CHAPTER 15

Not a day passed this week without Blaine regretting he'd told his parents that he had a boyfriend. It wasn't that they were giving him a hard time over it – not really, considering they didn't touch the subject. They were just so attentive all of the sudden, it made everything much more complicated.

Blaine was used to being left to fend for himself. Having his own credit card to pay for gas and other basic needs, barely any parental control over his whereabouts – that was his normalcy and had been for a few years now. So the way his parents were suddenly interested in everything about his life, from his grades and academic achievements to his gas expenses and what he was doing in his free time was honestly disconcerting. Not to mention annoying, especially when it interfered with his Kurt time. He should study more, drive around less and definitely spend more time with his family, he was told.

They were trying, Blaine could tell – his mom was home most afternoons this week, and even his father came in from work in time for dinner. They tried to initiate actual family time, too – watching TV together one evening, going to a restaurant they all liked two days later. But any attempts at conversation were falling short – be it from lack of practice over the last few years, or the fact that his parents kept carefully avoiding anything even remotely related to Blaine's sexuality.

It didn't really leave them with many topics because, well, it was just one of the things that made him him, an inseparable part of his everyday life and experiences, not something that could be forgotten, a bad habit that could be glanced over. How could he talk about himself out of this context? He had a boyfriend and a past that was at least in part shaped by the fact that he was gay. He had issues resulting from said past that still influenced his daily life in one way or another, and his dreams and plans all included Kurt. It was really quite impossible to avoid the topic altogether. But Blaine's father in particular seemed to be dead set on avoiding it, and the result was a lot of stumbling over awkward pauses before they settled on superficial, neutral subjects again.

Still, Blaine appreciated the effort, he really did. He just didn't know what exactly they were trying to achieve. Because so far, it seemed to bring all of them more frustration than anything else. And not just the domestic kind.

Between his mom being home more often and Kurt's family always looking in on them or engaging them in whatever they were doing every time they were there, Blaine had been unable to do anything more than steal a chaste kiss from his boyfriend all week. And with last week's developments and their promise of next time... well, their hormones were going sort of crazy.

So when Saturday morning came and Kurt texted that he had a surprise for him that afternoon, Blaine's mind immediately shot to empty houses and time alone, and he grinned into his pillow. It took a lot of effort to talk his way out of going shopping with his mom – which was definitely not his idea of fun even if the alternative wasn't Kurt – but he managed, and mere hours later he was sitting opposite Kurt at the Breadstix table, trying to look calm and composed while internally he shook with happy anticipation.

"Give me your hand."

Kurt was so excited he was practically bouncing with some news he couldn't seem to contain for long, and for a second, absurdly, Blaine thought He's going to tell me he's coming back to Dalton.

He wasn't.

"Blaine Warbler," the nickname still made Blaine chuckle every time it was used. "Will you go to junior prom with me?"

The chuckle died on his lips. Oh.

"Prom?" That was the big surprise?

"It will be the social event of the season." Kurt grinned and bounced in his seat, but then his face fell. "You don't want to go to prom with me?"

"No, no no, of course I want to go with you." Blaine stuttered, unwelcome images already crowding his mind, making him dizzy. "It's just." He took a steadying breath. "Prom."

"What about prom, Blaine?" Kurt arched an eyebrow. He still looked slightly hurt but clearly could sense Blaine's discomfort now. His hand, withdrawn a moment ago, returned to hold Blaine's over the table.

He didn't really want to talk about it. It was in the past. But this was Kurt, and he deserved to know, so Blaine swallowed to try and dislodge the lump stuck in his throat.

"At my old school, there was a Sadie Hawkins dance," he started, "and... I had just come out. So I asked a friend of mine, the only other gay guy in the school. While we were waiting for his dad to pick us up, these three guys... um." It was getting harder to speak, memories swirling in his head, painfully sharp and vivid, suffocating. "Beat the living crap out of us." That was the closest to the truth he could get right now, and he hoped Kurt wouldn't ask for details. Surprised like this, thrown back into the shadows of that dreadful night without a warning, he wouldn't be able to keep calm, and he didn't have his meds with him.

Kurt didn't ask. He looked stunned, his eyes wide and tearful.

"I... I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

"I'm out, and I'm proud, this is just... a sore spot." Blaine rushed to reassure him, and Kurt squeezed his suddenly sweaty hand.

"No, I understand. Let's forget about prom. We'll go to a movie instead."

The rush of relief, of pressure lifting, made him lightheaded.

"I'm crazy about you."

That should have been the end. But as Blaine drove home that night, the thought wouldn't leave him.

He was still running. Over a year had passed, and he was still running away from his past. He'd let the bullies chase him away from his old school, from himself, to the golden cage that was Dalton. He'd let them steal his sense of safety, his confidence, let them haunt him even now, after all this time. He was still on the run.

Maybe it was time to stop and face his fears. It would be hard and scary, and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to do it just for himself, by himself.

But he wasn't by himself anymore.

His parents were in the living room when he came home, and Blaine took it as a sign that he should just get on with it right away. He entered the room and sat down in the armchair opposite them, slightly trembling hands folded in his lap. His mom lowered her book.

"Hello, honey. How was your day?"

"It was good. We went to lunch and had coffee with some friends, and then watched a movie."

"It sounds nice." His mom's smile was only slightly off. It was clearly hard not think who exactly we entailed when Blaine had referred to his outing as a date this morning. Loudly and repeatedly.

"It was. Actually, I wanted to let you know that I have plans for next weekend."

"Oh?" Even his father looked up over his business magazine now. Blaine hardly ever told them of his plans, let alone a week in advance.

"Yeah, I'm going to junior prom at McKinley. With Kurt." He was proud of how smoothly it came out, no nervous stutter at all.

His mom's book hit the carpeted floor with a muted thump. But it was his father who spoke.

"You're doing no such thing. Did you forget what happened the last time you had a brilliant idea to go to a dance with another guy? One would think it had taught you something."

Blaine took a steadying breath and looked into the cool grey eyes, determined not to flinch, not to let them provoke him this time.

"No, dad. It didn't teach me anything because I fled. I didn't give myself a chance to learn. And yes, I know I needed it back then, but the truth is, it's something that I regret to this day." Something like surprise ran over his father's usually stoic features. It was the first time Blaine had said it to anyone but Kurt. He glanced at his mom. Her eyes were wide and glassy. "I've been hiding for the last year, and I've had enough. I understand that you don't want me to change schools now, fine. But I want to do this at least. I'm not the same kid I was back then. I'm stronger, I know how to defend myself if needed. I'll be with my boyfriend and our friends, and I'll be smart, no going out alone. But I need to do this, to face the bullies at his school at least, together, since I wasn't able to face them at mine."

Frankly, he expected a decisive no. He had no plan for that scenario, all of his arguments spent in the first round. But his mom asked instead, her voice tight.

"There are bullies?"

"Of course there are bullies, mom, it's a high school in Ohio. The whole world is full of bullies and I can't change it. This is my life, mine and Kurt's. There will always be bullies and homophobes and all kinds of assholes, and I can only learn to face them because I sure as hell can't avoid them forever, Dalton or not."

"Language." His father quipped, then took his time closing his magazine and putting it away, carefully straightening the whole stack before he continued. "Fine. If you think you're ready to make such a decision, even knowing what the consequences may be, then I won't stop you."

Blaine looked at him, incredulous. "Really?"

"Really. I still think it's a bad idea. But you're old enough to learn from your own mistakes." He got up and walked over to the liquor cabinet to pour himself some whiskey. The conversation was clearly over, and Blaine still couldn't believe the outcome.

"I... you... thank you, dad."

He called Kurt as soon as he got back to his room.

"I'll go."

"What? Where?" Kurt sounded confused and a bit distracted, sounds of his family in the background, and Blaine grinned.

"I'll go to prom with you."

Even if he hadn't heard the happy squeal, he would have felt Kurt's reaction. It was a sweeping wave of surprised, bubbly joy that left him warm all over and made it easy to push any lingering doubts and apprehension to the back burner of his mind.

***

"And now, the 2011 McKinley High prom queen, with an overwhelming number of write-in votes, is... Kurt Hummel."

Figgins' thoughtlessly surprised frown. The lights – too bright, too harsh – finding Kurt in the crowd. Sudden silence around him, broken by a whoop, a laugh, solitary applause. Faces everywhere, a sea of faces all turning towards him, carefully blank or sneering or openly hostile. Everything seemed hyperreal, every detail sharp like a movie with resolution too high for the human eye to watch.

Kurt ran.

He'd been so stupid. He thought that his coming back, and everything that led to it, had changed something, that some kind of progress had been made with Karofsky's apologies and the Bully Whips and the chapter of PFLAG they were starting now. But nothing had changed. The hate was still there, strong as ever – maybe stronger, since it didn't have an easy way out now. They couldn't push him against lockers anymore, or yell slurs in his face, so they showed him what they thought in a different way. A silent way. Whispers instead of shouts.

He barely heard the footsteps behind him, Blaine's voice calling his name, begging him to stop, over the pounding in his head. But he did stop. There was nowhere to run anyway. Even if he wanted to, the was no escape from this.

Blaine's face was pale and worried when Kurt whipped around to look at him. He didn't try to come closer or touch Kurt or – god forbid – hug and comfort him, and Kurt was so grateful because he felt like he'd suffocate if he didn't have space around him right now. But this was Blaine. He knew. He understood.

This was Blaine, so Kurt just let go, let the mess of emotions out, let himself rage and rant and cry the angry tears, open like he never was with anyone, except maybe his dad. He had only enough strength to either hold up his walls and pretend to be fine, or deal with his feelings right now, but not both, and while with anyone else he'd have chosen the former, this was Blaine. So with a blind trust that he'd be accepted even at his most raw and vulnerable, Kurt let the anger and the fear and the heartbreak run through him, unhidden. A sweeping wave that came and hurt and shook him, and then passed, and Blaine was still there, patiently waiting with no expectations, no ready-made advice to force upon him. Just a soft "So what do you want to do?" and those eyes, full of awe and love when Kurt decided. And then a hand, strong and steady in his, all the support he needed.

The hand that was there again ten minutes later when the music started and Karofsky fled, leaving Kurt humiliated – again, would this never end? – and alone in the empty circle of the dance floor, with every eye and every light on him, the plastic crown on his head heavy like lead. Blaine's hand was a lifeline, a promise, and right there, even though Kurt could feel the fear radiating from him even through his own emotions.

He'd never loved Blaine more than in this moment.

Stepping into his arms, even just as close as the situation allowed for the dance, was like home, the safest place there was for Kurt. Their skin touching was instant comfort on what felt like a cellular level; he could feel his mind and body calm down within seconds.

They were together, this was what counted. They were there for each other, and with each other, always, and no one could touch them, or what they had. Ever.

***

"Mr. Hummel?"

Blaine had left Kurt alone just for a moment, I'll be right back whispered into his ear, with no response.

He found Kurt's dad in the kitchen, his face grim, and this was probably too much, what he was going to ask for, too forward – but he would ask anyway. There was no room to be nervous right now; he needed to do this, for Kurt.

"Blaine. How is he?"

"He's... overwhelmed. It really got to him, what they did, those fuc– um. Sorry. It just... I can't stand feeling him so brokenhearted because of a bunch of... ugh." Apparently he still couldn't talk about it without swearing, so he shut up.

Kurt's dad nodded. His eyes looked bloodshot and tired. "How about you?"

"Me?" It was such a strange question.

"Kurt told me you have a... history, with school dances."

Oh. Blaine honestly had to stop and think. There had been no time, no room in him yet to measure his own emotions. "I... I've been better." He admitted finally. "But I'll be fine."

Another nod. "Do you have to go now?"

Blaine took a deep breath. "Actually, that's what I... I know it's a lot to ask, but... would you let me stay with Kurt tonight? Just to be there for him. I think – I know – he really needs it right now. Needs me." He felt his cheeks warm up with blush. It wasn't a thing he had ever thought he'd say to his boyfriend's father.

Mr. Hummel looked at him without saying a word for a moment, eyes piercing, inquisitive. "So... you can feel him, then, the way he says this connection or whatever works? You two really have this crazy name thing?"

Blaine was already untucking his shirt, nodding. He couldn't help but brush the name on his skin as the cool air hit it.

"They say it means some kind of destiny, I read, when two people have each other's." Kurt's father said. He was looking at the mark with an unreadable expression and Blaine felt like squirming under his gaze. "Soulmates, some even call it."

"I know." Blaine said softly. He secretly loved that word.

"What do you think?"

"I think they're right."

Mr. Hummel got up and busied himself with pouring a glass of water, his face turned away from Blaine. He cleared his throat before speaking. "Do you need me to call your parents to tell them you're staying?"

"Um, no, thank you. I will deal with them." He'd have to lie, of course, but that was the least of his worries right now.

Kurt's father looked like he knew, but he just nodded.

"Okay. Go to Kurt, kid." Blaine was already on the move but he stopped and turned when he heard his name again. "Thank you for taking care of him."

"Of course, Mr. Hummel."

"And for god's sake, call me Burt."

Kurt was curled on the bed, still in his prom outfit, the way Blaine left him five minutes ago. He looked small and vulnerable now, no longer the fierce boy who'd gone up on that stage to take the prom queen crown and title like he was born for it. Now he just looked exhausted and broken. Blaine kneeled by the bed and started unlacing Kurt's boots.

"Come on baby. Let's get you into PJs and to bed."

Kurt stirred and looked up at him, his eyes wide and glassy. "Do you have to go soon?"

"No." He pulled off one boot, then the other, and put them neatly away by the end of the bed. "I'm not going anywhere. I talked to your dad and... I can stay the night. Here with you."

Kurt hadn't cried yet – not since that moment outside the gym. Not when he'd asked to go home instead of to the party with the rest of New Directions. Not in the car or while recounting the events to his dad, not even when they were finally alone in his room. Everything had been growing and swelling inside him until he seemed ready to burst with too much emotions. But he hadn't cried.

Until now.

It was as if Blaine's promise to stay burst the dam, as if it was the permission to let go. The next thing Blaine knew, he had an armful of sobbing boyfriend pressed tightly against his chest, wave upon wave of misery rushing through his own brain until he felt his eyes sting and overflow.

It was so fucking unfair, what they had done, those cowardly, faceless haters. Just a cruel, mean joke that was probably funny for them – and so much pain. This was what the world had in store for them; this was what they were up against. Hundreds – thousands of people like those. It felt so hopeless sometimes.

"We'll be okay. They can't break us."

Kurt's voice was scratchy but he wasn't crying anymore, just curled against his chest, his hand sliding under Blaine's shirt to press protectively against the name there. Blaine wanted to mimic the move, but Kurt was still fully dressed, his shirt buttoned up, the bowtie tight against the collar, and it was too much, too hard to fight all those layers right now. He whined faintly and Kurt let go of him and pushed up to stand. His eyes still bright from tears, but calm now, certain, he slid off his jacket and untied the bowtie.

"Let's go to bed, shall we?"

They both showered quickly, separately. Blaine took a moment to call his parents with an easy lie about the post-prom party they were supposed to be at; Kurt went to say goodnight to his dad. And then they were in bed together, the first time since that night after Rachel's party – the first time as boyfriends, and it felt perfect, exactly what they both needed, as they held each other in the dark.

This was also the most intimate they'd ever been – alone, under the covers together, with the door closed and only the thin cotton of their t-shirts and pajama pants between them. Or – one pair of pants, because Blaine was in his boxer briefs, his bare legs tangled with Kurt's, everything so close and warm, so intense. He really couldn't be blamed for his body reacting. And it didn't matter, anyway. They would just cuddle through the night like this – Kurt's head on his shoulder, his hand over the mark on Blaine's hipbone, his breath tickling Blaine's neck.

Except it wasn't just his breath anymore – Kurt's lips were there, soft and gentle, slowly kissing their way up to his jaw. Kurt's hand slid up under the t-shirt to rest over Blaine's heart, his pinky brushing over a nipple, and Blaine turned his head to capture Kurt's mouth.

They kissed with no hurry, simply enjoying the closeness, the warmth of hands under t-shirts, the luxury of having the whole night together. But Kurt was so tempting – soft skin over firm muscles, his scent all fresh and minty, his quickening breath – and so Blaine stumbled, just a little, falling deeper into a kiss, hard and hungry, until he caught himself and retreated, apologizing. It wasn't the time for this.

Or maybe it was.

The apology was kissed off his lips, any trace of it sucked thoroughly clean as Kurt's tongue dove into his mouth, hot and insistent, and Blaine tangled his fingers into Kurt's silky hair and lost himself in it. He would never get tired of kissing like this, he could do this all through the night, or fall asleep with Kurt's lips on his own, and wake up only to start again.

Kurt's fingers were frantic under Blaine's shirt, dancing over skin and clenching on air, and then Kurt was moving, pressing closer and rolling on top of him, straddling his thighs and sucking on the side of Blaine's neck, and–

Kurt was hard. Hard and pressing right against him, and Blaine almost choked on the moan he was doing his very best to swallow.

"Kurt." It took every last shred of his willpower to say what he was about to say, but he had to, he couldn't just... take advantage of the situation. "Kurt, we can't, come on, not like that, not tonight when you're so upset. I don't want this to happen just to drown out the prom."

"It's not." Kurt raised his head and even in the darkness his eyes were bright and certain, his whisper unwavering. He kept his hips still, but there. "It's not because of that. It's because I want you, and I love you, and the only thing it has to do with what happened earlier is that you take my breath away. You were so brave in there, so stunning, my own real life prince."

"Except you're no damsel in distress, you don't need saving."

"No, but I need to be loved, and you do. You love me so perfectly, Blaine, you make me feel so loved. Honestly, all those people out there, I think half of them are simply jealous because they don't have what we do, and they want to, because they can see how special it is, what we have. And I love you, and you're so gorgeous, and so hot and–" Kurt's hips twitched, a sharp press down that made Blaine's eyes roll back in his head. "I want you. Want you so much, want to make you come, want to see you–" Kurt's breath was stuttering now, his hips rolling slowly as he spoke, and Blaine managed to muffle a groan with his hand at the very last second.

"But your dad–"

"We'll be quiet, so quiet, please." Kurt was gasping and kissing his neck. "I'll stop if you want me to, but–"

"No, don't. Don't stop, just... kiss me." He honestly didn't think he'd be able to keep quiet otherwise.

What followed was a slow, delicious build-up as they rocked against each other and shivered and kissed desperately, too sloppy and wet and perfect. It was hot under the covers and everything was slowed down and careful because the bed creaked sometimes and because they wanted this to last, to revel in every sensation that seemed multiplied, sublimated by the dark and the silence.

It was too dark to see every detail of Kurt's face when he finally came, tensing and arching up over Blaine, his mouth open in a silent cry, but what Blaine could see was absolutely breathtaking, pushing him over the edge he'd been clinging to so fast he almost forgot to muffle his moan in Kurt's shoulder, right against his mark. And coming together felt... different, not like the phantom orgasms at all. More like an echo of sensations between their bodies and minds, spreading and bouncing back and forth, overwhelming with the completeness of it.

Blaine had read somewhere once that no matter how close two people having sex were, the moment of orgasm was always a solitary experience.

Well, for them it wasn't.

Afterwards, they were cuddly and giggly, and increasingly uncomfortable in the mess between their overheated bodies. Kurt slid off him with a happy sigh, only to groan at the stickiness.

"We need to change, there's no way I'm sleeping in this mess." He paused, eyebrow arching. "Oh. You don't have spare underwear, do you?"

"Nope. Somehow I hadn't predicted my amazing boyfriend might have this kind of plans tonight. He's a perfect gentleman after all, not one to give into the cliché of having sex after prom."

Kurt grinned. "Oh? Sounds classy, that boyfriend of yours. I should meet him some day." He bit his lip then, thoughtful. "But back to the underwear problem... would it be weird if I let you borrow mine?"

Blaine hadn't even thought of it, but... guh. He cleared his throat. "Maybe a little weird? But I could live with that."