9. THE DIFFERENCE

Kurt’s phone blares at 1:26 a.m., waking him up. He looks at the display and groans. Why is Blaine calling him? He was supposed to have had a romantic date with David tonight, why would he call after that? To twist the knife in Kurt’s heart some more, sharing intimate details? Kurt answers anyway, of course, not even trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

“Yes, Blaine? Do you have any idea what time it is?”

Blaine’s voice is slurry, slow, and there’s music and a murmur of voices in the background.

“Kuuuuuurt… Kurt, I think I’m broken.”

Oh great. A drunken late night call then. This should be fun. Blaine stays quite eloquent even when he’s really drunk, but the way his mind works is often hard to follow. Kurt pulls the duvet up to his chin and curls up in the bed, preparing for a long conversation. Date or not, if Blaine got wasted afterwards, he must have had a reason.

“Why do you think you’re broken, Blaine?”

“I broke up with David.”

The fact that Kurt’s heart accelerates at the news makes him feel instantly guilty, like the worst friend in the world.

“But why?”

“Because… Kurt, he said he loved me.”

“Oh.” Shit, that hurts. He’s careful to keep his tone neutral when he asks. “Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but. Kurt. I… I don’t.”

His heart is fluttering now. He shouldn’t be happy about this, damnit!

“You don’t what?”

“Love. Him.” There’s a choked up sob from the speaker. “Kurt, what if I’m broken? What if I’m just unable to love, what if I’m some sort of sociopath, completely without feelings, like in the movies? I mean, first Jess, now David… I’m going to be alone forever, I’ll live with twelve cats and nobody will even know when I die, and they’ll have to eat my dead body to keep from starving.”

“Really Blaine? Really? Twelve cats?”

“What? I have a lot of love to give, definitely enough for twelve cats. Thirteen, maybe. And you just changed the subject because you agree, don’t you? Oh god, I am broken.” Sobs are clearly audible now, increasing in intensity. Kurt sighs. It’s not a conversation they should be having when Blaine’s in this state.

“And you just answered your own question about lack of feelings. Okay, okay. Listen to me. Tell me where you are, I’ll come get you and we’ll talk then, okay?”

Blaine sniffles into the phone. “Yeah. I’m at Vincent’s. You know, near campus.”

Kurt shakes his head. “That hole in the wall? Why would you go there, god, it always smells terrible in there.”

“It was close.”

Kurt sighs. “Alright, don’t move, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

When Kurt enters the small bar, he finds his friend sitting at a tiny, sticky table, staring into a glass of amber liquid. He comes closer and lays his hand on Blaine’s shoulder. When Kurt speaks, his voice is quiet and soft, comforting.

“Hey, I’m here. Come on, I’ll take you home.”

Immediately, Blaine’s arms are around his waist, holding tight, his face hidden in the fabric of Kurt’s coat. Willing his fluttering heart to calm down, Kurt threads his fingers through soft dark curls. Two stocky men at the next table look at them with open hostility. Time to go. He squeezes Blaine’s shoulder.

“Blaine. Get up. We have to go.”

Thankfully, Blaine finally reacts, getting up on unsteady legs and immediately leaning most of his weight on his friend’s shoulder. Kurt embraces him and helps him out, to the car, where Blaine slumps into the seat, not even bothering to reach for the seatbelt. Kurt fastens it for him before going around to the driver’s side. They are halfway home when Blaine finally speaks.

“Can I go home with you? I don’t wanna be alone.”

Kurt glances sideways. Blaine has never seemed so depressed, not even right after coming out, when everything in his life had changed. Tears are running down his face and his beautiful amber eyes look like liquid honey in the light of the streetlamps. Kurt feels his heart squeeze.

“Of course.”

They get to Kurt’s apartment in silence and Blaine seems distant, absent. Kurt leaves him in the bedroom with a pair of pajama pants, going to prepare the couch for him. When he comes back he finds his friend shirtless, but otherwise still dressed, fast asleep, his legs on the floor. Sighing, with very little cooperation, he helps Blaine out of the tight jeans and socks, leaving only his boxer briefs on, somehow managing to maneuver him up the bed and under the duvet. He considers sleeping on the couch himself, but Blaine’s so drunk he probably shouldn’t be left alone – or at least that’s what Kurt tells himself. Pulling pajama pants on, he clambers into bed beside his friend and falls asleep surprisingly fast.

Kurt wakes up in the darkness with warm body pressing against his back, fingertips tracing light patterns on his chest and hot mouth hungrily kissing the nape of his neck. Still disoriented but already hard, he shivers and moans, arching into the man behind him, feeling an erection press against his ass. Half asleep, he rolls his hips, but then his name is gasped in the darkness and suddenly he realizes where he is and, more importantly, whom he is with.

Blaine. Blaine, in his bed, clinging to him. Blaine’s curls tickling his neck as he kisses his way down to Kurt’s shoulder blade. Blaine’s leg hiked over Kurt’s hip to pull him even closer. Blaine. Kurt’s first love, his only love so far, seven years of dreaming and hoping in spite of everything. It would be so easy to give in to temptation, to take this night, just another night if he can’t have anything else, another memory to string together with the others and hide deep in his heart for safekeeping. What could it hurt? Kurt feels so weak tonight, unable to resist.

So he turns in Blaine’s arms, molding himself against the hard planes of the body he’d memorized the first time he was allowed to see and touch it, the body he’s seen in a hundred dreams and fantasies since then. He presses into the man he can’t have as if daring him to see, to understand Kurt’s feelings through touch alone, skin against skin, frantic fingers caressing, loving, writing messages of want and love and always into Blaine’s skin.

Blaine’s neck is sweaty when he licks it, he smells of alcohol and a little of cigarette smoke from the bar, but it doesn’t matter, because underneath it all is Blaine and Kurt has never really wanted anyone else. He wonders if he ever will when his first love, the love he never acted on, never confessed, is a man who’s everything Kurt ever wanted. Maybe he will be the one to end up living with twelve cats and die alone. Or maybe he’ll always have fuck buddies, dates, boyfriends, men who are good, but never good enough, never someone he wants to share his life with, confess all his thoughts to, wake up next to every single day. Never someone he wants to marry and have children with, adopted children like the ones from their group home and biological children if they want to. A full house, with laughter and music and joy.

It’s so easy to close his eyes and let their bodies tell a story of desire, trust and love, of promises and the future. It doesn’t matter that it’s just a fantasy. It doesn’t matter that it will hurt in the morning, like a barely sealed wound brutally opened again. It won’t hurt any more than it already does, it can’t. Because Kurt understands and accepts that this particular future is never to be. He’s put himself out there as far as he dares. He’d hinted and showed his interest as much as he could. He never said anything openly, because that could just break them. And another morning of waking up to this beautiful face, only to realize once again that Blaine will never be his, won’t hurt more than realizing Kurt is not even a blip on his dating radar, or seeing him marked by another man, kissed by other men,  knowing that other men get to touch him and love him.

Kurt’s fingers are about to slide under the last layer of cotton when Blaine combs his fingers through the hair on the back of his head and pulls him in for a kiss, wet and sloppy, and Kurt stiffens and pulls away immediately. No. Anything but this. This… it’s too personal, too intimate. He’s not sure why, he never had a problem kissing other guys, but he never loved any of them, either. Here, it’s like Blaine already has Kurt’s everything, it’s his for the taking – his body and soul, his love and desire, his promises and future if he wants it, and this, kissing him, is the one last thing Kurt can withhold and save for when – if really, and it’s an ever weakening if – Blaine wants to have all this with him. If he gives up this last thing and is left empty-handed, he’ll have nothing more to offer. It may be silly, but it’s how Kurt feels.

So he withdraws now, suddenly too sad, too tired to continue, and strokes the stubbly cheek, smiling softly.

“No, Blaine. Boundaries, remember? We’re friends. I want us to stay friends.”

“Okay.” The other man is mumbling sleepily, eyes closing, no resistance at all. He looks adorable. “Cuddle with me. Please?”

And Kurt can at least do this. Not that he could deny such a request anyway. He closes his arms around Blaine, who immediately shuffles closer and settles into Kurt’s embrace, his head fitting perfectly in the hollow under Kurt’s chin. He purrs contentedly and stills, his breath steadying and slowing in a matter of minutes.

Kurt lies awake a bit longer, thoughts of why and how and if only whirring in his head. After a long while he lightly kisses the warm forehead resting so invitingly just beneath his lips and whispers against the smooth skin.

“See, that’s the difference between us, love. You just want moments with me. And I want you forever.”

***

“I want you forever.”

When Blaine wakes up it is the first thing he remembers, even before he’s fully conscious. This one sentence, a memory fresh and sticking out more than anything else that had happened last night, waiting to be processed. It takes his breath away, the shock of it.

Could it mean what he thinks it means? Was it even real and not a dream? No, that much Blaine is absolutely certain of: it had been real. Even through the pounding headache and dizziness of hangover, he still feels the tender touch of Kurt’s lips on his forehead and hears the whisper, quiet and sad. He doesn’t open his eyes; he has to settle into this realization before he can look at Kurt. Because if Blaine is not mistaken – and he really can’t see how he could have misunderstood – then Kurt wants him. And not just as a friend. He wants forever with Blaine. And he called him love, a word that sank quietly, swiftly right to the middle of Blaine’s chest, where it’s sitting now, warm and reassuring.

He knows he wasn’t supposed to hear those words, but he had, drifting somewhere between reality and dreams, completely relaxed and safe in the warmth and comfort surrounding him. And now that he’s heard, he needs to know what this means – for him, for them; as friends or as… more than that. Could they be more than friends? It’s the first time he lets himself even consider such an option and it suddenly feels so obvious he has no idea why he never thought about it.

Or maybe he does.

He remembers the first year of college, when he and Kurt became roommates. Opening up a rusty, long locked door in his brain, he recalls his reaction when he first saw Kurt – the awe, attraction, desire – and the nights afterwards, when he fought it so hard his lips were bloody from being bitten, because the most perfect human being he’d ever seen was sleeping just ten feet from him, but it was a boy and it was sick and impossible and forbidden. That’s what he had been told, that’s what his whole family had been telling him for years. Blaine wasn’t gay. He wasn’t. He didn’t have a crush on Kurt, he didn’t want him like that, Kurt was just… aesthetically pleasing, that’s all.

So Blaine fought with himself and he won, because after a couple of weeks he saw Kurt strictly as a friend, just a friend, never anything more. He didn’t allow himself to think about anything more, ever. Yes, it had felt like ripping out a piece of himself, some knowledge, some kind of truth, but in time he got used to feeling incomplete and eventually, it became normal.

Now, looking back, he can clearly see how his true sexuality had been showing; the force with which he repressed it is scary in retrospect. But now… now he knows he’s gay. Now he accepts it. So what does this mean for him and Kurt? How does Blaine really feel about his best friend?

It’s always been such a taboo that it feels like a sacrilege now to tear down all the walls, push aside fear and denial and prohibitions, and just look. See Kurt. Not Kurt the best friend. Not Kurt the lover, the mentor, like he was for a moment. Just Kurt, the way Blaine’s known him inside and out, for years.

If he’s looking for an answer from his… instinct? subconscious?, he gets it immediately in the way his heart flutters and his mind fills with images, possibilities, hope. But there’s more than that. Without the walls he raised years ago, without the blinds he’s been wearing, he realizes that he still feels the same, that he’s felt it for years, maybe from that freshman year of college when they got to know each other and discover just how perfectly they fit. He still feels the same, but only now it’s all so obvious – his months-long depression after he cut all contact with Kurt, the inability to be without each other for longer than a couple of days now, the trust, the attraction, the best sex he’s ever had, the fantasies… Everything. Everything fits.

No wonder he could never love anyone else. No wonder he couldn’t even imagine himself loving – truly loving – Jessica or David.

It was impossible when his heart has belonged to someone else all along.

Filled to bursting with this new knowledge, this absolute certainty, Blaine opens his eyes, smiling, ready to see Kurt and just tell him already. But there’s no one there. He’s alone in Kurt’s bed, a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin on the bedside table, a piece of paper folded in two beside them. Blaine picks it up. It’s a note, in Kurt’s handwriting.

Blaine,

I had to run, I have two photoshoots from hell today. I should be back around 8 p.m., feel free to stay if you want to; we can eat dinner when I’m back.

K.

PS. I called Robbie for you; you should contact him yourself when you feel better.

PPS. Your clothes smell of eau de bar. I left you some of mine in the bathroom.

PPPS. Keep yourself watered. And I mean, with actual water, not coke.

PPPPS. No, you’re not broken. Yes, you are capable of love. Maybe you just haven’t found the right person yet. Stop trying to name your hypothetical future cats.

Now I really gotta run. See you later!

Blaine smiles fondly and resists the urge to press the note to his lips. Yes, that’s Kurt; thoughtful and caring as ever. A whole day without him seems much too long, when Blaine wants to tell him what he realized, right now. He can’t sit still, his thoughts churning in a mad whirlwind of elation and hope; he’s been blind for so long, any additional minute apart feels like a lifetime now that he can finally see. But since he can’t help it, he may as well use the day productively.

By eleven Blaine has showered, eaten breakfast and his headache has subsided. He calls Robbie, explaining what happened last night; thankfully, his boss is understanding and tells him to take his time, take care of himself and to come back on Monday. The rest of the day is spent on preparations – he’s got a plan. An epic plan. Because with a man like Kurt… there’s no other way to say “I’ve been in love with you since the day we met”. Around seven everything is ready – the dinner is in the oven, the kitchen table set, the living room prepared for what he has in mind for later. All Blaine can do is wait.

Suddenly, he has doubts. Is it too much? Too little? Is the song as perfect as he thinks it is? What if he’s too late in this realization? What if he misunderstood what Kurt meant? Or, god forbid, did just dream about it? Because, frankly, when could Kurt have fallen in love with him? And why just now – because now he’s openly gay? Not even a year ago Kurt told him he thought he still loved his ex. The bastard that broke his heart. Whoever that… was… 

Oh shit.

It’s not… Surely it can’t have been…

But the evidence all fits, sliding into his mind neatly, as if it’s all been waiting for him to put the pieces together.

… Not after I did everything I could to forget you, to kill this… this thing…

… He was… everything I’m looking for in a man…

… It’s nothing dangerous, just… painful…

… maybe you’re looking in the wrong direction…

Oh god.

All these years, and he’s never realized. How could he have been so stupid, so blind… How many times had he hurt Kurt with his obliviousness, his stubborn denial, his insensitivity? Saying or doing something without ever thinking there could be something there, anything more than friendship. And Kurt? Still here, still the best friend Blaine could ever dream of, in spite of all this. Never complaining. Always giving and understanding. These nights together… Blaine bites his lip, remembering that he basically pushed for sex, suddenly realizing just how difficult, how painful it must have been for Kurt. And yet… he gave Blaine that, just like everything else.

He feels like crying. And then he is crying, there on the couch where he first touched Kurt like a lover all those months ago. He doesn’t deserve Kurt. There’s no way this thing he prepared is enough to make up for years of hurting him. But he has to try. Because his heart tells him That’s it, this is who you’ve been searching for all your life. He can’t – won’t – back down now. And if Kurt accepts him in spite of it all, Blaine will spend his life making up for past hurts, making sure he never causes him any more pain.

The clock is ticking. Eight is only minutes away.