An End (or something even better): part two
part one
November 7th, 2020
There’s a box, shoved in the top corner of the closet, covered in dust. Kurt stretches up onto his tiptoes, grasps at the box with fingers that barely reach, slides it off the shelf. Dust plumes in the air and Kurt sneezes, makes a disgusted face and vows to deep clean more than once a year. He sets the shoebox on the floor and finishes dusting the closet, tries to organize the scattered papers that have been building up; magazines and old designs that were tossed in the closet of the study with the intent to be organized later, something that hasn’t happened until now.
Kurt can still hear the excited echoing of Janessa over the phone, the way she’d barely been able to feign a normal conversation before shouting “I’m pregnant!” He’s excited, his brain already racing with plans for baby showers and gifts and fashionable maternity clothing, but there’s a weird knot in his gut, something he can’t quite explain. He stands in the study, his fingers itching to clean and rearrange and when he steps back and squints his eyes he thinks that yellow would make a really good color for a nursery.
“Stop,” he says to the empty room, shakes his head. They’re in the midst of planning a wedding, Blaine’s still getting into the swing of work, Kurt’s adjusting to the new schedule of his promotion, things are busy and there’s no time to be thinking such things. And he’s not sure if Blaine even wants kids anymore, they’d talked about it a long time ago but that was before… everything. Before their whole lives changed and they’ve spent so long getting through the now that they haven’t really talked about the future.
It’ll happen, Kurt thinks, bites his lip against a smile, we have time.
He turns to leave, bumps his foot against the old shoebox, picks it up and carries it with him to the living room. It’s smooth from years of being ignored, and Kurt’s curious, can’t remember why this shoebox was shoved in the corner of the closet, wonders if someone put it there when they moved in and Kurt never really paid attention. He didn’t pay attention to many things, then.
He discards the lid on the coffee table, fingers hovering over the open box. There are letters inside, and it sparks at Kurt’s memory, the silly little notes he and Blaine used to write each other. He’d had no idea that Blaine had kept them all. Of course he would, Kurt tells himself, shaking his head. Blaine was always one for keeping these sorts of things; Kurt remembers teasing him years ago when he’d first learned about about his Memory Box, but now he’s glad, feels like he’s stumbled across a long-forgotten treasure.
Sitting in econ, surprise surprise. I swear, this class will literally be the death of me. And my prof’s dress looks like that carpet bag we saw at the flea market last week… it’s horrible! I can feel my soul leaving my body… I can’t… go… on…
Oh, you just texted me that you’re making carrot cake for dessert tonight. I take it back! Soul reinvigorated! It’s a miracle! …
The letter goes on and Kurt laughs, remembers Blaine leaving these notes for him in the most random places; he’d find them on the subway, waiting in line for coffee, during a much needed study break and it always made things seem a little more bearable, even during the most stressful weeks. He’d always insisted Kurt put them in the memory box, had told Kurt that someday they’d read through them again and be glad. Turns out Blaine was right.
Kurt reads through a few more letters, some from Blaine and few from him, all of them silly and unimportant and Kurt thinks it’s kind of amazing how something they’d barely put any thought into can mean so much now.
Sifting through the box reveals a few ticket stubs from the Broadway shows they’d saved up to see on special occasions, programs from some of Rachel’s shows, a dried flower that Kurt doesn’t recognize, but figures it was from something important. His fingers brush over the edges of a DVD and he picks it up carefully, turns it over with a frown. For Kurt is written in blue sharpie on the top, and Kurt honestly can’t remember Blaine ever making him a DVD that wasn’t a bootlegged Broadway recording. He turns the TV on, making sure the volume isn’t too loud. Blaine is napping in their room, a long week at work leading to a weekend of headaches, before slipping the disk into their DVD player.
It starts with a shaky view of their old apartment, the image going in and out of focus, someone mumbling under their voice as they try and adjust the settings. The screen spins, the camera turning around until Blaine’s face fills the TV, his lips turned up into a wide smile, his hair wildly curly, his skin tan, and Kurt figures this must have been filmed in the summer.
“Kurt’s sleeping,” Blaine whispers on the screen, his eyes gleaming and something pulls inside Kurt, the sound of Blaine’s voice from before similar enough to not be unrecognizable, but not the hesitant, sometimes stumbling voice that Kurt’s gotten so used to, and it’s been so long he’d almost forgotten what it sounded like. “But I have a surprise for him and I think now is the perfect time. I’m sorry, Kurt, if you’re watching this.”
Kurt laughs, sinks back into the couch and watches as the world spins, Blaine’s face gone from view as he creeps through their small, New York apartment. There’s a shuffling noise as Blaine picks something up, his hold on the camera shaky. The living room comes into focus, light streaming through the window, making everything fade for a brief moment as the camera adjusts. Kurt can see himself on the couch, exhausted shadows under his eyes and his mouth open as he naps on the decorative pillow, and a memory niggles in the back of Kurt’s mind, trying to spring free after so much time. This must have been the summer after they graduated when Kurt was thrown headfirst into the world post-internship, working long hours to prove himself, often coming home late and ready to pass out. Blaine had been his savior then, bringing Kurt treats to work, buying him flowers and giving more massages than Kurt can even remember. He honestly doesn’t know what he would have done without Blaine, feels certain that he wouldn’t be as sane as he is now.
The camera shakes as Blaine sets it carefully down on the coffee table, kneeling half in the screen as he makes a few adjustments, checking to make sure Kurt is in the screen. There’s a nice shot of Blaine’s ass in a pair of pale blue shorts as he sneaks over to the couch, his old acoustic guitar in hand. His smile is wide and he turns to wink at the camera once more before flopping onto the couch. Kurt watches himself stir, groan and swat at Blaine, and it’s like the memory unfolds as he watches, a fuzzy remembrance of this afternoon, so many years ago.
“Kuuurt,” Blaine says in a sing-song voice, scooting to sit on top of Kurt, guitar in lap. “Kurt my love, my dove, my person to hug.”
Kurt can hear himself mumble something that sounds vaguely like go away, and shove at Blaine, who just snuggles himself in further, glancing at the camera.
“Kurt, I wrote you a song,” Blaine whispers, just loud enough for the camera to pick up, strums a chord on his guitar.
“Write me a song later,” on-screen Kurt protests, but his eyes are blinking open, staring at Blaine with obvious judgement.
“But I worked on it all day,” Blaine whines, leans over to press a kiss to Kurt’s face and Kurt groans as the weight on top of him shifts.
“Fine,” on-screen Kurt huffs, crosses his arms and yawns. “Get on with it.”
Blaine looks excited, clears his throat in a way that’s only for show, stretches his fingers before strumming the guitar.
“Kurt with eyes so blue,” he sings in an exaggerated voice and Kurt chuckles, his memory of this day becoming more clear. “My love for you is true, but oh why oh why won’t you make me lasagna anymore.” Blaine drags out the words, singing it like a sappy love ballad and on-screen Kurt rolls his eyes, swats at Blaine again. Blaine’s song then dissolves into him singing Kurt’s name over and over again, while Blaine sways back and forth, looking overly pleased with himself.
“Stop, stop,” on-screen Kurt says, struggling out from under Blaine. “I can’t take it anymore.”
Blaine pouts, grabs Kurt to prevent him from leaving. Kurt laughs, falls back against Blaine, raises his eyebrows in fake annoyance.
“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” Blaine starts singing, his voice sweet and on-screen Kurt laughs again, lets his head fall against Blaine, a hand resting on his knee. “You make me happy, when skies are gray…”
Off-screen Kurt hums along to the song, feels tears prick at his eyes as he watches himself notice the camera, his eyes growing wide as he slaps at Blaine’s shoulder while Blaine tackles him to the couch, tickling his sides in the way that Kurt says he hates but secretly enjoys. He remembers how things had seemed so hard back then, how he was so busy he barely had time to think; he remembers the fights and arguments he would have with Blaine, how he never really understand how much he took for granted. The easy afternoons, the little things Blaine would do, their dinner dates and lazy morning sex, and conversations over wine at the end of the day. Those are the things Kurt wishes he would have appreciated more, should have made more of an effort to enjoy and if he’d only known…
But how could he have known? Kurt shakes his head, wipes away a stupid, single tear, tries to rid himself of these thoughts. There’s no way he could have known that all this would be taken away, that someday he would remember those days, that he would give anything to go back, that he would ache for how much he misses this and…
The door to the bedroom creaks open, a blurry-eyed Blaine shuffling out, his hair messy with sleep. He smiles at Kurt, rubs his eyes with his left arm, his right tucked close to his side like it always is now, his gait slightly uneven, slides onto the couch beside Kurt. He squints at the TV, forehead crinkling with confusion. They’re bickering on screen, Blaine still singing to Kurt about his lasagna, Kurt vehemently telling Blaine if he wants lasagna he can get his ass to the kitchen and make it himself.
“I forgot about this,” Blaine says softly, leaning against Kurt. Kurt looks at Blaine, ready to pause the video, worried he might find this upsetting. But Blaine just chuckles, shakes his head at the TV.
“I was an annoying shit,” he says and Kurt can’t help but laugh. “Handsome though.”
Kurt presses a kiss to the side of Blaine’s head. “You’re still handsome.”
Blaine makes a face to disagree, their attention drawn back to the TV as Kurt shrieks and they topple off the couch. Kurt fights to get to the camera, Blaine pulling him back down, shouting “I love you, Kurt!” at the screen before Kurt wrestles him back down, successfully grabbing the camera, the screen abruptly going black.
Beside him, Blaine shakes his head, his cheeks pink with amusement or embarrassment, possibly a mix and Kurt feels some of the worry of Blaine’s reaction to seeing his past-self leave his gut.
“I found your memory box,” Kurt says, motions to the box on the coffee table, letters and trinkets surrounding it.
“Only good memories, I hope,” Blaine says, and his voice is quiet but strong. He reaches out to grab a folded letter, thumb brushing over the writing on top.
“Very good memories,” Kurt confirms, nudges Blaine’s shoulder with his own, shakes his head to erase his previous thoughts. He wouldn’t give anything to go back because he still has the now, still has Blaine warm beside him, and while things are different now, they fought to get to this point, they worked so hard and while things may not be perfect, Kurt thinks they’re pretty damn good.
“I love you a lot,” Kurt says as Blaine’s eyes crinkle at the letter he’s reading. He looks up, smiles but there’s a weight to it, a sadness in his eyes.
“Maybe it’s just past-Blaine’s charm tricking…” pause. “Tricking you.”
Kurt winds his fingers through Blaine’s. “I don’t know this past-Blaine that you speak of. There’s only one Blaine that I know, and he’s a pretty spectacular guy.”
Blaine knocks his knee against Kurt’s, huffs a laugh. “Now-Blaine disagrees.”
Kurt turns to look at Blaine, raises his eyebrows. “Now-Blaine obviously doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
Blaine’s lip twitches, he looks back at the letter in his hand. “Do you ever miss the way things used to be?”
Kurt blinks, considers. “No,” he says, shakes his head. “I wish things had been easier for you, for both of us, and I wish that the world had been a little kinder to you. But every day you make me so happy, and I wouldn’t give that up for anything.”
A blush creeps into Blaine’s cheeks and he hangs his head for a moment, looking back up at Kurt with an amused look in his eyes.
“Past-Blaine might have been onto something about the lasagna though…” he trails off, blinks innocently up at Kurt. Kurt scoffs.
“You only love me for my lasagna, I knew it!” he exclaims, and Blaine looks mock-offended.
“You insult me,” Blaine says, places a hand on his chest. “I also love you for your cheesecake. And your skills in bed.”
Kurt shoots Blaine a calculated glare and Blaine lets out a laugh, pulls Kurt in against him, a kiss landing on his forehead. Kurt nuzzles into Blaine’s chest, his fingers curling into the fabric of Blaine’s shirts.
“I am pretty damn good in bed.”
January 16th, 2021
It’s a weekend, and Kurt’s away for a few days for the magazine; his new position means a few trips a year to exotic places like London and Brazil, and while Kurt had stressed about it, Blaine had assured him he would be fine for three days. He has Rachel and Janessa and Abbi, has Cooper and his parents on speed dial, has plenty of people to keep him company if he needs, to call in an emergency if he has one.
The truth is, Blaine’s enjoying his weekend alone. The wedding is approaching and Kurt’s going a bit crazy with planning, with unneeded stress about flower arrangements and catering companies, and Blaine’s thankful for a few days to just breathe.
He takes a cab to a coffee shop downtown, one he’s never been in before. It’s snowing outside, and the cafe is a sanctuary of warmth, the rich smells of fresh coffee and blueberry scones, and Blaine tucks himself into a seat by a window, pulls out his laptop. A barista brings him the latte and dark chocolate cupcake he’d ordered, smiles at him when he thanks her. She looks at his computer, at the notebook he’d settled beside it, tells him they offer free refills to writers.
Blaine tells her he’s not really a writer, not yet, and she says his secret is safe with her, gives him a wink before heading back to brew some more coffee. Blaine looks at the notebook, at his computer, takes a sip of his latte.
The idea had come to him awhile ago, when one of his students wanted to talk to him after class because her brother has a cognitive disability and no one else seems to understand. It made him realize how many people really don’t understand, not out of maliciousness or fear, but because of lack of exposure, because they haven’t had the opportunity to learn to understand. And he thinks about his own experiences, how his family, friends, casual acquaintances reacted, how complete strangers have treated him, how if anything good has come from this, it’s his ability to understand the world in a different way and he wants to share that.
He opens a word document, stares at the cursor blinking on the screen. He takes another sip of his latte, wonders how hard writing can be. He’s kept a journal for a long time, when he was young he wrote in it every day, the one he kept during his recovery has become less consistent, an entry every month or so, but it’s essentially the same thing, right? Just words on paper, font on a screen, it shouldn’t be that hard.
But no words come to him, and he finishes his cupcakes, frowns and crosses his arms. How is he supposed to write anything when he can’t even keep up with a conversation half of the time, when he still puts lemons in the silverware drawer, when he gets confused between body wash and shampoo, when birthdays are nearly impossible for him to remember.
He closes the laptop in frustration, glares down at the silver case of it. Maybe handwriting will be easier, more like the journal he used to keep. He scribbles out a sentence or two before he forgets where he’s going, his train of thought derailing abruptly, sets down his pen with a frustrated sigh. It was silly to think he could write something like this, something that could have meaning for other people, when he can barely keep his thoughts together enough to know what it means to him.
He packs up his stuff with a sigh, drains the rest of his latte, bundles up in his coat and scarf and mittens, and heads back home.
-
He ventures back the next day, trudges through the snow because he doesn’t want to call a cab, cheeks stinging with the cold by the time he arrives. The same barista waves at him and he smiles back, places his order and slides into the same seat as yesterday.
This time he really thinks, fingers curled around his pen, eyes tracing the empty blue lines of his notebook. He thinks about the past few years, about the years before that, thinks about being a kid when the world seemed so harmless, thinks about the dreams he had in high school, in college.
He thinks about the empty space in his mind surrounding the attack, about the scattered lucidity when he was in the hospital, about the first few months home, the memories like fog on a mirror after a long shower. He thinks about Kurt and his parents, Cooper and Janessa, all the people who’ve made an impact on his life, who were there to help him up every time he needed it, no matter how many times he did need it.
He writes a list.
- Kurt
- Mom and Dad
- Cooper
- Lots of noise
- The taste of Ensure (disgusting)
- The walking jumpsuit
- Headaches
- A new home
- Belle (and Beast)
- First steps
- Running
- Making coffee
- Fresh air
Blaine pauses, looks at the scribbled writing, his right hand still clumsy with a pen, knows that it would be impossible to list everything important over the last few years, but he thinks this is a pretty good start.
-
He starts going to the coffee shop every week, sometimes Kurt comes with him and they share a piece of cheesecake, sip at their respective coffees. Kurt usually reads one of the books he’s meant to finish for years, Blaine staring at his notebook and writing down memories as they come to him, not in any sort of order or with any sort of plan, but it still leaves him feeling satisfied.
Kurt never asks what Blaine’s writing, seems to know it’s something Blaine has to do for himself, just provides suggestions when Blaine asks for a word, when Blaine doesn’t think a sentence makes sense, when he looses his train of thought. He’s a silent support and Blaine likes the the simplicity of it, their coffee dates that come without question or thought, the barista who brings them free refills, the regulars that Blaine comes to recognize.
There are a few other writers who frequent the coffee shop, a woman a few years older than him, with her hair up in a wild bun that reminds him of a bird’s nest, her face always scrunched in thought. A boy who looks fresh out of college, his hair usually covered by a knit beanie, a sweater vest buttoned up to the collar, his fingers flying across the keyboard before he sighs and hangs his head. It’s a silent camaraderie, Blaine thinks, the writers, the college students with necks bent over thick textbooks, couples on awkward first dates, business men reading the paper over steaming black coffee, and no one looks at Blaine like he’s any different than the rest of them.
And slowly, Blaine writes.
February 5th, 2021
A stack of wedding invitations sits on the coffee table, waiting to be addressed. A to-do list sits open beside it, too many things left uncrossed, too many things still left to plan and while getting married might be the easiest decision Kurt’s ever made, it might be one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do.
He sinks down onto the couch, hears Belle barking at something outside. Blaine is out with a friend, his social life having expanded immensely since going back to work, and while Kurt’s happy Blaine’s no longer cooped up in the house all day, he does miss seeing his fiancé sometimes.
Maybe all the time.
He sighs and opens the favorites list on his phone, clicks the second to top number.
Waits.
“-lo?” a gruff voice answers.
“Hey dad, are you busy?” Kurt asks, wonders if he caught him in the shop.
“Kurt? No, not busy. Damn eyes getting too bad to read the caller ID on the phone.”
Kurt chuckles, has told his dad a million times to get reading glasses, but he never listens.
“And don’t be telling me to get glasses, Carole’s been on my back about the same thing,” Burt continues before Kurt can say anything.
“She’s a wise woman,” Kurt says with a laugh, shakes his head and lets himself sink back into the couch cushion. Burt makes a dismissal noise.
“So what’s up?”
“Nothing really, I just…” Kurt takes a deep breath, tries to formulate his thoughts into words that actually make sense. “Weddings are a lot of work.”
Burt lets out a laugh. “That they are. Anything in particular that’s making it difficult?”
“Everything?” Kurt says, lets out a dry laugh. “Blaine wants a small wedding but our invitation list keeps getting bigger and bigger and I don’t know who to cut out without offending someone and Blaine won’t say anything but I know it makes him nervous. And we still have so much to do and there’s just not enough time, not between work and everything else that happening and I don’t want to make Blaine change the date because this means so much to him but I don’t know how we can do it and…”
“Woah, Kurt, slow down,” Burt interrupts and Kurt takes a moment to breathe. “First off, you’re under no obligation to invite anyone to your wedding. If you don’t want Great Aunt Mildred to come, I think she’ll get over it. If you want a small wedding, then have a small wedding. Everyone else will understand.”
“Does Aunt Mildred even leave her house anymore?” Kurt asks, his laugh more genuine this time.
“Not in twenty-seven years,” Burt answers and Kurt can hear the smile in his voice.
“Well, I’ll cross her off the list,” Kurt says, leans forward to grab the guest list, eyes the long line of names. “I think I just got started thinking about all the people we’ve known, all our friends and family, and I had no idea Blaine had such a large extended family, not that any of them came to visit him when he needed family,” Kurt trails off, firmly scratches of a good chunk of Blaine’s family.
“It’s hard to decide who makes the cut,” Burt says, and Kurt can hear the squeak of the living room recliner. “Carole and I had the same problem for our wedding. But you just have to remember that it’s your wedding, and only you and Blaine can make these decisions. You’re not having this wedding for the guests.”
Kurt lets out a groan, his head falling back against the couch. “I hate weddings.”
“Says the kid who spent his entire childhood marrying off his action figures.”
Kurt chuckles, shakes his head at the memory.
“Okay, I like weddings. I hate the the stress of planning weddings.”
“Email me a copy of your to-do list. Carole and I will look it over and see what we can help out with. Because I know damn well what this date means to Blaine, and we’re not going to let you postpone it.”
“Thank you, Dad,” Kurt says, wonders why he even thought he should plan this without his dad’s help.
“Yeah, well, it’s about damn time I can finally call Blaine my son-in-law,” Burt says, a hint of emotion in his voice and Kurt wants to place a bet right now that his dad is the first to cry at the wedding.
“He already thinks of a you as a father,” Kurt says with a smile.
“Good,” Burt responds, and Kurt can hear him clear his throat.
“Thanks for the talk, Dad. I think Belle’s going to go crazy if I put off her walk one more minute though,” Kurt says, sees Belle eyeing the leash hanging by the door wishfully.
“Anytime, Kurt. However Carole and I can help out, you just let me know okay?”
“Okay,” Kurt says, stands up and stretches out his legs.
“And Kurt?” a brief pause. “I’m real proud of you. It’s not easy to take on everything you are, and you’re doing a fine job of it.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Kurt says, feels genuinely touched.
“Alright, go walk your dog. And give my love to Blaine,” Burt says with a grumble and Kurt smiles because his dad never really has been comfortable with emotional conversation.
“Will do,” Kurt says. “Love you, Dad.”
“Yeah, alright, love you too, Kurt. Talk to you later.”
They hang up and Kurt shakes his head, reaches down to pet Belle before hooking her leash onto her collar. The wedding is still looming, the planning still never-ending, but with a little help, it doesn’t seem so bad.
He’s ready for it to be here.
April 18th, 2021
Four days before the wedding.
Four days left to be X’d off on the calendar.
Four days and Blaine can hardly believe it.
He tries to be quiet, Kurt’s still sleeping beside him but he can’t help it, an excited laugh escapes his lips. Kurt stirs, blinks open a bleary eye.
“No squeaking,” he mumbles, voice half muffled by his pillow and in a moment of spontaneity, Blaine squirms himself over to Kurt, gathers him tight in his arms.
“Hrmph,” Kurt protests against him, a look of annoyance on his face. “-m sleeping.”
“Four days,” Blaine says, presses a kiss to Kurt’s forehead. “Today and the next day and the next and then we’re getting married.”
“And you have morning breath,” Kurt grumbles, but a smile pulls at his lips. Blaine presses another kiss to Kurt’s forehead, one to his cheek before Kurt can swat him away with a laughed protest, pulling the covers up over his head. Blaine admits defeat and rolls out of bed, gives himself a moment to find his footing, before making his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth.
He lets Belle out, starts the coffee maker, plays with Beast for a moment, until he can hear Kurt’s shout from the bedroom.
“Blaine, your phone!”
Blaine makes it back to the bedroom, can hear his phone ringing on the bedside table, Kurt running a hand through his hair with a resigned expression on his face.
“It’s your dad,” Kurt says and Blaine frowns as he picks up the phone, slides his finger across the screen to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Blaine?”
“Yeah, hi Dad, is something going on?” Blaine asks, feels a spike of worry in his gut. His mom always calls with any news or questions, his dad never quite comfortable with talking on the phone.
“No, everything’s fine,” his dad says, sounds a little awkward, and Blaine can picture him rubbing a hand on his neck like he always does when he doesn’t know entirely what to say. “I was just calling to see if, uh, if you needed your mother and I to bring anything with us, when we fly out tomorrow.”
He doesn’t phrase it like a question and Blaine feels the tight remorse he always does when talking to his dad, wishes that things could be a little easier, that he could have the relationship Kurt and his dad have, so open and easy. But he doesn’t, has accepted there will always be a slight strain between them. It’s not that his dad doesn’t love him, for a time he’d thought that was the case but he knows now, his dad loves, he loves deeply, he just doesn’t know how to show it. He’s not one for expressive emotion, an accountant who’s always thought very carefully in numbers and rules, his life set up in structured scaffolding.
“I can’t think of anything,” Blaine says honestly, drums his fingers on the kitchen counter.
“Oh, well, I just thought I’d check in,” Robert says, sounds ready to say goodbye and end the call, but something pulls in Blaine, wants to talk to his dad a little longer.
“Are you and mom still packing?” he asks, Beast winding in between his feet, meowing softly up at him.
“Your mother is,” his dad responds, a note of amusement in his voice. “She won’t let me help her anymore because I interrupted her system.”
“She always said packing was like a game of Tetris,” Blaine remarks, and he can hear his dad laugh, a small chuckle, but it’s something.
“That it is,” Robert agrees. “Your mother is very excited for the wedding.”
“I am too,” Blaine says with a smile, knows his dad often expresses his own feelings through his mom, a safe medium.
“I, uh… I wanted to tell you to let me know if you need anything,” his dad says after a brief pause, his voice serious. “If there’s anything you didn’t get that you needed, or anything at all. I know we haven’t… we haven’t talked much but I want only the best for you and you just let me know what that is, okay?”
“I will, Dad. Thank you,” Blaine says, as earnest as he can.
“Good,” Robert says, sounds slightly relieved. “Good.”
“Actually, we are short a few bottles of wine for the wedding,” Blaine says, can sense that his dad just needs something to do, he shows his love through the things he can do for his sons, and Blaine knows he’ll feel better if he has an objective, something he can buy and bring for Blaine, something that makes him feel useful while his mom takes over everything else.
“Consider it done,” his dad says and Blaine knows the wedding will be overflowing with wine, they’re not really that short, but this what his dad wants to do, this is how he reaches out and he’s trying.
“Thanks, Dad. I’ll let you know if there’s anything else.”
“You do that,” his dad says, and Blaine can hear his mom saying something in the background.
“I’ll see you at the airport tomorrow?” Blaine says, wants to end the conversation before his mom gets the phone and talks at him for hours about last minute wedding plans; there will be plenty of time for that when they get here.
“I’ll see you then,” his dad says, and Blaine murmurs another goodbye before ending the call, stares at the phone with a fond smile on his face.
Warm arms wrap around his waist, a chin resting on his shoulder, and Blaine lets his head bump against Kurt’s.
“What did your dad want?”
“He just wanted to check in. I think he’s nervous for the wedding.”
“Are you?” Kurt asks, presses a kiss to the side of Blaine’s neck, his thumb stroking a line down Blaine’s stomach.
“I don’t know… I’ve been thinking of calling the whole thing off,” Blaine says, turns in Kurt’s arms until their face to face, a sly smile on his lips.
“Oh have you now?” Kurt asks, leans in capture Blaine’s lips in a slow kiss, hands sliding down until his fingers creep just under the elastic of Blaine’s pajamas. “What about now?”
“You present a compelling case,” Blaine says, voice soft as they kiss again, deeper, slower. Kurt pulls away and Blaine whines, pouts his lower lip.
“Coffee first, morning sex later,” Kurt says with a wink, stretching up to grab two mugs.
“I can work with that,” Blaine concedes, accepts the cup Kurt passes to him, thinks to himself that if this is what forever with Kurt looks like, he’s ready for it to start.
Four days.
part three
November 7th, 2020
There’s a box, shoved in the top corner of the closet, covered in dust. Kurt stretches up onto his tiptoes, grasps at the box with fingers that barely reach, slides it off the shelf. Dust plumes in the air and Kurt sneezes, makes a disgusted face and vows to deep clean more than once a year. He sets the shoebox on the floor and finishes dusting the closet, tries to organize the scattered papers that have been building up; magazines and old designs that were tossed in the closet of the study with the intent to be organized later, something that hasn’t happened until now.
Kurt can still hear the excited echoing of Janessa over the phone, the way she’d barely been able to feign a normal conversation before shouting “I’m pregnant!” He’s excited, his brain already racing with plans for baby showers and gifts and fashionable maternity clothing, but there’s a weird knot in his gut, something he can’t quite explain. He stands in the study, his fingers itching to clean and rearrange and when he steps back and squints his eyes he thinks that yellow would make a really good color for a nursery.
“Stop,” he says to the empty room, shakes his head. They’re in the midst of planning a wedding, Blaine’s still getting into the swing of work, Kurt’s adjusting to the new schedule of his promotion, things are busy and there’s no time to be thinking such things. And he’s not sure if Blaine even wants kids anymore, they’d talked about it a long time ago but that was before… everything. Before their whole lives changed and they’ve spent so long getting through the now that they haven’t really talked about the future.
It’ll happen, Kurt thinks, bites his lip against a smile, we have time.
He turns to leave, bumps his foot against the old shoebox, picks it up and carries it with him to the living room. It’s smooth from years of being ignored, and Kurt’s curious, can’t remember why this shoebox was shoved in the corner of the closet, wonders if someone put it there when they moved in and Kurt never really paid attention. He didn’t pay attention to many things, then.
He discards the lid on the coffee table, fingers hovering over the open box. There are letters inside, and it sparks at Kurt’s memory, the silly little notes he and Blaine used to write each other. He’d had no idea that Blaine had kept them all. Of course he would, Kurt tells himself, shaking his head. Blaine was always one for keeping these sorts of things; Kurt remembers teasing him years ago when he’d first learned about about his Memory Box, but now he’s glad, feels like he’s stumbled across a long-forgotten treasure.
Sitting in econ, surprise surprise. I swear, this class will literally be the death of me. And my prof’s dress looks like that carpet bag we saw at the flea market last week… it’s horrible! I can feel my soul leaving my body… I can’t… go… on…
Oh, you just texted me that you’re making carrot cake for dessert tonight. I take it back! Soul reinvigorated! It’s a miracle! …
The letter goes on and Kurt laughs, remembers Blaine leaving these notes for him in the most random places; he’d find them on the subway, waiting in line for coffee, during a much needed study break and it always made things seem a little more bearable, even during the most stressful weeks. He’d always insisted Kurt put them in the memory box, had told Kurt that someday they’d read through them again and be glad. Turns out Blaine was right.
Kurt reads through a few more letters, some from Blaine and few from him, all of them silly and unimportant and Kurt thinks it’s kind of amazing how something they’d barely put any thought into can mean so much now.
Sifting through the box reveals a few ticket stubs from the Broadway shows they’d saved up to see on special occasions, programs from some of Rachel’s shows, a dried flower that Kurt doesn’t recognize, but figures it was from something important. His fingers brush over the edges of a DVD and he picks it up carefully, turns it over with a frown. For Kurt is written in blue sharpie on the top, and Kurt honestly can’t remember Blaine ever making him a DVD that wasn’t a bootlegged Broadway recording. He turns the TV on, making sure the volume isn’t too loud. Blaine is napping in their room, a long week at work leading to a weekend of headaches, before slipping the disk into their DVD player.
It starts with a shaky view of their old apartment, the image going in and out of focus, someone mumbling under their voice as they try and adjust the settings. The screen spins, the camera turning around until Blaine’s face fills the TV, his lips turned up into a wide smile, his hair wildly curly, his skin tan, and Kurt figures this must have been filmed in the summer.
“Kurt’s sleeping,” Blaine whispers on the screen, his eyes gleaming and something pulls inside Kurt, the sound of Blaine’s voice from before similar enough to not be unrecognizable, but not the hesitant, sometimes stumbling voice that Kurt’s gotten so used to, and it’s been so long he’d almost forgotten what it sounded like. “But I have a surprise for him and I think now is the perfect time. I’m sorry, Kurt, if you’re watching this.”
Kurt laughs, sinks back into the couch and watches as the world spins, Blaine’s face gone from view as he creeps through their small, New York apartment. There’s a shuffling noise as Blaine picks something up, his hold on the camera shaky. The living room comes into focus, light streaming through the window, making everything fade for a brief moment as the camera adjusts. Kurt can see himself on the couch, exhausted shadows under his eyes and his mouth open as he naps on the decorative pillow, and a memory niggles in the back of Kurt’s mind, trying to spring free after so much time. This must have been the summer after they graduated when Kurt was thrown headfirst into the world post-internship, working long hours to prove himself, often coming home late and ready to pass out. Blaine had been his savior then, bringing Kurt treats to work, buying him flowers and giving more massages than Kurt can even remember. He honestly doesn’t know what he would have done without Blaine, feels certain that he wouldn’t be as sane as he is now.
The camera shakes as Blaine sets it carefully down on the coffee table, kneeling half in the screen as he makes a few adjustments, checking to make sure Kurt is in the screen. There’s a nice shot of Blaine’s ass in a pair of pale blue shorts as he sneaks over to the couch, his old acoustic guitar in hand. His smile is wide and he turns to wink at the camera once more before flopping onto the couch. Kurt watches himself stir, groan and swat at Blaine, and it’s like the memory unfolds as he watches, a fuzzy remembrance of this afternoon, so many years ago.
“Kuuurt,” Blaine says in a sing-song voice, scooting to sit on top of Kurt, guitar in lap. “Kurt my love, my dove, my person to hug.”
Kurt can hear himself mumble something that sounds vaguely like go away, and shove at Blaine, who just snuggles himself in further, glancing at the camera.
“Kurt, I wrote you a song,” Blaine whispers, just loud enough for the camera to pick up, strums a chord on his guitar.
“Write me a song later,” on-screen Kurt protests, but his eyes are blinking open, staring at Blaine with obvious judgement.
“But I worked on it all day,” Blaine whines, leans over to press a kiss to Kurt’s face and Kurt groans as the weight on top of him shifts.
“Fine,” on-screen Kurt huffs, crosses his arms and yawns. “Get on with it.”
Blaine looks excited, clears his throat in a way that’s only for show, stretches his fingers before strumming the guitar.
“Kurt with eyes so blue,” he sings in an exaggerated voice and Kurt chuckles, his memory of this day becoming more clear. “My love for you is true, but oh why oh why won’t you make me lasagna anymore.” Blaine drags out the words, singing it like a sappy love ballad and on-screen Kurt rolls his eyes, swats at Blaine again. Blaine’s song then dissolves into him singing Kurt’s name over and over again, while Blaine sways back and forth, looking overly pleased with himself.
“Stop, stop,” on-screen Kurt says, struggling out from under Blaine. “I can’t take it anymore.”
Blaine pouts, grabs Kurt to prevent him from leaving. Kurt laughs, falls back against Blaine, raises his eyebrows in fake annoyance.
“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” Blaine starts singing, his voice sweet and on-screen Kurt laughs again, lets his head fall against Blaine, a hand resting on his knee. “You make me happy, when skies are gray…”
Off-screen Kurt hums along to the song, feels tears prick at his eyes as he watches himself notice the camera, his eyes growing wide as he slaps at Blaine’s shoulder while Blaine tackles him to the couch, tickling his sides in the way that Kurt says he hates but secretly enjoys. He remembers how things had seemed so hard back then, how he was so busy he barely had time to think; he remembers the fights and arguments he would have with Blaine, how he never really understand how much he took for granted. The easy afternoons, the little things Blaine would do, their dinner dates and lazy morning sex, and conversations over wine at the end of the day. Those are the things Kurt wishes he would have appreciated more, should have made more of an effort to enjoy and if he’d only known…
But how could he have known? Kurt shakes his head, wipes away a stupid, single tear, tries to rid himself of these thoughts. There’s no way he could have known that all this would be taken away, that someday he would remember those days, that he would give anything to go back, that he would ache for how much he misses this and…
The door to the bedroom creaks open, a blurry-eyed Blaine shuffling out, his hair messy with sleep. He smiles at Kurt, rubs his eyes with his left arm, his right tucked close to his side like it always is now, his gait slightly uneven, slides onto the couch beside Kurt. He squints at the TV, forehead crinkling with confusion. They’re bickering on screen, Blaine still singing to Kurt about his lasagna, Kurt vehemently telling Blaine if he wants lasagna he can get his ass to the kitchen and make it himself.
“I forgot about this,” Blaine says softly, leaning against Kurt. Kurt looks at Blaine, ready to pause the video, worried he might find this upsetting. But Blaine just chuckles, shakes his head at the TV.
“I was an annoying shit,” he says and Kurt can’t help but laugh. “Handsome though.”
Kurt presses a kiss to the side of Blaine’s head. “You’re still handsome.”
Blaine makes a face to disagree, their attention drawn back to the TV as Kurt shrieks and they topple off the couch. Kurt fights to get to the camera, Blaine pulling him back down, shouting “I love you, Kurt!” at the screen before Kurt wrestles him back down, successfully grabbing the camera, the screen abruptly going black.
Beside him, Blaine shakes his head, his cheeks pink with amusement or embarrassment, possibly a mix and Kurt feels some of the worry of Blaine’s reaction to seeing his past-self leave his gut.
“I found your memory box,” Kurt says, motions to the box on the coffee table, letters and trinkets surrounding it.
“Only good memories, I hope,” Blaine says, and his voice is quiet but strong. He reaches out to grab a folded letter, thumb brushing over the writing on top.
“Very good memories,” Kurt confirms, nudges Blaine’s shoulder with his own, shakes his head to erase his previous thoughts. He wouldn’t give anything to go back because he still has the now, still has Blaine warm beside him, and while things are different now, they fought to get to this point, they worked so hard and while things may not be perfect, Kurt thinks they’re pretty damn good.
“I love you a lot,” Kurt says as Blaine’s eyes crinkle at the letter he’s reading. He looks up, smiles but there’s a weight to it, a sadness in his eyes.
“Maybe it’s just past-Blaine’s charm tricking…” pause. “Tricking you.”
Kurt winds his fingers through Blaine’s. “I don’t know this past-Blaine that you speak of. There’s only one Blaine that I know, and he’s a pretty spectacular guy.”
Blaine knocks his knee against Kurt’s, huffs a laugh. “Now-Blaine disagrees.”
Kurt turns to look at Blaine, raises his eyebrows. “Now-Blaine obviously doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
Blaine’s lip twitches, he looks back at the letter in his hand. “Do you ever miss the way things used to be?”
Kurt blinks, considers. “No,” he says, shakes his head. “I wish things had been easier for you, for both of us, and I wish that the world had been a little kinder to you. But every day you make me so happy, and I wouldn’t give that up for anything.”
A blush creeps into Blaine’s cheeks and he hangs his head for a moment, looking back up at Kurt with an amused look in his eyes.
“Past-Blaine might have been onto something about the lasagna though…” he trails off, blinks innocently up at Kurt. Kurt scoffs.
“You only love me for my lasagna, I knew it!” he exclaims, and Blaine looks mock-offended.
“You insult me,” Blaine says, places a hand on his chest. “I also love you for your cheesecake. And your skills in bed.”
Kurt shoots Blaine a calculated glare and Blaine lets out a laugh, pulls Kurt in against him, a kiss landing on his forehead. Kurt nuzzles into Blaine’s chest, his fingers curling into the fabric of Blaine’s shirts.
“I am pretty damn good in bed.”
January 16th, 2021
It’s a weekend, and Kurt’s away for a few days for the magazine; his new position means a few trips a year to exotic places like London and Brazil, and while Kurt had stressed about it, Blaine had assured him he would be fine for three days. He has Rachel and Janessa and Abbi, has Cooper and his parents on speed dial, has plenty of people to keep him company if he needs, to call in an emergency if he has one.
The truth is, Blaine’s enjoying his weekend alone. The wedding is approaching and Kurt’s going a bit crazy with planning, with unneeded stress about flower arrangements and catering companies, and Blaine’s thankful for a few days to just breathe.
He takes a cab to a coffee shop downtown, one he’s never been in before. It’s snowing outside, and the cafe is a sanctuary of warmth, the rich smells of fresh coffee and blueberry scones, and Blaine tucks himself into a seat by a window, pulls out his laptop. A barista brings him the latte and dark chocolate cupcake he’d ordered, smiles at him when he thanks her. She looks at his computer, at the notebook he’d settled beside it, tells him they offer free refills to writers.
Blaine tells her he’s not really a writer, not yet, and she says his secret is safe with her, gives him a wink before heading back to brew some more coffee. Blaine looks at the notebook, at his computer, takes a sip of his latte.
The idea had come to him awhile ago, when one of his students wanted to talk to him after class because her brother has a cognitive disability and no one else seems to understand. It made him realize how many people really don’t understand, not out of maliciousness or fear, but because of lack of exposure, because they haven’t had the opportunity to learn to understand. And he thinks about his own experiences, how his family, friends, casual acquaintances reacted, how complete strangers have treated him, how if anything good has come from this, it’s his ability to understand the world in a different way and he wants to share that.
He opens a word document, stares at the cursor blinking on the screen. He takes another sip of his latte, wonders how hard writing can be. He’s kept a journal for a long time, when he was young he wrote in it every day, the one he kept during his recovery has become less consistent, an entry every month or so, but it’s essentially the same thing, right? Just words on paper, font on a screen, it shouldn’t be that hard.
But no words come to him, and he finishes his cupcakes, frowns and crosses his arms. How is he supposed to write anything when he can’t even keep up with a conversation half of the time, when he still puts lemons in the silverware drawer, when he gets confused between body wash and shampoo, when birthdays are nearly impossible for him to remember.
He closes the laptop in frustration, glares down at the silver case of it. Maybe handwriting will be easier, more like the journal he used to keep. He scribbles out a sentence or two before he forgets where he’s going, his train of thought derailing abruptly, sets down his pen with a frustrated sigh. It was silly to think he could write something like this, something that could have meaning for other people, when he can barely keep his thoughts together enough to know what it means to him.
He packs up his stuff with a sigh, drains the rest of his latte, bundles up in his coat and scarf and mittens, and heads back home.
-
He ventures back the next day, trudges through the snow because he doesn’t want to call a cab, cheeks stinging with the cold by the time he arrives. The same barista waves at him and he smiles back, places his order and slides into the same seat as yesterday.
This time he really thinks, fingers curled around his pen, eyes tracing the empty blue lines of his notebook. He thinks about the past few years, about the years before that, thinks about being a kid when the world seemed so harmless, thinks about the dreams he had in high school, in college.
He thinks about the empty space in his mind surrounding the attack, about the scattered lucidity when he was in the hospital, about the first few months home, the memories like fog on a mirror after a long shower. He thinks about Kurt and his parents, Cooper and Janessa, all the people who’ve made an impact on his life, who were there to help him up every time he needed it, no matter how many times he did need it.
He writes a list.
- Kurt
- Mom and Dad
- Cooper
- Lots of noise
- The taste of Ensure (disgusting)
- The walking jumpsuit
- Headaches
- A new home
- Belle (and Beast)
- First steps
- Running
- Making coffee
- Fresh air
Blaine pauses, looks at the scribbled writing, his right hand still clumsy with a pen, knows that it would be impossible to list everything important over the last few years, but he thinks this is a pretty good start.
-
He starts going to the coffee shop every week, sometimes Kurt comes with him and they share a piece of cheesecake, sip at their respective coffees. Kurt usually reads one of the books he’s meant to finish for years, Blaine staring at his notebook and writing down memories as they come to him, not in any sort of order or with any sort of plan, but it still leaves him feeling satisfied.
Kurt never asks what Blaine’s writing, seems to know it’s something Blaine has to do for himself, just provides suggestions when Blaine asks for a word, when Blaine doesn’t think a sentence makes sense, when he looses his train of thought. He’s a silent support and Blaine likes the the simplicity of it, their coffee dates that come without question or thought, the barista who brings them free refills, the regulars that Blaine comes to recognize.
There are a few other writers who frequent the coffee shop, a woman a few years older than him, with her hair up in a wild bun that reminds him of a bird’s nest, her face always scrunched in thought. A boy who looks fresh out of college, his hair usually covered by a knit beanie, a sweater vest buttoned up to the collar, his fingers flying across the keyboard before he sighs and hangs his head. It’s a silent camaraderie, Blaine thinks, the writers, the college students with necks bent over thick textbooks, couples on awkward first dates, business men reading the paper over steaming black coffee, and no one looks at Blaine like he’s any different than the rest of them.
And slowly, Blaine writes.
February 5th, 2021
A stack of wedding invitations sits on the coffee table, waiting to be addressed. A to-do list sits open beside it, too many things left uncrossed, too many things still left to plan and while getting married might be the easiest decision Kurt’s ever made, it might be one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do.
He sinks down onto the couch, hears Belle barking at something outside. Blaine is out with a friend, his social life having expanded immensely since going back to work, and while Kurt’s happy Blaine’s no longer cooped up in the house all day, he does miss seeing his fiancé sometimes.
Maybe all the time.
He sighs and opens the favorites list on his phone, clicks the second to top number.
Waits.
“-lo?” a gruff voice answers.
“Hey dad, are you busy?” Kurt asks, wonders if he caught him in the shop.
“Kurt? No, not busy. Damn eyes getting too bad to read the caller ID on the phone.”
Kurt chuckles, has told his dad a million times to get reading glasses, but he never listens.
“And don’t be telling me to get glasses, Carole’s been on my back about the same thing,” Burt continues before Kurt can say anything.
“She’s a wise woman,” Kurt says with a laugh, shakes his head and lets himself sink back into the couch cushion. Burt makes a dismissal noise.
“So what’s up?”
“Nothing really, I just…” Kurt takes a deep breath, tries to formulate his thoughts into words that actually make sense. “Weddings are a lot of work.”
Burt lets out a laugh. “That they are. Anything in particular that’s making it difficult?”
“Everything?” Kurt says, lets out a dry laugh. “Blaine wants a small wedding but our invitation list keeps getting bigger and bigger and I don’t know who to cut out without offending someone and Blaine won’t say anything but I know it makes him nervous. And we still have so much to do and there’s just not enough time, not between work and everything else that happening and I don’t want to make Blaine change the date because this means so much to him but I don’t know how we can do it and…”
“Woah, Kurt, slow down,” Burt interrupts and Kurt takes a moment to breathe. “First off, you’re under no obligation to invite anyone to your wedding. If you don’t want Great Aunt Mildred to come, I think she’ll get over it. If you want a small wedding, then have a small wedding. Everyone else will understand.”
“Does Aunt Mildred even leave her house anymore?” Kurt asks, his laugh more genuine this time.
“Not in twenty-seven years,” Burt answers and Kurt can hear the smile in his voice.
“Well, I’ll cross her off the list,” Kurt says, leans forward to grab the guest list, eyes the long line of names. “I think I just got started thinking about all the people we’ve known, all our friends and family, and I had no idea Blaine had such a large extended family, not that any of them came to visit him when he needed family,” Kurt trails off, firmly scratches of a good chunk of Blaine’s family.
“It’s hard to decide who makes the cut,” Burt says, and Kurt can hear the squeak of the living room recliner. “Carole and I had the same problem for our wedding. But you just have to remember that it’s your wedding, and only you and Blaine can make these decisions. You’re not having this wedding for the guests.”
Kurt lets out a groan, his head falling back against the couch. “I hate weddings.”
“Says the kid who spent his entire childhood marrying off his action figures.”
Kurt chuckles, shakes his head at the memory.
“Okay, I like weddings. I hate the the stress of planning weddings.”
“Email me a copy of your to-do list. Carole and I will look it over and see what we can help out with. Because I know damn well what this date means to Blaine, and we’re not going to let you postpone it.”
“Thank you, Dad,” Kurt says, wonders why he even thought he should plan this without his dad’s help.
“Yeah, well, it’s about damn time I can finally call Blaine my son-in-law,” Burt says, a hint of emotion in his voice and Kurt wants to place a bet right now that his dad is the first to cry at the wedding.
“He already thinks of a you as a father,” Kurt says with a smile.
“Good,” Burt responds, and Kurt can hear him clear his throat.
“Thanks for the talk, Dad. I think Belle’s going to go crazy if I put off her walk one more minute though,” Kurt says, sees Belle eyeing the leash hanging by the door wishfully.
“Anytime, Kurt. However Carole and I can help out, you just let me know okay?”
“Okay,” Kurt says, stands up and stretches out his legs.
“And Kurt?” a brief pause. “I’m real proud of you. It’s not easy to take on everything you are, and you’re doing a fine job of it.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Kurt says, feels genuinely touched.
“Alright, go walk your dog. And give my love to Blaine,” Burt says with a grumble and Kurt smiles because his dad never really has been comfortable with emotional conversation.
“Will do,” Kurt says. “Love you, Dad.”
“Yeah, alright, love you too, Kurt. Talk to you later.”
They hang up and Kurt shakes his head, reaches down to pet Belle before hooking her leash onto her collar. The wedding is still looming, the planning still never-ending, but with a little help, it doesn’t seem so bad.
He’s ready for it to be here.
April 18th, 2021
Four days before the wedding.
Four days left to be X’d off on the calendar.
Four days and Blaine can hardly believe it.
He tries to be quiet, Kurt’s still sleeping beside him but he can’t help it, an excited laugh escapes his lips. Kurt stirs, blinks open a bleary eye.
“No squeaking,” he mumbles, voice half muffled by his pillow and in a moment of spontaneity, Blaine squirms himself over to Kurt, gathers him tight in his arms.
“Hrmph,” Kurt protests against him, a look of annoyance on his face. “-m sleeping.”
“Four days,” Blaine says, presses a kiss to Kurt’s forehead. “Today and the next day and the next and then we’re getting married.”
“And you have morning breath,” Kurt grumbles, but a smile pulls at his lips. Blaine presses another kiss to Kurt’s forehead, one to his cheek before Kurt can swat him away with a laughed protest, pulling the covers up over his head. Blaine admits defeat and rolls out of bed, gives himself a moment to find his footing, before making his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth.
He lets Belle out, starts the coffee maker, plays with Beast for a moment, until he can hear Kurt’s shout from the bedroom.
“Blaine, your phone!”
Blaine makes it back to the bedroom, can hear his phone ringing on the bedside table, Kurt running a hand through his hair with a resigned expression on his face.
“It’s your dad,” Kurt says and Blaine frowns as he picks up the phone, slides his finger across the screen to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Blaine?”
“Yeah, hi Dad, is something going on?” Blaine asks, feels a spike of worry in his gut. His mom always calls with any news or questions, his dad never quite comfortable with talking on the phone.
“No, everything’s fine,” his dad says, sounds a little awkward, and Blaine can picture him rubbing a hand on his neck like he always does when he doesn’t know entirely what to say. “I was just calling to see if, uh, if you needed your mother and I to bring anything with us, when we fly out tomorrow.”
He doesn’t phrase it like a question and Blaine feels the tight remorse he always does when talking to his dad, wishes that things could be a little easier, that he could have the relationship Kurt and his dad have, so open and easy. But he doesn’t, has accepted there will always be a slight strain between them. It’s not that his dad doesn’t love him, for a time he’d thought that was the case but he knows now, his dad loves, he loves deeply, he just doesn’t know how to show it. He’s not one for expressive emotion, an accountant who’s always thought very carefully in numbers and rules, his life set up in structured scaffolding.
“I can’t think of anything,” Blaine says honestly, drums his fingers on the kitchen counter.
“Oh, well, I just thought I’d check in,” Robert says, sounds ready to say goodbye and end the call, but something pulls in Blaine, wants to talk to his dad a little longer.
“Are you and mom still packing?” he asks, Beast winding in between his feet, meowing softly up at him.
“Your mother is,” his dad responds, a note of amusement in his voice. “She won’t let me help her anymore because I interrupted her system.”
“She always said packing was like a game of Tetris,” Blaine remarks, and he can hear his dad laugh, a small chuckle, but it’s something.
“That it is,” Robert agrees. “Your mother is very excited for the wedding.”
“I am too,” Blaine says with a smile, knows his dad often expresses his own feelings through his mom, a safe medium.
“I, uh… I wanted to tell you to let me know if you need anything,” his dad says after a brief pause, his voice serious. “If there’s anything you didn’t get that you needed, or anything at all. I know we haven’t… we haven’t talked much but I want only the best for you and you just let me know what that is, okay?”
“I will, Dad. Thank you,” Blaine says, as earnest as he can.
“Good,” Robert says, sounds slightly relieved. “Good.”
“Actually, we are short a few bottles of wine for the wedding,” Blaine says, can sense that his dad just needs something to do, he shows his love through the things he can do for his sons, and Blaine knows he’ll feel better if he has an objective, something he can buy and bring for Blaine, something that makes him feel useful while his mom takes over everything else.
“Consider it done,” his dad says and Blaine knows the wedding will be overflowing with wine, they’re not really that short, but this what his dad wants to do, this is how he reaches out and he’s trying.
“Thanks, Dad. I’ll let you know if there’s anything else.”
“You do that,” his dad says, and Blaine can hear his mom saying something in the background.
“I’ll see you at the airport tomorrow?” Blaine says, wants to end the conversation before his mom gets the phone and talks at him for hours about last minute wedding plans; there will be plenty of time for that when they get here.
“I’ll see you then,” his dad says, and Blaine murmurs another goodbye before ending the call, stares at the phone with a fond smile on his face.
Warm arms wrap around his waist, a chin resting on his shoulder, and Blaine lets his head bump against Kurt’s.
“What did your dad want?”
“He just wanted to check in. I think he’s nervous for the wedding.”
“Are you?” Kurt asks, presses a kiss to the side of Blaine’s neck, his thumb stroking a line down Blaine’s stomach.
“I don’t know… I’ve been thinking of calling the whole thing off,” Blaine says, turns in Kurt’s arms until their face to face, a sly smile on his lips.
“Oh have you now?” Kurt asks, leans in capture Blaine’s lips in a slow kiss, hands sliding down until his fingers creep just under the elastic of Blaine’s pajamas. “What about now?”
“You present a compelling case,” Blaine says, voice soft as they kiss again, deeper, slower. Kurt pulls away and Blaine whines, pouts his lower lip.
“Coffee first, morning sex later,” Kurt says with a wink, stretching up to grab two mugs.
“I can work with that,” Blaine concedes, accepts the cup Kurt passes to him, thinks to himself that if this is what forever with Kurt looks like, he’s ready for it to start.
Four days.
part three