Chapter 5

Kurt hadn't been here before and it was silent. Deadly silent. Enough he could hear each of his steps echo across the huge room as he padded across the wooden stage. He stepped carefully, cane held out in front, hitting the floor as to check it was still there and he wouldn't tumble over into the pit.

His cane cracked against solid wood and he leant forward, feeling soft cushion beneath his hand as he felt it out. Folding his cane, he moved slowly around as he put both hands on the object before sitting down carefully, finally relaxing as he settled onto it.

He smiled as he reached out and pushed up the smooth piano key cover, letting his fingers graze over the keys. He hadn't played anything much recently other than on his keyboard at home, which wasn't anywhere near the same as a piano. They couldn't afford one, and there really was no room for one at home, but Kurt still felt a stab in his chest that he didn't have the old piano- that had stood in the living room for as long as he could remember- any more.

The ones at school were always beautifully tuned, Kurt had found, as he let himself play softly with one hand. He hadn't played the one in the auditorium before, hadn't even known there was one in here, but it played just as well as the choir room piano from the few notes he idly played.

His fingers stilled, the soft echoes of notes across the stage dying after only a few seconds, and he sat rigidly on his stool. He waited for other footsteps to approach from the direction he'd walked in from but he couldn't hear any. He couldn't hear anything. In a room he could feel was so large- the chill made the hairs on his arms and neck stand on end- it was disconcerting.

Fumbling with his phone, he pressed the button down until he heard the familiar noise to tell him voice control was active and checked the time.

"The time is fifteen-seventeen."

Blaine wouldn't be here yet for his promised "Private Glee" practice.

He shoved his phone back into his pocket, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. Sucking softly on his bottom lip, his hand hovered over the keys again, pressing lightly before he found C and placed both hands carefully across them.

His Dad had always laughed at him for treating piano keys, even the ones on his cheap little keyboard, like they were made of glass. Kurt would return his laughter with a small smile, bittersweet, like his mother had done when he laughed at her for the same thing.

He began very slowly, almost so carefully it really was as if he was terrified of breaking it. It was easy to just detach himself and let his fingers play delicately across, his eyes closed. He could always see her when he played. See her small smile when his hands stuttered over the keys, because sometimes it was all that bit too much. He pulled his hands away, folding them in his lap.

She could be sat next to him. She could have her hand over his as she taught him little jingles on the piano. She could be laughing down his ear and telling him he was doing wonderfully and to move his feet a little slower, because if she was here now she wouldn't have to press the pedals. He wasn't eight any more- his feet no longer dangled in midair.

Yet he filled his time up with sad piano songs, when the only ones she'd ever played for him had him giggling and clapping, the only tears being ones of laughter. She'd always loved to hear him laugh and sing along.

His eyes stung with a fresh wave of tears that he managed to stop with a sniff, and he began to tap his feet in a mindless rhythm so he would wander from thoughts of what a disappointment he must be to her now.

"Kurt?" a voice echoed across the room, followed shortly by small footsteps. He spun on his stool, head turned in the direction of Blaine's voice.

"I'm here," he called back and the footsteps hurried, Blaine turning a corner.

"Were you playing?" his voice rang clearly across the stage and he moved over to him. Kurt felt him pass as his arm brushed his, the piano creaking slightly as he leant against it.

"No... not really," he admitted, tilting his chin up. "I didn't feel like it."

Blaine stepped over, curling his arm round Kurt and playing dreamily on the keys. "I haven't heard you play for a while." He reached over and closed the lid and Blaine's arm retracted swiftly.

"I haven't felt like it," he shrugged. He didn't want to think about playing when he could only hear sad music. It filled his head most days and he was tired- tired that the only thing he could think about when he played piano was his mother. He smiled up to Blaine, hoping he wouldn't catch on, that he wouldn't ask questions.

Blaine's silence ended up worrying Kurt further, the folded hands in his lap becoming suddenly very interesting.

It must have only been for a split second, Kurt must have made it up his head- maybe he'd mistaken the silence for something else- because the next moment Blaine's humming broke through, laughing as he flipped through papers.

"So, what do you want to do then?" he asked, the cheery ring in his voice forcing Kurt's lips to curl up as he pictured Blaine's impish smile and eyes wide with enthusiasm. "I thought we could play a bit of piano and sing but if you don't want to... we could do something different. How about-"

"Could you sing?" Kurt cut through. Blaine's voice trailed off, the noise of the papers he'd been flipping through halted and Kurt heard them being spread across the top of the piano. "I just want to hear you sing first," he added.

"Then you'll join in?"

"Yes, I'll join in," he smiled. "I just want to hear you sing... sing properly."

Leaning forward, he propped himself up on the piano, hands tucked beneath his chin and smiled up to where he heard Blaine hardly moving, still rustling the papers across the top of the piano.

Blaine usually never stopped moving, his feet carrying him everywhere. He hardly ever kept his hands to himself, Kurt had noticed, always bubbling with some excitement, and when he did he was always reaching out, squeezing his shoulders playfully or holding his hand tightly. Or softly, a light graze of his fingers over the back of Kurt's hand. Or grabbing him into a hug before Kurt could protest.

He was extremely still in comparison standing at the piano still fidgeting with those papers. He sat up a little, question on his lips about what those papers were when Blaine finally spoke.

"Any requests?" he asked brightly, fingers drumming on the piano.

"Something cheery," Kurt replied, quickly, to Blaine's amusement. His footsteps padded further away and Kurt tried to turn his body in the direction they were walking to.

Soft jingles rang across the stage and when Blaine had moved back over he was pressing the source of the sound into his hand.

"A tambourine?" Kurt quirked his eyebrow, shaking it slightly.

"I have one too," he shook it and it rang along with Kurt's. "You can play along. I haven't got a guitar so we'll make do." He shook it again, chuckling at the way Kurt was shaking his head.

He began tapping his tambourine, shaking to a beat Kurt couldn't place, his own tambourine lying still in his own lap. He seemed to be finding the right beat for his tambourine, finally settling on a fast paced one as his voice mixed with the sound of the music.

You're not as messed up as you think you are
Your self-absorption makes you messier
Just settle down and you would feel a whole lot better
Deep down you're just like everybody else

Kurt's back straightened, hands clasped tighter around his tambourine as he listened. Blaine's voice was light and happy, and yet Kurt couldn't shake what he was singing. But his voice sounded so carefree, so happy for that moment, he let his hands loosen on the instrument.

She's not as pretty as she thinks she is
Just picture her after she's had kids
I bet she sits at home and listens to The Smiths
Deep down she's just like everybody else

He laughed loudly as Blaine sang, shaking his head as he imagined him stood only a few feet away, losing himself in the rhythm of his playing. Despite his laughter, he found his feet tapping in time to whatever beat Blaine was drumming out and, leaning against the piano so his hand was against his face, his fingers tapped in time against his cheek as he smiled.

So why are you sat at home?

Blaine must have turned on the spot, his voice moving so it sounded closer to Kurt- that he was facing him. He smiled, wishing he could see if Blaine returned it.

His voice was loud and bright, singing right at Kurt, who found himself beginning to clap along, the song almost forcing him to do so, lost in how his face had split into a full grin as he listened to Blaine sing.

You're not designed to be alone
You just got used to saying No
So get up, get down and get outside
Because it's a lovely sunny day
And you hide yourself away
You've only got yourself to blame
Get up, get down and get outside

If Blaine was trying to tell Kurt something, if he was trying to get something through to him, then maybe he shouldn't have laughed so much, maybe he shouldn't have started clapping along (though he didn't touch the tambourine). Maybe he should have stood up and told him to stop.

You're making me uncomfortable, Blaine, even if it is through song.

Maybe he should have spoken up.

If he could have found a way to actually care. If he could have found a way to convince himself it was the truth.

I'm not as awesome as this song makes out
I'm angry, underweight and sketching out
I'm building bonfires of my vanities and doubts to get warm
Just like everybody else

It was as he began the chorus again, singing almost breathily as the words rolled off his tongue, that Kurt stopped clapping, fully entranced.

There was something breathtaking in the way Blaine performed, in the way he moved through the song with an energy that Kurt couldn't just feel but see.He hadn't realised how powerful singing could be, not until he'd seen Blaine perform like this everything he sang so completely genuine. Singing and moving across the stage, footsteps in time to the increasing beat of his tambourine, and being closer to himself than Kurt had ever witnessed before took his breath away. When Blaine sang, Kurt could hear laughter through it, and he could see that invisible smile he'd thought so long about.

He took Kurt's hand and the neglected tambourine and forced it into his hand. Shaking his head as Blaine held his hand and made him shake it in time to his own.

"Come on, Kurt," he sang quickly between the lines, fingers wrapping around his wrist and pulling him up off the chair. Kurt's feet tripped but he caught his waist, cackling at the scowl on Kurt's face, tugging him across the stage, Kurt's laughter almost drowning out the rest of Blaine's song.

So why are you sat at home?
You're not designed to be alone
You just got used to saying No
So get up, get down and get outside
Because it's a lovely sunny day
And you hide yourself away
You've only got yourself to blame

They weren't even playing their instruments properly anymore, with any beat or rhythm or timing. They waved them in front of their own faces, Blaine's tambourine ringing loudly next to Kurt's ear, as Blaine sang along and Kurt grinned and tapped his feet, breathless from laughing and running back across the stage, Kurt's feet stayed glued to the spot but he continued to dance where he stood. Or as much as he would let himself, still feeling incredibly conscious that Blaine's eyes were very possibly on him.

When Blaine finished singing, he sighed and collapsed to the floor, reaching up and tugging on Kurt's sleeve.

Kurt fell down next to him, clapping a little too enthusiastically. He forced himself to stop when Blaine began to laugh, but smiled when he leaned over to Kurt and tugged him further down so he was lying next to him, face up towards the ceiling.

"Blaine, the floor is probably really dirty," Kurt protested, but didn't move a Blaine's fingers intertwined with his as they breathed softly, silence sometimes interrupted by their broken laughs.

"That was really good, Blaine," Kurt said after they had been lying there for a few minutes.

Blaine hummed happily, squeezing Kurt's hand briefly. "It always cheers me up," he whispered. Kurt's fingers of his free hand played idly with the hem of his shirt and he breathed deeply.

"Were you trying to say some-" He stopped midsentence, not sure if it would offend Blaine. "I mean... were you singing that song in particular for some reason?" He half expected Blaine to take another long pause and to think out his answer long and hard before he told Kurt exactly what he was thinking. But he answered so smoothly, Kurt couldn't help believing that Blaine had been awaiting that question for a while.

"Yes," he shifted around, Kurt guessed so his body was turned towards him, and he tilted his head so that he was looking in Blaine's direction. His tongue involuntarily darted out, wetting his lips as he could feel Blaine's warm breath against his face, their hands now trapped between their legs.

"I brought some booklets and things," Blaine continued, carefully. "About Performing Arts." Kurt blinked behind his glasses and tugged his hand a little, but Blaine held on. "Performing Arts for the Blind," he finished slowly, Kurt snapping his hand away and sitting bolt upright. He clasped his hands together and rested them on his knees he pulled up to his chest. Blaine scooted up, so his side was flush against Kurt's.

"I'm sorry, Kurt," he started, but Kurt cut him off as he reached out and rested his hand on his knee. And although he had to add a little force, he managed a small smile as he squeezed his knee, the clear breath of relief from Blaine following.

"I'm not angry," he told him, pulling his hand away, "I'm not sad. It's just... I agreed to do these singing sessions with you but I'm not ready..." he paused again, huffing impatiently at himself. "I don't think I'm ready to talk about that." His arms wrapped around his legs, hugging them to his chest, the smile still plastered to his face almost painfully.

Blaine took a deeper breath before replying, voice gentle when he did. "That's fine. I just brought them so you'll know I have them if you ever want to read them." Kurt nodded, his smile relaxing.

"So," Kurt began playfully, rocking to the side to nudge Blaine. "Can you dance?" Almost scoffing, Blaine let out a breathy chuckle, nudging Kurt back.

"Kind of," he admitted, Kurt imagined with a modest smile or a slight shrug. "It's not my best but," he shifted, pushing himself up off the floor, catching Kurt's hands and tugging him up, "I don't mind dancing." He kept his hands on Kurt's and pulled him over slowly, backing up as they walked across the stage again.

They stopped in what Kurt assumed must have been the middle of the stage, Blaine's fingers linking with one of Kurt's hands, the other snaking around his waist to rest on the small of his back.

"What are you doing?" It came out as a gasp, his voice higher than usual. Biting on his inside cheek, he ducked his head as Blaine's fingertips twisted into the back of his shirt.

"Getting you to dance," Blaine laughed. "You promised you'd join in." Kurt scowled and tried to pull his hand away, but Blaine's fingers tugged at his in their clasped hands and he let the hardly existent fight die.

"I can't," he whispered, his face heating up as Blaine sighed and pulled him closer.

He pulled their arms of their holding hands up and out and moved the hand on Kurt's back further up. "That's why we start easy," he pointed out. "Now put your hand on the top of my back."

Kurt froze, mouth falling open slightly, only then realising how incredibly dry it was. He could have pulled back; he could have stopped it and taken a deep breath, forcing any amount of space between himself and Blaine. But instead he stayed, their chests pressed together, arms tucked around each other. His free hand lay gently against Blaine's waist, fingers fidgeting lightly on the fabric. Sighing, Blaine pulled his own hand off Kurt's back, covering Kurt's and pulling his arm up and placing it in position, returning his own hand to where it had been.

"Okay?" he checked and Kurt nodded stiffly, breath bated. Shivers ran down and settled at the pit of his stomach as Blaine's thumb stroked over his hand and he arm shook almost invisibly.

Blaine leaned to the side and muttered directions. "Now follow me where I go. We're just doing a waltz so it's nothing too difficult."

He moved slowly with one step, counting as he did, and Kurt followed. They danced in silence other than Blaine's soft mutters of "One, two, three and one, two, three." His breath tickled Kurt's skin and his hand clenched involuntarily in Blaine's as they danced. He moved one step behind Blaine, who began to hum a slow waltz in his ear, as they glided in their small box. Kurt's hands felt warm and sweaty against Blaine, all too aware of how awkward his feet moved after Blaine's smooth steps- all too conscious that Blaine could see every misstep and his every attempt at moving like Blaine.

They danced slowly, but no matter how hard Kurt concentrated, no matter that he'd been doing it fine for 5 minutes, it only took one trip up, one step on Blaine's foot and he pulled back violently.

"Kurt!"

He shook his head, biting hard on his bottom lip, chest already shaking with the threat of spilling out unwanted sobs. He breathed deeply through his mouth, folding his arms tightly across himself.

"I don't want to do this any more," he sniffed, a heavy weight on his chest pulling him when he heard Blaine's sigh. The disappointment in that sigh. He didn't want to hear that, but he didn't want Blaine to watch him and see how much of a letdown he was anyway.

"Well then, we'll stop and try again some other time-"

"No, Blaine," Kurt snapped, hands flying to his face and rubbing his eyes under his glasses in frustration. "I mean I don't want to do this any more."

He could never see Blaine, but he was sure his face at that moment was the picture of disappointment he had been painting behind closed lids for years.

"Kurt," he sighed, walking closer. "Stop that. It was one little mistake." Kurt shook his head again, stepping back. He turned around, wishing he knew where his cane was, air sucked from his lungs as he realised he had no idea where he was. Blaine tried to continue, stretching his arm out so he grazed Kurt's shoulder. "Come on. You were doing fine."

"It's not that," he cried, turning on the spot, trying to ignore his chest hitching violently. Blaine kept silent, pulling his arm away, and Kurt heard him take a step back. "It's not... I know it was just a mistake." He turned his head side to side, fingernails digging into the palm of his hand. He moaned, frustrated and tired, hopelessly looking around.

"I can't do this," he continued, his eyes burning with tears. "Because there's no point."

He had to be to the side of the stage somewhere. If he could just reach out and feel something. A chair, a curtain, the piano...

"Kurt, don't you enjoy it?" Blaine's voice was weak, and Kurt's anxious breaths faltered.

"Blaine, I do but-"

"Then there is a point," Blaine insisted, taking steps so he was close enough to him again. Kurt's lips drew tightly together, his head shaking fiercely, as if this would stop his tears spilling.

"There's no point in me pretending that... that I can make anything more out of this than I already have," he shot back. "There was no point in you bringing those booklets. I can't do this Blaine! I can't... I can't be a performer when I'm like this. You shouldn't have brought them! You shouldn't have made me do this."

His hands were fists as he rubbed his eyes fiercely, willing to feel something, to see stars, or colours flashing across his eyelids as he pushed his glasses further up his head to rub them.

"Kurt... Kurt, stop this," Blaine begged, pulling at Kurt's wrists, and he let them fall with a dry sob. Blaine kept his fingers wrapped softly around his wrists. Kurt let out a thankful breath, the slight contact with Blaine calming him down.

"I can't do this Blaine," he muttered brokenly, head down. "I can't do this for fun when I know I could never do it for real."

"But Kurt, people have done it before," Blaine reminded him. "Remember that song? You're no different. Neither were Ray Charles and Stevie Wonder."

"I've told you before," Kurt reminded him, "I am no Stevie Wonder. I am certainly no Ray Charles." He pulled a hand away to rub tears away that had already fallen down his cheeks, but Blaine brought it back.

"No, you're not," he said sternly. Kurt's mouth fell open and his heart felt like it was sinking. "You're Kurt Hummel. And you obviously don't realise how amazing that is."

He hiccoughed. He let Blaine pull him closer, his arms trapped between their chests, Blaine's wrapping around his back. He let himself struggle his arm out to pull his glasses off, arm wrapping back around, and bury his face into Blaine's shoulder. He didn't cry, and he didn't sob, because he couldn't.

"I feel like a failure," he admitted in a whisper against the fabric of Blaine's shirt. "I feel like I could have done so much more than what I have."

Blaine didn't say anything but held Kurt a bit tighter, rubbing comforting circles into his back. A few shaky breaths and vivid images of a woman he could hardly remember forced Kurt to pull away, shoving his glasses back on.

"You aren't a disappointment," Blaine told him, and Kurt offered a watery smile.

"I feel like I would be," he said slowly, testing the words. "To..." He paused and breathed deeply. "To my mom. If she were here."

Blaine didn't say anything, and Kurt wouldn't have expected him too. He'd never mentioned her and Blaine had never asked. He didn't say anything, but he brushed his fingers over Kurt's wrist, reassuring him I'm still here. You can talk to me.

"I want to... I'd like to tell you about her," he struggled the words out as his breath shook."If I could."

He didn't need Blaine to say anything, even though he did with a short "Sure."The brush of his thumb across his skin was enough to keep him going, but he appreciated it.

He appreciated that he could talk about this for the first time in nine years. Nine years in which he'd never felt comfortable enough, never felt confident enough that another person would understand, so he had never brought it up.

His own fingers ghosted over Blaine's wrist as he forced his words out.

"First, I'd like you to do something for me."