Fanfic: Knowing - K/B (PG)
Media: Fanfic
Title: Knowing
Author: apoptart
Pairing: Kurt x Blaine
Rating: (PG)
Word Count: ~1700
Warning: Abuse of the italics button, rambling thought processes, melancholy fluff (of which I am the absolute queen)
Summary: Kurt's always hated Christmas. Ever since... well, ever since. A character study.
The look Blaine is wearing is altogether too wicked for a person who doesn’t know he’s got whipped cream on his lip. But it’s there nonetheless, the look and the whipped cream, and something has to be done about both of them. So Kurt leans forward and gently uses his thumb to wipe away the errant smudge and tries desperately to ignore the butterflies that are rioting in his lower abdomen.
He thinks there are a lot of moments in life when you're just supposed to know things. Like when Rachel gets that look on her face right before one of her should-be-patented-because-seriously-how-are-you-even-a-real-person rants about how she deserves the solo because she is Maria. And Sally. And Eva and Roxie and Christine. Kurt knows that he's supposed to close his eyes and count to ten and hope that when he looks up the scene will be devoid of the well-meaning but nonetheless shrill brunette in a kitten sweater.
Or when Mercedes is washing what’s left of the grape slushie out of his hair and is talking about ‘how is it his fault that the hockey team couldn't get new lettermans because Glee dipped into the school's budget for bus fare to Regionals?’, Kurt knows he has to smile and make the acid comment that's always ready at the tip of his tongue. Because Mercedes doesn't get it but she's there and she's trying and that's all he's ever expected of anyone.
So Kurt knows that when he's sitting in a cafe hidden off in some corner of "So Picturesque You Are Waiting For Santa To Tap You On The Shoulder" Lane, staring into the eyes of the first person that maybe possibly actually might like him back, his hand still cupping the other's face, he's supposed to do something. Because the room is small and quiet and warm and Blaine's lips are still cold to the touch after hours of walking Ohio streets in December and even the Christmas song playing softly in the background, instead of making his stomach clench, for once adds to the general mood of kiss him, you fool.
And just when he decides that he’s had ‘courage’ running on an endless loop in his brain for the last few weeks for a reason, Blaine opens his mouth. And really that mouth is turning out to be quite a problem today.
"Why do you really hate Christmas?"
The whispered question rocks through Kurt's mind faster than ‘almost killed the mailman’. He falls back into his seat like he's been shoved, his hand feeling very cold at the sudden lack of contact. Or maybe it's the memories careening through his head because suddenly everything feels very, very cold.
Blaine opens his mouth to say something - an apology please and we can forget that Christmas is even a holiday to begin with - but thinks better of it and sets his jaw defiantly. Kurt thinks he can actually see the gears in Blaine's head shift from "touchy subject, abort, abort!" to "tell me all your secrets".
And so maybe he's exaggerating, but it's another one of those moments when someone asks a question, you know you’re expected to, yes, have an answer. Except Kurt can't seem to manage to speak without choking.
He looks around the restaurant for something, anything that will save him from this conversation. That butter knife might work except it's on the other side of the room and Kurt doesn't think he could jump over the tables without getting tangled in the tinsel hanging from the ceiling (Why didn't he notice that before? Tinsel, honestly).
His eyes finally settle back onto Blaine's and he's startled to see the look he’s giving him. Blaine’s eyes are wide and clear, his lips twisted slightly and his head tilted just so. He’s looking at Kurt with such an honest expression of genuine concern and all at once it strikes Kurt that the reason he’s actually, oh Gaga, considering this is because he doesn’t see this look very often. And he decides that, yes, he has to return the favor.
He opens his mouth to speak, backtracks, and tries to start again. His mind is working a mile a minute because if nothing else this story is important and he has to do it justice.
“Christmas was our holiday.”
Blaine doesn’t even know who ‘our’ is, but at this point it doesn’t matter because now that Kurt’s started he can’t seem to stop. It all comes out in one stream of consciousness. He doesn’t even pause to think about what he’s saying, doesn’t have to, because it’s so familiar. He tells Blaine about the Christmas trees his dad could keep alive until New Years and the blue Christmas lights; his mother’s horrible baking and her obsessive need to cover every surface of the house in red and green; her soft crooning on Christmas Eve and the look on his father’s face when he listened to her sing.
Kurt realizes with a jolt that for whatever panic had set in before, he’s been waiting for someone to ask him this question. Because as the words leave his mouth, something else leaves him too. It starts in his shoulders and rolls off his back and out his fingers and everything feels less strained and hot and so damn heavy. For once it feels nice to be free.
And then it’s over. Because that’s exactly what happened, wasn’t it? One day it was just over.
“She died. On December 15th,” Kurt’s throat tightens up. He can’t help but think how ridiculous it is that he can hit a High F but can’t manage to keep his voice steady now. “There- it didn’t really feel like there was much worth celebrating.”
He has to look up to stop the tears from falling. It’s just all so stupid. He hasn’t cried over her in years. He can make the witty comment, fake nonchalance because it doesn’t hurt anymore. He’s had years to get over this, over her, and it doesn’t hurt anymore. Not unless he really thinks about it and, oh god, he takes a shuddering breath and all but flies out of the booth. Blaine’s seen him cry more than enough, thank you very much, and he’s not looking to add another notch to the tally. Not for this.
He’s out the door in seconds and is physically thrown back as the frigid air hits his throat and claws through his lungs. He doubles over and lets out one sob that’s more coughing than actual tears.
He hears the tinkle of the door behind him as someone throws it open. All at once Blaine’s pulled him to his feet and is holding him in front of him. He looks at Kurt, just looks at him, eyebrows furrowed, like he’s trying to making sure Kurt’s still there. When he’s apparently satisfied he pulls Kurt into a hug, clutching at his sweater with one hand and gently rubbing the back of his neck with the other. In less time than Kurt ever thought he’d be comfortable with anyone, ever, he sinks into Blaine, desperately hugging him back. Once again, it surprises him how much he needs something he wasn’t even aware he’d been missing. But Blaine’s holding him as close as he can and it’s not a mother’s touch, but he cares and he has no qualms about caring and right now it’s enough.
The music from the restaurant trickles through the cold winter air into their small sanctuary and as the song changes Kurt finds himself smiling into Blaine’s neck. For the second time Blaine holds Kurt in front of him to get a good look at him.
“Kurt Hummel, are you smiling?”
Kurt lets out a shaky laugh and shrugs, “I love this song.”
Blaine squints at him, a fond smile playing at his lips, “I thought you hated Christmas music.”
“Meet Me In St. Louis is a classic,” Kurt sniffs as disdainfully as he can manage, because really, he hates being wrong.
“Well. In that case.” And all at once Blaine pulls Kurt into his arms again, this time holding one of Kurt’s hands in his own, the other at his waist. It’s a testament to the company Kurt keeps that it takes a while for him to realize that they’re dancing. It’s almost too perfect; he has to actively keep himself from rolling his eyes. But he knows this is important. Because this is one of those moments. One of those moments he wasn’t ever sure he’d get, until Blaine. One of those moments he never wanted to share with anyone, not really, not until Blaine. Blaine’s changed a lot of things for Kurt, and though it’s confusing as hell, he doesn’t regret a single one. He doesn’t want to.
So he allows himself to shake his head slowly at the absurdity of it all before he rests his head on Blaine’s shoulder and for once, for once just lets himself enjoy it.
They’re more swaying than really moving their feet and it’s less about dancing than it is about staying as close together as possible. Kurt can’t shake the feeling that he could fall away at any moment, like he’s hanging on for dear life. He thinks in a lot of ways he is.
If Finn were here, he muses, he’d get that look on his face that used to make Kurt think he was having some deep philosophical thought, but in reality possessed all the depth of a grilled cheese burnt to look like the son of God.
If Rachel were here, she’d be singing along, matching each note perfectly, but drowning out the all the subtlety and grace of Judy Garland’s voice.
If his father were here, he’d have his arm around Kurt, perfectly silent and Kurt would be trying not to cry.
But Blaine’s here, so all they do is dance and cling to each other, trying to convince themselves that they’re not too afraid to let go.
Through the years we all will be together
If the fates allow
Until then we’ll have to muddle through somehow
So have yourself a merry little Christmas now
Title: Knowing
Author: apoptart
Pairing: Kurt x Blaine
Rating: (PG)
Word Count: ~1700
Warning: Abuse of the italics button, rambling thought processes, melancholy fluff (of which I am the absolute queen)
Summary: Kurt's always hated Christmas. Ever since... well, ever since. A character study.
The look Blaine is wearing is altogether too wicked for a person who doesn’t know he’s got whipped cream on his lip. But it’s there nonetheless, the look and the whipped cream, and something has to be done about both of them. So Kurt leans forward and gently uses his thumb to wipe away the errant smudge and tries desperately to ignore the butterflies that are rioting in his lower abdomen.
He thinks there are a lot of moments in life when you're just supposed to know things. Like when Rachel gets that look on her face right before one of her should-be-patented-because-seriously-how-are-you-even-a-real-person rants about how she deserves the solo because she is Maria. And Sally. And Eva and Roxie and Christine. Kurt knows that he's supposed to close his eyes and count to ten and hope that when he looks up the scene will be devoid of the well-meaning but nonetheless shrill brunette in a kitten sweater.
Or when Mercedes is washing what’s left of the grape slushie out of his hair and is talking about ‘how is it his fault that the hockey team couldn't get new lettermans because Glee dipped into the school's budget for bus fare to Regionals?’, Kurt knows he has to smile and make the acid comment that's always ready at the tip of his tongue. Because Mercedes doesn't get it but she's there and she's trying and that's all he's ever expected of anyone.
So Kurt knows that when he's sitting in a cafe hidden off in some corner of "So Picturesque You Are Waiting For Santa To Tap You On The Shoulder" Lane, staring into the eyes of the first person that maybe possibly actually might like him back, his hand still cupping the other's face, he's supposed to do something. Because the room is small and quiet and warm and Blaine's lips are still cold to the touch after hours of walking Ohio streets in December and even the Christmas song playing softly in the background, instead of making his stomach clench, for once adds to the general mood of kiss him, you fool.
And just when he decides that he’s had ‘courage’ running on an endless loop in his brain for the last few weeks for a reason, Blaine opens his mouth. And really that mouth is turning out to be quite a problem today.
"Why do you really hate Christmas?"
The whispered question rocks through Kurt's mind faster than ‘almost killed the mailman’. He falls back into his seat like he's been shoved, his hand feeling very cold at the sudden lack of contact. Or maybe it's the memories careening through his head because suddenly everything feels very, very cold.
Blaine opens his mouth to say something - an apology please and we can forget that Christmas is even a holiday to begin with - but thinks better of it and sets his jaw defiantly. Kurt thinks he can actually see the gears in Blaine's head shift from "touchy subject, abort, abort!" to "tell me all your secrets".
And so maybe he's exaggerating, but it's another one of those moments when someone asks a question, you know you’re expected to, yes, have an answer. Except Kurt can't seem to manage to speak without choking.
He looks around the restaurant for something, anything that will save him from this conversation. That butter knife might work except it's on the other side of the room and Kurt doesn't think he could jump over the tables without getting tangled in the tinsel hanging from the ceiling (Why didn't he notice that before? Tinsel, honestly).
His eyes finally settle back onto Blaine's and he's startled to see the look he’s giving him. Blaine’s eyes are wide and clear, his lips twisted slightly and his head tilted just so. He’s looking at Kurt with such an honest expression of genuine concern and all at once it strikes Kurt that the reason he’s actually, oh Gaga, considering this is because he doesn’t see this look very often. And he decides that, yes, he has to return the favor.
He opens his mouth to speak, backtracks, and tries to start again. His mind is working a mile a minute because if nothing else this story is important and he has to do it justice.
“Christmas was our holiday.”
Blaine doesn’t even know who ‘our’ is, but at this point it doesn’t matter because now that Kurt’s started he can’t seem to stop. It all comes out in one stream of consciousness. He doesn’t even pause to think about what he’s saying, doesn’t have to, because it’s so familiar. He tells Blaine about the Christmas trees his dad could keep alive until New Years and the blue Christmas lights; his mother’s horrible baking and her obsessive need to cover every surface of the house in red and green; her soft crooning on Christmas Eve and the look on his father’s face when he listened to her sing.
Kurt realizes with a jolt that for whatever panic had set in before, he’s been waiting for someone to ask him this question. Because as the words leave his mouth, something else leaves him too. It starts in his shoulders and rolls off his back and out his fingers and everything feels less strained and hot and so damn heavy. For once it feels nice to be free.
And then it’s over. Because that’s exactly what happened, wasn’t it? One day it was just over.
“She died. On December 15th,” Kurt’s throat tightens up. He can’t help but think how ridiculous it is that he can hit a High F but can’t manage to keep his voice steady now. “There- it didn’t really feel like there was much worth celebrating.”
He has to look up to stop the tears from falling. It’s just all so stupid. He hasn’t cried over her in years. He can make the witty comment, fake nonchalance because it doesn’t hurt anymore. He’s had years to get over this, over her, and it doesn’t hurt anymore. Not unless he really thinks about it and, oh god, he takes a shuddering breath and all but flies out of the booth. Blaine’s seen him cry more than enough, thank you very much, and he’s not looking to add another notch to the tally. Not for this.
He’s out the door in seconds and is physically thrown back as the frigid air hits his throat and claws through his lungs. He doubles over and lets out one sob that’s more coughing than actual tears.
He hears the tinkle of the door behind him as someone throws it open. All at once Blaine’s pulled him to his feet and is holding him in front of him. He looks at Kurt, just looks at him, eyebrows furrowed, like he’s trying to making sure Kurt’s still there. When he’s apparently satisfied he pulls Kurt into a hug, clutching at his sweater with one hand and gently rubbing the back of his neck with the other. In less time than Kurt ever thought he’d be comfortable with anyone, ever, he sinks into Blaine, desperately hugging him back. Once again, it surprises him how much he needs something he wasn’t even aware he’d been missing. But Blaine’s holding him as close as he can and it’s not a mother’s touch, but he cares and he has no qualms about caring and right now it’s enough.
The music from the restaurant trickles through the cold winter air into their small sanctuary and as the song changes Kurt finds himself smiling into Blaine’s neck. For the second time Blaine holds Kurt in front of him to get a good look at him.
“Kurt Hummel, are you smiling?”
Kurt lets out a shaky laugh and shrugs, “I love this song.”
Blaine squints at him, a fond smile playing at his lips, “I thought you hated Christmas music.”
“Meet Me In St. Louis is a classic,” Kurt sniffs as disdainfully as he can manage, because really, he hates being wrong.
“Well. In that case.” And all at once Blaine pulls Kurt into his arms again, this time holding one of Kurt’s hands in his own, the other at his waist. It’s a testament to the company Kurt keeps that it takes a while for him to realize that they’re dancing. It’s almost too perfect; he has to actively keep himself from rolling his eyes. But he knows this is important. Because this is one of those moments. One of those moments he wasn’t ever sure he’d get, until Blaine. One of those moments he never wanted to share with anyone, not really, not until Blaine. Blaine’s changed a lot of things for Kurt, and though it’s confusing as hell, he doesn’t regret a single one. He doesn’t want to.
So he allows himself to shake his head slowly at the absurdity of it all before he rests his head on Blaine’s shoulder and for once, for once just lets himself enjoy it.
They’re more swaying than really moving their feet and it’s less about dancing than it is about staying as close together as possible. Kurt can’t shake the feeling that he could fall away at any moment, like he’s hanging on for dear life. He thinks in a lot of ways he is.
If Finn were here, he muses, he’d get that look on his face that used to make Kurt think he was having some deep philosophical thought, but in reality possessed all the depth of a grilled cheese burnt to look like the son of God.
If Rachel were here, she’d be singing along, matching each note perfectly, but drowning out the all the subtlety and grace of Judy Garland’s voice.
If his father were here, he’d have his arm around Kurt, perfectly silent and Kurt would be trying not to cry.
But Blaine’s here, so all they do is dance and cling to each other, trying to convince themselves that they’re not too afraid to let go.
Through the years we all will be together
If the fates allow
Until then we’ll have to muddle through somehow
So have yourself a merry little Christmas now