tearfully.

Kurt inhaled slowly. “After we broke up, I was heartbroken. I thought there was no way I could possibly move on with my life, but I spent these past five month convincing myself that I had. I moved in with Rachel. I found my place at Vogue.com and then NYADA. I even met someone new.” Blaine could not help but wince at that last remark.

“But it was all a lie,” Kurt continued. “I realized I have been lying to myself. Even when we slept together at Mr. Schue’s disaster of a wedding, I tried to brush it off as nothing, but it’s never been that way with us. Sex has never been nothing with us.”

Blaine wiped away some stray tears as Kurt tentatively grabbed hold of one of Blaine’s hands. “But do you know what really changed my mind?” Kurt locked his gaze on Blaine as the younger boy sniffed. “That day when we were snowed in, we decided to watch Moulin Rouge. Adam was snuggled up next to me, but when Christian and Satine started singing Come What May, I still fantasized singing it with you.”

After taking a moment to process everything, Blaine said breathily, “So, so you’re saying you want-you want to…”

“Try again,” Kurt finished. “I mean, I know that things aren’t just going to go back to the way they used to be, and we’re going to have to work hard, but I can’t picture my life without you in it, Blaine. In every scenario I have come up with for my future, you’re always standing beside me. You’re the one for me, Blaine. That’s that. And I really hope you still feel the same way.”

“Are you kidding?” Blaine laughed. “I have never stopped feeling that way, Kurt. I will admit I did for a little bit when we were growing distant, which is why I, you know. But since then, I knew I could never see myself loving anybody else but you.”

Unable to control himself any longer, Kurt flung his arms around Blaine’s neck and pulled the boy snug against his body, pressed their lips firmly together. Blaine moaned and immediately deepened the kiss, swiping his tongue along Kurt’s bottom lip until Kurt parted his lips to give Blaine better access.

They kissed for what felt like hours until they finally separated to regain control of their unsteady breathing. While their lips were disconnected, their bodies remained close. Kurt’s nose was nuzzled up against Blaine’s neck while Blaine gave Kurt’s back an affirming squeeze, forcing the older boy impossibly closer.

Kurt backed away to see tears streaming incessantly down Blaine’s cheeks. “So,” Kurt began with a smirk. “Is this the part where we ditch the rest of this thing to go have hours of glorious make up sex?”

Blaine smiled, tempted for a brief moment. However, he slid his arms back around Kurt’s waist and said, “Could we maybe just stay like this for a little while longer? I just want really want to hold you.”

Happy to oblige, Kurt fell into Blaine’s open arms and let the younger boy take control. Blaine buried his face into Kurt’s shirt, inhaling the familiar scent. There was plenty of time for sex later, but to Blaine, nothing really compared to the intimate feeling of simply holding the love of his life in his arms.

The boys decided to stay for the remainder of the competition before retreating to Blaine’s empty house to fulfill Kurt’s earlier request. A couple hours after the announcement of the Regional champion, Kurt and Blaine laid on Blaine’s bed, wrapped up in the sheets, legs tangled together. Blaine’s head was rested on Kurt’s chest and he mindlessly caressed his boyfriend’s torso. Kurt ran his fingers through Blaine’s sex-mussed hair, humming quietly.

“I am kind of bummed we lost Regionals,” Blaine confessed. “I really thought we had this one in the bag.”

“You did win,” Kurt piped up.

Kurt can’t remember what else he said. He’s pretty sure most of it was just incessant babbling and words that Blaine probably didn’t understand. He only remembers hugging himself and breaking down in hysterical tears, crouching down to try to pull himself together.

Blaine said nothing in that moment. He walked towards Kurt, helped him get up to his feet, and then Blaine pulled him into his arms and embraced him so tightly that it nearly left Kurt breathless, his arms winding up around Blaine’s neck as tears rolled down his flushed cheeks.

They kissed then and they kiss now, whispering promises of undying love into each other’s mouth, as they slowly undress each other, not wanting to rush like they had done at the hotel and so many times after that.

Blaine is on his underwear, underneath him, his hands softly roaming across Kurt’s chest, his neck, his collarbone, his face, his shoulders, his back, and Kurt—equally naked—closes his eyes and lets himself feel Blaine exploring his body with his fingers, like it’s their first time all over again. His own legs hold on to Blaine’s hips, legs straddling his sides.

Trembling hands cup Kurt’s cheeks. Blaine’s looking up at him, his eyes wide with love and lust and filled with unshed tears at the same time.

“What’s wrong?” Kurt kisses his mouth, his lips lingering against his lover’s for a second.

Blaine smiles, and the corners of his mouth quirk up in a way that lights up his entire face. “You said you love me.”

“Of course I did. I love you.”

“No, I mean…” Blaine blinks, making tears run down his temples. “It’s the first time you said ‘I love you’ first.”

He starts crying, covering his face and apologizing for ruining this moment, but Kurt doesn’t care. He leans down to kiss the tears staining Blaine’s face. Their lips meet. They exchange soft, languid kisses and undo their last items of clothing, their bare bodies intertwining, rediscovering each other.

When they have sex—no, Kurt reminds himself, this is not just sex—Blaine clings to Kurt’s back, fingernails buried in his skin as Kurt slowly, agonizingly so, thrusts into him. They don’t know how long it takes them to come (though they assume that probably not much), and after they do, they hold each other, their arms tightly around the other body. Kurt moves to lie next to Blaine. Then he kisses his eyelids, brushes their lips together, caresses Blaine’s facial features with his fingertips until they fall asleep.

-

Kurt has never missed a day at NYADA, at work, so he decides that one day off both is not going to kill anyone. And Blaine packed a suitcase in about ten minutes and hopped on a plane right after Glee club, right after he saw the text from Kurt. He’s completely exhausted, which makes Kurt turn off Blaine’s alarm clock as soon as it starts ringing.

“Wait, no,” Blaine mumbles, half-asleep, his arms still tight around Kurt and his face still buried in the crook of Kurt’s neck.  “I gotta… I need to…”

One of Kurt’s hands comes up to thread his fingers through the curls of hair on Blaine’s nape. “You need to sleep,” Kurt says, kissing his temple. “We can get up later.”

He receives no further complaints from Blaine.

Kurt finally wakes up around noon, and that’s only because his stomach won’t stop grumbling. Since Blaine is still fast asleep, Kurt gently untangles himself from his arms and carefully makes his way to the kitchen to make some brunch.

It’s a few minutes later that Kurt hears Blaine wake up, hears him call his name, but he sounds… scared. Wrecked, almost. “Kurt?” he cries, voice breaking. “Kurt! KURT!”

Kurt rushes back to the room, where Blaine is trying to push the bed sheets off his legs.

“Hey, hey.” Kurt sits down on the bed next to Blaine and gently grips his wrists, and he feels Blaine shaking against his touch. “Baby, hey, what’s wrong?”

Blaine won’t look at him. He leans his forehead against Kurt’s shoulder, and he bites his lips and shuts his eyes and wraps his arms around Kurt the moment Kurt let goes of his wrists. “I’m sorry,” Blaine says, his voice tiny and helpless. “I just… I… I woke up and I didn’t see you and all I could think about was that morning when I woke up and you were gone—”

“Shh, shh,” Kurt says, rubbing Blaine’s back soothingly, pulling him closer. “It’s okay, B, it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

He knows they still need to talk about that morning, about everything else, but that can come later. That talk can happen once they get a hold of themselves, both on their own and together.

As they make brunch, side by side, Blaine starts to get better. He hums and whistles, and by the time they’re doing the dishes, he looks like himself again. He pecks Kurt’s cheek, quickly kisses Kurt’s mouth before Kurt grips Blaine’s hips with his damp hands and presses their bodies tight against each other’s.

Kurt wants them to take a shower together, to maybe try to reconnect more. Not physically but emotionally. Blaine completely agrees. He washes Kurt’s hair first, and Kurt relaxes with the soft massage to his scalp. Then they turn around so that Kurt can thread his fingers through Blaine’s hair and fill it with shampoo. When they try to get soap on each other, there are giggles and catching because they’re not careful enough and almost fall.

They turn off the faucets, letting the last droplets of water fall on top of them. Kurt immediately takes one of Blaine’s curls between his fingers. “I love how your hair looks after you shower,” he says, kissing Blaine’s nose. “Reminds me of the first time we slept together.”

Blaine smiles, and to Kurt, it seems like the sun itself is shining down upon him. “It was the first night you stayed over, remember?” He laughs—one of the most beautiful sounds Kurt has ever heard. “I was so nervous.”

“I was just as nervous,” Kurt says with a smile. “But it was perfect.”

“It was.” Blaine takes one of Kurt’s hands in his own and brings it to his lips to kiss Kurt’s knuckles. “We are perfect. Together.”

Kurt is going to say something else, but he has a knot in his throat that will surely make him burst into tears if he tries to speak. So he just grabs a towel and dries Blaine’s curls with it.

They lie down on Kurt’s bed right next to each other, and Kurt knows that they’re going to talk. He slowly starts to bring down the barriers that have started to come up again, because this is necessary. They both screwed up in this, he realizes now. Blaine wasn’t the only one at fault. And if he wants this relationship to work, to be better, to be stronger than before, he needs to be as responsible for his mistakes as he expects Blaine to be.

There are tears—ugly, angry, desperate tears. There is no screaming. There are not-really-accusations. There are excuses. Then there are no more excuses. There are questions. There are demands. There is I felt like you were moving on. There is I felt like you were leaving me behind. There is Why didn’t you tell me. There is I didn’t know how to. There are explanations. There are apologies. There are new promises, new vows. There are ore tears—relieved, happy tears. There is a feeling of safety there hadn’t been before; the feeling of being caught after falling. There are kisses—on foreheads, on ears, on noses, on closed eyelids, on open mouths.

There are I love yous.

And there are I love you toos.

"Janey," he whispered, "do you have to pee?"

Jane blushed as she glared at her dad through large black-rimmed glasses, and hissed, "No, Father, I don't!"

"Just asking, sweetheart," Blaine chuckled; the embarrassed look on his daughter's face was almost identical to the Kurt still sometimes gave him. Jane rolled her eyes, before she sighed again.

"Alright, sweetie, what is it?"

Jane bit her lip and turned big, worried, teary blue eyes to his dad, "Do you think Grandpa's really okay? Maybe Daddy should've stayed another few days, I mean--yes Grandma's a nurse and can take care of things and Emmie can help in the shop, but what if something else happens! Something worse!"

"Oh sweatheart," Blaine gently squeezed his daughter close to him, rubbed her messy, black curls soothingly when she choked on a sob. "Shh, baby, it's okay; your grandpa's going to be just fine, I promise."

"He better be," a haughty voice said beside them, "that man wouldn't dare ignore my health instructions, not after last time."

Jane lifted her head and turned in the direction of her dad's voice, saw him smiling gently at her. The thirteen-years-old moved out of Blaine's arms and jumped into Kurt's; hugged him tightly. 

"Hey honey," Kurt said softly into her hair, "have you been this worried all week?"

"I'm still kind of upset we couldn't go with you," she mumbled into his chest.

"I know, sweetie, and I'm sorry you couldn't come too, but you and Dad had school; all those test you had to take and Dad had to grade."

"Still isn't fair," she argued, "family's more important than some stupid test."

Kurt smiled and kissed his daughter's head and then, with some difficulty because she wouldn't let go of his side, stepped forward to hug and kiss his husband.

"Hey, babe," Blaine said, taking Kurt's bag and slinging it on his shoulder, "how was it?"

"Dull, as always," Kurt said jokingly, before turning serious, "Dad's hand was worse than he said, but better than we thought; he should be able to take the wrap off sometime next week."

"That's good," Blaine sighed, relieved. Jane nodded silently between her fathers, sniffled slightly; Blaine rubbed her back, and Kurt comfortingly squeezed her shoulder.

"Told you Grandpa'd be fine."

"Yeah," Jane sniffed again, before smiling up at her parents, "but I think we should call him when we get home...just to be sure."

Kurt makes up Rachel’s bed for Burt, stripping it of pink and replacing the linens with his extra set of gray ones.

“There,” Kurt says, smoothing down the comforter when Burt peeks in through the curtain that divides Rachel’s area from the rest of the apartment. “Now it has a little less of a Barbie-esque feel. Sorry I can’t do anything about the smell. She burns strawberry-shortcake-scented candles in here, like, 24-7.”

“It’s not that bad,” Burt chuckles. “Although it might make me wake up hungry in the middle of the night.”

Kurt shoves a pillow into its case and smirks. “You always wake up hungry in the middle of the night.”

Burt shrugs. “Not always. Just half the time.”

“Har har,” Kurt says and throws the pillow at him. Burt catches it effortlessly, as he always does. He’s not falling apart yet, Kurt thinks, and then hates himself for having the thought.

Burt steps toward the bed and drops the pillow next to the wrought-iron headboard. “Kid,” he says quietly. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Kurt nods and sits on the edge of the bed.

His dad settles down next to him. “I think you know by now that even though I’m the world’s greatest dad, I don’t always get everything right.”

“Is this about the soufflé you made for dessert falling flat? Because our oven is really finicky. It could have happened to anyone. And it still tasted good.”

Burt furrows his eyebrows. “I wasn’t talking about the soufflé.”

“Okay. Then what are you talking about?”

Burt fidgets with his cap, running his hand nervously over his scalp before pulling the cap back on. “Did I do the right thing, bringing Blaine here?”

“Yeah,” Kurt says.

“Would you tell me if it wasn’t?”

Kurt mulls the question over before answering. “Yeah. I would.”

“You really seemed to miss him the last few times I’ve talked to you.”

Kurt wills himself not to cry. “I have.”

Burt watches him thoughtfully. “You ever going to tell me why you two broke up?”

Kurt’s told his dad plenty of reasons for the break-up already: the distance, the difficulty of staying in touch with such mismatched schedules, the reasonable proposition that they’re young and should try being on their own for a while. He suspected that his dad wasn’t buying any of them, but was hoping Burt would never actually come out and say it.

“Maybe,” Kurt says. “I don’t know.”

Burt rubs the back of Kurt’s shoulder. “I love you, you know. I love both of you guys, but mostly I love you.”

Kurt lets out a sigh that’s supposed to be a laugh but doesn’t quite make it to that level. He leans his head against his dad’s shoulder. It’s as strong and solid as it always has been. Burt is still alive, and he’s still Kurt’s dad. “I love both of you, too,” Kurt whispers. “It’s just hard learning how to be just friends again with Blaine. But I want to. I’m sorry if it’s awkward being around us right now.”

“No problem, kiddo. Every relationship goes through its growing pains.” He gives Kurt a light sideways squeeze. “Knowing that doesn’t always make it any easier, though.”

---

Blaine is still asleep when Kurt goes back out to the living room. His head is bent all the way back over the couch, his face toward the ceiling. If he sleeps that way all night, he’s in for one hell of a headache in the morning.

Kurt nudges his shoulder. Sweetie, he starts to say, but catches himself before the t. “Blaine.”

Blaine’s eyelashes flicker, then part; Kurt can tell the exact moment that Blaine’s eyes focus and he realizes he’s looking at Kurt, because his face crinkles up into a drowsily elated smile. “Kurt,” he says. “It’s Christmas.” His voice has the awed innocence of a boy a third his age.

“It is,” Kurt says gently. It’s hard not to brush the back of his fingers against Blaine’s sleep-warmed cheek the way he used to.

“Oh,” Blaine says, straightening himself as full consciousness dawns on him. “I’m sorry. You want to keep watching the movie? I can find somewhere else to sleep, or –”

Kurt shakes his head. “No, sw –” He bites his tongue. “No. You were just a little contorted. I thought you’d be more comfortable lying down.”

Blaine smiles gratefully. “Thanks. I should probably brush my teeth and stuff, anyway.” He looks around the room. “Where’s your dad?”

“He’s sleeping in Rachel’s room. Well, not sleeping yet.” Kurt lowers his voice. “When he actually falls asleep, we’ll hear it loud and clear.”

“Your dad’s snoring isn’t that bad,” Blaine whispers. “If I remember correctly it’s actually pretty soothing. You know, like waves lapping on a shore.”

“You’re just saying that because you snore.” Kurt says, and blushes.

---

It’s true, though. Burt Hummel’s snoring is soothing. It’s not a choked-off struggle for air, but just loud, deep breaths that sound fundamentally satisfying, at least to Kurt. But Kurt can’t hear them for the most part over the whir of Rachel’s white-noise machine, which Burt must have flicked on before falling asleep to drown out the unfamiliar sounds of the city.

Kurt’s in his own bed now, drifting fitfully in and out of sleep. He took turns with Blaine getting ready for bed and helped Blaine make up the couch with pillows and linens, and when Blaine settled under the blankets with Siddhartha, Kurt resisted the urge to tuck them around his body and kiss him softly goodnight.

He’s wide awake right now, thinks he has been for at least half an hour, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about anything – not his father or illness or the way that death always comes too early; not the confusing, beautiful boy sleeping on the couch on the other side of the curtain; not about betrayal, or love, or how the only sure thing in life is that you will lose everything you care about, over and over again.

He hears footsteps out in the main room; the bathroom door opens and shuts; and the pipes creak when the toilet flushes and the faucet turns on and off. At first, he thinks it’s his dad getting up for a midnight snack, but when the bathroom door opens again, he recognizes the footsteps as Blaine’s.

Kurt probably shouldn’t get up, but he’s too tired and stressed out to stop himself. He swings his feet over the edge of the bed, slides his slippers on, and goes to his doorway to draw the curtain open.

“Having trouble sleeping?” Kurt whispers.

Blaine is standing at the couch. He turns to look at Kurt; the lights from the street give his face a soft, colorless beauty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“No.” Kurt shakes his head. “I’ve been awake. Can’t really sleep.”

“Me neither,” Blaine murmurs.

They’re silent for a moment, looking at each other in the half-dark. Kurt feels oddly calm, like he’s been walking through a stressful dream but suddenly becomes aware that he’s the dreamer, and everything that was worrying at him immediately disappears, because it never existed anywhere but his mind in the first place.

“Do you want to sleep with me?” Kurt says.

Silence for a beat. Then a disbelieving “Kurt?”

“Just … to talk. And to sleep.”

Blaine turns away for a moment, his face toward the window. When he turns back, he nods solemnly. “Okay.”

---

“Blaine?” Kurt whispers. It’s the first thing that either of them have said since getting in bed a lifetime ago.

Kurt’s head is resting against Blaine’s chest; Blaine’s arms are wrapped around him. It feels good, for the most part – familiar and warm. The sound of Blaine’s heartbeat is a soothing ta-tut, ta-tut against Kurt’s cheek and ear, and his chest rises and falls like a steadily bobbing wave.

“Yeah?” Blaine whispers back.

“Were you safe?”

Blaine’s chest goes still and tight. Finally, after a much-too-long moment, it sinks with an exhaled breath. “Yeah.”

A beat. “What did you do?”

Another beat. “Kurt, do you really want to talk about this?”

“Yes,” Kurt says with absolute calm. Or maybe it’s just exhaustion. “I want to know.”

Blaine inhales. Exhales. Inhales again. “We – I touched him. We touched each other.”

“Oh,” Kurt says, more out of surprise that he’s not crying than anything else. “That’s what we did our first time together.”

Blaine’s breath is raspy. “I know. I’m sorry, Kurt.”

“What else?”

“There was some kissing, I guess. Not much. Or, well, too much. But I mean – it wasn’t you.”

“No,” says Kurt. “It wasn’t.”

“I would undo it if I could. I wish, every day, that I could.”

“I know.”

“But I can’t, can I?”

Kurt shakes his head slowly against Blaine’s chest. Not to be cruel, but because it’s the truth, and Kurt is terrible at lying.

“Kurt, do you want me to leave? I could, if you wanted me to. Find a hotel, or change my flight.”

“No.” Kurt wraps his hand around Blaine’s upper arm and clutches it tightly. “Stay. You’re my best friend. And I need you to help me through this.”

It’s not until he starts to feel the tears rolls down Blaine’s neck and soak the collar of his t-shirt that Kurt starts to cry, too. Mostly out of sadness, of course; but also, mixed deep within, a sense of relief and, maybe – he’s not sure it can be called this, but it feels something like – joy.

Because Kurt’s pain has been such a solitary thing up to this moment, setting him apart – a burden to carry with no aid. And now – it no longer is.

---

When Kurt wakes up the next morning, Blaine is still asleep. Kurt watches him in the late morning light. When he gets the urge to kiss Blaine’s forehead, he doesn’t stop himself.

Blaine stirs, but doesn’t wake.

Kurt has slept much later than he should have, considering that Burt needs to leave for the airport at noon; but Burt doesn’t say anything about it when Kurt emerges from his room. He just looks up from his breakfast, nods, and goes back to sipping his coffee and flipping through one of Kurt’s issues of Vanity Fair.

Kurt walks over to the coffee maker and pours himself a cup. “Thanks for making coffee, Dad,” he says, settling into the chair next to Burt. “And sorry about the lack of variety in reading materials around here.”

Burt shrugs and takes a bite of toast. “This magazine’s okay. They’ve got some interesting political coverage.”

Kurt puts his coffee down. “I’m also sorry I’m such a bad host. It’s your last day here. I was going to get up early and make you crepes.”

“You spent all day yesterday making dinner. That’s plenty.”

Kurt runs his finger back and forth along the rim of his coffee cup. “I didn’t mean to sleep so late. Blaine and I were up late talking and –”

Burt puts up a hand. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Kurt blushes. “No. Actually talking.”

“Oh.”

“I just – I’m glad you brought him. I’m not sure I actually said that yesterday. Thank you.”

Burt looks at him with that appraising look he gets sometimes, like he’s seeing Kurt for the first time. No, it’s not quite that – it’s more like he’s seeing more of Kurt for the first time; not just the little boy who used to throw him tea parties, or the preteen who almost set fire to the kitchen trying to make crème brûlée, or the teenage boy who was more interested in getting into Vogue than getting into varsity. “Good,” Burt says. “I’m happy when you’re happy. And I’m glad that I didn’t accidentally ruin your Christmas. Because then I’d have to turn in my World’s Greatest Dad mug. And I really like that mug.”

Kurt throws his arms around his father’s neck. “Nope. There’s a reason I got you that mug. It’s because you prove it over and over.” 

---the end---