Sunday drabbles vol. 2
Angsty angst today :)
The first one was written before episode 3.05, but I'm putting it here anyway :)
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SPILLED COFFEEBlaine doesn’t even LIKE this guy. He’s too thin and bony, too tall, his features too sharp. Totally not Blaine’s type. Obviously, because Blaine’s type has been very particular these last months and there’s no way anyone but Kurt could be, well, Kurt.
But Sebastian is such an interesting company. He’s lived in so many different, foreign places, places that Blaine wants to see one day, when he’s older and financially independent and able to travel to his heart’s content. And he talks about all this so nonchalantly, dropping in names and cities and facts like it was the most common thing, Blaine hanging on his every word. It’s not that he’s interested in HIM - just in his personality and what he says and…
And okay, he feels flattered that such a worldly boy, experienced in all types of things - really, ALL types - is so NICE to him, so flattering and interested. All the compliments, the bold flirting, the open suggestions what he’d want to do with him, in private - it’s all playing on Blaine’s weak spots, boosting his self-esteem, and he feels a little high on it all, a little like drunk. Because as much as Kurt tells Blaine every day how amazing he is, how perfect, and as much as Blaine believes in what he hears and what he sees in his eyes, Kurt doesn’t really have much to compare to. Whereas Sebastian… well, he’s experienced and he’s been with many boys - men - if he’s telling the truth, and he sounds like he is, so he KNOWS the difference. And if after all this he’s still saying that Blaine is special, well, then there must be something to it, right?
It’s not that Blaine is interested in Sebastian. There’s no way he would take him up on his offers. He would never - NEVER - do anything do ruin what he has with Kurt. He really cares about Kurt. He LOVES him. So no, he’s just sitting there, in Lima Bean, with Sebastian, talking, because it’s an interesting conversation, and he’s waiting for Kurt who’s running late. And Sebastian is openly flirting again, and it’s a nice feeling, making Blaine blush a little and flutter his eyelashes coyly, because he’s never really had that. So he’s laughing and a little dazed, and Sebastian puts a hand on his, looking him deep in the eyes and trying - yet again - to convince him to spend a night together, no strings attached, when they hear a thump and a splash, and then fast footsteps, heading away in a run.
Sebastian, who’s facing the part of the coffeeshop near the counter, laughs and shakes his head, so Blaine turns to see what’s happening. The first thing he sees is a coffee cup on the floor, its contents spilled in a growing puddle in the middle of the shop. The second is the closing door, a familiar figure disappearing behind them in a run.
He’s up in a heartbeart, racing towards the door, throwing them open, flying onto the parking lot. But he’s too late. The well-known Navigator is already gone with a squeal of tires. Kurt’s shattered face is just a glimpse through the window before it disappears.
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AN EMPTY HOUSEKurt spins around and all he can see is emptiness.
Their house, their home, so tastefully furnished, every room carefully planned, all the color schemes matching and beautiful, chosen specifically to fit each place, create the mood. Their perfect little place, arranged with so much love. The open spaces and big windows to let in as much light as possible. The huge, comfortable bed where they could get lost and find each other again. The bathroom, decadently fitted with a huge bathtub, where they spent many evenings with bubble baths and wine and love. The fireplace with a thick, plushy rug in front of it. The kitchen, filled with the first grayish pink light of dawn now, and the memories of many sleepy, lazy mornings and happy afternoons.
It’s all beautiful, perfect and still. Empty. So empty without the one thing that makes it all alive and fills it with reason and sense and love.
Without Blaine there.
The closet door are still open where he was throwing clothes into the suitcase just hours ago. His shelf in the bathroom is empty, its contents slid haphazardly right into a bag. The bed is cold and uninviting, and Kurt can’t imagine ever lying there again. Blaine’s final words still seem to echo in the living room, followed by the final slam of the door at exactly 4:02 am.
Fine. If you want it this way, congratulations. You’ve finally done it. I’m out.
And Kurt doesn’t blame him. How could he, when he knows the last sixteen months of living with him must have been hell for Blaine, who was forced to witness the slow slide of his beloved husband from happy, fabulous, in control, to… to this.
Kurt’s one mistake and then spiraling down, faster and faster, out of control. The misery, the arguments, alcohol and silent days, the way he’d stopped caring, unhappiness turning into depression so silently neither of them noticed. Kurt’s refusal to seek help, to admit he needed help, to accept Blaine’s attempts to do something, anything to help. His shutting everyone out, exploding without a reason, denying he could still be loved, cared for, wanted. Blaming everyone, constantly. All this anger flaring out.
Because if he stopped for a second, all this anger, blame, guilt, hatred - all of this would get directed at him. Where it belonged. And he wasn’t ready. God, he wasn’t ready to face all the destruction he caused and accept the consequences, and start cleaning it up. Rebuilding. Hoping for more, for better that he didn’t deserve.
But tonight he crossed a line. In a mad attack of self-hatred, he achieved what he deserved. He cut the last lifeline he had, the hand that has been stubbornly holding his head over the waves all this time, never wavering, never letting go. He managed to shove it away with one cruelest cut.
I don’t want you anymore. I don’t love you anymore. Go. Get out of my life.
Kurt shudders at the obvious lie he’s been telling, even to himself. He’s never needed his husband more, never loved him more desperately and hoped with the last stubborn tendrils of hope that he’d never, ever be left behind. In spite of everything. In spite of what he’s become.
But it’s better this way. Nothing holds him anymore. No one will argue with his inspired monologues about death. No one will care if he drinks himself into stupor every night. Nobody will take the razor out of his hand while he’s admiring its gleaming beauty, sitting in a bathtub full of warm water, contemplating just how much courage he doesn’t have. No one will force him to get help and fight for himself when he has no more strength to try.
The house stands silent and still around him. The place where they were supposed to be happy forever. That was going to sound with laughter and little footsteps in a couple of years, when they’re financially stable. Where they could just be. Their perfect little oasis. Guess it was just another dream, killed like so many others by Kurt’s own hand.
There’s a quiet sound behind him and Kurt turns, more out of instinct than any actual curiosity, and his breath stops. The front door are open and their overgrown little garden in the background frames Blaine’s slender form in the doorway, his pink suitcase by his leg, his eyes red and broken, but his lips thin, determined. Blaine’s beautiful face shows his exhaustion and his voice is raw as if he screamed for hours.
“I won’t let you do this Kurt. To me, to yourself. To us. I love you. You’re not gonna change it. Just deal with it. Because I’m not going anywhere. And I refuse to let you punish yourself forever. Enough, Kurt. Not anymore. I’m here to stay and we’re going to get out of this together. Even if I have to force you to get help, I will.”
The kitchen window to Kurt’s right shines with the first ray of sunshine and the house isn’t empty anymore. Slowly, stubbornly, it’s coming back to life.
[If you wonder what was the one mistake that Kurt made - I don’t know. He might have lost his dream job. He might have caused an accident. He might have hurt someone unthinkingly. He might have not been where he was needed - maybe when his dad died? It doesn’t matter. What matters is that he feels guilty and blames himself.]
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IF"Don't you ever wonder what it would have been like?"
Blaine blinks, shaken out of his sated, post-orgasmic, not-quite-napping-yet state.
“Hm?”
They are lying in Blaine’s bed, alone in his house for the weekend, eagerly using the time and place they so rarely have to practice, to feel skin on skin again, to try more, go further, fall into each other without fear or shame or reservations. Every time new and breathtaking, every touch and kiss electrifying, every second together precious.
Kurt presses a chaste kiss to Blaine’s shoulder, cuddles closer.
“If we’d never met on that staircase. If I hadn’t come to spy on the Warblers that day, or if you hadn’t talked to me afterwards. I wonder sometimes.”
Blaine answers without a second of hesitation, calmly and confidently.
“I’d probably be dead by now.”
There’s a gasp and Kurt stiffens by his side, his eyes wide and face paler than ever.
“What?”
“I was a mess when you met me. You didn’t know?”
“Of course not! You seemed the most collected, confident person I… Oh my god, but why, Blaine?”
Kurt’s sitting now, cross-legged, half-covered by the aqua-blue sheet that matches his eyes so well. Anxiety on his face hurts, makes Blaine want to kiss it off. He just takes Kurt’s soft, warm hand instead.
“I was thinking about it. About taking my life. I was thinking about it so much it stopped being scary and unthinkable and became something normal, something to look forward to, a way out I could always count on.”
“But…”
“Why?” Blaine guesses.
“Yes.” Kurt squeezes his hand tightly, as if afraid he’ll disappear the minute he lets go.
“I had nothing to live for. I know it was stupid, I get it - now I do. There was always the future, the chance it would all get better, but then… It wasn’t enough then, not in the black hole I was in. I know I put up a good front, but underneath… Underneath it was bad. So bad, Kurt. My parents didn’t accept me, didn’t care. They were never there. I was popular and well-liked at Dalton, but it wasn’t me. Everyone liked this persona, the image I created, but no one really knew me. I had no real friends, nobody to really, honestly talk to. I was so tired of pretending, of loneliness and guilt… I ran, I was running all along - from myself, from the bullies, the reality. I believed it was the only thing I could do well. So I was going to run again, for good this time. And then I met you.”
Two tears slide slowly down Kurt’s face and Blaine reaches to dry them, gently, lovingly. Kurt whispers, awed.
“So I was not the only one who was saved that day…”
The first one was written before episode 3.05, but I'm putting it here anyway :)
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SPILLED COFFEEBlaine doesn’t even LIKE this guy. He’s too thin and bony, too tall, his features too sharp. Totally not Blaine’s type. Obviously, because Blaine’s type has been very particular these last months and there’s no way anyone but Kurt could be, well, Kurt.
But Sebastian is such an interesting company. He’s lived in so many different, foreign places, places that Blaine wants to see one day, when he’s older and financially independent and able to travel to his heart’s content. And he talks about all this so nonchalantly, dropping in names and cities and facts like it was the most common thing, Blaine hanging on his every word. It’s not that he’s interested in HIM - just in his personality and what he says and…
And okay, he feels flattered that such a worldly boy, experienced in all types of things - really, ALL types - is so NICE to him, so flattering and interested. All the compliments, the bold flirting, the open suggestions what he’d want to do with him, in private - it’s all playing on Blaine’s weak spots, boosting his self-esteem, and he feels a little high on it all, a little like drunk. Because as much as Kurt tells Blaine every day how amazing he is, how perfect, and as much as Blaine believes in what he hears and what he sees in his eyes, Kurt doesn’t really have much to compare to. Whereas Sebastian… well, he’s experienced and he’s been with many boys - men - if he’s telling the truth, and he sounds like he is, so he KNOWS the difference. And if after all this he’s still saying that Blaine is special, well, then there must be something to it, right?
It’s not that Blaine is interested in Sebastian. There’s no way he would take him up on his offers. He would never - NEVER - do anything do ruin what he has with Kurt. He really cares about Kurt. He LOVES him. So no, he’s just sitting there, in Lima Bean, with Sebastian, talking, because it’s an interesting conversation, and he’s waiting for Kurt who’s running late. And Sebastian is openly flirting again, and it’s a nice feeling, making Blaine blush a little and flutter his eyelashes coyly, because he’s never really had that. So he’s laughing and a little dazed, and Sebastian puts a hand on his, looking him deep in the eyes and trying - yet again - to convince him to spend a night together, no strings attached, when they hear a thump and a splash, and then fast footsteps, heading away in a run.
Sebastian, who’s facing the part of the coffeeshop near the counter, laughs and shakes his head, so Blaine turns to see what’s happening. The first thing he sees is a coffee cup on the floor, its contents spilled in a growing puddle in the middle of the shop. The second is the closing door, a familiar figure disappearing behind them in a run.
He’s up in a heartbeart, racing towards the door, throwing them open, flying onto the parking lot. But he’s too late. The well-known Navigator is already gone with a squeal of tires. Kurt’s shattered face is just a glimpse through the window before it disappears.
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AN EMPTY HOUSEKurt spins around and all he can see is emptiness.
Their house, their home, so tastefully furnished, every room carefully planned, all the color schemes matching and beautiful, chosen specifically to fit each place, create the mood. Their perfect little place, arranged with so much love. The open spaces and big windows to let in as much light as possible. The huge, comfortable bed where they could get lost and find each other again. The bathroom, decadently fitted with a huge bathtub, where they spent many evenings with bubble baths and wine and love. The fireplace with a thick, plushy rug in front of it. The kitchen, filled with the first grayish pink light of dawn now, and the memories of many sleepy, lazy mornings and happy afternoons.
It’s all beautiful, perfect and still. Empty. So empty without the one thing that makes it all alive and fills it with reason and sense and love.
Without Blaine there.
The closet door are still open where he was throwing clothes into the suitcase just hours ago. His shelf in the bathroom is empty, its contents slid haphazardly right into a bag. The bed is cold and uninviting, and Kurt can’t imagine ever lying there again. Blaine’s final words still seem to echo in the living room, followed by the final slam of the door at exactly 4:02 am.
Fine. If you want it this way, congratulations. You’ve finally done it. I’m out.
And Kurt doesn’t blame him. How could he, when he knows the last sixteen months of living with him must have been hell for Blaine, who was forced to witness the slow slide of his beloved husband from happy, fabulous, in control, to… to this.
Kurt’s one mistake and then spiraling down, faster and faster, out of control. The misery, the arguments, alcohol and silent days, the way he’d stopped caring, unhappiness turning into depression so silently neither of them noticed. Kurt’s refusal to seek help, to admit he needed help, to accept Blaine’s attempts to do something, anything to help. His shutting everyone out, exploding without a reason, denying he could still be loved, cared for, wanted. Blaming everyone, constantly. All this anger flaring out.
Because if he stopped for a second, all this anger, blame, guilt, hatred - all of this would get directed at him. Where it belonged. And he wasn’t ready. God, he wasn’t ready to face all the destruction he caused and accept the consequences, and start cleaning it up. Rebuilding. Hoping for more, for better that he didn’t deserve.
But tonight he crossed a line. In a mad attack of self-hatred, he achieved what he deserved. He cut the last lifeline he had, the hand that has been stubbornly holding his head over the waves all this time, never wavering, never letting go. He managed to shove it away with one cruelest cut.
I don’t want you anymore. I don’t love you anymore. Go. Get out of my life.
Kurt shudders at the obvious lie he’s been telling, even to himself. He’s never needed his husband more, never loved him more desperately and hoped with the last stubborn tendrils of hope that he’d never, ever be left behind. In spite of everything. In spite of what he’s become.
But it’s better this way. Nothing holds him anymore. No one will argue with his inspired monologues about death. No one will care if he drinks himself into stupor every night. Nobody will take the razor out of his hand while he’s admiring its gleaming beauty, sitting in a bathtub full of warm water, contemplating just how much courage he doesn’t have. No one will force him to get help and fight for himself when he has no more strength to try.
The house stands silent and still around him. The place where they were supposed to be happy forever. That was going to sound with laughter and little footsteps in a couple of years, when they’re financially stable. Where they could just be. Their perfect little oasis. Guess it was just another dream, killed like so many others by Kurt’s own hand.
There’s a quiet sound behind him and Kurt turns, more out of instinct than any actual curiosity, and his breath stops. The front door are open and their overgrown little garden in the background frames Blaine’s slender form in the doorway, his pink suitcase by his leg, his eyes red and broken, but his lips thin, determined. Blaine’s beautiful face shows his exhaustion and his voice is raw as if he screamed for hours.
“I won’t let you do this Kurt. To me, to yourself. To us. I love you. You’re not gonna change it. Just deal with it. Because I’m not going anywhere. And I refuse to let you punish yourself forever. Enough, Kurt. Not anymore. I’m here to stay and we’re going to get out of this together. Even if I have to force you to get help, I will.”
The kitchen window to Kurt’s right shines with the first ray of sunshine and the house isn’t empty anymore. Slowly, stubbornly, it’s coming back to life.
[If you wonder what was the one mistake that Kurt made - I don’t know. He might have lost his dream job. He might have caused an accident. He might have hurt someone unthinkingly. He might have not been where he was needed - maybe when his dad died? It doesn’t matter. What matters is that he feels guilty and blames himself.]
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IF"Don't you ever wonder what it would have been like?"
Blaine blinks, shaken out of his sated, post-orgasmic, not-quite-napping-yet state.
“Hm?”
They are lying in Blaine’s bed, alone in his house for the weekend, eagerly using the time and place they so rarely have to practice, to feel skin on skin again, to try more, go further, fall into each other without fear or shame or reservations. Every time new and breathtaking, every touch and kiss electrifying, every second together precious.
Kurt presses a chaste kiss to Blaine’s shoulder, cuddles closer.
“If we’d never met on that staircase. If I hadn’t come to spy on the Warblers that day, or if you hadn’t talked to me afterwards. I wonder sometimes.”
Blaine answers without a second of hesitation, calmly and confidently.
“I’d probably be dead by now.”
There’s a gasp and Kurt stiffens by his side, his eyes wide and face paler than ever.
“What?”
“I was a mess when you met me. You didn’t know?”
“Of course not! You seemed the most collected, confident person I… Oh my god, but why, Blaine?”
Kurt’s sitting now, cross-legged, half-covered by the aqua-blue sheet that matches his eyes so well. Anxiety on his face hurts, makes Blaine want to kiss it off. He just takes Kurt’s soft, warm hand instead.
“I was thinking about it. About taking my life. I was thinking about it so much it stopped being scary and unthinkable and became something normal, something to look forward to, a way out I could always count on.”
“But…”
“Why?” Blaine guesses.
“Yes.” Kurt squeezes his hand tightly, as if afraid he’ll disappear the minute he lets go.
“I had nothing to live for. I know it was stupid, I get it - now I do. There was always the future, the chance it would all get better, but then… It wasn’t enough then, not in the black hole I was in. I know I put up a good front, but underneath… Underneath it was bad. So bad, Kurt. My parents didn’t accept me, didn’t care. They were never there. I was popular and well-liked at Dalton, but it wasn’t me. Everyone liked this persona, the image I created, but no one really knew me. I had no real friends, nobody to really, honestly talk to. I was so tired of pretending, of loneliness and guilt… I ran, I was running all along - from myself, from the bullies, the reality. I believed it was the only thing I could do well. So I was going to run again, for good this time. And then I met you.”
Two tears slide slowly down Kurt’s face and Blaine reaches to dry them, gently, lovingly. Kurt whispers, awed.
“So I was not the only one who was saved that day…”