i would dye for you (1/1)
title: i would dye for you
summary: it's all very pathetic and strange, but they'll work through it. someday. [post-tbu]
rating: T
pairing: klaine
genre: humour/angst
notes: everybody needs a reaction to The Break Up, don't they? mine is pretty silly, but heartfelt. i guess. as an additional note, some slutshaming, but nothing is endorsed.
“Kurt, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the charmingly romantic notion of sleeping in a rose garden, but don’t you think it’s time to start throwing some out?”
Rachel’s words made Kurt lift his head from his laptop and his time-consuming task of Facebook stalking Blaine, and it took a minute to pinpoint where she was behind the mass of bouquets littering every surface of the apartment. All of them were from Blaine, and Kurt was almost (almost) impressed by his dedication and creativity. No two were the same, so it ranged from the classic red, yellow, and pink to Kurt’s personal favourite in a dyed neon blue. Those were on his bedside table. Rachel emerged from behind an orange bouquet, bearing some scratches from the petulant “My Heart is the Sad Part of Sleeping Beauty” thorny roses.
“Rachel, don’t you know how expensive these things are? Especially when you add the delivery charges and custom notes?” Kurt shook his head. “I might as well be throwing away money.”
“But-- you didn’t buy them, someone else did,” Rachel pointed out. “It’s not your money.”
Kurt and Blaine actually had a joint bank account, but since Blaine seemed to be pulling from his trust fund, Kurt didn’t point this out to her.
“So? Would you trash Broadway tickets even if I got them for you in some pathetic attempt to get you to forgive me after I stabbed you so hard in the back the knife came out the other side with your heart on it crying out ‘et tu, brute? ET TU?’” Kurt was panting heavily by the time his rant was done. Rachel sniffed sympathetically, biting her lip.
“Oh Kurt. This isn’t healthy. For me, mostly, because I think I’m developing an allergy to roses and that would be devastating to my future life as a star performer.” Rachel gave another sniff. “Wait! I have an idea!”
She bounced to her feet, and ran to the kitchen. There were sounds of drawers being slammed, and a minute later she returned bearing a roll of waxed paper and scissors.
“Let’s press the roses!” Rachel said, waving the scissors maniacally. “Then we can mail them back to Blaine so he’ll get the point. We can even add glitter so he sparkles days on end.” Rachel beamed. Kurt smiled reluctantly. Rachel was so loyal and sweet, unlike somebody else Kurt could passive aggressively reference.
“I do like glitter,” Kurt said. “And vengeance. And glitter revenge.” He got up, pulling Rachel into half a hug. “Thank you, I could really use this.”
“I’m here to help.” Rachel squeezed him back then pulled away, waving the wax paper. “Now let’s get to work.”
--
Kurt finally contacted Blaine to tell him to spend his money elsewhere, with a warning to “expect further mail.” Blaine’s excitement at the email in reply (“omg Kurt I’m screaming pls”) made Kurt annoyed, touched, saddened, and hungry. Blaine had included a cake emoticon, probably because his fingers slipped, but still. Kurt did like cake.
The next few weeks -- as the flowers dried between the pages of second-hand textbooks on Nuclear Physics -- saw Kurt getting notices that money was being donated to LGBT charities in his name. He had to admire that one, and added a little less glitter to the envelopes he was stuffing.
He and Rachel spent a fortune on postage mailing all the envelopes filled to the brim with flattened flowers, and a few days later Kurt got an email which simply read:
Dear Kurt,
I have Edward Cullen’s penis, and not in a sexy way. :( Glitter everywhere.
xoxo (NONE FOR ANYONE ELSE)
Blaine “really sorry” Anderson
P.s. ilu and deserved that
P.p.s. great job pressing them! They’re now in my Kurt/Blaine scrapbook :)
P.p.s. Have you ever hallucinated? jw ...
Kurt didn’t reply to the email, but he did save it.
After all, he would need proof if he ever decided to get that restraining order.
--
Two days later, Kurt and Rachel went out. Near two am, they began their stumbling way to the subway, sharing their talents with the world.
“OHHHH SEXY LADY!” Kurt shouted, slamming into the wall, giggling. “OPPA OPPAN GANG--MAN STYYYYYYLE!”
“I am SO going to sing that to Madame Tibi--Tibiwowwwww, look at that!” Rachel jumped up and down, then stopped, clutching her head and laughing. Her other hand pointed at the other side of the street, where some cute guy was watching them with a smile.
“HEEEEEEEY SEXY BOY!” Kurt shouted at him, and Rachel grabbed him, squealing.
“Oh my god Kurt DON’T, you’re too drunk!” She insisted, hanging off his arm. Kurt lifted his arm gave her a loving slap to the rear.
“I’m just tipsy,” Kurt replied, suddenly aware of his loudness. He spoke very, very quietly to counteract that. “I could walk a straight line if I wanted to. I just like to SING. Watch me walk and sing!” Kurt took a few stumbling steps forward, Rachel letting go as he swerved from side to side like an angry child in a bumper car with a broken steering wheel. “AND MY HEART WILL GOOO OOOOON! AND ON! AND ON!”
“Hey.” Kurt spun around (the world spinning faster) and saw that the cute guy from the other side of the street was now in front of him. “Wanna go get coffee?”
“AAAH!” Rachel screeched, hands against her mouth.
“Wow,” Kurt said, giving the guy a nice, long up-and-down look. Shorter than Kurt, with dark curly hair. Not Kurt’s usual type. He couldn’t explain why he felt attracted to him.
“Kurt, Kuuuuuuuurt, he looks just like Blaine!”
Oh. Kurt squinted at the guy, and twirled his finger to indicate that the guy should turn around. He did so, blinking, and Kurt took in the back view with a raised eyebrow of deep consideration. After a few long moments, he looked back up at Rachel.
“Yeah, he totally does.” Kurt gave the guy a sympathetic pat on the rear. “Sorry sweetie but I’m in a complicated re-la-tion-ship. And unlike him, I’m not a DIRTY CHEATER.” The guy jumped at Kurt’s words, and shot Kurt a startled look over his shoulder.
“Well sorry for wasting your time.” With a sniff the guy stalked off. Kurt shared a look with Rachel, and then they both burst into laughter. Falling into each other, they tried to catch their breath, and soon they were laughing so hard that tears came. Then it was just Kurt sobbing, and Rachel letting free some tears of empathy and shaking her hair back every few seconds to make sure people could admire them.
“I mean I just don’t UNDERSTAND,” Kurt said into her hair, then spat out some of it, his head turning to take deep, gulping breaths of the air. “Couldn’t he just come early for a booty call? If he missed it that much?”
“Missing your booty is a hard thing,” Rachel intoned wisely, then smirked. “Heh. Hard.”
“I know,” Kurt said, desperately trying to wipe away his tears. “I miss his booty too. So much. God. Do you think he’d let me touch it even if we weren’t dating?”
“Well apparently he’s a slut, SOOO,” Rachel paused. “Whoops, feminists.”
“Blaine loved feminists.” Kurt straightened, and reached into his pocket. “I’m calling him! Tell me it’s a terrible idea!”
“Call him!” Rachel urged. “You just had a breakthrough! To the other side! C’MON THROUGH TO THE OTHER SIDE!” She released him, spinning around and nearly breaking her ankle thanks to the heels she was wearing. She plopped down onto the pavement, pulling them off and wiggling her toes. “STRAIGHT ON THROUGH TO THE OTHER SIDE!”
“I’m going through!” Kurt assured her, as he listened to the phone ring. “Ring! Ring! Ooh, voicemail. He’s probably asleep, the baby. Wait, was that the beep?”
“Beep!” Rachel repeated, slumping back against a fire hydrant.
Kurt grinned and began to speak.
--
Blaine woke up the next morning and saw that he had a missed call from Kurt. With a pout, he picked it up and checked his voicemail, listening to Kurt’s message as he went about brushing his teeth.
“He’s probably asleep, the baby. Wait, was that the beep? Hey Blaine, you BABY. My little baby boyfriend. Robbing the cradle, that’s what they say, because you’re SUCH a baby. A sexy one though. Like, um, ignore how that sounds because I’m kind of - uh, tipsy. But yes. Sexy. I was talking to Rachel, and she agrees, I miss your butt. Your sweet little … big … butt. I just want to put my hands all - ew, no Rachel, stop putting your hand there. Where was I? Oh, that’s right. I just turned down a nice cute ass with a face like yours. I didn’t have to. I could tap it like one of Puck’s kegs. But I am not you. I’m Mr Independence. I don’t let anyone touch my butt that I don’t love. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, you feminist, but I love you. So, don’t let anyone touch anything of yours any more, even if I’m mad. Even if I hate you THIS much. You can’t see it, but I’m illust-illust-doing that thing with my hands held apart. Hands that aren’t on you. Or anyone else. So I hate you, but you’re hot. Repent. Repent! Be a better person so my hands can get back on your butt, and yours on mine. Rachel! No! That’s not for throwing up! Okay, I have to go, before Rachel chokes on her vomit. Bye, Mr Cheat-Easy!”
The toothbrush fell out of his gaping mouth and hit the bowl with a clatter.
--
“I feel I did something I’ll regret last night,” Kurt said. “But all I remember after my sixth drink is you vomiting into your hundred dollar heels.” Rachel, who was lying next to him in bed, groaned and pulled a pillow over her face.
They lay there for several minutes, making various noises of discomfort then shushing each other, Kurt taking delicate sips from the bottle of water he had put on the bedside table the night before. The blue roses, the only ones he had kept, were making his eyes hurt.
Suddenly, Rachel made a muffled speaking sound. Kurt looked over. “Excuse me?”
“I said,” Rachel drew the pillow down. “That I think you drunk dialled Blaine.”
“What?!” Kurt catapulted up, sitting and staring down at her. Rachel tried to pull the pillow back over her ears, but Kurt dragged it down to gape at her “What did I say?”
“Umm.” Rachel hugged the pillow. “Something about him being a sexy baby? And … ah, cradles?” She peered up at Kurt, frowning. “Is there something about your … intimate life that you’d like to tell me, Kurt?”
“What, no, ew.” Kurt shook his head, then sighed. “I need to find out what I said.”
Rachel reached under herself, then handed Kurt his iPhone. “See if he replied.”
“Thanks.” Kurt saw that he indeed had an outgoing call to Blaine at 2:15 am. There were no calls in return, but he did have a new email. With a growing sense of concern, Kurt clicked it open. It read:
Dear Kurt,
Are you ok? Please drink responsibly. :)
xoxo (this and my ass, ONLY FOR YOU)
Blaine “still sorry” Anderson
P.s. I miss your butt too. <3
Kurt put two and two together and got something like four point five. “I am never drinking again.”
“That’s what you said last week.”
“Well, in reflection, drunk dialling my boss was actually way better than this.” Kurt texted Blaine a quick delete it and never mention it again as he spoke.
“And your dad, don’t forget your dad.”
“He thought my rendition of Wind Beneath my Wings charming and didn’t suspect a thing.” Kurt’s phone buzzed.
Blaine: ok. but you said repent and i will. ill prove to you how good i can be. now my lips are zipped.
Kurt frowned. What?
“It was very sweet.”
“Of course it was.”
Kurt: Please don’t do anything crazy.
Blaine: ;)
Oh god.
If Kurt didn’t already avoid GAPs, this would be a good reason to steer clear.
--
Kurt was at work the next day, still feeling partly hung over, when Chase Madison came over bearing a smoothie and a smile. “Hey Kurt. Did you see that spectacle downstairs?”
“Spectacle?” Kurt’s head whipped around like Santana scenting a chance for innuendo. “Don’t tell me there’s a shortstack in a bowtie being dragged out by security as he screams Teenage Dream at the top of his lungs.”
“Uh, no.” Chase smiled in confusion. Kurt smiled back, mostly in pity at how very normal this man was. “There’s a hot guy in a leather jacket trying to teach the security guys how to pose like policemen, and they’re listening.”
“Is this guy the most handsome man in America, with a smile that makes the sun blush?”
“Hey, yeah.”
“Cooper!” Kurt shouted, jumping to his feet. “He’s here to kill me for making his brother cry.”
“This brother being the cutest?” Chase frowned. “I thought he was the one who messed up.”
“He was, but when you always take your family’s side, and he’s been on this kick about being the ‘Best Brother Ever’ since Gotye pushed him to it.”
“He knows Gotye? …Gotye gives good relationship advice?”
“I can’t explain now.” Kurt grabbed his coat and scarf. “I’m taking an early lunch break, cover for me?”
“No problem.” Chase stepped aside, and Kurt rushed past him, shooting a thank you over his shoulder. The ride down the elevator was nerve-wracking, and when he hit the bottom floor he came out to see Cooper (handsome as ever) signing autographs for a group of admirers. Kurt stared. He had seen his fair share of celebrities in New York since coming here, and after the first few times he had realized nobody got all excited about them in this city. Also, to be frank, Cooper wasn’t exactly the … biggest star. Yet here he was, controlling the normally apathetic New Yorkers with a smile and a laugh. It was stupendous, and made Kurt all the more certain that Cooper would kill him, probably just by saying “Eat the traitor!” to the hypnotized masses.
Kurt could not be eaten like a New York bagel. Kurt had a lot to live for. Like New York bagels.
“Ah! Kurt!” Cooper threw his arms open. “Come here, you little scamp! Give your big bro a hug!”
Kurt went. How could he not? At least let him feel Cooper up before he died. He may not be religious, but even he could appreciate getting to pass on in an angel’s arms. “Hello Cooper,” he said into Cooper’s shoulder, giving the man an awkward squeeze.
“Kurt!” Cooper repeated, picking Kurt up and giving him a proper bear hug. “So good to see you, hermano!”
“Good to see you too, Cooper,” Kurt said breathlessly, as it felt like Cooper had popped one of his lungs, and because Cooper was perfect. “Want to do lunch?”
Translation: Give me my final meal, you strangely pleasant murderer.
“Of course!” Cooper pulled back, hands on Kurt’s shoulders and giving him a thorough looking over. “A freshly-made, free-range, organic toppings burger could do you good. Your body is a temple where carbs are the offering. Since you ignored my advice to go into acting, you really don’t need to eat like you’re in L.A., Kurt!”
“I am in fashion,” Kurt pointed out. Cooper laughed.
“Oh, the Industry. I know it well. I know it well.” Cooper suddenly looked off, expression soulful, lovely mouth in a sullen frown. Then he turned back to Kurt, keeping the pose for a moment before dropping it for another grin. “I model, too.”
“I’ll mention that to my boss,” Kurt said. Cooper ruffled Kurt’s hair.
“Ahh, bless you.” Cooper waved off the lingering crowds, and keeping an arm around Kurt, guided them out of the building. “It’s all about networking, Kurt. Look at me, I’m immensely talented and Guillermo del Toro still won’t take my calls on creating a sequel to Pan’s Labyrinth based around me saving the little girl. I know, it’s a sad thing when a good idea goes unnoticed. But if I cleaned his pool? I bet I would get top billing in that sequel.”
“So why don’t you clean his pool?” Kurt asked, pressing closer to Cooper’s side as they hit the outside where cold wind was blowing. He hoped people thought they were a hot couple.
“I’m an actor, Kurt. I’m dedicated to my craft.” Cooper sighed. “I could no more be the world’s best and most gorgeous pool boy, than I could be a horse. I considered being a horse once, but then I thought to myself: no, I am destined to live in a metropolitan city where the maximum number of eyes will be fixed on me, not off in the country galloping over the plains. Everyone has to search their souls like that at least once in their life, and see what’s truly important to them. I had that journey when I was five years old, but for the less enlightened among us, it can take longer.”
“I see,” Kurt said cautiously, giving Cooper a side-eye, certain this was when Blaine would be brought up.
“So, where would you like to go eat?” Cooper asked, and Kurt sighed.
“Um, there’s a good burger bar two blocks over. They use French mustard.”
“Then lead away, brother my brother.”
Kurt opened his mouth to say something, but then decided that if Cooper wanted to put this off, he wouldn’t push him.
Lunch was a fun affair, Cooper regaling Kurt with a story about bumping into Ryan Murphy of American Horror Story and The New Normal fame, and being told he might get a role. “His voice, Kurt, his voice.” And so Cooper spoke in dry monotone to all the employees, who brought over a complimentary drink in hopes of “cheering the sad man up.” Then Kurt told him all about his Bushwick apartment and Rachel and Vogue.com and how he was thinking of reapplying to NYADA and about the place with five-dollar drink nights. Cooper provided colour commentary, and by the time their laughter died down after a story on Fishbowl Friday and Rachel’s attempt to table dance Kurt felt no more fear. Maybe Cooper had been cheated on himself and wanted to support Kurt, or maybe Cooper didn’t even know and was in town for a casual visit.
These hopeful thoughts were blasted out of his head as they shared a sundae dessert, with Cooper leaned forward and casually said, “So you made Blaine cry.”
“I -- acknowledge this,” Kurt said. “But before you smother me in low-fat French vanilla, maybe you could acknowledge that he cheated on me? And I cried too?”
“Mm, yes, I heard.” Cooper waved his spoon in the air and put on a voice that sounded like a howler monkey being choked. “He crieeed, Coop! It was like watching a dolphin in a tuna net. And I’m the one who wrapped that net around him. I’m the one who hurt him, because I can’t keep it in my pants. Sobsobsob.”
“Is he okay?” Kurt asked. “I mean …”
“You mean, ‘Is he okay’. I can read people Kurt. It’s my seventh sense.” Cooper leant forward, chin on his hands. “He’s broken up. Being a real little shit about it, actually. I have to keep fielding his calls about his feelings. Like, hello Blaine, I need exactly eight hours of sleep. My pillow likes a little me time, and hey, who can blame it?”
“Oh.” Kurt took a mournful bite of his ice cream. “He brought it on himself,” Kurt finally said, perhaps pushing his luck.
“Well duh. He cheated.” Cooper grinned. “I’ve cheated tons of times. Been cheated on too. I’m kind of an expert. And boy, were you cheated on.”
“But why?” Kurt asked. “I mean, I get cheating. I watched my friends play relationship musical chairs for years. You want someone more, you feel entitled to somebody, you think your relationship is dead. And I wouldn’t call it cheating, especially after this, but I had Chandler and I know how easy it is to find someone else who makes you smile. But the other guy meant nothing, and he didn’t make Blaine happy, and he knew I loved him and was looking forward to next year. So why did he cheat? Is it really because I missed a few calls? If he was so lonely, why didn’t he fly up to surprise me before he did it with some other guy? None of it makes sense, so you tell me why, since you’re the expert.”
“Because he’s a dumb asshole,” Cooper said simply. “I’ve known him his whole life, Kurt, and I know these things. Let me tell you a story, about Cousin George.”
“Cousin George?”
“Yeah. He was two years younger than me, and a real jerk. Oh, Auntie and Uncle always said that he was just special, but we knew the truth. He liked to follow Blaine around and make fun of his hair. I laughed, yeah, but it really tore at the little guy. One day, during my family birthday party -- where, being Blaine, he was sad that no one was paying any attention to him -- Cousin George started mocking him. Blaine disappeared for a while, took Dad’s electric razor, and buzzed his hair short. When Mom saw it she cried, all ‘Oh no Blaine, what did you do to your perfect hair, you look like Ben Savage.’ I was pretty much dying of laughter. Then Blaine turned around, pointed at Cousin George, and said ‘Cousin George made me do it.’ Like, dude. You cut your own hair, and you look like a sheep after the barber.”
“Am I Cousin George in this scenario?” Kurt asked. “I’m uncomfortable with that.”
“My friend, you are the hair.” Cooper nodded seriously. “You are Blaine’s kind of stupid but entirely him hair, that he cut off in misdirected revenge. He didn’t care that his hair balanced out his nose that I blessedly did not get. He just chopped it, instead of doing it to Cousin George’s hair while he slept, which would have been even funnier. In case you were wondering, the distance in this case is Cousin George. It made him all lonely or sad or whatever.”
“So.” Kurt blinked. “Blaine hated the distance. So instead of trying to fix things or telling me how much it bothered him, he decided to cut me off. Is cheating the scissors?”
“Yes. And New York’s the toilet he flushed you down, sending you off to fishy heaven.”
“I -- I think we lost hold of that metaphor.”
“The extended ones are always difficult to wrangle.” Cooper took a bite of ice cream, frowning around his spoon. “Point is, Blaine is stupid. He may have grown his hair out to a good length, but he gels the hell out of it. Does he care it’s gross? No. He cares that nobody will ever make fun of him for looking like Ronald McDonald’s emo brother again. Yeah, Cousin George was a real wit.”
“This is all very interesting,” Kurt said, “But it doesn’t fix anything.”
“Did you expect it to?” Cooper blinked. “You asked for a reason, not a time machine. If I had a time machine, I would make my parents audition me for baby food commercials.”
“What do I do, then?” Kurt asked.
“You decide if you can forgive him. If you love him more than his stupidity. Do you think he’ll ever cheat again?”
Kurt blinked. “No. He was a wreck about doing it once. He keeps sending me playlists titled My Greatest Mistake filled with songs about cheating. I’ve had It Wasn’t Me stuck in my head for ages. I don’t think he realized how bad a choice it was.”
“I’m the one who recommended it,” Cooper said brightly. “Catchy, isn’t it?”
“Indeed.”
“So he won’t cheat again. This is about how he did it once, and how much of you can accept that and move on. Because let’s make one thing clear, Kurt.” Cooper pointed his spoon at Kurt. “You have to make up your mind. Either tell him it’s over and to get lost, or take him back and get over it. Because stringing him along, or making him think it’s okay while you rub it in his face? That’s the kind of thing that would make my next visit involve some punching.”
Kurt swallowed, nodding. “You’re a lot better at this big brother thing, you know?”
“Really?” Cooper smirked. “I knew practice would make perfect. It’s not even that hard. He’s my baby bro. It’s up to me to defend his honour, even if he’s a bit of a slut. Blood is thicker, and all.” Cooper took a final bite of the ice cream, and tossed his spoon down, rising to his feet. “Remember, Kurt, if you dump him you always have the future to make it work again. You don’t need a time machine for that, just patience. But you’re hurting both of you with this not talking thing. Get it over with, why don’t you?”
“You don’t think I’ll take him back,” Kurt said, staring up at Cooper.
“Not right now, no.” Cooper nodded. “You’re way uptight. But one day, I bet I’ll be calling you my brother-in-law for real.”
With a final, breathtaking smile and a jaunty wave of his hand Cooper left, leaving Kurt and half the burger bar in a daze. Kurt spent so much time thinking everything he said over, he didn’t even notice that Cooper had left him with the bill.
Well, until it was time to pay, that is.
--
During the two days that followed, Kurt tried to decide what was important to him.
He didn’t come up with any answers he liked, so he played Plants vs Zombies instead.
--
Rachel was busy painting her nails and singing along to Madonna when she heard Kurt emit a loud, violent “FUCK!” from his room. She jumped, smearing plum colour all over her toes. Since Kurt rarely swore, she knew this must be something big, and didn’t even take the time to wipe it off before she ran over to his room. She found him sitting in front of his laptop, eyes wide, face pale.
“Oh god, Kurt, what is it? Did someone die? Was it Barbra?” Rachel clutched at her heart. Kurt didn’t look up. “Kurt?”
“Rachel …” Kurt whispered shakily, and turned the screen so she could see. An email from Blaine sat open. Rachel read it and uttered a soft scream, shutting her eyes.
“How could he say such a thing?” Rachel whispered. “Hasn’t he hurt you enough? Is it some kind of horrible self-punishment?”
“Self-punishment, I think,” Kurt said, running a hand through his hair. “But -- how could he? Why does he think this will help?”
“He’s lost it,” Rachel whispered sadly, sinking onto the bed. “He doesn’t need you, he needs a therapist.”
“There’s an attachment,” Kurt said quietly, hovering the mouse over the link. “Should I … do you think we can handle it?”
“Be brave, Kurt.” Rachel reached over, grabbing his free hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’m here for you.” Kurt nodded, and with a deep breath he clicked. The picture loaded quickly, and there was silence for many long moments before Rachel started to cry, and Kurt buried his face in his hands and made an odd keening noise.
It was just too much.
--
Dear Kurt,
I have decided to become a redhead. Picture attached.
xoxo (YOURS ONLY)
Blaine “repenting” Anderson
P.s. our normal hair dresser won’t take me anymore. :( I always knew he liked you better.
--
Blaine,
Did you think an emergency was the only thing that would get me to contact you? Because you’re so right.
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO YOUR PERFECT HAIR?
Tell me why,
Kurt
--
Dear Kurt,
Skype me?
xoxo (FYL&AO)*
Blaine
P.s. *For Your Lips & Arms Only :)
--
Kurt hit the video call button, glad that Rachel was out of the house (to get her toenails professionally done, post-trauma.) It had been over a day since he received the email, and he couldn’t shake the horrifying image of redheaded Blaine from his head. He had spilled coffee all over his hand while pouring, and didn’t notice the scalding pain over the more pressing matter of Blaine’s hair.
“Kurt.” He looked up, and swallowed a pitiful noise at the sight of Blaine’s gelled (oh god, why was it gelled) red hair. Blaine’s sweet, anxious face barely registered beneath the monstrosity. “How are you? Have a good day?”
“Blaine, your head is on fire,” Kurt said instead of replying. “That’s what we’re here to discuss, not my day.”
“Um, yes, of course.” Blaine shifted in his seat. God, his eyebrows were dyed too. “Well, I thought a lot about what you said. About repenting. And being a better person.”
“You do know I was drunk at the time, right? I don’t even remember what I said.”
“Yeah, but you must have meant it. Drunks normally do.” A brief smirk flickered across Blaine’s face. “But … it got me to thinking. Who was a reformed cheater who went on to be a better person? I needed some guidance.”
“And you turned to who, Ron Weasley?”
“Addison Montgomery, actually.” Blaine raised a hand at Kurt’s noise. “I realize it makes me sound like the cliché of the lonely housewife, but I related a lot to her. She cheated, and we saw her journey through that so painfully on Grey’s. I want something similar.”
“Uh, pretty sure she cheated like four times after that too.”
“Not on Grey’s! Let’s not talk about Private Practice.”
Fair enough. Nobody wanted to talk about Private Practice.
“What about Alex? She slept with him behind Mark’s back. Mark, who she cheated on Derek with, and liked enough to try and date.”
“She and Mark weren’t exclusive yet. She said she wouldn’t date him until he swore off sex!”
“Fine. It was still pretty callous though. She didn’t even think things would work out with Mark but she was still pushing him through it, and sleeping with Alex on the side.”
“She was confused. Their relationship was very complicated.” Blaine took a deep breath. “Actually, can we not talk about Mark right now? This is bad enough.”
“Point taken,” Kurt said, sighing mournfully. “Alright. You admire Addison. So you dyed your hair? Explain that, please.”
“It was the change of it.” Blaine explained. “You know, she dyed her hair after she went over to Private Practice --”
“I thought we weren’t talking about that.”
“Well she came over for crossovers to Grey’s with the colour change, so. And she dyed her hair brunette, but that wouldn’t work for me, so I decided to do the opposite. Making change, as Tina would say.”
“I hope she didn’t encourage this.”
“No. Well, she did tell me to get a tattoo too.” Blaine coughed. “Um. Tattoo as well, but she suggested mine say ‘Caution: requires regular dicking, will cheat if not seen to’ so future boyfriends knew what they were getting into.”
Kurt couldn’t help his brief scowl at future boyfriends. Blaine deserved loneliness, and repeated viewings of He’s Just Not That Into You. He deserved to wait for Kurt. Shaking his head, Kurt said, “I admit, red hair is better than that.”
“Oh?” Blaine frowned. “I meant to do something really bad, but the tattoo artist wouldn’t take me after I chugged vodka to psych myself for the pain. Is the red hair repent-worthy enough, though?”
Kurt made a note to figure out which tattoo artist this was and send him one of the giant boxes of chocolate Blaine had mailed him. (That was Blaine, being insensitive yet again, not even thinking about Kurt’s hips.) (It could have at least been a bakery order.)
“I’m not sure I get it. What does this have to do with repenting? Though I guess cheating seems like nothing in comparison to that.” Kurt gestured toward Blaine’s hair, which was probably being listed on a government watch list and getting its own satellite. Defcon 1 was inevitable when the roots began to show.
“Kurt.” Blaine made a vague, desperate noise. “I feel … I feel like I’m Addison, you’re McDreamy, and New York is Meredith.”
Wait, there was the nuclear blast right there, making Kurt’s heart shake. He winced. “It was that bad, huh?” His sympathy for Blaine grew a thousandfold in that moment. After all, the forum posts he had made back in the day about that triangle would have made Romney cry.
“Yeah.” Blaine rubbed the nape of his neck. “It’s like I was … it’s like I am losing you to the city. And I know, it’s stupid and immature and all those other things you could shout at me, but it’s so lonely Kurt. It was like Derek and Addison’s couple’s counselling, where things are so awkward and she could feel herself losing him. It was like I could see you slipping away right in front of me. It’s hard, being with someone who would rather be elsewhere.”
“But I wouldn’t rather be elsewhere,” Kurt said, leaning forward, fixing his eyes on the webcam instead of the screen. “I’m sorry I made you feel like that, and I could have done so much better, but it was always you Blaine. I lived for those moments where I got to tell you how great my new life was, not because I was rubbing it in, but because it didn’t feel real until I told you. You’re my other half. I can’t be all here without you there.”
Kurt glanced down. Blaine’s eyes were overbright, lips pressed together, hand against his throat like he was keeping sounds in. It would have been a moving picture if it weren’t for the red hair. Seriously, what a mood killer.
“I’m so sorry,” Blaine burst out, followed up by a ragged inhale. “God Kurt, I really fucked up. I’m so sorry I took that from you.”
“Don’t worry, I’m still considering suing for emotional damages,” Kurt said. A wet chuckle. “I might even get it back.”
“I would give it back,” Blaine assured him, rocking forward. “All of it. With interest.”
“I know,” Kurt said, softly. “I know. Not now though. Save it for a rainy day.”
“What does that mean?” Blaine asked, brows furrowing. “I get it’s figurative, but like -- we’re like … are we -- what?” Cooper must have been the one to teach Blaine about non-literal speech.
Kurt remembered Cooper’s punching threat. He wasn’t sure Cooper even knew how to throw a punch, but still. It was the thought that counted. Kurt couldn’t wait for the day Cooper was his brother-in-law officially.
“We’re broken up,” Kurt said firmly. He ignored Blaine’s crushed expression. “This is me officially dumping you. Stop trying to contact me, stop donating in my name. Do it in your own. Do things for yourself. We both need the time to think, time apart.” Time to do your English homework, but he left that part unsaid.
“And after we do that?”
“Well, don’t hold your breath or anything,” Kurt replied with a roll of his eyes. “But … I’m still not saying goodbye to you. I know the man I’m going to marry one day, and I want you to grow up into him.”
“I want that too,” Blaine said. “I promise, Kurt, I’ll make you proud.”
“Dye your hair back, and we’ll see.”
“Oh no, the hair is staying,” Blaine said. “At least for a few weeks. If I’m going to try this whole being single and thinking thing, I can’t do it looking like I normally do. Besides, you need to put time in between treatments. Cosmo says you’ll kill your hair if you don’t.”
“Good point,” Kurt said drily. “Not to mention I doubt you’d stay single if your hair wasn’t clashing with your bowtie.”
“You hate me, but I’m hot?” Blaine replied.
Kurt blinked. “Huh?”
“Uh, nevermind.” Blaine smiled, tentative. “So. Um. How was your day? Er--”
“It was nice.” Kurt said. He smiled back at Blaine. “And it just got a lot better.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, I just dumped my cheating douche of an ex-boyfriend.”
That startled a laugh out of Blaine, but his eyes were sad. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” Kurt glanced up as he heard the door scrape open. “Well, I gotta go. Rachel is back.” Kurt took in Blaine’s face, really took it in, ignoring the hair. His heart clenched, and he saw a single glitter speck hanging out beneath Blaine’s right eye. “This it it. You know. That time where you say that word.”
“What?”
“You know … that word.”
“...Anal?”
“The G-word Blaine, the G-word!”
“Oh. Goodbye, Kurt.” Blaine’s smile was small, eyes sadder.
“Catch you on the flipside,” Kurt replied, as he was a little too pressed for time to come up with something better. With an awkward-semi salute to Blaine and shared sad smile, Kurt hit the end call button. It felt too soon, but also like it had taken too long to come.
The imprint of Blaine’s red hair seemed to echo on his screen after the regular Skype box came up, and with a shudder he shut his laptop.
“Kurt?” Rachel called.
“I’m in here,” he replied, and she entered, expression curious.
“Were you talking to someone?”
“My past,” Kurt replied dramatically, falling back on the bed.
“Oh, I do that all the time!” Rachel jumped onto the bed, clapping her hands together. “Alright, here we go: Conversations, with my thirteen year old self … You’re angry, I know this, the world couldn’t care less. You’re lonely, I feel this...”
“No offense, Rachel, but I’m not really in the mood for P!nk.”
Rachel froze, eyes wide. “I’m sorry Kurt, that was insensitive. I know who P!nk solos make you think of.”
“Let’s just sing a nice showtune instead.”
“What about West Side Story?”
“Really Rachel? Really?”
“Oh, I totally forget we did that. Do you ever feel you’re the star of too many things to keep track?”
“If I can forgive you, I can forgive anyone.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Want to watch Singin’ In the Rain?”
“Absolutely!”
“I’m glad I have you Rachel,” Kurt told her, as he reopened his laptop. Rachel beamed at him.
“I’m glad I have you too, Kurt,” Rachel replied, scooting closer. “New York just wouldn’t be the same without my man.”
Being somebody’s other half was, Kurt recognized, not always easy -- but then there were times like these, where you sat together and just enjoyed each other’s company, and nothing else mattered. He would keep faith that one day, he and Blaine would get that again.
--
It was Monday. Blaine had been officially single for two days now, and he hadn’t had a lot of time to handle it because Cooper had visited for a week. Already annoying and overwhelming, from the moment Blaine had reappeared from his room post-Skype conversation, Cooper had been nearly unbearable. Blaine hadn’t known his brother knew quite so many ways to burn cookies, or that so many forced rewatchings of all of Cooper’s talent shows growing up could actually numb the pain, like repeated punches to the face.
The only bright spot was that those pesky hallucinations of Kurt seemed to be dropping off, and that could only mean things were getting better. Good thing too; Blaine hadn’t wanted to pay for an MRI and then see the Adulterous Lobe lit up like a Christmas tree. He was pretty sure that was a thing. Grey’s Anatomy probably covered it once.
Still, he had been too frazzled by waking Cooper up on time to catch his plane that he had forgotten to gel his hair, and hadn’t had the chance to shave. He wore a crumpled cardigan and stained khakis to complete the “Just Dumped” chic look. Mindful that he might have a Future Leaders of America (Cheating Congressman Edition) meeting later, he threw a tub of hairgel and his electric razor in his schoolbag. Blaine Anderson might not be okay, but he was going to force himself to turn things around.
So here he was, walking into the choir room, tired and on edge but hopeful, wondering if the Glee club would instantly spot the difference.
“Dude, your hair.”
No, not that one.
“Oh my lord, he dumped you!”
Wow, second try. Not bad.
“How did you guess?” Blaine asked Unique, standing in front of the club. Everybody was staring at him with varying expressions of shock and horror. Mostly horror.
“Unique can tell you’ve had a mental breakdown,” Unique assured him, staring at his hair in fascination. “Sorry Brittany, my girl, but this is way more authentic Britney-style crazy than you nearly shaving your’s off.”
“I agree,” Brittany said. “You look like a red panda. I should know, Lord Tubbington is related to one on his mother’s side. They’re racists and think copycats are the worse.”
“You look like a stop sign,” Tina said. “A tattoo would have been hotter, Dr. Dick.”
Blaine sighed, even if it was sweet of Tina to have forgiven him. “I know, but I’m trying to find my feet right now...”
“Where, in a pair of clown shoes?” Jake cracked. A full-body shudder overcame Blaine, and he slowly turned on the spot to face Jake, eyes narrowed. Jake held up his hands, but clearly nobody else saw the danger.
“I didn’t know circus school had a correspondence course in cheating, y’all!” Artie said, misreading Jake’s calming gesture as an invitation for a high-five. Blaine was trembling, images of Cousin George dancing through his head, that hateful freckled mug emitting high-pitched laughter.
“That’s rude to Mr. Tickles,” Sugar said, and then flounced over to pet Blaine’s hair. She was taking advantage of the lack of gel. “But you’re more a Mr. Slap-and-Tickle. You’re like Ronald McDonald on a beef binge--”
“ARGH!” Blaine shouted, tearing himself away from Sugar. She pouted. Blaine didn’t see and didn’t even hear Sam’s worried voice; the laughter was growing louder. Oh god, no, Kurt was back. He was joining Cousin George in the laughter, mocking and cruel.
“Ronald McDonald … Ronald McDonald … I’m so disgusted by my Archie-haired clown boyfriend … Ronald McBlaine …"
“Leave. Me. Alone!” Blaine screeched, and stuck his hand in his bag. He came out with the razor, and jumping on top of the piano (Brad growled) as he hit the on button. The buzzing filled the room, and everyone gaped as Blaine grabbed fistfuls of his hair and began to shave. It was almost liberating, releasing the weight of the dyed strands, and he would force this change, he would get better.
The silence afterwards was all consuming. Then Sugar came over, and gently extricated the razor from his hands. Blaine blinked up at her, from where he lay on the piano, a halo of red hair around him.
“You missed a spot,” she told him sweetly, and shaved off his eyebrows.
Blaine smiled.
So did everyone else, because after that, Britney Week 3.0 was a rousing success.
fin
summary: it's all very pathetic and strange, but they'll work through it. someday. [post-tbu]
rating: T
pairing: klaine
genre: humour/angst
notes: everybody needs a reaction to The Break Up, don't they? mine is pretty silly, but heartfelt. i guess. as an additional note, some slutshaming, but nothing is endorsed.
“Kurt, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the charmingly romantic notion of sleeping in a rose garden, but don’t you think it’s time to start throwing some out?”
Rachel’s words made Kurt lift his head from his laptop and his time-consuming task of Facebook stalking Blaine, and it took a minute to pinpoint where she was behind the mass of bouquets littering every surface of the apartment. All of them were from Blaine, and Kurt was almost (almost) impressed by his dedication and creativity. No two were the same, so it ranged from the classic red, yellow, and pink to Kurt’s personal favourite in a dyed neon blue. Those were on his bedside table. Rachel emerged from behind an orange bouquet, bearing some scratches from the petulant “My Heart is the Sad Part of Sleeping Beauty” thorny roses.
“Rachel, don’t you know how expensive these things are? Especially when you add the delivery charges and custom notes?” Kurt shook his head. “I might as well be throwing away money.”
“But-- you didn’t buy them, someone else did,” Rachel pointed out. “It’s not your money.”
Kurt and Blaine actually had a joint bank account, but since Blaine seemed to be pulling from his trust fund, Kurt didn’t point this out to her.
“So? Would you trash Broadway tickets even if I got them for you in some pathetic attempt to get you to forgive me after I stabbed you so hard in the back the knife came out the other side with your heart on it crying out ‘et tu, brute? ET TU?’” Kurt was panting heavily by the time his rant was done. Rachel sniffed sympathetically, biting her lip.
“Oh Kurt. This isn’t healthy. For me, mostly, because I think I’m developing an allergy to roses and that would be devastating to my future life as a star performer.” Rachel gave another sniff. “Wait! I have an idea!”
She bounced to her feet, and ran to the kitchen. There were sounds of drawers being slammed, and a minute later she returned bearing a roll of waxed paper and scissors.
“Let’s press the roses!” Rachel said, waving the scissors maniacally. “Then we can mail them back to Blaine so he’ll get the point. We can even add glitter so he sparkles days on end.” Rachel beamed. Kurt smiled reluctantly. Rachel was so loyal and sweet, unlike somebody else Kurt could passive aggressively reference.
“I do like glitter,” Kurt said. “And vengeance. And glitter revenge.” He got up, pulling Rachel into half a hug. “Thank you, I could really use this.”
“I’m here to help.” Rachel squeezed him back then pulled away, waving the wax paper. “Now let’s get to work.”
--
Kurt finally contacted Blaine to tell him to spend his money elsewhere, with a warning to “expect further mail.” Blaine’s excitement at the email in reply (“omg Kurt I’m screaming pls”) made Kurt annoyed, touched, saddened, and hungry. Blaine had included a cake emoticon, probably because his fingers slipped, but still. Kurt did like cake.
The next few weeks -- as the flowers dried between the pages of second-hand textbooks on Nuclear Physics -- saw Kurt getting notices that money was being donated to LGBT charities in his name. He had to admire that one, and added a little less glitter to the envelopes he was stuffing.
He and Rachel spent a fortune on postage mailing all the envelopes filled to the brim with flattened flowers, and a few days later Kurt got an email which simply read:
Dear Kurt,
I have Edward Cullen’s penis, and not in a sexy way. :( Glitter everywhere.
xoxo (NONE FOR ANYONE ELSE)
Blaine “really sorry” Anderson
P.s. ilu and deserved that
P.p.s. great job pressing them! They’re now in my Kurt/Blaine scrapbook :)
P.p.s. Have you ever hallucinated? jw ...
Kurt didn’t reply to the email, but he did save it.
After all, he would need proof if he ever decided to get that restraining order.
--
Two days later, Kurt and Rachel went out. Near two am, they began their stumbling way to the subway, sharing their talents with the world.
“OHHHH SEXY LADY!” Kurt shouted, slamming into the wall, giggling. “OPPA OPPAN GANG--MAN STYYYYYYLE!”
“I am SO going to sing that to Madame Tibi--Tibiwowwwww, look at that!” Rachel jumped up and down, then stopped, clutching her head and laughing. Her other hand pointed at the other side of the street, where some cute guy was watching them with a smile.
“HEEEEEEEY SEXY BOY!” Kurt shouted at him, and Rachel grabbed him, squealing.
“Oh my god Kurt DON’T, you’re too drunk!” She insisted, hanging off his arm. Kurt lifted his arm gave her a loving slap to the rear.
“I’m just tipsy,” Kurt replied, suddenly aware of his loudness. He spoke very, very quietly to counteract that. “I could walk a straight line if I wanted to. I just like to SING. Watch me walk and sing!” Kurt took a few stumbling steps forward, Rachel letting go as he swerved from side to side like an angry child in a bumper car with a broken steering wheel. “AND MY HEART WILL GOOO OOOOON! AND ON! AND ON!”
“Hey.” Kurt spun around (the world spinning faster) and saw that the cute guy from the other side of the street was now in front of him. “Wanna go get coffee?”
“AAAH!” Rachel screeched, hands against her mouth.
“Wow,” Kurt said, giving the guy a nice, long up-and-down look. Shorter than Kurt, with dark curly hair. Not Kurt’s usual type. He couldn’t explain why he felt attracted to him.
“Kurt, Kuuuuuuuurt, he looks just like Blaine!”
Oh. Kurt squinted at the guy, and twirled his finger to indicate that the guy should turn around. He did so, blinking, and Kurt took in the back view with a raised eyebrow of deep consideration. After a few long moments, he looked back up at Rachel.
“Yeah, he totally does.” Kurt gave the guy a sympathetic pat on the rear. “Sorry sweetie but I’m in a complicated re-la-tion-ship. And unlike him, I’m not a DIRTY CHEATER.” The guy jumped at Kurt’s words, and shot Kurt a startled look over his shoulder.
“Well sorry for wasting your time.” With a sniff the guy stalked off. Kurt shared a look with Rachel, and then they both burst into laughter. Falling into each other, they tried to catch their breath, and soon they were laughing so hard that tears came. Then it was just Kurt sobbing, and Rachel letting free some tears of empathy and shaking her hair back every few seconds to make sure people could admire them.
“I mean I just don’t UNDERSTAND,” Kurt said into her hair, then spat out some of it, his head turning to take deep, gulping breaths of the air. “Couldn’t he just come early for a booty call? If he missed it that much?”
“Missing your booty is a hard thing,” Rachel intoned wisely, then smirked. “Heh. Hard.”
“I know,” Kurt said, desperately trying to wipe away his tears. “I miss his booty too. So much. God. Do you think he’d let me touch it even if we weren’t dating?”
“Well apparently he’s a slut, SOOO,” Rachel paused. “Whoops, feminists.”
“Blaine loved feminists.” Kurt straightened, and reached into his pocket. “I’m calling him! Tell me it’s a terrible idea!”
“Call him!” Rachel urged. “You just had a breakthrough! To the other side! C’MON THROUGH TO THE OTHER SIDE!” She released him, spinning around and nearly breaking her ankle thanks to the heels she was wearing. She plopped down onto the pavement, pulling them off and wiggling her toes. “STRAIGHT ON THROUGH TO THE OTHER SIDE!”
“I’m going through!” Kurt assured her, as he listened to the phone ring. “Ring! Ring! Ooh, voicemail. He’s probably asleep, the baby. Wait, was that the beep?”
“Beep!” Rachel repeated, slumping back against a fire hydrant.
Kurt grinned and began to speak.
--
Blaine woke up the next morning and saw that he had a missed call from Kurt. With a pout, he picked it up and checked his voicemail, listening to Kurt’s message as he went about brushing his teeth.
“He’s probably asleep, the baby. Wait, was that the beep? Hey Blaine, you BABY. My little baby boyfriend. Robbing the cradle, that’s what they say, because you’re SUCH a baby. A sexy one though. Like, um, ignore how that sounds because I’m kind of - uh, tipsy. But yes. Sexy. I was talking to Rachel, and she agrees, I miss your butt. Your sweet little … big … butt. I just want to put my hands all - ew, no Rachel, stop putting your hand there. Where was I? Oh, that’s right. I just turned down a nice cute ass with a face like yours. I didn’t have to. I could tap it like one of Puck’s kegs. But I am not you. I’m Mr Independence. I don’t let anyone touch my butt that I don’t love. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, you feminist, but I love you. So, don’t let anyone touch anything of yours any more, even if I’m mad. Even if I hate you THIS much. You can’t see it, but I’m illust-illust-doing that thing with my hands held apart. Hands that aren’t on you. Or anyone else. So I hate you, but you’re hot. Repent. Repent! Be a better person so my hands can get back on your butt, and yours on mine. Rachel! No! That’s not for throwing up! Okay, I have to go, before Rachel chokes on her vomit. Bye, Mr Cheat-Easy!”
The toothbrush fell out of his gaping mouth and hit the bowl with a clatter.
--
“I feel I did something I’ll regret last night,” Kurt said. “But all I remember after my sixth drink is you vomiting into your hundred dollar heels.” Rachel, who was lying next to him in bed, groaned and pulled a pillow over her face.
They lay there for several minutes, making various noises of discomfort then shushing each other, Kurt taking delicate sips from the bottle of water he had put on the bedside table the night before. The blue roses, the only ones he had kept, were making his eyes hurt.
Suddenly, Rachel made a muffled speaking sound. Kurt looked over. “Excuse me?”
“I said,” Rachel drew the pillow down. “That I think you drunk dialled Blaine.”
“What?!” Kurt catapulted up, sitting and staring down at her. Rachel tried to pull the pillow back over her ears, but Kurt dragged it down to gape at her “What did I say?”
“Umm.” Rachel hugged the pillow. “Something about him being a sexy baby? And … ah, cradles?” She peered up at Kurt, frowning. “Is there something about your … intimate life that you’d like to tell me, Kurt?”
“What, no, ew.” Kurt shook his head, then sighed. “I need to find out what I said.”
Rachel reached under herself, then handed Kurt his iPhone. “See if he replied.”
“Thanks.” Kurt saw that he indeed had an outgoing call to Blaine at 2:15 am. There were no calls in return, but he did have a new email. With a growing sense of concern, Kurt clicked it open. It read:
Dear Kurt,
Are you ok? Please drink responsibly. :)
xoxo (this and my ass, ONLY FOR YOU)
Blaine “still sorry” Anderson
P.s. I miss your butt too. <3
Kurt put two and two together and got something like four point five. “I am never drinking again.”
“That’s what you said last week.”
“Well, in reflection, drunk dialling my boss was actually way better than this.” Kurt texted Blaine a quick delete it and never mention it again as he spoke.
“And your dad, don’t forget your dad.”
“He thought my rendition of Wind Beneath my Wings charming and didn’t suspect a thing.” Kurt’s phone buzzed.
Blaine: ok. but you said repent and i will. ill prove to you how good i can be. now my lips are zipped.
Kurt frowned. What?
“It was very sweet.”
“Of course it was.”
Kurt: Please don’t do anything crazy.
Blaine: ;)
Oh god.
If Kurt didn’t already avoid GAPs, this would be a good reason to steer clear.
--
Kurt was at work the next day, still feeling partly hung over, when Chase Madison came over bearing a smoothie and a smile. “Hey Kurt. Did you see that spectacle downstairs?”
“Spectacle?” Kurt’s head whipped around like Santana scenting a chance for innuendo. “Don’t tell me there’s a shortstack in a bowtie being dragged out by security as he screams Teenage Dream at the top of his lungs.”
“Uh, no.” Chase smiled in confusion. Kurt smiled back, mostly in pity at how very normal this man was. “There’s a hot guy in a leather jacket trying to teach the security guys how to pose like policemen, and they’re listening.”
“Is this guy the most handsome man in America, with a smile that makes the sun blush?”
“Hey, yeah.”
“Cooper!” Kurt shouted, jumping to his feet. “He’s here to kill me for making his brother cry.”
“This brother being the cutest?” Chase frowned. “I thought he was the one who messed up.”
“He was, but when you always take your family’s side, and he’s been on this kick about being the ‘Best Brother Ever’ since Gotye pushed him to it.”
“He knows Gotye? …Gotye gives good relationship advice?”
“I can’t explain now.” Kurt grabbed his coat and scarf. “I’m taking an early lunch break, cover for me?”
“No problem.” Chase stepped aside, and Kurt rushed past him, shooting a thank you over his shoulder. The ride down the elevator was nerve-wracking, and when he hit the bottom floor he came out to see Cooper (handsome as ever) signing autographs for a group of admirers. Kurt stared. He had seen his fair share of celebrities in New York since coming here, and after the first few times he had realized nobody got all excited about them in this city. Also, to be frank, Cooper wasn’t exactly the … biggest star. Yet here he was, controlling the normally apathetic New Yorkers with a smile and a laugh. It was stupendous, and made Kurt all the more certain that Cooper would kill him, probably just by saying “Eat the traitor!” to the hypnotized masses.
Kurt could not be eaten like a New York bagel. Kurt had a lot to live for. Like New York bagels.
“Ah! Kurt!” Cooper threw his arms open. “Come here, you little scamp! Give your big bro a hug!”
Kurt went. How could he not? At least let him feel Cooper up before he died. He may not be religious, but even he could appreciate getting to pass on in an angel’s arms. “Hello Cooper,” he said into Cooper’s shoulder, giving the man an awkward squeeze.
“Kurt!” Cooper repeated, picking Kurt up and giving him a proper bear hug. “So good to see you, hermano!”
“Good to see you too, Cooper,” Kurt said breathlessly, as it felt like Cooper had popped one of his lungs, and because Cooper was perfect. “Want to do lunch?”
Translation: Give me my final meal, you strangely pleasant murderer.
“Of course!” Cooper pulled back, hands on Kurt’s shoulders and giving him a thorough looking over. “A freshly-made, free-range, organic toppings burger could do you good. Your body is a temple where carbs are the offering. Since you ignored my advice to go into acting, you really don’t need to eat like you’re in L.A., Kurt!”
“I am in fashion,” Kurt pointed out. Cooper laughed.
“Oh, the Industry. I know it well. I know it well.” Cooper suddenly looked off, expression soulful, lovely mouth in a sullen frown. Then he turned back to Kurt, keeping the pose for a moment before dropping it for another grin. “I model, too.”
“I’ll mention that to my boss,” Kurt said. Cooper ruffled Kurt’s hair.
“Ahh, bless you.” Cooper waved off the lingering crowds, and keeping an arm around Kurt, guided them out of the building. “It’s all about networking, Kurt. Look at me, I’m immensely talented and Guillermo del Toro still won’t take my calls on creating a sequel to Pan’s Labyrinth based around me saving the little girl. I know, it’s a sad thing when a good idea goes unnoticed. But if I cleaned his pool? I bet I would get top billing in that sequel.”
“So why don’t you clean his pool?” Kurt asked, pressing closer to Cooper’s side as they hit the outside where cold wind was blowing. He hoped people thought they were a hot couple.
“I’m an actor, Kurt. I’m dedicated to my craft.” Cooper sighed. “I could no more be the world’s best and most gorgeous pool boy, than I could be a horse. I considered being a horse once, but then I thought to myself: no, I am destined to live in a metropolitan city where the maximum number of eyes will be fixed on me, not off in the country galloping over the plains. Everyone has to search their souls like that at least once in their life, and see what’s truly important to them. I had that journey when I was five years old, but for the less enlightened among us, it can take longer.”
“I see,” Kurt said cautiously, giving Cooper a side-eye, certain this was when Blaine would be brought up.
“So, where would you like to go eat?” Cooper asked, and Kurt sighed.
“Um, there’s a good burger bar two blocks over. They use French mustard.”
“Then lead away, brother my brother.”
Kurt opened his mouth to say something, but then decided that if Cooper wanted to put this off, he wouldn’t push him.
Lunch was a fun affair, Cooper regaling Kurt with a story about bumping into Ryan Murphy of American Horror Story and The New Normal fame, and being told he might get a role. “His voice, Kurt, his voice.” And so Cooper spoke in dry monotone to all the employees, who brought over a complimentary drink in hopes of “cheering the sad man up.” Then Kurt told him all about his Bushwick apartment and Rachel and Vogue.com and how he was thinking of reapplying to NYADA and about the place with five-dollar drink nights. Cooper provided colour commentary, and by the time their laughter died down after a story on Fishbowl Friday and Rachel’s attempt to table dance Kurt felt no more fear. Maybe Cooper had been cheated on himself and wanted to support Kurt, or maybe Cooper didn’t even know and was in town for a casual visit.
These hopeful thoughts were blasted out of his head as they shared a sundae dessert, with Cooper leaned forward and casually said, “So you made Blaine cry.”
“I -- acknowledge this,” Kurt said. “But before you smother me in low-fat French vanilla, maybe you could acknowledge that he cheated on me? And I cried too?”
“Mm, yes, I heard.” Cooper waved his spoon in the air and put on a voice that sounded like a howler monkey being choked. “He crieeed, Coop! It was like watching a dolphin in a tuna net. And I’m the one who wrapped that net around him. I’m the one who hurt him, because I can’t keep it in my pants. Sobsobsob.”
“Is he okay?” Kurt asked. “I mean …”
“You mean, ‘Is he okay’. I can read people Kurt. It’s my seventh sense.” Cooper leant forward, chin on his hands. “He’s broken up. Being a real little shit about it, actually. I have to keep fielding his calls about his feelings. Like, hello Blaine, I need exactly eight hours of sleep. My pillow likes a little me time, and hey, who can blame it?”
“Oh.” Kurt took a mournful bite of his ice cream. “He brought it on himself,” Kurt finally said, perhaps pushing his luck.
“Well duh. He cheated.” Cooper grinned. “I’ve cheated tons of times. Been cheated on too. I’m kind of an expert. And boy, were you cheated on.”
“But why?” Kurt asked. “I mean, I get cheating. I watched my friends play relationship musical chairs for years. You want someone more, you feel entitled to somebody, you think your relationship is dead. And I wouldn’t call it cheating, especially after this, but I had Chandler and I know how easy it is to find someone else who makes you smile. But the other guy meant nothing, and he didn’t make Blaine happy, and he knew I loved him and was looking forward to next year. So why did he cheat? Is it really because I missed a few calls? If he was so lonely, why didn’t he fly up to surprise me before he did it with some other guy? None of it makes sense, so you tell me why, since you’re the expert.”
“Because he’s a dumb asshole,” Cooper said simply. “I’ve known him his whole life, Kurt, and I know these things. Let me tell you a story, about Cousin George.”
“Cousin George?”
“Yeah. He was two years younger than me, and a real jerk. Oh, Auntie and Uncle always said that he was just special, but we knew the truth. He liked to follow Blaine around and make fun of his hair. I laughed, yeah, but it really tore at the little guy. One day, during my family birthday party -- where, being Blaine, he was sad that no one was paying any attention to him -- Cousin George started mocking him. Blaine disappeared for a while, took Dad’s electric razor, and buzzed his hair short. When Mom saw it she cried, all ‘Oh no Blaine, what did you do to your perfect hair, you look like Ben Savage.’ I was pretty much dying of laughter. Then Blaine turned around, pointed at Cousin George, and said ‘Cousin George made me do it.’ Like, dude. You cut your own hair, and you look like a sheep after the barber.”
“Am I Cousin George in this scenario?” Kurt asked. “I’m uncomfortable with that.”
“My friend, you are the hair.” Cooper nodded seriously. “You are Blaine’s kind of stupid but entirely him hair, that he cut off in misdirected revenge. He didn’t care that his hair balanced out his nose that I blessedly did not get. He just chopped it, instead of doing it to Cousin George’s hair while he slept, which would have been even funnier. In case you were wondering, the distance in this case is Cousin George. It made him all lonely or sad or whatever.”
“So.” Kurt blinked. “Blaine hated the distance. So instead of trying to fix things or telling me how much it bothered him, he decided to cut me off. Is cheating the scissors?”
“Yes. And New York’s the toilet he flushed you down, sending you off to fishy heaven.”
“I -- I think we lost hold of that metaphor.”
“The extended ones are always difficult to wrangle.” Cooper took a bite of ice cream, frowning around his spoon. “Point is, Blaine is stupid. He may have grown his hair out to a good length, but he gels the hell out of it. Does he care it’s gross? No. He cares that nobody will ever make fun of him for looking like Ronald McDonald’s emo brother again. Yeah, Cousin George was a real wit.”
“This is all very interesting,” Kurt said, “But it doesn’t fix anything.”
“Did you expect it to?” Cooper blinked. “You asked for a reason, not a time machine. If I had a time machine, I would make my parents audition me for baby food commercials.”
“What do I do, then?” Kurt asked.
“You decide if you can forgive him. If you love him more than his stupidity. Do you think he’ll ever cheat again?”
Kurt blinked. “No. He was a wreck about doing it once. He keeps sending me playlists titled My Greatest Mistake filled with songs about cheating. I’ve had It Wasn’t Me stuck in my head for ages. I don’t think he realized how bad a choice it was.”
“I’m the one who recommended it,” Cooper said brightly. “Catchy, isn’t it?”
“Indeed.”
“So he won’t cheat again. This is about how he did it once, and how much of you can accept that and move on. Because let’s make one thing clear, Kurt.” Cooper pointed his spoon at Kurt. “You have to make up your mind. Either tell him it’s over and to get lost, or take him back and get over it. Because stringing him along, or making him think it’s okay while you rub it in his face? That’s the kind of thing that would make my next visit involve some punching.”
Kurt swallowed, nodding. “You’re a lot better at this big brother thing, you know?”
“Really?” Cooper smirked. “I knew practice would make perfect. It’s not even that hard. He’s my baby bro. It’s up to me to defend his honour, even if he’s a bit of a slut. Blood is thicker, and all.” Cooper took a final bite of the ice cream, and tossed his spoon down, rising to his feet. “Remember, Kurt, if you dump him you always have the future to make it work again. You don’t need a time machine for that, just patience. But you’re hurting both of you with this not talking thing. Get it over with, why don’t you?”
“You don’t think I’ll take him back,” Kurt said, staring up at Cooper.
“Not right now, no.” Cooper nodded. “You’re way uptight. But one day, I bet I’ll be calling you my brother-in-law for real.”
With a final, breathtaking smile and a jaunty wave of his hand Cooper left, leaving Kurt and half the burger bar in a daze. Kurt spent so much time thinking everything he said over, he didn’t even notice that Cooper had left him with the bill.
Well, until it was time to pay, that is.
--
During the two days that followed, Kurt tried to decide what was important to him.
He didn’t come up with any answers he liked, so he played Plants vs Zombies instead.
--
Rachel was busy painting her nails and singing along to Madonna when she heard Kurt emit a loud, violent “FUCK!” from his room. She jumped, smearing plum colour all over her toes. Since Kurt rarely swore, she knew this must be something big, and didn’t even take the time to wipe it off before she ran over to his room. She found him sitting in front of his laptop, eyes wide, face pale.
“Oh god, Kurt, what is it? Did someone die? Was it Barbra?” Rachel clutched at her heart. Kurt didn’t look up. “Kurt?”
“Rachel …” Kurt whispered shakily, and turned the screen so she could see. An email from Blaine sat open. Rachel read it and uttered a soft scream, shutting her eyes.
“How could he say such a thing?” Rachel whispered. “Hasn’t he hurt you enough? Is it some kind of horrible self-punishment?”
“Self-punishment, I think,” Kurt said, running a hand through his hair. “But -- how could he? Why does he think this will help?”
“He’s lost it,” Rachel whispered sadly, sinking onto the bed. “He doesn’t need you, he needs a therapist.”
“There’s an attachment,” Kurt said quietly, hovering the mouse over the link. “Should I … do you think we can handle it?”
“Be brave, Kurt.” Rachel reached over, grabbing his free hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’m here for you.” Kurt nodded, and with a deep breath he clicked. The picture loaded quickly, and there was silence for many long moments before Rachel started to cry, and Kurt buried his face in his hands and made an odd keening noise.
It was just too much.
--
Dear Kurt,
I have decided to become a redhead. Picture attached.
xoxo (YOURS ONLY)
Blaine “repenting” Anderson
P.s. our normal hair dresser won’t take me anymore. :( I always knew he liked you better.
--
Blaine,
Did you think an emergency was the only thing that would get me to contact you? Because you’re so right.
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO YOUR PERFECT HAIR?
Tell me why,
Kurt
--
Dear Kurt,
Skype me?
xoxo (FYL&AO)*
Blaine
P.s. *For Your Lips & Arms Only :)
--
Kurt hit the video call button, glad that Rachel was out of the house (to get her toenails professionally done, post-trauma.) It had been over a day since he received the email, and he couldn’t shake the horrifying image of redheaded Blaine from his head. He had spilled coffee all over his hand while pouring, and didn’t notice the scalding pain over the more pressing matter of Blaine’s hair.
“Kurt.” He looked up, and swallowed a pitiful noise at the sight of Blaine’s gelled (oh god, why was it gelled) red hair. Blaine’s sweet, anxious face barely registered beneath the monstrosity. “How are you? Have a good day?”
“Blaine, your head is on fire,” Kurt said instead of replying. “That’s what we’re here to discuss, not my day.”
“Um, yes, of course.” Blaine shifted in his seat. God, his eyebrows were dyed too. “Well, I thought a lot about what you said. About repenting. And being a better person.”
“You do know I was drunk at the time, right? I don’t even remember what I said.”
“Yeah, but you must have meant it. Drunks normally do.” A brief smirk flickered across Blaine’s face. “But … it got me to thinking. Who was a reformed cheater who went on to be a better person? I needed some guidance.”
“And you turned to who, Ron Weasley?”
“Addison Montgomery, actually.” Blaine raised a hand at Kurt’s noise. “I realize it makes me sound like the cliché of the lonely housewife, but I related a lot to her. She cheated, and we saw her journey through that so painfully on Grey’s. I want something similar.”
“Uh, pretty sure she cheated like four times after that too.”
“Not on Grey’s! Let’s not talk about Private Practice.”
Fair enough. Nobody wanted to talk about Private Practice.
“What about Alex? She slept with him behind Mark’s back. Mark, who she cheated on Derek with, and liked enough to try and date.”
“She and Mark weren’t exclusive yet. She said she wouldn’t date him until he swore off sex!”
“Fine. It was still pretty callous though. She didn’t even think things would work out with Mark but she was still pushing him through it, and sleeping with Alex on the side.”
“She was confused. Their relationship was very complicated.” Blaine took a deep breath. “Actually, can we not talk about Mark right now? This is bad enough.”
“Point taken,” Kurt said, sighing mournfully. “Alright. You admire Addison. So you dyed your hair? Explain that, please.”
“It was the change of it.” Blaine explained. “You know, she dyed her hair after she went over to Private Practice --”
“I thought we weren’t talking about that.”
“Well she came over for crossovers to Grey’s with the colour change, so. And she dyed her hair brunette, but that wouldn’t work for me, so I decided to do the opposite. Making change, as Tina would say.”
“I hope she didn’t encourage this.”
“No. Well, she did tell me to get a tattoo too.” Blaine coughed. “Um. Tattoo as well, but she suggested mine say ‘Caution: requires regular dicking, will cheat if not seen to’ so future boyfriends knew what they were getting into.”
Kurt couldn’t help his brief scowl at future boyfriends. Blaine deserved loneliness, and repeated viewings of He’s Just Not That Into You. He deserved to wait for Kurt. Shaking his head, Kurt said, “I admit, red hair is better than that.”
“Oh?” Blaine frowned. “I meant to do something really bad, but the tattoo artist wouldn’t take me after I chugged vodka to psych myself for the pain. Is the red hair repent-worthy enough, though?”
Kurt made a note to figure out which tattoo artist this was and send him one of the giant boxes of chocolate Blaine had mailed him. (That was Blaine, being insensitive yet again, not even thinking about Kurt’s hips.) (It could have at least been a bakery order.)
“I’m not sure I get it. What does this have to do with repenting? Though I guess cheating seems like nothing in comparison to that.” Kurt gestured toward Blaine’s hair, which was probably being listed on a government watch list and getting its own satellite. Defcon 1 was inevitable when the roots began to show.
“Kurt.” Blaine made a vague, desperate noise. “I feel … I feel like I’m Addison, you’re McDreamy, and New York is Meredith.”
Wait, there was the nuclear blast right there, making Kurt’s heart shake. He winced. “It was that bad, huh?” His sympathy for Blaine grew a thousandfold in that moment. After all, the forum posts he had made back in the day about that triangle would have made Romney cry.
“Yeah.” Blaine rubbed the nape of his neck. “It’s like I was … it’s like I am losing you to the city. And I know, it’s stupid and immature and all those other things you could shout at me, but it’s so lonely Kurt. It was like Derek and Addison’s couple’s counselling, where things are so awkward and she could feel herself losing him. It was like I could see you slipping away right in front of me. It’s hard, being with someone who would rather be elsewhere.”
“But I wouldn’t rather be elsewhere,” Kurt said, leaning forward, fixing his eyes on the webcam instead of the screen. “I’m sorry I made you feel like that, and I could have done so much better, but it was always you Blaine. I lived for those moments where I got to tell you how great my new life was, not because I was rubbing it in, but because it didn’t feel real until I told you. You’re my other half. I can’t be all here without you there.”
Kurt glanced down. Blaine’s eyes were overbright, lips pressed together, hand against his throat like he was keeping sounds in. It would have been a moving picture if it weren’t for the red hair. Seriously, what a mood killer.
“I’m so sorry,” Blaine burst out, followed up by a ragged inhale. “God Kurt, I really fucked up. I’m so sorry I took that from you.”
“Don’t worry, I’m still considering suing for emotional damages,” Kurt said. A wet chuckle. “I might even get it back.”
“I would give it back,” Blaine assured him, rocking forward. “All of it. With interest.”
“I know,” Kurt said, softly. “I know. Not now though. Save it for a rainy day.”
“What does that mean?” Blaine asked, brows furrowing. “I get it’s figurative, but like -- we’re like … are we -- what?” Cooper must have been the one to teach Blaine about non-literal speech.
Kurt remembered Cooper’s punching threat. He wasn’t sure Cooper even knew how to throw a punch, but still. It was the thought that counted. Kurt couldn’t wait for the day Cooper was his brother-in-law officially.
“We’re broken up,” Kurt said firmly. He ignored Blaine’s crushed expression. “This is me officially dumping you. Stop trying to contact me, stop donating in my name. Do it in your own. Do things for yourself. We both need the time to think, time apart.” Time to do your English homework, but he left that part unsaid.
“And after we do that?”
“Well, don’t hold your breath or anything,” Kurt replied with a roll of his eyes. “But … I’m still not saying goodbye to you. I know the man I’m going to marry one day, and I want you to grow up into him.”
“I want that too,” Blaine said. “I promise, Kurt, I’ll make you proud.”
“Dye your hair back, and we’ll see.”
“Oh no, the hair is staying,” Blaine said. “At least for a few weeks. If I’m going to try this whole being single and thinking thing, I can’t do it looking like I normally do. Besides, you need to put time in between treatments. Cosmo says you’ll kill your hair if you don’t.”
“Good point,” Kurt said drily. “Not to mention I doubt you’d stay single if your hair wasn’t clashing with your bowtie.”
“You hate me, but I’m hot?” Blaine replied.
Kurt blinked. “Huh?”
“Uh, nevermind.” Blaine smiled, tentative. “So. Um. How was your day? Er--”
“It was nice.” Kurt said. He smiled back at Blaine. “And it just got a lot better.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, I just dumped my cheating douche of an ex-boyfriend.”
That startled a laugh out of Blaine, but his eyes were sad. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” Kurt glanced up as he heard the door scrape open. “Well, I gotta go. Rachel is back.” Kurt took in Blaine’s face, really took it in, ignoring the hair. His heart clenched, and he saw a single glitter speck hanging out beneath Blaine’s right eye. “This it it. You know. That time where you say that word.”
“What?”
“You know … that word.”
“...Anal?”
“The G-word Blaine, the G-word!”
“Oh. Goodbye, Kurt.” Blaine’s smile was small, eyes sadder.
“Catch you on the flipside,” Kurt replied, as he was a little too pressed for time to come up with something better. With an awkward-semi salute to Blaine and shared sad smile, Kurt hit the end call button. It felt too soon, but also like it had taken too long to come.
The imprint of Blaine’s red hair seemed to echo on his screen after the regular Skype box came up, and with a shudder he shut his laptop.
“Kurt?” Rachel called.
“I’m in here,” he replied, and she entered, expression curious.
“Were you talking to someone?”
“My past,” Kurt replied dramatically, falling back on the bed.
“Oh, I do that all the time!” Rachel jumped onto the bed, clapping her hands together. “Alright, here we go: Conversations, with my thirteen year old self … You’re angry, I know this, the world couldn’t care less. You’re lonely, I feel this...”
“No offense, Rachel, but I’m not really in the mood for P!nk.”
Rachel froze, eyes wide. “I’m sorry Kurt, that was insensitive. I know who P!nk solos make you think of.”
“Let’s just sing a nice showtune instead.”
“What about West Side Story?”
“Really Rachel? Really?”
“Oh, I totally forget we did that. Do you ever feel you’re the star of too many things to keep track?”
“If I can forgive you, I can forgive anyone.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Want to watch Singin’ In the Rain?”
“Absolutely!”
“I’m glad I have you Rachel,” Kurt told her, as he reopened his laptop. Rachel beamed at him.
“I’m glad I have you too, Kurt,” Rachel replied, scooting closer. “New York just wouldn’t be the same without my man.”
Being somebody’s other half was, Kurt recognized, not always easy -- but then there were times like these, where you sat together and just enjoyed each other’s company, and nothing else mattered. He would keep faith that one day, he and Blaine would get that again.
--
It was Monday. Blaine had been officially single for two days now, and he hadn’t had a lot of time to handle it because Cooper had visited for a week. Already annoying and overwhelming, from the moment Blaine had reappeared from his room post-Skype conversation, Cooper had been nearly unbearable. Blaine hadn’t known his brother knew quite so many ways to burn cookies, or that so many forced rewatchings of all of Cooper’s talent shows growing up could actually numb the pain, like repeated punches to the face.
The only bright spot was that those pesky hallucinations of Kurt seemed to be dropping off, and that could only mean things were getting better. Good thing too; Blaine hadn’t wanted to pay for an MRI and then see the Adulterous Lobe lit up like a Christmas tree. He was pretty sure that was a thing. Grey’s Anatomy probably covered it once.
Still, he had been too frazzled by waking Cooper up on time to catch his plane that he had forgotten to gel his hair, and hadn’t had the chance to shave. He wore a crumpled cardigan and stained khakis to complete the “Just Dumped” chic look. Mindful that he might have a Future Leaders of America (Cheating Congressman Edition) meeting later, he threw a tub of hairgel and his electric razor in his schoolbag. Blaine Anderson might not be okay, but he was going to force himself to turn things around.
So here he was, walking into the choir room, tired and on edge but hopeful, wondering if the Glee club would instantly spot the difference.
“Dude, your hair.”
No, not that one.
“Oh my lord, he dumped you!”
Wow, second try. Not bad.
“How did you guess?” Blaine asked Unique, standing in front of the club. Everybody was staring at him with varying expressions of shock and horror. Mostly horror.
“Unique can tell you’ve had a mental breakdown,” Unique assured him, staring at his hair in fascination. “Sorry Brittany, my girl, but this is way more authentic Britney-style crazy than you nearly shaving your’s off.”
“I agree,” Brittany said. “You look like a red panda. I should know, Lord Tubbington is related to one on his mother’s side. They’re racists and think copycats are the worse.”
“You look like a stop sign,” Tina said. “A tattoo would have been hotter, Dr. Dick.”
Blaine sighed, even if it was sweet of Tina to have forgiven him. “I know, but I’m trying to find my feet right now...”
“Where, in a pair of clown shoes?” Jake cracked. A full-body shudder overcame Blaine, and he slowly turned on the spot to face Jake, eyes narrowed. Jake held up his hands, but clearly nobody else saw the danger.
“I didn’t know circus school had a correspondence course in cheating, y’all!” Artie said, misreading Jake’s calming gesture as an invitation for a high-five. Blaine was trembling, images of Cousin George dancing through his head, that hateful freckled mug emitting high-pitched laughter.
“That’s rude to Mr. Tickles,” Sugar said, and then flounced over to pet Blaine’s hair. She was taking advantage of the lack of gel. “But you’re more a Mr. Slap-and-Tickle. You’re like Ronald McDonald on a beef binge--”
“ARGH!” Blaine shouted, tearing himself away from Sugar. She pouted. Blaine didn’t see and didn’t even hear Sam’s worried voice; the laughter was growing louder. Oh god, no, Kurt was back. He was joining Cousin George in the laughter, mocking and cruel.
“Ronald McDonald … Ronald McDonald … I’m so disgusted by my Archie-haired clown boyfriend … Ronald McBlaine …"
“Leave. Me. Alone!” Blaine screeched, and stuck his hand in his bag. He came out with the razor, and jumping on top of the piano (Brad growled) as he hit the on button. The buzzing filled the room, and everyone gaped as Blaine grabbed fistfuls of his hair and began to shave. It was almost liberating, releasing the weight of the dyed strands, and he would force this change, he would get better.
The silence afterwards was all consuming. Then Sugar came over, and gently extricated the razor from his hands. Blaine blinked up at her, from where he lay on the piano, a halo of red hair around him.
“You missed a spot,” she told him sweetly, and shaved off his eyebrows.
Blaine smiled.
So did everyone else, because after that, Britney Week 3.0 was a rousing success.
fin