Even If You Never Love Me, Chapter 11
Rating: T-M
Genres: Angst, Romance, Drama
Warnings: A little cuss.
Spoilers: Up through Special Education
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.
Author's Notes: This is my original plot, guys! No prompts required! Big deal for me...
Summary: "In a perfect world, I'd be able to know what it's like to... hold your hand? Take you on a date? Kiss you? You'd let me feel what it's like to be your boyfriend, just for a day. Just for one day. One day where you're mine?"
Word Count: 3,590
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Pineapple Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Milkshake Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10
*We're going to play a game called "Let's Forget I Didn't Update Last Week." The rules are simple, and pretty implied... Not down for it? Yeah, I didn't think so. I'm sorry! This chapter was difficult, and seriously, half of it was thought up within the past twenty-four hours. I've been so focused on chapters to come that this one wasn't churning like I'm used to. So, I have a request of you lovely readers. That's right, in the same paragraph I apologize for failing, I also ask for a favor. I have no shame. I am looking for a beta. I'm not looking so much for a person to read over and correct grammar and spelling issues. I know I'm not perfect, but I'm hoping for a little more. What I am looking for is someone I can bounce story ideas off of, who can tell me if something is boring, or remind me that something I've already written conflicts with a detail I randomly add. I have silly little confidence issues that slow my progress, and if someone could kick my butt and toss the occasional advice my way, this story would be all the stronger for it. You have no idea how much I'd appreciate anyone's help in this regard.
Okay, onto the story!*
Blaine Anderson is stronger than this, and he's going to show the world.
As soon as he leaves this parking lot.
Blaine presses the gas and moves forward. He meant to go in reverse, has his neck twisted around as proof, but there's no cement block in his way, so he can go forward. It's fine. He flips around, out the exit, and on his way home. He sings for the whole drive, every word of every song at full volume.
He trips getting out of the car, but turns it into a dance, singing the rest of the last song on the radio.
He tosses his key into the air before returning it to the hook.
"Good evening, Sir," Charles greets as he holds the door open.
"It is, isn't it?" Blaine beams before whistling his way to the elevator. It's not any particular tune, more cheer between two lips, but he keeps it going all the way to his bedroom.
He smiles at his door as he gently twists the knob, stepping inside. He has a full night ahead of him! His teachers have been so disappointed in his lack of work lately, and he's not going to give them more reason to send him those deep sighs. He's going to turn in every missed assignment with 200% of his usual Blaine Anderson effort. Then they'll see he's all better.
Coffee. He needs coffee. The lingering effects of that tall bottle of vodka are tugging on his eyelids, but there's no time for that now. He's got to get his homework done. He's got to prove himself.
He sprints to the elevator, still open from his trip up, and keeps pressing the button until it reaches the ground floor. He immediately spots Charles, tidying or something in a convenient location.
"Charles, have the chef bring a pot of coffee to my room." Why didn't he think to have Charles deliver messages to his chef before? Of course! How silly.
He should really learn his new chef's name.
Blaine didn't hear Charles respond, but he's gone now, so he must be obeying. No matter, it's time for his history practice quiz.
Taking the practice quiz means he has to reach Chapter 13 of his history textbook, which means he has to study Colonial America. That coffee can't come soon enough.
A knock sounds at the door, "Sir? I have your coffee."
"Come in," Blaine invites brightly.
The chef pushes a trolley topped with a ceramic coffee set, complete with sugar and cream, into the room. Finally, she does something right. "Will you be needing anything else, Sir?"
"No, thank you. That will be all."
The chef leaves the trolley by the nightstand, nods dutifully, and heads for the door.
"Wait," Blaine stops her.
She turns back, "Sir?"
"What's your name?"
She looks startled at the question, which makes sense. It's not like her name has changed, and she's been working here for four years. Well, four years, three months, and four... no, five days, to be precise. Besides, after all the grief she's caused, she should really just answer the question.
"Kelly Martin, Sir," she smiles nervously, unsure if this is a test or some teenage prank.
"Kelly." Blaine's going to work on remembering that. It's been long enough. "Okay, thanks. That's all."
Kelly gives him one last confused glance, but Blaine's already serving himself from the trolley, so the conversation is obviously over.
The clock reads just past 4:00 AM when Blaine finishes typing his English paper, the last assignment. A quick proofread reveals an entire page comprised of three very long sentences. So, he's a little enthusiastic. It makes sense: he's taking control of his life. It's exciting. Plus, he's had an entire pot of coffee, and if you were to consult his heart, it would swear he was running a marathon. The simple grammar issue is an easy fix.
With his homework safely secured in his bookbag, Blaine sits on his bed. He stares at the far corner of his room for a good five minutes before he's aware of the act. He should probably be doing something. At this hour, he would usually be sleeping, but he's slept enough in the past few days, and the coffee is doing its job.
A shower. He hasn't showered in... He's not going to dwell on that. He's just going to take that shower now. It's going to be a long one.
The water is hot, comforting and exhilarating. He thinks if he lets it, it can be a metaphor and rinse the past few days away with their grime.
Rubbing in conditioner, he can't remember if he already shampooed. No matter, he just starts over. Has he used the bodywash yet? He possibly double-showers, but that could only be a good thing.
He leaves the steamy bathroom feeling refreshed and ready to face the day... which hasn't quite arrived. It's not even 5:00 yet, over an hour and a half before he usually begins his battle with the alarm clock.
His room could use some straightening up. It's become a bit of a disaster with dirty pieces of uniform tossed about. It's sort of humorous seeing a mess of only two repeated items: white dress shirts and gray slacks. Identical clothing everywhere, like a child took a single stamp to his room. He's not sure why this is funny, though. Maybe it's not. The uniforms go in his hamper, which he leaves outside his door for one of the many staff members to take care of.
He goes to make his bed and is immediately faced with Kurt's winterwear. It should be washed and returned to its owner. This isn't right, sleeping with a part of Kurt every night when Kurt will never sleep with him again. He folds the clothing carefully, perfect halves into perfect quarters, but can't bring himself to remove them. He lays them beneath his pillow, just for one more night.
It's still early, but he might as well get ready. He needs to look his best. He grabs his tub of gel and gets to work on his hair. The curls are a bit more unruly than usual, having experienced freedom for the past few days, but with three extra generous globs of product, he's staring at the reflection of a very put-together young man.
He slides into a fresh uniform, grabs his bookbag... and remembers it's still way too early to leave for school.
Breakfast. He typically eats in the morning. He definitely has time to do that now. He leaves his bookbag by the first floor elevator, walks into the Breakfast Room, and is actually surprised to find the table empty. It takes him a second to realize he just went through this: it's early. He probably beat his chef up by half an hour.
Up. Does it count as "up" if he was never "down?" He never slept. That is why he's so early! Should he have slept? Should he sleep now? He'd only get a nap in, but people aren't supposed to go a whole night without sleep.
Eh, he shouldn't risk being later for school again.
Dalton has a cafeteria. By the time he gets there, it might even be serving breakfast. Best to be early when making a good impression!
It turns out, the cafeteria doors are open this early... to let the kitchen staff in. They're just starting the prep work for breakfast. Blaine can't blame them: classes don't start until 8:00, which means students aren't to be expected until after 7:00. It's hardly past 6:00.
"My, you're early!" a cook chimes cheerily as she comes in the door behind Blaine.
Blaine was just standing at the entrance, watching the kitchen unnoticed until now, and now that he's been caught, he realizes how silly that is. There are excuses, about wrong alarms, Daylight Savings, an interest in the culinary arts. Blaine just says, "Yeah."
"Are you hungry?"
One would certainly think so. He's standing in a cafeteria, watching food be born.
The cook puts a gentle hand on his arm, guiding him, "Let's just sit you down and I'll fix you up something quick."
Blaine sits near the kitchen, gaining the attention of the other staff members. "I don't want you to go to any trouble."
The cook turns back from where she was just exiting hearing range, "Instant oatmeal is never any trouble."
Blaine's surprised by the meal choice. He doesn't know the Dalton breakfast menu, since he usually dines at home, but lunches are a lot more lavish that instant oatmeal: roasts, salmon, cobb salads... Maybe this is what the cooks eat. Maybe he's being fed from their own personal stash.
A plate being set before him startles Blaine out of his own head. He doesn't feel he's had enough thoughts to fill the time it would take to serve oatmeal, a sliced orange, and a mug of tea. Maybe he's tired.
By the time Blaine says, "Thank you," the cook is already gone. Man, that woman is fast!
When he digs into his oatmeal, it isn't very hot. Three bites in, students start to join him. The cafeteria is crowded before he even gets to his orange. The bell rings and he forgot to drink his tea.
His first class is History. He arrives early and hands in his practice quiz to Professor Russel. "Professor, I deeply apologize for handing this in late. It won't happen again." Winning smile. Remorseful eyes. Back straight.
"Thank you, Blaine," Professor Russel sets the assignment on his desk and begins writing today's lesson on the board.
Blaine sits front row, center, his notebook out and ready. He copies the words from the board as the other students find their seats. He watches his professor with a smile on his face, ready to be engaged by whatever the topic is. He sits tall, presses pen to paper, and he's completely missed that Professor Russel has started talking. It's okay, Blaine can catch up.
"Now, you'll recall from the reading that the troops headed..."
Blaine just has to write down everything the man says. His pen flies, inking almost incoherent symbols about the American Revolution. Every time he misses a sentence, he gets flustered and misses six more. He's got to have enough down to count, though.
He's written, "Take out your book and turn," before he realizes that isn't a quote from George Washington. Everyone else is already turning pages and Blaine's book is still in his bag. What page was it? He pulls out his book and looks around. The general consensus seems to be page 302. Class is sort of a blur after that. He's pretty sure he spends the study portion just staring, considering how dry his eyes are and how little he's highlighted when the bell rings.
"Blaine, may I have a moment?" Professor Russel requests as everyone else files out.
"Yes, Professor?"
The last student leaves before Professor Russel continues, "I was reading over your practice quiz here and I couldn't help noticing a few inconsistencies. You may want to look this over." He hands the assignment back to Blaine.
"Inconsistencies?" Oh, no. What did he do wrong? Don't frown. Keep smiling.
"Just some details you may have gotten confused from the reading."
He's so stupid. Back straight.
"To start, Napoleon didn't fight in the French and Indian War... Blaine, I know this has been a tough week for you, but I see you're trying. Just look this over, get it to me by the end of the day, and I'll give you full points."
Blaine nods slowly as the words register, "Thank you. Yes, I'll fix this right away." He takes his seat and begins reading over what he wrote just twelve hours ago. He can fix this. He can make it better. He's fine now. Everything is fine.
"Blaine?" The name is intoned like it's not the first time it's been called in the past minute.
"Yes, Professor?"
"Don't you have a second period class?"
Second period? "Right!" Blaine packs his bookbag and rushes to Calculus.
Blaine doesn't have anymore assignment malfunctions before lunch, so History must just be a weak subject for him. It's that thought that reminds him to finish that practice quiz, which he does in the library as the other students eat. He had plenty for breakfast, anyway.
David doesn't spend the day avoiding Blaine. They just don't happen to share classes most of the day. He really needs to use the restroom between third and fourth period; seeing Blaine down the hall has nothing to do with the speed with which he darts through the door. It's just a coincidence that Blaine is by David's locker before the class he forgets his books in.
These excuses work until English, where David doesn't take his usual seat next to Blaine. Fine. It's avoidance. But, come on, Blaine straight up called him a shit friend. A guy can take offense. He's no a shit friend.
And he's not feeling guilty about the party! Anybody else would have been cheered up. It's not his fault Blaine's anti-social.
So what if he's watching Blaine across the room instead of taking in the wonders of the English language? It's not guilt. It's just... Blaine isn't acting normal. Or, he is acting normal, but shouldn't be. Or... wasn't Blaine sad yesterday? This whole week, really? Yes. Yes, he was. So, why is he now smiling at the board like it's about to sprout wings and fly him to Disneyland?
Whoa, weird image.
That charming Blaine Anderson smile has never worked its spell on David before, but today, it's able to melt his anger into a bubbling intrigue.
He means to speak with him after class, but Blaine is a man on a mission of timeliness, so David doesn't catch up until they've reached the choir room.
"Blaine, hey!"
Blaine turns at the sound of his name, and together they become an obstacle in the doorway. "Hello, David."
"About the party..." Okay, so it's possible David feels guilty. "I didn't mean for you to feel uncomfortable."
"Oh, it's fine, David!" Blaine grins.
David's eyebrows rise. So... that was easy. "Yeah?"
"Of course! You were just trying to help me!"
He was! He really was! "So, you're good, then?"
"Fine! Totally fine! More than fine!"
Uh, okay, maybe Blaine's laying it on a little thick here. "You sure?"
"Definitely! Everything is great."
"Okay, good, because..." Time to admit it. "I really am sorry, Man."
"Water under the bridge! No harm, no foul. It's not like you left me alone with an ax-murderer or anything!" Apparently, Blaine finds this to be a perfectly acceptable conversation ender, because he's finding his seat now, leaving David haunted with a fresh new idea to feel guilty over.
After a fascinating debate on the formal hierarchy of dress sock lengths, through which Blaine looks actively engaged and truly concerned (if he does say so himself), Blaine rushes from the choir room. Got to get an early start on next week's assignments! They have to be perfect. He has to be perfect.
Face forward. Back straight. Smile at students passing by. Make eye contact. Keep moving forward.
Distracted, Blaine doesn't notice every student's eye is on him.
"There's Blaine," one boy leans toward another.
"Did you hear what happened to him this morning? Professor Russel kept him after class."
"I heard he's threatening to flunk him."
"That would get him kicked off the Warblers."
"Calvin thinks that's what made Blaine snap, why he's suddenly so happy again. He's manic."
"Totally. I saw it in a movie once."
Behind the gossipping pair, Kurt keeps pace, listening to every word. He frowns, processing. He thought Blaine was fine. He was smiling, wasn't he? Sure, there were a rough few days, but he's back. He needed his space, Kurt gave it to him, and it allowed him to gather himself. Blaine seemed fine. Kurt was just headed to reaffirm plans with Blaine for this weekend.
Maybe, though... maybe Blaine isn't okay. Maybe Kurt was fooled and his best friend is hurting worse than ever. He wants to catch up, see for himself, ask Blaine if he's really okay... but he just can't. Blaine gets farther and farther away until there's steel between them and an engine speeds Blaine's progress. Blaine disappears down the road, and Kurt lets him.
It's a long drive to Lima. It's a lot of time to think, to analyze Blaine's every action, to wonder what he, himself should have done. It's a long drive, but Kurt doesn't come up with any answers.
He opens the front door and is greeted with the warm scents of baking chicken and spiced rice. The familiarity of home is comforting, centering, and he immediately knows what to do.
"Dad?" Kurt steps into the kitchen where his parents are smiling, mid-conversation. He's interrupting, but they don't seem to mind.
"Hey, look who's home! How was your day?" Burt says, like he does every day. He always seems just as excited as the last time.
"I was actually hoping I could talk with you about that." Kurt's nervous, not because he's about to talk with his dad, but because he doesn't want to make Carole feel alienated. Their family dynamic is still cooling on the baking sheet, and the last thing he wants to do is toss it back in the oven, but sometimes, he just needs his dad.
"Just make sure to take the chicken out of the oven when the timer goes off," Carole smiles at the Hummel men as she makes her exit.
"Actually, Kurt, how about you and me go in the office. I got some inventory stuff I need to look over, anyway."
Kurt expects his dad to sit at the desk, where the inventory paperwork gathers dust, but he plops down on the couch, leaving room for his son to join him, "So, what is it you wanted to talk about?"
"I..." And, suddenly there's so much to say, so much weighing down on his shoulders, begging for release. He could tell him about how his best friend fell in love with him completely without warning. He could tell him about Blaine's amazing house and how empty it is. He could tell him about the date. He could admit he spent the night with a boy, confess he wasn't actually at Mercedes'. The guilt of lying has been such a burden, and telling his father could be even more of a relief. But, then his dad would be made at him, and he really needs his advice. "I'm worried about a friend."
"All right. Is this a real friend, or is this friend supposed to represent you?"
"Okay, first, you aren't supposed to ask that-"
"Hey, I just remember a certain 'friend' of yours having a crush on your math teacher, and it would have been a whole lot easier if I'd've just known it was you from the beginning!" Burt chuckles, partially from the memory, but mostly because of how much it makes Kurt blush.
"Moving on: it's not me. It's Blaine."
"It's Blaine," Burt nods in understanding. "What's going on with Blaine?"
How to word this... "He's seemed... sad this week."
"How sad?"
"Really sad."
"Okay. Any idea why?"
Oh boy. Time for a delicately altered version of reality: "Blaine... liked someone. A lot. And they went out on a date but it didn't work out."
Burt takes this in, swallows, clears his throat, and swallows again. "And does this boy... have feelings for Blaine, as well?"
"I don't know. I didn't ask him," Kurt throws out quickly. Maybe a little too quickly.
Burt nods, "So, Blaine liked this boy." If Burt's hand pointing in Kurt's direction is some kind of question, Kurt's not answering. "Their date didn't go well, and now Blaine's sad. Yeah?"
"Yes, except today he seemed really happy! Like, he was smiling and talking with everyone."
"So... you're worried that you friend isn't sad anymore?"
"I wasn't worried! But, then these boys were talking about how Blaine was held after class and he might be flunking, and he'll get kicked off the Warblers, and he's just faking being happy."
"Okay, I get the picture. First, you know what gossip is. What those boys said might be scaring you, but the only person who really knows what's going on with Blaine is Blaine."
Kurt nods, a bit relieved, "And second?"
"Second, Blaine's your friend. If you're worried about him, you should talk with him about it."
Kurt stares down at the carpet between his knees, brow furrowed in thought. Burt knows this as Kurt's 'Introspective Mode,' and there's no more conversation when it sets in. He pats Kurt's knee and returns to his lovely wife.
Kurt pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. Friends talk. If Blaine's his friend, they should talk about what's bothering him. But... Is Blaine still his friend?
Can Kurt talk to him?
__________
Blaine whistles his way through the garage again, tossing his key in the air before putting it away.
Charles isn't there to open the door for him, but that's okay. Blaine can manage just fine on his own.
He stops on the first floor, planning to request the chef make oatmeal for tomorrow's breakfast, when a voice off to his side stops him.
"Blaine! We're so glad you could make it home!"
Blaine turns toward the speaker, his breath lost somewhere in his chest. "Mom? Dad?"
*Thank you for your very kind reviews! I really appreciate all the time you put into reading and commenting on my story!*