Remind Me to Forget

Chapter 22

Blaine exits the choir room quickly after Mr. Schue finishes his ‘you-lost-nationals-but-second-place-isn't-horrible' speech for the third time this week and dismisses Glee – for once Blaine's grateful for his excuse of a doctor's appointment to get out of the post Glee discussion. He hears Tina and Sam complaining behind him, a hybrid dialogue combining the worst of Mr. Schue's phrases with the general melancholic words that have been staples since receiving the second place trophy on Saturday.

Adjusting his bag after opening the lobby door, Blaine blinks in the bright sunlight before crossing to his car.

Text message from Blaine:

We put the trophy in the case today

Text message from Blaine:

No practice though – at least we get a small break before the end-of-year performances

Finishing the text, Blaine drops his phone beside his bag on the passenger's seat, only to reach over when it starts ringing moments later.

“Hey,” Blaine balances the phone between his ear and shoulder as he fumbles with his keys.

“Hey you,” Kurt's voice comes clearly across the line, but it's slightly strained, radiates tension.

“Is everything okay?” Blaine leans back in his seat, moves the cradle the phone in his hand even as he feels his face tighten in confusion.

“You tell me.” The short response has Blaine sitting up straight again, tightening his hand around his phone.

“What?”

A sigh. “Sorry. I just –” there's another sigh and Blaine forces himself to stay silent while he waits for Kurt to continue. “You really want to talk about Glee?”

“Yes?”

“I didn't –” Kurt's response descends to mumblings and Blaine glances at the clock.

“Kurt?”

“I don't want to fight with you.”

“Well, I didn't know we were fighting, so congratulations.”

“Blaine –”

“What?” Blaine snaps, sitting forward in his seat, “What did I do? Did you not want to know about my day, or something? Did I forget about a concert, did you just want me to listen to your day at NYADA? What did I do, Kurt?” Silence rings in the car once he finishes; his breath sounds unnaturally loud until Kurt replies.

“You didn't talk to me!” Blaine pulls the phone back from his ear at the loudness of Kurt's response. “God, Blaine – you had a panic attack Saturday! I got one of the worst phone calls of my life five days ago, and the most you've said on it is that you're sorry! I don't want you to be sorry. I want you to talk to me. I want to know what happened: what caused it; what's to keep it from happening again. Every time I have to wait for another text, or another call – every time!- I worry that you're somewhere and you can't breathe. And today – today when you have your second therapy appointment of the week, by the way – I've been pacing, ruining my hair and unable to hold a conversation with anyone because I'm too distracted to pay attention to them! I could barely focus to take notes in class! I've been – you texted me about Glee, Blaine. Glee!”

“I have talked about it! But maybe I don't want to talk about it every day! Did you think of that? Maybe I want to be a normal high school student and complain about calculus and Mr. Schue's terrible pep-talk, and not have my fiancé reminding me at every turn that I'm anything but normal, living in his parents' house because my dad can't stand to look at me and I got beaten up after a Sadie Hawkins dance!”

“I wouldn't have to if you'd just talk to me! And don't patronize me, Blaine Anderson. Your two-minute summary about Saturday and telling me Dr. Schamp is keeping your Ativan for emergencies isn't talking about it! You said you'd stop hiding – stop ignoring things. And don't try to twist this, either – you know I am glad you're with my parents. But we can't keep doing this; we can't be planning our wedding when you still try and keep everything to yourself!” And then, mumbled so Blaine almost didn't catch it, “That's what started this in the first place.”

“Don't!” Blaine's voice was hard, a tone he couldn't remember using on Kurt before, “Or, is that what this is? You want to call off the wedding because you finally realized that you have a broken fiancé and that's too much baggage for the oh-so-talented Kurt Hummel?”

A choked breath is the only response and Blaine blinks, feels the pressure building behind his eyes as he recalls his last words. “Oh God, I'm sorry. I didn't – the meds are messing with my head and –”

“Meds?” Kurt's voice is soft, drastically so after the words of before, but his tone carries a sharp edge of wariness that has Blaine clutching the phone tighter.

“Yeah…I,” Blaine takes a breath, looks at the band on his ring finger, “Dr. Schamp prescribed me Elavil.” Another breath. “It's an antidepressant. She um – I take it once a day. But until I've adjusted and she's settled on the dosage it can cause mood swings.”

“Okay,” Kurt's voice has returned to normal, and Blaine feels some of the tension leave his shoulders. “Okay. You're – Why didn't you tell me? You have to – you didn't think I would –”

“No!” Blaine winces at the volume of his interruption, “No, I just…it's a low dose. She just wants me to try it, for now. See if it helps.”

“So that was reason to not tell me?” Kurt's voice holds a trace of hurt, and Blaine lets his head fall against the headrest, allows himself to wallow for a moment before he replies.

“It was one more thing, Kurt. One more thing that shows how much has changed – and I didn't want to focus on it. On the fact that I'm now on daily medication.”

“There's absolutely nothing wrong with that, Blaine.”

“No,” Blaine agrees, “but it's not exactly normal, either.”

“Being normal is highly overrated. And besides,” Blaine takes note of the slight teasing tone, feels himself start to smile preemptively, “you were the lead soloist of the Warblers as a sophomore and asked the male Prom Queen to dance: you've never been just normal.”

Blaine laughs. “Of course you see the good.”

“Mm,” Kurt agrees. When he speaks again his voice has a hint of nervousness, a hesitance that kills Blaine's smile. “Blaine? Please don't take this the wrong way. I don't want to fight.” A pause and then Kurt's voice steadies. “I really, really don't. But earlier? That wasn't just a mood swing from a new medication.”

“No,” Blaine sighs, keeps his voice soft. “It wasn't.”

“I get that this isn't the easiest thing to talk about. I really don't expect you to tell me everything.” Kurt's earnest reply has Blaine nodding, even as Kurt continues, “It's not even about –” a pause, “I was so scared when Dad called, Blaine. So, so scared.”

Blaine leans back in his seat, takes a moment to think over the weekend, to pretend he'd gotten a call from Burt, if he'd had to listen, states away, as Burt told him Kurt was in trouble.

He takes a deep breath, shakes his head even as he looks to his ring again, and reminds himself that Kurt is fine, safe in New York.

Blaine steadies his hand and replies. “I'm sorry. I can't imagine if – I promise I'll call more.” When Kurt sighs Blaine tightens his grip on the phone, starts talking again. “I'll tell you what's going on. I will. I just wish I could forget it, and it's so – I don't want it to hurt you.” Blaine takes a breath, forces himself to continue, “It's easier to keep things separate. There's school, and therapy, and then there's you, and it's just…” Blaine lets the sentence die, “I'm sorry, Kurt.”

Silence reigns for a moment.

“I don't want you to apologize to me, Blaine. And,” a pause and then Kurt continues, “as much as I'm grateful that you trusted me with what you just said, I don't want you to tell me what you're feeling out of guilt. I want you to talk to me because we're in this together. I love you, and part of that means being partners.”

“We are!” Blaine insists, “I don't like talking about this with anyone.”

“I'm not just anyone, though.”

“No,” Blaine agrees, “you're my fiancé.”

“I just – don't pretend for me, okay? I mean, if you really want to complain about calc or Mr. Schue that's fine. But…I know there's more going on, so you don't have to ignore that with me.”

“Can I blame it on habit?” Blaine attempts to bring some levity to the conversation, “Like the apologies?”

A soft laugh echoes down the line and Blaine relaxes, rests his shoulder back against the seat. “I'm afraid that excuse is already taken. But,” Blaine leans forward when Kurt's voice takes on a soft tone, a touch of hesitance, “you'll stop pretending, right? For me?”

“I'd do anything for you, Kurt Hummel,” Blaine can't help but quip. “But yes,” he continues, keeping his voice serious, “I'll do my best. I mean – I'll talk to you.” Blaine glances at the clock. “But I should get going.”

“Oh! I'm sorry – don't be late, but drive safe, okay?”

“Of course! I'll call you later.”

“I'm holding you to that.”

Blaine smiles. “I love you. Kurt?”

“Yes?”

“We're okay, right?” Blaine keeps his voice light, but he can't control the slight tremble at the end.

“We're so okay. I love you, too. Just – don't forget to call, okay?”

“Not possible,” Blaine assures, and ends the call moments later.

He starts the car and Human drifts from the speakers. Exiting McKinley's parking lot, he forces his thoughts to stay focused on the cars ahead of him, on the stop signs and traffic lights. Still, he arrives at his destination less than twenty minutes later, shutting off the engine before slowing unbuckling his seatbelt and reaching for his bag and phone.

He exits the car, double checking to ensure he has his phone before pressing the lock button. He's seated in the waiting room, tapping out beats on his knee and taking in the warm – if cliché – décor minutes later, the check-in and entry having passed in a blur.

Text message from Kurt:

You're still the kindest, bravest man I know – nothing can change that! <3

When his name is finally called, he quickly stands, absently straightening his clothes before reaching for his bag. His hands may shake, but his smile remains honest, unmovable.

-*-*-*-

Kurt slowly walks down the hall, adjusting his bag so it rests more comfortably on his shoulder. He keeps to the edge of the hall, hoping to avoid the slicker spots on the tile floor – a recipe for falls and embarrassment.

He takes his time, avoiding the small clusters of students waiting for another class, or talking about various parties; he ignores the slight headache building behind his eyes, pauses when a small group rushes out of an adjacent hallway. Shaking his head, Kurt pulls his phone from his pocket, sighing when he sees no new texts.

Not that he'd honestly expected any.

Blaine's appointment would have ended while he was in class, and Kurt knew Blaine would want some time to himself before talking with others, even his fiancé. Still, after their conversation earlier he can't help but feel nervous, anxious to hear from his fiancé.

Blaine had promised to call, to text, something – and Blaine wouldn't lie about that. Still, Kurt remembers the angry, hurtful words from earlier and briefly closes his eyes, cursing his impatience. He hadn't meant to snap at Blaine, and Blaine wasn't innocent either, but losing his control as he had wasn't helpful to anyone. Kurt takes in a slow breath, reminding himself that Blaine hadn't ended the call in anger.

He relaxes his hand, relinquishing the white-knuckled grip on his phone before sliding it back in his pocket. By now, Blaine would be at the shop. The lack of texts is normal – based on Blaine's appointment from Monday – and yet a small part of Kurt can't help but remember his snap response earlier, Blaine's rushed and panicked reply.

Kurt shakes his head, reminds himself that his call with Blaine ended with ‘I love you' and Blaine's promise to call later.

And he'll work on his patience, on not pressuring Blaine.

Stepping outside, he pauses under the overhang, taking a moment to open his umbrella (standing at an awkward angle to avoid the smokers off the side) before moving to the sidewalk, heading for the coffee shop not far from campus. At least the rain leaves the sidewalks clearer than usual, so his hurried steps remain unhindered.

He smiles slightly when he finally enters the shop, the scent of coffee easing some of the stress from his shoulders. Carefully holding his umbrella to the side, he joins the surprisingly short line, ordering his coffee along with a sandwich before finding an empty table. He scans his sheet music as he eats, reviewing the crescendos and suggestions his professor had added to help him ‘connect' with the music. Once he's finished his sandwich he puts in his headphones, listens to the accompaniment and mentally hums his part. He's run through it twice, and is debating getting another cup of coffee when the music is taken from his hands even as the scrape of chairs has him jumping.

“Hummel, why don't you save the practicing for when your boytoy has your mouth full. I'm sure he'll appreciate more than us.”

“What? No!” Kurt feels the flush hot on his cheeks, and studiously ignores the smirks on his bandmates' faces. “I was reviewing notes from my conference yesterday.” He pauses then, narrowing his eyes as he looks around the table. “How did – are you guys stalking me or did I just miss a mass text?”

“Oh, we were stalking.” Dani's voice stays upbeat, and Kurt leans back a bit in his chair. “Not that it was too hard, you're here every Thursday.”

Kurt blinks before slowly taking a sip from his empty coffee cup. “Okay…”

“So what's up with the hobbit, anyway?”

“Santana!” Dani's admonishment has Santana crossing her arms, and Kurt uses the moment to collect his thoughts.

“I think what Santana meant,” Elliott adds from next to Kurt, “is that we're wondering how you're doing, given everything.”

“I'm fine,” the words come out more clipped than Kurt intended, and he studiously keeps his eyes on the table.

“Wow. And I thought Schue was a bad liar.”

“Sorry. I just –” Kurt sighs before looking up with a shrug. “Believe it or not I don't have that much to say.”

“Since when do you not want to share your opinion, Hummel?”

Kurt sees Dani's open curiosity, Elliott leaning forward in his seat, and Santana's smirk; he sighs, remembers how for all the petty arguments about the band, they still listen when he talks, offering advice when they can. He knows Blaine better than anyone, but Blaine's words from earlier still have him on edge. He loves Blaine, and he'll do whatever he can to continue to help.

So he takes his own advice, and talks.

-*-*-*-

Blaine waves to the mechanics as he enters the garage, casting a quick glance before spotting Burt in his office. He heads for the restroom and quickly changes before moving through the various cars in the garage, pausing just outside Burt's office when he notices the phone held in Burt's hand. Burt looks up moments later, however, and gestures for Blaine to enter the room.

He takes a seat in one of the faded chairs as Burt rolls his eyes and gestures to his call. Blaine ducks his head to hide a smile and crosses his arms before pulling out his phone. He stares at his lock screen for a moment, taking in Kurt's bright eyes and wide smile before tapping in his password and pulling up his texts.

When he hears Burt ending the call minutes later, his and Kurt's conversation is still open, with no new messages sent.

He shakes his head and puts his phone away.

“The supplier in Columbus mailed me the wrong part, and they wanted me to pay for the replacement.” Burt huffs a laugh, “Turns out they hired a new worker whose accuracy weakens when he speed reads. Anyway,” Burt adds as he adjusts his hat, “we have back-to-back oil changes ‘til close.” Blaine stands as Burt does, following him back to the garage, he quickly glances away from the truck to his left –

green and white speed past

he can't see

he can't escape

he can't run

he's so scared and he's held down 

- he blinks and Burt stops in front a maroon Toyota Camry, the hood already open.“This one's a couple of months overdue – figured we check it first.”

Blaine nods and leans in, looking over the engine.

“Never understood why people wait. The date is on the car an' they still can't be bothered to bring it in on time. And now,” Burt gestures to the car, “they're gonna need more than that oil change.”

Blaine hums in agreement as he continues to look over the car, absently noting the older model of engine.

“So,” Blaine looks up at Burt's comment, watches as the man then moves to look at the engine as well, “how was school today; you had a quiz, right?”

Blaine looks up quickly, feels a brief flare of pain in his neck from the swift action. Of course Burt Hummel would remember a throw away comment from two days before.

“Yeah,” Blaine smiles before remembering the assessment. “Vocabulary and an essay over A Streetcar Named Desire.”

“Well I'm sure you did great.”

Blaine shrugs and leans back down, eyeing where Burt's got his hand covered in oil. “That's the hope.”

“Right,” Burt sighs and stands, offering a smile when the sound of his back cracking is audible even over the sounds in the rest of the garage. “Mind grabbing what we'll need from the rack? I meant to get it before that call.”

Blaine stands with an absent smile, moving to gather the requested tools; he doesn't notice Burt's gaze as he crosses the garage, misses the slight frown that grows when it takes two tries for him to grab hold of one of the tools.

“So,” Burt starts once Blaine's back and they're both busy checking under the hood, “I'm in D.C. next week; I told Jim to let you help out whenever you wanted, so you're not on the schedule. That okay?”

“Oh,” Blaine pauses, pulling away from the engine, “That's – I mean, thanks, but you could have added me to the schedule. I don't mind.”

“I know you don't, kid,” a quick glance shows Burt's smile, “but you've got a lot goin' on; you don't need to make stoppin' by here a requirement. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad for the help, and you're always welcome to help out, but senior year is trying enough – don't push yourself just to work here, too.”

Blaine takes a breath, bites his tongue to keep his ‘I can handle it' silent, trapped between clenched teeth. “Thanks,” Blaine feels his smile turn brittle, “but I'm sure I'll be fine.”

“Mm,” Burt agreed, “seems everyone is, lately.”

Blaine jerks back, out from the car. “What?”

He watches and Burt sighs and carefully steps back, setting his tools aside before running his hands over his cap. “I know –” a pause and then Burt starts again, “You're going through a lot. Just remember that you're not alone, alright?”

Blaine nods, keeps his eyes on the concrete floor until the burning recedes and he's able to meet Burt's gaze steadily.

They complete their work on the car in silence.

-*-*-*-

“You're sure we have lids for all these?” Burt stared at the Tupperware containers, at the lids that somehow, despite their stack, didn't appear to match any of the clear boxes currently out on the counter.

“Yes, they're all there,” a pause, “if it's too complicated we could trade?” Carole's voice stays light, teasing even over the rush of water from the sink. “I know how much you love doing dishes.”

Burt sighs and stares at the mess of plastic on the counter before glancing up to the shelf. “Blaine offered to help clean up.”

“And I believe your words were, ‘and you have homework' before you implied that helping us would make us feel old?”

Burt eyes the cabinet, resolutely not turning towards his wife. By the time he finds both a box and lid Carole has finished washing all the plates, and is laughing at him from by the stove.

“Congressman Hummel, how does it feel to have been beaten by some plastic?”

Burt continues to scoop the leftovers into the container before moving to place it in the fridge.

From her spot by the sink with the now-empty pans, Carole sighs. “Why did you tell him that?”

“What?”

“Blaine.” Carole carefully rinses the plate and sets it in the dishwasher. “He did offer to help, after all.”

“He's got enough on his mind.”

“Burt?” Carole turns off the water, crosses to stand beside him at the table.

“You know Kurt called me earlier? Apparently he and Blaine got into a fight. I don't – he didn't give me specifics or anything, but it rattled him. Blaine hadn't told him about the Elavil –”

“He didn't tell us, either.”

“No,” Burt sighs, “but leavin' the bag out where we can see it is as good as.” Burt reaches up, runs his hands over his face. “Anyway, he seemed on edge, at the shop,” he reaches out, carefully tangles Carole's hand in his own, “not enough to upset anyone, but he paused a lot, seemed to be debatin' his words.”

“That to be expected.”

“Doesn't mean I have to like it.”

“No,” Carole squeezes his hand, “but he's getting help. And his argument with Kurt – how he was at the shop – some of that's the meds; they're going to cause some mood swings for a while. And the rest,” Carole shrugs, “he's polite, but at heart he's still a teenage boy.”

Burt huffs a laugh. “It's easy to forget sometimes, without the yelling and the mess.”

“Kurt Hummel cleaned this house more than you did.”

Burt rolls his eyes and gestures toward the sink. “Was that a subtle way of suggesting I finish the dishes?”

“Well, I certainly wouldn't say no.”

-*-*-*-

Kurt plays the melody again, leans forward on the bench in an effort to better hear the ‘subtle hints of melancholy' his professor had described. The minor key keeps the tone from sounding upbeat, but that's all he notices.

He leans back moments later, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips.

His plan had been to take advantage of the empty loft (Rachel was busy with something Funny Girl related, and Santana had left for Dani's with a smirk and an overnight bag) and use the piano to pick out the nuances he couldn't hear through his iPod.

Except the piano doesn't appear to hold any secrets, despite what his professor had said. He eyes his phone for a moment, debating. He hasn't heard from Blaine since before his therapy appointment.

em>Text message from Kurt:

[photo] Is piano practice always frustrating?

Text message from Blaine:

Not always, but often. It's why almost everyone can play Chopsticks but only a few know Goldberg Variations ;-)

Text message from Blaine:

Take a break?

Kurt smiles at the message, slipping from the piano stool and grabbing his mug of coffee before heading for his room.

Text message from Kurt:

Take one with me? My Skype is feeling neglected

Text message from Blaine:

Give me half an hour to finish up Civics?

Kurt agrees, smiling as he moves to straighten his hair and move his computer from his desk to his bed. A sip of tepid coffee has him grimacing and when he returns from re-heating his drink his computer is beeping; he quickly sets the mug on the nightstand before scrambling on his bed.

“Hi!” Kurt pauses, takes a moment to calm his breathing and run a hand over his hair before leaning back against his pillows.

“Everything okay?” Blaine's laughing, leaning forward so much that the top of his curls disappear, cut off from the camera.

“Yeah – yeah, sorry. I had to set down my coffee. And,” Kurt continues, taking in Blaine's quick glance down at the clock, “yes I need it this late; my rewrite is due tomorrow and I have to finish memorizing my lines for Acting.”

“I didn't say anything.”

Kurt raises his brows. “You didn't need to.”

“No,” Blaine's smile turns shy, “I usually don't, with you.”

Kurt takes a breath, debates taking the opening Blaine had unwittingly left him. In front of him, Blaine's face stays pale in the light of the camera, but aside from the slightly unsettling shade he looks comfortable, soft and happy in one of Kurt's old t-shirts.

“Do –” Kurt sighs, starts again. “You will though, right?” When Blaine's face scrunches in confusion he quickly continues. “We'll still talk, I mean. I'm sorry about –”

“No!” Blaine's voice echoes through the speakers, his lurch forward disjointed in the lagging camera. “Don't apologize. I'm sorry for making you think –” the picture blurs as he shakes his head, “I'm sorry for not telling you about the meds. Really.”

“It's not about that. Not all of it, anyway,” Kurt reaches for his mug, taking a sip and gathering his thoughts. “Do…do I bring it up to much? I don't mean to – that's not how I see you – I just worry, Blaine.”

“I know,” the response is strained, and Kurt hides a wince when he catches Blaine's face tighten even through the low-quality camera. Blaine takes a slow breath and Kurt waits, holds back the words he wants to say to fill the silence. “I know this isn't just about me. I know that. And I can't – I can't ignore it; I just don't always want to talk about it either.”

“You don't want to talk about it at all.” The sentence slips out, and Kurt claps his hands over his mouth almost before he's finished speaking. “Sorry! I'm – I didn't mean that.”

“You did.” Blaine shrugs and offers a weak smile. “And you're right: I don't want to talk about it.” His voice drops and Kurt leans forward a bit, closer to his speakers. “But I will; Dr. Schamp wants me to anyway.”

“She does?” Kurt hears the incredulity in his voice, knows his eyes are wide for the camera.

“You – you're the most important person in my life; of course I'm going to talk to you.”

Kurt feels his shoulders drop, lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. “That's all I want; I can't be in Ohio, and you can't be in New York yet, so this,” he waves toward the computer, “is how we have to do things.”

“Things?” Blaine's smile has turned sly, and Kurt feels his cheeks heat in response.

“Blaine Anderson!” Kurt shakes his head and doesn't fight the smile. “I was trying to have a serious conversation.”

“And we've had one; two actually. But I know for a fact that your dad and Carole are engrossed with Elementary…”

Kurt's pulling off his vest even as he shakes his head. “You're incorrigible.”

“But you love me.”

“Mm,” Kurt agrees as he winks, “but I have it on good authority that it's reciprocated.”

Kurt unbuttons his shirt to the sound of Blaine's laughter.

-*-*-*-

A blast of sound has Kurt jolting up, legs tangling in his blankets even as they drop to his waist. To his right, shadows dance from his alarm clock – 3:22 AM – and the light coming off his phone –

Oh.

He reaches blindly, knocking a pad and pen to the floor before pulling his phone towards him, wincing as the light hits his eyes. He swipes away the picture from Blaine's birthday, wishing he had cause to smile now.

“Hey.”

“Hey, sorry for waking you up.”

“Don't,” Kurt winces at his sharp reply before continuing, “Always, call, remember?”

He gets a choked laugh in reply and reaches over to turn on his lamp; he'll stay awake as long as Blaine needs him.