Fic: Slow Dancing (part a)
Title: Slow Dancing (part a)
Rating: Overall NC-17 for the verse. R for this part.
Warning: Future fic, brain injuries, blood, hospitals, medical situations,
Word Count: 13,099
Summary: Hi, my name is Kurt Hummel and I’m so, so scared.
A hate crime leaves Blaine damaged and Kurt refuses to let it bring them down.
Part of the Lovesong verse.
A/N: As always, huge, huge thanks to shandyall for being an amazing beta and an even more amazing cheerleader! This part is the longest thing I've ever written. Seriously. And this chapter contains the "setback" that I've alluded too in previous parts. Bring some tissues. Previous parts are under the cut.
Together (September 15th, 2018)
Of Hurt and Hope (June 20th, 2018; July 13th, 2018)
A Time of Firsts (November 24th, 2018; December 25th, 2018; March 16th, 2019)
To Sleep, To Wake (May 7th, 2018)
(fear) (June 5th, 2018)
Coffee is a Bitter Drink (June 22nd, 2019)
A Father's Eyes (April 23rd, 2018; October 19th, 2018; February 15th, 2019; October 12th, 2019 )
Resolution, Evolution (November 5th, 2019; December 2nd-3rd, 2019)
(feel) (November 16th, 2018)
Resolution, Evolution: a continuation (December 3rd, 2019)
Shatter (January 23rd, 2019)
Let Me(December 17th, 2019)
Let Me: a continuation (December 20th, 2019)
Sometimes (a sandwich is all it takes) (January 17th, 2019)
And When I Wait, All I See is You (May 2nd, 2018; May 9th, 2018)
Hold onto the Sun (April 23rd, 2018; June 20th, 2018; February 8th, 2020)
Hold onto the Sun: a continuation (February 8th, 2020)
(found) (February 19th, 2020; February 28th, 2020)
At the End of the Day (December 4th, 2018)
Bonus: Letters, blueprint
Hi, my name is Kurt Hummel. My fiancé suffered a Traumatic Brain Injury with extensive damage to his motor strip and parietal…
No
Hi, my name is Kurt Hummel. Three months ago two ignorant assholes bashed in my fiancé’s head with a rusted crowbar…
No
Hi, my name is Kurt Hummel. I’m engaged and my fiancé can’t tell me he loves me, can’t even move or talk or eat…
No
Hi, my name is Kurt Hummel. Sometimes the hurt bottles in my chest like a bomb and I can’t breathe and I’m frightened of what will happen when it explodes…
Close
Hi, my name is Kurt Hummel. I’m engaged to the most courageous, brave, loving, trying man in the world and I can’t wait to marry him, whether he walks or wheels or flies down the aisle with me…
Closer
Hi, my name is Kurt Hummel and I’m so, so scared.
“Why are you scared, Kurt?”
Blue eyes close against the too-kind gaze of the therapist.
Inhale, exhale.
“I’m scared of everything.”
The scratch of pen.
“What scares you the most?”
Kurt opens his eyes.
“I’m scared of losing him.”
“Blaine?”
He nods.
“I’m scared it won’t be enough. That I won’t be enough. That I’m doing all the wrong things, that Blaine won’t get better. I’m scared he will get better and it will happen again. I’m scared that every time I look in his eyes it will be the last. I’m scared of scared of failing him, of not being good enough for him, that I’m making all the wrong choices.” The words are coming now, rushing out of him like a waterfall and he can’t stop, doesn’t want to stop. “I’m scared of the dark, of walking outside at night. I’m scared of streets with nobody in them, of streets with too many people. I’m scared of people I don’t know, of places I’m not familiar with. I’m scared of crowbars and power tools and anything that could be used to…”
A deep breath, something wet on his cheeks.
“I’m scared of everything.”
April 26th, 2019
It’s one of the rare days between migraines. Blaine’s in the living room, reclined on the couch, eyes half-lidded, enjoying a day free of the pounding, aching, pain in his head. Kurt’s humming as he dusts the bookshelves, shaking his hips to the beat in his head. He chances a look at Blaine every so often, a smile creeping onto his face at the sight of his fiancé up, out of their dark bedroom, looking alive and happy.
“Can… help?” Blaine asks, the words half mumbled as he catches Kurt watching him. He’s just woken up from a nap, exhausted from days of never-ending migraines, and he stretches, arms lifting and rubbing his eyes in a way that makes him look like a sleepy child.
“Just relax and feel better,” Kurt says because really, he’s only cleaning to make himself busy, the house already spotless from Janessa and Olivia’s hard work. But Blaine’s face falls slightly, his gaze shifting to his hands and Kurt throws down the duster, collapses onto the couch beside Blaine. The curls at the back of his head are pressed flat from his nap, his sweatshirt pulled slightly askew and Kurt strokes a finger across the bit of exposed shoulder, smiles when Blaine looks up at him.
Kissing Blaine will never, ever get old and the warm press of their lips sends sparks down Kurt’s spine, electric and exciting and he presses deeper because he can now, it’s okay. Blaine is loose under him, lips parting and hand seeking out Kurt’s because he craves that comfort, craves the connection that intertwined fingers give. Kurt lets his leg cross over Blaine’s strokes down his calf as they kiss, slow and lazy.
Until Blaine pulls back slightly, senses overwhelmed and Kurt presses feather light kisses down Blaine’s jaw, just under his ear, nuzzles his nose into Blaine’s neck. Lungs under him expand and contract in a sigh, lips pressed to Kurt’s forehead in a gentle kiss and Kurt’s heart flutters like butterfly wings.
“Let’s go to the park,” he says suddenly, sitting up and catching Blaine’s eyes. “If you’re feeling up to it.”
Blaine nods, a smile lifting at his lips.
“Love to.”
-
The weather has been consistently warmer (and Kurt hopes this means the migraines will start to taper off) and they bundle up only in their light jackets (Kurt bought Blaine a new fitted pea coat, dark green to bring out his eyes, and he does the buttons all on his own, biting back a successful smile), some fingerless gloves and a knit cap for Blaine.
The park is too close to drive, but not close enough for Blaine to walk, not yet, not when his steps are still shaky and unsure, his right knee still prone to giving out. So Kurt pushes and Blaine closes his eyes, lifts his face towards the afternoon sun. Neighbors are out doing yard work, enjoying the first days of spring and they wave, smile and wish them a good day. For the first time in a long time, Kurt actually thinks they will.
Children crowd the playground, screaming and laughing and chasing each other and Blaine’s head turns as he watches them. A red ball rolls up, stops in front of Blaine’s chair and Kurt pauses as Blaine reaches down and grabs it up, grips it between his fingers before tossing it back to the boy who’s approached them. The boy catches it easily and smiles nervously before turning and racing back to his friends. Kurt squeezes Blaine’s shoulder before they continue, past the playground and away from the noise. There’s a garden near the center, small but filled with flowers, just beginning to bloom, iron park benches placed along the walk, sunlight making everything glow brighter than life.
There are only a few people, a couple on a bench, two women strolling through the garden, a man sitting on a rock and strumming a guitar. They settle onto a bench and Kurt closes his eyes, listens to the music and he aches, the song reminding him of so many years ago. Of a street fair and cotton candy and music and a proposal. Of kisses and the overwhelming happiness that had wrapped around them, had sewn itself into their hearts, pulling them together and tying off with a kiss and applause.
Blaine feels it too, obvious in the way he leans against Kurt, the hand that rests itself gently against his thigh, the thumb that strokes choppy hearts into his leg. Kurt lets his hand drift down, skims over Blaine’s wrist, can feel his steady pulse, warm and thrumming under his fingers.
“Dance with me,” Kurt whispers, opening his eyes and tangling their fingers. He stands, reaching to grab Blaine’s other hand, tugging lightly. Blaine looks around, red flushing into his cheeks.
“No one else… is,” he murmurs, biting his lip.
“So?” Kurt tugs a little harder and Blaine follows, letting Kurt pull him to his feet. A moment passes as Blaine steadies himself, Kurt placing Blaine’s hands on his shoulders, his own sliding down to Blaine’s waist. The fabric of Blaine’s coat is scratchy on his palms but he grips tight, can feel the outline of Blaine’s slender body as he pulls him in close, the few inches between them charged and heavy, begging to be closed.
The guitarist changes his tune, something a little more upbeat and Kurt leads, pulling Blaine further from the bench, swaying his hips and Blaine follows his lead. Dancing is easier, for reasons Kurt doesn’t understand. The beat, the spring in Blaine’s step, the way he leans against Kurt, it flows, a rhythm between them they both understand.
They dance for awhile, a smile on both of their faces and Blaine actually giggles when Kurt twirls between them before cautiously dipping Blaine, hand heavy on his back, eyes flickering over the stretch of Blaine’s throat. And then he’s back up, wavering as he regains his balance, face filled with joy and the guitarist pauses to give a small applause, Blaine bending in a tiny bow.
The music picks up, slow and deliberate. They’re mostly alone, only a few people strolling the garden and the sun is warm on Kurt’s back, catching Blaine’s face and making it glow, eyes hidden under the shadow of his eyelashes. Kurt lets his arms wind around to the small of Blaine’s back, pulls him in until their bodies are flush, Blaine’s hands unsure on Kurt’s shoulders.
“I love you so much.” Kurt’s words are barely a breath in Blaine’s ear, his cheek grazing Blaine’s as he presses a kiss to Blaine’s neck. Blaine swallows thickly, lips parting but nothing coming out and Kurt smiles because it’s okay, it’s okay if Blaine loses words, if his thoughts are jumbled puzzle pieces because Kurt is here to help him sort them out, slot them together in the beautiful picture that is Blaine’s mind.
So they sway together, Kurt’s hand stroking Blaine’s back in time with the music, Blaine staring at Kurt with wide, honest eyes and Kurt thinks this might be as close to perfect as it can get. At some point Blaine picks a purple flower from a raised ledge of the garden, tucks it behind Kurt’s ear and Kurt darts a kiss to Blaine’s nose, pink tingeing Blaine’s cheeks.
It’s when the guitarist packs up, the fresh scent of an incoming rain in the air, Kurt helping Blaine back to his chair that Blaine grips Kurt’s forearms, a desperate look on his face.
“I love you too.” The words fall quick off his tongue, like he wants to get them out before they leave again and Kurt strokes a thumb over Blaine’s arm. “I love you too.”
“I know.”
Kurt presses a kiss to Blaine’s lips, short but full of everything that ever goes unsaid and in this moment Kurt isn’t scared of anything.
September 2nd, 2019 (Labor Day)
“There are fireworks… tonight.” The words are said amidst the splashing of dishes in the sink, Kurt washing and Blaine drying from his chair. Kurt’s fingers are already beginning to wrinkle and considers asking if Blaine’s up to switching but Blaine’s looking at him in that way he recognizes from before, that way his eyes shift from Kurt’s face to the floor, and Kurt knows he’s hinting at something.
“Is that so?” Kurt hums and Blaine nods, towel sweeping over the plate.
“We… could go?”
Kurt feels Blaine’s eyes on him, wide and hopeful, stares at the soapy dishwater.
“I don’t know,” he answers honestly.
“Why not?”
Kurt tries to hand Blaine another plate but Blaine doesn’t take it, staring at Kurt in that way he knows means he’s waiting for an answer. So he lets himself imagine it for a moment, going to the park for fireworks they haven’t seen in years. They’d hold hands, Blaine would insist on walking, cuddling together on a blanket. It would be dark and crowded with couples doing the same, transfixed on each other and the bright array of lights above.
Dark and crowded with people he doesn’t know, places he can’t see, who knows who could be there, what could happen, where the night would end.
“It’ll be too late,” Kurt answers, drying the plate himself.
“They’re at… um, nine,” Blaine responds, voice almost challenging. “Not… not that late.”
Kurt closes his eyes, presses his lips together. Blaine nudges Kurt’s ankle with his foot.
“You’ve had day… all day off and we…” pause “we haven’t done anything.”
The water gurgles when Kurt pulls the drain, watches it swirl down before turning to Blaine.
“Please?” Blaine asks, voice soft, pulling at the hem of his shirt.
“Fireworks are so loud,” Kurt says, chewing at his lip. “They could trigger a seizure, or a migraine.”
“I haven’t had… had either in weeks.” Blaine reaches to grab Kurt’s hand, still damp from the dishwater. “Would be nice.”
Nice. Kurt pulls his hand from Blaine’s to scrub it over his face. Doesn’t Blaine understand that it will be dark? Dark and unfamiliar and so many people, so many dark corners, so many places no one can see them.
“I don’t want you to get sick,” Kurt answers from behind his fingers. Only silence answers him and when he lowers his hands Blaine’s face if full of disappointment and hurt and god, Kurt can’t stand that he put it there.
“Blaine…”
“Kurt,” Blaine counters, voice harsh and Kurt swallows. I just want you to be okay.
“I just…” Blaine starts, pauses and looks away, “thought it be, um, would be fun to go… with you.”
Kurt doesn’t know what to say, wants to tell Blaine he’ll go, wants to grab his hands and kiss him and tell him of course he’ll go, there’s nowhere he’d rather be then watching fireworks with Blaine. But he can’t. There’s a weight in his chest, pressing on his lungs and halting his words. I just want to be okay.
The words bubble in his throat, catch on his tongue but Blaine’s pushing himself out of the kitchen, hands gripping the wheels of his chair tighter than necessary. Kurt sighs, turns to put the dried dishes away, an uneasy feeling in his stomach before following Blaine out.
Blaine’s standing with his walker, his back to the kitchen, staring out the window , phone in hand. Kurt approaches quietly, lets his arms slip around Blaine’s waist and presses a kiss to the back of his neck before hooking his chin over Blaine’s shoulder.
“I can just… just call Rach… el,” Blaine says, voice strained. “Go with her.”
“Rachel’s in London,” Kurt says, feels Blaine grow tense under his arms. “Blaine… I just worry about you. It’s going to be dark and crowded and loud and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
And it’s dark Blaine, can’t you see, it’s dark and there will be so many people and it’s outside at night and it will be so, so dark.
“I just…” Blaine starts, relaxing slightly back against Kurt. “I don’t want everything… um.”
He twitches against Kurt and Kurt knows the words are lost for now because no matter how much better Blaine seems to get, the words and sentences and actions can still slip away, still leave him stranded.
“I know,” Kurt kisses his neck again because he does, he understands. Blaine’s hand drifts up to rub through his hair, right where Kurt knows his scars are.
“I don’t want this,” Blaine finally gets out, hand cupping just above his left ear, “to decide ev… everything we do.”
“Let’s go.” The words escape Kurt before he really thinks about them. “We can go.”
“Really?” Blaine asks, turning so his cheek just grazes Kurt’s face, looking down at him with a smile on his lips.
“Yeah,” Kurt whispers, tilting his head to touch his lips to the side of Blaine’s. He’ll go for Blaine. He’d do anything for Blaine, Blaine who’s been cooped up inside for so long, who hadn’t even wanted to leave the house for months and months, who wants to go to a silly little park and watch some silly Labor Day fireworks because he can now. And Kurt’s not going to take that away from him, not with everything that’s already been.
“Thank you.”
-
The park is only a short drive but it’s busy and Kurt refuses to park anywhere that isn’t well lit. He parallel parks a few block away, the street dotted with lights, helps Blaine unfold his walker and get out of the car. The sun is almost set, just the faint pink still creeping over the horizon, reluctant to yield to night, and Kurt presses a hand to the small of Blaine’s back as they walk.
A child darts around them, running away with a shriek as a friend follows and Kurt jumps, startled. They pass an alley and his skin feels like it’s crawling, his fingers tightening on Blaine’s back and his hip bumps into where Blaine’s fingers have curled around his walker.
“Sorry, sorry,” Kurt mutters and Blaine offers him a smile.
“It’s fine. Sorry I’m… slow.”
Kurt leans over to press a kiss to Blaine’s cheek, the warm soft skin (Kurt helped him shave earlier today, had wrapped his fingers over Blaine’s, keeping his hand steady as the razor scraped over his cheek, down his neck) keeping him grounded, reminding him he’s doing this for Blaine, for Blaine, because Blaine wants to and Blaine’s what matters.
They make their way down the block, the pink sky finally fading away to the night, stars beginning to dot the sky overhead. The chattering sounds of people talking start to surround them, children screaming and laughing, neighbors and friend greeting each other with friendly conversation. Kurt imagines they would be there, maybe not here, but somewhere, if it had never happened, if they hadn’t walked down the dark alley that changed their lives forever. They’d be there, chatting with friends, laughing at the kids who would run into them, Blaine off somewhere with students and families, maybe getting everyone to sing together or strumming the guitar he liked to bring to events. Kurt would be waiting for him, making friendly small talk, maybe setting up a picnic or pouring some champagne with Rachel or Lily or Cooper or whoever was visiting at the time.
It would be nice, he imagines. To walk down a dark street towards a park filled with unknown people and not feeling like his heart is going to beat out of his chest, like someone filled his stomach with rocks, like an electric current is racing through his veins. To be heading towards friends, to laugh without anything holding him back. To have Blaine beside him, bouncing and excited, pulling him along and making Kurt groan with faked exasperation. It would be nice, but it’s not real.
Instead Kurt keeps his hand firmly on Blaine’s back, eyes scanning for rock or cracks that could get in Blaine’s way, trying to ignore the lump growing in his throat with every step. They’re barely a block away now and Kurt can see couples spread out on lawn chairs and blankets, can see them hugging and kissing and talking and there’s an ache in his heart because he wants.
Until there’s a tap on his shoulder and he can feel someone behind him, someone looming and creeping and it’s so dark and who is behind them, god, why is it so dark?
“Woah,” a voice says when Kurt turns sharply, chest heaving and hand reaching to grip Blaine’s arm. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
It’s Brandon, their neighbor’s grandson, just a few years older than Kurt, who they see occasionally when he comes to help Helena with housework. That’s it, just Brandon, not someone he doesn’t know, not someone to grab him, to hold him back, to hurt him, to hurt Blaine. Just Brandon. Just someone with floppy hair and a friendly smile.
“Hi, Brandon,” Blaine says when Kurt stays silent, sending him a friendly smile.
“Hey, Blaine. Nice to see you guys out. Off to watch some fireworks?” Brandon asks and Kurt just wants him to go away, doesn’t want to talk to anyone, not tonight when he feels wound so tight he might split at the seams, not when his head is pounding and all his senses are screaming of danger, watch out, it’s so dark. But he’s just being nice, he knows that, knows Brandon honestly wants to say hi, to talk with his neighbors on a warm holiday night.
“Yeah, we haven’t gone in… um, forever,” Blaine says, working hard to get the words out and Brandon waits patiently and smiles so honestly and Kurt knows it’s because he’s just a nice guy and here Kurt is, leaving Blaine to fend for himself.
“You’ll have to make sure to see the Fourth of July ones here. Those are incredible.”
“We definitely will,” Kurt finally manages and he knows his voice sounds strained but he tries to smile as honestly as he can. He can feel Blaine’s eyes on him, searching his face. Brandon smiles back, must sense the tension in the air (how could he not, it feels so thick, so stifling), gives Kurt a short clap on the shoulder.
“Well it was nice seeing you guys. I better get back to my girls before they eat all the cotton candy.”
“We’ll see you a… around,” Blaine says and Kurt would feel proud of him if he wasn’t so focused on just making his lungs expand, contract, expand, contract, air in and out. Brandon says something else and he’s gone with a friendly wave, leaving them in the brief dark between two streetlamps.
“Ow.” Blaine pokes at where Kurt’s hand is wrapped around his arm, his fingers white with the force he’s holding on.
“Oh, sorry,” Kurt says, quickly releasing his grip, feeling the ache as he straightens his fingers. Blaine’s looking at him with a frown and Kurt swallows down everything, all the fears and worries and tears, that are trying so hard to escape.
“You okay?” Blaine asks, voice soft and Kurt nods quickly.
“Yeah, fine. He just… startled me.”
He can tell Blaine doesn’t believe him, not with the way his hands settle stiffly on his back, the way he avoids his eyes and brushes imaginary dust from his jacket.
“We can keep going,” Kurt says, ignoring the look Blaine’s giving him, determined to make it through. Because it’s just some silly fireworks in the park, just something that Blaine wants to do, something he wouldn’t have given a second thought to before.
They make it to the park and Kurt can tell Blaine’s starting to get tired, leaning heavily on his walker, most of his weight on his left leg. He tries to scope out somewhere to sit, maybe he can find a spot away from all the people, can pull Blaine into him and rub his hands down his arms, can close his eyes and just be surrounded by Blaine while he watches the fireworks.
And then he smells it. The spicy, rich smell of roasting gyros, from a stand down the block. There’s a short line, people walking passed with gyros in hand, laughing and talking and enjoying good food on a night out. It wraps around Kurt, the spicy smell, so thick in the air, invades his nose and his lungs, squeezes at his heart and he can’t breathe, he can’t inhale because he’ll smell it, that stupid smell of lamb and onions and sour cream.
And he can see it, can feel it, the cool April air, the way Blaine had smiled with his mouth full, sauce on his nose and Kurt kissed it away and it had tasted earthy, meat and cucumbers and lettuce. The way they had laughed, how Blaine had insisted on getting hot chocolate after and it was too watery and not sweet enough to wash out the spicy taste. The taste that was soon mixed with blood and fear and everything Kurt had thought would never happen to them.
There’s a hand on him, grabbing his arm and he can’t breathe, can’t think, just lashes out as a crack echoes through the air, a crack just like the one the pipe made when it hit Blaine’s head, a crack the way Blaine’s body made when it collapsed to the ground, a crack the way Kurt’s arm did when it was wrenched behind him. More hands on him and the smell of gyros surrounding him and there’s another crack, and another and another and oh god, how many times are they going to hit him, they’re going to kill him kill him oh god Blaine-
“Kurt?”
A hand on his arm and he wrenches away, an oof sounding next to him. An oof that sounds like Blaine and he blinks, hands tangling in the soft grass below him. Grass. He’s on the ground, a rock digging into his leg. He blinks again, looks around and his lungs finally expand, the haze evaporating from his eyes, and there’s people around him, people with kind faces, concerned and caring. He sees Blaine (looking disgruntled on the ground next to him but alive and okay), Brandon in front of him, his hand hovering over Kurt’s shoulder like he doesn’t know what to do, wants to touch but doesn’t want to cause any more harm. There’s a woman Kurt doesn’t know, a little girl standing off to the side, biting her fingers nervously.
“Hey, you with us?” Brandon asks, voice gentle and Kurt nods, feeling in a daze. His fingers dig into the dirt beneath him.
“What…?”
Brandon glances at Blaine who reaches out, cautiously laying a hand on Kurt’s arm, his touch gentle. Kurt leans into the touch, lets his hand raise to tangle with Blaine’s fingers, an anchor keeping him here. Blaine’s eyes are wide, his eyebrows drawn together and he sees the confusion in his eyes, knows Blaine is worried, worried about him and about what just happened.
“I think you blacked out,” Brandon explains after a short moment. “I could see you over the hill and you just went down, took Blaine with you.”
“Blaine…?” Kurt echoes, remembers fighting someone off and a sick feeling bubbles in his stomach. He turns towards him, pulls Blaine’s hand from his arm to his chest, holding tight. “Did I hurt you? I am so, so sorry, oh my god, I hurt you, I didn’t…”
Blaine touches his lips with his finger, face nothing but concern.
“I’m fine,” he tries to assure, even though Kurt’s not sure he believes him. “Worried about you.”
“You sure you’re okay?” Kurt presses, searching Blaine’s face for any sign of anything, anything that could mean he isn’t okay.
“Promise,” Blaine says, giving Kurt’s hand a squeeze. Something cold is being pressed into Kurt’s other hand and he reluctantly looks away from Blaine, sees the sweating bottle of blue Gatorade.
“Drink some,” the woman Kurt doesn’t recognize instructs. Kurt does as she says and it’s only when he brings the bottle to his lips does he realize he’s shaking. The cold shock of Gatorade does help to calm him, makes his head feel like it’s stopped spinning, the ground more steady under his feet.
“Thank you,” he says, the words almost panted as he tries to hand the drink back to her.
“Keep it,” she says with a shake of her head. “It’ll help you feel better.”
“Do you need a ride home?” Brandon asks after a moment, Blaine’s hand still in his, his lungs finally expanding and contracting properly.
“Thank you, I’m okay,” Kurt says, trying his best to sound as reassuring as he can. “I think I just had… low blood sugar or something.”
And then another crack, a loud boom and Kurt flinches, breath catching in his throat until he realizes it’s just fireworks. Just fireworks. Brandon raises an eyebrow and from the way Blaine’s fingers tighten in his grip he knows neither of them really believe him.
“I’ll be fine, really,” Kurt assures, letting go of Blaine’s hand and starting to push himself to his feet. Brandon keeps a steadying hand on his back, making sure Kurt isn’t about to fall over again. “Thank you so much, I’m so sorry about that.”
“No need to apologize,” Brandon says, moving to help Blaine back up before Kurt has a chance, his hands gripping at his jeans uselessly.
“Just feel better, okay?” Brandon says, resting a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “Sure you don’t want a ride?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” Kurt replies, honestly touched by how concerned Brandon is. “We’ll be fine.”
“Alright, well, I’ll stop by tomorrow and make sure you’re still doing okay,” Brandon insists and Kurt agrees, thanking him once more and then it’s just them, just them and the cracking of fireworks and the smell of gyros and it’s still so dark and Kurt just wants to go home.
A hand on his shoulder and Kurt jumps, pulled abruptly from his thoughts, sees Blaine watching him, face so, so worried and it’s only then does he realize his cheeks are wet, traitor tears escaping his eyes. He scrubs his face angrily, turning away.
“You’re not… okay,” Blaine says softly, hand stroking down Kurt’s arm.
“Can we just go home?” Kurt asks, sniffing and embarrassed because this is not how this night was supposed to go and he’s so stupid, he can’t even do something his fiancé wants to do. His fiancé who’s suffered so much more than he has, who tries so hard just to work up the courage to make the walk to the park for some fireworks. And now Kurt’s ruined it.
He starts walking back in the direction of their car, wanting to get away from the noises and smells and people before he stops, breathes, realizes he’s alone. Turning around, he sees Blaine, half a block back, doing his best to catch up with Kurt, every step forceful and deliberate and Kurt feels more hot tears pressing behind his eyes as he makes his way back.
“I’m sorry,” the words come out choked and he doesn’t even care that they’re in public, not anymore. He presses his forehead to Blaine arm, trying to swallow past the painful lump in his throat. “I’m so sorry. I’m ruining everything.”
He can feel Blaine twist, hands leaving his walker to wrap around Kurt’s waist, pulling him in and Kurt lets out a muffled sob into Blaine’s shoulder.
“It’s okay.” Kurt can feel the words murmured into his hair, the slightly jerky rhythm of Blaine rubbing a hand over his back. “It’s okay.”
The tears come harder and Kurt knows he should feel ridiculous crying on the sidewalk, barely a block from their car, but he doesn’t care, only cares about the arms around him, the warm body pressed against him, holding him close. Another booming firework echoes through the night and Kurt can’t help the whimper that escapes him, fingers digging into Blaine’s arms just to make sure he’s real, he’s okay, he’s okay.
“You’re okay.” The words escape Kurt’s lips and he raises his head, eyes searching Blaine’s face and he knows it’s silly, he knows Blaine’s okay, but it all just feels too real, too close, too tangible.
“I’m okay, Kurt,” Blaine says, the words strong and sincere and Kurt raises his hands to cup Blaine’s face, strokes his thumbs over Blaine’s cheekbones.
“I ruined your night.” Kurt lets his hands fall to his sides and Blaine grips his walker again for support.
“Di… you didn’t ruin… it,” Blaine says, and Kurt knows he means it. “Just worried.”
Kurt gives a shaky laugh because Blaine’s worried about him and it seems so ridiculous after everything. He lets his head fall back to Blaine’s shoulder, breathing deep, grounding, orienting, controlling himself. He’s okay. Blaine’s okay. I’m okay.
“Let’s go home,” Blaine whispers, his thumb stroking over Kurt’s hand and Kurt nods, keeping his hand over Blaine’s as they make their way back to the car, letting Blaine set the pace.
-
The first step inside the house feels like pressure on his chest is released, the fear and panic fizzling out of his veins, comforted by the familiar surroundings of home. There’s an awkward silence, thick between them, and Kurt wonders if he can ignore it if Blaine will just forget, if it will go away and Kurt can go back to helping Blaine, focusing on what Blaine needs. It’s easier that way.
“That was…n’t low blood…” Blaine starts, adding after a beat, “…sugar.”
Kurt sinks onto the couch, rubbing his eyes with his hands even though he knows that will give him wrinkles, Blaine sitting carefully beside him.
“I’m fine,” Kurt tries to reassure, smiling at Blaine though he knows it’s forced. “I’m okay now.”
“What happened on the… sidewalk, that wasn’t… okay.” Blaine reaches to grab Kurt’s hand in his own, pulling them onto his lap and massaging his fingers. “We talk about, um, my problems. Don’t… please don’t leave me… out of yours.” He pauses, eyes glistening and so full of emotion and caring. “I want to help.”
Kurt breathes.
“It was the gyros.”
Blaine blinks. “The what?”
“We were eating gyros the night it happened,” Kurt says and his voice is weak, blocked by the lump in his throat. “Gyros and hot chocolate which is such a horrible combination,” a humorless chuckle, Blaine’s fingers tightening on his. “And it’s just… the smell of the park and the fireworks, they sounded like when… when they…”
Tears prick painfully at his eyes and Kurt stops to breathe.
“Sometimes it just comes back so… intense and it’s like my brain won’t stop thinking, won’t stop whirring and I worry so much because I don’t want anything to happen to you and sometimes I just get so scared.”
The words tumble from Kurt’s lips in a rush and when he’s done Blaine pulls him in, nestles his cheek against Kurt’s hair, arms wrapped firmly around Kurt’s chest. Kurt lets his eyes flutter closed, feels so safe and warm and secure in Blaine’s arms and somehow Blaine always knows what to do, how to make him feel better.
“I’m so sorry,” Kurt whispers into Blaine’s chest, feels the thumping of Blaine’s heart against his cheek.
“Don’t be,” Blaine murmurs back, his breath ruffling Kurt’s hair. “I should… apologize.”
Kurt pulls back slightly, looking at Blaine’s face, lined with guilt.
“I pushed you to…” deep breath, “to go. I didn’t know… I didn’t…”
“I didn’t tell you,” Kurt says, gently cutting him off. “I’ve been… it’s hard sometimes, dealing with everything and I feel so stupid being afraid of some silly fireworks when you’ve gone through so much…”
“Don’t,” Blaine interrupts, giving Kurt’s hand a sharp squeeze. “Don’t… compare.”
Kurt looks at where their knees are pressed together, their intertwined fingers.
“I know you were… um, were having pan…” Blaine huffs as he loses the words, his whole face scrunched because he just wants to say this, wants to be here for Kurt, for once. “Having… a hard time before… before I could,” he motions to his mouth, red rising in his cheek and Kurt knows what he means. Before he could communicate, before he could move and talk and tell Kurt how he was feeling. “I didn’t know you were… still…”
Blaine eyes search Kurt’s face, desperate for Kurt to understand what he’s saying.
“I didn’t want to worry you,” Kurt says, barely above a whisper because he knows Blaine is going to be upset. “You have so much… I didn’t want to add to that.”
Blaine pulls slightly away. “You’re always here for me… I… I want to be here for… you. I want you to… talk to me too.”
His eyes gaze desperately into Kurt’s begging him to understand how important this is. “I know you want to… protect me but I want to protect you too.”
Kurt feels the lump in his throat grow, Blaine’s words pulling at him and he knows he was wrong to keep Blaine out of the loop, to try and hide this from Blaine. Because after all his struggles, all his work just to do things that other’s take for granted, Blaine still puts Kurt first.
“I’m sorry,” Kurt apologizes, and he means it. “I won’t keep things from you, I promise.”
“I just…” Blaine pauses, his hand drawing a line down Kurt’s arm. “I just want you to be… okay.”
“I am,” Kurt whispers and Blaine looks at him in a way that Kurt knows he doesn’t believe him. “I am, mostly. It’s like how you have good days and harder days. Some days I’m fine and some days it’s… harder than others.”
Blaine nods, pulling Kurt back in close.
“I saw someone, when it was really bad and they helped me and you help me, it’s just… sometimes. I don’t know. It was so dark and there were the gyros and then the noise…”
Kurt shudders and squeezes his eyes shut, feels Blaine press a kiss to his temple.
“Sometimes it’s hard to believe you’re really okay.”
Blaine’s hand cups Kurt’s jaw, his thumb stroking over his cheek as he gently tilts Kurt’s head up, touches his lips to Kurt’s.
“I’m okay, I promise.”
A noise escapes Kurt that could have been a laugh but was mostly a sob, and he lets his forehead rest against Blaine’s shoulder, takes a moment to just breathe.
“Let’s go outside.” His words are abrupt and harsh in the silence, but he sits straight, a smile on his face because he’s here, with Blaine and he’s not going to let this night go to waste. “Come on.”
He pulls Blaine to his feet, Blaine’s face creasing with amused confusion at Kurt’s sudden change in demeanor. Gathering a blanket in his arms he helps support Blaine as they make their way outside. There’s a chill in the night that wasn’t there before, a foreshadow of the coming fall, and the moon is bright in the sky, casting everything with a silvery glow. Kurt lays out the blanket, situates them on top of it before collapsing backwards.
Blaine lowers himself more gently, scoots until he’s tucked against Kurt’s side, head cushioned in Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt rolls his head to kiss the top of Blaine’s lets his nose nestle in Blaine’s hair and he just breathes, under the night sky, the twinkling stars and he feels centered, feels so small and so huge at the same time, like every moment, every hurt and every fear and every wasted tear is gone and now it’s just Blaine and him, just them on a blanket under the night sky.
“I promise I’ll tell you,” Kurt says, Blaine’s hair tickling his lips. “I’ll let you help me. I won’t keep anything from you.”
“Thank you,” Blaine says in a breath, hand tangling with Kurt’s.
part b
Rating: Overall NC-17 for the verse. R for this part.
Warning: Future fic, brain injuries, blood, hospitals, medical situations,
Word Count: 13,099
Summary: Hi, my name is Kurt Hummel and I’m so, so scared.
A hate crime leaves Blaine damaged and Kurt refuses to let it bring them down.
Part of the Lovesong verse.
A/N: As always, huge, huge thanks to shandyall for being an amazing beta and an even more amazing cheerleader! This part is the longest thing I've ever written. Seriously. And this chapter contains the "setback" that I've alluded too in previous parts. Bring some tissues. Previous parts are under the cut.
Together (September 15th, 2018)
Of Hurt and Hope (June 20th, 2018; July 13th, 2018)
A Time of Firsts (November 24th, 2018; December 25th, 2018; March 16th, 2019)
To Sleep, To Wake (May 7th, 2018)
(fear) (June 5th, 2018)
Coffee is a Bitter Drink (June 22nd, 2019)
A Father's Eyes (April 23rd, 2018; October 19th, 2018; February 15th, 2019; October 12th, 2019 )
Resolution, Evolution (November 5th, 2019; December 2nd-3rd, 2019)
(feel) (November 16th, 2018)
Resolution, Evolution: a continuation (December 3rd, 2019)
Shatter (January 23rd, 2019)
Let Me(December 17th, 2019)
Let Me: a continuation (December 20th, 2019)
Sometimes (a sandwich is all it takes) (January 17th, 2019)
And When I Wait, All I See is You (May 2nd, 2018; May 9th, 2018)
Hold onto the Sun (April 23rd, 2018; June 20th, 2018; February 8th, 2020)
Hold onto the Sun: a continuation (February 8th, 2020)
(found) (February 19th, 2020; February 28th, 2020)
At the End of the Day (December 4th, 2018)
Bonus: Letters, blueprint
Hi, my name is Kurt Hummel. My fiancé suffered a Traumatic Brain Injury with extensive damage to his motor strip and parietal…
No
Hi, my name is Kurt Hummel. Three months ago two ignorant assholes bashed in my fiancé’s head with a rusted crowbar…
No
Hi, my name is Kurt Hummel. I’m engaged and my fiancé can’t tell me he loves me, can’t even move or talk or eat…
No
Hi, my name is Kurt Hummel. Sometimes the hurt bottles in my chest like a bomb and I can’t breathe and I’m frightened of what will happen when it explodes…
Close
Hi, my name is Kurt Hummel. I’m engaged to the most courageous, brave, loving, trying man in the world and I can’t wait to marry him, whether he walks or wheels or flies down the aisle with me…
Closer
Hi, my name is Kurt Hummel and I’m so, so scared.
“Why are you scared, Kurt?”
Blue eyes close against the too-kind gaze of the therapist.
Inhale, exhale.
“I’m scared of everything.”
The scratch of pen.
“What scares you the most?”
Kurt opens his eyes.
“I’m scared of losing him.”
“Blaine?”
He nods.
“I’m scared it won’t be enough. That I won’t be enough. That I’m doing all the wrong things, that Blaine won’t get better. I’m scared he will get better and it will happen again. I’m scared that every time I look in his eyes it will be the last. I’m scared of scared of failing him, of not being good enough for him, that I’m making all the wrong choices.” The words are coming now, rushing out of him like a waterfall and he can’t stop, doesn’t want to stop. “I’m scared of the dark, of walking outside at night. I’m scared of streets with nobody in them, of streets with too many people. I’m scared of people I don’t know, of places I’m not familiar with. I’m scared of crowbars and power tools and anything that could be used to…”
A deep breath, something wet on his cheeks.
“I’m scared of everything.”
April 26th, 2019
It’s one of the rare days between migraines. Blaine’s in the living room, reclined on the couch, eyes half-lidded, enjoying a day free of the pounding, aching, pain in his head. Kurt’s humming as he dusts the bookshelves, shaking his hips to the beat in his head. He chances a look at Blaine every so often, a smile creeping onto his face at the sight of his fiancé up, out of their dark bedroom, looking alive and happy.
“Can… help?” Blaine asks, the words half mumbled as he catches Kurt watching him. He’s just woken up from a nap, exhausted from days of never-ending migraines, and he stretches, arms lifting and rubbing his eyes in a way that makes him look like a sleepy child.
“Just relax and feel better,” Kurt says because really, he’s only cleaning to make himself busy, the house already spotless from Janessa and Olivia’s hard work. But Blaine’s face falls slightly, his gaze shifting to his hands and Kurt throws down the duster, collapses onto the couch beside Blaine. The curls at the back of his head are pressed flat from his nap, his sweatshirt pulled slightly askew and Kurt strokes a finger across the bit of exposed shoulder, smiles when Blaine looks up at him.
Kissing Blaine will never, ever get old and the warm press of their lips sends sparks down Kurt’s spine, electric and exciting and he presses deeper because he can now, it’s okay. Blaine is loose under him, lips parting and hand seeking out Kurt’s because he craves that comfort, craves the connection that intertwined fingers give. Kurt lets his leg cross over Blaine’s strokes down his calf as they kiss, slow and lazy.
Until Blaine pulls back slightly, senses overwhelmed and Kurt presses feather light kisses down Blaine’s jaw, just under his ear, nuzzles his nose into Blaine’s neck. Lungs under him expand and contract in a sigh, lips pressed to Kurt’s forehead in a gentle kiss and Kurt’s heart flutters like butterfly wings.
“Let’s go to the park,” he says suddenly, sitting up and catching Blaine’s eyes. “If you’re feeling up to it.”
Blaine nods, a smile lifting at his lips.
“Love to.”
-
The weather has been consistently warmer (and Kurt hopes this means the migraines will start to taper off) and they bundle up only in their light jackets (Kurt bought Blaine a new fitted pea coat, dark green to bring out his eyes, and he does the buttons all on his own, biting back a successful smile), some fingerless gloves and a knit cap for Blaine.
The park is too close to drive, but not close enough for Blaine to walk, not yet, not when his steps are still shaky and unsure, his right knee still prone to giving out. So Kurt pushes and Blaine closes his eyes, lifts his face towards the afternoon sun. Neighbors are out doing yard work, enjoying the first days of spring and they wave, smile and wish them a good day. For the first time in a long time, Kurt actually thinks they will.
Children crowd the playground, screaming and laughing and chasing each other and Blaine’s head turns as he watches them. A red ball rolls up, stops in front of Blaine’s chair and Kurt pauses as Blaine reaches down and grabs it up, grips it between his fingers before tossing it back to the boy who’s approached them. The boy catches it easily and smiles nervously before turning and racing back to his friends. Kurt squeezes Blaine’s shoulder before they continue, past the playground and away from the noise. There’s a garden near the center, small but filled with flowers, just beginning to bloom, iron park benches placed along the walk, sunlight making everything glow brighter than life.
There are only a few people, a couple on a bench, two women strolling through the garden, a man sitting on a rock and strumming a guitar. They settle onto a bench and Kurt closes his eyes, listens to the music and he aches, the song reminding him of so many years ago. Of a street fair and cotton candy and music and a proposal. Of kisses and the overwhelming happiness that had wrapped around them, had sewn itself into their hearts, pulling them together and tying off with a kiss and applause.
Blaine feels it too, obvious in the way he leans against Kurt, the hand that rests itself gently against his thigh, the thumb that strokes choppy hearts into his leg. Kurt lets his hand drift down, skims over Blaine’s wrist, can feel his steady pulse, warm and thrumming under his fingers.
“Dance with me,” Kurt whispers, opening his eyes and tangling their fingers. He stands, reaching to grab Blaine’s other hand, tugging lightly. Blaine looks around, red flushing into his cheeks.
“No one else… is,” he murmurs, biting his lip.
“So?” Kurt tugs a little harder and Blaine follows, letting Kurt pull him to his feet. A moment passes as Blaine steadies himself, Kurt placing Blaine’s hands on his shoulders, his own sliding down to Blaine’s waist. The fabric of Blaine’s coat is scratchy on his palms but he grips tight, can feel the outline of Blaine’s slender body as he pulls him in close, the few inches between them charged and heavy, begging to be closed.
The guitarist changes his tune, something a little more upbeat and Kurt leads, pulling Blaine further from the bench, swaying his hips and Blaine follows his lead. Dancing is easier, for reasons Kurt doesn’t understand. The beat, the spring in Blaine’s step, the way he leans against Kurt, it flows, a rhythm between them they both understand.
They dance for awhile, a smile on both of their faces and Blaine actually giggles when Kurt twirls between them before cautiously dipping Blaine, hand heavy on his back, eyes flickering over the stretch of Blaine’s throat. And then he’s back up, wavering as he regains his balance, face filled with joy and the guitarist pauses to give a small applause, Blaine bending in a tiny bow.
The music picks up, slow and deliberate. They’re mostly alone, only a few people strolling the garden and the sun is warm on Kurt’s back, catching Blaine’s face and making it glow, eyes hidden under the shadow of his eyelashes. Kurt lets his arms wind around to the small of Blaine’s back, pulls him in until their bodies are flush, Blaine’s hands unsure on Kurt’s shoulders.
“I love you so much.” Kurt’s words are barely a breath in Blaine’s ear, his cheek grazing Blaine’s as he presses a kiss to Blaine’s neck. Blaine swallows thickly, lips parting but nothing coming out and Kurt smiles because it’s okay, it’s okay if Blaine loses words, if his thoughts are jumbled puzzle pieces because Kurt is here to help him sort them out, slot them together in the beautiful picture that is Blaine’s mind.
So they sway together, Kurt’s hand stroking Blaine’s back in time with the music, Blaine staring at Kurt with wide, honest eyes and Kurt thinks this might be as close to perfect as it can get. At some point Blaine picks a purple flower from a raised ledge of the garden, tucks it behind Kurt’s ear and Kurt darts a kiss to Blaine’s nose, pink tingeing Blaine’s cheeks.
It’s when the guitarist packs up, the fresh scent of an incoming rain in the air, Kurt helping Blaine back to his chair that Blaine grips Kurt’s forearms, a desperate look on his face.
“I love you too.” The words fall quick off his tongue, like he wants to get them out before they leave again and Kurt strokes a thumb over Blaine’s arm. “I love you too.”
“I know.”
Kurt presses a kiss to Blaine’s lips, short but full of everything that ever goes unsaid and in this moment Kurt isn’t scared of anything.
September 2nd, 2019 (Labor Day)
“There are fireworks… tonight.” The words are said amidst the splashing of dishes in the sink, Kurt washing and Blaine drying from his chair. Kurt’s fingers are already beginning to wrinkle and considers asking if Blaine’s up to switching but Blaine’s looking at him in that way he recognizes from before, that way his eyes shift from Kurt’s face to the floor, and Kurt knows he’s hinting at something.
“Is that so?” Kurt hums and Blaine nods, towel sweeping over the plate.
“We… could go?”
Kurt feels Blaine’s eyes on him, wide and hopeful, stares at the soapy dishwater.
“I don’t know,” he answers honestly.
“Why not?”
Kurt tries to hand Blaine another plate but Blaine doesn’t take it, staring at Kurt in that way he knows means he’s waiting for an answer. So he lets himself imagine it for a moment, going to the park for fireworks they haven’t seen in years. They’d hold hands, Blaine would insist on walking, cuddling together on a blanket. It would be dark and crowded with couples doing the same, transfixed on each other and the bright array of lights above.
Dark and crowded with people he doesn’t know, places he can’t see, who knows who could be there, what could happen, where the night would end.
“It’ll be too late,” Kurt answers, drying the plate himself.
“They’re at… um, nine,” Blaine responds, voice almost challenging. “Not… not that late.”
Kurt closes his eyes, presses his lips together. Blaine nudges Kurt’s ankle with his foot.
“You’ve had day… all day off and we…” pause “we haven’t done anything.”
The water gurgles when Kurt pulls the drain, watches it swirl down before turning to Blaine.
“Please?” Blaine asks, voice soft, pulling at the hem of his shirt.
“Fireworks are so loud,” Kurt says, chewing at his lip. “They could trigger a seizure, or a migraine.”
“I haven’t had… had either in weeks.” Blaine reaches to grab Kurt’s hand, still damp from the dishwater. “Would be nice.”
Nice. Kurt pulls his hand from Blaine’s to scrub it over his face. Doesn’t Blaine understand that it will be dark? Dark and unfamiliar and so many people, so many dark corners, so many places no one can see them.
“I don’t want you to get sick,” Kurt answers from behind his fingers. Only silence answers him and when he lowers his hands Blaine’s face if full of disappointment and hurt and god, Kurt can’t stand that he put it there.
“Blaine…”
“Kurt,” Blaine counters, voice harsh and Kurt swallows. I just want you to be okay.
“I just…” Blaine starts, pauses and looks away, “thought it be, um, would be fun to go… with you.”
Kurt doesn’t know what to say, wants to tell Blaine he’ll go, wants to grab his hands and kiss him and tell him of course he’ll go, there’s nowhere he’d rather be then watching fireworks with Blaine. But he can’t. There’s a weight in his chest, pressing on his lungs and halting his words. I just want to be okay.
The words bubble in his throat, catch on his tongue but Blaine’s pushing himself out of the kitchen, hands gripping the wheels of his chair tighter than necessary. Kurt sighs, turns to put the dried dishes away, an uneasy feeling in his stomach before following Blaine out.
Blaine’s standing with his walker, his back to the kitchen, staring out the window , phone in hand. Kurt approaches quietly, lets his arms slip around Blaine’s waist and presses a kiss to the back of his neck before hooking his chin over Blaine’s shoulder.
“I can just… just call Rach… el,” Blaine says, voice strained. “Go with her.”
“Rachel’s in London,” Kurt says, feels Blaine grow tense under his arms. “Blaine… I just worry about you. It’s going to be dark and crowded and loud and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
And it’s dark Blaine, can’t you see, it’s dark and there will be so many people and it’s outside at night and it will be so, so dark.
“I just…” Blaine starts, relaxing slightly back against Kurt. “I don’t want everything… um.”
He twitches against Kurt and Kurt knows the words are lost for now because no matter how much better Blaine seems to get, the words and sentences and actions can still slip away, still leave him stranded.
“I know,” Kurt kisses his neck again because he does, he understands. Blaine’s hand drifts up to rub through his hair, right where Kurt knows his scars are.
“I don’t want this,” Blaine finally gets out, hand cupping just above his left ear, “to decide ev… everything we do.”
“Let’s go.” The words escape Kurt before he really thinks about them. “We can go.”
“Really?” Blaine asks, turning so his cheek just grazes Kurt’s face, looking down at him with a smile on his lips.
“Yeah,” Kurt whispers, tilting his head to touch his lips to the side of Blaine’s. He’ll go for Blaine. He’d do anything for Blaine, Blaine who’s been cooped up inside for so long, who hadn’t even wanted to leave the house for months and months, who wants to go to a silly little park and watch some silly Labor Day fireworks because he can now. And Kurt’s not going to take that away from him, not with everything that’s already been.
“Thank you.”
-
The park is only a short drive but it’s busy and Kurt refuses to park anywhere that isn’t well lit. He parallel parks a few block away, the street dotted with lights, helps Blaine unfold his walker and get out of the car. The sun is almost set, just the faint pink still creeping over the horizon, reluctant to yield to night, and Kurt presses a hand to the small of Blaine’s back as they walk.
A child darts around them, running away with a shriek as a friend follows and Kurt jumps, startled. They pass an alley and his skin feels like it’s crawling, his fingers tightening on Blaine’s back and his hip bumps into where Blaine’s fingers have curled around his walker.
“Sorry, sorry,” Kurt mutters and Blaine offers him a smile.
“It’s fine. Sorry I’m… slow.”
Kurt leans over to press a kiss to Blaine’s cheek, the warm soft skin (Kurt helped him shave earlier today, had wrapped his fingers over Blaine’s, keeping his hand steady as the razor scraped over his cheek, down his neck) keeping him grounded, reminding him he’s doing this for Blaine, for Blaine, because Blaine wants to and Blaine’s what matters.
They make their way down the block, the pink sky finally fading away to the night, stars beginning to dot the sky overhead. The chattering sounds of people talking start to surround them, children screaming and laughing, neighbors and friend greeting each other with friendly conversation. Kurt imagines they would be there, maybe not here, but somewhere, if it had never happened, if they hadn’t walked down the dark alley that changed their lives forever. They’d be there, chatting with friends, laughing at the kids who would run into them, Blaine off somewhere with students and families, maybe getting everyone to sing together or strumming the guitar he liked to bring to events. Kurt would be waiting for him, making friendly small talk, maybe setting up a picnic or pouring some champagne with Rachel or Lily or Cooper or whoever was visiting at the time.
It would be nice, he imagines. To walk down a dark street towards a park filled with unknown people and not feeling like his heart is going to beat out of his chest, like someone filled his stomach with rocks, like an electric current is racing through his veins. To be heading towards friends, to laugh without anything holding him back. To have Blaine beside him, bouncing and excited, pulling him along and making Kurt groan with faked exasperation. It would be nice, but it’s not real.
Instead Kurt keeps his hand firmly on Blaine’s back, eyes scanning for rock or cracks that could get in Blaine’s way, trying to ignore the lump growing in his throat with every step. They’re barely a block away now and Kurt can see couples spread out on lawn chairs and blankets, can see them hugging and kissing and talking and there’s an ache in his heart because he wants.
Until there’s a tap on his shoulder and he can feel someone behind him, someone looming and creeping and it’s so dark and who is behind them, god, why is it so dark?
“Woah,” a voice says when Kurt turns sharply, chest heaving and hand reaching to grip Blaine’s arm. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
It’s Brandon, their neighbor’s grandson, just a few years older than Kurt, who they see occasionally when he comes to help Helena with housework. That’s it, just Brandon, not someone he doesn’t know, not someone to grab him, to hold him back, to hurt him, to hurt Blaine. Just Brandon. Just someone with floppy hair and a friendly smile.
“Hi, Brandon,” Blaine says when Kurt stays silent, sending him a friendly smile.
“Hey, Blaine. Nice to see you guys out. Off to watch some fireworks?” Brandon asks and Kurt just wants him to go away, doesn’t want to talk to anyone, not tonight when he feels wound so tight he might split at the seams, not when his head is pounding and all his senses are screaming of danger, watch out, it’s so dark. But he’s just being nice, he knows that, knows Brandon honestly wants to say hi, to talk with his neighbors on a warm holiday night.
“Yeah, we haven’t gone in… um, forever,” Blaine says, working hard to get the words out and Brandon waits patiently and smiles so honestly and Kurt knows it’s because he’s just a nice guy and here Kurt is, leaving Blaine to fend for himself.
“You’ll have to make sure to see the Fourth of July ones here. Those are incredible.”
“We definitely will,” Kurt finally manages and he knows his voice sounds strained but he tries to smile as honestly as he can. He can feel Blaine’s eyes on him, searching his face. Brandon smiles back, must sense the tension in the air (how could he not, it feels so thick, so stifling), gives Kurt a short clap on the shoulder.
“Well it was nice seeing you guys. I better get back to my girls before they eat all the cotton candy.”
“We’ll see you a… around,” Blaine says and Kurt would feel proud of him if he wasn’t so focused on just making his lungs expand, contract, expand, contract, air in and out. Brandon says something else and he’s gone with a friendly wave, leaving them in the brief dark between two streetlamps.
“Ow.” Blaine pokes at where Kurt’s hand is wrapped around his arm, his fingers white with the force he’s holding on.
“Oh, sorry,” Kurt says, quickly releasing his grip, feeling the ache as he straightens his fingers. Blaine’s looking at him with a frown and Kurt swallows down everything, all the fears and worries and tears, that are trying so hard to escape.
“You okay?” Blaine asks, voice soft and Kurt nods quickly.
“Yeah, fine. He just… startled me.”
He can tell Blaine doesn’t believe him, not with the way his hands settle stiffly on his back, the way he avoids his eyes and brushes imaginary dust from his jacket.
“We can keep going,” Kurt says, ignoring the look Blaine’s giving him, determined to make it through. Because it’s just some silly fireworks in the park, just something that Blaine wants to do, something he wouldn’t have given a second thought to before.
They make it to the park and Kurt can tell Blaine’s starting to get tired, leaning heavily on his walker, most of his weight on his left leg. He tries to scope out somewhere to sit, maybe he can find a spot away from all the people, can pull Blaine into him and rub his hands down his arms, can close his eyes and just be surrounded by Blaine while he watches the fireworks.
And then he smells it. The spicy, rich smell of roasting gyros, from a stand down the block. There’s a short line, people walking passed with gyros in hand, laughing and talking and enjoying good food on a night out. It wraps around Kurt, the spicy smell, so thick in the air, invades his nose and his lungs, squeezes at his heart and he can’t breathe, he can’t inhale because he’ll smell it, that stupid smell of lamb and onions and sour cream.
And he can see it, can feel it, the cool April air, the way Blaine had smiled with his mouth full, sauce on his nose and Kurt kissed it away and it had tasted earthy, meat and cucumbers and lettuce. The way they had laughed, how Blaine had insisted on getting hot chocolate after and it was too watery and not sweet enough to wash out the spicy taste. The taste that was soon mixed with blood and fear and everything Kurt had thought would never happen to them.
There’s a hand on him, grabbing his arm and he can’t breathe, can’t think, just lashes out as a crack echoes through the air, a crack just like the one the pipe made when it hit Blaine’s head, a crack the way Blaine’s body made when it collapsed to the ground, a crack the way Kurt’s arm did when it was wrenched behind him. More hands on him and the smell of gyros surrounding him and there’s another crack, and another and another and oh god, how many times are they going to hit him, they’re going to kill him kill him oh god Blaine-
“Kurt?”
A hand on his arm and he wrenches away, an oof sounding next to him. An oof that sounds like Blaine and he blinks, hands tangling in the soft grass below him. Grass. He’s on the ground, a rock digging into his leg. He blinks again, looks around and his lungs finally expand, the haze evaporating from his eyes, and there’s people around him, people with kind faces, concerned and caring. He sees Blaine (looking disgruntled on the ground next to him but alive and okay), Brandon in front of him, his hand hovering over Kurt’s shoulder like he doesn’t know what to do, wants to touch but doesn’t want to cause any more harm. There’s a woman Kurt doesn’t know, a little girl standing off to the side, biting her fingers nervously.
“Hey, you with us?” Brandon asks, voice gentle and Kurt nods, feeling in a daze. His fingers dig into the dirt beneath him.
“What…?”
Brandon glances at Blaine who reaches out, cautiously laying a hand on Kurt’s arm, his touch gentle. Kurt leans into the touch, lets his hand raise to tangle with Blaine’s fingers, an anchor keeping him here. Blaine’s eyes are wide, his eyebrows drawn together and he sees the confusion in his eyes, knows Blaine is worried, worried about him and about what just happened.
“I think you blacked out,” Brandon explains after a short moment. “I could see you over the hill and you just went down, took Blaine with you.”
“Blaine…?” Kurt echoes, remembers fighting someone off and a sick feeling bubbles in his stomach. He turns towards him, pulls Blaine’s hand from his arm to his chest, holding tight. “Did I hurt you? I am so, so sorry, oh my god, I hurt you, I didn’t…”
Blaine touches his lips with his finger, face nothing but concern.
“I’m fine,” he tries to assure, even though Kurt’s not sure he believes him. “Worried about you.”
“You sure you’re okay?” Kurt presses, searching Blaine’s face for any sign of anything, anything that could mean he isn’t okay.
“Promise,” Blaine says, giving Kurt’s hand a squeeze. Something cold is being pressed into Kurt’s other hand and he reluctantly looks away from Blaine, sees the sweating bottle of blue Gatorade.
“Drink some,” the woman Kurt doesn’t recognize instructs. Kurt does as she says and it’s only when he brings the bottle to his lips does he realize he’s shaking. The cold shock of Gatorade does help to calm him, makes his head feel like it’s stopped spinning, the ground more steady under his feet.
“Thank you,” he says, the words almost panted as he tries to hand the drink back to her.
“Keep it,” she says with a shake of her head. “It’ll help you feel better.”
“Do you need a ride home?” Brandon asks after a moment, Blaine’s hand still in his, his lungs finally expanding and contracting properly.
“Thank you, I’m okay,” Kurt says, trying his best to sound as reassuring as he can. “I think I just had… low blood sugar or something.”
And then another crack, a loud boom and Kurt flinches, breath catching in his throat until he realizes it’s just fireworks. Just fireworks. Brandon raises an eyebrow and from the way Blaine’s fingers tighten in his grip he knows neither of them really believe him.
“I’ll be fine, really,” Kurt assures, letting go of Blaine’s hand and starting to push himself to his feet. Brandon keeps a steadying hand on his back, making sure Kurt isn’t about to fall over again. “Thank you so much, I’m so sorry about that.”
“No need to apologize,” Brandon says, moving to help Blaine back up before Kurt has a chance, his hands gripping at his jeans uselessly.
“Just feel better, okay?” Brandon says, resting a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “Sure you don’t want a ride?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” Kurt replies, honestly touched by how concerned Brandon is. “We’ll be fine.”
“Alright, well, I’ll stop by tomorrow and make sure you’re still doing okay,” Brandon insists and Kurt agrees, thanking him once more and then it’s just them, just them and the cracking of fireworks and the smell of gyros and it’s still so dark and Kurt just wants to go home.
A hand on his shoulder and Kurt jumps, pulled abruptly from his thoughts, sees Blaine watching him, face so, so worried and it’s only then does he realize his cheeks are wet, traitor tears escaping his eyes. He scrubs his face angrily, turning away.
“You’re not… okay,” Blaine says softly, hand stroking down Kurt’s arm.
“Can we just go home?” Kurt asks, sniffing and embarrassed because this is not how this night was supposed to go and he’s so stupid, he can’t even do something his fiancé wants to do. His fiancé who’s suffered so much more than he has, who tries so hard just to work up the courage to make the walk to the park for some fireworks. And now Kurt’s ruined it.
He starts walking back in the direction of their car, wanting to get away from the noises and smells and people before he stops, breathes, realizes he’s alone. Turning around, he sees Blaine, half a block back, doing his best to catch up with Kurt, every step forceful and deliberate and Kurt feels more hot tears pressing behind his eyes as he makes his way back.
“I’m sorry,” the words come out choked and he doesn’t even care that they’re in public, not anymore. He presses his forehead to Blaine arm, trying to swallow past the painful lump in his throat. “I’m so sorry. I’m ruining everything.”
He can feel Blaine twist, hands leaving his walker to wrap around Kurt’s waist, pulling him in and Kurt lets out a muffled sob into Blaine’s shoulder.
“It’s okay.” Kurt can feel the words murmured into his hair, the slightly jerky rhythm of Blaine rubbing a hand over his back. “It’s okay.”
The tears come harder and Kurt knows he should feel ridiculous crying on the sidewalk, barely a block from their car, but he doesn’t care, only cares about the arms around him, the warm body pressed against him, holding him close. Another booming firework echoes through the night and Kurt can’t help the whimper that escapes him, fingers digging into Blaine’s arms just to make sure he’s real, he’s okay, he’s okay.
“You’re okay.” The words escape Kurt’s lips and he raises his head, eyes searching Blaine’s face and he knows it’s silly, he knows Blaine’s okay, but it all just feels too real, too close, too tangible.
“I’m okay, Kurt,” Blaine says, the words strong and sincere and Kurt raises his hands to cup Blaine’s face, strokes his thumbs over Blaine’s cheekbones.
“I ruined your night.” Kurt lets his hands fall to his sides and Blaine grips his walker again for support.
“Di… you didn’t ruin… it,” Blaine says, and Kurt knows he means it. “Just worried.”
Kurt gives a shaky laugh because Blaine’s worried about him and it seems so ridiculous after everything. He lets his head fall back to Blaine’s shoulder, breathing deep, grounding, orienting, controlling himself. He’s okay. Blaine’s okay. I’m okay.
“Let’s go home,” Blaine whispers, his thumb stroking over Kurt’s hand and Kurt nods, keeping his hand over Blaine’s as they make their way back to the car, letting Blaine set the pace.
-
The first step inside the house feels like pressure on his chest is released, the fear and panic fizzling out of his veins, comforted by the familiar surroundings of home. There’s an awkward silence, thick between them, and Kurt wonders if he can ignore it if Blaine will just forget, if it will go away and Kurt can go back to helping Blaine, focusing on what Blaine needs. It’s easier that way.
“That was…n’t low blood…” Blaine starts, adding after a beat, “…sugar.”
Kurt sinks onto the couch, rubbing his eyes with his hands even though he knows that will give him wrinkles, Blaine sitting carefully beside him.
“I’m fine,” Kurt tries to reassure, smiling at Blaine though he knows it’s forced. “I’m okay now.”
“What happened on the… sidewalk, that wasn’t… okay.” Blaine reaches to grab Kurt’s hand in his own, pulling them onto his lap and massaging his fingers. “We talk about, um, my problems. Don’t… please don’t leave me… out of yours.” He pauses, eyes glistening and so full of emotion and caring. “I want to help.”
Kurt breathes.
“It was the gyros.”
Blaine blinks. “The what?”
“We were eating gyros the night it happened,” Kurt says and his voice is weak, blocked by the lump in his throat. “Gyros and hot chocolate which is such a horrible combination,” a humorless chuckle, Blaine’s fingers tightening on his. “And it’s just… the smell of the park and the fireworks, they sounded like when… when they…”
Tears prick painfully at his eyes and Kurt stops to breathe.
“Sometimes it just comes back so… intense and it’s like my brain won’t stop thinking, won’t stop whirring and I worry so much because I don’t want anything to happen to you and sometimes I just get so scared.”
The words tumble from Kurt’s lips in a rush and when he’s done Blaine pulls him in, nestles his cheek against Kurt’s hair, arms wrapped firmly around Kurt’s chest. Kurt lets his eyes flutter closed, feels so safe and warm and secure in Blaine’s arms and somehow Blaine always knows what to do, how to make him feel better.
“I’m so sorry,” Kurt whispers into Blaine’s chest, feels the thumping of Blaine’s heart against his cheek.
“Don’t be,” Blaine murmurs back, his breath ruffling Kurt’s hair. “I should… apologize.”
Kurt pulls back slightly, looking at Blaine’s face, lined with guilt.
“I pushed you to…” deep breath, “to go. I didn’t know… I didn’t…”
“I didn’t tell you,” Kurt says, gently cutting him off. “I’ve been… it’s hard sometimes, dealing with everything and I feel so stupid being afraid of some silly fireworks when you’ve gone through so much…”
“Don’t,” Blaine interrupts, giving Kurt’s hand a sharp squeeze. “Don’t… compare.”
Kurt looks at where their knees are pressed together, their intertwined fingers.
“I know you were… um, were having pan…” Blaine huffs as he loses the words, his whole face scrunched because he just wants to say this, wants to be here for Kurt, for once. “Having… a hard time before… before I could,” he motions to his mouth, red rising in his cheek and Kurt knows what he means. Before he could communicate, before he could move and talk and tell Kurt how he was feeling. “I didn’t know you were… still…”
Blaine eyes search Kurt’s face, desperate for Kurt to understand what he’s saying.
“I didn’t want to worry you,” Kurt says, barely above a whisper because he knows Blaine is going to be upset. “You have so much… I didn’t want to add to that.”
Blaine pulls slightly away. “You’re always here for me… I… I want to be here for… you. I want you to… talk to me too.”
His eyes gaze desperately into Kurt’s begging him to understand how important this is. “I know you want to… protect me but I want to protect you too.”
Kurt feels the lump in his throat grow, Blaine’s words pulling at him and he knows he was wrong to keep Blaine out of the loop, to try and hide this from Blaine. Because after all his struggles, all his work just to do things that other’s take for granted, Blaine still puts Kurt first.
“I’m sorry,” Kurt apologizes, and he means it. “I won’t keep things from you, I promise.”
“I just…” Blaine pauses, his hand drawing a line down Kurt’s arm. “I just want you to be… okay.”
“I am,” Kurt whispers and Blaine looks at him in a way that Kurt knows he doesn’t believe him. “I am, mostly. It’s like how you have good days and harder days. Some days I’m fine and some days it’s… harder than others.”
Blaine nods, pulling Kurt back in close.
“I saw someone, when it was really bad and they helped me and you help me, it’s just… sometimes. I don’t know. It was so dark and there were the gyros and then the noise…”
Kurt shudders and squeezes his eyes shut, feels Blaine press a kiss to his temple.
“Sometimes it’s hard to believe you’re really okay.”
Blaine’s hand cups Kurt’s jaw, his thumb stroking over his cheek as he gently tilts Kurt’s head up, touches his lips to Kurt’s.
“I’m okay, I promise.”
A noise escapes Kurt that could have been a laugh but was mostly a sob, and he lets his forehead rest against Blaine’s shoulder, takes a moment to just breathe.
“Let’s go outside.” His words are abrupt and harsh in the silence, but he sits straight, a smile on his face because he’s here, with Blaine and he’s not going to let this night go to waste. “Come on.”
He pulls Blaine to his feet, Blaine’s face creasing with amused confusion at Kurt’s sudden change in demeanor. Gathering a blanket in his arms he helps support Blaine as they make their way outside. There’s a chill in the night that wasn’t there before, a foreshadow of the coming fall, and the moon is bright in the sky, casting everything with a silvery glow. Kurt lays out the blanket, situates them on top of it before collapsing backwards.
Blaine lowers himself more gently, scoots until he’s tucked against Kurt’s side, head cushioned in Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt rolls his head to kiss the top of Blaine’s lets his nose nestle in Blaine’s hair and he just breathes, under the night sky, the twinkling stars and he feels centered, feels so small and so huge at the same time, like every moment, every hurt and every fear and every wasted tear is gone and now it’s just Blaine and him, just them on a blanket under the night sky.
“I promise I’ll tell you,” Kurt says, Blaine’s hair tickling his lips. “I’ll let you help me. I won’t keep anything from you.”
“Thank you,” Blaine says in a breath, hand tangling with Kurt’s.
part b