regrets and mistakes
title: regrets and mistakes
pairing: kurt/blaine
rating: pg13
summary: blaine's past catches up with him, twelve years to the day he said goodbye to it.
disclaimer: not mine, don't own.
notes:song used in the fic and in the title is adele's "someone like you". first time writing klaine, any feedback is appreciated.
The sunlight streamed through the window and cast a golden glow across the sleeping occupants of the bed. One, brushing his unruly curls out of his face, opened his eyes and blinked a few times, yawning slightly. A quick glance at the clock on the bedside table informed him that it was 7am, in luminous green numbers. He allowed himself a small stretch before swinging his legs out of bed, resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing at his face. Behind him, his partner did not stir.
He dreamt of him again last night.
He dreamt so vividly of those (green?blue?grey?) eyes, that styled brown hair, that voice. Oh, that voice.
He dreamt it so vividly that upon awaking, he could have sworn that they remained in his view.
A hand on his back made him start, the skin too soft to be him, the body that wrapped itself around him too shapely to be his, the smell too sweet and floral rather than that mixture of cologne, sweat, a slight hint of moisturiser and of want to be his scent.
As his wife of twelve years murmured in his ear that it was time he left for work, Blaine Anderson found himself aching for the days when it was him in his bed, when it was his voice which Blaine woke up to, when it was just the two of them, when they could see no future beyond the moment they were currently living.
Oh Kurt.
*
Once he had showered and dressed, Blaine made his way downstairs, replaying the dream he had that night over and over in his head. It was senior prom again, and he could almost feel the warm weight of Kurt’s body in his arms, holding him close against his chest, pressing soft butterfly kisses to that spot behind his ear that made Kurt shiver.
The shrill and high voice of his wife - so different to Kurt’s, Blaine thought wistfully -was what greeted Blaine as he entered the kitchen, tastefully decorated to keep in trend with the rest of the house, which bore such similarities with Blaine’s childhood home he almost expected to turn a corner and come face to face with his father.
Gulping down the coffee his wife placed in front of him, medium drip, just the way he had liked it since his teenage years and his coffee dates with Kurt (his heart ached again), Blaine flipped through the pile of letters on the counter, most of them being the countless credit card bills belonging to his wife, and half-turned, ready to leave, before something caught his eye.
Familiar looping script, written in lilac.
Blaine picked up the letter, addressed to Mr Blaine Anderson. He turned it over, and let a small breath rush out when he saw the initials in the lower right corner of the envelope.
K.H.
Two letters that brought him rushing back to when he was sixteen, over-confident and cocky, to two pairs of eyes meeting in the middle of a crowded stairwell, to a dead bird and a broken boy, to a high soulful voice full of mourning, to a pair of lips on his, sweet like sugar yet bitter like chocolate.
Blaine hesitated slightly before opening the letter, almost afraid of what he would find. Inside was a small folded piece of paper, which he pulled out, laying the envelope on the counter.
Blaine,
Wednesday night. Broadway. 8pm.
If you don’t come, then I will know for certain.
Kurt.
Blaine retrieved the envelope, and inside was a single ticket to Kurt’s latest show on Broadway. Out of the two of them, Kurt was the only one who was following his dream. He was a star. Sell out shows, starring roles, all the solos he could dream of. He was living the high life, constantly pictured in magazines and newspapers, of which Blaine kept every single clipping since the two of them parted. In some of them, the colour was fading, they were folded and re-folded constantly, but in each of them , it was not difficult to pick out the graceful way in which Kurt aged. His skin was as smooth and luminous as it was the day he had first met Kurt, his hair as effortlessly maintained and kept, his clothes as fabulous yet understated.
Blaine had not followed his dream, instead he had followed his father’s, sacrificing the man he loved in the process. He was a lawyer, a high-class one at that. It was his job to prevent the scandals of their generation’s stars from reaching the paparazzi. He had covered up countless acts of public drunkenness, debauchery, abortions and sex scandals. He had married the eldest daughter of his father’s boss, someone who he had only agreed to marrying because she carried herself in such a way that Blaine had realised all he had to give her was his last name and access to his bank accounts, and she would turn a blind eye to the photos of young brunettes hidden in his office drawers, to his secret penchant for Broadway musicals, especially those of an up-and-coming countertenor.
In hindsight, Blaine knew that he could have done a lot worse, and he knew that if he had been true with his father all those years ago, if he had admitted that no, he was not over Kurt Hummel, and no, he hadn’t spoken to him in months, then he would almost certainly be working paycheck to paycheck in a second-rate apartment in the centre of the city, instead of living off a paycheck he was ashamed to admit, in a large sprawling manor in the heart of the leafy suburbs.
But, deep down in the very depths of his heart - which crumbled and wasted every day he awoke in the arms of someone who wasn’t the man who haunted his dreams for twelve, nearly thirteen years - he knew that he was not over Kurt Hummel, and would never be.
*
Settling down in the auditorium, Blaine was overwhelmed with images of his past, of being surrounded in a sea of navy and red, of voices overlapping and harmonising with his own, of being surrounded by smiles, laughter and loyalty of the friends he had left behind when he graduated from Dalton. He remembered the way his heart would swell with pride when he oversaw those young men, especially at Regionals, when he and Kurt had blown away the audiences with their duet, both boys looking at each other and drawing emotion from their first kiss just a few days previous, putting everything they had into that performance.
Was that when it had started going wrong, Blaine wondered. Was it their failure at Regionals which had put the first cracks in their relationship?
Before he had any more time to dwell on that thought, the lights dimmed and the heavy scarlet curtain rose, a single spotlight cast on the lone figure who stood in the centre of the stage.
Blaine’s gasp of surprise was drowned out by every person around him jumping to their feet and applauding. Clearly they had some idea of what was to come.
The figure raised his head, and brushed back his fringe in a gesture that made Blaine’s knees feel weak despite his current sitting position. He cleared his throat slightly, and spoke into the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for attending the closing night performance. Before the show begins, however, I would like to deviate from the playbill and perform a special song for an old… acquaintance of mine, who I haven’t seen in over a decade.” Kurt’s voice was deeper than it had been the last time they spoke, but it carried the experience and age of someone who had been centre stage on Broadway for a long time.
Blaine involuntarily swallowed as Kurt looked directly into his eyes, and spoke once more.
“Blaine Anderson, this is for you.”
As the audience once more rose to their feet and applauded, Blaine could just make out the opening strains of piano that would clearly be accompanying Kurt this evening.
I heard that you’re settled down
That you found a girl
And you’re married now
Kurt put every shred of emotion he felt into his performance, lifting his eyes to just the right height so that the spotlight caught them, causing the tears that welled in his eyes to shimmer, causing a breath to hitch in Blaine’s throat.
I heard
That your dreams came true
I guess she gave you things
I didn’t give to you
Oh friend
Why you so shy
Ain’t like you to hold back
Or hide from the light
Here, Kurt gave a slight laugh, and Blaine could picture the images that ran through his mind, images of him, Blaine, dancing and singing with the Warblers, jumping on furniture and wearing a goofy grin on his face, behavior that had been drummed out of him by twelve years of a loveless marriage.
I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited
But I couldn’t stay away I couldn’t fight it
I hoped you’d see my face and be reminded
That for me
It isn’t over
Blaine had to lower his gaze and look at his hands at this point, because if he continued to look at Kurt, he was going to either cry his eyes out, another part of him which had been snuffed out like a candle by his marriage, or he was going to do something as dramatic and as Rachel Berry-esque as stand up and join in with the chorus while walking up to the stage to join Kurt.
Never mind, I’ll find someone like you
I wish nothing but the best
For you too
Don’t forget me, I beg
I’ll remember you still
Sometimes it lasts in love
But sometimes it hurts instead
You know how the time flies
Only yesterday
It was the time of our lives
We were born and raised
In a summer haze
Bound by the surprise
Of our glory days
Kurt’s voice caught a little as he raised an elegant hand to brush a tear from his eye. It seemed as if it was not only Kurt and Blaine who were choked with emotion but also the majority population of the audience, as they related the pure heartbreak and sorrow of the performance to moments in their own lives, when loved ones moved on, passed away. They cried for lost loves, for parents, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters.
I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited
But I couldn’t stay away I couldn’t fight it
I hoped you’d see my face and be reminded
That for me
It isn’t over
Never mind, I’ll find someone like you
I wish nothing but the best
For you too
Don’t forget me, I beg
I’ll remember you still
Sometimes it lasts in love
But sometimes it hurts instead
As the tempo of the accompany piano picked up, Kurt raised his head once more, gripping the microphone in both hands, the look on his face so full of raw emotion that Blaine couldn’t take his eyes from him.
Nothing compares, no worries or cares
Regrets and mistakes are memories made
Who would have known how bittersweet
This would taste
Never mind, I’ll find someone like you
I wish nothing but the best
For you too
Don’t forget me
I beg
I’ll remember you still
Sometimes it lasts in love
But sometimes it hurts instead
Sometimes it lasts in love
But sometimes it hurts instead
Before Kurt had finished the last note, the audience were once again on their feet, tears streaming down their faces, not caring about outward appearances or about anything that wasn’t the young countertenor on the stage whose heartbreak and grief was laid out for all to see.
Blaine remained seated, watching Kurt. The two locked eyes, once, held their gaze for a few seconds, then Blaine broke the connection by lowering his eyes, a little afraid and overwhelmed by the pure, unadulterated emotion in Kurt’s beautiful eyes, the same eyes which had sought out Blaine’s own eyes that day they first met, all those years ago.
He rose, folding the programme into his pocket, and slipped out of the still applauding audience, wrapping his coat around him as he vertured out into the bitter wind. He didn’t bother staying the for the actual performance.
He had heard what Kurt wanted him to hear.
And he was no better for hearing it.
His heart ached more than he thought was possible, a pain he had never experienced before. It overwhelmed his entire body, making him feel lethargic. He just wanted to get home, get away from everyone so he could break down in peace.
Twelve years ago, a young man walked away from another. He had thought that would be the end.
Twelve years to the day, the other young man walked straight back into his life, and had obliterated everything he had known with one five minute ballad.
Forgoing the ride that was waiting for him outside of the theatre, Blaine begins to walk the four miles home, wanting to be alone with his thoughts.
Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead.
God, did it hurt.
pairing: kurt/blaine
rating: pg13
summary: blaine's past catches up with him, twelve years to the day he said goodbye to it.
disclaimer: not mine, don't own.
notes:song used in the fic and in the title is adele's "someone like you". first time writing klaine, any feedback is appreciated.
The sunlight streamed through the window and cast a golden glow across the sleeping occupants of the bed. One, brushing his unruly curls out of his face, opened his eyes and blinked a few times, yawning slightly. A quick glance at the clock on the bedside table informed him that it was 7am, in luminous green numbers. He allowed himself a small stretch before swinging his legs out of bed, resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing at his face. Behind him, his partner did not stir.
He dreamt of him again last night.
He dreamt so vividly of those (green?blue?grey?) eyes, that styled brown hair, that voice. Oh, that voice.
He dreamt it so vividly that upon awaking, he could have sworn that they remained in his view.
A hand on his back made him start, the skin too soft to be him, the body that wrapped itself around him too shapely to be his, the smell too sweet and floral rather than that mixture of cologne, sweat, a slight hint of moisturiser and of want to be his scent.
As his wife of twelve years murmured in his ear that it was time he left for work, Blaine Anderson found himself aching for the days when it was him in his bed, when it was his voice which Blaine woke up to, when it was just the two of them, when they could see no future beyond the moment they were currently living.
Oh Kurt.
*
Once he had showered and dressed, Blaine made his way downstairs, replaying the dream he had that night over and over in his head. It was senior prom again, and he could almost feel the warm weight of Kurt’s body in his arms, holding him close against his chest, pressing soft butterfly kisses to that spot behind his ear that made Kurt shiver.
The shrill and high voice of his wife - so different to Kurt’s, Blaine thought wistfully -was what greeted Blaine as he entered the kitchen, tastefully decorated to keep in trend with the rest of the house, which bore such similarities with Blaine’s childhood home he almost expected to turn a corner and come face to face with his father.
Gulping down the coffee his wife placed in front of him, medium drip, just the way he had liked it since his teenage years and his coffee dates with Kurt (his heart ached again), Blaine flipped through the pile of letters on the counter, most of them being the countless credit card bills belonging to his wife, and half-turned, ready to leave, before something caught his eye.
Familiar looping script, written in lilac.
Blaine picked up the letter, addressed to Mr Blaine Anderson. He turned it over, and let a small breath rush out when he saw the initials in the lower right corner of the envelope.
K.H.
Two letters that brought him rushing back to when he was sixteen, over-confident and cocky, to two pairs of eyes meeting in the middle of a crowded stairwell, to a dead bird and a broken boy, to a high soulful voice full of mourning, to a pair of lips on his, sweet like sugar yet bitter like chocolate.
Blaine hesitated slightly before opening the letter, almost afraid of what he would find. Inside was a small folded piece of paper, which he pulled out, laying the envelope on the counter.
Blaine,
Wednesday night. Broadway. 8pm.
If you don’t come, then I will know for certain.
Kurt.
Blaine retrieved the envelope, and inside was a single ticket to Kurt’s latest show on Broadway. Out of the two of them, Kurt was the only one who was following his dream. He was a star. Sell out shows, starring roles, all the solos he could dream of. He was living the high life, constantly pictured in magazines and newspapers, of which Blaine kept every single clipping since the two of them parted. In some of them, the colour was fading, they were folded and re-folded constantly, but in each of them , it was not difficult to pick out the graceful way in which Kurt aged. His skin was as smooth and luminous as it was the day he had first met Kurt, his hair as effortlessly maintained and kept, his clothes as fabulous yet understated.
Blaine had not followed his dream, instead he had followed his father’s, sacrificing the man he loved in the process. He was a lawyer, a high-class one at that. It was his job to prevent the scandals of their generation’s stars from reaching the paparazzi. He had covered up countless acts of public drunkenness, debauchery, abortions and sex scandals. He had married the eldest daughter of his father’s boss, someone who he had only agreed to marrying because she carried herself in such a way that Blaine had realised all he had to give her was his last name and access to his bank accounts, and she would turn a blind eye to the photos of young brunettes hidden in his office drawers, to his secret penchant for Broadway musicals, especially those of an up-and-coming countertenor.
In hindsight, Blaine knew that he could have done a lot worse, and he knew that if he had been true with his father all those years ago, if he had admitted that no, he was not over Kurt Hummel, and no, he hadn’t spoken to him in months, then he would almost certainly be working paycheck to paycheck in a second-rate apartment in the centre of the city, instead of living off a paycheck he was ashamed to admit, in a large sprawling manor in the heart of the leafy suburbs.
But, deep down in the very depths of his heart - which crumbled and wasted every day he awoke in the arms of someone who wasn’t the man who haunted his dreams for twelve, nearly thirteen years - he knew that he was not over Kurt Hummel, and would never be.
*
Settling down in the auditorium, Blaine was overwhelmed with images of his past, of being surrounded in a sea of navy and red, of voices overlapping and harmonising with his own, of being surrounded by smiles, laughter and loyalty of the friends he had left behind when he graduated from Dalton. He remembered the way his heart would swell with pride when he oversaw those young men, especially at Regionals, when he and Kurt had blown away the audiences with their duet, both boys looking at each other and drawing emotion from their first kiss just a few days previous, putting everything they had into that performance.
Was that when it had started going wrong, Blaine wondered. Was it their failure at Regionals which had put the first cracks in their relationship?
Before he had any more time to dwell on that thought, the lights dimmed and the heavy scarlet curtain rose, a single spotlight cast on the lone figure who stood in the centre of the stage.
Blaine’s gasp of surprise was drowned out by every person around him jumping to their feet and applauding. Clearly they had some idea of what was to come.
The figure raised his head, and brushed back his fringe in a gesture that made Blaine’s knees feel weak despite his current sitting position. He cleared his throat slightly, and spoke into the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for attending the closing night performance. Before the show begins, however, I would like to deviate from the playbill and perform a special song for an old… acquaintance of mine, who I haven’t seen in over a decade.” Kurt’s voice was deeper than it had been the last time they spoke, but it carried the experience and age of someone who had been centre stage on Broadway for a long time.
Blaine involuntarily swallowed as Kurt looked directly into his eyes, and spoke once more.
“Blaine Anderson, this is for you.”
As the audience once more rose to their feet and applauded, Blaine could just make out the opening strains of piano that would clearly be accompanying Kurt this evening.
I heard that you’re settled down
That you found a girl
And you’re married now
Kurt put every shred of emotion he felt into his performance, lifting his eyes to just the right height so that the spotlight caught them, causing the tears that welled in his eyes to shimmer, causing a breath to hitch in Blaine’s throat.
I heard
That your dreams came true
I guess she gave you things
I didn’t give to you
Oh friend
Why you so shy
Ain’t like you to hold back
Or hide from the light
Here, Kurt gave a slight laugh, and Blaine could picture the images that ran through his mind, images of him, Blaine, dancing and singing with the Warblers, jumping on furniture and wearing a goofy grin on his face, behavior that had been drummed out of him by twelve years of a loveless marriage.
I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited
But I couldn’t stay away I couldn’t fight it
I hoped you’d see my face and be reminded
That for me
It isn’t over
Blaine had to lower his gaze and look at his hands at this point, because if he continued to look at Kurt, he was going to either cry his eyes out, another part of him which had been snuffed out like a candle by his marriage, or he was going to do something as dramatic and as Rachel Berry-esque as stand up and join in with the chorus while walking up to the stage to join Kurt.
Never mind, I’ll find someone like you
I wish nothing but the best
For you too
Don’t forget me, I beg
I’ll remember you still
Sometimes it lasts in love
But sometimes it hurts instead
You know how the time flies
Only yesterday
It was the time of our lives
We were born and raised
In a summer haze
Bound by the surprise
Of our glory days
Kurt’s voice caught a little as he raised an elegant hand to brush a tear from his eye. It seemed as if it was not only Kurt and Blaine who were choked with emotion but also the majority population of the audience, as they related the pure heartbreak and sorrow of the performance to moments in their own lives, when loved ones moved on, passed away. They cried for lost loves, for parents, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters.
I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited
But I couldn’t stay away I couldn’t fight it
I hoped you’d see my face and be reminded
That for me
It isn’t over
Never mind, I’ll find someone like you
I wish nothing but the best
For you too
Don’t forget me, I beg
I’ll remember you still
Sometimes it lasts in love
But sometimes it hurts instead
As the tempo of the accompany piano picked up, Kurt raised his head once more, gripping the microphone in both hands, the look on his face so full of raw emotion that Blaine couldn’t take his eyes from him.
Nothing compares, no worries or cares
Regrets and mistakes are memories made
Who would have known how bittersweet
This would taste
Never mind, I’ll find someone like you
I wish nothing but the best
For you too
Don’t forget me
I beg
I’ll remember you still
Sometimes it lasts in love
But sometimes it hurts instead
Sometimes it lasts in love
But sometimes it hurts instead
Before Kurt had finished the last note, the audience were once again on their feet, tears streaming down their faces, not caring about outward appearances or about anything that wasn’t the young countertenor on the stage whose heartbreak and grief was laid out for all to see.
Blaine remained seated, watching Kurt. The two locked eyes, once, held their gaze for a few seconds, then Blaine broke the connection by lowering his eyes, a little afraid and overwhelmed by the pure, unadulterated emotion in Kurt’s beautiful eyes, the same eyes which had sought out Blaine’s own eyes that day they first met, all those years ago.
He rose, folding the programme into his pocket, and slipped out of the still applauding audience, wrapping his coat around him as he vertured out into the bitter wind. He didn’t bother staying the for the actual performance.
He had heard what Kurt wanted him to hear.
And he was no better for hearing it.
His heart ached more than he thought was possible, a pain he had never experienced before. It overwhelmed his entire body, making him feel lethargic. He just wanted to get home, get away from everyone so he could break down in peace.
Twelve years ago, a young man walked away from another. He had thought that would be the end.
Twelve years to the day, the other young man walked straight back into his life, and had obliterated everything he had known with one five minute ballad.
Forgoing the ride that was waiting for him outside of the theatre, Blaine begins to walk the four miles home, wanting to be alone with his thoughts.
Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead.
God, did it hurt.