(no subject)
Author: Rachel
Title: Glowing in the Dark (6/20)
Rating: PG-13 (this chapter)
Word Count: 4547~
Warnings: brief mention of past bullying
Summary: Sight is a funny thing. It's taken for granted so much of the time, and people never realize how much they rely on it until it's gone. At least, Blaine knew that was true for him.
Author's Note: Title taken from the song Charlie Brown by Coldplay. And many, many thanks to Cass for being an amazing cheerleader for me. Music used is linked in for your listening pleasure, should you want to listen. (Except this time not on SoundCloud because it was being a jerk to me.)
[Previous]
Blaine woke up the next morning with a splitting headache. He was thankful to be waking up of his own accord, and not because of an alarm, though that meant he had no idea what time it was at all. It took a few minutes before he mustered up the energy to move, he threw his arm across the bed to brace himself as he got up, but he froze when his arm came down on top of something warm, soft, and definitely breathing. Not so much a something as a someone.
Kurt. That was his first thought, but it was quickly chased away. He was clearly awake, not dreaming, so that wasn’t even a remote possibility. Besides, the last thing he remembered from the night before was running off away from Kurt. That wasn’t exactly an action that led to the other person being in his bed, at least not in any sort of normal reality. He was still wearing the same clothes from the night before, most of them at least - it seemed as though he’d lost a layer at some point, so at least there was that small ounce of comfort in knowing that nothing that bad could have happened.
The other person hadn’t moved or given any sign of waking, despite how hard he knew his arm had hit them, which didn’t help him at all. Very cautiously, he ran his arm up against their torso then quickly pulled it back. Oh it was definitely a girl. He felt as though maybe he should have anticipated that and not used that method to try and figure out who it was, but it was too late for that. She was blocking his way off the bed, so he got up onto his hands and knees and attempted to climb over without disturbing her, which was far easier said than done.
“Is this how you treat everyone who sleeps with you?” she muttered from beneath him when he was halfway over her and he was glad to know it was Santana and not just some random girl. Her voice was scratchy, raspy, and still very sleepy, but at least it was her. “Hit them, cop a feel, and then spider monkey yourself over top of them in the least graceful way possible? Fuck, no wonder you never get laid.”
“Good morning to you too,” he mumbled, surprised at how rough his voice was. He needed water, a very long shower, and then maybe a nap. Absently, he wondered how impressed his brother would be if he told him about waking up after his first college party with his admittedly hot (which he only knew because Cooper had told him) roommate in his bed. Then again, considering that they were both gay, it was bound to gain him nothing. She shoved at him and he managed to get his foot on the floor before he fell, and he stumbled to stand. “San?”
“What?” she groaned, and he heard her resituating herself now that the entire bed was open.
“Why are you here?”
“I live here.”
“Obviously,” he shot back, his throbbing head making his patience thin. That and the huge part of the previous night that was completely blank in his head. “I meant in my room, my bed.”
“Mmph, your room was closer and there were no stairs involved,” Santana sighed.
“O-okay,” Blaine said, rubbing his face. Part of him wanted to ask what happened to Brittany, as he’d pretty much been assuming that she would be staying the night, but he really just wanted to feel clean and less hungover and not get into a conversation with Santana about how she hadn’t had sex the night before. “I’m going to go... shower.”
“There’s Gatorade in the fridge.” She sounded muffled, like her face was buried against the pillow. “Bring me one when you’re done. There’s one for you too. Don’t say I never gave you anything.”
It was the longest shower of Blaine’s life, but he couldn’t make himself move any faster. His limbs felt heavy, cramped, and he wanted to stand under the hot stream of water all day. He just stood, letting it pound against his back and neck, leaning forward to brace himself against the tiles of the wall. It was a good five minutes before he realized he hadn’t even bothered to start getting clean, shampoo and soap forgotten in lieu of heat and steam and comfort.
He couldn’t get over it. He hated not knowing what happened, not knowing how the rest of the night had gone. What had happened with Kurt? The last thing he’d remembered was running, getting back to his room and hugging Roscoe and then nothing after that. His chest felt tight, like he was going to cry, but he wasn’t about to let himself do that when he didn’t know if there was actually a reason. By the time he got out of the shower, all scrubbed and clean and dripping onto the bathmat, he had run through a dozen different scenarios in his head of what could have possibly happened. He didn’t believe any of them.
There were cups strewn along the floor of the kitchen, and he shuffled his way through them to get to the fridge. Thankfully they didn’t keep much in there, and thanks to the party it was mostly soda and beer, so the Gatorade was easy to find. He gulped down about half of one of the bottles before making his way back to his room, setting the other bottle down on the bed next to where he assumed Santana still was.
“Oh fuck, why are you naked?” Santana groaned.
“I’m not naked,” Blaine said, nearly dropping his bottle in an attempt to clutch the towel closer around his waist. He normally would have been more embarrassed about the situation, but his head hurt too much for him to think that hard about it. “You can’t see anything... I just didn’t have any clothes that were clean... and... you... this wouldn’t be a problem if you were in your own room!”
“Calm down, Helen Keller.” Clearly she wasn’t feeling like herself, considering that she usually stuck to calling him names that were people who were strictly blind. Helen Keller was a cop-out and they both knew it. “I can handle it until I’m done with my Gatorade, just keep your dick out of sight and we’ll be good.” He sunk down to sit on the edge of the bed, making sure that the towel stayed over his lap, and he hugged the bottle against his chest.
“What happened last night?” he asked after a long moment. “I don’t... there are black spots.”
“Isn’t everything kind of a black spot for you?” Santana mumbled, and Blaine actually flinched. “Sorry, sorry, that was... my head isn’t working right yet. Filter, boom, gone, I’m a bitch.” She sat up and scooted over closer to him, her arm slipping around his shoulders. “Sorry.”
“I mean, you’re sort of right?” Blaine said, offering a half shrug. “It’s... yeah. But you know what I meant.”
“Yeah. Uh, well, you made the mistake of letting Brittany make you a drink,” she said, resting her chin on his shoulder. “I’m sure it was delicious and sugary but it probably had more alcohol in it than anything else you had the rest of the night.”
“I thought she was safe,” Blaine said meekly, and Santana laughed. “Yours tasted worse.”
“Of course mine tasted worse, it was like eighty percent whiskey, then ice, then a splash of coke,” she said, pausing to take a drink. “Brittany... I don’t know what she gave you, but she loves those flavored vodkas, and they are dangerous. Because it just tastes like whatever else is in it and sweet and nothing bad. But yeah, that’s probably what started to get you and then it was downhill from there.”
“What happened to, um, Kurt? I wandered off...”
“He was here, hung around, then left,” Santana said simply, shrugging. “It was a good party. And hey, here’s a bonus, you didn’t puke or anything. I’m so proud.”
“Thanks,” Blaine mumbled, twisting the lid off his Gatorade and taking a long drink as he mulled over the few words she’d given him. He felt awful for running off, for leaving the one person he’d invited and wanted to be there alone in the middle of everyone else. His head was feeling better, at least a little, and he just wanted to be able to talk to him. Part of him was scared to, but if he didn’t then he had a feeling he never would.
They sat in silence until the Gatorade was gone, and Santana crawled off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom, but not before finding his phone for him. As Blaine got dressed, he could hear her yelling about the lack of hot water, but he blocked that out. He couldn’t bother with his normal style, the layers and motor functions required to tie a bow tie were not with him that morning. It was a form of casual that he rarely used and that was reserved entirely for the laziest of days. He figured a hangover counted well enough for that, so jeans and a t-shirt it was.
Java Central was his only destination for the day, and he made his way there later than he’d been there any other day that week. A large coffee was in order, considering the night he’d had, and he settled in at a table by the window and tried not to lay his head down and fall asleep. Roscoe’s tail smacking rhythmically against his leg was enough to keep him from dozing off, though the sunshine streaming in the windows certainly didn’t help matters. His phone sat on the table next to his coffee cup, and he kept running his fingers across the screen. He wanted to call Kurt, but didn’t want to wake him up. Plus there was the off chance that he’d upset him.
Finally he got up the gumption to make the call, his hand clutching the phone as he held it to his ear. It rang four times before Kurt picked up, and Blaine was glad to hear that at least he didn’t sound like he’d woken him up. “Hello?”
“Hey Kurt,” he said, chewing on his lip.
“Hey Blaine,” Kurt said, and he hesitated. “Can you hold on a second? I’m walking and it’s kind of windy so it’s hard to hear, but I’m about to get inside.”
“Yeah sure,” Blaine said, taking a long sip of his coffee as he waited.
“Oh...” Kurt said, and Blaine’s brow furrowed.
“What is it?” There was a long pause, and then a click as the call ended. Blaine frowned, pulling the phone away and setting it on the table.
“Hey stranger.” His head jerked up at the sound of Kurt’s voice, there and in person and right in front of him. “How’s it going?”
“Hi,” Blaine said, flushing slightly. He’d expected a phone conversation, maybe full of awkward pauses, and then probably a few days before they saw each other. The last thing he’d expected was Kurt right there in front of him. “It’s... getting better. You?”
“Same,” Kurt said, sliding into the chair across from him. “Your head okay?”
“Getting better,” Blaine said again, setting his phone down and clutching his coffee cup in close. He didn’t know how to approach the topic of the night before, or what to even say since he wasn’t entirely sure what had happened, but he thought being direct might be best. “Listen, I’m really sorry about last night.”
“You’re... oh no, Blaine,” Kurt said, reaching over and resting a hand over Blaine’s. “I’m sorry. I didn’t meant to make you uncomfortable. That was never my intent.”
“You didn’t,” he said, shaking his head. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I’m just a... spaz, I guess. I kind of freaked out for no reason.” He was full out blushing by that point, remember how he’d run, what had led up to him fleeing. “I’m never letting those girls make me drinks ever again.”
“You’re not a spaz,” Kurt said quietly, his hand still not leaving Blaine’s. “Obviously there was a reason, and I’m sorry I made you feel like that.”
“Kurt...” Blaine took in a breath, turning his hand over and grasping Kurt’s. “You didn’t. It was... I’m just dumb sometimes.”
“Blaine.” Kurt sounded so patient, and Blaine couldn’t understand how he was being so nice about it all. But of course he was, because he was Kurt. “You are not dumb. You are not a spaz. You’re you, and you are wonderful.” He paused, thumb rubbing over Blaine’s hand. “Okay?”
“Okay.” He chewed on his lip, not really believing what Kurt was saying but not wanting to argue. “I’m sorry for running off.”
“Can I, uh, can I ask why you did that?” Kurt asked hesitantly. Blaine dipped his head down, resting his forehead against the lid of his coffee cup. He knew he couldn’t see Kurt, but sitting there feeling like he was looking at him, he wasn’t sure if he would have been able to say it otherwise.
“Because I wanted to kiss you,” he mumbled, hoping Kurt had heard because he wasn’t sure if he could repeat it.
“So you left?” Kurt sounded confused. Blaine let out a breath and lifted his head back up. This was Kurt, he reminded himself. Kurt who he’d talked to every night for a week before he’d gone to bed, who was the one person he’d met at school that had made him feel at home. Kurt who he felt like he’d known for years instead of days. Kurt who he really wanted so much more with, even if he still had issues even just saying that he wanted to kiss him.
“I was scared,” he admitted in a whisper. “I felt... I was feeling so much.” Kurt squeezed his hand, it was like encouragement, and he pursed his lips as he thought through his words, just how much he wanted to say. “I’d never danced with a boy like that before. There was a school dance once, I went with a friend, but it wasn’t anything like that. I’ve never... kissed anyone.” He was suddenly aware that they were sitting in a very public place, and he was grateful for the general commotion and noise that came along with the coffee shop. “I didn’t want my first kiss to be when I was drunk. It’s supposed to be special. That’s stupid, I know-“
“That’s not stupid, Blaine,” Kurt said, bringing Blaine’s hand up to hold between both of his own.
“So that’s why,” Blaine hurried ahead, wanting to get it all out since he was already talking and had the momentum to do so. “And I’m kind of even more scared now because there’s this big blank spot in my head between when I left and then waking up this morning.”
“Nothing happened,” Kurt said quickly, his thumb stroking over the back of Blaine’s hand. “At least, I mean, I gave you a few minutes and then went to find you, and you were pretty much passed out in your room.” Blaine had a brief moment of panic at the fact that Kurt had been in his room. Had it been messy? What if he’d seen something he didn’t like? The fact that Kurt was sitting across from him, holding his hand, grounded him almost instantly.
“Sorry,” he murmured, biting his lip. He’d invited Kurt to a party, gotten drunk, ran off, and passed out. Clearly he was giving a great impression of himself.
“You don’t have to apologize, Blaine.” Kurt squeezed his hand. “I stayed for a while, to make sure you were alright. Until your devil incarnate roommate stopped by and then I figured you were in good hands.” There had been pauses between words, like Kurt had been thinking of what words to say, and Blaine wasn’t sure he was getting the whole story. Either way, Kurt had been there, making sure he was okay, and that was more than enough to make him start blushing all over again. “How’s your head?”
“It’s fine,” Blaine said, shrugging. “I took some Advil and had Gatorade and then the coffee kind of killed off the last part of my headache.”
“Want to go find a place less noisy and crowded than a coffee shop on a Saturday morning?” Kurt asked, and Blaine nodded.
That was how they ended up on campus, walking through the still cool, late morning air and heading for the fine arts building. Kurt had admitted the only reason he’d gone to the coffee shop at all was to bring coffee to him, and point that had made Blaine blush and act very interested in Roscoe’s harness for a good minute while he tried to stop grinning. They’d found a classroom that was unlocked, since Kurt said the hallway of practice rooms tended to be loud and he didn’t feel like competing with a trumpet for who could be heard. Blaine settled in on the piano bench, comfortable in a familiar place, and leaned his arms against the closed lid over the keys.
“Okay so,” Kurt started, sitting beside him and sounding nervous. “It’s not stupid, wanting your first kiss to be special.”
“It feels like something really trivial to be worried about,” Blaine murmured.
“It might feel like it, but it’s not if it’s something important to you,” Kurt said, absently tapping his fingers against the piano. “If it’s something that’s important, and then it gets taken, it hurts.” Blaine lifted his head, tilting it toward him. He sounded sad. Well, maybe not sad but at least definitely not okay.
“Kurt?”
“There was a guy at my high school,” Kurt continued, “who made my life hell. I was getting shoved into lockers, knocked down in the hall, slushies thrown in my face, just constant harassment. It wasn’t always him, but he was definitely the ringleader. The one time I actually stood up to him, asked him what his problem was, he… kissed me.” Blaine reached over, grabbing Kurt’s hand, his stomach twisting into knots. “That was my first kiss.”
“Kurt, that’s awful, I’m so sorry,” Blaine said softly, not thinking that any words could convey just how horrible he thought that was.
“It was a pretty bad moment of my life,” Kurt said, lacing their fingers together. The familiarity of the gesture hit Blaine hard, and he just wanted to hug him and try to make him forget about the bully from his high school. “But that’s why, I mean, I guess I’m kind of glad you ran off last night because I would have kissed you and I wouldn’t have wanted you to regret-“
“No no, Kurt, that’s not even close to the same,” Blaine said, shaking his head.
“It’s not the same but it’s similar,” Kurt said. “It’s the same outcome, in the end, and I’m glad I didn’t do that to you.” Blaine tilted his head, resting it against his shoulder lightly. They were sitting so close, legs almost touching, and after the previous night he felt like he could actually touch Kurt without it being weird. How could it be weird, considering how close and tight they’d been pressed up against each other, hands clutching and holding? Just thinking about it made him feel like the room was spinning all over again.
Kurt might have been feeling the same things, or maybe he just wanted to turn their focus somewhere else, because he let go of Blaine’s hand to lift the lid off the keyboard in front of them. Blaine’s hands moved to smooth over the keys, but then Kurt started playing. It was bright, tinkling-sounding due to the fact that he was sitting by the higher octaves, simple and light, arpeggiated chords mirroring each other and progressing further up the keys. It didn’t last long, and Kurt nudged his shoulder. “Your turn.”
Blaine sat still for a moment before settling his hands on the keys, finding the ones he wanted before starting to play Chopsticks.
“Jerk,” Kurt muttered teasingly, and Blaine grinned. He shifted over a little, closer to Kurt, so he could reach all the keys he needed, and started playing in earnest. It wasn’t anything intricate, just a very short Chopin prelude, but he figured it counted as something real enough for Kurt to appreciate. His fingertips lifted off the keys, and he heard a light sigh from beside him. “Blaine…”
“What?”
“Don’t stop.” Blaine’s breath caught, and he turned his head toward Kurt. “Please.”
“I’m not just some player piano,” Blaine quipped, immediately wracking his mind for what else he could play. There were so many options, which was usually the problem. He wanted to stay away from anything fast and intense, not sure that he could pull that off mid-hangover recovery, so at least that helped limit it. Plus he wanted to keep it pleasant sounding after that conversation they’d had, so nothing too dark. “How about some Beethoven?”
“You sound like a player piano,” Kurt said. “Beethoven sounds great.”
“We’ll see,” Blaine said, chewing on his lip a moment before letting his fingers slide over the keys again. Kurt shifted away a little, giving him more space, and after a deep breath in he started playing.
It was so easy to get lost in the music, the feel of the ivory beneath his fingertips and the notes reverberating out into the room with each hammer strike against the strings within the piano. As a kid, he’d always found it fascinating how pianos worked, the mechanics of them giving him even more reason to stare in awe. There had been a documentary on PBS about how they were made and ever since he’d seen that, he was hooked. At first it was a lot of what he thought about when he was playing, what was going on underneath the lid. It didn’t take long for that to dissipate to the back of his mind, and then it was all about the music.
He rarely played for other people, not when their sole intent was just to listen. He’d played for Brittany, sure, but it wasn’t like she’d been paying attention - he’d just been a stand in for her ipod. When he was younger he’d done recitals and that sort of thing, but it had been years since any of that. Mostly he just played for himself, played to have an outlet. He couldn’t remember the last time either of his parents had sat and listened to him. It had turned into something so personal, he felt exposed. Kurt had wanted him to keep playing, though, and he’d chosen a piece that didn’t tug at his emotions much. Besides, once he started playing, he might as well have been by himself.
It wasn’t until he played the last chord, soft and held long by the pedal, that he remembered he wasn’t alone. Kurt slid back over toward him on the bench, and Blaine pulled his hands back off the keys and moved to fold his arms across his stomach. Gentle fingers wrapped around his own and squeezed, and he tilted his head up at Kurt. “Sorry it wasn’t anything, um, exciting. My head isn’t quite up to speed for that yet.”
“Exciting?” Kurt huffed out a soft laugh. “Blaine, do you have any idea how talented you are?” Blaine swallowed hard, pulling one of his hands back so he could rub at his face, trying to stifle the pinkness he felt growing in his cheeks. “You can just sit down and pull a piece out of your head and play it like that, and not just technically but… so much more. God, how much stuff do you have stored away up there.” He tapped lightly against Blaine’s temple with his finger, and Blaine ducked his head away.
“I have a pretty good memory when it comes to music,” he admitted. It wasn’t anything that he’d ever thought was different about him, but over the years he’d learned that it was. Saying he had a good memory was an understatement. When it came to music, he never forgot pieces he’d learned. His head was like a library and all he had to do was think of what piece he wanted to play, give himself a few seconds to pull it off the shelf and open the cover, and he was good to go. At least, that’s the best way he’d ever been able to describe it to someone.
“I can’t believe you’re not a music major,” Kurt murmured, and Blaine shook his head. “I know, you said you couldn’t. You need to give me your parents’ address sometime so I can go tell your dad that he was an idiot for not letting you.” Blaine tried to ignore the flutter in his stomach from the thought of Kurt meeting his parents, even if it was just to yell at one of them.
“It’s a hobby,” he started hesitantly.
“You wanted to go into music,” Kurt said, and Blaine bit his lip.
“I did,” he said slowly. “But I couldn’t.”
“Because of your dad.”
“Right. And because of me.”
“What do you mean?” Kurt asked. Blaine tugged at the hem of his t-shirt lightly, fidgeting, wishing he was wearing his normal clothes. At least then he would have had that comfort, almost like a security blanket.
“It’s kind of hard to study music when you can’t see it,” he said finally, folding his hands in his lap.
“Blaine, I didn’t-“
“No of course you didn’t,” Blaine said with a shrug, shaking his head. “It’s fine.” That had been the reason behind it all, really. His dad had pointed it out and once that moment had happened, it had been a done deal. He hadn’t taken any more lessons, hadn’t done any more recitals, and had just let himself lag and plateau. It just didn’t always seem that way since his plateau was so high in the first place. “I’m not playing any more until I get to hear you sing, by the way.”
“What?” Kurt said, startled.
“I mean it,” Blaine said, glad for the shift of focus. “I’m not playing anything else for you until you sing for me. It’s only fair, after all.”
“That’s fair,” Kurt said, and Blaine smiled. “I would sing something now but my throat is a little sore after last night. Tomorrow, maybe?”
“Tomorrow,” Blaine said with a nod. If nothing else, there was the potential to see Kurt the next day.
“I don’t know if you’ve eaten...”
“I haven’t,” Blaine supplied helpfully.
“...but I really want some greasy food.”
“That sounds delicious.” Truthfully, it hadn’t even registered how hungry he was until Kurt mentioned food. Greasy found sounded perfect.
That was how they ended up at a local pub for lunch, splitting a giant basket of cheese fries as they waited for their hamburgers, salt and cheese covered fingers brushing with every reach, turning the corners of Blaine’s mouth up in a smile.
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