Too in Love to Let it Go, Chapter 18
Author: gingerandfair/lavender_love00
Genre: AU/Married!Klaine/future-fic
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 4300/200,000
Spoilers: none
Chapter summary: In which tensions inside the Anderson-Hummel house are running high, friends outside it are worried, and in the middle of it all, Nick moves to New York.
Prologue (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 1 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 2 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 3 ( LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 4 ( LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 5 ( LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 6 ( LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 7 ( LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 8 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) Chapter 9 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 10 (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 11 ( LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 12 ( LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 13 ( LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 14 ( LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 15 on (LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 16 on ( LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C) - Chapter 17 on ( LJ/AO3/Tumblr/S&C)
Read Chapter 18 on AO3/Tumblr/S&C
Chapter 18
Sunday, August 6th, 2023
"Whatcha doin'?"
Kurt gasped, jerking in surprise, and sent the spool of thread he was holding in his hand clattering to the ground. "God, Tori, you can't just sneak up on a person like that."
"Sorry. Just wondering what you're doing in here on a Sunday morning …"
"I could ask you the same question," Kurt said chasing the little spool as it rolled around the room. "Now look, see what you did?"
Tori lifted the toe of her Doc Marten a few inches off the ground and caught the spool of thread as it rolled her way. "I left my bag in here yesterday," she said, placing the thread in Kurt's outstretched hand. "I came back to get it. Now, what are you doing?"
"I'm organizing all of our thread by type, color, and length," he said. "It's driving me crazy - nobody puts them back in the right place."
"Kurt?" Tori said.
"Yes?"
"It's Sunday. What are you actually doing here?"
He hunched his shoulders and crossed his arms over his stomach, nearly folding in on himself. "Our place just feels really small right now," he said softly.
"What do you mean?" she asked, her big boots clomping on the wood as she came over to lean on the table in front of him.
"It's stupid. We've got 900 square feet, which is like living in a castle compared to a lot of people," he told her. "But - I don't know, I just feel like I can't breathe at home. Like I'm suffocating."
"Problems with your husband?" she asked.
"I don't know," Kurt fretted. "I shouldn't be talking to you about this. You don't even -"
"Kurt," she interrupted, placing her hand atop his, "I've been through this before, remember? Or something similar, at least. It's hard. It's hard on any relationship, even your ridiculous gay high school sweetheart fairy tale love story. God, who even does that?"
Kurt closed his eyes. "Tori. Do you have a point?"
She scuffed her boot on the floor. "Look, you can talk to me if you want, okay? I won't say anything as long as you don't tell people I'm being nice."
He opened his eyes, but didn't say anything.
"Does this make you feel better?" Tori asked, holding up a spool of thread. "Putting things in order so you don't have to focus about how your life is totally out of order?"
His mouth fell agape for a split second before he snapped it shut. "It just gave me something to do," he said, a little bite in his voice. "I don't want to be at home, so why not be here? And what's wrong with cleaning?"
She raised her pierced eyebrow. "Nothing. Never said there was." She gathered her bag off the table. "I'll just leave you to it then -"
"Wait," Kurt pleaded suddenly, his voice soft. He couldn't look at her, could only focus on the string of purple thread he was winding and unwinding around his finger. He was fiercely private, proud to a fault, but there was no one else - Rachel didn't understand, his dad would worry, and Blaine … well, Blaine.
"Blaine and I are fighting."
Tori pulled up a stool.
"We've never fought like this before." He looked up at her. "Did you and your - husband? Boyfriend?"
"Boyfriend," she supplied.
"Did you fight a lot? After - well, back when you -"
She looked down. "We broke up, Kurt."
He felt like a cannonball had just been dropped down his throat and into his stomach. "When?" he whispered.
"About six months after. We just - it wasn't ever the same after that. I just wanted my baby back, and he couldn't give that to me, so …"
"Oh god," Kurt said, fumbling with the spool of thread, feeling his face turn white. "Oh god -"
"Kurt -"
"He's my best friend." Kurt's voice was panicked, insistent. "He - I don't think you understand, Tori, he -"
"Kurt. Stop. I never said -" She twisted her snake bracelet around her wrist. "You just asked if we fought. We did. A lot. And badly. But we'd only known each other six months, and he was - he didn't understand, I don't think he could, he didn't want it like I did -"
"Right. It's different, right? It's got to be different, Blaine wanted a baby and we've been together for years andI -" He broke off, pressing his fist tight against his mouth, overcome. "I can't lose him, too," he choked out, fighting the tears, squeezing his eyes shut tight against them. "I lost her, but I can't lose him - I can't, Tori, I don't know how to breathe without him -"
"Okay," she cooed, a tone he'd never heard from her before, and fuck, life just wasn't fair, because he knew she'd have made a wonderful mother. "Okay, come here, honey." He let himself be pulled into her heavily tattooed arms, rested his head on her shoulder.
They sat like that until his breathing calmed, and he was swiping his sleeve across his face when she suddenly glared at him. "And just so we're clear," she said, "I'm not kidding, Hummel, if anyone finds out I'm being nice to you …"
When he laughed, it felt like a bird fluttering its wings inside his chest.
* * *
Monday, August 7th, 2023
It was three in the afternoon, and Blaine was on his second nap of the day. Or, trying to be, at least. He tossed and turned, tried to read a book, tried a different book, but he couldn't get comfortable and he couldn't go to sleep. He was still upset about fighting with Kurt on Friday, and he couldn't even deny that the things they said weren't true. He was lazy. He wasn't pulling his weight. He wasn't making any money, wasn't even trying to write. But it wasn't that he didn't want to, he simply didn't have the energy to get out of bed most days.
There was one thing he could do, though, to try and make Kurt a little happier. He might not have been able to get out of bed during the day, but he could stay out of the clubs and bars at night.
With a groan, he picked up his cell phone.
"Hey Blaine, I haven't heard from you in a while!" Alex said, sounding cheery on the other end of the line. "How're things? You need another night out?"
"Actually, Alex," Blaine said, pulling the covers up around his neck, "I think I'm done with nights out for a while."
"Oh, that's a shame - Kurt been on your case?"
"Something like that," he mumbled.
"Well, it's probably for the best. The publishing house has been on my ass about the fact that we haven't seen anything from you lately," Alex told him.
"Yeah, yeah, I know, I've been really lazy lately -"
"Blaine, I didn't say that. But I'd really love to see an outline, or a draft, or at least an idea sometime soon …"
Blaine was quiet.
"You there, man?" Alex asked.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm here," Blaine said, scrubbing his face with his hand. "It's just -"
"It's just what?"
"Nothing. No, you're right - I need to get my ass in gear. Kurt's working all the time; I could at least try to be a little productive."
"Blaine?"
He sighed. "Yeah?"
"Are you okay? Because I don't want to rush you if you need more time."
He almost laughed. Time? What would time do? The only thing he was doing with his time was wasting it.
"Yeah, Alex. I'm fine."
* * *
Wednesday, August 9th, 2023
"Kurt, are you finished cleaning the shower yet? I actually need to take one …"
Kurt sighed, holding a toothbrush against the grout as he stood in the middle of the tub. "Blaine, don't come in; I look ridiculous." Flip-flops, old gym shorts, an old undershirt and bright green gloves covering half his forearms did not a fashion statement make.
"Kurt, seriously?" came Blaine's voice from outside the door. At least the man had enough sense to follow orders.
"Yes, seriously. And no, I'm not done yet. Can't you wait? It's not like you're about to be late for something," he said, wiping his forehead with the bare part of his arm. "The amount of soap scum we can accumulate in a week is kind of insane."
"I thought you just cleaned it on Sunday." Blaine sounded perturbed. "Is this some obsessive coping mechanism you've suddenly developed? Does it make you feel better, cleaning everything?"
"Does it make you feel better, drinking and sleeping all day?" he snapped, scrubbing harder. "And yes, if it means anything to you, it does make me feel …" What? Like I'm not free-falling? Like the world isn't tilting on its axis anymore? "… better, keeping things clean. Do you have a problem with that? I thought you liked a clean house."
"I do! I just have a problem with the fact that it's interfering with the rest of our lives."
Oh, now Kurt was livid. "Our lives? I'm not sure what part of our lives you're talking about, because I think it's just my share of the cleaning duties that have doubled in the last month. Did you even look at the kitchen yesterday?"
He could feel the tension through the bathroom door. "You know what? Fine," Blaine said in a clipped voice. Kurt could hear him stomping out, and through the wall in their small condo, could hear him banging around in the kitchen.
Kurt scrubbed the tiles harder and thought for the first time in years of Miss Pillsbury and her bright green rubber gloves. It unnerved him how much she reminded him of himself in that moment.
"There!" Blaine yelled, filling their home with a voice that Kurt didn't hear very often. "I emptied the trash!"
Kurt could hear more banging, the clattering of dishes and glasses, and soon Blaine's voice followed with, "And picked up all the dirty dishes!"
He stomped back into the bedroom, and Kurt heard lots of rustling through the doorway behind him. "And now all these dirty clothes that you hate so much are in baskets where they belong," Blaine mocked.
A few seconds later, he stormed into the bathroom, where Kurt was still facing the shower wall. "Are you happy now?" Blaine asked, fuming. "Am I being good enough for you? Not so lazy?"
"I asked you not to come in here," Kurt said, keeping his voice under tight control.
"And I think that's ridiculous," Blaine said. "Hell, Kurt, I've seen you puking your guts up on the bathroom floor, I've seen you with the flu, I've seen you after a workout - your cleaning gear isn't going to scare me off, I promise."
Kurt took a deep breath before turning around, swearing to himself that he wouldn't fly off the handle - Blaine was being volatile enough by himself, if both of them lost it …
"I never said anything about not being good enough. You asked why I clean so much, and I told you." His voice never shook, not even when he realized just how angry Blaine was.
"Why are you being so calm about this?" Blaine demanded, his pitch rising. "You're making me feel like a jackass, yelling at you, and you're just sitting there cleaning -"
"What do you want me to do, Blaine? Yell at you? Because I can, if that would make you feel better about yelling at me …"
Blaine stared at him with wide, furious eyes for a moment before turning and smacking the door with his open palm. "You know what? I'm going to the gym. I'll be back later."
"Fantastic. Make sure you remember to tape your hands this time."
Kurt waited until the door slammed shut behind Blaine before he let his face twist and banged his own fist against the shower wall.
He let a few tears leak out, then heard whining behind him. It was Romeo.
"I'm sorry," he said wearily, stepping out of the bathtub and sinking down onto the bath mat, his knees tucked under his chin. "I know Daddy and I are fighting a lot." Romeo trotted forward, licking his face.
"God, I'm glad that puppy love is unconditional," Kurt whispered into his fur. "Thanks, buddy." He gathered Romeo up in his arms and groaned as he stood. "Come on, let's go watch some Project Runway, okay?"
* * *
Friday, August 11th, 2023
"Are you going to make this a habit or something, showing up here out of the blue?" Kurt asked as Rachel sauntered toward him.
"For as long as I'm needed," she said cheerfully. She smiled, holding up her now-familiar pink tote bag. "I brought lunch!"
"Of course you did." He looked up, and sure enough, Marc was there, giving him a thumbs-up.
"Fine. Let me finish this hem, and I'll take my break," he said, resigned.
* * *
"Okay, so do you have an actual agenda this time, or are you just trying to feed me?" Kurt asked, leading Rachel out of the studio and down the street to some benches.
"I wanted to talk to you about something, actually," she said, pulling containers of food out of her bag. "And feed you."
"Well then, talk away," Kurt said, leaning back.
"You said you were worried about Blaine," she said, serving the purple plastic plate she pulled out of her bag without even asking what he wanted.
Luckily she had grilled chicken, which he actually could eat most of, and roasted asparagus, which he thought might have potential.
"I am worried about Blaine," Kurt said, spearing a piece of the asparagus with his fork.
"I went to brunch with him last week, and we met for a late lunch the other day," she said. "And - Kurt, he seems fine. I mean, he's sad, and he doesn't want to talk about Violet, but - I don't want you to use him to keep me from focusing on your problems."
He stared at her. "What?"
She sighed, a pained expression on her face. "I feel like he's handling things, handling himself, a little better than you are, and I just - I'm so worried about you. I've never seen you like this before -"
Kurt could feel blood rushing to his cheeks. "You know, I'm not sure which part I'm more mad about."
"Kurt -"
"I don't know whether to be pissed because you're saying that you know my own husband better than I do, and you know how he's reacting after having two meals with him, or because you're saying I can't handle myself. Which one of us is working here, hmm? Which one of us is functioning, cleaning the house, taking Romeo out, not sleeping all day -"
"That's not what I meant!"
"What did you mean, then?"
"You're scaring me!" Rachel exclaimed, her face crumbling as she began to cry. "You're just - you're disappearing in front of me!" She brought her hands to her face, wiping her mascara-stained tears away. "What am I supposed to think? That you're fine, that you're - handling yourself?" she gasped. "You're not fine, Kurt!"
"No," he said, shocked by her tears. "No, I'm not."
"Then let me help you," she said, black streaks running down her face. "Let Blaine help you."
"Blaine's too depressed to be any good to anybody right now, including himself," Kurt said, looking at the ground.
"Well I'm not."
"How are you going to help, exactly?" Kurt asked. "You can't bring her back, Rach."
"No, I can't. Nobody can."
"Then what -"
"I can keep bringing you food," Rachel said resolutely, squaring her shoulders, "until you finally eat it. I can be here when you want to cry, and I can keep taking Blaine out for brunch -"
"No more mimosas for Blaine," Kurt interrupted sternly.
"- and I can - I don't know, Kurt, I can be your best friend, just like I've always been. What do you need?"
He laughed, willing his voice not to break. "A time machine." He paused, looking down at his knees, then back up at Rachel's tear-streaked face. "I'm sorry. I'm not myself, and Blaine's not himself, and -"
"You hush now," she said, shaking her finger at him. "You have nothing to apologize for -"
"I do, but thank you for saying that," Kurt said, leaning into her outstretched arms.
"God, Kurt, I can feel your collarbones through your shirt! Here - eat more asparagus!" she said, breaking loose from their embrace and digging through her bag again.
* * *
Friday, August 18th, 2023
A week had passed, and Kurt had counted four bad days and three worse ones. On bad days, he and Blaine were cold and distant, and he didn't feel like eating much. On worse ones, he and Blaine yelled, and he couldn't keep anything down. The dizzy spells that had only happened once in a while were coming on more often.
But as angry as he was at Blaine, and as bad as the week had been, there were still moments of tenderness - Blaine spooning potatoes in his mouth one night when he was too frustrated and crying too hard to do it himself, a morning when they woke up in each other's arms and, for just a few moments, the world felt right again.
As for that morning - well so far, so good. A docile Friday, they'd gotten up early, pulled on jeans and t-shirts and ate breakfast in silence beside each other - Kurt, a handful of pretzels, and Blaine a bowl of cereal and a big thermos of coffee. By the time they'd left the house, they'd said about ten words to each other, but they weren't fighting. What Kurt didn't want to admit was that it was more for Nick's sake than theirs - they were helping him move, and neither of them wanted to be in a bad mood when they got to his place. They walked in peaceful silence as they made the short, four-and-a-half block walk to Nick's new apartment.
Unfortunately, the truce only lasted about a block.
"Kurt, I don't want you lifting anything heavy today," Blaine said hesitantly as they made their way down the sidewalk.
"And why not, exactly?" Kurt asked, bristling. "I'm just as capable of doing physical activity as you are."
"I saw you grab the counter yesterday to steady yourself, Kurt. I don’t want you passing out on me."
And just like that - truce over.
"I am so fucking sick," Kurt growled through his teeth, "of you treating me like a fucking china doll. I'm not going to break."
"I just don't want you to hurt yourself," Blaine said quietly, clearly concerned. "I can feel your ribs when I hug you. I can see your backbone when you bend over. Your clothes are too big. I - Kurt -"
Kurt stared at him. "I didn't know you'd noticed," he mumbled.
"Of course I noticed - how could I not notice? How much weight have you lost? Ten pounds? Fifteen?"
"I - this isn't an appropriate place to be having this conversation," Kurt snapped. "I don't like airing our dirty laundry out in the open like this."
"Kurt, I'm just -"
"Worried, yes, I know. Everybody is worried about me. I'm worried about you, too, considering you drink more than ever, you never want to get out of bed, and it appears that a small animal has taken up residence on your face."
"I'm just scruffy, Kurt - and I haven't been out with Alex in almost two weeks!"
"Whatever, Blaine, we're done talking about this. We're going to go and we're going to help our friend move into his apartment and we're going to act like nothing's wrong, okay?"
"Oh, so you want to act like my parents now? Fine. I've had a lot of practice. I won't embarrass you, don't worry," Blaine snapped, walking faster so he was several paces ahead of his husband.
"Asshole," Kurt muttered, and looked at the ground.
* * *
Tensions ran high even after they'd arrived at Nick's, especially after Nick agreed with Blaine that maybe Kurt should stick to lighter boxes, and leave the heavier, bulkier furniture to the two of them.
Kurt scowled, picked up a table lamp, and didn't speak to either of them for a full two hours.
In spite of the awkward silence that clearly made Nick uncomfortable and, later, the squabbling that clearly made it worse, they worked quickly, and by noon, they were down to the last several boxes at the back of the truck.
Blaine was breathing heavily after helping Nick manhandle his mattress up the three flights of stairs and into his bedroom.
"Almost done," Nick said as Blaine helped him place the mattress on top of his box springs. "Just a few more boxes left …"
"Yep - let's hit it hard and then we can grab lunch," Blaine said, grabbing a water bottle and taking a long swig from it. "What do you want to -"
He was interrupted by a loud crash coming from the stairwell.
"Kurt?" he called, running out the door. "Are you okay?"
His heart threatened to stop when there was no answer, and he sprinted down a full flight of stairs before seeing Kurt, who was leaning heavily against the wall, his face white as a sheet. A cardboard box was overturned at his feet, hardback and paperback books strewn all over the stairs.
"Kurt, hey, sit down for me," Blaine said gently after flying to Kurt's side, hooking his arm around Kurt's waist and lowering him to the ground as he silently panicked.
"Stop it," Kurt said, trying to bat him away. "I'm not an invalid. I just dropped the box. I just - I need some water or something."
"You need calories," Blaine said. He wanted to cry - this was what he'd been terrified of all along, Kurt collapsing, Kurt leaving him like Violet left him, Kurt couldn't leave him. "Nick!" he called, trying to keep his voice steady. "Do you have any Gatorade up there?"
Within seconds, Nick was bounding down the stairs. "Oh shit - do I need to call 911? Did you hit your head?"
"Oh my god, will you both please calm down?" Kurt said, taking the bottle of blue Gatorade from Nick's hand. "I tripped. I dropped the box. I'm fine."
"Kurt -" Blaine started, then stopped when he noticed Kurt's hands shaking too hard to open the lid. "Oh, baby, here …"
"Don't oh, baby me," Kurt grumbled, but Blaine ignored him. He unscrewed the cap and stooped next to his husband, tipping the bottle up to his lips.
"I'm fine, Blaine," Kurt said after he swallowed, anger thick in his voice. "I'll just go sit down for a few minutes."
"You're sitting for the rest of the day," Blaine said firmly.
"I'm not a child!"
"Seriously, Kurt, Blaine's right - I don't want you carrying anything else," Nick said cautiously. "You've done so much to help already, and there are only a few boxes left - the two of us can manage just fine."
Kurt glared at them as they each grabbed one of his elbows, but it was evident that he needed the support, leaning heavily on them as he made his way up the stairs.
"Nick and I were just talking about lunch," Blaine said carefully. "Do you think you might -"
"A sandwich," Kurt said, too fast. "If you get me a turkey sandwich, I think I can eat that."
Blaine looked sideways at him, struck by his pale, sallow skin and his sunken eyes. How had they let things come to this? "Okay." He paused. "Okay, we can do sandwiches. That good with you, Nick?"
"Sounds great," Nick said, letting go of Kurt so Blaine could help him through the doorway.
"Will you really eat it?" Blaine asked softly as he settled Kurt down on the couch.
"Light mayo, multigrain bread if they have it, tomatoes, extra lettuce, but no pickles. The thought of vinegar turns my stomach. And yes, I will eat it. Or, I'll try." He paused. "I'm still mad at you."
Blaine blinked at him. He realized that Kurt could be mad at him all day long and he wouldn't care - he just wanted him to eat. "Okay, then. Um, Nick and I are going to go finish unloading the truck, okay?"
Kurt nodded at him, and he and Nick walked back out the door. He couldn't help but look over his shoulder back at Kurt just before they descended the stairs. He was lying on the couch, his eyes closed, and Blaine could tell he was trying very hard not to cry.
Chapter 19