April 5, 2012, 12:01 p.m.
You Belong With Me
Been Here All Along: Chapter Seventeen
T - Words: 3,907 - Last Updated: Apr 05, 2012 Story: Closed - Chapters: 18/? - Created: Jan 03, 2012 - Updated: Apr 13, 2022 1,077 0 3 0 0
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“Blaine! Blaine! We won!”
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Blaine looked quickly over his shoulder, alerted by Brittany's now overly familiar perky voice. She was pressing in between two disgruntled customers, bouncing on the balls of her feet with a wide smile stretching her face from ear to ear. His own lips curled up a little at the corners, and his cheeks ached at the effort.
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Blaine wasn't smiling very much these days.
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Blaine twisted a knob and turned the steamer off, sliding the wand carefully out of the milk he'd just frothed for disgruntled customer number one's cappuccino and saying, “I know Brittany, I saw. You were brilliant.”
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Then he mentally kicked himself for admitting this fact as he watched her lips shift into a comical "O" of surprise. �Leaning forward with her hands flat against the faux marble counter, she literally bounced up and down like an infant trying to get a better view.
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Blaine banged the jug against the counter three times before pouring the smooth white milk into a cup and passing it to his now-twitching customer, casting her an apologetic smile before trying to convince Brittany to go sit down and wait for him. Brittany had other plans, interrupting him before he had a chance to open his mouth and blurting out a barrage of questions.
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“What do you mean you saw? �You came? �But you said there was absolutely no way you’d come watch. �Blaine, did you lie? Wait did you see Kurt? �Did he-”
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“Britt!” Blaine cut in sharply, his throat tightening at the sound of his friend's (could he even still call him that?) name. Dropping the near-empty jug next to him on the counter with a hollow clatter, Blaine pleaded with her, using his most persuasive voice.
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“If you go sit down, I’ll bring you a hot chocolate... and I promise I'll explain later, okay?”
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Brittany stood still as a statue; only her nose twitched slightly as she seemed to ponder Blaine's proposition. �After a moment her eyes wandered over to the glass fronted cake counter, filling with an all-too-familiar look of longing before skittering back to meet Blaine's.� Her expression could really only be described as puppy-dog eyes. �Blaine sighed, smiling a little despite himself.
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“Aaaand I'll bring you a cupcake. Deal?”
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Brittany squealed, jumping up on the counter to peck Blaine on the cheek and declaring, “Deal!”
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In her excitement, she knocked over the nearly, but unfortunately not quite empty jug of milk onto the floor (and Blaine's shoes) before turning on her heels and bolting for one of the booths in the back.
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Blaine exhaled, turning his attention back to his customer as he dusted a light layer of chocolate over her coffee. Shrugging sheepishly as he slid over her cup he tried to explain, “Sorry about that, she just gets a little… over excited.”
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The woman's expression softened at his apology (or possibly it was because of the sweet heady steam rising off her cup and curling into her nostrils). She leaned forward with an almost conspiratorial smile that Blaine didn't quite understand until she patted his hand and spoke softly as she gestured behind her at Brittany, who was now climbing into the booth to sit cross-legged.
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“It’s OK dear. My cousin was one of those< i>retardees too.”
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Blaine blanched at her remark, “She's not-”
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Puck clapped a heavy hand on Blaine's shoulder, making him start and lose track of what he was saying.
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“Dude, the customer's always right.”
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Blaine gave him a scornful look as he grinned at him, mouth full of teeth like a shark.
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“Your manager is quite right; you could learn a lot about customer service from him if you'd stop mooning after your girlfriend,” disgruntled customer number two muttered through a thick moustache as he stepped up to the counter.
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“Why,< i>thank you sir! I keep trying to tell him, but that's young'uns for you! What can I get you sir?” Puck said, winking at Blaine, who shook his head as he turned his back on both of them, reaching for the switch on the coffee grinder and using its ear-splitting noise as a cover to mutter a few choice phrases about his Puck's idea of customer service.
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.........
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When there was finally a lull in the flow of customers, Blaine took his break, walking gingerly over to the table Brittany had taken over.� He carried a tray laden with one hot chocolate (naturally floating with marshmallows), one medium drip for himself, and the Lima Bean's most decadent cupcake: the Cherry Bomb.
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As Blaine carefully placed the tray down in front of Brittany, she immediately began listing off a rapid-fire series of questions.
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“So, what changed your mind about going?� When did you get there?� Did you see me slide down the ribbon?� Does this have three marshmallows or four marshmallows? Are you-”
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“Brittany slow down!”
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Blaine raised his hands in supplication before reaching down for his cup.� He grasped it between both palms, letting the warmth leech into his hands.� Lately they seemed to feel perpetually cold. Brittany followed suit, picking up her own cup delicately and taking an obnoxiously loud slurp. The expression monkey see monkey dopopped into Blaine's head.
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“Firstly, there are four marshmallows, all pink, obviously.”
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Blaine smiled over the rim of his cup as he thought of the reasons for this:
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a.) Brittany was more comfortable with even numbers, and
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b.) Pink and white marshmallows can never agree on anything, which leads to bickering, and then the chocolate from the drink makes it worse because it gives them a sugar high, which makes them fight, and then hot chocolate gets everywhere and the mini marshmallow babies are orphans …
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Aaand maybe Blaine was spending a little too much time with Ms. Brittany S. Pierce.
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Blaine took a long drag of the coffee to brace himself with some liquid courage.
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“Ok, I've started answering your questions backwards, so I guess I'll stick with that.”
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Brittany furrowed her brow and asked confusedly, “Don’t you have to be sitting the other way around for that to work?”
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For just a moment, Blaine felt his lips involuntarily curl upwards. �Despite his sombre mood he couldn’t help but smile at the sheer< i>Brittanyness of Brittany. �Honestly, he didn't know where he'd have been without her this week... or without Jeremiah, for that matter.
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“No, Britt,” he smiled, shaking his head and continuing, “I arrived just in time to see you slide down the ribbon, which was just wow! Ok, that was, spectacular, well everything was, Britt, you were...< i>amazing,” he petered out, in awe of Brittany, who was positively beaming with pride.
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Biting his lip and sliding a long finger around the edge of his cup, Blaine pondered how to answer her final question.
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It wasn't at all surprising that she'd asked, given how ardent he'd been about not going to the tournament. �Brittany had desperately wanted to have Blaine there, begging and pleading with him to reconsider. �Eventually she'd seen the way his eyes gleamed with sadness, his lip twitching as he'd fought desperately not to cry. �Blaine was done crying for Kurt Hummel.
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After Blaine had torn out of Kurt's bedroom a little over a week ago, he'd been a mess: utterly distraught, broken-hearted, and so much worse than he had been after their first kiss, when Kurt had confused him with... (Blaine couldn't even think of his name without getting angry).
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Once he'd reconciled with Brittany, she'd come over after he hadn't replied to any of her calls or texts and crawled under the covers with him, despite his feeble and tearful protests. �She'd stroked his hair and sung nursery rhymes, using all the wrong words until eventually, exhausted, he'd fallen asleep in her arms.
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When he'd woken, curled up like a kitten in her arms, he'd explained with the barest details he could, wanting to close the door on the whole experience. The one thing he did do was make her promise to watch out for Sebastian, telling her that he was bad news.
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Blaine had been at a loss. �What more could he do if Kurt was going to be so pig-headed about the whole thing? �Brittany had pursed her lips, her eyes focused, but flitting around as if she had been thinking hard. �She hadn't say a word; she just nodded stoically.
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Over the course of the week, thankfully Blaine had had studying to keep himself occupied, spending every available minute trying to cram as much as he could into Brittany's head and telling her over and over that she could do it and constantly reaffirming how much faith he had in her. �He'd skipped glee club and any classes he shared with Kurt under the guise of tutoring Brittany, but really, he just couldn't face seeing him.
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It had been close in the hallway on the day of her test. �As if Kurt was haunting him, Blaine could feel the hairs raise on the back of his neck, the sound of his voice and Brittany saying his name in his ear making him go rigid in her arms.� He'd bolted away without even saying goodbye.
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He'd sat in his car for some time, trying his best to control his breathing, gasping a little like a fish out of water. Maybe a small part of him had hoped that Kurt would run after him, would tell him how sorry he was, how utterly stupid he'd been.
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But of course he hadn't. Blaine hadn't sent Kurt a single text, phone call, message, hadn't tried to find him at all. And that's when it hit Blaine, why what Kurt had done had hurt so much. Because while he'd known there was no chance for them to be anything more than friends, he knew at least that he had Kurt's friendship. Even if it meant he couldn't have the one thing he'd wanted for so long.
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But Kurt telling Blaine that he didn't know him anymore? Choosing himover a decade-long friendship? And now acting like Blaine didn't even exist? Well, Blaine had come to the realization that maybe they couldn't even have their friendship anymore.
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The text had startled him; it was loud after so long with only the sound of his breathing to break the silence in the car.
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Jeremiah:< i>Coffee?
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It wasn't the first text he'd received from Jeremiah following the night he'd saved both him and Kurt from the Sebastian's clutches, but it was the first that had suggested a meeting.
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He'd told Jeremiah everything, including all he'd withheld from Brittany, and Jeremiah had listened patiently, draining cup after cup of coffee, his frown growing.
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“Maybe it's time you really let him go,” he'd said at last when Blaine was exhausted from talking, reaching out to lay a hand on Blaine's.
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Jeremiah had looked as if he wanted to say more, but Brittany had bounded in, a broad smile on her face as she waved the B paper ecstatically in his face. Blaine responded with his first real smile all week.
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Blaine hadn't seen Jeremiah since then, but his words had played on Blaine's mind ever since. It seemed simple enough, but also impossible. How on earth was he going to just let go when he knew there would always be a part of him that belonged to Kurt Hummel?
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“I don’t like your face.”
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Brittany’s harsh statement jolted Blaine out of his train of thought and he looked up at her, eyes full of betrayal. Ouch. Way to kick a boy when he’s down.
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“When it’s all sad like that,” she explained, resting a soft hand against his. “It makes you look like a deflated birthday balloon.”
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Blinking, Blaine stared at Brittany and noticed the thin moustache of chocolate coating her upper lip, but even that couldn’t rouse a genuine smile. Everything in Blaine’s world just seemed…hopeless. He shrugged, unable to articulate more than that simple gesture.
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Brittany’s nose twitched as she frowned at Blaine, her face serious. �The expression looked oddly foreign in place of her usual spacey smile.
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“So, you didn’t answer my question. You just kind of went all... far away. What changed your mind about going? You said there was absolutely no way you’d go.”
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Blaine had been asking himself the same question.� In the end, it had been the words of a younger Blaine to a younger Kurt that had spoken loudest in his head and heart.
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I promise I will never leave you.
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Blaine smiled ruefully at Brittany and told her, “I made a promise.”
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.......
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Puck had interrupted Blaine's break, begging him to watch the counter,< i>‘just five minute's I swear Blaine; just gotta call my bookie', promptly putting an end to his and Brittany's talk. She'd needed to go home anyway; she wanted to check in on her cat to make sure he wasn't huffing the chemicals they kept under the sink because she'd hidden his stash.
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Of course Puck's idea of just five minutes had stretched to over an hour with no sign of his return. It wasn't the first time (or the last, Blaine would wager, knowing Puck's bookie) that Puck had vanished mid-shift. Once he'd left for "ten minutes" to go get more milk and hadn't turned up until a week later, reeking of tequila, wearing sombrero, and sporting a rather infected-looking tattoo of a donkey on his ass (which he'd flashed Blaine despite his protests.)
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Usually Puck's absence wasn't too much of a problem because Blaine was good at his job and organized enough to keep on top of things. However, what Blaine hadn't known (and what Puck obviously had known) was that Quinn had invited her old crowd, The Unwed Teenage Mothers Collective, for their monthly meeting. It figured he wouldn't want to be here, seeing as he was probably responsible for about half of their pregnancies.
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Judging by the surge of pregnant teens coming through the door, it seemed clear that Ohio was still neglecting to properly teach sex education in schools. With the 50% discount that Quinn had authorised for the group and a bunch of girls with sugary cravings that would be too sweet for even Brittany's taste, Blaine was absolutely swamped.
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Rushing between the milk frother, blender, cake cabinet, and counter, Blaine did his best imitation of Ganesha whilst trying to hold onto the contents of his stomach as he overheard snippets of conversation including such lovely phrases as vaginal prolapse and< i>cervical mucus.
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By the time Blaine had cleared the last table, the shop was nearly deserted and Puck still hadn't returned. They were out completely out of beans, so Blaine made sure the till was securely locked and then walked to the storeroom to retrieve a new bag.
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It was a struggle to carry the bag to the counter; Blaine's tired, aching body slumped forward under the weight and his glasses slipped slowly down the bridge of his nose. With his arms full of coffee, he couldn't manoeuvre himself to push them back up, so the world was shifting out of focus millimetre by millimetre.
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Weaving through the shop, Blaine heard a familiar voice say his name and looked up at the blurry shape of Jeremiah striding up to him. Blaine beamed at him, happy to see a friendly face (thankfully one without a baby bump.) �Jeremiah plucked the bag from Blaine's arms like it was nothing and dumped it on the counter.� He gently slid Blaine's glasses into place, shifting the world back into focus.
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Blaine was about to open his mouth, his lips parted and words hanging on his tongue when Jeremiah did something entirely unexpected. Winding his arms snugly around Blaine's waist, he drew Blaine towards him, inclined his head, and kissed him softly. The pressure was so light that if Blaine hadn't had his eyes wide in surprise he might not have realised it had happened. But there he was, pressing tenderly against his face for one Mississippi, two Mississippi, th- and then it was over.
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Despite the shock of it, Blaine couldn't help but smile, his fingertips ghosting over his own lips, which still held the barest hint of Jeremiah's warmth. For just a moment, Blaine listened to the steady beat of his heart inside his chest.
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A flash of white and red at the window dispelled his calm, making his heart skip heavily in his chest, but all he could see was a perfectly drawn heart on the misty glass.� A drop of condensation had fractured the shape right down the centre. Once again, Blaine was reminded of just how broken he was.
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Jeremiah was there though, pulling him into a warm embrace.� Blaine rested his cheek on his shoulder, his eyes sliding shut tiredly as a warm wide hand pressed into the small of his back.
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Blaine could feel... something, but he didn't know what.
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“Brittany texted me; she told me you went,” Jeremiah said at last, his voice low and close to Blaine's ear.
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“You okay?” he asked softly, and Blaine nodded against his shoulder, pulling away slowly and standing up as straight as he could, despite the ache in his spine.
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“Y-yeah, I'm ok.”
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“Sorry,” Jeremiah flushed a little, suddenly nervous. It was odd for Blaine to see it; he always seemed so collected.� He cocked his head in confusion.
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“The uh, kiss?” Jeremiah chuckled, squeezing Blaine's arm.� Blaine face immediately turned ten shades darker than Jeremiah's.
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“It's not that I haven't thought about doing it before,” Jeremiah admitted, his hand sliding down Blaine's arm to hold his hand, warm fingers lacing through Blaine's cold ones. Blaine remained still.
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“I just told myself I'd wait. But then you looked so sad and I just...” he shrugged, trailing off as he gazed down at Blaine, who remained bright-cheeked and stock still. It was a lot for him to take in.
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“Jeremiah...” Blaine began, but he was cut off by a tight squeeze of his hand before Jeremiah broke away.
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“Don't say anything just yet... think about it first, okay?” he asked, cupping Blaine's hot cheek with his hand.
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Blaine nodded, and Jeremiah smiled, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek before turning to leave.
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Blaine was alone.
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He realised that his hands felt warmer than they had in days...
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But his skin didn't tingle.
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........
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“Sebasatard!”
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Mercedes' voice blasted from Kurt's phone as he stormed into his bedroom. Flopping dramatically onto his bed, he shoved a lumpy pillow out of the way as if its very existence had personally offended him.
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After arriving home with his father an hour ago, Kurt had walked around the house agitatedly telling Mercedes the entire story (more or less), from the night of the party to his fight with Blaine, and finally to his fruitless excursion to the police station with his father. As Kurt had feared, without a drug test or reliable witness, it was pretty much his word against Sebastian’s- Sebastian and his State’s Attorney father.
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Burt had fought valiantly in Kurt’s corner, but even he knew the evidence was weak. Driving home, his father had asked him why he didn’t just go to the damn hospital when he had a chance. Kurt hadn’t responded, but he hadn’t needed to; Burt knew his aversion to the place after what had happened to him and his mother.
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“I know, ‘Cedes I know! It just… it kills me that he’s just going to get away with this!” Kurt groaned loudly, punching the pillow off his bed with a mean left hook. Looking down at the pitiful bag of fabric leaking feathers onto the floor, Kurt imagined in graphic detail that it was Sebastian’s decapitated head.
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“What about Blaine or Brittany? Why shouldn’t their testimonies count?” Mercedes asked, infuriated on her boy’s behalf as Kurt stared at the clock on his night stand. The vivid red numbers indicated it was 11:05, meaning he’d now been on his phone for two hours and his father would probably be in bed by now.
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Despite being grounded with the usual restrictions (no TV- whatever, ANTM was on hiatus anyway- and no phone), Burt had been gracious enough to let Kurt talk to his friend. He’d accurately established that Kurt had a lot he’d needed to vent, given the disappointing results of their trip.
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Of course he still wasn’t allowed to leave the house, and if Burt hadn’t already taken his car away, that would be gone to. Looking forlornly out of the window Kurt sighed into the silence on the other end of the line as Mercedes finished her epic rant in flawless diva-tude dialect.
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“’Cedes…that’s not even the whole story,” Kurt breathed slowly, imagining his friends eyebrow raising. Beginning with his realisation at the meet, he retold the Nicholas-Sparks-worthy tale of love and heartbreak, including his recent discovery of "the Jeremiah factor" and his father's advice.
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Timing Kurt.
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As Kurt remembered the vague words of his father, he sat up reached for his pocket watch, a birthday gift from Blaine years ago that was lying on his night stand. Kurt ran his thumb over the old polished metal, carefully tracing the engraved design of a bird in a cage.
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“I’m buying us coffee and bagels tomorrow,” Mercedes announced gleefully. Kurt caught his scowl in the reflection of the glass face.
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“That’s all you have to say?” Kurt snorted derisively.
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“What kind of gal pal listens to their best gay tell them a story of more woe than Juliet and her Romeo… and then talks about bagels, for crying out loud?”
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“I’m going to be loaded tomorrow when Santana pays me that $50. I knew you’d admit this before graduation,” she retorted in matter-of-fact tone of voice.
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“Well I’m glad my misery has been fruitful for you. I’m hanging up now and going to find better friends,” he said tempted to hit the end button on his phone.
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“Oh please, like you’d find other friends willing to put up with your brand of crazy. Anyway, forget that and tell me this: how are you going to steal your man back?”
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With a sigh, Kurt snapped the lid of the watch shut.
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“I’m not going to steal him, ‘Cedes…he looked happy. After everything I did, letting him be happy is the least I can do. And besides…” he thought again of Blaine in Jeremiah’s arms as he leaned down to kiss him, “I don’t even know if he’d want me… not like that anyway,” he finished, his voice tired and resigned.
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Kurt missed Mercedes’ soft snort of derision as he focused on the now warm circle of metal in his palm, wrapping his fingers around and gripping it firmly. It wasn't ticking, and it felt wrong not to feel the soft and constant vibration of it.� It reminded him a little too much of his own still and broken heart.
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“Kurt…You deserve to be happy as well. One stupid fight shouldn’t stop you from-”
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“‘Cedes, I’m tired. Can we talk about this tomorrow?” he pleaded, rubbing the spot where he could feel an ache beginning in his skull. It had been a really, really long day.
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Sighing down the phone, she agreed, and they hung up.� The room fell into an unearthly silence. All that Kurt could hear was the twin snores of his brother and father as they slept. Looking at his night stand again, Kurt saw that it was almost midnight, and he really did need to get some sleep.
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But Burt’s words kept chiming in his head, over and over.
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Timing…Timing… Timing
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Maybe his father was right. Now wasn’t their right time.
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But as Kurt got off his bed, pulled on a thick sweater, and slid out his open window into the cool night air, he knew that it was definitely about time that he talked to Blaine.
Comments
OMG IM SO HAPPY THIS WAS UPDATED! AMAZING AS ALWAYS :)
I have been refreshing my browser every five minutes, between reading another fan-fiction and hoping that you have updated. I know that sounds werid! But I love this fan-fic. So I shall sit here, hitting refresh until you update. <3 :) (That should tell you how much I like love the story.
Awww you're such a sweet heart - this makes me feel so guilty for leaving it so long since I last updated! Haha! I'm working on another project at the moment but I will be coming back to this, more likely at the end of next month but we'll see. Hopefully it will email out when I do update because there are a few kinks in the techincal side of this. ANYWAY - once again thank you for the lovely message! X x X