Fic: "100 Days" [Glee, Kurt/Blaine, 1.1/10]
Title: 100 Days
Author: dazzlebug
Rating: PG-13 to NC-17 (this chapter PG-13)
Summary: Kurt and Blaine have been best friends (and nothing more) since the age of six. Now 22-year-old college graduates, they take a roadtrip around the USA, visiting every state in 100 days. Fifty states. Two boys. One love story.
Disclaimer: I paint the pictures; I just borrow the names.
Warnings: None.
Notes: Thank you to my betas, Axe and Rachie, and my inner circle, Alana, Annie and Bambi. This fic will be updated weekly on Wednesdays at 9pm GMT (estimated). Also available on Tumblr and S&C.
Day -001: Saturday 15 September, 2012
T-Minus One
“Well, if I didn't know how much you hated Maine before...” Kurt trailed off, glancing up at Blaine as he drank deeply from his bottle of water and wiped across his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I don't hate it,” he said, setting the bottle down next to Kurt's and leaning back against the edge of the table, the sticky wood entirely characteristic of The Cannery, their local bar; everything worn and in dire need of replacement. “I'm just... I'm done here.”
“I know you are. It's time we both got out,” Kurt replied. “For good this time, not just for a year across the pond.”
“I still wish you could have come with me,” Blaine affirmed, a wistful smile tugging at the edges of his mouth before he added, “That’s exactly why I'm happy we're doing this, though. But first, I have a gig to finish. Two more songs, I promise.”
“Alright. But Blaine-“
Kurt was stopped abruptly as Blaine placed a finger across his lips, and he fought the childish impulse to stick out his tongue and lick.
“They're good ones, I swear,” Blaine told him with a wink that, were it anyone else, Kurt would have considered bordering on flirtatious. But this was Blaine; his best friend of sixteen years. Despite the crush that Kurt tended to harbor for him whenever he found himself single-and, in fact, almost constantly since Blaine’s return from London-he would never have thought of acting on it. They had so much shared history, and so many boundaries in place that had helped keep them exactly what they were to one another. It was nothing more than an occasional harmless crush, perhaps even some bastardized version of hero worship. Kurt never spent too long thinking about it.
Blaine took his place on stage amongst the other members of his band once more, strumming the opening bars of what Kurt vaguely recognized as a OneRepublic song. The Spinning Cogs, reunited for one night only, had spent the previous hour or so playing music that was about getting out, taking off, breaking free. It was a difficult message to miss.
“This town is colder now, I think it's sick of us,” Blaine sang, shooting him a grin, and Kurt good-naturedly rolled his eyes.
“You've got it bad.”
Kurt almost jumped out of his skin and his breath came raggedly for a few moments as he glared at the girl sitting down across the booth from him.
“April, I swear to god if you keep on about that...”
“Aw, Kurt, come on,” April cajoled him with a nudge of her shoulder. “You know they say you tell the truth when you're drunk.”
“Okay, one: I wasn't drunk,” Kurt said hotly, entirely sick of the conversation that had seemed to be playing on a loop for the past three weeks. “Two: I was speaking objectively. Of course Blaine's hot. Have you seen him? I mean, you'd have to be blind. But I don't think of him that way; it's weird.”
“Denial is not just a river in Egypt,” April quipped, looking at him like she could read his mind, which only irritated him more.
“And old clichés are not going to make me start spilling my guts to you about my feelings for Blaine,” Kurt retorted, before appending, “or lack thereof.”
They stared each other down for a long moment before finally cracking up and dissolving into a fit of laughter.
“I'm really gonna miss you, Kurt,” April said, looping her arm through his as the band segued smoothly into The Rescues' Break Me Out.
“It's only three months,” Kurt reminded her. “We’ll see you guys in Michigan, and Anchorage, and we’ll all be back here in time for New Year’s.”
“You'd better be coming back. It's bad enough that you're skipping town on your birthday. And only three months? You're my best friend, what's gonna become of me without you?” April asked, sighing dramatically with the back of her hand to her forehead. “I swear, when we meet up, I'll be sporting only the very best of Walmart couture.”
“Ugh, please don't talk about Walmart,” Kurt groaned. “We'll be parking the R.V. at one too many for my liking. Can you catch bad taste through proximity and exposure?”
April snorted, and they lapsed into silence to enjoy the rest of the song. It was the last song of the last performance that The Spinning Cogs would ever give, but Kurt caught himself thinking that it was almost comforting, the way one thing could end and something new could immediately take its place. It didn't always happen, and sometimes when it did it was far from comforting, but they were standing at the beginning of a road. They were about to embark upon a journey that would take them to every state in the country.
“Break me out,” Blaine sang, holding the last note, and the band wound up the song with a huge crescendo that rang in Kurt's ears. He watched as Blaine hugged Stuart, Jeff and Max in turn, before the band began to pack up their things, a sense of closure seeming to settle upon their shoulders. Soon, Blaine was bouncing over to Kurt with his guitar case in tow, still running on his performance high.
“That's coming with us, right?” Kurt asked, gesturing to the case.
“I thought you said there wouldn't be room,” Blaine replied.
“We'll make room,” Kurt said lightly, before turning to April. “Thank you so much for throwing us this party. I'll miss you too, you know.”
“You'd better, or else what have you got to come back for?” she bantered, though her dark eyes were swimming. “Oh, come here.” She pulled Kurt into a hug, rocking him from side to side.
“You're always my best girl,” Kurt said, voice muffled against her shoulder as he squeezed her so tightly that even he was a little short of breath.
“Alright, go, before I take you hostage,” April instructed, stepping back to wave a hand between him and Blaine. “Be careful, be safe, and look out for each other. Get back here in one piece, okay?”
“Promise,” Blaine said, sweeping her into a brief hug of his own. “Later, April.”
They remained quiet on the short drive back to their street. When they arrived at Kurt's house, Blaine stopped just long enough for Kurt to get out, before continuing on to park his beloved Honda in his mom's garage, where it would remain until next year.
Kurt took his brief window of alone time to run his fingers over the corners of uneven walls and the wavering mantel over the open fireplace that he’d always hated for all of its ugly imperfection, yet now found himself inexplicably fond of. He wandered almost aimlessly through the living room to the den with new eyes that no longer seemed aware of the slight fray to the edges of the carpet or the small bubbles in the wallpaper that betrayed the presence of damp pockets trapped against the stucco beneath.
“You're going to miss this place. Admit it, Hummel,” Blaine said, and Kurt's breath caught for a tiny measure at the sight of him leaning casually against the door frame, the spare house key from underneath the mat catching the light as Blaine turned it between his fingers.
“Don't know what you're talking about. It's not like we haven't left home before, Blaine,” Kurt reminded him, because they were graduates-adults-now, leaving aside the fact that most of the time Kurt still felt like a confused, angry teenager.
“We came home most weekends. It's different this time,” Blaine said, pushing off the frame and dropping the key onto the mantel before settling onto the arm of the couch. As usual, he looked entirely at ease in his own skin, a quality that Kurt had envied as long as he could remember. “What time are Burt and Carole due back?”
“Late, I think. Dad mentioned something about Gone With The Wind showing at Eveningstar,” Kurt said. Blaine followed him into the kitchen, watched as he pulled ingredients from the pantry and set them down by the stove.
“He'd never sit through that movie for someone he wasn't crazy for, would he?” Blaine asked knowingly, yet carefully.
Kurt exhaled sharply, opened his mouth, but said nothing.
“So it's our last night,” Blaine said brightly, parting the tension like he was Moses facing down the Red Sea. Bumping their hips together, he sidled in close, rested his head on Kurt's shoulder with an adoring look, and simpered, “What's for dinner, honey?”
Kurt elbowed him away and concealed the grin he wasn’t yet ready to give into. “You are making my favorite because it's my birthday tomorrow and it'll be consolation for whatever terrible shirt you got me this year. And I'm making cornbread because you were great today and I was proud of you.”
“I hope so,” Blaine said fondly, grabbing a mixing bowl from beneath the sink and setting to work on his Aztec couscous. They moved around one another in the kitchen with a near-silent, practiced ease that had come from years of learning one another by heart.
When everything was ready, they set themselves up in the Adirondack chairs on the back deck, counting fireflies at the bottom of the yard.
Kurt knew that neither of them had quite learned who they were, yet. They hadn't found themselves in amongst the term papers and library stacks, nor in the space between their dorm beds where they held hands every night for the first week of freshman year to anchor each other in a sea of homesickness. They were both-especially Blaine-chasing those elusive threads of a life that seemed to be hiding around every corner, twelve steps ahead and always just vanishing out of sight.
“This is going to be awesome, right?” Blaine asked, setting his plate aside and wiping his mouth with one of the cloth napkins Kurt had brought out. Kurt took a sip of his ice water before nodding. “It's the start of something really, really great?”
“It's going to be incredible. I'm so glad we're doing this,” he replied, putting his hand over Blaine's and curling his fingers into the space above Blaine's thumb.
Distance: 0.0 miles
*
Next: Maine
Author: dazzlebug
Rating: PG-13 to NC-17 (this chapter PG-13)
Summary: Kurt and Blaine have been best friends (and nothing more) since the age of six. Now 22-year-old college graduates, they take a roadtrip around the USA, visiting every state in 100 days. Fifty states. Two boys. One love story.
Disclaimer: I paint the pictures; I just borrow the names.
Warnings: None.
Notes: Thank you to my betas, Axe and Rachie, and my inner circle, Alana, Annie and Bambi. This fic will be updated weekly on Wednesdays at 9pm GMT (estimated). Also available on Tumblr and S&C.
Day -001: Saturday 15 September, 2012
T-Minus One
“Well, if I didn't know how much you hated Maine before...” Kurt trailed off, glancing up at Blaine as he drank deeply from his bottle of water and wiped across his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I don't hate it,” he said, setting the bottle down next to Kurt's and leaning back against the edge of the table, the sticky wood entirely characteristic of The Cannery, their local bar; everything worn and in dire need of replacement. “I'm just... I'm done here.”
“I know you are. It's time we both got out,” Kurt replied. “For good this time, not just for a year across the pond.”
“I still wish you could have come with me,” Blaine affirmed, a wistful smile tugging at the edges of his mouth before he added, “That’s exactly why I'm happy we're doing this, though. But first, I have a gig to finish. Two more songs, I promise.”
“Alright. But Blaine-“
Kurt was stopped abruptly as Blaine placed a finger across his lips, and he fought the childish impulse to stick out his tongue and lick.
“They're good ones, I swear,” Blaine told him with a wink that, were it anyone else, Kurt would have considered bordering on flirtatious. But this was Blaine; his best friend of sixteen years. Despite the crush that Kurt tended to harbor for him whenever he found himself single-and, in fact, almost constantly since Blaine’s return from London-he would never have thought of acting on it. They had so much shared history, and so many boundaries in place that had helped keep them exactly what they were to one another. It was nothing more than an occasional harmless crush, perhaps even some bastardized version of hero worship. Kurt never spent too long thinking about it.
Blaine took his place on stage amongst the other members of his band once more, strumming the opening bars of what Kurt vaguely recognized as a OneRepublic song. The Spinning Cogs, reunited for one night only, had spent the previous hour or so playing music that was about getting out, taking off, breaking free. It was a difficult message to miss.
“This town is colder now, I think it's sick of us,” Blaine sang, shooting him a grin, and Kurt good-naturedly rolled his eyes.
“You've got it bad.”
Kurt almost jumped out of his skin and his breath came raggedly for a few moments as he glared at the girl sitting down across the booth from him.
“April, I swear to god if you keep on about that...”
“Aw, Kurt, come on,” April cajoled him with a nudge of her shoulder. “You know they say you tell the truth when you're drunk.”
“Okay, one: I wasn't drunk,” Kurt said hotly, entirely sick of the conversation that had seemed to be playing on a loop for the past three weeks. “Two: I was speaking objectively. Of course Blaine's hot. Have you seen him? I mean, you'd have to be blind. But I don't think of him that way; it's weird.”
“Denial is not just a river in Egypt,” April quipped, looking at him like she could read his mind, which only irritated him more.
“And old clichés are not going to make me start spilling my guts to you about my feelings for Blaine,” Kurt retorted, before appending, “or lack thereof.”
They stared each other down for a long moment before finally cracking up and dissolving into a fit of laughter.
“I'm really gonna miss you, Kurt,” April said, looping her arm through his as the band segued smoothly into The Rescues' Break Me Out.
“It's only three months,” Kurt reminded her. “We’ll see you guys in Michigan, and Anchorage, and we’ll all be back here in time for New Year’s.”
“You'd better be coming back. It's bad enough that you're skipping town on your birthday. And only three months? You're my best friend, what's gonna become of me without you?” April asked, sighing dramatically with the back of her hand to her forehead. “I swear, when we meet up, I'll be sporting only the very best of Walmart couture.”
“Ugh, please don't talk about Walmart,” Kurt groaned. “We'll be parking the R.V. at one too many for my liking. Can you catch bad taste through proximity and exposure?”
April snorted, and they lapsed into silence to enjoy the rest of the song. It was the last song of the last performance that The Spinning Cogs would ever give, but Kurt caught himself thinking that it was almost comforting, the way one thing could end and something new could immediately take its place. It didn't always happen, and sometimes when it did it was far from comforting, but they were standing at the beginning of a road. They were about to embark upon a journey that would take them to every state in the country.
“Break me out,” Blaine sang, holding the last note, and the band wound up the song with a huge crescendo that rang in Kurt's ears. He watched as Blaine hugged Stuart, Jeff and Max in turn, before the band began to pack up their things, a sense of closure seeming to settle upon their shoulders. Soon, Blaine was bouncing over to Kurt with his guitar case in tow, still running on his performance high.
“That's coming with us, right?” Kurt asked, gesturing to the case.
“I thought you said there wouldn't be room,” Blaine replied.
“We'll make room,” Kurt said lightly, before turning to April. “Thank you so much for throwing us this party. I'll miss you too, you know.”
“You'd better, or else what have you got to come back for?” she bantered, though her dark eyes were swimming. “Oh, come here.” She pulled Kurt into a hug, rocking him from side to side.
“You're always my best girl,” Kurt said, voice muffled against her shoulder as he squeezed her so tightly that even he was a little short of breath.
“Alright, go, before I take you hostage,” April instructed, stepping back to wave a hand between him and Blaine. “Be careful, be safe, and look out for each other. Get back here in one piece, okay?”
“Promise,” Blaine said, sweeping her into a brief hug of his own. “Later, April.”
They remained quiet on the short drive back to their street. When they arrived at Kurt's house, Blaine stopped just long enough for Kurt to get out, before continuing on to park his beloved Honda in his mom's garage, where it would remain until next year.
Kurt took his brief window of alone time to run his fingers over the corners of uneven walls and the wavering mantel over the open fireplace that he’d always hated for all of its ugly imperfection, yet now found himself inexplicably fond of. He wandered almost aimlessly through the living room to the den with new eyes that no longer seemed aware of the slight fray to the edges of the carpet or the small bubbles in the wallpaper that betrayed the presence of damp pockets trapped against the stucco beneath.
“You're going to miss this place. Admit it, Hummel,” Blaine said, and Kurt's breath caught for a tiny measure at the sight of him leaning casually against the door frame, the spare house key from underneath the mat catching the light as Blaine turned it between his fingers.
“Don't know what you're talking about. It's not like we haven't left home before, Blaine,” Kurt reminded him, because they were graduates-adults-now, leaving aside the fact that most of the time Kurt still felt like a confused, angry teenager.
“We came home most weekends. It's different this time,” Blaine said, pushing off the frame and dropping the key onto the mantel before settling onto the arm of the couch. As usual, he looked entirely at ease in his own skin, a quality that Kurt had envied as long as he could remember. “What time are Burt and Carole due back?”
“Late, I think. Dad mentioned something about Gone With The Wind showing at Eveningstar,” Kurt said. Blaine followed him into the kitchen, watched as he pulled ingredients from the pantry and set them down by the stove.
“He'd never sit through that movie for someone he wasn't crazy for, would he?” Blaine asked knowingly, yet carefully.
Kurt exhaled sharply, opened his mouth, but said nothing.
“So it's our last night,” Blaine said brightly, parting the tension like he was Moses facing down the Red Sea. Bumping their hips together, he sidled in close, rested his head on Kurt's shoulder with an adoring look, and simpered, “What's for dinner, honey?”
Kurt elbowed him away and concealed the grin he wasn’t yet ready to give into. “You are making my favorite because it's my birthday tomorrow and it'll be consolation for whatever terrible shirt you got me this year. And I'm making cornbread because you were great today and I was proud of you.”
“I hope so,” Blaine said fondly, grabbing a mixing bowl from beneath the sink and setting to work on his Aztec couscous. They moved around one another in the kitchen with a near-silent, practiced ease that had come from years of learning one another by heart.
When everything was ready, they set themselves up in the Adirondack chairs on the back deck, counting fireflies at the bottom of the yard.
Kurt knew that neither of them had quite learned who they were, yet. They hadn't found themselves in amongst the term papers and library stacks, nor in the space between their dorm beds where they held hands every night for the first week of freshman year to anchor each other in a sea of homesickness. They were both-especially Blaine-chasing those elusive threads of a life that seemed to be hiding around every corner, twelve steps ahead and always just vanishing out of sight.
“This is going to be awesome, right?” Blaine asked, setting his plate aside and wiping his mouth with one of the cloth napkins Kurt had brought out. Kurt took a sip of his ice water before nodding. “It's the start of something really, really great?”
“It's going to be incredible. I'm so glad we're doing this,” he replied, putting his hand over Blaine's and curling his fingers into the space above Blaine's thumb.
Distance: 0.0 miles
*
Next: Maine