#syntheticpoetry writes

[syntheticpoetry]

Kintsugi

Summary: Kurt and Blaine have a mature heart to heart involving Blaine's insecurities. 

Tested reaction fic where I just really gratuitously expanded on the dialogue and included the missing smut scene that very obviously must have occurred off camera.

AO3 Link || FFN Link

Author’s Note: So during our Tumblr Gleewatch group viewing I was left wanting so much more out of this scene and it kinda just spiralled from there.  There's some smut, but a lot of dialogue driven conversation following the canon dialogue where I felt like the conversation should have continued rather than end with their little heartfelt hug.  The way Blaine just shattered and started crying and Kurt just held him with a straight face.... yeah.  There was definitely more that happened there.  So here you go. See more notes on the end explaining the title.  Huge thanks to @blog-carmex​ for beta reading for me and offering her invaluable input :D 

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It has been three hours since class ended.  Three long hours since Blaine watched Kurt stride right past him without so much as another word after they changed out of their fencing gear.  After their sparring match they had retreated to opposite ends of the classroom, huffing in silence and shooting daggers at one another.  The mutual refusal to speak to each other had persisted all the way into the locker room where Kurt then proceeded to peel off his shirt in front of everyone.  Blaine had slipped into a bathroom stall to change, a mix of embarrassment and guilt beginning to wash over the anger as he shimmied out of the white pants plastered against his sweaty skin.  By the time he had emerged again Kurt had shouldered past him, tight lipped with eyes fixed in the distance, leaving Blaine to stand alone, his mouth hanging open and staring dumbly after him. 

“I just find it funny that we haven’t been intimate in like a week and maybe this is why.”

“No, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I got up early and forgot to text you.”

“You know what, Blaine? Sometimes I think we talk too much.”

After class Blaine had retreated to Kurt’s apartment in the hopes of another attempt at conversation, but has been melding himself into the couch for the last two hours with nothing but the silence and Kurt’s words to bounce around his skull as he waits for him to return.  It feels like such a stupid fight.  All of their previous discussions about just going to one another to air out their grievances, to talk about when things are bothering them feel like a distant memory.  Blaine tried to talk to him.  He tried to take the steps that they had outlined.  But Kurt just shut him down.  Kurt didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to let Blaine try to explain himself.  Instead they were left to physically act out their aggressions in combat class of all places.  Okay, so maybe Blaine wasn’t being completely open about the extent of his insecurities, but Kurt’s instant decision for distance and his ability to become an ice prince once Blaine had actually tried to initiate a conversation reminded him why it has always been so difficult to speak his mind.  

Blaine is terrified.  Terrified of rejection, terrified of Kurt finally peeling away his loosely fastened mask of confidence and seeing him for what he truly is— a coward.  He had never felt brave until the day Kurt stared at him from across that table in Dalton like he was this wise old sage so full of advice and wisdom.  It had been so easy to slip into the disguise, to feign the persona of a boy who had suffered and prevailed.  Who was he kidding? Prevailed.  What a joke.  Blaine knows that whatever semblance of true bravery he ever possessed in the first place to compel him to bring a boy to a school dance in Ohio had been beaten away all those years ago in that parking lot.  He told Kurt that he ran from his bullies and regretted it, but the truth is he knows he is still running.  That he has never stopped.  

Not like Kurt.  Kurt, who had suffered in silence for months at the mercy of his own bullies and still emerged with his head held up high.  Kurt, who had experienced his own hate driven assault, and had learned to become stronger and stand his ground so much quicker than Blaine could even begin to wrap his head around.  Kurt, who is so much braver and resilient than Blaine can ever imagine himself being.  Kurt, who does not actually need Blaine to guard him and guide him the way that he once used to. 

And it terrifies Blaine to feel this insignificant again.  To become a shadow of doubt beneath a rising sun.  

The door to the apartment slides open and Kurt strolls in, phone pressed to his ear, instantly catching sight of Blaine on the couch.  Blaine hunches over, arms resting against his knees, and braces himself for the explosion.  All afternoon he has been waiting for Kurt to return, but now that he is actually here his instincts are screaming to just get up and run.  Keep running.  Don’t stop. 

“Yeah, he’s here.  Okay.  Okay, bye,” Kurt slings his bag onto a chair at the kitchen table and turns to Blaine.  “That was Rachel, she was just confirming us for her opening night.”

“What’d you tell her?” Blaine asks.  

“I said, ‘Yeah, if we don’t kill each other in combat class, count us in,’” Kurt replies, eyes trained carefully on Blaine.  Blaine does not want to return the focus though, choosing instead to tip a can of ginger ale into his mouth to douse the desert in his throat.  Little distractions for idle hands and a restless mind.

“What happened in there?” 

Here it comes— the avalanche.  There’s a sudden tightness in his chest as he avoids meeting Kurt’s eyes.  “You were really coming at me like— like… as if you had something to prove. What, I’m not sure.”

“That I’m as strong as you are,” Blaine says.  The words sound surprisingly more bitter and resentful than he had initially intended them to.  He remembers his place— don’t lose control — and tries to reign in some of the tension, just bottle it back up again.  

“Okay,” Kurt says and strides towards him.  Blaine takes note of the distance he keeps between them, the minuscule gap that feels like the Grand Canyon.  Is it intentional? “But it’s not a contest.”

“Isn’t it though?” Blaine responds with the same bitterness again.  “On some level? Cause for the first time in my life, I really feel like I’m losing.”  

He can feel the loss of the control, the steady spiral into the depths of despair and uncertainty that he has trapped himself in for months.  The knot in his stomach twists itself tighter, yet he cannot help himself.  Once the train derails, there really is not much else to do but let the collision run its course.  “I’ve felt that way ever since I got to New York.  I feel like,” Blaine sets the can down and waves his hand between them, “We’re in this race together and you are just so much farther than I am. Like, it just feels like the whole balance has shifted.”

“What balance?” Kurt’s eyes narrow.  He takes a seat in an armchair, keeps his distance. 

Now he really has gotten himself in too deep.  

“I guess it started when we first met,” Blaine shrinks back against the couch, avoiding Kurt’s piercing gaze.  “And you came to Dalton because you were trying to get away from Karofsky, and I wanted to help you through that.”

“And you did,” Kurt says quietly.

“And I loved the way that felt.  I loved it,” Blaine swallows and leans his head back against the couch, speaking to the ceiling.  “I loved being able to protect you, but now I look at your life and…”

And now it hurts.  Now it feels like I don’t fit into any part of it.  Now it feels like I have never been, nor will I ever be enough for you because you don’t need me anymore.  Nobody needs me the way that I need you.  Why is this so hard?

“It’s completely different,” Blaine finishes and finally settles his eyes onto Kurt.  “You’re a star at school, you have all these cool new friends, you started this band and I just,” Say it.  Stop hiding.  Say it.  Tell him. “I feel like you don’t need me anymore, to protect or anything.”

There is a glint in Kurt’s eyes that sends Blaine’s heart careening down into his stomach.  This has been a mistake.  Saying anything at all, letting his guard down— it has all been a mistake.  He springs up suddenly, anxious to disappear.  “I mean, you asked me to move out, for God’s sake,” He murmurs bitterly as he walks past Kurt.

“We made that decision together,” Kurt replies, tone heavy and unimpressed, as he spins around in the chair to face him.  “So is that what all this stuff is about that’s going on? I mean, you trying to get me to eat more?”

You are missing everything.  You are missing the entire point.  Do you even see me when we’re together? Can’t you tell?

“I don’t like the way I feel about myself anymore, Kurt! Okay?” Blaine’s raised voice takes them both by surprise.  Through the open window, the sound of sirens permeates the post-confession silence.  Blaine closes his eyes, already feeling the tears clinging to his lashes.  He knows opening his mouth again is going to be yet another mistake, but so far he has been a glutton for punishment and self pity tonight, so what more is there to lose? 

“And you have this amazing new body— do you know why we haven’t been intimate? It’s because I feel insecure around you.  I feel insecure around my own fiancé, and Fratboiphysicals.com isn’t gonna judge me!” 

Somehow this feels worse than keeping everything bottled up.  The terror of Kurt’s reaction leaves him feeling dizzy and sick as he finally opens his eyes to absorb the blow.  Somehow Kurt’s eyes exude a softness beneath the two smoldering flames.  A sort of fierce protectiveness that only leaves Blaine feeling more pathetic than he did in the first place. 

“Neither will I.  Ever ,” Kurt responds and stands up to approach him.  “But I am not going to apologize for not being some delicate flower that needs his boyfriend to protect him.”

“Kurt, I—”

“And you know what? Maybe you’re right.  Maybe it is a contest.  Maybe that’s the way it has to be with two guys.  But I would much rather be running this race with you than against you.”

Blaine knows what it is to be lectured.  Understands all too well that familiar feeling of being put in his place, his actions chalked up to overdramatics and oversensitivity.  Looking up at Kurt towering over him, he feels even smaller now.  Whatever certainty he possessed, whatever feigned strength he must have siphoned off of Kurt when he entered the apartment to stagger his way through his confession has evaporated completely, leaving behind a hollow shell.  His words come out apologetic and frightened, tiny and remorseful. 

“Me too, I just—”

“As equals ,” Kurt says sternly.

Equals.  Something about the word flips a hidden switch.  Equals.  He has never felt a kinship with that word before, never understood what it felt like to stand beside someone and hold each other up, sharing the weight.  He has always struggled to be the pillar for someone else, to mask the cracks in his own foundation.  Something about the way Kurt says it makes him feel ashamed.

“I know, I know,” He presses both palms over his eyes, keeps pressing until spots of crimson and white appear scattered across the darkness behind his eyelids like bursts of fireworks.  “I-I know.  I know that , I’m so sorry.  I’m just…”

I am not worth this.  I am not worth your time.

“I’m just so scared that you’re gonna...” 

His throat constricts because he can already envision it.  He drops his hands, shaking his head, and focuses on the door just past Kurt, pictures him walking right through it like it is the easiest decision he has ever had to make.  Kurt holds all of the power in this relationship, and Blaine knows that.  Knows that whatever semblance of equality Kurt is preaching about right now is only a mirage.  Blaine ruined their perfect balance the night he let his demons take control of his emotions and lead him to that weak moment of infidelity.  One more wrong move and they are bound to break again.  But Kurt does not walk away, he stands before him and continues to wait patiently.  

“I’m just so scared that you’re gonna keep changing, and you’re gonna keep getting stronger, then one day you’re gonna wake up and realize, ‘I don’t love him anymore.’” Blaine shrugs his shoulders, tears glistening, and smiles in resignation to the paranoid confession as fact.  Even children discard their favourite toys once they are broken beyond repair.  So why would this be any different?

“Never,” Kurt replies, his gaze unwavering on Blaine.  The quiet intensity of his determination makes Blaine’s stomach lurch again, anxiety twisting tighter and tighter.  “I’m always gonna love you.  And I don’t want you to be insecure or ashamed around me.”

It’s only when Blaine exhales that he realizes he had been holding his breath, clinging to the tension in every centimeter of his muscles.  

“Next time you’re going through something like this you— you have to be honest with me.”

Blaine can feel himself nodding without any actual control, like it is a trained reflex in place to diffuse the rest of the uneasiness and settle the confrontation.  Anything to make this stop.  His lips go numb, eyes still fixed on the door as the next word comes out on autopilot, drained and defeated, “Okay.” 

Kurt’s arms around him spark the calamity laying dormant though, pull him away from the resignation and suddenly he is grasping at every inch of Kurt that he possibly can, sinking into the embrace as though clinging tightly enough will fill the gaping hole in his chest.  The ebbing shame becomes a tidal wave, crashes over and over again and threatens to drag him beneath the riptide as Kurt’s thumb brushes over his shoulder blade.  He feels so undeserving of such kindness and patience.

“Blaine, I think maybe we should have a conversation about where all of this comes from,” Kurt presses his lips to the thick layer of gelled hair atop Blaine’s head.  “Don’t you think?”

“What more is there to say? Can’t we just cuddle on the couch for the rest of the night?” Blaine mumbles against his neck.

“Don’t deflect, I think this is the most honest you’ve ever been with me about yourself and I want you to keep talking to me,” Kurt pulls away, hands on Blaine’s arms to push him back enough to look at him.  “I want you to feel like you can talk to me because you know I’m not gonna judge you.  I love every piece of you, no come on, don’t look away,” Kurt’s hand is immediately beneath Blaine’s chin, tilting his head back to center.  There has always been a sadness buried beneath the constant glimmer in Blaine’s eyes, usually well hidden and mostly undetectable.  In these rare moments of vulnerability, that sadness is always directly on display. “I love everything about you, even the pieces you try to hide away from me, especially those.”

“Kurt,” Blaine whispers urgently, his face contorting as he struggles against the grief, and tries to keep the controlled tears from transforming into full on ugly crying.  But Kurt does not let him go.  Kurt does not let him look or run away.  

“How many times have you seen me cry? There’s no shame in letting go sometimes, Blaine.”

“I don’t want to do this,” Blaine breathes out.  He tries to take a step back, but Kurt does not drop his arms.  They remain firmly wrapped around him, rooting him to the spot.  “I don’t want—”

“I’ve got you, and I am not letting you go,” Kurt says.  “You remember what you told me the first time we met?”

“I said a lot of things,” Blaine closes his eyes and feels the warm streaking of tears down his cheeks.  He has cried in front of Kurt before, but he’s never cried in front of him.  The breakdowns have been reserved for solitude, behind locked doors, hidden away from the world.  

“You told me that you ran away when things got tough, and that you regretted it ever since.  Don’t run from me too, Blaine— stay.”

The perfect catalyst.

“I’m sorry,” Blaine chokes out.  “I’m sor—sorry, I’m sorry,” He continues murmuring, the words becoming an incoherent jumble of consonants decorating the layer of heaving sobs and gasps for air in between.  With eyes shut tight, he nestles his face back into Kurt’s neck, body trembling against his steady arms, and continues mumbling the only two words his brain seems capable of conjuring. 

“Blaine, honey,” Kurt strokes his back and presses kisses to the top of his head.  “Blaine, why are you apologizing?”

“I don’t know,” Blaine shakes his head, forehead against Kurt’s shoulder.  “I don’t know.” 

Now that it’s begun, it feels like it will never end.  Control feels like a foreign language as he continues to shake and cling to any part of Kurt he can get his hands on.  

“Come on, come here,” Kurt commands soothingly, leading them over to the couch.  He drops down, pulling Blaine onto his lap.  Blaine snakes his arms around Kurt’s neck, burying his face into his own arm.  “I’ve got you, it’s okay, I’ve got you.”

The reassuring words seem to be having the complete opposite effect on Blaine and only draw out more tears.  Crying feels like an effort rather than a cathartic release.  The mask has finally been ripped away, leaving him feeling exposed, dissected.  He feels weak.  Ashamed and self-conscious.  How could he lose control like this? What’s worse, how can he be so incapable of reigning it back in?

“Sweetheart, talk to me,” Kurt won’t stop pressing kisses to any area of skin he can reach.  His lips are warm and wet against Blaine’s temple.  Something tangible he can tether himself to.  “Please?”

How do you condense years of pent up doubts and microaggressions of self-sabotage into a logical explanation?  Where do you even begin? 

“You know,” Kurt runs his fingers over the protective layer of gel, wriggling them in between to break up some of the strands.  Blaine bites down on the inside corners of his bottom lip and allows Kurt to continue burrowing his fingers past the barrier.  He had caked on so much of it after class it is a wonder Kurt is even able to break up any of it at all.  Yet his dexterous fingers reach beneath and he massages Blaine’s scalp.  It’s another calming, tangible gesture Blaine can tether himself to. “I have that keyboard in my bedroom.  I can get that if you would rather sing something first right now.  Usually helps you open up.”

The more Kurt’s fingers tangle and twist his hair, the calmer he feels.  Once the tears have ceased enough he trusts himself to speak.  “Okay,” Blaine has to mouth the word first before clearing his throat and rasping it out.  He shuffles off of Kurt’s lap and spends the literal seconds of his absence wrenching his fingers together, both legs bouncing hurriedly against the wood floor.  Kurt returns, keyboard secured underneath his arm, and sets it up on the coffee table in front of the couch before taking a seat beside Blaine.  Before turning it on Blaine runs his fingers over the plastic keys.  Will it ever get any easier to channel his emotions without a crutch? Kurt simply sits and watches, palm draped over the small of his back.  Blaine exhales, the breath shuddering with the weight of all he tries to expel to lend his voice the strength to begin.  He slides the switch up to turn it on and positions his fingers on the keys, gently tapping out a somber melody. 

“ When you come home I feel the earth start to change, I am alive, I am alive, I am in love with this place. I love it most how you whisper my name And so I catch it in a bottle for my lonelier days.”

He never has to think when it comes to music.  His fingers always seem to know just what notes to play.  And the words always come easier when they are borrowed from someone else.  He shifts closer to the keyboard, hands steady and certain as he continues with the melody.  Kurt understands him so well, knows just the right things to say and do to coax him through the storms. 

“The moment slows inside the palm of your hand, Oh I could stay like this forever or as long as we can. And in the morning I pour a warm cup of tea And hope you'll stay a little longer, stay a lifetime with me.”

He straightens his back, puts more vigor into the tempo as he pushes past the fear and lets his voice crescendo into the next verse.  The one that means the most.  The one he wishes he could say without having to hide behind the safety blanket of song.  Maybe someday he can learn.  But for now it is easier to parrot the words that bare a glimpse into his heart. 

“Cause when you go, like summer gives to the rain, I am uncertain, but I'm certain I am losing my way. When you let go, I don't see straight anymore— I am unwinding, I am broken, I am losing my core.”

His voice breaks on the last line, raspy and watery with the weight of tears once again.  He closes his eyes, languidly drags his fingers over the keys, lulling back the gentle melody as Kurt slides his hand up to his mid-back.  He continues with the interlude, repeats it, drawing out the time to build up the courage to continue again.  Kurt shifts closer beside him, wraps an arm around him and rests his chin on his shoulder.  Tangible.  Comforting.  Reassuring.  

“There is a door that opens at the sight of your face, I feel it all, I feel the warmth of every long summer day. And like an angel, you circle back with a kiss, You are the one I'm dreaming of, you are the one, you are the one. You lift me up with every step that I take, You are the reason, you're the answer when I'm drifting away. And through it all, when I start making a mess, You are forgiving, everlasting. You're my everything.”

The warmth of Kurt’s breath raises the hairs on the back of his neck.  When Kurt’s lips press into the crook where his neck meets his shoulder the notes start to get sloppy, crescendoing and decrescendoing when a wave of goosebumps runs its course throughout his entire body.  He abandons the keys, voice so low that some of the sound cuts out as he half-whispers a fragmented collection of the remaining lyrics.

“You are the one who holds my heart. When you come home I feel the earth start to change, I am alive, I am alive— there is a reason to stay.”

They sit in the stillness for a while, Kurt’s arms fastened loosely around Blaine’s waist, with only the distant muffled sounds of the city coming to life in the early hours of a Friday night to keep them company.  Unlike the bustling renegades of New York City, there is no sense of urgency or obligation between them tonight.  Blaine sinks back against Kurt’s chest, sluggish and exhausted, but he knows the night is nowhere near its finale.  The song was merely an introduction, a segue into the next section of the grand orchestral piece.  

“I remember telling you once that I’m not good at romance,” Blaine breaks the silence.  “That I have no idea what I’m doing when it comes to this.”

“Probably the biggest lie you’ve ever told,” Kurt responds affably.  Blaine can hear the tentativeness as he tries to keep the conversation light and playful and knows he is trying to work out just where he is headed with this train of thought.  

“Is it though?” 

“Blaine, you are probably the most romantic person I know.  I used to think I was the hopeless romantic in this relationship, but you definitely have me beat.” 

“I hate that phrase,” Blaine says indignantly, trying to shrink back against him more, but there is nowhere else to go.  Kurt deciphers his body language and embraces him tighter. “Hopeless romantic— why does it have to be a hopeless romantic?” 

“It’s just a phrase.  Of course you aren’t hopeless,” Kurt begins pressing kisses to wherever he can reach again.  Blaine closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the couch cushion.  Maybe Kurt was right.  Maybe a week without intimacy really was far too long.  The soft desperate whine that falls from his lips as Kurt continues to litter his neck with delicate kisses definitely suggests as much. 

“Kurt, can we—”

“Soon,” Kurt says.  “We aren’t done talking yet.”  He sucks the skin at the base of Blaine’s neck between his teeth and gnaws gently and Blaine can feel the slight upturn of his lips against his skin as he lets a sharp, breathless exhale slip out. 

“Well, I don’t know how well I’ll be able to concentrate if you keep—” Kurt moves his head away, only centimeters but he may as well have relocated himself across the room.  Blaine scoots closer, practically sitting on his lap again now and whines, “No, no, no! Come back!”

“How about we play a game?” Kurt replaces his lips on Blaine’s neck and runs his tongue over the reddened bite mark. 

“What kind of game?” Blaine rasps out, shivering as a new wave of goosebumps breaks out. 

“A game of trust and honesty,” Kurt raises his head to whisper against Blaine’s ear.  Blaine turns ever so slightly to face him, their noses touching, vision blurred and unfocused at such a close distance.  

“Sounds like truth or truth instead of truth or dare.  What are the rules?” He asks apprehensively.

“I’ll ask a question, you give me an honest answer.  You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but if you do you can tell me what to do next,” Kurt replies.  At Blaine’s continued exhibition of hesitation he adds, “We can even take turns, if it makes you more comfortable.  You can ask me anything you want.” 

Blaine tilts forward, resting his forehead against Kurt’s and hesitates before he nods a fraction of an inch.  “Okay.  Who goes first?” 

“I’ll ask first,” He leans back and Blaine falters in the absence of his support before adjusting, back straight against the couch cushion.  Kurt twists sideways, shoulder against the couch back and places one hand over Blaine’s.  “Why did you pick that song?” 

Blaine furrows his brows, tilts his head slightly, caught off guard.  The song choice seemed self-explanatory.  “Because it makes me think of you.” 

Kurt doesn’t ask, he says, “Elaborate.”

Blaine squirms, doesn’t understand.  Didn’t he listen to the lyrics? What more is there to say? Kurt merely smiles back at him, interlocks their fingers, and waits. 

“Well, I guess because that’s how I feel with you.  You make me feel safe.  You remind me what it is to truly be alive and without you I feel,” He stops, throat suddenly tight.  

Lost.  I feel so lost without you sometimes.

“Feel what, honey?” Kurt prompts softly. 

“Lost.” The word sounds small and fragile when he says it and yet it feels so heavy now that it is out in the open.  But Kurt shows no indication of surprise at the confession.  On the contrary, he seems pleased, as though this is exactly what he was hoping to hear. 

“Why?” He rubs his thumb into the back of Blaine’s hand.

“Because,” Blaine starts and stops again.  Talking used to feel so effortless between them before he had created this rift.  Ever since their breakup every word has come carefully selected with the fear that it will be the absolute wrong thing to say.  Just because Kurt has agreed to marry him, that does not mean he cannot still change his mind. And what if he does? Blaine cannot even bear to think about that.  “Because you make me feel like I am really worth something when I can’t remember why.  You gave me— us, you gave us another chance and I am so afraid of fucking it up all over again because you are the best thing to ever happen to me and I can’t… lose you again.  I can’t go back to being alone and just pretending to be brave because everyone expects it of me.” 

He feels winded by the end of it.  One question in and already the endeavour feels draining.  Kurt’s expression is unreadable when Blaine summons the courage to look him in the eyes.  Is that… fear? He lifts one leg, drapes it over Blaine’s lap and leans forward to kiss him.  Blaine kisses back hungrily, desperately.  

“Tell me what you want and then it’s your turn to ask,” Kurt whispers against his lips.  Blaine swallows, already half-hard from the simple act of kissing.  With the weight of an entire day of silent brooding being lifted, his body cannot help but remind him just how desperately he needs to be touched.  Needs to be needed.  How many questions will they have to get through first though? 

“Bite my neck again, harder this time though,” He requests.  And Kurt obliges.  He allows himself to be swept in it for the moment, palm riding over Kurt’s thigh as he feels the gentle brush of teeth and tongue over his skin before he sucks and bites and fuck that feels good.  Too soon though, he stops and Blaine wants to whine and protest but remembers what he is waiting for.  Right.  A question. Something he is afraid to ask, but wants to anyways.  That look in his eyes… Okay.  Truth time.  He can do this.  

“Does that scare you? What I just said.”

“A little bit,” Kurt does not even hesitate, which does nothing to quell Blaine’s nerves.  It feels like a slap in the face, affirming all of his fears to be true after all.  A strange swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach leaves him looking crestfallen, but Kurt slides a hand up to caress his cheek and continues.  “I think you use me to define yourself and measure your worth a lot of the time, and that’s the part that scares me sometimes.  I don’t want you to need me to tell you that you are enough, I want you to feel it because you know it.  And I have a funny feeling that this is something you’ve been doing long before we ever met.” 

Kurt holds his face there, eyes soft and intense.  Blaine’s lip quivers, eyes darting wildly as he searches Kurt’s face.  Searches for what? He is not wrong.  Deep down, he knows he is absolutely right.  For as long as he can remember he has tethered himself to the attention of others, weighing his worth in compliments and just being noticed at all.  Kurt had just been the first one to take it a step further, to love him in all the ways a human being could be loved, to make him feel seen and needed and wanted .  He does not know how to verbalise this though, so instead he asks, “What do you want me to do?” 

“Take off your sweater and your shirt.” 

“Shouldn’t we move to—”

“Rachel has rehearsal all night, she won’t be back for a while.”

Blaine’s eyes automatically dart to the door but he nods stiffly and works the sweater over his head.  He moves his hands to the base of his shirt, pauses and swallows.  Yes, Kurt does not want him to feel insecure around him.  But one conversation is not going to fix that.  With the way they’re sitting on the couch, with the lights completely on— Blaine is completely aware of how he will look once that shirt comes off.  Kurt presses a kiss to his cheek and slides his hands over Blaine’s, murmuring, “This too, my beautiful boy.”  Pink in the face, Blaine licks his lips and allows Kurt to help him lift the shirt over his head.  He tries to sit up straighter, keeping his eyes on Kurt to distract from the way his stomach protrudes and hangs over the edge of his pants.  

“Your turn,” Blaine says, throat taut, so the words come strained and thick. 

Kurt languidly drags his fingertips over his bare chest, just drinking him in for a moment.  He rests his palm over Blaine’s heart before he asks, soft and loving and gentle as he possibly can, “Why do you think I would just get up and leave you? Where does that come from?”

It’s immediately evident why Kurt has positioned his hand over his chest when Blaine instinctively tries to sit forward, ready to stand and pace and will himself to vanish because, remind him again— why do they have to be doing this right now? Why can they not just be naked and sweaty and rutting against each other, drowning out the need for words and difficult conversations between desperate kisses and breathless moans in the dark? 

You were right, we talk too much. 

Kurt’s hand moves deftly over his chest, warm and reassuring, and his voice comes as eloquently and unwavering as it has all night, “Remember, you can skip, but I hope that you don’t.” 

How is he supposed to just shut him down after that now? It is a request, not an obligation, but Blaine wants to please him, wants to make him proud.  Because what does their relationship even mean if he is too afraid to speak to his own husband-to-be about the horrible things he has only whispered within his own head for years and years and years? 

We’re getting married.  He wants to marry you.  The hard part is over.  He said yes.  Just let him in.

“Because,” He inhales sharply, exhales it into a long trembling breath and holds his hand over Kurt’s, pressing harder against his chest.  Kurt nudges himself closer, wraps his other arm around his shoulders and draws him in.  “Because everyone else does, so it feels like it’s only a matter of time before you do too.” 

“This has to do with your family, doesn’t it?” 

And of course Kurt knows already.  Of course he has just been waiting for Blaine, stupid Blaine, to come forward and finally say it.  How can he possibly have been this clueless? Despite the recent miscommunications and misunderstandings, the missteps in their natural abilities to decipher each other’s body language with nothing more than a glance of understanding, how could he ever think that Kurt would not know how to trace the root of all of it with such precision that he may as well just write the instruction manual on how to operate Blaine Devon Anderson? 

“How stereotypical, right?” Blaine asks, partly because he does not know how else to respond, but mostly because he is soberly aware of the fact that he is sitting here, shirtless and defenseless, ready to cry for what feels like the thousandth time in the past week and just wants to maintain the shattered art of deflection.  Sardonic and dizzy and bitter and angry with himself for bottling it up for so long when it was always in plain sight to begin with, he can’t help but think—  So much time wasted.  And for what?  

“Stop that,” Kurt says quietly, tone so serious it feels like a kick straight to the ribs.  Kurt was usually the one to crack a joke, humour cynical and so biting that he could take the edge off of anything.  But then again, that was usually reserved for his own tragedies.  Today has not been about laughing away the pain and self-deprecation, he has tried to make it something more.  “Don’t make it less than it is.  It’s something that matters to you, don’t make it a joke.” 

“Sorry,” Blaine says, a pre-programmed response that makes Kurt’s brows furrow in what can only be perceived as disapproval.  He simply shakes his head though, runs both hands over Blaine’s bare chest and varies his gaze, eyes darting back and forth between Blaine’s lips and eyes. 

“You barely talk about them.  I don’t know if you even still talk to them.” 

Blaine moves to fold his arms over his chest, another defensive play that Kurt refuses to yield to.  He moves his leg off of Blaine, drops it to the floor and then he’s tugging and coaxing and murmuring affections until Blaine is situated on his lap, their torsos pressed firm.  The material from his sweater is scratchy and rough against Blaine’s bare skin and he thinks, desperately, Please just take that off and fuck me until I forget. 

“Do you?” Kurt asks delicately. 

Blaine swallows and the words come out thick as molasses, “Coop, sometimes, if I call him.  My parents,” He licks his lips, shimmies down against Kurt’s lap so he can hide his face into the crook of his neck.  With arms firmly around his waist, he presses fingertips into his back, that damn scratchy sweater, he just wants to rip it off of him and beg and beg and beg— make me forget, just make me forget. “My mom texted me when I first moved to New York to ask if I made it, I haven’t heard from her since.” 

“And your dad?” Kurt probes cautiously.  

A pause.  Blaine spends the next few seconds just breathing against his neck and presses his fingertips down harder.  “Fuck my dad,” He finally says, quiet and fragile.  It is a wonder the words don’t crack and slice his throat right open on the way up.  

He feels Kurt’s arms, so strong and protective, close tighter around him and maybe it is the silence that follows— because when does Kurt Hummel ever become speechless?— or the way Kurt keeps pulling and squeezing, trying to weld them together as one or the sudden influx of scattered kisses he presses to his forehead, but something in him shatters .  His entire body shudders with the riptide of the sob that courses through him, but Kurt just holds him steady, rocks and whispers his little mantra, “I’ve got you, I love you, I’ve got you.” 

“Hate him, I hate him— He’s just— And I’ve never been able to— He hates me, he's always—”

Blaine hiccups and babbles and gasps and cries, unable to pluck one coherent thought from the rush of water now that the dam has finally broken wide open.  Kurt presses his lips to his forehead, whispers affections and instructions against his skin, and strokes his hair, his arms, his back— every possible inch of him that exists, Kurt is sliding his hands over, fingertips grazing and pulsing.  Drained and dazed from the weight of everything the insane idea enters Blaine’s head— if you’re looking for the ‘off switch’ I have no idea where it is either.

One shuddering breath collides into the next with no space in between until Kurt is lifting his head, cupping his face between both hands.  He tries to twist away, but Kurt’s thumbs stroke his cheeks, hold him steady and Blaine is just so tired he has no strength to fight him.

Please don’t look at me, I can’t stand it. 

“Sweetheart, you’re hyperventilating.  You’re gonna pass out if you keep going like this.  Just let me help,” Kurt’s thumbs brush over his cheek bones, already red-raw and stinging.  Blaine burrows his fingers deep into his back again and barely notices the feel of the sweater he has been scornfully regarding as he nods a few times between Kurt’s hands. 

“O-o-o-k-kay,” He sputters, gasps and cries some more, wishing, again, to just simply disappear. 

“Purse your lips together, I’m gonna count while you breathe,” Kurt kisses his forehead.  He closes his eyes, tries to focus on the feel of soft, wet lips against his skin and nods again.  He makes it to three on the trembling exhale before breathing in, sharp and quick.  Thumbs against skin, lips against forehead, they reset.  Kurt continues kissing his way across his face between murmured instructions, lips planting invisible X-marks-the-spots all over the raw geography of familiar terrain like it still needs to be thoroughly explored and mapped out.  Blaine has been so focused on following his voice, desperate to latch onto each whispered command, he does not realise his breathing has slowed until their lips are finally touching.  He lets Kurt take control, allows himself to be cared for and coddled and carefully handled like he is actually a broken sheet of glass filled with cracks, bound to shatter at the slightest hint of pressure. 

Lips still pressed together, he whispers into Kurt’s mouth, “I feel like such a mess.”

“My beautiful boy,” Kurt breathes back and it is a conscious effort on his part not to just start crying again because fuck , he feels anything but beautiful right now.  “We can stop for now, if you want.  I know that was a lot.” 

“No, I want to tell you.  I–I know that I just… shut down sometimes, but I want you to know.  It’s just,” Blaine leans backwards enough to look him in the eyes.  “It’s hard for me to talk about these things.” 

“I know,” Kurt’s thumb brushes his cheek again and Blaine leans into the touch.  “Take your time.” 

“I feel like I don’t even know him, you know?” 

Kurt just watches him, one hand still caressing his face and the other rubbing gentle circles into his back.  Kurt doesn’t know.  Kurt will never know.  Blaine releases a shaky exhale before continuing. 

“He was never home, always working.  And when he was home it’s like we were living on two different planes of existence, I felt invisible around him.  He hasn’t been able to see me for a very long time.  And my mom has just been so checked out— honestly, she’s been a mess for as long as I can remember.  It was just— It wasn’t a happy home, Kurt.  Cooper got out the second that he could, and I can’t really blame him for it.  Even though we didn’t always get along and he was constantly trying to show me up, it was really lonely without him.  I didn’t have a lot of friends at school, there was no Glee club— no safe space for anyone who was gay.  It was just me and one other kid who were publicly out.”

“The one you went to the dance with?” Kurt asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Blaine nuzzles his neck and breathes in deep.  “Afterwards he told his parents going to the dance together was my idea, and it was, and that was it.  They didn’t want us being friends anymore, they blamed me for what happened and he just… walked away.  Well, I think they moved, but he just stopped talking to me.”

“I’m sorry.  That must have been— I’m sorry,” Kurt kisses the top of his head. 

“My parents shipped me off to Dalton after that.  I didn’t even want to go at first, if you can believe that.”

“Really?”

“Really.  A boarding school with a dress code and a bunch of snobby rich kids? I was dreading it.  But it became home.  They didn’t care that I was gay, they accepted me right away.  Then joining the Warblers? There were so many times I was convinced I was just in a coma and dreaming the entire thing up.  We were treated like rockstars, it was the first time I felt good about myself in a long time.”

“Now I feel bad for making all those snarky remarks about everyone just being back-up singers to you,” Kurt says, earning a quiet laugh from Blaine. 

“Well, you weren’t wrong.  You were right to call it out.  The whole reason I fell in love with being a Warbler was because everyone had an equal say, I just got so swept up in finally being noticed that I lost sight of the fact that there were probably some other guys that wanted to be noticed too.  You kept my ego from overinflating.”

“You seemed like the most confident person in the world to me when we first met,” Kurt says.  “I never would have guessed you struggled with any self-esteem issues.”

Blaine shrugs nonchalantly and presses a kiss to his neck.  “You didn’t know because I didn’t want anyone to know.  We didn’t… talk about feelings at my house.  You started bringing that out in me, making me believe I didn’t always have to hide and pretend.  But I lose sight of that sometimes, I guess.  It’s easier to just shut down and bottle it up, but you’re right… I have to be able to come to you, we have to be able to come to each other.  I’m— I’ll be better, I promise I will.”

“Thank you for sharing all of that with me.  I’ve been able to guess at some of it for a while now, but hearing you finally say it— I’m proud of you.  I always want you to feel safe with me, so I hope that you do talk to me more about things like this that are bothering you.”

Blaine nods against his shoulder, eyes stinging and blurring.  He does not know why he expected anything other than absolute understanding and compassion from him, why it was so difficult to force the words out in the first place.  

“Do you want to keep talking?” 

Make me forget.  Love me and don’t let me go and just make me forget everything else. 

“I think I need a break from talking.  I just need you, I—”

And then Kurt is kissing him and Blaine is kissing back like it is the first time all over again.  He catches Kurt’s lips with his teeth, sloppy and hungry and desperate to be as close to him as possible because the great gaping canyon in his chest demands to be filled.  Please! Please! Please! His heart thumps away the greedy melody and when Kurt pulls away, widening that endless cavern, he actually whines .  But Kurt is tugging at the sleeves of his sweater— normally a crime , you always pull from the collar, he constantly tells Blaine— and Blaine’s hands hurry forward to help him strip it away.  

Blaine has watched him while he works out, has witnessed firsthand the care and consistency and the effort behind those hardened muscles in his arms and chest and oh god those abs .  He is like a living statue and Blaine is the only one privy to the private viewing of his full display of perfection.  How could he let his stupid insecurities keep him from this? 

“You’re staring.”

Without even looking Blaine can tell he’s smirking.  “Can you blame me?” 

He looks up to see another playful smirk, and that Kurt is staring right back at him, lower lip ever so slightly tucked in beneath his teeth.  Fuck .

“So,” Kurt says, voice low and husky.  “You still have to tell me what you want me to do next.”

Make me forget.  Make me forget. 

“Take control,” Blaine says softly.  When Kurt’s hand travels up his thigh to fiddle with the button of his pants, he rasps out, “I’m all yours, take control.”

The caress of lips against his jaw, the ice cool touch of smooth fingers dipping below his waist band, teasing and exploring— Blaine closes his eyes and surrenders himself to sensation.  Who needs pretty words when he has the tender touch of a lover’s fingertips to ignite bursts of starlight beneath his skin? Kurt’s hands find his and the gentle pull against them forces his eyes open where he finds Kurt ushering him off of his lap.  He shifts off and allows himself to be lifted as Kurt stands, eyes alight with curiosity and wonder until Kurt’s mouth is on his again and he is lost, lost, lost once more.  

Kissing Kurt is everything.  Early November and his lips are slightly chapped, leaving only the faintest hint of his current favourite chapstick.  It reminds Blaine of their nights nestled up by the fireplace in Dalton, coffees from the school cafeteria in hand and stealing vanilla and mocha flavoured kisses in between every break in conversation.  He forgets that they are standing in the middle of Kurt’s living room, forgets that they are drifting through borrowed space as Rachel or even Santana, devious in her ways of sneaking around, could waltz in at any minute despite Kurt’s insistence that they won’t.  As Kurt hooks his thumbs into belt loops and draws him closer, both of their bodies desperate for the heat and friction, he forgets about his insecurities and doubts.  There is only the handsome man before him and nothing else in the world matters. 

Lips locked, Kurt navigates them towards his bedroom.  Neither of them wants to disentangle from each other long enough to lead, Blaine just has to trust him not to let him trip.  His knees hit the edge of the bed and buckle, but Kurt grips his hips, digs his fingernails in and grinds their bodies together until they’re both moaning into the kiss.  His pants feel unmanageably tight at this point now. 

“Kurt—” 

“Working on it,” Kurt kisses his way down to his neck, teeth gnawing sweetly until first the button, then the zipper and Blaine’s suddenly being pushed backwards onto the bed.  He hastily props himself up on his elbows, panting softly, eyes lust blown and following Kurt’s every move.  He’s kneeling down in front of the bed, yanking Blaine’s pants off from around his ankles now and every second feels like it is being stretched too long.  Finally free though, his cock bounces against his stomach, throbbing and aching by the time Kurt settles between his legs.  Blaine’s eyes dart to the bedside table, hand just starting to reach out when Kurt bends over and curls his fingers around his cock, flicking his tongue over the head before sucking hard.  He pulls his mouth off with a faint pop! and brushes his thumb over the underside of the head.

“F-Fuck,” Blaine trembles, arm outstretched, its purpose completely forgotten.  “You’re right, a week was too long.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Kurt says and takes him completely into his mouth, palm cupping his balls.

“Jesus— Fuck!” Blaine instantly bucks his hips and fills the spaces between his fingers with Kurt’s hair, breathless as he quickly adds, “Sorry, are you—”

Kurt hums his response and hollows his cheeks, breathes in through his nose and takes him further down.  They have just barely gotten started and already Blaine feels himself coming undone.  He struggles to keep his hips steady, but Kurt is moving torturously slow through all of this until he just stops moving his head altogether, mouth very much still full of Blaine’s cock and he could honestly scream because how dare he just stop like that—

Oh. 

Blaine knows what he wants. 

“Please,” The word comes hungry, breathless and on the verge of a whine.  “Please, I need you, please—”

And Kurt’s head moves backwards, sucking as he goes until he reaches the tip of Blaine’s cock, where he flicks his tongue over it playfully.  Blaine balls up the sheets of the mattress in his other fist and tugs on that instead of Kurt’s hair, the quiet desperate moans falling out of him like whispered secrets in the night.  Kurt pulls his mouth off of him again, turns his head and kisses the inside of his thigh, before biting down and sucking.  Blaine hisses in a breath, knuckles turning white, and lets Kurt mark him.

Yours, I’m yours, and no one else’s.

There is a moment when Kurt pulls away to rummage through the nightstand when Blaine cannot help but to stare again.  How far they have come from the shy teenager who could not even look him directly in the eyes when discussing pornography.  He remembers so vividly the day Kurt lamented he would never see himself as sexy , the word whispered with such discomfort like it was dirty and inconceivable.  It was the day they were practicing in the mirror, Kurt had been trying so hard to get the look right but ultimately kept shying away, embarrassed and self-conscious with the effort, saying Blaine just made it look so easy.  Neither of them had a clue what they were doing, but disguises had always come easy for Blaine.  Now, Kurt looks up at him, dark-eyed, mouth slightly parted before that devilish smirk takes over again, and Blaine is weak and breathless beneath his gaze.  How the times do certainly change.  

Kurt’s fingers are already coated in lube when he starts kissing Blaine’s thigh again and circles one finger around the tight ring of muscles.  Blaine wants to rush ahead, squirms his hips down and Kurt tuts disapprovingly, leaving him to lie still once again and wait patiently at his mercy.  He really can be such a goddamn tease sometimes.  But he does not make him wait long before sliding one finger in, stroking and twisting, until Blaine pants, “More, please, more.”

He takes his time, adds another finger and scissors and stretches him as Blaine squirms and begs beneath his touch.  Only two fingers in and Blaine is beginning to completely unravel, hips involuntarily jerking up as Kurt strokes and twists and kisses and bites, leaving tiny reddened marks all along his thighs.  It never takes Kurt long to find that sweet spot, and sure enough Blaine is arching his back and panting as his fingers continue to brush over and massage his prostate.  Slowly, he withdraws his fingers and when he pats the side of Blaine's leg and tells him to sit up he cannot help but whine loudly in protest. 

“So impatient,” Kurt says, eyes twinkling with amusement as he settles himself against the headboard and tugs until Blaine is positioned above his lap.  Kurt’s in control, but he knows this is Blaine’s favourite position.

“Condom?” Blaine’s thighs are already shaking as he holds himself up.

“I trust you,” Kurt replies, bringing his hands up to cup his face, voice so low and sultry it is a wonder Blaine doesn’t just stagger into his orgasm right on the spot.  “And I want you to feel it.”

What did I do to deserve you?

Blaine groans into the kiss as Kurt strokes himself, coating his cock with lube before he holds it firm for him to lower himself down onto.  The sweet heat and friction already feels like it is almost too much to bear.  There is no way he is going to last like this, and they both know it.  He positions his hands on Kurt’s chest, sinks all the way down and pants loudly against his mouth, pausing to let himself adjust before rising up again.  Kurt relocates his hands to his hips, fingernails digging in and helping him rise and fall, their rhythm slow and synchronized.  It doesn’t take long before it becomes more sporadic and urgent, Kurt’s hips bucking up as Blaine’s thighs tremble and burn to match his rhythm until he’s hitting just that right spot again.  He yelps his moan, fingernails burrowing into Kurt’s skin.

“There, there, there— right there!” Blaine exhales quickly, winded and sweaty as he clenches and shakes.  With the way Kurt’s gripping his hips he knows there are going to bruises where the thumbs sink in.  The thought of it alone sends a rush of heat up his spine that erupts as another breathless gasp.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Kurt groans out.  “ So fucking gorgeous.”

Blaine’s laugh comes out half-strangled as he gyrates his hips faster, thighs trembling violently as he slams one palm against the headboard to keep himself balanced.  “So are you, fuck, so are you.  So—” Kurt slides his hands down, cups his ass and quickens his thrusts, throwing the rest of Blaine’s thoughts to the wind as he all but crashes his head forward against the headboard and cries out.  He becomes acutely aware of Kurt’s mouth against his chest, of his tongue circling his nipple, but barely registers Kurt’s breathy laugh, “Sorry, you okay?” 

“Don’t stop,” Blaine breathes back.  “Don’t stop, don’t— fuck, you feel so good.”

Kurt sucks on his nipple as Blaine’s breath hitches, heavy and desperate.  Kurt slips one hand down and closes it around his cock, earning another loud strangled sound somewhere between an exhale and an actual word.  

“You’re perfect, you’re so perfect— Kurt, fuck I’m gonna—”

Kurt works his hand faster, hips bucking wildly as Blaine cries out again, stars exploding behind his eyes as he comes.  Kurt cups his ass again, squeezing and panting heavily against his neck as he keeps thrusting, chasing his own orgasm only seconds later.  Blaine’s legs give out, leaving Kurt’s firm grip on his ass, his hips still jerking upwards sporadically, as his only support.  Blaine keeps his eyes closed, fingers curled tightly around Kurt’s shoulders and forehead resting against the headboard, as Kurt finally slows to a stop.  He does not want to move, does not want Kurt to pull away and leave him feeling empty again.  As though reading his mind, Kurt holds him there, pressing lazy kisses to sweat soaked skin as Blaine’s body continues to tremble. 

“God, I missed you,” Kurt whispers, raising his head enough to kiss his neck.  

“I love you,” Blaine rasps out.  “So much.  More than anything.” 

Kurt feigns a dramatic gasp, lips brushing against his neck and tickling him. “Surely not more than hair gel.”

The smile on Blaine’s face almost hurts before they both break out into laughter.  

“Need some help?” Kurt squeezes his ass playfully, earning a soft, sleepy moan. 

“My legs don’t work anymore,” Blaine laughs breathlessly, limbs heavy and useless.  Their earlier conversation feels like a lifetime ago.  

“I’ve got you,” Kurt says soothingly, lips back against his neck.  

In the post-orgasm haze Blaine is barely aware of their movements as he comes to settle down beside him, limbs tangled and still desperate for touch.  Kurt wipes cum off of his stomach with a tissue— Blaine cannot help but think about the midnight trip to the laundromat they will most likely be taking to salvage the sheets— before he draws him in close, those strong arms like a promise and a safety blanket.  It is moments like these he loves the most, where the world stops spinning and they are frozen in a perfect carefree moment of mutual adoration and comfort within each other’s arms.  

“I’m sorry about your dad, about all of that,” Kurt suddenly says softly, jarring him from the temporary peace.  

“Not your fault,” Blaine mumbles, snuggling in closer to him as though melding their bodies together physically will drive away the uncomfortable feeling of emptiness starting to creep in all over again. 

“Do you actually hate him?” 

“No, of course I don’t.  I just wish,” Blaine sighs and presses a kiss to his chest, arm curling tighter around Kurt’s waist to keep himself tethered down.  “I just want him to be proud of me and it really hurts that he’s not, that I basically don’t exist to him.”

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Hmm?” Blaine asks distractedly. 

“Have you ever thought about talking to someone?” 

“What do you mean?” Blaine shifts his head, too lazy to actually lift it off of his chest, and settles his eyes on Kurt’s jaw. 

“Like a therapist,” Kurt says carefully.  Involuntarily, Blaine stiffens between his arms.  “Have you ever thought about that?”

Blaine sluggishly drags his hand over Kurt’s chest, fingers tracing invisible patterns.  Kurt tilts his head down, nose pressed to his loosely gelled hair and breathes in deep before pressing a kiss to the top of his head.  “I might have,” Blaine whispers, heart thudding violently now.  Kurt has been nothing but understanding and patient, yet the anxiety still clutches tightly and forces him to want to retreat and hide.  

“Maybe you should,” Kurt says gently.  

“Maybe,” Blaine parrots quietly.

“I’m not suggesting something is wrong with you,” Kurt adds, pressing another kiss to the top of his head. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”

How could you tell?

“It just might be good to talk to someone unbiased, don’t you think?”

Blaine continues trailing his fingers over Kurt’s chest, silent and pensive.  He had certainly contemplated the idea plenty of times in the past, never sure of where to even begin.  After the attack at the dance, when Kurt moved away, when they broke up— every time he had come remotely close to researching, shame and panic had chased the idea away.  

“Say something?” Kurt asks softly and runs his fingers through his hair, far more pliable now that the gel has been somewhat dissolved by sweat.

Blaine’s hand stills against his chest and he props himself up on his elbow to get a better look at him.  There is no judgement on his face.  Those eyes like endless oceans of concern and compassion.  Everything about his expression screams I see you, I love you and I see you.

“You’ll uh,” Blaine starts and struggles to hold his gaze, his first instinct telling him to stare at anything other than his eyes.  “Will you help me look for one?”

“Of course I will.  We’re a team, aren’t we?” 

The smile on his face makes Blaine’s heart beat just a little faster, but there is no feeling of shame behind it.  “Yes.  We’re a team.” 

He settles down in Kurt’s arms again, but silence between them never lasts long.  It is only a matter of moments before Kurt’s speaking again. “Have you ever heard of Kintsugi?”

Blaine furrows his brows and tilts his head up towards him again.  He is always full of these random little tidbits of information.  “No? What’s that?”

“It’s a phrase used in Japan.  It’s the art of mending broken pottery.”

“Okay?” Blaine trails the word out, the tickle in the back of his throat not quite a laugh just yet.  He usually has a point when he brings things like this up, but sometimes he does not.  Right now it is not obvious which side of that line he is on.

“Instead of using clear glue, they use powdered gold or silver, usually gold.  So when they put the pieces back together, they’re not trying to hide the fact that it was broken.  The process of being broken and repaired is part of its history, and they choose to highlight and display that fact by turning it into something new with these golden scars to show for it.  I think that’s beautiful, don’t you?”

“So, are you calling me broken pottery?” Blaine asks, the laugh finally breaking free.

“No,” Kurt replies, placing two fingers on his chin to tilt his head up.  “You’re a perfect work of art with a history to show for it.”

And as he leans forward, eager to press their lips together and soak up as much of him as humanly possible, Blaine thinks, And you are the artist.

________________________________________________________________

The song Blaine sings is When You Come Home by Mree, which instantly made me think of our boys when I first heard it.

I don't remember where I first learned about Kintsugi, but I became absolutely obsessed with it.  To be able to take something broken, mend it and showcase all of its imperfections as something beautiful and apart of its history... just something about that really hit close to home for me.  Here is one example. Take some time to google image search some pieces, they are absolutely breathtaking.  And I think it is a perfect metaphor for how we can come to deal with our own traumas.  

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it.

#klaine #klaine fic #glee tested #glee 5x16 #kintsugi #syntheticpoetry writes #smut #blaine anderson #kurt hummel #glee #glee fic #tested reaction

[esperantoauthor]

Writer ask meme!: 1, 4, 38, 44, 51

Writer ask meme  (feel free to send more; these have been really fun to answer)

1. Tell us about your WIP!

The one I’m currently focused on writing is a highschool!Klaine story about a very lonely and timid Kurt meeting Blaine when they are both thrown in the same dumpster by bullies. I’m calling this a “faux badboy!Blaine” story because Kurt gets a certain impression of Blaine that he later discovers is pretty off the mark. Other tropes/genres: enemies to friends to lovers (kind of), romance (obvi), misunderstandings, humor (I don’t know how to write without humor:P).

It is currently close to 30K words but I’m not sure how long it will turn out.

4. Do you have any writing habits/rituals?

Nope🤷‍♀️

38. How do you nail voice in your books?

Answered here!

44. Why (and when) did you decide to become a writer?

Well, I’m obviously not a professional writer but as far as writing as a hobby/creative outlet, I’ve kind of always loved to write stories. My grandmother was a published author so perhaps it is in my blood! I think my earliest memory of enjoying creative writing is from second grade. We were learning about the solar system and my teacher had us image we were traveling in a spaceship and write a diary entry about what we saw as we traveled to each planet. I have no idea what or how much I wrote, but I remember getting really wrapped up in it and writing way more than I needed to. To the point that my teacher was surprised.

I used to play story games with my friends where we would write a few lines of a story and then pass the paper to the next person to add on to; I even did this by snail mail at one point.

I think I first tried my hand at writing fanfiction when I was around 14 for the Harry Potter fandom. I wrote throughout high school but was too busy in college to keep it up. Made my way back via the Glee fandom summer of 2019 and here we are!

51. Are you a secretive writer or do you talk with your friends about your books?

I’m terrible at being secretive in general, so no. I don’t tell most people that I’m writing fanfiction (because of the stigma) but I’ll mention that I’ve been doing creative writing as a hobby to basically anyone. My fiance and my mother both know that I write Glee fanfiction and have read some of my stories. I’ve sent Express Yourself to my mom in google docs chapter by chapter (I don’t want her interacting with Ao3) and she leaves me tons of comments; it’s great. She treats it as seriously as any other piece of writing and has never see Glee. Bless her. 

#asked and answered #writer ask meme #fanfiction writing #writing process #syntheticpoetry

[jayhawk-writes]

Thanks for the tag @esperantoauthor​ and @gleefulpoppet​! 

How many works do you have on AO3? 34

What’s your total AO3 word count?  457,372

How many fandoms have you written for and what were they? I’ve only ever written for Glee. However, I have toyed with the idea of writing a story for a video game that I’m obsessed with. Not sure if that will ever happen, though...only time will tell.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? 

The Writing On My Skin - 149 Domus Civita - 118 The Jeffery - 106 I Hoped It Was You - 105 Sweetheart, Who’s This? - 81

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I respond to 99% of my comments. The only ones I don’t respond to are extremely rude ones or if I’m having a ‘conversation’ with someone and it’s naturally over. Otherwise, if someone takes the time to leave a comment, I want to let them know I appreciate their effort and respond.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? Most of my multi-chapter fics end with the boys back in The Unknown--which means they pass away at the end of every story. It’s not angsty, per se, just sad. And I never leave my one-shots in a bad place. So I’m not sure I have a story with an angsty ending.

Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve written? I’m not sure if it counts...I wrote a story that was set in the Dungeons and Dragons world called The Silver-Scaled Mark. I do have plans for a Harry Potter crossover and possibly one from a video game.

Have you ever received hate on a fic? Not ‘hate’ exactly...I have received rude comments, though. I’m not sure if they were meant to be rude, or if I just read them to be rude. And when I say rude, I mean people telling me what can and can’t be done in my stories. That’s very frustrating for an author because we spend our free time writing these and we want to get lost in these fictional worlds with these fictional characters. And no matter how similar to this world our story might be set it, we can do whatever we want in them.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Yes. All kinds, I suppose. I’ve written some really spicy smut and some really fluffy smut. When smut happens, I let my muse run with it and just type what she tells me to.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I’m aware of. I do check Wattpad every once in a while since that is the place I’ve heard a lot of them get stolen to. 

Have you ever had a fic translated? Again, not that I’m aware of. If anyone ever wanted to translate one, I’d be completely okay with that. I have thought about recording a few for the seeing impaired in our fandom...time, unfortunately, has not allowed for that.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Short answer, yes. It hasn’t been published yet, though.

What’s your all-time favorite ship? Klaine. Without question. However, I’m really falling in love with Santana/Brittany/Dani and Sebastian/Elliot and they are showing up more in my stories.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? I’d like to say I’ll finish it someday, though inspiration and motivation for it have eluded me for a long time. I started a fic in 2017 (the one that got me wanting to actually write) and I never finished it. I have the whole thing plotted and outlined and some of the chapters most of the way, if not fully, drafted...I just can’t seem to get back into it. Which makes me really upset sometimes because I love it.

What are your writing strengths? I’m pretty good at summarizing, I think. I can get from one place to another without having to go into a bunch of detail.

What are your writing weaknesses? Details...unless I have a reference photo, I’m not so great at describing scenes. 

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? I actually have done some of this in The Silver-Scaled Mark. It wasn’t a ton and I translated what they said at the end of the chapters. In other fics, I’ll use a word here and there...and typically it will be explained in the story.

What was the first fandom you wrote for? Published fic for? Glee is the only fandom I’ve ever written for.

What’s your favourite fic you’ve written? I have a special place in my heart for all of my fics. I honestly do. There isn’t a single one I’ve written that I don’t like. Since I can’t do that...I’ll say Nerds for my favorite one-shot and How Far I’ll Go for my favorite multi-chapter fic. Both of these have so many personal things in them for me and I think that’s why I love them so much.

Tagging: @syntheticpoetry @hkvoyage @tiggerblu and anyone else who wants to play!!!!

#tagging game

[sweetlittlevampire]

Pandemic Mental Health Check In

I was tagged by @syntheticpoetry . Thanks for checking up on me!

How is everyone holding up?  

That really depends on the day. I’m usually fine, but some days are harder than others. Right now the pandemic is ramping up like crazy in my homecountry, and I am beginning to get anxious again. My mother has MS and needs to get out and move and have physio, otherwise her muscles do stop working properly, and she doesn’t take this whole thing seriously enough. My girlfriend has weakened lungs, and is considered high risk. She does take super care of herself, but I just can’t help and be scared.

What are you doing to keep healthy?

Not much else than what I’ve been doing before this whole mess started, lol. I try to go for walks whenever the weather allows, just to get out of the house. Other than that, I try to talk to people online to keep my spirits up, since me and the fam aren’t on the bestest of terms...and meeting friends, although it’s not prohibited yet - honestly, I’d rather not run the risk.

Are you working, not working, working from home?

I’m not working. My job contract ran out two weeks before the first lockdown, and try to catch a job interview in a society that doesn’t do phone interviews, and adapts poorly to video chat interviews. I’d love to find a new job, but alas...

Anyone caring for kids or elders?

Caring for me mum! She’s 60, but as said, she has MS, so yeah. I’m in charge of the groceries in this house. No kids to speak of; grandparents are either in nursery homes, or already deceased.

What was you best/worst day?

The best day was when I was FINALLY allowed to see my girlfriend again after the first lockdown was lifted.

The worst one - I oddly feel like that one is yet to come.

What inspires you?

Kindness. Courage. Love.

Are you taking up hobbies?

I’ve tried writing! It still doesn’t come naturally to me, but eh, I’ve had the urge to dabble in fan fiction and found myself some betas, and off I went.

What kind of content helps keep the joy on your dash?

Cat videos aaaall the way! But also The Untamed, lol. Generally speaking, seeing my friends interacting with others, and seeing that they’re well. Also meeting new people on socmed in general is so fun!

Has life gone back to “normal” where you are?

Hmmm, there is a semblance of “normal”, but I can tell people are becoming anxious again, so I’m not so sure.

What are you doing for fun?

I’m reading a lot, and drawing a lot, and listening to a lot of music. The usual suspects!

I’m gonna tag some people, but as per usual, only do this if you really want to. Stay safe, my friends!

@bilboo | @inessencedevided | @piyo-13 | @huacheng-zhu | @abschaumno1 | @unforth | @elvencantation | @stiltonbasket

#Sweet is rambling #Thanks for tagging me! #covidー19 #Coronavirus

[heartsmadeofbooks]

Thanks for the tag @i-tripandstumble ♥

Last song: Solid Gold, by Tom Chaplin (his isolation version, which is absolutely gorgeous).

Last movie: Little Shop of Horrors.

Currently reading: Nothing, really, because writing is consuming everything. But I should really read something soon, I have a few books I haven’t touched yet ♥

Currently watching: Anne with an E. I’m on season 2 and I love it so far. 

Currently craving: Probably ice-cream. Yes, I could have some ice-cream right now.

Tagging: I’m pretty sure everyone’s done this BUT @20xbetterthanu @syntheticpoetry @mardie186 @syntheticpoetry @klainedrops-on-roses

#Tumblr games

[teddyshoney]

TAG MEME!

Thanks for the tag @syntheticpoetry!

Nickname: Mar (I hate it.)

Height: 5′5″

Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff

Last thing I Googled: Shipping time for a book website I’m planning to order a few Christmas gifts through.

Song currently stuck in my head: Um...I have the chorus of Yeah, Boy by Kelsea Ballerini going on a loop in my brain

Favorite Instrument: Let’s see... I love playing my flute for sure, and even though I don’t own a sax yet, teaching myself to play was super fun! Next on my list is learning the guitar. :)

Number of followers: Somehow, like 223. When I hit 225, I think I’m going to do a special followers fic thing, so look out whoever the next two followers are. :)

Lucky number: 17!!!

Amount of sleep: Sleep I’d like to get? Like a solid 12 hours so perhaps I wouldn’t wake up exhausted. Sleep I usually get? More like 6 hours or less. 

Dream job: Author and editor! I’m kinda already living my dream. :)

Wearing: A hoodie and pajama pants; it’s comfy and I’m just writing and editing all day.

Aesthetic: If I could, it would 100 percent be a boho vibe. I love it!

Favorite author: Oh, my gosh! NOT a fair question!!! I’m gonna say Chris Colfer because I’ve been on a Tale of Magic/Land of Stories listening binge for a while now. :)

Favorite animal noise: The sound of my kitty chirping down the hallway when he thinks I’m going to let him into my office to drink out of the water fountain.

Random: I’m still trying to write my story for today’s @gleefanfictionfriday prompt. I started it just last night because I’ve been a crazy busy chipmunk this week, and I thought it was just going to be a short sweet little one-shot. Well, heaven forbid that anything go the way I want. When I stopped in roughly the middle last night to go to bed, I was dangerously near 3k. So, look out when that eventually gets posted today thanks to @jayhawk-writes because she’s amazing.

Tagging: I’ve no idea who’s been tagged/already done this, so I’m just going to tag whomever I want, and you can ignore me if you’d like: @jayhawk-writes @tiggerblu @hkvoyage @lilyvandersteen @klainetkm @iguessimdone29 @grlnxtdr30 and @wendypetersnevergrowsup

#personal #super fun #meme game

[crystalizednight]

All Kinds of Memes!

DTagged by @syntheticpoetry​!!!  Thanks for the tag dearie I love doing these things!!!  Also I’m too lazy to retype all this out so I’m just gon copy and paste it lmao

10 songs meme

Rules: You can usually tell a lot about a person by the type of music they listen to!  Put your playlist on shuffle and list the first 10 songs and then tag 10 people!  No skipping!

1: Qing Xin Yin (The Untamed OST)

2: Living Failures (Bloodborne soundtrack)

3: Wuji 1 hour loop (The Untamed)

4: Killing in the Name- Rage Against the Machine

5: Same as 3 but like a different version XD

6: Sanctuary (Ending)- Hikaru Utada

7: Slave Knight Gael (DS3 soundtrack)

8: Parasite Eve- Bring Me the Horizon

9: A Million Dreams- The Greatest Showman soundtrack

10: Revali/Vah Medoh theme (BOTW soundtrack)

7 albums meme

Rules: Make an image HERE of your top 7 albums, just type in the name and select the alb.  This can be too 7 of all time or this year or whatever you’d like

Disturbed 10 Thousand Fists: Listen I bumped HARD to this when i was a pre teen and I STILL do as an adult.  If I had to chose a fav band, I would prob default to Disturbed, I fuck heavy with them and this album. 

The Greatest Showman: Listen I can sing that entire fucking movie with no shame (But a lot of embarrassment since I don’t even sing to myself)

Dark Souls 3 soundtrack: Call me whatever you want for listening to whole game soundtracks, Idgaf.  I adore the DS3 soundtrack, I default to it whenever I wanna listen to something while drawing or whatever.  It’s so good and I am forever salty I wasn’t able to see the orchestra live.  That’d be a dream come true

Avenged Sevenfold Nightmare: Same as Disturbed, I bumped to this but more like in later teens lmao.  It is such a great album

Evanescence: You tell me what weird kid didn’t listen to this band, you tell me.  As a emo on the inside kid because mom wouldn’t let me be emo outside, I adored them.  I don’t listen to em much but I still have a lot of memories as a youngin with them

Celtic Music: I use it as inspo a lot of the time back when I actually had the ability to write which hasn’t happened in months lmao.  But it is still relaxing to listen to!

Into the Spiderverse soundtrack: I’m not sure if it’s like one artist or multiple for this movie, point is I listen to all the songs on the soundtrack and they BOP

Check in meme

1: How has your day been?

It’s been alright lmao, nothing has really happened.  Woke up a couple hours ago, lit a candle, played with my bearded dragon.  We shall see how the rest of the day goes!

2: What’s the last thing that made you smile?

I saw this pic that, instead of Live Laugh Love, it was Live Laugh Lurk with moth man.  I sent it to my gf and she said we can have that instead of the original :D

3: What’s keeping you entertained these days? *Subtly eyes my blog now full of The Untamed content*

No but really I’ve been binging this show/novel/ other adaptations.  If not that, I’ve actually gotten back into playing piano for the first time in 3 years, which feels so good honestly. 

4: If you’re in some kind of quarantine/self-isolation what do you hope to achieve in this time?

I am not, not really?  I mean I’m unemployeed/job hunting so I guess it’s self isolation?  And I hope to achieve another job lmao.  Had to quite because my old job was tearing me apart.  Wish luck for me to get a call back soon!!

5: Post selfie, if you’re comfortable doing so:

I haven’t brushed my hair so it looks a bit messy but here lmao.  I don’t usually take selfies but like why not ig?

Phone images meme

Homescreen is Wangxian, surprise surprise right?  Thanks to Synthetic for giving me this photo which I adore

My phone lockscreen is my girlfriend, and I don’t think/know if she’d be comfortable with sharing her face like that so I’ll just not lmao.  She’s a cutie though and I love her!

Last song

And a surprise to literally no one, The Untamed

Last photo I saved

Need to keep growing my meme folder :D

To whoever I tag, no need to do it if you don’t wanna!!!  While I’d be interested to see if you do, no pressure, just following the tag 10 people rules!

@ixhadbadxdays​ @kittyreaper​ @ndrogyny​ @wolfie-rood​ @hungry-froxidilian​ @kenndont​ @spookyne​ @bullhorns-and-fairywings​ @rin-a-din​ @ashe-is-here​

#meme game #ask game #get to know you #i wont tag fandoms bc its irrelevent lmao #half of this is the untamed and i don't apologize

[roxymusicandlayers]

Are you a fic writer? If so, what is your writer name I want to check out your works!

Hi Nonnie - Thank you for the question! How sweet of you to ask. I haven’t written much fic at all other than my few Klaine Advent fills for 2019. They’re posted here on my blog (search for: Christmas Cookies). Part 1 is here. That was my first try at writing something. It was more of an experiement for me, and I had a blast. I may give that another try (or I could always finish this story of dueling chefs! 😇).

Having said that, @syntheticpoetry and I are cooking up a super awesome Pocketwatch AU with an inter-dimensional time traveling story that we cannot wait to share with everyone. It’s going to be fantabulous. So more to come on that. 

Thank you for the ask! 🤗💕🦖

#my asks

[gorgxoxus]

Thanks for the tag @kuiinncedes and @20xbetterthanu ❤️❤️

Tag Meme:

Nickname: Jas

Height: 5 foot 4

Hogwarts house: haven’t read or watched Harry Potter lmao

Last thing I googled: reign

Song currently stuck in my head: This is why we can’t have nice things by Taylor Swift

Favourite instrument: guitar

Number of followers: 225 (I think I just witnessed myself lose a follower lmao)

Lucky number: dont have one

Amount of sleep: 8-10 hours

Dream job: author, but honestly everything (or being rich and doing nothing)

Wearing: pjs

Favourite song: home by morgxn

Aesthetic: comfy fashion

Favourite author: Jackie French

Favourite animal noise: cat purring

Random: I have an essay due today that I haven’t started writing lol.

Tagging: @steph-luvs-klaine @esperantoauthor @blog-carmex @porcelain-nightbird @mytrashunicorn @syntheticpoetry and @klainetrashnumberone. (Let’s get to know you Gleewatch peeps).

#my opinions #tag meme

[syntheticpoetry]

The Ghosts That We Knew

See my original post on the origins of this story here!

Summary: Blaine Anderson is no stranger to hospitals and has been volunteering on the pediatric unit of Lima General Hospital for years when Kurt Hummel comes along.  After Blaine is attacked at his school's Sadie Hawkins Dance, he has his best friend Kurt to help him deal with the aftermath. And when Kurt becomes the target of the McKinley football team's bullying campaign, he can count on Blaine to have his back.

AU where Blaine transfers to McKinley instead of Dalton. Set during season 1.A story of two best friends finding courage to face their bullies and discovering love along the way.

Author’s Note: Blaine has a reason he has been in an out of the hospital since childhood that will be revealed, but if you are overly cautious of the level of angst surrounding it I can assure you it's nothing heartbreaking/super serious. It's actually quite common.  I cannot thank @esperantoauthor​ enough for beta reading this for me and really helping me whip it into shape!

AO3 Link || FFN Link

Chapter 1: Of Viral Videos and Disney Princes

The last time that Kurt Hummel remembers being in a hospital, he told his mother that he loved her for the last time.  

That was six years ago.  

As he walks through the lobby, towards the directory by the elevators, he keeps his gaze fixed forward, careful not to spare a glance at the waiting area to his right.  He spent so many months in that waiting room.  Entire seasons, multiple holidays spent watching people receive good news and bad news, with his father stoic and silent beside him as his mother underwent procedure after procedure.  Until it was their turn to be the family that received bad news.  The doctor sounded sincere as he said a lot of big words Kurt could not quite understand at the time, but he understood the look on his father’s face.  He took to studying the ugly designs on the carpet to distract from the tight clench in his father’s jaw, the way he kept himself so still and barely blinked through the entire explanation— Kurt knew, even at eight years old, what it was like to use up all of your willpower to hold yourself together for the sake of someone else.  To this day, he cannot look at paisley print without thinking back to that awful day.

Kurt scans the directory before punching the up button to call the elevator and folds his arms across his chest, tapping his foot as he awaits its arrival.  When he first heard about the volunteer program on the pediatric unit he was naturally hesitant to return to the place that held some of his worst memories.  He had been on the fence about it all summer, torn between the desire to give back to the hospital staff that had gone above and beyond in their attempts to cure his mother’s cancer and wanting to put as much distance as possible between himself and the place where they finally had to say goodbye to each other.

Until he saw that YouTube video.  

A curly-haired boy with big doe eyes and an unwavering grin, guitar in hand, leading a Disney themed sing-along with a group of elementary school age kids.  The warmth that spread through Kurt’s chest was almost overwhelming as he watched the boy march around the room performing Hakuna Matata with the parade of children trailing behind, mimicking him raucously and off-key.  It was the first time Kurt had really smiled in a long time.

So he had decided to look into the program.  Mostly because witnessing the boundless energy of pure joy from each child singing along in that video elicited memories of countless nights of living room performances with his own father, both of them puffy-eyed and exhausted but still managing to find the stamina to sing at the top of their lungs, using the furniture as stage props.  They were two lost souls attempting to cling to each other through tidal waves of insurmountable grief, and those nights together— well, those nights wereeverything to Kurt.  He had never felt closer to his father than when they were both breathless and laughing their way through the most eclectic collection of songs imaginable, hugging each other tightly at the end of each performance.  

And if Kurt happened to run into the boy from the video along the way, well, that would certainly just be an added bonus. Kurt did have eyes after all.  And there was no denying the boy’s natural charm or the air of confidence with which he carried himself.  

Truth be told, entering yet another school year with no friends was beginning to take its toll on Kurt and the possibility of finding camaraderie with a cute boy who seemingly shared similar interests was certainly enticing.

Ding!

The doors slide open before him revealing an empty elevator.  Kurt steps in and presses the button for the fourth floor.  He thinks about that video and jumping on armchairs and couches in his living room with his father for the entire ride up.

***

He has to be buzzed in to enter the unit, which he thinks is strange.  But the woman who greets him, a young nurse with bright green eyes and deep auburn hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, explains it is the protocol for all pediatric units in order to prevent children from wandering away or being kidnapped.  There are security bracelets around each patient’s ankle that trigger an alarm if they are taken past a bright yellow line painted on the floor.

“Who would kidnap sick kids from a hospital?” Kurt asks, looking absolutely horrified.

“You would be surprised at how common it is.  Parents fighting over custody, usually.”

He nods and guesses that makes sense, but the thought is still deeply unsettling.

The hallways are empty as she leads him to a room behind the nurse’s station.  The unit is certainly much different from the one his mother had been on.  The walls are covered in murals of different cartoon characters and scenes from popular storybooks.  While the nurse punches in a code, Kurt studies a painting of Rapunzel in a high stone tower, golden plaited hair strung over the edge of the window for a handsome prince at the bottom. The door buzzes and she holds it open for him.  “I’ll let my supervisor know you’re here.”

Kurt thanks her and takes a seat at one of the tables to wait.  On the far wall he spots a bulletin board covered in an overabundance of overlapping photos, hand-drawn pictures and a variety of cards both homemade and store-bought.  He casts a quick glance towards the door before crossing the room to investigate.  He cannot help but smile as he scans over the collection of memories, reminiscing back to his own pile of hand drawn cards for the staff on the oncology unit.  

Then something catches his eye.  

It’s the curly haired boy from the video.  He’s standing, guitar in hand with the strap over his shoulder, in the center of a group photo, surrounded by children of varying ages and the unit staff.  His outfit is different from the one in the video though.  He’s wearing baggy sweatpants and a printed T-shirt, only the edges of the otherwise obscured design visible from behind the guitar over his torso.  In the video he had certainly seemed more, well, put together, to say the least.  He had worn light grey slacks and a navy polo shirt accented with a white bow tie, which Kurt could not help but notice because he could count on one hand the amount of teenage boys he had ever seen wearing bow ties in the state of Ohio, himself included.  

Kurt wonders how often he comes by to visit and volunteer.  Maybe there is a chance they will be able to meet after all.

The faint beeping of the key code and jiggling of the door handle to his left draws his attention and he turns in time to see an older woman with ashy blonde hair and huge round glasses that take up half of her face walk in.  Her scrub top is printed with different Winnie the Pooh characters.  She smiles and approaches him, extending her hand.  “Hi, you must be Kurt.  I’m Jeannie; we spoke on the phone last week.”

“Oh! Yes,” Kurt shakes her hand.  “Nice to meet you.”

“Shall we?” She gestures to a table and Kurt takes a seat opposite her.  “So we just have to get some paperwork in order and then we can take a little tour around the unit so you can meet the kids.”

“Okay.”

“This is your first time volunteering, right?” She opens a Manila folder and begins rifling through a large stack of papers.

“Yes.”

“What drew you to it?”

Kurt steals a glance towards the bulletin board, lips curling up into a half-smile.  “I heard about it through my school a few months back, but honestly? I spent a lot of time visiting my mom in this hospital when I was a kid and when me and my dad would get home he would always try to cheer me up.  We put on a lot of concerts for my stuffed animals in our living room.  And I mean… like a lot .”  

Her eyes are soft as she listens, a piece of paper held loosely between both hands just inches off of the table, almost forgotten, and gives him an empathetic smile.

“I saw that video of the Disney sing-along online and I just really wanted to be a part of it, helping kids, especially with music, because it’s really helped me through some tough times.”

“Well,” She straightens up and slides the paper across the table towards him, “I think the kids will really love having you around.  Do you play any instruments?”

“Never missed a piano lesson,” Kurt says, grinning.  “But mostly, I love to sing.”

The paperwork consists of a lot of signatures.  Kurt is not to discuss any of the patients or their health conditions with others in order to maintain privacy regulations, not to post anything to social media without permission, and just a lot of general information about the hospital’s protocols such as what to do in the event of emergency scenarios (of which there are many ).  By the end of it, Kurt has a pretty sizable stack of papers to take home with him and a dull cramp in his wrist.  

“I know it seems like a lot of information, but nothing you have to memorise.  You’ll always be with other staff members who will guide you through every step of the way.”

Kurt releases a nervous laugh, “Okay, good.  I can save my highlighters for school work then.”

***

Jeannie leads the way to the playroom which, she explains, is a safe space for all the children on the unit that remains open every day until 7 p.m.  No medications or treatments are allowed to be administered to a child in the playroom, they must be brought out first.  There are about ten kids inside, ranging from toddlers to older teens, all of whom have seemingly gravitated towards splitting into their own little cliques based on ages.  As soon as they enter the room two of the younger kids, a boy and girl no older than three or four, look up from a mountain of blocks and start crying.  Kurt casts an alarmed glance at Jeannie.

“It’s okay, you can keep playing.” Jeannie kneels down and stacks a loose block onto their small tower.  “Everyone, this is Kurt, he’s going to be coming by to help out and spend some time with all of you.” She stands up and backs away from the two toddlers with the blocks to stand beside Kurt again.  

“It’s the uniform,” she says quietly to him.  “Some get scared when they see us come into a room cause it usually means it’s time for medicine or treatments.”

“Hi, Kurt!” A small girl with bronze skin, a round face, and long thick black hair comes over and takes his hand.  “I’m Melanie! You wanna come draw with me?”

She does not wait for an answer before she starts tugging on his hand and walking back towards a small rectangular table covered with construction paper and crayons.  She climbs into one of two plastic blue chairs which are far too tiny for Kurt to fit in, so he sits on the floor beside the table, crossing his legs.  Melanie slides a piece of yellow construction paper towards him and pushes a pile of crayons into the middle for them to share.

“Did you draw all of these?” Kurt picks up a red crayon and starts sketching.

“Yes! My daddy brought my big brother to visit and we draw together,” she says, shading in what looks like a sunflower with a purple crayon.

“They’re very beautiful; I like that one a lot.” Kurt taps the one she is currently working on.  “I’ve never seen a purple sunflower before.”

“I’m gonna invent them one day,” she says matter-of-factly.  Kurt smiles and returns to his sketch of a new outfit design that has been floating around his mind for the past week.  

“Woah!”

Kurt begins to lift his head up to locate where the voice has come from when he spots movement beside his left elbow.  To say the boy is small would be an understatement.  He is tiny .  A pale, skinny little thing dressed in Batman pajamas that look two sizes too big on him.  He has wide, bright blue eyes and is wearing a charcoal grey beanie.  Clutched between his toothpick arms is a stuffed rabbit with drooping ears the size of its entire body.  

“Hello,” Kurt says as the boy leans forward to peer at his drawing.

“You can draw,” the boy says, clutching his rabbit closer.  

“Would you like to draw with us?”

“Can’t draw,” he says.

“Oh, I bet that’s not true,” Kurt says and holds out the crayon to him.  “Everyone can draw.”

The boy looks at the crayon then up to Kurt and shakes his head shyly before raising the bunny up to his chin, hugging it tightly.

“What’s your name?” Kurt asks.

“Jason,” he says quietly.

“Well, would you like to watch me and Melanie draw?”

“I’m really good.” Melanie looks up at him.  “You can sit next to me, I’ll show you.”

Kurt spends the next hour drawing with Melanie while Jason continues to peek curiously between them.  The other kids begin to trickle out of the room, some led by nurses, some by visiting family members.  Pretty soon, only the three of them are left until Jason’s mother comes in to collect him.  Before he leaves, Kurt holds out a piece of paper to him.

“Something tells me you like Batman,” Kurt says as Jason’s eyes widen at the image of a child-sized Batman with bright blue eyes.  “How about next time you can draw me?”

“Okay.” Jason grins, slipping the picture between his stuffed bunny and his chest to hold it there safely.  “But you’re gonna look like a potato.  I really can’t draw.”

It is the most Kurt has heard him speak all afternoon.  Something about the way he talks contradicts the way he looks. Kurt wonders how old he actually is; the boy looks smaller than most five year olds he’s seen but definitely talks like an older child.  Kurt makes a mental note to find out next time.  “Deal.  I can’t wait to see it.”

Jason’s mom gives Kurt a parting smile before she shepherds her son away.  Soon after, Melanie’s nurse comes to collect her as well, leaving only Kurt and Jeannie in the empty playroom.

“That went well,” she says.  “You’re a natural with them.”

Kurt beams back at her, a sense of pride swelling in his chest.  

After his dad comes to pick him up, Kurt spends the entire car ride home filling him in on the events of the day, excluding Jason and Melanie’s names.  He goes to bed that night with his mind already buzzing with activities for the next visit.

***

Kurt starts volunteering two days a week after school and over the course of the next month, he becomes very familiar with some of the regular kids on the unit.  Jason, he discovers, is actually nine years old, has leukemia and is in his final round of chemotherapy by the first week in October.  Melanie has sickle cell anemia and had been hospitalized for something called ‘sickle cell crisis’— she had gone home two weeks after they first met, but Kurt learns that she usually returns frequently for the same problem.  There’s a teenage boy not much older than Kurt is, but taller and skinnier with jet black hair and sad eyes, named Julian who has cystic fibrosis— he usually keeps to himself, oftentimes choosing to sit in the back corner of the playroom and silently watch everyone else.  

The rest have been a whirlwind of faces and names with a variety of issues such as pneumonia, appendicitis, broken bones and asthma attacks.  There have also been quite a few cases of children who have come in with injuries as a result of abuse at home, more so than Kurt would have imagined actually occurred.  He finds trying to interact and engage with those kids to be the most heartbreaking.

Some of the kids are not as keen to warm up to him as others, keeping to themselves or staying with their families while Kurt leads sing-alongs, painting lessons, hosts movie nights, and reads aloud during story time.  He has developed a steady routine in the five weeks since he began volunteering.  So on the Tuesday during the second week of October he waves hello to the security personnel by the front entrance like he usually does.  He rides up the same elevator and is buzzed into the unit by Rosie, the first nurse he met with the auburn hair.  And with his usual wide smile in place, he strolls into the playroom with a new four-pack of Disney themed puzzles under his arm.  

But when he walks in, the kids are already sitting in a circle, staring up at a boy with loosely gelled curls coiffed into a fluffy side part, bright hazel eyes, and a sapphire acoustic guitar perched on his lap. Kurt is caught completely off guard as he realises, Oh god, it’s him! It’s the guy from the video!

He looks shorter in person than Kurt assumed.  In both the photo on the bulletin board and the video his hair was ungelled and wild.  Kurt vividly remembers his dark curls bouncing as he bopped his head along to the music while impersonating Timon and Pumba for the younger kids.  He’s dressed in another carefully selected outfit though— bright red pants, a black polo and a white bow tie with black polka dots on it.  

“Kurt!” A few of them yell excitedly.    

“Ah, so you’re the famous Kurt I’ve been hearing so much about,” The boy with the guitar says, that same unwavering grin already in place.  “Nice to finally meet you, I’m Blaine.”

#the ghosts that we knew #klaine #klaine fic #klaine fanfiction #blaine anderson #kurt hummel #klaine au #friends to lovers #more like idiots to lovers am i right #canon divergent #syntheticpoetry writes #angst with a happy ending #romance #fluff #early klaine #blaine will forever be an oblivious dumbass #sick!fic #glee #glee fic #klaine fanfic #new directions #cooper anderson #burt hummel

[esperantoauthor]

Title: A Night at the Ryerson House Authors: @spookyklaine, @blog-carmex, @esperantoauthor, @justgleekout, @klainetrashnumberone, and @syntheticpoetry Rating: T Summary: The New Directions make a pact to spend the night in the old abandoned Ryerson house in the hopes of being blessed with good luck for Regionals. Will they make it through the night or will their hopes be dashed when they discover they are not alone in the house?

Read it on Ao3

I am incredibly excited to present the results of the first writing collaboration I have ever participated in! This is a “round robin” story which means that each chapter is written by a different author, continuing the story from where the previous author left off. Everyone took a turn writing a chapter and then I persuaded @spookyklaine to co-write the ending with me. I think we were all surprised to see where the story went and I hope you will be too! It will range from cute and fluffy to legitimately spooky.

This was such a fun adventure and I’m so grateful that so many of my gleewatch tumblr pals were game to come along on the ride with me. If you have ever thought about organizing something like this, I highly recommend it! It sure seems like everyone had a ton of fun. Also feel free to DM me if you have questions about exactly how we structured/organized this.

🌟 Special thank you 🌟 to @mytrashunicorn who was our cheerleader throughout this process, leaving comments and suggestions on the draft.

🚨 Content Warnings 🚨: mentions of blood, mentions of dead bodies, mentions of ghosts/haunting, creepy dolls, general spooky vibes. There is nothing graphic but it definitely gets legitimately creepy at points.

#halloween #halloween fanfiction #haunted house #scary story #frankenfic #round robin story #round robin halloween story #a night at the ryerson house #happy halloween #gleewatch #gleewatch writes a fic #klaine fanfiction #klaine #new directions #warblers

[todaydreambelieversfic]

Author Spotlight: Justgleekout Day 4

Author Spotlight: @justgleekout​

What other Glee Fandom authors do you enjoy? Can you recommend some of your favorite fics?

oh there are so many authors I admire and enjoy! 

my favourite author is probably flaming_muse! she writes the BEST reaction fics. I can go on and on about this for days, but reading her fics is like reading the books after only having seen the film. They explain all Kurt and Blaine's actions so well and they give so much more depth to the story glee has ever given us. I highly recommend reading them maybe during a rewatch. :)

my all time favourite fic is probably "Glowing in the Dark" by xxxraquelita on FF.net a blind!Blaine au that is SO well written, It is funny and sweet and emotional and just beautiful! It was one of the first multi-chapters I ever read and it's the reason I started loving fic so much. I do believe it's their only klaine story though.

some other honorable mentions are espreantoauthor (her fic express yourself blew my mind), blurglesmurfklaine who I have the privilege of making art for! Wonderful person who writes wonderful stories! beautifulunseen (who I also got to make art for! I feel blessed!), syntheticpoetry, spaceorphan and darriness are also really fucking great as well! And god I appreciate every writing soul in this fandom because you guys are all so amazing omg! <3333

***

Flaming Muse’s Fics

"Glowing in the Dark" by xxxraquelita

Esperantoauthor’s Fics

Blurglesmurfklaine’s Fics

Beautifulunseen’s Fic

Syntheticpoetry’s Fic

Spaceorphan’s Fic

Darriness’s Fics

#author spotlight: justlgeekout

[little-escapist]

Rules: Tag 9 people who you want to know better/catch up with and then answer these questions.

Thanks for tagging me @syntheticpoetry :D

3 Ships:

1) Klaine. I guess this is a no-brainer, looking at my works in AO3...

2) Aragorn/Arwen. I have to give it to my first ever otp, yeah? This is where I started my fanfiction writing 14 years ago.

3) Wincest. Feel free to hate me. Supernatural sucked me in and those two have something different going on. I could write an essay, but this isn’t the place.

Last Movie: Isn’t It Romantic? (That was FUN. I loved it. Rebel Wilson is great.)

Currently Reading: Risto Isomäki - Viiden meren kansa. Also a bunch of fanfics, all the time.

Currently Watching: Rewatching Arrow atm

Currently Craving: Chocolate. Always.

Tagging: @steph-luvs-klaine @byebyeblainey @damnprecious @lilyvandersteen

#tagged #about me #this was fun

[ao3feed-kurthummel]

Flow A River Forth To Me

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/32OM9oo

by syntheticpoetry

Eight months after their break-up, Kurt returns to Lima when Blaine's father dies.

Words: 1867, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Glee

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel

Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Klaine reunion, i know it's at a funeral, but there's still some fluff, and i love writing kurt as the strong one in this relationship, Forgiveness, fearlessly and forever

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/32OM9oo This is an automatic feed of all new stories posted to the Kurt Hummel tag on AO3. Because of that, it is not guaranteed that Kurt is the main character in the story. There is also no judgment made as to ships, length, or warnings. Please verify content upon clicking through to AO3.

#ao3feed #fanfic #ao3 #kurt hummel

[teddyshoney]

Pandemic Mental Health Check In

Pandemic Mental Health Check In

Thanks for the tag @gleefulpoppet!

It’s been just over seven months since my state started quarantine and other Covid measures.

How is everyone holding up?

We’re doing okay, I think. I’m a natural introvert, so going out was never a big deal to me. I like staying home, especially since I started having daily pain a year ago. So, in some ways, not having to go out unless I need to has been nice. Obviously, I’m not a fan of the circumstances this has happened under, but it’s not having a significant impact on my mental health; I’m acclimating well.

What are you doing to keep healthy?

On the rare occasions that we do go out, I wear a mask. Our grocery stores have a great grocery pick-up option that we’ve been able to utilize, so that’s been really nice. We have a large, fenced in backyard for our dogs, so whenever I need to get outside, I go out on the deck or walk around the backyard.

Are you working, not working, working from home?

It’s kinda funny actually. We just moved here a few weeks before Christmas last year, so in February my husband and I were having the conversation about whether or not I should look for a traditional job. We decided that I could try self-employment, so I’d just set myself up as a freelance editor right before quarantine. For the most part, I’ve been able to stay busy, but there have been a few times when there have been far fewer jobs than I’d like to see.

Anyone caring for kids or elders?

Nope. We don’t have kids yet, and we don’t know anyone here where I am as all of our family is 9-12 hours away. But we have three dogs and three cats, so I keep plenty busy looking after them as well as my husband and myself on my flare days.

What was your best/worst day?

Well, I feel like, for the most part, I’ve been fairly productive during quarantine. @jayhawk-writes and I started a fanfic series in December 2019, and on Friday, I’ll be posting the first installment in our 11th fic. I think we’ll definitely reach over 500k by the end of 2020. I’ve also self-published two books during quarantine, and I’ve had a steady stream of editing jobs. But I’ve also had a lot of pain days that have made it impossible to do things I love and enjoy. Those have definitely been the lowest parts of my year.

What inspires you?

Well, Klaine for sure. I don’t know what I’d do without those boys and the crazy inspiration I’ve gotten from them to write 68 (!!!) plus stories. Also, @jayhawk-writes. We talk every day, and she keeps me going, even when I feel like everything I’m doing is crap.

Are you taking up hobbies?

Well, I don’t know if writing can really be considered a hobby for me anymore, but I’ve done so much of that in the last seven months, both original and fanfic. I’ve started trying to learn how to draw better recently, so that’s been fun. And I’ve binged several TV shows since March, something I’ve always enjoyed. I’m currently fiddling with the idea of maybe trying to write a screenplay someday or a stage musical. We’ll see what comes out of that, but I’m trying to hone some skills. Oh, and right now I’m Christmas crafting, which I love!

What kind of content helps keep the joy on your dash?

Klaine for sure. All day, every day. Writing stuff. Anything from prompts to advice to “Writer’s life” type quotes. Those are my bread and butter. And, positive affirmations. I need those more and more, especially on my flare days when I’m pretty much only good for sitting and staring at the wall.

Has life gone back to “normal” where you are?

For the most part, I would have to say yes. I know that schools are open though most are, thankfully, doing hybrid. Everywhere requires masks, and I don’t think theaters are open yet. But I’m not sure because I’m not really going out. I have the feeling that the amount of openness will likely change as we head further into the winter months.

What are you doing for fun?

Writing. Writing all day and then writing some more. Watching shows when I feel like it. Drawing when I feel like it. Talking to @jayhawk-writes. Singing at the top of my lungs and dancing like a maniac when my body feels good enough. Playing my flute again. And the piano. And trying to teach myself guitar when my fingers are working properly.

Tagging: @jayhawk-writes @tiggerblu @imdone29 @syntheticpoetry @hkvoyage @lilyvandersteen @wendypetersnevergrowsup @gorgxoxus @klainetkm @grlnxtdr30

[syntheticpoetry]

Constellations

Summary: When the text comes in from Tina, Kurt can hardly believe what he is reading. When Blaine doesn't respond to his messages he thinks his heart may actually stop beating. AO3 link || FFN Link

Author’s Note: I was watching Shooting Star and overcome with a million emotions, mostly having to do with the fact that we don't get ANY conversation or scene with the NYC gang during this insanely emotional episode. So this is my take on it. A little bit of canon, but a little divergence for the Klaine scene I desperately wanted to see as well as Kurt, Santana, and Rachel’s reactions. I promise there is a happy ending in this through the rollercoaster of emotions that is Blaine's mind during this absolutely horrifying ordeal. Big thanks to @roxymusicandlayers for beta reading this for me!

“And I am lost, so lost, but you’re the constellations that guide me.”

_________________________________________________________

“Alright guys, start texting and tweeting, whatever social media you use.  Let everyone know what’s going on here.  But don’t say where we are, shooters have smartphones too.” 

Blaine hears Mr. Schue’s urgent whisper as though he is underwater.  The words sound muffled and heavy with the depth of the room’s collective terror embedded into every upturned syllable.  Despite his best effort to keep the hysteria at bay, they know he is just as frightened as they are.  Blaine bites his lip and remains so still that every muscle starts to quiver, threatening to give way.  The burn feels familiar, like the ache he gets from lifting weights in the gym with Sam, and he pushes through the pain as though it is just one more rep away before they can finally rest.  

Any slight movement will betray his feigned composure and he knows the domino effect of his breakdown will begin.  Around him the gentle, frantic padding of fingers against glass echoes around the room like a discordant symphony of additional gunshots.  He knows they are not as loud as they actually sound in his head.  But the panic in his chest still swells.  He hugs his knees tighter.  The small movement is enough to send the first wave of tears down his cheeks.  He bites his lip harder and tries to focus on the pain of teeth against flesh instead. 

‘I should do what they’re doing.  Pick up your phone.  Keep it together.’

“Blaine, it’s okay.  It’s going to be okay,” Sam reaches a hand out and the touch of his fingers against Blaine’s forearm sends thunderbolts up his spine.  “Where’s your phone?” 

Blaine opens his mouth to speak and instead gasps loudly, the breath shuddering on the sharp intake of air.  He claps a hand over his mouth and squints his eyes shut as more tears come.  His mistake was moving at all.  Statues never cry.  He stretches out one leg and wrenches the phone from his pocket to see it at 1% battery.  With one hand pressed firmly against quivering lips, the muffled whisper comes convulsing out in staccato bursts.   “It’s— it’s almost— d-d—” 

He can’t bring himself to say the word dead.  As though breathing life into it will somehow fulfill some unspoken prophecy, and he is bound to doom them all by simply uttering it.  Sam squeezes his arm and whispers back, “Do you want to text anyone with my phone?” 

Blaine nods frantically when his phone screen finally turns to black.  He gingerly places it on the ground in what feels like slow motion, taking extreme care not to make a sound, and extends his hand out to Sam.  He thinks back to Mr. Schue’s garbled words and wonders if they really are underwater.  

“I can’t get in touch with my mom,” The subdued sound of Marley’s panicked sobbing ricochets off of the walls. “She won’t respond!  What if she— there’s no back way out of the kitchen!” 

While Kitty and Jacob whisper empty reassurances Blaine stares at Sam’s phone in his hand like it is a foreign object.  He knows what he is supposed to do with it, but the phone numbers in his mind are written in invisible ink.  

‘I can’t even remember my parents’ phone numbers.  Oh god, what if we die in here.  What if I never see them or Cooper or Kurt—”

A flash of hands clasped tight, buried deep into a mattress fills his vision.  The breathy whisper of his own name makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.  His trembling thumbs begin to fly seamlessly over the keypad and he has never been so thankful for autocorrect before.  Just as he hits send the dull pounding sound of running footsteps in the hall crescendos until—

Rattle! Rattle! Rattle!

The jittering of the door handle makes them all collectively jump as though this is just another lesson in synchronisation for their next competition.  Blaine’s heart slithers its way into his throat, and he drops the phone.  It slides away from him and bumps into Sam’s ankle.  Sam’s leg jerks and sends it careening across the floor of the choir room where it settles underneath the piano.  The entire scene is something straight out of a shitty comedy movie that feels completely unbelievable, like the chances of something like this happening are one in a million.  The irony of the realm of impossibilies reaching its peak today is not lost on him.  The entire room stills.  Blaine wishes that stupid ticking of the metronome in the center of the room would. Just. Stop.  It feels like a countdown.  

Smash!

Blaine jumps again and presses his hand harder to his mouth to suppress the sound that begs for escape.  He hugs his knees closer to his chest in a one-armed embrace and tries to will the demon perched on his shoulder whispering unpleasantries to vanish.   The burn settles in again.  Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Artie struggling to sit himself up against the cabinets.  He wants to move, wants to help him; but when he tries to unhook his arm from his knees, nothing happens.  He continues spectating as Sam begins lifting Artie up by his shirt until he’s sitting comfortably upright.  Then he witnesses the moment of pure panic in his best friend’s eyes right before Sam hisses frantically to Mr. Schue, “Brittany doesn’t have her phone, she’s in the bathroom! She’s all alone!” 

___________________________________________________

“Oh honey, no goddamn way!” Kurt snatches the remote back from Rachel.  “Santana and I were here first, you don’t just get to come in and throw a hissy fit about having a bad day so you can put on whatever you want.  How do you know we didn’t have a bad day too?” 

Santana averts her attention from the television to watch them instead, positively beaming.  Their fights are honestly her favourite thing to watch.  Always far more entertaining than whatever trashy reality shows she and Kurt had been immersing themselves in lately.  Today it had been a marathon of the first season of Rock of Love. 

“Well, considering you’re both in the exact same spot I left you in this morning I seriously doubt it,” Rachel huffs loudly and sinks down into a creaky wicker chair, arms folded tightly across her chest.  Kurt rolls his eyes at her and changes the channel back before the gentle buzzing of his phone across the coffee table distracts him from Rachel’s moodiness. 

“Go make some popcorn and I’ll let you vent— oh,” Kurt stares down at his phone.  

“What?” Rachel lowers her arms, keeping them folded across her stomach still, and exchanges her scowl for curiosity. 

“Sam texted me, he usually never…” The rest of his sentence trails off once he opens the message, leaving them to stare.  He loosens his grip and drops his hands against his thighs, the phone resting precariously on his open palms.  After the fourth quick scan of the text the message still does not seem to sink in. 

Sam 12:36 p.m. I love you so much and I’m so sorry about everything that happened I’m so glad I got to see you at the wedding you’re amazing and deserve everything in the world I’m so proud of you don’t ever settle for anyone less than perfect because that’s exactly what you are 

‘This can’t be for me.’

“Kurt, what is it? What’s wrong?” Rachel leans over, her palms on her knees now, her brows furrowed in concern. 

“What’s Trouty mouth saying?” Santana snatches the phone from him.  He does not even protest her invasion of privacy, his brain is too busy slicing through the fog to decrypt the reasoning behind the message.  She frowns and looks between the screen and Kurt a few times.  “Did I miss the part when you and Sam got together? No way my gaydar is that far off.”

“There’s no way that’s for me.  He obviously meant to send it to someone else.  Do you think he meant it for Mercedes?” Kurt plucks the phone back from her hands to reread the message before typing out a reply. 

Kurt 12:44 p.m. I don’t think you meant this for me? 

“What did it say?” Rachel pipes up and cranes her neck to try to read over Kurt’s shoulder.  Kurt tilts the phone to show her.  “Ooooh, wait did something happen between them at the wedding? Wasn’t he there with Brittany then though?” Kurt shrugs and scrolls through his contacts until he lands on Mercedes’ name. 

Kurt 12:50 p.m. Okay maybe random question but is there something going on with you and Sam again? I got the weirdest message from him just now 

Mercedes 12:55 p.m. ???? What did he say? 

Kurt takes a screenshot of the message and forwards it to her. 

Mercedes 1:00 p.m. Omg nope nothing happened with us at the wedding.  Maybe he meant to send it to Brittany? Has he not replied? 

Kurt 1:02 p.m. Nope

Tina’s name flashes across the top of his screen in a drop down banner and he taps on it.  “Oh my god.”  The words come out small and frightened as he reads the message.  “Tina just said—”

“She just texted me too,” Santana replies in an eerily despondent voice that Kurt has never heard her speak in before.  It suddenly makes the situation feel ten times more real.  For once, she’s silent as she stares down at her own phone, frantically typing out a text.

“Me too,” Rachel whispers.  “Oh my god, do you think everyone is okay?” She stands and crosses the room, pacing by the window as she rereads the text over and over again.  “Kurt, have you heard from Blaine?”

‘Blaine.’

Kurt cannot find the words to respond to her as he taps on his favourites list.  Blaine’s name is still at the very top.  He had told himself he had never gotten the chance to adjust the list and remove him after their breakup.  Really, he never had the heart to erase his name.  The sight of it now makes his throat constrict.  He tries to speak but no sound comes out.  

“Brittany isn’t texting me back.  Neither is Sam,” Santana borders on hysterical as she grips her phone between her hands like it is her only lifeline.  Kurt mimics her action as he composes a text to Blaine. 

Kurt 1:10 p.m. Tina texted me are you ok

“Has anyone heard anything from anyone else?” Rachel asks.  Neither of them respond. 

Kurt cannot look away from Blaine’s name.  The feeling washes over him suddenly and intensely, dragging his logical mind into the riptide of superstitious terror as he recites the name silently like a mantra.  If he looks away, he might lose him forever.  It doesn’t make any sense to think that way.  He knows it.  But it provides some tiny semblance of comfort and control as he tethers himself to it and waits for a response.  Two long minutes pass by and still nothing comes. Tina’s name and phone number fills the screen, swallowing Blaine’s name, and he finally finds his voice, the words frantic and choppy as he taps multiple times to decline the call, “Someone call Tina, she’s calling me.  Someone call her so she stops calling me!” 

The sight of Blaine’s name again anchors him down once more and the rest becomes background noise. 

'Please be okay.  Please be okay.  I’m never saying goodbye to you, you idiot.  Just text me back.  Please.’

__________________________________________________________

“Mr. Schue, I have to get to her! I have to make sure she’s okay!” 

Blaine watches, horrorstuck, as Mr. Shue and coach Beiste struggle to restrain Sam.  He is thrashing wildly in their arms, his quivering voice crescendoing past the panicked whispers that everyone else has adapted.  It isn’t until coach Beiste whispers something in his ear that Blaine cannot hear, and Sam locks eyes with him that he finally settles down.  Blaine exhales sharply, lungs blazing and heart thudding at the base of his throat, and realizes he must have been holding his breath at some point.  Sam slinks back over to their corner and sits beside Artie, his head hanging down in defeat.  Blaine tries to parrot back the same empty promises Sam had whispered earlier, wants to tell him everything will be okay even though he is not quite sure if he believes it himself, but nothing comes out.  

“Maybe she’s with Tina,” Artie whispers hopefully to Sam.  “Maybe she isn’t alone.”

Blaine takes note of Artie’s lack of confidence and how he is careful not to speak in absolutes.  But maybe he is right.  He thinks about the word maybe in the context of his life.  Maybe Kurt did not want to admit how much their hookup at the wedding had meant.  Maybe he and Kurt really are back together.  Maybe Kurt still loves him.  Maybe he will see him again when this entire ordeal is finally over with.  ‘Maybe’ starts to feel like a pretty good word the more he thinks about it.  ‘Maybe’ feels like hope.  ‘Maybe’ feels like a second chance.  

The sound of a door opening breaks through Blaine’s inner dissection of the word, and he looks over just in time to see Mr. Schue skulking out of the door.  It reminds Blaine of one of Finn’s video games about spies and stealth.  Maybe they will get another chance to play it together after this.  He clings to that and tries to focus on the upcoming Friday night dinner with him, Burt and Carole as Marley’s sobbing continues to grow louder.  Her gasps for air further enforces his previous belief.  Maybe they really are underwater. 

It isn’t long before the choir room door opens again and a collection of cheerleaders rushes in followed by Mr. Schue.  Blaine watches Sam vault off of the cabinets like a spring loaded toy to pull Brittany into his arms.  She has never looked so terrified before.  But there is no sign of Tina amongst the red and white uniforms.  Blaine forgets about the maybe’s floating around his brain like buoys at sea and feels like he is drowning again.  He twists his head away and stares down pathetically at the blank screen of his cellphone, willing it to magically come alive.  

‘How could I have forgotten to charge it? I used to lecture Kurt about this all the time.’

Maybe it is a sign.  Maybe it is a metaphor of sorts.

He does not know when Artie began recording them with his phone, but the start of Marley’s hiccuped confession fills his lungs with water again.  “In the bottom of my desk drawer,” She breaks off to compose herself.  The volume of her crying sends off alarm bells in Blaine’s head and he tunes out the rest of her message.  He looks towards the hastily strewn barricade against the door.  Maybe it will prove to be sturdy, but it does not feel like enough.  The continued tapping of fingers against glass screens fills in the gaps of silence between the metronome and scattered crying when Artie pans the camera onto Blaine.  It feels like a slow dance towards a death sentence.  Maybe the rhythmic ticking really is a countdown. 

“Blaine, do you want to say anything to anyone?” 

He drops his face down into his knees.  Maybe he should take the opportunity to leave behind one tiny fragment of his life before he becomes another forgotten statistic.  But Artie has already redirected the phone towards Sam and Brittany when Blaine looks up again.  Maybe he has missed his chance.  ‘Maybe’ starts to feel like a cursed word now.  Like something sinister and evil and concrete.  Maybe he has inflated the word with too much hope causing some sort of rebound effect.  Maybe—

“All clear!” 

The words break through the hurricane in the choir room and suddenly everyone is getting to their feet except Blaine, who still feels sluggish and dazed.  Sam and Brittany approach him and hold out their hands.  He stares at their open palms, trembling and sweaty, and his body acts before his brain does to grasp them.  They lift him up like he is made of helium despite the lead shackles he envisions around his ankles.  He becomes aware of Sam’s arms around him and shakes away the anchors in his own arms to return the embrace.  The burn is still there, leaving his muscles fatigued and weak, but he cannot bring himself to let go now that he has latched on.  

“It’s okay, it’s okay.  See? We’re okay,” Sam whispers against his ear before Blaine realizes why he is taking such extra care to console him.  The sound of his own sobbing, punctuated by rattling intakes of air, reminds him why he tried to remain so still at the start of all of this.  He buries his face deep in Sam’s neck to muffle the sound and feels the addition of Brittany’s slender arms around both of them, leaving him sandwiched in between.  The shuffling sound of footsteps towards the door leads to the eventual end of the embrace and Sam jogs over to the piano, crouching down to retrieve his phone before they join hands and follow everyone else on the way to the parking lot.  

“Blaine, I have a charger in my car.” Sam says as he raises his phone to his ear.  Brittany slips her hand away from Blaine and he hears her whimpering Santana’s name before seeing she has also pulled out her phone.  Blaine laces his fingers with Sam and clings tightly as they weave their way through the crowd towards Sam’s car.  “Mom, hey I’m okay.  We’re okay.  We’re outside now— please don’t cry, I promise I’m okay.” 

When Sam finally pulls his hand free, Blaine thinks he might just float away.  It takes Sam only a few seconds to wrench open the car door and jam his key into the ignition.  “Blaine, here— Wait, Kurt’s calling my phone.  Mom, let me take this, and I’ll call you right back? Blaine’s phone died, he has no way to— yes, I’ll be right home as soon as I can.  I love you too.” 

Blaine’s fingers are numb by the time Sam has pressed the phone into his hand.  Kurt’s frantic, breathless voice breathes life into them, and he curls them tightly around the device just before it is about to fall.  “Sam! Brittany called Santana and said you guys made it out.  I can’t get in touch with Blaine, is he—”

“It’s me,” Blaine exhales and the volume of Kurt’s sob makes his knees shake.  He leans against the car door but slides down it as Kurt continues to cry loudly in his ear.  

“Why weren’t you answering me?” Kurt sputters out, his voice traversing the length of his entire vocal range like a warmup. 

“My phone died, that’s why I texted you with Sam’s—”

“You didn’t say it was you!” Kurt’s voice rises three octaves.  Blaine presses the phone closer to his ear like it will actually close any of the distance between them.  “I thought it was a mistake! I thought it was Sam! Why didn’t either of you get back to me on— Blaine, are you crying or laughing?” 

“Both, I think,” Blaine responds airily between watery laughter.  In the timespan of less than two hours he feels as though he has mastered every element associated with human emotion.  The fire in his lungs has been reduced to embers as Kurt’s voice continues to blanket him.  The laughter should feel inappropriate, but it feels like letting go.  It feels like a release.  He finally feels grounded.  “The stupid phone— it was insane— I dropped it and Sam kicked it under the piano— if you saw it— I’m sorry, I don’t know why I can’t stop laughing, but it just feels so good to hear your voice again.  I thought I was never going to hear it again or see you or—”

“Don’t you ever, ever, write a message to me like that again!” Kurt interrupts his rambling and suddenly the laughter becomes lodged in his throat.  Maybe he had been wrong to assume all of those ideas about them earlier.  Maybe Kurt’s next few words will feel like an actual gunshot wound.  

“Kurt, I’m sorry, I thought—”

“I told you I’m never saying goodbye to you,” Kurt parades through his apology, trying to sound bold and certain.  Blaine can see the hairline cracks in the foundation as Kurt wavers through the next command.  “Don’t you ever try to say goodbye to me like that again, do you understand me?” 

“Understood,” He replies with the remnants of his previous laughter, the solitary sound coming out strangled and relieved all at once.  “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“You’re sorry you—” The way he says it sends shivers down Blaine’s spine.  It is the same breathy exhale that had been reserved for their night in the hotel as their hands sank deeper and deeper into the mattress.  “Blaine, you must have been fucking terrified, how can you focus on me?” 

“Because I love you,” Blaine says simply.  For once there is no anxiety or fear to cage the confession.  It flies freely over the soundwaves and he does not worry about the reply because he already knows the response without Kurt having to say it.  But Kurt says it anyways. 

“I love you too.” 

‘Maybe’ starts to feel like a second chance again.  ‘Maybe’ feels like a promise. 

#klaine #klaine fic #blaine anderson #kurt hummel #glee #glee fic #shooting star #S4E18 #constellations #new directions #sam evans #Blam #brittany s. pierce #artie abrams #school shooting drill #angsty but with a happy ending #klaine romance #oneshot #syntheticpoetry writes #roxymusicandlayers #klaine hurt/comfort