Everyday (Part 7)
Kurt walks through the door Monday evening looking simultaneously proud, bashful, flabbergasted, and annoyed. Blaine’s pretty sure that Kurt is the only person who could manage that combination of expressions, and pull it off without looking completely ridiculous.
“I’m not going back to that class,” he says, swinging gracefully down the hall to the bedroom. Blaine remains seated on the sofa, waits for Kurt to center himself and reappear; Kurt has always needed those few minutes to reacclimate after a day at school, at work, wherever. Sure enough, Blaine’s only made it through a few pages in his notebook (Why are there so many sopranos coming in this year? All of the choirs are going to be so lopsided) when Kurt reappears, falling heavily onto the sofa. His head lolls against the back and Blaine had planned to wait him out, but he doesn’t seem like he’s going to volunteer information.
“I thought it was...going well?” Blaine asks, mind working quickly to properly phrase the next part because he doesn’t want to offend Kurt. “If it’s turning out to be...difficult...don’t get too down on yourself - you’re not expected to know everything, that’s why the class exists.”
“Blaine,” Kurt says, voice monotone and unreadable. “That’s the problem. I know everything. Everything. I sat in the back of the classroom today and instead of paying any attention at all I just did all of the worksheets and didn’t miss any questions. So I spent the rest of the time on my laptop, sending away for college brochures.” He stops talking when he sees how Blaine is staring at him, jaw a little agape and eyes wide; it makes him self-conscious. “What?”
“Kurt,” Blaine exhales. “That’s - you realize how important that is, right? There’s stuff there that you shouldn’t know, that you wouldn’t have even come close to learning for another couple of years. I mean I know you’re smart but...” Kurt’s eyes widen, mirroring Blaine’s as he catches on.
“Ask me something,” he says, voice quiet but urgent as he pulls his legs up onto the couch, turning to face Blaine. So Blaine wracks his brain, thinking of things he knows Kurt didn’t learn until at least his transfer to McKinley.
“Tell me about economics” garners little more than a furrowed brow, but “Who is the father of economics” gets an immediate answer. Kurt can’t tell Blaine his opinion on The Grapes of Wrath but he can name the main characters. Can’t explain the theory behind differential equations but can solve one set in front of him. He seems to be able to answer questions but not recall the information without prompting.
There are a million questions Blaine wants to ask, things they haven’t talked about yet (What song did we dance to at our wedding? What are we going to name our daughter? Where were we when I told you I loved you for the first time?) but he’s too scared, doesn’t know if he can handle Kurt not knowing the answer, doesn’t know if Kurt can handle Kurt not knowing the answer, not when this feels like such a turning point.
Instead he stands up, darts across the room to the record player and returns with his hand outstretched as a song begins to play. “Dance with me.”
“Blaine, I can’t really...” Kurt frowns, gesturing down to his cast, but Blaine just laughs and wiggles his fingers, pulling Kurt up and leading him from the carpeted living room to the cool tile of the kitchen. He spins Kurt quickly, grinning when his socked foot slides easily as Elvis blares from the living room.
They’ve been twirling and shimmying and laughing for 3 songs, Blaine dancing on one foot half the time (“We’ll start a craze”) when his phone starts to ring, just barely noticeable as the song fades out into crackling static. Blaine dashes a kiss across whatever part of Kurt’s face is closest, shrugging at Kurt’s raised eyebrow when it lands on the side of his nose, and jogs toward where he’s pretty sure his phone is stuck between the couch cushions, raising it victoriously over his head before answering.
“Hey, Kurt?” Blaine calls after a minute, and Kurt follows him to the living room, taking in his furrowed brow, the slight frown. He mutters, “Hold on a sec” into the phone and covers it with his hand, looking hesitantly at Kurt.
“It’s your office. Leslie’s...freaking out. I don’t understand half of what she’s saying. Can you try?” Kurt eyes the phone skeptically but shrugs and takes it. Blaine hears Leslie’s tone change into something fond, hears the hushed “Oh darling, you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice...” before she starts back up. Kurt looks caught somewhere between concentration and complete confusion so Blaine leaves him with a squeeze of the hand, wandering toward the kitchen to start dinner.
Kurt reappears a few minutes later, twirling Blaine’s phone absently in his palm. “Spring line sketches. Any guesses?”
“Black leather portfolio, I think, one of the nicer ones,” Blaine answers without pausing his chopping. “I don’t know where it is, though, because you’ve been moving everything around. Also,” he spins, leaning back against the island. “You never let me touch it or the sketches themselves because,” Blaine clears his throat and when he speaks again it’s in a respectable imitation of Kurt’s voice. “Between the rosin and the slide grease on your hands and the chalk dust on your shirt you will be the death of my burgeoning design career, Blaine Anderson.”
“Well you can’t just touch pencil sketches with hands anything less than pristine,” Kurt huffs, but still returns Blaine’s grin. “Alright. Apparently after...everything...they tried to just recreate my parts of the line but Leslie isn’t happy and she just begged me to find whatever I had and take it over to her tomorrow. She described the designs, so I’m going to go scavenge through the piles of portfolios in there and hope that I didn’t destroy them when I was looking at everything.”
“Good luck,” Blaine smiles, saluting sharply before turning back to the cutting board. The record has started over, so he sings along as he works, laughing every time he does an exaggerated hip swivel and following it up with a muttered “Thank you, thank you very much” and failed lip curl. He’s been practicing that for 20 years; it seems like he’d have it down by now.
He looks down at the veritable mountain of vegetables, wondering what to actually make with them, when he realizes the record has finished again and he hasn’t heard a peep from Kurt. So he wipes his hands and heads down the hall, tossing the dish towel absently between his hands as he calls out and gets only a distracted “Yeah?” in reply.
When Blaine stops in the doorway his breath catches; Kurt is hunched over the drafting table, glasses perched on the end of his nose, tongue poking from the side of his mouth as his pencil moves in broad strokes over the paper.
“There were three that were still unfinished,” Kurt mutters, not looking away from his work. “I’m done with one and I shouldn’t be too much longer with these two, sorry.”
“Kurt?” Blaine asks, voice high and reedy and shaking even though he tries to stop it. He can’t even imagine what his face must look like when Kurt glances up, probably startled by the way Blaine sounds, but it makes Kurt freeze when he looks at him over the top of his glasses. He drops his pencil.
“I...” he trails off, shaking his head like a dog with water in it ears as he pushes away from the table. His voice starts rising as he continues. “I found them, and they weren’t done and I just started drawing and...oh god I hope I didn’t ruin them - How did I--”
“Kurt.” Blaine interrupts him, walking carefully toward where he’s sitting with his arms wrapped around himself, looking ready to vibrate out of his skin. “I don’t think you ruined anything.” He leans over to look at the sketch and can’t tell what was done before and what Kurt’s added tonight. “Kurt, this is great.” He can see uncertainty in Kurt’s eyes, though, flashing between the excitement, and places his hands on Kurt’s crossed arms, tugs him up into a hug.
“It’s just like the GED class,” he says, arms tight around Kurt’s waist and speaking quietly but quickly, assuredly, right into his ear. “It’s just another thing we know is there. Drawing is...you spent years studying it in school. It’s probably like sense memory. This is good.”
“This is good,” Kurt echoes, pulling back to look at Blaine. “This is good,” he repeats, more confidently, and a grin is spreading across his face that Blaine returns. “Oh my god, Blaine, I’m a - I’m still a designer. It’s there, somewhere. I’m not--” he cuts himself off abruptly and Blaine wonders what he was going to say, but lets it go when Kurt kisses him hard once, darting in repeatedly as he speaks again. “This.” Kiss. “Is.” Kiss. “Good.” The last kiss is longer and Blaine moans into it, can feel Kurt’s smile even as he licks at the seam of Blaine’s lips.
“Let’s see if I have sense memory for anything else,” Kurt mumbles into his mouth, and before Blaine can ask what he means, Kurt is turning him and pushing him down into the desk chair, bending with him to keep kissing him.
“Can I...?” Kurt asks, moving his hand to the front of Blaine’s jeans, toying with the button. Blaine had thought he’d changed his mind, since he hadn’t brought it up again, but he nods furiously at the question, would be embarrassed if it weren’t for the way that Kurt is straddling one of his knees, already hard and rutting absently against him as he starts on the buttons of Blaine’s shirt, lips following his fingers to trace over each inch of newly revealed skin.
He pushes the shirt from Blaine’s shoulders and tugs his undershirt off in one quick movement, immediately leaning forward and latching onto the hollow just above his collarbone, sucking lightly at the skin as his hand slides over Blaine’s chest, down his stomach to rest on the bulge in his jeans. He squeezes lightly, gives one parting kiss to the side of Blaine’s neck, then his lips, laughing against them and tutting in the back of his throat when Blaine tries to deepen it, instead pulling back to slide down onto the floor.
“Wait,” Blaine says quickly, and Kurt’s about to yell at him (he almost whines “But you promised” before he realizes how completely childlike that sounds and how much it will not help right now) but he sees Blaine grabbing blindly behind him, pulling his discarded shirt free from where it’s trapped behind his back and folding it hastily. “Your - your knee,” he explains, shoving the makeshift cushion at Kurt.
Kurt rolls his eyes fondly, because Blaine’s so concerned, so attentive, even when Kurt is attempting to blow him. He takes the shirt even though his knee feels fine (which he keeps insisting) and it really does feel better, so he kisses Blaine’s still clothed thigh in thanks and oh, maybe he should take care of that. He sits up, swirls his tongue into Blaine’s bellybutton as he unbuttons his jeans just to hear the noise he makes, and taps his hips, smiling when Blaine immediately lifts up. Kurt hooks his fingers into both waistbands and pulls, throwing the rest of Blaine’s clothes behind him, and when he turns back, there it is.
Blaine’s dick.
Kurt’s been staring for about a minute when he leans forward suddenly, higher than Blaine expected as he mouths at his abs, slowly, slowly working his way lower, millimeters at a time.
By the time he reaches a hipbone, giving it an experimental nip, Blaine is sure he’s lost all communication with his body. He’s wriggling around naked in their leather rolling chair and Kurt is fully clothed in front of him, kneeling on his shirt. The absurdity of it threatens to pull him out of the moment, but Kurt’s mouth is really, really close to his cock now and he’d like to see what happens next.
“I like these,” Kurt mumbles as he kisses across to the other hipbone, his chin brushing Blaine’s erection, and Blaine gasps at the contact.
“Baa-babyyy,” Blaine whines, shifting again, and Kurt freezes, looks up.
“Say that again,” Kurt breathes, lips still brushing low on Blaine’s stomach.
“Wh-what? Baby?” Blaine does not have enough blood in his brain to pay attention to his words right now. But Kurt leans up, looping a hand behind Blaine’s neck to pull him down, too, and forces Blaine’s mouth to open wide under his. Blaine just takes it, hips rising in search of some sort of friction as Kurt thrusts his tongue into his mouth. Kurt pulls away too soon, but Blaine grabs the hem of his shirt on his way back down and pulls, tossing it and reaching down to run his hand through Kurt’s hair, as far down his neck and back as he can manage before Kurt’s pushing him back again.
Kurt leans forward and gives a small, tentative lick to the underside of Blaine’s cock, and god it’s almost enough. He follows it with his lips, one open mouthed kiss up the shaft before he pulls back again, considering.
“Oh god baby please don’t tease me please,” Blaine babbles, rolling his head against the back of the chair.
“I don’t,” Kurt starts, hesitates, and Blaine starts to reach down, to pull him up before he can get embarrassed again. But Kurt catches his hand and looks up, eyes wide. “I want to...do it right. Just - show me?”
Blaine exhales shakily, extracting his hand from Kurt’s grasp to cup his burning cheek. He runs his thumb over a cheekbone, down to brush over Kurt’s swollen bottom lip, gasping when his mouth falls open a little. Blaine’s eyes roll back in his head when Kurt sucks at the tip of his thumb and it takes him a minute to gather himself.
They’ve roleplayed before, but this is one they’ve never been able to get right; Blaine can’t keep a straight face and Kurt is too proud of his ability to completely take Blaine apart to play ignorant, but his eyes now are curious and eager and trusting Blaine to teach him how to give a blowjob.
“Open, sweetheart,” Blaine says, pressing a little on the hinge of Kurt’s jaw before he cups his cheek again. His voice is husky and he sounds like every bad porn movie he’s ever seen but he so doesn’t care, not when Kurt’s mouth just falls slack like that with no question. “No teeth,” he warns, taking the base of his cock in his free hand and guiding it toward Kurt’s waiting mouth. He moves slowly, rubs the head against Kurt’s lips and tries not to shudder when Kurt’s tongue instinctively darts out to taste.
“Like that,” he urges, and Kurt gives him one last look before sinking down over the tip. Blaine lets go of his cock, reaches for Kurt’s hand and guides it to the base, wanting more of Kurt touching him, on him, handsmoutheverything surrounding him, still cradling his jaw with the other hand as he starts to bob his head slowly.
“Oh - nng - Kurt, yeah,” Blaine mutters, digging the nails of his free hand into his own thigh to try to stop from thrusting up into the tight, wet heat. Kurt hums at the praise, the vibrations going straight through Blaine, making him moan and feeding back into Kurt’s enthusiasm. He sinks down further, too far too quickly, and pulls away with a sputtering cough and watery eyes.
“You - ok?” Blaine pants; he’s genuinely concerned but he can’t sound anything other than turned on, and he hopes Kurt realizes that.
“Yeah,” Kurt says, voice scratchy, and he’s shaking his head, “I knew I wouldn’t...”
“No, no, shh,” Blaine says, rubbing the base of Kurt’s neck soothingly even as he guides him back to his almost painfully hard dick. “It happens. Just - not so deep so fast.” Kurt nods and places a quick kiss to the head, almost chaste were it not for the circumstances. He takes him back into his mouth, not as far as before, hand slowly jerking what he isn’t covering, working his tongue along the ridge just under the head, in circles all around the shaft, pressing into the slit and moaning a little at the slight taste of precome. It seems to spur him on and he starts to sink down again.
“Slow,” Blaine warns, eyes clenched shut. “Breathe through your nose.” Blaine can tell the second everything finally clicks for Kurt; he picks up speed, takes Blaine a little deeper. Blaine’s hips stutter again and Kurt presses them back down, leaves his arm there to hold him down, and Blaine is grateful to stop thinking about restraint, trusts Kurt to hold him down. His eyes won’t stop opening and closing, torn between watching Kurt work him over and not being able to focus on anything, and he can hear himself babbling.
He feels himself hit the back of Kurt’s throat, the flutter of muscles around the head as Kurt’s gag reflex tries to kick in. “You don’t have to,” he mutters, but Kurt looks up at him with a glint in his eye as he hollows his cheeks, sucking hard before sinking back down just as far. His throat flutters again and Blaine hears and feels the slight, frustrated sound, knows that if one thing is certain, it’s that Kurt doesn’t back down from a challenge.
“Relax,” he says softly. “Steady breaths through your nose.” He pulls Kurt’s hand away from the base, interlacing their fingers on his thigh as Kurt sinks down again, and this time when the head of his dick hits Kurt’s throat it keeps going.
“Oh, fuck,” Blaine yells as Kurt swallows around him. Kurt moans as he bobs his head, then again, and Blaine is vaguely aware of more movement. He looks down to see Kurt’s hand shoved down the front of his jeans, rocking into his own fist as he keeps swallowing Blaine down. Blaine’s orgasm rushes up on him at the sight and he squeezes Kurt’s hand where it’s still wound around his.
“Kurt - I - I’m - “ he stammers, using his grip on Kurt’s head to hold him in place when he just moans again but makes no move to pull away, thrusting deep once and coming with a shout, curses and oaths to deities he doesn’t believe in and Kurt, always Kurt.
He loosens his grip but doesn’t let go, letting Kurt lift his head with a weak cough and sliding his hands to his arms to pull him up and into the chair. He leans into Kurt, open mouth pressed to his sternum, hissing when his softening cock brushes denim but not caring enough to move.
“So that’s a no on the sense memory,” Kurt says, voice raspy as he laughs weakly. Blaine tries to kiss him, ends up just kind of sliding his mouth around a bit, and Kurt giggles again, dips his head to bury a kiss in Blaine’s curls. “Was that...ok?”
“Perfect,” Blaine murmurs, forcing enough focus to control his mouth. He kisses his chest. “You are so beautiful.” His neck. “And perfect.” He kisses him properly, gently, slipping his tongue through Kurt’s lips to taste himself on Kurt’s tongue. They sit for a minute before Kurt shifts uncomfortably, making Blaine hiss again.
“Sorry,” Kurt hums, petting absently at Blaine’s side. “But I, um, need to go clean up.” His stomach growls loudly as he moves to stand and they both laugh. “Were you making dinner?”
“I...cut up a lot of vegetables,” Blaine starts. “But I didn’t really...have a plan” (I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that you’re almost remembering). “Seriously, a lot of vegetables. You go clean up, I’ll figure it out.” He stands too, leaning in for another kiss before ducking to pull on his boxers and t-shirt and following Kurt from the room.
They eat stir fry (and Blaine feels vindicated that he insists on having a box of minute rice around even though Kurt hates it because at least it doesn’t take 45 minutes to cook like the bag of stuff Kurt likes that Blaine keeps mistaking for potpourri) while Kurt muses about his newfound design abilities, wondering if Leslie will be ok with him finishing the sketches when he takes them over in the morning. Blaine offers to accompany him but Kurt refuses, says he should go on his own, and it makes Blaine smile. He loves when Kurt needs him but loves it more when Kurt doesn’t need him, but wants him anyway.
They fall into bed early, a tangled mass of limbs high on progress and possibility, and Blaine is grateful that the pajama nonsense has gone by the wayside because it was so hot today that he knows the morning sun will be insufferable. There’s a movie playing on the television but neither of them are really paying attention, too busy trading lazy kisses and touches, intrigued by angles of ribs and knobby knees and the scratch of chest hair. Kurt laughs when Blaine finally yawns wide, pressing a smacking kiss to Kurt’s lips and turning over, taking Kurt’s arm with him and snuggling back into his chest. Blaine brings Kurt’s hand to his mouth, kissing the palm and leaving his lips there, humming a little while his breaths even out.
Kurt’s almost asleep when Blaine speaks, voice low and slurred with his own journey toward sleep.
“Love you,” Blaine mumbles into his palm, and Kurt’s eyes are stinging even as he drifts to sleep.
-----
Kurt pushes the door open, not even flinching when it slams against the wall, ignoring the heavy metallic clang as his eyes adjust to the darkness. He’s out of breath, knows he’s been running, doesn’t know what’s led him here, but knows who.
He walks as quietly as his crutches allow; he’s stepping on something and even the whispering as it shuffles seems loud, echoing in the empty room. He squints down to find a sea of papers, white sheets covered in drawings of dresses and suits, all initialed KAH, and he cringes when the tip of his crutch smears the pencil on one of them.
A muffled groan catches his attention and he tries to follow it, stumbling until a dim light appears a few feet to his left, revealing Blaine. He’s in a chair, arms and legs bound with something shiny, groaning faintly through the gag in his mouth.
“Blaine! Blaine are you alright?” Kurt hurries to the chair, dropping down in front of him to try and catch his eyes. He looks dazed, unfocused, blinking heavily as he tries to lift his head. Kurt tries to pull away the red and blue striped tie muffling him but it’s too tight, his fingers won’t work against the knot. “I’ll get you out of here,” he mumbles, staring into the darkness and willing something to appear that will help him. He can feel eyes on him, all around them, but they’re all just beyond his field of vision.
“He’s not moving,” a soft, familiar voice says, and Kurt whips around to find the source, seeing nothing. “Neither of you are. Not unless you remember.”
“I’M TRYING,” Kurt screams, turning back to Blaine. He leans down to investigate the rope only to find what looks like film, endless tiny squares housing moving images. Some are familiar, from the past few weeks or something he’s seen in the photo albums, but most are new, just barely out of focus. They’re all of him and Blaine.
“Try harder,” the voices chides, and Kurt reaches out for the film, intending to tear it apart, only to have his hands pass right through it. He grabs Blaine’s wrists and tugs, watching as the binding digs into his skin but he can’t get a grip on it.
“I told you,” Kurt says through gritted teeth. “I - there was an accident - I can’t.”
“Can’t?” Kurt hears a quiet scoff and it makes him clench his jaw harder. “Then it looks like no one’s going anywhere.”
Kurt jolts awake, just barely manages to resist bolting upright as he comes back to himself, but he can sense Blaine’s presence even in his sleep and recognizes the arm draped over his stomach before he sees it, doesn’t want to wake Blaine up. This is the third night in a row, every night since Blaine mumbled his love into Kurt’s skin, that’s he’s dreamt of dark rooms and invisible captors and woken in a cold sweat.
He slides carefully out from under Blaine’s arm, smiling as Blaine curls it around his pillow instead and sighs happily in his sleep, and pads quietly toward the living room, collapsing into the corner of the sofa and rubbing a hand over his face.
He’s a little disappointed in his mind, really; it seems like it would have a bit more respect for the nuances of metaphor and subconscious insecurities, but no. Instead he has Blaine literally bound by the things Kurt can’t remember and a voice saying they’re stuck until he does.
It’s stupid. It’s utterly ridiculous.
He wonders if it’s true.
It’s already been an intense week and it’s only Wednesday - well, Thursday now. The realization, confirmation that everything was still there, somewhere had buoyed them up, made them giddy and hopeful and chatty as they explored what, exactly, Kurt remembers, but there’s been an undercurrent in every word, moreso in the silence.
Kurt’s been waiting for Blaine to ask him something that matters.
Blaine hasn’t.
Kurt can feel him watching, though, trying to be discreet about it but mostly failing, watching like he’s waiting. He understands, or at least thinks he does; Blaine doesn’t want either of them to be disappointed, is too scared to test the limits of progress, but even with how scared he is, himself, Kurt is itching, ready to crawl out of his skin wondering what lies just beyond the darkness.
He stands and walks over to the television, stooping to open the cabinet beneath that houses the DVDs, fingers tracing over the one he’s been avoiding. The cover is in Kurt’s handwriting, “K+B 5/24/19” inside of a heart with an arrow through it. He finally pulls it from the stack, slipping the disc into the player and settling in the armchair closest to the TV so he can keep the volume low.
He has to try. He promised he would try.
---
The room is all exposed brick and steel, contrasting sharply with the white linens and pale blue chairs. It must be evening, the room dim save for the hundreds of tiny lanterns strung between the two sides of the balcony above.
Blaine descends the staircase, an older woman on his arm as he proceeds down the aisle, leaving her at the end with a kiss on the cheek before moving to the front, smiling a little when the closest man pats him on the shoulder.
Then Blaine’s expression shifts and Kurt knows that watching this was a terrible idea.
Blaine beams, grin spreading quickly and eyes welling with tears visible even through the camera. The camera pans and there’s Kurt, arm interlocked with his father’s, taking the final step off the staircase and moving down the aisle. His face is similarly...blissful, that’s the only word for it, really, and he doesn’t spare a glance for anyone in the audience until he leaves his dad at the end of the aisle, eyes closing when Burt leans forward to kiss his forehead and says something indecipherable. He takes his place next to Blaine; Finn reaches out and punches him in the arm, Rachel beaming right behind him.
The officiant talks about soulmates and fate and beating the odds and the immutable qualities of love and the whole time they don’t take their eyes off each other. They get to the vows and even the cheesy words sound heartfelt and earnest, sickness and health and love and honor and every day for the rest of our lives. They’re announced Kurt and Blaine Anderson-Hummel and there’s a deafening roar, so loud the camera crackles with the feedback, as they kiss, and it’s soft and slow but neither of them can stop grinning into it and after a minute it’s just a crushing hug, both of their arms wrapped around the other and holding on like their lives depend on it.
Kurt watches them and wonders how he could’ve considered what they are right now anything close to happy. How he could think it’s enough when he’s seen them so happy they’re practically floating with it. How he can think it will ever be more than a cheap knockoff.
(Looks like no one’s going anywhere.)
He stands as the scene fades out, and when it comes back the room has been transformed for dancing. Kurt listens to Finn’s toast as he pulls his laptop off of the end table. He waits for it to wake up as the other toasts are made, listens to the crowd laugh and coo and watches Blaine and himself as they stand to say thank you but barely look away from each other, so much love in their eyes that Kurt’s own burning eyes can’t look directly at them.
Blaine spins Kurt out onto the dance floor and pulls him back into his arms as Kurt types into the search bar.
Ohio fashion design schools.
---
Blaine sits up before he’s fully awake, brain buzzing that something’s off, wrong. He instinctively reaches to the side, finds the bed empty and Kurt’s pillow cool to the touch. He hates that he still panics when he wakes up alone, shakes his head to clear out the fear before he stands up to investigate.
He finds Kurt burrowed into the arm of the couch, arm curled around his closed laptop, sound asleep as the DVD player’s screensaver bounces across the screen. He’s shaking a little, probably cold from the bite of the air conditioner that never quite makes it back to the bedroom, and as Blaine gets closer, he hears quiet sniffling. Kurt’s eyes are twitching, moving fitfully behind closed eyelids, and as a tear leaks from the corner of one eye Blaine realizes that he’s crying.
Blaine slides one arm under his bent knees, the other around his back, and lifts him off the couch. The contact startles Kurt partially awake and he jolts in Blaine’s arms, head whipping around until Blaine shushes him.
“You’re ok, you’re ok,” Blaine murmurs, squeezing him closer to his chest. Kurt’s eyes lock on his and fill with tears as a sob escapes.
“Why can’t I remember you?” he asks, voice thick with sleep and breaking on the words as he buries his face in Blaine’s neck and wraps his arms around his shoulders. Blaine glances down and his heart falls when he sees the familiar DVD case laying open on the floor. Kurt cries silently into his neck all the way into the bedroom, more just hitching breaths than anything, and his grip is so tight that Blaine doesn’t even try to put him down, instead lays down himself, keeping Kurt close.
Kurt hasn’t said anything else to Blaine, but he can hear him muttering under his breath, just barely, “I’m sorry” and “I’m trying” over and over against his neck, but it’s slurred, and Blaine’s almost positive he’s sleeping again. He holds Kurt a little tighter, tries to whisper as many endearments as Kurt does apologies, and doesn’t sleep until Kurt goes quiet and still.
Kurt wakes up again when it’s light, groaning as he shifts awkwardly and wonders why the bed is so lumpy, until he feels that it’s also breathing. He opens his eyes to see the curve of Blaine’s chin and last night’s events come rushing back. The nightmare, the wedding, his temporary insanity and grand plan to hide away in Ohio until he gets his memory back - it all seems ridiculous in the light of day, and he’s embarrassed when he realizes that Blaine must have found him on the sofa, because he doesn’t remember returning to bed on his own.
“Hey,” Blaine says quietly, and Kurt shifts to turn his eyes up. They burn a little at the movement and he wonders if they’re as red as they feel, wonders if he was done crying before Blaine found him. “How are you feeling?” Apparently not.
“Morning,” Kurt responds, pressing a brief kiss to Blaine’s jaw. “I - better. It was silly. Don’t worry.” (Of course I’m happy. We’re happy.)
“Are you sure? You were...”
“Had a nightmare,” Kurt says simply, rolling off of Blaine and propping himself up on an elbow, giving Blaine a look that he hopes translates to please drop it. He leans down and kisses the corner of his mouth, pulls back with a small smile. “I’m fine.”
It was more than a nightmare, Blaine thinks, if the way Kurt was whimpering and sobbing and clutching at him is anything to go by, but he can hear the anxious note in his voice so he lets it go.
“Do you have time for breakfast before you go to work?” Kurt asks as he stands, pulling on a simple pair of shorts and a t-shirt.
“Not going in, actually,” Blaine says, stretching his arms above his head. He was planning to, but he wants to stay close to home after last night because he’s pretty sure Kurt isn’t as fine as he claims. He’ll either come to Blaine on his own, or everything will boil over and he’ll break down. Either way, Blaine will be ready.
“Ok. I’m cooking.” Blaine retrieves his laptop from where it’s half under the bed as Kurt leaves; he knows he has a ton of email to get through, had intended to look through everything last night but then Kurt had been...distracting, and he never got to it.
There’s a message from his mom, a list of links to amnesia and memory loss books with a note at the bottom:
I didn’t want to be presumptuous, but if any of these look like they might be useful to you, say the word and I’ll have them shipped.
Love to you and Kurt,
Mom.
The books have titles ranging from clinical to sappy, things like “Myths About Memory: Post-Traumatic Amnesia and Recovery” and “Hello Again” and Blaine shakes his head and flags it to look over later. She’s been trying to help in small, unobtrusive ways, sending him articles and contact info for neurologists she’s touched base with, just in case.
The next email is from his father, followed by two from his father’s friend John.
Blaine,
John left a message saying that negotiations are over - won’t be surprised if this arrives with a similar email from him. Have sent him a nice bottle of scotch in appreciation. Understand that you’re swamped, but when you get time, pass along your own thanks; he’s logged a lot of hours and won’t accept a dime.
Call your mother with an update.
Dad
“Call your mother” has been his father’s way of reaching out since he left for college, of communicating that he’s still interested, curious even, but can’t bring himself to ask. Everything clicks into place at “negotiations” and Blaine knows now why he vaguely recognizes the name. His father will never be Burt Hummel, but he’s been trying to help in his own way.
-----
Day 6
“Son.” A hand, heavy but soothing, lands on his shoulder at the word, and Blaine’s eyes snap up from where they’ve been fixed on Kurt’s unmoving hand under his. “Take a walk with me.” He’s reticent to leave, to move at all, but Carole nods encouragingly and he stands with a sigh. He startles a little when his dad wraps a bracing arm around his waist, but he can feel himself swaying on his feet so he mumbles his thanks and lets himself sink into the support.
His parents had arrived the day before, once Burt called to update them that this wasn’t going to be over anytime soon, although he’d seen little of his dad. He is steered to a chair down the hall from Kurt’s room with a muttered “Maybe a walk is a bad idea” from his dad and he blinks heavily at him when they’re both seated.
“I know you’re not in the mood, but we need to talk about some logistics. John - you remember John, right?” Blaine nods; he’d been checking up on them since Blaine started college, taking him and Kurt out to a far too expensive dinner once in a while. He’d come to the wedding.
“He offered to handle the legal side of this; he wants to file a suit against the city. Is that alright with you?”
“A suit?” Blaine asks. His brain is sluggish, the words not meaning what they should.
“A lawsuit, Blaine. Kurt got hit by a city cab committing a moving violation. You’ll get a settlement; especially with John in control.”
“Fine. Whatever. I don’t care about--”
“I know, Blaine. I know,” his dad says in a softer voice, laying a hand on his knee. “I know you don’t care about anything past Kurt right now, and you don’t have to. That’s why I want you to let John handle it, alright?” He pulls a small stack of papers from the briefcase Blaine is so used to seeing him carry that it doesn’t even register anymore. “We had these drawn up yesterday. You need to give him power of attorney for you and Kurt, alright? I’ll take them back to his office.”
Blaine signs without reading; he trusts his dad with these things, knows he would find everything in order if his brain were capable of processing anything right now. They stand again and he’s led back to Kurt’s room, falling back into his chair. His dad’s hand falls on his shoulder again and he covers it with his own for a second, squeezes lightly before the man disappears back into the hallway.
Blaine opens the next message, wondering what John has managed to negotiate. He’d completely forgotten about it, honestly, so any kind of settlement is an unexpected surprise. Maybe they can go on a small trip before the school year starts; maybe he can convince Kurt to use the money instead of taking out student loans.
Blaine,
Everyone was very eager for this to be settled without a civil trial. The driver who hit Kurt had over a dozen complaints filed against him in the past 6 months but was still on the road. He’s since been terminated, and I was happy to help them sweep it under the rug. As long as the rug was made of cash.
Formal paperwork is on its way to your apartment. Just sign off and shoot me a reply and I’ll have a courier pick it up. I did my best.
Your dad says you and Kurt are adjusting. I wish you didn’t have to, but I’m glad. If he’s up for it, I’d love to take you guys out to dinner sometime soon.
Best,
John
The next email is short, and Blaine stands up as he reads it, still carrying his laptop.
Blaine,
My guy says Kurt signed for the paperwork. Hope to hear from you soon.
J
“Kurt? Did you sign for something yesterday?” Blaine asks as he enters the living room, setting his computer on the coffee table as he scans the room.
“Yeah, it’s by the door,” Kurt calls from the kitchen. “I tried to tell you, but someone got a little handsy and I got distracted.”
“Yeah, that was my fault,” Blaine mutters, locating the manila envelope and unfastening the closure. He rifles through them; he’ll go over the details later, but his curiosity is piqued. He scans through a sea of numbers, parsed out into “Medical Expenses” and “Pain and Suffering” and “Re-Education” and a dozen other categories. When he reaches the total he drops the papers, hears a really ridiculous noise escape his throat, and sits down abruptly on the tile in the entryway.
“Kurt?”
“Blaine, I’m trying to -- why are you on the floor?” Kurt rushes over, kneeling next to Blaine and shaking him a little.
“We, um. The city just awarded us 1.9 million dollars.”
Once his brain finishes processing, Blaine manages to explain everything; his dad and John and the quiet out of court negotiations he didn’t even realize were occurring. He giggles helplessly throughout, talking through hiccuped laughter until Kurt is laughing too, leaning against Blaine as they huddle against the front door.
They haven’t seen a single hospital bill, not even for the things that Blaine is absolutely positive insurance didn’t cover, like the private room, and Blaine is pretty sure Leslie is to blame for that.
So the money is...theirs.
$600,000 is earmarked specifically for reimbursement of lost education and anticipated re-education costs, and Blaine smiles at the relief on Kurt’s face. Leslie has offered (begged, really), multiple times, for him to return to his job, particularly after she saw the sketches he finished, but Kurt is uncomfortable relying on hidden knowledge and so he wants to go back to school and relearn everything. He’s been so adamant that he will pay for it on his own, figure everything out without any help, and to have this dropped in his lap must ease his mind.
They talk all through breakfast, thinking up ways to spend some of the money. Charities and trips and top of the line appliances they’d refused to splurge on. Blaine thinks about another wedding, when it’s time, the dream honeymoon they definitely couldn’t afford the first time around, but he doesn’t mention that one out loud, just tucks it away and smiles at the warmth it creates in his chest.
As the weekend progresses, the possibilities get more ridiculous, fantastical, and it becomes a game they play during the week, sending texts to each other as they go about their days.
When we’re rich I’m buying a falcon.
Seriously, Blaine?
With a hat.
You’re not keeping a falcon in the apartment.
A whole group of them. With matching hats.
---
When we’re rich I’m taking pastry classes and perfecting my tarts.
I will begrudgingly be your taste tester.
Set aside money for the liposuction I will inevitably need.
---
When we’re rich I’m buying a pair of peacocks. They’ll roam freely around the estate.
We don’t have an estate.
We’ll get one.
So you can have peacocks but I can’t have a falcon?
Peacocks are fancy.
WELL WE CAN GET THE FALCON A FANCY HAT, KURT
-----
Blaine shakes his umbrella out before he enters the lobby, grimacing as another crack of thunder practically shakes the building. It’s only 4pm but the sky is dark with storm clouds, making everyone hustle through the streets as they lament their outdoor plans for the evening.
“Happy Wednesday,” Blaine mutters, frowning when he has to wrench the mailbox open. He knows Kurt’s been sending away for college brochures, but he didn’t realize how many programs there were in New York, apparently, because they’re still coming. He finally frees the mail, sorting through it as he waits for the elevator, and when he shuffles it for a better grip, he catches sight of a familiar red and white logo and his heart drops.
Kurt appears in the hallway when Blaine closes the front door, sketchbook tucked under his arm. “Hey, you,” he smiles, moving toward Blaine. Blaine stops him once he’s in reach, holds out the stack of books. “What’s this? Oh--” His voice drops when he sees “Ohio State University” emblazoned across the cover.
“I must have missed a text,” Blaine says quietly, staring somewhere in the middle distance but definitely not at Kurt. “Where you said ‘When we’re rich I’m leaving you.’”
“Blaine, I--”
“No,” Blaine interrupts. His voice is low, jaw set and trembling a little with how tightly he’s clenching it, and when he finally looks at Kurt his eyes are as dark and wet as the sky through the window framing him. He just keeps saying it, shaking his head rapidly and he starts pacing in a wide circle. No, no, no. His hands are fisted at his sides, knuckles white with the pressure when he finally stops and rounds on Kurt. “Why?”
There are a lot of things Kurt wants to say. I panicked and It was stupid and I forgot I even requested those and I don’t want to leave But Blaine’s voice is thick with emotion and when it cracks on his question, something in Kurt cracks too, and all that comes out is
“I’m scared.”
It’s not what he means to say. It’s a nothing excuse, even in his own ears and certainly to Blaine, so the derisive scoff he gets in response doesn’t surprise him, but before he can start again, Blaine speaks.
“You’re scared? You’re scared?” he asks, like he doesn’t understand the words. “Not scared enough to talk to me about it, apparently.” He runs his hands through his hair, fingers catching on the damp curls as he pulls. “You think I’m not scared?” Kurt’s never seen Blaine like this, never anything but sweet and kind and patient, but right now he’s like another person, and Kurt knows that he’s hurt and confused but all he hears is the condescension in his tone, the judgment, and it makes him bristle.
“Not scared enough to talk to me about it, apparently,” he mimics, crossing his arms over his chest. “You just tiptoe around trying not to startle poor little Kurt with his broken leg and his broken brain.” He can hear how bitter he sounds and everything in him is screaming to stop, to shut his mouth, but he can’t. “Playing the hero.”
“I’m not -” Blaine falters, face falling a little before he visibly shifts it into something cooler, more detached. “So, what, you’re just biding your time? Waiting til your leg is healed and the money comes through and what? Running away? Were you even going to TELL me? How could you - without - I don’t - I’m in love with you and you’re just leaving--” Blaine’s frantic now, voice rising until he’s caught somewhere between sobbing and yelling, still tugging at his hair, starting again, louder, every time Kurt tries to talk.
“I didn’t want you to have to wait for me!”
They’re both quiet, the silence deafening after Kurt’s screamed admission. He’s breathing hard, like Blaine is, and even though they’re standing still it feels like he’s been running
“I’m not waiting, Kurt,” Blaine says, voice still hard and he’s still yelling a little, but he sounds so tired, suddenly. “This isn’t waiting. This is - this is what we are now.” He stops for a second, a choked noise that’s probably supposed to be a laugh dying in his throat, and when he speaks again it’s softer. “When we got married, you were really picky about the wording of the vows. You didn’t want ‘as long as we both shall live’ or ‘til death do us part;’ it had to be ‘every day for the rest of our lives’ because you insisted that we weren’t about the dramatics and the extremes, that what was important was everything in between, the boring and the annoying and the mundane little details. The everyday.”
He starts walking toward Kurt and Kurt sighs with relief, opens his arms a little in anticipation, wants to just hold on and spill every thought and worry and fear into the sweet curve of Blaine’s neck and make him do the same and just admit that they have no idea what they’re doing and work from there.
Blaine walks past Kurt, retrieving his keys from the bowl. He stops with his hand on the doorknob, looking back over his shoulder just enough for Kurt to catch a corner of his eye.
“This is the everyday, Kurt. This is what I want. I thought you did too.”
The door closes before Kurt can say anything.
Chapter 8