Klaine Princess Diaries part 2
On Wednesday morning, Blaine met Kurt at the public library on Pritchard. They went across the street for breakfast; Blaine picked nervously at his blueberry muffin and didn’t even notice how quickly he drained his coffee. Kurt finally put a hand on his and said, “Blaine.”
“Yeah,” he replied, jerking his head up.
Kurt smiled at him. “Quit worrying. Today is simply a fact-gathering mission. A history lesson, if you will.” He sipped his own coffee. “I can tell you that Genovia split from France almost three hundred years ago.”
Blaine nodded. “I remember. Same family of rulers the whole time, right?”
“Yup.” Kurt patted his hand and pulled back. “The Renaldo family managed to avoid every war and became a non-mountainous Switzerland. Impressive, really.” He neatly cut into his own banana-nut muffin. “The Parliament has some say, but the sovereign can overrule. And the Parliament cannot overrule the sovereign. Luckily for Genovia, all of the royals have been decent, if not downright awesome.”
Blaine sighed. “Yeah,” he muttered, abandoning his muffin for good. “Awesome.” ‘Til him. He’d run the place right into the ground.
“Blaine,” Kurt said sharply. “Don’t panic and don’t worry. What is today?”
“A fact-gathering mission and a history lesson,” Blaine repeated dutifully.
“Precisely,” Kurt said. He finished his last bite of muffin and gathered up their trash. “Come along, sweetie,” Kurt said as he walked back to the table, holding out a hand.
Blaine drudged up a smile and clasped Kurt’s hand tightly. “I’m sorry I’m so grumpy this morning,” he said quietly.
Kurt smiled. “Blaine, it’s alright. Everything will be okay. Promise.”
.
Kurt took over an entire table, set up his laptop, and began gathering books. He searched the online catalogue, jotted down numbers or placed a hold, and sent Blaine into the stacks. Blaine watched Kurt sort the books and mark pages, until he had a small pile of European histories.
“C’mon,” Kurt said, pulling Blaine into the chair next to him. “Read.”
So Blaine read. Kurt made lesson-plans for French and Blaine flipped through a dry book about European royalty - and there was his family, all descended from Louis Renaldo. His throat caught as he stared at some great-grandfather’s name.
His family was royalty.
“Blaine,” Kurt said softly, putting his arm around Blaine. “Calm down. It’s just history.”
Blaine nodded, closing his eyes and slowing his breathing. Kurt pulled the book out of his hands. “We’ve been here for hours,” he said. “Let’s take a break for lunch.”
.
They went to the same deli for lunch; Blaine was ravenous, so he actually ate this time. Kurt chatted at him about fashion and his latest idea for a musical - nothing Blaine hadn’t heard before, but he listened with relief because it had nothing to do with his suddenly multiple dads, his new grandma, or a throne across an ocean and ruling a people whose language he didn’t know.
After lunch, back at the library, Kurt gathered up the checkoutable books, saved his notes on the laptop, copied a few pages, returned the reference materials, and checked-out half a dozen books. Blaine followed his instructions and drove on ahead to his house, using his copy of the key to get in. He went up to Kurt’s room and buried himself beneath Kurt’s covers, singing his favorite Pink songs quietly to himself.
He needed to find some semblance of control. He could not keep freaking out all over the place. So, he had secretly been the heir of a small, rich nation his whole life. So his father wasn’t actually related to him at all. So he would one day be a king.
All things considered, it could be so much worse.
At least he had Kurt.
Kurt, who quietly walked in. Blaine watched him take off the top few layers and put them away, and then he slipped under the blankets next to Blaine and snuggled in.
“How you doin’?” he murmured into Blaine’s neck, pressing a soft kiss to his skin.
“I’ve been better,” he whispered, shifting to fit beneath Kurt’s chin. “I just… I don’t want to mess up, Kurt. And Dad lied to me. My entire life… I just. I don’t know.”
Kurt tightened his arms, humming a short lullaby. “Just rest, sweetie,” he said. “I’m sure you didn’t sleep much last night. I’ll be right here.” He hummed some more and Blaine closed his eyes, listening, safe and warm and loved.
.
“Wake up, Blaine,” Kurt said, kissing the end of Blaine’s nose. “Time for a short French lesson before you go home.”
“Don’ wanna,” Blaine mumbled, rolling over to bury his face in Kurt’s pillow.
Kurt laughed softly. “Don’t want to work on French or don’t want go home?”
“Either,” Blaine said into the pillow. “Neither. Both.”
Kurt laughed again, leaning over to kiss to the back of Blaine’s neck. “We napped for almost five hours, you know. Finn and Rachel will be home soon. We’re probably in trouble for missing practice.”
Blaine sighed heavily, rolling back over. He pouted up at Kurt; Kurt dove down to steal a kiss, so Blaine pulled him all the way down, snickering when Kurt landed on him.
“How old are you, again?” Kurt demanded, but Blaine saw the smile on the edge of his mouth and had to kiss it.
“Oh, fine,” Kurt breathed, “if you want to scar my brother, we can worry about French later.”
Blaine couldn’t resist. “Or we could French now.”
Kurt slugged his arm, but didn’t pull away, and didn’t hide his smile.
.
Blaine stayed late, trying to bury himself in Kurt’s family. Kurt’s stepmom reminded him of his own mother in all the best ways, and tonight, the remembrance was bittersweet.
Had his mother known her first husband was a prince? Would she have told Blaine, if she had? Would she fight Queen Clarisse now, keep Blaine as a normal American boy - or embrace the Genovian throne?
He sighed, watching Kurt and Carole dance around the kitchen, fussing at each other to go sit down. Kurt hummed, singing every few words, while Carole made up her own lyrics. Kurt loaded the dishwasher; Carole put the few leftovers in the fridge.
Finn and Burt were watching an old football game on one of the channels Blaine ignored at home. Kurt had rolled his eyes, but if Blaine weren’t still focusing on Kurt to keep calm, he might have joined them.
“How’s school?” Carole asked quietly. Blaine glanced up in time to see her worrying look fade into a smile.
Kurt answered, “So far so good. Lauren’s little bully-be-gone club seems to be working.”
Blaine nodded. “The classes are easier than Dalton, and being able to sing to music instead of a capella makes up for a lot.”
That was… somewhat true. He’d have been top dog at Dalton this year. More than likely, he would’ve been on the Warbler Council with Thad. Classes with teachers he already knew and trusted and liked. Teachers adored him at Dalton because they remembered his first few months and the broken boy he’d been, and they’d always enjoyed seeing his smile.
Now that he thought about it, the three students who’d beaten him and Marty vanished. They took plea bargains instead of a trial, went to a facility somewhere, and Blaine didn’t want to know more, so he never had.
But now, watching Kurt, Blaine wondered. Queen Clarisse kept mentioning Joseph, the best of all her men. The leather jacket beside the door smiled gently at Kurt and Blaine’s joined hands.
Blaine had decided not to care about those boys. They broke his collarbone and bruised his ribs, and sent Marty across the country to live with his grandparents. They shattered his faith in people until Wes and David poured time and effort and compassion into healing the smallest Warbler. It took a year, and Blaine still flinched sometimes. He’d still looked warily around Kurt’s prom, and he almost hadn’t stepped in to ask for that dance.
Those three kids, his own classmates - Rick, Devon, Bobby - pounded him into the ground because he held hands with a boy.
So Blaine stood, walked over to Kurt, whispered, “I love you,” and leaned in to kiss his boyfriend.
Rick and Devon had been seniors, the big men on campus. They’d have been tried as adults. Bobby was a junior and his fate up in the air.
“Come upstairs with me?” Kurt asked breathlessly.
They all took plea bargains and Blaine never heard anything else. He didn’t want to hear anything else. He focused on healing. Even that, he almost failed. He decided to learn to fight back, even if now it was mostly just to let off steam after a hard day. He really should show Kurt one of these days - Kurt should be able to protect himself, too.
“I’d love to go upstairs with you,” Blaine said. “But I should head home.”
“If you must,” Kurt sighed. “I’ll walk you out.”
Burt and Finn both gave them pointed looks as they walked through the den. If Blaine wasn’t so tired, he’d be embarrassed.
“Sorry you’ll get in trouble,” Blaine said as they hugged goodnight.
Kurt pushed him back against his car. “Don’t worry, Blaine,” he whispered, gently kissing the skin behind Blaine’s ear. “Stop worrying, you silly, lovely boy.”
Blaine clutched Kurt’s shirt, fingers convulsing on the fabric. Suddenly, more than anything, Blaine wanted to let it all go. Collapse against Kurt and sob because of… everything. Queen Clarisse and Genovia. Philippe Renaldo and Robert Anderson. McKinley and the glee club that liked him till he became one of them. The blind, ignorant hatred that chased him out of one school and still buffeted him at another. Mama. Oh, Mama.
“Blaine, Blaine, Blaine,” Kurt murmured, arms tightening around him. “Do you need to come upstairs? I’m not letting you drive like this.”
Blaine just leaned against him, so tired of being weak. He needed tighter control on his emotions. So he took a deep breath, eyes closed, and counted to ten.
When he raised his head and stepped back, Kurt looked at him, but let him go.
“Thank you,” he said, catching Kurt’s hand and raising it to his lips for a kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Drive safe,” Kurt said. “I’ll text you later.”
.
Blaine got home, yelled “Goodnight!” to his dad, took a blistering shower, and crawled into bed. He held his phone in one hand and cuddled his pillow with the other, waiting.
Kurt texted at five after midnight: I love you. Sweet dreams.
Blaine sent back, I couldn’t do this without you.
He didn’t cry. Had to bite his lip and bury his face in the pillow, but he didn’t cry.
.
On Thursday morning, Blaine woke not so panicked. He texted Kurt Good morning and smiled when Kurt replied hi, sweetie! :). They’d come a long way since Courage. Almost a year. He’d have to do something spectacular for the anniversary of their first meeting. He made a quick note in his phone and marked his calendar. He couldn’t get caught up in all the prince nonsense and forget Kurt.
Dad made banal conversation about football. Blaine’s comments were just as pointless, but Dad was trying. They’d never been that close; Mom had been so physically demonstrative, so warm, that Dad and Blaine hadn’t needed to connect. Their failed bonding experience over the car showed it still needed some work.
So Blaine poured himself a glass of orange juice and asked, “If I - when I take the throne, what will you do?”
Dad sloshed his coffee around in the mug. “I’ll attend the coronation, of course.” He tried giving Blaine a smile. “I always knew you were bigger than this little state, Blaine. You’ve always talked about New York, LA, San Francisco. So I always knew you’d leave one day. And I’ll cheer for you, and love you, and watch with pride as you change the world.” He reached across the table to pat Blaine’s hand. “You are my son, even if you’re a prince. Even when you’re a king.”
Blaine blinked back tears. “Promise?”
Dad smiled, stronger and lasting. “I don’t say it anywhere near as often as I should, but no one could ever be prouder or love you more, Blaine.”
.
When they met at the parking lot, Blaine pulled Kurt into a deep kiss. Kurt let it go on longer than Blaine had thought he would, before he gently pushed Blaine away.
“You feel better?” he asked, shooting a quick look around, but no one seemed to notice. Well, except Puck; Blaine grinned at his thumbs up and leer. Kurt rolled his eyes.
“I do,” Blaine said, grabbing his hand. “And Dad and I have tentative plans to go to the dog park this weekend.”
Kurt stared at him for a moment, then said, “Blaine, you don’t have a dog.”
“I know,” Blaine laughed. “But there are usually so many dogs there, no one’ll notice.” He shrugged. “We couldn’t think of anything else to do together.”
Kurt squeezed his hand. “I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time.”
Blaine nodded, tugging Kurt into the building. “We should hide, not go to class,” Blaine suggested, grinning hopefully and half-seriously at Kurt. “Let’s run away together.”
Kurt smiled, nodding to Karofsky as they passed. “And never look back?” he asked, opening his locker.
“And never look back,” Blaine said, leaning in for a quick kiss to Kurt’s cheek.
.
Classes that day dragged. Lunch sat in his stomach like a stone. Mr. Schuester gave Blaine and Kurt a disappointed look during glee, their last period of the day, but he didn’t ask them to stay behind.
So Blaine kissed Kurt in the parking lot, whispered, “Wish me luck,” and drove to the Hilton.
The concierge led him to a different room, with the same suits at the door, where his grandmother stood waiting. “Hello, Blaine,” Queen Clarisse said. “Today, I will see where you stand in certain areas.”
.
Queen Clarisse gave Blaine half a dozen tests that afternoon: geography, history (world in general, Genovian in particular), literature, etiquette, philosophy, and French.
Geography and French were, as always, his weak points. But on the whole, Queen Clarisse seemed pleased, and she let him leave after he filled out the last question.
“On Saturday morning, return, please, Blaine. Just after breakfast,” Queen Clarisse said. “Bring Kurt. We shall make a lesson plan for everything you must learn.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Blaine said, lowering his head.
She paused, then reached out to touch his shoulder. “Will you please call me Grandmother? I would like that very much.”
Blaine glanced up at her. “Of course, Grandmother.”
.
Blaine called Kurt from the road. Kurt said, “Focus on driving, sweetie. Call me once you’re home.”
“Okay.” Blaine sighed and tossed his phone onto the passenger seat.
He was calm. He was calm.
He wanted to talk to Grandma and Grandmom, to be assured that even if he failed every test ever, he’d be loved. Even if he never ruled - even if he was overthrown and decapitated, he’d still be loved. Even if he caused a war.
Grandmother. Queen Clarisse.
Oh, God. He was the grandson of a queen, in line for the throne. No matter how many times he told himself that, it always sounded ridiculous. Like a lie. The most absurd lie in the world: Blaine Anderson, Crown Prince of Genovia. How pretentious.
Someone honked; Blaine slammed on his brakes and just missed hitting an SUV.
Okay, time to focus on driving.
.
In his driveway, he called Kurt again.
“I’m not a prince,” he said desperately, on the verge of a panic attack. “I can’t be, Kurt. I’m a fraud. They’re all wrong.”
“Oh, hell,” Kurt muttered. “Blaine, listen to me. Where are you?”
“Home,” he gasped, leaning over to rest on the steering wheel. “Kurt, my life is a lie. How can I fit on a throne?”
The tears finally came. He couldn’t stop them. He held his hands to his face and sobbed.
He didn’t know how long it was until Kurt was there, pulling him out of the car and sinking down, holding Blaine in his arms. He collapsed against Kurt, still sobbing, and focused on Kurt’s chest, rising and falling beneath his head. It seemed like a long time before Blaine calmed, and Kurt detached himself, standing and pulling Blaine up with him. Blaine followed Kurt to the door, and Kurt used his own key to let them in.
“Up the stairs, love,” Kurt murmured, steering him. Blaine stumbled; Kurt caught him, then put his arm around Blaine’s shoulders. “Careful, Blaine,” he said. “Almost there.”
Blaine let Kurt lay him down and snuggled in as close as he could when Kurt lay down behind him. “It’s alright,” Kurt said. “Blaine, it’ll be alright.”
Blaine spent the next few hours in Kurt’s arms, trying to stop what seemed to be a never-ending stream of tears. Kurt didn’t say, sing, or hum anything: he just held Blaine.
Dad came home at some point. He poked his head into Blaine’s room, but kept silent and went back downstairs.
Finally, Blaine said, “Grandmother wants to see us both on Saturday morning. Lesson plans.”
“Alright.” Kurt kissed the back of his neck. “We’ll go around ten. I’ll pick you up and take you to IHOP.”
“IHOP?” Blaine chuckled. “You hate IHOP, Kurt.”
“Yeah,” Kurt said. “But you love it, and you need their chocolate chip pancakes, don’t you?”
Blaine sighed. “What time is it?”
“Almost ten. I left in a hurry, too. Dad’s probably furious.” He pulled away; Blaine rolled over in time to see Kurt stretch, arching his back. “I’ll text you when I get home,” Kurt said, leaning over to kiss him before sliding off the bed.
Kurt paused at the door, turning back. “Blaine, will you think about telling Dad? I can, if you’d prefer. But… this is the third day something’s happened, and he’s getting antsy.”
Blaine nodded. “Tell him, Kurt. He can call my dad about it, if he needs to. But please don’t let Finn know.” If Finn knew… pretty soon, everyone else would, too. It’d just be another reason to hate him.
Kurt smiled. “Thank you, Blaine. I love you.”
“Love you, too,” Blaine said, pulling his blankets over his head as Kurt shut his door.
masterpost
“Yeah,” he replied, jerking his head up.
Kurt smiled at him. “Quit worrying. Today is simply a fact-gathering mission. A history lesson, if you will.” He sipped his own coffee. “I can tell you that Genovia split from France almost three hundred years ago.”
Blaine nodded. “I remember. Same family of rulers the whole time, right?”
“Yup.” Kurt patted his hand and pulled back. “The Renaldo family managed to avoid every war and became a non-mountainous Switzerland. Impressive, really.” He neatly cut into his own banana-nut muffin. “The Parliament has some say, but the sovereign can overrule. And the Parliament cannot overrule the sovereign. Luckily for Genovia, all of the royals have been decent, if not downright awesome.”
Blaine sighed. “Yeah,” he muttered, abandoning his muffin for good. “Awesome.” ‘Til him. He’d run the place right into the ground.
“Blaine,” Kurt said sharply. “Don’t panic and don’t worry. What is today?”
“A fact-gathering mission and a history lesson,” Blaine repeated dutifully.
“Precisely,” Kurt said. He finished his last bite of muffin and gathered up their trash. “Come along, sweetie,” Kurt said as he walked back to the table, holding out a hand.
Blaine drudged up a smile and clasped Kurt’s hand tightly. “I’m sorry I’m so grumpy this morning,” he said quietly.
Kurt smiled. “Blaine, it’s alright. Everything will be okay. Promise.”
.
Kurt took over an entire table, set up his laptop, and began gathering books. He searched the online catalogue, jotted down numbers or placed a hold, and sent Blaine into the stacks. Blaine watched Kurt sort the books and mark pages, until he had a small pile of European histories.
“C’mon,” Kurt said, pulling Blaine into the chair next to him. “Read.”
So Blaine read. Kurt made lesson-plans for French and Blaine flipped through a dry book about European royalty - and there was his family, all descended from Louis Renaldo. His throat caught as he stared at some great-grandfather’s name.
His family was royalty.
“Blaine,” Kurt said softly, putting his arm around Blaine. “Calm down. It’s just history.”
Blaine nodded, closing his eyes and slowing his breathing. Kurt pulled the book out of his hands. “We’ve been here for hours,” he said. “Let’s take a break for lunch.”
.
They went to the same deli for lunch; Blaine was ravenous, so he actually ate this time. Kurt chatted at him about fashion and his latest idea for a musical - nothing Blaine hadn’t heard before, but he listened with relief because it had nothing to do with his suddenly multiple dads, his new grandma, or a throne across an ocean and ruling a people whose language he didn’t know.
After lunch, back at the library, Kurt gathered up the checkoutable books, saved his notes on the laptop, copied a few pages, returned the reference materials, and checked-out half a dozen books. Blaine followed his instructions and drove on ahead to his house, using his copy of the key to get in. He went up to Kurt’s room and buried himself beneath Kurt’s covers, singing his favorite Pink songs quietly to himself.
He needed to find some semblance of control. He could not keep freaking out all over the place. So, he had secretly been the heir of a small, rich nation his whole life. So his father wasn’t actually related to him at all. So he would one day be a king.
All things considered, it could be so much worse.
At least he had Kurt.
Kurt, who quietly walked in. Blaine watched him take off the top few layers and put them away, and then he slipped under the blankets next to Blaine and snuggled in.
“How you doin’?” he murmured into Blaine’s neck, pressing a soft kiss to his skin.
“I’ve been better,” he whispered, shifting to fit beneath Kurt’s chin. “I just… I don’t want to mess up, Kurt. And Dad lied to me. My entire life… I just. I don’t know.”
Kurt tightened his arms, humming a short lullaby. “Just rest, sweetie,” he said. “I’m sure you didn’t sleep much last night. I’ll be right here.” He hummed some more and Blaine closed his eyes, listening, safe and warm and loved.
.
“Wake up, Blaine,” Kurt said, kissing the end of Blaine’s nose. “Time for a short French lesson before you go home.”
“Don’ wanna,” Blaine mumbled, rolling over to bury his face in Kurt’s pillow.
Kurt laughed softly. “Don’t want to work on French or don’t want go home?”
“Either,” Blaine said into the pillow. “Neither. Both.”
Kurt laughed again, leaning over to kiss to the back of Blaine’s neck. “We napped for almost five hours, you know. Finn and Rachel will be home soon. We’re probably in trouble for missing practice.”
Blaine sighed heavily, rolling back over. He pouted up at Kurt; Kurt dove down to steal a kiss, so Blaine pulled him all the way down, snickering when Kurt landed on him.
“How old are you, again?” Kurt demanded, but Blaine saw the smile on the edge of his mouth and had to kiss it.
“Oh, fine,” Kurt breathed, “if you want to scar my brother, we can worry about French later.”
Blaine couldn’t resist. “Or we could French now.”
Kurt slugged his arm, but didn’t pull away, and didn’t hide his smile.
.
Blaine stayed late, trying to bury himself in Kurt’s family. Kurt’s stepmom reminded him of his own mother in all the best ways, and tonight, the remembrance was bittersweet.
Had his mother known her first husband was a prince? Would she have told Blaine, if she had? Would she fight Queen Clarisse now, keep Blaine as a normal American boy - or embrace the Genovian throne?
He sighed, watching Kurt and Carole dance around the kitchen, fussing at each other to go sit down. Kurt hummed, singing every few words, while Carole made up her own lyrics. Kurt loaded the dishwasher; Carole put the few leftovers in the fridge.
Finn and Burt were watching an old football game on one of the channels Blaine ignored at home. Kurt had rolled his eyes, but if Blaine weren’t still focusing on Kurt to keep calm, he might have joined them.
“How’s school?” Carole asked quietly. Blaine glanced up in time to see her worrying look fade into a smile.
Kurt answered, “So far so good. Lauren’s little bully-be-gone club seems to be working.”
Blaine nodded. “The classes are easier than Dalton, and being able to sing to music instead of a capella makes up for a lot.”
That was… somewhat true. He’d have been top dog at Dalton this year. More than likely, he would’ve been on the Warbler Council with Thad. Classes with teachers he already knew and trusted and liked. Teachers adored him at Dalton because they remembered his first few months and the broken boy he’d been, and they’d always enjoyed seeing his smile.
Now that he thought about it, the three students who’d beaten him and Marty vanished. They took plea bargains instead of a trial, went to a facility somewhere, and Blaine didn’t want to know more, so he never had.
But now, watching Kurt, Blaine wondered. Queen Clarisse kept mentioning Joseph, the best of all her men. The leather jacket beside the door smiled gently at Kurt and Blaine’s joined hands.
Blaine had decided not to care about those boys. They broke his collarbone and bruised his ribs, and sent Marty across the country to live with his grandparents. They shattered his faith in people until Wes and David poured time and effort and compassion into healing the smallest Warbler. It took a year, and Blaine still flinched sometimes. He’d still looked warily around Kurt’s prom, and he almost hadn’t stepped in to ask for that dance.
Those three kids, his own classmates - Rick, Devon, Bobby - pounded him into the ground because he held hands with a boy.
So Blaine stood, walked over to Kurt, whispered, “I love you,” and leaned in to kiss his boyfriend.
Rick and Devon had been seniors, the big men on campus. They’d have been tried as adults. Bobby was a junior and his fate up in the air.
“Come upstairs with me?” Kurt asked breathlessly.
They all took plea bargains and Blaine never heard anything else. He didn’t want to hear anything else. He focused on healing. Even that, he almost failed. He decided to learn to fight back, even if now it was mostly just to let off steam after a hard day. He really should show Kurt one of these days - Kurt should be able to protect himself, too.
“I’d love to go upstairs with you,” Blaine said. “But I should head home.”
“If you must,” Kurt sighed. “I’ll walk you out.”
Burt and Finn both gave them pointed looks as they walked through the den. If Blaine wasn’t so tired, he’d be embarrassed.
“Sorry you’ll get in trouble,” Blaine said as they hugged goodnight.
Kurt pushed him back against his car. “Don’t worry, Blaine,” he whispered, gently kissing the skin behind Blaine’s ear. “Stop worrying, you silly, lovely boy.”
Blaine clutched Kurt’s shirt, fingers convulsing on the fabric. Suddenly, more than anything, Blaine wanted to let it all go. Collapse against Kurt and sob because of… everything. Queen Clarisse and Genovia. Philippe Renaldo and Robert Anderson. McKinley and the glee club that liked him till he became one of them. The blind, ignorant hatred that chased him out of one school and still buffeted him at another. Mama. Oh, Mama.
“Blaine, Blaine, Blaine,” Kurt murmured, arms tightening around him. “Do you need to come upstairs? I’m not letting you drive like this.”
Blaine just leaned against him, so tired of being weak. He needed tighter control on his emotions. So he took a deep breath, eyes closed, and counted to ten.
When he raised his head and stepped back, Kurt looked at him, but let him go.
“Thank you,” he said, catching Kurt’s hand and raising it to his lips for a kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Drive safe,” Kurt said. “I’ll text you later.”
.
Blaine got home, yelled “Goodnight!” to his dad, took a blistering shower, and crawled into bed. He held his phone in one hand and cuddled his pillow with the other, waiting.
Kurt texted at five after midnight: I love you. Sweet dreams.
Blaine sent back, I couldn’t do this without you.
He didn’t cry. Had to bite his lip and bury his face in the pillow, but he didn’t cry.
.
On Thursday morning, Blaine woke not so panicked. He texted Kurt Good morning and smiled when Kurt replied hi, sweetie! :). They’d come a long way since Courage. Almost a year. He’d have to do something spectacular for the anniversary of their first meeting. He made a quick note in his phone and marked his calendar. He couldn’t get caught up in all the prince nonsense and forget Kurt.
Dad made banal conversation about football. Blaine’s comments were just as pointless, but Dad was trying. They’d never been that close; Mom had been so physically demonstrative, so warm, that Dad and Blaine hadn’t needed to connect. Their failed bonding experience over the car showed it still needed some work.
So Blaine poured himself a glass of orange juice and asked, “If I - when I take the throne, what will you do?”
Dad sloshed his coffee around in the mug. “I’ll attend the coronation, of course.” He tried giving Blaine a smile. “I always knew you were bigger than this little state, Blaine. You’ve always talked about New York, LA, San Francisco. So I always knew you’d leave one day. And I’ll cheer for you, and love you, and watch with pride as you change the world.” He reached across the table to pat Blaine’s hand. “You are my son, even if you’re a prince. Even when you’re a king.”
Blaine blinked back tears. “Promise?”
Dad smiled, stronger and lasting. “I don’t say it anywhere near as often as I should, but no one could ever be prouder or love you more, Blaine.”
.
When they met at the parking lot, Blaine pulled Kurt into a deep kiss. Kurt let it go on longer than Blaine had thought he would, before he gently pushed Blaine away.
“You feel better?” he asked, shooting a quick look around, but no one seemed to notice. Well, except Puck; Blaine grinned at his thumbs up and leer. Kurt rolled his eyes.
“I do,” Blaine said, grabbing his hand. “And Dad and I have tentative plans to go to the dog park this weekend.”
Kurt stared at him for a moment, then said, “Blaine, you don’t have a dog.”
“I know,” Blaine laughed. “But there are usually so many dogs there, no one’ll notice.” He shrugged. “We couldn’t think of anything else to do together.”
Kurt squeezed his hand. “I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time.”
Blaine nodded, tugging Kurt into the building. “We should hide, not go to class,” Blaine suggested, grinning hopefully and half-seriously at Kurt. “Let’s run away together.”
Kurt smiled, nodding to Karofsky as they passed. “And never look back?” he asked, opening his locker.
“And never look back,” Blaine said, leaning in for a quick kiss to Kurt’s cheek.
.
Classes that day dragged. Lunch sat in his stomach like a stone. Mr. Schuester gave Blaine and Kurt a disappointed look during glee, their last period of the day, but he didn’t ask them to stay behind.
So Blaine kissed Kurt in the parking lot, whispered, “Wish me luck,” and drove to the Hilton.
The concierge led him to a different room, with the same suits at the door, where his grandmother stood waiting. “Hello, Blaine,” Queen Clarisse said. “Today, I will see where you stand in certain areas.”
.
Queen Clarisse gave Blaine half a dozen tests that afternoon: geography, history (world in general, Genovian in particular), literature, etiquette, philosophy, and French.
Geography and French were, as always, his weak points. But on the whole, Queen Clarisse seemed pleased, and she let him leave after he filled out the last question.
“On Saturday morning, return, please, Blaine. Just after breakfast,” Queen Clarisse said. “Bring Kurt. We shall make a lesson plan for everything you must learn.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Blaine said, lowering his head.
She paused, then reached out to touch his shoulder. “Will you please call me Grandmother? I would like that very much.”
Blaine glanced up at her. “Of course, Grandmother.”
.
Blaine called Kurt from the road. Kurt said, “Focus on driving, sweetie. Call me once you’re home.”
“Okay.” Blaine sighed and tossed his phone onto the passenger seat.
He was calm. He was calm.
He wanted to talk to Grandma and Grandmom, to be assured that even if he failed every test ever, he’d be loved. Even if he never ruled - even if he was overthrown and decapitated, he’d still be loved. Even if he caused a war.
Grandmother. Queen Clarisse.
Oh, God. He was the grandson of a queen, in line for the throne. No matter how many times he told himself that, it always sounded ridiculous. Like a lie. The most absurd lie in the world: Blaine Anderson, Crown Prince of Genovia. How pretentious.
Someone honked; Blaine slammed on his brakes and just missed hitting an SUV.
Okay, time to focus on driving.
.
In his driveway, he called Kurt again.
“I’m not a prince,” he said desperately, on the verge of a panic attack. “I can’t be, Kurt. I’m a fraud. They’re all wrong.”
“Oh, hell,” Kurt muttered. “Blaine, listen to me. Where are you?”
“Home,” he gasped, leaning over to rest on the steering wheel. “Kurt, my life is a lie. How can I fit on a throne?”
The tears finally came. He couldn’t stop them. He held his hands to his face and sobbed.
He didn’t know how long it was until Kurt was there, pulling him out of the car and sinking down, holding Blaine in his arms. He collapsed against Kurt, still sobbing, and focused on Kurt’s chest, rising and falling beneath his head. It seemed like a long time before Blaine calmed, and Kurt detached himself, standing and pulling Blaine up with him. Blaine followed Kurt to the door, and Kurt used his own key to let them in.
“Up the stairs, love,” Kurt murmured, steering him. Blaine stumbled; Kurt caught him, then put his arm around Blaine’s shoulders. “Careful, Blaine,” he said. “Almost there.”
Blaine let Kurt lay him down and snuggled in as close as he could when Kurt lay down behind him. “It’s alright,” Kurt said. “Blaine, it’ll be alright.”
Blaine spent the next few hours in Kurt’s arms, trying to stop what seemed to be a never-ending stream of tears. Kurt didn’t say, sing, or hum anything: he just held Blaine.
Dad came home at some point. He poked his head into Blaine’s room, but kept silent and went back downstairs.
Finally, Blaine said, “Grandmother wants to see us both on Saturday morning. Lesson plans.”
“Alright.” Kurt kissed the back of his neck. “We’ll go around ten. I’ll pick you up and take you to IHOP.”
“IHOP?” Blaine chuckled. “You hate IHOP, Kurt.”
“Yeah,” Kurt said. “But you love it, and you need their chocolate chip pancakes, don’t you?”
Blaine sighed. “What time is it?”
“Almost ten. I left in a hurry, too. Dad’s probably furious.” He pulled away; Blaine rolled over in time to see Kurt stretch, arching his back. “I’ll text you when I get home,” Kurt said, leaning over to kiss him before sliding off the bed.
Kurt paused at the door, turning back. “Blaine, will you think about telling Dad? I can, if you’d prefer. But… this is the third day something’s happened, and he’s getting antsy.”
Blaine nodded. “Tell him, Kurt. He can call my dad about it, if he needs to. But please don’t let Finn know.” If Finn knew… pretty soon, everyone else would, too. It’d just be another reason to hate him.
Kurt smiled. “Thank you, Blaine. I love you.”
“Love you, too,” Blaine said, pulling his blankets over his head as Kurt shut his door.
masterpost