Right As Rain, Chapter Five
V. Kurt
“Who's up first?” Mr Schuester asked, leaning back against the piano (Brad glared at him).
Kurt glanced at Blaine. Blaine shook his head, very slightly. “We're not ready,” he mouthed. After a moment, Kurt nodded in agreement. Being on the Cheerios with Sue Sylvester for three years had taught him to never settle for anything less than perfection. And he and Blaine weren't quite perfect yet.
Quinn raised her hand. “Rachel and I will go, Mr. Schue,” she said. Mr. Schue's eyes widened a little bit, but he nodded and the two girls rose from their chairs.
There was a prickling along the back of Kurt's neck-it felt like someone was watching him. He turned his head slightly, let his eyes drift up and over his shoulders.
Santana's hard black eyes were fixed on him, cold and accusing.
His stomach twisted sharply, and he turned his eyes away, swallowing hard and focusing back on Rachel and Quinn.
He didn't know why Santana had taken such issue with him. Why she was so convinced that he was going to hurt Blaine.
Two nights ago, he'd stood in Blaine's bedroom while Blaine looked at him with earnest, pleading eyes and promised himself that he would never, ever do anything to hurt him. He couldn't. There was so much Blaine had to go through, so much he'd already been through, so much he hadn't yet told Kurt, and Kurt knew that he wouldn't-couldn't-do anything to hurt him.
Quinn was seated behind the piano, fingers poised over the keys, eyes fixed on Rachel. Rachel gestured to the band to begin.
The intro to the song was jazzy-something Kurt recognized, but couldn't quite put a finger on. He snuck a glance at Blaine.
Blaine definitely knew it. Kurt didn't know why he was surprised at that. The other boy's palms were slapping against his thighs, keeping rhythm to the beat of the song. He caught Kurt's eye and grinned, bobbing his head in a dorky little dance. Kurt grinned, flushing, and ducked his head again, breaking eye contact.
Rachel leaned against the piano, smiling at Quinn.
What a day this has been, what a rare mood I'm in
Why, it's almost like being in love
There's a smile on my face for the whole human race
Why, it's almost like being in love
Quinn was gazing at her fondly, the expression on her face softer than one Kurt had ever seen her give anyone before, even Finn when they'd been dating. Even Puck, after Beth had happened.
She opened her mouth to join Rachel, their voices blending prettily.
All the music of life seems to be
Like a bell that is ringing just for me!
Quinn took the next verse alone, sliding over to let Rachel sit beside her at the piano.
And from the way that I feel when that bell starts to peel
I would swear I was falling
Swear I was falling
Why, it's almost like being in love
Rachel leapt up, tugging Quinn up with her and joining her voice.
The music of life seems to be
Like a bell that is ringing just for me!
And from the way that I feel when that bell starts to peel
I would swear I was falling
Swear I was falling
Why it's almost like being in love...
The girls trailed off, smiling at each other, and the music faded.
Unfair, Kurt thought, a little bitterly. Two girls could sing a song about being in love with each other, complete with flirty smiles and not one person would say a thing-in fact, everyone in the choir room was standing up and clapping for them.
Then he looked around the room.
Puck was looking at the girls with a pained expression on his face, one that was achingly similar to the one on Finn's face. Santana looked distraught, her mouth a tight line on her face, her eyes older than her sixteen years.
Kurt's eyes wandered back to the front of the room, and it clicked.
Rachel and Quinn. Of course.
How had he not noticed the way Quinn looked at Rachel?
The two girls had eyes only for each other, not noticing the varying reactions to their duet. And then something shifted, and Quinn's eyes darted away, her posture stiffening. Rachel's expression fell, her eyes dimming.
Kurt's throat tightened.
He knew that expression.
Quinn was the first to leave the room, avoiding eye contact with everyone around her. Santana was next, wrenching her arm away from Brittany's pleading, outstretched hand. Slowly, the number of people in the room dwindled.
Kurt stayed sitting, his eyes locked on Rachel.
Blaine shot a quick glance between the two of them, then reached over to gently rest his fingers on Kurt's knee. “I'll wait for you by your car?”
Wordlessly, Kurt passed him the keys.
Blaine shouldered his bag and left, passing one last glance at Rachel as he slipped out the door.
Rachel sniffled, wiping under her eyes, then looked around. Her eyes widened when she realized that she and Kurt were the only two left in the room, and she ducked her head, moving quickly towards the door.
Kurt stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Rachel, wait,” he said, gently, reaching out to catch her arm.
She turned to look at him, eyes bright, arm tugging away from his grasp.
“How long?” he asked.
She laughed, bitterly, her eyes cast downward. “Remember when Quinn joined the Cheerios?”
Kurt wracked his brain. “Yes.” First week of sophomore year. He and Mercedes had followed her footsteps a week later.
“That long,” Rachel said, softly, and wiped under her nose. She took two steps back, into the hallway. Kurt followed her.
Oh. Oh god. Poor Rachel. Her eyes were wet, eyelashes clumped together in tiny triangles, and Kurt had no idea what to do.
He reached out a hand, gingerly patting her on the shoulder. He'd never really been one for touching-the only person he ever hugged was his father. To his utter surprise, Rachel collapsed into his arms, her arms winding around his waist, hands clinging to the back of his shirt.
Kurt swallowed, hard, then brought his arms up around her shoulders. “I thought-Finn--” he said.
Rachel shook her head, her eyelashes leaving wet trails behind on his neck. “No. No. I thought that too, but--” there was a hitch in her breathing; a small sob escaped her. She choked a little into his shoulder, took a deep breath. “How could I want him when she was there?”
A week ago, Kurt would have rolled his eyes at her and passed her off as being melodramatic. Now, however, he could almost understand how she felt, the hopelessness of feeling so strongly with someone who wouldn't-couldn't-feel the same way. At least he stood a small chance with Blaine. But Quinn-Quinn Fabray was (at least to the public eye) completely and depressingly straight.
He held Rachel a little more tightly.
“So how long for you?” she asked, her voice muffled by his shirt, but he heard each word as if she'd shouted them.
“What?” he asked, forcing his grip not to tighten, forcing his voice not to waver.
“With Blaine. How long?”
“Rachel, I've only known him for a week,” he said, stiffly, beginning to pull away from her, eyes scanning the hallway for snooping gossipmongers.
“That doesn't mean anything,” Rachel said, reluctantly letting him go and threading her fingers together behind her back.
Kurt crossed his arms in around himself, holding himself together, pulling himself away. “I'm not talking about this with you, Rachel, we're not even friends.”
“We could be,” Rachel said, her expression so earnestly hopeful that it actually hurt Kurt's chest to look at her directly. “You need people other than Blaine as a support system, Kurt.”
“I have--”
“The Cheerios?” the sympathy in Rachel's eyes was too much. He lifted his chin, eyes icy, a retort ready on the tip of his tongue. She reached out to brush her fingers against his forearm. “How long do you think they'll be around for you if you begin dating Blaine? How long were they around for Quinn? You need people on your side, Kurt.”
“I don't,” Kurt said, but his voice was flat and unconvincing, nothing like the cold tone he'd always used to shoot people down before. Before... before he met Blaine.
Rachel's eyes were wide, pleading.
Kurt sighed. “Okay,” he said, softly. “Yes.”
Rachel clapped her hands, beaming through the tears still gathered in her eyes. “I'm going to hug you now, okay?”
Kurt rolled his eyes, but was unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face. Rachel hopped forward, flinging her arms around his neck. He hugged her back, a little less hesitantly than before, and buried his face in her hair to hide his smile.
* * *
Blaine was sitting in the passenger's seat, his fingers drumming nervously on the dashboard when Kurt pulled the driver's side door open.
Kurt reached over to touch his shoulder. “You okay?”
“How'd it go?” Blaine asked, turning wide eyes on Kurt.
Kurt let out a long, shaky breath, unable to stop his mouth from curling up into a grin. “It's Rachel,” he said, wryly. “What do you think?” He slid into the car, tapping a finger against the metal of Blaine's seatbelt buckle. “Buckle up.”
Blaine did so, twisting in his seat to face Kurt. “Is she okay?”
Kurt didn't answer for a long moment, choosing instead to shift his car into reverse, looking over his shoulder as he backed out of the parking spot. He shifted back to drive. “I think we're friends now,” he said finally.
Blaine's eyebrows shot up. Kurt snuck a little glance out of the corner of his eye, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.
“I can honestly say I didn't see that coming,” Blaine said. “But it doesn't really... surprise me, now that I think about it.”
Kurt made a small, inquisitive noise.
Blaine shrugged; Kurt caught it in the rearview mirror. “You two are not as different as you might think.”
Kurt shot him a quick glance. “I've noticed you don't spend a lot of time with her.”
“No,” Blaine said. “She gets a little... abrasive at times.”
“You spend a lot of time with me,” Kurt said. It wasn't a question.
“Yes,” Blaine said, softly.
Kurt pulled onto his street. “Am I... not abrasive?”
“No,” Blaine said firmly. “No. You're-you're like Rachel, but you aren't her clone. You're a different person, too. Your own person.”
Kurt pulled into her driveway, switching off the ignition. “Do you think I'm unfriendly?” he asked, his voice startlingly loud in the sudden silence.
Blaine blinked. “No. You've always been friendly to me.”
Kurt unbuckled his seatbelt, fidgeted a little. “You're different.”
“Why am I different?” Blaine's voice was tinged with a little bit of hope.
Kurt turned his head, gaze raking across Blaine's face. “I don't know.” That was untrue. “I think... you might be my best friend.” That was true. He laughed, sharp and bitter. “Isn't that pathetic?”
“No,” Blaine breathed, his gaze unwavering, his eyes bright and warm. “I think you might be my best friend, too.”
Kurt laughed softly, trying to ignore the sharp jolt through his shoulders and chest at Blaine's words.
“C'mere,” Blaine said, his voice a little unsteady, reaching his arms out. Kurt leaned over the center console, allowing Blaine to wrap his arms around him and bury his face in Kurt's neck.
Kurt stayed impossibly still, willing himself to not focus on the warm breath on his neck, the shifting muscles of Blaine's back against her palms, the weight of Blaine's head against his shoulder.
“Pretty pretty please,” Blaine sang, his voice breathy and half-teasing and muffled by Kurt's shoulder, “don't you ever ever feel like you're less than, less than perfect...”
A chill went down Kurt's spine, a shudder of something deep and dizzying and terrifying. Suddenly, the whisper of Blaine's breath against Kurt's neck was too much. He forced himself to pull back, away from the warmth of Blaine's body, and smiled shakily, feeling like his world had suddenly tilted. “We should... we should practice.”
“I thought we were,” Blaine said, bumping Kurt's elbow with an easy smile. “Or, at least, I was.” Their hands slid over each other's, and something somersaulted in Kurt's chest at the way Blaine hesitantly linked their fingers together, sliding their hands palm-to-palm.
Their eyes met, Blaine's searching. “Is this okay?” they seemed to ask.
Kurt smiled, squeezed Blaine's hand. “C'mon,” she said, letting go and reaching for the car door. “We need to rehearse.”
He held the door open for Blaine, trying hard not to blush at the way Blaine smiled at him when he did so, and followed Blaine into the house.
Kurt's shoulders stiffened, immediately.
Finn was sitting on the couch, absorbed in a football game playing on the television. From the dining room, Kurt could hear the faint sounds of his father's voice and a woman's laugh.
“Hey, Finn!” Blaine said, beaming and bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Kurt didn't tell me you guys were friends!”
“We're not,” Kurt said, sharply, before Finn could speak.
Finn's face fell the smallest amount. “Our parents are dating,” he said, sheepishly, avoiding eye contact with Kurt. “I-uh, sometimes tag along when Mom goes to see Burt.”
Something unpleasant twisted in Kurt's stomach at the way his father's name fell from Finn's lips-casual, easy, like they were friends--
He grabbed Blaine's hand; out of the corner of his eye, he saw Blaine shoot him a confused look. “Come on, Blaine,” he said, his eyes still narrowed the smallest amount, chin high, posture stiff. “My room's in the basement. We can rehearse there.”
Blaine let Kurt tug him downstairs without much resistance, waving goodbye to a confused-looking Finn.
Kurt released Blaine at the bottom of the stairs, busying himself with the stereo next to his bed.
Blaine watched him for a long moment; Kurt could feel his eyes burning into the back of his neck.
“What?”
“Kurt,” Blaine said, softly. It was a reprimand.
Kurt's shoulders sagged, the fight leaving him. “I'm sorry,” he said quietly, and turned, hands gripping the edge of his dresser. “I don't even know why it gets to me, him being here, it just does.”
Blaine tilted his head. For someone so supposedly oblivious, his eyes were far too understanding and tender and it just hurt. Kurt ducked his head.
“Hey,” Blaine said, gently. “I get it.”
Kurt snorted, shaking his head.
“I do.” Blaine reached out a hand, then dropped it limply back to his side when Kurt did nothing. “You're used to being the only one in your dad's life. It's tough to adjust to this kind of thing.”
Kurt sighed, staring up at the ceiling. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and blinked hard a few times, willing the wateriness in his eyes away before he spoke. “It just-it's so easy for him and Dad and it just seems so unfair to me, because it's so hard for he and I to relate to each other. We have to schedule time together, and he and Finn can just fall into watching football or talking about sports and Mellencamp and-I don't know, flannel shirts-together. That'll never be me.”
He hadn't heard Blaine approach him, hadn't noticed until Blaine's hand stroked his back tentatively. “You think he doesn't know that isn't you?”
“I think he wishes it was.” Kurt laughs, but there's no humor to it.
“I disagree,” Blaine said, his voice quiet.
“You don't even know him,” Kurt snapped, wanting immediately to take back the harsh words.
“No,” Blaine said, after a moment's silence. “I don't. But I know you. And I know what you're like. And I've seen the way you and he act around each other. You two have an amazing relationship.” His voice came out a little bitter.
Kurt's heart clenched.
“He loves you,” Blaine said, his hand rubbing gentle circles across Kurt's shoulder blades. “You're not being replaced.”
Kurt sniffed, reaching for a tissue. He turned away from Blaine to blow his nose. “It feels like it, a little bit.”
“I know.” Blaine's voice was soothing. “Have you thought about talking to him about it?”
Kurt laughed.
“I'm serious,” Blaine protested. “This is something you should communicate with him about.”
Kurt bit his lip. After a moment, he looked over at Blaine. “Thank you,” he said, giving him a small smile.
Blaine appeared genuinely startled. “What for?” he asked.
Kurt chose not to answer. “Would you like to say hello to my dad?” he asked, standing up and offering a hand to Blaine.
Blaine hesitated. “Hear me out on one more thing, first?”
Kurt gave a long-suffering sigh, rolling his eyes. “Fine,” he said.
Blaine cracked a smile. “Give Finn a chance, please? He's a little slow, but he really is a good guy. When he's not exercising his jerkiness.”
“That sounds promising,” Kurt said, drily.
Blaine took his hand, laughing, and let Kurt lead him from the room.
“Dad?” Kurt called, once in the hall.
“In here.” His father's voice came from the dining room, and was followed by the sound of a woman muffling laughter. Kurt clenched Blaine's hand a little more tightly.
“Kurt?” Blaine whispered.
Kurt looked at him.
“You might want to let go of my hand before we go in there,” he suggested, cheeks darkening. “Your, uh. Your dad might get the wrong idea.”
“Oh!” Kurt said, eyes widening, and he immediately dropped Blaine's hand.
Blaine coughed, bringing his hand up to his mouth and ducking his head to hide his blush.
“Dad?” Kurt asked, his eyes determinately avoiding Carole's presence. “You remember Blaine, right?”
“I do,” Burt said, standing up and reaching out his hands. “Nice to see you again, Blaine.”
Blaine elbowed Kurt subtly on his way to reaching his hand out to shake Burt's. “It's a pleasure to see you, sir.”
“Burt is fine,” Burt said, his eyes searching.
“And it's nice to see you again, Mrs. Hudson,” Blaine said, politely, reaching out a hand in her direction.
Carole beamed, standing to hug him. “Carole, Blaine, I've told you before.” She released him with another brilliant smile. Blaine moved back to stand beside Kurt once more, and elbowed him once more.
“Hi, Mrs. Hudson,” Kurt murmured, trying his best to sound as if he was truly enthusiastic about her and her son's presence in his house.
“Hi, Kurt,” Carole said, softly, unable to hide her delighted smile.
“We're going to go practice in the basement.” Kurt directed his words at his father.
“Door open,” Burt said, his face stern.
“Dad,” Kurt said, crossing his arms and fixing him with a glare. “Blaine and I are not dating, we are just friends, and we are about to go down to the basement to practice our duet for glee club, probably very loudly.”
Finn snorted loudly from behind them. “Duet,” he whispered.
Kurt fixed a glare on him, and he shrunk back.
“Dad,” Kurt appealed, looking back towards him. For a moment, he and his father simply looked at each other. He could see the conflict in his dad's eyes-gay son, unsure of proper parenting technique, gay son having a boy in his room for the first time, a gay boy--
“Fine,” Burt said finally, arms folded across his chest.
Kurt straightened, his chin tipped up in a way that Blaine was learning that meant he was trying not to preen. “Can Blaine stay for dinner?”
“Might as well,” Burt grunted, waving them both off.
“Your dad doesn't like me,” Blaine whispered as they headed back down the stairs to Kurt's room.
Kurt waved a hand. “Of course he does. I told you he does. All of this intimidation business is about me, not you. Look at you.”
Blaine looked at himself. “What about me?”
Kurt laughed, reaching out to run a finger just under Blaine's collar (and where had that come from, anyway? Kurt didn't even really touch people, much less flirt with them). “Have you seen yourself, Blaine? You don't exactly look like the virtue-stealing type. You wear bowties and glasses and gel your hair and call my father 'sir'.”
Blaine looked put out. “I could be the virtue stealing type,” he said, a little grumpily.
Kurt patted Blaine lightly on the chest (wow, he's got really well-defined muscles), and stood up. “I'd take it as the blessing it is, Blaine.” He turned to his stereo, scrolling through his ipod until he found the right song. “Ready to practice?”
* * *
Dinner was awkward.
Burt was quiet as always, tucking into his food the moment Kurt put it down in front of him. He preferred to listen rather than talk, which ordinarily Kurt was okay with, because he preferred to talk. But he was trying to make Blaine more comfortable, trying to make him feel welcome in their home, and Burt was not helping. He cleared his throat, giving the table at large a meaningful look.
Carole coughed, unfolded her napkin. “So, Blaine. How are your parents?”
Kurt winced internally.
“They're fine, thank you,” Blaine said stiffly, and Kurt kicked his father under the table.
“I seem to remember you liking football, Blaine?” He grunted, looking up from his food.
Blaine looked at Kurt. Kurt smiled encouragingly.
“Yes,” Blaine said, smiling tentatively at Burt. “I'm actually on the school newspaper, and when I joined my freshman year I asked the editor-in-chief if I could take all of the football games.”
“Blaine is editor-in-chief now,” Kurt said, unable to keep the note of pride out of his voice.
Burt's eyebrows shot up. “How old are you, kid?”
Blaine's ears reddened. “I'm a sophomore, sir.”
“Burt,” Burt reminded him. “You're a year younger than Kurt, then.”
“I am, yes,” Blaine said.
“He's the youngest editor-in-chief in McKinley history,” Kurt said, squeezing Blaine's hand where it rested on the table and beaming at him.
Blaine blushed, ducking his head. “How did you know that?” he whispered, smiling shyly.
“I did my research,” Kurt whispered back, threading his fingers through Blaine's, heat creeping up the back of his neck and staining his cheeks dark red.
The sound of Finn's chair scraping back broke them out of their moment. Blaine looked away quickly, blushing all the way up to the roots of his hair.
“Can I watch the game, Mom?” Finn asked.
“Put your plate in the dishwasher,” Carole answered, and there was the scraping of dishes and cutlery.
Kurt took a moment to collect himself, tracing the designs on his placemat with his eyes, then looked up.
His dad was staring at him, and indecipherable expression on his face. It shook Kurt a little, but he couldn't quite place his finger on why. He stood up, averting his eyes. “Would you like to watch the game too, Blaine?”
“I'd love to,” Blaine said, immediately, standing up and gathering his dishes.
“Dad?” Kurt asked.
“Give me and Carole a moment?” Burt asked, the expression in his eyes gone, replaced with something lighter, happier.
“Sure,” Kurt said, and without thinking, placed his hand on the small of Blaine's back to steer him from the room.
It wasn't until much later that night that Kurt understood the look on his father's face.
He'd walked Blaine out to his car, watching until he drove away before turning back to the house. Burt was standing in the window, his face once again pulled into that expression Kurt couldn't quite place.
It was a few minutes later that the door closed behind Carole and Finn, and Burt turned to look at Kurt.
“Well,” Kurt said, yawning a little, “it's been a long day, I think I'll--”
“Take a seat,” Burt said, nodding towards the kitchen table.
Slowly, Kurt sat.
“You're not in trouble, Kurt,” Burt said, taking the seat across from him.
Kurt let out a relieved sigh.
“I--” Burt rubbed his hand over his face. “You and this Blaine kid. You're close?”
“He's my best friend, Dad,” Kurt said, and he couldn't stop the soft, silly smile that spread over his face. “I thought you said you liked him?”
“I do, kid,” Burt said, but his face looked a little pained. “And you're his... his best friend, too?”
“Yes,” Kurt said, “and Dad, I listened to what you said. I thought about it. And I talked to him, too. Both of us are willing to make compromises in order to be-to be together.”
“Together?” Burt asked, his mouth tightening.
“Friends, Dad,” Kurt reminded him.
“Friends,” Burt repeated, looking unconvinced. The expression from before was back-the strangest mix of pain and love and fondness and worry. He cleared his throat. “And how long have you been in love with him?”
It was like he'd gone suddenly from swinging through the air to being on the ground, breath knocked out of him. “What?” he managed, his chair screeching back from the table.
His father's eyes were caring, sympathetic.
Kurt tried to laugh, to ignore the frantic, rabbit-quick beat of his heart. “I've only known him for a week, Dad.”
“I knew the moment I saw Carole,” Burt said. “Hummel men fall hard and fast. I've been waiting for the day you would.”
Kurt felt cold, unsteady. “I'm not-I'm sixteen--”
“And in love,” his dad said, simply.
Kurt shook his head, standing up, clenching his sweaty hands behind him. “I'm not-Dad. Please. Stop.”
His dad didn't say anything, didn't move or try to make him stay as he left the room.
Downstairs, he sank slowly onto his bed, hands balled into fists and shoved against his eyes.
He couldn't, he couldn't be in love with Blaine, he'd known the boy for one week and despite how close they'd gotten, he just couldn't. Being in love was too terrifying, too scary, too much of a loss of control for him to handle. He couldn't just give his heart over like his father could, he couldn't just hope that Blaine wouldn't toss it aside carelessly. He couldn't even think of the ways that other people would be able to hurt him with this, much less the ways that Blaine could hurt him with this.
His eyes felt hot.
Kurt had always liked control. Control of himself, control of those around him, control of his grades and his body and his heart, and up until he'd met Blaine Anderson, the last had been the thing he'd always had the most control of.
He'd given up so much control to be friends with Blaine. He'd given up control of his social life, the safety of being on the top of the heap, the safety of choosing friends who he cared about, but not so much that it hurt to see them in pain.
He'd already given so much control to Blaine. He couldn't give this to him, too.