Everyday (Part 3)
“What - but that’s where we live, Dad,” Kurt says, staring confusedly at Burt. His eyes flicker to Blaine, the downturn of his mouth and sudden dullness in eyes that so far have only been bright, and he remembers. His voice starts to go sharp, his breaths quickening. “But - I thought I needed familiar surroundings - my bedroom...”
“Your room isn’t even there anymore, buddy,” Burt says. “And the memories you’ve lost are--” He’s cut off by Kurt’s raised voice.
“What do you mean my room isn’t there? You got rid of the house? What about--”
“Kurt,” Burt says sharply, and he hasn’t used that tone with his son in years, always hated doing it, but sometimes Kurt gets inside his own head and it’s impossible to pull him off the ledge. “We haven’t lived in that house in a decade.”
“What about mom’s dresser?” Kurt asks quietly.
“It’s in our bedroom,” Blaine answers, just as hushed, and Kurt realizes it’s the first time he’s spoken. His voice is rough, like he’s choking, and when Kurt properly looks at Blaine, he sees the tension in his jaw, his shoulders, his fists clenched at his sides. But mostly he sees Blaine’s eyes. They’re wet.
“I - I don’t mean,” Kurt starts. Stops. Takes a breath and tries again, wishing Blaine would look at him instead of focusing so carefully on the wall. “I keep forgetting. You say home, I think Ohio. Even though I’m ecstatic that I don’t live in Lima, I still think I do. I didn’t mean to upset you, Blaine.” The desperation in his tone makes Blaine finally meet his eyes, and the tension in his body visibly lessens.
“Hey, no,” Blaine says softly. “What did I say? Whatever you want. Your pace. The doctor just thinks...” he looks to Dr. Miller pleadingly, hoping it sounds more convincing, more like a treatment plan, if it comes from an authority.
“Kurt,” the doctor starts. “Physiologically, you’re fine. Fantastic. Far better than anyone expected. Even your brain imaging shows no visible damage. Which means your memory isn’t lost; it’s just...well, we’ll say it’s locked, to put it in layman’s terms.”
“So how do I unlock it?” Kurt asks, and Burt and Blaine both know that tone, though it’s shaped differently with the softer voice he’s been speaking in since he woke up in the past. He’s talking through gritted teeth and they hope that Dr. Miller makes it through the rest of his spiel pretty quickly, lest he be on the receiving end of a Kurt Hummel bitch fit.
“There’s no way of telling what could trigger memory recovery, or when,” Dr. Miller sighs. “The best thing to do is immerse yourself in your life, in familiar surroundings. Which means going home with Blaine.”
“Can you give us a minute, doctor?” Blaine asks, and the man nods and leaves without a word. Blaine braces both palms on the mattress, rests his weight on his hands as he leans forward and looks directly into Kurt’s eyes. He takes a shaky breath, but his voice is strong when he speaks.
“If you want to go to Ohio, it’s ok,” he says slowly. His inhale hitches almost imperceptibly, his exhale is shaky again, and Kurt realizes he’s fighting not to cry. Without thinking, he reaches out and covers Blaine’s hand with his own; he startles himself with the move and is about to pull back when Blaine flips his hand to grasp Kurt’s, like he’s the only thing keeping Blaine on the ground.
Maybe he is.
And that’s what decides it. It would be so easy to run; to go back to Ohio. He could help his dad at the shop and read through old schoolwork to try to catch up. Maybe he could learn to drive. He could hide in a bedroom he doesn’t recognize and wait for something to make him remember.
But he’s never seen happiness and relief and hope radiating off of someone the way it has been with Blaine since he woke up. And Kurt doesn’t know him, his favorite color or his birthday or his last name, even, and even though Kurt’s never been on the receiving end of the look in his eyes, he knows what it is. It’s love. He promised Blaine he would remember him, that he would try, and so he will.
“No,” Kurt says firmly, covering their clasped hands with his free one and smiling when Blaine follows suit until they’re both leaning awkwardly, all four of their hands a tangled mess. “No, I’ll come home. With you.”
“You’re sure?” Blaine asks, and if Kurt wasn’t already decided, the hope in Blaine’s voice even as it cracks with emotion seals it. Kurt nods, just keeps nodding so his voice doesn’t betray how scared he is.
Burt agrees to stay in the city, stay nearby at the hotel until Kurt is settled and comfortable at home (and even though he knows wherever he’s going is home, the word still conjures up images of his basement bedroom and it’s hard to move past that, to process that that room is just gone) but Kurt still keeps him close all weekend. Finn’s a teacher, like Blaine, so he’s similarly off for the summer, and he and Carole will go back to Ohio on Monday so he can keep an eye on the shop for Burt, so they’re eager to spend as much time with Kurt as possible. He asks questions, listens to stories, looks at photos. It seems like he’s had a nice life so far; he wishes any of it was familiar.
When Blaine appears Saturday morning, the morning after the “home” bombshell, Kurt asks if they can wait to talk about them. “I’m not avoiding it, I promise,” Kurt is quick to explain. “But my family is leaving Monday and it might be...easier? If we wait until we go home. No interruptions.” Blaine agrees immediately, not only because he’d promised Kurt they could go at his pace, but because he’d used the words we and home.
Kurt’s plaster cast comes off on Saturday afternoon; he grimaces at how shrunken his calf looks and makes snarky comments about the lack of progress in “medical fashion” when Blaine goes with him to get fitted for a walking cast and knee brace. By Sunday he’s eating full meals, or at least what the hospital passes off as meals, and hobbling up and down the hallway outside of his room, leaning on Burt for support. (He’d been given a crutch for stability, but Finn had called him Tiny Tim and that was the end of that experiment). There’s no doubt now; he’s getting discharged tomorrow.
Finn and Carole’s flight is early on Monday morning, so they come to say goodbye Sunday night. Kurt allows Finn to hug him, only jumps the smallest bit, and that’s more from the sheer strength of the embrace than anything. “I’ve been wanting to do that for 6 weeks,” Finn says, shrugging one shoulder before leaning in for another, less intense, embrace. He ruffles Kurt’s hair when he pulls back, and the scowl Kurt gives him makes him laugh brightly as he leaves. “Love you, bro.”
Blaine shows up early Monday morning, another bag slung over his shoulder with his now familiar messenger bag.
“Well, as lovely as it is, I didn’t think you’d be up for venturing out in your gown,” Blaine says when Kurt raises a questioning eyebrow. He shakes the bag at him playfully. “Clothes. I ventured into your closet without permission, but I figured it was ok just this once.” (It’s the first time I’ve gone into our bedroom.)
“I suppose,” Kurt says, a wry smile on his face as he takes the bag. “As long as you didn’t mess anything up. I really doubt I’ve gotten any more lenient about my closet over the years.”
“Not a bit,” Blaine agrees. Kurt pulls the clothes out, examines them, and Blaine suddenly feels like he’s taking a test he didn’t study for. So, of course, he starts talking. “I, um, I wasn’t sure what to grab, exactly. I went for simple, but none of your pants will fit around the cast and all of your shorts have straps on them and it’s going to be literally a hundred degrees today but I didn’t know if you’d want your arms covered or not so..”
Kurt lays out a pair of knee-length, gunmetal gray shorts, a simple pale blue v-neck t-shirt and similarly colored lightweight henley that are both impossibly soft. A pair of well-worn running shoes clatter around in the bottom of the bag (“That cast is bound to stretch your shoe out, it was the easiest sacrifice,” Blaine explains).
“This is good,” Kurt looks at Blaine, smiling approvingly, and Blaine exhales in relief.
Kurt is discharged at noon, freshly showered and dressed in real clothes, and it’s startling when he looks in the mirror and really sees the breadth of his shoulders, his narrow waist. It’s one thing to see through a hospital gown, or even naked, but the clothes bring it all into sharp relief and he takes a second to stand alone in the bathroom, stare into the mirror and try to reconcile his mind’s eye with reality.
There’s a towncar waiting, because the only thing that has made Rachel feel useful for the past 6 weeks was to throw her credit card at anything that needed it. Before Kurt can flinch at the sudden shock of sunlight, so different than the artificial, fluorescent light of the hospital, Blaine is producing a case from his messenger bag and slipping a pair of aviators into Kurt’s hand with a wink that Kurt just barely catches from behind Blaine’s own sunglasses.
Once he doesn’t have to squint against the sun, Kurt can’t stop staring upward. Everything in Manhattan is tall; he knows that in the abstract, but it’s so, so different now, when he’s close enough to touch. He doesn’t stop looking even as Burt helps him into the back of the car, immediately rolls down the window so his view isn’t dimmed by the tinted windows.
“Where do I - we - where do we live? What neighborhood?” Kurt asks, a little breathless as the car crawls along. There are so many people outside, even in the middle of the day on a Monday. Kurt’s sure they’re judging him, but he’s in New York and can’t be bothered to care about that at the moment.
“Upper West Side,” Blaine says, twisting around from the front seat to answer. “About a block away from Central Park. If we were on a higher floor, we’d have a nice view of the park.” Kurt hums in response and goes back to staring out the window, practically hanging his head out as he cranes his neck.
Mercifully, their building has an elevator, and Burt helps Kurt into it as Blaine trails behind, carrying their bags and the crutches Kurt is still refusing to use. Kurt’s still a little skittish about anyone other than Burt touching him, so Blaine keeps his distance. His hands are literally itching at having Kurt so close but not being able to touch him freely, but maybe that’s good right now, because he’s not sure he’d actually be able to let go.
“Why don’t you show him around,” Burt suggests as Blaine unlocks the door. “I need to call Finn, remind him of a few things; it’s been awhile since he was in the shop. That ok, Kurt?” Kurt hesitates, just for a second, but nods.
“Do you want the crutches?” Blaine offers, holding them out. “You should really take some weight off of your leg, and Finn’s not here to make jokes.” Kurt rolls his eyes but nods, taking them and awkwardly swinging forward. Blaine hovers for a moment until he’s sure Kurt’s not going to fall over. He remember when he sprained his ankle during his senior year of college, the way Kurt had picked up his crutches to make fun of his lack of grace with them, and promptly overbalanced and fell, almost earning a pair for himself. But Kurt seems steady now, if a little slow, so he starts to walk backwards around the apartment, waiting for Kurt to follow.
“The kitchen,” Blaine starts. “Which probably has nothing...oh, nope, Rachel’s been here, we’re stocked. Oh wow she even bought meat. Vegan,” he explains at Kurt’s confused look. “Laundry room’s through the kitchen, but it’s not interesting. There’s a good chance the washer is actually a spaceship though, I’m relatively sure you’ve been holding out on me. Living room, I don’t even want to think of the state of the DVR right now. Try not to fall asleep on the couch, you’ll never get the crick out of your neck.”
Kurt nods, a small smile on his face as he follows Blaine across the living room toward a hallway. The apartment is beautiful; not overly large but the space is well utilized. He clearly decorated it, judging by the small splashes of color woven throughout the rooms.
“Here’s the nu--” Blaine starts, cutting himself off midsentence. “Um, not bedroom.” Kurt raises an eyebrow and Blaine rubs his hand across his face, then waves his hands awkwardly into the room. “Yeah. Theoretically a bedroom but...not. One. In this apartment. Clearly.” His voice is stilted, scratchy and too high as Kurt looks around. The room is clearly divided, one side housing a small piano, other instruments littered around it, a bookcase full of sheet music. On the other side there’s an expensive looking sewing machine, a large drafting table covered in sketches.
(”This will make a great nursery,” Kurt says, keeping Blaine a few steps behind the realtor. They’ve been looking at apartments all day and this is the first one they’ve both agreed on so far. “When we’re ready. For now, it can be the office. But I guess music and fashion are our babies. So it can still be the nursery.” He spends the next few minutes showing Blaine how they can set it up as both an office and a proper nursery, how a crib can replace the piano. “When we’re ready,” he says again, squeezing Blaine’s hand. They sign the lease that afternoon.)
Blaine starts moving again and Kurt makes a mental note to revisit that room later, look through what are apparently his sketches. Blaine points out the bathroom, the fuse box “just in case,” then stops at the end of the hall, his hands flailing awkwardly again.
“Here’s the, uh, bedroom,” he says, and oh. That explains the awkward. This is their bedroom. Blaine walks further into the room, stops and actually looks around. He’d gone straight to the closet when he’d stopped by early this morning to pick up clothes for Kurt (I haven’t slept here once without you) but now Kurt’s here, so he lets himself look.
“It’s...nice,” Kurt says after a minute, and Blaine can practically feel the tension radiating off of him. Blaine clears his throat.
“You can...you’ll sleep here, of course,” he says quickly. “I’ll stay in the living room.”
“I thought you said not to sleep on the couch?”
“I’ll manage,” Blaine shrugs, gestures for Kurt to lead the way back to the living room. They’re home. It’s not ideal, not yet, but they’re home.
They keep things light; Burt and Blaine are both worried about overloading Kurt. He’s been dealing with everything so well thus far and it must be confusing to be taken to an unfamiliar place and told it’s your home, so they stick to impersonal topics, continuing what Kurt calls his pop culture catchup. They’ve just finished dinner (which Burt insists on making, says he’s feeling nostalgic even though Kurt never let him cook so there’s nothing to actually be nostalgic for) when Kurt yawns widely.
“I shouldn’t be so tired,” he laughs. “Considering I just slept for 6 weeks.” Blaine flinches and Kurt sighs. “Sorry, too soon. But...will you judge me if I need to go to bed?”
“Of course not.” Blaine stacks the plates and takes them to the sink as Burt follows Kurt to the bedroom. Blaine follows a minute later when Kurt calls his name, enters the bedroom to see Kurt pulling open the drawers in his mother’s dresser.
“Where do I keep my pajamas?” Kurt asks, closing one drawer and opening the next.
“Oh,” Blaine starts. “Um.. You don’t. Have. Any?” And oh, Blaine really wishes Burt wasn’t standing right there, looking far too amused.
“What do I sleep in, then?”
If ever there was a time to develop telepathic powers, this is it. Blaine stands there, staring at Kurt, begging with his eyes. Please don’t make me say this in front of your dad. Whether it works or Kurt just catches on quickly, Blaine sees recognition dawn in his eyes.
“Oh. Well, do you? I could borrow...” Kurt trails off as Blaine shakes his head minutely. “Ah.”
“I can go buy you some!” Blaine says far too loudly. He swears he hears Burt snort and oh how he hates his father-in-law right now. “Yes. I can go buy you pajamas. Of course. There’s...” he looks at his watch, mentally scans the neighborhood, shakes his head and sighs. “There’s a Gap a few blocks away.” Burt muffles another laugh and Blaine’s stomach twists when Kurt doesn’t. “I’ll be twenty minutes, tops.”
True to his word, Blaine’s back with Kurt’s pajama pants (and a pair for himself, because he figures it will make Kurt more comfortable) before Kurt is done with his skincare routine, and he stands with Burt in the doorway, watching fondly. It’s easier to pretend, in this moment, that everything is fine. Blaine grabs his pillow and a blanket from the bed and leaves Burt to get Kurt settled.
“Just yell if you need me,” Blaine says, holding out a hand and smiling when Kurt doesn’t hesitate to take it. He squeezes Kurt’s hand gently, runs his thumb over his knuckles before he lets go and backs toward the door. “Night.”
Kurt smiles as he says goodnight. He wonders why Blaine always backs away when he leaves, eyes wide and almost hungry, like he’s afraid to turn away.
Burt falls heavily onto the couch, lifting his arm and letting Blaine curl into his side.
“You’re doing good, kid,” Burt says. “He told me it was ok if I went back to the hotel, so we know he’s not scared of you.” Blaine just nods in acknowledgment, and Burt leans forward to grab the remote from the coffee table. “It’s early. You up for some baseball?”
“Sure,” Blaine shrugs, staring blankly at the TV.
“I’m not just here for him, ya know,” Burt says quietly. Blaine nods again, reaching up to pat Burt’s arm where it’s slung across his shoulders. They’re quiet for a few minutes, watching the mindless repetition of the game, when Burt speaks again.
“How was the Gap?”
Blaine reaches blindly behind him, hand closing around a throw pillow that he slings forward into Burt’s face. Burt grabs it, keeps it there to muffle himself so they don’t wake Kurt as Blaine buries his face in Burt’s shoulder and they both dissolve into laughter.
-----
It’s early when Kurt wakes up, even though the alarm clock says he’s slept almost 12 hours. He’s too hot, sweat matting his hair and making his pajamas stick to his skin. He manages to stand up, hobbles quietly to the bathroom on his crutches, which are already irritating his arms but Blaine’s right, he should try to use them whenever possible. He creeps into the living room, wondering if Blaine is awake, and his breath catches at what he finds. He leans against the wall and lets himself watch (Just for a minute. He’ll never know).
Blaine is sleeping soundly; he’s on his back, his mouth open, and he’s snoring just a little. There’s a blanket covering him, tangled around his legs, and Kurt notices that he’s wearing pajamas similar to his own, realizes he must have bought them last night, probably as a courtesy to Kurt. He smiles at the thought, how Blaine has been so, so careful to make sure he’s comfortable. Blaine shifts, throwing an arm over his head, and Kurt’s mouth goes dry.
The movement makes the blanket fall around his waist, and oh god he’s not wearing a shirt. Kurt knows he should turn around, that he’s venturing into creepy, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the expanse of tan skin. He could tell Blaine was fit, but this is just ridiculous. The peek of a sharp hipbone over a narrow waist, tight abs (the likes of which Kurt’s never seen outside of movies) that lead to a firm chest and broad shoulders. His bicep is flexed with the way his arm cradles his head and Kurt wants to squeeze it.
The thought makes him shake his head, bring himself back to a reality where he is not standing in the hallway ogling a half naked, sleeping man. He turns to go back to the bedroom and wait for a more acceptable time to get up, and knocks his crutches over.
“Kurt?” Blaine’s voice is hoarse and it makes something that he tries to ignore swoop low in his stomach.
“It’s early,” he says softly. “Go back to sleep.” But Blaine’s already sitting up, hair rumpled and a sleepy smile on his face. He stands and stretches and that’s even better than when he was laying down (stop it), then crosses to where Kurt’s standing, bending down to retrieve the fallen crutches.
“Thanks,” Kurt says, his voice cracking. He shivers a little, the sweat on his skin cooling because it’s easily 15 degrees colder out here. He pulls the fabric of his t-shirt away from his body, grimacing, and looks up when he hears Blaine chuckle quietly.
“I’m guessing you’ve discovered why you don’t usually sleep in pajamas,” Blaine says, his voice teasing but not mocking. “It’s like an oven in there.”
“I really want to shower,” Kurt sighs, then frowns. He’s not supposed to put any weight on his leg when the cast is off; he and Blaine both know this.
“I can call Burt?” Blaine offers, pushing through like he has every time, and Kurt is grateful for it. But he shakes his head.
“It’s not even 7. He needs to sleep.” Kurt had known something was wrong when Burt started each day by popping a handful of pills. Had demanded to be filled in the night before when he watched his dad cook and eat grilled chicken and a salad with practiced ease and no complaints. They hadn’t wanted to worry him with news of the heart attacks when he was already so anxious, Burt had explained. But Kurt was persistent, and was now determined not to put any extra burden on his father.
“I’ll manage. I’ll just hop on one foot, I’ve got decent balance,” Kurt says, but Blaine is emphatically shaking his head.
“No way. Our bathtub is freakishly slippery, and you won’t let me put those traction decals in.”
“That’s because they’re hideous.”
“They make sophisticated ones.”
“Tell me you didn’t want the ducks,” Kurt says, arching an eyebrow.
“...Touche,” Blaine grins. He closes his eyes, soaking up the moment; it’s almost like Kurt is back, but then again he’s always hated things like that (Yes, Blaine. Granite countertops, black porcelain bathtub, ducks. Exactly what I was hoping for). He sighs and opens his eyes, suggests quietly, “I can help?”
Kurt immediately flushes. He realizes, in the abstract, that Blaine has seen him naked. But he is very actively not thinking about that, and the shower situation makes it hard to avoid.
“I can...just wait,” Kurt says to the floor. “It’s fine.”
“Kurt, you’re miserable when you’re sweaty. (Unless it’s from sex. No, don’t think about that). Just...Oh! Wait here. I have an idea.” Blaine darts into the bedroom without waiting for a response and Kurt hears him rustling around, the thump of something falling, a muffled curse followed by a victorious “a-HA!”
Blaine re-emerges a few minutes later, and Kurt can’t stop the laugh that escapes as he stands in the doorway, arms spread wide. Blaine has changed out of his pajamas and is wearing a bathing suit, close fitting board shorts with an awful floral pattern. And, because for as sweet and accommodating as he has been so far, Kurt gets the feeling that he is just a bit of a jackass, a snorkel.
“Is there a point to this...?” Kurt trails off, gesturing vaguely to Blaine’s body (even his calves are nice).
“I,” Blaine starts, grinning widely, and he looks very proud of himself. “Am going to stand in the shower with my back to you. And you can use me for balance.” Kurt bites his lip, considering. It makes sense, but it still means he’s naked in the shower with another person. Blaine must see the conflict in his eyes, because when he speaks again his voice is gentle. “I won’t look, Kurt. Just think of me as a human safety rail.”
“Alright,” Kurt sighs. He’s really starting to feel gross as more of the sweat dries and leaves him feeling sticky. “But why the snorkel?”
“Oh,” Blaine laughs again, pulling it off and tossing it behind him into the bedroom with a shrug. “It was just in the bin with our beach stuff.” Kurt shakes his head, gesturing for Blaine to lead the way into the bathroom. By the time he follows, Blaine is already standing in the shower, facing the wall with his hands on his hips. Kurt takes a second to admire the muscles in his back (he has muscles everywhere) and takes a deep breath, pulling off his clothes before stepping gingerly into the shower and unhooking his cast.
“Top lever, about 60 degrees to the left, then pull down on the ring around the faucet,” Blaine instructs. “The red loofah is yours.” Kurt does as he says, yelping at the initial shock of cold water before it quickly heats up to a wonderfully warm temperature. He pours shower gel onto the loofah and ghosts his fingers over Blaine’s naked shoulder, trying to keep his balance with minimal contact.
“Kurt. You can touch me,” Blaine says plainly. “I know you’re...” he casts his eyes to the ceiling, looking for the right word. “Hesitant. And that you’re very uncomfortable right now. But you’re safe. It’s ok. I promise.” Kurt grips his shoulder at that, and Blaine smiles at the wall.
Blaine thinks he’s doing very well, considering he’s standing in the shower with his very naked husband, whom he has not seen or touched in over 6 weeks, and is keeping his hands and eyes to himself. He hears Kurt pop open the shampoo, then sigh and stop moving altogether.
“We’re at an impasse,” Kurt says. Blaine just hums in question, waiting for him to continue. “I can’t...I can’t properly wash my hair like this. I need...oh god. I either need you to wash my hair or keep me balanced, or we’re both going down in a heap.” He slips a little at that moment, as if to emphasize his point, and his fingers dig into Blaine’s shoulder in a way that definitely doesn’t make Blaine think of anything else.
“Just tell me what’s easiest for you,” Blaine insists, and Kurt is grateful he’s so easy with this, so casual. If he was as much of a mess as Kurt feels right now, he isn’t sure he could get through this.
“Um,” Kurt stalls, thinking of the options. Blaine’s eyes on his body or his hands. Both make his head spin. “My hair. Just don’t...”
“I’ll keep my eyes above your neck,” Blaine promises. “Ready?” He turns around at Kurt’s ok, chin pointedly raised so he’s looking into Kurt’s eyes - more at his forehead, really. He holds a hand out and Kurt pours shampoo into it, setting it on the ledge before resting both hands on Blaine’s shoulders with a small smile.
“Sorry I’m so weird,” he says quietly, letting Blaine’s hands tip his head back a little as strong fingers rub at his scalp.
“Not weird,” Blaine answers, meeting Kurt’s eyes for just a moment before returning his focus to his hands. He ignores the hum of contentment that comes from Kurt’s throat, wonders if Kurt even noticed it. When he glances down again, Kurt’s eyes are closed, and it would be so easy to just keep looking, let his eyes drift down the body he’s missed so much, but he won’t. Kurt trusts him not to, so he won’t.
“Hold on,” Blaine murmurs, feeling Kurt’s grip tighten as he tips his head back into the spray, the long, pale column of his neck filling Blaine’s field of vision. He works the shampoo out with a sigh; he’s always loved washing Kurt’s hair, second only to Kurt washing his. They repeat the process with conditioner and then Blaine reaches to the towel bar while Kurt turns the water off, grabs a fluffy terrycloth robe (which is actually his, but Kurt’s isn’t absorbent) and passes it back to him before he steps out of the tub.
“Say when,” Blaine says, not turning until Kurt gives the ok. “You can’t put your cast back on until your leg is dry,” he explains, and he’s inching forward as Kurt looks confusedly at him. “I’m just going to lift you out, then we’ll get you dried off and back in the cast, alright?”
Kurt nods, holding his breath when Blaine’s hands grip his waist and he lifts him far too easily over the lip of the tub, right onto the edge of the counter. Kurt knows he lost the baby fat, he’s looked in the mirror enough to accept it, but he’s also gained muscle. He’s not small; he’s bigger than Blaine, at the very least taller, and Blaine just picked him up like he weighed nothing.
He gets lost in contemplating that for a moment, and doesn’t notice until he looks down that Blaine is carefully drying his leg, his touch feather light. He doesn’t look up until he’s secured the cast. He smiles brightly, reaches forward and lifts Kurt again, setting him gently on the floor.
“Tada,” Blaine sings, handing Kurt his crutches. Blaine leaves him to get dressed, pointing out a pair of tearaway track pants he picked up the night before that are now folded neatly on the bed, and disappearing with a deep breath and a call of, “I’m making pancakes.”
Breakfast is quiet; Blaine watches Kurt’s eyes dart fitfully around the kitchen, out into the living room, searching for something he isn’t finding. He waits for Kurt to ask him something. About the kitchen, the apartment, about them.
Kurt is quiet.
Blaine waits.
Tuesday passes much like Monday; Burt comes over late in the morning with a large stack of fashion magazines that make Kurt’s eyes light up. Rachel and Mercedes, who stayed away on Monday to let him settle in, arrive after lunch. Kurt asks them question after question about high school, about college. He notices, somewhere in the back of his mind, that there’s a veritable black hole in his junior year, wonders how it could have possibly been so boring when every other millisecond of their lives then seems so fraught with drama. But before he can follow the train of thought, Mercedes is wheezing through a story about Rachel’s Gaga costume. Everyone leaves after dinner, even Burt leaves earlier than normal after an OK from Kurt. They sit in the living room, Kurt leafing through a magazine while Blaine stares at a book that might be upside down in his lap.
Blaine waits.
Kurt is quiet.
Wednesday passes like Tuesday; Blaine wakes when he hears Kurt enter the living room, can feel Kurt’s eyes on him as he continues to feign sleep for a few minutes. He stretches obviously to give Kurt time to retreat, rolls his neck with a grimace, gestures vaguely to the couch at Kurt’s question and shrugs off his apology. He helps him shower, keeps his eyes north, his hands where they’re needed. He makes breakfast, waits until Burt arrives to excuse himself to the shower. He leans his forehead against the tile, lets the water run down his back, cranks the lever hotter, hotter, almost burning but at least he feels it, down to his bones.
Thursday morning Burt walks in frustrated, barking into the phone in a tone Blaine hasn’t heard in years. Something about the new business next door to the shop, property line disputes and surveys and back taxes and this is really not the time for this, my son is sick. And that’s what makes Kurt balk. Not waking up in a world he doesn’t recognize, in a life he doesn’t remember making. Not needing his stranger-husband to help him shower. But his dad referring to him as sick. Blaine sees something change in Kurt’s eyes at that, holds onto it with everything he has (come back come back comeback) as Kurt sits his dad down and tells him to book a flight.
Burt argues, but Kurt always wins these things, and Burt knows that; Blaine thinks he argues just to give Kurt something to do, hasn’t been that invested in actually winning a fight in years. There are a million are you sures and an equal number of yesses and Kurt looks at everything in the apartment hesitantly, but never Blaine. When he looks at Blaine he seems, if nothing else, sure.
Sure of what, Blaine isn’t sure.
Blaine leaves for a large chunk of Thursday afternoon, gives Burt time alone with Kurt and himself just time alone. Uses the gym membership he never uses and hops on a treadmill, turns the speed up far too high, faster than he should when he hasn’t run in months, hasn’t even warmed up today, and runs. Runs from the past. Runs toward the future. Feels the burn in his calves, his lungs, his eyes. Ignores it. Keeps running.
When he stops, he’s exactly where he started.
Burt leaves right after dinner on Thursday; he claims it’s due to an early flight, but Blaine is pretty sure that if he stays any longer he’ll convince himself not to leave. He hugs Blaine tightly, almost forcing the air out of his lungs. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to; at this point they’ve said everything, shared worries and hopes and fears and tragedies and victories so immense that anything he could say would seem trite anyway. He walks back to Kurt, balancing awkwardly on his crutches. Cups his face in both hands and kisses his forehead, says something that Blaine doesn’t quite catch, but it’s not meant for him to hear. Kurt nods at whatever it is, just one sharp movement, and then Burt’s heading for the door. He pauses with his hand on the doorknob, turns back, reminds them that he loves them, both of them, and disappears.
Kurt is quiet.
Blaine waits.
Kurt finishes his nightly skin regimen (he’s finally getting the hang of the new products he’s rotated in over the years), startling a little when he swings into the bedroom and happens upon Blaine carelessly tossing underwear toward a leather duffel on the floor.
“Oh,” Blaine looks up at Kurt’s surprised yelp. “I’ll be out of the way in a second.”
“Are you, um, going somewhere?”
“Yeah..” Blaine trails off, dragging his hand through his hair until it’s clenched around the back of his neck. He starts rubbing it absently as he speaks. “I’m, uh, I’m just going to check into the hotel for the night. I won’t leave until you’re asleep, and I’ll be back early. You won’t even notice that I’m gone. (Please notice I’m gone.) You’ll be ok here, right?” Kurt doesn’t say anything in response, not for a minute that feels like an hour, and when he does, his voice is almost inaudible.
“I’m sorry.”
Blaine jumps immediately, drops the t-shirt that was clutched in his hand, closes the space between them but stops just short of touching Kurt.
“Hey. No,” he says, ducking until he can catch Kurt’s downcast eyes. “It’s just - I warned you about that couch. My neck is a wreck. (So is my brain.) And then I had the brilliant idea to run nine miles this afternoon and I’m pretty sure that if I sleep on the couch tonight I might not actually be able to get up in the morning.” (I feel like I’m losing it and I can’t break in front of you.) He stops, cocks his head in thought. “What would you have to be sorry for?”
“I told you I would remember you,” Kurt sighs. “And it’s been days and just. Nothing. I wouldn’t blame you for being upset, for not - not wanting to be here.”
“I’m not upset,” Blaine insists. (Not at you. Never at you.) A piece of Kurt’s hair falls across his forehead and Blaine’s hand twitches in reflex; he barely stops himself from reaching out to fix it. “I don’t want to - not be here. (I don’t want to be anywhere but here.) It’s just.” He sighs, shaking his head; he should’ve realized this was a bad idea, how thin his reasoning sounds, even though the couch really is killing him. He looks away, and when he looks back, Kurt has his eyes closed, is taking deep breaths.
“You can -” Kurt says quietly as he opens his eyes, gesturing vaguely toward the bed with one of his crutches. “We can share the bed.”
“Kurt, no. That’s not what I meant.” Blaine can hear his voice rising but can’t stop it. This is the opposite of what he promised Kurt and he can’t do that to him. Not already, not ever. “I’m not trying to - push, or anything. No. Of course I’ll stay. I’ll stay on the couch. It’s fine. I would never--”
“Blaine.” Kurt reaches out and grabs Blaine’s arm, just below his elbow, before sliding down to clasp Blaine’s hand in his own. Kurt has so rarely initiated any contact so far that when he does, Blaine feels it all the way down to his toes, and his eyes close at the touch.
“Blaine, it’s ok. I know you’re not trying to trick me or something. I was...I was going to suggest it earlier, anyway.” He wasn’t, at least he hadn’t planned to, but when he says it Blaine seems to exhale a little, become a little less frantic, and the thought doesn’t bother him, much, so he goes with it. “The bed is big. We’ll share the bed. Ok?” He tries to sound more authoritative, surer than he is, because Blaine is just looking at him, and he knows he’s looking for signs of nerves.
Finally, Blaine nods. “Ok. But don’t - don’t ever do something just because you think you have to, ok? I just want you to be...ok.” He was going to say “happy” but doesn’t think that applies here, not right now, when Kurt is lost and Blaine can’t find him.
“I’m ok,” Kurt says, then yawns. “I’m also tired. So I’m going to go to bed.”
“Me too,” Blaine says quickly, trying not to look too eager. But he’s going to be sleeping with Kurt. Just sleeping, really just sharing space, but it’s so much; it’s everything. “If that’s ok, I mean.”
“Blaine,” Kurt says again, the tone of his voice stemming the latest rise of uncertainty in Blaine’s stomach. “If I’m going to trust you, you have to trust me, alright? I have no idea what I’m doing here, but I’ve got pretty good instincts.”
“You do,” Blaine agrees, darting to where his pajama pants are folded on top of the dresser and grabbing a t-shirt for good measure before heading for the bathroom to change.
Kurt is already in bed when he returns, laying carefully and precisely along the edge of his side of the bed. Blaine smiles fondly at the sight, smiles wider when he sees Kurt attempt to sneakily crack an eye open. He pulls back the blankets and settles into his pillows, glancing at Kurt, still completely still, from the corner of his eye.
“You’re going to fall off the bed,” Blaine chuckles. Kurt huffs, and Blaine can tell without looking that it’s a noise borne of frustration, embarrassment. Blaine wants to ease his mind, tell him “Just pretend it’s a sleepover,” but he remembers that this Kurt doesn’t have those friends yet, the ones that crowd his bed for sleepovers. This Kurt has a personal space bubble that hardly anyone breaches in the light of day, let alone when he’s at his most vulnerable.
“It’s ok,” Blaine says instead, and it’s lame, too simple, but it’s all he has. He extends his arm into the no-man’s land between them, lays his hand palm up on the mattress.
Kurt breathes, then reaches out, rests his hand in Blaine’s. For everything that has happened in the past week, every time Blaine has held out his hand, Kurt has taken it.
Kurt’s hand is warm in his, and he’s not sure how subtle it is when he slides his thumb down to rest on his pulse. Kurt is warm and breathing and laying next to him in their bed.
And that’s what finally makes Blaine lose it.
Kurt inches toward the center of the bed, stopping when he hears a quiet hitching of breath. He looks over to see Blaine staring at the ceiling, tears streaming steadily from the corners of his eyes and onto the pillow.
“Blaine?” he asks quietly, propping himself up on an elbow. Blaine stays silent, just squeezes his hand harshly in response. “Blaine, what’s wrong? Come on. Talk to me.” He watches as Blaine’s mouth opens, closes, jaw working but nothing coming out until he finally takes a deep, shaky breath.
“Kurt.”
It comes out as a sob, his hand tightening further around Kurt’s. Kurt freezes, not sure what to do even as his body moves of its own volition, moves toward Blaine, overcome by the need to be closer. He tugs on their joined hands, now all but trapped between their bodies with Kurt’s new proximity, and Blaine finally looks at him. His eyes are wide, overly bright and so lost, and Kurt’s heart seizes. He lets go of Blaine’s hand, shushing him when a whimper escapes his throat at the loss of contact, and slides his arm under Blaine’s shoulders, pulling him across what’s left of the distance and into his body.
“Kurt?” Blaine asks wetly, freezing at the contact.
“Shh, shh.” Kurt uses the arm around Blaine’s back to press his head down until it’s resting on his chest. He has no idea what he’s doing, has never comforted anyone this way; hasn’t allowed himself to be comforted like this since he was young, but it feels natural. It feels necessary, like protecting Blaine is his only responsibility right now. Blaine’s head fits perfectly on his shoulder, and when he tentatively raises his hand and rests it on Kurt’s heart, it feels right to cover Blaine’s hand with his own, lace his fingers into the gaps between Blaine’s.
Blaine’s still shaking, a steady tremor punctuated by body wracking sobs. Kurt slides his arm down to tighten around Blaine’s waist, squeezes their joined hands. He rocks back and forth, just slightly, and the motion seems to calm Blaine; his breathing quiets, the shaking stops.
“I’m sorry,” Blaine whispers; he starts to pull away, but Kurt tightens his grip again.
“Sleep,” Kurt murmurs into his hair.
Blaine’s hand tightens in the fabric of Kurt’s t-shirt; he can feel tears still leaking from his eyes but it doesn’t matter anymore. Kurt is solid underneath him, around him, holding him the way he has since they were 17, and the knot in Blaine’s stomach loosens as his eyes close. He lets his breathing sync with Kurt’s, lets the steady rise and fall of his chest lull him to sleep.
Part 4