Taking Chances - chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
If Kurt felt lost and confused before he ended up at Blaine’s, it was nothing to what he feels now. Stretched facedown on his bed, the chaos in his head makes him dizzy. The phone buzzing every five minutes on his nightstand doesn’t help, so he reaches to switch it off. The display is flashing with .--O-O--., and Kurt’s stomach clenches painfully as a mixture of guilt, shame and this stupid warm feeling he gets every time he thinks of Blaine hits him full force.
It’s too much - too much for one person, one day. The afternoon with Quinn and the new… developments; their conversation; Blaine, suddenly so different from his usual, already impossible self; Kurt’s coming out to him; the closeness and the kiss. The kiss…
Kurt’s head feels like it’s about to explode, so he forgoes his evening routine entirely, a thing previously unheard of, changes into his pjs, takes Advil and goes to bed. Sleep doesn’t come, though, not for a long time, teasing, taunting, exhausting him with thoughts and possibilities until he wants to scream. In the morning, he does the only thing that works; the safe, known thing: he pretends.
For the next days and weeks, he works harder, pushes himself more, 120% instead of his usual 100. He works the cheerios with determination bordering on cruelty, takes on additional projects for school, practices Glee songs and dance routines for hours on end - anything to cut short any time available for thinking or socializing. He barely has time for Quinn outside of school and even if he does, it’s short and in public. Strangely, she doesn’t complain - another thing he doesn’t want to think about.
He ignores Blaine completely - his texts that soon taper off, his worried glances when they pass each other in corridors or meet in Glee. It’s like the boy doesn’t exist, just a passing fly, too small for Kurt to pay attention - and soon Blaine seems to accept it and return the favor. If he smiles less and hunches a little, if there’s something resigned in his eyes and less bounce in his step, Kurt definitely doesn’t pay attention. Why would he? The last text says I’m here if you ever want to talk, and Kurt has an impulse to save it, but doesn’t. He holds his head higher, keeps his words more cutting than ever and his face suitably bitchy at all times. If possible, it earns him even more respect - and loathing, from those who envy him.
No one bothers to notice - just as Kurt intends it to be - the way he hides even deeper into his shell, never revealing anything private, relevant, even while talking plenty. No one knows that when he looks at Blaine performing in Glee sometimes, open disdain in his eyes, his mind really tries to assess if he’s all right, if nothing bad is happening to him - well, nothing more than usual. And absolutely not a soul suspects that when he gives in to his teenage urges sometimes, late at night, it’s no longer a faceless man that appears in his fantasies, but amber eyes, plump lips and the warm, slightly rough hands of one Blaine Anderson. Every time Kurt comes desperately hard with that name like a plea on his lips, he feels more guilty.
It lasts for over five weeks. In the meantime, New Directions take Regionals by storm, at least partially thanks to the fact that Blaine at last gets a chance at a solo, and he does phenomenally. The side effect is that he seems to finally get accepted by the group after that. Kurt is glad to see him sit at the Glee table during lunch now, talking with Rachel, Tina or Mercedes, even some of the guys sometimes.
The cheerleading squad breezes through their competition too, even without using Coach Sylvester’s secret weapon that she decided to keep under the covers until the National competition. Kurt is busy and almost content with his life again, at least when he’s able to forget that Blaine exists, and how much this simple fact complicates everything. But then life stubbornly pushes the boy right into his path again and Kurt can’t just walk away. He’s not a monster, after all.
Kurt’s walking from Glee right to cheerios practice that Friday afternoon, stopping by his locker to leave the music sheets and take out his practice bag, when he hears it, just around the corner. It’s the unmistakable sound of a slushie - or rather, multiple slushies - hitting some unfortunate loser, followed by jeering and laughter from what sounds like half the football team. Kurt winces in sympathy - he still remembers the piercing cold of ice slamming into his face and the awful stinging in his eyes from middle school. The jocks’ footsteps and voices already retreating, Kurt goes over to glance into the other corridor.
He recognizes the slumped form of the boy sitting on the floor against the lockers instantly, despite the multicolored ice mush covering him from head to toe.
Blaine.
Slushied again, for the second time today.
Kurt’s body makes a decision before his mind even considers it, and seconds later he’s back at his locker, pulling some clothes out from the back. It’s not much, just a black henley and some blue jeans - after all, these are only emergency clothes he keeps in here all year for the unlikely case he needs to change out of his uniform for any reason - but at least they are dry and should be just about fitting. He puts the clothes in his bag, next to a thick, fluffy towel - thankfully it’s navy, so there will be no problem with stain removal afterwards - and walks over to where Blaine still hasn’t moved from the floor, ice already melting into puddles around him.
Kurt’s shoes make no noise as he approaches, so he has plenty of time to notice the way Blaine’s shoulders are shaking in silent sobs before the boy hears him and stiffens visibly, his face still hidden on his knees. Kurt crouches by him and touches his hand; the way Blaine flinches away from it breaks his heart.
“Blaine, hey, it’s me.”
Blaine’s head comes up, and ouch, he’s got the sticky, colored ice everywhere, even under his glasses. One of the idiots must have dumped the drink directly on his head. There are tear tracks clearly visible in the mess on his cheeks and Kurt feels absolutely awful. Blaine’s trying to blink his eyes to look at him.
“So, Kurt, have you come to gloat? Have some fun? Your favorite nerd finally getting it bad enough to break down and cry?”
He tries to sound sarcastic, maybe bitchy, but his voice is trembling with fresh tears and Kurt can’t stand it. The worst thing is that he deserves it - he doesn’t gloat or laugh now, not at Blaine, but he has in the past, at many unfortunate bullying victims. It doesn’t matter that he didn’t see anything funny in it at all - it was just for show, just to keep up his image. And the way he’s been acting towards Blaine lately… Yes, he definitely deserves the cold shoulder. He straightens up and grabs Blaine’s hand, pulling him up.
“Don’t open your eyes, you know this stuff is terrible when it gets in. Come on, we need to clean you up.”
Kurt leads Blaine by the hand to the large handicapped bathroom, the one not many people know about so it’s always clean and, most importantly, it has a lock. He can’t shake the bitter thought that here he is, holding hands with a boy - a cute gay boy at that - for the first time ever, but the circumstances couldn’t be further from romantic.
He sits Blaine down on the closed toilet lid, takes off his glasses and wets a washcloth that he pulled out of his bag. Tipping Blaine’s face up with a gentle hand under his chin, he starts to wipe the sticky layer of ice and corn syrup from the boy’s eyes first, then the rest of his face. Blaine sits quietly, unprotesting, as Kurt rinses the cloth several times to make sure all the remnants of slushie are gone. He pulls out his cosmetic bag then, and takes eye drops out.
“Okay, open your eyes and look up.”
Carefully, he squeezes two drops into each of Blaine’s reddened eyes, trying not to focus on the beautiful honey-colored irises or think about the fact that Blaine is putting a lot of trust in him - trust he hasn’t earned.
Satisfied with his work, Kurt puts the tiny bottle away and takes out his shampoo and shower gel, passing them to Blaine along with his towel. The surprise on Blaine’s face couldn’t be more clear and it stings, even though Kurt knows he deserves it, so he busies himself pulling out the clothes and laying them on the counter.
“I suggest you wash the rest of the mess off yourself, then you can change into these, they should fit. I need to text Quinn that I’ll be late for practice.”
Not waiting for an answer, Kurt turns his back to give Blaine some privacy and takes out his phone. The practice is starting in five minutes, damn it. He pulls up a new text and types quickly; behind him, he can hear water splashing as Blaine follows his advice.
Q, I’ll be late, got stalled. Try to keep S off my back.
Seconds later, he gets a response.
Ok, but hurry.
Satisfied that he did what he could to avoid a major fit from the Coach, Kurt pockets his phone and proceeds to watch the door. Unfortunately, there’s not much to look at here - not even the usual crude rhymes and obscene drawings. He’s just considering taking his phone back out and playing a round of Fruit Ninja when the water stops flowing. After some rustling, he hears Blaine’s voice, the timbre that makes Kurt so damn breathless sometimes.
“Kurt?”
He turns then and oh fuck, it was such a bad idea. Blaine stands there shirtless, in Kurt’s jeans that hug and accentuate his slim hips and legs in a mouthwatering way, even if they’re a little bit too long. He’s drying his hair with the towel, all toned muscles and smooth olive skin, and there’s no way Kurt can stop staring now. One lonely drop of water slides from Blaine’s clean, damp curls, down the side of his neck and then his chest, and Kurt barely bites back a moan; it’s the single most erotic thing he’s ever seen. He feels a pressing need to chase the drop with his tongue, but it’s out of the question, obviously, so only his eyes follow it lower, lower, until his mind brakes sharply.
There’s a long, thick scar curved across the right side of Blaine’s abdomen. It doesn’t look fresh, but not particularly old, either, and the size of it… It’s huge.
“Kurt, why are you helping me?”
Kurt manages to tear his eyes from the horrifying scar and look up at Blaine’s face, its expression unreadable. He shrugs, blushing.
“I couldn’t have left you like this, could I?”
“So you would have helped anyone in my situation?”
This actually stops Kurt in his tracks. Would he?
“I… I don’t know. Maybe. Possibly. What difference does it make, anyway?”
Blaine shrugs and reaches for the henley. The question jumps out of Kurt’s mouth before he can stop it, his eyes sliding back to Blaine’s stomach.
“What happened to you?”
Blaine looks down, traces the thick line with his fingers, and Kurt is suddenly wishing it could be his hand instead, and biting on his lip to stop his mind from going there.
“Oh, just a friendly reminder from my first high school.”
“Dalton?” Kurt’s eyebrows shoot up; after all he read and heard about Dalton during their project, he was sure if was a safe place for people like Blaine. Like both of them.
“No.” Blaine looks up at him, still tracing the line absentmindedly. “I transferred to Dalton after this happened. I spent most of my freshman year in a public school. Let’s just say that they didn’t particularly like it when I came out.”
“But this… It’s just so…” Kurt knows that it’s very impolite to be so nosy, he just can’t believe his eyes. Blaine doesn’t look offended.
“It’s a surgical scar. Me and my friend got beaten up after a school dance, for daring to go together. He looked worse than me afterwards, so by the time I finally got to the hospital, I was lucky I pulled through. Internal bleeding, they didn’t have time for finesse, so I’m left with this beauty.” He shrugs and pulls on the henley. “At least I’m alive.”
Kurt blinks and busies himself gathering his things to keep from bursting into tears. How could anyone do something like this to another human being? To this beautiful boy who is nothing but kind and nice, and courageous? And how in the world does Blaine manage to still be like that after what they did to him? How come he hasn’t become selfish and dishonest, and cold, like…
Like Kurt.
The thought is like lightening that can’t be stopped or unseen. It burns his eyes and hurts his heart; but it doesn’t make it any less true. Yes, he’s been bullied. But he’s never had it half as bad as Blaine did, and yet it was enough for him to give up on being himself; to hide and pretend, taking the easy way. It’s not a sin, it’s what he felt was right at that time, but now… now Kurt wishes he didn’t, that he had as much strength as Blaine.
His things already gathered and packed, his face under control, Kurt dares to look back at Blaine who is cleaning his glasses under the tap. He tries to assume his usual, confident tone, to find something neutral to talk about.
“You look good. Simple style suits you and you should wear black more often. And the curls… I like them.”
So much for neutral. Kurt knows he’s rambling to cover his momentary lack of control, but it’s all true. Blaine does look really good like this, his broader frame filling the shirt in a way that makes Kurt want to reach and run his hand down Blaine’s chest. His curls are messy, but with the tiniest amount of mousse or gel Kurt could make them look perfect. And he had listened to Kurt’s advice about glasses, never wearing the huge monstrosities anymore.
He catches himself and blushes hard, but Blaine seems not to have noticed anything, busy staring at Kurt, looking suddenly unsure.
“You really think so?”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”
“No one… no one has ever said anything like that to me. Thank you.”
Kurt shrugs awkwardly, blushing again.
“Well, it’s true, so… Anyway, I have to run or coach will skin me. Take care, Blaine.”
He’s halfway out the door when Blaine calls out.
“Kurt?” He turns to looks back, his breath bated; what will he say? “Thank you.”
Kurt smiles.
“Don’t mention it.”
Running towards the gym, he wonders if Blaine will take it literally.
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Next time: It’s Saturday morning and the house is pleasantly quiet.