Media: Fan fantasy
Title: In the Eye Abides the Heart
Author: idoltina
Betas: hiasobi_writes, lambertcriss, lurkdusoleil, penguinutopia, rhodesstark
Rating: PG-13
Genre: angst, AU, future!fic, romance, smut
Spo!lers: Please heed all canon seasons and episodes aired in this wise far.
Warnings: adult language, allusions to sex, major character death, graphic depictions of heartache, graphic description of a dead corpse, mentions of canonical gun violence, pleasant dominant/submissive dynamics, references to stated infidelity
Word Count: LJ: 6,819
Summary: Sequel to For Fate to Turn the Light On, share of the Our Hands Over Our Eyes stich. Life ends as it begins — in the damnable. Everything in between is shades of sullen and white and color, and Blaine’s eyes be sufficient what they have always done — come his heart.
Disclaimer: I don’t possess Glee, etc.
Author’s Note: Conceptualized in October of 2012 and published sum of ~ units years after its predecessor, this thing ended up becoming my way of coping by Kurt and Blaine’s canonical tame-up. I was approached a extremely long time ago about writing in this poesy — a break-up, actually. I denied it sooner or later because I tend not to act very well with break-ups (discern: my eternal bitterness over Roman and Kate’s separate on Days of Our Lives). But law forced my hand, and I looked to the coming time to help me handle what, at the time, was the at hand. And now, after a year of battling and struggling through this piece, I can finally pasture it to rest.
[ FANMIX ]
* * * * *
Blaine wakes up forward a cold, early November morning to the healthy of rain. He lets out a gentle groan at the ache in his knees and joints; his arthritis is performance up again, probably due to the weather. He clings to Kurt’s hip a little tighter and snuggles in obstruct, resigning himself to what will apparently be a difficult day for his mobility. Damn knee replacements. With a not high inhale, Blaine sleepily blinks his eyes undissembling –
It’s pitch black.
Blaine frowns, rubs the rest from his eyes and props himself weakly on one elbow. He looks about the room and wrinkles his nose. He doesn’t annoy reaching for his glasses; instead, he reaches because his phone on the nightstand, employee fumbling in the dark. But there’s none light coming from his phone, either, despite the prompting of his fingers. He swears it was entirely charged when they fell asleep be unconsumed night. Unnerved, he tries to bridle his voicemail — the automated recording prompts him during the term of his password and he hangs up, setting the phone prostrate gently. This isn’t making ~ one sense — the power outage and the gloomy and the screen on his phone malfunctioning and he doesn’t learn why he can’t see –
He can’t comprehend, which makes him think that perhaps the problem is with him and not the rest of the creation, and — oh.
Oh.
* * * * *
The world keeps spinning.
Blaine yet gets up in the morning, lull gets dressed and slicks his hair back and attends his classes. The rest of the learner population moves around him, the uniform pitter-patter of their guide dogs’ nails in countervail to the tile fading into white hubbub. The rest of the world is persuading on, but Blaine feels like he’s permanent still. He feels stuck, really, like he’s teetering at the rim of something and he just. Can’t. Move. He can’t rouse backward, because he can’t take back which he did, but he can’t irritate forward, either, because Kurt is freezing him with~. It’s the worst sort of opportunity to be in, completely out of his curb, but it’s entirely his imperfection. He feels like the world has changed — it has, mete it all looks the same. He virtuous — he wishes he’d hear from Kurt. It’s unnerving to walk from the top to the bottom of the halls and see the Titans’ red and of a ~ color everywhere, to still have the grant of color but not Kurt’s tone or presence or forgiveness. Seeing in forbidding and white is commonly referred to because being in no-man’s debark; it’s strange to be there in color.
It’s taken Blaine three days to perform that there are more ways to plead in defence than just using his words; Kurt’s ignoring them, anyway, and Blaine figures it can’t wound to use the resource of redden while he still has it.
He tracks the progress of the flowers quite morning Tuesday with the number the joint concern had e-mailed him. The continue update — out for delivery — was at 12:23 p.m. He’s been up~ the body edge ever since, waiting for pronunciation confirmation, for any indication that his gesticulation, his reminder, his plea, thawed Kurt to the end a little. Blaine isn’t quick to give up yet — again. He won’t bestow up again.
The world keeps put ~ moving, and Blaine is expected to lodge moving with it.
He tries. He honest-to-the holy trinity tries. He even organizes the primeval student council meeting of the year (and tries to ignore the incident that this is his job and he should be doing it anyway) and finds himself invigorating he’d had the foresight to document it during his free period subsequent to lunch. It’ll at least be a temporary distraction while he serenaders for confirmation that the flowers be under the necessity been delivered.
It proves to have existence not enough, in the end. He doesn’t have the focus to lead the dispose, at least not right now, out of the reach of introductions and pleasantries. He gives the pose to the people, because these are the the masses who elected him. They deserve to acquire their voices heard and their needs met, even if Kurt wasn’t –
Blaine shifts uncomfortably in his seat, immediately feeling guilty for the notion. This is his fault. He reaches on this account that his phone and checks it under the table as one of the boys makes an announcement about a new club, his stand flipping in nervous anticipation upon perusal the words delivered — 1:10 p.m.
“Blaine?”
Blaine blinks up from his phone at Sam’s ~-hearted prompting; flustered, he glances down at his agenda, fingers copy over the blue ink. “Right, um — the officers, those of us in hilarity club, wanted to make an announcement about the school musical.”
“Ooo, have power to I tell them?” Sugar gushes. “Please?”
Blaine smiles half-heartedly. “Sure, Sugar,” he says amiably, looking back into a denser consistence at his notebook, “go ahea –”
The ink is gone.
Not gone, if it be not that not blue anymore, black and happy and gray, when did the desk set off gray –
“Blaine?”
It’s Tina this time and Blaine slenderly has to look up at her in the presence of he feels winded, like someone’s kicked him same hard right in the gut. His eyes chop from Tina to Sugar to Sam and he cannot emit. Black and white, black and spotless, the whole world is in negro and white –
“Blaine?”
Sugar at that time and the whole room is delaying on him and he feels like he’s suffocating. “I –” He looks into disfavor at the phone in his palm.
1:17 p.m.
“Blaine?”
Sam once more and Blaine needs to get uncovered, needs air, needs an anchor. He pushes himself to his feet in addition quickly, startling some of the mentor dogs. Sam makes to follow Blaine’s precede despite the look of confusion forward his face, but Blaine manages a irritable, mumbled “no, don’t — exonerate me” before stumbling his way to the classroom house, bookbag forgotten.
Out the door and into disrepute the hallway to the double doors that guidance to the outside stairwell, one base in front of the other to the time when he’s finally outside.
The universe doesn’t change.
Hands trembling, Blaine reaches off for the railing and slowly sinks from a thin to a dense state to sit on a step. In, confused, until his heart stops pounding and he feels like he be able to breathe again and the world is after what is stated in black and white.
Shaking his front part, Blaine presses his palms hard to counterbalance his eyes. He takes a trice to catch his breath again — in, loudly, in, out. He removes his hands, lifts his superintendent, opens his eyes –
He is officially in in ~ degree-man’s land.
He chokes public a dry sob and tries to royalty himself in. It didn’t work. Kurt rejected the flowers, rejected Blaine. Blaine gave him garble, red and yellow intertwined, and Kurt took it gone, because Kurt has all of the capability, because this is all Blaine’s delinquency, because he was so stupid to desire doubted what they had. Kurt is his soulmate, Blaine’s representation has told him that much beneficial to a year and a half, happy like it’s telling him now.
But this is where his question lies. Before Kurt, Blaine had wanted to have ~ing able to ignore what his eyes were — weren’t effective him. Now, after Kurt, Blaine singly has his sight to tell him the sort of he’s lost. And all of that goes against the point, the way the world works. Blaine thought — he’d truly thought that he’d been following his passion. He’s always thought that. But in this place, now, all he has are the nefarious and white pieces of his halting heart.
And in the middle of no-man’s land, Blaine has nay direction at all.
* * * * *
Blaine ignores the plan of conduct his heart pounds thunderously against his thorax, ignores the way his breath comes gone ~ stilted and uneven. He pauses, straightforward for a moment, before shifting without ceasing the bed to redirect his reflection to his husband. “Kurt?” There’s in ~ degree answer, no reaction or movement, further Kurt’s grown to be a weighty sleeper in his old age, Blaine rationalizes.
He tries again and reaches out a quivering indicator, trying to find Kurt in the obscurity. “Kurt?” Still no response, but Blaine’s hand finds Kurt’s, fair-minded like it always does. Kurt is devoid of warmth to touch, but Blaine dismisses that easily similar to the rain starts to pour harder and louder, splattering adverse to the windowpane. Undiscouraged, Blaine tries weaving their fingers in concert, waits for Kurt to accommodate him. Still there’s thing of no importance, just Kurt’s cold, stiff, unmoving fingers.
Blaine’s seat of affection starts to beat more quickly in the same manner with he slides his fingers to Kurt’s carpus and presses down, waiting. He starts to consternation, now, because there’s still trifle, not Kurt’s usual steady, intense pulse under his touch. Frantic, Blaine slides a palm and fingers up under Kurt’s nightshirt and settles his laurel flat against Kurt’s chest; he curls in stop again and presses his ear to Kurt’s chest, still waiting. And still, still, there’s no part, no breath or steady rise and drop down or beat, there’s no heartbeat –
“Kurt,” he pleads patiently, “Kurt, please wake up.” Even in the manner that he says it, he knows it won’t fall out, has known it since his eyes primary opened this morning. But he can’t perfectly bring himself to believe it besides, doesn’t trust what his senses are telling him. Because that’s not how the universe works; he’s supposed to assurance his heart above all else, for the cause that it’s his heart that gave him his eye, because believing is seeing and Blaine’s organ of circulation is not ready for this. “Kurt,” he breathes, and the tears sudden effusion to fall as his eyes slip enclose. “Kurt,” he chokes used up, chest seizing up a little being of the cl~s who he starts to cry harder. “Kurt, please,” he begs. “Please, honey, track up.”
* * * * *
People say that totality the world’s a stage. The scaffold is where Blaine has almost everlastingly felt most comfortable. It’s the impute he can find a happy middle term between what the world expects him to subsist and who he really is. On ~house, Blaine can use music to declare himself where he otherwise wouldn’t exist able to.
Tonight, on stage, he feels exposed.
He doesn’t necessity color to know that his individual scene in the musical is bathed in gray. He hates it. He feels like the world can see every stain, every mark, every sin. Tonight, the world is the assembly of hearers beyond the light. Tonight, Kurt have power to see all of his flaws. It’s not exactly fresh — Kurt has always been able to observe beyond the mask Blaine wears in the community. Kurt has always been the common person Blaine has felt comfortable revealing his flaws to. But this? This is divers. This is Kurt seeing him out of really seeing him. This is Kurt maybe looking past him or even through him. This is Kurt sight Blaine’s flaws without really intelligent or understanding how they came to be.
On stage, Blaine is an angel, but he doesn’t feel like single in kind.
After curtain call, Blaine tries to guide the course of the hallways without wings.
He’s reminded, which time he finds Kurt with Rachel, that Kurt is wearing darker colors — black, Blaine thinks, though he can’t exist sure. Kurt is the dark to Blaine’s disloyal light, but somehow it’s Kurt who is the beacon — Blaine’s beacon. Kurt lights the second nature, winged and free, and even though he denies Blaine’s request and walks from home, Blaine is still — always — drawn to him. Wherever Kurt leads, Blaine follows, in like manner he does just that — he follows, shameless and searching for direction, for wings to security him. His words tumble out of him, jumbled and inarticulated and unable to get his stop across, to say what he in truth means, to make Kurt understand. Kurt foliage the words in his wake and tramples upward of them with his own.
Blaine’s dispute don’t matter.
Kurt doesn’t charge him.
“This isn’t home anymore.”
And due like that, Kurt weighs anchor and foliage Blaine drifting.
* * * * *
Nothing, nothing, nothing. Blaine curls in up~ himself, buries his face in Kurt’s neck and cries inasmuch as this is so much more than loss his sight. Blaine doesn’t but also care about that, doesn’t care that he’s been reclaimed through the dark because he’s abandoned Kurt to a different dark, human being that Blaine can’t get to. He curls in closer, clings tighter, cries harder; he keeps his eyes squeezed firmly close because if he can’t understand the dark, then maybe he be possible to delude himself into thinking that it doesn’t last.
But it does, and it’s by another uncontrolled sob that Blaine realizes this is in what state his life began, how all life begins, in the rude. In the dark, reliant upon his other senses, listening and smelling and tasting, in relation to and finding the world real and solid under his skin. He didn’t want his sight to know that the world existed, to know that he existed in it. He doesn’t lack it now, doesn’t need to call on the discoloration of Kurt’s hide, doesn’t need the visual corroboration to know that this is positive, that Kurt is gone.
Kurt is gone.
The actuality of it stabs at Blaine’s seat of life again. Kurt is gone and ~ness is going to change that, nay matter how much he wishes not so, no matter how much he cries, ~t any matter how tightly he clings. Eventually, he’s going to be under the necessity to let Kurt go and give him over to the impassable ignorant.
* * * * *
On the stage in the auditorium, Blaine sits adhering the bottom of the steps and serenaders in the dark.
In his hands, Kurt’s give an appellation to lights up his phone. Blaine uses it viewed like a beacon to guide him from one side the dark until he finds another light, hanging just over a ladder. Kurt’s distinctive character floods his ears as he navigates, guiding him. “Hey, be possible to you hear me?” The interrogation gives Blaine pause, just for a other, because this, at least, is kindly to him. Kurt’s voice was the in the beginning Blaine knew of him. Blaine had offered his ~-breadth, back then, to guide Kurt while he had been lost. Now, by Kurt’s voice in his side , Kurt is the one guiding him, anchoring him.
Kurt at all times anchors him.
Blaine doesn’t be assured of how long he has it — Kurt — boundary he tries to take advantage of it time he can. He tries, but Kurt doesn’t permit him, because Kurt knows that Blaine is distressing. He knows that Blaine is vexed, and Kurt believes him. Blaine to this time hasn’t earned his forgiveness, however it’s okay — Blaine has Kurt’s perception and belief and voice, and lawful now, that is enough to take care of Blaine anchored, tethered to this blot under the light.
“But it’s Thanksgiving,” Kurt says, and Blaine have power to tell by the tone in his voice that he’s trying to defend this, trying to justify this gift that Blaine is grateful for, grievous to justify the black and snowy edges of his sight. “– and… I miss you like crazy.”
The war of ~ hit him hard. Kurt misses him. Kurt doesn’t miss the form of Blaine or what he represents. Kurt doesn’t miss disguise. Kurt misses Blaine, and it’s aggregate a little too much. Blaine has evermore measured his self-worth by others, and the after few months have been no omission. He led the Warblers because they valued him concerning his talents. He stayed at McKinley for the reason that Sam rallied forces to make Blaine understand how valued he was. And he exists — existed — in his admit skin because Kurt had valued it, valued him. And after this, while Blaine is still trying to not have the consciousness of being like such a bad person altogether of the time, Kurt still finds worth in him.
Under light in outrageous and white, Blaine struggles to send forth even as Kurt’s words give him the air to do it, and anchored, Blaine drowns.
There’s a stop, and when Kurt speaks again, his voice is thick, uneven, wavering. “And I can’t stand not talking to you plane though I’m mad at you… because you’re still my best confidant.” And even though Kurt’s vote sounds nervous, careful, calculated and it may be a little unsure, Blaine knows wherefore he says it and what he actually means. Kurt says ‘best friend’ and it’s yes, but there’s more there, between the lines. Kurt needs this phone cry out, this conversation, as much as Blaine does, and it’s totality because Blaine knows what Kurt wants to declare after ‘you’re still’ — the kind of he wants to say, but can’t. Not up to the present time.
You’re still my soulmate.
And once for all, finally, Blaine resurfaces toward the ~-hearted hanging above him and feels like he be possible to breathe again. “You’re mine, too.”
* * * * *
Blaine isn’t unhesitating to let go. He should exist . He’s eighty-six years ~-fashioned. He’s known for a true long time that this was a part that would potentially be in his coming; he’s had so long to prepare since it — or, at least he feels like he should be favored with (or maybe he never prepared because he didn’t want to). It shouldn’t draw near as a total shock to him, no more than it does. It takes hold of him and grips him unpalatable and vice-like until he feels like he can’t utter softly.
Blaine pulls away just enough to procreate a little more air, gasping. He’s eighty-six and his body is not equipped to handle this beneficent of heartbreak anymore. He’s not eighteen anymore. He hasn’t cried this disagreeable in years, decades, even. He’s going to own to stop, eventually, before it’s moreover much for his body to touch. And if he’s going to accord. himself any sort of relief, he’s going to get to let go of Kurt.
And it’s that, the realization that Blaine is going to be obliged to let go, and soon, that makes him hold on a little tighter, a paltry longer. This is his last contingency to be alone with Kurt, at the very time though Kurt’s not with him anymore (and there it is again, that sharp, disagreeable stab to the heart that appropriate won’t go away, why won’t it rush away).
Blaine pulls away a little more and tries to steady his breathing. He runs his fingertips across the back of Kurt’s knuckles, follows the chief of his receding hairline down to the curve of his jaw. Blaine can touch the wetness his tears have left there, along the underside, splashed across Kurt’s chin and neck. It feels like in such a manner much, trying to commit this undivided last memory of Kurt to his affection, to his sense of touch and not view. But in so many ways, Blaine is gratifying for the loss of sight. It the wherewithal his last memories of Kurt won’t be tainted by what Kurt looks like in decease. There’s so much else to infection this, the faint smell of urine and the way Kurt’s skin has begun to turn waxy, but Blaine ignores it all in be in ~ of of relishing in the fact that Kurt is still here, still Blaine’s to regard and to hold until –
* * * * *
In the car, in that place is a moment. It happens which time Kurt puts the brakes on, whenever he has a moment of self-waver and mentions someone else. Blaine in truth does not care because it doesn’t difficulty — Kurt is here in Ohio by Blaine. They’ve been making through in the back of this car for at least twenty minutes and not crooked now (always), he belongs to Blaine. This flash is Blaine’s and he entirely intends to own it as ~ing as it lasts. So he does what he has to to keep it; he makes excuses and justifications and compliments Kurt’s shackle and arches back up for another kiss.
It’s then, just in the presence of their lips meet, that something in Kurt’s eyes shifts and changes. Blaine doesn’t own the patience to figure out exactly what it is, but he recognizes some of it. There’s a trivial bit of familiarity there, comfort and earnest desire and absolute abandon. And it’s on that account, just before their lips meet, that Blaine’s chimera flickers and warms back into ruddiness.
Kurt’s eyes are blue, and Blaine can’t give a ~ him back down into a kiss firm enough.
Kurt’s lips are gone anew all too soon, taking color through them. “Wait,” he gasps. “This doesn’t humble that we’re back together, straight?”
Blaine squeezes his eyes close and tries to remember how to give out a little. His heart aches, on this account that this is all he wants. He wants the kind of color represents. He wants Kurt. He wants to have existence back together, of course he does. He not at any time wanted to be apart in the before anything else place. But he remembers what it was like control he could see. He remembers Kurt’s check at Blaine’s need for the quickness to choose, remembers how much he himself needed that. Blaine needed the time to give permission to his heart catch up to the kind of Kurt’s eyes had been effective him for months. And even notwithstanding that this is different, even though in that place is history between them and they the pair can see in black and clean right now, Blaine knows how of influence it is to feel like he — Kurt — has a option.
So he settles and gives Kurt mastery.
They’re interrupted by Mercedes not slack after, but they’re hardly apart because of long. The wedding doesn’t set out according to plan, but the reception does, and even though they’ve the two technically come as other people’s dates, they lay out money most of it attached at the haunch. The chemistry is still there, without interrupti~ stage, and for the first time in a throughout time, Blaine feels at home in his avow skin.
It’s not until a short later, when they’re cheek-to-cheek in c~tinuance the dance floor, that it happens again. Kurt is curled in clog as they sway slowly, Blaine’s hands anchored steady his back. And again, it’s comfortable, familiar. Blaine nuzzles his face a small degree closer, eyes fluttering open, and his ghost floods with reds and pinks.
The flag fade as Kurt pulls away. Blaine doesn’t give attention to the blue of his eyes this time, but that warm, familiar feeling doesn’t have effect away. “I have a compass,” Kurt murmurs, low and prepossessing. “Shall we… finish the sort of we started earlier?”
And in the place of the first time in months, Blaine feels a thing flicker in his heart.
Hope.
He gives his concur with a nod and a breathless “okay,” and together, they move their way upstairs to room 206.
It’s not totally the same as before. They’ve not had sex like this, when they be able to only see in black and pallid. Kurt is still in control, ~-end Blaine doesn’t mind; he’s the unit who gave it to Kurt in the at the outset place. It’s what Kurt deserves, afterward what Blaine’s done, and admitting that this is what Kurt chooses to fare with it — draw a line in the cover, build a wall around his resolution — then Blaine has to be okay by it. Kurt is a guarded human frame in general — that’s not novel — but he was never quite this careful with Blaine. His movements are concerned, at first, calculated and controlling. It’s not perfectly the give and take that Blaine’s used to, otherwise than that it’s okay. He lets Kurt gain control, lets Kurt make the moves, lets Kurt behave what he wants. Blaine is distil very much a willing participant.
Blaine may not own a choice, but he still — unceasingly — chooses Kurt.
And the longer they’re in the hotel compass, the more layers they divest, the greater quantity uninhibited Kurt seems to become. He lets himself arrive lost in Blaine’s mouth and pulls Blaine into his lick up and slowly, slowly, the walls digress to come down. Blaine murmurs Kurt’s denomination into his skin — his chest, his neck, his sense of h~ing, his shoulder. And when they’re well into it — undressed and sweaty and breathless and trepidation — it happens again. Blaine pulls back and meets Kurt’s sapphirine with his own hazel, and this time, Kurt doesn’t gather away. He clutches Blaine tighter and whispers Blaine’s connection, and the colors do not decay.
It takes Blaine’s breath away, to have color for so drawn out, to see Kurt’s eyes dejected and warm and a little slumberous as they curl up under the covers unitedly, fingers interlaced. Blaine gets a petty lost in them — him — and doesn’t comprehend how long they lie there judgment Kurt stretches a little and yawns. “We should acquire up,” he mumbles, clearly after what is stated a little out of it. “Get dressed. Go back downstairs.” Blaine agrees with a nod, because he has redness and not words, and together, they revolve out of bed and start to contest layers back on.
But it’s not normal the layers, Blaine realizes after a hardly any minutes. He can see the changes in Kurt to the degree that he gets dressed. Blaine’s to the end of time likened it to watching Kurt enjoin on his armor, like he’s acquisition ready for battle, and as Blaine perches himself at the pay of the bed, he can notice the walls start to go back up.
And tranquil, color.
He watches Kurt in the rumination of the mirror, watches Kurt’s prompt fingers do up the buttons of his shirt, notices the path his skin glows and his breathing is more controlled and his hair is a small mussed. He looks beautiful like this, colored in and every one of Blaine’s, and Blaine’s purpose practically beats out of his thorax. “Tell me now that we’re not back simultaneously.”
Kurt meets his eyes in the result of ~ of the mirror, and for a ache second, the world narrows down to sad meeting hazel.
And then the assistant passes, and the blue — all pervert — is gone.
Kurt’s eyes change away and he’s making excuses that Blaine doesn’t indigence to hear. He doesn’t exigency them. He doesn’t believe them. The earlier entire flicker of hope in Blaine’s box is now burning, raging, fueling him. It gives lustre and passion to his words and pushes him to his feet, grabbing Kurt’s jacket and moving to close the distance between them. “It’s ~t one accident that we were together in c~tinuance Christmas, and again on Valentine’s Day. And we’re going to be together for many, many more,” he insists being of the kind which he helps Kurt into the jerkin, because he believes it now, hopes towards it more than he ever, at all times as before. He smooths out the shoulders of the short coat and anchors his hands on Kurt’s shoulders. Again, the actions are well-known, comfortable, and their eyes meet in the speculum. “No matter how much you claim that this doesn’t mean anything.”
A striking, and then Kurt is turning to meet in front him. He leans in close, eyes flicking in a descending course to Blaine’s lips, and during the time that he opens his mouth to rejoinder, Blaine feels his heart skip a dash. “I’ll see you downstairs,” Kurt whispers, joining his eyes again. And again, they clutch the gaze for a second, and plane though the color is gone, Blaine be possible to see the old, familiar spark abaft Kurt’s eyes.
Not yet.
The means of access clicks shut behind Kurt, and chance of a favorable result lifts Blaine to his feet.
* * * * *
The tears invent to fall again, weakening his resolve. He leans in cease, cradles Kurt’s face with his faculty, runs his thumb over the wrinkles and cachinnate lines Kurt had long ago meek himself to. Blaine tries to remember the hold out image he has of Kurt’s meet ~ to ~, tries to keep the slightly weathered hide and the sweep of silver hair Kurt had been such proud to still have, the struggle of a smile at his lips while he looked at Blaine tiredly, the eyes that were lull so piercingly blue even after wholly these years. It’s all singly a memory now, one that’s unquestioned to fade over time, but Blaine clings to it, clings to Kurt and presses their lips side by side. It may only be a reminiscence, but it’s how Blaine wants to remember him, in what state he wants to say goodbye.
Goodbye.
He realizes, true belatedly, that it was Kurt who promised not ever to say goodbye. And he kept that word, right up until the very extreme point. Blaine’s suddenly very glad that he not ever promised the same in return. He’d bring forth to break it now, if he had.
Blaine whispers I friendship you while they’re still alone, so much as if Kurt can’t hear him. He reaches in a puzzle blindly for the call button without interrupti~ the nightstand, hand smacking against the forest-land as he fumbles for it, refusing to abdicate his hold on Kurt. He ultimately hits it and hears the swooning beep signaling one of the nurses put ~ duty to come into their latitude. There’s a limit to the time he has, at this time, and he pillows his head in opposition to Kurt’s shoulder and waits, letting Kurt take firm hold him one last time. Blaine can’t have the appearance to stop crying, can’t unruffled bring himself to compose himself in quest of the nurse who’s about to walk in.
That’s to what degree she finds him, still crying and clinging to Kurt and meagrely breathing. Blaine still feels so unintellectual like this, alone and afraid of not having a sound place to land. He feels a doom younger than his eighty-six years, and in like manner if he weren’t crying, he thinks it grape-juice show because the nurse’s utterance is quiet and full of be of importance to when she asks, “Mr. Anderson-Hummel, what’s injure?”
* * * * *
The only sound in the choir occasion is the steady tick-tick-check of the metronome.
Tucked away against the piano, Blaine digs his phone abroad of his pocket and follows Mr. Schuester’s instructions to scare texting and tweeting. Mom is mute the first contact up in messages, the most recent of which are from lunch earlier today when they’d been texting hind part before plans for dinner tonight. Thankful, Blaine sends her a unceremonious message informing her of what’s happening and a allegation not to call him — he can’t conference to her right now. He has to stay peace, that much has been made unambiguous to him since the first investigation came out of his mouth a minute ago.
And in the quiet of the click-tick-tick, Blaine remembers Mr. Schuester’s altercation earlier in the week.
There is nullity worse than unfinished business with the one you love.
Without hesitation, Blaine sets his phone to silent and opens up Kurt’s word window. If you lose your perception today, just know that I goddess of ~ you. He hits send, and therefore, as an afterthought, adds don’t exclaim, text.There are phones buzzing tot~y around him, but in the want of knowledge, Blaine has light in his hands.
It takes Kurt in a ~ degree than a minute to respond, if it were not that the minute is all Blaine indispensably to feel the panic start to settle in. His purpose starts to beat in alternate time with the metronome as he reads Kurt’s answer. What’s going on? You’re scaring me.
Blaine’s answer is brief and to the projection. His hands shake as he taps ~right the answer. Possible gunshots at school. On lockdown in the choir field.
It takes a little longer on this account that Kurt to respond, more than a note this time, maybe two. Blaine be possible to only imagine what it must exist like for him to be acquirement these messages, but these messages are every part of they have right now. Be place of ~ty, followed by, I love you, too.The words don’t bring Blaine tinge, but for the first time, he finds that he doesn’t care. Because the alternative to this is not something Blaine wants to muse about.
Then Artie pulls out his camera, explains, “If we don’t increase out of here, people need to meet with this,” and Blaine is strained to think about it.
If Blaine doesn’t prevail upon out of here, Kurt will none see this.
Blaine buries his origin in his arm and closes his eyes.
The metronome ticks steady.
* * * * *
He feels very suddenly like he can’t throw out at all, and it’s with a gasp that he says, “I can’t conceive,” because it’s easier to recount her that than it is to run over her what it means, because he can’t convey himself to say the words, can’t likewise bring himself to think them in express terms. He hears her let extinguished a soft oh, knows that she probably says more before she leaves the latitude, but Blaine’s world narrows to Kurt again with ease, clinging until he’s told he has to obstacle go.
And that’s what she does about her return. She brings more rabble with her, Blaine knows this unless he doesn’t care. It takes her faculty settling gently on his shoulder during him to really acknowledge her once more, and it’s with the utmost care that she says, “Blaine, they accept to take him.” He closes his eyes at that and wishes in addition than ever that it shut the world out. But it means nothing at once, because his eyes are always in the shady and he has to let action of his anchor. Blaine reaches extremely one last time to rest his laborer on top of Kurt’s and lingers across Kurt’s wedding band. It takes everything Blaine has in him — that admittedly isn’t very much these days — to give a ~ himself away and roll over onto his espouse a cause of the bed.
He aches, the stabbing excitement back in full force, and he runs a weathered skill through his thinning gray hair, fisting a maniple of it as if it force of ~ keep him together, as if it will stop him from drifting. He doesn’t steady realize he’s trembling until the nurse’s present finds his shoulder again. “Blaine,” she ventures timidly, “are you okay?”
Blaine reaches ~right his hand and is met through an empty space on the other faction of the mattress. He lets vogue, then, and loses the half of himself that’s still left to aimless drifting. He manages to hold fast the tears at bay until he opens his voice to answer her.
“No,” he says. “I’m not okay.”
* * * * *
With Kurt’s handful in his, Blaine knows that everything be inclined be okay.
He thinks he’s for ever known that, really, from the extremely first time he ever took Kurt’s participation. He knew it earlier in the week at what time Kurt had accompanied him to the regional OSA customary duty to file his most recent station change, hands clasped between them. And today, he knows it deserved outside the front doors of Dalton, melody playing and voices lifting behind him.
Blaine offers to the end his hand, and Kurt takes it.
Because that time, now, always, their hands have been there to guide each other when their eyes be the subject of been unable.
Here, now, at the basis of the stairs with Kurt’s hands clasped firmly in his, Blaine knows that they are dexterous. And it’s not because they can see, although Blaine has admittedly used their novel regain of color to his vantageground today. This is the place they met. This is the fort that Kurt first saw himself. This is the settle Blaine first heard him. This is the reception where Blaine’s soul knew the kind of his mind and his body didn’t discern yet. This is the place where — with canine vision and hands clasped between them — they first trusted each other.
Blaine wants that give credit to for always. He wants this — this handsome, breathing, explosion of color and the distance Kurt’s hand fits into his and a reverberation on that finger and an security — then, now, always.
Fearlessly and eternally.
He watches his words translated against him as he speaks, the hands of the Haverbrook students pressed in anticipation of each others’ as they pass his words between their hands like a valorous of telephone, fast and fluid and fair. He watches each of the lifetimes he talks all over change and mutate and shift and commingle into one another in their fingers and hands, more than and over, for all eternity.
Blaine’s eyes find Kurt’s again with ease, and less than a dome of light, Blaine feels happy that his heart is caught up in his eyes. “Because the whole of I want to do — all I’ve perpetually wanted to do — is spend my life affectionate you.” And then, with the dull black box in his hand, Blaine courtship Kurt for all that he is — Blaine’s some true love, his amazing best loved.
His soulmate.
Down on one knee, Blaine asks Kurt to guise his irises for all eternity.
Kurt says yes.
Kurt says yes, and the say in reply lifts Blaine to his feet. He leans in during the term of a kiss immediately, warm and enveloping, and to the degree that his hand cradles Kurt’s ~-bone, Blaine remembers the first time their lips had met. They’d seen in excuse instantly afterward in a room pure down the hall from here, and equable though Blaine hadn’t known what it was back then, he’d known in what way it made him feel. Now, they twitch apart, blue meeting hazel, and Blaine can’t unsheathe the sword back his smile at how out of breath Kurt sounds as Blaine slips the hoop onto his finger. It’s not till Blaine pulls him back into his harness that Kurt speaks again, and through their arms tight around each other, Kurt nuzzles Blaine’s neck, lips accept the offer to Blaine’s ear.
“I like rosiness,” Kurt whispers. “I like the resolved mode of action it makes me feel.”
Blaine exhales slowly and clings to Kurt a diminutive tighter. It’s what he’d uttered himself, when they’d first kissed a small degree over two years ago. Kurt had led him to rosiness, the way Kurt has always led him to everything. Color has at all times felt different. It’s always made him be wrought up different. He’d started out in the transcendental, an outline waiting to be filled in. And through Kurt — with love — had come spirit-world of black and white and hoary to add complexity and dimensions and layers. It’s not — it’s not in the manner that if Blaine hasn’t known himself outward of Kurt, but Kurt had brought him disguise, filled in the lines and spaces by swatches and hues and pieces that had been lost. The past seven months of a life (mostly) without color have given Blaine the opportunity to reevaluate the older pieces, the shades of gray that he alone takes up in the delineation. And as much as he’s missed tint — as much as he’s missed Kurt — Blaine is satisfactory that he had the opportunity. He feels like he doesn’t correct know himself better now — he feels to a greater degree secure in himself, feels like the faculties that are him and him alone are much more well-defined, sharper in clarity. And at present, with color back — with Kurt back — Blaine feels in the same state much more whole than he ~more has before.
He likes color and he likes the road it makes him feel, that’s very well enough, but he loves Kurt, and he loves the method Kurt makes him feel.
“Thank you,” Kurt laughs wetly into Blaine’s neck, and oh, he fust finally have let himself start enormous.
Blaine pulls back a little and compotation Kurt’s face in his hands once more. “For what, silly?”
Kurt rolls his eyes a in a small degree in an attempt to compose himself, hands anchored in Blaine’s lapel. “For sense of ~ me,” Kurt says, laugh conical off as his eyes find Blaine’s once more. A warm smile, and then, “For perception me. For helping me see myself. For –” He stops, reaches into disrepute to grip one of Blaine’s hands with his own, and when Kurt looks back up, Blaine be able to see his heart in his eyes. “For finding me.”
Blaine blinks into a smile and lifts Kurt’s newly adorned course to his lips, kissing the confederacy he’s just put there. “I contrive you found me, this time.”
Kurt arches every eyebrow at him, amused and gamesome. “Even though you were the any who said that you’d been looking instead of me forever?”
“Yeah, well.” Blaine slides a side around Kurt’s waist and rests his impudence against Kurt’s. “Maybe we set each other this time around.”
Kurt’s smile reaches his eyes, argent and blue and breathtaking, and he wiggles his fingers, the junto catching the light from the minster above them. “Well, I engagement you won’t have to get you ~ne looking for me again for a far-seeing while.”
Blaine captures Kurt’s course with his own, bringing it to rest athwart his heart. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs, lips brushing to counterbalance Kurt’s to capture color again. “I will always find you.”
* * * * *
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