Fic: Under These Fluorescent Lights
Title Under These Fluorescent Lights
Rating Overall NC-17, NC-17 for this part
Warnings Future fic, brain injuries, hospitals, smut, sexual situations
Word Count 8,183
Summary Nothing perfect really lasts forever.
A hate crime leaves Blaine damaged and Kurt refuses to let it bring them down.
Part of th Lovesong verse
A/N A huge, huge thanks to both shandyall and to ET or being amazingly awesome betas and providing me with many insights and ideas and helping me with my run-on sentence problem. I couldn't have written this without them. And I apologize for how long it has taken me to get this part up. I'm really very sorry it took so long. (I've been having a lot of trouble formatting on lj so please apologize any mistakes).
It's worth being noted that the first scene in this chapter is the first scene I've written that takes place pre-attack, so don't let that confuse you! As always, previous parts are under the cut (and I can't believe how long - and confusing - it's getting). Enjoy :)
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 Eye (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 continuatio (December 3rd, 2019)
Shatte (January 23rd, 2019)
Let Me(December 17th, 2019)
Let Me: a continuatio (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 Da (December 4th, 2018)
Slow Dancing April 26th, 2019; September 2nd, 2019; January 6th, 2020)
Each and Every (June 6th, 2018; June 19th, 2018; December 25th, 2018; February 20th, 2019
Bonus Letters blueprint
June 1st, 2017
It’s raining, coming down in sheets, lightning streaking the sky. Kurt stares grimly out the window of the flower shop, wonders why today is the day he forgot his umbrella. He glances at his watch as he meanders down the aisles, knows what he wants but trying to see if the storm will abate. But it’s already creeping on six o’clock and he was supposed to meet Blaine half an hour ago and it’s his birthday for Christ’s sake but Kurt would be a lousy person if he didn’t get his fiancé flowers on today, of all days.
“I don’t think it’ll be letting up for awhile,” the shop owner says, looking at Kurt apologetically. Kurt sighs, looks at the bouquet in his hands - a delicate mixture of lilies and daffodils, Kurt had long ago decided roses were too cheesy for birthdays - admits defeat and pays. He supposes if Blaine’s been with him for this long, he won’t care if his hair is a little messed up from the rain.
The cashier gives him an extra bag, out of sympathy Kurt supposes, and he tucks the flowers under his arm, creates a makeshift hood from the plastic bag, sucks in a deep breath and makes a run for it. He’s immediately soaked, the freezing rain pelting at his skin and soaking through his jeans and he silently curses the weatherman who said that today would be clear and sunny. Dodging the daily obstacles of small children and joggers stuck out in the rain, he makes his way home as fast as he can, stares grumpily at anyone who dares to look at him on the subway.
When he finally makes it back to the apartment (and never has a building looked so beautiful as it does through a veil of frigid rain), he gets stuck holding the door for their elderly neighbor and her hoard of knitting friends. She pats his shoulder and tells him to send her birthday wishes to that ‘cute roommate of yours’ and Kurt just smiles and says he will before opting to take the stairs up to their apartment and not crowd in an elevator full of eighty year olds with knitting needles.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Kurt says when he enters the door, slightly out of breath and kicking off his boots. Rain is dripping down his face, soaking uncomfortably into his shirt, the bag of flowers crinkling in his hands as he makes his way into the living room. “Did you get my…”
He trails off, a smile tugging at his lips. Blaine is sprawled out across the couch, a book lopsided on his chest, his lips parted with sleep. There’s a green cone party hat strapped to his head, his hair curling adorably around the edge, and Kurt can’t help the laugh that escapes him as he creeps forward, settling himself above Blaine on the couch. Blaine’s eyes blink open at the shift, a sleepy smile growing on his face.
“You look like someone drowned a cat,” Blaine murmurs, reaching a hand to brush a wet strand of hair behind Kurt’s ears.
“You look like you just turned five,” Kurt shoots back, raising his eyebrows at the cone strapped to Blaine’s head. Blaine sticks his tongue out and not for the first time Kurt wonders if he’s spending too much time with the kids he teaches, but in a moment of forgotten maturity he decides to retaliate, leans in close and shakes his head, raining droplets of water on his face. Blaine scrunches his nose and swats at Kurt, causing him to lose his balance and roll off the couch, landing on the floor with an ungraceful thud.
"Are you okay?" Blaine asks, leaning over the edge of the couch and sounding actually concerned and if Kurt were a better person he might feel bad for what he's about to do, but he's never claimed to be a saint so he reaches up to hook his hand on Blaine's arm, pulling him down to the floor with him. "You're all wet." Blaine whines, but he doesn't try and pull away, just pulls his lips down to make a face.
"Only because I got stuck outside getting you flowers," Kurt says and Blaine's eyes widen with excitement and everything about him is so adorable and happy and free that Kurt is struck with one of those how did I ever get so lucky, what did I do to possibly deserve this moments that steals his breath straight from his lungs. With a stretch he rolls over to grab the flowers from where he'd set them next to the couch, presenting them to Blaine and blinking his eyes coyly.
"Happy Birthday." Blaine clutches the flowers, the yellow of the daffodils making his eyes glow a warm amber and he cranes his neck to press a kiss to Kurt's lips, holding the flowers up so they don't get crushed between their bodies.
"They're beautiful," Blaine says when they pull apart, thumbing along the edge of a petal; Kurt doesn't think he'll ever get over how genuinely touched Blaine always seems by these simple gestures, by flowers and kisses and texts sent with X's and O's. Blaine springs to his feet, Kurt rolling over on the ground (and he doesn't care that he looks less than dignified right now, because he's with Blaine, Blaine who makes a habit of doing things like rolling around on the floor or taking naps under tables or leaving birthday hats strapped to his head), watches as Blaine makes his way across their tiny apartment to pull out the small crystal vase from the top shelf in the kitchen, fills it with water before carefully arranging the flowers in it.
"I wish flowers could last forever." Blaine's voice is light in that way it gets when he really means something and Kurt pushes himself to his feet, ignores how damp and uncomfortable his clothes are, walks over to bump Blaine's shoulder with his own.
"Nothing lasts forever." Blaine looks over at Kurt, raises an eyebrow.
"Someone's a little ball of sunshine today."
"Someone is soaking wet and on the verge of hypothermia," Kurt retorts and Blaine looks contemplative for a moment before wrapping his hands around Kurt's shoulders, manhandling him back to the bedroom.
"Well, I think someone should take a shower and warm up then."
"Maybe someone could help me warm up..." Kurt trails off, leaning in to nuzzle his face against the crook of Blaine's neck and shivering because he really is freezing. "And I could give you your birthday present early."
"Present?" Blaine asks, pulling away and looking at Kurt suspiciously. "I thought we agreed we were too broke to do presents this year."
"Sex, Blaine," Kurt deadpans, has to bite his lip to keep from laughing. "Your present is sex."
"Oh, well..." Blaine steps forward, eyes darkening and glancing up and down Kurt's body in the way that never fails to make Kurt's knees a little weak. "I suppose, in that case..."
-
They shower and warm up and shower again.
-
Blaine's perched on the counter, his hair in that state somewhere between wet and dry, dressed in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants and looking utterly comfortable. He's watching Kurt make his birthday cake with a cocked head, looking contemplative.
"What are you thinking about?" Kurt asks, cracking eggs into the bowl.
"About why you won't cook naked for me," Blaine responds immediately, a smile pulling at his lips. Kurt turns to glare at Blaine, before reaching for the spatula (and maybe he purposefully bent over a little further than necessary, took a few seconds longer than he really needed).
"You just saw me naked, for at least..." a glance at the clock, "an hour and a half."
"It's my birthday?" Blaine tries, blinking hopefully at Kurt. Kurt just shakes his head, amused and continues stirring the cake mix (and yes, it is a box mix, but Blaine had begged for a funfetti cake for his birthday and who was Kurt to say no?). He listens to Blaine tell him about his day, the birthday party his students threw for him and another student with the same birthday, how he had to intercept a fight that somehow led to Play-doh stuck on guitar strings, and how he had to end the day by calling poor Trenton's mother because he couldn't seem to stop stealing recorders.
"Who knew being a music teacher would have so much drama," Blaine whines but Kurt knows he still loves it, every day he comes home light with the fact that he's making an impact in these kids' lives, every time one of his students asks about private lessons Kurt can't wipe the glow off Blaine's face for weeks.
"Awe, my poor baby," Kurt says with a smile, offers Blaine the spatula. "Here, have some cake batter." Blaine licks the batter off the spatula in one long swipe, some catching on his lower lip and dripping down his chin. He ducks his head, cheeks reddening in embarrassment but Kurt just takes a step forward, his hand resting lightly on Blaine's thigh as he leans forward, thumbs up the batter from Blaine's chin with his thumb.
"Mmm," Kurt moans exaggeratedly, winking at Blaine as he sucks the batter from his thumb. A glint appears in Blaine's eyes as he watches, and he reaches to stick his finger in the cake batter before Kurt can stop him, swiping it across his nose.
"Oops," Blaine says innocently, leaning forward and Kurt gives a breathy laugh. "I'm not going to fall for it."
"Well then," Blaine says slowly, sticking his finger in the cake batter again, this time swiping it across Kurt's cheek. Kurt stands still, his breath catching when Blaine perches dangerously at the edge of the counter to kiss the spot of cake batter on Kurt's cheek, his tongue darting out quickly to scoop it back up. Something warm blossoms in Kurt, deep down and he wonders if it's silly that this boy still makes him feel this way, despite their struggles and fights and the fact they're still trying to make it through, trying to sort everything out, or if maybe that's the reason he still feels this way, because they're figuring it out together.
So he nuzzles his nose against Blaine's cheek, lets his eyes close and takes a moment to just breathe him in, the warm, earthy scent of him, mixed with the overly-sweet cake batter.
And then he attacks.
He dips his fingers into the batter, because screw it, and smears them over Blaine’s cheek, like a mockery of war paint. Blaine laughs, that high pitched giggle he gets when he’s really excited about something, and he grabs the flour left out, dusts a handful into Kurt’s hair. Kurt blinks in shock, shakes his head and the flour poofs out, falling down onto their clothes.
“Oh now you’ve done it,” Kurt growls, steps in between Blaine’s knees, wraps his hands around his lower back and pulls him in closer. He feels around behind Blaine until he finds a handful of sugar, leans in close enough that Blaine tilts his head to the side, baring his neck and fluttering his eyes shut… and Kurt shoves the sugar down the back of his shirt.
Blaine squirms, but smiles mischievously.
“Excellent, a sugar scrub,” he says, leans in against Kurt’s chest. Kurt nips at his nose, presses a kiss to his lips. “You pay good money for these.”
“Sugar scrubs off the dead skin,” Kurt murmurs, lips still brushing against Blaine’s check.
“Mmm, sexy,” Blaine returns, nuzzles his cheek against Kurt and Kurt lets his eyes drift shut, tries to step in even closer. “Dead skin.”
“Shut up.”
“Never.” Kurt gives Blaine’s chest a playful shove, and he tilts back, his head smacking against the cupboard with a loud thunk.
“Oh god, Blaine! Are you okay?” Kurt rushes to ask, immediately trying to assess the damage, and he probably just concussed Blaine on his birthday and he’s the worst fiancé ever and Blaine will never…
His eyes close of their own accord when something cold and gooey blankets over him, drips off his hair into his eyelashes, down onto his clothes. Cake batter, he identifies when he licks his lips, the entire bowl of it, dumped onto his head. He blinks open slowly, a glob falling onto his shoulder, and he can feel a chunk slide down his neck, slipping under his shirt. Blaine is giggling like a madman and Kurt just stands there, sucks in a deep breath and counts to ten.
“The wedding is off,” Kurt says firmly, taking a step back and wiping cake batter from his eyes in as dignified manner as he can. Blaine slides off the counter, pouting. “Nope, you can’t win me back this time.”
Blaine gives an exaggerated whimper, smoothes his hands down Kurt’s shoulders, steps in so he can nuzzle against Kurt’s throat, draws back with batter on his nose.
“I’m made of stone,” Kurt says, backing up, feels the wall hit his back.
“Mmm,” Blaine hums, licks a stripe up Kurt’s throat. “Delicious stone.”
“Cold, heartless stone,” Kurt counters, but his voice is light, a laugh swallowed at the end.
“Maybe I can help you melt a little,” Blaine murmurs, nuzzles in closer and Kurt can feel his heart speed up, pounding an excited rhythm in his chest and he’s more than ready for round three.
“I think you’re mixing your metaphors,” Kurt breathes back, his hands already reading to try and pull off Blaine’s t-shirt, his hands slippery-sticky with cake batter.
“It’s not a metaphor,” Blaine says, voice muffled by his shirt as he frantically pulls it at his head.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Kurt returns but he really doesn’t care, because Blaine’s now pulling at his shirt, undoing the buttons, his breath heavy and excited when Kurt finally shucks the shirt to the ground, and then their bodies are pressed together, slick cake batter in between.
Mouths search each other out, hands sliding down sides and digging fingers into backs, and Kurt can’t hold in a moan when Blaine sucks his lip into his mouth, gives it a light tug before releasing it.
“You taste good,” Blaine says in one heavy breath, his hands roaming over to slide up Kurt’s chest, palms warm and rough.
“That’s the cake,” Kurt breathes, digs his fingers into Blaine’s side a little harder and rolls his hips forward, feels the strain against his zipper, longs for it to be released but doesn’t want to let go of Blaine.
Blaine, who mouths down his jaw, his thumb rubbing a circle over Kurt’s nipple, making his whole chest tingle. Blaine, who drops his hand down, cups the hardness in Kurt’s jeans and Kurt can’t bite back the groan when his hips jerk forward, acutely aware of the hummingbird beat of his heart, the sweat that’s starting to sheen on his skin.
And he surges forward, presses against Blaine and whips him around, slamming him back against the wall. Blaine growls under him, grinds into Kurt, kisses him frantically, like it’s the last chance he’ll ever have. Kurt lets his hands drift down further, smoothes back over the curve of his ass before making their way down his legs. He anchors Blaine against the wall, whispers in his ear “I’ve always wanted to do this,” before hoisting Blaine’s legs up, wrapping them around his waist.
Blaine immediately leans into him, his arms flinging themselves around Kurt’s neck and Kurt supposes it would be hot (like in the movies that he rents with Blaine late on Friday nights), except that Blaine’s gripping too tight, his legs clinging around Kurt’s waist desperately, and they’re slightly off center and Blaine is heavy and Kurt just can’t keep balance and they’re toppling, falling in a heap.
They twist, so Kurt’s body is heavy on top of Blaine’s and he can feel the way Blaine’s chest is heaving under his, the way he’s laughing, his arms moving up to wrap around Kurt’s back, sliding down in the space between in his pants and his ass. Kurt anchors his hands on the kitchen floor, looks into Blaine’s eyes as he slowly thrusts his hips forward, feels the ache as his cock strains against his jeans.
So as quickly as he can he pushes himself up onto his knees, acutely aware of Blaine’s eyes on him as he rushes to unbutton his jeans, shimmies them down his legs, not even bothering to get them further than his knees before he’s pulling up Blaine’s hips, yanking of his sweatpants in one swift motion. And then he’s surging back, mouth colliding with Blaine’s and his hips thrusting up in a messy, uncoordinated rush. Blaine arches up against him, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a swallowed moan and Kurt kisses down his neck, sucks gently against his collar bone.
The moment stretches on, time moving in that funny way that it does with the warmth of an orgasm begins to coil deep in his belly, when Blaine is spread out and gleaming under him, when everything is warm and stifled and slick around him. The edge creeps closer and Kurt’s arms begin to tremble, Blaine eyes fluttering closed and Kurt briefly wonders how hard the kitchen floor is underneath him before Blaine’s crying out, his fingers digging into Kurt’s skin, trying to find purchase.
Kurt follows shortly after, his hips stuttering to a stop as his orgasm sweeps through him and he collapses on top of Blaine, lets his too-warm body pillow under him, tries to ignore the sticky feel of their come pressed between them.
“God, you’re so hot,” Blaine breathes, still slightly out of breath, pushes a strand of Kurt’s hair from his forehead and Kurt frowns.
“Even covered in sweat and cake batter?”
“Especially covered in sweat and cake batter,” Blaine replies seriously, leaning his head up to press a quick kiss to Kurt’s lips.
“I think I might still keep you,” Kurt says, trails his finger down Blaine’s flushed cheek.
“Yay!” Blaine exclaims with a wiggle, and he rolls Kurt over so they’re lying side by side. And Kurt ignores the mess of their bodies, the fact that they’re going to have to shower again and do some thorough cleaning of the kitchen, because right now he’s here with the love of his life and everything is pretty much perfect. As perfect as anything Kurt could have imagined.
-
Nothing perfect really lasts forever.
May 13th, 2018
Blaine’s favorite mornings are the ones he wakes up to Kurt’s voice. He’s confused when he first wakes up, his eyes blinking sluggishly open to a room he’s pretty sure he should know but doesn’t remember. The walls are tan and he spends hours staring at them when Kurt’s not around, when he’s not being moved or rolled or poked.
Mostly he sleeps. It’s the only thing he can think to do, and usually he can’t even think at all, and he just feels so tired all the time. So tired it weighs down his arms, his legs, won’t let his eyes open completely. He doesn’t like it, being so tired, isn’t really sure why he is. He’s not really sure about much actually. How he got here, where he is, what happened. He knows it’s not right, that something is wrong, can tell by the anxious tone in Kurt’s voice whenever he’s around. Knows by all the people coming to sit beside him, to hold his hand and brush fingers gently down his cheek.
He just watches them, sometimes tries to squeeze their hand but his fingers feel weighted, slow and clumsy and he gives up, tries to sleep again because sleep isn’t confusing. Sleep doesn’t make his head throb or his body ache. Sleep helps him forget what he can’t remember.
May 15th, 2018
“Blaine.”
A light pressure on his arm and eyes blink slowly open, the world blurry for a moment as he struggles to focus.
“I knew you weren’t sleeping.”
The words float through his head and he registers them but doesn’t really understand, can’t focus on trying to make out what’s around him and the noises in the room at the same time. He sees Kurt, never forgets what Kurt looks like, smiling next to him, realizes the pressure on his arm is Kurt’s hand and he tries to smile back but it’s like he knows the motions, knows what he needs to do to smile, but his muscles have forgotten. They just give a pathetic twitch and if Blaine could he would groan in frustration, but he can’t. Only the tiniest, choked off noise escapes his throat and Blaine thinks the corner of his mouth feels wet, but he can’t really figure out why and with the beeping on one side of him and Kurt’s arm on the other side, the words leaving his lips and movement across the room it’s just too much, Blaine can’t process anything through it all so he closes his eyes and tries to breathe.
Something presses to the corner of his mouth, wipes gently, Kurt’s gentle voice drifting through the room like a warm breeze and even if he’s not entirely sure what he’s saying it wraps around him, holds him and comforts him and he just breathes, slips back into sleep.
-
When he wakes again, there’s still a hand on his. A voice speaks and he blinks sleepily, processes the words. “Hey there, sleepy.” Not Kurt. He lets his head roll to the side the voice is coming from, gazes up at someone with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, someone he doesn’t know but feels like he should. Where’s Kurt? He was here, he thought he was but… maybe… everything is hazy lately and he feels like he can’t keep anything straight and it’s so hard to just think and…
“Blaine.” A voice, one he knows and he opens his eyes (when did he close them, he doesn’t know), sees Kurt to his other side. “Honey, is it your head? Do you want me to call the nurse?”
No, he doesn’t need the nurse, his head is only fuzzy, confused, trying desperately to sort itself out but it’s been filled with honey and molasses, sticking to the cogs and wheels and making everything go so slow. He wants to tell Kurt no, he’s fine, but he can’t, his tongue doesn’t move, the words don’t come, his lips twitch uselessly.
“Can you answer with your fingers, Blaine? Remember, like we’ve been trying?” Kurt sounds so hopeful, resting Blaine’s hand lightly on his, expectantly and it’s hard, his muscles reluctant to do what he wants but he lifts two fingers, stares into Kurt’s eyes imploringly.
“You feel okay?” Blaine twitches a single finger up, still staring intently at Kurt. Kurt smiles even though it doesn’t seem real, squeezes Blaine’s hand. “Do you remember Tara, your physical therapist?”
He nods his head toward the girl and Blaine gazes back towards her with half-lidded eyes, watches as she offers him a smile and a wave.
“Remember me?”
He doesn’t, not really but he’s not really sure he remembers anything, can’t think enough to try but he lifts his finger anyways because Kurt and this girl want this so much, want him to remember and know these things.
“Feeling up to a few exercises today?” the girl, what was her name again, asks, her voice gentle and kind, her hand reaching forward to lightly touch Blaine’s arm. He just blinks, tries to understand what she means but he’s drawing a blank. She says something to Kurt instead, the words muffled and small and Kurt says something back and their hands are on him, bending his wrists and his elbows and lifting his arms up and down. He lets them, just watches, tries to do as she says, tries to make a fist when she asks, tries to lift his legs but it’s just so hard and he’s so tired and everything has that foggy feeling like when you wake up from a too-long nap.
“I thought we’d try sitting at the edge of the bed today,” the girl is saying and Kurt’s agreeing with an enthusiasm that Blaine doesn’t really understand. He can’t decide if he feels like he’s dreaming or if everything is far too real. It’s too confusing to think about, so he just lets them, lets them put their hands on his arms, raise his bed until he’s sitting much higher than before. He feels dizzy, the world spinning around him and he closes his eyes, tries to swallow but his throat doesn’t want to work, like something is stuck, lodged and keeping him from trying so he coughs and coughs and once he starts it’s hard to stop and hands are rubbing his back and his eyes are watering and he just wants everything to stop.
“Deep breaths, you’re okay, just try and breathe.”
Blaine tries, sucks fresh air into his lungs, feels them expand and it’s amazing how easily someone can forget to do such a simple action. How his head stops spinning, the world slowly evening out, righting itself in that perpetually crooked way it does.
A few moments, a few reassuring words, and then Kurt and the girl are helping him twist to the side, his feet slipping over the edge of the bed to dangle, his back hunching and when did his head get so heavy he can barely hold it up, lets it fall against Kurt’s shoulder when he sits beside him. A hand anchors behind his back when he wavers, the girl resting a smaller hand on his shoulder and Kurt presses a kiss into his hair.
“You’re sitting, Blaine,” he says and he sounds so proud and Blaine doesn’t understand why but it makes something warm twist inside of him because he always wants Kurt to be proud of him, even if he doesn’t really understand what’s happening and why his brain is suddenly fuzzy and slow and why he’s so tired and everything is so strange and difficult. He wants to tell Kurt that but he doesn’t remember how, instead moves his hand from where it’s sitting limp in his lap, glides it over to Kurt’s leg, searching searching searching and Kurt knows what he needs, his fingers tangling with Blaine’s, giving a gentle squeeze.
“We’ll try doing this for a few minutes every day, how does that sound? Build up some muscles again,” the girl says and Blaine wishes he could remember her name, is he supposed to know her? How long has she been here? He’s sitting and it’s making him tired, his shoulders hunching in on themselves, his legs dangling uselessly off the bed, his hand in Kurt’s and he just wants to sleep, just for a little bit and he wavers and…
…and he opens his eyes and he’s back in bed, Kurt’s fingers carding through his too short hair, his thumb smoothing gently over his forehead. He smiles when Blaine’s gaze falls on him and he leans forward, presses a kiss to Blaine’s cheek.
“You fell asleep on us,” he says and Blaine doesn’t remember what he’s talking about but he’s pretty sure that all he does lately is sleep, so he just blinks, rolls his shoulders to get more comfortable. Kurt’s immediately there, helping Blaine to lean forward, smoothing down the pillows and sheets behind him, readjusting the blanket on top of him and Blaine sighs happily because even though he’s not really sure what’s going on, Kurt is here and he’s warm and comfortable and, right now, he feels pretty happy.
May 25th, 2018
Kurt misses a day. It’s his third day back at work and there are projects to look over, calls to make, errands to run, people to meet, lunches and coffees and second lunches and Blaine’s dad calls with houses for them to look at and of course this is the week the sink decides to back up and then he lost his key and he gets home at ten and can’t even think. He’s exhausted and it weighs in his bones and he knows he needs to go see Blaine; he hasn’t missed a day of seeing Blaine yet but the hospital is another thirty minutes on the subway and he’s just so tired and he has to get back up in eight hours for another day of catch-up and he’s starting to wonder if going back to work really was the best thing after all.
But guilt weighs in on him, and whenever he closes his eyes he sees Blaine, waiting for him, watching for him, wondering why he hasn’t been in yet. He remembers the way Blaine had clung to his hand when he had been getting ready to leave the day before, how he’d looked at him with those wide, sad eyes when he kissed him goodbye. He feels like he’s betraying him.
Kurt hesitates a moment before rolling over on the couch, fumbling for his phone from his jacket pocket that he hadn’t had the energy to hang up. He dials the numbers that have become so familiar, the charge nurse picking up, greeting Kurt brightly and transferring him to the phone in Blaine’s room. He can hear a rustle in the background, closes his eyes and tries to picture what Blaine’s doing right now, if he’s comfortable, hopes he didn’t wake him up. The nurse is talking to him, tells him it’s Kurt on the phone, and then there’s only the sound of Blaine’s breathing, the phone pressed against his cheek.
“Hey, Blaine, um, I can’t make it in today,” Kurt says, a slight catch in his voice and he swallows thickly, grips the phone tighter. “Today was just… so crazy. Who knew going back to work would be so tiring? I swear, I don’t know how they held together for so long without me, everything is just a giant mess and I’m pretty sure the new assistant they hired is colorblind because she ordered mauve instead of burgundy. Mauve, Blaine.”
He pauses, waits a second before realizing that Blaine can’t say anything back, that this is how it is now, Kurt talking to the quiet sounds of breathing.
“He’s smiling,” a whispered voice says and Kurt imagines the nurse, sitting on the bed beside Blaine, propping the phone to his ear and smiling back at him, and he feels a little better. Blaine isn’t alone.
He lets out a shaky breath, lets his own lips twitch into a smile. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t come see you today, but I’ll be in as soon as I can tomorrow, okay? I bet we can even go out to the garden like we’ve been talking about, get out for a bit? Or we can do whatever you want, and I promise I won’t miss a day again, okay? And then Cooper is coming again and I know your mom wants to come out the week after he gets here so you won’t have to be alone all day, I promise. You won’t be alone and… oh! I got some new lotion that I think will work better than the stuff they have there and Carole is sending you this sweater she found online that she thinks will be warm enough that we won’t need a thousand blankets and I love you.”
A noise comes through the phone, small and stilted and Kurt frowns before he can here the phone shifting, the nurse giggling.
“I think you just made him laugh,” she says and Kurt’s heart thuds against his chest, wishes more than anything that he was there right now but somehow, it’s okay.
the next day
Blaine doesn’t mind being alone. Mostly he doesn’t really notice, doesn’t really process the fact that he’s alone until he’s not anymore, until there’s a hand in his, quiet words in the chair beside him. He’s too tired to notice. Spends too much time sleeping, breathing, being. He stares at the wall and the sheets around him and tries to get any semblance of coherency out of his brain, usually just gives up and lets himself drift into sleep.
Today though, something is different. Today, his eyes flutter open and he feels a sense of loss. He looks around at the room he’s slowly beginning to remember, the familiar walls and dark blue chairs and the IV poles set up beside him. Kurt drifts into his mind and he surrenders himself to thoughts he can manage, about Kurt’s comforting smile and chestnut hair. He knows these things. He can remember them.
But the feeling grows and he finds himself frowning, his fingers twitching just slightly from where they’re been positioned in his lap. Kurt didn’t come in yesterday. He knows this. He’s not really sure how he knows this, but he feels sure of it. And he misses him. His mom has been there, Cooper, people he doesn’t remember, but Kurt has been the constant in this hurricane of confusion, has been there and held him and made him feel safe.
Kurt wasn’t here but he remembers his voice in his ear, metallic and far away and he focuses on that, focuses on breathing deep and trying to clear the throbbing that’s started in his head.
Breathe.
Breathe.
The door opens, a soft click, and he lets his eyes open slowly (the only way they can open now), expects, hopes, wants to see Kurt walking through that door. Instead it’s a girl in blue scrubs with dark hair pulled back. She looks nice, Blaine thinks, the way she smiles at him and wishes him a good morning. Her name is Emily she says, and he knows that, now that she said it and he wants to tell her, wants to tell her that he actually remembers who she is and that he thinks she looks very pretty today, but his lips just twitch and he gives up.
He wants to ask her if she’s heard from Kurt, and he stares at her as she listens to his heart, feels his pulses and presses on his belly. He watches her, hoping that somehow she’ll understand because he feels the most awake he’s felt since he can’t even remember when, and all he wants is to tell her, to ask her a question and actually have someone understand him. But he can’t, he doesn’t know how and his body no longer seems to be his anymore. So instead he just watches and listens and waits.
Waits for Kurt, waits for blue eyes and a warm smile. Waits for comfort, and something that makes sense.
-
Someone is already in the room when Kurt gets there. Red hair and freckles and a laugh that bounces light off the walls, a voice full of encouragement. Kristina, another of Blaine’s therapists and sometimes it seems like there’s so many Kurt’s not sure how he keeps them all straight. He knocks on the door before entering, both Kristina and Blaine looking his way, Blaine’s eyes excited, his lips twitching into a smile. The head of his bed is inclined so he’s sitting up, Kristina on a chair next to him, a duffle bag of equipment next to her.
“Am I interrupting something?” Kurt asks, tries to keep his voice light despite the guilt still churning in him at not making it in yesterday.
“Just Blaine’s new talent,” Kristina says, beckoning for Kurt to come forward.
“Oh yes?” Kurt steps into the room, leans down to press a kiss to Blaine’s forehead, whispers, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here yesterday.”
Blaine’s fingers uncurl, reach towards Kurt and he takes them, biting his lip when Blaine gives his fingers a tiny squeeze, almost like he’s trying to reassure Kurt. It’s the first time Blaine has done anything like this on his own initiative; the first time he’s purposefully made contact and Kurt squeezes back, as much as he can.
“Do you want to show Kurt what you can do?” Kristina asks softly, passes Blaine a red foam ball he hadn’t noticed her holding before. She stands, motions for Kurt to sit where she was, so he does, looking between them, confused. Blaine’s fingers press into the foam ball, forming small indents and he focuses on Kurt, the skin between his eyebrows wrinkling as he concentrates. A grunt, so quiet Kurt barely hears it, and Blaine tosses the ball, just clearing the bed and hitting Kurt’s knees. It’s more reflexes than anything that make Kurt catch it before it hits the ground, and he stares at Blaine, heart fluttering in his chest.
“Toss it back,” Kristina says, standing behind Kurt and he grips the ball, tosses it gently towards Blaine. Blaine fumbles a little but manages to grab a hold of it, can’t really lift it off the bed but he holds it close to his body, a proud look on his face. It’s the most like Blaine he’s looked in a month and Kurt feels something hot pricking at his eyes, and he lifts a shaky hand, touches the ball. Blaine smiles, the right side of his mouth lifting higher than the left, and he tosses the ball back to Kurt.
“You…” Kurt says, voice faltering and he lifts the ball up until it touches his chin, a smile breaking out on his face that he’s sure makes him look like a crazy person.
“I think we can be done for the day,” Kristina says, voice light and she gathers up her stuff. “You did great today, Blaine.” She touches his arm lightly, smiles and looks back at Kurt. “You can keep that.” And with a tiny wink, she’s gone, closing the door with a click behind her.
A beat and Kurt considers, tosses the ball back to Blaine. He catches it, his movements still slow, sluggish, but this time he barely fumbles it. Kurt’s throat feels tight and he knows it’s silly but this, this little red ball, is the first time in a month that Blaine’s actually shown any sort of real improvement, the most awake and alert and Blaine-like that he’s been and it makes something ache inside of him.
“Scoot over,” he says, helps Blaine move slightly to the side, is cautious of the IV and feeding tube, climbs into the too small bed beside him. He knows he’s not really supposed to do this, but right now he doesn’t care, he just needs to be close to Blaine, however he can.
“I love you a stupid amount, you know that, right?” Kurt whispers when he’s settled, pressing a kiss to his jaw and resting his head on Blaine’s shoulder. If he closes his eyes he can pretend, can focus on just the sensation of Blaine beside him, tucked so perfectly into his side, can just listen to the gentle sounds of his breathing, can feel the warmth of his skin against his cheek. He can tune out the bustling sounds of the hospital around them, the whirring sounds of the drips and IVs beside the bed and just focus on
now.
On his beautiful fiancé who threw a cheap foam ball to him today but it made Kurt more proud than he’s ever been. Because it’s not the action, but what the action means. That maybe, someday, Blaine might be a little bit closer to okay. That he will never fail to surprise Kurt, and Kurt will never forget to show him how much he loves him.
His thoughts are broken when something hits his chest and he blinks his eyes open, looks up at Blaine. There’s a smile on his face and the ball has rolled off the bed and Kurt realizes he just threw it at him, like he was trying to get his attention.
Kurt picks up the ball, and tosses it.
June 1st, 2018
Blaine is angry. For the first time he can remember since his brain became a stew of confusion, since the first time he woke up and the world no longer made any sense, he is actually, heart-poundingly angry. He doesn’t really know why, there’s no pinpointed reason for it. The morning was uneventful, just the routine he’s becoming familiar with.
Nurses came by, doctors, and people who had him try things that were too hard for him, things that he always failed at. He couldn’t put the puzzle pieces back in their places, couldn’t catch the ball today no matter how hard he tried. His legs felt like lead and refused to move in the way he wanted. It felt like there was something was weighing down his lungs and he couldn’t stop coughing, a cough that made his nurse run into his room, made her stick things down his throat that just seemed to make the coughing worse but he couldn’t even tell her to stop.
So he sits in his room alone, listens to the blood pounding in his ears, his fingers clenching and unclenching in the blanket Kurt had brought from home. He feels like he’s been living in this never-ending haze, and he doesn’t understand it, doesn’t understand why, can’t even think enough to begin to figure it out, and no one has bothered to explain anything to him. Or if they have, he can’t remember, and that just makes him even angrier.
But anger is hard to keep up. Anger takes energy and action and Blaine doesn’t seem to have either. So he lets it simmer, bubble just under the surface, and drifts. He mostly ignores the people who come in and out of the room because it’s easier this way. It’s easier to just not think, to surrender himself to the haze of his mind, and just be.
Until his door opens and there’s noise. Cooper comes in first, smiles wide when he sees Blaine. Kurt follows next and they’re talking, too fast for Blaine to concentrate on the words so he doesn’t, stares at them as they approach his bed.
“Hey little brother,” Cooper is saying, ruffles his hair in the way he used to do when they were kids, even though Blaine doesn’t really have hair to ruffle. “Happy birthday.”
Blaine blinks.
Kurt lowers himself in the chair next to him; his movements slow and practiced as he takes his hand.
“Blaine, it’s your birthday today.” Kurt smiles and glances up at Cooper. “Cooper flew in today to visit for a few days.”
Blaine lets his eyes roam from Kurt to Cooper, down to his bed. He tries to think over their words. Happy Birthday. It means something; he knows it does. The meaning filters in and he knows he should feel something, that this should matter, but it doesn’t. His emotions are backwards and sideways and muddled and all he feels is the simmering anger he felt earlier rising.
“Blaine bear, you’re twenty-five. Practically an old man,” Cooper says when the silence stretches and there’s a forced laugh in his voice, but it just makes Blaine angrier. Because how can they be here, telling him he’s older when he can’t even remember how old he is anyways? When he doesn’t even know why he’s here? When all they do is sit and hold his hand and encourage him and he’s trapped inside his own head but he doesn’t even understand his own thoughts anymore. When nothing makes sense.
So Blaine does the only thing he’s able to do, he pulls away. He slips his hand out of Kurt’s, avoids Cooper’s eyes, stares at his knees. Kurt tries to find his hand again but he twitches away.
“Blaine…” Kurt says but it’s little more than a whisper. He’s gentle, always so gentle, so cautious and patient and usually it helps things make more sense, helps Blaine feel more grounded but now… he feels slow and stupid and so angry. “It’s okay Blaine, it’s just me and Cooper.”
Understanding. Always understanding.
“Just breathe.”
So he tries. Looks at Kurt with wide eyes and sucks a desperate breath in, lets it out in that way his doctor has been teaching him. Kurt reaches for his hand once more, squeezes encouragingly and Blaine really tries.
“I brought you something,” Kurt says after a moment, glancing up at Cooper before continuing. He pulls something out of his back with one hand, never letting go of Blaine’s. Everything feels still for a beat, and Kurt raises a small birthday candle, pinched between two fingers.
“They won’t let me light it in here, not with the oxygen. And I couldn’t… a candle is all I could do. But, we can pretend, can’t we? You can still make a wish, and when you get out of here we can make up for it, okay?” Kurt’s speaking quickly, sounds desperate in a way, inches the candle closer to Blaine’s lips. Blaine closes his eyes and does. He thinks about what Kurt just said, lets it seep its way into his brain. A wish. He’s supposed to make a wish. He knows what wishes are, somehow knows he needs to make one and blow out the candle, because it’s his birthday and he’s twenty-five. So he wishes that he understood, wishes for this fog in his head to clear, wishes for things to finally make sense again, wishes that he actually knew what was happening.
Eyes open again and Kurt’s smiling at him expectantly. Blaine focuses in on the candle, shifts his shoulders before pursing his lips to blow out the pretend flame. Except he can’t. His lips won’t move that way, won’t do anything except drop his chin a little and twitch uselessly. Breath escapes him in a gasp anyways and he feels something slip down his chin, knows it’s saliva and he closes again, looks away because he can’t do anything about it.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Kurt rushes to reassure but Blaine doesn’t care, he doesn’t want to listen anymore. He can feel his cheeks burning hot with embarrassment and for the first time he wants to go back to before, when everything was one big blur and he didn’t know any of these things were happening. Because now he knows, now he’s aware of Kurt’s hand on his chin, gently wiping away his shame, his touch as gentle as his words. It doesn’t help.
Cooper is silent beside him and Blaine can’t even raise his eyes, just wants to fall back asleep, wants him to leave. It’s easier when it’s just Kurt. “I have a present for you,” Kurt says, tries to bring him back. He detaches his hand from Blaine’s, digs into his bag and pulls out a box. He lays it carefully in Blaine’s lap, opens the lid, digs through tissue paper and pulls out a glass flower.
“It’s, um, it’s a tulip.” Kurt reaches forward, places the flower in Blaine’s hand. The glass is cool on his fingers. Smooth. “I don’t know if you remember but last year you…” A pause, a shaky breath, “You said you wished that flowers could last forever and I found one that will. I hope you like it.”
Blaine doesn’t remember saying that, doesn’t remember anything that Kurt was talking about, but he lets his thumb smooth over the stem, over the bump of the leaf, up to the petal. It’s beautiful, a dark green bleeding into the misty white of the petal. It calms him, stroking the cold glass, feeling it warm up slightly between his fingers. He can close his eyes and pretend for a moment, like with the candle, that maybe they’re in a different place. Maybe he’s somewhere with Kurt and Cooper, in a place he knows and understands. Maybe they’re having fun, laughing and talking and he actually knows how to do these things. Maybe everything is different. Better.
He opens his eyes, sees Kurt watching him, Cooper concerned, and he smiles, as best as he can. He smiles because he wants Kurt to know in the only way he can tell him: He’s helping him. That the anger and frustration he felt before isn’t gone, but it’s ebbed away like the tide, that he feels safe and calm and together with Kurt. He wants Cooper to know that he’s glad he’s here, that he’s happy that Cooper is concerned, that Cooper cares enough to come out for his birthday.
Kurt takes his hand again, wraps it gently over so they’re both cupping the flower, leans to press a kiss to his cheek. “Happy Birthday, Blaine. I love you so much.”
I love you too, Blaine thinks, the only coherent thought he really can form, the only words he can hold on to. Cooper takes his other hand and Blaine squeezes, and he feels good, as good as he can.
Because he knows, he’ll never really be alone
Rating Overall NC-17, NC-17 for this part
Warnings Future fic, brain injuries, hospitals, smut, sexual situations
Word Count 8,183
Summary Nothing perfect really lasts forever.
A hate crime leaves Blaine damaged and Kurt refuses to let it bring them down.
Part of th Lovesong verse
A/N A huge, huge thanks to both shandyall and to ET or being amazingly awesome betas and providing me with many insights and ideas and helping me with my run-on sentence problem. I couldn't have written this without them. And I apologize for how long it has taken me to get this part up. I'm really very sorry it took so long. (I've been having a lot of trouble formatting on lj so please apologize any mistakes).
It's worth being noted that the first scene in this chapter is the first scene I've written that takes place pre-attack, so don't let that confuse you! As always, previous parts are under the cut (and I can't believe how long - and confusing - it's getting). Enjoy :)
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 Eye (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 continuatio (December 3rd, 2019)
Shatte (January 23rd, 2019)
Let Me(December 17th, 2019)
Let Me: a continuatio (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 Da (December 4th, 2018)
Slow Dancing April 26th, 2019; September 2nd, 2019; January 6th, 2020)
Each and Every (June 6th, 2018; June 19th, 2018; December 25th, 2018; February 20th, 2019
Bonus Letters blueprint
June 1st, 2017
It’s raining, coming down in sheets, lightning streaking the sky. Kurt stares grimly out the window of the flower shop, wonders why today is the day he forgot his umbrella. He glances at his watch as he meanders down the aisles, knows what he wants but trying to see if the storm will abate. But it’s already creeping on six o’clock and he was supposed to meet Blaine half an hour ago and it’s his birthday for Christ’s sake but Kurt would be a lousy person if he didn’t get his fiancé flowers on today, of all days.
“I don’t think it’ll be letting up for awhile,” the shop owner says, looking at Kurt apologetically. Kurt sighs, looks at the bouquet in his hands - a delicate mixture of lilies and daffodils, Kurt had long ago decided roses were too cheesy for birthdays - admits defeat and pays. He supposes if Blaine’s been with him for this long, he won’t care if his hair is a little messed up from the rain.
The cashier gives him an extra bag, out of sympathy Kurt supposes, and he tucks the flowers under his arm, creates a makeshift hood from the plastic bag, sucks in a deep breath and makes a run for it. He’s immediately soaked, the freezing rain pelting at his skin and soaking through his jeans and he silently curses the weatherman who said that today would be clear and sunny. Dodging the daily obstacles of small children and joggers stuck out in the rain, he makes his way home as fast as he can, stares grumpily at anyone who dares to look at him on the subway.
When he finally makes it back to the apartment (and never has a building looked so beautiful as it does through a veil of frigid rain), he gets stuck holding the door for their elderly neighbor and her hoard of knitting friends. She pats his shoulder and tells him to send her birthday wishes to that ‘cute roommate of yours’ and Kurt just smiles and says he will before opting to take the stairs up to their apartment and not crowd in an elevator full of eighty year olds with knitting needles.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Kurt says when he enters the door, slightly out of breath and kicking off his boots. Rain is dripping down his face, soaking uncomfortably into his shirt, the bag of flowers crinkling in his hands as he makes his way into the living room. “Did you get my…”
He trails off, a smile tugging at his lips. Blaine is sprawled out across the couch, a book lopsided on his chest, his lips parted with sleep. There’s a green cone party hat strapped to his head, his hair curling adorably around the edge, and Kurt can’t help the laugh that escapes him as he creeps forward, settling himself above Blaine on the couch. Blaine’s eyes blink open at the shift, a sleepy smile growing on his face.
“You look like someone drowned a cat,” Blaine murmurs, reaching a hand to brush a wet strand of hair behind Kurt’s ears.
“You look like you just turned five,” Kurt shoots back, raising his eyebrows at the cone strapped to Blaine’s head. Blaine sticks his tongue out and not for the first time Kurt wonders if he’s spending too much time with the kids he teaches, but in a moment of forgotten maturity he decides to retaliate, leans in close and shakes his head, raining droplets of water on his face. Blaine scrunches his nose and swats at Kurt, causing him to lose his balance and roll off the couch, landing on the floor with an ungraceful thud.
"Are you okay?" Blaine asks, leaning over the edge of the couch and sounding actually concerned and if Kurt were a better person he might feel bad for what he's about to do, but he's never claimed to be a saint so he reaches up to hook his hand on Blaine's arm, pulling him down to the floor with him. "You're all wet." Blaine whines, but he doesn't try and pull away, just pulls his lips down to make a face.
"Only because I got stuck outside getting you flowers," Kurt says and Blaine's eyes widen with excitement and everything about him is so adorable and happy and free that Kurt is struck with one of those how did I ever get so lucky, what did I do to possibly deserve this moments that steals his breath straight from his lungs. With a stretch he rolls over to grab the flowers from where he'd set them next to the couch, presenting them to Blaine and blinking his eyes coyly.
"Happy Birthday." Blaine clutches the flowers, the yellow of the daffodils making his eyes glow a warm amber and he cranes his neck to press a kiss to Kurt's lips, holding the flowers up so they don't get crushed between their bodies.
"They're beautiful," Blaine says when they pull apart, thumbing along the edge of a petal; Kurt doesn't think he'll ever get over how genuinely touched Blaine always seems by these simple gestures, by flowers and kisses and texts sent with X's and O's. Blaine springs to his feet, Kurt rolling over on the ground (and he doesn't care that he looks less than dignified right now, because he's with Blaine, Blaine who makes a habit of doing things like rolling around on the floor or taking naps under tables or leaving birthday hats strapped to his head), watches as Blaine makes his way across their tiny apartment to pull out the small crystal vase from the top shelf in the kitchen, fills it with water before carefully arranging the flowers in it.
"I wish flowers could last forever." Blaine's voice is light in that way it gets when he really means something and Kurt pushes himself to his feet, ignores how damp and uncomfortable his clothes are, walks over to bump Blaine's shoulder with his own.
"Nothing lasts forever." Blaine looks over at Kurt, raises an eyebrow.
"Someone's a little ball of sunshine today."
"Someone is soaking wet and on the verge of hypothermia," Kurt retorts and Blaine looks contemplative for a moment before wrapping his hands around Kurt's shoulders, manhandling him back to the bedroom.
"Well, I think someone should take a shower and warm up then."
"Maybe someone could help me warm up..." Kurt trails off, leaning in to nuzzle his face against the crook of Blaine's neck and shivering because he really is freezing. "And I could give you your birthday present early."
"Present?" Blaine asks, pulling away and looking at Kurt suspiciously. "I thought we agreed we were too broke to do presents this year."
"Sex, Blaine," Kurt deadpans, has to bite his lip to keep from laughing. "Your present is sex."
"Oh, well..." Blaine steps forward, eyes darkening and glancing up and down Kurt's body in the way that never fails to make Kurt's knees a little weak. "I suppose, in that case..."
-
They shower and warm up and shower again.
-
Blaine's perched on the counter, his hair in that state somewhere between wet and dry, dressed in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants and looking utterly comfortable. He's watching Kurt make his birthday cake with a cocked head, looking contemplative.
"What are you thinking about?" Kurt asks, cracking eggs into the bowl.
"About why you won't cook naked for me," Blaine responds immediately, a smile pulling at his lips. Kurt turns to glare at Blaine, before reaching for the spatula (and maybe he purposefully bent over a little further than necessary, took a few seconds longer than he really needed).
"You just saw me naked, for at least..." a glance at the clock, "an hour and a half."
"It's my birthday?" Blaine tries, blinking hopefully at Kurt. Kurt just shakes his head, amused and continues stirring the cake mix (and yes, it is a box mix, but Blaine had begged for a funfetti cake for his birthday and who was Kurt to say no?). He listens to Blaine tell him about his day, the birthday party his students threw for him and another student with the same birthday, how he had to intercept a fight that somehow led to Play-doh stuck on guitar strings, and how he had to end the day by calling poor Trenton's mother because he couldn't seem to stop stealing recorders.
"Who knew being a music teacher would have so much drama," Blaine whines but Kurt knows he still loves it, every day he comes home light with the fact that he's making an impact in these kids' lives, every time one of his students asks about private lessons Kurt can't wipe the glow off Blaine's face for weeks.
"Awe, my poor baby," Kurt says with a smile, offers Blaine the spatula. "Here, have some cake batter." Blaine licks the batter off the spatula in one long swipe, some catching on his lower lip and dripping down his chin. He ducks his head, cheeks reddening in embarrassment but Kurt just takes a step forward, his hand resting lightly on Blaine's thigh as he leans forward, thumbs up the batter from Blaine's chin with his thumb.
"Mmm," Kurt moans exaggeratedly, winking at Blaine as he sucks the batter from his thumb. A glint appears in Blaine's eyes as he watches, and he reaches to stick his finger in the cake batter before Kurt can stop him, swiping it across his nose.
"Oops," Blaine says innocently, leaning forward and Kurt gives a breathy laugh. "I'm not going to fall for it."
"Well then," Blaine says slowly, sticking his finger in the cake batter again, this time swiping it across Kurt's cheek. Kurt stands still, his breath catching when Blaine perches dangerously at the edge of the counter to kiss the spot of cake batter on Kurt's cheek, his tongue darting out quickly to scoop it back up. Something warm blossoms in Kurt, deep down and he wonders if it's silly that this boy still makes him feel this way, despite their struggles and fights and the fact they're still trying to make it through, trying to sort everything out, or if maybe that's the reason he still feels this way, because they're figuring it out together.
So he nuzzles his nose against Blaine's cheek, lets his eyes close and takes a moment to just breathe him in, the warm, earthy scent of him, mixed with the overly-sweet cake batter.
And then he attacks.
He dips his fingers into the batter, because screw it, and smears them over Blaine’s cheek, like a mockery of war paint. Blaine laughs, that high pitched giggle he gets when he’s really excited about something, and he grabs the flour left out, dusts a handful into Kurt’s hair. Kurt blinks in shock, shakes his head and the flour poofs out, falling down onto their clothes.
“Oh now you’ve done it,” Kurt growls, steps in between Blaine’s knees, wraps his hands around his lower back and pulls him in closer. He feels around behind Blaine until he finds a handful of sugar, leans in close enough that Blaine tilts his head to the side, baring his neck and fluttering his eyes shut… and Kurt shoves the sugar down the back of his shirt.
Blaine squirms, but smiles mischievously.
“Excellent, a sugar scrub,” he says, leans in against Kurt’s chest. Kurt nips at his nose, presses a kiss to his lips. “You pay good money for these.”
“Sugar scrubs off the dead skin,” Kurt murmurs, lips still brushing against Blaine’s check.
“Mmm, sexy,” Blaine returns, nuzzles his cheek against Kurt and Kurt lets his eyes drift shut, tries to step in even closer. “Dead skin.”
“Shut up.”
“Never.” Kurt gives Blaine’s chest a playful shove, and he tilts back, his head smacking against the cupboard with a loud thunk.
“Oh god, Blaine! Are you okay?” Kurt rushes to ask, immediately trying to assess the damage, and he probably just concussed Blaine on his birthday and he’s the worst fiancé ever and Blaine will never…
His eyes close of their own accord when something cold and gooey blankets over him, drips off his hair into his eyelashes, down onto his clothes. Cake batter, he identifies when he licks his lips, the entire bowl of it, dumped onto his head. He blinks open slowly, a glob falling onto his shoulder, and he can feel a chunk slide down his neck, slipping under his shirt. Blaine is giggling like a madman and Kurt just stands there, sucks in a deep breath and counts to ten.
“The wedding is off,” Kurt says firmly, taking a step back and wiping cake batter from his eyes in as dignified manner as he can. Blaine slides off the counter, pouting. “Nope, you can’t win me back this time.”
Blaine gives an exaggerated whimper, smoothes his hands down Kurt’s shoulders, steps in so he can nuzzle against Kurt’s throat, draws back with batter on his nose.
“I’m made of stone,” Kurt says, backing up, feels the wall hit his back.
“Mmm,” Blaine hums, licks a stripe up Kurt’s throat. “Delicious stone.”
“Cold, heartless stone,” Kurt counters, but his voice is light, a laugh swallowed at the end.
“Maybe I can help you melt a little,” Blaine murmurs, nuzzles in closer and Kurt can feel his heart speed up, pounding an excited rhythm in his chest and he’s more than ready for round three.
“I think you’re mixing your metaphors,” Kurt breathes back, his hands already reading to try and pull off Blaine’s t-shirt, his hands slippery-sticky with cake batter.
“It’s not a metaphor,” Blaine says, voice muffled by his shirt as he frantically pulls it at his head.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Kurt returns but he really doesn’t care, because Blaine’s now pulling at his shirt, undoing the buttons, his breath heavy and excited when Kurt finally shucks the shirt to the ground, and then their bodies are pressed together, slick cake batter in between.
Mouths search each other out, hands sliding down sides and digging fingers into backs, and Kurt can’t hold in a moan when Blaine sucks his lip into his mouth, gives it a light tug before releasing it.
“You taste good,” Blaine says in one heavy breath, his hands roaming over to slide up Kurt’s chest, palms warm and rough.
“That’s the cake,” Kurt breathes, digs his fingers into Blaine’s side a little harder and rolls his hips forward, feels the strain against his zipper, longs for it to be released but doesn’t want to let go of Blaine.
Blaine, who mouths down his jaw, his thumb rubbing a circle over Kurt’s nipple, making his whole chest tingle. Blaine, who drops his hand down, cups the hardness in Kurt’s jeans and Kurt can’t bite back the groan when his hips jerk forward, acutely aware of the hummingbird beat of his heart, the sweat that’s starting to sheen on his skin.
And he surges forward, presses against Blaine and whips him around, slamming him back against the wall. Blaine growls under him, grinds into Kurt, kisses him frantically, like it’s the last chance he’ll ever have. Kurt lets his hands drift down further, smoothes back over the curve of his ass before making their way down his legs. He anchors Blaine against the wall, whispers in his ear “I’ve always wanted to do this,” before hoisting Blaine’s legs up, wrapping them around his waist.
Blaine immediately leans into him, his arms flinging themselves around Kurt’s neck and Kurt supposes it would be hot (like in the movies that he rents with Blaine late on Friday nights), except that Blaine’s gripping too tight, his legs clinging around Kurt’s waist desperately, and they’re slightly off center and Blaine is heavy and Kurt just can’t keep balance and they’re toppling, falling in a heap.
They twist, so Kurt’s body is heavy on top of Blaine’s and he can feel the way Blaine’s chest is heaving under his, the way he’s laughing, his arms moving up to wrap around Kurt’s back, sliding down in the space between in his pants and his ass. Kurt anchors his hands on the kitchen floor, looks into Blaine’s eyes as he slowly thrusts his hips forward, feels the ache as his cock strains against his jeans.
So as quickly as he can he pushes himself up onto his knees, acutely aware of Blaine’s eyes on him as he rushes to unbutton his jeans, shimmies them down his legs, not even bothering to get them further than his knees before he’s pulling up Blaine’s hips, yanking of his sweatpants in one swift motion. And then he’s surging back, mouth colliding with Blaine’s and his hips thrusting up in a messy, uncoordinated rush. Blaine arches up against him, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a swallowed moan and Kurt kisses down his neck, sucks gently against his collar bone.
The moment stretches on, time moving in that funny way that it does with the warmth of an orgasm begins to coil deep in his belly, when Blaine is spread out and gleaming under him, when everything is warm and stifled and slick around him. The edge creeps closer and Kurt’s arms begin to tremble, Blaine eyes fluttering closed and Kurt briefly wonders how hard the kitchen floor is underneath him before Blaine’s crying out, his fingers digging into Kurt’s skin, trying to find purchase.
Kurt follows shortly after, his hips stuttering to a stop as his orgasm sweeps through him and he collapses on top of Blaine, lets his too-warm body pillow under him, tries to ignore the sticky feel of their come pressed between them.
“God, you’re so hot,” Blaine breathes, still slightly out of breath, pushes a strand of Kurt’s hair from his forehead and Kurt frowns.
“Even covered in sweat and cake batter?”
“Especially covered in sweat and cake batter,” Blaine replies seriously, leaning his head up to press a quick kiss to Kurt’s lips.
“I think I might still keep you,” Kurt says, trails his finger down Blaine’s flushed cheek.
“Yay!” Blaine exclaims with a wiggle, and he rolls Kurt over so they’re lying side by side. And Kurt ignores the mess of their bodies, the fact that they’re going to have to shower again and do some thorough cleaning of the kitchen, because right now he’s here with the love of his life and everything is pretty much perfect. As perfect as anything Kurt could have imagined.
-
Nothing perfect really lasts forever.
May 13th, 2018
Blaine’s favorite mornings are the ones he wakes up to Kurt’s voice. He’s confused when he first wakes up, his eyes blinking sluggishly open to a room he’s pretty sure he should know but doesn’t remember. The walls are tan and he spends hours staring at them when Kurt’s not around, when he’s not being moved or rolled or poked.
Mostly he sleeps. It’s the only thing he can think to do, and usually he can’t even think at all, and he just feels so tired all the time. So tired it weighs down his arms, his legs, won’t let his eyes open completely. He doesn’t like it, being so tired, isn’t really sure why he is. He’s not really sure about much actually. How he got here, where he is, what happened. He knows it’s not right, that something is wrong, can tell by the anxious tone in Kurt’s voice whenever he’s around. Knows by all the people coming to sit beside him, to hold his hand and brush fingers gently down his cheek.
He just watches them, sometimes tries to squeeze their hand but his fingers feel weighted, slow and clumsy and he gives up, tries to sleep again because sleep isn’t confusing. Sleep doesn’t make his head throb or his body ache. Sleep helps him forget what he can’t remember.
May 15th, 2018
“Blaine.”
A light pressure on his arm and eyes blink slowly open, the world blurry for a moment as he struggles to focus.
“I knew you weren’t sleeping.”
The words float through his head and he registers them but doesn’t really understand, can’t focus on trying to make out what’s around him and the noises in the room at the same time. He sees Kurt, never forgets what Kurt looks like, smiling next to him, realizes the pressure on his arm is Kurt’s hand and he tries to smile back but it’s like he knows the motions, knows what he needs to do to smile, but his muscles have forgotten. They just give a pathetic twitch and if Blaine could he would groan in frustration, but he can’t. Only the tiniest, choked off noise escapes his throat and Blaine thinks the corner of his mouth feels wet, but he can’t really figure out why and with the beeping on one side of him and Kurt’s arm on the other side, the words leaving his lips and movement across the room it’s just too much, Blaine can’t process anything through it all so he closes his eyes and tries to breathe.
Something presses to the corner of his mouth, wipes gently, Kurt’s gentle voice drifting through the room like a warm breeze and even if he’s not entirely sure what he’s saying it wraps around him, holds him and comforts him and he just breathes, slips back into sleep.
-
When he wakes again, there’s still a hand on his. A voice speaks and he blinks sleepily, processes the words. “Hey there, sleepy.” Not Kurt. He lets his head roll to the side the voice is coming from, gazes up at someone with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, someone he doesn’t know but feels like he should. Where’s Kurt? He was here, he thought he was but… maybe… everything is hazy lately and he feels like he can’t keep anything straight and it’s so hard to just think and…
“Blaine.” A voice, one he knows and he opens his eyes (when did he close them, he doesn’t know), sees Kurt to his other side. “Honey, is it your head? Do you want me to call the nurse?”
No, he doesn’t need the nurse, his head is only fuzzy, confused, trying desperately to sort itself out but it’s been filled with honey and molasses, sticking to the cogs and wheels and making everything go so slow. He wants to tell Kurt no, he’s fine, but he can’t, his tongue doesn’t move, the words don’t come, his lips twitch uselessly.
“Can you answer with your fingers, Blaine? Remember, like we’ve been trying?” Kurt sounds so hopeful, resting Blaine’s hand lightly on his, expectantly and it’s hard, his muscles reluctant to do what he wants but he lifts two fingers, stares into Kurt’s eyes imploringly.
“You feel okay?” Blaine twitches a single finger up, still staring intently at Kurt. Kurt smiles even though it doesn’t seem real, squeezes Blaine’s hand. “Do you remember Tara, your physical therapist?”
He nods his head toward the girl and Blaine gazes back towards her with half-lidded eyes, watches as she offers him a smile and a wave.
“Remember me?”
He doesn’t, not really but he’s not really sure he remembers anything, can’t think enough to try but he lifts his finger anyways because Kurt and this girl want this so much, want him to remember and know these things.
“Feeling up to a few exercises today?” the girl, what was her name again, asks, her voice gentle and kind, her hand reaching forward to lightly touch Blaine’s arm. He just blinks, tries to understand what she means but he’s drawing a blank. She says something to Kurt instead, the words muffled and small and Kurt says something back and their hands are on him, bending his wrists and his elbows and lifting his arms up and down. He lets them, just watches, tries to do as she says, tries to make a fist when she asks, tries to lift his legs but it’s just so hard and he’s so tired and everything has that foggy feeling like when you wake up from a too-long nap.
“I thought we’d try sitting at the edge of the bed today,” the girl is saying and Kurt’s agreeing with an enthusiasm that Blaine doesn’t really understand. He can’t decide if he feels like he’s dreaming or if everything is far too real. It’s too confusing to think about, so he just lets them, lets them put their hands on his arms, raise his bed until he’s sitting much higher than before. He feels dizzy, the world spinning around him and he closes his eyes, tries to swallow but his throat doesn’t want to work, like something is stuck, lodged and keeping him from trying so he coughs and coughs and once he starts it’s hard to stop and hands are rubbing his back and his eyes are watering and he just wants everything to stop.
“Deep breaths, you’re okay, just try and breathe.”
Blaine tries, sucks fresh air into his lungs, feels them expand and it’s amazing how easily someone can forget to do such a simple action. How his head stops spinning, the world slowly evening out, righting itself in that perpetually crooked way it does.
A few moments, a few reassuring words, and then Kurt and the girl are helping him twist to the side, his feet slipping over the edge of the bed to dangle, his back hunching and when did his head get so heavy he can barely hold it up, lets it fall against Kurt’s shoulder when he sits beside him. A hand anchors behind his back when he wavers, the girl resting a smaller hand on his shoulder and Kurt presses a kiss into his hair.
“You’re sitting, Blaine,” he says and he sounds so proud and Blaine doesn’t understand why but it makes something warm twist inside of him because he always wants Kurt to be proud of him, even if he doesn’t really understand what’s happening and why his brain is suddenly fuzzy and slow and why he’s so tired and everything is so strange and difficult. He wants to tell Kurt that but he doesn’t remember how, instead moves his hand from where it’s sitting limp in his lap, glides it over to Kurt’s leg, searching searching searching and Kurt knows what he needs, his fingers tangling with Blaine’s, giving a gentle squeeze.
“We’ll try doing this for a few minutes every day, how does that sound? Build up some muscles again,” the girl says and Blaine wishes he could remember her name, is he supposed to know her? How long has she been here? He’s sitting and it’s making him tired, his shoulders hunching in on themselves, his legs dangling uselessly off the bed, his hand in Kurt’s and he just wants to sleep, just for a little bit and he wavers and…
…and he opens his eyes and he’s back in bed, Kurt’s fingers carding through his too short hair, his thumb smoothing gently over his forehead. He smiles when Blaine’s gaze falls on him and he leans forward, presses a kiss to Blaine’s cheek.
“You fell asleep on us,” he says and Blaine doesn’t remember what he’s talking about but he’s pretty sure that all he does lately is sleep, so he just blinks, rolls his shoulders to get more comfortable. Kurt’s immediately there, helping Blaine to lean forward, smoothing down the pillows and sheets behind him, readjusting the blanket on top of him and Blaine sighs happily because even though he’s not really sure what’s going on, Kurt is here and he’s warm and comfortable and, right now, he feels pretty happy.
May 25th, 2018
Kurt misses a day. It’s his third day back at work and there are projects to look over, calls to make, errands to run, people to meet, lunches and coffees and second lunches and Blaine’s dad calls with houses for them to look at and of course this is the week the sink decides to back up and then he lost his key and he gets home at ten and can’t even think. He’s exhausted and it weighs in his bones and he knows he needs to go see Blaine; he hasn’t missed a day of seeing Blaine yet but the hospital is another thirty minutes on the subway and he’s just so tired and he has to get back up in eight hours for another day of catch-up and he’s starting to wonder if going back to work really was the best thing after all.
But guilt weighs in on him, and whenever he closes his eyes he sees Blaine, waiting for him, watching for him, wondering why he hasn’t been in yet. He remembers the way Blaine had clung to his hand when he had been getting ready to leave the day before, how he’d looked at him with those wide, sad eyes when he kissed him goodbye. He feels like he’s betraying him.
Kurt hesitates a moment before rolling over on the couch, fumbling for his phone from his jacket pocket that he hadn’t had the energy to hang up. He dials the numbers that have become so familiar, the charge nurse picking up, greeting Kurt brightly and transferring him to the phone in Blaine’s room. He can hear a rustle in the background, closes his eyes and tries to picture what Blaine’s doing right now, if he’s comfortable, hopes he didn’t wake him up. The nurse is talking to him, tells him it’s Kurt on the phone, and then there’s only the sound of Blaine’s breathing, the phone pressed against his cheek.
“Hey, Blaine, um, I can’t make it in today,” Kurt says, a slight catch in his voice and he swallows thickly, grips the phone tighter. “Today was just… so crazy. Who knew going back to work would be so tiring? I swear, I don’t know how they held together for so long without me, everything is just a giant mess and I’m pretty sure the new assistant they hired is colorblind because she ordered mauve instead of burgundy. Mauve, Blaine.”
He pauses, waits a second before realizing that Blaine can’t say anything back, that this is how it is now, Kurt talking to the quiet sounds of breathing.
“He’s smiling,” a whispered voice says and Kurt imagines the nurse, sitting on the bed beside Blaine, propping the phone to his ear and smiling back at him, and he feels a little better. Blaine isn’t alone.
He lets out a shaky breath, lets his own lips twitch into a smile. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t come see you today, but I’ll be in as soon as I can tomorrow, okay? I bet we can even go out to the garden like we’ve been talking about, get out for a bit? Or we can do whatever you want, and I promise I won’t miss a day again, okay? And then Cooper is coming again and I know your mom wants to come out the week after he gets here so you won’t have to be alone all day, I promise. You won’t be alone and… oh! I got some new lotion that I think will work better than the stuff they have there and Carole is sending you this sweater she found online that she thinks will be warm enough that we won’t need a thousand blankets and I love you.”
A noise comes through the phone, small and stilted and Kurt frowns before he can here the phone shifting, the nurse giggling.
“I think you just made him laugh,” she says and Kurt’s heart thuds against his chest, wishes more than anything that he was there right now but somehow, it’s okay.
the next day
Blaine doesn’t mind being alone. Mostly he doesn’t really notice, doesn’t really process the fact that he’s alone until he’s not anymore, until there’s a hand in his, quiet words in the chair beside him. He’s too tired to notice. Spends too much time sleeping, breathing, being. He stares at the wall and the sheets around him and tries to get any semblance of coherency out of his brain, usually just gives up and lets himself drift into sleep.
Today though, something is different. Today, his eyes flutter open and he feels a sense of loss. He looks around at the room he’s slowly beginning to remember, the familiar walls and dark blue chairs and the IV poles set up beside him. Kurt drifts into his mind and he surrenders himself to thoughts he can manage, about Kurt’s comforting smile and chestnut hair. He knows these things. He can remember them.
But the feeling grows and he finds himself frowning, his fingers twitching just slightly from where they’re been positioned in his lap. Kurt didn’t come in yesterday. He knows this. He’s not really sure how he knows this, but he feels sure of it. And he misses him. His mom has been there, Cooper, people he doesn’t remember, but Kurt has been the constant in this hurricane of confusion, has been there and held him and made him feel safe.
Kurt wasn’t here but he remembers his voice in his ear, metallic and far away and he focuses on that, focuses on breathing deep and trying to clear the throbbing that’s started in his head.
Breathe.
Breathe.
The door opens, a soft click, and he lets his eyes open slowly (the only way they can open now), expects, hopes, wants to see Kurt walking through that door. Instead it’s a girl in blue scrubs with dark hair pulled back. She looks nice, Blaine thinks, the way she smiles at him and wishes him a good morning. Her name is Emily she says, and he knows that, now that she said it and he wants to tell her, wants to tell her that he actually remembers who she is and that he thinks she looks very pretty today, but his lips just twitch and he gives up.
He wants to ask her if she’s heard from Kurt, and he stares at her as she listens to his heart, feels his pulses and presses on his belly. He watches her, hoping that somehow she’ll understand because he feels the most awake he’s felt since he can’t even remember when, and all he wants is to tell her, to ask her a question and actually have someone understand him. But he can’t, he doesn’t know how and his body no longer seems to be his anymore. So instead he just watches and listens and waits.
Waits for Kurt, waits for blue eyes and a warm smile. Waits for comfort, and something that makes sense.
-
Someone is already in the room when Kurt gets there. Red hair and freckles and a laugh that bounces light off the walls, a voice full of encouragement. Kristina, another of Blaine’s therapists and sometimes it seems like there’s so many Kurt’s not sure how he keeps them all straight. He knocks on the door before entering, both Kristina and Blaine looking his way, Blaine’s eyes excited, his lips twitching into a smile. The head of his bed is inclined so he’s sitting up, Kristina on a chair next to him, a duffle bag of equipment next to her.
“Am I interrupting something?” Kurt asks, tries to keep his voice light despite the guilt still churning in him at not making it in yesterday.
“Just Blaine’s new talent,” Kristina says, beckoning for Kurt to come forward.
“Oh yes?” Kurt steps into the room, leans down to press a kiss to Blaine’s forehead, whispers, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here yesterday.”
Blaine’s fingers uncurl, reach towards Kurt and he takes them, biting his lip when Blaine gives his fingers a tiny squeeze, almost like he’s trying to reassure Kurt. It’s the first time Blaine has done anything like this on his own initiative; the first time he’s purposefully made contact and Kurt squeezes back, as much as he can.
“Do you want to show Kurt what you can do?” Kristina asks softly, passes Blaine a red foam ball he hadn’t noticed her holding before. She stands, motions for Kurt to sit where she was, so he does, looking between them, confused. Blaine’s fingers press into the foam ball, forming small indents and he focuses on Kurt, the skin between his eyebrows wrinkling as he concentrates. A grunt, so quiet Kurt barely hears it, and Blaine tosses the ball, just clearing the bed and hitting Kurt’s knees. It’s more reflexes than anything that make Kurt catch it before it hits the ground, and he stares at Blaine, heart fluttering in his chest.
“Toss it back,” Kristina says, standing behind Kurt and he grips the ball, tosses it gently towards Blaine. Blaine fumbles a little but manages to grab a hold of it, can’t really lift it off the bed but he holds it close to his body, a proud look on his face. It’s the most like Blaine he’s looked in a month and Kurt feels something hot pricking at his eyes, and he lifts a shaky hand, touches the ball. Blaine smiles, the right side of his mouth lifting higher than the left, and he tosses the ball back to Kurt.
“You…” Kurt says, voice faltering and he lifts the ball up until it touches his chin, a smile breaking out on his face that he’s sure makes him look like a crazy person.
“I think we can be done for the day,” Kristina says, voice light and she gathers up her stuff. “You did great today, Blaine.” She touches his arm lightly, smiles and looks back at Kurt. “You can keep that.” And with a tiny wink, she’s gone, closing the door with a click behind her.
A beat and Kurt considers, tosses the ball back to Blaine. He catches it, his movements still slow, sluggish, but this time he barely fumbles it. Kurt’s throat feels tight and he knows it’s silly but this, this little red ball, is the first time in a month that Blaine’s actually shown any sort of real improvement, the most awake and alert and Blaine-like that he’s been and it makes something ache inside of him.
“Scoot over,” he says, helps Blaine move slightly to the side, is cautious of the IV and feeding tube, climbs into the too small bed beside him. He knows he’s not really supposed to do this, but right now he doesn’t care, he just needs to be close to Blaine, however he can.
“I love you a stupid amount, you know that, right?” Kurt whispers when he’s settled, pressing a kiss to his jaw and resting his head on Blaine’s shoulder. If he closes his eyes he can pretend, can focus on just the sensation of Blaine beside him, tucked so perfectly into his side, can just listen to the gentle sounds of his breathing, can feel the warmth of his skin against his cheek. He can tune out the bustling sounds of the hospital around them, the whirring sounds of the drips and IVs beside the bed and just focus on
now.
On his beautiful fiancé who threw a cheap foam ball to him today but it made Kurt more proud than he’s ever been. Because it’s not the action, but what the action means. That maybe, someday, Blaine might be a little bit closer to okay. That he will never fail to surprise Kurt, and Kurt will never forget to show him how much he loves him.
His thoughts are broken when something hits his chest and he blinks his eyes open, looks up at Blaine. There’s a smile on his face and the ball has rolled off the bed and Kurt realizes he just threw it at him, like he was trying to get his attention.
Kurt picks up the ball, and tosses it.
June 1st, 2018
Blaine is angry. For the first time he can remember since his brain became a stew of confusion, since the first time he woke up and the world no longer made any sense, he is actually, heart-poundingly angry. He doesn’t really know why, there’s no pinpointed reason for it. The morning was uneventful, just the routine he’s becoming familiar with.
Nurses came by, doctors, and people who had him try things that were too hard for him, things that he always failed at. He couldn’t put the puzzle pieces back in their places, couldn’t catch the ball today no matter how hard he tried. His legs felt like lead and refused to move in the way he wanted. It felt like there was something was weighing down his lungs and he couldn’t stop coughing, a cough that made his nurse run into his room, made her stick things down his throat that just seemed to make the coughing worse but he couldn’t even tell her to stop.
So he sits in his room alone, listens to the blood pounding in his ears, his fingers clenching and unclenching in the blanket Kurt had brought from home. He feels like he’s been living in this never-ending haze, and he doesn’t understand it, doesn’t understand why, can’t even think enough to begin to figure it out, and no one has bothered to explain anything to him. Or if they have, he can’t remember, and that just makes him even angrier.
But anger is hard to keep up. Anger takes energy and action and Blaine doesn’t seem to have either. So he lets it simmer, bubble just under the surface, and drifts. He mostly ignores the people who come in and out of the room because it’s easier this way. It’s easier to just not think, to surrender himself to the haze of his mind, and just be.
Until his door opens and there’s noise. Cooper comes in first, smiles wide when he sees Blaine. Kurt follows next and they’re talking, too fast for Blaine to concentrate on the words so he doesn’t, stares at them as they approach his bed.
“Hey little brother,” Cooper is saying, ruffles his hair in the way he used to do when they were kids, even though Blaine doesn’t really have hair to ruffle. “Happy birthday.”
Blaine blinks.
Kurt lowers himself in the chair next to him; his movements slow and practiced as he takes his hand.
“Blaine, it’s your birthday today.” Kurt smiles and glances up at Cooper. “Cooper flew in today to visit for a few days.”
Blaine lets his eyes roam from Kurt to Cooper, down to his bed. He tries to think over their words. Happy Birthday. It means something; he knows it does. The meaning filters in and he knows he should feel something, that this should matter, but it doesn’t. His emotions are backwards and sideways and muddled and all he feels is the simmering anger he felt earlier rising.
“Blaine bear, you’re twenty-five. Practically an old man,” Cooper says when the silence stretches and there’s a forced laugh in his voice, but it just makes Blaine angrier. Because how can they be here, telling him he’s older when he can’t even remember how old he is anyways? When he doesn’t even know why he’s here? When all they do is sit and hold his hand and encourage him and he’s trapped inside his own head but he doesn’t even understand his own thoughts anymore. When nothing makes sense.
So Blaine does the only thing he’s able to do, he pulls away. He slips his hand out of Kurt’s, avoids Cooper’s eyes, stares at his knees. Kurt tries to find his hand again but he twitches away.
“Blaine…” Kurt says but it’s little more than a whisper. He’s gentle, always so gentle, so cautious and patient and usually it helps things make more sense, helps Blaine feel more grounded but now… he feels slow and stupid and so angry. “It’s okay Blaine, it’s just me and Cooper.”
Understanding. Always understanding.
“Just breathe.”
So he tries. Looks at Kurt with wide eyes and sucks a desperate breath in, lets it out in that way his doctor has been teaching him. Kurt reaches for his hand once more, squeezes encouragingly and Blaine really tries.
“I brought you something,” Kurt says after a moment, glancing up at Cooper before continuing. He pulls something out of his back with one hand, never letting go of Blaine’s. Everything feels still for a beat, and Kurt raises a small birthday candle, pinched between two fingers.
“They won’t let me light it in here, not with the oxygen. And I couldn’t… a candle is all I could do. But, we can pretend, can’t we? You can still make a wish, and when you get out of here we can make up for it, okay?” Kurt’s speaking quickly, sounds desperate in a way, inches the candle closer to Blaine’s lips. Blaine closes his eyes and does. He thinks about what Kurt just said, lets it seep its way into his brain. A wish. He’s supposed to make a wish. He knows what wishes are, somehow knows he needs to make one and blow out the candle, because it’s his birthday and he’s twenty-five. So he wishes that he understood, wishes for this fog in his head to clear, wishes for things to finally make sense again, wishes that he actually knew what was happening.
Eyes open again and Kurt’s smiling at him expectantly. Blaine focuses in on the candle, shifts his shoulders before pursing his lips to blow out the pretend flame. Except he can’t. His lips won’t move that way, won’t do anything except drop his chin a little and twitch uselessly. Breath escapes him in a gasp anyways and he feels something slip down his chin, knows it’s saliva and he closes again, looks away because he can’t do anything about it.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Kurt rushes to reassure but Blaine doesn’t care, he doesn’t want to listen anymore. He can feel his cheeks burning hot with embarrassment and for the first time he wants to go back to before, when everything was one big blur and he didn’t know any of these things were happening. Because now he knows, now he’s aware of Kurt’s hand on his chin, gently wiping away his shame, his touch as gentle as his words. It doesn’t help.
Cooper is silent beside him and Blaine can’t even raise his eyes, just wants to fall back asleep, wants him to leave. It’s easier when it’s just Kurt. “I have a present for you,” Kurt says, tries to bring him back. He detaches his hand from Blaine’s, digs into his bag and pulls out a box. He lays it carefully in Blaine’s lap, opens the lid, digs through tissue paper and pulls out a glass flower.
“It’s, um, it’s a tulip.” Kurt reaches forward, places the flower in Blaine’s hand. The glass is cool on his fingers. Smooth. “I don’t know if you remember but last year you…” A pause, a shaky breath, “You said you wished that flowers could last forever and I found one that will. I hope you like it.”
Blaine doesn’t remember saying that, doesn’t remember anything that Kurt was talking about, but he lets his thumb smooth over the stem, over the bump of the leaf, up to the petal. It’s beautiful, a dark green bleeding into the misty white of the petal. It calms him, stroking the cold glass, feeling it warm up slightly between his fingers. He can close his eyes and pretend for a moment, like with the candle, that maybe they’re in a different place. Maybe he’s somewhere with Kurt and Cooper, in a place he knows and understands. Maybe they’re having fun, laughing and talking and he actually knows how to do these things. Maybe everything is different. Better.
He opens his eyes, sees Kurt watching him, Cooper concerned, and he smiles, as best as he can. He smiles because he wants Kurt to know in the only way he can tell him: He’s helping him. That the anger and frustration he felt before isn’t gone, but it’s ebbed away like the tide, that he feels safe and calm and together with Kurt. He wants Cooper to know that he’s glad he’s here, that he’s happy that Cooper is concerned, that Cooper cares enough to come out for his birthday.
Kurt takes his hand again, wraps it gently over so they’re both cupping the flower, leans to press a kiss to his cheek. “Happy Birthday, Blaine. I love you so much.”
I love you too, Blaine thinks, the only coherent thought he really can form, the only words he can hold on to. Cooper takes his other hand and Blaine squeezes, and he feels good, as good as he can.
Because he knows, he’ll never really be alone