Remind Me to Forget

Chapter 8

Kurt stands by the window, looking out at the grey drudge of Bushwick. He keeps his arms crossed, a small effort to stay warm while he waits for the coffee to finish brewing. Rachel's voice rises above the sound of the shower, and if he wasn't already awake rethinking about his conversation with Blaine he'd be pounding on the door. Santana had been right: Rachel did forget that others live in the loft.

Text message from Kurt:

I hope you're still dreaming! Rachel's singing banished mine…

“Tell me there's coffee.”

Startled, Kurt spins and sees Santana walking toward the kitchen, still in pajamas, hair sleep-mussed. “I started some not too long ago. It's brewing; should be done soon.”

Rachel hits the bridge of Don't Rain on my Parade and Santana shoots a glare toward the bathroom. “You'd think if the little diva is going to wake us up before the flippin' Sun she'd at least make us coffee.”

“Santana…” Kurt sighs as he drops into one of his vintage kitchen chairs, propping his head on his right hand. “Can you not?”

“Aww, did the resident gay not get his beauty sleep?”

“As a matter of fact Santana, no, I didn't.” Kurt snaps. “So I'd really appreciate it if you could keep your comments to yourself this morning.”

“Damn Hummel. You're grumpier than usual.” Santana squints from across the table. “You get in a fight with your hobbit?”

At the mention of Blaine Kurt closes his eyes, feels the worry descending at the memory. “No.” Kurt opens his eyes and glares at Santana. “We didn't fight, Santana; I can lose sleep for other reasons.” Kurt's coarse words carry across the small space even as he stands and heads for the coffee pot.  

“You trying to take my spot as head bitch?”

Kurt sighs and ducks his head as he pours himself a cup of coffee before reaching for a second mug. Moments later he sets the steaming coffee in front of Santana and reclaims his seat. “Sorry Santana. I'm just –” Kurt pauses as he reaches for the sugar. “I'm just a little stressed.”

“I noticed. Congratulations; you now have raccoon eyes.”

Kurt's hands involuntarily go to his face, rubbing at his eyes even as he frowns at Santana's amused expression. “I shouldn't have brought you coffee.”

“And here I thought we bonded over breakfast yesterday.”

Kurt eyes Santana over the rim of his coffee cup. “Mm. At least you didn't demand we go somewhere this morning.”

Santana gestures towards the window. “The Sun's barely up, Hummel. No bagel is good enough to force me outside this early on a Sunday.”

“Good to know.” Kurt sips his coffee, swallowing quickly when he realizes it's still a few degrees too hot.

“I need food though.” Santana adds as she sets her own mug down. “We still have eggs?”

“What?” Kurt's coffee hasn't fully kicked in yet and thoughts of Blaine have him unable to keep up with Santana's changing topics.

“Eggs. Hummel.” Santana keeps her eyes on him as she quickly ties her hair into a pony tail. “We still have some?”

“Yes, last I checked.”

“Right.” Santana pushes back her chair. “Scrambled okay?”

“You're cooking?”

Santana turns back to face Kurt on her way to the kitchen. “Yes. I can handle scrambling eggs and toast. Besides,” Santana smirks, “You look about ready to fall over. You'd burn the apartment down.”

“I –” Kurt swallows, gives Santana a small smile. “Thanks, Santana.”

“Don't get used to it; I just don't want to have a find a new place to live if you set this place on fire. And,” Santana turns to face him after closing the door of the fridge. “I expect to hear the story behind those bags under your eyes, when you're up for it.”

Kurt thinks back about his fear from the day before, his continued worry for Blaine, his anger at Blaine's parents; it would be nice to share at least some of it, and Santana is hard enough – unlike Rachel who still can stun him with her naiveté – to view the topic with a realistic outlook and not burst into tears.

Kurt nods.

-*-*-*-

Blaine jolts himself awake, breathing harsh as he takes in the sunlight sneaking in through the closed blinds. Shadows dance across the wall, creating shapes and discarding them just as quickly. The light shifts and –

The glint from his cufflink cuts through the shadows, a bright point of focus against the concrete. Dress shoes moving away.

“Be a man, Anderson!”

The dress shoes lengthen. His father stares down with cold eyes. “Why couldn't you be the man we raised you to be?”

Blaine shakes his head, scattering the remnants of the nightmare, and pushes aside the blankets. Standing, he grabs his phone from the bedside table before turning and snapping a picture of the mussed bed.

Text message from Blaine:

[photo] Not quite as comfy as I remember it…

Text message from Kurt:

:( Mine's missing something, too

Text message from Kurt:

Did you sleep okay?

Blaine thinks back over the times he'd woken gasping, breath harsh and heart pounding. Still, he'd slept longer than he had at his parent's house.

Text message from Blaine:

Mostly. Woke up a few times…

Text message from Kurt:

:( I'm sending you hugs!

Text message from Blaine:

Your hugs are the best ;)

Text message from Kurt:

I'll remember you said that!

Text message from Blaine:

Good!

Blaine smiles as he pockets his phone and exits the room, intent on coffee. In the kitchen minutes later Blaine hesitates before pulling the jar of coffee from the cabinet; he's familiar with the Hudson-Hummel kitchen, but he's never cooked there – or made coffee – while alone. It's odd, working in someone else's kitchen, but the mundane act of brewing coffee settles his nerves.

After pouring himself a steaming cup he turns and takes a seat at the table, wincing when his shoulder hits the wood of the chair. Sighing, he stares into his coffee cup, waits for the sharp burst of pain to subside. Moments later, Blaine raises his mug and lightly blows at the steam before cautiously taking a sip. His mind wanders, flashing to his nightmares – to his father's shuttered face as he'd ordered Blaine to leave.

Blaine knows it was smart to leave – to run – but a small, weary part of him is so tired of running.

He ran from Marysville High.

And now he's run from his own house. Absently, he wonders what it says that he feels more at home in his fiancé's parents' kitchen than his own parents' house; he wonders if it's worse that it was true before what happened yesterday. Blaine closes his eyes.

Breathe in. It was yesterday.

Breathe out. Move on; it's a new day.

“Oh, you made coffee.” Blaine opens his eyes as Carole enters the kitchen. “I always love the smell of coffee in the morning.”

Blaine smiles into his coffee cup and makes a show of inhaling the scent. “Mm. It was one thing I liked when Kurt was working at the Lima Bean, even though I knew he hated it there.”

“Mm,” Carole hums as she pours her own mug of coffee before turning to face Blaine, “He did hate it though; washed every shirt he wore twice.”

Blaine breathes a small laugh before freezing as the pain in his cheek returns. “I can see him doing that.” Blaine adds quickly, before turning away and briefly bringing a hand to his face.

“I had to buy laundry detergent twice as often.” Carole stands by the table, facing Blaine and putting an ice pack and two Tylenol in front of him with a smile.

Blaine stares for a moment, absently wondering how he missed the sound of Carole retrieving the items before taking in the expectant look on her face and swallowing the pills with a sip of coffee.  Then, giving Carole a smile he dramatically raises the ice pack to his cheek, managing to only jerk a little when the cold touches his skin.

“Thanks.”

“Of course, Blaine. Any dizziness this morning?”

“Only when I came down the stairs. I'm fine now, though.”

“Hm.” Carole tilts Blaine's head, carefully checking where the bump still stings. “Sorry; I know it's tender. Doesn't look any worse than yesterday, though.” Stepping back, she shakes her head, huffs a laugh and she takes a seat. “Only you would remember to brew coffee but not get pain killers.”

“Coffee's important,” Burt adds as he enters the room and heads for the pot and grabs a mug from the cabinet. “Not as important as some things,” Burt pointedly looks at the ice pack Blaine's still holding, “but still important.”

Blaine ducks his head in embarrassment, glad for the ice that hides the resulting blush. When he glances up again, Burt and Carole have joined him at the table. There's silence before Burt sets his mug down with a sigh and catches Blaine's gaze.

“So.” Burt's voice carries a weight Blaine hasn't heard before, and he leans forward in response. “I won't do anything without your okay, but I went ahead and did some research last night. Now, I figure we can try to avoid havin' this conversation twice, so I was thinking we could call Kurt and then he can listen, too.”

Blaine nods and pulls his phone from his pocket, giving Burt and Carole a small smile as his phone dials.

“Please say you're calling to provide a respite from Rachel and Santana's feud.”

“Partly?” Blaine swallows and continues. “Your dad wanted to talk about – he wants to talk about what we're going to do, but you have a say too, so you can be on speaker and hear what's going on?”

“Of course.” Kurt's voice takes on a serious edge, not even hinting at the dramatic emphasis from before.

Blaine pulls the phone away and turns on the speaker before placing it in the center of the table.

“Hi Kurt.” Carole takes a sip of her coffee as Burt adds his hello and questions Kurt about his weekend. Following a lull in the conversation, Burt clears his throat and Blaine looks up from where he'd been studying the swirls in his coffee.

“Okay. So Blaine after what happened,” Burt quickly glances at the ice pack Blaine's still holding. “I looked into what we could do. I know you don't want to involve the police or CPS,” Burt pauses and only continues after Blaine's nod. “So I was thinking I could go see your parents and see about appointing a guardian. Now,” Burt holds Blaine's gaze. “You got a couple of options with that. Since he's over eighteen, your brother could be named; I know you've been talking to him again.”

“I am. But,” Blaine shrugs his shoulders. “Cooper is – he's really focused on his work in California. I don't –” Blaine pauses, searching for words. “We talk, but I don't think he knows me that well. You said there were a couple options?”

Burt nods. “The other option. Well,” Burt glances at Carole, “If you felt comfortable, Carole and I could ask your parents to appoint us as guardians.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” Kurt's question echoes the thoughts racing through Blaine's mind.

“It's been ten minutes.” Carole's voice breaks through Blaine's contemplation. She nods towards his ice pack at Blaine's confused look, and he gives her a sheepish smile as he sets the compress on the table.

“I'd do the same thing I'm doing now; be there for Blaine,” Burt states, answering Kurt's question, “But it would be official in the eyes of the law.”

Blaine glances between the Hudson-Hummels and tightens his grip on his coffee mug. “Please don't think I'm not grateful; you've been wonderful. But Mom flies out some time tomorrow, and Dad leaves Tuesday, so I'm not sure this is really necessary – I know you're both busy.”

“Blaine –”

“Kurt,” Burt interrupts Kurt, his voice carrying over the phone's speaker as he focuses on Blaine. “Blaine…I don't want to pressure you. And we wouldn't,” Burt rubs his right hand over his face before continuing. “We wouldn't be trying to replace your parents, and you've done an amazing job on your own while you're parents have been away, but Blaine no one should have to deal with what you went through yesterday. You're a great kid, but you're still a kid at least for a little while longer. Let us be there for you.”

Silence blankets the kitchen as Blaine thinks over the comment.

“It's your decision,” Kurt breaks Blaine's reverie. “But for what it's worth, Dad and Carole are great at support.”

Blaine smiles. “I already knew that.” He looks to the Hudson-Hummels and finishes his coffee. “If – if you're sure you don't mind.”

“Wouldn't have offered if we didn't mean it, kid.” Burt smiles and Carole nods.

Blaine ducks his head as he smiles. “Thank you.”

“You're family, Blaine.” Kurt's response has heat rushing to Blaine's cheeks, and his smile grows.

“Well,” Blaine raises his head at Burt's comment. “Sounds like we've got this settled.” He nods to Blaine. “I'm gonna go see your parents since they're not in town for much longer. Why don't you grab some breakfast –” Burt holds up a hand to forestall Carole's comment. “I'll grab something on the way back; one late lunch won't kill me.”

“Something healthy!” The admonishment, slightly crackly through the phone's speaker, has Burt shaking his head even as he smiles.

“Talk to your fiancé, Kurt.”

-*-*-*-

Beneath his fingers, the pillow flattens, the stuffing forced to spread and balloon around Kurt's hand. “Really?! That's barely even a dress! It looks like a five-year-old got bored in art class and instead of putting the tissue paper on the piñata decided to tie it around a person! No one wants to see that much of someone in public! And she cheated!”

“Embrace the stereotype some more, Hummel; I'll post this to YouTube and be rich within the hour.”

Kurt shoots Santana a glare. “She cheated, Santana. And the judges are obviously blind because that is not a dress by any definition.”

Santana smirks as she glances at the screen. “Not a fan of the female form?”

“This show is supposed to be about fashion! That,” Kurt waves his free hand toward the screen, “isn't fashion.” He narrows his eyes at Santana when she continues to smirk. “I don't even know how that made it past the censors.”

“I really should be filming this.”

Kurt just continues to glare.

“You've been twitchy all day, and while I'm enjoying your cliché reaction to bad reality TV, this is a bit much. Even for you.”

“Fashion had no role in the creation of that dress.”

“You're more gay than I thought.” Seeing Kurt's incredulous look she continues as she takes a seat beside him. “You're snapping and strangling pillows.”

Kurt releases the pillow with a sigh, absently running his fingers over it to smooth out the creases and lumps. “It was a bad episode.”

Santana stares, undeterred.

“I just wanted to relax and get lost in some mindless television, but apparently even the T.V. is against me today.”

“The real world not good enough for you?”

Kurt turns to face Santana. “I'm sure you've had days you wanted to ignore the world, Santana.”

“Hm.” Santana leans back on the sofa, and catches Kurt's gaze. “Maybe I have, but I thought everything was perfect,” a quick glace to the ring shining on Kurt's finger, “in the life of Kurt Hummel.”

Kurt twists the ring with his right hand, looking away from Santana. “It should be, right?”

“Starting to regret promising to spend your life with a hobbit?”

Kurt turns so quickly he almost falls on the couch. “No! Why do you always say things like that? I can't wait to marry Blaine!”

Santana shrugs. “You're the one ticked off at a television show and looking like you haven't slept in days.”

“Thanks, Santana. You always know how to make me feel better.”

Santana rolls her eyes. “You gonna talk now or keep making me wait while you avoid the topic?”

“I don't –” Kurt cuts himself off and sighs. “I don't want to betray Blaine's trust, but this is…difficult. If I – If I tell you, you can't interrupt me. And please, Santana, just this once, I need you to not – I need you to just listen.”

“I may be a bitch, but I do have some social skills.”

Kurt gives her a small smile and takes a steadying breath. “You know Blaine's parents aren't really around. They didn't come and see West Side Story and never came to any concerts. They're just…not involved. But they've never really...accepted Blaine.” Kurt shares a glance with Santana. “They'd never really said anything outright, at least not that he shared. But it was the thing no one really talked about. Anyway,” Kurt looks at his ring, considering. “They've both been home this past week, and things…things changed.”

Santana's eyes narrow and she leans forward. “You're being annoyingly vague, Hummel.”

“This isn't the most fun conversation. Sorry if I'm not immediately jumping in.”

Santana manages to look confused, worried, and annoyed all at once. Kurt sighs and closes his eyes; opening them, he takes a breath and begins to speak.

-*-*-*-

Burt turns off the car's engine and sits for a moment, releasing a breath. Grabbing his keys he exits the car and locks it after retrieving the bag from the back seat. Moments later he's entered the house, dropped the bag in the living room, and finds Carole in the kitchen, chopping celery.

“How'd it go? You were gone a while!” Carole's voice catches, and Burt hears the worry beneath the lines. “Blaine's upstairs, so you don't have to sugar coat it.”

“They didn't fight me on it. They just –” Burt rubs his hands over his face and takes a seat at the table. “Part of me's glad; I didn't have to fight them on it. But, I showed them the papers I got from Greg – that's partly what took so long, had to go by his office – and they just signed on the dotted line.”

“Well, it's not like after yesterday they could think they're in the right.”

“His mother had a bag for me; said she was glad Blaine felt comfortable here. Stood up for her husband too; apparently he's going back to anger management classes.”

Carole turns from the counter to face her husband. “That's something, at least.”

Burt huffs and rolls his eyes. “Sure. After asking if I wanted coffee he admitted his temper got control yesterday, and he went too far but he didn't actually admit that he had no reason to be that ticked in the first place. I knew from Blaine that they weren't the most accepting of people, but to see it…” Burt shakes his head. “I just don't see how parents can be so indifferent to their kid.”

“Not every kid's lucky enough to have a Burt Hummel for a father.”

Burt gives a small smile. “Not that special; just common decency, really.”

Carole hums in reply and turns back to the counter.

“You know they thanked me? After – I was gettin' ready to leave and they thanked me! People are always saying politicians are the polite ones hiding something but those two – I didn't know it was possible for a conversation to be that formal and polite.”

“Now you know where Blaine got his manners.”

“Thought it was an act at first, but he genuinely means it.”

“He's a good kid; Kurt's lucky to have found him.”

“Mm.” Burt leans back in his chair, relaxing. “They're good for each other. I don't know what Kurt would've done his Junior year without him.”

Carole turns and opens a cabinet, pulling out a frying pan. “Kurt's a survivor; he'd have been okay, but Blaine helped more than we know, I'm sure. And Kurt's helped Blaine too – he's much more open than the boy we met at the football game.”

Carole opens her mouth to continue but Blaine enters the kitchen, ear buds in and humming along to whatever song must be playing. It takes a moment for the scene to click, but then Blaine startles to a stop, jerking out his headphones and shoving them in the front pocket of his hoodie.

“Sorry!” Blaine faces Burt and bites his lip. “I didn't mean to interrupt; I didn't realize you were back.”

Burt gives Blaine a smile. “You didn't; I was actually just about to go find you.”

“Oh?” Blaine's voice is quiet, cautious.

“Nothing bad, kid. Everything worked out – paperwork's being processed. Now,” Burt pauses and reaches into his pocket; pulls out a key. “I got this made on the way back. You can use it whenever you want; you can stay at your parents' house if you'd like, but consider here home, too.”

Blaine takes the key and if Burt sees the slight tremble in his fingers or the sheen in his eyes there's no comment. “Thank-you. I know that doesn't even begin to cover all that you've done, but thank-you, so much.”

Burt shares a look with Carole over Blaine's head. “No need for that, Blaine. You're family.”

Blaine smiles and ducks his head before turning to face Carole and gesturing to the counter. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Not much left to do, actually. Dinner should be ready in about an hour.” She then glances at Blaine's shoulder. “You can sit down and ice your shoulder, though. There's some Tylenol in the drawer, too.”

“I don't –” Blaine stops when Carole just raises her eyebrows.

“Best to just sit, Blaine. Carole's a taskmaster when it comes to looking after people.”

-*-*-*

Lying across his bed, Kurt grimaces when his iPod starts to play another upbeat song; for once his eclectic taste is music is bothering him. Still, the conversation with Santana had drained him, and despite his annoyance at the song he can't be bothered to search for his remote.

He glances at his phone: 7:08 P.M. Two minutes since he last checked, and still no call from Blaine.

Despite feeling anxious and jittery, Kurt can't bring himself to move from the bed; he's still mentally exhausted and while his body wants to move, his brain has other ideas. The song continues to play and Kurt is blindly, weakly, pushing at his blankets for the small – why are docking station remotes always so tiny? – item when Love, Love, Love cuts through the room. Kurt jolts up, getting tangled in his blankets and sheets and inadvertently pushing the phone further away. Muttering a curse he pushes the offending blankets away and grabs the phone.

“Hey.”

“Did I interrupt something? You sound out of breath.”

Kurt looks at the mess of covers on his bed. “No…I just got into a fight with my blankets.”

“Oh? How did that work out for you?”

Kurt sighs. “They didn't fight back, so I'm taking this as a win.”

“Hm.” Blaine stays quiet, and Kurt replays the conversation and winces, shaking his head at his own insensitivity.

“So,” Kurt pauses and takes a breath, refocusing. “How are you?”

“Carole's been making sure I take Tylenol every four hours, and I think she has some kind of psychic ability because she's always showing up with ice or to check my head, too.”

“I taught her well.”

“Your dad never stood a chance.”

“Not really, no.” Kurt holds the phone between his cheek and shoulder, rearranging his pillows before sitting, relaxing against them. “But I'm glad Carole's there.”

“Carole – your dad, too – they've both been amazing.”

“Mm. So I'm guessing Dad got everything worked out?”

There's a sigh down the line. “Yeah. The paperwork's been filed, at least. He gave me a bag mom had packed too.” A pause, rustling through the line before Blaine continues. “I didn't – the clothes she packed. I don't even remember buying them. I'll send you a picture; the pants aren't too bad, but the shirts. There's plaid, Kurt.”

“Plaid can work.”

“Not this plaid.”

Kurt gives a tight laugh. “I'll take your word for it. But other than not having fashionable clothes, things are okay?”

Blaine sighs, and then begins to speak, his voice catching. “Your dad. He um – he gave me a key. Said I can stay where whenever.”

“You always could, you know. It's just official, now. Although,” Kurt straightens, takes a moment to organize his next words, “As much as I love the thought of you being with Dad and Carole, I hate the reason why you're there. You deserve better.”

“You make up for it. I never,” there's a pause, “I couldn't even have dreamed someone as amazing as you. And your parents – they're just a wonderful bonus.”

“I love you.” Kurt tightens his grip on his phone. “And I'm so glad Dad – I don't know what I would have done…”

“You don't have to worry, though. I'm safe and sound in your old room. Promise.”

Kurt smiles and relaxes his grip. “I like this image. Did you steal pajamas again, too?”

“They're comfy.”

“Mm. Did your mother happen to pack your laptop along with those clothes?”

“No,” Blaine draws out the word before continuing, “I'll go to get it later; why?”

“I really want to see you.” Kurt's voice takes on a persuasive edge. “I'm sure Dad will let you use his computer so we can Skype.”

“I'm not sure, Kurt.” Blaine's voice has become soft, hesitant. “I'm not – I'm not exactly looking my best.”

Kurt swallows, hating everything about the current situation. “You have to know that doesn't matter, right Blaine? I could never –” Kurt briefly closes his eyes. “Nothing that ever happens to you could change how I feel for you. You're still my brave, handsome, bushy-haired fiancé.”

“Kurt…”

“Please, Blaine? I just – I just really want to see you. And I know Dad will let you borrow his laptop.” 

“You seem very certain.” Blaine pauses and when he speaks again his voice has lost some of its tension. “So I'm guessing I should go find your dad?”

Kurt lets out a small laugh of relief at Blaine's response. “Mm. Consider it a step in keeping your fiancé happy.”

Blaine's laugh is short, but warm. “Something I always strive to do.”

Kurt pushes himself off his bed and heads for his desk. “I'll just wait for your Skype call, then.”

Blaine laughs. “I hope your dad isn't already using his computer; it's never good to keep Kurt Hummel waiting.”

“You better hurry, then.” Kurt opens Skype and absently straightens his hair. “Just...I really want to see you.”

“Leaving your room now; I'll see you soon.”

Kurt smiles and ends the call, stares at his computer. Ten minutes later he accepts Blaine's call, and then forces himself not to react to the sight of the bruise marring Blaine's face.

“Hi.” Blaine sounds a bit hesitant, but his face stays open.

“Hey, you.”

“Sorry.” Blaine motions to his face. “Not my best day, I know.”

Kurt's shaking his head before Blaine even finishes his sentence. “You're perfect.”

Blaine quirks a half smile. “You're biased.”

“Never said I wasn't. And my opinion is the only important one anyway.”

“Mm. Still, did I tell you your dad said I could stay home tomorrow? Carole said I need another day to rest.” Blaine's hand moves toward his hair, and Kurt remembers his dad mentioning a bump on Blaine's head. It's not visible in the camera, but Kurt strains his eyes anyway.

“You certainly deserve it.” Then Kurt gives a warm smile, knows his eyes soften visibly.

“What?”

“You said home.”

“Oh.” Blaine smiles and ducks his head, and Kurt sees a wall of black before the camera catches up. “I guess I did.”

“Mm. So...” Kurt leans forward in his seat. “Ready for Nationals?”

Blaine rubs a hand over his eyes and Kurt gives a smile, ready to listen.