Chapter 17

The Glee clubbers lingered by Kurt’s side only until the doctor came out to tell Kurt the procedure went well, and he would be able to see his father in a short while. Kurt felt relief surging through him, drenching him of all other emotions and energy. His friends patted him on the shoulder, as they walked towards the exit. Now, when Mr Hummel’s situation seemed under control, the Quinn-Puck-Finn love triangle drama became much more interesting.

Mercedes was the last one to leave; she gave Kurt a hug and a peck on the cheek. And then he was alone.

He took a seat at his father’s bedside as soon as they let him into the room. Despite repeating to himself that everything was going to be just fine, he could feel tears forcing their way up under his eyelids. Waiting for what he knew was inevitably going to happen now that he was back was unbearable. The conversation he was dreading almost all his life was looming in the nearest future. He knew his father wouldn’t let him skip the explanations. In this respect, he was always a caring parent; he always knew where Kurt was, even though most of the time Kurt was at home. Whenever Kurt was going out, Burt demanded to know where his son was going and for how long. He just wanted to be sure his son was safe. The death of his wife took great enough a toll on him; he couldn’t risk losing his child as well.

Kurt knew this time it wouldn’t be much different. Only this time, the explanations would be much more terrifying to make. The conviction that he had to tell the entire truth had been growing in him since the moment he saw his dad lying motionlessly in the hospital bed for the first time. The time he spent with the even beeping of the machines and his own thoughts made his resolve stronger with each passing second.

It was a little past noon when Burt’s eyes opened, and Kurt jumped up to come closer to his father and grab his hand.

‘Hi, Dad,’ he said in a voice coarse from tears.

‘Hi, kiddo.’ Burt smiled faintly. He couldn’t remember being this happy. He was alive, and was going to be healthy, but most importantly, his son was back, safe and sound, holding his hand in this cold gloomy place.

‘You’re going home tomorrow,’ Kurt said, struggling to sound cheery. ‘And you’ll have to be careful not to exert yourself, and not stress yourself out.’

‘Just don’t run away on me again, and I won’t.’ Despite his father’s lighthearted tone, Kurt gulped, guilt rising to the surface again.

‘I won’t, Dad. No matter what, I won’t do that again,’ he whispered.

***

Blaine was leaning on the side of his vintage car, waiting patiently for Kurt in the hospital parking lot. He was asked to pick his friend up, as Kurt didn’t drive to the hospital himself. The air was chilly, causing Blaine’s cheeks and nose to redden, as he rubbed his gloved hands together to keep warm. It was already dark, even though he ditched Warbler practice again to come as quickly as possible.

It took five minutes for Kurt to appear in the sliding doors. He looked tired, his eyes were pink, but through the weariness and traces of tears, relief seemed to be breaking to the surface.

The second he saw Blaine, his lips arched slightly. He walked up to him until only a foot separated them.

‘Hi,’ he said quietly, and reached out for a hug with the tiniest hesitation.

Blaine didn’t hold back for even a split second, but grabbed Kurt in a tight embrace.

‘How’s your dad?,’ he asked, letting Kurt go.

‘Fine, I guess.’ Kurt shrugged. ‘He’s coming home tomorrow, so they must think he’s well enough for that.’

They settled in their seats, and Blaine started the car.  He followed Kurt’s directions, as they made their way to the Hummel household. The instructions and Blaine’s acknowledgements of them were the only conversation they had the whole way. Kurt was hoping Blaine would stay with him for a while, and Blaine hoped Kurt would ask him to.

The Chevy stopped in the brick driveway leading up to the small house with a tiny porch, white walls and shutters, the paint from which was peeling off, revealing the old wood. Blaine kept the engine running and turned his face to Kurt, who was looking at him from under a furrowed brow.

‘Aren’t you gonna come in?,’ he asked, disappointment sounding clearly in his voice.

‘I didn’t know if you wanted me to.’ Blaine couldn’t help, but let his facial muscles form a smile and wrinkle the skin around his eyes.

Kurt rolled his eyes. ‘Blaine, would you maybe drop in, since you’re already here?’

‘It would be a pleasure,’ Blaine chuckled in response.

They went up to the front door, before Kurt twirled around with a terrified expression, as if he’d just remembered he had something embarrassing out in the open inside.

‘Crap, I forgot, the house is a mess, so, please, don’t think it always looks like this. I didn’t have time to clean yet, and Dad was alone for long enough to turn this house into a junkyard.’

Blaine nodded, as an apologetic smile was sent his way.

Kurt turned the key and opened the door before them, turning the light on the second he crossed the threshold. Blaine followed him inside, glancing around. As they went deeper into the small house, Blaine observed that the mess was nowhere near the catastrophic state Kurt had described. Other than some stray pieces of clothing on the living room sofa and a baseball cap tossed to the floor in the hall, and a stack of grimy dishes on the counter in the kitchen, the place looked relatively clean.

‘Okay, if that’s a junkyard, I have no idea what my place was when you first showed up,’ Blaine said, as he sat down at the kitchen table.

‘A gigantic junkyard.’ Kurt shrugged and they both giggled.

But their laughter soon died, along with Kurt’s smile. He made them dinner, as=nd they stayed silent most of the time. Blaine didn’t press his friend to talk. If he were there just to be, if that was what Kurt needed, it was fine by him.

Blaine cleaned out his plate in a matter of minutes; there was no way he could ever get enough of Kurt’s cooking. Kurt himself, however, was sitting quietly across from Blaine, fiddling with his food, with one hand propping his cheek. His lips were curled infinitesimally downwards, his eyelids drooped. It did not slip Blaine’s notice; he kept glancing at Kurt over his plate, trying to decide whether to ask Kurt if he wanted to talk about whatever was bothering him.

And he was quite sure he knew what the concern was.

‘You scared?,’ he asked quietly.

Kurt’s eyes jerked up, his shoulders tensed for a second, until he remembered how well Blaine got him. How he never thought him shallow or unreasonable. A nod was the only answer he could manage.

‘I wish I could tell you it’s gonna be fine, but… When it comes to this stuff, you never know.’ Blaine shrugged, his thoughts wandering back in time to the mayhem his own coming out caused. ‘In my case, I knew it wasn’t going to be pretty, but I would’ve never suspected my parents to be capable of sending me to a Christian camp to pray the gay away.’

He snorted and paused for a minute.

‘But then, I can predict even less in your case, I never even met your dad…’

Kurt dropped his gaze to the table, tears beginning to come up to his eyes. Without a second thought, Blaine got up to catch his friend in a secure embrace.

‘It doesn’t have to be terrible,’ he said soothingly in Kurt’s ear. ‘It all can still be fine. And if it won’t be, then at least… You’re not alone in this.’

A sniffle close to his head made Blaine  fall back a little to see Kurt’s face. It was wet, the eyes under the heavy lids beginning to redden, but visible traces of his distress went only this far. The corners of his mouth were twitching up again. As they should be.