Smashed

            It is so painfully awkward sitting in that living room across from the man that had been merely a name and a concept, so far from his thoughts mere moments before – an obstacle to be overcome.  The sheer reality of the situation has knocked the breath from him, and he cannot help but feel so utterly foolish for thinking that all he needed to do was talk to Blaine, tell him that he loved him, and that Blaine would be his again.  That everything could just go back to being how it was.  Things can never go back to how they were.

He had no idea that actually watching Blaine kiss another man could be so painful – his mind has been playing tricks on him, showing him shadows pawing and pressing and touching – and, yes, that had been uncomfortable, but Denial is a strong defender of sanity.  Denial had convinced Kurt that Douglas was nothing more than a road-bump – a temporary inconvenience – Blaine's way of filling the hole Kurt left within him (as Kurt had tried to do with Adam).  Douglas was supposed to be no more than an old man; pathetic and lecherous, and Kurt was supposed to have swooped in to rescue Blaine with an “I love you”…  But now Kurt is not so certain Blaine needs rescuing, at least not by him, because the thing that Blaine needs rescuing from is certainly not Douglas.

It is so easy to see how Blaine could have fallen for the man before him – Douglas exudes charm and confidence, hell, even sitting opposite Kurt as he is now his presence fills the space with a sophisticated intensity.  Blaine had left the room to get some refreshments for the tall, dark-haired man, who must be utterly exhausted after such a long flight, and had steadfastly avoided making any kind of eye-contact with Kurt.  Kurt had tried not to read anything into it as he stood awkwardly to offer his hand to the intruder.  His back straightens under the other man's gaze and he expects to be questioned, to be judged – were their roles reversed he knows he would be throwing Douglas his best over-protective bitch glare – but Douglas seems merely curious and mildly appreciating.  He actually seems grateful.

            ‘Forgive me for not introducing myself immediately - I'm Douglas.  You must be Kurt?  Blaine's told me a lot about you.'

            ‘Really?'  Kurt cannot mask his surprise – he half expects a smirk or some sort of celebration for catching Kurt off-guard, but it never comes.  This is a man Kurt does not understand yet – he cannot detect what Douglas' play is here and the thought terrifies him a little.  He feels unprepared and unarmed.

            ‘It's really nice to finally meet you.  I'm glad you and Blaine seem to be getting around to talking.'

            ‘Oh?'  He mentally cringes at his apparent inability to utter anything beyond monosyllables, mirroring him subconsciously as Douglas takes a seat.

            ‘I was concerned – life's too short to hold on to disagreements.'

Kurt nods his agreement and quickly reaches for his long-cold coffee, desperate for something to do.

            ‘So – you've been abroad?'  Kurt has no idea what the protocol is here, and has no clue how to read Douglas – so he settles for awkward small talk, finding that he is furious with Blaine for abandoning him to this situation.

            ‘For business, yes.'  Douglas crosses his long legs and glances in the direction of the kitchen as if he too is wondering what is taking Blaine's time.  ‘Kurt, may I ask you something?'

His eyes snap up to meet Douglas' and Kurt braces himself because this must be it – the scantily concealed threat to keep away he had been expecting ever since he realised Douglas must know who he is.

            ‘How has he been?'

            ‘Blaine?'

Douglas nods and Kurt was not expecting to see the tumult of emotions that flood the other man's dark eyes – there's a genuine concern there that is so palpable that it makes Kurt question his every belief about his ability to read people.  He had been so certain that Blaine was miserable and had assumed that Douglas would be the cause.  Was that not how stories like this always went?

            ‘He's not been returning my calls, and his friends seemed so concerned that I knew I had to come home.  I feel so terrible for leaving for so long – I promised him I'd never put work before him but I guess I did…  I forgot how stressful a new city can be – let alone starting college…and I left him to cope alone trusting that…because he sounded fine…  I'm starting to think it was an act.'

            ‘I think you need to ask him.'

            ‘Ask him what?'  Blaine's re-entry into the room is frustratingly timely, and Kurt feels like he has been caught red-handed for the second time that evening.  He watches as Blaine gently hands Douglas a cup of what looks suspiciously like hot chocolate before disappearing back to the kitchen and returning with two more.  Kurt takes the pro-offered cup with a raised eyebrow – he had been expecting to be asked to leave, not to be treated to another beverage, sitting around chatting like the three of them were old friends. 

            ‘Kurt was reminding me of something, that's all.' 

            ‘And what would that be?'  Blaine looks over the rim of his own mug as he gently blows some steam from it. 

            ‘The importance of communication.'

Kurt watches as Blaine shifts a little uncomfortably from his place next to Kurt on the sofa.  It had not skipped Kurt's attention that Douglas had chosen to sit in one of the armchairs rather than on the other sofa where there would be room and invitation for Blaine to join him.  The distance seems at odds with the rest of the situation and Kurt inhales the familiar spiced, thick aroma of his drink in an attempt to calm his overwhelmed senses.  Perhaps this was Douglas not making Blaine choose?  Could the other man be so confident?  The concept clashes with the sentiment of Douglas' choice of topic and Kurt's mind reels from trying to untangle subtext.

Beside him, Blaine ducks his head in a gesture that screams at Kurt.  The chocolate is hot and it burns but he swallows it down anyway for something to do.

            ‘I wasn't expecting you back for another couple of weeks.'  Blaine's voice is a little tentative and Kurt tries to avoid glaring at the man next to him for starting whatever this is now while Kurt is trapped in the room.

            ‘I was worried about you.'  Douglas' voice is soft, and a little placating.

Blaine's little hmn echoes in Kurt's ears. 

            ‘I'm worried about you, Blaine.  We all are actually.'  It's like an epiphany – the clear understanding of the amused, despairing disbelief behind those liquid amber eyes.  Words, words, words - so easy to say.  He wonders how many times Blaine has heard that sentence.  ‘You're pushing everyone away and I'm worried about you.'  Kurt wishes he could take it all back.

-+-

            He wakes suddenly, heart pounding against aching ribs, with a single thought – the letter and the rose! 

            If he sees he'll know!  He'll know everything!

Night-cool sheets cling to him as he turns, grateful for once that Douglas is not a cuddler when he sleeps.  Senses heightened through all-consuming anxiety he manages to slip from the bed without waking his partner and, freezing with every rushed rustle of bare feet on carpet, finally makes it out of the bedroom. 

He pads across the apartment and flinches as the door's hinges protest from lack of use.  It stands, imposing and proud before him in all its gloss-black glory, and Blaine makes quick work opening it up, revealing a bright slash of red.  The rose lies between the folded sheets of the letter, a tell-tale stain now marring the white sheets.  He moves them gingerly and is grateful that the keys all still look perfect as he ghosts his fingers over them, careful not to touch.  He buries the remains of both letter and rose beneath some towels in the linen closet for retrieval next time Douglas is not home, and sets about making his way back to their bedroom – but he finds himself back before the piano.

-+-

He knew he should be cold – he was not exactly dressed for the weather, but propped between Felix and Miss D., his veins flushed with alcohol, he could barely feel a thing.  Charlie had slipped into the passenger seat of the taxi and reeled off the directions to Blaine's and for that he was thankful – he was not completely sure he could recall his address right now.  Miss D.'s fingers were trailing up and down the inner seam of his pants leg and his head was so fuzzy – but he felt looser than he had in weeks. 

They had tumbled out of the back of the cab and somehow made it inside before Blaine had felt a firm hand on his shoulder.

            ‘Mr. Anderson?'

Blaine span on his heel to face the owner of said hand and voice, his vision took a moment to catch up, but he managed to wave Charlie and his friends on successfully.

            ‘Markus!  How are you this evening?'

            ‘Very well, sir.  I just thought I should let you know that a lady and a gentleman – a Mr. Hummel? - were looking for you this evening…  It's about your mother.'

Then there was static.

-+-

            He had never been prepared for Kurt, and the effect that the mere physicality of him wandering through a space that had been purely Douglas had felt a lot like….not exactly cheating, but something close and it had put him on guard.  He had been prepared for…he was not really sure…but talking with Kurt – actually talking, even if it had only been for the briefest moment - had been refreshing.  He had actually felt Kurt make a decision to open up a little again and Blaine had ached to see it because beneath the snark and the anger his Kurt was still there.

            But he isn't mine.

Blaine runs his fingers through his hair, tugging slightly to calm himself, or punish himself – he is not really sure there is a difference.  He forces himself to clear his mind – he knows Douglas will want to actually talk to him at some point today and he will not be able to distract him this time with physical comforts.  Which means Blaine will have to tell him about college, Sebastian, the Kingsmen, Bar Henry – all of it.  Including the Kurt of it all.

Seeing them both in the same room had been surreal – it was as if someone upstairs had been mocking him: showing him the two paths his life could take.  No – not could because Kurt had been so very clear about what Blaine was to him over the past months.  But, if that was true – why did it feel like something more earlier?  As if Kurt was trying to tell him something.  He had glimpsed that boy again beneath the man Kurt was becoming – so sweet and tender.  Kurt had needed Blaine back then and it had felt so good to be needed, wanted, trusted, loved… a thousand things and more.  When he convinced Kurt to leave – to go to New York – he had been so certain that he had been doing the right thing…  He had – for Kurt at least.  He had not expected Kurt finding himself in New York to make him feel so trapped, alone, and left-behind; unneeded, and unwanted. 

That is what it all boils down to.  Blaine's constant need to please – to be needed, wanted, loved.  His weaknesses.

Kurt does not need him to protect him anymore.  He does not need Blaine's guidance, or reassurance, or love.  Looking at it, that is what their relationship was about really, and that was the reason it failed – because Blaine knew.  He knew Kurt could become this strong, independent man so full of courage… 

His final gift to Kurt had been his freedom so what are they to each other now?  Could they be friends?  Is that what Kurt had come to talk to him about?  Can he be friends with Kurt again?  He would take that in a heartbeat over this twisted haze of avoidance and confrontation.

But he has friends…he has Charlie…Doug and Hunter...

-+-

            ‘Bas, I've told you a hundred times – I am happy.  I am fine.  Drop it, alright?'

Blaine tares off the corner of his, as yet, untouched sandwich with his fingers - glaring when Sebastian rolls his eyes.

            ‘Sure you are.'

For a second he thinks that maybe Sebastian will drop it – that maybe they can go back to talking about normal things – like the fact that one of their lecturers speaks like a robot and has been wearing the same skirt for three days in a row, or that one of the guys in their last lecture had totally been checking Sebastian out…

            ‘So, tell me this, Blaine, if you are so happy – why is that?'

            ‘Really?  You really want me to list the reasons I'm not miserable?'

            ‘No.  I want you to tell me why you're happy.  Not being “miserable” is not the same as being happy, Blaine.'

            ‘Why don't you tell me why you're happy?  Quid pro quo.'

            ‘This is not about me.'

            ‘Why does it always have to be about me?'

            ‘Because I'm worried about you.'

            ‘Why?'

            ‘You barely eat – you spend all of your spare time beating on that punching bag – it's like you're avoiding everyone!  It took me a week to get you to join me for lunch and all you have done is pick at a sandwich.'

He knows it is childish but in that instant he does not care – he takes a large bite of his, now mostly dismantled, sandwich and glares at the man opposite him.

            ‘Happy?'

            ‘This is not about that and you know it.'

            ‘Fine.  I'll say it – it sucks.  It sucks going home to that massive apartment alone.  It sucks that the man I love is thousands of miles away, and it sucks he's going to be gone for at least another month.  But I can't do anything about any of that.  Happy?  Is that what you wanted, Sebastian?'

The taller man reaches across the table to take one of Blaine's hands and it is only then that he realises that he has balled them into fists. 

            ‘Then spend more time with me.  That's what friends do.  You don't have to be alone all the time like you're punishing yourself for something, Blaine.'t have to be alone all the time like you

            ‘I'm not punishing myself.'

            ‘Okay.  So – come over tonight?  I'll cook and we can watch a film?'

            ‘You know I have to be in around ten for Douglas' call.'

            ‘Fine – no film, but I'm still cooking dinner.'

            ‘Bas…'

            ‘Blaine.'

Sebastian's eyes are earnest; wide and full of something that looks a lot like pity – as if Blaine is some lost little puppy.

            ‘Fine.'

            ‘Thank you.'  Sebastian smiles a little and goes back to attacking his pasta salad.

They never get around to dinner – Blaine had arrived a little early at his friend's flat and Sebastian had taken that as invitation for an intervention.

            ‘So – you given Douglas an answer yet?'

            ‘No.'

            ‘Why?'

            ‘He's not exactly in the country right now, Bas.'

            ‘So?  You must know whether you're going to marry him or not.'

            ‘I do…I am…I just…'

            ‘Look, Blaine, I just want you to be certain.'

            ‘You were all for this at the beginning.  What changed?'

            ‘I just…  I was thinking and –‘

            ‘-You were thinking-'

            ‘-yes…and I want you to look at something.'

Blaine recognises the paper as being from Sebastian's leather organiser.  The first line makes his blood surge.

When you were 16 he was 50.

When you were 10 he was 44.

He stops reading.

            ‘I've done the math.  Since when do you have a problem with my relationship?  Why do you always have a problem with whoever I'm with?'

            ‘Blaine – please listen, okay.  I like Douglas – I can see why you'd be attracted to him he is a complete silver fox, but if you marry him – sure it'll be great for the next ten, maybe fifteen, years, but what happens when he's seventy and you're in your prime, Blaine?  It's not going to be fantastic sex or his financial support that keeps you happy then.  What happens when he's eighty – or even ninety – and you hate him for taking your youth?  Are you prepared to be his live-in carer in his old age?'

            ‘You think so little of me?'

            ‘Blaine, that's not what I mean.'

            ‘No.  I know exactly what you mean, Sebastian.  You know, I thought you were my friend.'

            ‘I am.'

            ‘Friends support each other.'

            ‘I do support you, Blaine!'

            ‘Thanks for the dinner invite but I think I'll pass.'

            ‘Blaine, stay – please?  I'm sorry if I offended you but –‘

            ‘But what, Sebastian?  Didn't it occur to you that I know?  I know that when I'm in my sixties he'll be in his nineties.  I know.  I know and I don't care because he makes me feel loved and wanted and he loves me.  He loves me, and he needs me as much as I need him.' 

            ‘I'm not debating that – I just don't want to see you in your fifties alone or trying to bring up a couple of kids as a single dad -'

‘- I get it.  I get it…' 

            ‘Blaine, please!'

            ‘Goodbye, Sebastian.'

-+-

            He must have fallen asleep at the piano because he wakes to Douglas' gentle hand on his shoulder to discover a crick in his neck.  Blaine stretches and for a horrible moment he is certain that he must have imprints from the keys on his face but a quick check placates him. 

            ‘Why didn't you come back to bed?'

            ‘I was thinking.'

Douglas nods but says nothing, seemingly deep in thought.

            ‘Thank you.'  He is not sure why now is the right time, but he felt he had to say it then.  Blaine tries to ignore the voice in the back of his head that tells him it is because he may not have a chance later.

            ‘What for?'  Douglas frowns in his confusion.

            ‘This.'  He indicates the Steinway.  ‘It is beautiful...'

The other man smiles at that.

            ‘I just wanted to give you something back.'

            ‘What do you mean?'

            ‘You give me so much, Blaine.'

The concept is foreign to Blaine; out of reach – vaporous and intangible - he cannot grasp it.

            ‘I think we need to talk.'  Douglas takes a chair across from Blaine's perch on the piano stool and waits.  That is something Blaine will never get over – how Douglas never pushes, how he lets Blaine dictate pace.

Blaine dips his head – he had known it was only a matter of time; he had been expecting it the previous evening to be honest.  He considers distraction tactics – he could repeat last night, climbing onto Douglas' lap with fervent kisses and whispered adoration, he could dance around the topic and try to reflect it back onto Douglas so that he talks about himself first, but in the end Blaine knows he is too tired for either option.  He runs an idle finger across the keys before him before gently depressing middle C.  The note reverberates in the space between them long after Blaine's hands had returned to his lap.

            ‘I'm not sure how to start…'

            ‘Blaine, just talk to me, darling.  I'm not going to judge you or shout at you…'

            ‘I know, I just…  I'm sorry I went AWOL.  I didn't mean to scare you or make you come back early…  I just.  I feel untethered.  Does that make any sense?  I…I just don't know.  I don't know anything anymore.  I don't deserve any of this – you, this piano…  I…'  He stops and tries to stabilise his breathing before he has a complete break-down.  The last thing Douglas needs to be dealing with is an emotional teenager right now.  He runs his fingers through his hair and tries to focus on separating his thoughts and feelings into topics.

            ‘I'm sorry I wasn't here to help you.'

            ‘It's not your job to help me.'

            ‘You are not a job or a chore, Blaine.'

            ‘Then why do I feel like I am?  I mean…you had to come home early because I couldn't go a couple of months unsupervised!'

            ‘Moving to a new place is hard, Blaine.  Let alone starting a new college in that new city.'

            ‘But I'm not new to New York!'  He stands in his frustration sending the stool tumbling behind him.  The crash shocks him into silence and he stops.  Douglas is still sat; watching him – but there is no trace of wariness in his eyes, only there is something else…something unreadable.  Blaine mumbles an apology, righting the stool before taking a seat again.

            ‘You're right – I was concerned about you, and I did come back early because of that.  But I wasn't giving you the support you needed, Blaine, so why would I be angry or upset with you?  I'm just glad you're alright and you seem to be working things out with your friends…'

            ‘Kurt was only here to talk –‘

            ‘I know.  I'm glad you two are talking again.  I think there's a lot between you both that you need to work through.'

            ‘I love you.'

            ‘I know.  I love you too.  But this is a partnership – I'd been a bachelor for fifteen years before you, Blaine.  Sometimes I'm going to be selfish and I need you to pick me up on it.  Just as I'm going to pick you up on belittling yourself or putting yourself down.  Deal?'

            ‘Deal.'  His laugh comes out squeaky and he cannot help but lean forward towards his partner.

            ‘Look, I need to confess something to you – I'm not proud of it, but I panicked when I hadn't heard from you and I called Sebastian.  He told me that you're not happy, Blaine.'  He goes to interject but Douglas merely holds up a hand.  ‘He's a good friend, Blaine – I told you before that people like us have to be each other's family.  I meant it, every word.'  Blaine rolls his eyes a little but nods his agreement and Douglas smiles at him softly.  ‘You're not happy at Columbia, Blaine.'

            ‘No.'

            ‘Tell me what I can do to help.'

-+-

            ‘Did you tell him?'  Rachel's smile is so goddamn earnest that in that moment Kurt wants nothing better than to smack her but it is late and he is exhausted.

            ‘No.  His boyfriend came home.'  He thinks he managed to keep the bitterness from his voice.

            ‘Wanky.'  Santana emerges from behind the partition, eyebrow raised and Kurt tries to communicate how much he does not want to talk about it with the power of his mind.  ‘I told you - my third eye is never wrong, Berry.'

Kurt rolls his eyes before leaving his flatmates in the communal area, drawing the curtain against them and the world, tuning out the sound of their voices.

Sleep does not come easily, but when it does come he dreams of darkness.

He wakes to the sound of his cell alerting him to a text message.  Groggy from too little sleep he gropes for the offending object and stares through bleary eyes at the screen.  The message is from an unknown number and for a second he considers hurling the phone away and simply rolling back over, but something makes him open the message.

Hey, it's Blaine.  You were right (as always) – it is the 21st century.  This is my new number, but you guessed that, right?  So, I was wondering whether you wanted to finish that chat sometime?  Let me know.  – Bx